19/08/2022: MAYYYYYYYYYYYYY. Yes, I Did Not Survive. I’m Typing This From My Grave. This Was A RIDE!!!!
19/08/2022: MAYYYYYYYYYYYYY. yes, i did not survive. i’m typing this from my grave. this was a RIDE!!!! ALL PUNS INTENDED!!!!! i’m not even gonna bother with a little note at the beginning here because i feel like i just repeat myself all the time and my brain is still very dizzy from all of this. i need a month to recover. maybe more. JAKE SERESIN PLEASE [REDACTING SO MANY THINGS RIGHT NOW]. ugh.
“With the way he’s looking at you right now, sort of like he’s ready to reach across the table and devour you whole, you think you kind of know what they mean.” 🅰️🅰️🅰️🅰️🅰️🅰️🅰️🅰️🅰️🅰️ already screaming into the void.
“Looking at him is dangerous business, you’ve learned this much by now. It makes you do crazy things, shuts off whichever part of your brain is responsible for logic and common sense. So you avoid his eyes, even as you feel his gaze burn holes into the side of your face.” LOOKING AT HIM IS DANGEROUS BUSINESS!!!!!!! I LOVE THIS LINE!!!!
“He’s drinking whiskey neat. When he picks the glass up to take a sip, amber liquid trembles like a lake in an earthquake.” STOP WITH THESE BREATHTAKING LIFE CHANGING DESCRIPTIONS OF THE SIMPLEST OF THINGS!!!!!! amber liquid trembles like a lake in an earthquake!!!!!!! YES IT DOES!!!!! the imagery!!!!!!
“Well.” Jake makes a sweeping gesture that seems to encapsulate both your little outfit and meticulously styled hair as well as the bustle of the bar. “You’re here, aren’t you?” i hate him!!!!!!!
“And you were so sure of it all. That he had felt the same pull as you did that night at the bar. That he’d wanted you almost as much as you had wanted him. That he’d called the number you’d scribbled hastily on a napkin soaked in beer (called, not texted, and you’d been so sure it was a spam call you almost hadn’t picked up) because he’d genuinely wanted to see you again to continue whatever your co-worker had interrupted.” THE SAME PULL EXACTLY!!!!!!!! they’re so drawn to each other!!!!!
“I’m honored to be the first cowboy to take a pretty lady like you out.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 beloved!!!
HE HAS SEVEN DOGS IN HIS STUPID LITTLE FARM I LOVE HIM. YOU ARE NOW OBLIGATED TO SHOW US THE DAY WHEN HE EVENTUALLY TAKES HER THERE TO MEET THE DOGS.
“If you’re a good girl,” he says, looking at you over the rim of his glass, “maybe I’ll introduce them to you one day.”
That has your thighs clenching, your toes curling against the soles of your shoes. Jesus. He can’t just say things like that." AND YOU CAN’T WRITE THINGS LIKE THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫 HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO CONTINUE WITH MY DAY?????
“Hi,” you say, blinking up at him.
“Hi,” he echoes back, his arm sliding over the backrest just above your shoulders. “You good?”
You nod. “I was getting lonely over there.” this was very cute. i adore them. ❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹
“Wordlessly, he pulls you the last inch to him. And then you’re pressed to him, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, and he’s like a massive bulk of heat and muscle and the pleasant, spicy scent of his aftershave. Your heart stutters, stumbles, trips.” AGAIN WITH THE SHOULDER TO SHOLDER HIP TO HIP THIGH THIGH THING LIKE IN PART 1!!!!!!!!!!!!! i’m obsessed with this.
“Better like this?” he asks, and the words are quiet, soft, like they’re meant just for you.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 soft moments catching me off guard i love you.
“Can I have a sip?” you blurt.
Jake raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for a beer girl.”
You’re not. That’s not what it’s about.” YOU’RE NOT!!!!!!!!!! THAT’S NOT WHAT IT’S ABOUT!!!!!!!!! I GET IT!!!! I’M STARTING TO LEVITATEEEEEEEEE
“If you reached up now and kissed him, you’re almost entirely sure he’d kiss back, but the tiniest, smallest spark of fear flickers inside of you at the idea. What if he rejects you?” ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ he would never!!!!!!! but i understand her insecurity in the moment ❤️🩹
“Now that has blood rushing into your cheeks, fingers tightening around his thigh. You can feel his hand tracing up and down your side in leisured patterns, the naked skin of your legs against the fabric of his jeans. Your foot in the dainty sandals just an inch shy of his boots.” i love everything you write sometimes i don’t even know what to annotate next to these lines i just really love them.
”It’s like you can’t stop touching each other. Like a circuit, the electricity only flows if all parts of the pattern are connected. Like you’re gravitating towards each other, hands always on the other, your neck, his knee, your hip, his biceps.” 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 FEELING SO SICK TO MY STOMACH TAKE ME TO THE HOSPITAL!!!!!!!
“Jake hums, but he isn’t even looking at her. His eyes are fixed on your face, his thumb dragging in a long line from your hip down to the top of your thigh. A thoughtful expression crosses his face, and then he’s reaching for where he placed his hat on the tabletop earlier and planting it on your head again.
There’s a thrill to it all - a guy who could potentially have any girl in this town (pretty girls and funny girls and smart girls), but he’s looking only at you. His arm around you and his eyes on you, and his fingers on your leg. His hat on your hair.” ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS SCENE!!!!!!!!! NO WORDS!!!!!!!!
“Maybe you’re flattered by all the attention. Maybe it’s been too long since you last got laid. Maybe Jake is too pretty. Or maybe you’re just drunk.
But there’s a sudden bout of confidence, a wind in your sails, a voice at the back of your head whispering fuck it, and another answering yeah, we’re trying.
Maybe it doesn’t matter. What matters is this: You say, “Do you wanna get out of here?” *insert video reaction of all those ladies at ellen screaming and crying and jumping around* YES GET OUT OF THERE!!!!!!!!! GO!!!
“Yeah, I got my own cowgirl fantasies,” Jake mutters, and you don’t know how to respond, so you act like you didn’t hear him. Something at your core has gone liquid.” choking on my imagination drink HE’S SUCH A DICKKKKKKKKKKKKK I HATE(AM IN LOVE WITH) HIM!!!!!
“And this time, when you twist over your shoulder to throw a last glance at the bar, there’s something a little smug to your smile. So what if everybody sees you leave with Jake Seresin? Let them talk about this come Monday then, let them talk about it in the break rooms and the supermarkets and the diners. Let them set the whole town on fire.” YES!!!!!!!!!
“In the dim of the night, Jake’s eyes look almost black. “What what might be like, sugar?”
You bite your lower lip. “That ride I owe you.” TENSION SO MUCH TENSION TENSION RUNNING THROUGH THE WALLS MY HEAD IS SPINNING.
“Jake grins. “So do I get to be the first cowboy to fuck you, too?” STOPSTOPSTOP I CAN’T DO THIS.
“I…” You clear your throat and take a deep breath. “Yeah. First cowboy.”
His voice is husky when he says, “Good.” PLEASE SHUT UP SJDHEJHXHSXSHGXGWCJEJCUSUHSHS.
“He grins again. “I’ll take that as a yes.” sedate me. now.
“Good girl.” AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA GETS ME EVERY FUCKING TIME!!!!!
“and then you’re grabbing him by the collar, pulling him in, in, in, shoving your mouth to his, and kissing him like you want to drown.” love this line. i love every line. all of them are perfect.
“The thing is this: you actually are alright, apart from the very, very insistent thrum between your legs Jake is doing nothing to help with. In fact, you’re more than alright. It’s exciting in a way you can’t explain, to be right here in the open with him, to know he wants you so much he’s willing to do this where anybody could possibly see. To know you want him so much you don’t even care. But also to feel so incredibly safe with him, to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’ll take care of you no matter what…
This one, you definitely can’t blame on the alcohol.” just kill me. i’m already dying.
“Gently, Jake pinches your side. He’s undeniably beautiful, face painted in the neon lights of the far-off bar, shadows crowding behind him. His lips pink and swollen from the nip of your teeth. His eyes lidded and glazed. “Go on then, sugar. You owe me.” HE IS INSUFFERABLE MY GOD!!!!!!!
“Finally, you give in and whine, “Jake….” AAAAAAAAAAAAAA
“Hmm?” The sight of him, his hair disheveled by your fingers as he trails a line of wet kisses from your clavicle down between the valley of your breasts, is almost too much.” love how you wrote this. you are everything to me.
“Well.” He presses a kiss to your temple that is too soft for the moment. “Then you better get back to work, hmm?” I DIDN’T EXPECT HIM TO BE SO MEANNNNNNNNNNNN GOD HE’S SO-
“You wouldn’t, of course. There isn’t anybody in there you trust the way you trust Jake, not a person you’d want even half as much as you want him.
But Jake doesn’t know that.” YEAHHHH IT’S TIME FOR SOME JEALOUSY!!!!
“Don’t talk about other guys while wearing my hat,” he says.” *screaming crying throwing up passing out*
“give you the ride of your life….” JJSTSTDYYSUDYHSHCSYDYSHDHDHDD NO WORDS JUST SCRAMBLED REDACTED THOUGHTS
AND THEN YOU CIRCLE BACK TO THE LABEL OF HIS HAT!!!!!! PROPERTY OF J. SERESIN!!!!!!
“Can I keep your hat?” CUTE!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺
“It’s so warm in the car, and he’s even warmer. Soon, you’re going to have to climb off him, going to have to pull your dress back on, let him take you home and step under the shower, wash off the remnants of this night, of this thing that will never happen again. Something you’ll keep locked in your heart forever, a warm, soft memory to melt you in the cold.” me when i lie!!!!!! of course they’re gonna jump each other’s bones again!!!!!! silly!!!!!!
WELL… guess i’m into cowboys now… 🤠!!!!!!!!
dime store cowboy 2 . (hangman)
pairing ; cowboy!jake seresin x female!reader
synopsis ; jake teaches you about the cowboy hat rule. (part two of dime store cowboy, but can probably be read separately.)
wc ; 6.5k
warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; explicit language, alcohol abuse, explicit sexual content (semi-public sex, sex while under the influence, p in v, fingering, riding, dirty talk, lil tiny bit of degradation maybe?, almost getting caught)
note: YEEHAW PARDNERS………. i hate this so much, but hey i finished! that's the only positive about this goodbe.
sol. sunderlust. you already know what i’m gonna say thank you for being my bestie :(
It’s a small town, so news travels like wildfire - soon, all the kitchens are burning.
When you walked into work on Monday, three of your co-workers told you not to get too involved with Jake. On a trip to the local mom-and-pop shops for nails to hang your newest art print with, the older woman at the register frowned, called you by name even though you don’t remember ever introducing yourself to her, and said, Jake Seresin is bad news, honey. At a diner, a whole table of mid-twenties girls glared actual daggers at you.
With the way he’s looking at you right now, sort of like he’s ready to reach across the table and devour you whole, you think you kind of know what they mean.
“You’re like… a local legend,” you tell him, toying with the straw in your margarita. Jake ordered it for you before you even walked through the doors, and you don’t know how to feel about him remembering your drink order.
Jake raises an eyebrow. He’s wearing a pale blue button-down tonight that seems more formal than the flannel you met him in, but the hat and obnoxious belt remain the same.
“Am I?” he asks and sounds a little too pleased for your liking.
You nod. “I got advised not to show up tonight by….” You count them off on your fingers. “... four people. And that’s not counting any of the girls who I think are planning my murder as we speak.”
It punches a chuckle out of him, but something about the sound is almost sad.
“Yeah, yeah,” he agrees, waving it off. “I may have a bit of a reputation.”
“What sort of reputation?” you ask, watching as your straw paints swirls into the pink slush of your drink.
Looking at him is dangerous business, you’ve learned this much by now. It makes you do crazy things, shuts off whichever part of your brain is responsible for logic and common sense. So you avoid his eyes, even as you feel his gaze burn holes into the side of your face.
“A bad one,” he says.
It’s ridiculous, and judging by the fake deep voice he puts on, he knows it too. So you laugh, duck your head, and wonder if you even want to know the real answer.
From what you’ve gathered, Jake is a bit of a ladies man. (Your co-worker’s description had been somewhat less flattering. At least you don’t think town mattress is going to show up on his CV any time soon.) Usually, that fact alone would have been enough to have you running for the hills, but you can’t forget the night you met him - his hand on your thigh and the easy banter and feeling sexy, carefree, grown-up in a way not even doing your taxes can duplicate.
Still. The uncertainty remains.
“You think I should listen to them?” you ask. The leather of the booth clings to your sweaty thighs. It’s a hundred degrees in this stupid bar.
Jake hums and shrugs his shoulders. “What I want you to do and what you should do are two entirely separate things, sugar.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He’s drinking whiskey neat. When he picks the glass up to take a sip, amber liquid trembles like a lake in an earthquake.
“It’s your choice, sweetheart.”
That’s not exactly an answer, and it doesn’t escape your notice.
Jake sets his glass back down, braces his elbows on the table’s edge, and leans forward, leans into your space, a conspiratorial grin pulling up the corners of his mouth and says, “If you’re asking me, though… I think you’ve already made your choice.”
You’re not exactly sure what you’re talking about anymore, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of saying what.
“How so?” you ask.
“Well.” Jake makes a sweeping gesture that seems to encapsulate both your little outfit and meticulously styled hair as well as the bustle of the bar. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
You can’t argue with that. A new song comes on, and a group of girls near the bar yell in excitement. You watch them for a second.
“What made you come anyway?” He has his arms folded on the tabletop, clearly trying to pull you back from whatever train of thought you’ve boarded and sailed away on.
That’s a good question, and it’s one you’re not too sure how to answer. Because, truth be told, you almost didn’t. Without the liquid courage of three strawberry margaritas coursing through your bloodstream, without him so close you could barely think of anything but his stubble between your thighs, your nerves caught up with you. You’ve agonized over this, even twenty minutes ago, sitting in your car and staring at the twinkling neon of the bar, your heart beating an erratic pattern that echoed in your words like the same question repeated again and again: Should I?
You shrug. “Curiosity.”
He grins, his teeth gleaming between the pink of his lips. You wonder if he uses Crest white strips or if he gets them professionally bleached. They’re almost too white.
“Curiosity about what, exactly?”
You take a sip of your cocktail to bide your time, to collect your thoughts. Then you say, “I’ve never been on a date with a cowboy.”
Casually, Jake leans back in his chair, folding his arms in front of his chest. His expression is unreadable. “Oh, so is that what this is? A date?”
Your heart drops to the vicinity of your kneecaps. Could it really be that you’ve misjudged this situation so completely? Could it really be that you’re so inexperienced, so out of tune with the signs and signals of the chase, that you can’t even recognize when somebody’s flirting with you?
And you were so sure of it all. That he had felt the same pull as you did that night at the bar. That he’d wanted you almost as much as you had wanted him. That he’d called the number you’d scribbled hastily on a napkin soaked in beer (called, not texted, and you’d been so sure it was a spam call you almost hadn’t picked up) because he’d genuinely wanted to see you again to continue whatever your co-worker had interrupted.
Back home, your friends used to call you romantically challenged, but you didn’t think it was this bad.
“Oh,” you say, and your cheeks feel warm as you shift your weight in your seat, as you pull your shoulders up like you’re trying to disappear between the blades, “I’m sorry, I just….”
Jake is shaking his head before you can finish the sentence you had no idea where to end anyway. “I’m only messing with you, sugar,” he says, his laughter warm even as he teases you, and for a split second, his fingers graze over your knuckles on the tabletop. “I’m honored to be the first cowboy to take a pretty lady like you out.”
That line has no business making your heart race the way it does. Where his fingers touched yours, the skin tingles.
Because you don’t know what to say, you down the last of your cocktail.
For a while, the two of you chat about nothing and everything. Your new job, the adjustment to the countryside. His work on his parent’s ranch and his family. He names all of their seven dogs, and your eyes nearly bulge out of your head.
“Seven?” you repeat, a note of awe sneaking into your voice. “You guys have seven dogs?”
Jake laughs. “I take it you like dogs?”
“Like is like… the understatement of the century.”
“If you’re a good girl,” he says, looking at you over the rim of his glass, “maybe I’ll introduce them to you one day.”
That has your thighs clenching, your toes curling against the soles of your shoes. Jesus. He can’t just say things like that.
Jake orders you another cocktail from a waitress that does very little to conceal the glare she throws in your direction. When she comes back to deliver your drink and the beer that Jake has switched to, she leans so low both he and you get a good, thorough glance into her cleavage.
As she saunters away, hips swinging, you blink, caught between confusion and a tiny bit of annoyance, and Jake just snorts into the sweating neck of his beer bottle.
By then, the sugar and the alcohol are beginning to work their way into your bloodstream, and you feel just the right side of tipsy. Where your senses are dulled enough the bar fades away to a steady chatter of background noise, tuned out by the gleam of Jake’s smile and his eyes and his fingertips tapping rhythmically on the wood of the table. You feel loose and swaying and unsteady in a way that is funny, thrilling, instead of scary.
It’s strange to be so far from him, all the space of the booth stretching and elongating. Later, you’ll blame the liquid courage, but something (it’s definitely not jealous, nope, not at all) propels you to slide along the leather of the seat, feeling the sweat collecting in your kneecaps, heart in your throat, until you’re on his side, your legs just an inch or two from his.
Jake watches your migration with a faint smile on his face.
“Hi,” you say, blinking up at him.
“Hi,” he echoes back, his arm sliding over the backrest just above your shoulders. “You good?”
You nod. “I was getting lonely over there.”
As soon as the words are out, you cringe at yourself, mouth already opening around an apology, but Jake’s hand on your waist silences you. Wordlessly, he pulls you the last inch to him. And then you’re pressed to him, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, and he’s like a massive bulk of heat and muscle and the pleasant, spicy scent of his aftershave. Your heart stutters, stumbles, trips.
“Well, we can’t have that,” Jake says, his voice rumbling in his chest. “Pretty girl like you all on her lonesome.”
It has you grinning involuntarily. His arm goes from your waist to drape across your shoulder instead, heavy against you, and you set a tentative, searching hand on his thigh. The denim of his jeans feels rough against your palm.
“Better like this?” he asks, and the words are quiet, soft, like they’re meant just for you.
You nod. “Much.”
From your perch against his chest, you watch as he takes a sip of his beer. The bottle comes away, mouth wet just like his lips. His tongue pokes out just a little as he chases the flavor, chases a drop, and it’s like an intrusive thought, something planted in your mind by someone else, something…
“Can I have a sip?” you blurt.
Jake raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for a beer girl.”
You’re not. That’s not what it’s about.
You shrug, his arm moving with your gesture, and say, aiming for nonchalance, “Maybe I could be.”
He chuckles but hands you the bottle without further protest. It’s ridiculous, but something about the thought that you’re putting your lips where his have been moments ago excites you, sets your heart racing. Maybe you’re childish. If you reached up now and kissed him, you’re almost entirely sure he’d kiss back, but the tiniest, smallest spark of fear flickers inside of you at the idea. What if he rejects you?
So instead, you bring the bottle to your lips, take a single, tiny sip, and then, because you can’t help yourself, because apparently, this has become a habit in his presence, you lick the rim.
Then you cringe. “Nah,” you say. “Still not a beer girl.”
Jake snorts, but his eyes stay fixed on your mouth for just a moment too long. “Can I try your margarita, then?”
You nod, lean forward out of the crescent of his arm for just a moment to pluck the glass you left abandoned across the table.
Jake takes a sip and, to your disappointment, does not copy your moves. There’s no licking off the sugar for him.
He grimaces. “Jeez,” he says, “this is like ninety-five percent sugar.”
“Yeah,” you agree. “That’s why I like it.”
“Well, sugar,” Jake says, his grin turning just a touch devious, “I bet you taste even sweeter.”
Now that has blood rushing into your cheeks, fingers tightening around his thigh. You can feel his hand tracing up and down your side in leisured patterns, the naked skin of your legs against the fabric of his jeans. Your foot in the dainty sandals just an inch shy of his boots.
It’s like you can’t stop touching each other. Like a circuit, the electricity only flows if all parts of the pattern are connected. Like you’re gravitating towards each other, hands always on the other, your neck, his knee, your hip, his biceps.
“You want to find out?” you ask, voice barely more than a whisper, and wonder where the hell that came from.
Jake’s mouth lifts into a grin at one corner. “You’d let me have a taste, sugar?”
I’d let you have anything you want. That’s what you want to say, but when you open your mouth, somebody else’s voice cuts over yours.
“Jake.”
It’s the waitress from earlier. She’s gotten rid of her apron and notepad and is smiling at Jake in a way that makes her intention crystal clear. This girl is definitely here on a mission.
“Hi,” Jake greets back. “We’re still good on drinks, thank you.”
She laughs, and the sound is almost musical. “That’s not why I’m here. My shift just ended.”
For the first time, you really take her in. She’s beautiful, tanned skin, full lips, long hair the color of butterscotch that seems to dance in the light breeze from a ceiling fan. If it hadn’t been for Jake’s arm around you, you would have tried to melt back into the cushions of the booth. Suddenly, you feel painfully inadequate.
But Jake just says, “Good for you.”
The girl casts a furtive glance at you, a furrow etching itself between her eyebrows as if she cannot understand what Jake is doing with someone like you.
Welcome to the club, you think and startle at how bitter that sounds. It’s not like you to pity yourself like this.
“You remember when you asked me out on that date?”
Jake takes a moment to think about that. When he speaks again, he somehow manages not to sound like an absolute douchebag, and you’ll take that as a testament to his immense charm. “Vaguely.”
The girl’s mouth twists like she’s just bit into a lemon. “How about it then?”
One of Jake’s eyebrows rises so high it almost touches his hairline. He says, “I’m a tad busy.”
You watch the whole exchange like somebody watching a tennis match. Sort of like you forgot you’re at all involved in this and not just an innocent bystander watching a girl’s romantic advances crash and burn. Then she sends a truly withering look at you, and you’re reminded that you’re smack dab in the middle of this thing.
“Alright,” she says, trying not to let the note of hurt in her voice show too much. Honestly, you feel sort of bad for her. “Give me a ring whenever.”
Jake hums, but he isn’t even looking at her. His eyes are fixed on your face, his thumb dragging in a long line from your hip down to the top of your thigh. A thoughtful expression crosses his face, and then he’s reaching for where he placed his hat on the tabletop earlier and planting it on your head again.
There’s a thrill to it all - a guy who could potentially have any girl in this town (pretty girls and funny girls and smart girls), but he’s looking only at you. His arm around you and his eyes on you, and his fingers on your leg. His hat on your hair.
You don’t even know if the waitress is still standing by the table or if she’s left. You don’t care.
“Did you drive here?” you ask.
Jake, preoccupied with adjusting the hat on you, glances down at your face and answers, “I did.”
Maybe you’re flattered by all the attention. Maybe it’s been too long since you last got laid. Maybe Jake is too pretty. Or maybe you’re just drunk.
But there’s a sudden bout of confidence, a wind in your sails, a voice at the back of your head whispering fuck it, and another answering yeah, we’re trying.
Maybe it doesn’t matter. What matters is this: You say, “Do you wanna get out of here?”
You expected Jake to be surprised. Instead, he just smiles, something like amusement crossing his face, and you’re not sure how to feel about that.
“Sure,” he says. “Wait by the door for me, yeah, sugar?”
You agree. As he goes to pay, you idle by the entrance, acting like you don’t feel any of the eyes on you. Without his touch on you, you feel almost forlorn. A little sheepishly, you take off the hat and hold it to your chest, turn it over and over to stare at that label inside.
“Property of J. Seresin,” you read out in a whisper, running a finger along the thin leather of the hat band.
“You really like that hat, don’t you?”
Jake’s voice startles you. He’s smiling, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d call the expression on his face affectionate.
“It’s that cowgirl fantasy,” you say and watch as he stuffs his wallet back into his pocket.
“Yeah, I got my own cowgirl fantasies,” Jake mutters, and you don’t know how to respond, so you act like you didn’t hear him. Something at your core has gone liquid.
He takes the hat from you and plants a warm palm at the small of your back, steering you confidently toward the door.
And this time, when you twist over your shoulder to throw a last glance at the bar, there’s something a little smug to your smile. So what if everybody sees you leave with Jake Seresin? Let them talk about this come Monday then, let them talk about it in the break rooms and the supermarkets and the diners. Let them set the whole town on fire.
You don’t really care, not when you’re the one Jake is ushering toward his truck with something like urgency in his step.
Jake parked his car towards the end of the lot, where the lights of the bar turn into shadows, where the music and the voices are drowned out almost entirely by the chirping of cicadas. The air smells of gasoline and green things, growing things you never really knew back in the city with all its traffic jams and construction work.
When you tilt your head back, you see the stars like glowing pins stuck in the velvet of the night.
“Earlier,” you tell him, slowing your steps as you get closer to the truck, “you asked what I was curious about.”
Jake hums in agreement. He’s rounded the car with you, clearly intent on opening the passenger door for you, but now he stops when you do. You’re still in sync.
“I think,” you say, and wonder how your voice sounds so firm when you feel like you’re floating off into the stratosphere, “I was wondering what it might be like.”
In the dim of the night, Jake’s eyes look almost black. “What what might be like, sugar?”
You bite your lower lip. “That ride I owe you.”
He’s on you within seconds.
One of his hands tangle in your hair, the other falls once more to that spot at the small of your back, pulling you towards you with enough that you go careening, that you crush into him. The alcohol still has you a little off balance, so you steady yourself with both palms flat on his chest, then make a sound against his lips when you feel the muscles beneath his shirt, the rapid beat of his heart.
It’s all so sudden that it takes you a moment to get used to it. I can’t believe this is happening, you think distantly as Jake opens his mouth against yours, as his tongue traces over the seam of your mouth. You react on instinct, letting him in, melting in his arms. It’s all hot and wet, and god, he’s warm. You know the backs of your thighs and knees are still damp with sweat, with the sweltering heat of the bar, and now, surrounded by the furnace of Jake’s body, not even the night breeze can do anything to cool you down.
Jake walks you backward until your back connects with the metal of his truck, and then he presses you against the door. The hand on your back wanders down, down, down, over the curve of your ass, and then he’s pinching the skin there, and you yelp.
The curve of his smile presses against your own mouth for a moment, and then he’s drawing back at the exact moment that he pulls your hips forward. He’s hard beneath the denim of his jeans, his cock an insistent pressure against your core.
“Oh,” you gasp.
Jake grins. “So do I get to be the first cowboy to fuck you, too?”
You squeeze your eyes shut, hips instinctively bucking forward and into him. The sound of those words tumbling from his lips, his tone so easy, so unaffected, has something inside of you clenching.
“I…” You clear your throat and take a deep breath. “Yeah. First cowboy.”
His voice is husky when he says, “Good.”
Then he’s leaning back in, his tongue sliding into your mouth, his feet kicking your legs apart so he can slot himself between them. His thigh nudges against your clit just once, the contact almost has you keening, and then he’s angling it away, holding your hips back so you can’t rut against him.
Jake is a good kisser. He’s probably had enough practice, you think, and then immediately abandon that train of thought. There’s nothing good down that line. It’s not difficult anyway, not when he does something with his tongue, when his hand slides from your hair to the back of your neck and your brain melts into a puddle anyway, all coherent thoughts shriveling up with it.
When you lick into his mouth, you find traces of the whiskey he had earlier, of honey and oak and smoke. His stubble scrapes against your cheeks, your neck when he leaves a trail of open-mouthed, lingering kisses along the edge of your jaw. Part of you imagines him leaving a mark, imagines the rasp of that bear along the inside of your thighs, and your breath hitches.
The hand has wandered from your ass to the very top of your thighs, where your skin is so tender and sensitive that you bounce up onto your tip toes when he lets the pads of his fingers stroke a figure-eight pattern against you. His answering chuckle vibrates somewhere low in your throat, tickles in an exhale of warm air against your collarbone.
“Sensitive, sugar?”
“Yeah,” you breathe.
And that’s just about the only answer you give because then he’s inching your panties to the side, and one finger dips between your lips, and you have no air left in your lungs to form words with.
“Jesus,” Jake rasps. “You’re fucking soaked, doll. Have you been like this the whole time?”
You make a soaked noise at the back of your throat. Truth be told, you may have been wet since you walked into this stupid bar. It’s not your fault you’ve been wound tighter than clockwork since that night you first met him, it’s not your fault he’s so unfairly hot, not your fault he kept looking at you like he was mentally undressing you, not your fault he…
His finger finds your clit, applies a steady kind of pressure, and you throw your head back and moan so loudly you’re glad the parking lot is abandoned.
He grins again. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Then he’s kissing you again, his finger rubbing circles against you. You can barely keep up with the movement of his tongue, can’t really do anything but open your mouth and take what he’s giving you. The metal of the car is cold against your back, your head.
“Hold this,” he mutters without breaking the kiss, bunching the fabric of your dress up around your stomach and shoving it into one of your hands.
You do as he says, giving him better access to you. His mouth trails from your lips to your jugular, where your pulse is jumping so quickly it’s making you dizzy, as he slides your panties down your legs, taps the side of your thigh to signal you to step out of them. You go one foot at a time, knees feeling like jelly, but Jake steadies you. Bending down to retrieve the underwear, he presses a kiss to your kneecap on his way and mutters, “Good girl.”
Then he’s back up, your panties a crumpled up piece of fabric in his hand, and he presses his face right into the lace. Inhales deeply.
You’re going to pass out.
“Fuck,” he mutters, “can’t wait till I get that taste, sugar. You really are just the sweetest thing, aren’t you?”
It’s not really a question, but you still think it warrants some kind of answer. Your brain won’t cooperate, though. It’s completely and utterly blank.
You think he’s going to chuck the panties into the truck or something, but instead, he shoves them into one of his pockets, a bit of the pink lace peeking over the denim, and you swear you get even wetter.
“Souvenir,” he says, winks at you, and then you’re grabbing him by the collar, pulling him in, in, in, shoving your mouth to his, and kissing him like you want to drown.
If Jake is at all surprised by your sudden initiative, he doesn’t let it on. He takes as well as you give (if not better), fingers digging into your bare ass, your thighs, one sliding through your wetness and then inside of you. You whimper against his mouth as he fucks that finger in steadily, as he thumbs at your clit. Cling to him with both arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
The sound of gravel crunching beneath feet reaches you as if through a fog. Thankfully, Jake is quicker on his feet than you are, pulling his fingers out of you, tugging your dress down to cover you, and angling his body to shield you from whoever is approaching their car.
You can’t believe this is happening to you.
“Seresin,” the man calls as he unlocks his car door. Most of your vision is blocked by Jake’s shoulder, but you see the silhouette of someone raising their hand in a wave.
Jake tips his hat in response, arms protective and reassuring around you. He greets, “Hal,” then stays just as he is until the sound of the engine has died away in the buzz of the cicadas and the faraway traffic of the highway.
“Shit,” he curses, but there’s a chuckle to his voice. “You alright, sweetheart?”
The thing is this: you actually are alright, apart from the very, very insistent thrum between your legs Jake is doing nothing to help with. In fact, you’re more than alright. It’s exciting in a way you can’t explain, to be right here in the open with him, to know he wants you so much he’s willing to do this where anybody could possibly see. To know you want him so much you don’t even care. But also to feel so incredibly safe with him, to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’ll take care of you no matter what…
This one, you definitely can’t blame on the alcohol.
“Yeah,” you confirm. “Can we… can we get in your car, maybe?”
Jake nods immediately. “Sure thing, sugar.” He unlocks the car door and opens it for you. “You want me to drive you home? I can…”
But you don’t let him finish. For the second time that night, you pull him by the collar, shove him down into the passenger seat and then climb after, clambering into his lap with your knees pressing into the cushion by his hips. Behind you, you pull the door closed with a resounding thud.
Jake’s truck smells like the air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror, but you barely take note of that. He throws his hat in the general direction of the driver’s seat. His face is just inches from yours, his hands immediately settling on your ass, his eyes wide and blown, and his lip curling in a surprised, pleased smile.
“Sure you don’t wanna do this in a bed?” he asks, but his fingers are already shoving beneath the fabric of your dress again.
You shake your head, lower yourself down until you feel his cock against you, until you both exhale in shaky unison. “Owe you that ride,” you mutter and lean in to kiss him.
It’s torture after that. Jake kisses you like he’s trying to climb into your body, tugs at your hair until you feel each pull like sparks of electricity down to your clit. He pulls your dress down your shoulders, lets it pool around your stomach to get his mouth on your nipples even over the fabric of your bra, the lace soaked through with his spit and your skin aching. All the while, you grind against him, spread your wetness all over his denim as Jake ruts up into the movement, the friction almost unbearable. On every hitch of your hips forward, the obnoxious belt buckle nudges against your clit, and it almost undoes you - the cold of the metal against your heat enough to have your eyes rolling into the back of your head, your mouth opening around moans of Jake’s name.
Finally, he seems to crack, reaching around you to prop open the glove compartment and get out a condom. You watch as he finally unzips his jeans, gets out his cock, and hisses as he rolls the rubber down. Your heart is in your throat with the anticipation of it all.
And then you spot it.
In a split-second decision, propelled by something that must border on madness, you stretch across the middle console, reaching for the driver’s seat.
Jake frowns. “Where you going, sugar?”
“Just…” You strain until you can finally get your hands on the soft fabric, and then you’re sinking back down into his lap, your cunt rubbing over him, and a long, languid moan escaping you before you place his hat on your head.
Jake blinks at you for a moment, eyes glassy, mouth open, the fingers on your hips tightening.
“Jesus,” he whispers, “you gonna wear that, sweetheart?”
You can’t read his face, can’t read the expression, and the uncertainty slams into your chest like an iron-clad fist. Maybe this was a bad idea.
But Jake groans, says, “You gonna wear my hat as you ride my cock, sugar? That’s how you wanna play this thing?”
And shit. Okay, then.
“Yeah,” you breathe, plant both hands on his shoulders. “Can I?”
In answer, he surges forward to kiss you at the same time that he pulls you down on his cock. It’s a stretch, and it’s a slow slide down, but it feels so good, it makes you go a little crazy. You cling to him, let him kiss you, let him dig his fingers into the skin of your hips, pant into his mouth.
When he finally bottoms out, you can’t tell how long it’s been. Your legs are already shaking, your head spinning, your words failing.
Gently, Jake pinches your side. He’s undeniably beautiful, face painted in the neon lights of the far-off bar, shadows crowding behind him. His lips pink and swollen from the nip of your teeth. His eyes lidded and glazed. “Go on then, sugar. You owe me.”
You whimper and obey, move yourself up and down on him slowly at first. The slide of his cock in and out, the clench of your cunt around him each time, as if your body doesn’t want to relinquish its hold on you. His fingers on you as he finally slides your bra off. His lips on your collarbone, then on your breasts, his teeth grazing a nipple, his tongue soothing the sting… It’s almost too much, all of it.
The cubicle is filled with your sounds, the quiet gasps and the loud whines, with Jake’s moans muffled against your skin.
“Fuck,” he mutters, “god, you feel so fucking good, sugar.”
You just nod in answer, the hat almost slipping over your eyes again, and up the pace. You’re all but slamming yourself down on his cock now, the sounds obscene. It’s the wet squelch of your pussy every time he spears into you, the frantic slap of skin on skin as your thighs meet his, the noise of his mouth on your tits.
It goes on forever, something that spirals higher and higher and never reaches the pinnacle. The windows fog up. Your thighs ache. You chase a high that eludes you, time and again.
And all through it, Jake’s hands remain infuriatingly stagnant on your hips.
Finally, you give in and whine, “Jake….”
You can barely keep up the bouncing, your thighs trembling with the pent-up desire, the strain of the movement. In fact, you’re shaking all over, so far gone you can’t even control your own muscles anymore. Sweat drips in steady tracks down your back.
“Hmm?” The sight of him, his hair disheveled by your fingers as he trails a line of wet kisses from your clavicle down between the valley of your breasts, is almost too much.
“I can’t….” You slump against him, the fatigue catching up with you, pant into the place where his collarbone dips in.
“You tired, doll?”
Without lifting your head, you nod.
His laughter brushes over your hair on an exhale. If you had any strength left in you, you might feel insulted at the fact that he’s laughing at your plight. But the alcohol and the exhaustion and the night in total have finally caught up with you, and you can’t think of anything but your dizzying, deafening, debilitating need to cum.
“That’s too bad,” he says, “You promised me a ride, didn’t you?”
And, like… fuck him, honestly.
“I’m too tired,” you whine, and you’re not too ashamed to admit it. Haven’t you been doing all the work for long enough?
Jake clicks his tongue and pats along the length of your spine. In a voice like melting honey, he says, “You want to come, don’t you, doll?”
You nod, words drifting far away from you like letting go of a balloon.
“Well.” He presses a kiss to your temple that is too soft for the moment. “Then you better get back to work, hmm?”
That’s the breaking point for you.
“Jake,” you say, pushing yourself into an upright position with both palms balanced on his pecs and glare down at his stupid, evil grin, “if you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll go back into that bar and find another cowboy to do it properly.”
You wouldn’t, of course. There isn’t anybody in there you trust the way you trust Jake, not a person you’d want even half as much as you want him.
But Jake doesn’t know that.
The shift is almost immediate.
His eyebrows furrow, his hands tighten on your hips. Something dark crosses his face.
“Don’t talk about other guys while wearing my hat,” he says.
You shrug, motioning to take off his hat. “I will if you can’t fuck me pr….”
Your words trail off into a squeak as Jake fucks his hips up, as his cock plunges into you with more force. Then he’s sitting up straight, wrapping one arm around your waist as he sets a quick, hard rhythm, as he plants a firm hand on the hat and pushes it back down.
“Don’t even say it,” he whispers into your neck as he licks at a drop of sweat, as he sinks his teeth gently into your skin. “You should know better than that, sugar.”
He’s fucking you for real now, hips pistoning in and out with abandon. Your breasts bounce with the force of it, your hands scrabbling for purchase among the curve of his shoulder, the leather of the headrest.
Into your ear, between pants, he’s pouring buckets of filth, saying, “They couldn’t fuck you like this anyway, sugar, and you know it. Nobody but me could give it to you like this, get that pretty pussy this wet, give you the ride of your life….”
Your mouth drops open, sounds pouring from you that could put most porn actresses to shame. When Jake’s fingers find your clit, you have to muffle a full-on scream into his neck.
“Jake,” you whimper, and it’s almost scary how big it is, looming just in the distance. So close now, you’re so goddamn close.
“Yeah,” he’s saying into your hair, planting his feet firmly on the ground and fucking up into your pussy, his cock plunging so deep you swear you feel him in your stomach, “fucking take it. You better not forget who’s fucking cock you’re taking, sugar, who’s hat you’re wearing, who….”
You don’t hear the rest of it. All you can think of is the weight of the hat on your head. All you can think of is that label on the inside of it.
Property of J. Seresin.
You cum with a strangled shout, with your cunt clamping down so hard on Jake’s cock he grunts, with a gush of wetness, with your back arching far enough the hat tips backward off your head, with your fingers and toes numb, with your head somewhere in the clouds, with your blood rushing in your ears, and your heart like a sledgehammer and your arms around his neck. And then you sob, gasp for breath, wriggle like a fish on land.
“That’s my girl,” Jake is saying into your ear when you regain enough presence of mind to tap back into your hearing. “Look so pretty when you come on my cock, Jesus, you’re so fucking tight, sugar, God….”
He pumps his hips a few more times before the rhythm stutters, before he groans and tenses and empties into the condom. His cock twitches inside of you, and you moan weakly, slumped against his chest as you are.
Jake’s arms wrap around you as he hauls you closer to press kisses down the slope of your shoulder.
“You good?” he asks softly.
You nod, eyes fluttering closed. God, you could fall asleep right here - completely sated, completely exhausted, completely full.
“Jake?” you whisper, and as your lips move against his skin, you taste the salt of sweat.
“Yeah, sugar?”
“Can I keep your hat?”
It’s so warm in the car, and he’s even warmer. Soon, you’re going to have to climb off him, going to have to pull your dress back on, let him take you home and step under the shower, wash off the remnants of this night, of this thing that will never happen again. Something you’ll keep locked in your heart forever, a warm, soft memory to melt you in the cold.
But just for now, you get to keep it. For another minute, for another moment.
Jake laughs, his shoulders shaking and your body moving with it.
“Since I’m keeping the panties,” he says, his voice almost tender. “Sure thing, sugar. It’s all yours.”
You press your smile into his chest, preen as he reaches around you to put the hat back on you, and then you think, Thank God for Carrie Underwood.
More Posts from Fivsecondsflat and Others
03/10/22: MAY WRITING FOR ROOSTER EVERYBODY CHEERED I CHEERED I CRIED I LAUGHED I GOT SHOT HAD EPIPHANIES!!!!! sweet may, i will never get tired of saying how much i absolutely ADORE your writing. it’s so special, i don’t know exactly WHAT IT IS ABOUT IT, but there’s something here or a combination of factors idk i just adore it i would read your grocery list!!!!!! anyways this was adorable and i had to highlight my favorite parts because 😭❤️🩹
“You can’t help it - you laugh. It’s a sound that punches from somewhere deep inside of you, that comes with a certain amount of relief. That echoes through the darkness of your hotel room, bounces off the ceiling and back into the shadows.” bounces off the ceiling and BACK INTO THE SHADOWS. HELLO??? POETRY???
“Don’t laugh at me.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺
“By all means, Bradley could be a star in an 80s porno, what with the mustache and those Hawaii shirts. And the embarrassing dirty talk.” stop i love him!!!
“What you hadn't exactly planned on, though, is that your boyfriend, apparently, is really, really bad at phone sex.” STOP IT’S HIS FIRST TIME HE’S TRYING 😭😭😭😭 POOR ROOSTER
“You’re really good at dirty talk in person.”
He’s quiet for so long you think maybe he’s hung up. When you draw the phone away to glance at the screen, you miss half his sentence.
“... easier when you’re there,” he’s saying by the time you got the phone back up to your ear, and you can hear the note of uncertainty in his voice. It’s endearing, but then you’re totally whipped for him, so that doesn't say much. “Like this, I just get self-conscious. I don’t know.” EASIER WHEN YOU’RE THERE BECAUSE THEY TRUST EACH OTHER SO MUCH ❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹 (not me absolutely making up headcanons about a BLURB- anywaysssssss)
“Bradley,” you say, and hope your words are as sincere over the phone as they would be in person, “I think you’re the hottest person alive, you know? You’ve sort of ruined me. I get wet when I see an airplane now sometimes. I don’t think there’s anything to be self-conscious about. Just act like I’m right there with you, okay?” NOT HER GETTING TURNED ON BY AIRPLANES SKJCJSJXHHDDHDHDHDDH also: comforting him!!!!!!!! i think you’re the hottest person alive 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲 they’re so cute!!!!
“Another moment of silence, and then he hums an okay, and his voice has reached just that pitch that makes you think the phone should be vibrating. And like. That’ll do it. You shove your hands back into your panties, where you’re still swollen and wet and aching to be touched.” HIS VOICE GOING DOWN AND IT’S ENOUGH TO GET THE BACK ON TRACK I LOVE THIS.
MISS SEASONSBLOOM I MISSED YOU!!!
romeo - "i want you to kiss every inch of my body." with rooster?
your blurbs are always so incredible! congratulations on 1.5k!! 🫶🏻✨ hopefully i’m not too late, i’m awful at time zones as well 😅
♡ pairing ; rooster x reader
♡ wc ; 600
♡ warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; explicit language; phone sex; this is really sort of silly
♡ note ; anon I’m sorry, i read that dialogue prompt and it sort of made me laugh??? so then this was born, I apologize.
“I want you to kiss every inch of my body.”
You can’t help it - you laugh. It’s a sound that punches from somewhere deep inside of you, that comes with a certain amount of relief. That echoes through the darkness of your hotel room, bounces off the ceiling and back into the shadows.
Tinny, distorted by the miles and miles between you, Rooster’s voice says, “Don’t laugh at me.”
The comment does what it does most often: It makes you laugh harder.
“I’m sorry,” you say, breathless, giggles cascading in an unsteady stream. “You just… you sound like an 80s porn star, Bradley.”
Bradley harrumphs and you hear sheets shifting, imagine him rolling around on the mattress. “Honey, I don’t think you’ve ever even seen an 80s porno.”
“You don’t know about my porn consumption,” you say, immediately, and then you start laughing again.
By all means, Bradley could be a star in an 80s porno, what with the mustache and those Hawaii shirts. And the embarrassing dirty talk.
“I’m not great at this, am I?”
That stifles your humor. He sounds… not exactly hurt, but a little insecure, maybe. Your heart drops and you back-pedal straight away.
“It’s okay, Bradley,” you rush to say. “We’ve never done this, and I think it’s awkward anyway. This just works better over text, you know?”
It’s true. When Bradley’s gone, most of your correspondence happens via emails or scheduled video calls in computer rooms he shares with other aviators. Which means that most of your sexual endevours during his absence are restricted to your right hand or a vibrator and the wide-ranging expanse of your fantasy.
Now that it’s you gone for a change, though, you gone and Bradley all alone in your bed at home, you’d really wanted to try. See how this thing might play out. What you hadn't exactly planned on, though, is that your boyfriend, apparently, is really, really bad at phone sex.
“It’s funny,” you tell him, shoving your phone between shoulder and chin as you roll over onto your stomach and fold your arms beneath the pillow. The throbbing between your legs has receded to a dull intensity somewhere at the back of your mind, like the tides licking lazily at the shore. “You’re really good at dirty talk in person.”
He’s quiet for so long you think maybe he’s hung up. When you draw the phone away to glance at the screen, you miss half his sentence.
“... easier when you’re there,” he’s saying by the time you got the phone back up to your ear, and you can hear the note of uncertainty in his voice. It’s endearing, but then you’re totally whipped for him, so that doesn't say much. “Like this, I just get self-conscious. I don’t know.”
“Bradley,” you say, and hope your words are as sincere over the phone as they would be in person, “I think you’re the hottest person alive, you know? You’ve sort of ruined me. I get wet when I see an airplane now sometimes. I don’t think there’s anything to be self-conscious about. Just act like I’m right there with you, okay?”
Another moment of silence, and then he hums an okay, and his voice has reached just that pitch that makes you think the phone should be vibrating. And like. That’ll do it. You shove your hands back into your panties, where you’re still swollen and wet and aching to be touched.
And still, you can’t help yourself. You just have to. Biting the insides of your cheek to keep the grin out of your voice, you drawl, “Now. Let’s get back to it, stud.”
“Now who’s the one stuck in an 80s porno?”
15/08/2022: HERE WE GO AGAIN!!!! i’m going crazy over this story, your writing flows so easily to me and i love their relationship!!! the fact that they’ve been together for 6 months since part 1 makes me very happy (the way i’m craving to know what they did together during this period of time, like how they developed together as a couple!!!!) but you REALLY weren’t kidding about the angst… i am in so much pain (but this is good!!! i loved getting her perspective!!!) this was beautiful and sad and you have such a way with words!!!!!! from dialogue to descriptions and setting a scene… just so much talent!!! i’m so glad i get to read your work!!! pls never stop <3
“There’s no way raw flour tastes that good,” you’d let out between your giggles, but he was relentless.
“Must just be you then…” i hate that you start with the cutest and most romantic stupid scene of all time only to shatter the atmosphere a couple of paragraphs later. cruel.
and bradley has a pasta maker!!! cute!!!
“and had taken to working longer hours when he was gone, pushing yourself to the limit to think about something, anything other than the fact that you hadn’t told your boyfriend of five months that you were in love with him yet.” ooooh now i’m curious to know when bradley said it (i’m assuming he said it first???and her reaction???)
“Instead, you’d merely blurted it out as he was making you coffee the next morning. He’d just smiled and said I love you, too - like it was so obvious that you were ever in any doubt and that he even needed to say it.” i hate this rear admiral person for ruining the moment and not letting her say i love you like she planned but i also love that bradley responds to it so easily later 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 he knows 🥺🥺🥺 we know 🥺🥺🥺
“- Sweetheart - ” my heart is starting to crack open!!!!!
“God, you were not a girl who cried easily.
(Lies, you just didn’t let anyone see you.)” she’s so real!!!! same!!!!
“contrary to popular belief, you did understand how important Bradley’s job was. And you understood what it meant for him and his career to be presented with an award at something like this. It wasn’t quite a Medal of Honor or anything like that, but it was still important. It would still mean something.
Something to Bradley. Which meant something to you.” SOMETHING TO BRADLEY!!!!! WHICH MEANT SOMETHING TO YOU!!!!! AND ISN’T THIS POSSIBLY ONE OF THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THINGS ABOUT A RELATIONSHIP AND BEING IN LOVE?????????? and this is like extra special because we know she doesn’t like the military!!!! i’m crying!!!
and now she’s overthinking in the shower and crying and i’m so sad because i just know he has a plausible reason (i hope otherwise i will deactivate!!!!!!!)
“No, no, no. He would never do that. You couldn’t believe the thought had even crossed your mind. Bradley loved you. Bradley wanted to be with you. Bradley put up with all your neurosis and your late hours at the office and made you cum so hard you occasionally cried and held you in his arms all night.
Bradley loved you.
(Didn’t he? He’d said he did.)”
okay so many emotions here!!!!!!!! my favorite part!!! i think???? I LOVE YOUR WRITINGGGGGGG!!!! ❤️🩹
“Maybe you just wanted Bradley to love you like you loved him - openly and without restraint or abandon. You wanted him to love the you that he had first met. The strong, confident girl at the bar, who wasn’t afraid to call him out on his shit. Not the one who was so scared her boyfriend was going to break up with her that she had taken to savoring every last kiss, touch, and I love you between the two of you because you just knew it was going to end. He was going to end things.” but he does love you like you love him!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! so much pain!!!!!!
“Bradley loved you.
(Didn’t he? He had told you a couple weeks ago.)” this repetition is pure poetry and it is breaking my heart!!!!
“So, why hadn’t he asked you to go to this awards gala with him? Why didn’t he want you?” THE WAY SHE JUMPS FROM THINKING HE DOESN’T WANT HER TO GO TO THE EVENT STRAIGHT TO HE DOESN’T WANT HER PERIOD NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! NO NO NO!!!!!!
“Bradley had moved your clothes from the vanity to the hooks right by the shower so you didn’t have to tiptoe across the room, tracking water along the way. The silly and inconsequential, but still stupidly thoughtful, action made your heart clench.” no because my heart is clenching too!!!!!!! favorite little detail!!!!!!!! it’s such a simple act but it feels like a white flag in here? he definitely knows she’s upset but didn’t want to push her!!!! so he does this little something 🥺
“Eventually, when you saw that Bradley had turned off the lights in the bedroom, you left your bathroom sanctuary and made your way across the other room, crawling into bed beside him. You burrowed your face in his chest, clinging onto him desperately as if you could will him to love you more.” the way i can visualize this entire scene in my head so vividly!!!! AND AS IF YOU COULD WILL HIM TO LOVE YOU MORE????? YOU DON’T NEED TO WILL HIM HE ALREADY DOES I KNOW THIS!!!!!! STOP THIS!!!!!
“Neither of you said anything, you just laid there, holding each other, his hand slowly rubbing your back, until you eventually drifted off into an uneasy sleep, the steady beat of his heart reminding you that he was still there with you.” is this what they call hurt/a tiny little bit of comfort???? ajdhsyyxhshdhs loved the way you wrote this line. the beat of his heart reminding her he’s still there!!!!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺
and then as if we are not in enough pain you end it with “At least for now.” CRUEL.
i can’t wait for part 2!!!!!
and even when we’re wrong in every way, we come out the other side okay (part 1.5/2)
Summary: in which bradley is getting honored with an award and his girlfriend tries to be there for him…even though her feelings towards the navy are complicated to say the least
OR you take on the pacific fleet’s awards gala
Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader
A/N: listen…even spunky, smart aleck girlfriends get down sometimes! so this little snippet is literally just angst (sorry!). but our favorite slutty couple will be back at it (literally) in all their depraved glory soon enough in part 2. takes place 6 months after Part 1. i wasn’t originally planning on showing anything from our best girl’s pov, but lord she needed to get this one out 😭 thanks to sol for all the encouragement and help on this one! (2.5k)
would it be enough if i could never give you peace?
Continuar lendo
21/09/2022: AND THEY ARE BACK!!! JUST AS HORNY AS EVER!!! AND NOW ENGAGED?????? hello??? jordan i need to know every single detail about this!!! 😭😭😭🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲 the song choice that inspired this was genius, as always your writing is everything that is good in this world. here are my favorite parts:
“Bradley groaned. “- I kinda need you - like need you?” i do like my man a little pathetic and that’s okay ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
“It was quiet on your side of the line and Bradley briefly thought the call had dropped until he heard you humming Afternoon Delight.
He scoffed. “Very funny…”
“My motto’s always been when it’s right it’s right. Why wait until the middle of a cold dark night…” this was actually hilarious.
“Even if he was only in the building to have a quickie with his fiancée.” FIANCÉEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE HE ALREADY PROPOSED IN THIS JORDAN I NEED TO KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS PROPOSAL YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND-
“You must be Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw?” Bradley nodded. “She said the commander part was important.”
Fucking brat.” bratty smart aleck you will always be famous and loved!!! i love how she gets under his skin even through OTHER PEOPLE!!!
“You snuck your hands underneath his black t-shirt. He sucked in a breath as the cool metal of your engagement ring glided across his abs and he gripped your thighs tightly in response.” engagement ring ✨✨✨✨ details ✨✨✨✨✨
“You were a dream. And you were sitting right in front of him.” tell me why i’m getting teary over smut?
“The same hands that had just been throttling the clutch of his plane as he cruised above the Mojave Desert less than an hour ago.” love this comparison.
“You get this wet talking about supply chain management?” STOPSJCHSHCHSHDHD WHY IS HE LIKE THISSSDHHSXHHSS
“You know, at first I thought I wouldn’t last long when I finally saw you, but now it seems like you’re the one who’s not gonna last, huh, sweetheart?” i think writing dirty talk might be one of life’s hardest puzzles because what works for someone might not work for someone else, and it has to fit the characters and yet you thrive every time!!!!!!!!!
“But - but you called - me…”
“Hmmm, but they don’t know that.” You keened.” LIKE????????? MY BRAIN IS SHORT CIRCUITING??!!!!!
“I just wanted to - to take care of you -”
“- Seems like I’m the one taking care of you right now…” 😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫 BASTARD!!!!!!!!!!!
“You arched your back at his words, always loving whenever he called you smart. But you both also loved whenever he rendered you stupid. - whenever he fucked you stupid.” duality ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🤞🤞🤞🤞🤞
“God, he couldn't believe he was fucking the smartest, most capable girl in the world right now. Such a fucking pretty picture you painted.” oh he’s so in love with her!!!!
“After that, you just kept babbling - about what Bradley wasn’t able to follow. But you still managed to sound smart and that was all he cared about.” ABOUT WHAT BRADLEY WASN’T ABLE TO FOLLOWJDJSHCJSJFJDJDJDJD BYE
“Thrust. Cry. Grunt. Clench.” TO ME, THIS IS POETRY!!!
“Your body slumped against the glass window before Bradley pulled you against his chest, knowing you needed to be held close right now.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺
“You always needed to be close to him after sex and he was always there to take care of you. Whether it was telling you how good of a job you had done or petting your hair and cleaning you up - Bradley always wanted to take care of you. You were his girl, just like he was your Bradley.” ❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒 he always wanted to take care of her!!!!! and he always did!!!!!!!!
poor receptionist definitely heard them skchsjhcjschsdjsjjd aaaaaaaa this was DELIGHTFUL!!! i’ll take anything and everything related to bradley and smart aleck at any time of any day.
skyrockets in flight, afternoon delight
Summary: in which lieutenant commander bradshaw has a little too much adrenaline pumping through his veins after a test flight at work and needs to ask his girl for a favor...
OR office sex - just office sex, in your fancy, glass office - and bradley in his flight suit
Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader 3.6k
Warnings: 18+, explicit language, explicit sexual content (p in v, vaginal fingering, public sex(ish) they fuck against a glass window, and as always with these two slight dom/sub and praise and rank kink elements). this entire fic is an hr nightmare
gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight, gonna grab some afternoon delight
“Pick up, pick up, pick up. Come on, sweetheart, pick up.”
Bradley drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and tapped his left foot on the truck-bed as he sat in some mid-afternoon San Diego traffic. The dial tone had only been droning on for - he glanced at his phone - thirteen seconds, but fuck - everything seemed like an age when he was rocking what felt like the worst semi of his life.
Because how the fuck did this still happen to him? Wasn’t getting keyed up on adrenaline something that they beat out of cadets in flight school? Bradley sure as hell thought it was -
Your voice suddenly filled the car. “- Hey, bubs.”
“Hey - err hi." Bradley cleared his throat. "Are you uhh - you busy?”
“I just finished my meetings for the day - what’s wrong?” you asked without any further preamble.
Fuck, he didn’t want you to be worried. You two normally texted during the day, sure. But a call was a little out of the ordinary. “N-nothing uhh like that. Can I swing by your office? Just kinda need -”
“- You’re scaring me -”
Bradley groaned. “- I kinda need you - like need you? I did this run at work just now and it got me a little keyed up? And fuck - I haven’t felt like this since flight school and I ran through all my soapy titty pics in my office, but nothing’s working and I can’t shake the adrenaline or whatever the -”
“- Fuck.” He could picture you moving around on your desk chair, that skirt you had on this morning riding up your thighs as you subtly rubbed them together, your legs bare but topped off with a pair of heels. “Bradley -”
God it was a miracle he was able to stay in the passing lane. He slipped one hand off the steering wheel to adjust himself. “- I need to fuck you - like now.”
It was quiet on your side of the line and Bradley briefly thought the call had dropped until he heard you humming Afternoon Delight.
He scoffed. “Very funny…”
“My motto’s always been when it’s right it’s right. Why wait until the middle of a cold dark night…”
On his end of the line, Bradley groaned. It was a mix of exasperation and longing. He could picture you perfectly, sitting in your office, spinning around on your desk chair with a coy smile on your face. It was a fantasy of his that he had long wanted to play out.
And now was his chance.
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes and I want you on your desk waiting for me.” And then he hung up before you could say anything in response.
-------
Sure enough, Bradley pulled up to your office some ten minutes later - if he had pushed the speed limit a little too much on the last stretch of I-5 to Del Mar then he was just lucky he hadn’t been pulled over. After having dropped you off for work a couple times when your car had been in the shop or you had forgotten something, Bradley knew where to park, but he hadn’t exactly been inside your office before. And he didn’t necessarily think it was the best first impression to be sporting a semi when he met some of your coworkers for the first time.
So, he quickly glanced around his car, desperate for something to carry to hide his problem until he found a folder of paperwork in the back seat. That could work - he’d say he needed you to sign something and that it had to be notarized by the end of the day - hence the late afternoon drive out to Del Mar.
As he approached the front doors, his phone buzzed. You’ll have to check in with Margie at the front desk once you get upstairs - I told her you were…coming
Bradley rolled his eyes. Funny girl. He nodded towards the security guard at the main entrance and was thankful he was wearing his flight suit - it simultaneously created more and fewer questions, but it did give him some legitimacy.
Even if he was only in the building to have a quickie with his fiancée.
The elevator ride to the top floor passed quickly and before Bradley knew it, he was approaching the frosted glass doors to your company’s office. He made sure the folder he grabbed out of the car was still covering his crotch area as he walked up to Margie at the front desk.
“You must be Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw?” Bradley nodded. “She said the commander part was important.”
Fucking brat.
“And you’re Margie?” The older woman simpered and Bradley wouldn’t have minded chatting her up for the next few minutes - if only because he knew it would piss you off - but he really really needed you. He flashed his license, confirming his identity, and Margie printed him off a visitor’s pass. “Just got to drop these forms off for my girl to sign, could you point me in the direction of her office?”
Margie wheeled around her desk, clearly intent on showing him the way herself, but Bradley practically jumped back once she got closer. “I can go myself, just need to be uhh - pointed in the general direction?”
“Oh - of course, just down the hall, take a right, and she’s the fourth door on the left. Pretty sure she’s the only one on her team in the office today. It’s normally pretty quiet on Fridays.”
Thank fucking god. With a final nod towards Margie, Bradley headed down the hallway. The offices were all relatively dark the further he got into the bowels of the building. From your chatting about it, Bradley knew your fourth floor office consisted of floor to ceiling glass windows that looked out onto the street in the back right corner of the building - as opposed to the CAVA and Shake Shack in the front. He took a right and then counted one, two, three, four doors on the left until he saw your name prominently affixed to the wall with your job title underneath it. He groaned.
His fucking smart girl.
He knocked on the door and barely waited for your soft come in before pushing the frosted glass door open. And there you were, perched on the edge of your glass desk, just like he had requested. Your plaid, grey skirt was sitting sinfully high on your thighs and your black, heeled Mary Janes made your legs appear even longer than normal. You looked like every one of his fantasies come to life.
“Jesus, that was fast - did you fly the -”
Bradley crossed the room in two strides, before he pulled you against him. God, you felt as good as he had imagined - better even. You gasped against his lips and twined your arms around his neck, appearing as desperate for him as he was for you.
He pulled your black silk blouse out of the waistband of your skirt and grabbed your right leg to hike around his waist. His hand - that wasn’t cupping your breast through your bra - slid up your thigh and towards that sweet spot between your legs. And fuck him - you weren’t wearing any underwear. He groaned your name.
“You do that for me?” You nodded. “I need you so much, you have no idea, sweetheart. Nothing worked, I tried everything, but nothing -”
“- Bra-Bradley,” you said between sighs as he peppered you with kisses, “the door - lock the door…”
Loathe as he was to do it, he quickly pulled away from you to lock the door. When he turned around, you had sat back on the edge of your desk, legs spread open invitingly.
“God, look at you…”
You glanced down at his crotch. “And look at you, poor thing,” you said with only the slightest hint of condescension. The folder he had brought into your office was gone - he didn’t really know where, probably somewhere on the floor - so the evidence of his desire, of his need for you was obvious. “Come here.”
Bradley didn’t need to be told twice. You fiddled with the zipper on his flight suit and slowly dragged it down his body until it rested on his hips, where just the hint of his black boxer briefs was visible.
You snuck your hands underneath his black t-shirt. He sucked in a breath as the cool metal of your engagement ring glided across his abs and he gripped your thighs tightly in response. Your hands slid lower and started palming his cock over his flight suit. The satisfaction was instantaneous and he sighed. Why did your hands always feel so much better than his own?
“God, Bradley - you’re so wrecked, bubs…” You slipped your hand between the flap on his boxer briefs, pulling his cock out, and he bucked it into your hand. “You want me to suck you off?”
He shook his head tightly. “No, wanna be inside you. S’only thing that’ll help.”
With shaky fingers, Bradley started unbuttoning your black silk blouse, eventually discarding it on your desk. He moaned once he saw your pert breasts peeking out from the cups of your black lace bra. It was one of his favorites and he knew it had a matching pair of underwear that was probably neatly folded away in your tote bag.
“So gorgeous, needed this…” he babbled, mouthing at your breasts over the black lace.
Because there was nothing like having the real thing in front of him. The real breasts, the real body, the real you. That was always so goddamn responsive towards him and could talk back and soothe his aching cock with your hands and press both the sweetest and sloppiest kisses across his skin.
You were a dream. And you were sitting right in front of him.
Bradley snuck his hand behind your back to unclasp your bra and you jutted your breasts out at the action. Your nipples hardened and he palmed them, loving how soft and smooth they felt in his rough and calloused hands. The same hands that had just been throttling the clutch of his plane as he cruised above the Mojave Desert less than an hour ago.
You grabbed the back of his neck and played with the ends of his hair, pulling him towards you for a kiss and slightly sliding off the edge of your desk in the process. Meanwhile, Bradley repositioned his hands so they were now trailing up your thighs, getting closer and closer to your cunt with every passing second. He could already feel the heat pouring off you and the slick coating the silk lining of your skirt. Maybe once you took care of him, you’d let him have a taste? But for now, his fingers started coaxing your wet folds.
“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re soaking.” You whined and buried your face in his neck, placing butterfly kisses there. “You get this wet talking about supply chain management?”
“Kept thinking about you - trying to get off on your own - knowing you had to come all - ohhh - the way here for me to take - take care of you.”
Bradley groaned as he felt you clenching around his fingers. Your own hands were feebly grasping his arms, desperate for any sort of support.
“Almost wish there were more people in the office today.”
As he spoke, your lips trailed down his jawline, across his cheeks and neck, before they reached his ear. Your teeth nipped on the lobe and Bradley moaned.
“They’d see me come in - looking ready to take you on the conference table. Then they’d hear all your pretty little gasps and moans and cries from down the hall, wondering how they’d look you in the eye next time you gave a presentation or bent over to pick something up, knowing they heard you getting fucked against your desk all afternoon like a dirty little slut, cause we both know you can't keep quiet.”
You whimpered. “Ple-please, Bradley. Please.”
“You know, at first I thought I wouldn’t last long when I finally saw you, but now it seems like you’re the one who’s not gonna last, huh, sweetheart?”
You let out a cry as he crooked his fingers just-so. “Bubs -”
“- Shh, shh. You gotta be quiet, sweetheart. Don’t want everyone to hear how much of a needy little thing you are? How you had to call me to come up here to take care of you?”
“But - but you called - me…”
“Hmmm, but they don’t know that.” You keened. Whether it was at the thought of your coworkers finding out how much of a slut you were or how Bradley’s fingers felt as he scissored them in your sopping cunt, he didn’t really care.
“I just wanted to - to take care of you -”
“- Seems like I’m the one taking care of you right now…”
“What made you - made you like this, bubs?” You rolled your hips. “Some risky flight man - maneuver? The thought of - mmmm - beating Lieutenant - Com-commander Seresin at something - ”
Fucking brat.
Bradley growled at the mention of his quasi-nemesis and pulled his fingers back. How dare you get Hangman’s rank right when you always fucked up Bradley’s?
“- Fucking brat -” he stated his previous thoughts. You whimpered.
“- And how much better you are than him?” you continued and the fingers were back. You clenched around them and he bit back a smirk. “How much - ohhh - how much smarter - fa-aster and how much bigger you - Bra-Bradley…”
He couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to have you - all of you - now. Have the one name you were saying be his - not Lieutenant Commander Seresin, but Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw.
“Think you’re ready, sweetheart?”
You nodded feverishly. “Yes, yes. Need you -”
He briefly held your wrists to stop you pawing at him. “- Need who?”
“Need you - need my Bradley.” Any other time, the response would’ve made him smile, but today it wasn’t quite the answer he was looking for from you. He rubbed the tip of his cock along your entrance, teasingly, and you whimpered. “Fine, fine - need Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw to fuck me.”
His rank was said with an undercurrent of sass, but he could deal with that later when you were home.
“Good girl.” He cupped your cheek. “Now was that so hard?”
You glanced up at him with a pout. “Please, just fuck me.”
That did it. Bradley grabbed the backs of your thighs and pulled you even closer, kissing you for all you were worth. Your feet didn’t even touch the floor, they just swung back and forth.
“Hmm, but there’s much shit on your desk for me to fuck you there. Would hate to mess anything up for my smart girl...”
You arched your back at his words, always loving whenever he called you smart. But you both also loved whenever he rendered you stupid. - whenever he fucked you stupid.
“Someplace else then?” Bradley glanced around the office, ignoring the two chairs in front of your desk and the bookcases along the inner wall, before landing on the southward facing windows.
You followed his gaze and sighed. “God, can you imagine the mess? You’d have to come inside me, but I’d get to walk around the rest of the afternoon with a present.”
A present.
His cum - dripping down your thighs, dripping onto your desk chair as you talked to your boss or John from emerging markets and even as you said goodbye to Margie. He growled.
“Who’s in that office? The one next door?” He nodded towards the identical glass building to his right.
“It’s just Deloitte, but it’s Friday so none of them are working anyway.”
Bradley assumed that was a Big Four joke. “Then I guess they’ll miss it…” He set you down on your already unsteady feet and pulled the two of you over towards the window. You let out a gasp once your back hit the glass and Bradley invaded your space.
“How do you want me?” You whispered, watching his hands rove up and down your bare arms and leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“Turn around.” He didn’t give you a chance to do it yourself, he just grabbed your hips and pressed you against the glass wall. Bradley took it as a good sign - he supposed - that he couldn’t see into the office across the way - meant they couldn’t see the two of you either.
You hissed once you made contact with the glass. “It’s cold, bubs.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll warm right up.” His lips trailed up and down your neck until he found your pulse point and sucked. You whined. There’d be a mark there later, but it had all weekend to disappear.
Or not.
Without much grace, let alone any mind to the dry cleaning, Bradley bunched your skirt up past your hips, baring your ass to him and your sopping wet cunt to whomever may happen to be looking at the fourth floor, back corner office from the outside at half past three on a Friday.
He widened your stance with his feet and then dragged his right hand across your still wet folds. You whined and rubbed your ass against his crotch. “Want your cock inside me, need to feel you - please…”
And who was he to refuse when you had offered so willingly. “That’s my girl.”
Bradley pumped himself a couple times before he slid right into you. You both gasped at the sensation and it felt like the coil of frustration that had been Bradley's constant companion for the past hour or so was lessening.
“God, you feel so good - just what mhmm - what I needed,” he breathed against your ear. His hands gripped your hips tightly underneath your skirt as he thrusted into you from behind. “Why don’t you touch yourself for me, hmmm?”
You leaned your head back against his shoulder, allowing him to nibble at your neck. “Where?”
Without even breaking his stride, Bradley grabbed your right hand and brought it to your clit. You gasped at the action and he coaxed your fingers to play with the little nub. Eventually, he removed his hand from yours, trusting you to do the work on your own. “Good girl.”
Now content, he brought his hand back to your hip. Your little whimpers and moans were the perfect compliment to his deep groans and pants. Plus, the thought of your breasts pressed against the glass was so fucking hot. He couldn’t believe you had agreed to this.
“Why don’t you try and tell me - what you were working on before I called? You know I always love to hear how good my girl’s being at work.”
You braced your left forearm against the glass window. “Oh? Uhhh supply chains…”
“What about ‘em? ‘M just a pilot, what do I know?”
God, he couldn't believe he was fucking the smartest, most capable girl in the world right now. Such a fucking pretty picture you painted.
“Working on a paper on ‘em. And how - how they need to be redesigned - ohhhh - to fo-cus on digitization - harder, bubs plea - ahhh.” You had to stop for a moment. “But supp-liers are worried about - oh, oh, oh dadd - please, plea -”
Bradley kept his rigorous pace, knowing he was getting close. Honestly, it didn’t take much; he was already way too keyed up. Meanwhile, you had been too preoccupied with stringing together a coherent sentence to continue playing with yourself.
“- About suppliers not being up to the technological challenges of digitization,” you finally shouted in one breath.
After that, you just kept babbling - about what Bradley wasn’t able to follow. But you still managed to sound smart and that was all he cared about.
“- Cloud networking -”
Thrust. Cry. Grunt. Clench.
“ - IOT -”
Thrust. Cry. Grunt. Keen.
“- Upskilling staff -”
Thrust. Cry. Grunt. Clench.
"- ESG factors - "
Thrust. Cry. Grunt. Keen.
Eventually, you just stopped talking and the only sounds coming from you were pitiful whimpers.
"What's ESG?" You just shook your head. "Come on, what's it mean?" Bradley bottomed out inside you with a particularly deep thrust.
"Environmentalsocialandgovernance," you cried out in one breath.
"There's my good girl..." Eventually, you just stopped talking and the only sounds coming from you were pitiful whimpers.
“You good, sweetheart?” You hummed. “Smart girl, good girl.” Bradley snaked his right hand down to your neglected clit and played with you until you cried out. “Ready to come for me?”
You whined and Bradley felt it - felt it all the way to his core. You practically vibrated with need, with want. “‘S too much, please I - I can’t.”
“Wanna come at the same time as you…”
Bradley loved simultaneous orgasms - knowing he had taken care of you as well as you had taken care of him? There was nothing hotter.
“Just gotta tell me, sweetheart.” He sunk his teeth into your shoulder. “Cause all I wanna feel is your pussy milking my cock…”
By now - after almost two and a half years together - he knew instinctively when you were ready to cum and with one final, deep thrust, his orgasm crashed through him and he spent himself inside you, painting your pussy with his cum, hoping it would spur you along.
“Oh, oh, oh, fuck - fuck -” You finally came with a cry that was definitely heard in reception. “You fill me so good, dadd - oh, Bradley.”
His cocked twitched one final time, the last streams of his cum filling you up. And he knew that when he pulled out of you, it would drip down your thighs. God, you were so perfect - everything he ever wanted. “I know, I know, such a good girl for me. Always such a good girl for me.”
Your body slumped against the glass window before Bradley pulled you against his chest, knowing you needed to be held close right now.
The two of you just stood there for a moment, panting for so long that your breathing was finally in sync. He helped you turn around to face each other and you burrowed your face in his neck. You always needed to be close to him after sex and he was always there to take care of you. Whether it was telling you how good of a job you had done or petting your hair and cleaning you up - Bradley always wanted to take care of you. You were his girl, just like he was your Bradley.
“So,” he said after a moment, “think you can sneak out a little early today?”
-------
a/n: well, that was fun? i guess? shout the fuck out to whoever this anon was that got me on this journey??
small taglist: @sunderlust @fivsecondsflat @notroosterbradshaw @seasonsbloom @cloudycluster @whisperofsong @howdysebby @softspiderling @roosterforme @rae-gar-targaryen
“she couldn't pinpoint the exact moment but one day, everything about you seemed loud” SUCH A BEAUTIFUL AND ROMANTIC WAY TO DESCRIBE FALLING IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE, MY HEARTTTTTTTTTTT
“she didn't want to jump into conclusions. you wanted to rip your hair out at her obliviousness.” so cute!!!!!!! kept in on my toes for the ending!!!
"hazel... you don't understand-" "make me." BUTTERFLIES IN MY STOMACH!!!
i also laughed so hard, baby hazel was a menace planning to steal reader’s thing and pulling her hair shxhshchshchshkkkk
THIS WAS SO SO CUTE!
hi hi hi :) could u maybe write a thing abt like reader and hazel being childhood friends who slowly start to fall for each other but don’t say anything for a long time and then maybe they get into an argument of some kind and confess their feelings??
idk if you’ve done something like that but it just crossed my mind!
sour grapes – hazel callahan
— your scent is still unripe and green.
childhood friends to lovers. fluff. yearning. kind of long!
hazel could still remember the first time she became your friend. it was back in kindergarten. you had just moved into town and you were the new kid. but to her, you were known as the kid with the mcdonald's strawberry shortcake keychain where her hat slides to the side to reveal a lip balm.
little hazel was collecting all four characters— she had around 3 orange blossoms, 2 ginger snaps, and at least 5 angel cakes —but she couldn't get her hands on the strawberry shortcake one because it's always out. so when she saw your strawberry shortcake dangling from your backpack, she came up with a plan that she spent two days devising; she'll steal your keychain in exchange for one of her angel cakes.
of course her plan didn't work. it was snack time when she found herself in front of your backpack, smiling at the sight of strawberry shortcake. she was about to take the keychain off after applying the balm on her lips rather messily when she heard a loud gasp behind her. hazel quickly turned around to see you already stomping towards your teacher. "miss sandy!"
panicking, hazel ran after you and pulled on your hair to try to stop you. it did stop you, but it also made you start crying. a concerned miss sandy marched towards where you were standing. "hey guys, what's happening here?" she crouched down to your eye level while rubbing your back to calm you down, her pretty pink floral dress creasing. "what's wrong sweetie?"
"hazel was trying to steal my strawberry shortcake and she pulled my hair," you pointed at her as tears came out of your eyes and snot came out of your nose. you were sobbing so hard that miss sandy didn't understand a single word you said, but deduced that it had something to do with your keychain. you had gotten it on your birthday. you liked strawberry shortcake but you weren't much of a big fan, you only liked her strawberry scent on her head. but nonetheless, it was a birthday present and you cherished it with all your heart.
when you saw hazel's bag with an angel cake keychain, you were elighted because you both have a lip balm keychain from mcdonald's. you wanted to become her friend but you were too shy to approach her that's why you planned on sharing your grapes with her that day. which is why your heart sank when you saw her hands about to take strawberry shortcake off your bag that has your grapes in it.
"i didn't mean to!" hazel started crying as well, her mouth and cheeks glistening under the light because of the lip balm. she was embarrassed that you caught her in the act and was nervous that you would hate her for eternity after this incident. after your mothers were called to school by miss sandy to discuss what happened and after hazel got scolded by her mother, the both of you found yourself sitting across each other in mcdonald's with your moms. mrs. callahan lightly nudged hazel to apologize, which hazel hesitantly did. "i'm sorry," she looked down at her lap, kicking her little feet as you stare at her.
"honey, what will you say?" your mom cooed, nodding towards hazel's direction. you didn't want to forgive her for what she did. that keychain was still yours and you're stingy when it comes to things that belongs to you. but then you felt bad because you wanted to be her friend and you'd gladly share your lip balm with her if only she had asked you in the first place.
she noticed that you took a pink item out of your mother's bag. it was the strawberry shortcake lip balm keychain. "let's share," you grinned as you hand her the keychain. hazel looked at you with wide eyes, her blue eyes shining in excitement. the two of you played in the playplace after that.
from then on, you and hazel were inseparable. every trip, every dinner, your family and hazel's family were together. the both of you would also have sleepovers at each other's place. most of the time, you preferred to stay over at hazel's. you would spend hours on playing tekken or grand theft auto or bratz on her playstation before getting scolded by mrs. callahan for staying up late.
as years went on, your friendship grew closer and closer until it doesn't feel like friendship anymore. hazel was the first one to have this epiphany back in ninth grade. she couldn't pinpoint the exact moment but one day, everything about you seemed loud; in a good way. you were radiating like sunbeams in the sky, blinding hazel by your beauty and your presence. since then, she keeps forgetting that you've been friends for years. who could blame her. you always took her breath away every time you'd smile.
confused at this newfound feeling, hazel decided to keep this feeling all to herself. after all, it would probably go away soon enough.
she thought it would go away. she really hoped it would. but it never did. there have been multiple instances where she was so close to confessing, but the fear of getting hurt by your rejection and the fear of your friendship ending would always stop her from doing so.
you realized that you were falling for hazel during the year the fight club was created. you were inseparable up until this point in your lives as she became more busy and involved with the club as one of its founding members. when she invited you to join, you rejected her invitation, joking that you don't want to ruin your beautiful face. she somehow took this joke very seriously and distanced you from the club, eventually distancing herself in the process. this, of course, hurted you but it didn't come as a surprise. hazel seemed to be walking on eggshells around you. at first, you thought nothing of it. you became concerned when it continued after that. you found it weird as she had never acted that way before but you brushed it off, assuming it was nothing.
it was lonely without her and it would be a lie to say that you weren't jealous of her club. she's your best friend since kindergarten, why is she spending more time with them than you? they don't know her like you do. from your point of view, it seemed like she was too engrossed in the club that she forgot that you existed. but from her point of view, she was suffering from not hanging out with you despite preoccupying herself with the club to get you out of her mind, that same feeling still lingering in her chest.
you took care of hazel when she got beaten up by tucker. mrs. callahan— who's now different in your eyes after learning that she was sleeping with jeff —was glad that her "daughters" were hanging out again, recalling that time you poured alcohol on the cut on hazel's knee. unlike before, you were more gentle at cleaning the multiple cuts on her swollen face.
the sight ultimately broke you. you could still hear her head making contact with the gymasium floor, making you wince every time you remembered it. you wanted to run towards her, shield her from the big white guy— seriously, why the fuck is he not expelled yet? this school is a joke, you thought. but he was tucker and he was caged for a reason, and you don't know a thing or two about self defense. all you could do was watch in fear.
on the second night of your so-called "shift", you sat at the corner of her bed after putting away the ice pack and the antiseptics to see if she's in any discomfort while sleeping. she looked peaceful in her slumber despite her swollen eyelids painted in disgusting red, black and blue hues. you just wished that the healing process would speed up so that you could see her bright eyes again. your eyes travelled down to her parted lips, finding yourself staring at it for a long amount of time. you were aware of hazel's unbroken routine of always applying lip balm which obviously started back when you were little but this was the first time that you noticed how soft they looked. you wondered what her lips would feel like on your—
you were snapped out of your daydream when hazel stirred in her sleep, making you abruptly but gently standing up from her bed to avoid interrupting her rest. what was that about? you don't just randomly daydream about kissing your friend, especially when they're in a horrible state. cringing internally, you laid down on the sleeping bag on the floor, shutting your eyes so you could quickly fall asleep and forget about your thoughts. this is normal right? right?
you were in denial the whole time you were at hers, attempting to be your usual self around her. but because of your recent thoughts, you found yourself unintentionally hesitant and self conscious with your actions. you were pretty sure that her fight club friends— minus pj and josie —found you weird for checking on her band-aids every minute and for acting like a mom the whole time they were over. but they were nice and you despised yourself for not liking them in the first place.
hazel was thankful that you stayed by her side and took care of her no matter how distant she became. she wasn't proud of what she did and apologized to you after the fight club left her house, leaving the both of you alone in the living room. "it's not a big deal," you wearily smiled. she hoped that you weren't tired of her.
you and hazel hung out like you used to. playing games until early in the morning, talking shit about the people you hated in school, cooking in the middle of the night. she even invited you to watch the football game against huntington with her. it's been awhile since the both of you went out together. this made you happy. maybe the previous thoughts that you had were only because you missed your dear friend. it was nothing.
you thought it was nothing. but when you saw pj and hazel making out in front of you, you felt like you were going to puke. you hurriedly left the bleachers and ran all the way home. your heart was clenching in your chest and you couldn't help the tears from streaming down your face. why did it hurt so much? why did you have to see it? you wished that you never met her in the first place. that you didn't become friends. if you did, maybe this wouldn't have happened. you stopped running as your legs made contact with the ground, heaving as you did so.
during the following weeks, you were now avoiding hazel. you shut down all of her attempts trying to talk to you, wanting to ask you about your whereabouts that night after they knocked out all of the football players. hazel was beyond frustrated that you were ignoring her calls and messages. she tried ambushing you in the classes that you both shared and didn't share together, but you had somehow left the classroom without her noticing.
after the fourth week, hazel finally got you cornered at your house. screw your mom for being so fond of her. your house lacks female solidarity.
"why have you been ignoring me?" hazel spoke after glaring at you intensely that you're pretty sure if she was a deadly laser right now, your skeleton will be left behind. you looked away from her eyes and stared at your pillows. you were both standing in the middle of the room, your arms crossed over your chests.
you shook her head and muttered, "you wouldn't understand." you don't want to let her know that you like her more than a friend. you don't want to get in between her and pj's relationship. you don't want to be that kind of girl.
hazel huffed and rolled her eyes, her hands now resting on her hips and her tongue pressing against the insides of her cheeks. "oh i'd love to understand why you decided to ignore me out of fucking nowhere."
your brows furrowed as you stepped a little closer. "that's ironic," you chuckled at her. "like you didn't ignore me when you started your little fight club."
her eyes widened a little bit. hazel was thrown off at what you said, the knot in her stomach getting tighter. "no, i—"
"wow..." you breathed out, shaking your head in disbelief. "so it's only okay when you do it?"
"you didn't talk to me!" she stepped closer.
"you didn't talk to me either!" you stepped closer. hazel could see that your eyes were filled with rage. bottled up emotions from when she was ignoring you started to peek through. "if you were going to ignore me for pj, you could've just fucking told me! you could've been honest!"
she cocked her head to the side. "pj? what does pj have to do with this?"
you stepped back and paced the room, one hand on your hips and the other on your forehead. hazel was confused when you brought up pj. sure, they kissed, but it was for a distraction. the whole time she was kissing her, you were on her mind. but of course, you don't know that.
"you didn't have to hide your girlfriend, hazel."
huh? hazel thought. "what girlfriend?"
now you were confused. "pj? i mean... you guys made out in front of the entire school—"
"that was for a distraction!" hazel then started pacing around the room while you stopped and watched her.
"distraction for what?!"
"huntington was about to kill jeff by spraying pineapple across the field during the game," hazel explained while you try to search for any lies in her eyes and words. "my bomb didn't work so we needed another distraction to stall the game— wait, shouldn't you know this? weren't you at the game?"
you swallowed and wiped your hands on your shorts, trying to calm yourself down and not cringe at what you're about to say next. "i left... when you and pj... y'know..."
hazel took a step closer to where you were. "why'd you leave?"
"because..." you stuttered, looking at anywhere but in front of you, words stuck in your throat as she took another step closer. "you wouldn't want to know."
"tell me," her voice dropped into a whisper, now only inches away from you, blue eyes piercing into yours. "why'd you leave?"
you took a deep breath and pursed your lips, mentally cursing yourself and everyone in the world. "i couldn't stand watching you kiss pj."
"why?" she took one step closer.
"because i like you." closer.
"of course you do," she chuckled and walked once more until her face is centimeters away from yours. "it'd be weird for our friendship if you don't."
she didn't want to jump into conclusions. you wanted to rip your hair out at her obliviousness. you could feel her breath on your face. her eyes glancing at your lips. the both of you wanted to let each other know about your feelings, your sweet intentions. but you were afraid that it'll be sour, bitter. that your emotions are still unripe.
"hazel... you don't understand—"
"make me."
with that, you closed the space that was in between you both, connecting your lips to her soft ones. it felt right. it wasn't sour. the kiss was gentle and sweet, much like a strawberry shortcake lip balm.
AAAAAA ive been writing this one for awhile i hope u liked it!! ;v;
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-"
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.”
15/08/2022: holy shit. okay. i stumbled upon this a couple of days ago and as soon as i saw it was inspired by chemtrails by lizzy mcalpine i had to take like 15 minutes to mentally prepare myself to read it. HOLY SHIT!!!!!!! that song IS rooster. it’s him and his relationship with his dad and his grief and the weight he carries and all these frustrations. AND THEN YOU GO AND WRITE IT ALL DOWN!!!!!!!! this one was intense and so beautifully written. i haven’t read the series it’s connected to (but i wasn’t confused without context or anything like that, i feel like this could be it’s own seperate little thing) but i just might because this was so beautiful??? i’ll never be able to listen to chemtrails the same way again.
“How does he even begin to describe you? How you put all your might into your work —whether it’s Top Gun or a romance with one other actor and a piano— without any pretense, emotions running high and mind going a mile a minute at work —a delicate art of letting go and reigning it back in—, and then come home and just be… human with him.” i love the way you described acting here. a delicate art of letting go and reigning it back in!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and then she goes home and she can just be HUMAN WITH HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺
“She’s pretty badass,” he smiles a little. His hand picks at the grass under his palm, suddenly nervous about what he’s about to say next. “I think she might be it.” SHE’S IT!!! YEP!!!!!!! i love it when authors make their characters say the most meaningful things in the world with such little words!!!!!!!
“He doesn’t know why he’s saying it. For celebration, having made a very big, grownup step in his life? For comfort, because he doesn’t admit it to anyone (not even to himself) but he’s so scared he’s nowhere near grown enough to do this? Maybe for reassurance, because he so wants it to be true.” i love him so much, i desperately need him to be happy. this happened to make me emotionalllll because i’m also scared of everything all the time and no matter how many years go by i’ll never feel i’m grown enough for anything. i get him!!!
“White clouds paint the sky in an array of lines. A gentle breeze sweeps across his face, and the trees nearby whisper in rustles, and Rooster swears he almost hears it.
And so he asks.
“Talk to me, Dad.” no because when i noticed at the beginning that he was actually talking to goose… i’m not kidding, i’m not exaggerating: I GASPED!!! chills all over my body. it was so smart of you!!!
“The sight he finds upon opening the door isn’t surprising —you sat on the bench, fingers working the piano keys, phone propped on the music stand— but his heart catches anyway.” but his heart catches anyway ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ love it when men are whipped and head over heels in love.
“He kisses the top of your head and sits next to you.” such a tender moment. it’s very rooster. i’m in love with him.
“It just happens to be his dad’s first (and only) big purchase for the house.” NO STOP MAKING ME CRY IF IT’S HIS DAD’S OF COURSE IT’S IMPORTANT AND OF COURSE YOU GUYS SHOULD KEEP IT.
“You pause for a moment, and he squeezes your knee in reassurance. For you and for himself.” FOR YOU AND FOR HIMSELF!!!!!!!! my favorite detail!!!! my eyes are filled with tears i swear to godddddd. this is too sweet.
“Rooster collapses his head on your shoulder, and kisses you there in thanks. For understanding. For seeing right through him and communicating it in the exact way that he would understand.” beautiful. i love love. would love to be loved someday.
“The boy who grew up there is taller now. Older. Smarter, wiser —or so he hopes. A spitting image of his father —and yet, everything he wasn’t.”
Angrier. Older. Carrying a bigger chip on his shoulder.” favorite fucking line in the entire world. ANGRIER!!! OLDER!!! CARRYING A BIGGER CHIP ON HIS SHOULDER!!! my heart dropped. you managed to put rooster into words. and even more… you managed to put bradley into words. i like to think there is a little difference between who they are on the job and who they are at home. you summarized them both. perfectly. in the most heartbreaking way possible. seriously, you kind of changed my life with this one. i’ve been thinking about it for days. will be thinking about it forever probably.
“And yet… maybe, hopefully, he’ll hold up just fine.” by this point, i was bawling. i read this around 1am (i think) so i was feeling very emotional and i just love the song you based it off so so much so it was all perfect.
“Are you okay?” your hand slips into his, so easily and effortlessly that it just feels like it’s where it should be.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺
“He brings up your intertwined hands to his lips, and presses a kiss there.” SO ROOSTER!!!!!! ALWAYS SO ROMANTIC!!! THESE LITTLE DETAILS ARE EVERYTHING TO ME!!!!!
“I love you so much, you know that?”
“I think I might’ve had a clue or two?” your voice, bright and laced with humor, rings almost out of place in the solemn stillness of this house. This moment.” they are very silly i literally just got this glimpse of their relationship and i already love them. i’m so fucking happy for them.
“Will you marry me?” DUDE HOLY SHIT- I WAS NOT EXPECTING A PROPOSAL!!!!! I GASPED FOR A SECOND TIME, THIS WAS PERFECT. I’M A SUCKER FOR SIMPLE PROPOSALS LIKE THIS MY HEART GREW 3 SIZES.
“I haven’t even got a ring yet.”
“That’s fine. We can always get it later.”
“I’ll get it, not you,” he corrects firmly, and it makes you laugh. It’s the most beautiful sound he’ll ever hear, and he finally pulls you in for a proper kiss. It’s not planned, it’s far from perfect, but he wouldn’t ever have it any other way.” HE’LL GET IT!!!!!!! HE’LL GET THE RING!!!!! OH PLEASE STOP!!!!!! ADORABLE!!!!!! HE’S THE LOVE OF MY LIFE!!!!!
i feel this is almost a character analysis of rooster in a way. of who he could grow to be as well. he’s such a complex character and every retelling of his is always so so sad that it’s heartbreaking because he’s a really tragic character at the end of the dag, we can’t really change that, you know? so reading this, KNOWING IT’S BASED OFF CHEMSTRAILS FOR GOD’S SAKE, feeling all the grief he carries, and then you go and give him these very tender moments filled with love made my heart almost burst out of my rib cage 💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞 it was beautiful and i’ll treasure this forever!!!!
i’m almost scared to ask because this song kills me but i just need to read this fic for blurb week- chemtrails by lizzy mcalpine?
bro i gotta admit... this is killing me too. i cried basically the whole time im writing this, but i hope you like it bc im pretty happy with how it turned out. also! the music here is extra special bc i sang and played it myself <333
warnings: fluff, grief, this is very goose and rooster-centric, im just a big ball of mush guys <3
***
“Man, I forgot how nice it is out here.” Rooster leans back, hands propping himself up as he sits cross-legged on the fresh green grass. The clear blue sky sprawling over his head. Maybe it’s the peace and quiet, maybe it's the fresh air, but this is one of the few places where he can actually…
Breathe.
“We’re nearly packed up now. Found this nice place in San Clemente with a nice deck out, maybe even a fire pit —you’re gonna love it,” he chuckles, resigning with the fact that he’s excited about the stereotypically dad stuff now, like decks and barbecues.
“Yeah, it’s a bit of a drive to North Island, but we wanted a place somewhere in between there and LA.” It was an extensive discussion to say the least. You work in completely different fields with equally grueling and unusual hours —if not days, or weeks, or months. “I thought maybe we should keep our own places, so she can be close to her work and I can be near base, but… I don’t think I’d want it any other way?”
He’s already away from you so much. What’s an extra hour-and-a-half drive if it means he can crawl into bed and fall asleep in your arms? He wouldn’t want it any other way.
Not when it comes to you.
“She’s great, by the way,” he perks up immediately at the thought of you. “She does these musicals that Mom liked, and actions and all these cool stuff —I’ve even taken her flying for one of her movies. She’s, uh…”
How does he even begin to describe you? How you put all your might into your work —whether it’s Top Gun or a romance with one other actor and a piano— without any pretense, emotions running high and mind going a mile a minute at work —a delicate art of letting go and reigning it back in—, and then come home and just be… human with him.
Kind, caring, funny, imperfect, human.
“She’s pretty badass,” he smiles a little. His hand picks at the grass under his palm, suddenly nervous about what he’s about to say next. “I think she might be it.”
He doesn’t know why he’s saying it. For celebration, having made a very big, grownup step in his life? For comfort, because he doesn’t admit it to anyone (not even to himself) but he’s so scared he’s nowhere near grown enough to do this? Maybe for reassurance, because he so wants it to be true.
The earth below him is warm. Steady. The grass layers as a soft place for his hands to land. For his body to ground. White clouds paint the sky in an array of lines. A gentle breeze sweeps across his face, and the trees nearby whisper in rustles, and Rooster swears he almost hears it.
And so he asks.
“Talk to me, Dad.”
******
His childhood home, a modest two-bedroom with white-paneled front, sits on a quiet street in the suburbs of Virginia Beach. The maple tree out front has cuts and carvings on its trunk from when Rooster got into throwing knives (a hobby his mom had an ulcer over), and a broken branch from when he installed a makeshift swing and tried to get himself and two other friends swinging on it back in 8th grade. He hears the piano playing as he walks up the steps —the old, secondhand upright that’s a little out of tune now.
The sight he finds upon opening the door isn’t surprising —you sat on the bench, fingers working the piano keys, phone propped on the music stand— but his heart catches anyway.
“Still think we should keep it?” he pats the flat surface on the top, leaving his keys and his sunglasses there.
“Oh, definitely. This baby…” you thoughtfully stroke the lacquered wood finish, “She’s a gem. Nothing a little tuning can’t fix.”
He kisses the top of your head and sits next to you. Both of you know there’s nothing special about this piano in particular. Not when it comes to its sound or feel or anything taken into consideration for an instrument.
It just happens to be his dad’s first (and only) big purchase for the house.
“Hey, uh…” you pipe up gingerly, “I wrote something for you. May I…?”
You may be a lot of things, but shy isn’t one of them. At least not with him. He just throws you a funny look. “Babe, of course. What—”
“Okay.” With that you shift into a straighter position, fingers hovering just above the ivories. You’re quiet —hesitant, almost— before you play the first line. Pressing just one key at a time.
“I see chemtrails in the sky, but I don’t see the plane.”
Rooster’s breath catches in his throat.
“I know the feeling, but I don’t know the name.”
A simple melody, floating like a question, and he doesn’t understand how you could explain it before than he himself does.
“I still play with my food, and then I… throw it away.”
An admission so simple, it almost sounds childlike. You pause for a moment, and he squeezes your knee in reassurance. For you and for himself.
“It’s so hard to believe I had to grow up this way.”
The piano picks up, a simple sustained pattern, and he can hear you try to keep the emotions in your voice at bay. A valiant effort that even he fails to do at the moment.
I moved out and I made some new friends
Sometimes when I shout it feels like no one hears it
And there are some days when I that somewhere you’re watching
As I grow up without you
I miss it, I miss you.
Rooster collapses his head on your shoulder, and kisses you there in thanks. For understanding. For seeing right through him and communicating it in the exact way that he would understand.
For letting him know that his dad’s listening.
The childhood home, now bare —save for stacks of moving boxes and an old upright piano in one corner of the living room— sits quietly in the suburbs of Virginia Beach. The boy who grew up there is taller now. Older. Smarter, wiser —or so he hopes. A spitting image of his father —and yet, everything he wasn’t.
Angrier. Older. Carrying a bigger chip on his shoulder.
And yet… maybe, hopefully, he’ll hold up just fine.
“Are you okay?” your hand slips into his, so easily and effortlessly that it just feels like it’s where it should be.
“Yeah,” he answers, heady and dazed. He brings up your intertwined hands to his lips, and presses a kiss there. “I love you so much, you know that?”
“I think I might’ve had a clue or two?” your voice, bright and laced with humor, rings almost out of place in the solemn stillness of this house. This moment.
But it’s not. It falls perfectly in place as life breathes back in, a familiar little laughter shared between the two of you. Warmth in the face of grief and hurt and loss.
He straightens up and takes a good look at you. He’s not sure why, but at the moment, it feels right. And as it falls out of his lips, he doesn’t feel an ounce of regret.
“Will you marry me?”
And he’s not sure whether he should be more surprised by his question, or the fact that you answer so easily, so surely, so matter-of-factly. “Roo… Of course.”
“Yeah?”
You nod.
“I haven’t even got a ring yet.”
“That’s fine. We can always get it later.”
“I’ll get it, not you,” he corrects firmly, and it makes you laugh. It’s the most beautiful sound he’ll ever hear, and he finally pulls you in for a proper kiss. It’s not planned, it’s far from perfect, but he wouldn’t ever have it any other way.
08/10/22: FEMINISM AND DIGNITY LEAVING MY BODY AS SOON AS I STARTED READING THIS BECAUSE THIS BRADLEY IS AN ASSHOLE AND I’VE ALREADY FALLEN IN LOVE WITH HIM. this was an amazing first chapter, i loved their relationship, LOOOOOVE the complicated twisted history and the atmosphere you’re creating with the team. i predict a lot of angst a lot of pain and so many more emotions. i bet it isn’t titled CHAOS for no reason… i had to highlight my favorite parts and scream about them because i can never help myself, they’re under the cut!!!
“Your own heart slipping a beat or what felt like several when you saw Bradley Bradshaw at the piano. Of. Fucking. Course. Turning your head slightly to the left, you saw the blue Bronco that held too many memories to count.” oh the FLASHBACKS that must be going through her head I NEED THEM.
“Bradley Bradshaw, the love of your life, your best friend, ex best friend you should say. Your ex boyfriend, too many times to count on both hands so it seemed. The on again off again bullshit you fell for each and every time still haunted you. Left you with way too many issues ranging from your ability to trust others, let people in and not the mention as a consequence of your toxic habits with Rooster—you didn’t really have the ability to play well with others.” the toxicity levels are HIGH but i love the drama i’m eating this up. their past relationship being one of the reasons she doesn’t trust people to say or play along. AND KNOWING HER FATHER HAS CANCER… THE ABANDONMENT ISSUES… you’re gonna make us suffer, arent’t you?
“The necklace he’d gifted you in your teenage years still hung around your rear view mirror though.” OH!!!!!!! 🥺
“Two halves of the small heart. Broken by distance. By time. By stupid arguments and inflated egos.” BROKEN BY DISTANCE BY TIME BY STUPID ARGUMENTS AND INFLATED EGOS!!!!!! BEAUTIFUL!!!!!! one of my favorites lines!!!!! it reminded me of sad beautiful tragic by taylor swift 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲
“Ah, spoken like a true Kazansky—“ Pete chuckled.” SO SHE’S A KAZANSKYYYYYYYY loved this little plot twist!!!
and i love her callsign!!! can’t wait to learn more about why she got it!!!
“No clue.” Penny played coy. Of course she knew. Penny knew everything that was ever going on in Miramar. In Fightertown. Everyone knew that. “However, I have heard from a pretty strong source that Y/n Kazansky is floating about somewhere.” Coughing, you choked on your own gasp of air.” of course penny knows everything!!!
“Who wants to know beautiful?” Hangman replied with a cocky smirk. “Im Jake, Jake Seresin.” Giving Jake your hand to shake, he pulled it up to his lips as he dipped his head, his lips softly connecting with the back of your hand. From across the bar Phoenix had seen the encounter occurring—snickering to Bob as he racked up the next round of pool.
“Poor girl.” Phoenix scoffed as she nudged Bob’s shoulder. Bobs eyes grew a little wider, which some would say wasn’t possible. But he recognised his old front seater by the curve of your smile.” actually: poor jake ajxhsjhxshdhshd
“He’d spotted you with a questioning brow. He could and always would be able to pick you out in a crowd.” 😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 so many feelingssssss!!!
“Deciding the coast was clear, you exited slowly, sighing in relief as you walked back towards the direction of the bar. You felt your cap being yanked from your head gently as you slowly turned around. Shock plastered on your face—Rooster stood staring you down, placing your cap on his head childishly with a mischievous smirk.” THIS WAS ADORABLE!!!
“You chose to lie, omit the truth. You knew the second Bradley Bradshaw knew Pete Mitchell was going to be his teacher? He’d be out. Throw in the towel and not live up to his full potential. A little white lie never hurt no one.” they care about each other so much 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲 the fact that she knows he’d leave if he already knee about maverick… so she keeps it quiet… so he doesn’t throw this opportunity away… yeah…
“Rooster smirked as he ducked. Forcing you forward over his shoulder as he stood. Carrying you through the bar. “Guess we’ll go with old reliable huh? A pain in my ass.” AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I HATE HIM
“Oh you sly little minx—“ Hangman stood across from you on the other side of the pool table. Staring you down as he felt like a grade A fool.
“No hard feelings there, Hangman?” You replied.” cute. love this little banter.
“We grew up together—“ You spoke at the same time Rooster did, only he didn’t say the same thing.
“We dated for a while—“ Rooster let the cat out of the bag. You let a small but audible fuck escape as you shook your head. What the hell man? Not cool at all.” I LOVE WHEN THIS HAPPENSJDHJSHDHDHDHDHDHDHDH FAVORITE PART!!!!!!
“Oh shit, the Commissioner's daughter Rooster.” Hangman smirked as he took his shot, sinking the red ball he was going for. “Didn’t think you had it in you.” RIGHT?🥵
“Jesus not you too?” Flyboys eyes bugged as Bob shook his head in absolute denial.
“What? No! No—we flew together for a while in Lemoore. I was her WOS.” Bob explained. “She’s the only pilot that’s ever made me question my career choices.” Rooster couldn’t have agreed more. You sent Bob a soft smile—surely you’d have time to catch up with him later. You made a mental note to grab some fresh ginger at the local store the next time you did your groceries. For Bob.” poor fanboy reading the room wrong for a second sjdhhshdhshshs + i absolutely already adore that she’s close to bob!!!
“You let everyone know as Rooster's hand fell to the small of your back gently as he whispered in your ear. The concept of personal space not registering with him.” ROOSTER’S LOVE LANGUAGE BEING PHYSICAL TOUCH IN EVERY SINGLE FANFICTION IS THE BEST THING TO EVER HAPPEN ACTUALLY. EVERYONE JUST ACCIDENTALLY COLLECTIVELY ACCEPTED THIS AND IT IS NOW CANON <3
“I’ll walk you out.” Roosters breath fanned over your neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It felt somewhat surreal to have him so close, to have him so willingly in your presence without recoiling into himself. Something was off, you were waiting for the other foot to drop. The “lets get back together boot” that always fucking dropped.” FEELING THINGS!!!
“I said I’ll walk you out.” Rooster repeated, only this time his voice was a little deeper. More serious. You looked at him as he kept his eyes on you, hungry, like he’d been starved for days.” LIKE HE’D BEEN STARVED FOR DAYS OH GOD HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN SINCE THEY LAST SAW EACH OTHER?????
“I missed you.” Rooster admitted. “I do miss you.” He corrected himself. “You don't call, you don't text–”
“Why would I do either of those things Bradshaw, the last time we saw each other you told me to go to hell.” You reminded Rooster. The memory made him cringe physically. “Yeah, exactly.” OH HE LIKES HER SO SO MUCH THIS IS RIDICULOUS PLEASE COMMUNICATE NORMALLY 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺
“You chuckled as Rooster leaned in a little more, his lips ghosting yours as Hangman and Phoenix stood at the window watching the encounter go down. “dont –”
“Dont what?” Rooster smirked as he softly placed his lips on yours. One of his hands moving from its place on the driver's side door to your cheeks, gently caressing your flushed cheek. He could feel the heat in his fingertips. “Oh you mean don't do that?” ASSHOLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE (I LOVE HIM) (I LOVE THIS SCENE) (HE’S SUCH A LITTLE SHIT)
“Say it again.” It came out more of a command than anything else as you rid yourself of your hoodie. Rooster doing the same thing as the Hawaiian shirt he loved so dearly fell discarded to the floor of your Bronco.
“Please—please baby I want you back.” God, it did things to you when Rooster begged. Littering your neck with dark marks as he did so. Bucking into you with need and lust. But just as you expected it. The other boot.” YEP. IT INDEED DID THINGS TO YOU WHEN ROOSTER BEGGED.
“It never works out because you never give me a chance–” Rooster hissed, pulling back as you sat up.
“It never works out because once you have me you forget I even exist!” You retaliated, grabbing your hoodie as you pulled it over your head. “God lets not forget that it has been you, every single time that has broken it off!” You spat, holding back tears. “And it's always you who comes crawling back with some poor excuse as to why you broke it off in the god damn first place.” my heart 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔 the fact that he leaves EVERY TIME AND COMES BACK???? AND THEN HE SAYS THIS ABOUT NEVER GIVING HIM A CHANCE THERE’S SO MUCH THE NEED TO TALK ABOUT TO UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER!!!
“I know–” Pausing as you kept your eyes locked into the distance. Not looking at anything in particular, but just something, anything, anyone but Bradley. “And it's okay.” You’re entire world shattering around you.
“How is that okay?” Rooster questioned as his fingers laced with yours.” AND IT’S OKAY YOU’RE ENTIRE WORLD SHATTERING AROUND YOU?????????? this BROKEEEEEEEEEEE me. and then bradley questions it because of course it’s not okayyyyyyyy.
“I just don't think I can do the distance anymore.” It probably wasn't the best way he could have put it. What Rooster really meant to say was he missed you too much when you were gone, it hurt. He thought perhaps it would hurt a little less if he knew you weren't his.” SEE!!!!!!! THE MISCOMMUNICATION!!! HE DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO ARTICULATE HIS FEELINGS SO HE PUSHES HER AWAY BUT THEN THE SECOND THEY’RE APART OF COURSE HE’S GONNA REGRET IT AND COME CRAWLING BACK!!! AAAAAAAAA!!!
“Thank you for breaking me to the point where I learned to finally value myself, It took a lot.” OUCH!!!!!!! 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔
“I love you, I do, but–”
“Well figure out a way to stop because you will be the last person I allow back into my life!” You hissed, Rooster felt you venom sink into his heart.” I LOVE YOU???! WELL FIGURE OUT A WAY TO STOP?????? KILL ME NOW PLEASE?????? ONE OF MY FAVORITE LINES!!!!!!
“And for your information, Bradshaw, I have given you chance after chance after chance and all you do every time is prove to me you can't change even if your life depended on it.” Rooster took notice of the necklace that hung around your rear view mirror. He had the same one around his. His heart felt like it had exploded into a million pieces inside his chest. He never wanted to hurt you, never meant to.” HE NOTICED THE NECKLACE I’M GOING TO DIE. AND HIS HEART BREAKING!!!!
“You still have it.” Was he ignoring you or something? You felt the rage in the pit of your stomach bubbling over as you sighed in frustration.
“What? Still have what–?” You caught Rooster's gaze looking at your rear view mirror. Following it as you both stared at the old necklace for far too long in shared silence. “Yeah well, Teenage Bradley can't be blamed for the dick his adult self turned into now can he?” you smirked.” YOU STILL HAVE IT SJHCHSHHCHSHCHHSHXHSHDHDHCHDHDHSHCHDHDHDJDJFHCHDHHFHDHFHFHD MY STOMACH IS GOING ACROBATICS OVER HERE. also: her response <3 yeah, teenage bradley can’t be blamed <3
“Teenage Bradley would have had an aneurysm over the chance to get you in the backseat of his car, let alone ruin the moment because his ego can't let him have a decent win every now and again.” Roosted admitted as he leaned against your doorway, the door to the driver's side of your car still flung open.” THE PLAYFULLNESS IN THEIR DIALOGUE THE SCENE HERE THEIR BODY LANGUAGE EVERYTHING IS SO PERFECT!!!
i loved this so so much and i can’t wait to see where this story is gonna go!!!
Chaos // Bradshaw Bradshaw
Chapter One: Toxic Tango
Summary: You thought for sure the biggest problem you were going to have to face was returning to TopGun—but then there was Bradley fucking Bradshaw.
Warnings: ex best friend, ex boyfriend. Bradley Bradshaw x reader. (Use of Y/n) steamy moment (not smut)
Word Count: 5.3k
Author Note: Okay so we’re gonna steam ahead with this one and update it in chapter form as a mini series. Also we’re gonna use Y/n because I actually can’t stick to a name I like. If you would like to be added to the tag list let me know. xx Leah.
You didn’t know what made you cringe more, the sound Pete Mitchell made when he hit the sand of the Hard Decks entrance way, or the sound he made when he stood up. Both of the drawn out groans told a tale as old as time itself—he was getting old. Not as fly on his feet as he was back in the day, he would deny it till his deathbed. But the clock never stopped ticking. Watching from your dad’s old Bronco, you turned the ignition off and wound up the windows. Stalking over to where Pete stood looking into the Hard Deck.
Continuar lendo
16/08/2022: WELCOME BACK TO ME SCREAMING!!!! as a avid romcom enthusiast, this was absolutely everything my little heart needed. so well written, i loved all the character dynamics and i’m not even gonna start talking about the fake dating trope in this, with ROOSTER OF ALL PEOPLE!!!! it’s perfect!!!!! this is the second time i read this fic (preparation for part 2 which i just saw you posted!!!!!! aaaaaaaaa!!!) and it was just as enjoyable as it was the first time around. i’m smiling like an idiot.
"Why, in God's name, are you pushing Rooster?" you had to ask.” BECAUSE OF COURSE!!!!!!!! THANK YOU PHOENIX KEEP PUSHING ROOSTE WE KNOW WHAT’S UP!!!
“Payback looked up at you and gave you a 'wtf' face. "What's he got that I don't?" he called across the bar as Natasha pushed him back on his barstool.” love this little glimpse into her friendship with payback!!!!!!!! he’s hilarious i love him <3
"I got it," Rooster turned back to Penny, raised your glass to her with a quiet 'please?' and got off his stool, gently holding your side and guiding you onto it.” hello why is this causing butterflies in my stomach? the way he instantly noticed she wanted another drink? and then GETTING ODF HIS STOOL SO SHE CAN TAKE HIS SEAT? bye.
“But in the end, he was just a nice guy, a really lovely guy. Friendly, funny when you least expected it, reserved and loyal to a fault but you'd known him so long to consider him anything else.” me when i lie!!!!!
"I hope you don't need a new suit," you told him dismally. "I don't want you having to spend anything -”
“Fake girlfriend," he cut you off, teasingly. "If I need a new suit, which I likely will, it's okay," he reassured you.” THE WAY HE’S INTERRUPTING HER AND IMMEDIATELY CALLING HER “FAKE GIRLFRIEND” THIS IS ADORABLE AND SO VERY ROOSTER AND I’M IN LOVE WITH HIM.
“Bradley 🐓: Just give me time to workout real quick, shower and change. I did all the other beautifying yesterday. I'll knock your friend's socks off, I promise. Maybe even yours.” MAYBE EVEN YOURS!!!!!! THE IMPLICATIONS OF THIS!!!!! HE’S SUCH A FLIRT!!!! I KNOW HE LIKES HER!!!!!! KILL ME NOW!!!!!
"Excuse me, gentleman, I caught the eye of a really cute bridesmaid before - " you heard a familiar rasp say behind you and you stiffened. He'd finally made it. Turning to that voice you'd know anywhere, you gave him a gentle smile. "Think I've found her," he’s ridiculous!!!!!!!
"You look like a Disney prince," you said before you realised it was supposed to be a thought. His eyes shone with humour as he took his seat beside you, resting an arm on the back of your chair.” i love that this line catches him a little off guard!!!
and he just keeps saying how beautiful she looks 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
“He laughed, smoothing his moustache. "Oh yeah, she's definitely keen. Up for a rumble for my honour?"
"Honour?" you repeated. "I think we all know those days are behind you.” i love their banter!!! and the fact that they are childhood friends SOON TO BE LOVERS MAKES THIS 1000x BETTER!!! ❤️🩹
"You're mad, this is tears from the gods," you told him as he cupped your cheek affectionately and wandered over to the bar.” i will not be addressing the cupping of the cheek in order to preserve what little i have left of my mental health BUT i wil say i agree with reader: champagne is tears from the gods! i love this definition.
"Good Lord, he scrubs up pretty good, huh? Shame he's not wearing his whites," your sister said, waddling over to the table you were standing at, helping herself to the free stool you helped her get on. "But I guess he'd show up the bride." THE SISTER IS HILARIOUS. LOVED HER IN THIS AND SHE IS RIGHT.
"He'd probably still look really good in a potato sack," she teased, adjusting her posture, her expanding belly not enjoying the far-too-expensive pregnancy dress she'd been forced to buy, coming up to the end of her second pregnancy. "But really, nothing is rumbling? No carnal need to just rip his clothes off and see what happens? Sometimes, cute friends can turn into cute lovers." OLDER SISTER WISDOW RIGHT HERE. CUTE FRIENDS CAN INDEED TURN INTO CUTE LOVERS!!!!! LISTEN TO YOUR SISTER!!!!!!
“Just take the night as it comes. And if anyone asks how I am in the sack, I expect you give them an 11/10, okay?” i hate him jdjsjdhwhfgshydhshd
“Whatcha doing?" your sister's husband asked, as she took a few photos of yourself and Rooster dancing to the wedding song on her phone.
"On their first wedding anniversary, I'm going to present this photo to them and say I was right. And I will be gleeful," she said in false maniacy.” her sister is like the best character in this, she’s stealing the show. pls tell me we’re gonna see the comeback of this photo she took in part 2!!!!
“Which one do you think will ruin it though?"
A name long-cursed in your family rolled off your sister's tongue, "The Navy.” not my smile instantly fading away from my face ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ but this was a very thoughtful detail to add!!!
“you kind of drowned the rest out, your fingers absently slipping under his jacket and tracing the curves and ridges of his hard-earned, extremely well-worked abdominals underneath. Rooster made a pained face, trying to wriggle away, his hand catching yours and laying it flat against him.” OH SHE’S STARTING TO RESPOND TO THE TOUCHED OKAY YES GET COMFORTABLE WITH EACH OTHER ENJOY THIS!!!!
“Hmm?" you looked up as he bent down to whisper how ticklish he was. "Oh," you said, bashfully taking your hand away as he clutched it again, keeping it there. Your hand was pressed into his rock-hard stomach and did your tummy... flippity-fucking-flop?” ROOSTER IS TICKLISH 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 and funny how my tummy also flippity-fucking-flopped!!! this whole interaction was so sweet!!!
“Clearly we were both crazy. So, we got super drunk, and I kissed her. Luckily," he raised a hand as your friends laughed, utterly charmed by him. "Luckily for me, she didn't slap me. She actually kissed me back. Would have broken my heart if she rejected me," he was so fucking smooth, you chewed back the laughter that threatened to spill from your lips as the bride just stared at Rooster with heart eyes, another unassuming fan of Rooster Bradshaw. "I'm wild about you," he whispered, nuzzling into your neck and you gently cupped his strong jaw, thumb padding against the wiry skin of a scar.” WOULD HAVE BROKEN HIS HEART IF SHE DIDN’T?????????????? HE’S WILD ABOUT HER????????? SHUT UP!!!!!! AND ALL OF THIS STILL UNDER THE FAKE DATING SPELL OF IT ALL!!!!
“So, tell me," she whispered, ushering you closer. "The sex?"
Poor Rooster was too distracted to hear, but his moment was coming. "An eleven," you replied, you massaged his sides still well-hidden under the jacket, and if Rooster wasn't paying attention before... he surely was now. "Twelve on really good nights."
His smile almost ripped his face in half.” THE WAY I WASN’T EXPECTING YOU TO MAKE THIS CALL BACK BUT I’M SO HAPPY YOU DID IT’S LIKE MY FAVORITE PART IN THIS SHDGSHHDHSHDHSHDSGGSSH GIVING ROOSTER’S EGO A LITTLE TREAT!!!
i had so much fun reading this and can’t wait to dive into part 2 as soon as possibleeeeeeeeee. let’s get this happy ending worthy of a romcom montage!!!!!
The Boyfriend Experience - Part 1 / 2
This isn’t really like my usual stuff - I just could not get the idea of the fake relationship out of my head. Seemed perfect to add this stud as the “fake boyfriend”. I really hope you guys like it. Please enjoy (I hope) and let me know what you think. With every comment you leave, an angel gets its wings. OR whatever.
5.6k words of Rooster being your super pretend boyfriend! A few swears, but it’s the Navy, goddammit! The fluffiness should make up for it.
“I don’t see why you just don’t take Rooster,” Natasha muttered, nodding in his direction next to Payback at the bar, both animated, arms describing manoeuvres like excited little boys. “You guys are friends, he likes food, he obviously likes beer. Probably likes ‘em if they’re free too,” she shrugged as if it was the simplest thing going around.
“Why would Rooster be remotely bothered to be my plus one to a wedding where he doesn’t know anyone?”
“You’d be there, you said your sister and her husband are going too. There are three people he knows,” she said simply. “He’s single and an easy lay. Could be the perfect twofer for you.”
Continuar lendo
10/08/2022: well hello!!! i’m literally just here to reblog my favorite fics so i can write long extensive reviews about them like my very own personal silly little goodreads or whatever!!!!
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just trying to have a good time (i am failing miserably). 22. capricorn. she/her.
42 posts