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owliellder · 7 months

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Two's A Crowd

College Bully! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader

MDNI 18+

(Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5)

Description: College is proving to be a lot harder than you imagined. You cannot fail this math class. So when you've tried everything else, a well-known student is recommended to you by your professor for tutoring lessons, not really leaving you with much of a choice but to work with him.

Warnings: Not proofread, No Use of Y/N, Dub-Con, Unprotected Sex, Bullying, Yelling, Cursing

Tags: College AU, Bully! Leon, Shy! Reader, both are in their early 20's, Leon is Rude AF in the beginning, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Fingering, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Additional Tags to be Added

Author's Note: I've been late posting this entire series 😭. i explained a bit when anon asked, but i LOST my compression gloves and got a new pair relatively quick on top of my $200 medication 💔 my wallet is in shambles guys

ANYWAYS thank you all for sticking around and bearing with me!! i kiss and hug everyone!! even though i haven't responded to comments lately, i read every single one and it always makes me giggle ♥️♥️

Cross-posted onto AO3

Chapter 5

The drive back to your university with your mom was excruciating. You hadn’t told anyone what’d happened which meant you had to keep a happy demeanor around them throughout the holidays up until now. Dread had settled in your stomach once the drive began and continued to spread the closer you got, similar to when you’re headed to the doctors or the dentist, just a million times worse.

Texting Ella and Sky had helped a surprising amount, turning the majority of your anxiety into rage. Ella was furious when she found out, so her fury, and Sky’s, quickly became yours.

They hyped you up, ready to be at your side and assist in tearing “that shitty fratfuck” to shreds. The support meant so much after everything, especially after the reality of it all set in; you’d seen the picture via snapchat from someone you didn’t know, so how many others had seen it?

Your worst fear was being seen as easy, being used like you were. But you weren’t, were you? Your friends had made sure to try and convince you otherwise, you had to give them that, yet even with the facts laid out in front of you, it was still hard to divert your thoughts away from that ever-looming self-doubt.

Seeing the campus come into view only served to solidify those thoughts and feelings. No matter what Sky and Ella had tried or are willing to do for you, it just wasn’t enough to fix what’s been done.

Your mom helped you bring your suitcase up to your dorm, giving you a tight hug and a kiss on the temple before saying goodbye and heading on her way. Playing okay around your family all winter break was exhausting, so you just chose to sit in silence on your bed instead of unpacking your stuff. Always prepared, you wanted to get here a few days early, using unpacking and settling back in as an excuse, when really you just needed time to collect yourself before the inevitable happened.

He was here, and you were sure he’d seek you out eventually once he spotted you, or maybe when one his friends did and the word made its way back to him. Whichever way it happened, you knew it’d be unfavorable.

“Hey,” Ella’s voice from the doorway caught your attention, “you look miserable..” How hadn’t you heard the door open?

“I am miserable, but uh.. let’s just pretend I’m not, okay?” You replied, barely cracking a smile as you glanced up at her.

She gave you a weak laugh in return, letting the door close as she slowly sauntered over to you, plopping down right next to you on the edge of the bed. “Fine, yeah. You haven’t shown me your schedule yet, by the way.”

“Oh, right-” you paused to reach over and grab your bag, rifling through the various papers in there until finally pulling out the schedule you printed out a couple weeks back. “It’s mostly the classes that aren’t fun.” You stopped to look at your schedule for a brief moment before passing the paper over to Ella, who quickly snatched it from your hand.

She squinted dramatically, holding the paper only a couple inches away from her face. “Yeaaah, these aren’t the best. At least it looks like you’ll have the majority of your pre-reqs out of the way for next year though.” Her observation made you chuckle with a nod.

“Which is what I’m trying to do. Work myself to the bone now, chill out later.”

“Don’t kill yourself trying to do everything in one fell swoop.”

“I promise I won’t Ella, this is just how I-” A knock on the door drew both yours and Ella’s attention away from each other, an immediate scowl settling on her face. You wanted to ask, but it seems she already knew what you were going to say, quickly shushing you in a hushed voice, “Sky won’t be here until tomorrow night. Don’t answer that.”

You paused, thought for a moment, then nodded once with pursed lips. Ella was a pretty serious person, the mom of the group you could say, so when she pulled that tone, you knew better than to test it. Besides, you didn’t want to see who or what was on the other side of the door, you needed more time.

The next day was a little better, if uneventful. You finally brought yourself to unpack your suitcase, a chance to reorganize everything since you’d gotten a few new things over the holidays. Ella stuck close, bringing food up and into your dorm to take advantage of the empty mini fridge while the two of you binge watched a few random movies.

You stayed cozied up in your bed, having already mapped out and memorized your walking path for each class; longer, less foot traffic to and from. All you had to do was get through the rest of this year, that’s all. Little extra walking never hurt anyone, right?

When classes actually started, the long and complicated walks actually worked for a time; no one gave you strange looks, no one tried to talk to you, and it was pretty quiet. Scenic. But everyone knows everything good must come to an end eventually, and of course it had to be when you were just starting to forget all of this mess.

He caught you between classes. Scenic walks backfired massively when you realized there wasn’t anyone else around on that part of campus. Guess you didn’t think this one all the way through.

You couldn’t help but notice he looked pretty roughed up, sporting a few bruises along his cheekbone, a split lip, and a healing black eye. Seems he’s been busy over winter break.

“Listen, please listen-” Leon pleaded, holding his hands out in a weak attempt to trap you in the hallway. All this did was make you even more uncomfortable. “I know what I did was wrong, but I was not the one who sent that picture around, I swear.” You just stood in place after a few tries to get around him, giving him an almost bored stare. He didn’t really expect to finally catch you, so he stumbled over his words as he continued to ramble.

“I-.. I’m so, so sorry for doing that to you,” he slowly lowered his hands back down to his sides once he was sure you’d stay to listen, “I know that what I did was terrible, and I mean it when I say that I am sorry. I wish there was a way to turn back time and undo it, but I can't. I can't even explain why I did it in the first place, but that's not an excuse. I just- I messed up big time and I was- am stupid for letting it happen.”

To you this seemed sincere, but you really couldn’t be sure and it was safe to assume it wasn’t. Leon managed to trick you for months, who’s to say this wasn’t a trick as well?

Your look turned skeptical, crossing your arms tightly against your chest with a shaky breath. Despite handling this better than you thought you would, it was still nerve wracking having this kind of talk.

“I'm not good at this, but I'm more than willing to do whatever it takes to make things right, if that's even possible..” Leon breathed out, panting as he tried to catch his breath after talking so fast. “I managed to uh-.. to find everyone who had the picture and I made them delete it.”

“I made them delete the picture.” He repeated, taking another moment to breathe before suddenly looking down to yank something out of his pocket. “I-I got your uh-.. these-”

Seeing him hold up your panties so casually made you gasp, immediately looking around the hallway to make sure it was still empty before shooting him a glare, whispering a harsh “Put them back! Put them back!” which made him scramble to hide them in his pocket again.

“Right- right, sorry! Sorry…” Leon was sweating at this point, growing increasingly anxious under your gaze. He didn’t want to mess this up any further, but man he was doing a pretty shitty job at that right now.

His hands were shoved into his pockets as well, both of you blushing with embarrassment, and also shame on Leon’s part. Once he managed to slow his breathing, he started to talk again, a noticeable frown tugging at the corner of his lips. “You don’t.. have to forgive me or anything, I just wanted to make sure you knew that hardly anyone knows and-” His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed dryly, turning his head to the side to look at the wall, “.. and that I’m sorry. I really do like you, I guess I just took a little too long to realize it…”

You made another quick glance over your shoulder before looking back at the man trembling in front of you who was still avoiding your gaze. You wanted to hate him so bad, so bad, but it was hard when all you could see was the Leon who was so sweet, the Leon who let you cry to him when the weight of the world was on your shoulders and made you feel so wanted and loved.

“Can we-” you cleared your throat and pulled the strap of your backpack further up onto your shoulder, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. “Can we talk later, maybe? Like, in my dorm? I don’t want anyone overhearing any of this..”

Leon perked up when he heard you talk, pulling his hands from his pockets to nervously rake his fingers through his hair, which was now partially damp from the sweat beading off his forehead. “Oh- OH! Yeah, of- of course, yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t- I just needed to-”

You waved your hands in front of your chest, shutting him up so he didn’t spill any further. "And throw those away." He nodded silently, wiping a hand down his face until it settled right in front of his lips, probably knowing he was talking too much at this point.

There was one more class you needed to go to that day, so you hurried off after telling him to wait outside your dorm until you were done, and he promised he would. Very adamantly, too. At least he held true to his words, standing in the hallway right in front of your dorm room like a lost puppy when you turned the corner. It was cute for a second, though annoyance quickly replaced that feeling as you walked over and let him in.

You weren’t exactly ready to have a full blown talk, but then again, no one ever was. What made it easier was your roommate never returned that semester, assuming she dropped out, so you basically had the whole dorm to yourself for the rest of the year. Or until someone had a roommate issue and needed a change. Didn’t really matter to you at that point.

There was really only one thing on your mind and that was getting Leon to explain this whole ordeal to you. You needed detail, clarification, anything to help you understand what’d been going on behind your back during that time. And he did, telling you just about everything he could; who suggested the bet, who roped him into the idea, the second guessings he had since the start, how he could’ve done literally anything else to avoid the way it all played out, everything.

Obviously you couldn’t just forgive him like that, even though he kept telling you how sorry he was and how terrible he felt about it. You wanted to forgive him, but you weren’t ready, and he understood that. He would’ve been satisfied with any response you gave him, so having been given the chance to really explain and have you listen was more than enough in his eyes.

“And just so you know, my friends aren’t going to let you off the hook,” you pulled your legs up so you were sitting criss-cross on the bed, looking across at Leon who was sitting on the bed opposite of yours.

“Yeah, I know..” he chuckled awkwardly, reaching a hand back to rub at the nape of his neck. “I was honestly expecting them to jump me, but they just give me evil looks whenever they see me.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, making a mental note to question Sky and Ella about that later. “You’ll never get nice looks from them again and I won’t be vouching for you.”

Leon nodded, silence blanketing the room as you’d finally run out of things to discuss. Though it was awkward, it was nice to have him hanging around again. “Anyways,” you started, standing up from your bed slowly as you vaguely gestured towards the door, “I need to study, sooo…”

“Oh, yeah, totally, uhm..” he followed suit, standing up from the other bed before sauntering over to the door as you held it open for him. He walked out and turned around almost instantly, a small smile suddenly appearing on his face once his eyes met yours, his arms jerking upwards slightly as if to suggest a hug.

“Don’t push it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

tags:

@kayotee4 @k-fallingstar @bobastayhigh @mi-zer-y @chasingkennedy @l30nva @espressonerd @jjouki @5tarx @bunnybreadloaves @whoisgami @cyanscribe @c4b3r1a @darichvep @mmmangel @kingtacocat @klee-iii @baby--vera @dakiniii @kenma-izhu @aliidarling @leonsmamacita @deadghxsty @nekoheist @dumbassmortal @cassiecasluciluce @iovewilliams @maeplayscello @deddiemunsonsblog @paranoid-but-android @mariesmain @tteokhwaa @bonnibuckets @eilonwykennedy @1dk-anym0r3 @papatyacikcik @animesnowstorm @lexi-zsy09 @mylifedoesntexist @ifeellikedying @yourmommylol04 @ravioli19 @dakiniii @papichulo120627

(few of your blogs won't pop up, i tried though 😩)

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ereardon · 6 months

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Snowed In || Friday [Jake Seresin x OC]

A Jake Seresin AU miniseries

Summary: When a massive storm shutters every airport in New York, you receive an unexpected call. Jake Seresin, the ex-boyfriend of your college roommate, is stranded at JFK with nowhere to go. Somehow you find yourself hosting Jake for a long weekend in your studio apartment. What happens when you realize that maybe your long-standing hatred for him was covering up something else?

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x OC [Ella Finnley]

Trope: Forced proximity; enemies to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, references to cheating, eventual smut

Wordcount: 3.2K

Masterlist here

“And this just in. More than a foot of snow is expected in areas across the Tri-State, with Scarsdale already at seven inches and counting. LaGuardia has shut down their runway, with Newark and John F Kennedy airport soon to follow.”

You groaned, flicking off the TV and opening the cabinets. They were predicting the worst storm in two decades and somehow all you had in the cupboard was a lifetime supply of ramen noodles and red wine.

Outside, the snow was falling in soft clumps. You looked out the window which overlooked Fifth Avenue. Very few cars or taxis were on the road, and the people who were outside looked miserable.

And then the phone rang. You dove for it, expected it to be your mom with yet another tidbit of news that she thought was groundbreaking, as if you didn’t already know that Diet Coke was bad for you, but the male voice on the other end startled you.

“Ella?”

You squinted, pulling the phone back and registering the caller ID. Jake Seresin. You groaned. “What could you possibly want, Jake?”

“Nice to hear from you, too,” he replied and you rolled your eyes. It had been a decade since you last heard from Jake Seresin. He was just as obnoxious as you remembered.

“Listen, Seresin, if you called just to give me shit, I didn’t need a reminder that you’re a dick. Memory serves well enough. Goodbye.”

“El, wait!”

You frowned. “What?”

His voice softened. “I’m sorry to do this,” he said and you felt your stomach tightening. “But you’re the only person I know in the city.” Jake paused. “I’m stuck at JFK.”

“Don’t eat the egg sandwich,” you said, recalling a moldy sandwich you had gotten once at the airport on the way to Berlin. “Have a good flight, Jake.”

“Ella, I’m stranded,” he said and you groaned. “Can I stay with you? Just until the airports open back up.”

You looked outside. In the two minutes since Jake had called, snow had started to fall faster, coating the streets and sidewalks and innocent pedestrians.

“I’m sorry,” he said and for perhaps the first time that you had known him in almost fifteen years, Jake Seresin sounded genuine. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t my only option.”

Jake Seresin. The last time you had seen him, he was standing in the doorway of your college apartment with a bouquet of flowers that Suzannah had grabbed and trampled on in fury.

“Ella? Are you still there?”

“Fine,” you said, surprising even yourself. “Fifth and 12th Street. Apartment 4B.”

“I owe you, El.”

“Two days, Seresin,” you replied. “Anything more and you get a hotel.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

***

You had hated Jake Seresin for as long as you could remember. Or at least, since the first time you saw his smug face in a poli sci lecture. He was sitting in the back, drinking a cup of coffee and doodling on a notebook. At the end of class, he had come right up to you and asked if he could copy your notes. When you said no, asking why he hadn’t taken his own notes, he had called you sweetheart and shot his best grin.

You turned on your heel and walked away.

Two years later, your roommate Suzannah has been stupid enough to fall for his charm, and you were treated to the unfortunate experience of having to listen to the two of them having sex behind the thin walls of your apartment. More than once you had stumbled into a shirtless Jake in the bathroom, smelling like sex and acidic cologne. Once he had walked in on you naked and instead of hurrying out like a normal person, he had leered.

You had doubled down on your hatred for him from that moment on.

When the doorbell buzzed you sighed, peering at the small ring camera before pressing the buzzer. “Come up.”

The minute between buzzing him in and Jake knocking on the door felt like a century. It always did. There was something so awkward about shuffling around, waiting for the door but not wanting to be too eager to open it when the knock finally came.

Taking a deep breath, you swung the door open.

Jake Seresin in the flesh. The same goofy, brilliant grin from a decade before. Sandy blond hair dotted with melting snowflakes, cheeks ruddy and pink from the cold. He wore a light jacket, far too light for the extreme weather, and held a duffle bag in one hand, cowboy boots soggy and wet, dripping on your doormat.

“Jake.”

He smiled, leaning in for a hug and you pulled back at the last second so he stumbled over the threshold. Jake righted himself. “Ella. Still hate me, I see.”

You turned, shaking your head. The sound of the door closing was followed by the plop of Jake’s bag on the ground. “Shoes off,” you called out, and there was a clattering as he kicked off his boots.

Jake appeared a moment later, his jacket removed, revealing a tight henley shirt and a pair of jeans. He took a look around the studio. It was surprisingly large, for New York standards. Not Sex and the City unrealistic, but nice, with an alcove to the right that held your queen sized bed, a large couch against one wall and a dining area in the center.

The galley kitchen off the main hallway was large and the bathroom was relatively spacious for a studio. It had just been you for so long that you didn’t think twice about the size. But something about Jake in your space made you realize maybe it wasn’t as spacious as it looked to your smaller frame. He hulked in the hallway.

“Nice place,” he said. “Been here long?”

“Four years.”

He tipped his head. “Always knew you were going to end up in New York, didn’t you?”

You sighed, plopping down on one end of the couch, crossing one leg over the other. “What are you doing here, Seresin?”

“I told you, I was stranded at the airport,” Jake replied, stepping forward and taking a seat on the chair opposite of the couch. You grimaced. His outdoor pants were touching your indoor furniture. That was the downside of having guests. If Jake could even be considered a guest. Don’t guests have to be invited? Or wanted.

“On your way to where? Somewhere without extradition laws?”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Ten years, Finn. Ten years and you haven’t changed.”

“Have you?”

The words clung to the air. The elephant in the room. It didn’t matter that it had been nearly a decade since the last time you had seen Jake Seresin.

His betrayal still stung, even if it had never been directed at you.

“Ella,” he whispered. Outside, the sky was darkening. Without the constant bumper-to-bumper traffic that was a given on Fifth Ave, the street was uncomfortably dark. There was a dampness that chilled your bones, even from the comfort of being inside. “Please. Can we just put aside the past for the next few days?” He looked older. Small lines at the corners of his eyes. Jake Seresin had a loud, boisterous laugh, you remembered that about him. The way he could liven up a party. The way he could make you feel like you were the only person in the room.

This time you were.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Finn?” he said, bringing back your nickname from college. “Truce?”

You leaned back against the soft white couch cushion. “Fine.”

Jake grinned. It was magnetic and you hated him for it. “Well, let’s celebrate then. Got anything to drink?”

“Been here one minute and you need a drink already?” you asked, standing up. Jake’s eyes roamed over your leggings and sweater as you made your way into the kitchen, emerging a moment later with a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Someone never got over their frat days I see.”

Jake reached out, taking the bottle from your hands and turning it on its side. “You must be doing OK,” he said. “This is a one hundred dollar bottle of wine.” You handed him the wine opener and he undid the top easily, sliding out the cork and laying it on a stack of magazines on the marble coffee table.

“Anything is better than that Franzia shit you used to love.”

Jake ignored your comment, instead turning the bottle and reading the label. “I did a wine tour in Lebanon a few years ago. This was one of my favorite vineyards.”

You frowned, holding out a glass and he tipped the neck of the bottle against the thin rim, dribbling it into your glass. “So did I. That’s where I got that bottle.” You pointed to the 2015 Chateau Musar in his hand.

“What were you doing in Lebanon?”

“Writing a story,” you replied. “What about you?”

“Went with a friend,” Jake said. “We met in Portugul and decided fuck it, let’s go to Lebanon.”

“Still wildly dependable I see.”

“I have a job, Ella. I’m an adult.”

You laughed, tugging your knees to your chest. “Oh yeah?”

Jake nodded, setting the bottle of wine down. You let your eyes roam over his fancy jeans, cashmere socks, shiny watch that you hadn’t noticed before. Maybe he wasn’t lying. Maybe he was doing OK for himself.

“Fine,” you said, taking a sip of your wine. “You have a job. Slow clap. Who doesn’t?”

Jake shook his head. “Still bitter,” he replied, tilting his glass to his lips. “Whatever happened to you and Connor Gray?”

“Oh God,” you muttered. “Fuck no. Do you know what he’s doing now? He’s a fucking DJ in Bushwick.” You mimed gagging. “I’d rather eat my left foot than date some Chelsea-boot-wearing guy who drinks craft beer and tries to serenade me on a hot rooftop in Brooklyn on his shitty guitar.”

Jake tipped his head back with a laugh. It filled the room. You had almost forgotten how boisterous his laugh could be.

“What about you?” you asked. “Any poor unsuspecting women?” There was no ring on his finger, no tan line or dent to show that perhaps he was divorced instead.

“Nope.” Jake put his glass down. “Single.”

“Really? Jake Seresin, single.”

“It’s hard out there, Finn,” he said, his voice hitting a register you couldn’t quite place. Something between sadness and begging for understanding.

“You were never without a date to a formal in college. Couldn’t even go out without girls throwing themselves at you.” You shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t think the player in you would just shrivel up and die the minute we hit thirty.”

“I’m still twenty nine,” Jake corrected. “And I don’t know what to tell you, El. It was fun for a while. But then I started to feel kind of gross. Like Leo DiCaprio. A new girl all the time. I couldn’t go to a single wedding without people asking about the girl who I had brought to the last one. But she was long gone.” He paused. “Couldn’t tell you the last time I saw the same girl for more than a month or three dates.”

You frowned. Jake Seresin, a reformed manwhore? Not possible.

He shrugged. “There, is that my dues for the night? Told you my dating life so now you owe me shelter from the storm?”

“For now,” you said, standing up. “Interrogation can resume later. I’m hungry.”

“Then let’s eat.” Jake looked outside. “It’s pretty shit out.”

“Agreed.”

“What do you have for food?”

You winced. “Honestly? I mostly eat out, so not much.”

Jake stood up, brushing past you so closely you could feel his broad chest press against you for a second on his way toward the kitchen. “I’ll figure something out. You relax.”

“Relax? With you in my apartment? Fat chance, Seresin.”

He rolled his eyes. “Going to be a long weekend, isn’t it, Finn?”

***

Jake somehow managed to make a perfectly edible dinner out of the almost-expired food in your fridge and what was left in the pantry. The two of you sat at the small two-person table you had pressed against one set of windows overlooking Fifth Ave.

Anyone looking in might think it was a date. Even though Jake had dated Suzannah for almost a year, you two had barely spent any alone time together. That’s how you always tried to keep it with your friends’ significant others. A simple conversation here and there, usually while your friend was showering or getting ready or coming back from the store.

Never like this.

After dinner, Jake insisted on cleaning. As if it would make up for the countless times he had left shit in your apartment sink in college. You stood at the window, watching the snow pummel from the sky, coating the street in a thick blanket that it couldn’t shake. There was no one outside walking around. It felt apocalyptic and you cringed knowing that you still had at least a day alone with Jake and nothing to do but be in each other’s presence.

“It’s dark in here,” Jake said, startling you. You turned as he reached for the overhead light.

“Stop,” you said and he froze. “Lamps, dumbass. Why do men always want to use ceiling lights? Do you like being bathed in fluorescent light?” You strode over to the dresser along one wall, flicking on a candle warmer lamp and another small lamp on the far side of the room. Warm light spilled out into the room.

“Does it matter?” Jake asked.

“Yes.”

Jake shook his head. “Alright, Finn. I’m all yours. What do you want to do?”

“You mean other than throw you out in the snow on your ass?”

Jake stepped closer. “Am I really that bad?” he whispered.

You looked up. Clear green eyes, perfect almond tanned skin. Hair swept back in a carefree manner. You could tell why Suzannah has lost her fucking mind over him all those years ago. He really was too pretty to be true. “Maybe.”

Jake looked around. “Well I would say I can get out of your hair for a few hours, but there’s not really many options.” He was right. Minus the alcove where your bed sat, the apartment was a pretty open floor plan.

“Let’s just watch TV and watch the minutes tick by on the longest day known to mankind.”

Reluctantly, you settled down onto the couch and flipped on the TV. After scrolling for a solid five minutes, Jake groaned.

“What, Seresin?” you demanded.

“Take longer,” he complained.

“Fine, you do it.” You shoved the remote into his chest, trying to ignore how nice his chest felt beneath his shirt.

Jake took the clicker and flicked through the apps before settling on a movie.

“No,” you argued.

He turned to you with a grin. “It’s a guilty pleasure. Humor me, Finn.”

You grimaced as Twilight started. Jake laughed his way through the serious parts of the movie, cackling out loud at the spider monkey bit and you found yourself laughing along next to him. God, Carlisle really was hot. So was Charlie. That’s how you knew you were almost thirty.

By the end of the movie, the two of you had shifted comfortably on the couch. You were no longer three feet apart. Instead, your feet were crossed over each other, almost precariously touching Jake’s where they sat propped up on the coffee table.

It was the first time in years that you could remember sitting through an entire movie without some guy trying to feel you up or make a movie.

The credits started to roll and you reached for the remote just as Jake did. You pulled your hand back like it was on fire and he handed it to you. “Sorry,” Jake said softly. His voice had grown huskier in the hour and a half since the movie started. “Your TV. Your remote.”

“It’s fine,” you said and it was gentle. He smiled. There was something devilish about Jake Seresin’s smile. It was too perfect. You cleared your throat. “I, um, should get to bed

“Me too.”

You stood up, clicking off the TV. The room felt darker without it, just the soft lamps illuminating small circles of light. “I’m going to shower. I’ll get you some blankets and pillows. The couch should be big enough for you.”

“Thanks, El.” There was something so genuine about the way he said it that threw you off. Who was this stranger and what had he done with the dickwad from Stanford? “For letting me stay.”

“See how much you like me after a night of sleeping on that,” you replied, digging in the closet near the hallway for pillows and a comforter, dumping them in Jake’s arms. “Do you, um, need to use the bathroom first?”

“I’ll go after you.”

In the shower, you were acutely aware that no more than twenty feet away, Jake Seresin was fiddling around in your apartment. You had spent hundreds and hundreds of hours with him at Stanford, but this was different and you both knew it. When you entered the living room, steam pummeling out of the bathroom door, Jake looked up from where he stood shirtless in the living room. “Oh, God!” you exclaimed, holding one hand up to your face. “What the fuck?”

“Fuck, fuck, sorry!” Jake grabbed for his t-shirt on the couch, tugging it on. “OK, you’re safe. All clear.”

“This isn’t Barcelona, Seresin,” you complained, stepping toward the dresser and sliding open a drawer, pulling out a pair of silk pajamas. “Or a rave in someone’s basement.”

He sat down on the edge of the couch cushion. “Been that long since you’ve seen a shirtless guy, huh, El?”

You hated that he was right. “Fuck off.”

Jake chuckled. “Sorry, couldn’t help it.”

“Maybe that’s why no girl wants to date you for more than a week,” you snapped. “Because you’re a dick.”

Silence hung in the air, thick like the snow clumping on the streets outside the window. You held your breath, letting your lungs sit there and burn. Jake’s eyes haunted yours.

You felt bad. Never had you ever expected to feel bad for Jake Seresin. Golden boy. Womanizer. Player extraordinaire. But this was obviously a sore spot and you knew it.

He looked sad, sitting in your apartment living room in the near-dark, face drawn and quiet. An unease squeezed at your stomach.

“Jake, I–”

Jake stood, cutting you off. “It’s fine. I’m going to use the bathroom if that’s OK.”

“Yeah, sure.”

You watched his frame disappear down the hallway, rounding the corner into the subway tiled bathroom. As you sat down in your silk robe at the edge of your bed, the silence in the apartment, usually so comforting as an alternative to the bustle of the city outside, felt stifling. When Jake returned in the dark, flicking off the final light and settling onto the couch, you held your breath, waiting for him to say something.

But nothing ever came. The two of you laid there, ten feet apart, separated by a wall of silence.

You had spent ten years who knows how many miles away from Jake Seresin and never given him another thought. Why was it that ten feet now felt like a lap around the equator?

The chill in the room wasn’t in your head and it wasn’t from the blizzard outside. You and Jake had created frost all on your own.

Tag list [using my list from The Off-Season since it's my most up-to-date Jake list but if you're not interested in these types of fics just let me know!):

@double-j @topguncultleader @momc95 @hangmandruigandmav

@teacupsandtopgun @xomrsalliej4787xo @xoxabs88xox @blue-aconite @seresinhangmanjake @eminyourjeans @shawnsblue @babyminghao @sadpetalsstuff @angelbabyange @taytaylala12 @wkndwlff @mygyn @oneelleandaneye @averyhotchner @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @rxmtoon @valkyrja-siren-blog @horseshoegirl @abaker74 @clancycucumber230 @theharddeck @redbarn1995 @shanimallina87

@memeorydotcom @joaquinwhorres @bobfloydsbabe @gretagerwigsmuse @djs8891

@blackcatdhisgf @fangirlvoice @buckysteveloki-me @eli2447 @bellaireland1981

#jake hangman fic #top gun fanfiction #jake seresin #top gun imagine #jake hangman x you #jake seresin au #hangman fanfiction #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fic #jake seresin angst #hangman series #hangman imagine #hangman x you #hangman x reader #hangman #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick

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heartsofminds · 2 years

Text

Blooming (III)

“Scoot over then.”

(Y/N)’s eyes almost explode out of her skull. “You want me to what?”

“Jesus, chick. It was just a suggestion,” he chides, “Getting your panties all in a twist because I won’t sleep but then won’t let me sleep? Kinda counterintuitive, don’t you think?” or Rooster gets caught up from a hospital bracelet and she finally gets that kiss she wanted.

Warning: Contains curse words and mentions of an age gap.

A/N: Welcome back to part three of the Blooming series! I’m so incredibly excited to share this with you all. Thank you much for your continued support and patience. Stay tuned for more of the Blooming-verse as part four will be out soon! But for now, enjoy 10.8k words about the story of Rooster Bradshaw facing his relationship fears.

Blooming, Blooming II

(Y/N) considers herself to be a private person.

She’s an extremely private person, actually. But that’s only until someone wants to get information out of her and gives her that look. You know, the pointed one with the raised eyebrows and the slight smirk, the corners of their mouths serving as picks to the lock of all her inner thoughts.

She swore she could give Ella Enchanted a run for her money by how quickly she would fess up if simply asked for the truth.

(Y/N) partly blames herself but mostly blames her parents. Growing up in a military household with a greatly admired and high-ranked father meant that honesty and excellence were never not expected from her. And after the dissolution of her parents’ marriage, growing up with her helicopter mother who didn’t believe in keeping secrets put a nail in the coffin for her sub rosa thoughts and actions.

Her high school friends joked around with her saying that they could never sneak out or drink or do anything outside of the agenda she had told her mother before leaving the house because the minute that someone with authority asked her for the truth, (Y/N)’s mouth was running a mile a minute with the hurried apologies following suit after. She simply couldn’t help it, and her upbringing paired with her innate desire to always do good and always do what was expected of her cemented her truth telling tendencies even farther.

And so when she comes home in a stormy mood after being out past three AM and slams Penny’s guest bedroom door shut (waking Amelia up in the process who had school in the morning), her god sister knew something was up and was determined to get to the bottom of it.

Amelia is mischievous and so fucking precocious. She had been raised around adults all her life so how could she not be?

She didn’t know what the kids table at Thanksgiving looked like or what watching cartoons on a Saturday morning felt like. Hell, (Y/N) doesn’t think Amelia has ever played with a goddamn Barbie doll ever in her life, let alone relished in the thrill of going to a Build-a-Bear Workshop.

She, much like her twenty-one year old god sister, liked the more “classic” things in life. They liked Raisin Bran and sudoku puzzles. They liked older 80s movies in comparison to their more modern remakes. They liked playing Scrabble and checkers.

And while (Y/N)’s “refined” taste (which, the more she thought about it, really happened to emulate all that of an eighty year old man who resided in a nursing home) came from her own father and didn’t make an evident appearance until she was an older teenager, Amelia had always been this way.

Because of that, Amelia was a bit of an odd ball to her peers but (Y/N) loved it. Her parents had split when she was eight and because of her father’s age and her mother’s anxiety towards parenting, they never dared having another kid after (Y/N). So when her Aunt Penny announced that she was having a baby,(Y/N) was more than ecstatic.

She still remembers damn near exploding from joy when she found out Amelia was going to be a girl.

Amelia was the closest thing (Y/N) has to a sibling and despite the seven year age gap, they’re so extremely close. It’s unusual; to have someone so much younger than you somehow be on the same page all the time but with (Y/N) and Amelia, there are no questions or genuine thinking required to read each other’s minds.

They just knew how to.

And despite how much (Y/N) adores Amelia or how much Amelia looks up to (Y/N), they irritate each other like no other. Getting under each other’s skin is each of their favorite pastimes and in true sister fashion, they go from ruthless screaming matches to braiding each other’s hair while sharing funny stories about their day.

When the fighting gets really bad, (Y/N) usually drives to the closest Dunkin Donuts and buys Amelia her usual; wordlessly leaving it outside of her bedroom door. Amelia usually slips a note under (Y/N)’s door with a “One free ‘Yell at me’ coupon,” which makes (Y/N) laugh and embrace her in a huge hug stating, “I only yell with love,” which makes both of them bust out laughing at how ridiculous they both are.

Even though Amelia is rather mature for a fourteen year old and her and (Y/N) basically share the same brain cells (even though they both joke about letting the other have ownership over them the day of a huge exam), she’s still a kid. And boy, does Amelia do all the shit that kid sisters tend to do.

She doesn’t mean to be, but Amelia is fucking nosy. She’s always hated being out of the loop. In her humble opinion (which, okay she does admit that she’s only fourteen and that her credentials in the age category aren’t looking too hot), being the last to know is the deadliest punch in the gut. Being blindsided is the absolute worst, and if she can do anything to prevent it, she will.

So as she lies in bed at three fifteen in the morning because (Y/N) came home pissed and slammed her door shut, Amelia knew something was up. (Y/N) had big emotions, but not big actions. Someone or something must have had to really piss her off for her to act that way and because she’s so goddamn private, Amelia knows that she won’t spill unless she absolutely has to and she won’t unless she’s made to sweat.

And that’s what Amelia plans to do.

The younger girl is spitting her toothpaste in the sink of the bathroom that stands between her bedroom and the guest bedroom when she notices that (Y/N)’s sour mood carries over to that morning.

The door is closed and there’s no sign of life other than the faint sound of ocean waves in the background that (Y/N) has to put on in order to calm her mind to be able to sleep. It’s a quarter till eight, and (Y/N) being in bed still is extremely odd.

Amelia knows that (Y/N) is usually up and awake by now; having done her morning run or sunrise yoga or whatever the hell she usually does before Amelia gets ready to leave for school. She’s usually sitting on the porch with her mom by now, those ceramic mugs that have some cringey ass quip printed on them and sipping raspberry tea while they gab about life and college and boys.

But she isn’t, and Amelia almost convinces herself it’s a good idea to knock and see if her god sister is awake before she chickens out. Her thoughts are interrupted by (Y/N) swinging the door open harshly.

Her hair is thrown up messily and the dark circles under her eyes say that the ocean wave white noise she had on did little to assist her into slumber. The collar of the gray USD Law sweatshirt she has on sat crooked on her shoulder and her sleeping shorts are twisted. Another noticeable sign that it was a more than rough night is shown through the one sock on (Y/N)’s foot and the other being bare.

She rubs at her face with her sweatshirt sleeve and shoots daggers at Amelia with her eyes; as if she was saying “I dare you to fucking speak to me right now” to her god sister. (Y/N) brushes by without as much of a wave or a “Good morning.”

So yeah, she’s fucking pissed and cranky.

And Amelia is clever but sometimes her curiosity goes against her own best interest. Was it smart to follow (Y/N) to the kitchen when she had just woken up on the wrong side of the bed? Absolutely not, but Amelia always claimed that smart was something that she is occasionally, and not something that she is all the time.

Also, she just had to get to the bottom of this.

The honey-blonde teenager holds her breath as she waltzes into the kitchen, finding (Y/N) aggressively shaking the bag of Special K cereal into a ceramic bowl. Amelia goes to the fridge and gets out the almond milk. She shakes it and puts it next to (Y/N) who mumbles out a weak, “Thanks.” before filling her bowl and stabbing at her cereal with her spoon.

Amelia leans on the counter, eyes lasered in on the back of the older girl’s head. She was gonna get her to talk and the only way to do so is to corner her. But right now her god sister’s rage emulates that of a rabid raccoon and she’s animal control with no equipment.

She knows she’ll get her head bit off, but the void she has in her life that’s absent of her own drama desperately needs to be filled and she’ll be damned before she’s left out of anything going on with the people living in her own house.

“Are you gonna fucking speak, Meals? Or are you just gonna stare laser beams in the back of my fucking skull like a dumbass?” (Y/N) grumbles and she knows that what she said is mean and uncalled for, but she’s just really not in the mood for her kid sister’s shenanigans today.

Bradley Bradshaw really pissed her off last night and the feelings she feels are burning her up from the inside out. (Y/N)’s hurt, embarrassed, even because who the fuck does that? Who flirts and flirts and flirts and then unloads all their childhood stories before almost kissing her goodnight and then dipping out because she’s “too young”?

“Too young” her ass. She’s a woman, for Christ’s sake. A smart, likable, kind (okay, well maybe not right now with how she just answered Amelia, but usually she is) young woman who is going to law school and is a college graduate.

She’s not too young. Amelia is too young; especially to be butting her nose into (Y/N)’s business the way she is.

(Y/N) knows that Amelia is just dying to ask her what’s wrong; hopeful to get a taste of whatever drama is brewing in the older girl’s life. She can see it now - the slightly upturned eyebrows and the small open mouthed gasp that Amelia does when she’e intently listening. She also folds her hands together in front of her and hangs on to every word that’s being said because Amelia ponders long and hard over what she hears and psychoanalyzes everything about it.

(Y/N) would say that she hates that about Amelia but can never find herself to because she knows that she’s the same exact way. Her god sister’s nosy tendencies are simply learned behavior.

So as she stabs at her cereal and almost grinds her teeth as she chews because of how angry she is, she tries to find it within herself to withhold taking out her anger on Amelia. She almost throws her a bone and lets her in on what had happened, but realized that she’d have to omit so many details that Amelia would never be satisfied and would keep picking and picking and picking until she finally broke and (Y/N)’s just not ready for that. She’s not letting her fourteen year old god sister know how embarrassed she is. She’s not letting her know how little sleep she got over the entire situation or how irritated and disrespected she feels.

“Wow. Aren’t you a goddamn ray of sunshine this morning,” Amelia snarls back, already having enough of (Y/N)’s piss poor attitude. (Y/N) may be pissed, but she’s not the one who got woken up at three in the morning because of some hissy fitted rage party. .

(Y/N) drops the cereal off of her spoon back into the abyss of milk. She sets her utensil down before turning her head to the side, adjusting her vision so she can see Amelia a little bit better.

“Language. You know how your mom and I feel about you cussing,” is all she can manage to say and seriously, when did Amelia get so sassy?

Amelia rolls her eyes. She may be younger than (Y/N), but she’s certainly not a child. She’s always been told she’s mature for her age, so why is her god sister acting like the seven year age gap is a big deal now? And besides, she already has a mom and a dad.

She doesn’t need (Y/N) trying to fill in for what’s missing.

“So it’s okay for you to say an entire dictionary of cuss words but the second I say some “is it or not” cuss word you’re lecturing me?”

(Y/N) rolls her eyes. She’s totally, absolutely, positively not in the mood today. “If you’re trying to be nosy and play Nancy Drew or whatever you’re doing, please don’t try it,” she snaps, “M’not putting up with your bullshit today, Meals. Go find something else to do.”

Amelia raises her eyebrows. “Seriously?” she quips, “You wanna be like that with me when I’m not the one who pissed you off?”

(Y/N) groans because great; not only is she pissed, but now her appetite is ruined. “You’re pissing me off right now because you won’t butt out. Leave me the fuck alone.” She slides the stool away from the bar top counter and puts her bowl in the sink.

She’ll just come back and clean it later. She just seriously needs to get away from Amelia right now because she’ll explode if she’s around her pestering god sister for any longer.

“And you’re pissing me off because someone obviously peed in your Cheerios and you’re making it everyone else’s problem.”

(Y/N) rolls her eyes again and starts to stalk back up the stairs. She knows that she’s being childish and she can’t believe that she’s about to argue with a fucking middle schooler, but she’s standing her ground. The last thing she needs is Amelia teasing her relentlessly about Bradley Bradshaw and how he basically curved the fuck out of her the night prior.

Amelia follows her. (Y/N)’s not getting away from her without any answers just yet; especially taking into account that she really just wants to know what’s wrong with (Y/N) and how she can help. She may be nosy, but she also has a conscience.

“Can’t you just leave me alone?” (Y/N) damn near growls. God, why did Amelia have to be so damn stubborn? “I’m obviously mad and you’re not making my day any better!”

“Can’t you just not get all pissy and aggravated and slam doors at fucking-” (Y/N) shoots her a death glare before Amelia corrects herself.

The cussing, right.

“Freaking. I meant freaking. You can’t just be all mad and slam doors at freaking three AM when I have school and you know I was asleep,” Amelia continues, “That’s just crappy, (Y/N), and I would never do that to you.”

(Y/N) stands at the top of the stairs and angrily huffs. Amelia has a point and a pretty fair one at that but she’d rather die than back down now. That’s (Y/N)’s problem in a nutshell; she’s too goddamn hardheaded but also strives on being a people pleaser and if you asked her (or anyone on the street, really) that would be considered a combination for disaster.

“And I would never put my nose in business that’s clearly yours. Fuck off, Meals.”

(Y/N) stomps back to her bedroom and slams the door even harder than she had the night previously. She’s so enraged and she feels so stupid. She’s never been this embarrassed over a boy since she was a freshman in high school and she knows she’s being childish and she knows that what she said to Amelia isn’t fair or kind in the slightest, but she can’t help but fall back into that “being mad at the world” teenage narrative she had thought she left behind.

Hell, she’s only not been a teenager for two years but the amount of growth that she’s done since then has just drastically taken a decline. She feels like she’s sixteen again and fighting with her mother about a stupid boy who convinced her to sneak out or break her curfew or lie about where she was going or whatever melodramatic teenage drama bullshit that seems like a big deal at the time but ceases to pose a real threat the minute you move out of your parents’ home.

Amelia groans in frustration before turning on her heel. She’s not sure if her irritation is because of her lack of sleep or because (Y/N) is being, for lack of better term, a total bitch right now. The teenager slings her backpack over her shoulder, and stomps obnoxiously to her front door.

(Y/N) lays on her stomach and puts back on the ocean wave sounds she had turned on late last night and her stomach drops when she realizes that that was the background noise to the memory that had Bradley Bradshaw cupping her face and telling her that she’s too young.

ii.

Jake Seresin had really done it this time.

It wasn’t a secret that him and Bradley weren’t the greatest of friends.

Well, actually, scratch that.

Rooster and Hangman weren’t friends at all and that fact was made so obviously apparent to anyone who found themselves in the same room with the two pilots for longer than fifteen seconds.

The constant banter and low blows, the “joking” that wasn’t really a joke, the more than aggressively sarcastic handshakes and back pats; it was a limbo contest of who could go the lowest without one of them jumping up and trying to beat the brakes off the other.

It’s stupid, they know, but what else is expected when you’ve been told you were great all your life? Competition obviously rises and “survival of the fittest” starts to kick in and the sooner you can push someone out, the sooner you can be pushed into the vacancy that person had left.

Jake is charismatic and can get anyone to do his bidding if he so much as put his hand on their shoulder and stared deep into their eyes. He has a talent for getting anyone to follow him, but he’s selfish and extremely reckless. Jumping off the bridge is certainly his idea until his loyal followers do so, and then he bails after realizing how stupid the idea was in the first place. He’s a leader who never asks for a crowd, and that’s evident once he leaves them hanging.

Hence, the call sign, Hangman, but that doesn’t take a genius to decipher.

And call Bradley old school but that’s definitely not how military men should be and it drives him absolutely insane.

Bradley is more calm and is the literal epitome of a dad, but a good one. He listens intently and gives everyone his full attention. He’s stubborn but adaptable. He takes his time and plays it safe always, even when he knows that he should take a risk every now and then. He’s always looking out for other people and is constantly sacrificing his happiness and successes for the well-being of others.

Bradley is a skilled pilot; the patience and meticulous practice made him so whereas Jake was good because he was a natural (by some freakish fluke of nature). The difference between the two is their confidence and Bradley can’t wrap his head around how Jake gets a thrill from putting himself and his team in constant danger, and Jake can’t understand why Bradley acts as if he’ll spontaneously combust every time his F-18 goes up in the air.

Bradley has a tendency to parent everyone else and he never means to, and it always just sort of happens, but being told what to do (which makes joining the Navy an odd career path for him) is one of Jake’s biggest pet peeves. It’s just annoying, Hangman thinks, how Rooster corrals everyone and is constantly playing dad.

Jake already has a father; he doesn’t need a guy who’s only four years older than him trying to parent him.

Their rivalry started as just friction. They have vastly different personalities and it’s not like any of that isn’t okay. It wasn’t like either of them had to be best friends after graduation. But then Jake realized that “Holy fuck,” Rooster was good and then Rooster realized that “Holy shit,” Jake was good.

And the innate, primal need to succeed, to prove who was better and who would come out on top, just started one day and it never stopped. It was a conscious effort at first, but then it spiraled into a muscle memory-like performance.

They competed over everything. They competed over who could get their flight gear on the fastest. They competed on who could lift heavier and for longer durations of time. They even fucking competed to see who could complete a crossword puzzle fastest.

Jake and Bradley know that they’re ridiculous and that the dick measuring contests that they always seemed to be having were quite childish for grown men. They shouldn’t be fighting like rowdy first graders at recess after eating a lunch packed full of sugar, but they can’t help it and they would rather die than lose and let the other having bragging rights.

But then somewhere along the road the competition changed into an uncontrollable beast; a means to be watching each other constantly to see what could make the other tick and thus a new game was created: Who could make who lose their composure first?

To be totally fair, Bradley started the war by moving Jake’s things one day after a training session. He hadn’t meant to move the items in a way that would’ve set the pilot off, but he did and then Jake came barreling in and freaking the fuck out because his water bottle and shirt were placed in a different stall than he had originally put them. The thought to fess up and apologize definitely crossed Bradley’s mind, but he withheld.

He liked seeing Jake frantic and upset. He liked knowing that he could toy with him and that he could make the blond sweat if he truly wanted. Bradley was raised better than that, he had known, and he’s sure his mother and father were looking down on him with some disappointment about being so mean, but fuck it.

Jake Seresin was like a canker sore when you’re eating salt and vinegar chips; annoying and downright painful to be around.

Over the years and time spent freakishly observing each other, they had learned quite a bit. Bradley hated the sound of teeth scraping against utensils and Jake made sure to find a seat near Bradley but never next to him, and would bite the hell out of his fork whenever he ate his dinner. Jake loathed the sound of styrofoam rubbing together, so whenever Bradley would get handed a styrofoam to go box, he always made sure to be around Jake before opening and closing the box repeatedly. Jake knew he was doing it on purpose but couldn’t help but wonder how the hell someone could find the willpower to open and shut a fucking takeaway box over and over and over again.

And yes it was annoying and yes it garnered many eye rolls from their friends, but it was entertaining and always kept the pair busy. If anything, it was like a big brother, little brother relationship; irritating the hell out of each other but never going too far.

Except this wasn’t a big brother, little brother relationship and that they were both, in fact, fighting to be the big brother because big brothers always have more respect.

And they usually never went too far until one day, Jake just did.

He was raised by a more than conservative Baptist pastor in Texas, and Jake knew that his parents would have a cow if they ever pieced together that he was having premarital sex; let alone, premarital sex that was with someone else’s girlfriend. He was raised better and he knew it, but he was also raised in a family full of sisters and if there’s one thing he learned from having five older ones, everything was an eye-for-an-eye.

So when Bradley off-handedly joked about fucking Jake’s ex-girlfriend one day, he couldn’t help but let the comment grind his gears until his gears started turning on the perfect way to get back at the brunette pilot.

While what Bradley said was a joke and was exactly just that, Jake was plotting, and he wasn’t joking in the slightest. So the true hatred and resentment started when a leggy red-head (That amazed Jake with how flexible she was because goddamn, girls can bend like that?) was scratching at his back and calling him “daddy” in a supply closet, and he can truly say that that exact moment was when he knew that there were no limits to the competition he and Bradley Bradshaw had.

“An eye for an eye” it was, and “an eye for an eye” it would always be.

So when he notices the tension between Captain Mitchell and Rooster, Hangman can’t help but find him studying the two. He notices the golfball like bulge that emerges from Rooster’s jaw whenever he has to speak to Maverick. He notices how Maverick’s eyes nervously dart across Rooster’s face; as if he’s searching for answers in the younger man’s features without having to ask him questions.

Jake is always looking and always scheming; even going as far to ask Phoenix if she thinks Bradley is acting weird to which she rolls her eyes and says, “If this is you trying to get under his skin, please leave me out of it. Had enough of you two dumbasses in flight school. I don’t need this shit now.” And then she slammed her locker shut before slinging her duffle bag over her shoulder and leaving the base for the day.

But little to her knowledge did she know that her answer gave Jake all the information he needed. Phoenix had a protective streak to her, but she never stuck up for someone unless she felt they couldn’t do it themselves. So with the aggravated body language coming from Rooster and Maverick’s interactions in the past two days they had been training and Natasha’s head biting whenever he asked her a simple question, Jake Seresin had an sparkle in his eye and his smirk saying that he was up to no good.

He snoops around the headquarters for more evidence to further solidify his suspicion and what he finds truly falls upon him like a lucky accident.

It manifests itself as a labeled picture on the wall with Maverick Mitchell and Goose Bradshaw, arms slung across the back of each other’s necks along with Admiral Kazansky and various other pilots whom he’d encountered from his time floating from base to base; the Top Gun class of 1986.

And holy fucking shit, did Seresin have some ammunition for Bradshaw.

He likes to play dumb; like all he happens to be is a pretty face with a hot body but no one is that dense to not give Hangman credit for being intelligent. So he waits to unleash his findings until he knows Rooster is at one of his most vulnerable moments.

He waits and waits and waits and then he strikes, which sends the entire fleet of pilots into a fit of gasps and has Bradley beet red and ready to wring his neck.

Jake Seresin wasn’t afraid of many things, but the absolute anger and rage encapsulated in Bradley Bradshaw’s face was a look he had never seen before; even when he had been caught fucking that red head all those moons ago. This was different and he swears Bradley’s eyes are completely black with fury and his body emitting so much heat that Jake feels like he’s on fire himself the minute the other pilot has him by his collar.

The knife was already plunged and it was too late to back out now; no matter how truly terrified he was of Bradley in that moment. He knows he should quit, but a job half done isn’t a job well done.

And in true asshole-ish Hangman fashion, he has to be calm and collected and to twist the knife even more he adds a, “You know he’s not cut out for this mission,” which makes Bradley completely seethe and molt into one with his anger.

Jake softly grins to himself as soon as the altercation is broken up and Maverick announces that they’re done for the day. He knows that he won and Bradley lost.

Bradley can feel it too and he’s so inexplicably pissed, but nothing makes him feel more angered than the deceased father he never had the pleasure of getting to know and the stand-in, who let him down and let an entire fifteen years pass with Bradley thinking he didn’t believe in him.

iii.

(Y/N) likes to tell herself that she doesn’t hold grudges; that she’s understanding and empathetic and “noble.”

Her entire life was wrapped up in achieving the nirvana of selflessness and she doesn’t know if it’s because she was raised by such charitable and giving people or if she was born with some freakish gene that always made herself put her well-being last no matter what.

She was the kindergartener who would cry in solidarity whenever a kid scraped their knee on the playground. She was the third-grader who donated all her birthday presents to kids whose families were in need. She was the middle schooler who still invited everyone in the class to her birthday parties (even if they were weird or cruel or just downright annoying, but she could never find herself rejecting anyone). She was the high schooler who offered everyone rides home after soccer practice despite her mother yelling at her for “wasting” her gas.

She was the girl who was always said to be kind and helpful with a sweet heart and bright eyes.

But here she is on a Tuesday night at 11 PM about to crush a shot glass in her bare hand because of some stupid comment some pilot said about her age. If she could punch Bradley Bradshaw square in the face and break his stupid aviator sunglasses (and maybe his nose too, but then she figures that that’s too much harm to wish on someone), she would with no hesitation.

The main problem she’s finding with directing her anger is that Bradley wasn’t rude about it. What he said about her being too young wasn’t some idiotic flirtatious remark that came off creepy. It wasn’t an insult. It wasn’t even a true comment, and from the way he said it, it almost seemed like it was a thought he had had that was never supposed to grace her ears; as if he was thinking hard and his thoughts were too loud for his liking.

There are better things to be upset about and she knows this, but she still can’t help but feel the hot anger in her chest. It’s the same kind of anger that flourishes when you’re just on the cusp of getting what you want and it’s pulled away from you; taunting you as the picture of it grows blurrier and blurrier and you’re left screaming because you’re so damn frustrated; because you were so fucking close.

And yeah, (Y/N) does admit she’s being dramatic, but she can’t remember ever wanting someone’s attention so badly before. The last boy who she found enticing cheated on her after two and a half years together, and that was during the summer of her Junior year of college. Nevertheless, the disrespect still hurts her feelings if she thinks about it too hard and the lack of sex she’s had since then was almost insulting.

So sue her if she was hoping Bradley could provide her with a few orgasms and some cuddles. He also wasn’t a bad storyteller and despite her anger, she wasn’t blind. He was hot as hell, too.

But she just can’t get over the way he held her cheek that night. The way that his hazel eyes found her’s; searching for a reason to say what he said. She can still feel the gentle squeeze of his palm on her face. Her ex-boyfriend had tried to make that their “thing” when they had first started dating and it always made her uncomfortable.

He was too rough, too unthoughtful, and ultimately too unfaithful. She thinks her feeling borderline disgusted by her ex cupping her cheek was a foreshadowing of him cheating on her. It was ironic how he was holding her face with that same hand and then smushing the face of another girl into a pillow soon after.

But Bradley was different.

His actions were slow and thoughtful. He was gentle, almost like a child holding his mother’s good China and not wanting to drop it. Bradley was cautious and sweet and that was something that (Y/N) had never truly experienced with a man; no matter how interested or in love with her she thought he was.

She was dying for him to kiss her and dead she is because he didn’t.

“You’re too young.”

It echoes in her head and she finds her face growing hotter and her knuckles getting more white the harder she squeezed the shot glass she had in her hand. Her age and Bradley’s disdain for it rings in her ears as if it's a fact and it is one, which is the shittiest part about it all.

“You’re too young,” patronizes her mind as if she wasn’t successful and brilliant and mature.

“You’re too young,” taunts her and embarrasses her, as if she’s ten years old again and being banished to the kids’ table at Thanksgiving.

“You’re too young,” screams at her as if her lack of experience and lack of opening herself up to the world is the reasoning behind why things never seemed to ever work out for her.

And the pressure of the thoughts her mind is bogging her brain down with starts to shut off her oxygen. She can’t see the empty bar. She can’t feel the shot glass in her hand. She can’t even feel her heart beating.

Her knuckles are white from trying to hold on for some explanation, some reason, why she can’t seem to shake this statement and there’s no other thoughts floating around in her brain that allow her to dislodge it.

“Fuck you, Bradley Bradshaw,” she thinks.

And she squeezes her hands together so tight that she’s snapped out of her hateful thoughts when she feels a shooting pain in her left hand and oh fuck.

The scarlet flowing from her palm sends her into a panic and her face turns white.

Holy shit, there’s no way this is happening.

There’s no way this is happening at 11:15 PM on a Tuesday night while she’s closing at the Hard Deck with no one else around.

“Penny is gonna fucking skin me alive,” she thinks, the blood dripping down her baby blue tube top-covered torso the closer she pushes her wound to her chest. The fabric is stained purple from how quickly her blood is absorbing into it.

Napkins, she needs napkins.

And she frantically scans the bar for a table that has a dispenser on it, knowing that Penny doesn’t keep any at the bar top. Her eyes look around almost comically before landing on the man of the goddamn hour: Bradley fuckface Bradshaw who has his eyes wide and his mouth gaped open.

“Holy shit! What did you do?”

iv.

Bradley knows he should stop coming to the Hard Deck when they close, but he needs to see Penny.

He figures showing up unannounced at her house isn’t the best way to go; especially considering he hadn’t been there in close to fifteen years. It doesn’t matter if he sends her a Mother’s Day card each year or knows that she would never turn him away. Something about it doesn’t sit right with his soul.

He tends to not do a lot of things if it doesn’t settle right in his stomach.

He’s usually calm. He’s usually collected. He usually has it all together but ever since he received orders to come back to Miramar, he’s been losing it. The bags underneath his eyes are prominent and he’s been averaging a total of four hours and twenty-two minutes of sleep each night (per the Sleep Cycle app on his phone which he knows isn’t very accurate but he can certainly feel the exhaustion so he’ll let it slide).

Bradley was really set off today with Jake and Maverick and the lack of sleep he’s been experiencing. He needed guidance. Truthfully, he needed his mother and he would have rather died than admit that when she was still alive and he was a prideful eighteen-year-old, but here he is now at thirty-five with an ache in his chest and a hole he’s not quite figured out how to fill.

Penny Benjamin, his old babysitter, is the closest thing he had to a mother now and he just has to find her.

So Bradley barrels into the Hard Deck and slams the door open on his quest to find Penny and figure out why the fuck he’s feeling this way.

The jukebox has been turned off and all the stools are stacked on the tables. The Hard Deck is a sorry excuse for a hangout spot at this hour and the smell of draft beer and scotch that usually soaked the atmosphere was gone; dried up like water spilled on the sidewalk on a hot day.

Bradley wrinkles his nose, using his curved pointer finger to roughly rub the end of it; a nervous tick he developed when he was a kid.

He doesn’t know why he feels so nervous to see Penny. She was comforting and sweet; the best kind of woman and someone who Bradley could say he trusted with his entire life. He used to say the same about his Uncle Maverick, but like they say, things change.

And things change indeed when he bursts through the doors and sees Penny nowhere in sight.

Well, fuck. (Y/N) is Penny’s replacement, he guesses.

The avalanche of actions tumbles down on him the minute he sees her; baby blue tube top sitting perfectly pretty on her body and her shoulders slightly shiny from either sweat or leftover tanning oil she may have put on earlier in the day. The sight makes Bradley’s mouth water with want and dry with embarrassment, simultaneously. His eyes drink in the sight of her face and his palms can feel the ghost of her cheek he held the night before.

(Y/N) has a frown on her face and is dissociating. The shot glass in her hand and the purple rag she has in the other serve as simple distractions for her hands. Bradley takes in how she doesn’t look up at him and how white her knuckles are - almost like she’s holding onto dear life to keep her from spazzing out.

And then it clicks that she’s probably angry with him and Bradley, despite his better judgment, decides that he needs to do some damage control.

He’s such a fuck up, he thinks, and he can’t afford to fuck someone else up in the process too.

“(Y/N)?” he asks softly, cautiously approaching the bar top; eyes swimming in her appearance to see if she was okay.

She doesn’t meet his gaze. She just stares ahead, her fingers gripping the glass in her hand so hard that her arms are shaking.

“Hey! Are you okay?” Bradley asks again, footsteps approaching her cautiously.

A small pop, a sound that could be made by someone stepping on some small fragments of glass with their boots on, can be heard and Bradley is just astonished. The crimson falling from her hand gives proof of what she had just done; her eyes widening comically and her face looking solemn like a child who had just been caught stealing cookies from the jar.

Her face is drained of color and Bradley figures it still hasn’t clicked that he’s in front of her. She clutches her hand to her chest and the fabric of her shirt is covered in blood. Bradley’s never done well with blood and other things like that; almost threw up all over himself whenever he would skin his knees when he was little.

But his instincts kick in and he lives up to his call sign: Rooster. He’s about to corral her and protect her the best he can. He has to.

“Holy shit! What did you do?” he yells, rushing towards her.

She looks at him wide-eyed and no words can rush out of her gaping mouth. She looks fearful and shocked. While he suspects her injury isn’t extremely drastic (okay well getting a shot glass crushed in your hand has to hurt like a bitch, he admits), she’s bleeding a lot and she’ll definitely need stitches.

“I-I don’t know. Fuck, my hand,” she pauses before turning to him again, “Fuck! Penny’s gonna kill me! I got blood all over the bar. Oh my God, she’s gonna skin me!”

Rooster shrugs off his Hawaiian shirt and pulls the white tank top underneath off by its straps. He needed to get her something to help her apply pressure and absorb the blood. He knows that the thin, poor excuses for napkins Penny has at the bar won’t do much to help, and asking her to take her tube top off to wrap around her hand would be a little too much.

She definitely can’t have on a bra with that top. He had been around enough girls in his life to know that for a fact and besides, it wasn’t like he was here to make her uncomfortable purposely.

“No she won’t,” he comforts. He has his shirt in one hand and folds it vertically to maximize the surface area.

“Here,” he directs, taking her arm gently and inspecting her wound, and God, did that glass cut fucking deep.

Two deep cuts carved their way into her left hand and the pools of crimson flowing from them tell Bradley all that he needs to know.

She indefinitely needs stitches.

Bradley wraps the tank top around her palm and instructs her to hold it tight. She presses her lips in a faint line and tries to calm herself.

One deep breath in, one deep breath out. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, the-

“Where’s your purse? I’m taking you to the ER.”

She narrows her eyes at him. Now he wants to play hero, she thinks. If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t be in this situation at all.

“I can drive myself,” she snaps.

He chuckles and shakes his head and she instantly feels patronized. It was the kind of laugh her babysitters used to do whenever she asked if ten was a grown-up age. Newsflash, it wasn’t and she came to know that pretty quickly, but not before she felt the fury and embarrassment of being chortled at; especially when she had done nothing amusing.

“Really? You want blood all over your car? And what’re you gonna do about using your turn signals,” he tries to reason, “You don’t have the fingers to do that, chick.”

And God, does she want to punch him in his stupid, handsome face.

“Fuck you,” she mumbles underneath her breath. No matter how upset she was, she couldn’t not agree that he had some valid points. Being a bitch got Amelia pissed at her earlier. The last thing she needs is to be left hanging with glass in her hand with no ride home because of her own childish emotions.

Thank God he didn’t hear her.

“Where’s your purse? I’m locking up and taking you to the hospital.” She opens her mouth to argue with him again, to insist that she can call an Uber or Penny, but Bradley shuts her down.

“Non-negotiable.”

She puts her head down like a scolded puppy and points to the back by the kitchen with her uninjured hand.

Rooster offers her a warm smile. “Good girl,” he says, patting her shoulder as he walks past her to grab the bag from the back.

He tosses the keys to his Bronco on the bar top. “If you want, you can start the car. Just promise not to drive off with it?” He offers her a weak smile.

(Y/N) puffs and exhales her annoyance. “Can’t promise I’ll be there still once you lock up.”

Bradley knows that she won’t take off. She can be snippy and has proven it to him time and time again with her quick remarks and her attitude toward him right now, but to her core, she’s a good person. She would never intentionally do something like that to anyone; no matter how pissed off they had made her.

As he hears the front door to the Hard Deck open and close with (Y/N)’s exit, he looks up at the clock. It reads 11:30 PM and fuck, waking up tomorrow is gonna be a pain in the ass, he knows. But he would rather have a late night with her than his own thoughts.

And yeah, Bradley Bradshaw thinks he can start to get used to the smart ass girl sitting in the passenger seat of his car right now.

“Are you planning on buttoning up your shirt anytime soon? I’m sick of the nurses coming by and gawking at you,” (Y/N) gripes, “Giving you all the attention when I’m the one with my hand damn near hanging off.”

Bradley scoffs. “You’re being dramatic. And besides, this is kind of your own fault. No one told you to turn into the Incredible Hulk and crush a shot glass with your bare hand.”

The emergency room is bustling with people; moms in labor, car accidents left and right, and people coming in screaming in pain. There’s no way her low “high” maintenance stitches would be taken care of any sooner than later. That was predetermined the minute they decided to drive instead of calling an ambulance.

It’s nearing 2 AM and (Y/N) is still clutching Rooster’s white (well, dark red now) tank top in her left hand and with a sulky frown on her face. Her ass hurts from the vinyl plastic that serves as an awful mattress that makes up an ER bed. She knows that Bradley is more than uncomfortable from the way he shifts constantly in the mossy blue chair next to her bedside.

She ignores his statement. What she had done was rather childish and she can’t come to grips with it herself, so what does she look like telling the person who caused her rage-induced tantrum?

“You’re sunburnt,” she states. That’ll have to do for now. Bradley already knows a lot about her. He doesn’t need to know everything.

“In a sexy Baywatch kinda way?” he jokingly asks and (Y/N) gives him a soft laugh.

“No. Your chest is pink,” she continues, “More of a Patrick Star kind of way.”

“You like it though.”

“We’re here to fix my hand. Not your self-confidence.”

Bradley laughs before starting to button his shirt up. “You’re a hoot, chick.”

(Y/N) raises her eyebrows. In the past two and some hours she’s spent with Bradley Bradshaw (and the various other times she’s been with him, but she’s not sure that those can actually count for something) she’s learned a lot about his mannerisms.

He’s always tapping his foot or rubbing his hands up and down his thighs when he’s sitting down. He uses old people's jargon. He leans on his right arm more than his left and he’s always checking his watch. When he gets tired he mumbles and then swipes his hand over his face before sitting up straighter.

A big yawn comes from his pink lips and (Y/N) knows that she should speak up. He has to be up at five AM tomorrow morning for training at six. He should at least be able to go home and get some sleep.

“Bradley?” she softly asks.

“Hmm?” he answers, slouching down in his seat a little bit more but instantly shooting up to sit straight.

(Y/N) chuckles softly and Bradley can’t deny that the sound makes his heart melt the smallest bit.

“You can go home if you need to. I’ll get stitched up and figure out a ride.”

Rooster sits up straighter; confusion plaguing his features. “Why would I leave you here?”

Her eyes widen. Holy shit, he wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

“You have to be up early tomorrow. Just go home. I’m a big girl,” she flexes the small and albeit mushy muscles of her right arm, “I can handle it.”

“Are you kidding? A shot glass took you out. No way I’m leaving you at the hospital by yourself.”

And like how it was at the Hard Deck, the look he shoots her tells her that what he said is “non-negotiable.” He was staying, driving her home, and that was final.

“You need sleep, Bradley. You can’t just pull an all-nighter and then go and operate a plane. That’s just dangerous,” she lectures and Bradley lets out a yawn during her sentence.

She almost says some snide remark about him being rude and how she’s not that boring but Bradley beats her to fill the silence with his voice.

“Scoot over then.”

(Y/N)’s eyes almost explode out of her skull. “You want me to what?”

“Jesus, chick. It was just a suggestion,” he chides, “Getting your panties all in a twist because I won’t sleep but then won’t let me sleep? Kinda counterintuitive, don’t you think?”

She’s at a loss for words but he can’t have the final say. No one else could ever have the final say with her.

“Be my guest,” she says as she scoots over on the ER cot and makes enough space for him to lay down.

Rooster smirks to himself. He didn’t think that would work, let alone work on her. She doesn’t know it and he sure as hell will never tell her, but his heart was racing during that entire interaction. The rejection would have been rather embarrassing; especially considering they didn’t know how soon she could get stitched up and that he promised to drop her off at home.

He slides onto the bed next to her but he’s too broad. His shoulder is nudging her off the bed and he knows that she’s uncomfortable but is such a giver that she won’t say so and would let him fall asleep like that if he really wanted to.

But Bradley’s not an asshole (at least he isn’t one consciously) so he speaks up after he clears his throat.

“Yeah, this isn’t gonna work. Not at all,” he says and turns his head to the side to look at her. Her eyes tell him that “Well no dip, shit.” but he knows that she wouldn’t dare say it out loud. Not right now when she feels indebted to him for driving her to the hospital and staying with her while she waits.

He nudges her shoulder before sliding back out of the bed. Bradley reaches for her right hand. “Here, budge up.”

He pulls her up as if she weighs nothing and she stands in awe as he lays down first on the bed but spreads his legs. And oh, now she knows what he’s doing.

“Come lay down with me. You deserve to sleep some, too,” he says and she cautiously meanders her way to lay between his legs; her back pressed to his chest and her head falling into the crevice between his neck and shoulder.

“Won’t your arm fall asleep or something? I just don’t wanna be a bother.”

Bradley lets out a puff of air before wrapping both his arms around her front. His hands are joined together beneath her sternum.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and go to bed.”

She rolls her eyes but she can’t fight him on it. And as they lay there she can hear the soft snores of the older man laying behind her and allows herself to drift off to a comatose state as well.

vi.

The doctor comes in about an hour after they doze off.

She’s a short woman with dark hair and tan skin; some crow's feet by her eyes and the skin on her hands slightly thinned. She looked kind and motherly and as she pulls the curtain back softly, she finds the two dead to the world in their slumber.

Doctor Tharp has to stop herself from audibly cooing.

The position (Y/N) and Bradley are in makes her think of her and her husband years ago. Lovebirds, she thinks, and while she would rather sit there and stare at them in awe, she knows that she has to get this poor girl stitched up and sent on her way home as soon as she can.

She nearly had a cow when she had heard that they had been waiting to see a doctor for stitches since 11:30 the night before. How the hell they had slipped through the cracks? She doesn’t know, but she makes a mental note to be extra kind to them while she performs her services.

Doctor Tharp gently shakes (Y/N) awake; the younger girl stirring with a gasp and some anxiousness before a hand is placed on her shoulder.

“Good morning, (Y/N). Have a good rest?” the doctor asks and (Y/N) hopes that this is who is going to stitch her up and send her on her merry way.

“It was okay. Would’ve been better if bozo here wasn’t snoring in my ear the entire time,” she answers and that makes Doctor Tharp laugh softly.

“Let’s get you stitched up,” she says, and (Y/N) unwraps Bradley’s arms from around her midsection and scoots closer down the bed to be near the tray that holds the instruments needed for her stitches.

Doctor Tharp numbs the area with lidocaine and asks her to move her fingers and her thumb on her left hand and as she starts suturing the wound and picking out the shards of glass left in her skin, she finds things to talk about with the younger girl.

(Y/N) tells her the basics that she’s seemed to be telling everyone older than the age of twenty-one these days; that she just graduated from undergrad and that she was going to law school in the fall, that she’s not from here and visiting her godmother, that she loves California and doesn’t know why she left it.

And Doctor Tharp knows she shouldn’t and it goes against her own beliefs but she just has to know who the young man sitting behind (Y/N) is and wants to comment on how sweetly he was holding her just a few moments prior.

“You and that boy are such a sweet couple,” she says and (Y/N)’s eyes bulge out of her skull.

“Oh me and Bradley? No. No, no,” she starts and she knows that she’s rambling. She does it quite a bit when she gets nervous and doesn’t know what to say.

Her damn Ella Enchanted gene is kicking in.

“We’re just friends. Sorta just met a week and some change ago,” she answers and while what she said wasn’t a lie in the slightest (they were friends and they did just meet not that long ago) she can’t help but feel the ache in her heart that adds that she wants more than a friendship from him.

But she can’t risk sounding ridiculous or getting ahead of herself before the race even starts, so she leaves her statement at that; just a statement and not a wish.

“Well, you’re quite cute friends, then.” Doctor Tharp says. She can tell that what she had said had made (Y/N) uncomfortable.

Too far.

It takes (Y/N) all of ten minutes to get stitched up before Doctor Tharp pats her arm with a smile and tells her that she’ll have the papers for proper care at the front desk.

“You take care. Of yourself and your heart,” the older woman says and (Y/N) knows that she should find some wisdom in her words, but they almost sound like a sort of doomed prophecy.

Whatever, she thinks. She’s just excited to get home and to sleep in the comfort of her own bed.

“Bradley,” (Y/N) whispers, shaking his bicep to get him to stir. He’s like a lump on a log, soft snores coming from his mouth and his head thrown back. His arms have crossed themselves over each other and made a home on his chest to replace the space (Y/N) had taken up before she moved.

“Bradley!” (Y/N) shakes him again.

He still sits asleep; completely dead to the world.

(Y/N) twists his nipple through his shirt and bingo. He wakes up with a scream and shoots daggers at her with his glassy eyes.

“M’all stitched up. We can go now,” she says and they exit the stall and make their way to the front desk where the charge nurse goes over how to properly clean her stitches and that she’d need to be back at the hospital in a week to get them removed.

She gives the charge nurse a weak smile and her and Bradley walk back outside to his parked Bronco; the ocean breeze making the night sky chilly and (Y/N) shivers. He notices as he opens the passenger door to let her in.

He rounds his way to the front and locks the doors before sliding into his seat.

“Cold?” he questions and she gives him a slight nod.

He purses his lips before turning the key in the ignition and starting the car. His hand instantly finds the heat dial and turns it up and they pull out of the parking lot.

“Penny’s house. Right?” he breaks the silence again and (Y/N) nods, leaning her head on his window.

The fifteen-minute ride from the hospital to Penny’s driveway is quick; the stillness of the night comfortable and washing them in warmth.

His Bronco is parked in the driveway before (Y/N) turns to him again.

“Before I go, I have to ask one more favor,” she says and Bradley raises his eyebrows in amusement.

“Not gonna ask me to donate a kidney to you or something like that. Right?” he jokes and she playfully rolls her eyes at him.

“No, you dinky dink. I just need you to rip my hospital bracelet off. They put it on my right hand and I can’t use my left to cut it off.”

Bradley reaches over and takes her hand without hesitation and pulls at the plastic band wrapped around her wrist.

“Thank you,” she sheepishly praises, “Thank you for everything. I could never owe you enough.”

Rooster grins, all the anguish of the day forgotten with the dopey-eyed grin he gives her.

He doesn’t say anything. He just holds her palm in his hand; the action muscle memory and leans forward; their forehead resting against each others.

Her breath hitches in her throat because she swears to God if he doesn’t kiss her tonight she might rip out her stitches with her teeth and jump off of Penny’s goddamn roof.

“Please,” (Y/N) whimpers and she didn’t mean for her request to be said out loud.

Thankfully, Bradley ignores her words. She doesn’t know how she would live down the embarrassment of that one if he did manage to bring it up just then.

He presses their lips together. His lips are plush and soft; the right amount of dry and moist. They move in sync with hers, molding together like the perfect puzzle. His kiss is deep but gentle, all-consuming but allowing her space if she wanted it. He kisses her once. Twice. Three times. And then he pulls away, his hand still on her cheek as he licks his slips subtly.

She’s certain Bradley Bradshaw needs to add “perfect kisser” to his resume if he hasn’t already.

“Didn’t take you as a beggar, chick,” he says, and fuck, there it is. That smart alecky remark she was waiting for.

“If that’s the case, I’ll go inside and not give you my number,” she teases and Bradley feigns a gasp.

“You wouldn’t. Don’t leave me out to dry now. Your blood was all over my shirt at some point. Too late to turn back now.”

She gives him a toothy smile; one that’s reserved for her happiest and flirtiest moments.

(Y/N)’s grabbing a napkin from the middle counsel of his car and a pen from his cupholder. She scribbles her phone number down on the napkin with a cute, “Text me! :)” written after it.

She gets out of the Bronco and shuts the door, damn near running inside and waving at Bradley through the window of the living room where she can see his car in view.

Bradley just shakes his head and smiles with glee.

vii.

One thing Natasha Trace was proud of was how well she could read people.

Any boyfriends her sisters ever brought home didn’t have to get the stamp of approval from her father. Oh no, they had to get the stamp of approval from her.

And she had always been right. She knew the ones who lied about their jobs or the ones who were chronic cheaters (because they had done it so much they were pros at hiding it, just not from Natasha) or the ones who were just downright fucking nuts.

So if she can read people she had barely spent ten minutes with and could draw up a pretty good judgment of character, she knew that her analysis of people she knew well was never wrong.

When Bradley Bradshaw, her right-hand man and one of her best friends, pulls up to her government-supplied housing in his Bronco at 5:25 the morning after his huge blowup at Hangman, she knew something was off.

He didn’t have that shitty cassette mixed tape playing like he usually does and he’s basically inhaling a peach-flavored Red Bull. The thing about Bradley and energy drinks was that Bradley never drank them unless he was about dead from exhaustion.

And from their text exchange last night, he was home at 8 PM and had all the intentions of going to bed soon.

And well shit, that was apparent to be a lie.

He’s uncharacteristically quiet. Rooster wasn’t a morning person but once he was awake, he was awake and was always ready to chat which drove Phoenix absolutely crazy, but the silence they’re sitting in on their way to base is deafening. She knows something is up, yet she can’t quite put her finger on it.

“Good sleep?” she asks, testing the waters to see if Bradley would lie to her.

He curves his pointer finger and rubs it against the tip of his nose. This bastard was about to lie to her.

She can feel it.

“Great, actually,” he says with no delay so she knows that he’s not telling the truth.

Phoenix knows that Rooster doesn’t do well with confrontation. He’s a born people-pleaser and anything that wasn’t able to be handled maturely made him want to get up and flee. She’d save calling him out for later.

Besides, they had bigger shit to worry about for the time being; one of those being the fact that they’re being sent on a suicide mission in three weeks.

Natasha turns her body to the side of the car and looks out the window until something catches her eye. She turns to look at Bradley and sees that his eyes are cemented on the road. She bends down to pick it up swiftly; her movements so fast and contained that from Bradley’s peripheral vision, it just looked like she moved a little bit to get comfortable.

It’s a fucking hospital bracelet and as she turns it around to read what’s on it, she sees a name she doesn’t recognize and her eyes nearly bulge out of her skull when she sees the birth year.

The year starts with a 20 and she feels sick to her stomach.

There’s no way Rooster had a little girl in here. There’s no way that that’s the reason he’s acting so weird. There can’t be.

And then she starts counting the current year from the year on the bracelet, and then it clicks that, “Oh shit, this chick isn’t underaged.”

She’s just young, and math has never been Natasha’s strong suit.

She audibly exhales which makes Bradley turn his head to look at her and she stuffs the bracelet underneath her thigh before snaking it down to her pocket.

“You okay?” he asks and Natasha eagerly nods.

“Yeah, just a little jittery,” she answers and Bradley nods in agreeance.

He brings his Red Bull back up to his lips before taking a swig and placing it back down in the cup holder.

“Me too.”

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epilogue-and-prologue · 8 months

Text

Blue Moon

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (movies) Ship/Pairing: Eomer x Reader (one mention of reader wearing a dress) Trope: Noble x Humble worker Note: IT’S SOTWK’s FAULT. We talked about Eomer’s hands and here we are. The title « Blue Moon » is a reference to the song « Blue Moon », my favourite rendition being sung by Ella Fitzgerald. Warnings: Horses? Word count: 1 595 Tag-list: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

There was something hypnotising about his hands.

The way his palm moved along the planes of the horse’s back. They were delicate. Deliberate in their care for the animal. Several times today, you had caught your gaze lingering a little too long on his slender fingers and their dexterity. Several times you had wondered what they’d feel like against your skin, in your hair weaving braids during a quiet evening. Those were fairy tales. You did not dwell on them, even when it kept you up at night; heat clinging to your skin, the chilly wind doing nothing to help your wandering mind.

It seemed to appease his uneasy nature to come here. He would go in the early hours of the day, only to come back in the middle of the morning. To the outside world, he was a leader. Someone they could trust and follow into depths unknown. Here, he was only Eomer. You considered yourself lucky to have witnessed both.

Others were concerned by his willingness to spend so much more time with you instead of them. You had dismissed them easily enough, but the thought had lingered. Why was he only asking you to help him? A bucket, water, hay, a brush for the horse’s mane. You were not willing to fathom an answer, especially if it was the wrong one. Seeing him like this it made you happy enough. You were content with this, whatever this was.

From time to time, he would ask about your day and you would always answer the same things. Fine and good. Excellent, perfect or grand. Never would you have said what you wanted to say. That it was him who made those days fine, and good and excellent and perfect and grand. Until meeting him, working with horses had been your life’s dream, and you were fulfilled by it. When he was there, you weren’t so sure anymore. It felt as if all of him was completing what you had and did not know you were missing.

“What are you thinking about?”

Barely above a whisper, his question lingered in the air between the two of you, almost as if he had not meant to ask it aloud. He was still working his fingers through the hair, looking beyond the horse’s back, away from you. If he had looked at you, you could have traced a lingering hint of a pinkish hue on his cheeks.

A chilly breeze rose, and you had to tighten the cloth around your shoulder, crossing your arms close to your chest.

“Nothing important, Sire.”

A laugh echoed through the wooden box around you.

“Then why are you boring a hole in my skull with your staring?”

Your cheek felt warmer than they had been moments ago.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, sire. If you need me to go, I… — No. Stay.”

Eomer had not meant for his voice to grow this loud. Nor to turn around so abruptly. The nerves in him, electrified by your eyes, led him to act so.

It had grown almost suddenly, this affection he had for you. First, you were something to behold. Once he discovered your face, your features, the way you moved and talked, he only ever wanted you to be near him when the mask fell off. When he could be himself and not who he was supposed to be. Second, you never pressured him into talking, going silent for hours on end, just being there with him and Lia. She was not his usual horse. He preferred not to overexert Firefoot, especially after the events he had seen on the battlefields. You were the one to care for her when he could not, even before he started mounting her. The mare had a gentler temper, dark robe and larger body. She adored you and if instincts served him right, animals were always the true tellers of someone’s nature. Thirdly, and lastly, your presence calmed him like no one else could. Except when you were threatening to leave. Or when you were looking at him, behind his back. He never wanted you to stop looking at him like that. When your eyes were observing and kind on him, his weary body and his weary mind, he felt that he could take on another thousand wars just to find you here again, safe and sound, watching him. He only hoped you could say the same about him.

“As you wish, Sire.”

The goosebumps on your arms and the way you protected yourself from the cold struck him then. With the winds of winter approaching, the weather had gone incredibly cold, and you were only wearing a thin linen above your usual dress and robes. He stepped out of the box, coming closer to you as he’d ever been. He grabbed for a cover lying around. Those were used for the horses but they’d have to do. He wrapped it around you, as tight as he could. It smelled of the stables and hay. A hint of pink shattered across his cheekbones in the morning lights. Your breaths were leaving your lips in hot clouds between you. The way he settled his palms on your shoulders, securing the cloth around you, drove a whole different kind of shiver down your spine. You could feel his fingers over the fabric, his overexerted hands catching some threads, before he took them off you, gently. You could not help the sharp inhale you took when he did.

“Would not want you freezing to death on my account.”

His smile did not reach his eyes, but you felt the warmth it procured you down to your toes. At a loss for words, you smiled in return, trying to hide your face. Your arms were still secured against your chest but your heart was not as protected as you had hoped it would be.

In a thoughtless step, Eomer leaned down and brought his lips to your cheek. He could feel the burn of them under his skin. The way you looked up at him, bewildered and hopeful, brows knitted together in confusion, only made his mouth ache for more. Still, he would not do it unless you said so. He had already overstepped and behaved un-gallantly enough. Hence his surprise when he found your hands gripping at his lapel, obviously not willing to let him go. A soft curve graced his mouth, a pleasant feeling growing in him.

“Can I…?”

Your vigorous nodding let him know exactly what he wanted. Only then did he pull you closer, his hands drawing you in, the warmth you felt from his lips and the tenderness with which his fingers nestled against your jaw below your ears, enough to make you forget about the world around. Delicately, his mouth danced with yours, eager to please and swift to do so. Soon, his wide hand drew you in, pulling you at the waist. Your fingers met his heart through cloth and flesh and bones, beating in a rhythm only known to you both.

“I…”

You bit your lip while you could see him observing you through hooded eyes, his fingertips sending shivers down your arms. He was tracing the hollow of your cheek with his knuckles, leaving you breathless once more. He looked as if he had seen the most marvellous creature in the entire world. You could not believe it was you on the other end of that fantasy.

“I… do not know what to say… I… — Then you don’t need to say anything.”

His fingers found their way down the length of your throat. He looked positively charmed, yet you pulled back, hesitant. What if this had been… just a fling? Just something he could do, just because he wanted to. No other reason. No feelings involved. What if he was playing with you?

“I will. — What?”

He chuckled at your incredulous expression.

“I will say something. — Oh.”

He brought you back to him again, kissing your cheek.

“I…” He kissed your nose. “…will never…” your other cheek. “…ever…” Your fingertips now. “…let you…” This was getting on your nerves and he knew it, smirking behind your hand. “…be seen by anyone else but me, in this state.”

The last words murmured against your cheek, to the shell of your ear, elicited a burning anticipation deep in your bones.

“My King, I would never ever let anyone but me see you in this state. — I don’t think anyone had ever really seen me before you.”

His candid answer surprised you. In a tender caress, he stroked your back through the fabrics of your clothes, not thick enough to keep his touch at bay. A thumb ventured below your breast, too close to be accidental. You inhaled sharply.

“And I will never let anyone else see me like this. If you’ll have me, of course.”

His declaration hit your heart at an arrow’s speed.

“You really mean that? I’m not just a… — You’re not just anything. You are the world and beyond. You are everything. I hope to be everything to…”

Before he could finish, you pulled him down for another kiss. This one arousing and passionate; desires trapped, finally meeting in the middle.

“I will. I absolutely will.”

A heartbeat passed in his arms, trying to keep your hands to yourselves.

“You were asking me to… — … court and eventually marry you? Yes. And you said yes, you cannot take it back now.”

Your laughter rang through him as it rang through the stables, enlightening the new day ahead.

#eomer xf!reader #eomer imagine #eomer x reader #lotr imagine #one-shot #lotr fic #it's sotwk's fault #fluff

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bradshawsbaby · 2 years

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Save the Last Dance

Pairing: Rooster x Wife!Reader

Author’s Note: Based on this Anon request, and inspired by Miles Teller’s fabulous dance moves. Also, I mention Frank Sinatra’s “The Way You Look Tonight” in this one, and I was definitely listening to it on a loop as I was working on this.

Warnings: I’m not responsible for what happens when you imagine dancing with Lieutenant Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw.

(Disclaimer: Yes, I know this gif is of Miles in Footloose and not TGM, but I just thought it was too adorable not to use.)

- One thing you learned very quickly about Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw is that he loves to dance.

- Even more than that, he loves to dance with you.

- It doesn’t matter the time or place. It doesn’t even matter if there’s music playing. He just loves holding you close and seeing the way your smile lights up the room when he’s twirling you around.

- Bradley remembers moments from his childhood when his parents would dance around the kitchen. They always looked their happiest when they were in each other’s arms. He feels the same way whenever he’s with you.

- The first time you ever slow danced with Bradley was on your third date. He took you out to dinner at a fancy restaurant in San Diego, the kind with a bar that only serves top-shelf liquor and a band that croons only the most romantic of classic hits.

- Bradley noticed the way you were smiling at some of the other couples out on the small dance floor and, before you knew it, he was suddenly up and holding out a hand to you. “Care to dance?” he asked with a playful wink.

- You blushed, hesitating for only a moment before taking his hand. Normally, you would have been too shy to accept, but Bradley always seemed to pull you outside your comfort zone. He’d taken you to a karaoke bar on your first date, after all.

- You danced to Frank Sinatra’s “The Way You Look Tonight,” your arms wrapped around Bradley’s neck as his hands rested on the small of your back, holding you close to his chest. He rested his cheek against the top of your head as the two of you swayed to the music, completely lost in the feeling of each other’s arms.

- “That boy is in love with you,” an older woman had whispered to you with a wink when the two of you finally made your way back to your table.

- Since that night, Bradley takes any opportunity he can to dance with you.

- No matter what song is playing at The Hard Deck, he pulls you into his arms and spins you around the bar. When your cheeks turn that rosy shade of red, it only makes him love you more.

- When the two of you are alone together at home, Bradley is always finding the most random moments to pull you away from whatever you’re doing so that you can dance with him.

- “Come on, dance with me, baby,” he’ll say, turning the music up on the speakers as you’re folding clothes or cleaning the kitchen counters or vacuuming the carpet.

- “You’re crazy,” is usually your response as you laugh and teasingly duck out of his arms. It doesn’t take long, however, before he’s got you wrapped in his embrace, his hands hugging your waist as he sings softly in your ear.

- Being in his arms is your favorite place in the world.

- Bradley knows how much you love classic love songs from the 1940s and 50s, so he’ll often put on some Ella Fitzgerald or Frank Sinatra while you’re cooking and grab your hand, dancing you around the kitchen until you’re both laughing and singing along.

- At weddings, parties, and banquets, Bradley makes sure that you two are out on the dance floor all night. Even though Hangman, Coyote, Payback, Fanboy, and Bob will sometimes cut in to dance with you (Bob does it very respectfully), you always make sure to save the last dance for your husband.

- One time, walking back to your car after a Navy banquet, you and Bradley got caught in a torrential downpour. Though you were a bit upset about your hair and dress getting soaked, Bradley just laughed and stopped in the middle of the road, looking completely unbothered by the rain.

- “Dance with me,” he insisted, holding out a hand to you.

- “You’re really crazy now, babe!” you told him, futilely attempting to cover your head with your purse.

- “We’re already soaked, might as well enjoy ourselves,” he shot back with a grin.

- You couldn’t really argue with him there. So instead of trying, you rolled your eyes with a laugh and let him hold you close as the rain fell around you and you swayed to imaginary music.

- Though you tease him all the time, the truth is that you love how carefree and happy your husband is when he’s dancing and having fun. You feel safest and happiest when you’re in his arms, and there’s no one else you’d rather be dancing through life with.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #x reader #x female reader #miles teller #top gun #top gun: maverick

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miilkybnn · 8 months

Note

I know these have been requested already but I adore your 09 and cowboy Ghost/Roach/Soap art and would love to see more!! Also, do you have any cowboy/gunslinger headcanons for the three??

I, too, adore ’09 GhostRoachSoap AND cowboy/ranch life GhostRoachSoap so you absolutely WILL see more of them, I promise!!

As for ideas/hc for the cowboy au, it’s a lot more “ranch life” based than gunslingers so if you are into that, keep reading below the line!

If not, then you are more than welcome to skip over this :}

Disclaimer: Most of my ideas are a bit scattered so I apologize for the messy layout, I’ll try my best to keep it coherent. Also, this is not all of them I don’t want this to be overly long

Background:

The AU takes place in Roach’s family ranch where all three members have been discharged from duty.

In this AU, because I like happiness, there is no war over the horizon and is simply a group of people living their lives out on the rolling plains of either Texas or Tennessee— I’m leaning more towards Texas just because I know more about the agriculture of the Texas plains.

In this AU, the 141 & Co simply live their lives from either being retired/discharged/etc. While everyone is involved (except for Shepherd, eat shit and die Shepherd), they all do their own thing but primary attention is mainly on GhostRoachSoap

Roach (+ extended background):

Roach and his other 5 siblings have the ranch under their and their parent’s name. He and two of his siblings, the youngest and the second oldest, are more active in taking care of the ranch's needs now that their parents are well into their ages. The other three help ever so often with more minor things but they have their own families to tend to and his parents don't actually live in the ranch anymore (again, due to age) and live closer to the city.

Roach, however, is the main caretaker for the ranch. He spends the most time on the land and is often alone, that was until Ghost and Soap came

Headcanons;

His accent left when he joined the army. Came back tenfold after a week on the ranch.

Has a collection of cowboy hats and each one serves a purpose (although his favorite is his very worn-out Cattleman that he leaves by the front door to take on his way out)

Expert horse rider. I'm not saying you would see this man at the Rodeo, but he’s had his fair share of bucking broncos, and not ONCE has he been bucked off.

Though there are horses on the ranch, his horse is Estella— a Chestnut American Quarter Horse with three white socks (forelegs + right hind leg) and a star + stripe. She loves to chew on people’s clothes if they turn their backs on her.

Has slept in the barn before (multiple times) and regrets it every time (wouldn’t recommend it, very lumpy and you WILL wake up with straw in places you don’t want it to be)

LOVES cattle work, and hates paperwork 💀 (he lets Ghost, and his two other siblings take care of it) due to this, he is good at reading the animals and knowing when something is wrong!

Are good friends with the vet! (It’s his ex 💀) (They broke amicably though so it’s okay!!) (“So, like, when I kiss you??…. it’s gross” “OH thank God, I thought it was only me")

Gets SOOO distracted when Soap is picking the hay bales. Bff short circuits for a good minute before Ella gets miffed at him and throws her head back

Cows > sheep (will make an exception for baby lambs tho)

Soap:

Along with Ghost, realistically both would not actually retire in some rural Texas town but because I can, let's say they decided to retire to some rural Texas town.

Soap is the most recent member to the farm and took to it like a duck to water. (We'll ignore the times he forgot to lock the chicken coop). He was on active duty but after a close call that was too close to comfort, he decided that maybe it was time to retire. Price is the one that mentioned the ranch to him, although at the time he did not know it was a ranch.

All Price told him was “if you are looking for something a little different, take a look here" and looking he went.

Headcanons:

Not on the friendliest terms with the cattle dogs but boy do they LOVE him (they’ve tried to herd him multiple times and have succeeded) (he cusses both Ghost and Roach out for watching and letting it happen)

Loves the nitty gritty work. Hay bales? Check. Cleaning the stables? On it. Shearing the sheep? The Clippers are all warmed up already. If there’s a job that involves getting his hands dirty, he is the first in line

Sheep > cows

His horse is a Buckskin American Quarter Horse that he very proudly named Buck. This name came after Roach told him the color of his coat but was reinforced when Soap tried riding him and was almost bucked off. They became the best of pals after that, and Buck occasionally tries to nibble Soap’s mohawk for fun.

His favorite chore is feeding the animals! He loves watching them all flock to their food and munch away. He doesn't find it much of a chore as it fills him with such joy to see all the creatures he cares for flourish.

Gagged the first, second, and third time he saw a sheep give birth. Man has seen a soldier’s leg come clean off from a bomb and recovered in less than 5 minutes but BIRTH? Get the bucket ready.

Ghost:

Discharged after a mission had gone wrong, Ghost had no idea where to go. With no family to go back to and no friends to crash with, civilian life was looking very bleak until Price came to him with a plane ticket and an address to some rural town in Texas.

Ranch life was… different for Ghost. It wasn’t bad per say, and he can’t really find much to complain about, but it was just different. It is... steadier? softer? he's not too sure but at least it lets him sleep easier at night.

It took him and Roach a while to find a rhythm. It wasn’t easy and it was very awkward at first but eventually they were able to settle on something unique for them that worked out.

Headcanons:

Sheep > cows

He likes to roam around with the LGDs. He greatly respects their jobs and has grown a soft spot for them. He knows he’s not supposed to distract them, but he just can’t help himself and always gives them a good belly rub.

Became good friends with the farrier. Farrier does most of the talking but Ghost will join in here and there. He really likes learning about the Farrier's different methods and likes to watch him work on the horses. (Lowkey thinking about making Jackson the farrier bc why not)

One of my favorite personal hc's about Ghost is that he is shit at naming things so yeah, he named his horse, Horse. Roach almost took his horse privileges away because of it but anyway, his horse is not an AQH like Roach/Soap but is instead one of the two draft horses the ranch has! His horse is Blue Roan Clydesdale with a very splotchy coat that loves peppermints and loves napping her days away (she’s had three kids alright she deserves it)

Genuinely enjoys doing the ranch paperwork. Sure, he has to ask Roach here and there where some of the stuff is at but honestly? Could spend hours reading and organizing the books and such. He's very interested in the topics discussed.

Earliest riser. His favorite time of the day is just before the sun peaks over the horizon where everything is blue and foggy, where condensation sits on his skin, when the crickets are still chirping, and when the mourning doves are softly cooing. Roach wakes up soon after him.

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heavenlyakin · 4 months

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Part 8: Our Love Has Gone Cold

Summary: Your life is forever changed when your most trusted advisor arrives home with an engagement treaty. As Queen of your Kingdom, you knew there would be sacrifices but little did you know how much the cost of these sacrifices would be. What do you do when your mind wants one thing but your heart longs for another?

Characters: Reader (some descriptions apply), Suguru Geto, Satoru Gojo

Warnings: pregnancy, mentions of birth, childbirth, and descriptions of blood.

Length: 2k

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You sigh, leaning back on the pillows propped up for you. The sun is shining, and the warmth from the mid-summer day brings you feelings you haven’t had since before the rain. A sense of security, you think.

Ella suggested you spend the afternoon reading outside since your morning sickness has seemed to pass in the last week. So, you had some staff set up a spot out in the gardens where the grass grows thick with blankets and pillows, and of course, a stack of books to choose from.

The midwife says you’re mostly through the pregnancy, with only two months left of this discomfort. It’s not like you expected it to be the most pleasant thing, but spending most mornings with your head in a bucket and Satoru holding your hair back isn’t exactly your idea of fun.

The idea of having to do this three more times makes you want to be sick again, but you clear that thought from your head.

“Your Highness,” a guard says, interrupting your train of thought.

“Yes?” You ask, looking up at him.

“The King has returned home, a letter has just arrived from his palace.” He hands you the sealed letter.

“Thank you,” you smile at him and he returns to his post a few feet from you.

Opening the letter, you begin to read.

My Beautiful Wife, I have returned home, but it doesn’t feel the way it used to now that I’ve experienced life with you. I expect to return in a fortnight or two, depending on the seriousness of business here. I promise to return before the birth of our child at the very least. I have also been reconsidering the agreement we made about splitting time between the Kingdoms. Perhaps we can discuss it once you’re no longer preoccupied with growing life. There may be a way we can build a castle near the borders, allowing us to stay there and manage both without needing to be apart. Until I see you again, I will long for your touch. With Love, Your Devoted Husband

You laugh, shaking your head and putting the letter in the book you were holding. It will serve as a good bookmark for this afternoon. Satoru is one for dramatic language, but that level of theatrics has you stunned.

Your feelings for him are confusing. You’re not sure what to make of them. Something about the way he caresses your body makes you feel more than you’ve ever felt before. When he talks to your growing bump, your heart clenches and you can’t help but wonder if this is what love is supposed to feel like.

It’s good. It’s soft. It’s pure.

The feelings you had, or rather, have for Suguru are so much more intense. So intense it hurts at times. The longing, the desire, the need to have him around. Missing him every second he’s away. It’s all too much.

That shouldn’t be what love feels like.

He hasn’t talked to you outside of council meetings since you ordered him out of your room, which you wanted. However, since Satoru left earlier in the week, you’ve found your mind less distracted.

A few noblewomen walk by you on the path, waiving at you as they go. You wave back, placing your hand back on your bump, and rubbing it softly. You feel a flutter in your stomach, then your hand is kicked through the dress.

“Oh!” You gasp, and two guards come running towards you.

“Your Highness! Is everything okay?!” The one on the left calls as he runs.

“I’m fine!” You call back, but they keep coming. Once they arrive, you speak without thinking. Instinct is taking over. “Please send for Suguru Geto.”

Another flutter followed by a kick follows as you wait. If only you were in your rooms, you could take off the dress and watch your skin move without the layers of fabric. Looking up, you see Suguru running towards you, the guards you sent following behind him.

“Is everything alright?” He asks, kneeling down next to you.

“Mhm,” you nod, smiling. “Feel,” you take his large hand and place it on your stomach.

“What- Oh,” he chuckles. “Your child.”

You nod. “It’s the first time the baby has moved in a way that can be felt outside my body.”

He pulls his hand away. “May I sit with you?”

You nod.

“I owe you an apology,” he tells you.

You sigh, nodding. “I was not kind either.”

“I should have never,” he looks around for listening ears, “mentioned what you and the King do in your alone time. I must remember my place.”

You bite your lip, worried about what will come out if you do not think before you speak. “I forgive you.”

He smiles, looking forward at the gardens in front of you both. The roses and lilac have begun to blook, but some of the other more colorful flowers are still just buds. It’s still a pretty view.

“Satoru will return in a fortnight or two,” you say breaking the silence. “Until then, I will need company.”

“My Queen,” he says, tilting his head. “I’m not sure I am someone you should request that of.”

You frown, “no one is listening to us, Suguru.”

“Are you sure,” he asks, his eyes unreadable as he looks away.

“You’re my oldest friend, Suguru.”

“Friend,” he repeats.

You sigh feeling the urge to apologize to him.

–

A month passes, and Satoru returns. The relationship between the two of you remains unchanged. You spend more nights in your own bed than his, claiming discomfort in sharing a bed while so heavily with a child.

The real excuse is the nights you spend with Suguru, playing cards and dice.

He makes you laugh, makes you feel something unmatched by anyone else, and brings you a sense of comfort at your most uncomfortable. Even now, just sitting together in your room and reading, you feel more at ease than you do when you’re with Satoru.

You feel guilty for that, knowing you’re not comfortable with your husband. It’s been nearly 8 months since the wedding and most of what you know about him you learned in the week leading up to the wedding. Not that you have informed him about you either. Perhaps neither of you is trying enough.

The feeling of having to put on a front, to perform, for your husband is not something you expected. Especially during this fragile time.

A sharp pain in your abdomen causes you to drop your book and groan. “Oh gods,” you whimper.

“What is it?” Suguru looks up from his book, concerned.

“It’s nothing,” you lie. “I think it’s another cramp.”

“Should I call for the midwife?” He asks and you shake your head.

“Imagine the scandal if you were caught in my rooms this late. I’m fine.” You tell him, another cramp rumbling through your body and up your lower spine.

He looks unhappy but does not fight you.

Your pain subsides and you go back to reading until you feel something wet and warm running down your legs. You lay the book down, excusing yourself to the bathing chamber. Lifting up your skirt, you find blood running down your legs.

It’s okay, you tell yourself. You are okay.

“Suguru, will you please leave? I’m going to call for my midwife.” You ask, legs shaking as you walk back into the room.

“Tell me what’s wrong, —--.” He stands up, coming towards you.

“Please don’t freak out…” you sit on your bed, grateful to no longer be standing. “I’m bleeding. I’m scared. I don’t want anyone else to know. Just leave so I can call for her.”

He takes your hands, kisses your forehead, and then releases you. “You’re going to be okay. Call for her, I’ll come back in a few minutes when the King is here so it doesn’t look suspicious.”

You nod and he leaves.

You scream for the guards, your panic taking over. They run out, one remaining with you and trying to calm you, telling you about his wife’s birth and how she had bled before hers too. He stumbles over his words, sounding panicked and scared, but it’s somehow helping keep you from crying.

The midwife arrives and shortly after, so does your husband, his eyes wild with fear.

The next few hours are a blur of sobbing, blinding pain, and then high-pitched cries from your child. At times you didn’t think you’d make it, but Satoru whispering encouraging words and knowing Suguru is just outside the room with the other advisors keeps you going.

Your son is small, having come a few weeks too soon, but he is strong the midwife assures you. His hair is stark white like his father's and his eyes are an exact match to Satoru. Nothing of the child resembles you. Something in you hurts at this realization.

Holding him feels surreal, having carried him inside of you for so long and now he’s in your arms. When Satoru takes him from you, you do not reject him.

“We shall call him Haku,” Satoru says, not asking.

“If you wish,” you say weakly, adjusting a pillow under your head. “Haku, your heir.”

“My heir,” Satoru repeats, holding the baby close to his chest and smiling at you. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Ha,” you feign a laugh, “perhaps having the next one yourself.”

Satoru laughs, sitting on the bed with you and placing the baby between you. “Do you think he’s hungry?”

“How would I know?” You frown, looking at the sleeping infant. “He isn’t crying, so I suppose not.”

“You’re right. Will you feed him yourself? Before my mother passed she told me it is good for the mother to feed her child herself-”

“We have wet nurses in the palace. He will be fine.” You cut him off, reeling a the idea of having a baby attached to your breast for hours upon hours every day.

He does not argue.

“Your Highnesses,” the midwife says, excusing herself with a bow after cleaning up the room.

“I need to rest.” You sigh, feeling a wave of exhaustion go through you. “We can have the nurses take him.”

“I will take him if that’s alright. I can introduce him to the council, letting them all know we have an heir.” His voice is full of pride and you smile.

“As you wish.”

“I’ll check in on you tomorrow,” he kisses your cheek, then picks up Haku and takes him from the room.

Before the door shuts you hear an abundance of gasos and coos at the arrival of Satoru’s son. You would smile, but sleep takes you too soon after the door shuts. It’s not long, however, as you’re awoken feeling the bed shift beside you.

Suguru sits beside you, beaming at you. “Hey,” he smiles and you grin.

“Suguru,” you smile, moving to sit up.

“Please stay still, you must be exhausted.” He brushes your hair back from your face. “King Gojo is a very proud father, the child is his twin.”

“He is,” you agree, looking away. “Seems a little unfair, since I carried him for so long.”

“I’m so proud of you,” he tells you, caressing your cheek.

You place your hand over his, leaning into his touch and closing your eyes. You’re not sure if the emotions from childbirth, or your real feelings, but everything feels more intense now that he’s here with you. It took everything in you not to call out for him when you were pushing, not wanting to shame Satoru in the process.

“Would it be inappropriate to ask you to stay with me?” You ask and his eyes fill with something you don’t want to acknowledge quite yet.

“It would, but who am I to reject my Queen?” He pulls the covers up, gets under, and lies next to you.

Laying your head on his chest, he wraps your arms around you. For the first time since your mother passed, you feel comforted. You feel at home again.

“Suguru?”

“Hmm,” he hums sleepily.

“I love you.”

#📜.somebody else #suguru getou x reader #getou suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader

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esuemmanuel · 10 months

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Una vez que terminé de mirarla la dejé ir… la solté como se suelta una hoja seca de la rama de un árbol viejo a mediados de otoño… era libre para irse y yo para no volverla a ver… había cumplido su propósito y ya no tenía caso mantenerla aferrada a mis manos. Me hizo feliz por el corto tiempo que la tuve y, probablemente, haga felices a muchos otros más cuando se encuentren con ella y la posean como se poseen la luna y las estrellas al soñar. Antes de soltarla, agradecí haberla tenido y haberme hecho un poco más humano, porque, antes de que ella llegara, yo era un simple e indeterminado pensamiento; corto y vago, sin miras a nacer, pero llegó ella y pude, no sólo nacer, también crecer y morir… tantas veces como jamás lo imaginé.

Once I finished looking at her I let her go... I let her go as one lets go of a dry leaf from the branch of an old tree in the middle of autumn... she was free to go and I was free not to see her again... she had served her purpose and there was no longer any point in keeping her clinging to my hands. She made me happy for the short time I had her and will probably make many more happy when they meet her and possess her as one possesses the moon and stars when dreaming. Before letting her go, I was grateful to have had her and to have become a little more human, because, before she arrived, I was a simple and indeterminate thought; short and vague, without a view to be born, but she arrived and I could not only be born, but also grow and die... as many times as I never imagined.

#esuemmanuelg #el hombre de la soledad #escribiendo en soledad #escritores en tumblr #the man of solitude #writing in solitude #poetas en tumblr #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #pensamientos #poeticstories #2023 #musings

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 1 year

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Life Is Short So Make It Sweet

Chapter Eleven: More Than Just Turkey

Summary- 5k Curtis Everett x Plus!Sized Reader. Tanya opened her home to the holiday and you are nervous to be joining in on these friends made into a family holiday. Curtis though is happy to include you among those he is closest with.

Warnings- Reader experiences moments of nervousness and doubt. Some hesitant eating moments. Sexual Content, Fingering. This is an 18+ Only Blog

A/N- It is no secret I love holidays and had to include a Friendsgiving chapter for this verse. I think I love this chapter for the fact that Curtis made his own family in his friends. As always, thank you so much for reading, sharing, and commenting. Every time I read someone's comment, message, or ask that talks about being seen in this journey, I just feel so grateful. Special thanks to @what-is-your-plan-today for taking the time to go over this, especially with you having been under the weather. All the love, thank you so much. Dividers made by @firefly-graphics

Chapter Ten / Masterlist

“You sure this is enough?” You worried as Curtis drove towards Tanya's house. You twisted in your seat once more, checking your two dishes were safe although you already knew they were secured in place. Curtis glanced at you from the corner of his eye and reached over to grasp your thigh, gently squeezing to get your attention.

“Honey, it is more than enough. Especially when Tanya told you not to bring anything.” He calmly reminded you.

His tone served as a reminder that you were everything he wasn't right now. Where he was calm and collected, you were a nervous bundle of energy fretting in your seat. You had worried about everything since Curtis went to your apartment to pick you up, patiently he assured you that you looked beautiful and the food you got up early to make tasted perfect. He had his suspicions about why you were nervous but kept those thoughts to himself.

For you, this was a big moment and it had been drilled into you with Jake that you had to be perfect when going to friends' and families' houses. Curtis was nothing like Jake, but old habits died hard.

“I can’t show up at Tanya’s house with nothing Curtis.”

“And you have two dishes that look amazing and I know will taste even better from the sample I took this morning.”

“Really?” You finally straightened back in place and Curtis took your hand to bring into his lap, smoothing his thumb over the back of your hand.

“Really Honey, Tanya is gonna be thrilled to see your sweet potato casserole and rolls.” He lifted your hand up to his whiskered mouth, pressing a kiss there. “Now try and relax, enjoy yourself Pretty Girl.” He rumbled out deeply and you inched over closer to let your head rest against his shoulder.

Curtis kept hold of your hand till the time he pulled into the driveway, several cars were already parked there. You swiftly unbuckled and Curtis tightened his hold on you to tug you close against him, tilting your face to look at him.

“Remember that these are friends. What’s got you so worried?” Curtis finally voiced, knowing you were still dealing with the shit your ex had put you through, and then not to mention Halloween was just four weeks ago. “I promise all that is expected of you is to enjoy your holiday.”

He opted not to mention Edgar’s behavior at Halloween. Between him and Tanya, Edgar already knew he was on thin ice and had to be at his absolute best today, or else they really were going to let Ella loose on him. That is if Curtis didn’t get to him first. They still hadn’t chatted, but it was something Curtis planned on fixing today. Get what needed to be said out and move on.

Curtis wasn’t necessarily sympathetic about Edgar’s jealousy but you had seemed ready to forgive and try again, he supposed he could as well. With the clear promise, it was to never happen again.

You wrinkled your nose and he pressed a kiss to the tip, even though his crystalline blues bored into your own still. “What if I do something, or get in the way.” Your brows furrowed and you looked down, your insecurities getting the best of you at the moment. “I just don’t want to embarrass you today.”

“Just be you, Honey, You are sweet, kind, sexy as fuck…” You rolled your eyes a bit here, but Curtis got your attention again. “... and I’m damn proud you're my girl that I get to show off. You have nothing to worry about today.”

“You are too much.” You couldn't hold back the smile, his words having given you a giddy rush that warmed your cheeks and made you glad you were here now.

“I don’t tell you nearly enough Pretty Girl. Come on.” He opened the door and slid you across the seat to help you down. Once one of your dishes was secured in your hold and he had the other, the two of you made it up the steps and a knock had the door springing open to Timmy waiting in the entranceway, holding out his hands in offering to let you step inside.

“Hey Ms.Y/L/N, Curtis, Mama was saying you two should be showing up any minute.”

“Y/N had to let something cool before we could get here.” Curtis set down his bowl and offered to help you out of your jacket, then took off his.

“Hey, Timmy, how about today it's just Y/N? We are on vacation after all.” You offered and your student gave a nod in understanding.

“Sure thing Y/N, the kitchen is just down the hall to the left, everyone is in there or the living room, I will go bring these to mom.” He took off with your sweet potatoes, and you turned to Curtis, moving to pick up the rolls.

“I'm gonna run these in there.” You mentioned while he unlaced his boots to get them off.

“I will be around in a minute to say Hi to Tanya.”

You made your way into the kitchen, bypassing the living room where it looked like Edgar and Timmy were getting ready to wrestle, while Grey was teaching the kid some moves to use on Edgar. In the kitchen you found Tanya and Ella picking at some snacks on a board, an open bottle of wine, and food scattered all over the place. On a stool near Ella stood Sophia, the little three-year-old in pigtails, doing her best to mix some dough with her spoon, happily.

“Hey.” You said as you held up a covered cooking sheet. “I also come with some rolls.”

“You are a life saver Y/N.” Tanya exclaimed as she motioned to a bare spot on her island counter. “This one distracted me and I done burned mine.” Curtis’ cousin next to her gave a look to her friend.

“Excuse me, I'm sorry that I literally said ‘Hey look at this post on Instagram and you forgot your rolls scrolling the half-naked hot dudes. Hate to see your reaction to pornhub.” Ella set her phone down to help Sophia with stirring. “Alright kiddo, these cookies are looking good. But you know who is here now? Uncle Curtis.” She fixed Sophia’s hair. “Can you say hi to Y/N? Remember she gave us all the best candy trick or treating.”

The little girl, with her chubby cheeks a bit ruddy from the warmth in the kitchen and bright shining eyes, immediately dropped her spoon in the bowl and threw her hands up to be let down. “Uncle! Uncle!” She beamed at you as Ella wiped at her hands with a wet towel and tugged her flour covered mini apron off to set her free. “Hi!” Little fingers waved at you before she giggled and scrunched up her face at you.

“He should be here in just a second, he was just taking off his boots.” You told the women as you reached a hand for Sophia, who grasped it in a greeting. “Hey, Sophia nice to see you.”

Sophia's eyes were bright and exquisite as she looked you over. She must have deemed you okay because she rambled right into a conversation with you in two seconds while still working on getting off her chair. “Those suga’ cookies’ for famksgiving.” You were helping her down when Curtis came around the corner.

“Uncle!” Sophia's voice rose in excitement and bolted away from you to race to her uncle who promptly caught her and swung her up into the crook of his arm, where she sat like she belonged, hugging him around his neck and pointing excitedly at her cookie dough. “Look what I’m making!”

“Well, you are the cookie monster.” He swung her around, blowing on her belly and making her squeal in laughter. Ella shook her head at the two of them.

“How about we finish your sugar cookies and you go play with Uncle Curtis?” Ella wiggled her brows at the suggestion, the little girl immediately on board with the idea.

“You’re leaving me alone with this rugrat?” Curtis now had Sophia hanging over his shoulder, the little girl squealing with excitement as she grabbed at her uncle's beanie and shoved the too big hat on her head, half covering her head.

“Her father is in the other room. Let Grey take her for a while. It’s his weekend with her.” Ella nodded, tickling the back of Sophia’s feet, making her kick against Curtis’s chest lightly. Tanya piped up from the stove where she was basting a turkey.

“You will be safe Curtis.” From the other room, Timmy chose the opportune moment to call Curtis's name.

There was no saving him now and he took a firm hold of Sophia's swinging legs to keep her from kicking, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Don’t believe anything these two say while I’m gone.”

“I’m gonna tell her about that time I caught you kissing my doll.” Ella smirked as she rolled out the cookie dough, Tanya pausing in mid-baste to look over her shoulder.

“He didn’t!”

“Sure was! He claims he was practicing to kiss the girl next door to Grammy’s.” Ella promised.

Curtis groaned as he hung his head, sighing. “I should have lied to you.”

“How could you have lied about that Curtis? Anything else would have just sounded weirder.” Ella laughed as she continued with the cookies.

You shooed your hands at him, giving a light push. “Git outta here, I wanna hear more about what you did as a kid.”

He shot one last look at the three women while Sophia slid back into his arms. He looked down at his niece and everything was all good, you fit in just like you had always been a part of the family. “Come on Little Terror, let’s go find your Daddy.”

Entering the living room where Edgar and Timmy had each other in a headlock and Grey was directing Timmy on which way to twist to bring Edgar down to the floor.

“Okay! Okay, I give.” Edgar finally bowed out, the two of them falling to the floor, panting to catch their breath. Curtis let Sophia go, watching her run off to her father.

“Hey Edgar, got a minute?” Cutis cocked his head to the door in suggestion. Edgar glanced up at him warily but gave a nod, pushing himself up off the floor to follow Curtis outside on the porch. The two men stood out in the chilly fall morning, watching Tanya’s street with interest. Edgar shifted nervously next to Curtis, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck to ease the tension.

“So- uh- before we start, I wanna say thanks, for being cool with me coming today.”

Curtis breathed in deeply, clearing out his irritation with Edgar and remembering how you were willing to give him a chance. “You really have to thank Y/N for that. She was willing to look past the things you said and give you a chance to prove that you’re better than that.” Curtis leaned his forearms on the railing, still looking out on the street. “Which I know you are Edgar, I just…well, I still don’t fucking understand where that came from.”

Turning finally to face him, expecting an answer Edgar sighed. “Me being a dumbass. Like I told Y/N, jealous. You were happy Curtis. In two months your whole life was just better all because of Y/N. I was there, you were watching Y/N like she was a literal Goddess walking around the room, and fuck man, I wanted that. I wanted someone who just makes everything seem worth it, you know?”

“God Edgar, you are something else.” Curtis shook his head in irritation. “So you saw I was happy and you decided to what… try to make Y/N seem unworthy?”

“I was an idiot, not thinking clearly. She seemed too good, everyone liked her, all of us, myself included liked her from the moment we met her. I just… grasped at the first thing I could to make her seem less perfect I guess.”

“I could fucking strangle you.” Cutis snapped out, leveling a cold look at Edgar. “You know what happened after that?” Edgar gave a sad shake of his head. “Y/N hated on herself, you made her believe every fear she has about herself. She shut down that night and I spent all Halloween reminding her that she was perfect just as she is.”

“I wish I could take it back… I don’t feel that way at all about her, I swear.”

“Words fucking mean something Edgar, the things you say can lift a person up or drag them down. You brought her to a dark place that she had already escaped from once.” Curtis angrily said.

“I’m sorry, I really am.” Edgar said quietly.

Curtis took a moment, letting himself calm down once more. “ I know you are, I do believe that you are. Y/N is ready to move on and if she is then I’m willing to as well. But listen carefully Edgar, if you ever make me choose between the two of you again, it is going to be her.”

“Okay.”

“No, I'm dead fucking serious Edgar. I don’t know where Y/N and I are going to end up, but I’m ready to see, she’s unlike any woman I’ve dated so far. This isn’t us fooling around 'cause it’s a good time.”

“I get it Curtis, we can all see that this isn’t like any girlfriend you’ve had before.”

You craned your head out of the kitchen to watch Curtis leave with Sophia when you turned back to the other two, going to help with cutting out the cookies and putting them on the tray. “So… tell me more about Curtis as a kid?”

“Oh gladly.” Ella grinned, delving into more stories of him when he was younger. The next half hour they spent together was Ella telling childhood stories along with Tanya filling in some of her own stories from their friendship. You found yourself giggling so much that your eyes watered and you constantly were wiping at them.

Tanya finally pulled out the last tray of cookies and set them aside. “Well that's just about it, Y/N can you go tell them I need one of them to carve this turkey and Timmy to come set the table?”

“Of course.” You set your wine glass down, feeling a bit giddy still and Ella promptly reached over to pour the last of the wine bottle in it.

“I will bring it to the table.” She winked. “Tanya we gotta open another bottle.”

“Another one?”

You heard Tanya answer back as you made your way to the living room. Poking your head in, the sight that you saw made you cover your mouth briefly to keep a surprised ‘aww’ escaping. All four of the guys were scattered around the floor lounging, Sophia going to each one to make them so pretty as she kept saying.

Carefully she would brush the men's hair, trying to sweep it back or make it stand up, depending on who she was with. Making her way to Curtis, she just swiped it over his scalp and then on his beard, beaming at her uncle. “So pretty.”

“Yes, so pretty.” Curtis agreed with her, rolling his eyes up and wincing just a bit when she let the bristles come down just a little too hard. “Okay, go get Daddy now.”

This is when you opted to make yourself known. “Hey, Tanya needs someone to go carve the turkey, any takers?”

Edgar pushed up off the floor before Sophia could circle back to him, taking the excuse to escape getting his hair brushed once more. Timmy was right behind him and Gray caught his daughter in his hold, kissing her chubby cheek. “You wanna go help Mommy now?” The toddler swept her brush through his hair with an enthusiastic nod.

Leaving just you and Curtis alone in the living room, he pushed to a stand while you joined him. “Having a good time?” He inquired while running his hands around you to press into the dip of your back and pull you flush against him. You circled his waist in response, swaying gently with him.

“Yes, Ella and Tanya told me a lot.” You giggled, still feeling the warm rush the wine gave you. “I didn’t have the heart to tell your cousin that your moves have gotten better over the years. She likes to think that you are a walking disaster when it comes to women.”

Curtis groaned with a tilt of his head. “She really forgets nothing.”

“Did you really show up at a girl's house with a boombox to play Backstreet Boys?”

“It was her favorite song. I was thirteen.” He let his forehead lean against yours, “I just watched Say Anything and saw John Cusak do it.”

You giggled as you tilted your face up to nibble at his bottom lip, your eyes shining excitedly at him from under your lashes. You are full of surprises Curtis.”

“I got more for you later.” He winked at you, a thumb and forefinger grasping your chin to hold you still as he tilted in close, kissing you slow and dirty in the middle of his friend's living room, Your hands clutched at the back of his shirt to keep yourself steady at the moment.

It seemed to have the desired effect he was looking for because you were left with parted lips and dazed eyes as his thumb swiped along your bottom lip before weaving his hand with yours and leading you away from the living room.

At the moment you were speechless, having him chuckling softly as he tucked you under his arm, while rejoining everyone else.

“You were playing dirty.” You whispered to him before anyone could hear you.

“Nah, I was being nice, Pretty Girl.” His tone dropped at the nickname and he eased out a chair which you settled into, glancing around the table. Timmy was carving the turkey with Edgar nearby giving tips, Grey and Ella had Sophia between the two of them, Ella making her a plate while Grey worked on tying her hair back to keep it from getting messy while she was eating. Tanya was admiring the entire setup with a pleased look on her face.

“It all looks so good.” You complimented as you felt your leg jiggle. There was so much food and everyone was generously helping themselves to what was spread around and you found yourself suddenly nervous about taking any. Each bowl and platter Curtis passed to you had you taking small amounts, easily leaving you with just a few bites of everything.

It didn’t pass Curtis’s notice, seeing you pick at the food on your plate. Under the table he reached over to gently grasp your thigh, giving a slight squeeze to catch your attention. You were talking to Grey across the table, but feeling Curtis’s hand, you glanced at him, your fork with a tiny bite of potatoes. His gaze dropped to your fork in question and you were quick to take that bite.

Was he judging what you were eating? The chaotic part of your mind drilled you, even though the sensible part was sure to remind you that he never had before and on the first date he watched you eat a giant burger, fries and a shake, there wasn't even enough on your plate to count as a full meal.

But his hand never moved away, if anything he tucked it further between your thighs and let his thumb brush back and forth soothing while he went back to talking among the group. Curtis wasn’t upset with you eating, he was just silently checking in to make sure you were okay. It occurred to you that you were letting your thoughts dictate you and you weren't enjoying yourself because you were worried over nothing no one else was noticing. In defiance of the negative thoughts, you nudged Curtis.

“Can I have the mashed potatoes and gravy?”

Curtis gave you a genuine smile while handing them over to you. “Anything you want Honey, more turkey? You don't have much.”

“Yes please and a roll.”

You were done censoring your eating today and properly filled your plate.

“Where did you teach before here Y/N?” Tanya asked, drawing you back into the conversation.

You had to clear your mind, clearing your throat to focus on what was asked of you and take another bite. “Lake George in New York for almost five years, but I needed the change.”

Curtis had yet to remove his hand from your leg, but you were noticeably at ease once more and were not pushing your food around like you had been before. He remained quiet while you opened up with everyone, soon laughing just like you were before in the kitchen. Completely in the moment.

And that was all he wanted today, for you to feel welcome in those he considered his family.

Soon everyone was pushing their plates away with overfilled groans about how good the food had been. “Well, I think I can get this table cleaned off, you all up for some games?” Tanya pushed to a stand, gathering dirty dishes.

“Sure, what do you have?” Ella asked curiously, handing her dishes over. Curtis removed himself from the table to collect the dishes from Tanya to bring them to the kitchen, you started to gather stuff off the table while the others discussed game choices.

“Thanks Curtis and Y/N, umm, Timmy what do we have?”

Curtis was quick to deposit the dishes in the kitchen and you were right next to him organizing them so they didn't take up too much counter space. Taking your hand, he gave you a light tug to have you follow him, leading you into the hallway. “Where are we going?” You asked him in a whisper and he didn't slow down till he got to a door and swept it open to a guest bathroom. Being pulled in, you turned to him with a confused look while he locked the door behind him.

“Right here.” He directed you to turn around in the small space, moving behind you till you were facing the mirror hanging above the bathroom sink. “I wanted a few minutes alone with you Honey.” He muttered as he rubbed his chin against the curve of your neck, watching your reactions through the mirror. “Just checking in with you.” A tilt of his head made him start teasing near the hinge of your jaw causing you to tilt for him. “Pretty Girl.”

Your breath hitched hearing him, his gaze lifting enough to see that instead of closing up, you were getting lost in the sensations his mouth was bringing you. His hands squeezed your hips once more before pushing under your shirt to stroke along the lower part of your belly.

“I’m good, feeling really good.” You said hazily as he flushed kisses down to your shoulder.

“I can tell, think you can be quiet for me?” Fingers delved under the band of your pants to brush his fingers on your mound, pressing lightly into the soft curls before stroking against your slit, making you quiver, shooting a look at him through the mirror. His head tilted in question even though he continued to touch, tracing your slit now to spread your folds apart.

Yes, you could be quiet cause he gathered enough slick to rub your clit and you urgently gripped the edge of the counter but didn’t make a peep at how good it felt. “That’s my girl.” He praised your efforts and started to tease you more, spreading slick that wept from you to put more pressure on you. He never let up kissing your neck, never quite giving you a hickey, but his teeth nipped in place of some kisses, and he never stopped praising you. Between presses of his lips, he would groan in your ear as a finger filled you, then another to stretch you and make you whimper at the sensation. “Eyes on me Pretty Girl, fuck you’re beautiful when you get like this.”

You did your best to stare at him through the mirror, your eyes rolling back whenever he hit a particularly sweet spot.

“Curtis…” You whispered out, your mouth screwing to keep from calling out as his calloused fingers stroked over your sweet spot over and over so you would cum for him.

“What is it Pretty Girl, think you’re gonna give out on me?” Another stroke had your knees giving a shake and your knuckles whitening as you grasped Tanya’s bathroom counter in an effort not to let yourself sag. Your head shook a no, you could keep going. His tone was heavy, graveled deep as he called you pretty girl once more, and stroked you so thoroughly, his thumb flicking around your clit, it all made your eyes waver back and jaw go slack.

“Oh god, I’m gonna-”

Hearing you he went faster, clasping his other hand over your mouth to keep you quiet while his fingers fucked you. “Come on Pretty Girl, you gonna show me how good you feel?” Hearing him, your velvet walls clenched around him and your eyes were now pleading with him in the mirror while his mouth curved up, feeling just how close you were.

“Pretty Girl, god you are so fucking sexy looking like this.” You clenched again, your slick sounding so loud now, the sound of his hand between your thigh was soon covered by your muffled gasp, feeling the white heat in your belly sear in pleasure while you sagged into his hold. “I got you…” His arm dropped to around your waist and you leaned back into his chest.

“Fuck that was perfect.” Curtis eased his hand from your pants and held up the glistening fingers with a smirk.

You shyly turned into his arms, feeling vulnerable in the way that this wasn't the safety of your apartment or his house. Your face pressed into the soft flannel covering his chest and he rubbed at your back, smiling to yourself as his mouth pressed at the crown of your head.

“You looked so good Honey, I couldn't stop thinking about getting you to myself for a few moments.” Curtis assured you, giving his hand a quick rinse in the bathroom sink.

You hid a smile in his chest but then you looked up, nuzzling a bit against his beard and sighing. “We should get back out there. I can only imagine Ella coming to look for us.”

Curtis gave a laugh, his eyes amused. “That is something she would do.” Before you let him unlock the door, you cupped the back of his neck and shared a thorough kiss, biting lightly at his bottom lip before pulling away from him.

“Okay, I’m ready now.” Clicking the lock, you both exited the bathroom.

On the way back through the house to go towards the dining room, you paused seeing all these pictures hanging in the hallway. Glancing at all the happy pictures, you saw a few that Curtis was included in.

What appeared to be card night around Tanya’s table with a much younger Timmy sitting next to him. You pointed it out to him. “How old was Timmy here?”

He scooped up behind you, kissing the back of your neck while you sunk back into him, looking up at the wall.

“Mmmh, probably 10? We were having poker night.” Curtis smiled at the memory of it. “Only gambling Tanya said we could do. Kid cleaned me out that night.”

You giggled at his story, letting your hands cover his resting on your waist. “What a beautiful family.”

He hummed in agreement and continued back towards the dining room.

Tanya just glanced at the two of you coming back into the room and gave a smile in greeting. “Would you two like some coffee?”

“Sure.” You were eager for the attention to fall off you and Curtis. “Let me help you.”

“No, no… I got it.” She said as she pushed up from the dining room table that was now littered with the board game Clue, some untouched snacks, and drinks. “You and Curtis are the green peg on the board and your turn is next. Cream, sugar?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Curtis?”

“None for me, thanks.” He said absently while studying the board, Ella flinging over a piece of paper with all the clues already given on the board. His arm circled over your shoulders while waiting for your turn to pop up. “Hey Sophia Bear, what cards does your mom have?” He teased and Ella hid her cards against her chest.

“Just cause you two went off doing who knows what doesn't mean you can cheat to win Curtis!”

“She has a man!” Sophia chose to divulge her mom's secrets anyways much to the room's amusement, making them all laugh. Grey tugged his toddler into his lap, whispering in her ear while Ella scowled at her kid.

“Good girl.”

Timmy stretched out across the table to move his piece into the library and started making his accusation as to whodunit.

Ella cheekily denied having any clues before she turned to you and Curtis. “Sooo, you two have a good time?”

“Just showing Y/N the house.” Curtis was quick to reply which had you half panicking next to him but under the table, his hand rubbed against your thigh reassuring. “Tanya has a nice backyard.”

“Liar, it's just a dirt patch back there,” Ella smirked at the two of you and shared a wink with you. “Good for you two. But… you’re still getting your asses beat at Clue.”

“Bring it.” Curtis challenged her while he pressed the dice into your hand. “Give us a good roll Honey.”

#life is short so make it sweet #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett x you #curtis everett x plus!sized reader #curtis everett fan fiction #curtis everett #snowpiercer au #curtis everett au #chris evans characters #fluff #holiday #friendsgiving #friends made into family #smut #amber writes #sweater writes

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lokidokieokie · 10 months

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Beyond the Pages | Chapter #2 -- Unveiling Mysteries

Series Summary: It was just your weekly trip to the comic-book store. While looking for a comic for your collection, you stumble upon an old-looking book, with an odd combination of symbols on the cover. You, being drawn to the weirdness of it, pick it up and open the cover. A strange force surrounded your person; and the next thing you knew, you were waking up on the steps of what looked to be 177A Bleecker Street. What had you gotten yourself into?

Pairing: Eventual Stephen Strange x Fem!reader

Warning(s): none that I can think of, lemme know if I've missed something

The Sanctum Sanctorum hummed with an ethereal energy as you followed Doctor Strange deeper into its enigmatic halls. Ancient artifacts lined the shelves, their whispers of power and history surrounding you like a cloak. It was a surreal experience, walking among relics that had only existed in the pages of comic books or the frames of movies.

As you navigated the winding corridors, Stephen's focused demeanor mirrored your own curiosity. He seemed determined to uncover the truth behind your sudden arrival in the Marvel Universe. You couldn't help but feel a mixture of awe and trepidation at his presence. After all, this was the legendary Sorcerer Supreme, a master of the mystic arts.

Finally, you reached a chamber filled with flickering candles and a large circular table. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation as you both took your seats. Stephen studied you intently, his eyes piercing through the veil of uncertainty.

"Y/n, we must delve deeper into the origins of this comic book and the forces that brought you here," he said, his voice laced with a sense of urgency. "It's essential to understand the extent of your connection to this reality."

You nodded, swallowing the nervous lump in your throat. "I'm ready," you replied, determined to uncover the truth behind your extraordinary journey.

Stephen reached out and placed his hands on the table, palms facing upward. He closed his eyes, drawing upon his mystical powers to connect with the arcane energies surrounding you both. A faint glow emanated from his hands as he channeled his focus.

"I shall commune with the Book of the Vishanti," Stephen intoned, his voice resonating with ancient power. "It holds the knowledge of all things mystical and may reveal the answers we seek."

As he invoked the Book of the Vishanti, a large tome materialised in front of him, its pages adorned with intricate illustrations and incantations. Stephen's fingers traced the symbols delicately, his touch unlocking the secrets within.

A soft glow enveloped the room as he began to recite an incantation, the words resonating with power. The book responded, its pages flipping rapidly as if guided by an unseen force. Images and words danced across the parchment, revealing snippets of forgotten lore and hidden truths.

Moments stretched into minutes, and the air crackled with anticipation. Finally, Stephen's eyes snapped open, a mixture of determination and surprise in their depths.

"The Nexus of All Realities, as we suspected, is the catalyst," Stephen revealed, his voice filled with newfound understanding. "It acts as a conduit, drawing elements from various dimensions and merging them into one."

You leaned forward, eager to grasp any information that could shed light on your situation. "But how does the comic book fit into all of this?" you asked, unable to contain your curiosity.

Stephen's gaze turned thoughtful as he connected the dots. "The comic book you held, Ella, served as a key—an anchor between your world and this reality. The Nexus recognised your deep connection to what you call the Marvel Universe, and in its enigmatic workings, it brought you here."

The revelation left you speechless. The idea that a mere comic book had become the bridge between dimensions was mind-boggling. It blurred the lines between fiction and reality in a way you could never have imagined.

"Can I go back?" you ventured, your voice filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty.

Stephen's expression softened, empathy shining in his eyes. "I will do everything in my power to find a way," he assured you. "But unraveling the secrets of the Nexus and its interdimensional workings will take time."

As you absorbed his words, a newfound resolve sparked within you. You were determined to navigate this unfamiliar realm and find your way back home. But for now, you would embrace the opportunity presented to you, to witness firsthand the heroes and legends you had admired from afar.

You nodded, a flicker of determination in your eyes. "I trust you, Stephen. Lead the way."

And this is where your journey of exploration and discovery, delving deeper into the mysteries of the Marvel Universe and the intricacies of the Nexus of All Realities began. The path ahead was going to be filled with challenges and revelations, but with the Sorcerer Supreme as your guide, you knew you were in capable hands.

Little did you know that your presence in this reality would have far-reaching consequences, not only for your own fate but for the delicate balance of the multiverse itself.

A/N My placement has finished...I'm really going to miss those crazy kids! New content will be coming out (hopefully) much quicker now that I'm not as busy!

🏷 @thewaithfuckingannoyme @evelyn-kingsley @moonlight-ee @fall-myriad @ironstrange1991 @night-spectrum @janora00 @sammy-13 @lokisfavtoy @leniram1890

#doctor strange #dr strange #dr stephen strange #stephen strange #doctor strange x reader #dr strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #doctor strange x fem!reader #stephen strange x fem!reader #dr strange x fem!reader #benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch character #multiversal travel #universal traveller #doctor strange fanfic #doctor strange fanfiction #beyond the pages #beyond the pages fanfic

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certifiedtrashmouth · 1 year

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for the spotify wrapped thing - 3? maybe?

TRACK 3 - nothing else i could do by ella jane (steve harrington x gn!reader)

a/n: this is one of the few happy songs i managed to get!!! So here’s some tooth-rotting fluff with none other than steve harrington <3

“and they can dance to the songs, and they can drink all the wine. because the high might be theirs, but all the bottles were mine. ”

You didn’t mean to develop a crush on Steve Harrington. That’s the first thing you need to clarify - it was not meant to happen.

It wasn’t meant to happen the first day you arrived at your new job for training at Scoops Ahoy, nervous and fiddling with the sailor themed uniform you’d been provided with during your initiation. He’d been assigned with your training. And within the first thirty minutes, you could see why - he was good at it. Not just the job, but at making you feel comfortable. He made a million lame jokes, embarrassed himself more times than you could count on one hand, but at the end of the day, your nerves had faded and he was complimenting you, saying you were a ‘natural at scooping’.

It also wasn’t meant to happen the first time he arrived late to a shift with you, causing you to work through a rush completely alone. You had sworn you would curse him out. The newest employee with only a month of experience should not have to handle that many customers on their own. But you did it, with a tight-lipped smile and plenty of fake greetings to the annoying kids that asked for one too many samples. And when he finally arrived nearly an hour late, you’d puffed up your chest, ready to lay it on him, when you caught a good look at him.

Messy hair, curling spontaneously. A boyish grin that screamed apologetic. Puppy dog eyes as he pleaded for your forgiveness at his tardiness. His work shirt was crinkled at the collar, and you caught sight of the expanse of his neck, and all the words died on your tongue. It’s safe to say that Steve never got the reaming he deserved for leaving you high and dry like that. But, he was also never late again. So you let it slide.

It surely wasn’t meant to happen the first time you came in on one of your days off, finding Steve working with one of the only other workers, Robin. Right as you walked in, a group of girls were walking out, giggling to themselves. If you didn’t know better, you’d assumed the giggles were flirtatious.

But you did know better. And Buckley was already taking her marker to her white board that she’d separated into two sections - “You suck” and “You rule” - adding another tally mark placed in the “You suck” portion. You immediately knew the girls weren’t fawning; they were laughing at Steve’s failed attempt at flirting with them.

“God, Harrington, have you considered taking classes in flirting?” Robin had teased him, making his cheeks burn scarlet.

“Like you’re any better! Besides, that one lady gave us a tip after I sweet-talked her. That deserves some recognition!”

“Steve, she was old enough to be your grandmother,” Robin sighs, putting down the board as you approach the two. Her face lights up, and Steve’s back is still to you, “Say, sailor. Maybe you should try your luck one last time.”

You could see the excitement in the way his shoulders lifted, spinning quickly to greet what he thought would be just another customer, “Ahoy, ladies-”

When he saw it was you, he froze. His cheeks burned an even brighter shade of pink as you and Robin had bursted into laughter, and he continued to grumble about how cruel you two were as he served you and handed over your weekly tips you’d come in to pick up.

He didn’t flirt with you that time. But something in you wished that he did. You quickly buried that part of you down deep, ignoring it, because you weren’t supposed to have a crush on Steve Harrington.

It certainly wasn’t meant to happen when the two of you worked endless shifts together. Late summer afternoons started to bleed together, most of them being spent with Steve behind the Scoops counter. It was just you, him, and the ice cream.

“Hey, did you ever try the new flavor?” he asked randomly, already grabbing two sample spoons for the two of you.

You scrunched your face, “What? America’s Birthday Cake? Sounds like a nightmare.”

“It’s good!” He was already holding out a light blue spoon to you, the perfect bite perched on it.

You started to reach out to grab it, but Steve moved faster. Suddenly, the spoon swipes across your cheek, leaving you speechless as icing-flavored ice cream smears on your face.

You gasped, “Steve!”

You quickly reach for his wrist holding his own spoon, grappling with him as you’re both giggling messes, forcing his sample to land on his nose.

“Hey! No fair!” he whines as he pulls the spoon away, the tip of his nose now a brilliant pink.

“Save it, sailor!” you snorted.

When you did finally get a proper taste of the flavor, it was so sweet, it made your teeth ache. You convince yourself that’s what made your stomach churn. The sweetness of the ice cream, certainly not the sweetness in the look Steve gives you as you nod and lie to him that it was a good flavor, singing his praises in his taste. Certainly not the way he looks so proud of himself, nodding and grinning to the ground.

No, Steve Harrington wasn’t allowed to give you a toothache when he grins like a child and his hands brush yours when it gets busier, both reaching for the same scooper handle. That was impossible.

But maybe it was supposed to happen during the shift he asks you to come to his party. The two of you had been busy attempting to make whipped cream bounce off your hands and into your mouths (one too many failed attempts had left you both red in the face. Neither of you were very good at it) in the back room. After an attempt that led to the whipped cream landing in Steve’s hair, you finally called it quits and leaned against the wall, still giggling at the sight of him.

“God,” he sighed, taking a wet paper towel to a curl still coated in cream, “Now I’m going to have to shower when I get home, before the party and everything.”

Your interest piqued, “Party? You’re throwing one of your infamous Harrington bashes?”

He looked confused for a moment, staring at you as if this shouldn’t be news to you. It took him a second before realization settled.

“Shit!” he gasped, “Fuck, I forgot to ask you.”

“Ask me what?”

“To come to my party! Duh,” he walked over, leaning beside you, his shoulder pressed to yours.

“You want me, your coworker, to come to your party tonight?” you asked, bewildered eyes gazing up into his shining ones.

“Coworker? Ouch. I was sure we were friends after I gave you a ride home that one day.”

Your eyes widened, quick to take back your words, “No, no, no!” Your face colors red in embarrassment, stumbling over your sentences, “I mean, shit, yes- We are friends! We can be friends, if that’s what you want.”

“Good,” he nodded, “So, I’ll see you tonight?”

And maybe, just maybe, it was supposed to happen when you showed up to that party. It hadn’t been quite as boisterous as the ones he’d thrown in high school, but it was still in full swing as you entered through the front door and navigated the sea of bodies to find the kitchen. The music was loud, bass thumping so hard you felt it in your chest. Everyone was already clearly drunk, empty beer bottles littering the counters and enough red cups in sight, it was dizzying.

You were only on your second drink when Steve found you.

“You made it!” he cheered, quick to come up in front of you, throwing an arm over your shoulder with a smile shining as it always did.

“I did,” you nodded, waving your hands out for emphasis, “Almost got lost, though. Why do you live in the middle of nowhere?”

“To throw raging parties, obviously.”

“Are you already drunk?”

“No. I was waiting for you.”

His cheeks were pink, but you couldn’t make out the reasoning if you even tried. It could have been from alcohol, it could have been from how hot the filled house was, or it could have been from the way you were looking at him. Your eyes grazed over him, taking in his outfit that was very different from the usual Scoops uniform. He’d turned in the blue shorts for blue jeans that were snug, and wore a collared shirt with the top buttons left open. His chest hair was peaking out ever so slightly.

Without his hat, his hair was wild and lucious. He clearly had showered as he had mentioned, and you wondered if the waves would be soft between your fingers if you ran your hand through them.

Maybe you did have a crush on Steve Harrington.

And maybe, everything was happening as it should when he finally pulled you out to his backyard after an hour spent dancing and mingling with his friends. He wasn’t drunk - he promised you. You watched the entire night as he didn’t touch a single ounce of alcohol. At some point, you even put aside your own red cup. Steve’s aura and energy was making you feel drunk enough as it was, each lingering yet accidental touch sending you spiraling. The two of you even ran into Robin at some point, and you didn’t miss the look she sent him when she caught him dragging you out his back door.

The night air was refreshing, slightly chilled, as the two of you shared one of the pool loungers.

“So, thoughts?” he finally asked, breaking the comfortable silence between the two of you.

“On your house, or your party?” you laughed softly under your breath.

You two were impossibly close, thighs pressed together as you watched the wind send ripples through his pool.

“Both, I guess? Or just the night in general,” he shrugged. You could smell his cologne, still lasting despite how sweaty the fun of the night had left both of you. It was something airy, something clean, something light.

Something intoxicating and oh so right.

“It’s nice. Everyone was right, you do know how to throw a party,” you answered honestly. You hadn’t gone to many parties in your high school career, but none of them had ever been this fun.

His shoulders relaxed with relief, “Good to hear. I wasn’t really sure if you were the partying type, you know?”

“Oh, I’m not,” you waved a hand, and he turned to you immediately, looking dazzled.

“So why’d you come?”

Maybe it was the one or two beers you’d had, a sort of liquid confidence. Or maybe it was the accumulation of the last three months.

But you don’t hesitate to answer him with the whole truth, “You.”

There it is again. His boyish grin. The proximity suddenly became stifling.

“Me?” he echoed, and if it wasn’t for the blue reflection from the water, you were sure you’d catch the grin spreading over his face like wildfire.

“You,” you said once more, bated breath as you both lean in closer.

His hand landed on your thigh, stagnant as you stared at each other for a second.

“I really want to kiss you,” he suddenly sighed, and you could feel his breath on your cheek, “Can I kiss you?”

A flutter in your chest, one you can’t excuse for anything except the gorgeous boy in front of you.

“Please,” you begged, as if there was any other answer. There wasn’t - not after afternoons filled with inside jokes and chilled noses, with toothaches and blushing cheeks.

The word has barely left your mouth before his lips are on yours, gentle at first. But when your hands came up and tugged at his hair, finding you were right in just how soft the locks were, he deepened the kiss.

The two of you only broke apart when there was a loud knocking against the glass door behind the two of you. When you turn, you find Robin Buckley grinning wildly, giving two thumbs up.

“God, Buckley has awful timing,” you groaned, still smiling despite the faux annoyance.

“She does,” he brought a hand up to your cheek, turning it carefully to face him one more, “But I owe her. This was her idea.”

“Her idea? To kiss me?”

“No. To throw a party, and invite you,” he corrected.

A flame burning in the pit of your stomach, excitement licking up your throat as you watched his shyness get the best of him.

“You threw a party just so I would come?”

He scoffed, throwing a quick glance towards his bustling house, nothing more than mere white noise now, “Yeah. Can I be honest? I don’t even like half the people in there. But I didn’t know how else to see you outside of work.”

You grinned and pulled him in for a second kiss wordlessly, cupping his cheeks endearingly.

“You know,” you broke away from him for a second, pressing your foreheads together, “You could have just asked me on a date.”

The normally flirtatious attitude has evaporated, and in it’s place sits a vulnerable Steve Harrington. “Would you have said yes?”

“Why don’t you find out now?”

Another kiss, shorter this time, but savored as if it would be the last. It wouldn’t be - you knew now that you’d had a taste, you’d never be satisfied.

“Okay,” he laughed breathlessly, pulling back reluctantly, “Okay. How about Sunday? Me, you, and that new movie showing at the drive-in.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, pretending to think about it, “Depends. Are you paying?”

“Of course.”

“And can we get popcorn?”

“Of course.”

“What about Junior Mints?”

Steve groaned at that, settling an arm around your shoulder and pulling you tightly into his side, “You know what? I think I take it back. I’ll find some other cutie who works at an ice cream shop to take to the drive in.”

You gasped, slapping his chest, “You wouldn’t! No take-backs.”

You were right, though - he wouldn’t. He only had his sights on one person you could make a sailor outfit look that good: you.

The next shift Steve has, you come in to visit, to find a new tally mark on the whiteboard Robin’s holding.

For the first time, the clean, black mark is placed under “You Rule”.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #asks #thank u ily #spotify wrapped writing

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