2022 - Blog Posts

21/08/2022: NEW COMFORT FIC JUST DROPPED!!!! this was adorable, my heart just grew 3 sizes and i feel all warm and fuzzy!!!!! the song you chose fits their situation so well and it’s beautiful!!!!! and the whole idea is so rooster!!!! it was perfect. here are some of my favorite parts!!!!!

“You watched him sitting at the bar with Maverick, occasionally he gave you a smile if he caught you watching, to which he was met with a cold shoulder. Even looking at him made you want to scream.” i love this!!!!! it doesn’t matter that she’s a little mad with him, bradley continues to be kind 🥺 love the contract between their reactions.

“I have an idea… Your dad and I used to do this with the ladies all the time.” maverick showing rooster how its done!!!! this scene is one of my favorites from the original movie and i loved that you adapted it to your own story <3

“He is in the same room as you but he feels unreachable. Even if you did talk to him, at this point you wouldn’t know what to say. Everytime you look at him the frustration bubbles back up to the surface. Even thinking about the whole situation has again buried down the longing within you.” BUT HE FEELS UNREACHABLE!!!!!! ☹️☹️☹️☹️ he’s right there, but his job is so hard and none of them can’t do anything about it!!!! it’s understandable for her to feel this way!!!!

and then bradley starts singing and phoenix and maverick don’t let get away!!!! so cute!!!!

“The longing within you has now broken through all the anger. So desperately you wanted to let yourself feel it, but if you did and something happened to Bradley on this deployment you’d never recover. So for now it was easier to pretend that you felt nothing at all.” of course it’s easier to shut your feelings out but at what cost!!!??? 🥺

“You scoff at the reminder of Bradley's departure, the thought striking fear inside of you. Unable to leave your position, you decide to turn your back to Bradley, when a hand gently grabs your wrist, catching you off guard, spinning you to be face to chest with Rooster. He towers over you, a smile plastered on his smug little face, proud of his little display with Maverick. You try to pull away but he keeps his grasp held steady. Your tongue pushes on the inside of your cheek, and you click your tongue with another roll of your eyes, letting out a large sigh, as you finally give up trying to pull away.” this moment 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 it’s so very rooster!!!!

“Baby, don't you know I love you so?

Can't you feel it when we touch?..” and this part playing just as he reaches for her to hold her in place!!! i’m in love!!!!

“The warmth of his body feels like home. The smell of him filling your lungs, your heart lurching in your chest. A small squeal slips out, followed by a giggle. A smile grows on Bradley’s face knowing he is wearing you down. You try to squirm free but his hold is firm enough to keep you tightly pressed to him without it hurting, the tension in your body slowly starting to release within his arms.” yeah, she can’t resist him.

"Alright, alright! You win…" 🥺🥺🥺🥺

“You lean into his callous hand, your skin burning under his touch. Your eyes are locked with his, tracing over every feature of his face, trying to soak it in while you can.” babies 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

again: this was beautiful!!!

Save The Last Dance For Me

Bradley Bradshaw x F!Reader

Warnings: None that I can think of. No descriptions of appearance but she/her pronouns are used.

Summary: Bradley attempts to wear you down as you give him the cold shoulder

A/N: This fic is based off the song Save the Last Dance For Me. After watching Top Gun (1986) and longing to have someone serenade me in a bar this self indulgent fic was born. So enjoy!

Masterlist

“I just can’t look at him!” You say before angrily taking your shot on the pool table. The pool stick pounding into the cue ball, clattering the rest all around the table. Bradley had told you yesterday that he was being sent on a two month classified deployment, meaning you would not be allowed to relocate with him for the duration of the mission. 

“You know he didn’t have a choice right? They are called orders for a reason.” Hangman butts in from his seat at the nearby table. Throwing peanuts in his mouth, somehow managing to chew them in a condescending manner. 

“I didn’t ask for your input.” You snap back. He puts his hands up in the air in surrender after receiving a glare from you that could kill. What he was saying wasn’t wrong, but you were too upset to think rationally about it, and needed someone to blame. Unfortunately that fell onto Rooster.

You watched him sitting at the bar with Maverick, occasionally he gave you a smile if he caught you watching, to which he was met with a cold shoulder. Even looking at him made you want to scream.

“She’s not taking it well I see…” Maverick said, taking a sip of his drink. Rooster chuckled before nodding his head in response as he took a drink of his own beer. 

“Not at all… She hasn’t said a word to me since yesterday morning when I told her. I wish I didn’t have to go, but there is nothing I can do. At this point I don’t know how to get her to talk to me again.” 

“I have an idea… Your dad and I used to do this with the ladies all the time.” 

You watched as Maverick and Bradley talked trying to make out what was being said. You could see Maverick gesturing towards you, and conspiring with Penny. The two of them are planning something. You didn’t care to find out what it was though.

You continued your game with Phoenix, joking around with the rest of the boys to distract yourself from the subtle ache in your chest forming the longer you go not talking to Bradley. He is in the same room as you but he feels unreachable. Even if you did talk to him, at this point you wouldn’t know what to say. Everytime you look at him the frustration bubbles back up to the surface. Even thinking about the whole situation has again buried down the longing within you.

Just as you start to line up your final shot, the jukebox cuts out and you hear the tapping on a microphone over the bar speakers. You try and see what is going on but the packed room makes it impossible to see who currently has the microphone. Music slowly starts to flood the room as you hear a familiar voice start to sing alone to the tune.

"Is that Bradshaw?" Phoenix perks up, setting her pool stick down.

"I hope not…" You grumble, already recognizing the voice growing closer. The crowd parts, revealing the answer to your suspicions. Bradley making his way towards you, microphone held up to his lips as he continues to sing. His aviators hang from the neck of his shirt, tugging it down to show off a peak of his chest and collar bones. His hair is a pile of messy curls, lacking the gel he has to use day to day when on duty. 

You can smile every smile for the man

Who held your hand 'neath the pale moonlight…

You try to turn away to walk away from Bradley but you're met with Phoenix grabbing your shoulders to turn you back to face him as he keeps closing the gap between you two. She wears the smile of a traitor as she moves to stand next to you, blocking the path of escape.

But don't forget who's taking you home

And in whose arms you're gonna be

So darlin', save the last dance for me…

You roll your eyes at Bradley's attempt at breaking you, that slowly is working, and attempt yet again to walk away. This time heading the opposite direction of phoenix. Maverick breaks through the crowd, stepping right in front of you stopping you in your pathway.

Oh, I know that the music's fine..

"Seriously! You're in on this too!?" You try to raise your voice over the music, but it's no use. You cross your arms in protest as Maverick slowly backs you up to where you started. You loved this song, and Bradley knew it. He would put it on before he left for every mission as his promise to come home to you. The longing within you has now broken through all the anger. So desperately you wanted to let yourself feel it, but if you did and something happened to Bradley on this deployment you’d never recover. So for now it was easier to pretend that you felt nothing at all.

Laugh and sing but while you're apart

Don't give your heart to anyone…

You scoff at the reminder of Bradley's departure, the thought striking fear inside of you. Unable to leave your position, you decide to turn your back to Bradley, when a hand gently grabs your wrist, catching you off guard, spinning you to be face to chest with Rooster. He towers over you, a smile plastered on his smug little face, proud of his little display with Maverick. You try to pull away but he keeps his grasp held steady. Your tongue pushes on the inside of your cheek, and you click your tongue with another roll of your eyes, letting out a large sigh, as you finally give up trying to pull away.

Baby, don't you know I love you so?

Can't you feel it when we touch?..

He places your hand up on top of his shoulder, then pulls you in by your waist to close the gap on the last syllable of the lyric. The warmth of his body feels like home. The smell of him filling your lungs, your heart lurching in your chest. A small squeal slips out, followed by a giggle. A smile grows on Bradley’s face knowing he is wearing you down. You try to squirm free but his hold is firm enough to keep you tightly pressed to him without it hurting, the tension in your body slowly starting to release within his arms.  

I will never, never let you go

I love you, oh, so much…

You softly hit his chest with your free hand in defeat of escape, your palm lingering flat over his heart after impact. Your other arm moves to curl around the back of his neck, your fingers tangled up in the hair at the nape of his neck, circling along his scalp. Bradley’s hips are pressed against your body and sway the two of you side to side.

His voice has you in a trance. The softness of the melody mixed with the slightest rasp from his vocal cords gives you involuntary butterflies. No matter how mad you were at Bradley, you knew inside it wasn't his fault he was being deployed, you just hated the lack of say you had in the situation. At this point the rest of the squad, even the usually quiet Bob, and most of the bar patrons have all joined in the serenade.

'Cause don't forget who's taking you home

And in whose arms you're gonna be

So darlin', save the last dance for him!

"Alright, alright! You win…"

The bar erupts in cheers. Rooster hands his mic over to Maverick, who gives you a wink, and cups the side of your cheek. You lean into his callous hand, your skin burning under his touch. Your eyes are locked with his, tracing over every feature of his face, trying to soak it in while you can.

"Kiss him already!" Penny yells behind the bar. "Disrespect the Navy or you buy a round!" She threatens.

You let out a laugh before standing on your toes to meet Bradley halfway. His lips meet yours and the bar yet again fills with cheers. The volume of the bar almost drowning out the softest, most innocent moan of contentment Bradley lets slip into your mouth. The taste of beer lingers on his tongue, his kiss becoming deeper before he finally pulls away. 

“I love you, honey.” Rooster whispers in your ear, kissing your cheek. His breath warm on your ear, sending a spark through your body. You interlock your fingers with his as you both make your way back to the tables with the rest of the squad, each of them taking turns poking fun at you for caving in to his cheesy display.  

Flight Crew!

@someplace-darker

@nelleicrain

@murrdxcks

@sobachka-korol

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your brain implodes.” YEAH. NO SHIT.

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

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

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

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

dime store cowboy . hangman

PART TWO

pairing ; cowboy!jake seresin x female!reader

synopsis ; jake teaches you about the cowboy hat rule.

wc ; 2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your voice has gone airy. “Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake smirks, something in his eyes twinkling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

16/08/2022: FAKE DATING TROPE YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS!!! there’s so much *yearning* in this oneeeeeeeee. the way their not-date starts blending in as the night comes to an end and things start to slip and get a little more real!!!!!! you wrote this so well!!!!! it was definitely worth the wait and COME ONE NOW PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE PLANNING A PART 3??? maybeeee? pleaseeee? this was delightful, let the boyfriend experience live on forever!!!

”Well, you made sure I didn't have a run there to fake propose in front of all these witnesses. Left my fake engagement ring in my dresser drawer back at base,” he snapped his fingers. "Fuck." i love that he keeps saying fake in front on the words it’s so cute i just know bradley was having the time of his life playing pretend. AND YES PLEASE DO FAKE PROPOSE!!!!

“He nodded and grinned. "I'd guarantee you a life of no more wedding BS though.” oh he’s such a little shit please sjdhjshxhshdhshdhs <3

"You're such a dick," you could only respond, handing the glass back as he chuckled, putting the garter back in his breast pocket, patting it safely.

"Taken you 30 years to figure it out - that's more on you than me though," he teased.” i know i’ve said this already but i ADORE the way you write their banter. it’s simple and very believable dialogue and they’re so sillyyyyyyyy. babies.

“He took your hand and spun you back to him, facing the other again and he smiled slow, a smile you'd certainly never seen before but enjoyed thoroughly as his hands moved to the back of your ribs, dragging you closer to him.” *SCREAMING*

“Good, Please get my sister home safely?" she warned him.

"Of course, she's precious cargo," he smiled as Annie kissed you and waddled over to Arron, her extremely drunk hubby.” the older sister interactions are everything to me like SHE SEENS WHAT’S GOING ONNNNN!!!!! SHE GETS IT!!!!!! and bradley saying she’s PRECIOUS CARGO? 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“Rooster pouted. "Then I'll piggyback you,” EXCUSE ME WHILE I CRY?????????

“You wished he'd stop talking because as he adjusted his hold on you, leaving one hand on your hip, the other arm wrapping around your shoulders, you only reaffirmed how good you fit against him.” she’s trying to fight her feelings so hard!!!! don’t do it!!!! he’s gonna be good for you!!! 🥺

”He nodded. It felt like a kiss-off, that was for sure. "I wasn't asking for the rest of our lives," he said quietly.

"I know," you pulled back, needing to be completely out of his reach. "But I just don't know what to tell you right now.” I WASN’T ASKING FOR THE REST OF OUR LIVES I AM IN SO MUCH PAIN RIGHT NOW BECAUSE I KNOW HE WANTS IT TO BE FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES.

“Goodnight, Rooster," you said as you unlocked the door and took a step in before pausing. Rationality be damned. "Unless you wanna come in?" you called softly in the dead quiet of the night. You could see his brain working a million miles a moment.” AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I’M SMILING!!!!! I’M CLAPPING!!!!!!! I’M CHEERING!!!!!!! i can visualize his facial expressio here so clearly, his mind working a million miles!!!!!

“Always," he said softly and put the photo back carefully on the wall. "You keep it, it gives me something to see when I am here.” her picture with carol and this moment between them made my heart crack a little. the fact that she was this connection to bradley’s parents must be very special to him, you know????

“He wouldn't lie and say he hadn't memorised every curve of your body, your smile and that absolutely devastating self-deprecating wit but there were plenty of other distractions in his wake. But here you were, right before him. And you, at that moment, were perfect but he didn't know what you wanted from him and it ate him alive.” SO MANY FEELINGS HERE!!!! I LOVE IT WHEN AUTHOURS DO THIS *STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS* THING BECAUSE EVERYTHING GETS REALLY TANGLED AND IT’S VERY REAL!!!! BEAUTIFUL!!!!! MY FAVORITE LINE!!!!!!!!!

“I know she was sick... but she really died of a broken heart in the end," he said quietly.” i’m so so sad. this is probably one of the saddest details about bradley’s past and his parents that i’ve ever read in any fic. so sad but VERY BEAUTIFUL!!!!!!

“When I find the one, I'll know," he added, taking your hand back into his and this time, he avoided your gaze as he drew circles around the pads of your palm. "I'm sure of it." He was sure of it.” OH THE IMPLICATIONS OF THIS!!!!!! BRADLEY I AM READING BETWEEN THE LINES YOU’RE NOT FOOLING ANYONE…

“I love flying," he looked up. "My fate is sealed, but the right person? Jesus, fucking the right person could make you wanna give it all up, you know?” jesus christ. i’m gonna need 30 days to recover from this line ALONE.

“He smiled, a small tint of red creeping up to his cheeks. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"I think I like making you squirm," you said simply as dropped his eyes, coy all of a sudden.” BANTER!!!!!!!!!!! THEY ARE MY BELOVEDS!!!!!!!

“He adjusted his posture and he took your chin in his palm, his thumb imprinting on your chin. God, you were right there, so close... desperate to be kissed. "I like the chase," his voice low. "But the chase isn't all that much a challenge much anymore," he admitted and his wrist started beeping. 4am. He needed to go. He silenced it. "Saved by the bell," he announced. "That's my alarm.” NOT THE ALARM INTERRUPTION STOP THIS IS SO MEAN. THE NAVY CAN WAIT. also him taking her chin in palm!!!!! love this!!!!

“Fuck, you're so beautiful, do you know that?" he couldn't stop himself from saying. It just had to be said and put out there. Great, now it was done, he reasoned. You didn't break his gaze, you were daring him to make a move. He licked his lips and had to laugh. He'd already made the move. If you wanted him, he decided... the ball was in your court. Come and claim me, he wished.” he’s starting to crack!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"Stay."

"No," he said, sitting forward. Fight for me.” i genuinely gasped and had to pause for a second when i read that he said “no”. and then you continued with the “fight for me” and i was like OH!!!!!!!!

“It was powerful and intimate and he didn't know if he trusted himself to be touching you like this.” AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA i’m about to combust.

“He bristled a laugh as you reached for a button on his shirt, dainty fingers making light work of the straining material over his chest. "Think I'm gonna just fuck you after all this?" he removed your hands, placing them back in your lap where he silently prayed you'd keep them because his strength was waning and if you tried really hard, you'd have him exactly where you wanted him. "You really wanna make this about a quick fuck and I just up and leave?" he shook his head. "I think you know by now I want a little more than that.” I THINK YOU KNOW BY NOW I WANT A LITTLE MORE THAN THAT!!!!!!! I GOT CHILLS ALL OVER MY BODYYYYYYYYYYYY. this whole sequence had me buzzing, the contrast between this words!!!!!

"What do you want, Rooster?" you asked, your fingers tracing his scars, finding one on his jaw you were particularly fond of and tracing it, feeling him tremor beneath you. "Tell me," you said reaching for the hem of your shirt and he knew he was going for martyrdom as he held your shirt down, whispering a curse.” i’m just a shaking and crying and throwing up mess by this point. absolute zero coherent thoughts.

“The blood was pumping so loud in your ears that you were finding it hard to focus. You were drawn out of your stupor as his alarm started buzzing on his wrist again. He was getting later.” STOP THE ANTICIPATION HERE IS KILLING ME!!!!!!! YOU GOT ME ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT.

"And if I fuck it up?" you asked, scared as reality started to kick in.

"What if I do?" he challenged. "Do we not owe it to ourselves to find out?" i love this. i love that he reminds her this isn’t a one way street. that if they give each other a chance, they’re both responsible for working together to make the relationship work!!!! they’re both scared and it’s okay!!!!

“Soft, inobtrusive, it felt like you'd been kissing him your whole life.” I TAKE IT BACK THIS IS MY FAVORITE LINE. HOW DARE YOU WRITE “IF FELT LIKE YOU’F BEEN KISSING HIM YOUR WHOLE LIFE” AND EXPECT ME TO JUST MOVE ON??????

“If I don't front up today... every single person we know will know exactly where I am... and why," he said, voice laced in mirth.

You told him softly, "I will make it worth your while."

He groaned loudly, his body already ready and willing, pressed unyielding against you. "I believe you," he breathed.” I LOVE THIS!!!

“He gave a small smile, pushing some hair from your eyes. "Good morning, fake girlfriend," he kissed you gently again, let go of you to collect his gear at your feet and forced himself into opening the door, stepping over the threshold purposefully. He leaned back and kissed you once more. "I'll call you later," he breathed, trying to gather some resolve.” GOOD MORNING FAKE GIRLFRIENDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!! I SWOON EVERY TIME HE CALLS HER HIS FAKE GIRLFRIEND!!!!

“I got a wedding invite through the week," he smiled kindly and you bit back a laugh. "Thought maybe you'd like to go with me..."

“Think you can keep this fake dating thing going until then?" you asked, caressing his cheek.

“I'm pretty confident we may not be fake dating then..." he said quietly, kissing you just one more time.” OH THE UNIVERSE AND ITS BEAUTIFUL COINCIDENCES. AND HE’S SUCH A COCKY LITTLE SHIT!!!!!

“Jesus Christ, I want to stay. Please tell me to leave," his eyes fluttered closed.” I CAN HEAR THE RESTRAINING IN HIS VOICE!!!! I CAN HEAR HIM PANTING!!!!!!!! HOW TEMPTED HE IS TO STAY!!!!!!

“He nodded, thankful for your push. "I'll see you later," he said and forcibly turned away, his feet taking him away from you and when he was out of your view, you felt the weight of his dog tags on your chest.” THE DOG TAGS!!!!!!!! HOW DARE YOU!!!!!!

i loved it so much, this was the bumpy moment we have to go through in every romcom in order to get to the happy ending. we got fluff and pain and insecurities and BRADLEY BRADSHAW BEING THE BIGGEST CHARMER ON PLANET EARTH AND DOGS TAGS AT THE END!!!! ❤️‍🩹

The Boyfriend Experience - Part 2 / 2

7k words of Rooster being your super wonderful, pretend plus one! A few swears, but it’s the Navy, goddammit! The fluffiness should make up for it. 

The Boyfriend Experience 1 / 2

“Thank God you didn’t catch the bouquet,” Rooster rolled his eyes as you wandered back, bored. “Could you look any less interested?” he bit back a smile.

“I could, yes,“ you told him, patting his cheek with a gentle thwack as he chuckled.

”Well, you made sure I didn’t have a run there to fake propose in front of all these witnesses. Left my fake engagement ring in my dresser drawer back at base,” he snapped his fingers. "Fuck.”

Continuar lendo

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

15/08/2022: dear shannon!!!! heartfelt is one of the first fics i read as soon as i gave in the urge to read about top gun maverick and it’s been such an incredible ride so far. (i sent a couple of anon compliments since the first chapter was out, but now i have this new blog to really pour out all the love directly and just scream about my favorite paragraphs and what not). i went into this for the jake x reader of it all but you really got rooster out here trying to steal heart again, i really wasn’t expecting to be so tempted to change sides, and YOU ALMOST GOT ME!!! (i’m a sucker for exes to lovers idk and i’ve been reading a lot of rooster fics so i might be a little bias right now) but i’m still team jake over here for this character. anyways!!! this chapter is one of my favorites!!! i think you closed their relationship really well and leave her ready for the future with hangman!!! i love it, it’s perfect!!!

“You fight the urge to sneak up on him from behind and slide your hands down the front of his chest around to his back and press your body against his. It’s odd, acknowledging that the urge is still there, even after the events of last night. You’ll always care for him though. That urge might always exist.” THAT URGE MIGHT ALWAYS EXIST?????? break my heart, throw it off a cliff…

“Maybe your love for him will always eclipse your disappointment.” oh this one hits deep.

“Since when are you the purveyor of spontaneity and surprise?”

“He hums. “Seeing you again reminded me how nice surprises really are.” this line!!!!!! how dare he!!!! how dare you!!!! butterflies on my stomach!!!! jake stand up!!!!! do something!!!!

“You’d released Bradley. You should feel lighter, but you don’t. Something is still tugging at your chest and in that moment you realize it was never Bradley pulling the invisible string. It’s been Jake this entire time.” AND THIS BROUGHT ME RIGHT BACK TO JAKE!!! BEAUTIFUL!!! yep!! he’s it for her!!! go get him!!!

the way you wrote the yearning for the previous relationship with rooster was incredible!!! the feelings were so vivid!!!! you’re really good at setting a scene and them taking us there and making us experience everything. i can’t wait to for the future last parts, i already miss the interactions with jake!!!

HEARTFIRST {pt. VIII}

– In which a trip down to the San Diego Naval base  to visit an old friend turns out to be more than a simple reunion, as the reader finds herself in the presence of an infuriating, cocky blonde and an old flame she thought had long fizzled out. –

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader, Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Contains: Bi!Natasha | Reader is old friends with Natasha “Phoenix” Trace | Reader has a past with Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw” | Reader has a lot of feelings about Jake “Hangman” Seresin

Warnings: more angst this time around ya'll, explicit language

A/N: Part eight! I low-key love this part & I really hope y'all do too! My apologies, in advance :) Tag-list is at the bottom, go ahead and send me a message or reply to this post if you'd like to be added for future parts of this story. Most importantly, I hope you enjoy! Also hope you forgive me for the angst here lol <3 If you'd like to go back and read part 1, you can do that here. Or, read part 2. Or 3. Or 4. Or 5. Or 6. Or 7. Also, check out my playlists for the dynamic of each guy & reader, you can do that here: Hangman x Reader & Rooster x Reader

...

8:

The walk across base was longer than you anticipated. Not by distance, though. The air hangar where Bradley holed up after training wasn’t actually that far from the common rooms. The weight of your heart that dropped and landed somewhere between your chest and stomach makes every step ache, though, your feet heavy as you cross the street towards the large metal building. Natasha told you where to find him after you sent a text labeled “urgent” her way as you stormed away from Jake. Part of you wishes that you didn’t, wishes you would have thought about it for half a second before walking out on him. He looked hurt, after all, but you had to see Bradley. Foolish as it was, you had to make sure he’s okay. He might not even want to see you, might have nothing to say to you – you’re not even sure you can stand to see him after last night. Regardless, you had to try and figure it out. You can’t leave without knowing. 

It’s a quiet evening on base, the tension palpable in the air, the silence washing over you as you stumble out of the impending night and into the air hangar. The scent of oil and jet fuel fills your nose, your stomach churning in an unconscious response. A familiar tune plays faintly in the hangar, echoing off the metal walls, and you hum along quietly to yourself as you pad across the concrete floors in search of Bradley. 

You cross behind the small jet sitting in the middle of the hangar, admiring its glory, stopping briefly in front of an open electrical panel. Bradley’s soft humming mixes with yours, pulling your attention from the plane. You step away and continue making your way around, your eyes landing on him. Bradley sits at his work bench on the opposite side of the hangar, tinkering with tools you can’t name. He rarely looked up while working, getting lost in the tools and parts, a fine line settling between his brows as he pieces together the puzzle he’d made for himself. You sigh, taking in the sight of him from behind: his broad shoulders strained underneath his black t-shirt as he works, his light brown hair flecked with gold as the setting sun casts him in the few remaining minutes of light. You fight the urge to sneak up on him from behind and slide your hands down the front of his chest around to his back and press your body against his. It’s odd, acknowledging that the urge is still there, even after the events of last night. You’ll always care for him though. That urge might always exist. 

Looking over your shoulder out the garage door, you spy the sun halfway through its descent in the sky, painting the base in a golden orange hue, shadows stretching over the concrete outside. It’s something to behold. You breathe in and let your eyes fall shut for a moment. Birds call to one another in the darkening sky, inviting one another home for the evening, returning to their beds for the night. You consider for a moment calling Bradley away from his work, asking him to return home with you, but you remain in your spot, knowing he won’t return your call. So, why do you secretly hope he does? You don’t want him to come with you, do you? You’re upset with him, aren’t you? Maybe not. Maybe your love for him will always eclipse your disappointment. You came here to check in on him, after all. Or, was that really all? Maybe you’re hoping for more and maybe that’s foolish, especially with Jake on the other side of the door.

“I know you’re there,” Bradley says, breaking the silence. You turn back and find him spun around in his seat, wiping his hands on a stained white towel, his eyes intent on you. He doesn’t smile. Neither do you. 

“You caught me,” you reply, holding your hands up in innocence. He cracks a small smile at your gesture and your heart pulls at your chest. “What are you working on?” 

Bradley sighs, rising from his seat and tossing the rag onto the workbench. His brows knit together as he looks from his tools to you. He shrugs and tucks his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “You want to talk about the electrical panel of an old F-15?” 

“Well, I thought we might ease into the other stuff…”

“I didn’t think you’d come looking for me.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“I figured you wouldn’t want to see me after last night.” 

“I admit, it’s a little harder to recognize you without that blonde woman all over you.” The words feel like venom on your tongue and you watch them cut him, his lips flattening into a thin line. Restraint is difficult for you today, it seems. You sigh, not quite regretting the words, but not proud of them, either. 

“Okay, I deserve that.” He shifts his weight from one foot to another, crossing and then uncrossing his arms in the same breath. He sighs, running a hand roughly along his jawline. The action is familiar to you, a physical manifestation of his discontent. “You’re mad. I get it, I don’t expect you to forgive me.” 

“I can never stay mad at you, Bradley, that’s the problem.” It’s quiet for a moment, crickets chirping loudly in the distant night. You watch as Bradley’s face softens as he takes in your words, a wave of relief washing over him. You’re not finished, though. Taking a breath, you gain the courage to continue. “Why’d you do it?”  

“I don’t know.” 

“Bradley,” you breathe, shaking your head. “You have to be honest with me. I mean, we have to be honest with each other now. Please.”

He sucks in a breath, his eyes dropping to the floor. “She works there – at the Hard Deck. We’ve flirted a handful of times over the years and she came onto me last night. I didn’t push her away because I was scared.” 

“Scared?” 

He nods. “And upset.” 

You look at him as he reconnects his eyes with yours, confusion apparent in your gaze. 

Sighing, he continues. “Scared to get close to you again because of this mission. I don’t know what’s gonna happen out there. If I get picked, I don’t know if I’ll come back.” 

You choke on your breath, the air hitching in your throat. The gravity of the situation hits you, knocking at your chest, but you remain standing in your place, curious to hear him out. He watches you intently, his eyes softening as he sees the realization hit you. 

“Upset because,” he begins, “because I saw you with Hangman.” 

“Bradley, I-” 

“Not just last night. I saw you the first night, kissing him, before you knew I was here. You looked happy, care-free. I hadn’t seen you like that in a long time, so I left you alone. I thought, maybe, I could let you be happy, you know, let you have your fun. And then we ran into each other the next night and I then knew I couldn’t.” 

You’re not sure what to say, but thankfully Bradley continues on. 

“And then he kept looking at you.” 

“Hangman?” 

Bradley just nods.

“And that bothered you?”

“Still does… but then you smile back at him,” he says, “and I know I’m just fucking everything up and pushing you away, pushing you into him, but I don’t know what to do.” 

A tinge of pain strikes your chest hearing him reference exactly what Hangman said to him earlier in the day. He’d clearly taken it to heart, just as you suspected. A feeling of guilt follows, knowing you heard everything. 

You take a step into him, curious to see if he’ll move. To your surprise, he does, taking a step towards you, too. Your heart thumps loudly against your chest as you pull him in for an embrace, wrapping your arms around his middle, your hand rubbing his back, working to soothe him. He relaxes under your touch, exhaling a heavy breath. Your head fits perfectly under the curve of his chin, his head resting in the soft nest of your hair. 

“You don’t have to know what to do, Bradley. But you have to know what you want.” 

Silence feels the space between you, the song playing from the radio in the corner of the room seeming to grow in volume. He hums something low, his chest vibrating against you. The song is familiar, one you know he loves. Bradley starts to sway, his right hand staying in its place behind your back while the left skims your skin as he moves to lace his fingers through yours, holding your arms up at a loose ninety degree angle. You shake your head as he sings along quietly to the music. You look up at him, but he’s already looking at you, his expression soft, his eyes on your lips.

“I want to dance,” he sighs. “I love this song.” 

“I meant about us, Bradley.” 

“I know.” He spins slowly as the chorus of the song hits, pulling you closer to him. “Right now, I want us to dance.” 

“And what about later?” you press, steadying yourself against his chest. 

“Do we have to have a plan?” 

You nod. “A good plan prevents mishaps.” 

“They also are the killer of spontaneity and surprise.” 

“Since when are you the purveyor of spontaneity and surprise?” 

He hums. “Seeing you again reminded me how nice surprises really are.” 

“Bradley,” you whisper, shaking your head as he continues to sway along to the music. Looking up at him, into those enchanting brown eyes as he speaks such magic, you could choose to stay here with him forever. The sun is almost set now, shadows of the night casting across his face, highlighting the faded scars marking his left cheek. You reach up with your free hand and run your fingers across them.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, interrupting your private thoughts. “What do you want?” He spins you out of his grasp as the song fades out. For a moment, your fingers slip through his, but he catches you just in time, twirling you back into him. This time, he wraps his arms around you as your back is pressed against his front. He hugs your waist, dipping his head to rest in the crook of your neck. His breath is warm against the exposed skin underneath your ear. Lost in a haze of him, your eyes fall shut as you breathe him in.

“I want things to be different this time,” you begin. “But I can’t change it by myself.” 

He sighs, “I can’t change the job, you know that. I don’t know how much I can change.” 

You open your eyes now, your gaze landing on the far corner of the room with no real focus, your eyes blurry. Your stomach flips at his words, the sting no different than when he said them the first time two years ago. 

Swallowing hard, you open your mouth to say something, but you’re cut off by Bradley’s gentle gasp.

“What’s this?” he asks, lifting his head from your neck to brush his fingers through your hair, pushing the strands aside to get a better look. Your heart drops into your stomach, your breath catching in your throat. 

“Nothing,” you lie. Flinching, you lift your hand to your neck, covering the mark Jake gave you last night. You’d totally forgotten. 

“What was that thing you said about honesty earlier?” He releases his grip on your waist and you spin around to face him, sighing. 

“It’s from last night,” you admit. “From Jake.” 

Bradley sucks in a breath. You think about explaining everything, telling him that what happened with Jake didn’t go any farther than this mark on your skin. Something stops you, though. What’s happening between you and Jake doesn’t involve Bradley. That was a decision you made and though it might have started in spite of Bradley, that didn’t mean he was entitled to know. After all, you’re here with Bradley, not Jake. You’re asking him to change, not Jake. Shouldn’t that be enough?

“What does he want?” Bradley asks, breaking the silence. 

You look up at him. “I don’t know. I came to you.” 

“What if I can’t give you what you want?”

“Then I think I should give you your sweatshirt back.” 

He shakes his head. “Keep it.” His voice is soft as he speaks, as if the undeniable truth of the fate of the two of you is just starting to hit him. “Just don’t light it on fire this time, hmm?” He raises an eyebrow, his lips lifting into a half-smile. 

“I promise,” you reply, wrapping your arms around him. He looks taken aback, but he doesn’t stop you, wrapping his arms around you, too. His arms are strong around your waist and you breathe him in deeply, working to commit the smell of his cologne to memory. For a moment you think about kissing him, one last time, but you know you can’t. You shouldn’t. It’s bittersweet, this moment. But for once, you feel in control, saying what you need. This decision isn’t just his, it’s yours, too. 

“So is this goodbye, then?” 

You look up at him, admiring the cutting edge of his jaw from below before your eyes find his.

“It’s ‘see you later’, Bradshaw,” you say, swallowing hard to hold back the tears threatening to escape. “After the mission at the Hard Deck – your friends are my friends now, remember?” 

He laughs lightly, nodding. “I’ll look forward to it.” 

The feeling of his lips on your cheek are the last thing Bradley leaves you with. As much as you wanted to stay, you couldn’t. He offered to drive you back to your room, but you couldn’t drag out your goodbye any longer. You untangled yourself from him and shared one last embrace before you left the hangar and wandered out into the cold night. 

You’d released Bradley. You should feel lighter, but you don’t. Something is still tugging at your chest and in that moment you realize it was never Bradley pulling the invisible string. It’s been Jake this entire time. 

Natasha was right: you had to see him through. You had to know what he wanted – why he came to see you earlier – but it’s anyone’s guess if he’ll see you now. Not likely after you left him for Bradley, after you accused him of being the villain. Sighing, you turn your head up to the dark sky and breathe in the night, the scent of salt water and damp sand filling your lungs, cleansing you from the inside out. 

...

Tag List: @arianna-bradshaw @n3ssm0nique @blue-aconite @supernaturaldawning @revolution-starter @saramaple @bittergomez @coco-loco-nut @unluckymonaghan @jointherebellion215 @supernaturalstuff83 @kkrenae @littlebear423 @shadeds-library @malums-trash-can @maggiedanikka  @rintheemolion @tallrock35 @thebeautifullydamnedone @slyther1nserpent 

A/N: Well, here it is, the long(??)-anticipated part 8! I'm honestly really curious to see what y'all think of this and where the story is going...What do we think of Bradley? Of reader? Of Jake? So many things! Also sorry it's kind of bittersweet, but that's kind of my favorite thing ever, sooo. Anywho, I hope y'all enjoy this -- your love on this fic and your kind words mean literally the world to me and these fics are all I can give in return <3333

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

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.

14/08/2022: MISS LURKYMURKER!!!!!!!! there is no way this isn’t a dream!!!! euro tripe rafe is back on this stupid little app and I AM BEAMING!!!! you are one of my favorite authors of all time and i will follow you to the grave. i read euro trip and then college trip and then managed to just drown in all your work at the beginning of this year (i used to be too shy to get off anon but i’ve been here for a while) and the thing is: i don’t even like rafe 😭😭😭 i came across your blog because i saw another author i really liked saying incredible things about you and just had to give your rafe a chance. AND I AM SO GLAD I DID!!! the way you write him in your universes is just so lovely i couldn’t help but fall in love???? all thanks to your beautiful brain and writing (i’ll be a mess when s3 comes out and euro trip rafe just isn’t there on my screen. life is so unfair.) ANYWAYS!!! all of this to say, i breathe and live for euro trip, the story has a very special place in my heart and SEEING YOU WRITE FOR THEM AGAIN- AM I DREAMING? i’m just crazy happy. here’s me just, idk even know… crying over them??? a super classy review (me when i lie) of this beautiful little nugget you decided to bless us with!!!

“Because you’d meant it. You’d asked him how he was, and you’d wanted to know he’d be okay. Rafe didn’t know whether he deserved that. He didn’t know whether he ever would.

And so, he’d run away.” sometimes i forget how insecure he’s always been :((((

“Rafe swallows. His mind fails to stray from the first voice he heard; the heart-squeezing pressure it places on his chest.” THE HEART-SQUEEZING PRESSURE IT PLACES ON HIS CHEST. dude!!!!! your writing!!!!! i visualize and i feel everything!!!!! how do you do this idk but WOW.

“The way his name falls from your lips is a sharp knife to his chest. And then you ask, “How are you?” and it plunges, twists, cuts deeper.” she’s being so kind and it just makes him hurt a little more my heart can’t survive this.

“Some space from Rafe should come as a welcome relief.

Except that it doesn’t.

All it tells you is that he isn’t himself, at a moment; a large part of him is hurting, and a small part of you wants to fix that.” THE FACT THAT THIS PRE EURO TRIP!!!!! THEY WERE JUST BABIES, THEIR FEELINGS WERE STILL SO VERY MESSY AND CONFUSING I LOVE THEM!!! SHE WANTS TO FIX IT ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️

and then he bumps her chin!!!!! because of course physical touch is rafe’s thing, i missed him so much!!!!

“you pause, you trail off, you soften your expression and watch Rafe’s falter,” i love the way they are not exactly mirroring each other but it’s more of a action-reaction kind of thing, you know? soulmates since forever!!!!!

“And perhaps that’s why this hurts so much; why the comfort of your presence is crushing pressure to his chest. Because letting himself yearn for you — want you, hope to have you, one day — means letting himself love, feel love, feel it all.

Including that which he lost.” i am in so much pain right now.

“Why?” He teases; he’ll break if he answers honestly, he isn’t sure he’ll survive it. Bad, he thinks, I’m doing fucking bad and you’re going to make it worse before you can make it better,” BAD, HE THINKS, I’M DOING FUCKING BAD AND YOU’RE GOING TO MAKE IT WORSE BEFORE YOU CAN MAKE IT BETTER!!!!!!!!!! favorite fucking line!!!!!! just crush my heart.

“He swallows. He tries to find something else to say; something stupid and meaningless that’ll push you away.

He can’t.” of course he can’t!!!!!!!! he’s always been so honest with her!!!! and especially now that he’s so vulnerable, his mom’s death is still so recent… he can’t!!!!!! ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️

“He resists the urge to reach out and brush his fingers over your skin, ensure that you’re real, you’re here, you’re worried about him.” god he’s always been so in love i almost forgot he’s just so drawn to her, like a magnet. i can feel how strong the urge to reach out to her is for him!!!!!!!!! i love the way you write i really do i am in love!!!!!

“You’re here. You were here three months ago, when the wound was still fresh, and it may not be close to healed, yet, but you’ll still be here when it is.” ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

“A friend,” Rafe affirms with a nod. “A friend who I make out with sometimes?”

“And there he is,” Topper says then, throwing an arm over your shoulder as he brings up your rear. “Knew all it’d take was a conversation with you.” A FRIEND WHO I MAKE OUT WITH SOMETIMES QUESTION MARK… I HATE HIM, I HAVE SO MANY BUTTERFLIES ON MY STOMACH RIGHT NOW!!!!!! and really love that we get a little bit of playfulness here because he never lets himself crack open too much!!!! I’M IN LOVE WITH HIM and i love topper’s comment.

“Thank you. Seriously,” his breath is spicy mint, faint raspberry.

“I didn’t do anything,” you answer meekly, folding your arms across your chest. Your forearms brush his as you do so, warm sunshine with rippling muscles.

“You did,” he says, disarmingly sober. “You always do.” these tiny little interactions pre-euro trip make me swoon!!!!!! they kill me from the inside out!!!! it’s all so delicate and intimate and it’s just too much and not enough and it’s everything!!!!! SHE DOESN’T EVEN REALIZE HOW IMPORTANT SHE IS TO HIM!!!!! JUST HER PRESENCE WAS ENOUGH!!!!!!! my favorite interactive in this part.

“But I want to sit with you,” Rafe grins easily, nudging your shoulder with his.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 he’s adorable and i’m devastated he isn’t real.

so beautifully written as always!!!! you never miss!!!!

Euro trip blurb: august

Synopsis: Rafe remembers when wanting was enough. (For him, it was enough, to live for the hope of it all)

Warnings: mentions of a parent death, cursing, angst, fuckboy Rafe in full force

a/n: I think this is one of the earliest blurbs I’ve written! Set in the summer before junior year, right after Lillian passed. I remember mentioning that Rafe spent a lot of time avoiding Y/n during the aftermath, because a part of him knew that letting her in would mean letting everything else in too. Here’s some perspective!

“I can’t decide,” the girl whines, the space between her collarbones forming an osculate as she sighs. She angles her body toward Rafe’s expectantly, fresh sunlight bathing her skin burnt amber, faint tones of sepia. “You pick,” she decides, handing him the two spoons in her hand. “Raspberry sorbet or matcha?”

Rafe Cameron doesn’t bother. He places them into the container in front of him untouched, neat movements juxtaposing the sloven way he pulls her close. His lips are firm, impatient enough to leave her breathless; the careless kind of ardency she may define as yearning.

She’d be wrong.

Rafe hasn’t let himself feel anything since his mother’s death. When he bruises her with kisses, tastes the sea-salt, honeysuckle on her skin, it’s because he’s running away.

“Raspberry,” he says when he pulls away, giving her waist an absent squeeze. There’s a barely there imprint of cherry chapstick on his lips, brilliant red that swirls hints of sweet sorbet.

She nods her approval, turning toward the counter to place her order. And when Rafe does the same, when he reaches around her and pays (with clean wad of cash, leaving a tip that’s almost outrageous — even for him), he feels overwhelmingly as though he’s just going through the motions.

Summer’s been hard.

His mother passed away three months ago, today, and all he’s done since then is avoid, avoid, avoid. His father, his younger sisters, his responsibilities, the majority of his friends; all the things he loves, all the things he deserves — you.

Most especially, Rafe’s avoiding you.

Because when he’d walked into class two days after her funeral, red-rimmed pupils with pockets of insomnia beneath the lids, you’d looked up at him and asked, “Hey, how are you doing?”

And you’d done it in that soft, aching voice you never used; it was gentle, genuine, and it’d broken Rafe’s heart cleanly in two.

Because you’d meant it. You’d asked him how he was, and you’d wanted to know he’d be okay. Rafe didn’t know whether he deserved that. He didn’t know whether he ever would.

And so, he’d run away.

Weeks and weeks of missed periods, of stumbling into Noah White’s house dangerously half-cut, and then, at the helm of another cruel summer, opportunistic hook-ups with every girl in his class.

Except you.

“…and then, Lacy said her older brother can totally hook us up!”

Rafe blinks.

“So?” The girl adds, bringing a spoonful of ice-cream to her mouth. “You in?”

“Huh?” Rafe asks then, rubbing the back of his neck distractedly. Endless hours in the sun have lightened the tips of his hair; he’s let them grow out, tease through the frayed edges of his baseball cap.

“Lacy’s?” The girl repeats, brow furrowing a little. “The party? Are you even listening?”

“Oh,” Rafe falters, he shakes his head, he expertly avoids eye contact, “yeah, sure Liz.”

“Yay!” The girl named Liz exclaims, nudging his shoulder approvingly. The movement times perfectly with three sets of footsteps; the bell above Daily Scoop jingles, and in walks warmth, perplexing familiarity.

“Bring Noah,” Liz adds, though Rafe isn’t really listening. His heartbeat quickens. He feels the surface of his palms grow clammy.

“…it’ll be fun, I promise,” continues a voice, glowing and gentle and overwhelmingly soft. “Besides, they’re playing 10 things I hate about you, and you guys know how much I love Heath Ledger —”

“Dude,” groans a deeper voice in response; Topper, maybe Kelce, Rafe doesn’t really care, “you’ve made us watch that film like, a million fucking times already.”

“So? You don’t hear me complaining every time you guys rope me into spending my Sunday playing nine-holes —”

“Except that golf is actually fu— oh, shit, Cameron, is that you?”

Rafe swallows. His mind fails to stray from the first voice he heard; the heart-squeezing pressure it places on his chest.

“Oh, uh, hey,” he answers, turning toward the source of the commotion slowly. He hopes that his expression reads blithe disinterest, that being here with Liz gives you the wrong impression.

It doesn’t.

“Rafael,” you say slowly, taking him in. You haven’t seen much of him over the past three months; his hair is longer, his skin warmer, sunburnt. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His pert nose holds a smattering of brown freckles.

The way his name falls from your lips is a sharp knife to his chest. And then you ask, “How are you?” and it plunges, twists, cuts deeper.

Rafe needs it to stop.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says with a grin, swivelling his cap so it sits backwards on his head. He abandons his table with Liz to head over, all charm and smooth confidence, expertly hidden grief.

“Hey,” you repeat, raising your eyebrows in surprise.

Perhaps you didn’t expect him to approach you so easily. He’s been avoiding you like the plague since his mother’s funeral, and you know it shouldn’t bother you as much as it does. You’re the one who’s always complaining about his annoying grin, his annoying comments, his annoyingly relentless presence and the way he refuses to let up — aren’t you? Some space from Rafe should come as a welcome relief.

Except that it doesn’t.

All it tells you is that he isn’t himself, at a moment; a large part of him is hurting, and a small part of you wants to fix that.

“I’m good,” he answers with a grin, bumping your chin playfully. It’s a tendril of soft touch, but it’s heat enough to set nerve-endings aflame. “Better now that you’re here.”

You frown then, surveying him through narrowed eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant,” you mutter, a crease forming between your eyebrows. “I mean with…” you pause, you trail off, you soften your expression and watch Rafe’s falter, “…everything. Your mom. How are you doing?”

Rafe flinches, almost. The last few words are a barely there whisper, impossibly gentle, as though you care about his answer.

About him.

And perhaps that’s why this hurts so much; why the comfort of your presence is crushing pressure to his chest. Because letting himself yearn for you — want you, hope to have you, one day — means letting himself love, feel love, feel it all.

Including that which he lost.

Because, really, who on Earth’s capable of loving him as unconditionally as his mother did?

“Why?” He teases; he’ll break if he answers honestly, he isn’t sure he’ll survive it. Bad, he thinks, I’m doing fucking bad and you’re going to make it worse before you can make it better, and so, he adds, “You gonna cheer me up with a kiss?”

“Rafael,” you sigh, taking a tentative step forward. There’s half an inch between you, now, faint bergamot mingling with spicy cologne, musk. “Why are you being like this?”

It isn’t the response he expected, and the revelation burns his throat dry, coats his waterline with unshed tears. He swallows. He tries to find something else to say; something stupid and meaningless that’ll push you away.

He can’t.

“I don’t know,” his voice breaks, and he tries not to wince as he clears his throat. Topper and Kelce have long abandoned their posts on either side of you, burying themselves with a menu they’ve already perused a million times . “I’m… it doesn’t matter. Surviving. I’m surviving.”

“Well,” you start, chewing on your bottom lip gingerly. Rafe’s eyes fall to their raw surface, the contour of your jaw, your soft neck. He resists the urge to reach out and brush his fingers over your skin, ensure that you’re real, you’re here, you’re worried about him. “You’ve just… I don’t know. I never got to give you my condolences. I’m sorry, Rafael, I can’t even imagine how…”

You trail off, exhaling slowly. “…I’m here. If you want to talk —”

“— or not talk?” Rafe questions, but he’s grin now, crescent moon curve to his lips that meets the corners of his eyes. It’s the first time in a long while he’s let himself really smile.

You’re here. You were here three months ago, when the wound was still fresh, and it may not be close to healed, yet, but you’ll still be here when it is.

Rafe doesn’t know when the months slipped by; somewhere between his mother’s death, and now, he lost himself within loss, within mourning, endless grief. He doesn’t know when he stopped hoping for, wanting love; when he stopped living for the hope of it all.

He realises now that it doesn’t matter. Lillian Cameron wouldn’t have wanted her son to just give up.

“Will you just —” you pause, pinching the bridge of your nose frustratedly, “— I’m here, okay? As a friend.”

“A friend,” Rafe affirms with a nod. “A friend who I make out with sometimes?”

“And there he is,” Topper says then, throwing an arm over your shoulder as he brings up your rear. “Knew all it’d take was a conversation with you.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, fixing him a stern glare.

“He’s right, though,” he agrees with a wink, and then he pauses, dipping his head until he’s at eye level. This close, you can see specks of green within his blue irises. The tip of his pert nose is sunburnt. And when he adds, “Thank you. Seriously,” his breath is spicy mint, faint raspberry.

“I didn’t do anything,” you answer meekly, folding your arms across your chest. Your forearms brush his as you do so, warm sunshine with rippling muscles.

“You did,” he says, disarmingly sober. “You always do.”

His gaze lingers as he turns back around, and you try not to focus on the way your stomach flips, the way your breath catches at his words.

He’s returning to a table with Liz, you remind yourself, no doubt the millionth girl he’s taken out, kissed on the beach, this summer. You’re not special. He may look at you like you’re the only girl in the world, but you can’t be — not to a douchebag like him.

So, you don’t let his words get to you.

And when you decide to try out two new flavours (mint chocolate chip and raspberry sorbet — a combination that causes Topper to gag, violently), you try not to think about the fact that they taste like Rafe’s breath on your skin.

—

“I can’t believe you actually roped us into this crap,” Topper grumbles, nudging his way through the crowd with you and Kelce close behind. He halts nears an unoccupied patch of grass, crisp blades dried out by the unforgiving, Carolina heat.

“You guys are going to love it,” you insist, unrolling your plaid picnic blanket. The projector is a perfect distance away, cotton candy clouds overlaying large screen.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kelce scowls, setting down several snacks before getting comfortable. “You fucking owe us.”

You send him a saccharine sweet smile, stretching yourself out on the picnic blanket before reaching for a bag of Skittles. The air is thick with the scent of foxglove and forget-me-nots; it’s sticky humidity and cicadas, salty heat that reminds you of the beach.

“Come on,” you press, propping yourself up onto your elbows. You pop several Skittles into your mouth, chewing thoughtfully before continuing, “You haven’t even given it a chance. Just — just wait until the movie starts, alright? And then —”

“Wait a minute,” Topper interrupts; clearly, he wasn’t listening in the first place, “is that fucking —”

“Space for two more?”

You freezd. You recognise that voice; so well, in fact, that you know that the question is directed only at you.

“Uh,” you turn and lift your head, met with Rafe’s figure crouching down beside you. The burnt orange sunset lightens his irises; they look softer, somehow, more genuine than they did. “Why?”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “For me and Noah?”

“Can’t you guys, like,” you gesticulate awkwardly, floundering, “I don’t know, sit somewhere else?”

“But I want to sit with you,” Rafe grins easily, nudging your shoulder with his.

You frown. “This isn’t what I meant,” you say, eyes darting toward Noah furtively. “When I said I’m here, I didn’t mean you could crash every hang out I plan with Top and Kelce —”

“Sweetheart,” Rafe says then, and he’s almost laughing — how dare he? What about this is funny? “I wasn’t trying to crash your…”

He trails off slowly, trying to find the right words to say. He isn’t sure how he’s able to convey how much your Daily Scoop-side rendezvous meant to him; how very much you’ve helped him feel like himself again.

He feels like an idiot for ever avoiding you. He wants you — needs you to know that.

“…thank you,” he finishes, exhaling slowly. “For… for before, just — thank you, okay?”

For being you. It prompted him to cancel his plans with Liz, just in case, prompted him to drag Noah to the drive-in, just because. Reminded him how it felt to live for the hope of it all.

You may not have been his to lose, but Rafe Cameron held onto the promise of a future where you were.

—

tags: (just some besties) @notdisneychannel @r0und3bitch @destourtereaux @itsalexwin @flossiewrites :)

14/08/2022: OKAY!!! HERE WE GO!!! i read this one a couple of days ago and can’t stop thinking about it. this bradley has crawled inside of my brain and refuses to leave (and honestly, i don’t want him to!!!)

jordan, this is the first fic of yours i had the pleasure of reading and it blew me away?????!!!!!!! i read the sneak peak and just kept coming back to your profile to see if you had posted the full thing and then you did!!!! and i was so ready to dive into this!!! so now that i’ve (tried to) collected myself enough to try and write something of a coherent and worthy enough review, here it is! spoiler alert: it’s just me screaming over your beautiful writing :)

the description really had me hooked from the beginning, we love a smart, bratty girl!!!! i love her personality so much just as much as i love bradley’s and for you to be able to make her just as real and multidimensional… REAL TALENT!!! she’s opinionated and stands her ground and is funny and so smart!!! i just love her and think she’s such a good fit for rooster.

“Plus, he liked smart girls. There was something about them. It didn’t hurt that the ones he had come across were always a little prissy, a little spoiled - a little uptight.

A little bratty.” of course bradley rooster bradshaw has a thing for bratty girls. of fucking course.

“Over the last two weeks, you had been texting frequently, starting off the day with your Wordle scores and a fun fact. It was cheesy and a little nerdy, but you were a big trivia fan - and San Diego County Barstool Trivia Champion - and Bradley had wanted to impress you. It was important that he impressed you.” in love with both of them playing wordle together and separating little fun facts for each other???? bradley thinking it was important that he impressed her!!! he’s a whore but he’s such a romantic and kind of can’t help it??!!! he really likes her and wants to prove himself even with little things like this 🥺

“You were both on drink number two and the awkwardness of your earlier outburst hasn’t quite dissipated yet. The sexual tension on the other hand? If Bradley had thought it was high earlier, it was stratospheric now.” love this!!!!! LET’S GO STRATOSPHERIC!!!!

“If you’re gonna be a brat about it, at least get my title right, sweetheart,” he snapped, the first time all night. He shoved his knee in between your legs, widening the space between your thighs just slightly. “It’s Lieutenant.” no this whole ranking thing is making me go a little insane… just a little… of course he was gonna take the chance to correct her!!!

“Bradley hooked his foot around your barstool and dragged it even closer to him. You let out a squeak and had to brace yourself by holding onto his shoulders.” AND I HAVE PASSED AWAY. JUST LIKE THAT. ABSOLUTELY NO WORDS. HOW DARE YOU DO THIS?????? WHAT IS THIS?????

“And that was when he knew. Knew as well as the sun was going to rise tomorrow morning that you were going to fuck that night.” please stop i can’t functionnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn THIS IS SOOOSIDHSHHDHSD

“What the fuck did you say to her?” Phoenix hissed in Bradley’s ear, snapping him out of his daydream.

He startled and then gestured wildly. “It was going fine for a while and then I told her I was in the Navy and she started going on about defense budgets and misappropriating government property and Uncle Sam sucking my dick - I don’t know, Phoenix!” PHOENIX MY BFF LOVE OF MY LIFE, LOVE HER LITTLE CAMEO!!!! and bradley’s answer 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 the way he’s just so dumbfounded by their interaction so far!!! he’s so stupid!!! i am in love with him!!! this was so in character!!! you nailed it!!!

“Fuck. He wanted you - desperately. And worse than that, he liked you. Liked how smart you were, liked your sense of humor, liked you. And some part of him felt bad for setting you up.” AND WORSE THAN THAT HE LIKED YOU!!!!! YEAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! I LOVE IT WHEN WRITERS EMPHASIZE THIS LITTLE THING!!!!!! because liking someone means so much!!!! and him realizing he did kind of unintentionally hid what he does for a living from her because, let’s be honestly, it normally should’ve come up sooner than it did. anyways, i like that he understands!!!

“You let him take you by your elbow and guide - read drag - you towards the exit, barely stopping to allow you to grab your clutch off the bar top. Knowing Hangman and Phoenix were no doubt watching the entire series of events unfold, Bradley threw his middle finger up over his shoulder, and then let the door close firmly behind his back.” HOT!!!! THE MIDDLE FINGER!!! DRAGGING HER AWAY!!!!!! THIS IS DOING IT FOR ME!!!!

“No, I’m gonna take you home and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk straight in the morning, that sound good, sweetheart?” You nodded dumbly. “And for the record, it’s not a truck, it’s a Bronco.” STOP i just know he has the time of his life when he gets to correct her on anything!!!! like he finally has some advantage shhfhshcjshdhdhd AND HIS MOUTH IS SO FILTHY I LOVE HIM I CAN’T HELP IT.

“Fuck. Imagine if you weren’t so blissed out getting finger fucked and you could talk back at him? This time he let out a groan.” ABSOLUTELY NO WORDS. I NO LONGER EXIST. AGAIN WITH THE ADVANTAGE!!!!! AND THE FACT THAT HE’S DOING THIS TO HER YOU KNOW!!!! IT’S ALL HIM!!!! ROOSTER’S EFFECT!!!!! I CAN SEE HIS EGO INFLATING LIKE A BALLOON!!!!

“Shh, shh, that’s a good girl, yeah? Such a good girl for me.” NOT A GOOD GIRL DROP. INSANE INSANE INSANEEEEEEEEEEE.

“A few moments later, the Bronco practically rolled into his driveway on two wheels. Thankfully, Bradley had left the porch light on so the house wasn’t entirely dark. You looked at the house critically and he desperately wanted you to like it.

It was important to him that you liked it.” NO BECAUSE HE WAS ALREADY UNCONSCIOUSLY THINKING ABOUT THE FUTURE OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP!!! HE NEEDS HER TO LIKE THE HOUSE!!!!! HE’S SUCH A ROMANTIC I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL!!!!!! i love this change in the narrative in between their heated moments so much. it adds so much depth because it’s slowly becoming so much more than just lust. i feel it’s always been a little morr than just lust with them? ❤️‍🩹

AND THEN HE CARRIES HER FROM THE CAR TO THE HOUSE!!!!!! EVER THE GENTLEMAN!!!! I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!!

“In turn, you smacked his back. “And you would know all about that - making demands. Hostage negotiations, CIA blacksites - mmmhh!” she’s ridiculous i love her and this made me laugh!!!

“Navy’s good for one thing, I guess,” you muttered against Bradley’s neck while your hands ran over his body.” SPEAK YOUR TRUTH!!!

“When he eventually pulled away, your eyes met, and he rested his forehead against yours.” favorite little detail 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 tenderness in the middle of so much frantic want!!!!

“Fuck me, Bradley - please?”

You said his name. Not lieutenant or asshole or some other slightly condescending moniker. You said Bradley. As in you wanted him - the guy who had originally asked you out. The one you had tried so hard to impress all those days and nights spent texting.

And who was he to say no to that?” was he getting a little insecure? MY BABYYYYYYY I GO BALLISTIC WHEN HE GETS EMOTIONAL!!!!

“Please,” you whimpered sometime later. It was a simple, one word response, but it proved to be his undoing.” i forgot the name of this kink but rooster definitely has it!!!!! anyways IT PROVED TO BE HIS UNDOING????? DUDE I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH.

AND PAUSE- NOT HER TRYING TO TALK ABOUT CO2 EMISSIONS WHILE RIDING HIM HOW IS HER BRAIN STILL FUNCTIONING LIKE THAT??? in the next line of dialogue i know she doesn’t remember the amount or whatever but the fact that she even tried to bring it up shdgshchhshdhdhd silly!!!

“The absolutely blissed out expression on your face made him groan. “God, look at you now, all cock dumb for me. What happened to that smart girl from before?” GODDDDDDDDDDD.

AND THEN HE LISTS THE PRESIDENTS I CAN’T-

“Good boy,” you just managed to get out before Bradley really felt himself losing control.” IT WASN’T ENOUGH FOR YOU TO THROW THAT GOOD GIRL IN MY FACE YOU HAD TO BRING A GOOD BOY DROP INTO THIS AND EXPECT MY BRAIN TO STILL BE ABLE TO ABSORB ANYTHING AFTER? how???? and the fact that he likes it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ugh!!!!!!

“Gotta wait a couple more dates before we start talking about kids, sweetheart.” THE WAY MY STOMACH STARTED CARTWHEELING OVER HERE LIKE IT’S THE FUCKING OLYMPICS MY GOD. FAVORITE FUCKING PIECE OF DIALOGUE I DON’T EVEN KNOW ANYTHING ANYMORE.

“You both laid there, side by side, chests rising and falling heavily. Fuck. Neither of you knew what to say - if there even was something to say. It had never been like that with anyone else - ever.” IT’S NOT LIKE THIS WITH OTHER PEOPLE!!!! between all the banter and teasing they just really like each other so much!!!!! yeah!!!!

“So, how do we really feel about the stache?” You brought your finger up to his mouth and dragged it across his mustache and then to his lips.” skchjsjdjdjdjdjd i love her!!! and this is my second favorite detail. but absolutely do not mess with the mustache.

“You’ll change your mind after riding my face.” WHORE!!!

“He kissed your nose. “You know us military guys, ready with a moment’s notice.” You yawned. “Or maybe not…” i think i take it back, this might be my favorite detail. the fact that he notices the yawn and probably of course notices that she’s getting tired and sleepy so no round 2 for them at that moment but maybe later 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 rooster my beloved!!!! (the bar is very low i am aware).

“He so rarely allowed himself that time during the week - the ability to ‘just do’ and not over think everything. To do whatever he wanted. But that Saturday morning was different.

Because that Saturday you were there.” HELL YEAH BECAUSE THAT SATURDAY YOU WERE THERE AND IT CHANGES EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!!!

“Morning,” he rasped as he opened his eyes. You were staring at him, looking like a deer in headlights. “How’d you sleep?” like a deer in headlights! i love this comparison, it made me visualize the scene perfectly!!!

AND YOU HAD TO GIVE US A SCARE I REALLY THOUGHT SHE WAS GONNA LEAVE FOR GOOD I WAS STARTING TO GET SO SAD. very mean of you.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” He tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t hide his smile or the relief he had felt.” ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 babies!!!! it was all for fun and giggles, a little humor in the morning!!!

“You know, I’ve been thinking…”

“Smart girl.” FUCKING KILL ME.

“You ignored him. “You already fly in that death trap plane and can handle all the g-force so the astronaut training programs shouldn’t be - don’t look at me like that, all surprised I know what g-force is, I’m not an idiot.” i can see him just staring at her in awe while talking about this!! i can see it!!!! he’s so amused!!!!

“He wasn’t about to give up on this just yet.” *JUST INSERT SO MANY HEART EMOJIS* one of my favorite lines!!!!!

“He pulled his lips away from yours. “- Wait, wait - it’s not okay for me to exploit foreign nations, but it’s okay for me to potentially colonize space?”

You straddled his waist, barely moving your lips away from his neck as you gave a reply. “Shh, shh, we can work out the details later…” no because i’ve been watching for all mankind on apple tv+ for the past month and that’s exactly the plot of the show (and there are so many elements in it that connect to the top gun universe) like, bradley’s right on this one sjdhjshdjdjdsjjdjd this made me laugh!!! and it was a perfect ending for the part 1 of their story!!!! i love their relationship so much!!! i love the way you write!!!!!!

and even when we’re wrong in every way, we come out the other side okay [part ½]

Summary: in which lieutenant bradshaw has a thing for smart girls - and maybe ones who hate his guts on principle. a lie by omission is still a lie after all and bradley never exactly told you what he did for work…

OR you take on the us military industrial complex one hinge date at a time…well sort of

Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral (m receiving), vaginal fingering, p in v, and slight dom/sub and praise and rank kink elements), idk basically she’s a bit of a brat? and he likes it? it’s kind of filthy, but it’s supposed to be kind of funny and a little silly?

A/N: thanks to everyone who liked the sneak peek and provided such positive feedback! but i really have to give a shout out to my buddy sol (desertsagecelestial) for being the absolute best sounding board with this fic! definitely check out her wip, it’s amazinggggg. anyway, enjoy! (9.9k) Part 1.5

Continuar lendo

13/08/2022: i’m just wanna start this by apologizing. i’m sorry this review is ridiculously long and very stupid because it’s just me copy and pasting my favorite parts and screaming and throwing up over them with emojis. may, your work is probably the best i have read in a really long time. i connect with it so much, your writing makes me feel so much!!!! i was so excited when you said you were working on a rooster fic (because i read bad habit when it came out and almost passed away!!!) and then i finally read this one and it just… no words. it was EVERYTHING. this is everything. anyways you’re super crazy talented and here is me screaming and throwing up because of your lighting in a bottle:

“Suddenly he’s taller than Goose ever was, older, ranked higher. He wants to say, wait, hold on, go back. Wants to rewind to a time when he felt closer to his father, when he could remember what his voice sounded like, what it felt like when he tucked him into bed. When he thought if he just sat by the front door long enough, his father would inevitably walk through it again, hoist him into the air, and press tickling kisses to his cheeks.” THIS MUST HURT SO MUCH. the imagery of bradley growing further away from his dad because he’s going to keep living and now the years are passing and WHAT THEN WHEN HE HITS THE AGE GOOSE WAS WHEN HE DIED???? WHAT THEN WE HE GROWS EVEN OLDER???? it’s cruel. it hurts. it shouldn’t happen this early.

“Part of Bradley thinks it’s unfair, his whole world crashing down and him not even remembering it. Like he’s arriving late for a movie and can’t make sense of the plot.” this makes me really sad. it’s a horrible feeling.

“Mav doesn’t say much, just drives him back to his college dorm and pulls over to the curb, doesn’t even turn off the car. They sit there in silence, with the blinker going and the engine purring.

Finally, Mav says, “Sometimes, you remind me so much of your father, it scares me.” OOOOOOOOOOOOH STOP IT. I CAN HEAR HIS VOICE!!!!!!!

“So it’s like Bradley always suspected. It really is a futile thing, trying to escape the memory of his father. His ghost lives inside Bradley’s chest. Rattles against his bones.” i love descriptions that make these feelings and emotions go literally bone-deep!!!!!! it makes it so much more weighted to me, idk???? i love it. and this one HURT!!

“And he loves him, even if he doesn’t remember him. Thinks that love is some intrinsic, primordial thing. Something that was there before he was born and will be there after he dies. Something he can’t fight. Unstoppable like the tide.” I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS IDEA!!!! IN LOVE!!!!

“It’s good for a while because it feels like he has a purpose, a goal. For so long, Bradley has been drifting at sea, unmoored, unbound, with no sense of direction. Now he’s swimming toward something, broad strokes, every move deliberate.” he was just starting to find himself a little bit only for that to be taken away from him, it’s so sad!!!!

“So Bradley remembers his mother every time he gets into a car. But his dad? Him, he can only get above the clouds.” no!!!!!! no no no because this just adds so much more weight to the “talk to me, dad.” scene in the movie. he only feels close enough to goose in the sky!!! when he’s flying!!!!!! beautiful!!!!!!

AND THEN YOU HAVE TO REMIND ME HE GRADUATED AND HAS NO ONE TO CELEBRATE IT WITH HOW DARE YOU???!!!!!!! everyone in his class with family members and loved ones cheering around while he’s just there by himself…

“His mother always used to say he was a functional dreamer. He had his head stuck in the clouds, sure, but he knew exactly when to pull it out of there too. Maybe that’s why he’s such a good pilot.” FUNCTIONAL DREAMER!!!!!! because he never allows himself to get lost in it too much. oh. i need to know his entire birth chart right now. his sun, his moon, his rising, HIS VENUS, OH GOD.

“So Bradley still is a functional dreamer. He knows that this is something he can never have, can never allow himself to have. He knows the pain of it too well, too intimately, still feels it every time he catches sight of his reflection in a mirror, the golden streaks of sun in his hair, the mustache, the split second of pure, blank horror, of oh god I look like him, I look so much like him, and feels it slice right through him like a knife through butter. He’s been carrying his father’s ghost for so long, sometimes it feels like his spine will crack under the weight.” STOP JUST STOP THIS IS TOO MUCH. i’m feeling all of it with him!!!!!!

“And then he meets you.” gets me every fucking time!!!!! AND THEN HE MEETS YOU AND OF COURSE IT CAUSES A RECKONING INSIDE HIS HEART I CAN’T DO THIS-

“A smile that settles in his heart. A smile that’ll never leave again.” beautiful!!!!!!

“I don’t think….” He trails off, wonders why it’s so easy for him to talk to you, why he can’t stop spilling truths like leaking water taps. “I don’t think I’ll be good for you.” PLEASE STOP ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ SPILLING TRUTHS LIKE LEAKING WATER TAPS YOU ARE A POET!!!!!!!!

“For the first time, it feels like he knows peace, even with his feet on the ground.” EVEN WITH HIS FEET ON THE GROUND BECAUSE HE LOVES FLYING SO MUCH ITS A NEED ITS WHAT KEEPS HIM GOING BUT ON THE GROUND HE HAS YOU!!!!!!!!! ENOUGHHHHHHHH

idk why but i love when people use the word “ache” in their descriptions it makes my stomach flip flop like crazy!!! such a good word!!!!

“It doesn’t matter that he loves you. It doesn’t matter that he only feels at peace when he’s with you. It doesn’t matter that for the first time since he was four years old, the ghosts have gone quiet.” SHUT UP!!!!!!!! THE GHOST HAVE GONE QUIET!!!!!!!!!!!!

“give you a child.” NOT THIS TINY LITTLE PEACE BY TAYLOR SWIFT REFERENCE YOU ARE SO CRUEL!!!!!!

“Only you don’t leave.” HELL YEAH!!!!! CLING TO HIM!!!!!

AND THEN YOU FOLLOW THIS UP WITH “I want you more,” you say, and that’s that.” SHE WANTS HIM MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“And Bradley - selfish as he is - accepts it. Because he doesn’t want to lose you. Because as much as he tries to convince himself of the opposite, deep down, he knows he’s not a good man. Just like his father wasn’t. They’re both just men willing to leave the people they love behind. Brave enough to fight for the “greater good”, but never brave enough to stay.” it breaks my heart that he sees himself and goose that way. selfish and not good????? bradley… 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“And sometimes, when you’re asleep, Bradley puts his hand on your stomach and imagines a bump there, imagines a baby growing beneath it, and that’s when the ache gets so strong he thinks he can’t breathe.” THE IMAGERY OF THIS BROUGHT ACTUAL TEARS TO MY EYES!!!!! AND THE WORD ACHE AGAIN!!!! BECAUSE IT HURTS SO FUCKING MUCH!!!!!!

AND THEN HE DREAMSSSSSSS “He dreams he’s thirty-five, and he marries you. He dreams he’s thirty-six and holding his baby. He dreams it’s a little girl with your smile and his eyes, and he loves her more than he thought he was capable of, so much it almost breaks him apart, so much it puts him back together. So much it’s worth it all.” this is so so beautiful i can’t think about any other adjectives my brain has stop functioning.

“It’s all he can allow himself—an ocean in a seashell.” NOT ME CRYING BECAUSE OF A SEASHELL COMPARISON YOU ARE SO EVIL.

“Up in that F-14, that’s when he realizes. The brink of death is a bleak place. It’s a place of memories, a place of despair. It’s a place of hope.” IT’S A PLACE OF HOPE!!! THE CATHARSIS OF IT AL!!!!!!!

“It used to be a relief. Nobody to mourn me after I’m gone. Now it feels like a punishment.” i just really love this character development.

“Your hands leave wet prints against the fabric of his shirt, like something primeval pressed to cave walls, like something that’s been happening for centuries, something that is happening right now, something that will happen again tomorrow and next year and the year after that, and distantly, dumbly, Bradley thinks, Oh. I’m alive. I’m here.” I THINK THIS IS MY FAVORITE PART??????????????????????????? their love is infinite it’s been happening forever for centures and at that moment!!! and it circles back to the beginning when you wrote “Thinks that love is some intrinsic, primordial thing. Something that was there before he was born and will be there after he dies. Something he can’t fight. Unstoppable like the tide.” THE PRIMORDIAL CONNECTION!!!!! SOMETHING THAT WAS THERE BEFORE HE WAS BORN AND WILL BE THERE AFTER HE DIES AND WITH HER IT’S THE SAME THING!!!!! yep. favorite part. favorite quote.

“Suddenly, the thought of you alone in this house is unbearable. Waiting for a man that never comes back. History repeating itself in the worst of ways.” but he came back!!!!!!! it’s okay!!!!!!!!

and then he says he wants to have a baby and she says no!!!!!! because it’s too much all at once she compromised!!!! she became the same type of functional dreamer bradley was before he met her!!! she wanted him more so she got used to the idea of never having one. so much pain.

“Suddenly, he feels a sob building in his throat. To realize how much he’s hurt you, not just today by springing this on you, but by how selfish he was, again and again. By letting his past stand in the way of your future.” STOP PUNCHING ME IN THE GUT!!!!!

“But losing you… Bradley always assumed he was going to be the one to go first.” KILL ME NOW.

“I…” And he knows he’s the one who brought it up, but suddenly all the doubts come crashing down. Suddenly the ghosts crowd around him. “What if I die? What if I leave you? What if we have a baby and I’m not… there?” he’s so scared he’s always been so scared and sad. i want him.

“Oh, Bradley…” Something on your face melts. You step closer, put a hand on his cheek, fingertips still pruned from the water, and say, so gently it breaks something open inside of him, “Bradley. You’re not your father.” and then the dam breaks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AND THEN YOU WRITE THE MOST HEART BREAKING PIECE OF WRITING EVER WRITTEN:

“For so long, Bradley was trying to let go of a world that didn’t want him to leave. He’s been preparing for an early exit since he entered, has been so caught up in dreaming he forgot to live. So caught up in thinking he forgot to do. He thought he would be content to go out of this world and leave nothing behind, to disappear without a trace, without a word, without a ghost.

But now he sees it clearly. Now he understands.

Bradley doesn’t want to stop existing. He wants to cling to this world like someone clinging to the edge of a cliff, like a leech, like a cancer. He wants to haunt someone.”

i have no words. i am just crying and throwing up everywhere because this is SO HEAVY THERE IS SO MUCH TO UNPACK HERE AND IT IT SAD AND BEAUTIFUL AND IT CRACKED MY HEART OPEN!!!!!

when you threw in the carol flashback ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

“Bradley has thought about his life in boxes. Big cardboard ones, the kind you get when you move apartments. He tucks the good parts away beneath his bed, stows them, hoards them like a secret. Like his mother kept her grief. But all the bad parts - the pain and the sadness and the sorrow - those he lets pile up everywhere, in hallways, in living rooms, on kitchen tables. He stumbles over them on his way to the bathroom. He stubs his toe halfway to the closet.” PLEASE STOP MAKING ME CRY!!!!!

“This long, terrible, winding road that led him here. That led him to you.” this reminds me of one of my favorite songs of all time “ceilings” by lizzy mcalpine where she says “Lovely to sit between comfort and chaos” there’s so much good in the bad and bad in the good. it’s all mixed together. it’s life. it’s sad and beautiful and it rips us open and there is chaos and comfort and sometimes the worst things can lead you to your happy ending!!! anyways!!!

AND THEN SHE REMINDS HIM THEY ALREADY HAVE A LIFE TOGETHER!!!!!!! THIS WHOLE TIME IT HASN’T BEEN LEADING UP TO ANYTHING. IT’S BEEN HAPPENING ALL THIS TIME!!!! beautiful. i love her for reminding him. i love you for making her remind him.

“Bradley Bradshaw,” you say, and there’s only a little bit of amusement in your voice, “you’re the love of my life.” ROMCOM MOMENT EXCELLENT!!!! except where is no com here!!!!! no comedy!! i am a crying mess!!!

“Bradley feels like somebody’s poured liquid sunlight into his chest.” 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

and then it starts going frantic and they go to the counter because of course they do!!!! I LOVE IT WHEN THEY GO TO THE COUNTER!!!!!! TURN IT UPPPPPPPPP!!!!!

his breeding kink. if i speak- (so many thoughts going through my head!!!!!!!)

“He surges forward, lips against yours again, and you’re so alive beneath him, heart racing, breath heaving, fingers grappling along his neck, his shoulders, his chest, his arms, and Bradley wants to devour you. Wants to sink his teeth into all this life and never let it go again. He wants to exist, right here, in this moment with you forever.” HE WANTS TO EXIST, RIGHT HERE. IN THIS MOMENT WITH YOU FOREVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR probably my second favorite part i love this!!!!!!!

“and the softness in your voice cracks something in him. He swears he could cry again.” I NEED TO KNOW THIS MAN’S ZODIAC SIGN RIGHT NOW!!!! THE SOFTNESS OF HER VOICE ALMOST MAKING HIM CRY AGAIN!!!!! GIVE ME HIS BIRTH CHARTTTTTTTTTTTTT (this made my tummy go a little crazy btw).

AND THEN HE WHISPERS “I’m gonna marry you”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i go feral for moments like this!!!!!!!!!!

“Bradley thinks he’s going to die, but this time it’s nothing like it was up in the F-14.” RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SMUT!!!!!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!!!!!

“Your mouth tips open, your eyes not straying from his for a second as he goes slow, as he goes deep, as he goes home. There’s an answer in that too.” AS HE GOES HOME!!!!!!!! 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

“and you’re all mine, and I’m yours.” i am, once again, screaming and crying and throwing up. he’s such a romantic!!!!!!!!!

“When he glances down at you, at the eyes wide with that much trust, as he realizes you would let him do just about anything to you, that you’ve both opened yourself to each other completely now, no barriers and no ghosts standing between you, it’s like a dam breaking.” NO BARRIERS!!!!!! NO GHOSTS!!!!!!!!!

AND THEN YOU THROW THE PILL IN THE MIDDLE OF IT ALL… AND HE DOESN’T EVEN WANNA THINK ABOUT IT BECAUSE IT’S TOO MUCH “Don’t say it. Let me live in this fantasy. Let me dream a little longer.”

“It’s the thought of it all - a bump beneath your dresses, a baby in your arms, tiny fingers wrapping around his thumb, it’s about the long, long stretch of life ahead of the two of you. It’s about a house filled with love and free of ghosts. It’s about the first glimpse of the ocean after listening to its roar in seashells all his life. It’s about giving himself over to you completely, after years of only dreaming of it.

Do you know? he wonders. Do you know that you’re holding his whole life in your hands?” THE SEASHELLS AGAIN!!!!!!! A HOUSE FILLED WITH LOVE AND FREE OF GHOSTS!!!!!! their happy ending!!!!!!! by this point i was a mess 😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️ you need to listen to “all my ghosts” by lizzy mcalpine i think you like magically translated everything that songs encapsulates into this story!!!!!!! anyways!!!! beautiful!!!!!!

“It’s never felt like this before - like dying and coming back alive.” NOT YOU WRITING THE MOST EARTH SHATTERING SMUT OF ALL TIME AND THROWING IN THESE THINGS IN THE MIDDLE OF IT THEY TAKE MY BREATH AWAY!!!! THERE’S SO MUCH EMOTION HERE, SO MUCH MEANING!!!!!!

“Bradley’s heart clenches. Maybe, he thinks, his ribcage is going to crack open. It seems impossible for one person to hold so much love inside.” 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 no words. just the crying emoji!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭

“I got you” I AM PASSING AWAYYYYYYYYY

“You shake your head, lift one hand to run a finger across his mustache the way you like to do sometimes.” favorite little detail!!!!!!

“I’m trying to keep my cum in you. Maybe we’re like super extra lucky, and it works out on the first try.” HE IS SO STUPID I AM IN LOVE WITH HIM.

“Then you’re laughing together, breathless, loud laughter, the bending-at-the-waist kind. The belly-hurting kind. The kind that doesn’t come often.

And it’s good. It’s beautiful. It’s the kind of peace he’s never known before but has wanted always, always, always.” ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

“I love you,” he says, “more than I thought I could love someone. Thanks for loving me back.” THANK FOR LOVING ME BACK?????? THIS IS MOST ROMANTIC SHIT I’VE EVER READ IN MY LIFE???????!!!!!!!! AND IT’S SO ROOSTER!!!!!

“For the first time, Bradley doesn’t think about dying, doesn’t think about leaving. He thinks about living. He thinks about staying.” AND THEN YOU END IT LIKE THIS!!!!!!!!!!! IT’S PERFECT.

perfect. perfect. perfect.

ocean in a seashell . ( rooster )

pairing ; bradley bradshaw x female!reader

synopsis ; bradley has lived with his father’s ghost for long enough to know he’ll never make the same mistakes he did. and then he meets you.

wc ; 10.5k i'm sorry

warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; bradley bradshaw's sad, sad life; angst, literally SO much angst; mentions of canon past character death; near-death experience; alcohol abuse; explicit language; explicit sexual content (breeding kink, cumplay, p in v, dirty talk, fingering, idk?)

note: ... yeah i don't fucking know either goodbye. stole the title from "sidelines" by phoebe bridgers aka god.

sol. sunderlust... none of this would be possible without you, thank you forever.

Bradley doesn’t remember much about his father.

These days, he recalls him only in fractions: Hawaiian shirts, mustache, hair that stood up spikey like grass covered in the first tentative November frost. He had big hands, Bradley remembers that, and he used to swing him up on his shoulders and let him ride around living rooms in Army commissioned houses they never stayed in longer than a few months. He always smelled of engine oil, and he played pianos like he didn’t even know the meaning of the word embarrassment.

Bradley based his whole life on the fading glimpses of that man he carries locked in the chambers of his heart. The older he gets, the more gaps he finds.

Suddenly he’s taller than Goose ever was, older, ranked higher. He wants to say, wait, hold on, go back. Wants to rewind to a time when he felt closer to his father, when he could remember what his voice sounded like, what it felt like when he tucked him into bed. When he thought if he just sat by the front door long enough, his father would inevitably walk through it again, hoist him into the air, and press tickling kisses to his cheeks.

Sometimes, Bradley wishes he could go back to when he thought bad things happened only in movies. When he had a father and a mother and an uncle and the bone-deep, unconscious conviction that things would always stay this way.

He can’t remember the day Goose died. Can’t remember Mav coming to the house, can’t remember the dog tags pressed into his mother’s hands. Strange how the most significant day of his little life remains in his memory as just another day - morning cartoons and PB&J sandwiches and his mom reading him a bedtime story. Part of Bradley thinks it’s unfair, his whole world crashing down and him not even remembering it. Like he’s arriving late for a movie and can’t make sense of the plot.

Not once did he see his mother cry over his father. He’s sure she must have shed tears, remembers now the empty tissue boxes and the eyes rimmed in red, understands now what he was too young to see then. But Carol carried her grief like a secret. She locked it behind the mahogany of her bedroom door, she hid it behind the veneer of her smile.

Bradley is nineteen, standing at his mother’s open grave, when he decides he’s never going to do to someone what Goose did to her. What he did to him.

For a while, he wants nothing to do with the memory of that man. Wraps himself in his mother, toys with the idea of taking her maiden name. Goes to college and gets drunk, gets high, gets himself into trouble. Thinks sometimes, in his very darkest moments, that maybe the best thing he could do for the world is to stop existing.

One night lands him at the police station. And it’s not like he got arrested or anything, they just take him in to sober up and tell him to call somebody to come get him. Mav is in town, thank God, and he comes in wearing his old aviator jacket and a wistful expression. Bradley’s call probably pulled him out of some bar or some girl or both.

Mav doesn’t say much, just drives him back to his college dorm and pulls over to the curb, doesn’t even turn off the car. They sit there in silence, with the blinker going and the engine purring.

Finally, Mav says, “Sometimes, you remind me so much of your father, it scares me.”

Bradley doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing. Sits there for a little longer and watches as frat bros and law students and cheerleaders cross the street on their way to hook-ups, to parties, to midnight fast food runs. Envies them just for a moment. Then, without saying goodbye, gets out of the car, goes to his room, and buries himself beneath the weight of his blankets.

So it’s like Bradley always suspected. It really is a futile thing, trying to escape the memory of his father. His ghost lives inside Bradley’s chest. Rattles against his bones.

And he loves him, even if he doesn’t remember him. Thinks that love is some intrinsic, primordial thing. Something that was there before he was born and will be there after he dies. Something he can’t fight. Unstoppable like the tide.

So he embraces it instead. Tries growing a mustache he’ll only be able to pull off much later in life, gets those old Hawaiian shirts out of storage. Decides to give into the underlying current of longing he’s felt every time he tipped his head back and looked at the sky.

Accepting that he loves his father is much easier than he thought it would be. Much easier than hating him.

It’s good for a while because it feels like he has a purpose, a goal. For so long, Bradley has been drifting at sea, unmoored, unbound, with no sense of direction. Now he’s swimming toward something, broad strokes, every move deliberate.

Then Mav pulls his papers.

The worst part of it all, worse than the betrayal, worse than the anger, is the confusion. He thought Mav would understand. Mav of all people. 

(It’s his mother, setting a casserole on the table, smiling at Bradley and saying Pete over here, he’s the craziest pilot the Navy’s ever seen. It’s his sixth Christmas, the second one without his dad, and Mav gives him a model of a plane they’ll build together. It’s Mav staring at him with eyes gleaming with moisture the time he stole the Navy hat from his uncle’s head. It’s Mav in every memory of his life, laced so tightly to him he thought they were inseparable, woven together. Now the seams are coming apart.)

Mav, who keeps flying, who seems only to be a real, complete person for those few, short, fleeting moments just after he steps off a plane. Who’s never happy unless he’s going break-neck speed miles and miles above the ground, jumping off death’s shovel, laughing, flipping the bird, and saying look, I can fly!

If Maverick doesn’t understand why Bradley wants to fly, why he needs to fly, then who ever could?

Mav wants to explain it, calls him, shows up at his apartment. Bradley declines the calls, turns off all the lights, and sits on his couch in perfect silence, pretending he isn’t in.

He doesn’t want to hear explanations, doesn’t want to listen to excuses. He wants to fly.

Back when his mother was alive, she wouldn’t even let him get on an airplane. His whole childhood, they only left their state once to go to a funeral of some distant aunt or cousin or uncle, Bradley can’t remember, and his mother drove the whole ten hours there and back. It didn’t even register as anything weird to him - it was all juice boxes and gas station ice cream and goldies on the radio. It was his mom’s laughter and her smile and her fingers carding strands of hair warmed by the sun out of his eyes.

So Bradley remembers his mother every time he gets into a car. But his dad? Him, he can only get above the clouds.

He doesn’t give up. He finishes college, works odd jobs for some money, drifts further and further from the orbit he used to inhabit. And then he applies to the academy again, and then he goes to Top Gun, and he graduates top of his class and wonders what it would feel like if there were somebody to be proud of him. If somebody were congratulating him, taking him out for a celebratory dinner, or just somebody to hug him. What it would feel like if he weren’t so alone.

It’s what he dreams about sometimes, in the very darkest pockets of the night. A house with a swing set and a big, smiling, dumb dog and a pretty wife and a whole gaggle of children running through the garden. Bradley would teach them how to throw a football, and he’d carry them to bed at night, and his wife would smile at him, and there would always be food in the fridge and brownies on the table, and every room would be filled with love, and there would be no ghosts to haunt him.

It’s a dangerous fantasy. It’s a trap door, a slippery slope, it’s a snare, it’s a cliff’s edge. If he stays in it too long, he’ll be lost.

His mother always used to say he was a functional dreamer. He had his head stuck in the clouds, sure, but he knew exactly when to pull it out of there too. Maybe that’s why he’s such a good pilot.

So Bradley still is a functional dreamer. He knows that this is something he can never have, can never allow himself to have. He knows the pain of it too well, too intimately, still feels it every time he catches sight of his reflection in a mirror, the golden streaks of sun in his hair, the mustache, the split second of pure, blank horror, of oh god I look like him, I look so much like him, and feels it slice right through him like a knife through butter. He’s been carrying his father’s ghost for so long, sometimes it feels like his spine will crack under the weight.

Maybe people that live life like he does, like Mav does, like his father did - up in the sky, heads in the clouds - aren’t meant to have anything on the ground. Inevitably, they always end up leaving it.

He decided the day of his mother’s funeral, before the long procession of I’m sorrys and If you need anythings, before he let real estate agents into a house overflowing with cards and flowers - flowers in every room, flowers blooming and wilting and dying like a garden watered by his grief, like a garden watered by his ghosts - that he would never have a family. Not a wife to mourn him, not a child to miss him.

So there’ll be nobody to carry the burden of him.

And then he meets you.

It’s not momentous - it’s easy. Natural. Quicker than he thought possible. It’s stolen glances across a room and a smile that brands him like a mark, that cuts right through to the bone. A smile that settles in his heart. A smile that’ll never leave again.

In the beginning, he tries to fight it. Tells himself not to engage, not to get involved, to stay out of the mess he knows he’ll make here inevitably. To shield him, but to shield you too, to protect you from whatever hurt he’s going to inflict sooner or later.

But then it goes like this:

“Are you never going to ask me out, Bradshaw?” you ask him, smiling as you pluck his Ray Bans from him, as you place them on your own nose, and blink at him from over the rims.

The sun is casting you in gold. Bradley wants to catch the moment in a mason jar and put it on his bedside table. Let the glow illuminate his nights.

“I don’t think….” He trails off, wonders why it’s so easy for him to talk to you, why he can’t stop spilling truths like leaking water taps. “I don’t think I’ll be good for you.”

You don’t miss a beat. One eyebrow raising, you say, “And don’t you think that should be my decision?”

That’s when he knows that for him, you will always be it. That it’ll never be this way again with someone else. It’s not even a question. It’s just the truth.

When he’s with you, for the first time since he sat shotgun in a car with his mother, head nodding along to Elvis on the radio, Bradley feels like he belongs somewhere. Like he’s reached a shore, maybe. Like he can breathe.

For the first time, it feels like he knows peace, even with his feet on the ground.

His mother would have loved you.

You have a long conversation about it. About how he knows you want it - the diapers and the first days of school and the family Christmases. The pitter-patter of children’s feet, the cribs, the tiny fingers curling around your thumb. He knows you’ve dreamed of it all your life. And Bradley also knows, as much as it hurts, as much as it aches, that he can never give it to you.

He needs to be honest. He needs to put all the cards on the table so you know your options, see the truth about him. So you can walk away before you get any deeper into this.

Part of him is sure you will. Thinks it might be better, the safest option for both of you. Hopes you will, fears you will.

It doesn’t matter that he loves you. It doesn’t matter that he only feels at peace when he’s with you. It doesn’t matter that for the first time since he was four years old, the ghosts have gone quiet.

What matters is that he wants you to be happy. What matters is that if that happiness lies somewhere else, with someone else, with someone who’ll give you everything you dream of, give you a life, give you a child… Bradley will let you go. It’ll be the hardest thing he’s ever done, but he will.

Only you don’t leave.

You think about it for a very, very long time. Sit at his kitchen table with your hands folded on the tablecloth like you’re praying, with your head turned down, without looking at him, and then finally you say, “Alright. Fine with me.”

And Bradley’s protesting, pushing, saying, “Honey, you want this, I know you do, you want a family, you….”

“I want you more,” you say, and that’s that.

There’s no lie to it. It’s the truth, naked and beautiful and awful.

And Bradley - selfish as he is - accepts it. Because he doesn’t want to lose you. Because as much as he tries to convince himself of the opposite, deep down, he knows he’s not a good man. Just like his father wasn’t. They’re both just men willing to leave the people they love behind. Brave enough to fight for the “greater good”, but never brave enough to stay.

Regardless of it all, it’s the happiest Bradley has been in years. With you, he doesn’t feel like something is missing from him. He actually feels whole.

Your job as a freelancer allows you to travel with him, and he’s unspeakably grateful for it. He tries to show you, tries to be good about bringing flowers and cooking dinner, thinks if he can make you even a fraction as happy as you make him, he’ll have succeeded. When he gets deployed, he spends days memorizing your face, the shape of your throat where your pulse point jumps, the pattern of your heartbeat, the feeling of you beneath his arm.

And sometimes, when you’re asleep, Bradley puts his hand on your stomach and imagines a bump there, imagines a baby growing beneath it, and that’s when the ache gets so strong he thinks he can’t breathe.

That’s when he hates himself for not being something else: a doctor, an accountant, a real estate agent. Anything other than what he is. Could he have it then, this thing you both want so much? Could he let himself have it?

But eventually, when the fantasies fade, he always circles back to the truth: Bradley isn’t a doctor or an accountant or a real estate agent. He’s a pilot. Always has been, always will be.

He’s just too much like his father. That’s the whole point.

When he gets called back to Top Gun, three years after he met you, something shifts. He doesn’t know to explain it, but from the very first moment he sets foot on North Island again, something about it tastes like the beginning of an end. At night, he can’t settle, roams through the little house you rent off base like a sleepwalker. Checks in on you like he’s afraid you’re going to disappear. Can’t concentrate up in the air, can’t shut his brain off.

It’s like his father’s ghost travels with him in his suitcases, tucked between his neatly folded shirts, climbs out when no one’s looking. No matter where he goes, that ghost goes too. He can’t shake him.

You love California. You like the sunshine and the ocean. Like the Hard Deck and Penny and Phoenix. Turn your face into the warmth like a sunflower, and then you bloom, go brighter and brighter as Bradley goes the opposite direction. As something in him dims.

“Is it because of Mav?” you ask him softly, in the quiet of your bedroom. You’re carding hair from his forehead, fingers gentle, voice gentler.

Bradley can’t look at you. Shame coils low in his stomach.

“Yes,” he says, even if it feels like a lie in his mouth.

You sigh, no annoyance, only affection. Your head is heavy on his shoulder as you press the shape of a yawn into his skin.

“I know he hurt you, Bradley,” you whisper. “It’s okay to be hurt. But I think you need to talk to him.”

He nods into the darkness. You’re right. You’re always right.

“I know,” he agrees, even though he knows he won’t.

When you’re asleep, Bradley slips out of bed. Pats into the living room and sits on the floor, back leaning against the couch. Pulls his knees up to his chest, closes his eyes, and then he dreams.

He dreams he’s four riding on his father’s shoulders through the living room. He dreams he’s ten, in a car with his mother, turning up the radio. He dreams he’s twenty, and he lets Mav explain. He dreams he’s thirty-five, and he marries you. He dreams he’s thirty-six and holding his baby. He dreams it’s a little girl with your smile and his eyes, and he loves her more than he thought he was capable of, so much it almost breaks him apart, so much it puts him back together. So much it’s worth it all.

Bradley’s earliest memory is of the giant, bone-white seashell on his grandmother’s mantlepiece. He remembers how heavy it was, remembers how cold it felt against the side of his face when he pressed it to his ear. He remembers hearing the distant, muffled hum of the waves, the song of the sea, remembers imagining what it might look like. 

It’s no comparison to the real thing, years and years and years later, he knows this, but it’s something. It’s better than nothing.

It’s all he can allow himself—an ocean in a seashell.

The mission is a disaster, even if it is successful. Later, Bradley won’t remember what he was thinking up in the air, when he hit the target, when Mav went down, when he decided to go after him. He won’t even be able to tell if that is because he’s in shock or because he really wasn’t thinking anything. Maybe for the first time in his life.

If he had been thinking, Bradley likes to believe he would have kept his plane on course. Would have flown back to the carrier and then back to you, home, home, home. Wouldn’t have gone back for a man he still hasn’t spoken to, not properly, someone he loved once and now barely knows.

But all the ghosts of the people he’s loved and lost crowd up on him in that cockpit - his father and his mother and even Admiral Kazansky and their sad, sad eyes. There’s no room for Mav to be up there, too, he thinks.

So at first, you don’t cross his mind at all. He just follows his instincts like he’s never done before, could never bring himself to do. So much of Bradley’s life has been about dissecting just those urges, dismantling them, disabling them. Making himself into a creature of logic and second-guessing. Now, for the first time, he gives in to the currents and lets himself be rushed away.

And then his plane goes down, and he drifts into the white white white of snow he hasn’t felt in so long - and still, he doesn’t think. But every instinct from the moment of impact on, the moment his feet hit the ground, every instinct centers on you.

Home, he thinks. I need to get home to her.

Up in that F-14, that’s when he realizes. The brink of death is a bleak place. It’s a place of memories, a place of despair. It’s a place of hope.

All he can think of is you. How he’s leaving you with nothing. How he’s going to die here, miles above the ocean, and what will happen then? Who’s going to bring you his dog tags, the way Mav had brought his father’s to Carole all those years ago? Phoenix? Hangman? How are they even going to retrieve them if he goes down in enemy territory? Will anybody even remember the girl in that house, the one he didn’t even marry? And why didn’t he anyway? Why didn’t he put a ring on your finger, buy you a house, get you a dog, give you a baby?

What will remain of him now, in this world after he’s gone?

Nothing, he thinks, and his lungs fill with water, high up in the sky. You made damn sure of that, Bradley.

There will be nobody to haunt. He will disappear, and he will take his mother with him, will take his father with him, will take Mav with him. Nobody to remember him. Nobody to mourn him except you, all alone, carrying the terrible burden of his ghost.

It used to be a relief. Nobody to mourn me after I’m gone. Now it feels like a punishment.

Home, he thinks, remembering the content of your smile and your eyes gleaming in the darkness and your face turning, always turning, toward the sun. Like a child, as he closes his eyes, as he tries to accept the inevitable, he thinks, I want to go home. I just want to go home.

And then that’s what he does—he and Mav. Incredibly, inexplicably, illogically, they go home.

From far away, as he walks up the driveway, the little house with the gardenias you planted blooming pink and red in front of the windows looks like an oasis at first. Then it seems to grow longer, taller, goes from beckoning to daunting. He almost doesn’t make it inside. Almost doesn’t dare to get out his keys, unlock the front door, push through and toe off his shoes. Feels like he’s doing something forbidden, like he’s an unwanted guest in his own home.

You’re in the kitchen, elbows deep in sudsy dishwater, and when he walks through the doorway, when you hear the pat of his socked feet against the tiled floors, you look up at him with an open face full of love, full of relief. It almost bowls him over.

“Bradley,” you whisper, voice soft, and then you’re crossing the room, bubbles and foam and water dripping from your wrists across the tile, and he blinks at the trail you leave for a moment. Then you’re there, arms wrapping around his neck, face pressing against his shoulder, saying his name again and again, like a benediction, like a prayer of thanks.

Automatically, he pulls you against him with both arms crossed over your hips. Inhales deep, lets the familiar scent of you envelop him. Listens to your breath echoing against the dip of his collarbone, to the steady rhythm of your heart.

Your hands leave wet prints against the fabric of his shirt, like something primeval pressed to cave walls, like something that’s been happening for centuries, something that is happening right now, something that will happen again tomorrow and next year and the year after that, and distantly, dumbly, Bradley thinks, Oh. I’m alive. I’m here.

He feels packed in cotton. He feels submerged. He feels not-real, not-present, not-normal. He feels like he’s going to fall apart, and no one will notice.

When you draw back, it takes you only a split second to realize something’s wrong. You frown, the furrow Bradley likes to smooth out with his thumb appearing between your eyebrows, eyes swimming with a concern he doesn’t deserve.

“What happened?”

It’s classified, all of it. There’s so much of his life Bradley isn’t allowed to share with you, even if he wants to. There’s so much he doesn’t want to share but knows he should.

From far away, he hears himself say, “My plane went down.”

He can feel the panic in your body, feels it go through you like a spasm. You try to draw back, but he holds you where you are, afraid he’s going to shatter all across the kitchen floor the moment you’re gone.

It’s not fair, he thinks, how he keeps looking to you to hold him together. It’s just that at the end of the day, you’ve always been so much stronger than him.

“Bradley…” you begin to say, but he can’t hear it. He doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to hear how scared you are every time he leaves, he doesn’t want to hear how it made you feel to know that he almost died because he already knows. He knows.

“I want…” he says into your hair, a fragment of a sentence, a statement that trails off halfway, that goes nowhere. He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say.

In some ways, he feels stuck in that F-14. Like time kept moving, but he didn’t, remained static and crystallized like somebody dipped the moment in amber and preserved it on a bookshelf. Nothing makes sense to him. Rationally, he knows he’s standing here in his kitchen with you in his arms, knows he isn’t dead, knows he survived, but it doesn’t feel like it. 

So Bradley tries to remember grounding exercises, focuses on little things, mundane things, things that shouldn’t exist on the verge of death. The bubbles popping in the sink. The specks of dust dancing through the room. The curve of your spine beneath the worn fabric of his Navy shirt.

Suddenly, the thought of you alone in this house is unbearable. Waiting for a man that never comes back. History repeating itself in the worst of ways.

“I want to have a baby,” he says, out of nowhere, out of some madness that took hold of him up in the air, or maybe when he touched the ground, or maybe at some other point he can’t name, can’t even think.

And it’s not a conscious thought. It’s not a decision he makes. It’s just something that spills from him, something that has been there unnoticed all along, words taking shape on his tongue before he can overthink their meaning, but then they’re out, and they drop between you like an anvil, and it’s like a relief, it’s like a breath he’s been holding for years, it’s like a sigh, something inside of him finally unlatching, finally escaping the shackles he put on it himself.

Oh, he thinks. He’s known this about himself, always, but it’s the first time he says it out loud. It’s always been a want, an ache, a yearning, but now it goes from all that to a need, a thrumming inside of him, something that cannot be ignored. Something that demands to be felt instead of thought.

In his arms, you stiffen.

With your palms on his chest, you push him away from you, take a step back, take the warmth and the scent and the anchor with you. Bradley is surprised he doesn’t float right up to the ceiling.

The openness of your face has shuttered now. You look at him with something unreadable crossing your features, something unfamiliar, and say, “What did you just say?”

Bradley swallows around a lump in his throat. “I want to have a baby,” he repeats, his voice smaller now, quieter, but the words more assured.

Because he does. Because it’s true. Because he’s always wanted this and doesn’t know how to explain to you that now he needs it. How now it’s the only thing that makes sense in a world that’s gone off the rails.

Your face falls, something crumbles, and it hits him like a punch to the gut. 

“No,” you say, turning away from him. You step right into the trail of water you left earlier, it soaks into your socks, and then you’re leaving footprints too. Everywhere you go, you leave your mark like a brand. Not one part of Bradley has been left untouched.

Confusion zaps through him, but it’s a muted feeling. Muffled by all the chaos.

“I thought you….” It’s a great effort to form words, like pulling teeth. “You want children. Don’t you want this?”

“Not like…” You pause, rake your fingers through your hair, exasperation crackling from you like sparks from a burned-out socket, and Bradley can’t make sense of it.

You want this, he knows you do. So what’s the problem now? What did he do wrong?

“I don’t….”

“Don’t go there.”

There’s a finality to your voice, and he sees you drawing back from him, sees your shoulders come up, your face turning away, something wilting.

The idea of losing you, of pushing you away now that he’s finally decided to let you in, really let you in, the panic of it finally slices through the haze. Lifts the fog.

Bradley crosses the room and says, “It’s your decision too, honey, of course, it is, but I love you, and I want this, and….”

You whirl on him, and it punches the air out of his lungs. There’s real anger on your face now, your eyes sparkling with unshed tears, and Bradley’s heart clenches in answer.

“You don’t get to do this,” you say, voice heaving with the barely contained emotion, a ship on a stormy sea, “not after I compromised, not after I spent so long trying to get used to the idea of not having a baby, not after giving that up for you, Bradley. You don’t… don’t get to just come in here and change your mind just because it suits you, because you had some near-death experience and you’re full of adrenaline and… and….”

Bradley frowns, moves to touch you, but you flinch away from him, one arm going up to hug your own ribcage. As if you have to shield yourself from him.

Suddenly, he feels a sob building in his throat. To realize how much he’s hurt you, not just today by springing this on you, but by how selfish he was, again and again. By letting his past stand in the way of your future.

“It’s not that I changed my mind,” he begins, trying to string together something that will make you see the truth of it, make you understand what he means.

You interrupt, “You said you didn’t want kids.”

Bradley pauses. Did he say that? If he did… 

“And it…” You gasp for breath, the tears now streaming freely down your face, and god, it hurts, it hurts worse than thinking he lost Mav, hurts worse than thinking he’d die in that F-14 because all of that he’d been prepared for, had been practicing for his whole life. Losing Maverick, losing himself, all of that had been inevitable. But losing you… Bradley always assumed he was going to be the one to go first. 

“It’s fine,” you go on. “I was fine with it, Bradley, I gave that dream up because… because I wanted you more, and I was okay with it. It was my decision, and I don’t regret it, but for you to just… to just….”

“I do want children,” he says because he doesn’t know what to do except explain it, except make you see the truth of it all. “I’ve always… I’ve always wanted children, honey. I just… after what happened to my dad, after what that did to me, what it did to my mother, I didn’t… I didn’t want to do that to you. I couldn’t do that to you.”

For a moment, you say nothing, eyebrows furrowed, lower lip caught between your teeth.

“You…” You look like you’re trying very hard to understand it. “Are you saying you decided not to have children with me because you thought it would hurt me too much if you died?”

When you say it like that, out loud, logically, through your tears, it sounds so incredibly stupid.

Bradley opens and closes his mouth, once, twice. Finally, he nods.

He expects you to start crying harder, to hit him (all valid reactions, really), but instead, you do the one thing he doesn’t expect: You laugh. It’s a watery sound, barely amused, but it is a laugh.

You bury your face in your hands, then reemerge after a moment, eyes rimmed in red, and say, “God, Bradley, you’re so stupid.”

“I…” He doesn’t know what to say to that. Probably, you’re right. “What?”

“You just…” You exhale a long, shuddering breath. “You keep trying to make decisions without me.”

“... I do?”

“Yeah!” Your voice rises a little, then settles, and you say, “This is my decision as much as it’s yours. If I say I want it, if I say I know the risk and I know the danger, then you don’t get to tell me no. Do you think I’m dumb? Do you think I don’t understand what goes on when you get deployed? Do you think I don’t know that you’re risking your life all the time?”

“No, I… I know you know that.”

You shrug, and it’s a gesture of such helplessness that Bradley’s knees almost buckle.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. I don’t know if… if one day there’s going to be a mission you don’t come back from. I don’t know that, Bradley. I can’t know that. But until then… can’t you just let us be happy?”

Bradley’s shaking. Head to toe, tremors that run through him like the tides. Unstoppable. Unrelenting.

“I…” And he knows he’s the one who brought it up, but suddenly all the doubts come crashing down. Suddenly the ghosts crowd around him. “What if I die? What if I leave you? What if we have a baby and I’m not… there?”

“Oh, Bradley…” Something on your face melts. You step closer, put a hand on his cheek, fingertips still pruned from the water, and say, so gently it breaks something open inside of him, “Bradley. You’re not your father.”

And Bradley can’t help it - he cries. It’s an ugly sort of crying, the sort that leaves you with a headache and snot dripping down your face and eyes that hurt. The one you feel in the morning. But it’s a relief too. A release. Rain after years and years of drought.

For so long, Bradley was trying to let go of a world that didn’t want him to leave. He’s been preparing for an early exit since he entered, has been so caught up in dreaming he forgot to live. So caught up in thinking he forgot to do. He thought he would be content to go out of this world and leave nothing behind, to disappear without a trace, without a word, without a ghost.

But now he sees it clearly. Now he understands.

Bradley doesn’t want to stop existing. He wants to cling to this world like someone clinging to the edge of a cliff, like a leech, like a cancer. He wants to haunt someone.

Only there’s something else, too. 

A week before his mother died, when she had gone all quiet, when she had lost the vibrancy she used to carry around like a glow, when she had slept longer and spoke less and Bradley had known, somewhere deep inside of him, that things were ending, that they were truly ending, he’d gathered all his courage and asked a question he’d been rehearsing for weeks, months, years.

“Do you regret it?”

Do you regret loving my father now, knowing all that would come after? Knowing the landslide it really was?

And Carol had just smiled, something of that old light returning for a moment, a tenderness so big it felt like violence, and she’d said, “I could never regret him. Not even the heartbreak or the grief or the pain. After all, he gave me you, didn’t he?”

Maybe, he thinks, it’s time to let the past be in the past. Maybe it’s time to let himself have a future.

Maybe it’s time to let go of the ghost.

And you just hold him as he cries like he hasn’t since he locked himself in a bathroom stall after his mother’s funeral, cries until it feels like he’s going to throw up, cries until the gnashing teeth of grief of pain of hurt of anger finally leave him be.

After half an eternity, you pull away, warm hands cupping his face, tugging him gently away from the crook of your neck, so he has to look at you, can’t look anywhere but at you, and then you say, “Bradley, what happened to your father was a horrible, terrible accident. But he loved you. You know that, don’t you?”

He nods. His father, the hazy shape of him, the ghost he’s carried for so long - frosted tips and Hawaiian shirts and the smell of motor oil. Large hands and a mustache and rides around living rooms. So much of him is shadowed, fractioned, incomplete, but not this. This he knows. When he thinks of his father, there’s nothing now but the hazy, easy warmth of love. 

“Do you really think,” you say softly, “that they made a mistake when they had you? Your parents? Do you really think they shouldn’t have done it?”

Bradley has thought about his life in boxes. Big cardboard ones, the kind you get when you move apartments. He tucks the good parts away beneath his bed, stows them, hoards them like a secret. Like his mother kept her grief. But all the bad parts - the pain and the sadness and the sorrow - those he lets pile up everywhere, in hallways, in living rooms, on kitchen tables. He stumbles over them on his way to the bathroom. He stubs his toe halfway to the closet.

He never looks at those good parts, afraid they’ll become tainted somehow if he thinks about them for too long, afraid they’ll lose their appeal or their strength. But there’s so much good there too.

Goose loved him, he knows this without a doubt. Carole loved him. Mav loves him, Phoenix loves him, you love him… At the end of it all, even despite all the terrible things that have happened to him, even with the ghosts that have haunted him for so long, Bradley has been loved, and he has lived, and he has been happy.

Shouldn’t that be worth something, too?

“No,” he says, voice soft, “no, I’m glad they had me.”

His life has been a long, long road. Difficult to walk sometimes, full of potholes, some as big as canyons. But there’s so much happiness there, too - car rides with his mother, Mav telling him stories about his father, the moment when the wheels lift off the tarmac at take-off. This long, terrible, winding road that led him here. That led him to you.

You brush your fingertips across his cheekbone, and Bradley capsizes.

“I love you,” he says, and it’s the truest thing he’s ever said. It’s the truest thing he’s ever known. “I want… I want to have a life with you.”

“You do,” you answer. “You have one.”

Bradley’s tears have dried so the sound he makes isn’t really a sob, but it’s damn close to one. 

“Do you…” He clears his throat. “You love me, too?”

It’s a dumb question, unnecessary because he already knows the answer. But he needs to hear you say it anyway.

And when you smile, your whole face lights up. It echoes somewhere inside Bradley, somewhere at his core, goes through him like a current.

“Bradley Bradshaw,” you say, and there’s only a little bit of amusement in your voice, “you’re the love of my life.”

His heart jumps like a jackknife in his chest.

Before he recognizes that he’s made the conscious decision to do so, he’s bridged the space between you and has pulled you into a searing, soaring, slow kiss. He fumbles it a little, teeth knocking against yours, but you just laugh into it, going up on your tiptoes, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him like you want to meld yourself to his bones. Bradley feels like somebody’s poured liquid sunlight into his chest.

Somewhere it goes heated, goes desperate, goes near frantic, all the adrenaline, all the fear, everything pouring from him in a shower of want. Somehow he’s got you pressed up against the counter, tongue tangled with yours, fingers in your hair, fingers on your back, fingers pulling up the edge of the shirt you’ve stolen from him to find the warm, soft skin beneath.

Breathless, heart stuttering, Bradley pulls away, looks at your lips swollen from the tug of his teeth, your eyes with the heavy lids, the hair mussed by his fingers, and he needs to hear it. Needs to know you want this as much as he does. The ache in him twists like a knife between the ribs.

“Tell me,” he whispers, afraid the moment will shatter if he makes a wrong move, speaks too loudly. It’s so fragile - he wants to protect it so fiercely. Presses the tips of his fingers into the place where your pulse hammers away. “Tell me you want to have a baby with me.”

“I want…” And you sigh, a sound like a spring day, a sound like a rushing mountain stream. “I want it.”

He surges forward, lips against yours again, and you’re so alive beneath him, heart racing, breath heaving, fingers grappling along his neck, his shoulders, his chest, his arms, and Bradley wants to devour you. Wants to sink his teeth into all this life and never let it go again. He wants to exist, right here, in this moment with you forever.

“I love you,” he mumbles into your neck, lets his mouth move over the column of your throat, down to the sharp points of your collarbones beneath the soft skin. Sinks to his knees on the kitchen tiles like he’s kneeling at an altar to pray.

“Bradley,” you whisper, fingers going to tangle in his hair, to smooth along the sides of his face, and the softness in your voice cracks something in him. He swears he could cry again.

He doesn’t even know what he’s doing as he nuzzles his nose against the sloping curve of your upper thigh, as his fingers tighten on your hips. He just wants to be close to you. And you’re so soft, so warm, you smell like home, and it tears through him, blazes everything in its wake, to realize just how close he came to losing it all.

“I’m gonna marry you,” he whispers, babbles, barely coherent, pressing his face against the fabric of your panties, inhaling your scent, opening his mouth to push his tongue where he knows your clit is. “Gonna make you so happy, baby, I promise, it’s all I want. I’m never letting you go again, I’m never….”

Above him, you whimper, hips knocking forward, arching into the movement of his tongue for a moment, and he wonders if you’re wet, thinks about the hot, tight vice of your cunt, and groans against you. His cock jumps.

Then you’re tugging him away from you by the hair, and Bradley goes reluctantly, mouth still open, wishing he could stay where he was forever. Drowning in you. 

You’re looking down at him with eyes blown wide.

“Bradley,” you say, and there’s something unsteady to your voice. “Take me to bed.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. It’s a tumble all the way to your bedroom - he kicks off his shoes on the way, you lose your shirt, and he’s somehow, miraculously, gotten down to his boxers by the time he drags you backward with him onto the mattress.

“I love you,” he says as he drags you on top of him, your legs opening around his hips like the petals of a flower. The mattress dips where your knees press against the springs, your weight grounds him. “I love you, you’re so perfect, you’re….”

He has no idea what he’s saying. His brain checked out a while ago, and it’s all just feelings now, just emotions coursing through him, and every once in a while, one will plunge its head through the surface, and then he’ll tell you something nonsensical, something dumb, something important, something he needs you to know, something…

You lean down to kiss him, to shut him up, his brain buzzes, your breasts press to his bare chest, and he’s so hard in his boxers it hurts.

“I love you, too,” you whisper against his lips, smile into the kiss. The curve of it burns against Bradley’s face.

He sits up, grasps you by the thighs to drag you closer, drag your core across his cock, and you both moan against each other. Your fingernails scrape over the back of his neck, where his hair is buzzed so short he knows it feels like prickles, and he shudders, sighs, lets his tongue run across your teeth.

For a while, you just stay like that, rutting against each other like fucking teenagers, tongues lazy, fingers eager, mouths hungry. Even through your panties, he can feel your wetness, wonders if it’s going to leave stains on his underwear, across his thighs. Bradley thinks he’s going to die, but this time it’s nothing like it was up in the F-14.

It’s difficult in your position, awkward, but he gets a finger first on your clit, and then, when he finds you wet and swollen and open, he slides it right inside you. Watches your face as you squeeze your eyes shut, as your mouth falls open on a muffled gasp, as your head tips backward.

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He fucks his finger in and out slowly, adds a second to stretch you, and then he’s saying, “Baby, honey, you’re so tight, you’re so fucking wet, god I….”

You whimper, and then you’re pulling off him, shimmying out of your panties, leaning down to tug his boxers off.

“Gotta have…” Your throat moves when you swallow as you clamber back into his lap. “Want you inside me, please, Bradley. I’m ready.”

He groans, something in his stomach yanking tight, and he’s pretty sure he’s leaking precum steadily by now.

There’s no time to tease, no need for it either, not when you’re both aching for it, not after what you’ve just gone through. The hot slide of him inside you, feeling you all around him, Bradley thinks that might be the only thing that could make him realize he’s actually back here, that it isn’t all just a dream, that he didn’t actually go down in that plane and has been stuck in some kind of cruel limbo for the past few days.

But there’s the other thing too. The need he can’t explain. The selfish, horrible, depraved thing he can share with nobody but you. That nobody but you would ever understand.

Slowly, tentatively, he places his palm on your stomach, fingers splaying wide, and leaves it there. He’s too scared to look at you, too scared of what you’ll think of him, too scared of what you’ll do once you find out how deep his desire runs, how desperately he wants this. Will you hate him? Will you be disgusted? Will you draw back, pull away, leave him alone with all his depravity and all his fears and all his sorrow? 

“I need… I want…” He can’t even finish the sentence, brain too foggy. Too scared to meet your eyes, Bradley just blinks at the sight in front of him, his big hand on your skin, and his heart seizes, his insides clench, and he can’t breathe, can’t, he’s going to…

Slowly, your fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Yes,” you breathe above him.

It’s a visceral thing. The words burn through him, wrap around him, curl into him. He surges forward to kiss you, desperate, a choked sound escaping him, and licks into your mouth. Around his wrist, your fingers tighten.

He pushes you back into the sheets, crawls over you and spreads your legs, slides between them where he belongs. When his gaze falls to your face, there’s so much trust there, so much love, and it cleaves him in two, just how much he loves you, just how much he needs you. He doesn’t have the words to express it, can only hope you understand what he means when he plunges into you without preamble, when he whispers your name against the shell of your ear, when he curves around you like he wants to shield you from everything bad in the world.

You moan, fingers coming up to grasp his arm where he’s balancing his weight on the elbows. Your mouth tips open, your eyes not straying from his for a second as he goes slow, as he goes deep, as he goes home. There’s an answer in that too.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, voice choked as he bottoms out, as he holds himself perfectly still. “So tight and beautiful, and you’re all mine, and I’m yours and….”

“Bradley,” you stop him. Wrap your legs around his hips and pull him in. “It’s okay. You can move now.”

So he does.

It’s frantic from the first moment. It’s all the tension that’s been building up for years and years inside of him, all his love and all his longing finally laid open, and he can’t hold back anymore, not when he feels like he’s going to burst out of his own skin at any moment now.

The wet squeeze of your walls around his cock has his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“Fuck,” he curses, hips pushing forward at an unsteady pace, as he leans down to kiss you again, as you open your mouth for him easily, as he nips at your lower lip.

And it’s so dumb - he’s inside of you, curled around you, his tongue tangled with your own, but Bradley wants you closer, still. Needs to know that you’re there with him, that he’s here with you, that he came home and he is letting himself have this, you’re letting him have it, and he loves you, he loves you, he…

Bradley takes his weight off his elbows, gets his arms around you, plasters himself to you, chest to chest, hip to hip, mouth finding the side of your neck, your collarbones. Like this, with his arms around your shoulders, it feels almost like he’s pulling you down to him with every thrust, like he slides just half an inch deeper into you.

You try to muffle a moan into his hair, but Bradley pulls your face away, keeps his pace as he says, “Wanna hear you. Let me hear you, baby, tell me how much you like it. You love it, don’t you? Love my cock, yeah? Love it when I fuck you?”

Maybe it’s pathetic, but Bradley needs to hear it. Needs to know you’re as desperate for him as he is for you. Needs to know you want it just as much.

On a thrust in, your walls flutter around him, and you whine, back arching a little, head sliding across the pillow as you nod.

“Yes,” you gasp, “I love it, Bradley, I love your cock. Thought about it while you were gone all the time, every night, I….”

Bradley groans, shudders, suddenly so close to the brink he needs to squeeze his eyes shut against the image of you - the glossy eyes, the swollen lips, the absolute ruin he’s reduced you to.

“Can’t say shit like that, baby,” he whispers, leaning to press tender kisses to the column of your throat. “Not when you’re this fucking wet, not when you’re making these sounds… you’re gonna make me cum.”

You giggle, then moan, head lolling to the side to give him better access. 

“Good,” you say, legs hiking higher up on his hips, his cock sliding deeper, “that’s the plan, isn’t it?”

If there were any air left in his lungs, Bradley would laugh with you. As it stands, he just ups the ante, going a little harder, watching as your eyelashes flutter, feeling your fingers spasm against the skin of his back.

It’s so hot in the room, both of you sticking to each other with sweat, and maybe that, too, should be disgusting, but Bradley doesn’t care. When he leans down to lick a long, wet stripe along the edge of your jaw, he tastes salt on his tongue.

“I’m gonna….” When he glances down at you, at the eyes wide with that much trust, as he realizes you would let him do just about anything to you, that you’ve both opened yourself to each other completely now, no barriers and no ghosts standing between you, it’s like a dam breaking. He moans, so loud it echoes through the room, leans to plunge his tongue into your mouth, desperate, and then he’s saying into it, “God, I’m gonna fuck you so full, honey, gonna fuck you until it takes, yeah? Gonna keep you right here and fill you up, again and again, gonna make sure to get a baby in you, fuck, you’d be so fucking pretty, honey, so pretty all full of me, I know it, I can….”

And you sob. Full-on. Back arching off the bed, legs sliding off his hips, spreading so wide it must hurt.

“Bradley,” you say, fingernails breaking skin, forehead pressing against his throat to hide your face. “Bradley, fuck, I… the pill….”

He’s shaking his head, cutting you off with his mouth on yours. Conveying what he can’t speak, what he’s too far gone to formulate, here where logic has become a distant, remote concept, here between your legs. Don’t say it. Let me live in this fantasy. Let me dream a little longer.

It’s the thought of it all - a bump beneath your dresses, a baby in your arms, tiny fingers wrapping around his thumb, it’s about the long, long stretch of life ahead of the two of you. It’s about a house filled with love and free of ghosts. It’s about the first glimpse of the ocean after listening to its roar in seashells all his life. It’s about giving himself over to you completely, after years of only dreaming of it.

Do you know? he wonders. Do you know that you’re holding his whole life in your hands?

“I love you,” he mumbles, repeats it as he sinks into you again and again, as he buries himself in you, as he holds onto you like he’ll be back in the cold, cold, cold of all that snow the moment he lets go, like he’ll go back to the cockpit with the ghosts like jailors around him, like he’ll float right off the face off the earth. You have always been his anchor. “I’m gonna give you a baby, honey, I promise, gonna cum inside of you, you want that, right? You want me to come right here in this pretty pussy, fill you up all nice and wet, and….”

Your mouth moves against his clavicle, the feel of it spreading like wildfire through him, and you’re saying, “Yes, yes, Bradley, give it to me, please, I wanna feel it, want you to come inside me, please, please, I need it, I….”

A yell punches from him as he thrusts inside one last time, buries himself to the hilt in your warmth, and then he’s panting, his ears are ringing, his veins are buzzing as he cums, as he paints you with his release. He can’t do anything except hold onto you, bury his face in your hair, inhaling your scent, jerking his hips forward erratically, little sounds escaping him. It’s never felt like this before - like dying and coming back alive. The release of it is so big he feels shattered under its weight. 

And you’re saying something to him, whispering words sticky with honey into his ear, pouring them right into his heart, and he can barely hear you over the hammering of his own heart, but it doesn’t matter. You hold him as he trembles, as he shakes, as he tries to collect himself, to control his breathing, hold him and stroke lazy, soft circles up and down his back, trace patterns against his spine, leave soft kisses on any inch of skin you can reach, trapped beneath his weight as you are.

Finally, after an eternity, Bradley pulls away an inch or two, careful not to let his cock slip out. There’s a little embarrassment spreading through his stomach now because he can’t believe he came that fast, can’t believe he didn’t even make sure to take you over the edge with him.

But you barely seem to think about your own lack of an orgasm.

“Are you okay?” you ask, voice gentle, face full of concern.

Bradley’s heart clenches. Maybe, he thinks, his ribcage is going to crack open. It seems impossible for one person to hold so much love inside.

“Are…” He clears his throat, suddenly unsure. “Are you?”

You nod immediately, smile, and the relief floods him. Then you shift, gasp, muscles fluttering around his softening cock.

“Well… I…”

He doesn’t let you finish, shakes his head, says, “You did so good for me, baby. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

He’s already looking at the place where you’re still connected, where his cum is beginning to drip from you in silvery trails. The sight of it is enough to make something like madness descend again, something like that earlier haze, the frenzy of the heat.

Bradley pulls out, sighs at the feeling, and your mouth opens as if in protest, but before you can form any words, he’s replaced his cock with two fingers.

You whimper, eyes closing, a muscle in your stomach jumping.

“I got you,” he says, keeps his eyes on the mess of your swollen cunt, the wet spot soaking into the mattress just beneath, the evidence of his pleasure, smooths his free hand over your chest to settle you. “Relax, honey. I got you.”

Your answer is a moan of his name, fingers twisting into the sheets. He can feel your walls bearing down on the motion of his fingers and knows you’re close, desperately, frantically, torturously close to the brink.

So he speeds up the movement of his digits, swipes his thumb through the sopping wetness, and then across your clit as he fucks his cum back into you. Not letting a single drop go to waste.

“Bradley,” you sob, mouth opening, fingers grappling for something.

Knowing what you need, knowing without you asking for it, he catches your hand with his own and interlaces your fingers. Then he leans down, leans over you, leans in. Finds the seam of your mouth with his own. It’s less of a kiss than both of you panting against each other, finding the same rhythm.

“You can let go now,” he whispers into you. “I’m here. I’ve got you, honey. My perfect girl.”

You come with his name on your lips, cunt clenching around his fingers, arching off the bed and into him, and it’s like a prayer. It’s like a song. 

It takes you a while to come down, and he coaxes you through it, brushes kisses against your lips and your jaw and your ear. Hopes he can ground you the same way you ground him.

Finally, softly, voice faint and fragile, you say, “That was… intense.”

Bradley hums in agreement, and then a laugh rips from him. Because it’s all so ridiculous and so monumental, and he doesn’t know where to go with all these emotions.

“I… yeah. It really was.” He pauses, feels shame curling through him. “I’m sorry I sprung that on you.”

You shake your head, lift one hand to run a finger across his mustache the way you like to do sometimes. 

“It’s okay,” you say, and he knows you mean it. “You must have carried that for a long time.”

It chokes him up, the way you know him so well. Better than anybody else.

“Yeah,” he agrees, drops his head into the crook of your neck. “It… I want you to know that I really want this. It’s not… it’s not adrenaline, and it’s not just almost dying, it’s… It’s you. I want this with you. Only with you.”

He can feel the curve of your smile against his temple, can hear it in your voice.

“I want it with you too, Bradley. Only with you.”

Bradley’s so afraid he’s going to start crying again that he springs into action instead. Reaches around you for a pillow to push beneath your hips, angle your lower body upwards.

“What are you doing?” you ask, laughing a little.

“I’m trying to keep my cum in you. Maybe we’re like super extra lucky, and it works out on the first try.”

Now you’re laughing in earnest, and he gets the impression it might be at his expanse.

“Still on the pill, Bradley,” you remind him, eyes luminous with your happiness.

Feeling a little sheepish, a little embarrassed, a little elated, he shrugs helplessly.

“Can’t hurt,” he says. Then adds, “Besides… I don’t want all my hard work to go to waste.”

Then you’re laughing together, breathless, loud laughter, the bending-at-the-waist kind. The belly-hurting kind. The kind that doesn’t come often.

And it’s good. It’s beautiful. It’s the kind of peace he’s never known before but has wanted always, always, always.

It’s so much better than anything he could have ever dreamed. Because it’s real. Because it’s true.

All his life, Bradley thinks, he’s been listening to oceans in seashells. It’s good, fun even, for a while, but it’s no replacement for the real thing. It’s no comparison to standing at the shore of the Pacific Ocean, watching waves crest and crash and throw themselves against the beach again and again, like a devotion that never ends. How big and beautiful and terrible the truth of it is.

And he’d thought the whole world was in that seashell.

Once the laughter has died down, once you’ve fallen back into the kind of comfortable silence that can exist only between people that really, truly love each other, Bradley strokes his thumb against your cheekbone, watches your eyes flutter closed.

“I love you,” he says, “more than I thought I could love someone. Thanks for loving me back.”

It’s bumbling, and it’s inadequate, and it doesn’t convey half of what it should.

But you smile at him, eyes opening, face so tender his heart stutters, and you whisper, “It’s an honor, Lieutenant Bradshaw.”

For the first time, Bradley doesn’t think about dying, doesn’t think about leaving. He thinks about living. He thinks about staying.

11/08/2022: i hate that tumblr doesn’t show the dates of when something was posted so i’m just gonna start adding them myself.

Photo at Mizumoto Park,Tokyo,Japan

camera : PENTAX K-50

lens : PENTAX smc-PENTAX 18-135mm F3.5-5.6 ED AL WR

Aperture : F5.6

Focal length : 18mm

ISO : 200

Exposure : 1/50sec

Shinsei.Hajime (flowcode.com)

Happy New years everyone :) Hope everyone will be having a good fresh start this year and if it’s not, it will get better I promise it will. Have a nice day/afternoon/night wherever you are and love you <3

Happy new years!

Happy new years everyone! Let’s hope the next year is better than the last few, be careful if you’re out celebrating, and don’t worry if you didn’t reach every goal you set at the beginning of 2021, next year is a new year for everyone, and that means new opportunities to improve.

Stay hydrated, stay safe, get plenty of sleep, and remember to smile! You’re never fully dressed without one!

-FandomTrashFox, aka The Author

Happy 2023 and detail plans

After a new big negative world-changing event in 2022, let's hope 2023 will bring a positive world-changing event. I won't get into politics but I really hate it that the world in 2023 has still wars taking place in several parts of the world. I just don't understand why we can't just live in peace together, helping each other out. That is one reason why we have no fight-system in Magical Harvest. We want a peaceful, relaxing game and you have already plenty to do - even without fighting. However, that does not mean we dislike games that involve fighting. We are big fans of Kingdom Hearts or Final Fantasy VII and also play MMORPGs. Magical Harvest will have some tragedy in the story / lore, so there's no fighting needed to compensate. I already wrote about our plans for 2023. Finishing the base-feature programming of the game and adding more assets at the same time. In the beginning I wanted to focus on programming, but it's more motivating to do some art in between (and it's better to have something to show you!). Also I can decide each day 'What do I want to do today? Art or programming?' which also helps a lot to not lose focus. A big part of the first half of 2023 will be creating the town - or the first parts of it. Marie is already designing the concepts, but it takes a while because she doesn't have the time that I have to spend on the game. As soon as the concepts are done, I will start creating the assets for the town. Currently, I'm sitting on the animals and creating first animations, which is a new field for me that I have to learn. So it takes a bit more time. I implemented the rough base of the breeding game for cross breeding, which will be extended/finished as soon as the first animations of a few animals are done. I will visit my family in Germany for one week. In this week I'm planning to fill the homepage-bachelor page to give you some details about the bachelors in the game. We want to move to another place in the first half of 2023 and also have our small wedding in July. Life changing events for us! We hope, you will have a good start in 2023 and that the year brings you happiness and joy! Stay save and healthy! Thank you for your support and being with us in our journey. Join our Discord: https://discord.gg/8tXMkrMDyy

Wishlist the game on Steam! https://store.steampowered.com/app/1906970/Magical_Harvest/ (Whishlisting helps a lot for the game's positive performance on Steam - and our Motivation!)

And take a look at our Patreon page for more information: https://www.patreon.com/moonflamegames

Merry Christmas & Year recap

Merry Christmas!

And soon a year comes to an end...

We've been working on Magical Harvest for a year now, and we're further along than expected and not as far along as originally planned (which is good though - more on that later). Personal Besides working on the game, a bit has happened in our lives as well.A little review about this year, what happened in our personal life:

- Since spring, Marie has been working on Magical Harvest only in her spare time because of her main job (we have to live from something). And for that she helps me immensely!

- we attended the next Swedish course (12h per week) from February to June and I attended again from September to November, but unfortunately it took too much time for too little progress (the pace of the lessons was too slow)

- in summer we got engaged and will get married next July <3

- we had planned trips to Germany to visit our families, but had to postpone because of Corona

- Vet! Thanks to our cat, we have been there often because he has a food allergy. That cost time and nerves.... Magical Harvest In general we have worked a lot on Magical Harvest (I partly 70-80 hours per week), but of course many things came in between. Nevertheless we are satisfied with our progress.

The demo, which we focused on between June and November, has brought us a good deal further, but also cost us a lot of time. Based on the knowledge gained, we have been able to develop, among other things, a style for the game world that can run without problems on SteamDeck, for example, and we are even more confident than before that the direction of Magical Harvest is the right one.

Programming-wise, I have implemented all the core features of the farm, the animals are currently still being worked on, but will be finished this year (programming-wise), except for the mini-game to crossbreed animals.

Also, the logic for translations is already implemented and some other points that were implemented thanks to the demo and otherwise would have found their way into the game later (which would have been a lot more work).  New character-artist: Lura

With such a big project you are not always confident, especially with such a small team. I, in particular, often vacillate between "there's still way too much to be done" and "oh, soon all the features will be programmed - then the progress will be more visible!".

And then there are moments like in November, when we were contacted by our new character illustrator Lura, asking her to draw our Bachelors/ettes. Because of her motivational skills and abilities we accepted her into our team (and especially because of her skills of course!) and fitting for Christmas she finished with the bachelorette "Thalana", a Nereid (sea woman) who is afraid of water .

Lura adapted her style according to our wishes and showed real talent! We are very happy to welcome her to our little team!

Marie is currently working on the design of the city, which is divided into 3 different districts with their own architectural style. This is also motivating as the world is slowly being given more and more life. Each district belongs to one of the game's factions. The player can also apply the building style to his own house later on.

Financial Unfortunately, we still have basically no financial support, but we will try to launch a Kickstarter campaign in 2023. Possibly not until 2024. Something like this takes a lot of time of preparation and also nerves and until then we definitely need to be able to show something more. Indie-game-marketing is of course also a difficult point. As long as too few people know about our project, such a campaign doesn't make sense either and to be honest, we are not the most talented social media users. But we will try to make this a bit more active and interesting in 2023 (including the things we show).

If you want to support us right now, check out Patreon: >>>.

This will allow us to invest more in the development of the game (art, soundtrack, [...]).

We would also like to thank all the Patrons who already support or have supported us, even though the world market prices are currently rising (which of course also affects us...). Outlook We definitely want to be "feature-complete" by mid 2023! At least with the base logic of the game. That means that "only" the base logic of the NPCs has to be programmed, the character-creator and the minigames. Of course, that's not all, but those are the bigger parts.

Besides programming, I'm also creating assets for the game at the same time, so I'm not spending 100% of my time on programming. In the end, we try to get as far as possible!

Thank you for your confidence, support and interest! We hope you have a good time and enjoy the holidays!

Let's hope that the world will be a little better in 2023 and that everyone will be healthy and happy through the year!

Best regards,

Your Magical Harvest Team

Isa & Marie

Lastly, here's a little video showing the development of Magical Harvest over the year.

hand reference sketches from 2022

some ref sketches from late 2022

scene reference study

👁Hunnie hush Art Summary 2021👁 #artsummary #artsmash #artsummary2021 #artsummary2021❄️ #arts #artsupport #2022 #2022drawing #illustration #illust #fanart #fanarts #fanartist #drawing🎨 #drawoftheday #draweveryday #newyear #workingprogress #artvsartist #artvsartist2021 #artvsartist2020 #digitalart #digitalartist #digitalartwork #artwork #sukuna #2dgorillaz #milesmorales #oc #originalcharacter (en 2021) https://www.instagram.com/p/CYMsIo6J5GK/?utm_medium=tumblr

some art I made for a tiktok in 2022 🌙🌸🍡

The tiktok video in question 🌸✨

💖 Tags 💖

Northern lights 🌌✨ (2022)

HELL CAT

Self Portrait! 💥

Everybody stop what you’re doing RIGHT NOW and celebrate the last Out of Touch Thursday of 2020