11/08/2022: I Hate That Tumblr Doesn’t Show The Dates Of When Something Was Posted So I’m Just Gonna

19/08/2022: MAYYYYYYYYYYYYY. yes, i did not survive. i’m typing this from my grave. this was a RIDE!!!! ALL PUNS INTENDED!!!!! i’m not even gonna bother with a little note at the beginning here because i feel like i just repeat myself all the time and my brain is still very dizzy from all of this. i need a month to recover. maybe more. JAKE SERESIN PLEASE [REDACTING SO MANY THINGS RIGHT NOW]. ugh.

“With the way he’s looking at you right now, sort of like he’s ready to reach across the table and devour you whole, you think you kind of know what they mean.” 🅰️🅰️🅰️🅰️🅰️🅰️🅰️🅰️🅰️🅰️ already screaming into the void.

“Looking at him is dangerous business, you’ve learned this much by now. It makes you do crazy things, shuts off whichever part of your brain is responsible for logic and common sense. So you avoid his eyes, even as you feel his gaze burn holes into the side of your face.” LOOKING AT HIM IS DANGEROUS BUSINESS!!!!!!! I LOVE THIS LINE!!!!

“He’s drinking whiskey neat. When he picks the glass up to take a sip, amber liquid trembles like a lake in an earthquake.” STOP WITH THESE BREATHTAKING LIFE CHANGING DESCRIPTIONS OF THE SIMPLEST OF THINGS!!!!!! amber liquid trembles like a lake in an earthquake!!!!!!! YES IT DOES!!!!! the imagery!!!!!!

“Well.” Jake makes a sweeping gesture that seems to encapsulate both your little outfit and meticulously styled hair as well as the bustle of the bar. “You’re here, aren’t you?” i hate him!!!!!!!

“And you were so sure of it all. That he had felt the same pull as you did that night at the bar. That he’d wanted you almost as much as you had wanted him. That he’d called the number you’d scribbled hastily on a napkin soaked in beer (called, not texted, and you’d been so sure it was a spam call you almost hadn’t picked up) because he’d genuinely wanted to see you again to continue whatever your co-worker had interrupted.” THE SAME PULL EXACTLY!!!!!!!! they’re so drawn to each other!!!!!

“I’m honored to be the first cowboy to take a pretty lady like you out.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 beloved!!!

HE HAS SEVEN DOGS IN HIS STUPID LITTLE FARM I LOVE HIM. YOU ARE NOW OBLIGATED TO SHOW US THE DAY WHEN HE EVENTUALLY TAKES HER THERE TO MEET THE DOGS.

“If you’re a good girl,” he says, looking at you over the rim of his glass, “maybe I’ll introduce them to you one day.”

That has your thighs clenching, your toes curling against the soles of your shoes. Jesus. He can’t just say things like that." AND YOU CAN’T WRITE THINGS LIKE THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO CONTINUE WITH MY DAY?????

“Hi,” you say, blinking up at him.

“Hi,” he echoes back, his arm sliding over the backrest just above your shoulders. “You good?”

You nod. “I was getting lonely over there.” this was very cute. i adore them. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

“Wordlessly, he pulls you the last inch to him. And then you’re pressed to him, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, and he’s like a massive bulk of heat and muscle and the pleasant, spicy scent of his aftershave. Your heart stutters, stumbles, trips.” AGAIN WITH THE SHOULDER TO SHOLDER HIP TO HIP THIGH THIGH THING LIKE IN PART 1!!!!!!!!!!!!! i’m obsessed with this.

“Better like this?” he asks, and the words are quiet, soft, like they’re meant just for you.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 soft moments catching me off guard i love you.

“Can I have a sip?” you blurt.

Jake raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for a beer girl.”

You’re not. That’s not what it’s about.” YOU’RE NOT!!!!!!!!!! THAT’S NOT WHAT IT’S ABOUT!!!!!!!!! I GET IT!!!! I’M STARTING TO LEVITATEEEEEEEEE

“If you reached up now and kissed him, you’re almost entirely sure he’d kiss back, but the tiniest, smallest spark of fear flickers inside of you at the idea. What if he rejects you?” ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ he would never!!!!!!! but i understand her insecurity in the moment ❤️‍🩹

“Now that has blood rushing into your cheeks, fingers tightening around his thigh. You can feel his hand tracing up and down your side in leisured patterns, the naked skin of your legs against the fabric of his jeans. Your foot in the dainty sandals just an inch shy of his boots.” i love everything you write sometimes i don’t even know what to annotate next to these lines i just really love them.

”It’s like you can’t stop touching each other. Like a circuit, the electricity only flows if all parts of the pattern are connected. Like you’re gravitating towards each other, hands always on the other, your neck, his knee, your hip, his biceps.” 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 FEELING SO SICK TO MY STOMACH TAKE ME TO THE HOSPITAL!!!!!!!

“Jake hums, but he isn’t even looking at her. His eyes are fixed on your face, his thumb dragging in a long line from your hip down to the top of your thigh. A thoughtful expression crosses his face, and then he’s reaching for where he placed his hat on the tabletop earlier and planting it on your head again.

There’s a thrill to it all - a guy who could potentially have any girl in this town (pretty girls and funny girls and smart girls), but he’s looking only at you. His arm around you and his eyes on you, and his fingers on your leg. His hat on your hair.” ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS SCENE!!!!!!!!! NO WORDS!!!!!!!!

“Maybe you’re flattered by all the attention. Maybe it’s been too long since you last got laid. Maybe Jake is too pretty. Or maybe you’re just drunk. 

But there’s a sudden bout of confidence, a wind in your sails, a voice at the back of your head whispering fuck it, and another answering yeah, we’re trying.

Maybe it doesn’t matter. What matters is this: You say, “Do you wanna get out of here?” *insert video reaction of all those ladies at ellen screaming and crying and jumping around* YES GET OUT OF THERE!!!!!!!!! GO!!!

“Yeah, I got my own cowgirl fantasies,” Jake mutters, and you don’t know how to respond, so you act like you didn’t hear him. Something at your core has gone liquid.” choking on my imagination drink HE’S SUCH A DICKKKKKKKKKKKKK I HATE(AM IN LOVE WITH) HIM!!!!!

“And this time, when you twist over your shoulder to throw a last glance at the bar, there’s something a little smug to your smile. So what if everybody sees you leave with Jake Seresin? Let them talk about this come Monday then, let them talk about it in the break rooms and the supermarkets and the diners. Let them set the whole town on fire.” YES!!!!!!!!!

“In the dim of the night, Jake’s eyes look almost black. “What what might be like, sugar?”

You bite your lower lip. “That ride I owe you.” TENSION SO MUCH TENSION TENSION RUNNING THROUGH THE WALLS MY HEAD IS SPINNING.

“Jake grins. “So do I get to be the first cowboy to fuck you, too?” STOPSTOPSTOP I CAN’T DO THIS.

“I…” You clear your throat and take a deep breath. “Yeah. First cowboy.”

His voice is husky when he says, “Good.” PLEASE SHUT UP SJDHEJHXHSXSHGXGWCJEJCUSUHSHS.

“He grins again. “I’ll take that as a yes.” sedate me. now.

“Good girl.” AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA GETS ME EVERY FUCKING TIME!!!!!

“and then you’re grabbing him by the collar, pulling him in, in, in, shoving your mouth to his, and kissing him like you want to drown.” love this line. i love every line. all of them are perfect.

“The thing is this: you actually are alright, apart from the very, very insistent thrum between your legs Jake is doing nothing to help with. In fact, you’re more than alright. It’s exciting in a way you can’t explain, to be right here in the open with him, to know he wants you so much he’s willing to do this where anybody could possibly see. To know you want him so much you don’t even care. But also to feel so incredibly safe with him, to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’ll take care of you no matter what…

This one, you definitely can’t blame on the alcohol.” just kill me. i’m already dying.

“Gently, Jake pinches your side. He’s undeniably beautiful, face painted in the neon lights of the far-off bar, shadows crowding behind him. His lips pink and swollen from the nip of your teeth. His eyes lidded and glazed. “Go on then, sugar. You owe me.” HE IS INSUFFERABLE MY GOD!!!!!!!

“Finally, you give in and whine, “Jake….” AAAAAAAAAAAAAA

“Hmm?” The sight of him, his hair disheveled by your fingers as he trails a line of wet kisses from your clavicle down between the valley of your breasts, is almost too much.” love how you wrote this. you are everything to me.

“Well.” He presses a kiss to your temple that is too soft for the moment. “Then you better get back to work, hmm?” I DIDN’T EXPECT HIM TO BE SO MEANNNNNNNNNNNN GOD HE’S SO-

“You wouldn’t, of course. There isn’t anybody in there you trust the way you trust Jake, not a person you’d want even half as much as you want him.

But Jake doesn’t know that.” YEAHHHH IT’S TIME FOR SOME JEALOUSY!!!!

“Don’t talk about other guys while wearing my hat,” he says.” *screaming crying throwing up passing out*

“give you the ride of your life….” JJSTSTDYYSUDYHSHCSYDYSHDHDHDD NO WORDS JUST SCRAMBLED REDACTED THOUGHTS

AND THEN YOU CIRCLE BACK TO THE LABEL OF HIS HAT!!!!!! PROPERTY OF J. SERESIN!!!!!!

“Can I keep your hat?” CUTE!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺

“It’s so warm in the car, and he’s even warmer. Soon, you’re going to have to climb off him, going to have to pull your dress back on, let him take you home and step under the shower, wash off the remnants of this night, of this thing that will never happen again. Something you’ll keep locked in your heart forever, a warm, soft memory to melt you in the cold.” me when i lie!!!!!! of course they’re gonna jump each other’s bones again!!!!!! silly!!!!!!

WELL… guess i’m into cowboys now… 🤠!!!!!!!!

dime store cowboy 2 . (hangman)

pairing ; cowboy!jake seresin x female!reader

synopsis ; jake teaches you about the cowboy hat rule. (part two of dime store cowboy, but can probably be read separately.)

wc ; 6.5k

warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; explicit language, alcohol abuse, explicit sexual content (semi-public sex, sex while under the influence, p in v, fingering, riding, dirty talk, lil tiny bit of degradation maybe?, almost getting caught)

note: YEEHAW PARDNERS………. i hate this so much, but hey i finished! that's the only positive about this goodbe.

sol. sunderlust. you already know what i’m gonna say thank you for being my bestie :(

It’s a small town, so news travels like wildfire - soon, all the kitchens are burning.

When you walked into work on Monday, three of your co-workers told you not to get too involved with Jake. On a trip to the local mom-and-pop shops for nails to hang your newest art print with, the older woman at the register frowned, called you by name even though you don’t remember ever introducing yourself to her, and said, Jake Seresin is bad news, honey. At a diner, a whole table of mid-twenties girls glared actual daggers at you.

With the way he’s looking at you right now, sort of like he’s ready to reach across the table and devour you whole, you think you kind of know what they mean.

“You’re like… a local legend,” you tell him, toying with the straw in your margarita. Jake ordered it for you before you even walked through the doors, and you don’t know how to feel about him remembering your drink order.

Jake raises an eyebrow. He’s wearing a pale blue button-down tonight that seems more formal than the flannel you met him in, but the hat and obnoxious belt remain the same.

“Am I?” he asks and sounds a little too pleased for your liking.

You nod. “I got advised not to show up tonight by….” You count them off on your fingers. “... four people. And that’s not counting any of the girls who I think are planning my murder as we speak.”

It punches a chuckle out of him, but something about the sound is almost sad.

“Yeah, yeah,” he agrees, waving it off. “I may have a bit of a reputation.”

“What sort of reputation?” you ask, watching as your straw paints swirls into the pink slush of your drink.

Looking at him is dangerous business, you’ve learned this much by now. It makes you do crazy things, shuts off whichever part of your brain is responsible for logic and common sense. So you avoid his eyes, even as you feel his gaze burn holes into the side of your face.

“A bad one,” he says.

It’s ridiculous, and judging by the fake deep voice he puts on, he knows it too. So you laugh, duck your head, and wonder if you even want to know the real answer.

From what you’ve gathered, Jake is a bit of a ladies man. (Your co-worker’s description had been somewhat less flattering. At least you don’t think town mattress is going to show up on his CV any time soon.) Usually, that fact alone would have been enough to have you running for the hills, but you can’t forget the night you met him - his hand on your thigh and the easy banter and feeling sexy, carefree, grown-up in a way not even doing your taxes can duplicate.

Still. The uncertainty remains.

“You think I should listen to them?” you ask. The leather of the booth clings to your sweaty thighs. It’s a hundred degrees in this stupid bar.

Jake hums and shrugs his shoulders. “What I want you to do and what you should do are two entirely separate things, sugar.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He’s drinking whiskey neat. When he picks the glass up to take a sip, amber liquid trembles like a lake in an earthquake.

“It’s your choice, sweetheart.”

That’s not exactly an answer, and it doesn’t escape your notice.

Jake sets his glass back down, braces his elbows on the table’s edge, and leans forward, leans into your space, a conspiratorial grin pulling up the corners of his mouth and says, “If you’re asking me, though… I think you’ve already made your choice.”

You’re not exactly sure what you’re talking about anymore, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of saying what.

“How so?” you ask.

“Well.” Jake makes a sweeping gesture that seems to encapsulate both your little outfit and meticulously styled hair as well as the bustle of the bar. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

You can’t argue with that. A new song comes on, and a group of girls near the bar yell in excitement. You watch them for a second.

“What made you come anyway?” He has his arms folded on the tabletop, clearly trying to pull you back from whatever train of thought you’ve boarded and sailed away on.

That’s a good question, and it’s one you’re not too sure how to answer. Because, truth be told, you almost didn’t. Without the liquid courage of three strawberry margaritas coursing through your bloodstream, without him so close you could barely think of anything but his stubble between your thighs, your nerves caught up with you. You’ve agonized over this, even twenty minutes ago, sitting in your car and staring at the twinkling neon of the bar, your heart beating an erratic pattern that echoed in your words like the same question repeated again and again: Should I?

You shrug. “Curiosity.”

He grins, his teeth gleaming between the pink of his lips. You wonder if he uses Crest white strips or if he gets them professionally bleached. They’re almost too white.

“Curiosity about what, exactly?”

You take a sip of your cocktail to bide your time, to collect your thoughts. Then you say, “I’ve never been on a date with a cowboy.”

Casually, Jake leans back in his chair, folding his arms in front of his chest. His expression is unreadable. “Oh, so is that what this is? A date?”

Your heart drops to the vicinity of your kneecaps. Could it really be that you’ve misjudged this situation so completely? Could it really be that you’re so inexperienced, so out of tune with the signs and signals of the chase, that you can’t even recognize when somebody’s flirting with you?

And you were so sure of it all. That he had felt the same pull as you did that night at the bar. That he’d wanted you almost as much as you had wanted him. That he’d called the number you’d scribbled hastily on a napkin soaked in beer (called, not texted, and you’d been so sure it was a spam call you almost hadn’t picked up) because he’d genuinely wanted to see you again to continue whatever your co-worker had interrupted.

Back home, your friends used to call you romantically challenged, but you didn’t think it was this bad.

“Oh,” you say, and your cheeks feel warm as you shift your weight in your seat, as you pull your shoulders up like you’re trying to disappear between the blades, “I’m sorry, I just….”

Jake is shaking his head before you can finish the sentence you had no idea where to end anyway. “I’m only messing with you, sugar,” he says, his laughter warm even as he teases you, and for a split second, his fingers graze over your knuckles on the tabletop. “I’m honored to be the first cowboy to take a pretty lady like you out.”

That line has no business making your heart race the way it does. Where his fingers touched yours, the skin tingles.

Because you don’t know what to say, you down the last of your cocktail. 

For a while, the two of you chat about nothing and everything. Your new job, the adjustment to the countryside. His work on his parent’s ranch and his family. He names all of their seven dogs, and your eyes nearly bulge out of your head.

“Seven?” you repeat, a note of awe sneaking into your voice. “You guys have seven dogs?”

Jake laughs. “I take it you like dogs?”

“Like is like… the understatement of the century.”

“If you’re a good girl,” he says, looking at you over the rim of his glass, “maybe I’ll introduce them to you one day.”

That has your thighs clenching, your toes curling against the soles of your shoes. Jesus. He can’t just say things like that.

Jake orders you another cocktail from a waitress that does very little to conceal the glare she throws in your direction. When she comes back to deliver your drink and the beer that Jake has switched to, she leans so low both he and you get a good, thorough glance into her cleavage.

As she saunters away, hips swinging, you blink, caught between confusion and a tiny bit of annoyance, and Jake just snorts into the sweating neck of his beer bottle.

By then, the sugar and the alcohol are beginning to work their way into your bloodstream, and you feel just the right side of tipsy. Where your senses are dulled enough the bar fades away to a steady chatter of background noise, tuned out by the gleam of Jake’s smile and his eyes and his fingertips tapping rhythmically on the wood of the table. You feel loose and swaying and unsteady in a way that is funny, thrilling, instead of scary.

It’s strange to be so far from him, all the space of the booth stretching and elongating. Later, you’ll blame the liquid courage, but something (it’s definitely not jealous, nope, not at all) propels you to slide along the leather of the seat, feeling the sweat collecting in your kneecaps, heart in your throat, until you’re on his side, your legs just an inch or two from his.

Jake watches your migration with a faint smile on his face.

“Hi,” you say, blinking up at him.

“Hi,” he echoes back, his arm sliding over the backrest just above your shoulders. “You good?”

You nod. “I was getting lonely over there.”

As soon as the words are out, you cringe at yourself, mouth already opening around an apology, but Jake’s hand on your waist silences you. Wordlessly, he pulls you the last inch to him. And then you’re pressed to him, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, and he’s like a massive bulk of heat and muscle and the pleasant, spicy scent of his aftershave. Your heart stutters, stumbles, trips.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Jake says, his voice rumbling in his chest. “Pretty girl like you all on her lonesome.”

It has you grinning involuntarily. His arm goes from your waist to drape across your shoulder instead, heavy against you, and you set a tentative, searching hand on his thigh. The denim of his jeans feels rough against your palm.

“Better like this?” he asks, and the words are quiet, soft, like they’re meant just for you.

You nod. “Much.”

From your perch against his chest, you watch as he takes a sip of his beer. The bottle comes away, mouth wet just like his lips. His tongue pokes out just a little as he chases the flavor, chases a drop, and it’s like an intrusive thought, something planted in your mind by someone else, something…

“Can I have a sip?” you blurt.

Jake raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for a beer girl.”

You’re not. That’s not what it’s about.

You shrug, his arm moving with your gesture, and say, aiming for nonchalance, “Maybe I could be.”

He chuckles but hands you the bottle without further protest. It’s ridiculous, but something about the thought that you’re putting your lips where his have been moments ago excites you, sets your heart racing. Maybe you’re childish. If you reached up now and kissed him, you’re almost entirely sure he’d kiss back, but the tiniest, smallest spark of fear flickers inside of you at the idea. What if he rejects you?

So instead, you bring the bottle to your lips, take a single, tiny sip, and then, because you can’t help yourself, because apparently, this has become a habit in his presence, you lick the rim. 

Then you cringe. “Nah,” you say. “Still not a beer girl.”

Jake snorts, but his eyes stay fixed on your mouth for just a moment too long. “Can I try your margarita, then?”

You nod, lean forward out of the crescent of his arm for just a moment to pluck the glass you left abandoned across the table.

Jake takes a sip and, to your disappointment, does not copy your moves. There’s no licking off the sugar for him.

He grimaces. “Jeez,” he says, “this is like ninety-five percent sugar.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “That’s why I like it.”

“Well, sugar,” Jake says, his grin turning just a touch devious, “I bet you taste even sweeter.”

Now that has blood rushing into your cheeks, fingers tightening around his thigh. You can feel his hand tracing up and down your side in leisured patterns, the naked skin of your legs against the fabric of his jeans. Your foot in the dainty sandals just an inch shy of his boots.

It’s like you can’t stop touching each other. Like a circuit, the electricity only flows if all parts of the pattern are connected. Like you’re gravitating towards each other, hands always on the other, your neck, his knee, your hip, his biceps.

“You want to find out?” you ask, voice barely more than a whisper, and wonder where the hell that came from.

Jake’s mouth lifts into a grin at one corner. “You’d let me have a taste, sugar?”

I’d let you have anything you want. That’s what you want to say, but when you open your mouth, somebody else’s voice cuts over yours.

“Jake.”

It’s the waitress from earlier. She’s gotten rid of her apron and notepad and is smiling at Jake in a way that makes her intention crystal clear. This girl is definitely here on a mission.

“Hi,” Jake greets back. “We’re still good on drinks, thank you.”

She laughs, and the sound is almost musical. “That’s not why I’m here. My shift just ended.”

For the first time, you really take her in. She’s beautiful, tanned skin, full lips, long hair the color of butterscotch that seems to dance in the light breeze from a ceiling fan. If it hadn’t been for Jake’s arm around you, you would have tried to melt back into the cushions of the booth. Suddenly, you feel painfully inadequate.

But Jake just says, “Good for you.”

The girl casts a furtive glance at you, a furrow etching itself between her eyebrows as if she cannot understand what Jake is doing with someone like you.

Welcome to the club, you think and startle at how bitter that sounds. It’s not like you to pity yourself like this.

“You remember when you asked me out on that date?”

Jake takes a moment to think about that. When he speaks again, he somehow manages not to sound like an absolute douchebag, and you’ll take that as a testament to his immense charm. “Vaguely.”

The girl’s mouth twists like she’s just bit into a lemon. “How about it then?”

One of Jake’s eyebrows rises so high it almost touches his hairline. He says, “I’m a tad busy.”

You watch the whole exchange like somebody watching a tennis match. Sort of like you forgot you’re at all involved in this and not just an innocent bystander watching a girl’s romantic advances crash and burn. Then she sends a truly withering look at you, and you’re reminded that you’re smack dab in the middle of this thing.

“Alright,” she says, trying not to let the note of hurt in her voice show too much. Honestly, you feel sort of bad for her. “Give me a ring whenever.”

Jake hums, but he isn’t even looking at her. His eyes are fixed on your face, his thumb dragging in a long line from your hip down to the top of your thigh. A thoughtful expression crosses his face, and then he’s reaching for where he placed his hat on the tabletop earlier and planting it on your head again.

There’s a thrill to it all - a guy who could potentially have any girl in this town (pretty girls and funny girls and smart girls), but he’s looking only at you. His arm around you and his eyes on you, and his fingers on your leg. His hat on your hair.

You don’t even know if the waitress is still standing by the table or if she’s left. You don’t care.

“Did you drive here?” you ask.

Jake, preoccupied with adjusting the hat on you, glances down at your face and answers, “I did.”

Maybe you’re flattered by all the attention. Maybe it’s been too long since you last got laid. Maybe Jake is too pretty. Or maybe you’re just drunk. 

But there’s a sudden bout of confidence, a wind in your sails, a voice at the back of your head whispering fuck it, and another answering yeah, we’re trying.

Maybe it doesn’t matter. What matters is this: You say, “Do you wanna get out of here?”

You expected Jake to be surprised. Instead, he just smiles, something like amusement crossing his face, and you’re not sure how to feel about that.

“Sure,” he says. “Wait by the door for me, yeah, sugar?”

You agree. As he goes to pay, you idle by the entrance, acting like you don’t feel any of the eyes on you. Without his touch on you, you feel almost forlorn. A little sheepishly, you take off the hat and hold it to your chest, turn it over and over to stare at that label inside.

“Property of J. Seresin,” you read out in a whisper, running a finger along the thin leather of the hat band.

“You really like that hat, don’t you?”

Jake’s voice startles you. He’s smiling, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d call the expression on his face affectionate.

“It’s that cowgirl fantasy,” you say and watch as he stuffs his wallet back into his pocket.

“Yeah, I got my own cowgirl fantasies,” Jake mutters, and you don’t know how to respond, so you act like you didn’t hear him. Something at your core has gone liquid.

He takes the hat from you and plants a warm palm at the small of your back, steering you confidently toward the door.

And this time, when you twist over your shoulder to throw a last glance at the bar, there’s something a little smug to your smile. So what if everybody sees you leave with Jake Seresin? Let them talk about this come Monday then, let them talk about it in the break rooms and the supermarkets and the diners. Let them set the whole town on fire.

You don’t really care, not when you’re the one Jake is ushering toward his truck with something like urgency in his step.

Jake parked his car towards the end of the lot, where the lights of the bar turn into shadows, where the music and the voices are drowned out almost entirely by the chirping of cicadas. The air smells of gasoline and green things, growing things you never really knew back in the city with all its traffic jams and construction work.

When you tilt your head back, you see the stars like glowing pins stuck in the velvet of the night.

“Earlier,” you tell him, slowing your steps as you get closer to the truck, “you asked what I was curious about.”

Jake hums in agreement. He’s rounded the car with you, clearly intent on opening the passenger door for you, but now he stops when you do. You’re still in sync.

“I think,” you say, and wonder how your voice sounds so firm when you feel like you’re floating off into the stratosphere, “I was wondering what it might be like.”

In the dim of the night, Jake’s eyes look almost black. “What what might be like, sugar?”

You bite your lower lip. “That ride I owe you.”

He’s on you within seconds. 

One of his hands tangle in your hair, the other falls once more to that spot at the small of your back, pulling you towards you with enough that you go careening, that you crush into him. The alcohol still has you a little off balance, so you steady yourself with both palms flat on his chest, then make a sound against his lips when you feel the muscles beneath his shirt, the rapid beat of his heart.

It’s all so sudden that it takes you a moment to get used to it. I can’t believe this is happening, you think distantly as Jake opens his mouth against yours, as his tongue traces over the seam of your mouth. You react on instinct, letting him in, melting in his arms. It’s all hot and wet, and god, he’s warm. You know the backs of your thighs and knees are still damp with sweat, with the sweltering heat of the bar, and now, surrounded by the furnace of Jake’s body, not even the night breeze can do anything to cool you down.

Jake walks you backward until your back connects with the metal of his truck, and then he presses you against the door. The hand on your back wanders down, down, down, over the curve of your ass, and then he’s pinching the skin there, and you yelp.

The curve of his smile presses against your own mouth for a moment, and then he’s drawing back at the exact moment that he pulls your hips forward. He’s hard beneath the denim of his jeans, his cock an insistent pressure against your core.

“Oh,” you gasp.

Jake grins. “So do I get to be the first cowboy to fuck you, too?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, hips instinctively bucking forward and into him. The sound of those words tumbling from his lips, his tone so easy, so unaffected, has something inside of you clenching.

“I…” You clear your throat and take a deep breath. “Yeah. First cowboy.”

His voice is husky when he says, “Good.”

Then he’s leaning back in, his tongue sliding into your mouth, his feet kicking your legs apart so he can slot himself between them. His thigh nudges against your clit just once, the contact almost has you keening, and then he’s angling it away, holding your hips back so you can’t rut against him.

Jake is a good kisser. He’s probably had enough practice, you think, and then immediately abandon that train of thought. There’s nothing good down that line. It’s not difficult anyway, not when he does something with his tongue, when his hand slides from your hair to the back of your neck and your brain melts into a puddle anyway, all coherent thoughts shriveling up with it.

When you lick into his mouth, you find traces of the whiskey he had earlier, of honey and oak and smoke. His stubble scrapes against your cheeks, your neck when he leaves a trail of open-mouthed, lingering kisses along the edge of your jaw. Part of you imagines him leaving a mark, imagines the rasp of that bear along the inside of your thighs, and your breath hitches.

The hand has wandered from your ass to the very top of your thighs, where your skin is so tender and sensitive that you bounce up onto your tip toes when he lets the pads of his fingers stroke a figure-eight pattern against you. His answering chuckle vibrates somewhere low in your throat, tickles in an exhale of warm air against your collarbone.

“Sensitive, sugar?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

And that’s just about the only answer you give because then he’s inching your panties to the side, and one finger dips between your lips, and you have no air left in your lungs to form words with.

“Jesus,” Jake rasps. “You’re fucking soaked, doll. Have you been like this the whole time?”

You make a soaked noise at the back of your throat. Truth be told, you may have been wet since you walked into this stupid bar. It’s not your fault you’ve been wound tighter than clockwork since that night you first met him, it’s not your fault he’s so unfairly hot, not your fault he kept looking at you like he was mentally undressing you, not your fault he…

His finger finds your clit, applies a steady kind of pressure, and you throw your head back and moan so loudly you’re glad the parking lot is abandoned.

He grins again. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Then he’s kissing you again, his finger rubbing circles against you. You can barely keep up with the movement of his tongue, can’t really do anything but open your mouth and take what he’s giving you. The metal of the car is cold against your back, your head.

“Hold this,” he mutters without breaking the kiss, bunching the fabric of your dress up around your stomach and shoving it into one of your hands.

You do as he says, giving him better access to you. His mouth trails from your lips to your jugular, where your pulse is jumping so quickly it’s making you dizzy, as he slides your panties down your legs, taps the side of your thigh to signal you to step out of them. You go one foot at a time, knees feeling like jelly, but Jake steadies you. Bending down to retrieve the underwear, he presses a kiss to your kneecap on his way and mutters, “Good girl.”

Then he’s back up, your panties a crumpled up piece of fabric in his hand, and he presses his face right into the lace. Inhales deeply.

You’re going to pass out.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “can’t wait till I get that taste, sugar. You really are just the sweetest thing, aren’t you?”

It’s not really a question, but you still think it warrants some kind of answer. Your brain won’t cooperate, though. It’s completely and utterly blank.

You think he’s going to chuck the panties into the truck or something, but instead, he shoves them into one of his pockets, a bit of the pink lace peeking over the denim, and you swear you get even wetter.

“Souvenir,” he says, winks at you, and then you’re grabbing him by the collar, pulling him in, in, in, shoving your mouth to his, and kissing him like you want to drown.

If Jake is at all surprised by your sudden initiative, he doesn’t let it on. He takes as well as you give (if not better), fingers digging into your bare ass, your thighs, one sliding through your wetness and then inside of you. You whimper against his mouth as he fucks that finger in steadily, as he thumbs at your clit. Cling to him with both arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

The sound of gravel crunching beneath feet reaches you as if through a fog. Thankfully, Jake is quicker on his feet than you are, pulling his fingers out of you, tugging your dress down to cover you, and angling his body to shield you from whoever is approaching their car. 

You can’t believe this is happening to you.

“Seresin,” the man calls as he unlocks his car door. Most of your vision is blocked by Jake’s shoulder, but you see the silhouette of someone raising their hand in a wave.

Jake tips his hat in response, arms protective and reassuring around you. He greets, “Hal,” then stays just as he is until the sound of the engine has died away in the buzz of the cicadas and the faraway traffic of the highway.

“Shit,” he curses, but there’s a chuckle to his voice. “You alright, sweetheart?”

The thing is this: you actually are alright, apart from the very, very insistent thrum between your legs Jake is doing nothing to help with. In fact, you’re more than alright. It’s exciting in a way you can’t explain, to be right here in the open with him, to know he wants you so much he’s willing to do this where anybody could possibly see. To know you want him so much you don’t even care. But also to feel so incredibly safe with him, to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’ll take care of you no matter what…

This one, you definitely can’t blame on the alcohol. 

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Can we… can we get in your car, maybe?”

Jake nods immediately. “Sure thing, sugar.” He unlocks the car door and opens it for you. “You want me to drive you home? I can…”

But you don’t let him finish. For the second time that night, you pull him by the collar, shove him down into the passenger seat and then climb after, clambering into his lap with your knees pressing into the cushion by his hips. Behind you, you pull the door closed with a resounding thud.

Jake’s truck smells like the air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror, but you barely take note of that. He throws his hat in the general direction of the driver’s seat. His face is just inches from yours, his hands immediately settling on your ass, his eyes wide and blown, and his lip curling in a surprised, pleased smile.

“Sure you don’t wanna do this in a bed?” he asks, but his fingers are already shoving beneath the fabric of your dress again.

You shake your head, lower yourself down until you feel his cock against you, until you both exhale in shaky unison. “Owe you that ride,” you mutter and lean in to kiss him.

It’s torture after that. Jake kisses you like he’s trying to climb into your body, tugs at your hair until you feel each pull like sparks of electricity down to your clit. He pulls your dress down your shoulders, lets it pool around your stomach to get his mouth on your nipples even over the fabric of your bra, the lace soaked through with his spit and your skin aching. All the while, you grind against him, spread your wetness all over his denim as Jake ruts up into the movement, the friction almost unbearable. On every hitch of your hips forward, the obnoxious belt buckle nudges against your clit, and it almost undoes you - the cold of the metal against your heat enough to have your eyes rolling into the back of your head, your mouth opening around moans of Jake’s name.

Finally, he seems to crack, reaching around you to prop open the glove compartment and get out a condom. You watch as he finally unzips his jeans, gets out his cock, and hisses as he rolls the rubber down. Your heart is in your throat with the anticipation of it all.

And then you spot it.

In a split-second decision, propelled by something that must border on madness, you stretch across the middle console, reaching for the driver’s seat.

Jake frowns. “Where you going, sugar?”

“Just…” You strain until you can finally get your hands on the soft fabric, and then you’re sinking back down into his lap, your cunt rubbing over him, and a long, languid moan escaping you before you place his hat on your head.

Jake blinks at you for a moment, eyes glassy, mouth open, the fingers on your hips tightening.

“Jesus,” he whispers, “you gonna wear that, sweetheart?”

You can’t read his face, can’t read the expression, and the uncertainty slams into your chest like an iron-clad fist. Maybe this was a bad idea.

But Jake groans, says, “You gonna wear my hat as you ride my cock, sugar? That’s how you wanna play this thing?”

And shit. Okay, then.

“Yeah,” you breathe, plant both hands on his shoulders. “Can I?”

In answer, he surges forward to kiss you at the same time that he pulls you down on his cock. It’s a stretch, and it’s a slow slide down, but it feels so good, it makes you go a little crazy. You cling to him, let him kiss you, let him dig his fingers into the skin of your hips, pant into his mouth.

When he finally bottoms out, you can’t tell how long it’s been. Your legs are already shaking, your head spinning, your words failing.

Gently, Jake pinches your side. He’s undeniably beautiful, face painted in the neon lights of the far-off bar, shadows crowding behind him. His lips pink and swollen from the nip of your teeth. His eyes lidded and glazed. “Go on then, sugar. You owe me.”

You whimper and obey, move yourself up and down on him slowly at first. The slide of his cock in and out, the clench of your cunt around him each time, as if your body doesn’t want to relinquish its hold on you. His fingers on you as he finally slides your bra off. His lips on your collarbone, then on your breasts, his teeth grazing a nipple, his tongue soothing the sting… It’s almost too much, all of it.

The cubicle is filled with your sounds, the quiet gasps and the loud whines, with Jake’s moans muffled against your skin.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “god, you feel so fucking good, sugar.”

You just nod in answer, the hat almost slipping over your eyes again, and up the pace. You’re all but slamming yourself down on his cock now, the sounds obscene. It’s the wet squelch of your pussy every time he spears into you, the frantic slap of skin on skin as your thighs meet his, the noise of his mouth on your tits.

It goes on forever, something that spirals higher and higher and never reaches the pinnacle. The windows fog up. Your thighs ache. You chase a high that eludes you, time and again.

And all through it, Jake’s hands remain infuriatingly stagnant on your hips.

Finally, you give in and whine, “Jake….”

You can barely keep up the bouncing, your thighs trembling with the pent-up desire, the strain of the movement. In fact, you’re shaking all over, so far gone you can’t even control your own muscles anymore. Sweat drips in steady tracks down your back.

“Hmm?” The sight of him, his hair disheveled by your fingers as he trails a line of wet kisses from your clavicle down between the valley of your breasts, is almost too much. 

“I can’t….” You slump against him, the fatigue catching up with you, pant into the place where his collarbone dips in.

“You tired, doll?”

Without lifting your head, you nod.

His laughter brushes over your hair on an exhale. If you had any strength left in you, you might feel insulted at the fact that he’s laughing at your plight. But the alcohol and the exhaustion and the night in total have finally caught up with you, and you can’t think of anything but your dizzying, deafening, debilitating need to cum.

“That’s too bad,” he says, “You promised me a ride, didn’t you?”

And, like… fuck him, honestly.

“I’m too tired,” you whine, and you’re not too ashamed to admit it. Haven’t you been doing all the work for long enough?

Jake clicks his tongue and pats along the length of your spine. In a voice like melting honey, he says, “You want to come, don’t you, doll?”

You nod, words drifting far away from you like letting go of a balloon.

“Well.” He presses a kiss to your temple that is too soft for the moment. “Then you better get back to work, hmm?”

That’s the breaking point for you.

“Jake,” you say, pushing yourself into an upright position with both palms balanced on his pecs and glare down at his stupid, evil grin, “if you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll go back into that bar and find another cowboy to do it properly.”

You wouldn’t, of course. There isn’t anybody in there you trust the way you trust Jake, not a person you’d want even half as much as you want him.

But Jake doesn’t know that.

The shift is almost immediate.

His eyebrows furrow, his hands tighten on your hips. Something dark crosses his face.

“Don’t talk about other guys while wearing my hat,” he says.

You shrug, motioning to take off his hat. “I will if you can’t fuck me pr….”

Your words trail off into a squeak as Jake fucks his hips up, as his cock plunges into you with more force. Then he’s sitting up straight, wrapping one arm around your waist as he sets a quick, hard rhythm, as he plants a firm hand on the hat and pushes it back down.

“Don’t even say it,” he whispers into your neck as he licks at a drop of sweat, as he sinks his teeth gently into your skin. “You should know better than that, sugar.”

He’s fucking you for real now, hips pistoning in and out with abandon. Your breasts bounce with the force of it, your hands scrabbling for purchase among the curve of his shoulder, the leather of the headrest.

Into your ear, between pants, he’s pouring buckets of filth, saying, “They couldn’t fuck you like this anyway, sugar, and you know it. Nobody but me could give it to you like this, get that pretty pussy this wet, give you the ride of your life….”

Your mouth drops open, sounds pouring from you that could put most porn actresses to shame. When Jake’s fingers find your clit, you have to muffle a full-on scream into his neck.

“Jake,” you whimper, and it’s almost scary how big it is, looming just in the distance. So close now, you’re so goddamn close.

“Yeah,” he’s saying into your hair, planting his feet firmly on the ground and fucking up into your pussy, his cock plunging so deep you swear you feel him in your stomach, “fucking take it. You better not forget who’s fucking cock you’re taking, sugar, who’s hat you’re wearing, who….”

You don’t hear the rest of it. All you can think of is the weight of the hat on your head. All you can think of is that label on the inside of it.

Property of J. Seresin.

You cum with a strangled shout, with your cunt clamping down so hard on Jake’s cock he grunts, with a gush of wetness, with your back arching far enough the hat tips backward off your head, with your fingers and toes numb, with your head somewhere in the clouds, with your blood rushing in your ears, and your heart like a sledgehammer and your arms around his neck. And then you sob, gasp for breath, wriggle like a fish on land.

“That’s my girl,” Jake is saying into your ear when you regain enough presence of mind to tap back into your hearing. “Look so pretty when you come on my cock, Jesus, you’re so fucking tight, sugar, God….”

He pumps his hips a few more times before the rhythm stutters, before he groans and tenses and empties into the condom. His cock twitches inside of you, and you moan weakly, slumped against his chest as you are.

Jake’s arms wrap around you as he hauls you closer to press kisses down the slope of your shoulder.

“You good?” he asks softly.

You nod, eyes fluttering closed. God, you could fall asleep right here - completely sated, completely exhausted, completely full.

“Jake?” you whisper, and as your lips move against his skin, you taste the salt of sweat.

“Yeah, sugar?”

“Can I keep your hat?”

It’s so warm in the car, and he’s even warmer. Soon, you’re going to have to climb off him, going to have to pull your dress back on, let him take you home and step under the shower, wash off the remnants of this night, of this thing that will never happen again. Something you’ll keep locked in your heart forever, a warm, soft memory to melt you in the cold.

But just for now, you get to keep it. For another minute, for another moment.

Jake laughs, his shoulders shaking and your body moving with it.

“Since I’m keeping the panties,” he says, his voice almost tender. “Sure thing, sugar. It’s all yours.”

You press your smile into his chest, preen as he reaches around you to put the hat back on you, and then you think, Thank God for Carrie Underwood.

30/09/22: IT IS FRIDAY AND I’M GOING TO BINGE READ THIS!!! prologue was perfect, so much tension, (i read a couple of chapters already and i’ll work my way through reblogging with highlights, but i already know this bradley is a dickkkkkkkkk and i can’t help but KNOW i’m gonna fall for him and i’m already waiting for his redemption arc!!! i know you’ll do it justice!!! i loved the whole college setting, the halloween party, BRADLEY AND JAKE BEING KIND OF ROOMATES I LOVE IT BRING IN ALL THE DRAMA!!! you’re so creative!!! OK TIME FOR MY FAVORITE PARTS:

can i just say i love that you start with this “It’s just that Bradley’s determined to do it right this time around.” and it sounds SO SWEET and SO BRADLEY and then everything goes off the rails after and he’s a dick and i just loved you breaking all expectations.

“He would already be there if his Mom hadn’t gotten sick when she did. He doesn’t want to think about that tonight.” he’s just emotionally unavailable we can fix him 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 we wil fix him!!!

“Bradley’s brows furrow slightly as he looks back down at you again. You stare at him, willing something in that stupid beefy brain to figure out what you’re trying to do. He looks back at the frat boy. It clicks.” a sprinkle of fake dating i’ll take it. thank you. AND I ALSO LOVED HOW WE GET INTRODUCED TO HER!!!

“You look up at him, the red plastic fireman’s hat dangling a little too loosely off of your head.” love this description!!!

“He’s handsome. You haven’t seen him around before. Reddish-blondish-brownish hair. Cute moustache. You love facial hair. Even cuter red blush to his cheeks. Freckles on his nose.” reddish-blondish-brownish is the most accurate description of bradley’s hair i’ve read to date akhcjsjdjsjd it changes so much with the lighting like??? anyways. you are correct.

“Because before you did, you were a ten. Now… I’m thinking somewhere along the lines of a four.” He answers. You turn your gaze towards him and he’s smiling. You lift your cup and bump it against his.” ooooooh a little degrading a little flirtingggggg

“You’re cute for a longhorns fan.” He leans against the island and wets his lips with his tongue. You smile at him. “You always come with the leather shorts?”

“You wish.” You answer.” YOU’RE SO SO GOOD AT WRITING DIALOGUE I CAN’T EMPHASIZE IT ENOUGH!!!

“I will suck your dick right now if you can prove to me that you have a Paul O’Neill signed baseball.” WELL-

“He drops the ball onto his desk and reaches for his belt, shrugging his shoulders as he tugs at the leather dramatically, “Well, I sure hope that your head game is better than your negotiating skills.” he’s such a little shit!!!

“Fuck. Bradley’s frozen in the hallway, having a crisis of faith, wondering how the hell he is going to live with the fact that he fucked Jake’s girlfriend. In his defence, Jake hasn’t mentioned a girl in months. Fuck. Bradley really hopes Jake doesn’t —” this whole part was too funny, bradley going through all possible scenarios shchhshxhshdhd

“Your lip quirks slightly. Sure, he’s shy now — he certainly wasn’t when he had you folded into his mattress at 3am.” i just know that flashbacks are going to KILL ME.

“Have you met my baby sister?” Jake asks.” AND THERE IT IS!!!!!!!!!!!

“This is Bradley, he’s our running back.” Jake explains. You nod politely. You tell him it’s nice to meet him. Bradley burns red.” love this!!! favorite line!!!

and i loved it when you switched from describing bradley being uncomfortable in this scene to her being uncomfortable as well shxhsjhchshhdhss you switch their povs with so much ease!!!

“It’s mutual. Neither of you plan on speaking ever again.” BUT YOU WILLLLLLLLL!!!

so so so good as always. you never disappoint.

My Future in You | Prologue |Bradley Bradshaw x Seresin ! Reader

Synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be out of the academy by now. Instead, he’s retaking his senior year of college and praying to god that he gets into flight school. Mav’s gone, his mom’s gone. He’s mad at the world. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

Warnings: allusions to sex (fear not, there will be flashbacks in later chapters), eventual accidental pregnancy, angst, drama etc etc, enemies to lovers if you wanna call it that, no major warnings in this chapter

…

“Smile, dude, you’re bumming me out.” Jake elbows Bradley playfully. Bradley turns his head and plasters a forced grin onto his face, then leans back against the wall behind him. He brings the red cup to his mouth and drinks.

“It’s Halloween — the sluttiest night of the year, stop crying about your midterm and enjoy it!” Jake pats Bradley’s shoulder and heads for the living room. Bradley purses his lips as he looks around him.

He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek. Jake, for once, is right. A C-minus probably isn’t worth sulking over. It’s just that Bradley’s determined to do it right this time around. If he does, then this time next year he’ll be in flight school and things will be back on track.

He would already be there if his Mom hadn’t gotten sick when she did. He doesn’t want to think about that tonight.

He looks down at the brown liquid in his cup and swishes it around, deciding that the plastic looks empty enough again for a refill. Bradley turns and heads for the kitchen, brushing past a sea of horny co-eds as he does.

He steps into the kitchen with his head down, grabbing a bottle of jack from the centre of the kitchen island. He pours it, mixes it with coke.

“Here he is.” A hand wraps around his forearm. Bradley looks up, brows raised, confused. You loop your arms around his arm, press your body into his side. Bradley looks down at the barely dressed firefighter hanging off of his arm, then up at the person you’re looking at, a lanky guy from another frat with a pissed off look on his face. “This is my Adam. Hi, baby.” You breathe out, squeezing your arms around his and then smiling up at him.

Bradley’s brows furrow slightly as he looks back down at you again. You stare at him, willing something in that stupid beefy brain to figure out what you’re trying to do. He looks back at the frat boy. It clicks.

“Oh.” He says out loud. “Yeah. I’m… Adam.”

Not one of you is impressed with his less than Oscar-worthy performance. Bradley smiles at the frat boy. He looks back at you.

“This guy bothering you?” He asks bluntly. Absolutely no regard for the picture you’re trying to paint of letting this guy down gently. You look up at him, the red plastic fireman’s hat dangling a little too loosely off of your head.

He’s handsome. You haven’t seen him around before. Reddish-blondish-brownish hair. Cute moustache. You love facial hair. Even cuter red blush to his cheeks. Freckles on his nose.

“No, we were just talking.” The other guy puts his hands up defensively. Bradley tilts his head at him. “I didn’t realise she had a boyfriend. Sorry, man.”

Even though you had told him you had a boyfriend eight times and had even made up a fake name and backstory for the imaginary individual.

You pull yourself closer to Adam, who studies anthropology, is left handed and drives a 2006 Toyota Corolla, then grin at the frat boy sweetly. Bradley watches him leave the kitchen. Once he’s gone, Bradley’s chin turns and he looks down at you. You realise you’re still curled around his arm, resting your cheek against his bicep. It feels strong. Warm. He smells nice.

You withdraw quickly.

“Sorry.” You giggle sheepishly. His eyes aren’t on your face anymore. His lips quirk as he looks you up and down.

“‘S alright,” He answers, lifting his drink and taking a sip. You stand back and watch the way he checks you out so unashamedly. You smile. “Wouldn’t leave you alone?” He nods his head in the direction that little asshole just scuttled off in.

“Yeah, he’s been bugging me for like an hour.” You explain. You hold your hand out towards the stranger in an eagles jersey and tell him your name.

This time he smiles. He takes your hand and shakes it loosely. “Bradley.”

“Who are supposed to be?” You ask. He’s just wearing jeans and a green jersey. He smiles around his cup and turns around. Your eyes linger on the way his shoulders stand out, the way the fabric grows looser around the bottom of his toned back. He points to the name on the back of the jersey with his free hand.

“Nick Foles.”

You scoff. “Man, that is scary.”

Bradley scrunches his nose as you turn and grab vodka from the island. You grab a new cup, nodding your head to the music as you go. The stupid plastic fireman’s hat wobbles on your head as you move.

“Oh really? — Who’s your team?”

“Longhorns, through and through.”

Bradley visibly grimaces. He shakes his head as he takes a long gulp. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”

“Why’s that?” You challenge him, mixing pineapple juice with your triple measure of vodka.

“Because before you did, you were a ten. Now… I’m thinking somewhere along the lines of a four.” He answers. You turn your gaze towards him and he’s smiling. You lift your cup and bump it against his.

“You know what? — I agree,” You tell him sweetly. Bradley’s just thinking about how diplomatic of an answer that was, how level-headed and sweet you must be, when you continue. “We’re both fours.”

Bradley scrunches his face up, “I’m a four?”

You turn your body fully towards him. You look him up and down. Shrug your shoulders. “On a good day, I can’t see why you wouldn’t be.”

He smiles at you.

“You’re cute for a longhorns fan.” He leans against the island and wets his lips with his tongue. You smile at him. “You always come with the leather shorts?”

“You wish.” You answer.

He takes a drink, then nods his head as he looks unashamedly at the fishnets that disappear under the black leather. “I do.”

You bite your cheek. He watches you drink from the cup.

“What’s your major?”

You lean into him. Tell him that you don’t go to school here, you’re just here with some friends visiting your big brother. He studies political science. He’s a senior.

You are too, but you have to mention that you’re graduating two years early. He teases you for being a know it all. He’s easy enough to get along with. Even easier to look at.

“No you don’t.” You scoff at him. You tilt your head and the fireman’s hat wobbles. “You’re just trying to get me upstairs.”

Maybe. Rooster grins, pleased that you’re playing along. But he really does have the ball. He opens his mouth to tell you the story. All about how his Uncle Mav took him to a game on his seventh birthday and made sure they left with a signed ball. He closes it again.

He shakes his head, not wanting to think of Mav. He’s having a good time, he can’t let that asshole ruin it.

“Seriously, I have a signed Paul O’Neill baseball. It’s in my room.” He nods his head, pouring himself another jack and coke. “I’d offer to show you, but I don’t know if I can trust a longhorn.”

You smile at him sweetly and tilt your head to the side, offering him a wink, “You shouldn’t.”

He sticks his hand out, “I’m sold. Come on. This way.” He takes your hand in his without waiting for you to extend it to him.

You giggle as he pulls you from the kitchen.

You take a sip of your drink and set it on his nightstand. You silently judge his bedsheets. He could’ve come up with something a little more original than navy blue.

“I’m not an interior decorator.” He reminds you.

“Thank god, I don’t think you’d be very successful.” You answer back. He chuckles softly as he crosses the room to you. You lift your chin, lips hinting at a smile.

He tilts back the plastic fireman’s hat, then lowers his head and kisses your mouth. You relax against his chest, grabbing at his hips as he grabs at the back of your neck.

“Mm, what about the baseball?” You remind him. He furrows his brows as he pulls back to look at you, he’s halfway to smiling.

“You really want to see it?” He asks.

“I will suck your dick right now if you can prove to me that you have a Paul O’Neill signed baseball.” You’re certain he’s lying. Bradley raises his eyebrows. He chuckles as he lets you go and turns around.

You watch him pull open his closet. He pulls a box down from the top and opens it. He’s standing a little bit away but you can see the box is filled with childhood trinkets and sports memorabilia.

He turns back towards you and presents the baseball in and open palm. He watches as you read the signature and look up at him silently. Your mouth twitches as you try not to laugh.

He drops the ball onto his desk and reaches for his belt, shrugging his shoulders as he tugs at the leather dramatically, “Well, I sure hope that your head game is better than your negotiating skills.”

You laugh as you grab a fistful of his jersey and pull him forward into you. He tucks an arm around you as you fall into soft navy sheets, his knee slides between yours, his hand cupping your jaw as he works his lips against yours.

The next morning he slips out of bed early and goes for a run like he always does. Showers next. Doesn’t spend much time thinking about the girl that he left in his bed. Not until he comes back downstairs in the late morning in search of something edible that isn’t last night’s pizza.

He scrunches his face as he rounds the bottom of the stairs. He looks down the hall into the kitchen. You’re in the kitchen, in a new outfit and tidying up last night’s mess. Did you bring an overnight bag to a frat party?

Bradley hesitates at the end of the hall. He considers how to politely tell you to stop cleaning and leave. This hasn’t ever been a problem before. When girls wake up and he’s gone, they usually take the hint and leave. He should ask-

Jake.

Jake swings an arm around your shoulder and hugs you tight to his chest. He’s in sweatpants and a hoodie, his hair isn’t done. He grins as he hugs you. This isn’t how Jake treats girls he hooks up with - he likes to impress them by always looking immaculate and keep them interested with gentle teasing. Bradley’s eyes widen.

Jake must really like you.

Fuck. Bradley’s frozen in the hallway, having a crisis of faith, wondering how the hell he is going to live with the fact that he fucked Jake’s girlfriend. In his defence, Jake hasn’t mentioned a girl in months. Fuck. Bradley really hopes Jake doesn’t —

“Love you.” Jake grins, he messes with your hair as he turns to admire the job you’ve done cleaning up the kitchen this far. Bradley winces. He wonders how quickly he would be able to move out. This is going to make the team dynamic really awkward. Jake still has no idea that Bradley’s even watching. “You’re too good.”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too…” You answer back. Your back is to Bradley. You have no idea that he’s there.

Jake looks up and clocks Bradley standing at the bottom of the stairs through the kitchen doorway. He clasps his hand down onto your shoulder and gives a nod of acknowledgement to his teammate.

“Bradshaw!” Jake smiles, he has no idea. You turn, your eyes meet Bradley’s. He’s wearing a baseball cap to hide the fact that his curls dried weird this morning, and a plain black t-shirt. He smiles sheepishly at you.

Your lip quirks slightly. Sure, he’s shy now — he certainly wasn’t when he had you folded into his mattress at 3am.

“Have you met my baby sister?” Jake asks.

Bradley looks between you and Jake. Fuck, that’s so much worse. Jake’s in an especially good mood this morning. He grins proudly as he tucks his arm around your shoulder. You smile softly. Bradley looks between the two of you again.

He wants to bang his head against the wall.

How the fuck did he not notice that before? - That’s the exact same, smug smile. And you’re a longhorns fan - nobody likes the longhorns but Jake. This is bad. He fights his body’s natural impulse to slap a hand over his mouth.

Bradley realises that he’s still frozen, panicking, stood silent, still at the bottom of the stairs. He wonders if his movements look as robotic as they feel as he heads towards the kitchen. He forces himself to smile politely as he shakes his head. He hopes he isn’t red.

“I don’t think I have.” Bradley answers.

“This is Bradley, he’s our running back.” Jake explains. You nod politely. You tell him it’s nice to meet him. Bradley burns red.

You listen to Jake and Bradley’s small talk as Jake helps you clean the kitchen. Bradley remains firmly on the other side of the counter, like the possibility of coming into contact with you is terrifying. Which, it is.

Bradley knows that Jake likes to hold grudges.

“Alright, I should probably drive you home.” Jake decides finally. You let out a breath of relief and nod gratefully. You can’t stand being in this kitchen a second longer.

It’s bad enough that he snuck out this morning without saying a word. It’s even worse that he’s practically trembling now, worried about what your big brother would think. Lame.

“Nice to meet you, Bradley.”

Bradley smiles for Jake’s sake, his knuckles whitening around the counter as you pass by him.

“Sure — you too.”

It’s mutual. Neither of you plan on speaking ever again.

…

Tag List:

@thedroneranger

@chaoticweirdogeek

@alanadetigy

@itsmytimetoodream

@oldnatgwenaccount

@khaylin27

@bloodforbiod

@luckyladycreator2

@mizzzpink

@mak-32

@cherrycola27

18/08/22: HI!!! ME AGAIN!!! THIS TIME TO SCREAM ABOUT JAKE SERESIN!!!! may, i swear to god, how do you do this???????????? there is no oxygen left in in lungs. you outdo yourself again and again. the way you write jake makes me feels like i’m on a roller coaster. you understand him as a character so well (the day i have the capacity to make a full review of all parts of bad habit is coming soon and i know it’s gonna break me because you dissected him on that one, BEAUTIFULLY BY THE WAY!!!) this cowboy au has ruined me forever and i owe you my life for every story you put out for us to read.

“You flip the hat again and put it on. It’s big enough that it goes slipping down a few inches, almost covering your eyes.

Something on Jake’s face goes taut, his gaze darkens, the fist on the bartop clenches once then relaxes.” my brain is buzzing already. the way you set a scene. the way you describe everything!!!!!!! AND OH- OH- HE’S JUST AS AFFECTED BY THEIR INTERACTION!!!!! WHORE ❤️

“He’s silhouetted by the lights of the bar, bordered by the people crowding behind him to order, but you can’t see anything past the green in his eyes. He’s pushed so close he’s almost between your legs, your thighs like open brackets around the shape of him. The hand at the brim of the hat wanders down your back slowly before settling on the backrest of your stool. It’s not even a touch, just the allusion to it, but your heart goes pitter-patter in your chest.” yeah. you write poetry!!!!! this is poetry!!!!! and the use of “pitter-patter” was very on theme i loved it.

“You don’t know what to say to that - your cheeks feel kind of warm, and your brain is buzzing like a beehive.” exactly the same way i feel when i read your work coincidentally!!!

“You’re a cute one, huh?” he says, voice only a little mocking. He leans into your space, crooked grin so close to you that you can see the stubble forming along his cheeks and jaw, a golden dusting of hair against the sun-kissed skin. For a breathless, head-spinning moment, you think about how it would feel pressed to the inside of your thighs, raspy and tickling and just the right side of painful.

He rights the hat, pushes it higher up on your forehead, and then his hand travels to the back of your neck, stays there. His thumb brushes from the brim of the hat to the knob of your spine, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You let out a shuddering breath, legs clenching.” JESUS CHRIST. HIS HAND TRAVELS TO THE BACK OF YOUR NECK!!!!! STAYS THERE!!!!!! HIS THUMB!!!!!! I JUST DIED!!!!!!

“He laughs, the sound a little heavier than it was before, and says, “You ever dreamed about any of those, too?”

It’s crude, it’s forward, it’s an innuendo so thinly-veiled it’s pretty much translucent. It should make you balk.” JAKE SERESINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN. I HATE HIM. I HATE YOU FOR WRITING HIM LIKE THIS. HOW DARE YOU?

“Anything I could make come true?” he asks.” 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 STOP.

“It’s an offer as much as it is an out. If you pull back now, you’re pretty sure he’d leave you alone. Jake is forward, confident, sure, but he doesn’t seem like the pushy type. For some insane reason, you feel safe with him.” yes to everything here. beautiful. he’s a prince. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

“It starts as a tingle, as pins and needles, and when you look down, you find Jake’s hand on your thigh, just above the knee. Fingers splayed wide, radiating heat. As your heart rate kicks up a notch, you squirm in your seat.” IT STARTS AS A TINGLE!!!!! AS PINS AND NEEDLES!!!! IMAGERY 11110/10 AS ALWAYS. AND THE HIS FINGERS AGAINS PLS DO NOT DO THIS TO ME. favorite lineeeeeee!!!

“See, there’s this rule, sugar,” he says and leans even closer. For a second, you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he just goes on, “You steal the hat, you ride the cowboy.” there is absolutely no rule he is lying to his teeth but i’ll allow this.

“Your brain implodes.” YEAH. NO SHIT.

“Part of you wants to say no. Let Jake take you home or to a bathroom stall or to the back of his pick-up. Make good on that rule you’re not sure he didn’t just make up. Give into the insistent thrumming of want in the pit of your stomach.” YEARNINGGGGGGGGG. their interactions feel so magnetic because of the way you describe them. very insane of you.

“So you clear your throat, slide off the barstool, and right into his arms. For a second, you’re chest to chest, stomach to stomach, then you’re stepping away, wondering distantly just how flustered you look and taking the hat off.” CHEST TO CHEST!!!! STOMACH TO STOMACH!!!!! I LOVE THIS!!!!!!!

“He waves back silently, then casts another long, lingering look at you that makes your heart miss a beat or two.” PLEASE GUYS GO TO THE BATHROOM STALL THERE IS STILL TIMEEEEEEEEE

incredible and showstopping as always. i’m fearing for my life because of part 2. you’re the best ever.

dime store cowboy . hangman

PART TWO

pairing ; cowboy!jake seresin x female!reader

synopsis ; jake teaches you about the cowboy hat rule.

wc ; 2k

warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; explicit language, non-explicit sexual content (it's just flirting)

note: YEEHAW PARDNERS.......... i'm so obsessed with this i'm gonna cry, thank you forever to the anon who requested this. also what if this becomes a series what then WHAT THEN. sorta modified the title from that one kacey musgraves song lol.

sol. sunderlust. you already know what i'm gonna say thank you for being my bestie :(

The whole thing is Carrie Underwood’s fault. You’ll go to your grave swearing it.

It’s just that you’re three strawberry margaritas deep, the lights in the bar are all dimmed, all neon, all flickering, and Jake is leaning into your space like he’s trying to smell your perfume, smiles at you like he’s completely charmed, and then somebody starts playing Before He Cheats on the jukebox and your brain just sorta like. Short-circuits.

The song always gives you an unwarranted burst of confidence, makes you feel like you, too, could vandalize a cheater’s car in a flurry of righteous wrath, so it’s not that difficult to reach up, lifting half out of the bar stool, face suddenly just an inch from his, and steal his hat. The fabric is surprisingly soft beneath your fingers.

At first, Jake looks surprised, his mouth twitching in amusement.

“What you trying to do with that, sugar?” he asks.

And the thing is this. You’re new in town and decidedly more urban (cosmopolitan, you’d like to say, but really, who are we kidding here?) than the rest of the crowd. It’s all a bit strange, all unfamiliar, but when your co-workers invited you out for a Friday night of drinks at the local bar, you were beyond grateful. It was supposed to be a nice little get-together among people who would hopefully become friends. You didn’t expect a guy who looks like he could be Mr. August in a calendar dedicated to half-naked hot cowboys doing various types of manual labor to walk up to you and start flirting like his life depends on it.

At least you think he’s flirting…? You’re not that well-versed in this whole thing.

You shrug, hope you look more confident than you feel.

“When I was little,” you say, turning the hat over and peeking at the inside, where a label proudly states Property of J. Seresin. You let a finger run over it, tracing the shape of his name. “I used to dream about being a cowgirl.”

You flip the hat again and put it on. It’s big enough that it goes slipping down a few inches, almost covering your eyes.

Something on Jake’s face goes taut, his gaze darkens, the fist on the bartop clenches once then relaxes.

“Did you, now?” he asks, his voice suddenly lower, and he takes a step closer. His hip knocks against your knee where you’re angled toward him, every point of your body unconsciously straining closer during the conversation. He tips the hat back an inch or two from your forehead, clearing your vision, and looks down at you, searches your face for something. “Looking good.”

He’s silhouetted by the lights of the bar, bordered by the people crowding behind him to order, but you can’t see anything past the green in his eyes. He’s pushed so close he’s almost between your legs, your thighs like open brackets around the shape of him. The hand at the brim of the hat wanders down your back slowly before settling on the backrest of your stool. It’s not even a touch, just the allusion to it, but your heart goes pitter-patter in your chest.

“Do I?” you ask, breath hitching, legs bouncing with the nerves of it all.

You just don’t do this sort of stuff. Flirting with people, letting strangers chat you up in bars, going along with the quips and the banter and the coy touches… you’re so out of your element. And even Carrie Underwood and her misplaced pep talks have deserted you now. She just threw the match, and then she hightailed it out of here. Traitor.

Jake nods. “You’re real pretty, sugar,” he says. “I especially like the hat with that dress.”

You glance down at yourself and grin. The dress is decidedly too much for a joint where everybody else seems to show up in denim or flannel. You’re just glad you skipped heels in favor of sneakers to dress the whole thing down - you would have stood out like a sore thumb in the sea of cowboy boots.

“This isn’t really… saloon appropriate, is it?”

He laughs, and the sound of it warms your chest. “Not exactly,” he agrees. “But I like it. It suits you.”

“How so?”

Jake lifts a shoulder in a shrug, something unreadable playing about his mouth. “Makes it look like you’re not from here.”

You frown and ask, “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Sugar,” Jake chuckles, and the sound of that stupid, ridiculous pet name sends a shiver down your back, “that’s just about the highest compliment I could ever give a girl.”

You don’t know what to say to that - your cheeks feel kind of warm, and your brain is buzzing like a beehive. 

“I can’t really… see in this thing,” you mumble, tugging at the brim that keeps slipping. Suddenly a little frail.

Jake laughs again, and you decide that you don’t just like the sound - you love it. 

“You’re a cute one, huh?” he says, voice only a little mocking. He leans into your space, crooked grin so close to you that you can see the stubble forming along his cheeks and jaw, a golden dusting of hair against the sun-kissed skin. For a breathless, head-spinning moment, you think about how it would feel pressed to the inside of your thighs, raspy and tickling and just the right side of painful.

He rights the hat, pushes it higher up on your forehead, and then his hand travels to the back of your neck, stays there. His thumb brushes from the brim of the hat to the knob of your spine, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You let out a shuddering breath, legs clenching.

“So you dreamed about being a cowgirl, yeah?” he asks, withdrawing his hand and taking a swig of his beer.

You blink a few times until your vision goes from blurred to focused. Then you clear your throat. “Yeah, like… in elementary school, I think.”

“What’s your opinion on cowboys, then?”

You shrug, turn your upper body sideways to finger the stem of your cocktail glass. “I suppose they have their uses.”

He laughs, the sound a little heavier than it was before, and says, “You ever dreamed about any of those, too?”

It’s crude, it’s forward, it’s an innuendo so thinly-veiled it’s pretty much translucent. It should make you balk.

But there’s something about the night. The music, the drinks, the boy. The heat of the summer outside and the thrill of a new town and a new dress and a new life. It all makes you feel a little bit dangerous, a little bit sexy, a little bit loose. Maybe just for one night, you can pretend to be someone else. Let your hair down.

“Maybe,” you say, hoping it comes off mysterious instead of guarded, closed-off, disinterested. You turn to take a sip of your margarita, and then, in a move so bold not even Carrie Underwood and her car-wrecking could claim it, you lick the salt off the rim of the glass.

When you glance up at him again, his pupils are blown so wide there’s barely any green left visible. He’s looking right at your mouth.

“Anything I could make come true?” he asks.

It’s an offer as much as it is an out. If you pull back now, you’re pretty sure he’d leave you alone. Jake is forward, confident, sure, but he doesn’t seem like the pushy type. For some insane reason, you feel safe with him.

“Depends,” you say. Your voice has gone so quiet you’re surprised he can hear you over the din of the bar. The song has changed, but you don’t recognize the tune. You can’t focus on anything except the man right in front of you anyway.

He doesn’t ask what it depends on, and you’re glad because you don’t have an answer for him. You’re playing this whole thing by ear, and apparently, your hearing is impaired.

It starts as a tingle, as pins and needles, and when you look down, you find Jake’s hand on your thigh, just above the knee. Fingers splayed wide, radiating heat. As your heart rate kicks up a notch, you squirm in your seat.

Jake raises his free hand and tips two fingers to the brim gently. “You know what this means, pretty girl?”

His thumb traces a path up the inside of your thigh, leaves goosebumps in its wake. Suddenly, your mouth is drier than the Sahara desert.

“What?” you ask stupidly. You feel like there’s an entirely separate conversation happening here, one you aren’t really following.

He smirks, but his eyes don’t move from your face. “It’s not really something good girls do.”

You’re distracted by the tuft of hair protruding from the unbuttoned collar of his flannel, the same color as his beard. You wonder if it stretches all the way down beneath the obnoxiously large belt buckle.

Your voice has gone airy. “Why not?”

He hums, fingers traveling just a little higher up on your thigh, almost creeping beneath the fabric of your dress now. You hope you’re not sticky with sweat. It’s so hot in here. But then his fingernails scrape over your skin, the softest of touches, and that thought dissipates along with any other.

“See, there’s this rule, sugar,” he says and leans even closer. For a second, you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he just goes on, “You steal the hat, you ride the cowboy.”

Your brain implodes. If you tried to get up right now, you’re pretty sure you’d keel right over.

“Does that really exist?” you ask, voice barely more than a whisper. He’s so close that you can smell his aftershave, can count the freckles scattered on his nose. So close if you just lean in an inch, half an inch, just a bit…

Somebody says your name, and you almost topple backward off the bar stool in your attempt to put distance between him and you.

Your co-worker stands a step behind you, eyebrow raised and a disapproving look on her face.

“I’m heading home now. You still need that ride?”

Part of you wants to say no. Let Jake take you home or to a bathroom stall or to the back of his pick-up. Make good on that rule you’re not sure he didn’t just make up. Give into the insistent thrumming of want in the pit of your stomach.

But there’s a rational part of you left, too, one that hasn’t drowned in margaritas or the green of Jake’s eyes yet. One that remembers who you really are, truly, beneath the thin veneer of tonight’s pretense.

So you clear your throat, slide off the barstool, and right into his arms. For a second, you’re chest to chest, stomach to stomach, then you’re stepping away, wondering distantly just how flustered you look and taking the hat off.

“Thanks for letting me borrow this,” you say sheepishly and hand it back to him.

Jake smirks, something in his eyes twinkling.

“Always happy to make a lady’s dreams come true,” he says, popping the hat back on. “Anytime, Ma’am.”

You grope around for your purse blindly, a lump in your throat that makes it impossible to speak. That and the fact that you have no idea how to answer that.

“Seresin.” Your co-worker nods at him.

He waves back silently, then casts another long, lingering look at you that makes your heart miss a beat or two.

“I’ll see you around?” you ask, voice trembling like a leaf in a thunderstorm.

The corner of Jake’s mouth lifts in a grin. 

“You can count on it,” he says and tips his hat at you. “I believe you may owe me a ride.”

21/09/2022: AND THEY ARE BACK!!! JUST AS HORNY AS EVER!!! AND NOW ENGAGED?????? hello??? jordan i need to know every single detail about this!!! 😭😭😭🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲 the song choice that inspired this was genius, as always your writing is everything that is good in this world. here are my favorite parts:

“Bradley groaned. “- I kinda need you - like need you?” i do like my man a little pathetic and that’s okay ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

“It was quiet on your side of the line and Bradley briefly thought the call had dropped until he heard you humming Afternoon Delight.

He scoffed. “Very funny…”

“My motto’s always been when it’s right it’s right. Why wait until the middle of a cold dark night…” this was actually hilarious.

“Even if he was only in the building to have a quickie with his fiancée.” FIANCÉEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE HE ALREADY PROPOSED IN THIS JORDAN I NEED TO KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS PROPOSAL YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND-

“You must be Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw?” Bradley nodded. “She said the commander part was important.”

Fucking brat.” bratty smart aleck you will always be famous and loved!!! i love how she gets under his skin even through OTHER PEOPLE!!!

“You snuck your hands underneath his black t-shirt. He sucked in a breath as the cool metal of your engagement ring glided across his abs and he gripped your thighs tightly in response.” engagement ring ✨✨✨✨ details ✨✨✨✨✨

“You were a dream. And you were sitting right in front of him.” tell me why i’m getting teary over smut?

“The same hands that had just been throttling the clutch of his plane as he cruised above the Mojave Desert less than an hour ago.” love this comparison.

“You get this wet talking about supply chain management?” STOPSJCHSHCHSHDHD WHY IS HE LIKE THISSSDHHSXHHSS

“You know, at first I thought I wouldn’t last long when I finally saw you, but now it seems like you’re the one who’s not gonna last, huh, sweetheart?” i think writing dirty talk might be one of life’s hardest puzzles because what works for someone might not work for someone else, and it has to fit the characters and yet you thrive every time!!!!!!!!!

“But - but you called - me…”

“Hmmm, but they don’t know that.” You keened.” LIKE????????? MY BRAIN IS SHORT CIRCUITING??!!!!!

“I just wanted to - to take care of you -”

“- Seems like I’m the one taking care of you right now…” 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 BASTARD!!!!!!!!!!!

“You arched your back at his words, always loving whenever he called you smart. But you both also loved whenever he rendered you stupid. - whenever he fucked you stupid.” duality ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🤞🤞🤞🤞🤞

“God, he couldn't believe he was fucking the smartest, most capable girl in the world right now. Such a fucking pretty picture you painted.” oh he’s so in love with her!!!!

“After that, you just kept babbling - about what Bradley wasn’t able to follow. But you still managed to sound smart and that was all he cared about.” ABOUT WHAT BRADLEY WASN’T ABLE TO FOLLOWJDJSHCJSJFJDJDJDJD BYE

“Thrust. Cry. Grunt. Clench.” TO ME, THIS IS POETRY!!!

“Your body slumped against the glass window before Bradley pulled you against his chest, knowing you needed to be held close right now.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“You always needed to be close to him after sex and he was always there to take care of you. Whether it was telling you how good of a job you had done or petting your hair and cleaning you up - Bradley always wanted to take care of you. You were his girl, just like he was your Bradley.” ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒 he always wanted to take care of her!!!!! and he always did!!!!!!!!

poor receptionist definitely heard them skchsjhcjschsdjsjjd aaaaaaaa this was DELIGHTFUL!!! i’ll take anything and everything related to bradley and smart aleck at any time of any day.

skyrockets in flight, afternoon delight

Summary: in which lieutenant commander bradshaw has a little too much adrenaline pumping through his veins after a test flight at work and needs to ask his girl for a favor...

OR office sex - just office sex, in your fancy, glass office - and bradley in his flight suit

Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader 3.6k

Warnings: 18+, explicit language, explicit sexual content (p in v, vaginal fingering, public sex(ish) they fuck against a glass window, and as always with these two slight dom/sub and praise and rank kink elements). this entire fic is an hr nightmare

gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight, gonna grab some afternoon delight

“Pick up, pick up, pick up. Come on, sweetheart, pick up.” 

Bradley drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and tapped his left foot on the truck-bed as he sat in some mid-afternoon San Diego traffic. The dial tone had only been droning on for - he glanced at his phone - thirteen seconds, but fuck - everything seemed like an age when he was rocking what felt like the worst semi of his life. 

Because how the fuck did this still happen to him? Wasn’t getting keyed up on adrenaline something that they beat out of cadets in flight school? Bradley sure as hell thought it was -

Your voice suddenly filled the car. “- Hey, bubs.”

“Hey - err hi." Bradley cleared his throat. "Are you uhh - you busy?” 

“I just finished my meetings for the day - what’s wrong?” you asked without any further preamble. 

Fuck, he didn’t want you to be worried. You two normally texted during the day, sure. But a call was a little out of the ordinary. “N-nothing uhh like that. Can I swing by your office? Just kinda need -”

“- You’re scaring me -”

Bradley groaned. “- I kinda need you - like need you? I did this run at work just now and it got me a little keyed up? And fuck - I haven’t felt like this since flight school and I ran through all my soapy titty pics in my office, but nothing’s working and I can’t shake the adrenaline or whatever the -”

“- Fuck.” He could picture you moving around on your desk chair, that skirt you had on this morning riding up your thighs as you subtly rubbed them together, your legs bare but topped off with a pair of heels. “Bradley -”

God it was a miracle he was able to stay in the passing lane. He slipped one hand off the steering wheel to adjust himself. “- I need to fuck you - like now.”

It was quiet on your side of the line and Bradley briefly thought the call had dropped until he heard you humming Afternoon Delight. 

He scoffed. “Very funny…”

“My motto’s always been when it’s right it’s right. Why wait until the middle of a cold dark night…” 

On his end of the line, Bradley groaned. It was a mix of exasperation and longing. He could picture you perfectly, sitting in your office, spinning around on your desk chair with a coy smile on your face. It was a fantasy of his that he had long wanted to play out. 

And now was his chance. 

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes and I want you on your desk waiting for me.” And then he hung up before you could say anything in response. 

-------

Sure enough, Bradley pulled up to your office some ten minutes later - if he had pushed the speed limit a little too much on the last stretch of I-5 to Del Mar then he was just lucky he hadn’t been pulled over. After having dropped you off for work a couple times when your car had been in the shop or you had forgotten something, Bradley knew where to park, but he hadn’t exactly been inside your office before. And he didn’t necessarily think it was the best first impression to be sporting a semi when he met some of your coworkers for the first time. 

So, he quickly glanced around his car, desperate for something to carry to hide his problem until he found a folder of paperwork in the back seat. That could work - he’d say he needed you to sign something and that it had to be notarized by the end of the day - hence the late afternoon drive out to Del Mar. 

As he approached the front doors, his phone buzzed. You’ll have to check in with Margie at the front desk once you get upstairs - I told her you were…coming 

Bradley rolled his eyes. Funny girl. He nodded towards the security guard at the main entrance and was thankful he was wearing his flight suit - it simultaneously created more and fewer questions, but it did give him some legitimacy. 

Even if he was only in the building to have a quickie with his fiancée. 

The elevator ride to the top floor passed quickly and before Bradley knew it, he was approaching the frosted glass doors to your company’s office. He made sure the folder he grabbed out of the car was still covering his crotch area as he walked up to Margie at the front desk.

“You must be Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw?” Bradley nodded. “She said the commander part was important.”

Fucking brat. 

“And you’re Margie?” The older woman simpered and Bradley wouldn’t have minded chatting her up for the next few minutes - if only because he knew it would piss you off - but he really really needed you. He flashed his license, confirming his identity, and Margie printed him off a visitor’s pass. “Just got to drop these forms off for my girl to sign, could you point me in the direction of her office?”

Margie wheeled around her desk, clearly intent on showing him the way herself, but Bradley practically jumped back once she got closer. “I can go myself, just need to be uhh - pointed in the general direction?”

“Oh - of course, just down the hall, take a right, and she’s the fourth door on the left. Pretty sure she’s the only one on her team in the office today. It’s normally pretty quiet on Fridays.”

Thank fucking god. With a final nod towards Margie, Bradley headed down the hallway. The offices were all relatively dark the further he got into the bowels of the building. From your chatting about it, Bradley knew your fourth floor office consisted of floor to ceiling glass windows that looked out onto the street in the back right corner of the building - as opposed to the CAVA and Shake Shack in the front. He took a right and then counted one, two, three, four doors on the left until he saw your name prominently affixed to the wall with your job title underneath it. He groaned. 

His fucking smart girl. 

He knocked on the door and barely waited for your soft come in before pushing the frosted glass door open. And there you were, perched on the edge of your glass desk, just like he had requested. Your plaid, grey skirt was sitting sinfully high on your thighs and your black, heeled Mary Janes made your legs appear even longer than normal. You looked like every one of his fantasies come to life. 

“Jesus, that was fast - did you fly the -”

Bradley crossed the room in two strides, before he pulled you against him. God, you felt as good as he had imagined - better even. You gasped against his lips and twined your arms around his neck, appearing as desperate for him as he was for you.  

He pulled your black silk blouse out of the waistband of your skirt and grabbed your right leg to hike around his waist. His hand - that wasn’t cupping your breast through your bra - slid up your thigh and towards that sweet spot between your legs. And fuck him - you weren’t wearing any underwear. He groaned your name. 

“You do that for me?” You nodded. “I need you so much, you have no idea, sweetheart. Nothing worked, I tried everything, but nothing -”

“- Bra-Bradley,” you said between sighs as he peppered you with kisses, “the door - lock the door…”

Loathe as he was to do it, he quickly pulled away from you to lock the door. When he turned around, you had sat back on the edge of your desk, legs spread open invitingly. 

“God, look at you…” 

You glanced down at his crotch. “And look at you, poor thing,” you said with only the slightest hint of condescension. The folder he had brought into your office was gone - he didn’t really know where, probably somewhere on the floor - so the evidence of his desire, of his need for you was obvious. “Come here.”

Bradley didn’t need to be told twice. You fiddled with the zipper on his flight suit and slowly dragged it down his body until it rested on his hips, where just the hint of his black boxer briefs was visible. 

You snuck your hands underneath his black t-shirt. He sucked in a breath as the cool metal of your engagement ring glided across his abs and he gripped your thighs tightly in response. Your hands slid lower and started palming his cock over his flight suit. The satisfaction was instantaneous and he sighed. Why did your hands always feel so much better than his own? 

“God, Bradley - you’re so wrecked, bubs…” You slipped your hand between the flap on his boxer briefs, pulling his cock out, and he bucked it into your hand. “You want me to suck you off?”

He shook his head tightly. “No, wanna be inside you. S’only thing that’ll help.”

With shaky fingers, Bradley started unbuttoning your black silk blouse, eventually discarding it on your desk. He moaned once he saw your pert breasts peeking out from the cups of your black lace bra. It was one of his favorites and he knew it had a matching pair of underwear that was probably neatly folded away in your tote bag. 

“So gorgeous, needed this…” he babbled, mouthing at your breasts over the black lace. 

Because there was nothing like having the real thing in front of him. The real breasts, the real body, the real you. That was always so goddamn responsive towards him and could talk back and soothe his aching cock with your hands and press both the sweetest and sloppiest kisses across his skin.

You were a dream. And you were sitting right in front of him. 

Bradley snuck his hand behind your back to unclasp your bra and you jutted your breasts out at the action. Your nipples hardened and he palmed them, loving how soft and smooth they felt in his rough and calloused hands. The same hands that had just been throttling the clutch of his plane as he cruised above the Mojave Desert less than an hour ago. 

You grabbed the back of his neck and played with the ends of his hair, pulling him towards you for a kiss and slightly sliding off the edge of your desk in the process. Meanwhile, Bradley repositioned his hands so they were now trailing up your thighs, getting closer and closer to your cunt with every passing second. He could already feel the heat pouring off you and the slick coating the silk lining of your skirt. Maybe once you took care of him, you’d let him have a taste? But for now, his fingers started coaxing your wet folds. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re soaking.” You whined and buried your face in his neck, placing butterfly kisses there. “You get this wet talking about supply chain management?”   

“Kept thinking about you - trying to get off on your own - knowing you had to come all - ohhh - the way here for me to take - take care of you.”

Bradley groaned as he felt you clenching around his fingers. Your own hands were feebly grasping his arms, desperate for any sort of support. 

“Almost wish there were more people in the office today.” 

As he spoke, your lips trailed down his jawline, across his cheeks and neck, before they reached his ear. Your teeth nipped on the lobe and Bradley moaned. 

“They’d see me come in - looking ready to take you on the conference table. Then they’d hear all your pretty little gasps and moans and cries from down the hall, wondering how they’d look you in the eye next time you gave a presentation or bent over to pick something up, knowing they heard you getting fucked against your desk all afternoon like a dirty little slut, cause we both know you can't keep quiet.”

You whimpered. “Ple-please, Bradley. Please.”

“You know, at first I thought I wouldn’t last long when I finally saw you, but now it seems like you’re the one who’s not gonna last, huh, sweetheart?”

You let out a cry as he crooked his fingers just-so. “Bubs -”

“- Shh, shh. You gotta be quiet, sweetheart. Don’t want everyone to hear how much of a needy little thing you are? How you had to call me to come up here to take care of you?”

“But - but you called - me…”

“Hmmm, but they don’t know that.” You keened. Whether it was at the thought of your coworkers finding out how much of a slut you were or how Bradley’s fingers felt as he scissored them in your sopping cunt, he didn’t really care. 

“I just wanted to - to take care of you -”

“- Seems like I’m the one taking care of you right now…” 

“What made you - made you like this, bubs?” You rolled your hips. “Some risky flight man - maneuver? The thought of - mmmm - beating Lieutenant - Com-commander Seresin at something - ”

Fucking brat.  

Bradley growled at the mention of his quasi-nemesis and pulled his fingers back. How dare you get Hangman’s rank right when you always fucked up Bradley’s?

“- Fucking brat -” he stated his previous thoughts. You whimpered.

“- And how much better you are than him?” you continued and the fingers were back. You clenched around them and he bit back a smirk. “How much - ohhh - how much smarter - fa-aster and how much bigger you - Bra-Bradley…”

He couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to have you - all of you - now. Have the one name you were saying be his - not Lieutenant Commander Seresin, but Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw. 

“Think you’re ready, sweetheart?”

You nodded feverishly. “Yes, yes. Need you -”

He briefly held your wrists to stop you pawing at him. “- Need who?”

“Need you - need my Bradley.” Any other time, the response would’ve made him smile, but today it wasn’t quite the answer he was looking for from you. He rubbed the tip of his cock along your entrance, teasingly, and you whimpered. “Fine, fine - need Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw to fuck me.”

His rank was said with an undercurrent of sass, but he could deal with that later when you were home. 

“Good girl.” He cupped your cheek. “Now was that so hard?”

You glanced up at him with a pout. “Please, just fuck me.” 

That did it. Bradley grabbed the backs of your thighs and pulled you even closer, kissing you for all you were worth. Your feet didn’t even touch the floor, they just swung back and forth. 

“Hmm, but there’s much shit on your desk for me to fuck you there. Would hate to mess anything up for my smart girl...” 

You arched your back at his words, always loving whenever he called you smart. But you both also loved whenever he rendered you stupid. - whenever he fucked you stupid.

“Someplace else then?” Bradley glanced around the office, ignoring the two chairs in front of your desk and the bookcases along the inner wall, before landing on the southward facing windows.

You followed his gaze and sighed. “God, can you imagine the mess? You’d have to come inside me, but I’d get to walk around the rest of the afternoon with a present.”

A present.

His cum - dripping down your thighs, dripping onto your desk chair as you talked to your boss or John from emerging markets and even as you said goodbye to Margie. He growled.

“Who’s in that office? The one next door?” He nodded towards the identical glass building to his right. 

“It’s just Deloitte, but it’s Friday so none of them are working anyway.” 

Bradley assumed that was a Big Four joke. “Then I guess they’ll miss it…” He set you down on your already unsteady feet and pulled the two of you over towards the window. You let out a gasp once your back hit the glass and Bradley invaded your space. 

“How do you want me?” You whispered, watching his hands rove up and down your bare arms and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Turn around.” He didn’t give you a chance to do it yourself, he just grabbed your hips and pressed you against the glass wall. Bradley took it as a good sign - he supposed - that he couldn’t see into the office across the way - meant they couldn’t see the two of you either.

You hissed once you made contact with the glass. “It’s cold, bubs.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll warm right up.” His lips trailed up and down your neck until he found your pulse point and sucked. You whined. There’d be a mark there later, but it had all weekend to disappear.

Or not. 

Without much grace, let alone any mind to the dry cleaning, Bradley bunched your skirt up past your hips, baring your ass to him and your sopping wet cunt to whomever may happen to be looking at the fourth floor, back corner office from the outside at half past three on a Friday. 

He widened your stance with his feet and then dragged his right hand across your still wet folds. You whined and rubbed your ass against his crotch. “Want your cock inside me, need to feel you - please…”

And who was he to refuse when you had offered so willingly. “That’s my girl.” 

Bradley pumped himself a couple times before he slid right into you. You both gasped at the sensation and it felt like the coil of frustration that had been Bradley's constant companion for the past hour or so was lessening. 

“God, you feel so good - just what mhmm - what I needed,” he breathed against your ear. His hands gripped your hips tightly underneath your skirt as he thrusted into you from behind. “Why don’t you touch yourself for me, hmmm?”

You leaned your head back against his shoulder, allowing him to nibble at your neck. “Where?”

Without even breaking his stride, Bradley grabbed your right hand and brought it to your clit. You gasped at the action and he coaxed your fingers to play with the little nub. Eventually, he removed his hand from yours, trusting you to do the work on your own. “Good girl.”

Now content, he brought his hand back to your hip. Your little whimpers and moans were the perfect compliment to his deep groans and pants. Plus, the thought of your breasts pressed against the glass was so fucking hot. He couldn’t believe you had agreed to this.

“Why don’t you try and tell me - what you were working on before I called? You know I always love to hear how good my girl’s being at work.”

You braced your left forearm against the glass window. “Oh? Uhhh supply chains…”

“What about ‘em? ‘M just a pilot, what do I know?”

God, he couldn't believe he was fucking the smartest, most capable girl in the world right now. Such a fucking pretty picture you painted.

“Working on a paper on ‘em. And how - how they need to be redesigned - ohhhh - to fo-cus on digitization - harder, bubs plea - ahhh.” You had to stop for a moment. “But supp-liers are worried about - oh, oh, oh dadd - please, plea -”

Bradley kept his rigorous pace, knowing he was getting close. Honestly, it didn’t take much; he was already way too keyed up. Meanwhile, you had been too preoccupied with stringing together a coherent sentence to continue playing with yourself. 

“- About suppliers not being up to the technological challenges of digitization,” you finally shouted in one breath. 

After that, you just kept babbling - about what Bradley wasn’t able to follow. But you still managed to sound smart and that was all he cared about.

“- Cloud networking -”

Thrust. Cry. Grunt. Clench.

“ - IOT -”

Thrust. Cry. Grunt. Keen.

“- Upskilling staff -”

Thrust. Cry. Grunt. Clench.

"- ESG factors - "

Thrust. Cry. Grunt. Keen.

Eventually, you just stopped talking and the only sounds coming from you were pitiful whimpers. 

"What's ESG?" You just shook your head. "Come on, what's it mean?" Bradley bottomed out inside you with a particularly deep thrust.

"Environmentalsocialandgovernance," you cried out in one breath.

"There's my good girl..." Eventually, you just stopped talking and the only sounds coming from you were pitiful whimpers. 

“You good, sweetheart?” You hummed. “Smart girl, good girl.” Bradley snaked his right hand down to your neglected clit and played with you until you cried out. “Ready to come for me?”

You whined and Bradley felt it - felt it all the way to his core. You practically vibrated with need, with want. “‘S too much, please I - I can’t.”

“Wanna come at the same time as you…” 

Bradley loved simultaneous orgasms - knowing he had taken care of you as well as you had taken care of him? There was nothing hotter.

“Just gotta tell me, sweetheart.” He sunk his teeth into your shoulder. “Cause all I wanna feel is your pussy milking my cock…”

By now - after almost two and a half years together - he knew instinctively when you were ready to cum and with one final, deep thrust, his orgasm crashed through him and he spent himself inside you, painting your pussy with his cum, hoping it would spur you along. 

“Oh, oh, oh, fuck - fuck -” You finally came with a cry that was definitely heard in reception. “You fill me so good, dadd - oh, Bradley.”

His cocked twitched one final time, the last streams of his cum filling you up. And he knew that when he pulled out of you, it would drip down your thighs. God, you were so perfect - everything he ever wanted. “I know, I know, such a good girl for me. Always such a good girl for me.”

Your body slumped against the glass window before Bradley pulled you against his chest, knowing you needed to be held close right now. 

The two of you just stood there for a moment, panting for so long that your breathing was finally in sync. He helped you turn around to face each other and you burrowed your face in his neck. You always needed to be close to him after sex and he was always there to take care of you. Whether it was telling you how good of a job you had done or petting your hair and cleaning you up - Bradley always wanted to take care of you. You were his girl, just like he was your Bradley. 

“So,” he said after a moment, “think you can sneak out a little early today?”

-------

a/n: well, that was fun? i guess? shout the fuck out to whoever this anon was that got me on this journey??

small taglist: @sunderlust @fivsecondsflat @notroosterbradshaw @seasonsbloom @cloudycluster @whisperofsong @howdysebby @softspiderling @roosterforme @rae-gar-targaryen

i wish i could feel the same way i felt when i read this for the first time. one of my absolute favorite pieces of writing ever. i think about it all the time.

COMPLETED (2/2)

Part One: “Devils Roll The Dice”

JJ and Y/N‘s friendship has been different since they secretly started hooking up. With new feelings stirred up by the recent change in their relationship, Y/N avoids JJ until the Pogues gather them together for a Fourth of July party that can only end in chaos.

Warnings: Implied sexual content, strong language, alcohol consumption, angst, implied physical abuse, and mild violence.

Word Count: 17k

Part Two: “Angels Roll Their Eyes”

Hurricane Agatha approaches Kildare Island during the aftermath of the eventful Fourth of July party. JJ and Y/N are determined to continue avoiding each other after what happened at the party, but John B, Kiara, and Pope have other plans for them.

Warnings: Smut, strong language, angst, implied physical abuse, depictions of anxiety/panic attacks, and sickeningly sweet fluff.

Word Count: 24k

(gif: @jackpearcsn)

16/09/22: my brain is all tingly i can’t believe this fic actually exists??????? i adore everything about it?????? literally a dream scenario come true that i didn’t even know i wanted/needed?????? i read this a while ago and have been shamelessly rereading it and now i just wanted to highlight my favorite parts because everything is just so perfect, the characters, the atmosphere, THEIR CHEMISTRYYYYYYYYYYYY. MY NEW FAVORITE ROOSTER HE’S RIDICULOUS IN THIS AND I LOVE HIM!!!

“Or we could just watch paint dry.” He mumbles, a testament to how boring of a game he feels that trivial pursuit is.” he’s so stupid see how i’m falling in love with him already?

i love how you star describing their friendship as purely platonic in the beginning and then as the story unfolds you let slip that she’s thought about him before and so has he. so much yearning.

“You wish you invented it. Maybe it’s the fact that you haven’t had sex in a while, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re sitting on a faux fur rug, in front of a log fire, snow outside and a gorgeous man behind you — but the sound of that groan hits you right between your legs.” or maybe it’s because you like him!!!!!!!

“There had been a few intimate feelings towards Rooster when you had first met him. He’s an attractive guy. It had almost happened. But it hadn’t. There had been this tension in the beginning.” THIS TENSION I SEE IT I FEEL IT!!!

“You’re a very affectionate pair. You had to tone it down last time Rooster had gotten a girlfriend. You understood why she was mad, you would be too. It was a shame she didn’t stick around long — you liked her.” STOP THIS PARAGRAPH IS RIDICULOUS IT’S INSANE AND I LOVE IT.

“After he smacked your head, Rooster brushes his fingers over the top of your hair, brushing it back off of your shoulders. You feel no urge to shrug his off as he trails his fingers along your shoulders. He toys with your hair, curling a loose strand around his finger and unwinding it.” i’m a sucker for physical touch this is doing unspeakable things to me.

“Can I see your tits?” I CANTJAHDHHSHD

“He looks so cozy. Somehow perpetually tanned, cheeks flushed slightly from the warmth of the fire, his hood resting around his shoulders and his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. He smiles softly at you.” 🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒

“Are you serious?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him in disbelief. He nods his head, tucking an arm behind it like he’s settling in to watch his favourite movie. He smiles at you, then nods again for you to go ahead.” THE WAY I CAN CLEARLY VISUALIZE HIM JUST LAYING BACK I HATE HIM

“You’re half tempted to tell him no. The other half of you wants to see if he finds you as attractive as you find him.

Just for the validation.” JUST FOR THE VALIDATION!!!!!! I FELT THIS!!!!!! OKAY!!!!!

“His lips part slightly as you lift the sweatshirt up and expose your chest to him. He stays there, propped up on his elbows, that stupid bag of probably thawed out peas still on his knee as he just stares at you. His lips quirk, ever so slightly, like he’s going to smile.” I DON’T KNOW WHY BUT THIS LAST LINE MADE MY BRAIN TWITCH A LITTLE IT’S KIND OF PERFECT IDK!!!

“I think I already crossed that line.” He nods downward. You follow his line of sight to his half-hard cock straining against his grey sweatpants. Damn grey sweatpants. The sluttiest of men’s clothes. You’ve heard that Rooster is well endowed, and you’ve always been curious. You aren’t disappointed by what’s in front of you now.” i am going insane i am throwing up. also: grey sweatpants are indeed the sluttiest of men’s clothes. hilarious and very correct.

“You want him to touch you. In fact, you can’t think of anything else right now worse than denying him. Than denying yourself this.” YES YES YES!!!

“His eyes flicker up to yours as he shifts slightly more upright. It’s then that you realise he’s going to kiss you. Alarm bells. Every brain cell you have is screaming that once those stupid, perfect, pouty lips touch yours — there is no more friendship.” THERE IS NO MORE FRIENDSHIPPPPPPPPPP!!!! AAAAAAAAAA!!!! FEELING ARE LEAKING!!!!!

“You can hear that he wants no part in continuing this game. But if you stop playing now then there’s nothing to do but sit here and think about how badly you want him to fuck you. So many almosts. You can’t take another one.” SO MANY ALMOSTS!!!!! YOU CAN’T TAKE ANOTHER ONE!!!!!!!!!!!! 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

you are absolutely crushing it at the rooster friends to lovers agenda. so so good.

“He rolls a five, then watches as you move his piece. You grab the question card. He trails the pad of his thumb from your jaw to the collar of your sweater. You’ve never played a game of Trivial Pursuit with this much sexual tension before.” FROM YOUR JAW TO THE COLLAR OF YOUR SWEATERRRJDDHCHSHXHSJCHSHCHSHD GOODBYE

“You want him so fucking bad that’s is almost pathetic right now.” *sighs* yeah.

“He reaches out and slides his fingers around the base of your neck. He squeezes softly and strokes his thumb affectionately against the skin of your neck. He guides you back until you’re turned to face him.” SHAKING CRYING THROWING UP I’M ABOUT TO PASS OUT!!!!!!!

“You let out a soft breath now that you’re staring at him. He can tell that you’re doubting this. That you’re starting to overthinking it. That the clock is ticking down quickly before this becomes just another almost.” !!!!!!!!!!!!!! DO SOMETHING YOU IDIOTS!!!!!!!!!

“The realisation strikes that he isn’t wearing underwear for the exact same reason you don’t have a bra on — you refuse to be subjected to such discomfort on a day of promised laziness. He’s made for you.” SOULMATES 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“Aren’t you…” You pull back, breathing hard. It’s like he can’t stand not having his mouth on you. His lips are on your throat the moment they leave your mouth. “Aren’t you kind of incapacitated from the waist down right now?” this is so hot and funny ajxhhshcehchgwgds

“You grind desperately onto him as he sucks a faint purple mark into your skin — just a light one that’ll fade within a couple of hours. Just enough that when he pulls back, he can admire the teeth marks on your skin.” i’m no longer just passing out i’m also passing away.

“Your mind goes blank. Through your clothes. He found it through your fucking clothes.” IT TOOK ME A COUPLE OF SECONDS TO GET IT AND THEN MY JAW DROPPED TO THE FLOOR AND I GASPED!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Fuck, I need to see what I’ve been fucking missing.” He breathes out, tugging at your hips.” STOPSJDHHSHCHSHGATXGSGDYDG

“You stand up to rid yourself of your leggings and socks, embarrassed suddenly that you’re in a skimpy thong in front of your best friend and he’s laying there with one arm tucked behind his head, just smiling.” CUTE!!!!!!!!

“I’m just really excited that I’m winning.” Bradley jokes breathily, nodding towards the game. You have to giggle. His fingers curl around your wrist as he tugs you back down to him again. You lay on top of him this time, your knee resting between his.” HE’S ABSOLUTELY INSUFFERABLE I’M IN LOVE WITH HIM!!!!!!

“Rooster, maybe we should wait until you can move again.”

“Already waited eight years.” He grabs you and kisses you again before you have time to process what he has said. The knowledge that he has wanted you just as badly as you have wanted him creeps into your heart and makes itself at home there.” I WAS WAITING FOR THIS CONFESSIONNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!! EIGHT YEARS!!!!!!!!!!!!

“I can take care of you,” He promises, nudging his nose against the crook of your neck. “Whether I can move or not. I’ve got you.” I CAN TAKE CARE OF YOU I’VE GOT YOU WJDGSGGGWGXHHWDHSGDHSHDSHHDS HE’S SO????????!!!!!$&/&,!/@27):/&

“You slide a hand up into his hair, humming softly as you tug at his curls. You’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.” 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

“There’s an urgency to this now. You’re in the living room of the lodge, about fifteen feet from the front door. It’s been a couple of hours, everyone will be back soon.” urgency!!!! i love it!!!!!

“That feels good, huh?” Like he already knows that it does. Because it does. All you can do is breathe, soft whimpers spilling from your lips as he works his fingers into you. It feels better than good. You wish you had the words.” I’M GOING TO NEED YOU TO STOP WRITING THINGS LIKE THIS. FOR MY WEALTH.

“Rooster. I’m so close.”

Music to his ears. Truly. He grabs the back of your neck with his free hand and pulls you close, eyes locked on yours as he works his fingers into you with his other hand.” MUSIC TO HIS EARS YOU’RE INSANE FOR THIS!!!!!! INSANE!!!!!! JAIL!!!!

“Look at you,” Rooster coos, half-teasing. You don’t have the words to bite back, breathing hard as you try to steady yourself in your post-climax haze. “Christ, you’re so good. So good.” ENOUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

“Bradley pushes himself up onto his elbows and lifts his chin, lustfully hooded eyes looking up at you as he grabs the back of your neck and guides your mouth to his. He kisses you softly, caressing his tongue against yours. His other hand strokes at your hip.” I CAN’T TAKE THIS LITTLE DETAIL THAT HE GRABS HER BY THE NECK ALL THE TIME I’M 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

“Rooster groans, lip between his teeth. He doesn’t feel sorry for himself anymore. Fucking up his leg is worth it. He’d sit through this pain six times a week if it meant he got to experience this as a result.” LOSER I LOVE HIM.

AND THEN A GOOD GIRL DROP????? I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE!!!!!!!!

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You aren’t sure, and you’re glad he can’t see your face because you know he’ll never stop teasing if he knows that your eyes just rolled back in your head. His name pools off your tongue like liquid gold.” AAAAAAAAAAAAAA

“Earth shattering. It’s the only way to describe it.” EARTH SHATTERING!!!!!!!

“His hands are all over you, not able to focus on any one thing — not able to touch enough of you at once as he comes.” 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲

“Onomatopoeia.” You say against his throat. You press your lips tiredly to his salty skin.

“Huh?” He clears his throat then swallows, his voice hoarse from moaning your name.

“Onomatopoeia. Literary term for a word describing a sound.” You breathe. He chuckles, his laughter rumbling in his chest and vibrating through you.

“Fuck off.” He scoffs, pushing at your face until you’re barely resting against his shoulder anymore. You smile as you push yourself up, shooting him a playful wink.” STOP THIS IS MY FAVORITE PART!!!!!!! ONOMATOPOEIA!!!!!!!!!

their dynamic is everything!!!!!

“Phoenix would kill us if she knew we fucked on her mother-in-law’s couch.” You whisper, as if it’s suddenly important to keep quiet. Rooster nods his head in agreement as you push yourself up and step into your panties.” yes she would.

“You grab your shirt and hoodie in your hands and sprint for the bathroom, leaving poor, injured Rooster to fend for himself.” I’M CRYING LAUGHING SHE JUST LEFT HIM THERE

“Rooster stares at the ceiling. He can’t believe you ditched him in his hour of need, with his pants literally around his ankles.” loser ❤️‍🩹

“Where’s your nurse?” Coyote teases, following right behind Jake. Bradley is reminded of your betrayal.” COYOTE MY BFF WITH THE TEASING!!! THANK YOU!!!

“Your eyes meet his. Rooster smiles softly, it’s a sweet enough look. But something in those pretty, brown eyes says you’re going to get it once I can walk again.” AND THEN YOU END IT LIKE THISSSSSSSJSHCHSHCHSHHXHSDH

the brainrot is so real. i’ve been thinking about this story nonstop since i read it. i told you i would eventually reblog with my highlights, i’m sorry it took me so long :( if there’s ever going to be a part 2 so we see her GET IT ONCE HE CAN WALK AGAIN PLEASE LET ME KNOW I WOULD READ A WHOLE BOOK ABOUT THESE 2 YOUR WRITING IS FANTASTIC!!!

Pursuit | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (18+)

Synopsis: Two days into a group ski trip and Rooster has torn his ACL and is stuck on the couch, feeling sorry for himself. Someone has to stay back and take care of him — lucky you. Rooster hates trivial pursuit, and takes this as his opportunity to turn your friendship into something more.

Warnings: pwp, pinv, unprotected sex (make good decisions)

…

“You must think I’m an idiot.” Bradley mumbles as you fiddle through the board games under the book shelf. You glance back at him over your shoulder, and laugh. For his sake, you shake your head.

There are times in your friendship, more often than not, where it’s appropriate to make fun of him. This isn’t one of these times. Rooster’s feeling pretty sorry for himself right now, and he doesn’t need any salt on his wounds.

He does look pretty ridiculous, though. He’s stretched out along the sofa, a bag of frozen peas on his knee and a compression bandage under that. Wearing sweatpants that are a size too big to allow for the swelling, and a sweater that’s a size too big because that’s how he likes his sweaters to fit.

It’s day two of your week long trip to the mountains with your closest friends. This was what you had been most excited about when Phoenix had told you she was marrying Dani. Dani’s family had an incredible lodge up in the Rockies.

For Phoenix’s birthday this year, she invited you and your closest friends up to the lodge. Everyone else is out on the mountain right now. You’re sitting in the living room with Rooster, trying to find something that’ll make the time pass.

Yesterday, on the first day of the trip, Rooster was being Rooster and Hangman was being Hangman. Rooster — who had never been snowboarding in his life before this week — wanted to keep up with Hangman, who has spent a month in Aspen each winter since he was six.

Now, he’s on strict bed-rest (well, couch rest) and will be for the next two days. Feeling sorry for himself with a pulled hamstring and a torn ACL. Considering that he can’t move from the couch without support, someone had to stay back and take care of him. Today, it’s you.

“Could’ve happened to anyone.” You soothe. Anyone that tried to go down a red slope on their first day on a board. Bradley tucks one arm behind his head as he watches you rummage through the variety of old board games.

It’s snowing pretty hard outside and has been since you arrived. Kind of foggy too. Not exactly ideal conditions for someone who has spent maybe thirty days of his entire life in the snow to learn how to board. Especially not when he’s surrounded by already fairly proficient boarders.

“Oh — Trivial Pursuit!” You gasp, tugging the box out from under the monopoly and dusting it off. Rooster groans and leans his head back against the arm rest.

“Or we could just watch paint dry.” He mumbles, a testament to how boring of a game he feels that trivial pursuit is.

“Shut up. I love this game,” You push yourself up and walk over to the couch, setting the box down on the coffee table. You sit down on the floor with your back to the edge of the couch. “And it’s your fault we’re stuck in here so it’s only fair that I pick the game.”

“Yay.” Bradley says dryly.

You lift the lid off of the box and set it to the side.

“Could we at least get drunk while we play?”

You muse with the idea for a moment and shrug. That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. You take the box and press it into his hands, “Fine. You set up. I’ll make us some drinks.”

Rooster has to grit his teeth as he pushes himself somewhat upright and cranes his torso forward to set the game up on the coffee table.

You have to take a moment to watch in amusement as he struggles to set the game up. You love that idiot. He’s been one of your best friends for going on eight years now. You’ve been on a couple trips together, countless missions — you’ve become great friends. Which is why you don’t mind caring for him while he’s in pain.

He helped you out when you dislocated your shoulder at Hangman’s pool party that one time. It’s only fair.

You pad dutifully to the kitchen, ready to embrace the carer role to its fullest extent. Maybe a good nurse wouldn’t have topped the hot chocolates up with a little too much Baileys — but you know Rooster, he’d prefer it this way.

“This is incredible.” Rooster groans as he settles back comfortably against the coach and warms his hands around the mug. It’s already plenty warm in the living room with the fire that Bob got going before everyone headed out about an hour ago.

You settle down onto the floor, pleased to find that Rooster has actually set the game up correctly.

“The person who invented this combo deserves the best head.” He adds, letting out another groan of pleasure as he takes another sip.

You wish you invented it. Maybe it’s the fact that you haven’t had sex in a while, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re sitting on a faux fur rug, in front of a log fire, snow outside and a gorgeous man behind you — but the sound of that groan hits you right between your legs.

Your eyes widen slightly.

There had been a few intimate feelings towards Rooster when you had first met him. He’s an attractive guy. It had almost happened. But it hadn’t. There had been this tension in the beginning.

There were so many almosts. So many almosts that you had just given up. Clearly the universe was giving you a sign that it wasn’t supposed to happen. You had stopped trying to make it, and fallen platonically head over heels for Bradley Bradshaw.

You had been comfortable as just friends for a long time now. But shit, does that guy sound pretty when he moans. You scold yourself for things like this regularly. You shouldn’t think that your best friend sounds pretty moaning.

“Alright. I’m going first.” You decide, feeling the need to quickly change the subject.

“Aren’t we supposed to roll to decid-“

“It was my idea, I’m going first.” You insist.

“I’m injured — I should go first.”

You end up going first. You smirk as you shake the dice in your hand. He swats playfully at the back of your head.

This is how you have always showed affection. Gentle bullying. You’re a very affectionate pair. You had to tone it down last time Rooster had gotten a girlfriend. You understood why she was mad, you would be too. It was a shame she didn’t stick around long — you liked her.

Since then, you had been a bit less open with touching each other. Especially around others. People thought your playfulness was sometimes flirting. Of course, it wasn’t. You didn’t let yourself do that anymore.

After he smacked your head, Rooster brushes his fingers over the top of your hair, brushing it back off of your shoulders. You feel no urge to shrug his off as he trails his fingers along your shoulders. He toys with your hair, curling a loose strand around his finger and unwinding it.

“You have to ask me the purple question.” You pass him back a question card without looking at it. There’s a disappointment that fills you as his hand leaves your hair. He sighs softly and lifts the card.

He chuckles the moment he reads it. “How many movies did Sean Connery play James Bond in?” He asks. Bradley knows for a fact that you don’t know the answer to this question because you’ve consistently refused to watch any of the James Bond movies with him for as long as he’s known you.

“Mm… seven?”

“Lucky guess.” Bradley mumbles. He hits the back of your head again. ‘Accidentally’, as he’s passing the card back to you.

You turn and bite his leg. You’ve always had a very playful friendship. You bite his shoulders, his hands — whatever’s in your way or within your reach when the necessity strikes. Now, it’s his thigh.

He flinches, then stills. It’s only once you’re pressing your teeth into his thigh, looking up at him, that you realise how compromising of a position you’re in.

He’s wearing grey sweatpants. Your eyes flicker down and you know exactly where his dick is under the material. Luckily, it’s resting against the other thigh. His lip has quirked when you look back up at him.

You withdraw quickly. Turning and taking a large gulp of your hot chocolate before picking up the dice again. You got your question correct, you get to keep rolling. You make an eight question winning streak. Rooster finishes his hot chocolate before it’s even his first turn.

“Could I have another one?” He asks you, resting his empty mug on your shoulder like he’s going to leave it there to fall on you. You sigh, dramatically, as you push yourself to your feet. You finish off yours and nod, heading for the kitchen once more.

“Fine. But if you need to pee then I’m not holding it.” You answer back.

“My leg is fucked, my hands work just fine. You just like thinking about my dick in your hands.” He calls to you. You’re glad you’re in the kitchen where he can’t see the way that unnerves you. You bite your cheek and go about making each of you another drink.

Rooster has to lean forward to roll the dice on the table. He really can’t move much. Any movement on his knee still really hurts.

“Thanks, honey.” He smiles sweetly and purses his lips like he’s going to blow you a kiss as you hand him a drink that’s almost as much liqueur as it is hot chocolate. Just the way he likes it.

“No problem, princess.” You answer back, settling back in on the floor and grabbing a question card as you sip at your own.

One of Rooster’s primary issues with Trivial Pursuit, is the length of time it takes. He makes a ten question correct streak before it’s your turn again. Two hours and three more drinks later, Rooster is tired of questions.

He’s barely lifting his head as you tell him what to do. Roll. Ask me the blue question. Answer the red question. Roll again.

He’s staring at the wooden beams above his head. The architecture really is beautiful in this place. So is the mountain, and there’s a great view of it from the living room but he still would rather be out there, rather than stuck in here like an idiot.

He drums his fingers on his stomach and looks towards the book case. His eyes scan over the other board games over there. Looking for something else. Anything better than this. Nothing that he can stand to spend another three hours doing.

He’s bored.

“Okay, ask me purple.” You hand him another question card. He sighs softly as he takes it. Even reading the question takes too much effort at this point. He looks at you. You’re facing the board, your back to him as you wait to get another question correct.

Rooster looks towards the fireplace, watching the flames crackle and rise. Then he looks towards you again. A thought crosses his mind and he squashes it instantly, then hesitates. No harm in asking.

“Can I see your tits?”

You turn, dice still in hand, and blink at him. He’s looking back at you like he had just asked you how your day was going. Like that was the most normal thing in the world to ask his best friend of eight years.

“It would make me feel a lot better.” He adds. Your lip quirks slightly at the fact that he’s playing the sick card. You aren’t sure how boobs cure knee pain, but you know that at this point in your friendship, questioning Rooster’s strange brain is pointless.

He looks so cozy. Somehow perpetually tanned, cheeks flushed slightly from the warmth of the fire, his hood resting around his shoulders and his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. He smiles softly at you.

“Are you serious?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him in disbelief. He nods his head, tucking an arm behind it like he’s settling in to watch his favourite movie. He smiles at you, then nods again for you to go ahead.

“You’re such a teenager.” You scoff. Humour is the only way you know how to handle this. You still aren’t quite sure if he’s fucking with you.

“Please? — I’m bored, I need something to help me refocus.” Rooster smiles. Fuck, he’s so pretty. You shift slightly, half turning to face him and resting your elbow on the couch cushion. You scrunch your brows at him, trying to suss him out.

You’ve known him for long enough now to know that he’s serious.

You debate it. Debate just nut-tapping him and calling him a pervert. But it really is just your boobs. He’s seen you in a bikini a hundred times. Seen you in some pretty risky clothes when you’ve gone out drinking together. You know he knows what your boobs look like — what difference does it make for him to have also seen your nipple?

He’s watching you expectantly.

“Just for a second.” You agree.

“Seriously?” He wasn’t expecting you to say yes. Honestly you were expecting to try to hit him in the nuts. He pushes himself up onto his elbows. You’re half tempted to tell him no. The other half of you wants to see if he finds you as attractive as you find him.

Just for the validation.

You shrug your shoulders at him, twisting yourself up onto your knees. You grab the bottom of your sweatshirt, watching his eyebrows lift in anticipation.

There’s a split second where you hesitate. Sure, he’s your best friend. But after this, he’ll just be you best friend who has seen your tits. You think about it as he stares expectantly at you, still pushed up onto his elbows. Lots of your girl best friends have seen your tits — it makes sense that he would too. Fuck it.

You lift your sweatshirt and the loose fitting t-shirt that you’re still wearing under it. You’ve forgone a bra, considering that the plan was just to sit beside Rooster all day and make sure he didn’t die of boredom.

His lips part slightly as you lift the sweatshirt up and expose your chest to him. He stays there, propped up on his elbows, that stupid bag of probably thawed out peas still on his knee as he just stares at you. His lips quirk, ever so slightly, like he’s going to smile.

Every time you get drunk, you’re possessed by this overwhelming urge to tell Rooster what gorgeous eyes he has. It’s not your fault that he looks like the prettiest thing in the entire world when he’s blinking at your with those big brown eyes. You watch those pretty eyes now.

Men amaze you. He’s truly so mesmerised by what’s before him. You give him a while to just stare. Maybe twenty seconds. It certainly feels like longer. Then your cheeks are starting to redden. You scrunch your nose, feeling suddenly anxious by his lack of reaction.

“Say something, you freak.” You demand. Yet, you don’t drop your sweatshirt back down. Rooster’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. He swallows and lifts his eyes to finally look at your face.

“Can I touch them?” His voice is low, serious. His gaze flickers back down for a moment before he reminds himself to be respectful and looks back to your face.

You purse your lips.

“Mm… don’t you think that would be crossing a line?” You ask gently. This is not only your best friend, but also your wingman. You have to go to work with him after all of this.

“I think I already crossed that line.” He nods downward. You follow his line of sight to his half-hard cock straining against his grey sweatpants. Damn grey sweatpants. The sluttiest of men’s clothes. You’ve heard that Rooster is well endowed, and you’ve always been curious. You aren’t disappointed by what’s in front of you now.

You want him to touch you. In fact, you can’t think of anything else right now worse than denying him. Than denying yourself this.

“Just for a second.” You agree once more. You can’t pretend you don’t want him to touch you. He scoots over to make room for you to sit on the edge of the couch cushion. Your ass is half hanging off of it when you sit.

“You could just… it would be easier.” Rooster gestures for you to straddle him. You take one more look at the bulge in his sweatpants.

“I think that would be too far.” Truthfully, you don’t think you have the necessary self-restraint to be sitting on his dick and not take this far enough to ruin your friendship.

Rooster nods. You lift your sweatshirt once more. He lets out a soft breath. This time you notice his Adam’s apple rise and fall in his throat.

He reaches out tenderly, hand cupping your left breast. He squeezes softly, swipes his thumb delicately over your nipple, then brings his other hand up to cup your other breast.

He groans softly, just like he did when he first tasted his hot chocolate, kneading your breasts in his hands. Bradley’s lips quirk up into a soft smile, content for the first time all day.

His eyes flicker up to yours as he shifts slightly more upright. It’s then that you realise he’s going to kiss you. Alarm bells. Every brain cell you have is screaming that once those stupid, perfect, pouty lips touch yours — there is no more friendship.

In the interest of preserving the relationship with the best friend that you’ve ever had, you drop your sweatshirt and move away from him to sit on the floor again. Bradley adjusts himself against his sweatpants. You don’t see him frown.

“It’s your turn to ask me a question.” You announce, handing him a card without looking at him. He takes the card and settles back against the couch with a soft sigh, then clears his throat.

You can hear that he wants no part in continuing this game. But if you stop playing now then there’s nothing to do but sit here and think about how badly you want him to fuck you. So many almosts. You can’t take another one.

“Red. Okay. Uh… how many years did it take Michelangelo to paint the Sistine Chapel?” In Rooster’s defence, you can hear him trying to hide his bored he is for your sake. Still, you don’t turn to face him.

“Six.”

“Four.” He corrects you. He tosses the card back onto the coffee table and gently strokes your hair back off of your shoulder. You hand him the dice without meeting his gaze.

He sighs softly, toying with the dice for a moment. He shifts a little. Adjusts his half-hard cock. Looks down at the board. Thinks about how much longer this is going to take.

He rolls a five, then watches as you move his piece. You grab the question card. He trails the pad of his thumb from your jaw to the collar of your sweater. You’ve never played a game of Trivial Pursuit with this much sexual tension before.

“W-What is the literary term for a word describing a sound?”

“I truly couldn’t care less if I tried.” Rooster admits. After all, honesty is the best policy. You can’t turn to look at him. You don’t have the restraint. You want him so fucking bad that’s is almost pathetic right now.

So, you sit and wait patiently for him to just spit out the fucking word onomatopoeia. Just answer the question, Rooster.

He reaches out and slides his fingers around the base of your neck. He squeezes softly and strokes his thumb affectionately against the skin of your neck. He guides you back until you’re turned to face him.

He looks at you, his eyes hungry with lust, the intensity in those pretty, brown eyes sending shivers up your spine.

You let out a soft breath now that you’re staring at him. He can tell that you’re doubting this. That you’re starting to overthinking it. That the clock is ticking down quickly before this becomes just another almost.

He leans quickly forwards and captures your mouth in a kiss. Before you have a chance to freak out. You melt against him. Again, he groans, this time into your mouth. The sound vibrates through you and propels you into his arms.

You push up and swing one leg over his hips, straddling him without breaking the kiss. You take extra care to settle in delicately against him, not wanting to worsen his injury. He slips his tongue into your mouth, holding you against him with his hand on the back of your neck.

From here, you can feel just how hard he is. Rock hard and pressing into you. You grind down ever so slightly, feeling the tip of his cock graze you. The realisation strikes that he isn’t wearing underwear for the exact same reason you don’t have a bra on — you refuse to be subjected to such discomfort on a day of promised laziness. He’s made for you.

“Aren’t you…” You pull back, breathing hard. It’s like he can’t stand not having his mouth on you. His lips are on your throat the moment they leave your mouth. “Aren’t you kind of incapacitated from the waist down right now?”

“Don’t worry about it.” His hands are already slipping under your sweater, pushing it up your torso. You lift your arms up obediently and let him strip you of your hoodie and t-shirt. “Fuck me, you’re perfect.”

You can’t pretend that that compliment didn’t go straight to your head. Your ego is inflated and you’re suddenly feeling much more confident about this encounter.

He lifts his head and kisses your shoulder, both hands sliding up your torso and grabbing at your tits. Rooster groans, peppering soft kisses along your skin. You’ve always wondered what that stupid moustache would feel like against your skin. The answer is that it’s actually surprisingly pleasant. It tickles just enough to make you shiver but not enough to be irritating.

Rooster wraps his lip around your nipple, pinching the other between his fingers, making you gasp softly. His tongue flicks over the sensitive bud, pulling away, grazing his teeth just lightly over the tender flesh. He watches your head roll back. He groans more urgently this time, squeezing your tits in his hands as he turns his attention to the other nipple.

The line has been well and truly crossed already. There’s no way you can look him in his stupid, beautiful eyes again and pretend that he didn’t have you soaking through your panties with just his mouth on your tits.

You grind down against his cock, moaning softly at the friction. Your thin pair of leggings and his sweatpants don’t separate much. You can feel exactly how rock hard he is. You grind desperately onto him as he sucks a faint purple mark into your skin — just a light one that’ll fade within a couple of hours. Just enough that when he pulls back, he can admire the teeth marks on your skin.

His hands find your hips as he guides you, he presses his good leg down and uses the leverage to drive his cock up against your core. He pauses, holding you still, rocking the tip of his cock against your clit through your clothes. Your mind goes blank. Through your clothes. He found it through your fucking clothes.

You’re rocking your hips, grinding desperately against him through your clothes. He groans, taking just a moment to rake his eyes over your shirtless body, skimming his fingertips along your side.

“Fuck, I need to see what I’ve been fucking missing.” He breathes out, tugging at your hips. He slaps your ass, lifting his head and kissing you hard. You moan into his mouth. Your fingers slide down his chest, pushing under the hoodie, sliding it up his chest. He has to sit slightly, grabbing a fistful of fabric from behind his head and tugging it off.

It’s more than warm enough. The fire and your body heat is more than making up for the snow outside.

You stand up to rid yourself of your leggings and socks, embarrassed suddenly that you’re in a skimpy thong in front of your best friend and he’s laying there with one arm tucked behind his head, just smiling.

He shifts his hips slightly to get comfy. Your eyes fall down to the straining bulge in his sweats. Your lips part slightly. He brushes his palm over his cock, adjusting it slightly to ease his discomfort.

“I’m just really excited that I’m winning.” Bradley jokes breathily, nodding towards the game. You have to giggle. His fingers curl around your wrist as he tugs you back down to him again. You lay on top of him this time, your knee resting between his.

His hand grabs at the back of your neck as he guides your mouth against his, his tongue curling into yours. He pushes his hips against yours.

You’re both shifting, the couch is a little too small for both of you to fit comfortably. Your foot knocks his leg just slightly. He gasps, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He takes a moment, then let’s out a strained breath.

“Oh shit — I’m sorry.” You gasp, sitting up quickly to make sure he’s okay. He grabs the bag of peas digging into his side and tosses it across the room. You look down at his bandaged knee, brows scrunching. “Rooster, maybe we should wait until you can move again.”

“Already waited eight years.” He grabs you and kisses you again before you have time to process what he has said. The knowledge that he has wanted you just as badly as you have wanted him creeps into your heart and makes itself at home there.

Your ego really can’t take much more of this, you’re going to be insufferable if he continues with all of this flattery. But equally, you don’t want him to stop.

“I can take care of you,” He promises, nudging his nose against the crook of your neck. “Whether I can move or not. I’ve got you.”

You can’t resist. Your hand wraps around his cock over the soft jersey material, palming over his length as his tongue caresses yours. His hand slides between your bodies and nudges your panties to the side.

“You’re fucking soaked.” He murmurs. You roll your hips against his fingers.

“You’re fucking huge.” You reply. He smiles against your lips. He pushes harder against your hand, trailing his fingertips between your folds. You slide a hand up into his hair, humming softly as you tug at his curls. You’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.

He grabs your leg and adjusts your position to give him easier access to your pussy, slipping a finger into you. You hmm softly, tugging at his curls again. He groans into your mouth. His ring finger slides into you alongside his middle. He curls them both into you.

You feel his cock twitch in your palm as your walls clench around his fingers. There’s an urgency to this now. You’re in the living room of the lodge, about fifteen feet from the front door. It’s been a couple of hours, everyone will be back soon.

“That feels good, huh?” Like he already knows that it does. Because it does. All you can do is breathe, soft whimpers spilling from your lips as he works his fingers into you. It feels better than good. You wish you had the words.

Your fingers curl around his wrist, rocking yourself down onto his fingers. Excitement pools in your stomach as you fall forward slightly, bracing yourself onto his shoulder.

All Rooster can think about is that one time he was so drunk that you tried to do the nice thing and let him sleep in your bed. The plan was for you to take the couch. But then he had been so heavy, and so uncooperative — literally dead weight — that you had just left him curled up on the floor in your room.

He’d woken up the next morning while you were in the shower. The soft moans spilling from behind the bathroom door. The two of you had been completely alone in your place. He’d thought of those sweet sounds of you touching yourself constantly since then.

You sound even better now that he’s touching you. He groans softly against your lips, he’s enjoying this just as much as you are.

“Ah… fuck.” You sigh contentedly, swallowing hard. “Rooster. I’m so close.”

Music to his ears. Truly. He grabs the back of your neck with his free hand and pulls you close, eyes locked on yours as he works his fingers into you with his other hand.

If this is him injured, you’re mad at yourself for denying yourself all of him for all this time. You don’t have much time to be mad at yourself.

Your head lulls back, muscles tensing, fingers curling around his shoulder tightly. You’re whimpering, moaning, fucking yourself on his fingers.

“Look at you,” Rooster coos, half-teasing. You don’t have the words to bite back, breathing hard as you try to steady yourself in your post-climax haze. “Christ, you’re so good. So good.”

You can’t wait any longer. The moment your world stops spinning, you push at the waistband of his sweats. He obliges, pulling his fingers from you and pushing the sweats down to his shins. You can see the discomfort on his face. The pain he’s trying not to let you see.

“Rooster…” You frown.

He shakes his head, “I’m fine. Seriously. Doesn’t even hurt.” Actually, his leg is throbbing because it hurts so bad. But, his cock is throbbing too and he knows which one he’s more likely to listen to. You wish you had the strength to argue with him.

You shimmy out of your panties and lean down to kiss him. Your hands held his shoulders as his own squeezed softly at your ass, then grabbed his cock in one hand. He lined himself up with you as you dripped in wetness. His eyes meet yours as you rocked yourself against his tip.

Rooster shivers, even with the heat from the fire. He grabs your thighs with both hands, raking his nails against your skin. A muscle in his jaw ticks.

“So, you don’t want me to make you feel all better?” You tease. Voice soft and feigning concern. You even bat your lashes and squeeze your tits together for him. Then, you sink your hips down slightly, letting his tip nose at your entrance before you lift away again.

Rooster swallows. He manages to nod his head as his hands find your hips. Those pretty brown eyes look up at you, expectant and eager. His hands squeeze around your hips. Your grind yourself along his length, just letting him feel how worked up he’s got you.

“Fuck, of course I do.” Rooster rushes out, his hands finding your hips, giving the skin a firm squeeze. He ruts his cock against you, grinding it against your clit.

You slowly sink down on him, taking in his tip. A soft squeak slips your lips. He squeezes softly at your thighs again. His eyes shut, preventing himself from grabbing your hips and forcing you down to take him in all at once.

Bradley pushes himself up onto his elbows and lifts his chin, lustfully hooded eyes looking up at you as he grabs the back of your neck and guides your mouth to his. He kisses you softly, caressing his tongue against yours. His other hand strokes at your hip.

“You alright?” He whispers against your lips. You have to grab his shoulder tighter, worried for a moment that the sound of his voice alone might send you over the edge. You’re still, just hovering there, with him just barely inside of you.

“Mhm.” You breathe back, resting your chest against his as you sink the rest of the way onto his length. Rooster grabs your hips with both hands and pulls you tight against him, driving himself as deep as he possibly can.

You hit his shoulder, then grab his chin. His brows furrow slightly, confused as you lean in and look him in the eye.

“Hey. Let me.” You demand. He loosens his grip on your hips, smirking softly as he nods for you to do exactly that.

You lift yourself just slightly, rocking back down once again, finding a soft rhythm. Sinking up and down on his length. More full than you’ve ever felt. Head lulled back.

The pain of him stretching you out soon fades. Rooster feels it when it happens. Feels you relax, your walls fluttering around his cock. Each bounce filling you with strong surges of pleasure. You pick up speed, your bodies sloppily colliding.

Sounds of your breathless pleasure filling the empty lodge. Maybe even the forest outside. You couldn’t care less at this moment in time.

You arch your back, grabbing onto his thigh for support as you fuck yourself on him. He squeezes softly at your hips, sliding his hands down to your ass instead. Trying to take a backseat and give you full control.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He groans, throwing his head back against the cushioned arm of the couch. Rooster’s brows knot together, his eyes fluttering shut. Your palms rest against his chest, unashamedly checking him out while he isn’t looking.

You set the pace, taking care of him exactly like you promised to. Fucking your self on his cock, moaning his name like a pornstar. Rooster groans, lip between his teeth. He doesn’t feel sorry for himself anymore. Fucking up his leg is worth it. He’d sit through this pain six times a week if it meant he got to experience this as a result.

His cock twitches, you feel him squeeze your hips tight and slow your pace. He whimpers softly, lifting his head and taking your nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue expertly against the sensitive bud.

His hands grip hard at your ass, pulling you towards him as he squeezes your cheeks between his fingers. He growls lowly, shifting his hips, changing the angle. Letting his cock hit your g-spot each time you come down on him.

Your desperate moans fill the air, mixed with each of his soft grunts. The sounds of your pleasure make him twitch inside you. There’s nothing he loves more than knowing how good he makes you feel.

“‘M not gonna last. You feel so fucking good.” He pants, fingers pressing so hard into your hips that forensics might be able to take a fingerprint sample from your skin later.

“I’m almost there,” You pant, leaning down to kiss his jaw. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He smacks your ass, half-playfully, guiding your hips as you ride him. He presses his heel into the couch and drives his hips up into you as you’re coming back down on him. Just once.

You cry out, then gasp in. He took his lip between his teeth, grabbing both of your hips, guiding you as you bounced on his cock, his eyes on your face as your brow furrowed in pleasure. His eyes glance down to your tits, watching contentedly as they bounce.

“You’re so beautiful,” He groans out, breathing hard. “Look so fucking pretty when you’re all full like this.”

“Yeah?” You breathe out, lifting your hips until his tip is the only thing filling you, then sinking down until he’s nestled fully inside of you, grinding your hips down against him.

“Fuck. Yeah.” Rooster grabs your hips. “Wanna fuck you. Gonna take it like a good girl for me?” You crash your lips hard against his, nodding feverishly.

His hands slide down to your ass, his palm connecting hard with your right cheek, then squeezing at the soft skin with both hands. He presses his heel into the couch for leverage, mouth falling down to kiss at your chest as he fucks into you from below.

You grab onto his shoulders. You take him perfectly, your walls squeezing around his cock as he pounds into you. You fall against his chest, moaning desperately into the crook of his neck as his cock drives into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You aren’t sure, and you’re glad he can’t see your face because you know he’ll never stop teasing if he knows that your eyes just rolled back in your head. His name pools off your tongue like liquid gold.

His hands squeeze at your ass, smacking at your cheek, groaning breathlessly.

“I’m gonna — I’m-“ You can’t manage real words right now. He grabs a handful of your hair and tugs as his other arm tucks around your waist and keeps you steady as he pounds into you.

Earth shattering. It’s the only way to describe it. His soft groans in your ear as he fucks you through potentially the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. Toes curling, eyes shutting, voice faltering. You’re glad you fell against his chest before, because you know you would have outright collapsed if you hadn’t already.

You’re clenching around him, kissing lazily at his neck and whimpering as your sensitive pussy contracts around him.

In a loud groan, you felt him begin to spill into you. You mewled over him, your legs shaking as he kept his speed, his cock sending spurts of hot liquid into you. You whimper as his cock pulses inside of you.

His hands are all over you, not able to focus on any one thing — not able to touch enough of you at once as he comes. Your name spills desperately from his lips as he gives one last, deep spill into you. His thrusts falter, slowing until they stop all together.

He holds you there, against his chest, his cock still in you, until you’ve both caught your breaths. He kisses your temple softly.

“Onomatopoeia.” You say against his throat. You press your lips tiredly to his salty skin.

“Huh?” He clears his throat then swallows, his voice hoarse from moaning your name.

“Onomatopoeia. Literary term for a word describing a sound.” You breathe. He chuckles, his laughter rumbling in his chest and vibrating through you.

“Fuck off.” He scoffs, pushing at your face until you’re barely resting against his shoulder anymore. You smile as you push yourself up, shooting him a playful wink.

You both groan softly as you lift your hips and let him slip out of you. Both of you look down at the cum that drips onto his pelvis as you lift off of him.

“Phoenix would kill us if she knew we fucked on her mother-in-law’s couch.” You whisper, as if it’s suddenly important to keep quiet. Rooster nods his head in agreement as you push yourself up and step into your panties.

“Could you grab me some tissue?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right-“ Your leggings are halfway up your legs, your top half still completely bare when you’re silenced by the sound of a car door slamming. Your eyes go wide.

You grab your shirt and hoodie in your hands and sprint for the bathroom, leaving poor, injured Rooster to fend for himself.

“Wait — where the fuck are you- dammit.” He struggles back into his sweats and rushes his hoodie back over his head. The door to the downstairs bathroom locks behind you. You can’t face your closest friends right now.

Luckily, there’s plenty of gear to get out of the car. They take a good couple of minutes. Rooster stares at the ceiling. He can’t believe you ditched him in his hour of need, with his pants literally around his ankles.

That reminds him, he fixes the compression bandage on top of his sweats that had gotten all messed up during the rush.

“Bradshaw, how’s the knee?” Hangman calls as he swings through the front door, carrying two boards over his shoulder. Rooster pushes himself up on his elbows and peers towards the door over the back of the couch.

“I’m — Yeah. It’s the same.” He calls back.

“Where’s your nurse?” Coyote teases, following right behind Jake. Bradley is reminded of your betrayal.

“Peeing, I think.” Rooster answers. Phoenix and Dani head in. Then Bob and Payback. Then Fanboy, who’s not carrying anything. Mickey walks around and shrugs his coat off, tossing it onto the arm chair.

He looks at Rooster and scrunches his brows, then looks towards the fireplace. “You want me to put that fire out? — You look kinda warm.” Fanboy offers. The sweat beading on Rooster’s forehead gives him away, but Mickey doesn’t suspect anything.

Rooster presses the back of his palm to his forehead, wiping away the sweat that had gathered. He nods his head gratefully. The door to the bathroom unlocks and you step back out, dressed, composed.

Your eyes meet his. Rooster smiles softly, it’s a sweet enough look. But something in those pretty, brown eyes says you’re going to get it once I can walk again.

…

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Baling Christmas cookies with Hazel 😭😭

author's note/s: 742 words. not so much of the baking itself but it does set the scene for this. sapphic fluff 4 dayz, as the kids like to say

If you had to swat her hand away from the bowl of cookie dough one more time, you were going to lose your mind. Or maybe put the bowl in the fridge and find a way to lock it as you finish up your current batch of cookies.

“Hazel, seriously,” you tsk at her.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. But I did tell you that I’m a sucker for chocolate chip cookies - baked and unbaked.”

Hazel shrugs and puts her hands up as if to say, ‘What can you do?’, and you can only roll your eyes at her affectionately as you move the bowl away from her. She was always a nice little distraction to your daily tasks and in stressful situations, but you really needed to get your baking done before mid-afternoon. The holidays weren’t in full swing just yet but you didn’t wanna do your Christmas shopping when everyone else was; huge crowds weren’t Hazel’s thing and they weren’t yours either. Besides, even though you didn’t know what to buy, it’d be nice to know which shops to visit again once you do.

“You can have them once they’re out of the oven and cooled. They’re yummier and healthier that way,” you say pointedly. “But that won’t happen if you keep distracting me.”

She hums, walking around the island and stopping right behind you. She presses a kiss to the back of your head before snaking her arms around your waist, her chin resting atop your shoulder. You smile to yourself as you lean back, letting her sway the two of you in silence as you continue shaping the dough.

After a moment, she asks, “Why are you making all of this so early, anyway? Isn’t baking treats supposed to be during the twenties of December when it’s really Christmas already?”

You shrug, placing another cut out soon-to-be sugar cookie on the tray. “Force of habit. It’s kind of like a tradition my parents and I have for the season, helps us prepare to get into the holiday spirit and all that before doing some early shopping or just window-shopping. You have something like that too, right?”

Hazel tightens her embrace as you feel her shake her head. “My family’s not the type. Mom puts in more effort at the PTA meetings for the school’s Christmas events than she does in decorating our own house — and before you ask, yes, the house does have decorations. It’s just that we have people that come over to put them out and around the whole place.”

A frown spreads across your face at that. You knew the Callahan family situation was pretty rocky which was why the two of you never really talked about it unless she brought something up, but hearing little bits and pieces of Hazel’s home life always made you feel sad. It sucked that she and her family fit right into the ‘rich family but not rich in family’ stereotype. “I can help you decorate, if you want.” Thinking about doing her humongous house was a bit dizzying, but it’s not like they had to do it all in a day.

You place the cookie cutter down and turn around to face her, and Hazel has the softest look on her face that you almost forget what you were going to say. “Would that be okay?”

“Yes,” she answers without hesitation. You chuckle at her eagerness, wrapping your arms around her shoulders to bring her closer. “That’d be so okay. I think that would be really, really great actually, and then maybe we can… wait, but didn’t you say you were gonna go look for gifts later?”

“Traditions can be altered. It’d be nice for the two of us to have one of our own, don't you think?”

She rocks back on her heels, beaming at you as she nods vigorously.

You grin back at her before pressing a kiss to her cheek, then moving your positions around so that she was facing the countertop and you were hugging her from behind. “Okay, part of this new tradition too is that you actually help me bake these cookies, so go and get to it, Callahan.”

“Yes ma’am,” she says in a mocking soldier-like voice, but she does pick up the cookie cutter without another word.

You let a few seconds pass before going, “Oh, and Hazel?”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t get any ideas about eating the cookie dough again.”

Hazel barks out a laugh. “No promises, pretty girl.”

30/12/22: HOLY SHIT BOXER BOB!!! this is one of the best first chapters i've ever read, everything was do engaging and you gave us enough to want more i need to know how their date went i need to know more about bob and mickey’s relationship and the boxing and maverick and how the stories are all going to connect. i need it ALL. just so good. i think you really nailed his personality, or at least the little bit you showed of him in this chapter. all of bob’s lines were so on character but with an EDGE!!! something a little different, but that FITS!!! anyways i’m so excited for the future parts, you’re incredibly talented!!!

“Bob Floyd liked to think he was a good person.” such an engaging opening line!!!

“But there’s an unrelenting pressure that comes with being a good person. A weight that couldn’t be lifted as he exhausted himself with the idea of what exactly it means to be inherently good.” this is getting so good already!!!

“He gives up his seat on public transportation and has reusable shopping bags so he doesn’t have to use the plastic ones at the grocery store.” of course he does ❤️

“Bob Floyd was a good person. Bob Floyd was a good person until, suddenly, he wasn’t. And it could all be traced back to the first time he ever stepped foot into Sugar Plum Bakery.” the name of the bakery in contrast with the whole atmosphere you’ve created for this is so interesting.

“Hi!” You pop up suddenly, smiling brightly. There’s a smudge of flour on your cheek, stipples of it all over your apron, and Bob's almost certain there’s some in your hair too. “What can I getcha?” and i adore her already.

“You bite your lip, eyes squinting as you appear to be sizing him up. It reminds Bob of his opponents in the ring — though their eyes aren’t nearly as pretty as yours — and it almost makes him laugh.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

“Bob’s eyebrows raise slightly in agreement. “Today’s special, huh? Then I should probably get one of those, shouldn’t I?”

“It’d be sacrilegious not to,” you tease back, a smile growing on your lips.” love this piece of dialogue!!!

AND THE 20% TIP FOR A 5 SECOND CONVERSATION AND AN APPLE TART HE IS THE SWEETEST

“You hand the box to him with that bright smile and — just like every romantic comedy Bob has ever watched with his mom — his heart stutters when your fingers brush.” AND HE WATHES ROMCOMS????? 😭😭😭😭😭❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

“Oh?” You turn back to the croissants, pleased with their golden brown color as you move to transfer them to a different tray to bring up front.  “And what would you call him?” i also adored this description and her attention to detail in the croissant!!!

“Don’t think it was a cupcake he was hopin’ for,” she looks at you knowingly and you feel slightly flustered at her implication.

He wanted to see you?” i am a puddle on the floor!!!!

“Ball cap guy sticks out like a sore thumb against the few customers in Sugar Plum, a head taller than everyone else even as his head is tilted down to look at his phone.” 😭

AND THEN HE GENUINELY PAYS ATTENTION TO HER RAMBLING ABOUT SWEET PEAS

“That’ll be—”

“What time do you get off?” He blurts suddenly.” I LOVE THIS TROPE!!! IS IT A TROPE??? SPEAKING OVER EACH OTHER IDK BUT I LOVE IT

“You ever think about fighting, Bob?” oh… maverick is RECRUITING???

“Maybe if Bob had done that to the landlord, he’d stop making his mom cry. Maybe if Bob had done that to those preppy college boys, Mickey wouldn’t have to shrug it off with a “People tip pretty good at Charlotte’s anyway”. Maybe if he’d never taken it, and taken it, and taken it, and actually stopped to wonder if maybe he didn’t have to, they wouldn’t have had to take it either.” LOVE THIS LINE

“How much would you pay me?” smart boy!!!

“Because if Adler could come out of it all a good man, Bob could cling to that hope for himself a little longer.” BOB 😭🥺

Do Unto Otters

summary - You should have known to question when Bob suddenly appeared in your bakery and made his place in your life — but, in your defense, his smile was so charming! Five dates in and he’s already swept you off your feet completely with his thoughtful nature and kind heart. But the question still remains: what do you actually know about him? And why does he always come back to you covered in bruises?

warnings - DARK THEMES, boxer au, violence, language, Bob is 6′5″ because I said so, I roasted Mav in this a bit my bad, mentions of violence, “Bob” is kind of a stupid boxer name so I changed it, no use of y/n

this series is 18+, minors please do not interact

word count - 3.5k

please take this as my thank you for 1.5k! I am so so honored that you guys think my stuff is worth reading, it means the world to me. anyway enjoy! - bugs

sweeter than sugar masterlist

Continuar lendo

15/08/2022: holy shit. okay. i stumbled upon this a couple of days ago and as soon as i saw it was inspired by chemtrails by lizzy mcalpine i had to take like 15 minutes to mentally prepare myself to read it. HOLY SHIT!!!!!!! that song IS rooster. it’s him and his relationship with his dad and his grief and the weight he carries and all these frustrations. AND THEN YOU GO AND WRITE IT ALL DOWN!!!!!!!! this one was intense and so beautifully written. i haven’t read the series it’s connected to (but i wasn’t confused without context or anything like that, i feel like this could be it’s own seperate little thing) but i just might because this was so beautiful??? i’ll never be able to listen to chemtrails the same way again.

“How does he even begin to describe you? How you put all your might into your work —whether it’s Top Gun or a romance with one other actor and a piano— without any pretense, emotions running high and mind going a mile a minute at work —a delicate art of letting go and reigning it back in—, and then come home and just be… human with him.” i love the way you described acting here. a delicate art of letting go and reigning it back in!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and then she goes home and she can just be HUMAN WITH HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“She’s pretty badass,” he smiles a little. His hand picks at the grass under his palm, suddenly nervous about what he’s about to say next. “I think she might be it.” SHE’S IT!!! YEP!!!!!!! i love it when authors make their characters say the most meaningful things in the world with such little words!!!!!!!

“He doesn’t know why he’s saying it. For celebration, having made a very big, grownup step in his life? For comfort, because he doesn’t admit it to anyone (not even to himself) but he’s so scared he’s nowhere near grown enough to do this? Maybe for reassurance, because he so wants it to be true.” i love him so much, i desperately need him to be happy. this happened to make me emotionalllll because i’m also scared of everything all the time and no matter how many years go by i’ll never feel i’m grown enough for anything. i get him!!!

“White clouds paint the sky in an array of lines. A gentle breeze sweeps across his face, and the trees nearby whisper in rustles, and Rooster swears he almost hears it.

And so he asks.

“Talk to me, Dad.” no because when i noticed at the beginning that he was actually talking to goose… i’m not kidding, i’m not exaggerating: I GASPED!!! chills all over my body. it was so smart of you!!!

“The sight he finds upon opening the door isn’t surprising —you sat on the bench, fingers working the piano keys, phone propped on the music stand— but his heart catches anyway.” but his heart catches anyway ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ love it when men are whipped and head over heels in love.

“He kisses the top of your head and sits next to you.” such a tender moment. it’s very rooster. i’m in love with him.

“It just happens to be his dad’s first (and only) big purchase for the house.” NO STOP MAKING ME CRY IF IT’S HIS DAD’S OF COURSE IT’S IMPORTANT AND OF COURSE YOU GUYS SHOULD KEEP IT.

“You pause for a moment, and he squeezes your knee in reassurance. For you and for himself.” FOR YOU AND FOR HIMSELF!!!!!!!! my favorite detail!!!! my eyes are filled with tears i swear to godddddd. this is too sweet.

“Rooster collapses his head on your shoulder, and kisses you there in thanks. For understanding. For seeing right through him and communicating it in the exact way that he would understand.” beautiful. i love love. would love to be loved someday.

“The boy who grew up there is taller now. Older. Smarter, wiser —or so he hopes. A spitting image of his father —and yet, everything he wasn’t.”

Angrier. Older. Carrying a bigger chip on his shoulder.” favorite fucking line in the entire world. ANGRIER!!! OLDER!!! CARRYING A BIGGER CHIP ON HIS SHOULDER!!! my heart dropped. you managed to put rooster into words. and even more… you managed to put bradley into words. i like to think there is a little difference between who they are on the job and who they are at home. you summarized them both. perfectly. in the most heartbreaking way possible. seriously, you kind of changed my life with this one. i’ve been thinking about it for days. will be thinking about it forever probably.

“And yet… maybe, hopefully, he’ll hold up just fine.” by this point, i was bawling. i read this around 1am (i think) so i was feeling very emotional and i just love the song you based it off so so much so it was all perfect.

“Are you okay?” your hand slips into his, so easily and effortlessly that it just feels like it’s where it should be.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“He brings up your intertwined hands to his lips, and presses a kiss there.” SO ROOSTER!!!!!! ALWAYS SO ROMANTIC!!! THESE LITTLE DETAILS ARE EVERYTHING TO ME!!!!!

“I love you so much, you know that?”

“I think I might’ve had a clue or two?” your voice, bright and laced with humor, rings almost out of place in the solemn stillness of this house. This moment.” they are very silly i literally just got this glimpse of their relationship and i already love them. i’m so fucking happy for them.

“Will you marry me?” DUDE HOLY SHIT- I WAS NOT EXPECTING A PROPOSAL!!!!! I GASPED FOR A SECOND TIME, THIS WAS PERFECT. I’M A SUCKER FOR SIMPLE PROPOSALS LIKE THIS MY HEART GREW 3 SIZES.

“I haven’t even got a ring yet.”

“That’s fine. We can always get it later.”

“I’ll get it, not you,” he corrects firmly, and it makes you laugh. It’s the most beautiful sound he’ll ever hear, and he finally pulls you in for a proper kiss. It’s not planned, it’s far from perfect, but he wouldn’t ever have it any other way.” HE’LL GET IT!!!!!!! HE’LL GET THE RING!!!!! OH PLEASE STOP!!!!!! ADORABLE!!!!!! HE’S THE LOVE OF MY LIFE!!!!!

i feel this is almost a character analysis of rooster in a way. of who he could grow to be as well. he’s such a complex character and every retelling of his is always so so sad that it’s heartbreaking because he’s a really tragic character at the end of the dag, we can’t really change that, you know? so reading this, KNOWING IT’S BASED OFF CHEMSTRAILS FOR GOD’S SAKE, feeling all the grief he carries, and then you go and give him these very tender moments filled with love made my heart almost burst out of my rib cage 💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞 it was beautiful and i’ll treasure this forever!!!!

i’m almost scared to ask because this song kills me but i just need to read this fic for blurb week- chemtrails by lizzy mcalpine?

bro i gotta admit... this is killing me too. i cried basically the whole time im writing this, but i hope you like it bc im pretty happy with how it turned out. also! the music here is extra special bc i sang and played it myself <333

warnings: fluff, grief, this is very goose and rooster-centric, im just a big ball of mush guys <3

***

“Man, I forgot how nice it is out here.” Rooster leans back, hands propping himself up as he sits cross-legged on the fresh green grass. The clear blue sky sprawling over his head. Maybe it’s the peace and quiet, maybe it's the fresh air, but this is one of the few places where he can actually…

Breathe.

“We’re nearly packed up now. Found this nice place in San Clemente with a nice deck out, maybe even a fire pit —you’re gonna love it,” he chuckles, resigning with the fact that he’s excited about the stereotypically dad stuff now, like decks and barbecues. 

“Yeah, it’s a bit of a drive to North Island, but we wanted a place somewhere in between there and LA.” It was an extensive discussion to say the least. You work in completely different fields with equally grueling and unusual hours —if not days, or weeks, or months. “I thought maybe we should keep our own places, so she can be close to her work and I can be near base, but… I don’t think I’d want it any other way?”

He’s already away from you so much. What’s an extra hour-and-a-half drive if it means he can crawl into bed and fall asleep in your arms? He wouldn’t want it any other way.

Not when it comes to you.

“She’s great, by the way,” he perks up immediately at the thought of you. “She does these musicals that Mom liked, and actions and all these cool stuff —I’ve even taken her flying for one of her movies. She’s, uh…”

How does he even begin to describe you? How you put all your might into your work —whether it’s Top Gun or a romance with one other actor and a piano— without any pretense, emotions running high and mind going a mile a minute at work —a delicate art of letting go and reigning it back in—, and then come home and just be… human with him. 

Kind, caring, funny, imperfect, human.

“She’s pretty badass,” he smiles a little. His hand picks at the grass under his palm, suddenly nervous about what he’s about to say next. “I think she might be it.”

He doesn’t know why he’s saying it. For celebration, having made a very big, grownup step in his life? For comfort, because he doesn’t admit it to anyone (not even to himself) but he’s so scared he’s nowhere near grown enough to do this? Maybe for reassurance, because he so wants it to be true.

The earth below him is warm. Steady. The grass layers as a soft place for his hands to land. For his body to ground. White clouds paint the sky in an array of lines. A gentle breeze sweeps across his face, and the trees nearby whisper in rustles, and Rooster swears he almost hears it.

And so he asks.

“Talk to me, Dad.”

******

His childhood home, a modest two-bedroom with white-paneled front, sits on a quiet street in the suburbs of Virginia Beach. The maple tree out front has cuts and carvings on its trunk from when Rooster got into throwing knives (a hobby his mom had an ulcer over), and a broken branch from when he installed a makeshift swing and tried to get himself and two other friends swinging on it back in 8th grade. He hears the piano playing as he walks up the steps —the old, secondhand upright that’s a little out of tune now.

The sight he finds upon opening the door isn’t surprising —you sat on the bench, fingers working the piano keys, phone propped on the music stand— but his heart catches anyway.

“Still think we should keep it?” he pats the flat surface on the top, leaving his keys and his sunglasses there.

“Oh, definitely. This baby…” you thoughtfully stroke the lacquered wood finish, “She’s a gem. Nothing a little tuning can’t fix.”

He kisses the top of your head and sits next to you. Both of you know there’s nothing special about this piano in particular. Not when it comes to its sound or feel or anything taken into consideration for an instrument.

It just happens to be his dad’s first (and only) big purchase for the house.

“Hey, uh…” you pipe up gingerly, “I wrote something for you. May I…?”

You may be a lot of things, but shy isn’t one of them. At least not with him. He just throws you a funny look. “Babe, of course. What—”

“Okay.” With that you shift into a straighter position, fingers hovering just above the ivories. You’re quiet —hesitant, almost— before you play the first line. Pressing just one key at a time. 

“I see chemtrails in the sky, but I don’t see the plane.”

Rooster’s breath catches in his throat.

“I know the feeling, but I don’t know the name.”

A simple melody, floating like a question, and he doesn’t understand how you could explain it before than he himself does.

“I still play with my food, and then I… throw it away.” 

An admission so simple, it almost sounds childlike. You pause for a moment, and he squeezes your knee in reassurance. For you and for himself. 

“It’s so hard to believe I had to grow up this way.”

The piano picks up, a simple sustained pattern, and he can hear you try to keep the emotions in your voice at bay. A valiant effort that even he fails to do at the moment.

I moved out and I made some new friends

Sometimes when I shout it feels like no one hears it

And there are some days when I that somewhere you’re watching

As I grow up without you

I miss it, I miss you.

Rooster collapses his head on your shoulder, and kisses you there in thanks. For understanding. For seeing right through him and communicating it in the exact way that he would understand.

For letting him know that his dad’s listening.

The childhood home, now bare —save for stacks of moving boxes and an old upright piano in one corner of the living room— sits quietly in the suburbs of Virginia Beach. The boy who grew up there is taller now. Older. Smarter, wiser —or so he hopes. A spitting image of his father —and yet, everything he wasn’t.

Angrier. Older. Carrying a bigger chip on his shoulder.

And yet… maybe, hopefully, he’ll hold up just fine.

“Are you okay?” your hand slips into his, so easily and effortlessly that it just feels like it’s where it should be.

“Yeah,” he answers, heady and dazed. He brings up your intertwined hands to his lips, and presses a kiss there. “I love you so much, you know that?”

“I think I might’ve had a clue or two?” your voice, bright and laced with humor, rings almost out of place in the solemn stillness of this house. This moment.

But it’s not. It falls perfectly in place as life breathes back in, a familiar little laughter shared between the two of you. Warmth in the face of grief and hurt and loss.

He straightens up and takes a good look at you. He’s not sure why, but at the moment, it feels right. And as it falls out of his lips, he doesn’t feel an ounce of regret.

“Will you marry me?”

And he’s not sure whether he should be more surprised by his question, or the fact that you answer so easily, so surely, so matter-of-factly. “Roo… Of course.”

“Yeah?”

You nod.

“I haven’t even got a ring yet.”

“That’s fine. We can always get it later.”

“I’ll get it, not you,” he corrects firmly, and it makes you laugh. It’s the most beautiful sound he’ll ever hear, and he finally pulls you in for a proper kiss. It’s not planned, it’s far from perfect, but he wouldn’t ever have it any other way.

21/08/2022: NEW COMFORT FIC JUST DROPPED!!!! this was adorable, my heart just grew 3 sizes and i feel all warm and fuzzy!!!!! the song you chose fits their situation so well and it’s beautiful!!!!! and the whole idea is so rooster!!!! it was perfect. here are some of my favorite parts!!!!!

“You watched him sitting at the bar with Maverick, occasionally he gave you a smile if he caught you watching, to which he was met with a cold shoulder. Even looking at him made you want to scream.” i love this!!!!! it doesn’t matter that she’s a little mad with him, bradley continues to be kind 🥺 love the contract between their reactions.

“I have an idea… Your dad and I used to do this with the ladies all the time.” maverick showing rooster how its done!!!! this scene is one of my favorites from the original movie and i loved that you adapted it to your own story <3

“He is in the same room as you but he feels unreachable. Even if you did talk to him, at this point you wouldn’t know what to say. Everytime you look at him the frustration bubbles back up to the surface. Even thinking about the whole situation has again buried down the longing within you.” BUT HE FEELS UNREACHABLE!!!!!! ☹️☹️☹️☹️ he’s right there, but his job is so hard and none of them can’t do anything about it!!!! it’s understandable for her to feel this way!!!!

and then bradley starts singing and phoenix and maverick don’t let get away!!!! so cute!!!!

“The longing within you has now broken through all the anger. So desperately you wanted to let yourself feel it, but if you did and something happened to Bradley on this deployment you’d never recover. So for now it was easier to pretend that you felt nothing at all.” of course it’s easier to shut your feelings out but at what cost!!!??? 🥺

“You scoff at the reminder of Bradley's departure, the thought striking fear inside of you. Unable to leave your position, you decide to turn your back to Bradley, when a hand gently grabs your wrist, catching you off guard, spinning you to be face to chest with Rooster. He towers over you, a smile plastered on his smug little face, proud of his little display with Maverick. You try to pull away but he keeps his grasp held steady. Your tongue pushes on the inside of your cheek, and you click your tongue with another roll of your eyes, letting out a large sigh, as you finally give up trying to pull away.” this moment 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 it’s so very rooster!!!!

“Baby, don't you know I love you so?

Can't you feel it when we touch?..” and this part playing just as he reaches for her to hold her in place!!! i’m in love!!!!

“The warmth of his body feels like home. The smell of him filling your lungs, your heart lurching in your chest. A small squeal slips out, followed by a giggle. A smile grows on Bradley’s face knowing he is wearing you down. You try to squirm free but his hold is firm enough to keep you tightly pressed to him without it hurting, the tension in your body slowly starting to release within his arms.” yeah, she can’t resist him.

"Alright, alright! You win…" 🥺🥺🥺🥺

“You lean into his callous hand, your skin burning under his touch. Your eyes are locked with his, tracing over every feature of his face, trying to soak it in while you can.” babies 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

again: this was beautiful!!!

Save The Last Dance For Me

Bradley Bradshaw x F!Reader

Warnings: None that I can think of. No descriptions of appearance but she/her pronouns are used.

Summary: Bradley attempts to wear you down as you give him the cold shoulder

A/N: This fic is based off the song Save the Last Dance For Me. After watching Top Gun (1986) and longing to have someone serenade me in a bar this self indulgent fic was born. So enjoy!

Masterlist

“I just can’t look at him!” You say before angrily taking your shot on the pool table. The pool stick pounding into the cue ball, clattering the rest all around the table. Bradley had told you yesterday that he was being sent on a two month classified deployment, meaning you would not be allowed to relocate with him for the duration of the mission. 

“You know he didn’t have a choice right? They are called orders for a reason.” Hangman butts in from his seat at the nearby table. Throwing peanuts in his mouth, somehow managing to chew them in a condescending manner. 

“I didn’t ask for your input.” You snap back. He puts his hands up in the air in surrender after receiving a glare from you that could kill. What he was saying wasn’t wrong, but you were too upset to think rationally about it, and needed someone to blame. Unfortunately that fell onto Rooster.

You watched him sitting at the bar with Maverick, occasionally he gave you a smile if he caught you watching, to which he was met with a cold shoulder. Even looking at him made you want to scream.

“She’s not taking it well I see…” Maverick said, taking a sip of his drink. Rooster chuckled before nodding his head in response as he took a drink of his own beer. 

“Not at all… She hasn’t said a word to me since yesterday morning when I told her. I wish I didn’t have to go, but there is nothing I can do. At this point I don’t know how to get her to talk to me again.” 

“I have an idea… Your dad and I used to do this with the ladies all the time.” 

You watched as Maverick and Bradley talked trying to make out what was being said. You could see Maverick gesturing towards you, and conspiring with Penny. The two of them are planning something. You didn’t care to find out what it was though.

You continued your game with Phoenix, joking around with the rest of the boys to distract yourself from the subtle ache in your chest forming the longer you go not talking to Bradley. He is in the same room as you but he feels unreachable. Even if you did talk to him, at this point you wouldn’t know what to say. Everytime you look at him the frustration bubbles back up to the surface. Even thinking about the whole situation has again buried down the longing within you.

Just as you start to line up your final shot, the jukebox cuts out and you hear the tapping on a microphone over the bar speakers. You try and see what is going on but the packed room makes it impossible to see who currently has the microphone. Music slowly starts to flood the room as you hear a familiar voice start to sing alone to the tune.

"Is that Bradshaw?" Phoenix perks up, setting her pool stick down.

"I hope not…" You grumble, already recognizing the voice growing closer. The crowd parts, revealing the answer to your suspicions. Bradley making his way towards you, microphone held up to his lips as he continues to sing. His aviators hang from the neck of his shirt, tugging it down to show off a peak of his chest and collar bones. His hair is a pile of messy curls, lacking the gel he has to use day to day when on duty. 

You can smile every smile for the man

Who held your hand 'neath the pale moonlight…

You try to turn away to walk away from Bradley but you're met with Phoenix grabbing your shoulders to turn you back to face him as he keeps closing the gap between you two. She wears the smile of a traitor as she moves to stand next to you, blocking the path of escape.

But don't forget who's taking you home

And in whose arms you're gonna be

So darlin', save the last dance for me…

You roll your eyes at Bradley's attempt at breaking you, that slowly is working, and attempt yet again to walk away. This time heading the opposite direction of phoenix. Maverick breaks through the crowd, stepping right in front of you stopping you in your pathway.

Oh, I know that the music's fine..

"Seriously! You're in on this too!?" You try to raise your voice over the music, but it's no use. You cross your arms in protest as Maverick slowly backs you up to where you started. You loved this song, and Bradley knew it. He would put it on before he left for every mission as his promise to come home to you. The longing within you has now broken through all the anger. So desperately you wanted to let yourself feel it, but if you did and something happened to Bradley on this deployment you’d never recover. So for now it was easier to pretend that you felt nothing at all.

Laugh and sing but while you're apart

Don't give your heart to anyone…

You scoff at the reminder of Bradley's departure, the thought striking fear inside of you. Unable to leave your position, you decide to turn your back to Bradley, when a hand gently grabs your wrist, catching you off guard, spinning you to be face to chest with Rooster. He towers over you, a smile plastered on his smug little face, proud of his little display with Maverick. You try to pull away but he keeps his grasp held steady. Your tongue pushes on the inside of your cheek, and you click your tongue with another roll of your eyes, letting out a large sigh, as you finally give up trying to pull away.

Baby, don't you know I love you so?

Can't you feel it when we touch?..

He places your hand up on top of his shoulder, then pulls you in by your waist to close the gap on the last syllable of the lyric. The warmth of his body feels like home. The smell of him filling your lungs, your heart lurching in your chest. A small squeal slips out, followed by a giggle. A smile grows on Bradley’s face knowing he is wearing you down. You try to squirm free but his hold is firm enough to keep you tightly pressed to him without it hurting, the tension in your body slowly starting to release within his arms.  

I will never, never let you go

I love you, oh, so much…

You softly hit his chest with your free hand in defeat of escape, your palm lingering flat over his heart after impact. Your other arm moves to curl around the back of his neck, your fingers tangled up in the hair at the nape of his neck, circling along his scalp. Bradley’s hips are pressed against your body and sway the two of you side to side.

His voice has you in a trance. The softness of the melody mixed with the slightest rasp from his vocal cords gives you involuntary butterflies. No matter how mad you were at Bradley, you knew inside it wasn't his fault he was being deployed, you just hated the lack of say you had in the situation. At this point the rest of the squad, even the usually quiet Bob, and most of the bar patrons have all joined in the serenade.

'Cause don't forget who's taking you home

And in whose arms you're gonna be

So darlin', save the last dance for him!

"Alright, alright! You win…"

The bar erupts in cheers. Rooster hands his mic over to Maverick, who gives you a wink, and cups the side of your cheek. You lean into his callous hand, your skin burning under his touch. Your eyes are locked with his, tracing over every feature of his face, trying to soak it in while you can.

"Kiss him already!" Penny yells behind the bar. "Disrespect the Navy or you buy a round!" She threatens.

You let out a laugh before standing on your toes to meet Bradley halfway. His lips meet yours and the bar yet again fills with cheers. The volume of the bar almost drowning out the softest, most innocent moan of contentment Bradley lets slip into your mouth. The taste of beer lingers on his tongue, his kiss becoming deeper before he finally pulls away. 

“I love you, honey.” Rooster whispers in your ear, kissing your cheek. His breath warm on your ear, sending a spark through your body. You interlock your fingers with his as you both make your way back to the tables with the rest of the squad, each of them taking turns poking fun at you for caving in to his cheesy display.  

Flight Crew!

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