22/04/23: GOD, THIS STORY IS JUST SO WONDERFUL!!! I Binged Through The Whole Thing This Morning And My
22/04/23: GOD, THIS STORY IS JUST SO WONDERFUL!!! i binged through the whole thing this morning and my brain can’t focus on anything else. i have so favorite many parts i wanna properly highlight later but “You stay on my left, and I’ll stay on your right.” REALLY GOT ME!!!
the dynamic between joel and reader is too good to be true, you’re building something wonderful here. i love their interactions so much and the interactions they have with the other characters, like ellie and tommy <3
“Fix her leaky tap my ass,” Tommy muttered, earning him a grunt from Joel.”
and i also love that you made her stand her ground!!! NO DAMSELS IN DISTRESS HERE!!! although there will be a lot of distress to come apparently jefhhshddh
everyone is so in character it’s truly insane like THIS IS ALL CANON TO ME NOW IDC, your attention to detail and their mannerisms and the way the TALK TO EACH OTHER just makes sense and it clicks and it’s perfect.
i send you an anon talking about how much i’m loving the story but it wasn’t enough i need to run my mouth a bit more!!!
reader’s backstory and what we know about her so far, her relationship with cal and everything just brings so much more depth to her and how she is able to connect with joel and WHY THE FIT!!! it’s so well written (as is everything you’re writing) and i think it just makes her such a memorable character.
“Walk of shame,” Cal crooned lovingly from the kitchen table when you returned home. You flicked him off with a laugh, hanging up your coat. “Seriously, do you even live here anymore?” THIS BROUGHT SUCH A STUPID SMILE TO ME LIFE!!!
i’m also fucking loving the SUBPLOT THAT’S HAPPENING I SEE YOU!!! the moment you said the new guy was from “CAN-” i already started to 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 and yeah. i don’t trust him. people are going missing. i love the tension it’s bringing to the story and to the scenery that is jackson, because in most fics i’ve been reading it’s almost like a safe haven (which i get and it fits if a story is like that) but i just love your twist on it!!! and i’m so excited to see where it leads everything.
in summary: this is definitely one of the best joel fics i’ve ever read (and just one of the best fics in general) and i’m be so so so excited for the next chapters!!!
under the night | part four
summary: joel can't always be in control
pairing: joel miller x f!reader, set in jackson after the end of tlou part I
warnings/tags: [18+ only, minors dni] language, sex, angst, jealousy, immature/possessive!joel, canon typical violence [infected feature], violence, injury/blood, vomit, hurt/comfort, and so on and so forth
word count: 9k
a/n: teeing things up for the bigger story arc here, and i'd like to clarify this is not a damsel in distress story lol you'll see
part three
The patrolmen in Jackson were dedicated. Every morning, on a rotational basis, a group of them ventured out past the gates of the settlement and explored set routes. They took down infected; they searched for essential items like soaps and medicines; but most all, they kept the town safe. Admittedly, when you first heard them called patrolmen you’d rolled your eyes, knowing damn well there were multiple women doing the job. But Tommy had just shrugged amiably, assuring you that those women weren’t bothered with the title.
That morning in particular, Joel and Tommy were scheduled to do a routine sweep of what they called the “south patrol”. Joel had never complained about how quickly he fell into the job upon his arrival in Jackson. It made sense to Tommy and Maria that he would join the team, considering the vast experience and knowledge he’d acquired in his year roaming cross country with Ellie. Never once had he begrudged his brother for being given a job and a place to live, and a warm home to sleep in.
Until, that is, he had to leave you in his bed for the sake of a fucking patrol.
“Fuck Tommy,” Joel grumbled into your neck. You laughed sleepily, pushing him off you.
“Get out of here, Joel,” you mumbled unconvincingly, rolling over to shove your head back into the pillows. It was earlier than you would’ve chosen to wake up, but you knew there was no hope of drifting back to sleep with the way the sun shone through his large bedroom window. With a huff, he was getting out of bed, and you listened drowsily to the sound of the shower running, and then to the rustling of him pulling his clothes on.
When a silence settled over the room, you risked opening your eyes a crack, only to see Joel watching you from the doorway. He stared forlornly, his eyes raking over your naked torso before you yanked the blanket back up to cover yourself.
“You’re makin’ this real hard for me you know,” he said, his forearm propped up against the doorframe.
You cracked a smile, and let your eyes shut slowly, listening to the sounds of his boots padding softly down the stairs.
A week had passed since your first night together, and it was true that you and Joel struggled to spend more than one consecutive night apart. Laying in his bed, surrounded by the smell of him, you remembered the day after like you were experiencing the moment all over again.
The knock at your front door had come after 10pm, and you’d startled at the sound, wondering who would be bothering you so late. Cal had been out at Louisa’s, so you’d tentatively walked over to the door, opening it just a crack to glance out, and then tugging it open swiftly upon seeing Joel standing on your doorstep.
“Hey there,” he’d offered a tense smile, eyes flicking down to your feet and then back up to hold your gaze.
You gripped Joel’s pillows and remembered the way he’d stepped inside your home, asking if you were alone.
“I can’t stop thinking about it. About the way you sounded… the way you felt. Can’t get you out of my damn head.”
You were drunk on each other, on the intimacy. Both enveloped in these new and devastatingly consuming feelings for one another that you were finally able to express. In the entire week, you’d only spent one night away from one another, because you had stood your ground and admitted you needed to spend some time with Cal.
From Joel’s bed, you listened to the sounds of Ellie messing around downstairs in the kitchen, no doubt trying to make herself something edible for breakfast. After the teenager had caught you leaving the house, you had been shy around her. You didn’t want your relationship to change because things with Joel had. Although Ellie had seemed enthused by the progression, you feared the dynamic would shift between you, so you tried to remain stealthy with your comings and goings from their home.
When you were sure the younger girl had left the house, you took your time with showering, and dressing for the day.
“Walk of shame,” Cal crooned lovingly from the kitchen table when you returned home. You flicked him off with a laugh, hanging up your coat. “Seriously, do you even live here anymore?”
“Fuck off, man,” you rolled your eyes, settling down in the chair opposite him. You accepted a mug of coffee with a grateful nod, and brought the liquid gold to your lips.
He chuckled quietly, pushing his bowl of oats towards you as a peace offering. You stole his spoon and cleared the rest of the food in minutes.
“How are you though?” he asked after a while, his eyes soft and genuine. You admired him, and the way his blonde hair was getting longer, flopping down over his eyes.
“I’m good, Cal,” you assured.
“You look happy,” he squinted at you, the teasing lilt returning to his voice. “You’ve got the glow of someone who’s finally made some fucking friends.”
“Took a leaf out of your book,” you winked.
Your heart felt full. For so many years, you and Cal had been one another’s salvation. You’d relied on each other for survival, for companionship, but amongst it all, there had been stretches of time so dire that you didn’t laugh for weeks at a time. To be sat with him, in your home, somewhere safe like Jackson, and laughing together… even after so many months there, it still struck you sometimes how lucky you were.
It was a few hours later, when you ventured toward the stables to check in on Dot, that you bumped into Tommy and Joel returning from patrol.
The brothers were putting away their saddles when you pushed the gate open.
Tommy greeted you warmly, although his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Your gaze drifted slowly from him to his older brother, trying to gage the tense atmosphere.
“Hey guys,” you wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering from the bitter weather. Joel leaned against the stable wall, fiddling with the bit in his hands, his eyes hard on Tommy. “Who died?”
Joel’s eyes snapped to you, his expression grim.
“Woah,” you said lowly. “What the fuck, did someone actually die?”
“We found a body out there,” Tommy admitted quietly, stealing a glance over his shoulder to check if anyone else was listening.
“Where?”
His face seemed hesitant, as if he were unsure of sharing much information with you. He rubbed the back of his neck in the same way Joel did when he was trying to find the right words. “A few miles away. A woman. No one from here; we didn’t recognise her.”
“Bitten?” you asked quietly, your breaths short. The idea of anyone being outside those gates made your chest hurt suddenly, as the memories of life out there raced through your brain.
“No,” Joel answered gruffly, and you looked at him. “It must’ve been raiders, but the snowfall last night means there wasn’t much for us to do by means of tracking them.”
“We’re going out again tomorrow,” Tommy butt in firmly, staring at his older brother. “I want this shit figured out.”
You didn’t know what made you say it, but the words tumbled from your mouth. All fear forgotten, you blurted, “Let me come with you.”
“What?” Joel huffed sharply, glaring at you. “Fat chance.”
You scowled in his direction, looking at Tommy. “I lived out in the open for years, I can help you with tracking, even through the snow.”
Joel ground out your name, his eyes flashing with a warning that you couldn’t quite decipher.
“She has a point Joel,” Tommy held his hand up towards his brother, stopping the interruption he knew was coming. “Plus, we could use the extra pair of hands. Someone to watch our six.”
You would have never admitted it, but Tommy was right. The concern you felt for Joel all of a sudden was an unwelcome, painful feeling. After the past week, the idea of him going out past the gates made your throat tighten. You wanted to be out there with them, watching their six – keeping him safe.
“I don’t like it,” is all Joel said, eyes staring at the ground. “We can take Jesse.”
He’d rather have a 19-year-old kid on patrol with them, than you?
“Fuck, Jesse. I’ll be here tomorrow morning at 7,” you told Tommy, who nodded once.
“We should get going,” Joel pushed off the wall, and you looked to him in confusion. “I promised you I’d fix that leaky tap in your kitchen.” You didn’t remember ever having a conversation about your kitchen tap, but you nodded slowly anyways, sparing a glance in Dot’s direction before surmising that you’d check in on the horse properly in a few days.
“Fix her leaky tap my ass,” Tommy muttered, earning him a grunt from Joel. He put his hand on the small of your back and encouraged you out of the stables, leaving Tommy laughing as he finished packing up their equipment.
Walking down the street in the direction of your house, you braced yourself for Joel’s frustration. You could tell he was tense in the stables, and unhappy with your decision. But you couldn’t help the way anxiety ticked away in your chest. Nothing good comes from wanting. Yet there you were, with Joel so close finally, and a reminder had been served to you that he could be taken away so fucking easily. Letting people in meant opening yourself up to pain, and you were suddenly terrified by how fast things were moving between you two; how much he meant to you after a single week of being anything more than friends.
“Joel,” you started quietly.
“We’ll talk about it later,” he said quickly, squeezing your shoulder before lowering his hand once again to rest on your lower back. You nodded slowly, glancing around the street and noticing Rosie Paulson, a girl around Ellie’s age, staring at the pair of you from her front porch. Instinctively, you brushed off Joel’s hand, putting a wider berth between you.
“That Paulson girl is staring at us like we’re naked,” you explained under your breath, walking faster.
“Nosy fucking kids,” Joel grunted in response, not even glancing in the girl’s direction.
You remembered the impression you’d gotten of Joel when you first arrived in Jackson; that cold, private person who kept to himself. The other people in the town saw the same in him, and you knew it would’ve been cause for curiosity; for them to suddenly spot him walking around town with you by his side.
Your house came into view, and you started to chuckle. “So, what’s all this leaky tap business, Miller?”
He gave a short laugh and looked at you from the corner of his eye. “Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
“Needed an excuse to get you alone.”
You barked out a laugh and led him quickly up the stairs to the front door, unlocking it hastily. Before you were fully inside, his hands were on you, prying the zip of your jacket down. He kicked the door shut behind him with a slam, and pushed you up against it, his fingers pressing against the skin underneath your shirt. All your anxieties blew away in the wind when you felt his hands on your body.
“Fuck,” you gasped in shock. “Your hands are fucking freezing.”
“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled into your mouth, pressing his lips to your urgently. “Help me warm ‘em up.”
Putting your hands on his chest, you pushed him off you. “C’mon,” you encouraged, leading him to your bedroom. It was a painful dichotomy; fearing getting so close to him, so quickly, and yet not being able to keep your damn hands off him. When you clicked the bedroom door closed, you turned to find him standing at the edge of your bed, watching you with dark eyes.
“I really didn’t want to leave this morning,” he spoke lowly. “Wanted to stay in those sheets all wrapped up in you.” Through the admission he seemed somewhat shy, a flush still rising in his cheeks when he bared his feelings to you so honestly. Though you’d spent your nights together, no conversation had been had about what exactly you were doing. You’d admitted you liked being near each other, but not much else. And you decided you were okay with not knowing; if it meant you got to have Joel in any capacity.
You hummed, stepping forward to place your hands on his cheeks, and running your fingers through the coarse bristles of his beard. He leaned in and kissed you gently, his tongue swiping along your bottom lip before pressing eagerly into your mouth. You sighed softly, breathing in the scent of him. Your heart still raced like it was the first time.
You stripped each other’s clothes off hastily, until you were clad in nothing but your underwear, and cold fingers didn’t matter anymore because your skin had grown hot with desire.
You pushed gently on his chest and when the back of his calves hit the bed, he fell onto it with a huff of surprise. He shuffled backward until his head hit the pillows, and you crawled up to straddle him. Your fingertips trailed lightly over his skin and through the soft smattering of hair on his chest.
His eyes flashed dark with desire, and he grit his teeth. You felt powerful astride him, with your hands pressing down on his shoulders to keep him pinned to your bed.
“This how you want it?” he rasped.
“What can I say,” you smirked. “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”
He let out a sharp laugh, but it was cut off by a grunt when you ground down against him. You sighed at the feeling of him pulsing against your core, only two thin pieces of fabric separating you now. His eyes closed involuntarily, face relaxing at the feeling of you rubbing against him. But then they snapped open, trained on you again. You remembered what he’d said during your first time together. I don’t want to miss a single thing.
One of his hands left your waist and drifted between your thighs. He pulled your underwear to the side, and you exhaled heavily as one of his thick fingers dipped between your folds.
“Christ,” he exhaled. “You’re wet already, baby.”
“Can’t help it,” you whimpered, the pet name causing a flood of heat to rip through you. Your stomach tensed as he swirled his fingertip over your entrance, and spread the wetness upward, finally making contact with your pulsing clit. He drew light circles around it at first, enjoying the way you held your breath at the feeling, and then would sharply gasp for air as he changed his rhythm.
“That feel good?” he asked, watching your expressions.
“So good,” you breathed, eyebrows pulled together tightly as you grinded against his hand.
He slipped a finger inside you, sighing huskily at the feeling of your walls tightening around him. You loved the sounds he made when his hands were on you; as if he would die happy just from having had the chance to touch you. After a moment, he pushed a second digit inside, curling them against your walls and scissoring them, stretching you out for him.
You kissed him messily, teeth nipping at his bottom lip, before running your lips down his jugular. You tried to stop yourself from leaving marks in your wake, although you knew Joel wouldn’t be bothered.
“Fuck Joel,” you huffed, lips pausing on his skin when his fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you. “Stop.”
His hand stilled instantly, eyes searching your face in confusion.
“I need to fuck you,” you said firmly, pushing his hand away from your body and leaning back to tug your panties down your legs. Joel followed suit, desperately yanking his briefs down his legs before grabbing your hips to pull you back over him. Unintentionally, when you rested above him, the head of his cock nudged against your folds, and he moaned deeply.
“God,” you sighed, reaching down to grip him in your hand. You pushed his head through your folds, letting your slick coat his already weeping tip.
He groaned your name, fingertips digging into your hipbones. “Love how wet you get for me.”
You whined and couldn’t help but press your entrance down onto his head, longing to feel him inside of you. But common sense flared in the back of your mind, and you reached over desperately to grab a condom from the bedside table. Shuffling down to sit on his thighs, you ripped open the foil with your teeth, enjoying the way he stroked his cock and watched you with hooded eyes.
You knocked his hand away to roll the latex down his length, giving him a firm tug once it was on. Not wasting a second, he lined himself up to your entrance, and you sunk down onto his length.
You gasped, eyes shutting instinctively. For all the nights you’d spent together that week, it was the first time you’d ridden him. The position helped him hit a spot so deep inside that it had you seeing stars behind your eyelids.
“God damn it,” Joel spat, eyes rolling back in his head. One of his hands gripped the blanket, and the other held your waist in a vice grip.
“Shit Joel,” you whimpered. “You’re so deep like this, f-fuck.” Your breathless tone drove him crazy, and he begged you to move.
“You can take it, darlin’,” he encouraged. “Show me how well you can take me.”
You clenched around him, your slick dripping down and coating both of your thighs. Slowly, you lifted up before dropping back down, crying out as he instantly hit that spot inside of you again. Hungry for more, you got to work; lifting up and grinding down in a beautiful rhythm that had him making filthy sounds beneath you, reaching up to pinch and tug on your nipples.
“Look so fucking good like this,” he grunted, his eyes flicking between your face and the way your tits bounced with every movement.
You grabbed his hands and shoved them into the pillows beside his head, leaning over him so he could suck one of your nipples into his mouth. He moaned into your skin, nipping gently at the painfully tight buds. With your torso bent forward, your clit brushed deliciously against the coarse hair at his base, and you couldn’t help but just grind yourself against him for a moment, letting out soft whines.
“That’s it, baby,” he groaned into your chest. “Fuck yourself against me.”
With the sensation of him deep inside you, and the friction on your clit, an orgasm hit you out of nowhere. You cried out in shock, gripping his shoulders as your body bowed into his chest.
“Fuck,” he yelled into your skin, his hands wrapping around your back to hold you to him. You’d come to learn that your orgasm was often what pushed him over the edge, and could tell he was holding back, waiting.
Your body was shaking as the pleasure rolled through you, and Joel’s mouth sponging kisses across your chest did nothing to lessen the intensity of the moment. As your body relaxed, he began nudging his hips upwards, making you whimper.
“Not done with you yet, baby,” Joel rasped, his fingers dragging down your back as he fucked up into you. He was so thick, so heavy, inside you, and even in the minutes after an orgasm, you had to steel yourself in preparation for another. With all your strength, your pushed herself back into a seated position.
“You’re too far away,” he grunted, attempting to push himself up so you were chest to chest.
“Uh uh,” you tutted breathlessly. Your hands were on his chest, holding him against the bed. “Thought you didn’t wanna miss a thing, Miller? Watch me.”
His eyes flicked down from your face to your chest, your stomach, all the way down to where you were connected. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his neck was flushed red. You could only imagine that you looked the same way, as your chest heaved with exhausted breaths.
“So beautiful,” he breathed out, and your cheeks burned. The moment was almost too intense. Post orgasm, with him deep inside of you, saying words you struggled to accept about yourself.
“Fuck me,” you begged him, and he obliged.
His grip on your waist was bruising, using his strength to hold you still while he thrust up into you. You were sure there would be fingerprint shaped marks on you the next day, and the thought made you shiver.
“Y’feel so,” he grunted. “So fuckin’ good for me.”
You leaned back and rested your hands on his thighs for leverage, moaning lowly at the new, tighter angle.
“Oh,” you sighed. “Oh, you’re gonna make me cum again, Joel.”
He cursed loudly, his rhythm breaking for a second before starting up again at a faster rate. “C’mon,” he encouraged, dark eyes bearing into yours. Holding his gaze, a shiver ran down your spine as you noted a hint of frustration. Joel was being rough, pounding into you with no mercy, desperate for you to cum again. It seemed the tension from the conversation in the barn hadn’t disappeared entirely.
Choked sobs fell from your mouth involuntarily as he bounced you on top of him. His teeth were gritted as he snarled, “Want to feel you cum all over my cock. I know you can.”
His words were enough to send you over the edge a second time, and a guttural cry tore out of your throat as you toppled into your orgasm. Joel followed close behind, his hips snapping messily into yours over and over again, while he let out rough curses and mumbles of your name.
Heavy breaths filled the air around you as you collapsed onto his chest. You left feather soft kisses along his collarbones, your eyes closed in exhaustion. He gripped your waist and spun you slowly so your back hit the pillows, before pulling himself out of you.
“I meant it,” he said a short while later. You’d cleaned up and were laying in bed, hands stroking each other’s skin absentmindedly. You looked at him in confusion. He reached out and traced a finger along the scar on your cheek. “You’re so beautiful.”
You cringed quickly, tucking your face into the pillow.
“Don’t do that,” he pleaded in a whisper. “Don’t hide from me.”
“It’s hard,” you muttered, still not meeting his eye-line. “This all feels very… intense.”
He nodded slowly, eyes watching you warily. “Is that… bad?”
“It’s not bad,” you rushed out. “It’s just different. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a… a you.”
“Long time for me too,” he said. You stared at each other for a moment, not saying anything. Finally, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
“I need to eat something,” you mumbled into his mouth, eager to change the subject. “Or I’m gonna pass out.”
“Can’t have that. Need you to keep your energy up,” he replied, his palm gripping your ass quickly. “Can’t have you tirin’ out on me.”
You scoffed, jumping off the bed to tug on a pair of underwear and a random singlet.
As you walked down the hallway into the kitchen, he called out, “I’m hungry too!” You replied with a laugh, and a “yeah yeah!”
You rifled through the kitchen cabinets for a few minutes and contemplated heating up a can of soup, until your eyes landed on the bag of oranges you’d picked up a few days beforehand.
You grabbed one with an eager smile, and began pealing the rind over the sink, not noticing the front door opening in your periphery.
“Jesus, aren’t you cold, freak?”
“Shit!” you jumped, almost dropping the fruit. “You scared me.”
Cal was leaning against the kitchen doorway, staring at you in incredulity.
“Not my fault you’re wandering around in your underwear with your head up in the clouds,” he was laughing.
“Shh, shh,” you hushed him with a snort. “Joel’s here.”
“Oh shit,” Cal said, eyes wide with mischief. “Grumpy old Joel Miller in our house?”
“Give it a rest,” you rolled your eyes, starting up on your peeling again. “How was your day?”
“It was good,” he trailed off, eyes flicking down the hall over your shoulder. You could hear Joel’s footsteps approaching the kitchen, but held focus on the orange, tearing white strands off the juicy flesh. Your cheeks flushed at what the two of you must’ve looked like; half dressed, with messy hair and tired eyes.
“Hey Joel,” Cal nodded politely, raising his hand in a wave.
Joel settled directly behind you, and your eyes went wide when you felt his bare chest press against your back, and his hand come down to land on your stomach. His long fingers splayed against you, pinkie resting dangerously close to the band of your underwear.
“Howdy,” he said quietly. His thumb toyed with the hem of your singlet, brushing underneath the fabric along your bare skin. You turned your head slightly to see Joel out of the corner of your eye, but he was staring directly at Cal. Your heart started to beat a little faster at the sudden awkward tension in the air. What was he doing?
Joel’s face was devoid of emotion, even the skin between his eyebrows was uncharacteristically smooth. But everything his face hid, his body language screamed. His knee brushed against the back of your leg, and where the contact would normally have made you shiver, you found herself stunned into silence by what you realised was a clear display of possessiveness. Joel was marking his territory in front of Cal, and you wanted no fucking part in it.
“How are you?” Cal asked warily, clearly confused by the dynamic between the two of you.
“I’m grand,” Joel said with a tone of finality, and no indication of wanting to continue the conversation. Your brain flashed back to the first time you’d met him, and what you’d thought; rude motherfucker. The adoration you’d felt for the man only minutes before was long gone, replaced with a burning frustration at his behaviour.
The silence was agonising, but you didn’t know how to break it. Cal fidgeted, eyes glancing at Joel’s hand before looking to the floor uneasily. Your stomach twisted as Joel leaned down a pressed a chaste kiss to the side of your neck. Cal cleared his throat into his elbow and finally muttered something about heading over to Louisa’s. Willing yourself to move, you gripped Joel’s hand and pried it off you. You turned and stalked back towards the bedroom; the orange forgotten on the counter.
When he entered the room behind you, you spun around angrily. “What the hell was that?”
“What?” he asked innocently, hands raised in the air.
“You practically propped your leg up and pissed on me back there,” you grunted. “Like a dog marking your fucking territory.”
He said your name softly, arms lowering.
“Don’t say my name like that,” you said. “What the hell was that?”
“What, I can’t touch you?” he asked defensively.
“Did you see how uncomfortable he was? Your hand was practically up my shirt!”
“Well good,” he growled, and you paused, mouth falling open. “Maybe I wanted to set the record straight.”
“Set the record…” you stared at him wide eyed. “What the fuck are you talking about, Joel?”
His face relaxed suddenly as he realised how appalled you were by him, and he made a quick step toward you. “Okay, look,” he surrendered, hands reaching out to you. “I’m sorry, okay?”
“Why did you do that?” you pushed, stepping back.
He breathed your name again, his eyes darting to stare at the wall. He gripped his hands together in front of him, cracking his fingers roughly. “Look, I-I can’t help but think about you and him living in this house together sometimes… knowing what I kno-“
“Jesus Christ,” you interrupted, pulling a pair of trousers from the chest of drawers, and beginning to tug them up your legs.
“Now listen,” he said from behind you. “I’m sorry, but-“
“But what, Joel?” you turned back, zipping your pants. “I was honest with you, before any of this started between us. I told you more about my history, including what happened with Cal, than I have with another person, ever. I trusted you, thought you’d take it at face value. But then here you are, on a weird possessive kick, trying to lay some sort of claim on me in front of him? Cal is like my fucking brother, I told you that.”
“I do trust you, but I doubt it’s the fuckin’ same for him,” he ground out, his face reddening. This wasn’t the soft spoken, kind man you had gotten so close with. He was frustrated and angry, and you didn’t like this side to him. “What am I supposed to think? How do I know that he’s not just holdin’ out hope, waitin’ for you to change your mind?”
It was as though all the tension from the past few hours bubbled up inside of you. The stern words in the barn, Joel thinking he could make decisions for you, stop you from coming on patrol. And now this. If anybody else in Jackson dared to do these things, try to tell you what to do, you’d have their fucking tongue for it.
“Because you’re wrong!” you shouted, unable to help yourself. Your chest was heaving with sharp breaths; the situation astounded you. Is he fucking serious? “And you know what Joel, Cal will always be in my life. He’s been with me for a long time before you, and he’ll be with me for a long time after you. And if you can’t fucking handle that, then I don’t know what to tell you.”
Your mouth had moved faster than your brain, and you regret the phrasing as soon as it came out. But it was too late to take it back, so you steeled your shoulders and held your ground. Joel’s face fell quickly, his mouth turning down in dismay.
After you, you’d said. After you.
His hurt expression made your chest ache, but he cleared his throat and covered it up in a second.
“Well then,” he nodded, bending down to yank his clothes off the floor. He dressed in silence, not looking at you again, before turning and walking out of the room. You watched him leave with wide eyes, tears threatening your water line. Left standing alone in the house, you could only wonder what the fuck had just happened. Maybe you’d been right; wanting never brings anything good.
The nightmares returned that night. After a long week of peaceful deep sleep, the fear was paralysing, and somehow, you’d forgotten just how awful it felt. You slept fitfully, drifting in and out with no reprieve from your own mind.
By the time 6am rolled around, you tore out of bed to start the day. Washing your face in the bathroom, you ran your finger along the scar on your cheekbone, glaring at your reflection. No matter what you did, it would serve as a reminder of how weak you’d been made to feel, all those years ago. You weren’t supposed to be beautiful; you were supposed to be strong.
It was bitterly cold outside. As you trudged towards the stables to meet Joel and Tommy the wind whipped painfully against your skin. Shoving your hands deep in your pockets, you tried to ignore the feelings of regret you had over pushing so hard to come along on the patrol. The argument with Joel rung in your head on a constant loop, and you cringed to think of how tense things were about to be.
His pained expression flashed through your mind, but you willed it away as quickly as it came. You were angry with him. If he’d just told you how he felt, maybe you would have understood, but instead he acted like a child. You rolled your eyes thinking about it. Maybe it was for the best this had happened early on in your... situation with him.
“Oh, hey!” a voice called suddenly, and your head whipped around to spot the newbie jogging in your direction.
“Lincoln,” you nodded at him. “How’re you settling in?”
“Settling in well,” he grinned, his cheeks rosy from the cold. “Surprised to spot anyone else out and about so early.” You gave him a wry smile, doing your best to be polite. It was too early for small talk, and you’d heard from the girls at the stables just how chatty he could be.
“Headed out on patrol,” you said shortly, sighing quietly when he changed his course of direction and fell into step beside you.
“Oh, wow!” he said, too loud for your tired brain. “I thought I’d heard you worked at the stables?”
You could see the barn at the end of the street. So close.
“I normally do, just helping out Tommy this morning.”
“Well,” he stopped walking, and you found yourself pausing too, reminding yourself to be respectful. “I’ll leave you be. Be careful out there. Never know what kind of madness you might come across outside those gates.”
You stared at him for a second, brain struggling to catch up with his shift in tone. Lincoln’s cheery smile was gone, and his face seemed almost solemn as he gave the warning.
When you didn’t respond for a moment, he spoke again. “You be safe then.”
“Always am,” you quipped, before turning to stalk towards the stables.
Joel and Tommy were already preparing the horses when you arrived. Tommy gave a friendly wave when he spotted you, beckoning you over.
“Morning, you remember how to use one of these?” he held a rifle out to you.
“Yeah,” you nodded quickly, stealing a glance in Joel’s direction. He was adjusting the saddle on his horse, and didn’t acknowledge your presence. You shouldered the gun and let out a quick huff of exasperation. Fine.
“Joel saddled Dot up for you,” Tommy said. “We’ll head out in a second.”
Your annoyance waned ever so slightly, and you stared at Joel’s back curiously. He still didn’t turn; whatever he was fiddling with on Percy’s saddle must’ve been pretty damn interesting.
“That’s nice,” you muttered.
“Yeah,” Tommy muttered, gaze flitting awkwardly between the two of you when he noted your disingenuous tone. The contrast from when the three of you were last in the stables together was vast, and the younger Miller’s confusion was palpable.
Joel didn’t say anything as you mounted your horses and rode out of the gates. You hung back, trailing behind their horses while you gained your bearings outside the walls of the settlement.
Large mountains decorated the scene, dusted so beautifully with snow that it would be picturesque if you weren’t so uneasy. It had been so many months since you arrived in Jackson, and being back outside caused your heart rate to kick up a notch. The landscape was vast, and memories of extensive stretches of time spent wandering aimlessly through the country played in your mind. So many cold winters spent hidden in dilapidated buildings, huddled underneath thin blankets, praying you wouldn’t lose your toes to the cold.
“So, we’re going back along the south patrol,” Tommy called back to you. “Same as what we did yesterday. Don’t worry too much about where we’re going, just follow us. Keep your eyes and ears open for anything strange.”
“Roger that,” you called back.
The three of you rode in silence for the first hour. You didn’t mind it much. Your shoulders were tense as you focused on your surroundings. Your ears were sensitive to the smallest of movements, body twitching at the slightest sounds.
“There she is,” you heard Tommy say up ahead, and your breathing hitched. “Fucking hell, the animals must’ve gotten to her.”
Dot trotted into step beside Tommy’s horse, and with a rolling stomach you looked down and spotted the body.
The dead woman was mangled, gory tears in her flesh clear even through the light smattering of snow that had fallen upon her. Animals had clearly gotten to her through the night, and you cringed to see the blood splattered on the bright white ground around her body. Joel was silent.
The three of you tied your horses to a nearby tree and set off on foot, looking for any signs the raiders might have left behind.
“I’m tellin’ you Tommy, we won’t find anything,” you could hear Joel grumbling under his breath up ahead. “She probably just fucking froze.”
“Let’s just be sure, Joel,” Tommy said firmly.
Joel exhaled heavily, and was turning his head to say something else, when you heard it. it was faint, almost too quiet to notice, but your ears pricked up.
Clicking.
Your feet ground to a halt. “Shut up,” you hissed.
“I beg your par-“ Joel turned to look at you for the first time, but stopped speaking when he saw the alarmed expression on your face.
You held a finger to your lips. Listen, you mouthed. Tommy and Joel shared a brief look, before Tommy gripped your jacket collar and hauled you forward to stand in between them.
“I thought they froze out here in the Winter,” you said quietly, eyebrows furrowed.
“Not all of ‘em,” Joel grunted.
“Alright, we move slowly,” Tommy whispered, eyes darting across their surroundings. “As quiet as possible. There shouldn’t be many, so we’ll sort this fucker out and then get back to the gate.”
“We’re gonna kill it?” you asked, eyes wide. Never in your years in the wild had you actively sought out any infected. When you heard clicking, you went the other way. “We should just head back now.”
“It’s part of the patrol. Gotta clear out any infected we come across,” Tommy told you, eyes apologetic. “You’ll be fine.” You refrained from admitting that it wasn’t you that you were worried about. As much as you and Cal had done your best to avoid them, you’d had to kill plenty of infected in your lives. But you were hit with the sudden realisation that you hadn’t even brought a knife with you. Jesus, I’m out of practice.
Quietly as possible, you checked that your rifle was loaded, and the three of you walked toward the noise with your weapons raised. Your heartbeat thudded rhythmically in your ears, and the ache of anxiety grew in your chest. The clicking grew louder the further you walked, and your heart stuttered when they finally came into view. Not one, but two.
Your palms were sweaty against the rifle, and you cursed quietly, reaching down to wipe your right hand on the thigh of your pants.
“We’re good,” Joel whispered. You could see him watching you, out of the corner of your eye, but your gaze stayed trained on the duo up ahead. They were close together, twitching and writhing underneath a tall tree a few hundred metres ahead.
The way the creatures transformed with time never ceased to amaze you, in a morbid way. Fungal plates grew out of their heads, hues of bright orange and blue. After a year or so of infection, the fungus had solidified their bodies, making them stronger; more impenetrable. These should be the things that haunted your nightmares.
The three of you crept forward, and the infected were unaware of your presence, until a twig snapped painfully loud under your boot. They let out loud screeches, heads snapping in the direction of the sound.
You grunted as your right side roughly bumped against Joel’s left, and you realised that you’d both moved to step in front of the other. “Get back,” he barked, staring through the scope on his rifle.
“I got the left,” Tommy shouted, all attempts at stealth thrown out the window. A deafening crack rang out as Tommy shot at one of the clickers. Joel took a shot at the one on the right but growled in frustration when the bullet sizzled just past it. He went to empty the bullet casing and swore when his gun jammed.
You could hear Tommy somewhere to your left, warning you that there was a third infected. Stepping forward, you shot at the one running at you and Joel. The bullet lodged solidly in its torso, but it was too close at that point, and within a second it was on you.
“Fuck,” you yelled, the wind getting knocked from your lungs as you landed on you back.
Your hands pushed at its neck, holding its snapping mouth as far from you as you could. It was snarling and screaming in you face, and white noise rushed in your ears. Its arms flailed, hands swiping viciously towards your face. It landed a heavy blow to the side of your head, and you screamed in pain. A thunderous shot rang out, and a wet sensation splashed across your face. Your head smacked back against the ground as you recoiled, the clicker collapsing above you with its head split open.
The body was heavy on top of you, and a painful buzzing in your left ear had you grimacing in discomfort. You cupped your ears in attempt to soothe the ache. The weight on top of you finally disappeared, and you took the opportunity to roll onto your side. Warm hands were on your back, your arms, grabbing you.
Joel’s urgent voice finally reached you, calling your name, and you opened your eyes. His knees thudded heavily into the snow beside you, hands gripping the lapels of your jacket and dragging you into a seated position.
You stared at him in a wide-eyed daze. His hands ran over your body frantically, tugging your collar away from your neck to touch your skin, and checking your bare hands. He snapped your name, trying to get your attention. “Are you bit?”
Your face was so wet. As you slowly returned to clarity, it was all you could feel. And in a horrifying moment of realisation, it was all you could taste. The smell of metal and rot had invaded your mouth, your nose. You pushed herself back from Joel just in time to empty the contents of your stomach onto the snow between you.
He gripped your hair at the base of your neck, rubbing your back in short, rough circles. Somewhere far off, you thought you could hear speaking, but it was muffled.
“Is she bit, Joel?” Tommy was saying. Your stomach twisted violently, and you vomited again. When you managed to settle, Joel tugged you up onto your feet, his arm wrapping around your waist.
“Joel?" Tommy urged louder.
“She’s not fucking bit!” Joel yelled, his eyes tight with concern as he wiped the blood off your face with a rag. He walked hastily in the direction of the horses, and when you finally reached them, he tried to get you on his horse with him.
“I can ride,” you mumbled, your own voice sounding muffled.
“Just come wit-“
“I can ride on my own,” you asserted, allowing him to help you mount Dot.
The ride back to the gate was long. Joel rode right next to you, not speaking but never letting you out of his sight. The shock was wearing off, but you felt like you had vertigo; dizziness made you grip the reins tighter, and you prayed internally that you wouldn’t fall off. When the gate finally came into view, you could’ve sobbed from relief.
On Maria’s orders, you weren’t allowed to leave the gate check in point until the settlement’s doctor came and gave the all the clear. Tommy and Maria watched you like a hawk, but you paid them no mind. You were sat on the ground, cradling your aching ear, while Joel made futile attempts to clean up your face. He couldn’t do much though, without warm water. No one said anything.
“You’ve got a perforated eardrum,” Dr Llewellyn told you, after shining a light into your left ear. It was leaking a clear, blood-tinged fluid that made your skin itch. “I’ll give you some antibiotics to help ward off any infection, but it should heal up on its own within a fortnight or so.”
“Okay,” you nodded slowly, accepting a small bottle of pills. “Thank you.” Considering you were covered in blood and brain matter and dirt, you were surprised by how unfazed Llewellyn appeared.
A low whistle rung out and you turned to look at Tommy. “I’m impressed,” he said quietly. “You held your own out there. We could use someone like you on the patrol team.”
“Tommy,” Joel started, but you interrupted him.
“Can you take me home?” His head swung to look at you and he was nodding quickly, gripping you hand to pull you up off the ground.
He was quiet, on the walk back. It wasn’t out of character, but you could sense a unique solemnity to it. One of his hands was on you at all times, and his head darted around constantly to see if there was anyone on the street who would spot you. Your demeanour would definitely cause alarm, and he wanted to avoid it if possible. The hearing in your left ear was almost entirely muted, and you walked in a daze, wincing at the headache pulsing in your skull.
Cal was still out when you got back, and Joel ushered you into the bathroom. He started the shower and helped you strip out of your ruined clothes. When the water was warm, and you were standing naked in the middle of the room, he turned toward the door.
“Joel,” you whispered, tears brimming on your waterline. As the shock wore off fully, you felt panic flare inside of you again. “Please stay.”
“Of course,” he hushed, putting his hand on your shoulder. His face looked tired, eyes and mouth downturned in concern. “Let’s clean you up, okay darlin’?”
You nodded meekly, allowing him to walk you into the shower and underneath the warm spray. He kicked his shoes and socks off, peeling his clothes off quickly before stepping into the stream of water beside you. Red and brown water ran down your body, and you shut your eyes quickly. You hair was matted thickly to your head, dried blood glueing it to your scalp.
Joel’s hands rubbed water into it, gently working out the tangles until it was clean. When the blood and grime was gone, he shampooed and conditioned it, nudging your head back softly to wash the suds out. You kept your eyes closed, tears still welling in them. The sense of failure and shame bubbled painfully in your chest. Why couldn’t you keep yourself safe? Why did you always get hurt? You felt like a fucking liability.
He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, signifying that your hair was clean, and began rubbing soap over your body.
“Joel,” you said his name again urgently, voice thick with unshed tears.
“I’m here,” he soothed.
“I need you to check,” you said, voice so low he almost didn’t hear you.
“Check what?” he asked after a moment, his tone steely. Your eyes opened, and a tear rolled down your cheek as you stared at his blank expression. His hands had stopped moving.
“Please, just,” you gulped. “Check for bites. We might’ve missed something.”
“You’re not fuckin’ bit,” he ground out.
“Please,” you begged, a sob racking through you body. “What if there’s one and we just haven’t seen it? Please.”
“Okay, okay, I’ve got you,” he acquiesced finally, realising that your panic wouldn’t subside until he did this for you.
With painstaking care, he resumed his ministrations along your body. Dragging the bar of soap along your skin, checking for bites on your neck, your back. His fingers traced the length of your arms, down to your fingers. His knees cracked loudly as he crouched beside you, hands brushing down your legs, checking.
When he stood back up, he wrapped his arms around you and tugged you into his chest. “You’re safe,” he murmured in your ear, grip tightening as you cried. “There’s nothing, you’re safe.”
Joel had you wrapped in a blanket and in front of the burning fire in your living room within the hour. He’d rifled through Cal’s room looking for a beanie, and gently tugged the navy hat on your head when he returned.
“He won’t mind I’m sure,” Joel muttered while dropping down onto the ground on your right side. He stared affectionately at how cosy you looked.
“He won’t. We share clothes all the time,” you said softly, gaging his reaction. He nodded slowly, eyes staring into the fire. The moment reminded you so strongly of the night a few weeks prior, when he’d found you wandering Jackson late at night in search of firewood, with a busted face.
“I’m sorry,” he said, the sincerity in his tone surprising you. His gaze held on the flames, but his hand drifted under the blanket to rest on your knee. “I was out of line, and I acted like a jealous kid. I don’t know what came over me.”
You didn’t speak for a moment, mulling his words over in your head. All the anger you’d felt towards him was so foreign now, after your near death experience, but you knew you had to talk about it. The way he’d held you in the shower, cleaned your skin... you weren’t ready be done with him.
“I suppose I’ve been relying on myself for so long,” he continued. “That I gotta … adjust to having other people in the picture. I had to adjust with Ellie, and now with you… I’m adjusting again. And it’s a good change; I want you in the picture.”
“You do?” you asked, wishing he would look at you. His cheeks were red from the warmth of the fire, and he cleared his throat nervously, nodding.
Finally, he turned his head to meet your eye. “I think I’ve wanted you in it since the first time I met you.”
You rolled your eyes, “That’s bullshit, Joel.”
“Okay,” he laughed quietly. “The fourth time I met you, then.”
You stared at each other. For once, you didn’t feel like hiding as his eyes slid over the features of your face, taking you in.
“Cal’s my family,” is all you said.
“And I won’t get in the way of that,” he held your gaze.
“Are you sure?”
He breathed your name. “It terrifies me to admit it but… I want you in any way I can have you. If Cal is your family, then I’m not going to fuck with that. I trust you.”
“He’s happy, you know,” you started, resting your hand on top of his. You chose your words carefully. “That you’re… in my life. He thinks you’re a good person.”
Joel’s eyes softened further, and he had the good grace to appear embarrassed.
“I need to say something though,” you continued, and his face tightened with alertness, hanging on your every word. “After everything that I’ve been through, the way I’ve lived… being in Jackson has brought order back to my life, Joel. And I need that. I need to feel in control of my life, and my decisions. If I want something, like going on a patrol,” his eyes darkened, but he stayed silent. “then I will. And you need to accept that about me. My decisions are my own.”
“They are,” he said firmly, squeezing your knee.
After a beat of silence, you gripped his hand tighter, and admitted, “I want you too. In my picture.”
He nodded, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours. “I know, darlin’.”
“Gonna have to stay on my right side though, with this bum ear,” you sighed.
“We can handle a perforated ear drum,” Joel chuckled quietly, his nose brushing against yours. “You stay on my left, and I’ll stay on your right. We only need two workin’ ears between us."
And as sweet as it was, the moment was broken by the front door of the house unlocking loudly, and Cal stumbled into the room. He took in the picture quickly, watching you both with a distressed look on his face.
“Cal?” you asked, eyes wide. You figured he'd heard what happened on the patrol and rushed home to see you.
“You okay?” Joel stood, taking in the younger man in confusion.
“Sorry,” he breathed heavily, pushing his snow slicked hair back off his forehead. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Don’t apologise,” Joel said, offering a sheepish smile. Cal watched him warily, and looked to you.
“Someone’s gone missing,” he said, catching you off guard. Your shoulders tensed, and you nodded.
“Milena, right?” you asked. “I heard the other day. I thought she’d just left Jackson.”
“Who?” Cal frowned, his hands shaking. “No, it’s Rebecca, from the patrol group. I just ran into her husband; she didn’t go home last night, and he hasn’t been able to find her today. They’re putting together a search party.”
More Posts from Fivsecondsflat and Others
*shakes fictional character* where is the rest of your information I want to know more about you
YOU HAD ME AT “BRADLEY GOES AS TED LASSO FOR HIS FIRST HALLOWEEN” HOLY SHIT DID YOU CRAWL INSIDE MY BRAIN????? ABSOLUTELY SHUT UP!!!!!! THE MUSTACHE!!!!!!! jordannnnnnnnnnnnnnnn i’ll never be over this. amazing, perfect, incredible, showstopping, i can keep going…
bradley being a boy’s dad!!!!!!! and a coach!!!!!!!!!!!! stop it!!!!!!!!!!!! AND JEALOUS!!!!!!!! and of course he gets handsy 😭😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏
bradley and smart aleck are my beloveds and i got a littleeeeee teeeenyyyy bit emotional about knowing they’re gonna have kids together one day!!! also: the mav mention <3
rooster jealousy fic 🥵🥵🥵
I want all of them
this probably isn’t what you imagined BUT it takes place in an eventual universe where bradley and smart aleck have kids. and yes in my dreams bradley goes as ted lasso for his first halloween with smart aleck and it kinda evolves into peewee soccer coach bradley bradshaw when they have kids since his girl digs it so much (it’s the fucking mustache i stg) - enjoy???
ask prompt
"Did you see that? You saw that, right?"
Bradley sputtered, frantically pointing across the soccer field to where you were chatting with Max's dad, Zach.
Fucking Zach. Bradley hated Zach. And his stupid crisp button downs and his smarmy face and his shiny loafers and his ridiculous fucking Shelby Cobra that was in no way safe for a child to ride in, unlike Bradley's family-friendly Land Rover. Plus, his son, Max, was a biter.
But more importantly, Bradley hated the way Zach got so close to you to talk about emerging markets or stock options or some shit like that. Fucking prick.
Beside him, Gil frowned. "See what? Mommy?"
"Yes, mommy," he sassed the five year old, not taking his eyes off you from behind his aviators. Wait, was he - no, he did not just put his hand on -
"- TWEEEEEEEEEET," Bradley blew the whistle hanging around his neck, causing his small battalion of five year olds to immediately freeze where they were aimlessly running on the field. If it also caused Zach to retreat his hand from where it was about to touch your arm then that was just a happy coincidence.
"Alright," Coach Bradshaw clapped his hands together a couple times, rounding up the troops, "good job today everyone - especially you, Maddie S, that flower crown looks dynamite on you, wanna see that energy on Saturday for our game against the Yellow Frogs, alright?"
Maddie S preened under the praise, while the rest of the kids nodded seriously. "We gotta keep that defense tight - that means no getting distracted by Jacob R, okay Emily? Yeah, heard about you at nap time the other day, little grabby for kindergarten, I think? That being said, I think Mrs. Armstrong brought orange slices and apple juice if you all want to head over for your snack - "
They dispersed without another word, except Gil, who was drawing what Bradley thought was a - dinosaur? a dog? he didn't really know - on his play whiteboard. He hazarded a glance across the field to see that you still were talking to Zach. God, your ass looked fucking perfect in your work skirt. How the hell you weren't sinking into the grass with those heels of yours?
"Hey, buddy?" Gil looked up. "Why don't we pack up all this stuff and go get mommy? Think she's talking to Max's dad..."
Gil made a face. “I don’t like Max -”
“- Well, I don’t like his dad,” Bradley muttered, hoping Gil didn’t hear, but the little boy giggled.
The two Bradshaw men made quick work of picking up all the cones and practice pinnies and tossing them into a mesh bag along with the five or so soccer balls. Gil tried to carry the bag, but ended up dragging it, so Bradley picked it and Gil up and made his way across the field to you. The kid was too old to be picked up, but it made getting over to you quicker - Gil had short legs.
While Bradley and Gil had been cleaning up, Emily K’s dad, Adam, had joined Zach’s little tete-a-tete with you. Of course, none of them had their kids with them. Fucking typical. Emily was probably aimlessly walking around with orange juice dripping on her cleats. Bradley scowled as he approached the group, while Zach tossed him a quick wave.
“Hey, Brad.” Bradley fucking hated being called Brad.
“Hmmm, hi.”
You turned around at the sound of his voice and a huge smile lit up your face once you saw Bradley and Gil.
“Mommy!" Gil squirmed in Bradley’s arms until he put him down, wanting to be let go.
“Hey, little man!” You ran your hands through Gil’s hair as he latched onto your legs in a hug. Suddenly, Bradley was jealous of his five year old and he gave you a longer than probably appropriate for six o’clock on a Tuesday kiss.
“Did you see me? I scored a goal!” Gil exclaimed, dancing on the spot.
You shot a quick glance over towards Bradley to double check. He nodded slightly, knowing you hadn’t seen that part of practice - and not because Zach and Adam had been monopolizing your time.
“Of course, I did! Amazing, as always, did daddy teach you that?” Gil giggled and then burrowed his face in the hem of your skirt when he realized there were two other men standing there.
Bradley took a step back towards you, resting his hand on the small of your back. You leaned into him and gave him a quick smile. “Zach was just talking about setting up a playdate with Gil next week - and then Adam thought maybe Emily could come over, too?”
Absolutely fucking not. The ink on Zach’s divorce papers was barely dry and Adam was - well, Adam wasn’t too bad and he probably had just wanted to see if Emily could have a playdate with Gil. They were in the same class, after all. And she wasn’t a biter. Even if she was a little handsy.
Bradley clicked his tongue. “You know, I think G-man’s a little booked up next week? We got a birthday party and then we’re gonna see Papa at the base.”
Gil looked up at him and his entire face lit up even though they were doing nothing of the sort - well, at least not yet. Clearly, when Bradley called Mav later, he would understand and extend the invite.
“Ahhh bummer. We were just exchanging numbers,” Zach nodded towards you, “so, maybe we can do something the week after?”
“Yeah, of course,” you said politely, “maybe next - ahh - week?”
Zach and Adam frowned at your sudden exclamation, but what they hadn’t seen was Bradley slide his hand underneath the waistband of your skirt and lace panties and dig his fingers into the top of your ass. Or the way he started drawing little circles with the pads of his fingers and dragged his nail down your spine. You swallowed.
He could see the goosebumps rising on your arms. Thankfully, your backs were both to the field and not the mass of parents and five year olds eating oranges.
“We uhh, we can work out the details on - Satur-day?” you stuttered out as Bradley dug his fingers into a rather sensitive knot on your back.
“Sure, that’s fine...guess we’ll see you two around then?”
Bradley smiled at the two men for the first time since the conversation had started, but his good mood was more attributed to your slightly heaving chest, which he had perfect view of thanks to his height advantage. “Have a good night.”
With a brief glance back at the three of you, the two men set off to find their children - which they should have been keeping an eye on in the first place. Bradley retracted his hand.
You bit your lip and glanced up at him. “So, Coach Bradshaw, you gonna make me stay after practice for some one-on-one training? Promise I’ll try harder..."
“Nah, I got you booked for a private session later.” He leaned forward and kissed you, wrapping his arms around your waist, while you clasped yours around his neck. God, you smelled so pretty - he’d take you on the goddamn soccer field right now if there weren’t about twenty parents and five year olds around them.
Bradley only came back to himself and pulled away when he felt a slight tug on his joggers. He looked down at Gil.
“Daddy? Can we get ice cream since I scored a goal? Please?”
A wicked smile crept across your face. “Yeah, daddy, can we get ice cream?”
Bradley threw back his head and groaned. God, you were fucking killing him tonight. He shot Gil an amused look. “If you can carry this bag,” he nodded towards the mesh bag at his feet, “all the way to the car, then we can get ice cream.”
Gil considered this and then grabbed the bag with his little hands. “Okay, I can do it! I can do it!”
The two of you laughed watching him slowly drag the bag across the grass and towards the parking lot. Bradley threw his arm around your shoulders pulling you close.
“So, Zach’s dad, huh?”
“Hmmm.”
“What do you mean hmmmm! I could see him making eyes at you from all the way across the field -”
“- He was not!” you protested.
Bradley snorted. “And you just happened to wear that tight little skirt to come to practice, huh?”
“Noticed that, did you - Gil, wait until your father and I catch up before going into the parking lot!” You glanced back up at Bradley. “I like when you get jealous, bubs, it’s cute -”
“- Cute!” He scoffed. “Hardly -”
“- Well, I suppose that’s not true, you were practically groping my ass on the field - isn’t that a Title IX violation or something?”
Bradley groaned. “Sweetheart, at least wait till we get home to start the dirty talk.”
“I make no promises - coach.” You winked and then walked ahead to meet Gil, shaking your hips with every step. “I’ll take Gil to Dairy Queen and we can meet you at home?”
Bradley stopped by his car. “You want ice cream, too?”
You turned around and scrunched your nose. “Not really, I actually have other plans in mind for dessert tonight...” Bradley groaned. “See you at home, daddy.”
thanks for reading x
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
reading texas sun isn’t enough, i need it injected into my VEINS!!! best piece of writing i’ve read in a long time. it just keeps getting better!!! this is THE joel miller dope you need in your life. SUCH GOOD CHARACTERIZATION I CAN’T FUCKING WAIT FOR POST-OUTBREAK I KNOW YOU’RE GONNA NAIL IT!!! i haven’t been able to properly post reviews about each chapter yet (i’m so sorry but i read it religiously) but i’m planning to reread it and highlight my favorite parts soon because THIS IS LITERATURE, BABY!!! i did not have “obsession over tlou” on my bingo card for the year at this level, but here we are!!!
texas sun - series masterlist (joel miller x f!reader)
series summary: Twenty years later, Joel still doesn’t know how to describe what you were to him. You’d never made any promises to each other, but you loved his daughter like she was your own. Had he known what was going to happen, he wouldn't have let you go.
description: plot inspired partially by this request. pre-outbreak! joel miller x f!reader, slow burn(ish), eventual smut. will end up covering game/tv show events. reader does not have a name, and there's no use of y/n, but she does have a fully fleshed-out backstory, friends/family with names.
warnings (will update as needed): fluff, angst, romance. multiple pov's. time jumps. smut (18+ only, minors DNI), alcohol use, marijuana use, descriptions of absent & abusive parents, eventual canon-typical violence & content. More specific warnings on each chapter.
a/n: super excited about this one, i've had so many ideas for it and it has been a pleasure to write! will try to update roughly every week or so, but i have a full-time job, so it just depends on what i can reasonably accomplish. i don't rush things out before they are ready, so please be patient. :)
fic playlist | writing masterlist | read on a03
chapters: "*" = contains smut
volume i volume ii volume iii volume iv volume v* volume vi* volume vii* volume viii volume ix volume x volume xi volume xii volume xiii
16/08/2022: FAKE DATING TROPE YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS!!! there’s so much *yearning* in this oneeeeeeeee. the way their not-date starts blending in as the night comes to an end and things start to slip and get a little more real!!!!!! you wrote this so well!!!!! it was definitely worth the wait and COME ONE NOW PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE PLANNING A PART 3??? maybeeee? pleaseeee? this was delightful, let the boyfriend experience live on forever!!!
”Well, you made sure I didn't have a run there to fake propose in front of all these witnesses. Left my fake engagement ring in my dresser drawer back at base,” he snapped his fingers. "Fuck." i love that he keeps saying fake in front on the words it’s so cute i just know bradley was having the time of his life playing pretend. AND YES PLEASE DO FAKE PROPOSE!!!!
“He nodded and grinned. "I'd guarantee you a life of no more wedding BS though.” oh he’s such a little shit please sjdhjshxhshdhshdhs <3
"You're such a dick," you could only respond, handing the glass back as he chuckled, putting the garter back in his breast pocket, patting it safely.
"Taken you 30 years to figure it out - that's more on you than me though," he teased.” i know i’ve said this already but i ADORE the way you write their banter. it’s simple and very believable dialogue and they’re so sillyyyyyyyy. babies.
“He took your hand and spun you back to him, facing the other again and he smiled slow, a smile you'd certainly never seen before but enjoyed thoroughly as his hands moved to the back of your ribs, dragging you closer to him.” *SCREAMING*
“Good, Please get my sister home safely?" she warned him.
"Of course, she's precious cargo," he smiled as Annie kissed you and waddled over to Arron, her extremely drunk hubby.” the older sister interactions are everything to me like SHE SEENS WHAT’S GOING ONNNNN!!!!! SHE GETS IT!!!!!! and bradley saying she’s PRECIOUS CARGO? 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺
“Rooster pouted. "Then I'll piggyback you,” EXCUSE ME WHILE I CRY?????????
“You wished he'd stop talking because as he adjusted his hold on you, leaving one hand on your hip, the other arm wrapping around your shoulders, you only reaffirmed how good you fit against him.” she’s trying to fight her feelings so hard!!!! don’t do it!!!! he’s gonna be good for you!!! 🥺
”He nodded. It felt like a kiss-off, that was for sure. "I wasn't asking for the rest of our lives," he said quietly.
"I know," you pulled back, needing to be completely out of his reach. "But I just don't know what to tell you right now.” I WASN’T ASKING FOR THE REST OF OUR LIVES I AM IN SO MUCH PAIN RIGHT NOW BECAUSE I KNOW HE WANTS IT TO BE FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES.
“Goodnight, Rooster," you said as you unlocked the door and took a step in before pausing. Rationality be damned. "Unless you wanna come in?" you called softly in the dead quiet of the night. You could see his brain working a million miles a moment.” AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I’M SMILING!!!!! I’M CLAPPING!!!!!!! I’M CHEERING!!!!!!! i can visualize his facial expressio here so clearly, his mind working a million miles!!!!!
“Always," he said softly and put the photo back carefully on the wall. "You keep it, it gives me something to see when I am here.” her picture with carol and this moment between them made my heart crack a little. the fact that she was this connection to bradley’s parents must be very special to him, you know????
“He wouldn't lie and say he hadn't memorised every curve of your body, your smile and that absolutely devastating self-deprecating wit but there were plenty of other distractions in his wake. But here you were, right before him. And you, at that moment, were perfect but he didn't know what you wanted from him and it ate him alive.” SO MANY FEELINGS HERE!!!! I LOVE IT WHEN AUTHOURS DO THIS *STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS* THING BECAUSE EVERYTHING GETS REALLY TANGLED AND IT’S VERY REAL!!!! BEAUTIFUL!!!!! MY FAVORITE LINE!!!!!!!!!
“I know she was sick... but she really died of a broken heart in the end," he said quietly.” i’m so so sad. this is probably one of the saddest details about bradley’s past and his parents that i’ve ever read in any fic. so sad but VERY BEAUTIFUL!!!!!!
“When I find the one, I'll know," he added, taking your hand back into his and this time, he avoided your gaze as he drew circles around the pads of your palm. "I'm sure of it." He was sure of it.” OH THE IMPLICATIONS OF THIS!!!!!! BRADLEY I AM READING BETWEEN THE LINES YOU’RE NOT FOOLING ANYONE…
“I love flying," he looked up. "My fate is sealed, but the right person? Jesus, fucking the right person could make you wanna give it all up, you know?” jesus christ. i’m gonna need 30 days to recover from this line ALONE.
“He smiled, a small tint of red creeping up to his cheeks. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"I think I like making you squirm," you said simply as dropped his eyes, coy all of a sudden.” BANTER!!!!!!!!!!! THEY ARE MY BELOVEDS!!!!!!!
“He adjusted his posture and he took your chin in his palm, his thumb imprinting on your chin. God, you were right there, so close... desperate to be kissed. "I like the chase," his voice low. "But the chase isn't all that much a challenge much anymore," he admitted and his wrist started beeping. 4am. He needed to go. He silenced it. "Saved by the bell," he announced. "That's my alarm.” NOT THE ALARM INTERRUPTION STOP THIS IS SO MEAN. THE NAVY CAN WAIT. also him taking her chin in palm!!!!! love this!!!!
“Fuck, you're so beautiful, do you know that?" he couldn't stop himself from saying. It just had to be said and put out there. Great, now it was done, he reasoned. You didn't break his gaze, you were daring him to make a move. He licked his lips and had to laugh. He'd already made the move. If you wanted him, he decided... the ball was in your court. Come and claim me, he wished.” he’s starting to crack!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"Stay."
"No," he said, sitting forward. Fight for me.” i genuinely gasped and had to pause for a second when i read that he said “no”. and then you continued with the “fight for me” and i was like OH!!!!!!!!
“It was powerful and intimate and he didn't know if he trusted himself to be touching you like this.” AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA i’m about to combust.
“He bristled a laugh as you reached for a button on his shirt, dainty fingers making light work of the straining material over his chest. "Think I'm gonna just fuck you after all this?" he removed your hands, placing them back in your lap where he silently prayed you'd keep them because his strength was waning and if you tried really hard, you'd have him exactly where you wanted him. "You really wanna make this about a quick fuck and I just up and leave?" he shook his head. "I think you know by now I want a little more than that.” I THINK YOU KNOW BY NOW I WANT A LITTLE MORE THAN THAT!!!!!!! I GOT CHILLS ALL OVER MY BODYYYYYYYYYYYY. this whole sequence had me buzzing, the contrast between this words!!!!!
"What do you want, Rooster?" you asked, your fingers tracing his scars, finding one on his jaw you were particularly fond of and tracing it, feeling him tremor beneath you. "Tell me," you said reaching for the hem of your shirt and he knew he was going for martyrdom as he held your shirt down, whispering a curse.” i’m just a shaking and crying and throwing up mess by this point. absolute zero coherent thoughts.
“The blood was pumping so loud in your ears that you were finding it hard to focus. You were drawn out of your stupor as his alarm started buzzing on his wrist again. He was getting later.” STOP THE ANTICIPATION HERE IS KILLING ME!!!!!!! YOU GOT ME ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT.
"And if I fuck it up?" you asked, scared as reality started to kick in.
"What if I do?" he challenged. "Do we not owe it to ourselves to find out?" i love this. i love that he reminds her this isn’t a one way street. that if they give each other a chance, they’re both responsible for working together to make the relationship work!!!! they’re both scared and it’s okay!!!!
“Soft, inobtrusive, it felt like you'd been kissing him your whole life.” I TAKE IT BACK THIS IS MY FAVORITE LINE. HOW DARE YOU WRITE “IF FELT LIKE YOU’F BEEN KISSING HIM YOUR WHOLE LIFE” AND EXPECT ME TO JUST MOVE ON??????
“If I don't front up today... every single person we know will know exactly where I am... and why," he said, voice laced in mirth.
You told him softly, "I will make it worth your while."
He groaned loudly, his body already ready and willing, pressed unyielding against you. "I believe you," he breathed.” I LOVE THIS!!!
“He gave a small smile, pushing some hair from your eyes. "Good morning, fake girlfriend," he kissed you gently again, let go of you to collect his gear at your feet and forced himself into opening the door, stepping over the threshold purposefully. He leaned back and kissed you once more. "I'll call you later," he breathed, trying to gather some resolve.” GOOD MORNING FAKE GIRLFRIENDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!! I SWOON EVERY TIME HE CALLS HER HIS FAKE GIRLFRIEND!!!!
“I got a wedding invite through the week," he smiled kindly and you bit back a laugh. "Thought maybe you'd like to go with me..."
“Think you can keep this fake dating thing going until then?" you asked, caressing his cheek.
“I'm pretty confident we may not be fake dating then..." he said quietly, kissing you just one more time.” OH THE UNIVERSE AND ITS BEAUTIFUL COINCIDENCES. AND HE’S SUCH A COCKY LITTLE SHIT!!!!!
“Jesus Christ, I want to stay. Please tell me to leave," his eyes fluttered closed.” I CAN HEAR THE RESTRAINING IN HIS VOICE!!!! I CAN HEAR HIM PANTING!!!!!!!! HOW TEMPTED HE IS TO STAY!!!!!!
“He nodded, thankful for your push. "I'll see you later," he said and forcibly turned away, his feet taking him away from you and when he was out of your view, you felt the weight of his dog tags on your chest.” THE DOG TAGS!!!!!!!! HOW DARE YOU!!!!!!
i loved it so much, this was the bumpy moment we have to go through in every romcom in order to get to the happy ending. we got fluff and pain and insecurities and BRADLEY BRADSHAW BEING THE BIGGEST CHARMER ON PLANET EARTH AND DOGS TAGS AT THE END!!!! ❤️🩹
The Boyfriend Experience - Part 2 / 2
7k words of Rooster being your super wonderful, pretend plus one! A few swears, but it’s the Navy, goddammit! The fluffiness should make up for it.
The Boyfriend Experience 1 / 2
“Thank God you didn’t catch the bouquet,” Rooster rolled his eyes as you wandered back, bored. “Could you look any less interested?” he bit back a smile.
“I could, yes,“ you told him, patting his cheek with a gentle thwack as he chuckled.
”Well, you made sure I didn’t have a run there to fake propose in front of all these witnesses. Left my fake engagement ring in my dresser drawer back at base,” he snapped his fingers. "Fuck.”
Continuar lendo
02/09/2022: technically, i read this on the 28th but have not been able to go back to normal until now. okay. MAY??????? not you breaking my heart again????????? i’m so excited to see where you’re gonna take this story. i already love them so much. the way you write bradley just does things to my heart that are unexplainable!!!!! plus your attention to details just makes everything so much better. anyways. THIS WAS BEAUTIFUL AS ALWAYS YOU NEVER DISAPPOINTS. YOU SHOULD BE OUT THERE SELLING NOVELS I AM SO VERY SERIOUS. HERE ARE MY FAVORITE PARTS (i literally just highlighted the entire thing):
“Inside the bar, everything is like it always is. The chatter of the customers, the drawl of the music, the smell of beer, and the Ocean Breeze scented cleaner you use to wipe the floors. Far below it, the scent of the real ocean breeze drifting in through the opened windows. It seems wrong for the Hard Deck to be unchanged, unaltered, untouched when your own life has gone so completely off the rails.” you really know how to set the atmosphere for us readers.
“Allergies,” you lie. “I’ve got two on tap here, which one did you guys have? The German or the…”
“You don’t have allergies,” Bradley points out. You’d made it a point not to look at him, but now your gaze snaps in his direction. He stands with his eyes narrowed, with his hands on the polished wood of the bar top. Concern flutters across his face.” OH HE LIKES HER SO MUCH!!!!!!!!! I ALREADY KNOW IT!!!!!!!!!!!! THE FACT THAT HE REMEMBERED HER ALLERGIES 😭🥺🤲 you got me giggling and kicking my feet.
“There’s something about Bradley Bradshaw. You like to think of it as a gravitational pull. Something with force, something that makes people look at him. Something that grounds them, too, though, gives them a tether.” HE REALLY DOES!!! NO WONDER HE GENERATED 1.4 BILLION DOLLARS WORLDWIDE (AND COUNTING)!!!
“Bradley Bradshaw makes for a good North Star.” not me sobbing already… and the fact that you bring this back at the end… favorite detail!!!!!!
“He places a large hand on the countertop, palm down, and you should be looking busy, but all you can do is stare as his fingers starfish across the wood.” starfish across the wood!!! aaaaaa may, the imagery <3
“You do look up then. Bradley has brown eyes, round and big and deep. There’s something about them that makes you want to trust him, trust his words, trust the sincerity. It almost makes you start crying again.” so tender 🥺🥺🥺🥲🥲🥲
“Under any other circumstances, you would have laughed. But your stomach is coiled up in knots so tight you wonder if they’ll ever untangle again. Like the earphones you fish from the bottom of a purse.” :((((((((
“You’re never going back from this, you realize suddenly. No matter what happens from here on out, there’s never going to be another moment where this hasn’t happened. Where you weren’t pregnant, where you didn’t mess it all up. The plan, the dream, the life.” you didn’t mess it up you’re going to be okay. i need someone to reassure her.
“And you’d been stupid enough to hope. Hope for more, hope for better, hope for something.” to live for the hope of it all???????? reader is august… AND YOU POSTED THIS ON AUGUST. MAY!
AND HELLO MOJITO MENTION!!!!
“That’s not true. You’d like him to hug you. You’d like him to tell you it’s going to be okay, even if that might be a lie. You’d like him to be nice to you.” SHUT UP SHUT UP AND THEN AT THE END BRADLEY DOES EXACTLY THIS!!!!!!!! HUGS HER AND COMFORTS HER!!!!!!!!! IS NICE TO HER!!!!!! MAYYYYYY THE PARALLELS!!!!!!
“It’s the most terrifying thought of your life. You’ve never experienced something so wonderful. Even as the fear eats away at you, even as your stomach churns and your head spins, some part of you feels illuminated with light.” getting major waitress vibes!!!!!!!! normally the protagonist would automatically view the pregnancy as something bad especially in her situation but she feels ILLUMINATED WITH LIGHT !!!! beautiful !!!!!!
“And then he does what men do best: He leaves. Walks away from you and the baby growing inside of you. Walks away from the mess he made, the dream he shattered, without a care or a thought. Without looking back.” he’s such a piece of shit and i love how you phrased this.
“Twenty minutes later, Bradley Bradshaw finds you in the exact same position.” YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!
“It’s like somebody’s cut your chest open. Scooped you clean like taking a spoon to a tub of ice cream. Behind your ribcage, you feel hollow in a way that aches down to your bones. That spiderwebs through your veins.” she needs to rest :(
“Only this Virgin Mary wears Hawaiian shirts, apparently. It almost makes you laugh.” this whole virgin mary comparison was so funny ajdhhsfhhsyh
“What happened?” Bradley asks, something hard to his voice. But when he goes to touch the side of your face, carefully as if you’re injured, as if you’re made of porcelain that’ll break at the slightest jostle, his brown eyes show nothing but genuine concern.
It makes you cry harder.” SHE STARTS CRYING AGAIN BECAUSE BRADLEY IS JUST BEING SO KIND !!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAA !!!!!!!! I UNDERSTAND !!!!!!!! AND YOU CASUALLY MENTIONING THERE WAS SOMETHING HARD TO HIS VOICE I JUST KNOW HE WAS READY TO BEAT WHOEVER MADE HER CRY !!!!!!
“But he doesn’t push. Doesn’t try to get you to explain it, doesn’t ask again. He just sits there with you, elbows on his thighs, and lets you cry.” my most beloved man <3
“Bradley looks at you, then pulls his knees up, lets his arms dangle between them. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says, and his voice is very gentle. “But if you want to… I can listen.” giving her space and being patient so she feels comfortable if and when she opens up 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
“This is the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. He has the kind of face that makes you want to tell him things. Makes you want to spill your secrets to him, pour them into his space. He’s steady, reliable, calm. It would be so easy to trust him.
That’s dangerous.” FAVORITE DESCRIPTION OF BRADLEY EVER??????????????
“You just want to pretend you don’t have to do it alone. Just for a moment.” just for a moment!!!!!!!!!!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO IT ALONE HE’S GONNA HELP YOU AND YOU’RE GONNA FALL IN LOVE AND IT’S GOING TO BE BEAUTIFUL!!!!
“Bradley’s eyes are very brown. A soft shade of brown, like milk chocolate. When you look at him, you feel warm all over.” BUT NOW I SEE DAYLIGHTTTTTTTTTT
“One moment - and in it the rest of your life.” 😭
“After half an eternity, Bradley says, “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.” STOP. THE FACT THAT HE PICKS UP ON *THIS* DETAIL?????? OH HE’S BEEN OBSESSED WITH HER FOREVER RIGHT?????? JEHCHEGCHSGXSHHXYSD I LOVE THISSSSSSS.
“Beside you, Bradley shifts his weight. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m really putting my foot in it today, aren’t I?” beloved 😔😔😔😔😔😔😔❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹 he’s doing his best!!!
“There’s always been something traditional about Bradley Bradshaw, like he’s one of those men written by women people rave about all over TikTok. If he takes a girl out on a date, he probably holds open car doors and pulls out chairs for her, hands her his jacket if she gets cold.
Distantly, you wonder what that would be like.” DISTANTLY… SURE MAY… I KNOW WHERE THIS IS GOING WE ALL KNOW…
“Yeah,” Bradley says, completely sincere. “Your body, your choice.” FEMINIST KING 👑
“It’s endearing in a strange way because there’s nothing performative about it. It’s just bumbling and awkward and peculiarly genuine.” the way you write bradley is also so genuine!!!!! all the little details about him just MAKE SENSEN and makes him so real. of course he would be one of these men that really cares about women’s rights and know a couple of things but not brag about it. i love him.
“Bradley’s got a nice laugh, one that starts in his belly and seems to end at the back of his throat, punches out into the air from back there.” SEE!!!!!! THIS IS WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!!!!!! HOW ARE YOU SO GOOD AT MAKING HIM REAL????? THIS IS EXACTLY HIS LAUGH!!!!!!
“But when you glance up at him from beneath lowered lashes, stomach tight with anticipation, Bradley doesn’t look judgmental at all. Instead, his face is wide open, his eyes clear, the corners of his lips still curled upward with the remnants of his smile.
Luke laughed at you, but Bradley is looking at you with something like admiration, and it takes your breath away.” TAKE MY BREATH AWAY REFERENCE PERFECTLY PUT I LOVE THIS!!! MAY YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS!!!
“No,” he says. “I think you’re really, really brave.”
And then you’re crying again.” I AM INDEED CRYING AGAIN.
“And Bradley is so nice. So goddamn kind even though he doesn’t know you, not really, even though this isn’t even his problem. Sits there on the floor of the Hard Deck with you at half past one am on a Sunday night, and doesn’t complain, doesn’t sigh. He just listens.” ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
“You don’t feel brave. You feel terrified, you feel overwhelmed, you feel… you feel… you feel like the whole world has toppled over. You feel like Atlas crashing down, buried beneath the weight of his burden. You feel tiny. Inadequate. You feel scared, scared, scared.” LIKE ATLAS CRASHING DOWN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HELL YEAH THE MYTHOLOGICAL REFERENCES!!!!!!!!!!!!!
“Suddenly, you think of that tiny, unborn child inside of you. Abandoned before it ever came into the world.” :(((((((((((((
“Instead, Bradley takes a deep breath and says, “Marry me.” EVERYBODY CHEERED!!!!! i would also like to know how his brain goes DIRECTLY to this solution jahdhshdhshfjshdhd <3
“Bradley pushes on, “It wouldn’t be permanent. We could get a divorce quickie in a year or two, just stay together long enough for you to get settled with the baby and everything. Plus, you’d get free healthcare.” He glances at you, and the blank expression on your face must light a panic in him. Now his words come faster. “I wouldn’t expect anything from you, of course I wouldn’t. It would just be… keeping up appearances. Just for a while….” and he just keeps talking ahdhshfhshdhshdhshdhdhd because he’s so nervous he’s overstepped but he just wants to help and make this make sense <3
“But I could babysit, and then you could go back to work. I really wouldn’t mind. I’m good with kids, you know?” AND HE COULD BABYSIT- HE’S GOOD WITH KIDS?????? OH BRADLEY. SWEET BRADLEY. BRADLEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.
“For a second, just a second, you let yourself imagine it: Imagine saying yes to this mad, insane, incredible proposal. Imagine marrying Bradley, someone soft and warm and responsible, someone completely opposite to Luke. Imagine him in a tux and you in a white dress, imagine his mustache tickling against your cheek as he leans in to kiss you. You imagine one of the quaint little houses you grew up in, but one that would belong to you, at least for a while. You imagine a toddler running through it, imagine Bradley bending down to scoop them into his arms. You imagine a life without this aching, shifting loneliness. You imagine a life with Bradley.” THE WAY YOU FOLLOW UP “A LIFE WITHOUT THIS ACHING, SHIFTING LONELINESS” WITH “A LIFE WITH BRADLEY” IMPLYING THAT BECAUSE OF HIM SHE’S NEVER GONNA FEEL ALONE AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!! YES!!!!!!!!!!
“When you do marry, when you walk down that aisle, you want it to be for love. And people can call you delusional, naive, whatever. You don’t care. You just know you want the big thing, the real thing, True Love, capital t, capital l. You want the hurricane of romance, the monsoon of love. You want to fly into it.” i relate. this is very real. and i loved how you described it as a hurricane.
“And he means it. Bradley carries his heart on his sleeve, you’ve learned this much. He tries to hide it, but he’s no good at it. Eventually, his emotions always get the better of him, burst forth like fountains. It’s part of his charm.” JUST A VERY PERFECT PARAGRAPH.
“You pretend like you’re not still reeling from his proposal, like it’s not suddenly become impossible to do so much as look at him without your heart flopping around like a fish finding its sad end on dry land.” WITHOUT YOUR HEART FLOPPING AROUND LIKE A FISH FINDING ITS SAD END ON DRY LAND??????? HOW DO YOU COME UP WITH THESE??????????? PERFECT.
“I know,” he interrupts you, a smile spreading on his face. “But I’ll feel better knowing you got home safe.” CHIVALRY WILL NEVER BE DEAD AS LONG AS WE HAVE BRADLEY BRADSHAW!!!
“That makes your insides clench in a way they shouldn’t. Your chest feels tight, and you look away just in case you start crying again.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺😔😔😔😔😔
“It ends quicker than expected because time always goes the fastest when you want it to go slow. Then you’re thanking him, saying goodbye, both of you pretending he didn’t just propose some strange, fake marriage to you behind a bar counter not even thirty minutes ago.” time really does go fastest when you want it to go slow!!!!!
“It’s like being five again, trying to get somebody to look at the picture you drew. It’s like being ten again and being overlooked. It’s like being fifteen again, still vying for the attention you’ll never really get.” STOP HURTING ME??????? WHAT IS THIS????? ENOUGH.
“So, like a child, like you’re five again, like you’re ten again, like you’re fifteen again, you say, “I’m getting married.” and then you bring the “you’re five, fen, fifteen” motif again <33333333333333333 PERFECT.
“It might be the worst thing you’ve done in your life: Dragging poor, kind Bradley Bradshaw into the mess you’ve made of your life. Nevermind that he offered. It doesn’t matter.” DANCING WITH OUR HANDS TIED STARTS PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND!!!! I’M A MESS BUT I’M THE MESS THAT YOU WANTED!!!!!!!! SORRY FOR THE TAYLOR SWIFT CONNECTIONS I AM AWARE THAT I AM ILL.
“The loneliness is everywhere, then. In your chest, in your bed, in your veins. Crawling like a shadow that swallows you whole.” this description??????????? yes.
“You lead him out the back. Out of the corner of your eyes, you spot the exact corner you huddled in a few days back, agonizing over the positive pregnancy test, the decline of your life, the decay of your dreams. Don’t look, you tell yourself, and then do it anyway.” sometimes idk what to comment next to the quotes so i just write nonsense but i just really feel the need to highlight them because i loved how you wrote it.
“When you look up at him, there’s something strange on his face. Something that looks less like surprise and more like awe.
His eyes are so brown, and your heart beats so fast, and you’re dizzy like you just got off a rollercoaster. ” LIKE AWE?????????? AND IF FEELS LIKE YOU JUST GOT OFF A ROLLERCOASTER????? I LOVE ROMANCEEEEEEEEE
“An opportunity. That sounds like business, sounds like a transaction, sounds rational and level-headed and reasonable, and you latch onto the idea. Maybe if you try to take the emotion out of the equation, it’ll be easier.” oh we’re gonna *suffer* with this one aren’t we????? i can already tell she’s gonna try denying her feelings really hard…
“Bradley hesitates, and for a second, you think he’s going to say something. But then he just shrugs, nods, says, “That’s fine. Yeah. Whatever you want.” WHATEVER SJDHSJCSJDHEJDHSJD OK SURE BRADLEY. SURE. stupid boy he’s not fooling anyone <3
“As you look at him, here in this pastel lighting, here on the verge of something monumental, there’s something so reassuring about him. Something so steady and reliable and constant. Something that makes you think, with him, maybe it could be okay, no matter how insane the whole idea is. An opportunity. An investment that just might pay off.
North star, you remind yourself. Bradley Bradshaw is the North Star.” NORTH STAR ❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹 I AM OBSESSED WITH THIS!!!!!!!!!
“Then he says, “Can I hug you?” I AM BAWLING MY EYES OUT. WHY IS HE SO KIND?
“When Bradley pulls you into his arms, when he holds you against his chest loosely, carefully, giving you room to pull away at any moment, the whole thing almost bowls you over. It’s the first time anybody’s hugged you since you found out you’re pregnant, since your entire world came crashing down, and you can’t help yourself. It’s a visceral reaction. You cling to him, wrap your arms around his neck, press your face into his shoulder and your chest against his and squeeze your eyes shut, and stay there for longer than you planned to, longer than you should. Let him hold you tight enough that for a moment, for a while, it almost feels like you’re whole again. Like you’re not alone.” beautiful. so so so so beautiful.
“You could get addicted to it, could get greedy and selfish and never-satisfied. Could eat it raw.” I LOVE THIS PART I LOVE HOW YOU WROTE IT THANK YOU FOR WRITING IT? WOW. POETRY.
“Bradley smells like sunscreen and sandalwood. You try to commit that scent to memory, try to ingrain it into your brain and your body. Something to remember the next time the loneliness sets in.” stop 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
“Finally, he pulls away, and his smile is gentle. You feel every inch of separation like an ache in your bones, like an echo, like a reverberation.” HUG HIM AGAIN!!!!!!
“I don’t even have a ring for you,” Bradley says, a frown etching itself into his forehead. “I’m sorry.” WHY IS HE THE SWEETEST MAN ON THE PLANET? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS???????
“I think you should have something, though. I want to give you something,” he interrupts you. “I just don’t know….” i’m so in love it’s ridiculous at this point.
“Bradley reaches into his wifebeater and pulls his dog tags from beneath the fabric. Before you know what’s happening, he’s tugging the thin silver chain down over your head, moving your hair out of the way carefully. It settles against the skin of your neck, warmed by his body heat.
You stare down at the metal dangling over your dress, the letters of his name etched into it. Bradley Bradshaw.
Your heart seizes.” SHUT UP SHUT UP MY JAW DROPPED TO THE FLOOR. THE DOG TAGS!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!!!!
“He never had a mustache. He was never a stranger. Your dreams were never this: Rushed and fake and no ring at all. You, pregnant with somebody else’s baby, and Bradley, marrying you to get assigned to a base of his choosing. None of it real. No True Love, no capital t, no capital l. Not even lowercase. Nothing but madness and guilt and business between you.
And still you want it, want it so bad it swells inside you, pushes against your ribcage with enough pressure to crack bones - you want to be wanted.” THIS WHOLE PARAGRAPH IS SO BEAUTIFUL I THINK IT SETS THEIR STORY UP PERFECTLY. what we might expect from now on. because nothing is going according to her plan but it’s all goinf to be okay and perfect regardless. also the “you want to be wanted” line feels like it was extracted from the depths of my heart.
“Friends. This man you barely know. This man who is doing something unfathomable for you.” BECAUSE HE LIKESSSSSSSSS YOU!!!!!!!
“And then later, in the bar, as Bradley’s friends discuss some new Star Wars show you haven’t seen, as they order round after round of beer you can’t drink, as the sky goes from pastels to blues to blacks, you’ll pretend you don’t see Natasha staring at the dog tags around your neck, pretend you don’t wish you could hold Bradley’s hand, pretend you don’t feel like you’re falling apart, like you’re capsizing where you sit, like you're kicking water miles and miles and miles below the surface.” star wars name drop ☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️. also: this paragraph, like the entirely of this chapter, was beautiful. VERY SAD AND ANGSTY BUT BEAUTIFUL.
“Beneath the table, you put a hand on your stomach, fingers spreading out, close your eyes, and let the current drag you under.” i am 100% not mentally stable enough to survive this story i know it in my bones.
MAY!!!!!!!!!!! i’m already looking forward to the emotional turmoil these babies are going to go through!!!!!! I’M SO EXCITED!!!!
baby, let's play house. rooster (part 1)
pairing ; bradley bradshaw x female!reader
synopsis ; marriage of convenience. you got yourself in trouble. bradley has a bit of a savior complex. together, you come up with what could potentially be the worst idea in the longstanding and illustrious history of bad ideas.
wc ; 12.5k
warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; angst; explicit language; explicit sexual content in later parts; pregnancy; mentions of infidelity; mentions of vomit; mentions of Tom Cruise; unhealthy family dynamics; one mention of suic*de but it's not a plot point; age gap
note: uhm... i blacked out. idk either. part 2 should be out eventually, which of course means that i haven't even started writing it yet. there will probably be several mistakes in here regarding the navy, etc. so i'm sorry about that i'm just dumb :-(
sol. sunderlust. crab. bestie... i love you forever, what would i ever do without you?
When you’re fourteen, sitting on a floral couch in one of the nondescript, army-commissioned houses you’ve been moving to every few months since you were old enough to remember, your mother turns on Cocktail with Tom Cruise, and you decide that, once you’re grown up, you’re going to be a bartender. You’re going to do just what Tom does - get a job in some dive, work your way up, learn the bottle slinging and the shot pouring and the flirting, and then you’re going to franchise the whole thing and take it national. It’s going to be just like TGI Fridays, except your drinks will actually be good instead of whatever watered-down punch they serve.
Of course, you’re fourteen, and you don’t even know what alcohol tastes like yet. Years later, you’re going to take a shot of Tequila at a bar, you’re going to splutter and cough and think you might choke, and it’ll leave you wondering if maybe you’ve made a mistake. But for now, you’ve got a dream, and you’ve got a plan, and not a smidge of doubt that you’ll make it all come true.
You’re going to do just as Tom Cruise does - minus the best friend’s suicide from the movie and the real-life Scientology thing and all that. But you’re going to be successful. You know it.
So this, then. This is not part of your plan at all.
Behind you, there’s a bang, and then the back door is ripped open. The buttery light of the bar spills in a rectangle across the beaten path, but it doesn’t reach your little corner. You hear the muffled thud of footsteps, a curse, followed by a shout of your name.
“Yeah?” you call back, hope you don’t sound like you’re balancing on the edge of a mental breakdown. Hope you don’t sound like you feel.
“Your shift’s about to start. I really need you in there cutting up some limes, please,” Jerry, your co-worker, says. Thank God he doesn’t walk over to investigate just what you’re doing huddled in the sand behind the bar.
“Okay,” you answer, voice a little wobbly, “I’ll be in in a sec.”
You wait until you hear the door shut behind Jerry, then you unfold yourself, get your shaky legs underneath your weight. You feel like somebody hit you over the head with one of those huge hammers they use to knock down walls. The nausea is back, too, something queasy and watery that shifts through your stomach.
Inside the bar, everything is like it always is. The chatter of the customers, the drawl of the music, the smell of beer, and the Ocean Breeze scented cleaner you use to wipe the floors. Far below it, the scent of the real ocean breeze drifting in through the opened windows. It seems wrong for the Hard Deck to be unchanged, unaltered, untouched when your own life has gone so completely off the rails.
You sneak in a quick, discreet bathroom break to swipe at the mascara smudged beneath your eyes, to dab at it with some damp toilet paper, to hope nobody will notice the obvious signs of tears still clinging to you. To stare at your reflection in the mirror for a moment, try not to think about that stupid test you buried at the bottom of the trashcan. You can taste your heartbeat in your mouth.
You don’t look any different - same nose, same hair, same eyes - but something has irrevocably shifted inside of you.
Behind the counter, you cut up the limes you promised Jerry. The scent clings to your fingers, the juice settles in the calluses. The steady sound as the knife meets the cutting board and the familiar motion of your hands help to ground you a little.
“Could we get a refill?”
You lift your head and then immediately lower it again, shoulders going up, turning to the side in an attempt to hide your face. If there are two people you don’t want to see tonight, then…
“Oh my god.” Natasha’s face pushes into your line of vision, her eyebrows crinkled, her mouth pursed. “Have you been crying?”
Waving her words of concern away with one hand, you grab for their empty glasses with the other.
“Allergies,” you lie. “I’ve got two on tap here, which one did you guys have? The German or the…”
“You don’t have allergies,” Bradley points out. You’d made it a point not to look at him, but now your gaze snaps in his direction. He stands with his eyes narrowed, with his hands on the polished wood of the bar top. Concern flutters across his face.
There’s something about Bradley Bradshaw. You like to think of it as a gravitational pull. Something with force, something that makes people look at him. Something that grounds them, too, though, gives them a tether.
Ever since he first walked into this bar a little over a year ago, it’s like he’s become a fixture in your life, even if you only see him once or twice a week, even if it’s just a quick exchange of words over a countertop. Bradley Bradshaw makes for a good North Star.
He shrugs, and there’s something almost sheepish to it. “It was part of your list of reasons why you’re better than Hangman last month.”
You pause, still holding the glasses, and stare at him. He looks right back.
“That’s beside the point,” Natasha pipes up. She’s balancing both her elbows on the bartop, pulling herself closer. “Why were you crying?”
That sort of shifts reality back into focus. What are you supposed to say? I let a guy who isn’t even really my boyfriend but also not really not my boyfriend knock me up, and now I have no idea what the fuck to do? To two people who are little more than glorified acquaintances?
You shrug and decide they look like they’d enjoy the new craft beer Penny got on tap. It has notes of vanilla and apple, and you’re not much of a beer person, but even you like it. Or at least you used to.
“It’s nothing,” you say, drawing the first glass. It ends up perfect - amber liquid topped with just the right amount of foam, the little bobbles popping as you push it across the counter toward Natasha. Your life might be a mess, but at least you still know how to draw a damn good glass of beer from the tap. “Don’t worry about it.”
Natasha’s eyes narrow, but then she lets it go. “You know I’ll beat a guy up for you, right?”
You don’t doubt it. If there’s anybody in this bar you wouldn’t want to cross, it’s Natasha, and not just because of whatever training the Navy put her through. You’re convinced she came into the world knowing how to take a guy out.
“Yeah,” you agree and are surprised to find you mean it. Realistically, you’re not particularly close to any of the pilots. You chit-chat sometimes, have had a few drunken conversations after everybody else has filtered out of the Hard Deck while wiping down tables or collecting shot glasses, but that’s not really enough to support a true friendship. Still. If you asked, you have no doubt Natasha would go to bat for you. “It’s okay, though. I’m fine. I’ll put this on your tab, yeah?”
She looks like she wants to say something else, but then decides to let it go. Sighs, “Okay.”
As Natasha pushes off the bar to rejoin her group of friends toward the back of the bar, Bradley takes a step closer instead. You make it a point not to look at him, but the yellow and white of his Hawaiian shirt flashes in your periphery despite your best efforts.
He places a large hand on the countertop, palm down, and you should be looking busy, but all you can do is stare as his fingers starfish across the wood.
“You can talk to me, yeah?” he asks, and his voice is soft enough that it almost disappears in the din of this Saturday night. “Whatever it is.”
You do look up then. Bradley has brown eyes, round and big and deep. There’s something about them that makes you want to trust him, trust his words, trust the sincerity. It almost makes you start crying again.
“Okay,” you whisper. “Thank you.”
Then somebody’s shouting an order at you, and you’re pushing a coaster under a sweating Cuba Libre, you’re pouring a Tequila shot, you’re looking for the maraschino cherries, you’re passing out salt shakers, and you don’t notice as he disappears and you don’t think about anything for a short, blissful, beautiful time.
+
Two months ago, you met Luke halfway through the door of a bar you’d seen on Instagram, something with low lights and neon signs and booths cushioned in lush, ruby velvet. They had this signature cocktail there, something with rum and gold foil and a lot of smoke that drifted up in sweet-smelling plumes.
Luke was charming and laughed a lot, and when he put his hand on your waist, when he looked at you, your heart skipped a beat or two. And still, the first thing you told Penny about at work the next day was the cocktail and not the guy.
You’re almost entirely sure you’re not in love with him, but you’re excited about the idea that maybe someday you could be. Luke is a nice guy. He works in finance somewhere in San Diego, takes you to expensive seafront restaurants, and once or twice, he even bought you expensive lingerie. Luke likes the same movies as you do, likes putting on Jazz music when you go down on him in his car, and that always manages to make you feel strangely sophisticated even with a dick in your mouth. He’s older, and he has a real, grown-up job, completely unlike you with your singles soaked in beer.
He’s a stead-fast, reliable guy. If you have to be in this situation with anyone, you figure it’s better to be in it with him than some twenty-something surfer dude who couldn’t even find the word responsible in a dictionary.
The anxiety has been gnawing at you since last night, has been chipping away your composure and your calm. Has reduced you into a jittery, terrified, chafing shell of your former self. All day you were fumbling - burning your hand on the heated water kettle in the morning, almost running a red light, cutting your finger deep enough it didn’t stop bleeding for a whole five minutes.
Earlier today, you took a last, desperate stand. Propelled by the sort of hope that exists against all better judgment, you went on a CVS run and returned with three more pregnancy tests. You left them back at your tiny apartment, right on the counter where you put them out in the first place, those three tiny, horrible, life-altering plus signs laughing right in your face.
And that was it then. Your fate decided. Your luck run out.
Since you were fourteen, sitting on that floral couch, the course of your life had seemed so clear to you. You’d been so sure of where you wanted to go, so sure of how to get there. And yeah, okay, maybe you used to think you’d get there sooner, but that’s never deterred you before. Slow and steady wins the race, that’s what you used to think.
Now, ten years later, everything is muddled. You can’t see an inch ahead in the fog of all this.
To add insult to injury, those tests were fucking expensive. The next time you check your bank account, you might start crying.
So you spent a good fifteen minutes curled up on your bathroom tiles, staring at your shower curtain, blinking away tears you never shed. You spent a good fifteen minutes trying to figure it out, trying to untangle it, trying to make sense of how you could fuck up so completely.
And then you finally picked yourself up, massaged the grid pattern of the tiles off your cheek, and shot Luke a text asking if he was free tonight.
He drops by at the end of your shift.
“Hi, babe.” Luke grins as he slides into one of the bar stools. “You good?”
You nod, then pause. “Not really?”
You’re wiping down the bartop, dumping an ashtray you collected from the smoking zone outside into the trash. The Hard Deck is empty now, even the last stragglers filed out. Bob selected a song on the jukebox before he left, something slow and decidedly country. Your hands shake when you go to wet the rag again.
Luke frowns and leans across the bar to look at you closely. “What happened?”
“I have to tell you something,” you say and run the tap. The water hits the chrome of the sink with a splatter.
Luke raises an eyebrow, grins. “Illicit confession?”
Under any other circumstances, you would have laughed. But your stomach is coiled up in knots so tight you wonder if they’ll ever untangle again. Like the earphones you fish from the bottom of a purse.
You just so manage a half-hearted chuckle, a sad, pathetic little sound that has Luke’s eyebrow climbing even higher.
He pushes a brown paper bag across the counter. “I brought your favorite take-out… Would that cheer you up?”
Almost immediately, your stomach growls in answer. You’ve been so hungry the past few days that you can’t even manage to be embarrassed. “Mexican?” you ask, something like excitement in your voice for the first time in over 24 hours.
“Ah...” Luke bites his lower lip. “No, uhm… I got something from that one place we went to. The fusion kitchen?”
“Oh…” The excitement dampens immediately, and you force a smile. “Yeah, cool. Thanks.”
“Sorry… you did say you liked it when we went.”
He’s right. You did say that.
Luke likes experimental food, things like that cocktail with the gold foil. Things that look much better than they end up tasting. He takes pictures of them and posts them on his Instagram, and he always makes sure not to get your hand in, your purse, your foot. He doesn’t even follow you back, and you want to not care about trivial things like social media so very badly that you never ask him about it.
He looks genuinely apologetic, though, so you resolve to forgive him. You smile and say, “I did! This is great. Thanks, Luke.”
His satisfied smile puts you at ease.
“So, what did you want to talk about?”
It’s a bit like a bucket of ice water. The ease slips away as quickly as it came. You start wiping almost furiously at a stain on the bartop, then give up. Stare at your fingers gone wrinkly with the sudsy water.
You open your mouth, and then you say, “I’m pregnant.”
It’s not what you meant to say. You meant to ease into this, make it sound… less final, somehow. As if that’s at all possible. As if that isn’t exactly what it is. Final.
You’re never going back from this, you realize suddenly. No matter what happens from here on out, there’s never going to be another moment where this hasn’t happened. Where you weren’t pregnant, where you didn’t mess it all up. The plan, the dream, the life.
Tears aren’t enough anymore. You’re going to run headfirst into the ocean and scream until the saltwater fills your lungs.
Luke laughs. You stare at him.
It takes a moment, but slowly he realizes that you’re not joking. That this is serious. The smile slides sideways off his face.
“Oh,” he says, and you can’t look at him anymore. So you let your eyes wander, down towards the lapels of his white dress shirt. He’s still wearing his suit and tie, and the realization that he’s come straight from the office touches you more than it should. At the same time, guilt settles in your stomach. You’re doing this to him, you’re altering his life, you…
The rational part of yourself scoffs, takes over the reins. It takes two to tango, you remind yourself. This is as much his fault as it is yours.
But that doesn’t get rid of the bitter taste in your mouth.
“Why…” Luke pauses. “Why are you telling me this?”
When you look up at his face again, his expression is carefully blank.
“Uh…”
“Shouldn’t you be telling the father?”
You blink. The cogs of your mind turn slowly like somebody slapped gum between them. “I am,” you say, wondering what the hell he’s on about.
“I’m not the father,” Luke says, very matter-of-factly. “You don’t need to lie about it.”
“I’m not lying.” You’re too stunned to even be insulted by the insinuation.
“It’s alright.” He shrugs his shoulders, his expensive suit in the tacky, glossy fabric catching the light. “It’s not like we’re exclusive. I don’t mind if you slept with somebody else.”
“Not exclusive,” you repeat lamely. Maybe that part shouldn’t catch you as off guard as it does. You’ve never discussed it with him in as many words, never sat down to have the whole boyfriend/girlfriend talk, but you’ve been seeing each other semi-regularly for two months now, and you’d just sort of assumed…
“Sure.” Luke nods. “Don’t blame this one on me, then.”
Oh. Your heart clenches, and suddenly it feels like you can’t breathe.
“I didn’t sleep with anybody else,” you say, but your voice sounds far away.
Luke shrugs. “Well, it can’t be mine.”
You don’t even know what to say to this. You’re in desperate, burning need of a shot, and the realization that you can’t have one zaps through you like a pain.
“We always used a condom,” Luke is saying, and his words drift to you through a fog, through a mist, through a thicket of fear and anxiety and ice-cold panic. “I made damn sure of that.”
“It’s not….” You clear your throat. “They’re only like… 98 percent safe. Condoms, I mean.”
“What, so you’re saying we’re those two percent?”
He looks like he’s about to start laughing again, and suddenly you barely recognize him. You’ve always known that Luke wasn’t the love of your life, but that was fine. Love hadn’t been part of the plan anyway, that was for later, much later, after you’d gone international and gotten rich off Mojitos and Pina Coladas and the occasional Old Fashioned. But Luke had been… well, he’d been nice. Always. He’d been someone to laugh with, had been long walks on the beach, and quick tumbles in his backseat. He’d been fun and nice and…
And you’d been stupid enough to hope. Hope for more, hope for better, hope for something.
“I can’t have a baby with you,” he says. His voice rings with finality.
What are you supposed to say to that? With those three positive pregnancy tests back home on your bathroom counter. With the knowledge that you haven’t slept with anyone else.
“Well,” you whisper, and the words come out softer than you want them to, “you are.”
Luke is very quiet for a moment. He’s looking right at you, the blue eyes you used to think were open, inviting, now slitted and probing. Like a snake.
“Jesus,” he says finally, draws back to run his fingers through his hair, a gesture of exasperation. His voice has lost some of its calm. “What do you want from me?”
You wonder if you look as dazed as you feel. “I don’t… I don’t want anything from you.”
That’s not true. You’d like him to hug you. You’d like him to tell you it’s going to be okay, even if that might be a lie. You’d like him to be nice to you.
Instead, Luke, who looks increasingly distressed, jerks his head and says, “If it’s a family you’re after… I can’t give you that.”
Everything has happened so quickly - the toppling of your plans, the chaos of your life. You haven’t really had time to think about how you want him to react. Not like this, though.
“Why not?” you ask and regret the question the moment it’s out of your mouth. You sound like a child - lost, confused.
Luke sighs. He rakes a palm over his face and shakes his head. When he finally looks at you again, there’s something almost guilty on his face. You can’t tear your eyes away, can’t help but feel your stomach plummeting down down down toward the ground. It’s like standing on the ledge of a skyscraper, feeling what the fall might be like even with both feet firmly planted.
“I can’t give you that,” he says, “because I already have a family.”
Beneath you, the ground seems to quiver.
“What?”
Luke pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, then reaches into his pocket and produces a shiny, golden wedding band. When he slips it back onto its original place on his finger, you watch the patch of pale skin, several shades lighter than the rest, disappear.
Your breath gets stuck somewhere in your chest.
“You’re… married?”
“Going on five years,” he says, and you think he sounds sad, but maybe that’s just your hope getting the better of you again.
You don’t know what to say. For a moment, you just stand there with the rag still in your hand, listening to the sad, sad voice of some wanna-be cowboy drawling from the speakers. Hear the phantom thud of the cues hitting pool balls. Turn your head to where the pilots were having fun earlier, back when things weren’t all jumbled up.
The whole world moves far, far away from you. Like something you watch on TV screens, something intangible, something fake. It’s not something that happens to people like you. It’s not something that happens to real people.
“It’s… you didn’t tell me that,” you say, and it’s like your voice echoes through a long, long tunnel, bounces off the walls like a tennis ball. “I didn’t know.”
And then you think back on it. Think of whispered phone calls in the dead of night, think of erratic work schedules, think of his insistence to come here instead of going to San Diego. Think of how little you know of his life, how firmly he kept you locked out of it.
Suddenly you’re not so sure if you didn’t know or if you just didn’t want to know. If you closed your eyes to what was right in front of you.
Guilt and anger and confusion flash through you in rapid succession. You feel sick to your stomach.
“I’ll give you money,” Luke says. It’s a peculiar thing - you see his mouth move before the words ever reach your ears, like a movie that’s gone out of sync with the audio.
“Money,” you repeat, very slowly. Or maybe not slowly at all. You just feel like you got stuck in molasses, like the whole world has been dipped in something sticky.
“Well. You’re getting rid of it.”
It’s not a question. He says it like it’s a fact, like it’s something that’s already been decided. Like it’s something you don’t get a say in.
You stiffen, fingers sinking into the wet rag. Soapy water drips over the lacquered wood of the bartop.
“No,” you say. “No, I’m not.”
About five minutes ago, you hadn’t even made your mind up about it yet. Hadn’t decided whether to keep it or not. Had still been weighing the pros and cons in your mind, turning them over like a Rosetta Stone that might help you decipher the encrypted, tangled mess of your thoughts.
And now that he’s said it, now that the option is right there in the open, suddenly you know that’s not the way you want it to happen.
“What,” Luke says, “you wanna have it?”
“Yes,” you answer, and you know it’s the truth.
Maybe it’s stupid. You’re twenty-four. You’re broke. You pick up shifts at a bar to pour tequila shots for other people. You live off the guys you flirt with long enough they decide you’re worth a tip. All those plans of grandeur, of franchises and cocktails and Park Avenue apartments, are dead-ends. You’ve been walking a cul-de-sac your whole life.
And still… something about it feels right to you.
You’ve been thinking about the whole thing in theory - the theoretical truth of that test, the theoretical reaction of Luke, the theoretical existence of that baby, the theoretical impact on your life. But it’s not a theory. It’s real.
There’s a baby growing in you.
It’s the most terrifying thought of your life. You’ve never experienced something so wonderful. Even as the fear eats away at you, even as your stomach churns and your head spins, some part of you feels illuminated with light.
Luke laughs. “Babe… no offense, but that’s a horrible idea.”
You clench your teeth and grit out, “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
He shrugs. “Well, you’re gonna get it. You really think you could raise a kid?”
“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, and wonder where all this calm is coming from. “But I want to try.”
Luke stares at you as if you’re growing a spare set of ears right in front of him. Then he laughs again, shakes his head. You can’t see what’s so funny about any of this.
“Babe,” he says, “this isn’t some new Cocktail recipe. This is an actual child you’re talking about.”
If you weren’t so goddamn tired, it would make you angry. Set fire to you like a fuse. But you’re drained, empty, hollow. You want to go home, want to curl up in bed, want to cry. You want to go back two weeks in time, back when you were still just a failing waitress with a big dream. Back before the responsibility of it all hunched you over.
“I’m doing it,” you say, and hope he understands the decision is final. Hope your voice is firm.
Luke exhales. A muscle in his jaw twitches as he grinds his teeth, as he turns half away from you.
Finally, after an eternity, he says, “I can’t be involved in this.”
For your part, you understand that decision is final too.
You nod, grab onto the bartop to keep yourself from toppling over. The ground beneath you is a gaping, beckoning abyss. It’s going to swallow you whole.
“Fine,” you whisper. “I’ll do it alone then.”
For a moment, Luke looks almost surprised. As if he was sure you’d fold eventually, see reason. Listen to him.
You wonder if that’s how it’s been before - him pushing and you giving in. Rearranging your life to fit his schedule, his plans, his wants. Shrinking yourself to make room for him. And you didn’t even notice.
You straighten your spine.
“For what it’s worth,” Luke says as he slides off his chair, “I’m sorry.”
And then he does what men do best: He leaves. Walks away from you and the baby growing inside of you. Walks away from the mess he made, the dream he shattered, without a care or a thought. Without looking back.
You watch his retreating form, watch the set of his shoulders, the spring in his step, watch as he bounds down the steps onto the gravel of the parking lot, watch as the shadows eventually blot out the sight of him.
Good riddance, you want to say, but you can’t even form words.
With your heart torn to shreds, with your fear clawing a bloody path up your throat, you sink down onto the floor, press a hand to your mouth, and you sob.
+
Twenty minutes later, Bradley Bradshaw finds you in the exact same position.
You know it’s been twenty minutes because you’re staring at the digital clock of the dishwasher, counting down the wash cycle. The neon red of the numbers blurs through the veil of your tears.
It’s like somebody’s cut your chest open. Scooped you clean like taking a spoon to a tub of ice cream. Behind your ribcage, you feel hollow in a way that aches down to your bones. That spiderwebs through your veins.
Bradley pauses in the doorway, silhouetted by the outdoor lighting you still haven’t turned off. Like this, with your vision blurred, he looks like a drawing of the Virgin Mary on one of those cheap, tacky candles. Descending on a flurry of clouds and light and doves. Only this Virgin Mary wears Hawaiian shirts, apparently. It almost makes you laugh.
He casts his eyes over the room, a slight furrow dipping between his brows. It takes you a moment to understand he hasn’t seen you yet, not with how you’re crouching by the crates of Corona.
Part of you wants to hide, wants to crawl under the jutting canopy of the bar. Wants to pretend you’re not here, fold yourself into a tiny pocket square of a person until he leaves again.
“Hello?” Bradley asks, genuine confusion laced with the word, and you know you can’t do that.
“Hi,” you call back, and your voice sounds tiny. Miserable. You push up on your knees to preserve a bit of your dignity. The room goes spinning in a whirlwind, and you catch yourself with both hands on the wood, lifting up to peek at him over the edge of the bar. “I’m down here.”
For a moment, Bradley just stares at you. He takes in the scene, the smeared mascara, the swollen eyes, the fresh tears leaving tracks down your cheeks like you’re drawing rivers on a map.
Then he snaps into action. He’s crossing the room before you can even really come to terms with the fact that he’s here in the first place, pushing through the hip-high swinging door that separates the oval space hugged by the bar from the rest of the room and falling to his knees by your side.
“What happened?” Bradley asks, something hard to his voice. But when he goes to touch the side of your face, carefully as if you’re injured, as if you’re made of porcelain that’ll break at the slightest jostle, his brown eyes show nothing but genuine concern.
It makes you cry harder.
“Nothing,” you say, which is a ridiculous lie, all things considered. You’re crouching on the floor of your workplace, over an hour after your shift has ended, crying your eyes out. Clearly, there’s something wrong. “I’m fine.”
Bradley sits cross-legged on the hardwood floors, his knee close enough to graze against yours. He looks decidedly out of his depth, almost uncomfortable. Helpless. His mustache quivers as he opens his mouth, then closes it again.
But he doesn’t push. Doesn’t try to get you to explain it, doesn’t ask again. He just sits there with you, elbows on his thighs, and lets you cry.
It’s nice not to be alone. To have somebody with you, even if he doesn’t know you. Even if he has no idea what it is that has you on the brink of a complete crisis.
You do your best not to think about it. Not about the baby, not about the guy who just dumped you. Not about gold foil and Instagram posts and wedding bands. Not about how he’s made you a homewrecker, and you didn’t even know.
Maybe this is karma. The universe punishing you for your sins. Something like that.
Maybe it’s just really, really bad luck.
“What are you doing here?” you ask when you’ve finally calmed yourself enough the sobbing has subsided to sniffles.
Bradley jerks his head noncommittally. “I forgot my wallet.”
“Oh.” You try to get up, but your legs won’t cooperate. “I’ll help you look.”
He shakes his head, pulls you back onto the floor by the elbow. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll look for it later. What happened?”
There’s something about his tone that tells you this time he won’t let you get away with a half-assed lie. Which doesn’t stop you from trying.
“Just… rough day.”
Bradley looks at you, then pulls his knees up, lets his arms dangle between them. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says, and his voice is very gentle. “But if you want to… I can listen.”
This is the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. He has the kind of face that makes you want to tell him things. Makes you want to spill your secrets to him, pour them into his space. He’s steady, reliable, calm. It would be so easy to trust him.
That’s dangerous.
But you’re so tired, and you’re so broken, and you’re so terribly, horribly lonely. With Luke gone, with your parents out of the picture, with nobody to help and no one to hold you, the loneliness is like an ache, like a stain, like something that festers and spreads and unfurls inside of you.
You just want to pretend you don’t have to do it alone. Just for a moment.
So you say, “I think I did something stupid.”
Bradley’s eyes are very brown. A soft shade of brown, like milk chocolate. When you look at him, you feel warm all over.
“Alright,” he says, and there isn’t an ounce of judgment in it. It’s just a gentle, careful nudge for you to continue.
“I…” You exhale shakily, look down to the floor, twist the bracelet around your wrist. It’s so much harder to form the words the second time around. “I’m pregnant.”
Saying it to Bradley, who is practically a stranger, saying it to someone outside of whatever little bubble, whatever vacuum two people playing at love built around themselves, makes it real in a way it wasn’t before.
You’re pregnant. In a few months, your belly is going to grow to the size of a watermelon. You’re going to get ultrasounds and wear maternity clothes and buy a crib. You’re going to hold a baby in your arms, a baby that will become a toddler, will become a child, will become a teenager, will become an adult. They’re never going to leave again.
I’m pregnant.
One moment - and in it the rest of your life.
It’s a skyscraper, it’s a monument, it’s a mountain. It dwarves you. How can you ever be enough for the path that lies ahead?
The panic jumps you. It rattles you. Suddenly you’re panting, you’re shaking, you can’t think, your head spinning circles around the enormity of it all.
“Oh,” Bradley says. He sounds like he expected you to say just about anything except that. “Congratulations.”
You stare at him, and he backtracks.
“Unless you don’t want me to congratulate you? Sorry, I shouldn’t just….”
“No,” you stop him, your voice a tiny, trembling thing. “It’s okay. Thank you.”
You wonder what it might be like if you were older, if you were married, if you weren’t such a fuck-up. Would people beam at you, hug you, shake your hand? Would they share the joy they must assume you feel?
Neither one of you says anything for a while. Through the opened windows, the sound of the ocean drifts in, of the waves crashing against the shore. The chrome of the fridge you’re leaning against is cold even through the layers of your shirt. You count the wooden tiles on the floor.
After half an eternity, Bradley says, “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”
It’s like a knife to the heart, it slices right through you, stabs you between the ribs. And you’re not even angry, don’t even feel betrayed… it just hurts. The kind of pain that stays with you. The kind of pain that leaves phantom traces even after the wounds have healed.
“I don’t,” you say finally.
Beside you, Bradley shifts his weight. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m really putting my foot in it today, aren’t I?”
It’s almost enough to make you laugh. “It’s okay,” you say, even though it isn’t. This whole thing isn’t okay. “I’ll be fine.”
Without hesitating, Bradley says, “I know you will be.”
There’s such conviction in his voice that it baffles you. You stare at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“He’s… have you told him, though? Or are you guys not in contact?”
Still trying to recover, you shrug. “Yeah,” you whisper, drawing your shoulders almost all the way up to your ears, “I told him.”
You can tell he wants to ask more, but he gives you a second before his next question. “And you… you guys are gonna try co-parenting? Or is he… are you going to get married?”
That makes you frown. You say, “What is this, the 1950s?”
“I just think….” Bradley clears his throat. “I just think if you get a girl pregnant, you should step up. Take responsibility.”
Of course he’d think that. You’re not even surprised.
There’s always been something traditional about Bradley Bradshaw, like he’s one of those men written by women people rave about all over TikTok. If he takes a girl out on a date, he probably holds open car doors and pulls out chairs for her, hands her his jacket if she gets cold.
Distantly, you wonder what that would be like.
“I don’t want somebody to marry me out of responsibility,” you say. “I can take care of myself.”
Bradley scrambles. “I know that!” he says quickly, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him shift his weight forward, elbows resting on his thighs. “Of course, I know that. I just thought… I just thought you shouldn’t have to do this alone.”
It’s such a simple thing to say, but it almost bowls you over. You turn your head to the side, press your face into your shirt sleeve and dig your fingernails deep into the skin of your shins.
Bradley watches you, eyes intent, and then he probes carefully, “Are you… are you going to keep it?”
You sink your teeth into your lower lip, blink against the sudden dampness. Keep your face turned away from him. The shame of it all, of the situation you’re in, of him seeing you like this, overwhelms you. Your vision blurs.
“I think…” You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I always used to think if I ever got in this situation, I’d just get an abortion but now… I don’t… I just don’t think it’s the right thing for me.”
Slowly, he nods. “You want to have the baby,” he says, and it’s not really a question, but you answer anyway.
“Yes. I mean… I don’t know, it’s just… I want this. I don’t know why or how, but I… it feels like I have to do this.”
“Yeah,” Bradley says, completely sincere. “Your body, your choice.”
Now you do snort. “What, are we at a rally?”
“I follow a few Instagram accounts,” he admits. His voice has gone almost sheepish. “Abortion rights should be everybody’s concern. Nobody’s free until everybody’s free.”
It’s endearing in a strange way because there’s nothing performative about it. It’s just bumbling and awkward and peculiarly genuine.
“You sound like you spend too much time on Twitter,” you say softly, and it makes him laugh. Bradley’s got a nice laugh, one that starts in his belly and seems to end at the back of his throat, punches out into the air from back there.
After things have gone quiet again, the anxiety sets back in. Or maybe it’s been there all along, chomping at the bit, and you just didn’t notice.
“You must think I’m crazy,” you say finally, a self-deprecating chuckle loosening from your throat.
But when you glance up at him from beneath lowered lashes, stomach tight with anticipation, Bradley doesn’t look judgmental at all. Instead, his face is wide open, his eyes clear, the corners of his lips still curled upward with the remnants of his smile.
Luke laughed at you, but Bradley is looking at you with something like admiration, and it takes your breath away.
“No,” he says. “I think you’re really, really brave.”
And then you’re crying again.
You’re surprised there are any tears left in you after your earlier session, but they burst forth now, in a sudden eruption of all the fear and all the pain. And Bradley is so nice. So goddamn kind even though he doesn’t know you, not really, even though this isn’t even his problem. Sits there on the floor of the Hard Deck with you at half past one am on a Sunday night, and doesn’t complain, doesn’t sigh. He just listens.
You don’t feel brave. You feel terrified, you feel overwhelmed, you feel… you feel… you feel like the whole world has toppled over. You feel like Atlas crashing down, buried beneath the weight of his burden. You feel tiny. Inadequate. You feel scared, scared, scared.
“I don’t know what to do,” you confess, choke it out between sobs. Wonder why you’re telling him this. When you don’t know him.
Funny how it is so much easier at times to be honest with strangers than it is to be honest with the people we love the most.
“I’m so… I’m so scared, Bradley.”
He moves as if to touch you, then seems to think better of it and slumps back into himself. The expression on his face is unreadable, his eyebrows furrowed, his jaw clenched.
“He’s not gonna… the father isn’t going to help you out?”
It makes you realize you never really answered his earlier question. And you don’t know why, can’t explain it rationally, but for some reason, this, too, makes embarrassment well up at the back of your throat.
What is Bradley going to think? The poor, little, stupid girl who got herself knocked up by a guy who won’t even stay? Is that what everybody’s going to think now? Is that all you’ll be?
It’s a life sentence, this whole thing.
You shrug, pause. Shake your head. “No,” you say finally. “He’s not going to be involved.”
You know it’s true. Luke won’t come back, not now, not in ten years, not in twenty. There was something final about that exchange, something permanent. Something that can’t be undone.
Suddenly, you think of that tiny, unborn child inside of you. Abandoned before it ever came into the world.
It’s just you and me now, baby, you think to yourself, and it goes through you like a current, sweeps you under like a wave. We’re all alone. All we have is each other.
“What about your parents? Your dad’s in the Navy, too, right?”
If you could, you’d run away. Fold yourself to invisibility. Slip into the pockets between moments and become something other, something that exists out of sight.
You think of your parents. Floral couches and polished hardwood floors. Tom Cruise on the television as your mother scrubbed every part of the house like she was getting rid of an illness, wiping away a disease, perpetually finding another stain or another cobweb or another wrinkle to smooth over. Think of your father, rigid and strict and absent. Always on some mission, always thinking of a greater good that definitely didn’t involve you, always looking through you even as he looked at you. You don’t know if you have a single memory of him smiling.
You haven’t spoken to them once since you gave up a perfectly fine full-ride scholarship to college.
“My parents,” you say, and as the words spill from you, you realize they’re the truth, “would probably kill me if they found out I got pregnant out of wedlock. Maybe if I were married, they’d give me back my trust fund or something, but… No, I don’t think they’d help me out.”
A muscle in Bradley’s jaw jumps, then he’s looking away. Turning to the side so you’re knee to knee again. You stare at his profile, at the curl of his ears, the cut of his jaw. The jagged edges of his scars blur through the fog of your tears.
“So, how are you… do you have a plan?”
You had one. You had Mojitos and Daiquiris and Cosmopolitans. You had a slew of business classes at a community college. You had a dream and a set of tools to achieve it, and when you close your eyes, you can almost see it right there in front of you.
But now it’s been swept up in a hurricane. Swallowed by a tsunami.
“No,” you admit, and your voice trembles. “I have no idea what to do.”
Bradley’s jaw moves as he chews on his lower lip. He swallows, and his throat unudlates with it, and then he’s shifting, shuffling forward a bit.
“I…” He clears his throat. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looks nervous. “I may have an idea.”
“An idea?” you repeat slowly.
You think he’s going to tell you about some friend who’s looking to hire someone, looking to rent out a very cheap apartment, works at a doctor’s office and is going to treat you for free. Something like that, maybe.
Instead, Bradley takes a deep breath and says, “Marry me.”
It takes a while for the words to register. At first, you think you’ve misheard, then you wonder if maybe the romantic parts of your mind cooked that up. If he even said it at all.
But Bradley is looking at you expectantly, the only indicator of nerves the slightest glimmer in his brown eyes.
And you can’t help yourself. You laugh, even through your tears. It’s a sound that rips from you unconsciously, unstoppably, because surely he’s joking. It’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard.
“Good one,” you say, and wonder just how big of a mess you look like. You wipe at your cheeks, your nose with your sleeves and sniffle once, twice.
Bradley’s lips twitch into the pathetic half of a smile, then he’s serious again, avoiding your eyes.
And that, finally, is when you realize that he isn’t joking at all.
“I…” You pause, mind whirring, head spinning. “What?”
“It’s just….” Bradley shrugs, then explains, “It’s only a suggestion. But you said your family might consider supporting you again if you were married. It might be an option.”
You don’t know what to say. You feel like you’re in a low-budget Hallmark movie.
Bradley pushes on, “It wouldn’t be permanent. We could get a divorce quickie in a year or two, just stay together long enough for you to get settled with the baby and everything. Plus, you’d get free healthcare.” He glances at you, and the blank expression on your face must light a panic in him. Now his words come faster. “I wouldn’t expect anything from you, of course I wouldn’t. It would just be… keeping up appearances. Just for a while….”
Finally, he trails off. The silence stretches between you like a palpable thing, thick and dense like summer heat.
When you were twelve, sitting in the back of the car as your parents argued up front, the woods of Washington flying past in rapid ribbons of black and blue and green, the moon a disk of silver in the sky, a deer ran out into the road. You remember the screeching of the tires as your dad did what you’re not supposed to and brought the car to a sudden, abrupt stillstand. You remember the wide eyes of the animal, the muscles locked in its state of catatonic horror. You remember the flanks rising and falling quickly beneath the matted fur.
For a second, you feel like that deer. Frozen. Caught completely off guard. Vulnerable.
Then you think you might be a little overdramatic.
You say, “What the fuck, Bradley?”
Part of you expects him to backtrack immediately, laugh, and tell you that he was joking after all. But Bradley stands his ground, even as he still won’t look right at you.
“I probably wouldn’t even be home much anyway. I leave for work all the time,” he says, brows drawn into a straight line above his eyes as he stares intently at his thumb rubbing circles into the skin of his arm. “But I could babysit, and then you could go back to work. I really wouldn’t mind. I’m good with kids, you know?”
You’re not entertaining the whole thing, not really, but you can’t help yourself. Your curiosity takes the upper hand.
“Why would you… why would you ever offer this? You barely know me.”
Bradley seems to think about it for a long moment, his face unreadbale. Then finally, he says, “There’d be something in it for me, too, you know? I’ve been meaning to get assigned to North Island permanently, do a relocation. But those spots tend to go to the guys with family, so…” He shrugs, but the gesture seems forced. “I could help you out, you could help me out. Win-win.”
“That’s all?” you ask, and you don’t know why there’s something like disappointment in your voice.
Bradley looks like he wants to say something else, and for a moment his face is vulnerable. But then it shutters again, and he nods. “That’s all.”
For a second, just a second, you let yourself imagine it: Imagine saying yes to this mad, insane, incredible proposal. Imagine marrying Bradley, someone soft and warm and responsible, someone completely opposite to Luke. Imagine him in a tux and you in a white dress, imagine his mustache tickling against your cheek as he leans in to kiss you. You imagine one of the quaint little houses you grew up in, but one that would belong to you, at least for a while. You imagine a toddler running through it, imagine Bradley bending down to scoop them into his arms. You imagine a life without this aching, shifting loneliness. You imagine a life with Bradley.
When you finally shake your head, when you let go of that ghost, it feels like it takes a piece of you with it.
“No,” you say softly, and it breaks you open in ways you can’t describe. “I can’t let you do that, Bradley.”
It’s just too insane. Too far out there. It wouldn’t be fair to him, when you’d be getting so much more out of that arrangement.
And besides. I don’t want someone to marry me out of responsibility. That’s what you told Bradley earlier, and you meant it.
When you do marry, when you walk down that aisle, you want it to be for love. And people can call you delusional, naive, whatever. You don’t care. You just know you want the big thing, the real thing, True Love, capital t, capital l. You want the hurricane of romance, the monsoon of love. You want to fly into it.
Bradley’s quiet for a moment. Then he says, “Okay. But if you… change your mind, yeah? I’ll be here.”
And he means it. Bradley carries his heart on his sleeve, you’ve learned this much. He tries to hide it, but he’s no good at it. Eventually, his emotions always get the better of him, burst forth like fountains. It’s part of his charm.
“What,” you say, “right here on the Hard Deck’s floors?”
It’s a sad attempt at a joke, but Bradley is nice enough to laugh anyway. “Sure thing. You guys have the cleanest floors in all of North Island, did you know that?”
You hum. “Sure. I’m the one who cleans them.”
Finally, you get up off the floor, unfold yourself from the bundle of misery you’ve crumbled into. Your legs ache, your back hurts, your chest still feels hollow. All the crying has left a dull pain pulsating behind your left brow.
The two of you look for Bradley’s wallet together, finally find it over by the pool table. You pretend like you’re not still reeling from his proposal, like it’s not suddenly become impossible to do so much as look at him without your heart flopping around like a fish finding its sad end on dry land.
“Can I give you a ride home?” Bradley asks as he watches you lock up. The Hard Deck has an old lock that gets jammed whenever the slightest bit of dampness creeps into the air. You have to hang onto the doorknob with all your weight while simultaneously turning the key to get it to lock.
“I drove here,” you say, casting your eyes about for the tiny tin can you call your car. You can’t even remember where you parked earlier.
“You okay to drive?” Bradley asks.
You glance at him. With the lights off, the parking lot is almost covered in a thick blanket of darkness. The headlights of a few passing cars winding their path along the coastal highway illuminate patches of gravel now and then. Moonlight spills silver and dim across his shoulders, like fingers caressing him. He looks concerned, examining the state of you.
The truth is that you’re tired. Bone tired. Dead tired. So tired you could probably go to sleep where you stand if you put your mind to it. But you don’t want to bother Bradley anymore, have already stolen enough of his time.
So you’re about to decline, but it seems you hesitated too long.
“I’ll take you home,” Bradley says decidedly, “and you can come get your car tomorrow, okay? I don’t think you should be driving like this.”
“You don’t have to do that, you….”
“I know,” he interrupts you, a smile spreading on his face. “But I’ll feel better knowing you got home safe.”
That makes your insides clench in a way they shouldn’t. Your chest feels tight, and you look away just in case you start crying again.
Is it too soon in your pregnancy to start blaming raging hormones?
Wordlessly, you let Bradley lead you across the parking lot toward his monstrosity of a car. His hand hovers at the small of your back, incredibly close yet never touching. He’s big behind you, bulking, and you try not to think about it. When he opens the door for you and waits until you’re buckled in to close it, you feel like your head’s going to explode.
The ride home is quiet, as is the town around you on this Sunday night. An old Killers song plays on the radio, and you think of deer stepping out into streets, then press your eyes closed and will the thought away.
In Bradley’s car, with the windows rolled down, with the Californian night breeze whipping your hair into your eyes and clearing the fog from your head, for a short, blissful while, nothing seems real. It’s one of those liminal moments, a not-time, when reality feels like a dream and even the sharpest knives don’t cut deep enough to hurt.
It ends quicker than expected because time always goes the fastest when you want it to go slow. Then you’re thanking him, saying goodbye, both of you pretending he didn’t just propose some strange, fake marriage to you behind a bar counter not even thirty minutes ago.
Bradley waits until you’re inside the building before he starts the engine again. You hear the roar of it as you climb the stairs up to the second floor.
In your bedroom, you don’t even bother getting undressed. You just slip under the covers, pull them up over your head, bury in the sticky, stale air beneath them, close your eyes, and fall asleep within seconds.
+
The first time you told your parents about your bartending dreams, your father yelled at you for forty-five minutes. He hurled words at you that hurt, that left scars, that made you wonder and kept you second-guessing yourself for years, that stayed with you. Your mother didn’t say anything.
Somehow, that was worse.
You call her on the landline at five pm on a Tuesday, just before your dad gets back home, and she answers after the third ring. You’re so sure she’s going to acknowledge the four-year gap in contact, the crumbling of the relationship, the fall-out of screaming and crying, and your dad kicking you out of the house.
What you get, instead, is a ten-minute spiel about who brought what to last week’s church potluck and which laundry detergent your father’s contact allergies don’t act up with.
You’re sitting cross-legged on your bed, your digital alarm clock counting down the time in radioactive green. Outside, you hear the sounds of jets roaring through the sky. In your tiny kitchen unit, the faucet is leaking.
Finally, five minutes into a lecture on the advantages of pre-chopped garlic, you interrupt, “Mom?”
You wonder if she hears the shift in your voice, the slight tremble of it. Something makes her go very quiet on the other end of the line, no sound but her breath.
Drip-drip-drip goes your faucet.
When she doesn’t acknowledge you, you push on, your heart beating a staccato rhythm against your ribcage, “I might… I think I might need some help.”
She doesn’t answer for so long you think you might have lost connection. Then you hear shuffling, imagine her walking through her empty house the way she sometimes does - like a phantom, like a specter.
“With what?” she asks after an eternity.
It’s all you can do to keep yourself from hyperventilating. Years of pain and fear clog up your chest, settle like goosebumps on your skin. You close your eyes and let your head drop back against your pillow.
“I’m pregnant,” you say.
And then you can feel it through the phone, like something physical. What you’ve always known deep down. The disapproval and the disappointment, and the complete lack of understanding.
You’ve never been who your parents wanted you to be, and they’ve always punished you for it like it was a crime.
When your mother says your name, it’s so plain. That she can’t understand what you’re doing, with your cocktails and your late nights. That she doesn’t see why you’d ever choose something like that over a real education and a real job. That she cannot fathom how it could come to this now - you, broke, young, alone, pregnant.
It’s like being five again, trying to get somebody to look at the picture you drew. It’s like being ten again and being overlooked. It’s like being fifteen again, still vying for the attention you’ll never really get.
Your mother is a stubborn woman, set in her ways. She knows what she wants from people, more specifically, what she wants for them. And you’re no exception. Nobody’s ever asked her a question whose answer she couldn’t find in the bible.
More than wanting you to go to college, wanting you to work in an office, your mother has always wanted you to get married. To fit yourself into the picture-perfect stencil of white picket fence and smiling husband she cut herself. For you to let some guy put a ring on you, put a kid in you, buy you a house and a porch swing and a family van.
It’s pathetic, but it doesn’t matter how much time passes. How much older you get. At the end of the day, you still want her approval, just once, even if you have to lie to get it.
So, like a child, like you’re five again, like you’re ten again, like you’re fifteen again, you say, “I’m getting married.”
“Oh?” your mother asks, and there’s so much hope in the one word it hits you like a ton of bricks.
“Yeah,” you confirm, and then the lies just burst out of you, and you hate yourself, hate yourself so much it’s like bile on your tongue, “yeah, we’ve been engaged for a while, and now with the baby and all… It’s been long overdue.”
Your mother almost sounds excited. Sure, she’d probably prefer for you to have been married before getting knocked up, but all of this must still seem better than the last plan you presented to her four years ago. “What’s his name? What’s he do?”
You squeeze your eyes closed. If your mother knew you at all, if you hadn’t spent the past few years not speaking, you’d like to think she would have heard the shame in your voice when you say, “Bradley. He’s a Naval aviator.”
It might be the worst thing you’ve done in your life: Dragging poor, kind Bradley Bradshaw into the mess you’ve made of your life. Nevermind that he offered. It doesn’t matter.
Your mother starts babbling, the way she only does when she’s actually pleased about something. She’s talking about how happy your dad will be that you’re getting married to a fellow army guy, but you barely hear it. Now that you’ve gotten the approval, it doesn’t feel at all like you thought it would.
It just hurts.
For a while, you just let her keep talking as you blink away the tears, as you stare at your bedroom wall, as your mind spins and spins and spins in circles. Then you promise to send her an invite, say your goodbyes, and hang up.
It’s like you’re numb all over. You stay on your bed for another five minutes, and then another, and you feel just as empty as you did after your last conversation with Luke.
What has your life become? How could it crumble as quickly as it did, going from okay to horrible in less than a week?
Even when you weren’t speaking to your parents, you never felt this distant from them, this far removed. A chasm you’ll never be able to breach. An ocean you’re never going to bridge. The only way you’ve ever gotten your mother to be happy with a decision you’ve made is when you lied to her.
The loneliness is everywhere, then. In your chest, in your bed, in your veins. Crawling like a shadow that swallows you whole.
And then the panic sets in, ice cold in your veins, and with it comes the guilt. Your stomach rolls with it.
What have I done? you wonder. What have I done to myself, to Bradley? How will I ever get out of this?
You scramble. Blindly reach for a dress to slip into, for a pair of flip-flops, for your car keys. It’s a miracle you don’t crash on your way to the Hard Deck. Your heart works itself up into a frenzy, and the guilt gnaws at you, slashes at you, paws at you. All these emotions are tearing you apart.
In the back, Bradley and Bob are playing Pacman on one of the retro machines. They’re pretty loud, too, and from what you gather in your mad dash through your workplace, Bradley seems to be disproportionally competitive about the whole thing.
Figures. Nobody gets into Top Gun without a cutthroat streak and a mean penchant for ambition.
“Bradley,” you say, and when he looks up, his eyes sparkling, the smile slides right off his face. “Can I talk to you?”
He seems stunned for a second, then nods and deposits his beer on a nearby table. “Sure thing.”
You lead him out the back. Out of the corner of your eyes, you spot the exact corner you huddled in a few days back, agonizing over the positive pregnancy test, the decline of your life, the decay of your dreams. Don’t look, you tell yourself, and then do it anyway.
The sun hasn’t set yet, but twilight is descending on the world rapidly. Everything is washed into soft pastels, the sand and the last surfers shaking salt water from their hair. Bradley’s shirt and the honey gold of his skin.
You can’t look at him. It’s a shame that grows in the pit of your stomach, that settles there, heavy like a stone. How can you do this to him?
You’ve never felt worse about yourself, and still… The fear is too big.
Since you decided to give up on the scholarship, since you walked out of your parents house four years ago, you’ve been on your own. You’ve been footing your own bills and renting your own apartment and paying for insurance on your car. You were alone the time you got a cold so bad you couldn’t get out of bed for two days. You were alone when your tire popped on the highway and you almost hit another car. You were alone when you got rejection after rejection from the big San Diego bars, the ones that end up featured on TV and in magazines.
And that was fine. You’re strong, you know you are. Any issue that came your way, you managed to figure out eventually. You’ve been doing fine without any help.
But this, here, now. This… You just can’t do it on your own. Not when it’s about a baby. Your baby.
So you take a deep breath and ask, “Is the offer still on the table?”
Bradley exhales. You watch as he takes a step closer to you, as his shoes move in the field of your vision, grains of sand crunching beneath the soles. When he speaks, a cadence of insecurity has snuck into his voice, “The marriage?”
You nod because you can’t say it. Your mouth just won’t form the words.
“If…” Bradley clears his throat. “If you want it… yeah.”
When you look up at him, there’s something strange on his face. Something that looks less like surprise and more like awe.
His eyes are so brown, and your heart beats so fast, and you’re dizzy like you just got off a rollercoaster.
“I…” You pause to collect your thoughts, and then you rush it all out at once, scared that if you don’t say it now, you never will. “If I were to say yes, like, hypothetically… I’d need to know that you’re not just doing it for me. That there’s something in it for you, too, so….”
He’s nodding before you’ve finished. “I told you. I wanna stay here. I’m sick of getting sent around the country all the time, so… It’s good. It’s an opportunity.”
An opportunity. That sounds like business, sounds like a transaction, sounds rational and level-headed and reasonable, and you latch onto the idea. Maybe if you try to take the emotion out of the equation, it’ll be easier.
Bradley seems relaxed about the whole thing, much more relaxed than he should be given the absurdity of the situation, but you feel like you need to make things clear anyway, if only to put yourself at ease. That’s what people do before singing contracts, right? Put all the cards out on the table?
So you go on, “And I wouldn’t, like… Like you’d still get to do anything you want. I wouldn’t expect you to help with the baby or anything. And you could keep dating, of course, you could, I won’t mind. I promise. It’d just be for show, right?”
Bradley hesitates, and for a second, you think he’s going to say something. But then he just shrugs, nods, says, “That’s fine. Yeah. Whatever you want.”
For a moment, you both just look at each other.
“This is insane,” you say because it is, and you don’t know what else to say.
And Bradley just chuckles and agrees smoothly, “Yeah, it’s nuts, isn’t it?”
As you look at him, here in this pastel lighting, here on the verge of something monumental, there’s something so reassuring about him. Something so steady and reliable and constant. Something that makes you think, with him, maybe it could be okay, no matter how insane the whole idea is. An opportunity. An investment that just might pay off.
North star, you remind yourself. Bradley Bradshaw is the North Star.
At the very least, you won’t be alone.
“So is that….” Bradley shifts, scratches the back of his neck. “You saying yes, then?”
There’s a lump in your throat like you’ve swallowed a pebble. It almost chokes you.
“Yeah,” you agree finally, and can’t believe you’re saying this, doing this, can’t believe you’re this mad and this selfish and this desperate. “I guess I am.”
It’s awkward after that. You both just stand there, you with your arms around your own ribcage, Bradley with his thumbs hooked into his belt loops. Space and silence stretches far and gaping and glaring between you.
Then he says, “Can I hug you?”
That’s sort of the last thing you expected him to say.
You blink at him. “Uhm… sure?”
When Bradley pulls you into his arms, when he holds you against his chest loosely, carefully, giving you room to pull away at any moment, the whole thing almost bowls you over. It’s the first time anybody’s hugged you since you found out you’re pregnant, since your entire world came crashing down, and you can’t help yourself. It’s a visceral reaction. You cling to him, wrap your arms around his neck, press your face into his shoulder and your chest against his and squeeze your eyes shut, and stay there for longer than you planned to, longer than you should. Let him hold you tight enough that for a moment, for a while, it almost feels like you’re whole again. Like you’re not alone.
For the first time in a week, for the first time since that positive test, things feel real. You feel real. Only with his hands on you. The thoughts that have been echoing through your head constantly, loud enough to drown out everything else, quiet.
You could get addicted to it, could get greedy and selfish and never-satisfied. Could eat it raw.
Bradley smells like sunscreen and sandalwood. You try to commit that scent to memory, try to ingrain it into your brain and your body. Something to remember the next time the loneliness sets in.
Finally, he pulls away, and his smile is gentle. You feel every inch of separation like an ache in your bones, like an echo, like a reverberation.
You can’t cry again. You’ve been doing it so much recently that you just won’t allow it again. If you’re going to do this, if you’re going to be a mother and a wife, in whatever capacity, you’ll have to be strong. No matter how hard that will be.
“I don’t even have a ring for you,” Bradley says, a frown etching itself into his forehead. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” You’re shaking your head quickly, vehemently. “No, Bradley, that’s fine, you don’t need to….”
“I think you should have something, though. I want to give you something,” he interrupts you. “I just don’t know….”
And then he seems to think of something. The epiphany is practically written all over his face, and for a moment, he looks so much younger. Rosy cheeks and all.
Bradley reaches into his wifebeater and pulls his dog tags from beneath the fabric. Before you know what’s happening, he’s tugging the thin silver chain down over your head, moving your hair out of the way carefully. It settles against the skin of your neck, warmed by his body heat.
You stare down at the metal dangling over your dress, the letters of his name etched into it. Bradley Bradshaw.
Your heart seizes.
When you were younger, much younger, you used to dream of this. You used to imagine what being proposed to would feel like, what it would be like. A fancy restaurant, an expensive glass of champagne, and a diamond ring at the bottom of the flute. Something flashy, something extravagant, something beautiful. The man in your fantasy was faceless at first, and then he looked like Robert Pattinson, and then he looked like your first crush, and then he went back to being faceless again.
He never had a mustache. He was never a stranger. Your dreams were never this: Rushed and fake and no ring at all. You, pregnant with somebody else’s baby, and Bradley, marrying you to get assigned to a base of his choosing. None of it real. No True Love, no capital t, no capital l. Not even lowercase. Nothing but madness and guilt and business between you.
And still you want it, want it so bad it swells inside you, pushes against your ribcage with enough pressure to crack bones - you want to be wanted.
You wonder what Bradley dreamed of. Not you, probably. So much younger than him, so naive, so gullible, falling for married men and getting yourself into situations you can’t climb out of yourself. Making him do this when he deserves better, more, deserves something true and real.
It makes you sick to your stomach. It makes you want to cry. It makes you want to ask Bradley to hug you again, so you can forget, just for another second, just for another moment.
Instead, you say, voice barely a whisper, “Thank you.”
Bradley shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says, and he sounds so genuine you have to avert your eyes. “We’re friends, right?”
Friends. This man you barely know. This man who is doing something unfathomable for you.
“Yeah,” you agree softly. “Friends.”
And then later, in the bar, as Bradley’s friends discuss some new Star Wars show you haven’t seen, as they order round after round of beer you can’t drink, as the sky goes from pastels to blues to blacks, you’ll pretend you don’t see Natasha staring at the dog tags around your neck, pretend you don’t wish you could hold Bradley’s hand, pretend you don’t feel like you’re falling apart, like you’re capsizing where you sit, like you're kicking water miles and miles and miles below the surface.
Beneath the table, you put a hand on your stomach, fingers spreading out, close your eyes, and let the current drag you under.
part 2 coming - soon
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!
@someplace-darker
@nelleicrain
@murrdxcks
@sobachka-korol
HYPERVENTILATING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
more dom!hazel would be so appreciated if u can hehe 🫶🫶
+ another anon who asked for a cleaning bruises fic
𝐁𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐬 & 𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 | 𝐇𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐥 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐧
Hazel Callahan x fem!reader
Summary: "If I put my hands up your skirt right now, am I gonna find you wet?"
Warnings: Established Relationship, Hyper feminine!Reader, PJ as her own warning, Mentions of Bruises, Mentions of Violence, Cleaning Hazel's bruises, Domestic Fluff, Humor, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Smut (+18 Minors DNI), Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Fighting Kink?, Fingering, Dom!Hazel, Sub!Reader, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Overstimulation
Can be seen as a continuation of this fic but not strictly
Your afternoon had been almost perfect, with Hazel nestled between your open legs just a step lower on the school bleachers. Her head had been thrown back, with her curls running rampant against your skin and tickling your chest. You smoothed her hair down in vain intervals while she played with a loose string on the stitiching of your plaid skirt as she droned on and on about the unlikelihood of being enlisted as a bomb tech by the US Army.
"I don't really know where else I could use my particular set of expertise. What else could I do that won't ultimately lead me down the path of... you know, treason and terrorism?" You nod vaguely as Hazel continues her equal parts aloof and equal parts worrying rants. All while combining your fingers through her hair, "I mean, I just feel like World War III is probably upon us, you know-"
"Ugh, could you guys get a room?" You had been so enamored by Hazel's ranting that you failed to notice PJ at first. Her and Josie made their slow ascent on the bleachers until their shadows blocked your afternoon sun.
"Could you get a girlfriend?" The words had snipped off your tongue with harsh vexation as you instinctively cradled Hazel closer to your chest.
"Jesus-" Hazel had muttered, as she craned her neck up to stare at PJ and a disgruntled Josie, "Why are you trying to hijack my boob time?"
You had to reign in all murderous intentions as PJ grabbed hold of Hazel's forearms and forcibly dragged her up off the bleachers… out of your arms.
"You don't get boob time until we all get boob time. And need I remind you that you're going to be late for Fight Club," You heaved a very loud, very obnoxious sigh as you tilted your head backwards, letting the rays bounce off your pink sunglasses, "You guys should seriously get a room." Said PJ, "Stop giving the entire football team a show. Come on, you're setting us back like 69 years-"
Before PJ sunk her claws into Hazel completely, she bent down until her lips pressed against your cheek, and she whispered, "I'll see you back at my place, yeah?"
Your heart deflated at her confirmation that she was indeed leaving you for Fight Club, "Hazel..."
"Shh, shut up. Just say yes,"
But before you could wrack your brain for something coherent to say, PJ had already begun to make her descent off the bleachers, taking your girlfriend along with her.
You did not hate PJ, nor were you her biggest fan at the best of times. However, nights like tonight made your vexation grow to unimaginable heights simply because PJ is completely and utterly inescapable.
This evening, however, waiting for Hazel to get back from Figh Club, had been perfect. Etta James had been oozing through The Callahan's home speakers as you prepared the butternut soup- Hazel's favourite Post Fight Club recovery meal (although she hated admitting it, because she did not want to put you out of your way).
You are perfectly content, trapped in your web of make-believe as you prance around Hazel's kitchen, assembling your respective bowls needed for the soup. Mrs Callahan had let you in, as she always did after school, with a dismissive wave while she babbled into the receiver of her iPhone. Before she completely disappeared into the innards of her sprawling house, Mrs Callahan vaguely threw over her shoulder "Hazel is at her thing until 5 but I'm sure you've been made aware," and you were left in this great big labyrinth to entertain yourself.
Sex had been even more seldom, given that Hazel was rarely ever in any shape to commence any form of coitus due to the various bruises popping up in unlikely places. You wish you can safely tell yourself you despised seeing her bloody and battered state - that you gain absolutely nothing from Fight Club and that you most likely never will.
But you're staring dreamily into the pot of soup, and you're stirring and stirring, with your heart racing in anticipation of Hazel's inevitable return with her inevitable bruises smeared across her perfect little face.
You had not planned on cooking for anyone because seducing Hazel in her inevitably bloodied state was on the forefront of your mind, and Mrs Callahan had a very tempting bright pink apron hanging on the hook.
So perhaps you did do this all for her.
Perhaps you were waiting for her, to stride on through the foyer, nursing a streak of dried blood down her nose, eager to catch her reaction at seeing you so comfortable in her space while you rushed to swoop in and fawn over her.
This near perfect daydream might have actually manifested…
Were it not for PJ's loud and obnoxious voice bleeding into the kitchen from the foyer, accompanied by the heavy groan of the front door slamming shut. Your shoulders visibly sag as you empty the rest of the soup into your bowl just as the trio rounds the corner into the kitchen.
"Oh my God - soup!" PJ exclaimed rushing towards you with her gaze zeroed in on the bowl locked firmly in your hand. You had been so focused on keeping the bowl from PJ's incessant grabby hands that you failed to see the dazed, almost breathless look that sprinkled over Hazel's face who drifted slowly behind Josie despite this being her house.
Suddenly, every thought about the impending bruise she was facing due to not dodging a right hook earlier vanished from her mind like doves in the wind. Hazel's head was completely flooded with the image of you, in her kitchen, with your cute as fuck little skirt grazing just above your knee.
This almost did not feel real. Less than a month ago, no one barely blinked in her direction, but now...
So enamored was Hazel by your act of service, she nearly failed to catch PJ's innate need to flirt whenever you were in the vicinity.
"You look hot by the way," PJ had slyly said, still reaching for the bowl of steaming soup, which you only drew higher above your head.
"Sorry PJ, only people who make me cum get to eat my cooking."
"Is that an invitation?" She asked, leaning against the counter, "That sounded like an invitation."
Hazel cleared her throat, finally succeeding in having your eyes wash over her. "Can we probably not talk about you fucking my girlfriend, maybe, I think?" She said cooly, discarding her bag somewhere on the floor before making her up closer towards you. Her slouch was even more prominent and you swear the air in your lungs thinned as she brushed up beside you and muttered, "Hey,"
"Hey yourself." And Hazel's tummy instantly warmed as you discarded the bowl on the counter, turning to cup her cheeks in your hands as you observed her latest shiners acquired from Fight Club. Something sinister flashed through Hazel's mind as your big dark eyes scanned over her visage, eyeing the new bruise splotched across her eye and the horizontal laceration on her cheek.
"It doesn't hurt," She can barely find her words under the overwhelming feeling of your care and attention. Your scent is all encompassing, and before she ever allows for anymore of her arousal to stain her boxers Hazel attempts to draw her face out of your palm.
"Jesus, Hazel!" You squeal, pulling her head down closer to your height, until Hazel has to support herself with a hand on the counter behind you, "Please don't tell me you were sparring with anyone on the football team again!"
You hoped you succeeded in masking how turned on that thought actually got you...
Hazel's voice is deep and low as she replies,
"Jeff said that if I can at least dodge his left, left, right hook next time, I could probably be ready for the whole team." You breathe out and airy laugh almost the same time as her, the both of you silently aware of what the other was doing.
"Ugh, you're such a virgin." PJ mutters under a mouthful of soup.
"I literally have a girlfriend," Hazel mutters without looking away. Her gaze was nearly trapped in yours as she allowed you to pull her limp body away from PJ and Josie. "Come on, I need to clean you up."
And that's how you had found yourself, cross-legged on Hazel's bed with her leaning against the headboard like your Oh so compliant little patient. Her gaze is yet to waver from yours, in fact, cleaning the laceration had been utter hell, right up until this point because Hazel had taken to drawing various circles against the skin of your exposed thigh.
The skirt had ridden up marginally from your seating position, and Hazel seems perfectly fine toying with your various emotions.
"You look really pretty," Hazel breathed out as if those words were sitting heavily on her heart ever since you applied the wet gauze against her left cheek. You try to hold your composure, keeping a firm eye on the dressing of Hazel's wound as you say, "I don't really think I want you going to fight club anymore,"
"Tch'yeah okay," she snickers dismissively, "Hey, is this skirt new? It's hot- like 'gay 50s housewife' kinda hot," There's an edge to her voice that has Hazel sitting taller against the headboard before incriminatingly letting her hands drift just a little higher on your thigh. Your breathing becomes heavier as you fight hard to maintain your crumbling composure.
"I'm serious, Hazel," you had begun to whisper. Why had you begun to whisper?
"I don't wanna have to stitch you up every time-"
As soon as the gauze was plastered onto her cheek, Hazel's head was already melting into your chest, nuzzling at your open cleavage exposed by your Pastel v-neck as she says, "God, I love it when you mommy me,"
"H-Hazel," any warning you tried to inject into your tone gets fizzled out by the embarrassing moan that escaped your lips as Hazel's teeth dragged lightly against the skin of your chest. Her hands were restless, as if she was testing herself as to how far she'd allow herself to go so quickly.
You suck in so much air as Hazel's palm cradles the inside of your thigh and because you're cross legged, closing your legs is nearly impossible. "Fuck, I'm so turned on, right now," her voice cracks as she brings her face up from your boobs. Pressing a hand to your cheek, she tries and fails to bring your lips towards hers.
Hazel frowns as you say,
"You think it makes me feel good seeing you like this?"
You ignore the budding voice in your head echoing the loud and very obnoxious 'yes, yes you do like seeing her like this. You like seeing that reckless smile blossom onto her cracked and battered face. It gets you wet and you know it does-'
But your voice is full of fragile conviction as you say, "You think I like seeing my girlfriend beaten up everyday of the week?"
Hazel blinks once before she succinctly replies, "If I put my hands up your skirt right now, am I gonna find you wet?" An entire desert ecosystem is suddenly born inside your mouth, and you swallow thickly as your eyes evade Hazel's uncomplicated, piercing gaze. She tilts her head, smiles gone, simply waiting for your response.
"Do you want me to tell you what I think?" She asks before steadily closing the distance between you once more. Only, you're so terrified of being caught out, so utterly embarrassed at the thought of her finding out about the pool of wetness that had begun soaking completely through your panties, that you back away the closer she gets. Your slinking backwards only allows Hazel to crawl closer until she's hovering above you in the centre of her bed.
You have her undivided attention, and she has yours. Your eyes recklessly scans her face, every cut, laceration, and every old bruise buried under a new one has your lips turning downward as a small, almost imperceptible whimper forces itself out of your throat.
"There she is…" Hazel whispers with a palm cradling your cheek, "There's my needy little girl," You're quickly slipping into subspace right in front of her and Hazel is more than grateful. A single silver pendant dangles from her throat as she dips down, finally connecting your lips in a quietly passionate kiss. Your eyes immediately flutter shut, and so does hers. The both of you are utterly enamored by the sheer lust communicated by the intensity of the kiss alone.
"Fuck," Hazel curses, momentarily breaking apart to peel off her oversized graphic tee. You're watching your girlfriend in her sports bra with unbridled lust shining heavily on your pouty lips.
"Tell me you're wet for me," She says, "Please, Baby."
You're slipping deeper and deeper but you still have half a mind to lightly whisper, "Hazel, they're right downstairs-" She's already crashing her lips back down onto yours.
"Tell me you're wet for me," She murmurs against your lips, never being able to stray too far.
The hand that isn't holding her up, hovering above you, is once again, underneath your skirts, only this time, the tips of her fingers are dragging up against your inner thigh with no chance of stopping.
"Fuck, Hazel,"
"Is that supposed to be an answer?"
You're already pulling your own hips off the bed, seeking her hand out like a whore as you break the kiss only to whimper, "Yes, okay, fine! I'm so wet for you, Hazel- just, please!"
She watches completely fargone as you let your soaked panties meet her awaiting palm. Watching you grind yourself against her hand has Hazel's mind absolutely descending into lust.
"God, you're so beautiful," she says, before finally pressing her own hand against your soaked panties. She rubs in harsh, rough circles, eager to bring you to the very edge of insanity. She needed to see you fall apart for her again and again-
"Inside," You whisper, watching your girlfriend rub your cunt with bated breath. You're still wearing your skirt but you figure Hazel needs to fuck you in it to fulfil some sort of fantasy and you don't entirely mind. Not at all.
"Hazel, Please. I need you inside-"
"Fuck- you're such a slut-"
Your head immediately falls back against the bed as Hazel's movements against your soaked panties increases.
"You like it when I call you a slut, baby?" Your hips stutter upwards in vague response as you moan loudly into the air.
"Fuck- Hazel, I'm close- I'm so fucking- fuck," the orgasm sneaks up on you like a villain in the night and you're spamming underneath her, while Hazel continues to rub your cunt through the torrid sensation. Before you've ever even come down from your high, there's a knock on the door, and look towards it with slightly parted lips and blurry vision.
"Hey- you have no more soup, and I think you two are fucking in there so Josie and I are just gonna g-"
"Fuck off, PJ!" Hazel screams at the door, failing to hear the small little 'Okay, rude' before she's lifting your skirt until they're pooling at your hips.
"Hazel, what're you-"
"Another one, okay?" She nods encouragingly before shifting your panties aside and pressing the colds tips of her forefinger and middle finger against your soaked cunt. "You're going to give me another one. I wanna see if I can do it."
You can't even roll your eyes at her unnecessary display of pride because your eyes are rolling to the back of your head as she drags the essence of your arousal along your clit. "Fuck, you look so hot-"
"H-Hazel," the aftershocks from your previous orgasm rack through your upper body just as the oncoming tempest of lust gears you up for the next one. Hazel leans over you once more as she continues to rub at your clit, "Just one more, baby, I know you can do it. Show me, baby." It's downright evil, the effect her manipulation has on your body as you descend further and further into your lust.
"Look at how perfect you look," she says with a voice thick with lechery, "Fuck, you get me so wet to, baby," she murmurs before instinctive pressing her lips to yours once again, as if something nestled in her being, craved the touch of your lips against hers.
"You're gonna be a good girl for me?"
"Fuck- Hazel-"
"I'm right here, angel," she whispers, before bringing the tips of her fingers to your opening. Hazel is quick to slide her index and middle finger into your pussy until she's fucking you hard and deep. It takes a few short pumps for you to clutch mindlessly at her forearms with your vision slightly waning as you look up at your smiling girlfriend who watches you descend into your orgasm.
"That's it," she coos as you clench around her fingers, "You're doing so well for me, baby,"
"F-Fuck!" You stutter out as you fall into the depths of euphoria. Your mind is flooded with nothing but Hazel, all thoughts previously plaguing your brain is made null and void. In the end, you're just a beacon for her to release her frustrations out on. Even if it means overstimulating you until you become a noisy, helpless mess.
For a while, each other's heavy breathing is all you hear.
That is, until you hear a loud bump against Hazel's closed door, drawing both your attention.
"PJ-" whispers Josie with unimaginable frustration.
"Oh my God, they're definitely fucking-"
04/10/22: CUTEST PROLOGUE FOR THE CUTEST COUPLE AROUND!!! aaaaaaaaa i’m so happy we’re gonna get to see them in an actual relationship this time!!! IT’S TIME FOR THE REAL DEAL!!! they deserve to be so happy together, i’m over the moon. i know this prologue is super short but i still NEED to highlight my favorite parts so that’s what below the cut!!! 💞
“His velvet jacket draped over his shoulder with just as much swagger as he had when he approached you last night at the wedding – watching him walk was going to be a problem, you realised. Did he always walk so sexy?”
“Was this your ploy? To get me back here…” he bit back a smile as he was in front of you again. You shook your head, a shy smile unable to be held back.” your rooster has such a way with words i’m already turning into jelly!!!!!!!!
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you dare be sorry,” he reassured you, swallowing hard. “Gee, they look good on you,” his voice dropped and his hands pressed into your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as you inhaled sharply.” THE DIALOGUE TONE CHANGE IN THIS I’M OBSESSED!!!
“Curiosity killed the cat,” his lip quirked, lowered his face to yours and you slipped his dog tags over his head, but didn’t let go of the chain. His warm hazel eyes caught yours.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 i can visualize the scene so perfectly!!!
“he made a face, his palms sliding to your ribcage, lightly tracing the bones under the pads of his long fingers. “Last guess. Better make it a good one,” he warned softly, his tired rasp just… just doing things. Bad, naughty things to your already overstimulated brain. Gee, if this was a dream you did not want to wake up.” PHYSICAL TOUCH ROOSTER YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS AND LOVED BY ME IT’S JUST SOMETHING SO PERSONAL AND IT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE IN EVERY INTERPRETATION OF HIS CHARACTER THE WHOLE PART ABOUT HIS PALM SLIDING TO YOUR RIBCAGE AND TRACING??????? INSANE. BEAUTIFUL. AND HIS VOICEEEEEEE!!!! “just… just doing things.” YEAH!!!!!!!!! I GET IT!!!!!! SO VALID, SO REAL!!!
“Nathan…” your voice trailed off and watched his face direct you towards another no and you quickly added, “iel?” reader trying to fix it last minute!!! CUTE!!!
AND OF COURSE FROM THE MOMENT I SAW THE LETTER N IN THE MIDDLE I KNEW IT WAS GOING TO BE NICHOLAS BECAUSE OF GOOSE AND STILL I GASPED WHEN BRADLEY SAID IT AJHDJSHDHSHS ANYWAYS!!!
“Nicholas,” you said again, burning into your brain so you’d never forget it.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥲🥲🥲
AND THEN THE WHOLE NICHOLAS WAS DAD’S NAME PART 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲
“And there you have it. I’m all outta mystery,” he blinked, licking his lips. You were desperate to have him kiss you again. You gave each other bashful grins and fell into a slightly weird silence. He was so fucking handsome, how had you been so blind that this man was in front of you? Looking this fine, smelling this good… and wanting you just as badly.” AND WANTING YOU JUST AS BADLY!!!!!!!!!!!! THIS IS MY FAVORITE LINE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
“That part was the hardest part to grasp.” BELOVEDS I REALLY AM GETTING EMOTIONAL!!!
The Relationship Experience - prologue
read this first - the boyfriend experience
Tugging at the chain around your neck, rationality setting in, you texted Rooster furiously fast. “Bradley N. Bradshaw… your dog tags are right here where you left them,” you said as you typed, hopefully getting his attention before he got too far away, or at least seeing your text before he reported.
Fuck, he texted back simply. That wasn’t good, you realised.
Continuar lendo
22/09/22: i’m going absolutely insane over this!!! EXASPERATED SLEEPY FRIENDS TO LOVERS INDEED!!! this was genuinely so fun to read, your writing flows so easily, you’re so talented AND THE WAY YOU WRITE JAKE IS SO-!!!!!! ANYWAYS!!!! MY FAVORITE PARTS ARE BELOW THE CUT!!!
“Urges that increase tenfold when you open it to see Jake Seresin, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly in an old Navy shirt that looks way too soft for your sleep addled brain to deal with right now.” what an image!!!
“You narrow your eyes. “What if I have someone here?”
He smirks and you kind of want to slap him.” this part already shows so much of their dynamic i love it so much.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he drawls, letting you feel the heat of his body as he passes by you, just a touch too close for comfort.” JUST A TOUCH TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT!!! I JUST KNOW HE DID IT ON PURPOSE LITTLE SHITTTTTTTT
“You should be preparing yourself for whatever he’s about to say that’s sure to make you lose your footing. But he looks like a goddamn sleepwear model like this, mellow and soft and cuddly, eyes drooping a little from tiredness and the whiskey he was sipping on all night, clothes begging to have someone’s hands fisted in them and…okay. Stopping that train of thought right the fuck now.” droopy eyes and floppy hair. i see it all. i want him. also love how she gets lost in thought ajxhsjhxhshdhshd
“Nothing but danger lies down that road with a girl like you and a guy like Hangman.” 🥲🥲🥲
“Message received, Hangman. We both know I’m not your type.” THAT’S NOT IT AT ALLLLLLLLL :(
“It’s one hundred degrees in this room,” Hangman defends himself. “I can’t sleep in pants, I’ll die.” why is he so ridiculous and dramatic i can’t ajxhsjxhshdhhsdh
“Relax, sugar. Just trying to keep you warm, since you’re always so cold. Been told I’m like a furnace.”
By who? You want to snap at him, but instead you swallow the words and lean into his chest. He really is warm.” love love love how she’s already thinking about an answer to throw at him but decides against it because HE REALLY IS A WARM 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺
"I know," you whisper, not trusting yourself to say much else without divulging all the thoughts about him you've buried deep under your comforter at home.” AAAAAAAAAAAAA SCREAMING ALREADY
“You squint, still kind of wondering if he can feel your pulse racing.” i love this quote <3
“Well, he definitely wanted to.” You’d love to imagine there’s a hint of bitterness in his tone, but you know that’s just wishful thinking.” NO IT’S NOT!!!!!! HE PAID ATTENTION!!!!! HE LIKES YOU!!!!
“Part of you wants to roll your eyes and scoff at him, as if Casanova Jake Seresin has any idea what that feels like, but he’s rubbing small, comforting circles in between your shoulder blades and it’s short-circuiting your brain. You find yourself running your fingers up his spine instead, playing with the soft threads of his t-shirt like you’ve wanted to since the moment you saw him at your door tonight.” absolutely losing it they’re so touchy with each other and COMFORTABLE WHILE DOING IT AND THEY REALLY THINK THEY’RE JUST GOOD FRIENDS??? GOOD PALS??? HELLO??? also the way you wrote this ❤️❤️❤️❤️
“You take your hand back like it’s been burned, cheeks suddenly hot as you realize you’d gotten carried away. “I’m sorry, I just—I didn’t think about what I was doing. Got distracted.” NOW MY BRAIN IS STARTING TO SHORT-CIRCUIT!!!
“He pulls your fingers back to his stomach, and you can’t help but immediately brush them over his happy trail.” STOP I’M GOING TO CRY AND THROW UP HE PUT THE FINGERS BACKSJCHSHCSHCHDHCHDHHFHSHDDH STOPPPPPPP
“I’m not like this, you want to say. I’m not like you.
He exhales audibly, looking down at you, at the cherry blooming on your cheeks, at where your dainty fingers pluck at his shirt. His hand clenches once in the pillow above your head, knuckles practically white, before releasing.
“I know, sweets, was only joking. Fuck, I get that you’re a good girl,” he breathes, strained like he’s barely holding it together. “S’why I always want to ruin you.” i’m not like you meaning jake is a slut i mean she’s not wrong there. BUT ALSO: THE WAY AND THE CONTEXT IN WHICH HE SAYS GOOD GIRL I HAVE JUST PASSED AWAYYYYYYYYYY
“How many nights you've spent biting back his name, too embarrassed to let your lips form the syllables of someone who you were certain didn’t want you.” this line hit so hard. she really had set in stone in her mind that he didn’t have feelings for her oh GOD HOW LONG HAVE THEY BEEN PINING FOR EACH OTHER I’M GOING TO CRY!!!
“All you can manage is a nod, eyes starting to glaze over as he fills every inch of your vision.” OKAYSJCHSUCYYSYCHSHXHSHD
“And suddenly his words are hot in your ear. “What do you want, sweetheart? Want me to ruin you? Tell you about all the times I’ve thought about taking you apart?” TELL YOU ABOUT ALL THE TIMES I’VE THOUGHT ABOUT TAKING YOU APART I CAN’T DO THIS HOW DARE YOU I HAVE NO WORDS.
“His hand stops at your neck, just briefly, thumb rubbing on your pulse point. And it turns every last bit of you in you to sweet, sticky, melting caramel. Your breath hitches, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, holding back a whimper.” 😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫 i’m going through it right now 😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫
“He’s not even doing anything, not really, but your mind immediately latches onto what he could be.” EXACTLY!!! OH MY GOD!!!
“Thought you were so fucking innocent,” he grunts, running his thumb from your pulse point to your jaw and back again. You bring your hands to his, pulling him closer, silently asking him to press down.” CAN HE PLEASE STOPSJDJSCHSHDHDH
“But Jake’s head drops next to his hand at the crook of your neck, and he makes a strangled noise, the moan reverberating through your skin.
“Jesus,” he mutters against you. “Trying to kill me, sugar?” slut ❤️
“Your fingers are still grasping his hand, the one still around your neck, tightly, like you’re scared he’ll pull it away, leave you to drift without his grip to ground you, to remind you this moment is real. It’s actually happening.” feeling so many emotions right now this is so beautiful!!! getting her grounded!!!!!! there’s so much trust here at the same time that she really doesn’t believe it’s actually happening (which would make her a little insecure) but it’s jake ❤️❤️❤️❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹🤒🤒🤒🤒
“He lifts his head up to latch his mouth onto yours again and it’s heavier, so much more desperate than before. You whine into him as he slides his hands down your body, pushing up your shirt and you want to laugh at the absurdity of it, that you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your entire life and you’re both still fully clothed.” THEY’VE WANTED EACH OTHER FOR SO LONG HAVEN’T THEY AAAAAAAAA
“Warmth blooms in your chest at the realization he might’ve imagined this even half as much as you have. You’re sure you’re smiling like an idiot.” YESSSSSSS NEW FAVORITE PEOPLE EVER WHY AM I EMOTIONAL 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹
“You don’t notice you’re on the verge of a sob until he brushes your hair back from your sweaty forehead. “Just a little more, sweetheart, you can take it.” no words. no words. i refuse.
“Jake practically preens. “Where’d my feisty little brat go? That all it takes to shut you up, sugar?” STOPPPPPPPSHCXHSHXSHHXHS
“You’re not sure you’re still functioning. You’re not sure you’ll ever move again. You’re pretty sure you’ll ever have a coherent thought again.” YEAH.
“Sweetheart?” He asks when you’ve been silent for minutes, or maybe hours, who knows.
You look up at him, blinking slowly, eyelids made of lead, vision unfocused.
Jake grins, and it's almost boyish. It's annoyingly cute. “That good?” god he’s SO COCKY AND IT’S LIKE YOU SAID IN THE BEGINNING OF COURSE HE’S COCKY FOR A REASON NO ONE IS THIS CONFIDENT WITHOUT REASON TO BACK IT UP. I HATE HIM. THIS PART IS PERFECT. EVERYTHING ABOUT IT.
“As it stands, you’re too dazed to actually do either. You nod, silently burrowing your face into his neck. He chuckles again, and you decide maybe you don’t hate that teasing sound that much, maybe you’ll spend your days trying to elicit it from him as often as possible. You’re still thinking about it when he peels himself off you to clean you both up.” MAYBE YOU’LL SPEND YOUR DAYS TRYING TO ELICIT IT FROM HIM AS OFTEN AS POSSIBLE I LOVEEEEEEEEEEEEE THEM!!!
“When he settles back down, he pulls you in tight, curls around you in a way that should be uncomfortable, like he’d crawl inside your skin if he could.” ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
“Jake is still glued to you when you wake up in the morning, and your heart clenches too affectionately to be irritated by the fact that you can’t really move. Or breathe.” this is all so sweet and endearing my heart is getting arrhythmia.
“You don’t think he’s that much of an asshole, you’re pretty sure the bravado is all a front. That he wouldn’t do something like this, knowing how you operate, without any intention of moving forward, but the anxiety still thrums incessantly beneath your ribcage.” HE REALLY WOULDN’T BECAUSE HE LIKES HER SO MUCH ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️😡☹️☹️🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 but she still can’t help feeling a little insecure but that’s okay!!! all will be resolved!!!
“Guess that fifty bucks I gave Phoenix to find somewhere else to stay was a steal,” he mumbles, fingers dancing across your bare skin.” AND THERE IT ISSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!
this was so good!!!!! friends to lovers with hangman hits so differently!!! and combining that with the way you write, the way you set the scene??? perfection. AND YOUR SMUT??????????????? WILL BE NEEDING SEVERAL WEEKS TO RECOVER!!!!!
have you considered maybe writing a part 2 about them or a little prequel? so we see more of their dynamic? 🥺🥺🥺🥺 sorry i’ve fallen in love, they’re just adorable and i can’t wait to read more of your work!!!
do not disturb
pairing- jake 'hangman' seresin x female!reader (no use of y/n)
synopsis-
“It’s one hundred degrees in this room,” Hangman defends himself. “I can’t sleep in pants, I’ll die.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, considering just sleeping in the hallway yourself and ending this torture. “Is your penchant for drama genetic? Are your sisters like this too?”
warnings- 18+ only minors DNI, what's a plot never met her, explicit protected piv sex, lil corruption/innocence kink, choking (pls look up the correct way before doing it), hangman's dirty mouth, size kink (if jake doesn't have a big dick I'm staging a revolt), brat tamer hangman if you squint, inexperienced ish reader (tried but I'm a hoe so idk if I managed it), no kink negotiation here (talk to your partners first irl), safewords not explicitly stated but I promise this is consensual af, excessive pet names, exasperated sleepy friends to lovers
length- 4k this was supposed to be like 1k I don't know blame hangman
an- this is just smut w lil fluff sprinkles. i'm a hangman girl (read: I'm obsessed with glen powell) so I felt some type of way about being mean to him in tailspin & that's why this now exists. also idfk what this even is sorry! hope it's not terrible ok ily bye
GIF by when-in-doubt-eat-pizza
Technically, it’s the middle of the night.
That’s why you’re burying homicidal urges when you hear knocking on your hotel room door.
Urges that increase tenfold when you open it to see Jake Seresin, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly in an old Navy shirt that looks way too soft for your sleep addled brain to deal with right now.
“Hangman,” you greet drily. “Why the fuck.”
Rubbing sleep from your eyes, you’re not unhappy to see him, per se, but it’s well past acceptable social hours. He’ll have to forgive your less than enthusiastic welcome. Part of you thinks you might still be sleeping.
He at least has the decency to look sheepish for waking you up. Well, about as sheepish as Hangman is capable of looking. “Coyote said he was bringing someone back to our room. Can I crash with you tonight? Everyone else is either hooking up or dead asleep.”
Fucking weddings.
You narrow your eyes. “What if I have someone here?”
He smirks and you kind of want to slap him.
A testament to your willpower, you sigh instead, briefly wondering if it’s really that bad to force him to sleep in the hallway, before opening the door and stepping to the side.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he drawls, letting you feel the heat of his body as he passes by you, just a touch too close for comfort.
“Cool pjs.” He smirks again, raking his eyes up and down your colorful matching shorts and shirt set.
“Bite me.”
Hangman smiles good-naturedly causing you to idly wonder if anything has ever bothered him in his entire life.
“You’re real cute when you’re tired,” he says instead of being offended and now you’re debating if you actually should slap him, or maybe yourself for the way his compliment brings heat to your cheeks.
“Where’s Phoenix? Thought you were sharing a room with her this weekend.”
Your stomach drops as you consider that Phoenix might be why he came to crash in your room, and you try not to make a face at its betrayal.
“She’s probably in your room with Coyote,” you deadpan to cover up your discomfort, and then relish in the way his mouth drops open in surprise. “Christ, aren’t you supposed to be smart, Hangman? I’m kidding, she met someone at the reception.”
You know you’re being a little more abrasive with him than normal, but you can’t quite help the jabs that come out when you’re feeling uneasy.
And Hangman does nothing, if not make you very, very uneasy. Especially like this, with his blonde hair soft and flopping all over his forehead, that old t-shirt clearly having been shrunk in the wash over the years straining across his chest, riding up a little high above his sweatpants.
The gears are clearly turning in his head, no doubt forming something witty to gain back the slight upper hand you’ve gained in this verbal sparring.
You should be preparing yourself for whatever he’s about to say that’s sure to make you lose your footing. But he looks like a goddamn sleepwear model like this, mellow and soft and cuddly, eyes drooping a little from tiredness and the whiskey he was sipping on all night, clothes begging to have someone’s hands fisted in them and…okay. Stopping that train of thought right the fuck now.
Nothing but danger lies down that road with a girl like you and a guy like Hangman.
You’re contemplating if you could get away with taking a cold shower when he finally looks around your room, its distinct lack of two beds apparently killing whatever comeback he had on the tip of his tongue.
“I can sleep on the floor.” He’s rubbing the back of his neck again and his uncharacteristic awkwardness is starting to make your skin itch.
Message received, Hangman. We both know I’m not your type.
You’ve seen the girls he usually goes home with. Even if every single one of them wasn’t annoyingly beautiful, you already know where you stand with him. For all intents and purposes, you’re just another one of the guys. Sure, you don’t take a different conquest home every other night like the rest of them, but you banter and compete with them like buddies.
And since you and Hangman are just buddies, you roll your eyes for appearances. “Just get in the bed, Seresin. It’s huge, I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor.”
He shrugs, like he’s giving himself credit for his half-assed offer and goes to pull his sweatpants off. You give him a withering look of disbelief, studiously avoiding looking at the way his boxers stretch over his muscular thighs.
“It’s one hundred degrees in this room,” Hangman defends himself. “I can’t sleep in pants, I’ll die.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, considering just sleeping in the hallway yourself and ending this torture. “Is your penchant for drama genetic? Are your sisters like this too?”
He just gives you a dazzling smile in response, and you spin away from him before everything inside you melts.
Turning the thermostat down, you shoot an evident you’re welcome stare in his direction, but his sweatpants remain in their place on the floor. He’s laid out on the bed, all tanned skin and muscle, arms crossed behind his head in a way that’s surely meant to draw your attention straight to his biceps.
Deep breath, you tell yourself. You can do this, just lay down on the other side and don’t be weird.
You get in and pull the covers tight, hoping the shiver that runs through you as the air conditioning kicks on isn’t noticeable.
“And I’m dramatic,” Jake huffs, getting under the blanket and rolling closer to you. You tense, merely out of reflex and a frown creases his eyebrows almost imperceptibly before he gets comfortable on his side, pulls you into his arms. “Relax, sugar. Just trying to keep you warm, since you’re always so cold. Been told I’m like a furnace.”
By who? You want to snap at him, but instead you swallow the words and lean into his chest. He really is warm.
“Would never do anything you don’t want me to,” he mumbles, but there’s a trace of a chuckle in his voice that feels like he’s making fun of you.
Mocking aside, that's definitely true.
You'd never expect him to do any of the things you want him to, either. There's a reason your apprehension stems from you crossing some sort of invisible line with him in your bed and not vice versa.
"I know," you whisper, not trusting yourself to say much else without divulging all the thoughts about him you've buried deep under your comforter at home.
“How come you didn’t ask anyone else to come up and keep you warm?” Jake teases, after a few moments of silence where you were busy focusing on the whirr of the air conditioner and trying to ignore your pounding heart.
You squint, still kind of wondering if he can feel your pulse racing.
“The curly haired guy, from the wedding,” he supplies helpfully to answer your confused expression.
Oh. You’re surprised Jake noticed you talking to him at all. “It’s not like I wanted to sleep with him. We were just chatting.”
“Well, he definitely wanted to.” You’d love to imagine there’s a hint of bitterness in his tone, but you know that’s just wishful thinking.
“That’s not really my thing,” you say quietly, as if he doesn’t already know. He knew enough to know you wouldn’t have anyone up here with you, after all.
It’s so much easier, laying here in the dark, not having to meet his beautiful green eyes, to be honest. All your jabs having melted into smooth, silky edges at the warmth of his body.
There’s a playful lilt to Jake’s voice again. “Sex?”
You smack him lightly on the chest. “One-night stands. I can never get comfortable enough with a stranger to have a good time, things are just better for me when it’s more involved.”
When there’s feelings, you don’t say, because you’re pretty sure he can put two and two together without you having to spell it out.
You still kind of wish you hadn’t said anything, are kicking yourself for admitting that out loud when he cuts through the anxiety of your internal monologue.
“Nothing wrong with knowing what you want, darlin’.”
“It sucks sometimes,” you admit. “It can be a little lonely.”
“Better than being with the wrong person if it’s just going to make you feel bad.”
Part of you wants to roll your eyes and scoff at him, as if Casanova Jake Seresin has any idea what that feels like, but he’s rubbing small, comforting circles in between your shoulder blades and it’s short-circuiting your brain. You find yourself running your fingers up his spine instead, playing with the soft threads of his t-shirt like you’ve wanted to since the moment you saw him at your door tonight.
“Feels nice,” he comments, pulling you in closer.
Spurred on by his praise you keep going, wandering down his back to where his shirt rides up. You look down and see that little strip of blonde hair that disappears into the waistband of his boxers, slung low enough that you can see that stupid Adonis belt on his abs. Your hand moves to the front of him of its own accord, tracing the ridges there, brushing dangerously close to the strip of elastic at the top.
Jake’s arm pops up so he can support his head with his hand, looking down at you imploringly. “What’re you playing at, sugar?”
You take your hand back like it’s been burned, cheeks suddenly hot as you realize you’d gotten carried away. “I’m sorry, I just—I didn’t think about what I was doing. Got distracted.”
He’s definitely smirking, you can practically feel it in the air above you, but you’re sure as hell not going to look up and see that self-important grin for yourself.
He pulls your fingers back to his stomach, and you can’t help but immediately brush them over his happy trail. The dusting of blonde hair surprises you a little, having expected Hangman to be too vain to leave any hair around that might distract from his physique.
You’re silently wondering if he has any hair on his chest when he catches a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. You see his green eyes darkened, studying your face for something. You’re not entirely sure what.
Apparently finding what they’re looking for his expression softens, the hand supporting his head going to brush hair away from your face and you break eye contact, feeling small under his undivided attention. His fingers hover for a second, like he wants to do something more, but go to rest on your pillow instead.
“Thought that I had you pegged wrong all along for a second there, using lines to get in my pants. That’s not really my thing,” he mimics, smile twitching at the edges of his lips.
“Oh, I’m—Jake, I’m not—” you stutter, certain you must be bright red now. Your fingers are playing with the hem of his t-shirt, nervous and fidgety energy working to get released.
I’m not like this, you want to say. I’m not like you.
He exhales audibly, looking down at you, at the cherry blooming on your cheeks, at where your dainty fingers pluck at his shirt. His hand clenches once in the pillow above your head, knuckles practically white, before releasing.
“I know, sweets, was only joking. Fuck, I get that you’re a good girl,” he breathes, strained like he’s barely holding it together. “S’why I always want to ruin you.”
What.
Everything inside your mind shuts off.
All you can hear is the humming of the air conditioner, the slow intake of air into his lungs. Something inside you clenches.
You’re fairly certain a sound that closely resembles a whimper breaks from your throat, but you can’t know for sure, since all thoughts have been erased from your brain.
You hear him suck in a sharp breath, breathing in and out evenly for a couple seconds, regaining control, before he speaks again. “Sorry, sweetheart. Shouldn’t have said that. I won’t, told you I’d never do anything you don’t want.”
You already know that. That’s not the problem. The problem is how many nights you’ve already spent wishing his fingers were on you instead of your own. How many nights you've spent biting back his name, too embarrassed to let your lips form the syllables of someone who you were certain didn’t want you.
Now, though, those walls of certainty seem to be crumbling at every edge.
“What if I want you to?” You ask quietly, barely above a whisper. It almost gets stuck in your throat, but you force your lips to form those words and let them leave your lungs.
Jake’s entire body goes tense.
But then he rolls over, putting you on your back and caging you in with his arms.
“You mean that?” He’s looking at you intensely, so intensely you might be frightened if you weren’t distracted by the weight of him on top of you, by every single scorching point of contact between you.
All you can manage is a nod, eyes starting to glaze over as he fills every inch of your vision.
He chuckles. “Guess that’s a yes.”
Jake ducks his head to kiss you, it’s sweet, sweeter than you ever would’ve expected from him. Sweeter than you thought it would be when you were hiding beneath the sheets in your bed, with your fingers on your clit, choking back his name.
But then he slides his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss as he tangles a hand in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you moan straight into his mouth. His lips move down to ghost over your neck, across your jaw.
And suddenly his words are hot in your ear. “What do you want, sweetheart? Want me to ruin you? Tell you about all the times I’ve thought about taking you apart?”
Your thighs clench together, heat blooming in your stomach and you notice, all at once, how wet you really are, slick pooling between your thighs under the wispy material of your sleep shorts.
You open your mouth to say yes, desperately trying to find your voice, to find your familiar jabs so you can go toe to toe with him like normal, but all that comes out is a squeak.
His hand stops at your neck, just briefly, thumb rubbing on your pulse point. And it turns every last bit of you in you to sweet, sticky, melting caramel. Your breath hitches, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, holding back a whimper.
He’s not even doing anything, not really, but your mind immediately latches onto what he could be.
Jake’s eyes go wide for just a second before something wicked glints in the thin ring of green left.
“Thought you were so fucking innocent,” he grunts, running his thumb from your pulse point to your jaw and back again. You bring your hands to his, pulling him closer, silently asking him to press down.
You open your mouth to respond, but you don’t know how to explain. You may not do this kind of thing a lot, but you know what you like. Your imagination has certainly run wild enough times.
But any words that might’ve been readying themselves to leave your lips wither into nothing the moment he squeezes your neck.
“Jake,” you gasp, words breathy underneath the fingers around your throat. “Jake, I…”
“Hmm, what’s that, sweetheart?” His hand relents a little so you can answer, but you immediately wish he’d tighten his hold again.
“Yes, Jake,” you whine. “I want you to ruin me.”
And you don’t know what’s come over you, if you were even an ounce more present in your own body you’d probably be embarrassed.
But Jake’s head drops next to his hand at the crook of your neck, and he makes a strangled noise, the moan reverberating through your skin.
“Jesus,” he mutters against you. “Trying to kill me, sugar?”
You don’t have an answer for that because you’re not trying to do anything, you just want more.
Your fingers are still grasping his hand, the one still around your neck, tightly, like you’re scared he’ll pull it away, leave you to drift without his grip to ground you, to remind you this moment is real. It’s actually happening.
He lifts his head up to latch his mouth onto yours again and it’s heavier, so much more desperate than before. You whine into him as he slides his hands down your body, pushing up your shirt and you want to laugh at the absurdity of it, that you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your entire life and you’re both still fully clothed.
He peels your shirt up and over your head, letting out another obscene groan at the sight of your bare chest.
“Fucking perfect,” he murmurs.
You fist your hands in his shirt in answer, tugging upwards, figuring fair is fair. You’re trying hard not to blush, not to show how his approval makes you light and fuzzy. He grins and sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt up and over his head, ruffling his floppy hair in the process.
Lips parting unconsciously, your tongue flicks out to wet them. You knew he was built, but it’s overwhelming, really, to have all that tan skin on display just inches from your face. You get to run your hands up the length of his entire chest now though, leaning up so your fingers can dance through the tuft of blonde hair near the top.
Jake pushes you down on your back, firm, into the pillows. Smiling deviously when you pout and immediately clench your fingers in the sheets beside you, when your thighs press together, seeking some sort of relief to the ache between them. The seam of your shorts presses just right against your center, and you let your head fall back with a soft moan.
Something akin to dangerous flashes in Jake’s eyes, as he hooks his fingers in your shorts, pulling down in one swift motion and tossing them off the bed before you can gain any more pleasure from the thin material. He pushes your legs apart and groans at the sight of you, glistening wet for him. “God, sweetheart, look at you.”
Just when you think you might die if he doesn’t put his hands on you, if he doesn’t touch you, if he just keeps looking at you like that, like he wants to devour you; he swipes a finger up your slit, tip pressing lightly, teasingly against your bundle of nerves. It’s too much, but not enough all at the same time. He slides a finger in, curling it exactly right on the first try and you can’t help but keen, throwing your head back into the pillows.
He sucks in a sharp breath at your reaction, eyelids going heavy as he presses rough figure eights on your clit. “Want to get my mouth on you, get my tongue inside that gorgeous pussy, but I can’t wait, darlin’, been thinking about this for too long.”
Warmth blooms in your chest at the realization he might’ve imagined this even half as much as you have. You’re sure you’re smiling like an idiot.
Reaching down to the pocket of his sweatpants, he pulls a condom out of his wallet, and you want to tease him, presumptuous much? But any semblance of thought goes out the window when he pulls his boxers down, hard cock slapping against his stomach. Your mouth is suddenly, immediately sandpaper dry.
Fuck.
Of course he’s huge. No one with an ego as colossal as his doesn’t have a reason, or several to back it up.
You don’t even hear yourself saying it out loud, don’t even realize the curses forming on your tongue, until he grins, eyebrow raised, chest puffed out in pride. “Think you can handle me, sweetheart?”
It takes you a few moments to answer, to figure out that you should answer, since you’re transfixed on him, on the strong fingers rolling the condom onto his length. If you had any sense of self-preservation at all you might be genuinely worried about his question, about not being able to walk tomorrow.
Hopefully you don’t sound as winded as you feel when you tell him to shut the fuck up.
Before you can bother with any stupid survival instincts, you’re pulling him down on top of you, wrapping your legs around his waist, savoring the grunt it draws from him as his tip reaches your folds.
“Love it when you’re mouthy, darlin’, nice little challenge for me,” he promises, before pushing himself inside of you.
He goes slow, tortuously slow, and you screw your eyes shut tight as your walls flutter trying to adjust to him. You don’t notice you’re on the verge of a sob until he brushes your hair back from your sweaty forehead. “Just a little more, sweetheart, you can take it.”
The stretch of him seems to go on forever, just on this side of agonizing, but way too good for you to care about the pain, too good to be real and you can barely focus on anything else. Can barely hear Jake’s molten honey voice repeating a slew of continuous praises in your ear, can barely register the weight of his body covering every inch of you.
Any moment now you’ll wake up in your bed at home, covered in sweat, grinding into your bed, achingly alone. You’re almost certain of it.
But then you feel his lips on yours again, hand holding your cheek, gentle, affectionate as he bottoms out. When he finally moves, the heavy, slick pull of him in and out of you reminds you that you’re here.
You don’t even recognize yourself, mewling, long string of unintelligible noises tumbling from your lips.
Jake practically preens. “Where’d my feisty little brat go? That all it takes to shut you up, sugar?”
You can only hope those were rhetorical questions because he’s hiking your legs over his shoulders, picking up the pace, new angle hitting that spot deep inside you again and again, and you can’t form a single thought, let alone words.
Jake’s fingers find your center again and press against your clit in heavy, decisive circles, winding that coil in you tighter and tighter.
“So close,” you whimper, fingers tearing at the bedsheets.
He smirks.
“Did I say you could come, sweetheart?”
Your jaw drops in surprise, eyes rolling back and ears ringing, mind engulfed in the heat burning in your belly.
He’s still grinning smugly as one of those large hands comes back to your neck.
You whine, high-pitched and breathless, eyes fluttering closed, gripping the hand around your neck as he applies pressure, desperate for something to hold onto, and you think you’re trying to form words, some of them may even be making it out of your mouth, something along the lines of please please please, let me come, Jake, I can’t, JakeJakeJakeJake…
“So pretty all fucked out like this, stretched around my cock.” His gaze is fixed on where he’s plunging in and out of you, tone almost reverent. “It’s okay, sweetheart, come for me, wanna feel you, want…”
You don’t hear the rest because you’re focused on where his fingers dig into the sides of your neck, tipping over the edge, string of lights inside of you tangled and blowing a fuse. Everything bursts all at once and you’re clutching Jake’s arms so hard you’re positive you’re leaving marks, but it doesn’t matter, you don’t care because you’re in a free fall, toes curling in bliss.
When you come to, you’re just barely aware of his pace growing erratic, hand on your throat loosening as it goes to brush your sweaty hair back from your forehead. His thrusts are getting shallower, mouth spewing a litany of jumbled praises so tight, so wet, so perfect baby, when suddenly he’s arching over you, hands tight on your hips as he empties into the condom.
You’re not sure you’re still functioning. You’re not sure you’ll ever move again. You’re pretty sure you’ll ever have a coherent thought again.
Distantly you can hear his heavy breathing, feel his weight on top of you but you don’t fully register it.
“Sweetheart?” He asks when you’ve been silent for minutes, or maybe hours, who knows.
You look up at him, blinking slowly, eyelids made of lead, vision unfocused.
Jake grins, and it's almost boyish. It's annoyingly cute. “That good?”
That cuts through the haze enough that you kind of want to slap him, for the arrogance littering those three little words. Or yourself, for helping his ego grow any bigger.
As it stands, you’re too dazed to actually do either. You nod, silently burrowing your face into his neck. He chuckles again, and you decide maybe you don’t hate that teasing sound that much, maybe you’ll spend your days trying to elicit it from him as often as possible. You’re still thinking about it when he peels himself off you to clean you both up.
When he settles back down, he pulls you in tight, curls around you in a way that should be uncomfortable, like he’d crawl inside your skin if he could.
Jake is still glued to you when you wake up in the morning, and your heart clenches too affectionately to be irritated by the fact that you can’t really move. Or breathe.
But you take one look at the smirk on his face, the mischievous glimmer that seems to linger even in his sleep and the butterflies in your stomach turn to stone.
You don’t think he’s that much of an asshole, you’re pretty sure the bravado is all a front. That he wouldn’t do something like this, knowing how you operate, without any intention of moving forward, but the anxiety still thrums incessantly beneath your ribcage.
You’re lost inside your own head, fighting the panic rising in your chest when he yawns, rubbing his eyes before tucking himself back into your side, impossibly closer.
“Guess that fifty bucks I gave Phoenix to find somewhere else to stay was a steal,” he mumbles, fingers dancing across your bare skin.
It’s his turn to pat himself on the back as your mouth drops open in shock.
Jake grins, eyes sparkling as he presses a kiss into your hair. “Good luck getting rid of me now.”
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just trying to have a good time (i am failing miserably). 22. capricorn. she/her.
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