m1dnightsnackz

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can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 7

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6

Robin’s been keeping her eyes peeled, and things have only gotten weirder.

Chrissy and Steve are still tied at the hip, still holding hands sometimes in the halls, she’s still wearing his letterman jacket any chance she gets. It all screams perfect textbook couple destined to win prom king and queen in a few months and pop out boring babies with glorious hair a few years later.

Except, she’s seen Chrissy leave two more notes in Eddie’s locker, has seen her and Steve pick up random books out of the library and pull envelopes out of them. She’d think the pair were pulling some sort of horrible prank on Eddie, if Chrissy wasn’t so goddamn nice.

And she’s seen Steve staring down the other boy, more caught in Eddie’s pull then even Chrissy is. It’s like he’s trying to melt Eddie’s eyeballs straight out of his skull with the force of his gaze. For his part, Eddie never even seems to notice.

That’s not even mentioning whatever the hell had happened in the cafeteria last week when Eddie had kissed Chrissy’s hand, and then Steve had whisked her away before Jason could start some sort of pissing contest.

Even the band nerds were all atwitter with that development.

And then there’s the other guy: Jeff.

Before this whole cluster of a situation, she hadn’t known Jeff from Adam, but now he’s everywhere. It feels like every other day now he’s climbing into Chrissy’s passenger seat and they’re speeding away, not a Steve Harrington or Eddie Munson in sight.

Or they’re in the library doing the same mail pick-up that Chrissy and Steve do together. Once, Robin had even seen Jeff by her side as she’d dropped a note into Eddie’s locker, which might be the wildest part of the whole situation; Robin had been under the impression that he and Eddie were friends.

There’s some benefits to being invisible: no one notices her.

So, she’s got all these building blocks to the juiciest gossip in Hawkins High for probably decades, but, no matter how she stacks them together, she can’t make them into a picture she understands.

All she knows is this: Steve Harrington is up to something shady.

Robin’s got her eyes open and a mission of the heart. She’ll protect Chrissy with all she has, and if Steve gets caught in the crossfire? That’s fine with her.

*** 

Chrissy’s still all over Harrington. He doesn’t get it, can’t comprehend why someone who leaves him such lovely, lovely notes has stuck herself to that douche’s side.

Eddie doesn’t get it.

Is it the status bump? No, can’t be, even Eddie knows the guy’s fallen a few pegs down the ladder since whatever the hell had happened with Wheeler last year.

Maybe it’s the looks? He’s got that swoopy hair all the girls fawn over, and the features to back it up. But Chrissy’s never struck him as that shallow, no matter how hot the guy is.

Is it the money, the car, the nice clothes? What does Steve Harrington have that Eddie doesn’t?

Is it the way he leans up against lockers, smiling at every girl in his sight like they’re his whole world? The way he tucks a lock of hair behind their ears, eyes smoldering, touch gentle? Steve goddamn Harrington with his jockish good looks and sweeping charms. 

He just—doesn’t get it.

He also doesn’t get why he hasn’t received a note in his locker for a couple days now, not since Eddie’d come up to her table in the cafeteria and kissed her hand.

Her nails had been painted a perfect pink, and when Eddie looked away to stare Harrington down, he’d noticed the guy had nail polish on, too: a bright yellow that would have suited him if it wasn’t chipped to hell.

It was such a small, incongruous detail, but it niggles at Eddie late into the night. It doesn’t fit with who Eddie knows Harrington to be. 

It didn’t fit, and he’s tired of nothing fitting together the way it should, so he’s been avoiding Harrington like the plague.

So, when he catches Chrissy in a rare moment where Steve’s not loitering in her periphery, he approaches again, hands raised like, see here, I’m harmless!

She smiles at him, white teeth damn-near glinting where they peek out from behind her lips. Eddie’s reciting sonnets in his head.

“Miss Cunningham,” he says, bending over at the waist and bowing low as she laughs at him. “Would you give this lowly Dungeon Master the honor, nay the privilege, of accompanying him on his quest this Thursday?”

Chrissy’s head’s tilted to the side like an inquisitive dog as she asks, “in plain English?”

He bounces closer, pleased to have even gotten his foot in the door. “My Dungeons and Dragons club is starting a new campaign tomorrow,” he says. “Want to come play?” When she purses her lips instead of answering, he scrambles to continue. “Or even just watch?”

Chrissy’s lips are still pursed, but she’s nodding slowly, like she’s thinking about saying yes. “That might be fine,” she replies. “Where should I meet you?”

And that’s how he finds himself with Chrissy Cunningham sitting in at the next Hellfire session. Gareth’s awkward because he always is when there’s a pretty girl in his vicinity, but Jeff smiles and chats with her like they’re old friends. Doug doesn’t seem to care one way or another, too focused on getting the newest campaign started to care about an interloper.

It goes off without a hitch, Chrissy’s presence blending into the background. He forgets her entirely until the end of the session when she starts slinging questions at them, and Jeff starts patiently explaining what a modifier is, and how they know which dice to roll as Eddie packs up his supplies. 

He’s got grand ideas about taking Chrissy home, had even cleaned out his van for it, but Chrissy was always destined to pop his ego.

“That was great, Eddie!” Chrissy cuts in, barely waiting for the party to finish celebrating to speak. “But, I’m already late to meet Steve, so I’ve got to go.”

“Uh,” Eddie says, staring at her retreating back, “okay.”

She turns back around right before she’s through the drama room door, still smiling as she calls, “see you guys next week!”

She’s going to see Harrington, the bane of Eddie’s current existence, but she did say it was great. No, she’d said Eddie was great.

Truly a mixed bag.

Eddie takes his time wrangling the boys out of the room and into his van, determined to hold onto the high of Chrissy Cunningham watching him DM—no way would he let Harrington of all people ruin his night.

*** 

She damn-near runs out of the drama room, lie leaving a bitter taste on her tongue—she’s not late to meet Steve, isn’t planning to see him at all.

It’s just, she knows what that gleam in a boy’s eyes means; Eddie was about to do something stupid. Ask her out, or try to flirt, or do something else both embarrassing and heart-crushing for Steve.

So, she’d done what she’s best at in uncomfortable situations: she’d lied.

Now, she’s just gotta get out of the school before anyone can call her on it.

The school’s eerily empty, the fluorescent lights only on in patchy segments, luring all the lingering students into the poorly-lit parking lot where Chrissy’s car waits. She just wants to get into her bed and wait until she can debrief with Steve in the morning.

She’s just twisted the key in the lock and begun pulling it open when a hand reaches past her and slams it closed. Chrissy jumps, fear coiling through her stomach and rapidly churning into anger. She turns, back to her car, ready to curse out Eddie or one of his other club members, but the words die unsaid in her throat.

It’s not Eddie; it’s Jason. His hand’s still slapped onto her door, keeping it closed, and in the dim light of the parking lot, his eyes are almost glowing. She wants to take a step back, but he’s effectively boxed her into the side of her own car.

“Are you serious, Chris?” he asks. The nickname sounds wrong in his mouth, all toxic and chopped up. Not at all like when Steve says it. “You really are hanging out with freaks now?”

“Jason, I—” Chrissy starts, hating the way her voice trembles.

“Are you sleeping with that freak now, too?” he demands, crowding farther into her space. “Harrington was one thing, but Munson?”

He says Eddie’s name like it’s a curse. She’s scared, still, but suddenly she’s furious that she wasted years of her life with this douche, that she’s still wasting time being afraid of him.

“He’s better than you’ll ever be,” she snarls, unsure if she means Steve or Eddie. It doesn’t matter, it’s true for both.

Without wasting another word on the jackass who’s made it his mission in life to make her feel small, Chrissy yanks her door open. It hits him in the face, sending him stumbling to the asphalt with a groan.

Even still, she rushes to slide into her car, ramming the key in and backing out without even checking her blind spots for unsuspecting pedestrians.

Jason’s just making his way back to his feet when she glances into her rear-view mirror before turning out of the parking lot and onto the street.

Her hands shake on the steering wheel making the car jerk about.

She doesn’t go home.

All the lights are on in the Harrington house, and she worries for a second that his parents are home for once before she sees the solitary car in the driveway. She parks behind it, taking the extra minute to line her car up perfectly parallel to it, hoping her hands will stop shaking by the time she’s done.

Steve’s waiting on the stoop by the time she makes it out of her car and up the driveway, hands still shaking with aftershocks of flight or fight. His arms are crossed, and he’s scowling down at her from his casual lean against the closed door.

“Will you come to Hellfire with me next Thursday?” she asks, voice wobbling around the request.

“Was it that bad?” Steve asks, scowl shifting into a teasing smile before she steps into the halo of the porch’s light and he catches sight of the expression on her face. “Are you okay?”

His hands are on her shoulders, warm and grounding against the chill that’s seeped into her skin. She reaches one of her hands up to brush the wetness from beneath her eyes. “Will you come?” she asks again, question firming up and sharpening now that she’s here, safe.

Steve’s hands squeeze, warm, warm, warm. “Course, Chris,” he replies, and she was right—it is better coming from his mouth. “Want to come in?”

She follows him into the house, curling herself up small in the corner of his couch, relieved when he sits close. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t rush her at all, just waits, patient the way Jason never was.

“You’re a great fake boyfriend, you know,” she says, smiling when he laughs and knocks their shoulders together.

“Well, as your fake boyfriend, do I need to kill Eddie?” he asks, and when she looks up from her knees, his eyes are almost shining with sincerity. “Because I will, you know.”

“I know,” she says, cheeks warming, not because she likes a boy, but because she has a friend, a real one who would pick her even over his crush. “But, Eddie was nice.”

Steve hums, slumping into her further. “So, who am I killing?”

“No one!” Chrissy replies, laughing just a little. Steve’s just like a dog with a bone; she’s always been a dog person. “Or Jason, maybe?”

“What?” Steve barks, all playfulness gone from his voice. “What the hell did he—”

“He didn’t do anything!” she rushes out, making space between their bodies so she can meet his heated gaze. “He just freaked me out.”

“But, he can’t—”

“But, you’re a good friend, and will come to Hellfire next week to keep it from happening again, right?”

Steve groans, slumping back into her and hiding his face in her hair. “You’re the worst,” he grumbles, only continuing when she pinches him hard right beneath his ribs. “But, fine! I’ll go!”

“Thank you,” Chrissy replies, glad she hadn’t gone home to recover alone.

Steve rubs his face against her head like the freak he secretly is. “Anytime.”

They stay there, bathed in the quiet of their shared companionship and the frankly alarming number of lights Steve has lighting up his entire house.

She’s almost dozed off, slumped into his side when Steve asks, “but, like, how was it?”

She laughs, body shaking with delight instead of fear this time as she replies, “Eddie Munson is such a nerd.”

[m1dnightsnackz]

Chai tea bag + lil but of brown sugar + apple cider packet + 16 oz. mug of hot but not quite boiling water

it will not Fix You but like. maybe. maybe.

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reblog this if you're okay with booping spams please !!

[m1dnightsnackz]

Don't Call Me Kid - Rafe Cameron x Reader series masterlist

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

table of contents:

Prologue (3k words)

Chapter 1 (3.9k words)

Chapter 2 (4.9k words)

Chapter 3 (5.7k words)

Chapter 4 (6.6k words)

Chapter 5: part one (4.8k words) & part two (3.8k words)

Chapter 6: part one (5.3k words) & part two (4.1k words)

Chapter 7: (coming soon!)

bonus content

moodboards and hc's ✨

asks 💭

ramblings and teasers 🦜

Polls 🗣️

[m1dnightsnackz]

Ari made it to the semifinals 🙌🏽 🔥 😎

Aaaaaaand the semifinals are here!!!!! 1/2

[m1dnightsnackz]

nsfw masterlist one (18+ only!)

NSFW MASTERLIST TWO

absolution words: 10k

baby fever words: 1.4k

bad fucking friend part 1 words: 2.3k

bad fucking friend part 2 words: 1.3k

bad fucking friends part 3 words: 5.8k

buzz words: 1.3k

pool party words: 3.2k

clingy words: 1k

fake fight words: 800

first time words: 600

gym words: 1.3k

headcanons on rafes favorite positions words: 400

hormones words: 800

insatiable words: 1.1k

life of a race car drivers wife words: 1.6k

movie night words: 1.1k

📸📸📸 words: 2.4k

safe word words: 500

study sesh words: 900

the new girl words: 400

tipsy words: 1k

on my face words: 1.1k

childhood bedroom words: 1k

blowing smoke words: 1.9k

kinktober: sub!rafe words: 1.4k

kinktober: role playing words: 1.2k

kinktober: period sex words: 1.3k

kinktober: overstim words: 1.3k

kinktober: hands words: 900

kintober: cuckholding/prostitution words: 1.6k

kinktober: cnc words: 1.6k

kinktober: caught in public words: 1.6k

kinktober: breeding words: 1k

kinktober: anal words: 1.4k

kinktober: size kink blurbs words: 600

kinktober: ghostface words: 6.3k

kinktober: morning sex & cunnilingus words: 800

kinktober: innocence/corruption words: 3.8k

kinktober: dacryphilia words: 300

kinktober: guns words: 2.5k

camboy words: 3.9k

angel words: 1.7k part two: my angel words: 3.6k

mistakes and regrets words: 1.9k

obsession words: 2.2k

mine, all mine words: 1k

a bet's a bet words: 1.9k

the game words: 2.1k part two words: 3.9k

three: vanessa words: 2.7k

daddy words: 8.8k

crazy, baby words: 1.9k

baby boy words: 1.9k

too nice words: 1k

imagination words: 900 part two words: 1k part three words: 1.6k

defending you words: 3.9k

the storm words: 2.1k

diy words: 1k

toppers got a crush words: 900

virginity words: 3.2k

quiet words: 300

my safety and my honor words: 1.8k

perfect wife words: 1.9k

breeding session words: 1.5k

pheromones words: 1.1k

taken words: 3.1k

the chase words: 1.3k

countdown words: 700

juul drabble words: 600

act like a brat, get punished like a brat words: 1k

just a good brother words: 2.7k

ponytail words: 1k

purity ring words: 2.5k

country club bathroom part one words: 800 part two words: 800 part three words: 500 part four words: 800

daddys home words: 1.8k

yapper words: 300

tears snot and drool words: 1.6k

you're not his girlfriend words: 700

pillow princess words: 1.3k

flashing lights words: 2.4k

another chance words: 2.3k

demonstration words: 2.8k

fake belly words: 1.6k

sunglasses words: 1.2k

cherry words: 2.5k

il/licit words: 2.1k

watermelon words: 1.1k

tanlines words: 2.7k

try on words: 1.7k

trust me, kiddo words: 1.2k

distraction words: 400

aphrodisiac words: 3.5k

under the influence words: 1.4k

borrowed clothes words: 800

[m1dnightsnackz]

You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 6

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw, blindsided by a team he trusted like family has been traded to the San Diego Dogfighters. Across the country from the place he calls home, Bradley feels lost and betrayed. Not to mention the familiar faces and ghosts from his past that he now has to face every day at work. Bradley’s caught between wanting to show his former team the mistake they made in double-crossing him and wondering if it’s time to hang up his skates after one final season. You’re living your dream as the PR representative for the Dogfighters. When Coach Maverick made a bid to bring his godson to the team, you hadn’t batted an eye. Bradley was a good teammate, and a good player. Unfortunately, the Bradley that shows up in San Diego is nothing like your research suggested. He’s moody, irritable, aggressive, and angry, throwing a wrench in all your careful planning. What’s caused such a drastic change in him? And can you figure out how to help him before he makes a mistake you can’t fix?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, dead parents, drunkenness, alcohol consumption, violence, sports violence, blood probably, angst, fluff, eventual smut, age gap (28 and 38), enemies to lovers, suggestive language, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

“Bradley Bradshaw apologized to you? Oh, that man is down BAD.” Your head shoots up from where you’re going over some paperwork to glare across your desk at Javy Machado where he’s casually sprawled across the armchair across from you.

“You’re disgusting, Machado.” He snorts in response as he leans over the desk to get closer to his face.

“Says the girl who’s just as down bad for him.” You feel heat rush to your cheeks at the accusation as a smirk spreads across his. “Never would have pegged you as the type of girl who likes angry guys, Zam.” He waggles his eyebrows and you scoff in his face, leaning back to put distance between the two of you before he can feel the heat radiating off your skin.

“I don’t.” You manage as you struggle to maintain your composure. You don’t have feelings for Bradley, it wouldn’t make any sense. He’s been nothing but rude and cruel to you. One dinner and apology shouldn’t have you suddenly running for his arms. You have absolutely no proof that he would even catch you, despite Javy’s theories.

“You want my advice?” You look up from your work again, fixing Javy with an exasperated look.

“Not really, no.” You clip as sweetly as you can, your saccharine smile hiding your bared teeth.

“Just fuck one of your system.” He says with a shrug and your jaw drops, fangs out.

“Javy Machado!” He grins at your expression.

“What? You know I’m right. Fuck one out and you’re done.”

“Because you’re a professional in that department.” You scowl at him and he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Call it an expert opinion.” You roll your eyes as he continues. “I don’t know about you? But that man needs to get laid. He has all that anger and nowhere to put it. Best case scenario you fuck one out, your feelings go poof and so does his anger. Worst case scenario, you get what you need, and he follows you around like a pussy-whipped puppy for the rest of the season and we can get on with things.”

“And why I should be the sacrificial lamb for that? Why don’t you guys just find him a girl, isn’t that what teammates do?” Javy raises his eyebrows.

“I thought we were supposed to be settling down, minding our reputations.” You groan and he knows he’s got you.

“Well, it’s not like you’re LISTENING.” You growl at him and he shrugs again.

“Look Zam, all I can say is that maybe I’m the only one who noticed the way you were looking at him this morning but if you keep it up, it’s not going to be just me next time.” Your cheeks flush with more heat. He stands with a stretch before leaning across your desk so you catch his whispered words. “That being said, it looks like you didn’t catch him looking at you the same way whenever you weren’t.” He turns on his heels as you grapple with the implications of his revelation.

You spent last night at Bob’s and Mickey’s house, where they demanded to know everything about your dinner with Bradley. For a pair of supposedly rough and tough hockey players, those two are insatiable when it comes to gossip. You’d managed to keep details to a minimum and distract them with other things like flowers or what Bradley’s dinner order consisted of but you knew Mickey was on to you.

Truth be told, you want to respect Bradley’s privacy. That’s your job after all and the things he’d shared at dinner last night were just that, private. He’d been real and genuine with you and you didn’t want to betray that tiny sliver of trust that he’d extended to you. You keep turning the events of dinner over and over in your mind, your thoughts snagging on stray details. Bradley’s hand on your back. The scratch of his flannel against your bare skin when he draped it around your shoulders. The woodsy scent clinging to it had enveloped you in a comforting warmth. The scent of daisies mixed with it in the confines of the Bronco.

Maybe Javy was right. Maybe you spent too long looking at him this morning during the team meeting. His walls were back up, his mask snugly back in place, and his expression was unreadable. You tell yourself that he’s just a puzzle, something you want to solve and unravel. That that’s why you’re putting in a meeting request with him. That it’s just professional responsibility that’s making you reach out to him and not the quiet yearning to see behind the curtain again, to see the Bradley that he’s only shown to you. You long to be a private audience again, watching as he becomes that man that you saw last night. Awkward and bumbling but sweet, concerned, and hurting. Hurting so fiercely that it steals the breath from your lungs because sometimes it’s like staring into a mirror.

It’s been eight years but you were just like him once, the pain so raw in your chest that you’d lashed out, pushing away every person that cared because you’d blamed yourself, blamed your ambition. If you’d just gone home for Thanksgiving maybe your mother would still be alive. You know that realistically that’s not true. Your mother’s heart attack was sudden and unexpected, unpreventable according to the doctors but there’ll always be a part of you that blames you for not being there. At the time you’d been so torn apart by grief that you’d destroyed your support system, only Mickey remaining amidst the wreckage, stubbornly holding onto you. He’d broken his lease and moved in with you, sleeping in your bed and holding you through the nightmares that would make you wake up screaming bloody murder. He brought you to his games, keeping an eye on you even as you stared at the ice like it was some kind of monster. Slowly your fear faded but you’ve still yet to set foot on a rink since your mother passed.

***

You’ve almost forgotten about the meeting when the knock at your office door startles you out of the groove you’ve fallen into. You call out absently to the knocker and finally look up to see Bradley squeezing his broad form into your little chair. You give him a sympathetic wince. “Sorry about the chair.” He just shrugs, and you can’t help but think of Javy shrugging in the same position just a few hours ago. You shake your head to clear your conversation with him out of it as you focus on Bradley.

“Did you make it home okay?” You try your best to quell the fluttering in your stomach at Bradley’s perfectly reasonable inquiry. You give your own shrug.

“I spent the night at Mickey and Bob’s place.” You don’t miss the way his shoulders tense at your words and find yourself trying to ease the tension so you add, “I stay over there all the time since Mickey and I used to room together in college. Their guest room is practically my second home.” You don’t know why you feel the need to make it clear that you’re not sleeping with Mickey or Bob, but you do. The air is thick with awkwardness as Bradley gives you a curt nod in response and you feel heat creeping up your neck. “Anyway, I wanted to let you know that tonight’s game night.” He looks at you half confused and half like you’re stupid.

“I know there’s a game today, that’s what we’ve been practicing for all morning.” He points out and you realize your error.

“Oh, not that game! It’s a board game night. Mickey and Bob host it every other Saturday at their house, it gets a pretty good turnout. You’re coming.” You debated inviting him and giving him the option but you’re almost certain that he wouldn’t show without a push so here you are, roping him into it.

“After a match?” He seems bewildered at the idea.

“Yeah, it’s a nice way to wind down, and there’s plenty of snacks and stuff. It’s a good way to bond as a team.” You emphasize this with a pointed look.

“Board games? What are we, twelve?” He’s not budging and you roll your eyes.

“Wake up, Bradshaw, there’s plenty of adult board games these days, and they're actually pretty fun. Don’t come crying to me when you lose.”

“And you’re going to be there?” Your heart flutters at the directness of his question like he’s basing his decision to attend based on your presence. You swallow down your nerves as you flash him a smile.

“Of course, and you’re my ride.” His face falls into a frown at that, but you barrel on ahead. “I don’t have my car because I spent the night at Mickey’s and they gave me a ride this morning.”

“So they could just give you a ride tonight.”

“But then how am I supposed to guarantee that you show?” He blinks in surprise as you go for the kill, eyebrow raised in question. His eyes narrow into a glare that you meet head-on. Last night Bradley promised you that he wouldn’t hurt you so you’re not scared of him now. You meet him head-on.

“I don’t have to go.”

“Actually, you do.”

“And what gives you that kind of authority?”

“Look, I’ve been tasked with getting you back on track. How I decide to do that is up to me. If you have an issue with my methods, take it up with your captain, or your coaches, or if you feel like braving the beast, go to Cyclone. I’m asking you to come because as I pointed out last night, you don’t seem to have any friends and you need to interact with your team more. Also, you could use some new hobbies that don’t involve eating or drinking alone.”

“Sometimes I eat AND drink alone.” He deadpans and it takes you a moment to realize that he’s just cracked a joke and you snort out a laugh on accident. You barely catch the way his face relaxes at the sound as you slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the unladylike noise. Collecting yourself as best as you can you manage to reply.

“Well, maybe you could eat and drink with company tonight?” The stubbornness is still in his shoulders but it’s depleted considerably. He lets out a heavy sigh before he shrugs.

“Fine, but we have to stop by my place first, I’m going to need to change.” You shrug back.

“Fine by me.”

“Fine.” Silence falls between the two of you again, not as uncomfortable as before but still awkward. Bradley’s head cocks slightly as he examines you and you feel your skin heat under his intense gaze. “Your hair’s different today.” Your cheeks are aflame as you fight the urge to reach up and touch your head self-consciously.

He’s right. You’ve abandoned your typical ponytail for a crown braid today. It was your mother’s signature look. After talking to Bradley last night you’d awoken to feeling like you could feel your mother with you so you’d let yourself wear your hair like this today. You used to wear it like this all the time back in college, proud of your resemblance to your mother. It was almost otherworldly the way you looked just like her, and when you wore your hair like this? Sometimes you caught yourself in the mirror when you passed by too fast that you could convince yourself that you’d seen her.

“Oh yeah, it’s how my mom used to wear hers. I don’t know, I just felt like doing something different today.” You watch the faintest hint of a smile ghost his lips.

“I like it, it suits you.” You feel your cheeks heat even more at the compliment. Javy’s voice is in your head again and your eyes slip to Bradley’s lips before you pull them back up to meet his whisky eyes that make you want to squirm under their intense gaze.

“Anything else I can help you with?” You curse the way your voice comes out breathy. Bradley just shakes his head and makes to stand. Your voice calls out to him as he gets ready to leave. “Bradley!” He turns and you feel your cheeks even more as he fixes you with that gaze of his again. “Good luck tonight,” you pretend you don’t hear your voice shake as the words pass your lips. He just gives you a tight-lipped smile and another of his curt nods. “And Bradley,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “Try not to end up in the box tonight, if you can help it.” He doesn’t respond, disappearing through the door and you sigh, leaning back into your chair as you glance absently at your calendar that’s pulled up on your screen.

FUCK. You’re scheduled for a meeting with Cyclone in, you glance at the clock in the top corner of the screen, five minutes. You scramble to your feet, sliding your feet back into your heels and grabbing your clipboard before you all but sprint for the door. As you run to the elevator you sprint past Bradley who raises a single eyebrow in question but you’re running too late to answer, electing to avoid the elevator in favor of the stairs. If you were thinking straighter, you would have taken your heels off before attempting to take the stairs two at a time and as a result, you lose your balance about halfway up and come crashing down. Your yelp of pain bounces off the walls of the stairwell as you gingerly make to push yourself up onto your hands. The echoing sound of footsteps somehow doesn’t meet your ears until a sneaker appears in your peripheral vision as Bradley squats down next to you, a gentle finger pushing a tendril of hair away from your eyes.

“You okay, Honey?” Usually, the pet name is sarcastic acid on his tongue but this time it’s different. He sounds sweet like the name suggests and genuinely concerned. You’ve just had the breath knocked out of you so you can’t do much more than grunt in response. Bradley’s hand comes into your field of vision and you raise an arm to grab it and he pulls you up so effortlessly that you know you should be at least a little concerned. His brows are furrowed as his brown eyes look you over for injury, his hands remaining on your hips, holding you up. You try to steady yourself by gripping his arm as you attempt to take back control of your limbs and whimper as pain shoots through your body. You favor your right ankle instantly and hiss as pain radiates from your abdomen in response. You’re bruised for sure and you’ve definitely sprained your ankle. You glance at your watch as Bradley’s concerned eyes train in on your ankle. You’re officially late. You’re in for it now. You groan before reaching for the banister, eager to be on your way despite your body’s protests. Bradley’s hand on your arm stops you and you turn to meet his eyes, the amber in them swirling and he tightens his grip on you.

“Where do you think you’re going, Honey? You’re hurt, we’re going to Bugs.” His voice is a low rumble that dares you to disagree with him. All the same, you lift your chin defiantly as you take another shaking step up away from him but his grip anchors you, keeping you from getting any farther.

“I’m late to a meeting with Cyclone. I’m already probably getting yelled at for that so I’d rather not exacerbate that by not showing up at all.” You try to step with your sprained ankle but pain shoots up your leg and your stiff lip wobbles as a squeak gets caught in your throat. When you don’t break your determined gaze away from Bradley’s, he lets out a huff of annoyance and then he’s scooping you into his arms before you can protest. You scramble to wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you up the stairs. You know better than to argue so you sulk in silence until he deposits you at Cyclone’s office door. You mutter your thanks, taking a moment to straighten your clothes before you head in, not sparing Bradley another glance.

“You’re late.” Cyclone doesn’t look up from whatever he’s currently reading as you walk in, doing your best to hide your new limp. You know better than to show weakness in front of a man like him. You’re just about to sit down, head dipped slightly when he finally looks up. “Katarina?!” You start with surprise as you look up to see that Cyclone’s face has gone ashen like he’s seen a ghost. You’re sure yours has a similar look since he’s just called you by your mother’s name.

“Why… why did you just call me that?” Your voice is trembling as the terrible dominoes tumble into place as your eyes snag on the Yale logo embroidered on the breast of his quarter zip. The same one you’ve seen on numerous trophies and faded college t-shirts of your mother’s. Your mother’s fairytale hockey player is sitting across a desk from you.

“You look just like her, just like Katarina.” Cyclone’s still in a stupor as he answers you. You’re just as shaken so your tongue is looser than you’d ever hoped it would be in front of your boss as you bluntly reply.

“I-I should hope so. She’s my mother.” Cyclone’s eyes nearly bug out of his skull at the revelation. He’s considerably more surprised than you, but you suppose that’s because you’ve heard plenty of stories about him and he’s had no effect on your life. You can’t imagine what it’s like to see the daughter of your college girlfriend standing in your office over thirty years later.

“You’re Katarina’s daughter? You’re Katarina’s daughter.” He murmurs to himself, followed by your name, turning the words around in his mouth as you take a seat, your sprained ankle making itself known as pain starts to shoot up your leg again. You’d rather be doing literally anything else right now but here you are sitting across from your mother’s ex-boyfriend who also happens to be your boss.

You try your best to distract yourself while you wait for him to wrap his mind around the revelation. Your mind drifts back to being in Bradley’s arms. Your nose twitches at the memory of that familiar woodsy scent. It makes you feel warm and safe. Not unlike the way he carried you. He’d felt so stable and sure as he climbed the stairs with such ease as if he wasn’t carrying you. Then you remember the way he so easily pulled you to your feet with one hand. You’d been all but deadweight at the time and he’d still done it so easily. Suddenly you felt bad for the guys you saw him grind into the boards. The idea of all that strength turned against you made you suppress a shudder. You shouldn’t be surprised, you suppose. After all, even drunk he had packed quite a punch.

“How is she?” You’re wrenched from your thoughts by Cyclone’s voice and you’re met with an expression you’ve never seen on his face. His green eyes are wide, equal parts nervous and earnest. It’s so foreign that it makes you want to squirm.

“Sorry, what?” You stammer, having completely lost the question that he asked.

“Katarina, your mother,” he still stumbles over the words like he’s still coming to grips with it. “How is she?” You can hear the blood rushing in your ears as you comprehend what he’s asking. He doesn’t know. Of course, he doesn’t. They never kept in contact. That being said, you've never had to say it. Not since the week it happened. The words are stuck in your throat, threatening to tear your vocal cords apart. Suddenly you’re in the restaurant from last night again and Bradley’s sitting across from you, avoiding the word, shielding you from the pain in a way that he knows, that he understands. Bradley would never ask you to say it.

And then you’re thinking about her. You’re imagining her, looking the way you did in college, wearing those t-shirts before they faded. Standing side by side with the man across from you. You wonder if anger had its claim on him then the way it does now or if the man that your mother fell in love with was simply this. A man with eyes so green and eager that they reminded you of the first days of spring. They remind you of her. She always reminded you of a sunny day in the dead of winter. The way it’s almost too bright as the light reflects off the snow that would trap the ground below until March, cutting through the dreariness of the season. The gray sky breaking into a brilliant blue and the clouds dispersing. She was a snowdrop, delicate and yet capable of pushing through all that snow, reaching for the sun and its warmth.

“She’s dead.” The words slide free, eased in their passage by the warmth of her memory. You’ve thought more about her in the last week than you have in years. It’s not that you actively avoid it per se but you’ve never been a masochist. You avoid her the way you avoid the ice, keeping a respectful distance that leaves enough room for nostalgia but not longing, because the longing could kill you. You feel the tear splash onto your hand. You don’t remember it leaving your eye. Your vision is uncomfortably clear as you watch your words hit Cyclone. The way the brightness in his eyes gives way to something darker, more familiar. It’s like peeking under the door that houses the unending rage you’ve been on the receiving end of one too many times.

“What?” His voice is hoarse and you don’t have it in you to say the words again.

“She had a heart attack. Eight years ago, there was nothing they could do.” You try to stick to the facts, deliver them as cut and dry as you can, taking as much emotion out of them as you can. You watch the storm in his eyes pick up and you have a feeling that Cyclone grieves the way that you do, violently. Every part of you wants to run for the hills. You feel you’re the captive audience of a show that neither of you wants you to see. You’re not sure which part finds the courage to excuse yourself.

“Sir, I think we should circle back to this meeting another time.” You know when she looks at you that he’s not seeing you.

“Of course.” His voice is rough with emotion and it makes you uncomfortable as you stumble to your feet, almost forgetting your ankle, and you almost fall on your face as you make for the door, desperate to get out of there. Your hand has just curled around the door handle when Cyclone calls out to you again. You turn at the sound of your name, white-knuckling the handle. “Could we get dinner sometime, and talk about some things?” You hear yourself agree. Anything to get out of here now. He dismisses you and you all but throw yourself out the door.

You stumble into the fluorescent lighting of the hallway and as your eyes adjust to the change you make out Bradley leaning against the wall. His features twist into concern when he sees you. Absently you wonder why, but when he reaches for you, you throw yourself against his chest. “Honey, what’s going on? What happened in there?” You can tell he’s fighting to keep his voice calm as you fist the fabric of his shirt tight enough to tear.

“He knew my mom. Cyclone knew my mom.” The words feel like cement on your tongue. Bradley’s arms are around you in an instant, holding you against him while you struggle not to fall apart. “And he didn’t know,” you sob against his chest. “He didn’t know that she’s dead.” The words hurt coming out but it’s easier even if they end in a strangled sob. “Oh my god, she’s dead, Bradley. She’s dead.” Now that you’ve finally said it, it consumes you and you crumple against him, repeating the words over and over as you sob into his chest. Bradley’s silent, simply holding you as you fall apart, his hands smoothing over the back of your head in a repetitive motion that serves as a constant in the backdrop of your breakdown.

[m1dnightsnackz]

Desperate to Devoted

a rivals to lovers post-TFATWS verse

While Steve was still part of the timeline, Bucky was his prodigal best friend recovering in Wakanda while you were steadily becoming a close, trusted friend to Captain America. Bucky blipped out, and you were there for Steve when half the world disappeared. Steve's departure leaves a wake of absence, and it takes a desperate situation to bring you and the White Wolf to face what's between the two of you. And then what?

Content Warnings: [check individual parts for their respective warnings] kidnapping, sex pollen ergo DUBIOUS CONSENT in one chapter, consensual sexual situations (referenced/hinted, and outright explicit physical intimacy), medical elements (needles, IVs, experience of medical distress)

VERSE: ↠ part one: Desperate [3k] ↠ part two: Uncertain and Sure [550] ↠ part three: Insatiable [1.8k] ↠ part four: Big Conversation [1.1k]

[m1dnightsnackz]

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[m1dnightsnackz]

MANIC MOVES & DROWSY DREAMS (3)

- after discovering something that forces all of your relationship’s problems to the surface, you seek solace in your only potential friend in san diego. (bradley “rooster” bradshaw x fem!reader, hurt with future comfort, part of the series “out of touch” ⚠️ ADULT TOPICS, please be 18+ to read)

OUT OF TOUCH: It’s been twenty years since you last saw Bradley Bradshaw, and, suddenly, you realize he’s finally grown up.

word count: 3,111

a/n - this chapter is lowkey crazy 😭 i hope y’all enjoy because i’ve had a blast writing this. the next chapter might take a bit to write up because i need to plan out the rest of the series, but it hopefully shouldn’t take tooo long!!

The next few days were relatively uneventful as you attempted to get your life in perfect working order. There were a few visits from the navy men, with Fanboy (who you learned was actually named Mickey) being one of your best customers until he witnessed firsthand your boyfriend giving you flowers and a peck on the cheek. He seemed a bit crestfallen after that, but you knew he would perk up eventually. He hadn’t gone through it for nothing, though- you always slipped him an extra cookie sample when he came by.

The best part of your life was not interviewing potential employees or ordering more vintage tables, but instead, it was Derick. He was truly your rock in the midst of a change that otherwise would’ve thrown you into chaos.

He handled your calls, he mopped the floors and shined the counter, and he took you on amazing dates. You can firmly say that you’ve never had a boyfriend as respectful and supportive as him.

Too respectful, however, is an ever-present problem.

You’ve been with him for almost fifteen years and you can reasonably count the times he’s been anything other than a perfect family-friendly gentleman. If you look back on it, it was probably around fifty-two instances.

That seems like a lot, but spread out over fifteen years of young adult antics, it’s almost like he didn’t want to be intimate. He didn’t want to make out, or put a hand just a bit too low on your waist, or do anything passionate or fiery or heated. He just wanted dinner dates, a kiss on the cheek, and a hand to hold. You were fine with that, because in essence, that’s what you needed at the time, right? Stability. Comfort. Romance. Someone to wipe away your insecurities and hold you down at ground level.

A lingering thought, always bouncing around in the back of your mind, whispers that it shouldn’t take hours of tempting and teasing for a guy to want you.

You ignore all of that for right now. Derick is currently sitting across the table from you at the fanciest restaurant in the area.

Fancy places always make you a little nervous. You’re afraid to say the wrong thing or mispronounce a word on the menu, and your dresses get rumpled as you fidget with them. Even your nail polish doesn’t survive as you pick at the edges with your thumb. Derick smiles.

“What are you thinking about ordering?” He asks, setting his own menu down. You cease your picking and clear your throat. He looks especially nice tonight, with his dark hair gelled back and his black suit nice and crisp. It doesn’t quite fit with your dress, though you suppose it doesn’t need to.

“Uh, the caprese salad sounds good.” It’s the cheapest thing on the menu. He always pays, but you know that he gets a bit bothered when the bill racks up too high. You’ve offered to pay for yourself numerous times, but he waves the suggestion away, even when his face makes it known that he doesn’t want to.

“I make more money than you, babe, just let me take care of it.”

You try to smile sweetly, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. If he can tell, he doesn’t show it.

“Sounds good. I’m having the truffle alfredo myself.” He flags down a waiter, and you shrink a bit in your seat.

You can tell that this night is going to be another awkward one. After being with someone for so long, you come to expect certain things. Despite that, you wouldn’t trade this stability for anything. He makes good money, he buys you gifts, and once or twice a year, he’ll even sleep with you. What more could a girl want?

Bradley hasn’t had stability in a long time. He has a home in San Diego, sure, but going out for drinks every once and a while with people who have vastly different schedules isn’t really enough to make him want to stay. In truth, he almost misses being deployed because, at least then, he has a purpose.

When he saw you, he thought he might have an opportunity to right a wrong that has been tearing him up inside. He despises what he was like as a teenager, taking nothing seriously except his dreams to be a naval aviator. He’s learned throughout his life that everything matters, especially the feelings of other people, and even the small, mundane things he couldn’t care less about. The small, mundane things are what keep the world working.

He’s sitting on his couch, enjoying a small, mundane thing (a shitty reality show with acting so bad it makes him laugh) when an unknown number lights up his phone. He perks up, staring at the number as the reality show carries on. It’s probably just a spam number, but on the off chance it’s you, he picks up.

“Hello?” He hates how shaky his voice sounds. Just the idea of you sets his nerves on fire.

“I need a friend,” your soft voice mumbles. “Where can we meet? A place that serves strong alcohol would be preferable.”

Right after your early dinner date with Derick, you walked into your shared apartment, boxes lining every walkway. You really ought to have put everything away more quickly, but after a long day’s work, all you and your boyfriend could seem to do was pull out a few objects and give them a place in your new living quarters.

He immediately went to take a shower, as he usually did after a long day, and placed his locked phone on your nightstand. You collapsed onto your bed and looked up at the ceiling, still dressed, and began to dread opening shop in the morning. You love the cafe, but your lack of employees hits harder every day.

Derick had been handling most of the hiring process, with the good majority of the interviewees being his connections. It was helpful having a business major boyfriend, as his college networking and current accountant networking proved extremely useful for managing an actual business. He was always so enthusiastic about helping you run the place. You seriously don’t know what you would do without him.

His phone lit up next to you with a series of texts. You lazily let your gaze drift over to see what was going on. He wouldn’t mind if you checked who was texting, right? When you picked up his phone, the name that popped up was “employee candidate 4”. You smiled to yourself; Derick was so responsible, you thought. He must have given the candidates his number to see if they needed anything.

You unlocked his phone with your thumbprint, which you so sneakily added to his password bank a few months ago when you first started collaborating on the cafe’s business plan. What you saw made your heart drop down to the floor, splintering into a million little pieces that got stuck in your fresh linoleum floor.

Bradley hands you another drink, a strong one at that, and you gulp half of it down in one breath. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

You look up at him through your eyelashes, makeup half-rubbed off from tears and friction. The sun began to set when you first entered, and in the dimming light, Bradley could tell that you were rattled. You still are, evidently. He waits for a moment before you clear your throat and offer a few gut-punching words.

“I checked my boyfriend’s phone.” He can tell where this is going. He doesn’t want it to be true, because who in their right mind would cheat on you?

“What was on it?” He prompts gently. You take another breath. You don’t want to dump this all on someone that you barely know, with the only history you have being a failed almost-relationship when you were teenagers, but you don’t have anyone else. When you moved to San Diego, you left everything behind, including your friends and family. You haven’t even talked to your friends in ages, as you’ve been so busy with the cafe and Derick that you couldn’t so much as call them. The idea of having Bradley nurse your broken heart is both gut-wrenching and just a little bit like a dream.

“A lot. I… I don’t want to ruin your night by bothering you. I should go.” You try to stand up from your bar stool, but he catches your wrist in his warm hands.

He shakes his head, eyebrows creased. “Just tell me. I’m here for you; I meant what I said in the cafe.” You nod, fresh tears welling up in your eyes as you sit down.

“I’ll get a few drinks in me first.”

You keep your word, managing to take down a sizable amount of alcohol within a few minutes. It’s not enough to get you passing out or throwing up, but enough to loosen your lips.

“Do you want to know what I saw?” Your face is warm, either from the alcohol or Bradley’s hand on your back. “Twenty-eight photos of his dick. It isn’t even good enough to warrant one photo, Bradley, one! None of them were sent to me, of course. Just the girls he would chat up online and fuck.” The words tumble out of your mouth, every pent-up frustration making its way into the light of the bar. “I looked through his search history, too, and then our finances, because I was suspicious of everything at that point. I found four subscriptions to porn sites in our bills and three more for online dating premium memberships. Who the fuck even needs a premium membership? God. I hate him.”

“Slow down, princess.” He says. His lips are quirked into a small smile as you ramble on and on about every small thing Derick has ever done to piss you off. “He seems like a real piece of work.”

“He is! He so is. I never get to order what I want, he always makes me feel responsible for his mistakes, and not once has he made me finish. I mean, we’ve had sex maybe twice in the last two years because he can’t get it up. Probably because he’s been sticking his dick in STD central.” Those last few items slip through your internal filter, but even in your state, you recognize that you probably shouldn’t be talking about your sex life with a guy you re-met a few days ago. “Sorry. That was personal.”

Bradley lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “Nothin’ I can’t handle. I can’t believe you stayed with him that long when he can’t do a single thing for you. If you were my girl, you wouldn’t know a day without pleasure.” It’s his turn to be embarrassed about what he said, but as his cheeks turn red, you don’t even seem to notice.

If you were his girl, he thinks, he’d treat you so well. He’d actually get you your favorite flowers instead of the ones he thinks would look nice in the aesthetic of your apartment, and he’d cook for you, and he’d never make you feel bad for loving him.

“Exactly.” You say. “He just wanted someone to come home to without even thinking about how I would feel. I wanted stability, and he gave me that, but nothing else.” You suddenly sound sober, but the tears are back, and they’re stronger than ever. “I loved him.” You choke out. “I don’t think I could ever get something better, not after so long.”

Bradley feels bad for even considering picking you up after this. You’re distraught, more than he’s ever seen anyone before. It’s clear that this is something you’re going to take a while to heal from. “You can and you will. He’s a dick, and I’m sorry you wasted so much time on him, but you will find some kind of relationship that deserves you. You can have a fresh start, and he’ll just be another asshole that you put in your past.”

You nod, taking in his words as you sip your soda. Bradley cut you off a while ago, which you’re eternally grateful for. If you had one more sip of alcohol, you think you'd either be dancing on a table or crying on the floor. Now, at least you’re crying upright in a stool, with the man across from you handing you tissues once in a while. The lady running the bar seems to know him, and she also seems to know that an endless supply of tissues is necessary for you tonight.

The doors of the bar open, and though you don’t want to peel yourself away from the sight of someone caring about you, you turn around anyway. When you do, your blood runs cold.

Bradley sees you stiffen and follows your line of sight to the person that just walked in. He’s handsome, in a way, with short, dark brown hair and a five-o-clock shadow. He seems like the stuck-up type. Your eyes are blown wide at the sight as the man walks over, a sort of fake concern lacing his expression.

“Baby-“

“Don’t fucking call me that, Derick. How did you even find me?” Oh. The soon-to-be ex. Bradley sits up on his stool, pulling himself to a position where he can easily stand if the moment calls for it.

Derick pulls out his phone sheepishly. “You left your location on.”

Goddamnit. Fuck.

“Get out. I don’t want to see you right now.” You’re seething, the anger coming off you in waves. You think that if you weren’t angry, you’d be sad, and you can’t handle that right now. The devastation of finding out your boyfriend is a freak and a cheater is something you just opened the box to, and you don’t feel like unpacking it in front of him.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He protests. “They didn’t mean anything to me. I love you, and I want to marry you, and I’ll never do it again. I- I have the ring right here, see?” He pulls out a familiar velvet-lined box, and you scoff.

“You should’ve thought about that before you cheated. Multiple times.”

Bradley stands up, placing a soothing hand between your shoulder blades. “Leave, man. She’s made it pretty clear that she doesn’t want you here.”

Derick bristles, his pasty face tinged red with anger. Bradley almost rolls his eyes at how small he looks. “You don’t need to stick up for her.” He takes a step forward. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were fucking her behind my back. That’s what this is, isn’t it? An excuse for you to leave me because some navy fucker had some nice enough sex with you?” He’s approaching fast. By the time he finishes his sentence, Derick’s fist is wrapped around your wrist tightly.

You let out a soft sound as his bruising fingers close around you, but as soon as he’s there, Bradley shoves him away and loosens his grip on you. “Okay, that’s enough. You’re either going to walk through those doors or you’re getting dragged out. I don’t care which.”

Derick scoffs. “Fine with me. I never liked you anyways.” He gives you a pointed glance, tucking the ring box into his jacket pocket.

“You have tonight to get your stuff out of the apartment that I paid for.” You say, rubbing the space between your eyebrows with your thumb. “I never want to see you again.” The second part comes out as a mumble, but he clearly gets the message.

“Fuck you.” He walks out, and the group of navy men by the door give him a dirty look. He’s more than ruined multiple peoples’ nights by this point. It went from one crying girl at a bar to the start of a bar fight in the two minutes he stood in front of you.

Bradley, concerned, gives you a soft look. “Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?”

You shake your head as more tears drip down your jaw. You hate this. You hate Derick, you hate yourself, and you hate the pitiful way Bradley is staring at you. Your California dream has turned into a nightmare. “No, but I’ll get a hotel somewhere. It’s not that big of a deal.” Your attempt to downplay the situation has Bradley on the verge of running after Derick and slapping the back of his big groomed head. You’re too nice for this, too sweet to be cheated on and forced to sleep in a cold bed that you paid $200 for.

“You can stay over at my place if you want. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“I don’t want to put you out like that. It’s fine,” you assure him, though your voice is the least sure it’s ever been. “There’s a nice enough place a few streets away.”

Bradley shakes his head. His warm hand is on your shoulder, like he’s trying to ground you. “It won’t put me out. C’mon, princess, it’s not a big deal. You can rest up and we’ll figure out what else to do in the morning.”

He called you “princess” again. It’s nice, you think, in your drunken mind. Right now, you’re too tired to fight anything about the situation you’re in. “Alright. As long as you’re sure.”

He pays your tabs, slipping a look to the lady running the bar. She nods at him and mouths something that you can’t quite make out. As he leads you to his car, a nice, blue, vintage bronco, he keeps one hand on the small of your back. The heat feels nice, like you have someone securing you. Like you won’t ever stumble or fall before his strong arms catch you. He must be a real nice guy if he’s doing all this after so long.

He buckles you into your seat, and you let your head fall back onto the headrest. Your eyes close, and you desperately try not to think about what your life has come to. You feel a buzz in your jacket pocket, but you don’t pick it up. Everything is fine, you assure yourself. You didn’t just break up with the man you were going to marry, and he didn’t cheat on you, and your phone isn’t going off wildly through the fabric of your coat, and you’re not strapped into the car of your high school self’s dream boy. You ride that feeling, that denial, right into sleep.

You’ll deal with the real life problems in the morning.

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[m1dnightsnackz]

Do You Wanna Touch Me? | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You had been working at the bar for six months. And you'd been crushing on Rooster since the first night he handed you his credit card, called you Babydoll, and asked you to start a tab for him. And it only got worse from there, until one night you asked him about more than just his drink order.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, age gap, and smut

Length: 5800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written for my Top Gun Rocktober playlist! Check out my masterlist for more!

"Oh, my god," you whined softly, drying and polishing the rack of pint glasses in front of you as Rooster Bradshaw came strolling into the bar. "Fuck me," you sighed, barely able to keep your eyes off him as you fumbled one of the glasses.

"Yeah, you'd like that," Lizzy said with a laugh as she cut up some lemons before the Friday evening rush.

You didn't even know you spoke out loud. That's how much of a ridiculous crush you had on that big, sexy man. But he strolled right past you on his way to the pool table, barely even sparing a smile in your direction. 

"I really would," you told her, watching the flex of his bicep as he high fived Hangman. It wasn't like your coworkers didn't know you had a thing for Rooster. You'd been working here for six months, and you'd been crushing on him since the first night he handed you his credit card, called you Babydoll, and asked you to start a tab for him. And it only got worse from there.

He still occasionally called you Babydoll. He never called Lizzy or Jasmine by a pet name. Just you. And you held onto that little glimmer of hope that it meant something. That maybe one day, he'd look at you as more than just one of the bartenders.

"What's wrong with you?" Jas asked, waving a hand in front of your face. But then she looked where you were staring, and she asked no further questions. "Oh. Rooster's here."

"He sure is," you added, forcing yourself to focus on the customer in front of you who looked impatient for a drink. As you finished pouring him some tequila shots, you looked up eagerly, and Rooster met your eyes. It had been a solid week since you'd seen him, and he just always looked so good.

You pushed the shot glasses across the bar and collected payment, trying to stay as cool as you could. Because Rooster was heading your way now in his snug vintage wash jeans and bright tropical shirt. 

"Hey, Babydoll," he rasped, and your whole body clenched with need as your eyes fluttered closed. When you met his gaze again, he was leaning on the bar, closing in on your personal space. 

"Hey, Rooster," you replied, sounding a lot calmer than you felt. When he smirked and looked down at your shirt, your heart pounded even harder. Your name was embroidered on your Hard Deck top, just above your breast. He knew your name, but he always called you Babydoll anyway. So was he just simply staring at your tits?

He cleared his throat and asked, "Get me a beer? Please?" 

"Am I starting a tab?" you asked, reaching for one of the pint glasses you'd just finished cleaning. He responded by humming and sliding his credit card across the bar. He held eye contact with you while you expertly pulled the perfect pint of his preferred beer. The way his lips parted in a soft smile that matched yours, the twitch of his mustache...it all felt like foreplay that had been going on for months.

"Thanks," he muttered when your fingers brushed against his. He winked at you before turning back to the pool table, leaving you with his credit card and a desperate need inside of you.

As you set up his tab, Jasmine ran her hand along your lower back so you wouldn't bump her as she walked behind you. "Why don't you just invite him to join you in the bathroom and fuck him out of your system?" she joked. 

"Because," you sighed, "that would only make me pine harder. Getting a small taste of him would be worse than nothing at all."

"Oof," Lizzy replied. "You're a mess over Bradshaw."

"I wonder how old he is?" Jas asked.

You hummed and shrugged, watching him drink his beer across the room while you shook a vodka martini. "Gotta be at least thirty five."

"Ask him," Lizzy said. "Next time he comes over, ask him how old he is."

Your cheeks were warming up. He was bending at the waist, playing pool, and you were taking way too long to serve this martini. "No. What if he thinks I'm being rude? Or worse...what if he catches on that I like him, and he shuts it all down."

"Fine," Jas said, uncapping some ciders. "Next time Rooster comes up, I'll wait on him."

But that really didn't sit well with you. Rooster always came to you for his drinks, anytime he could. You liked that about him. You liked his attention. Jas wouldn't pour his pints quite as well as you could. You knew so well how much foam to let spill and how close to the top of the glass you could get. You loved pulling those pints of lager for him. And you loved pouring him bourbon when he asked for that instead. You knew which brand and that he liked it neat. You didn't have to ask. He didn't have to tell you.

No, you should always be the one to wait on him. And when he finished his pint and strolled back up to the bar after Phoenix beat him at pool, you stepped in front of Jasmine. "I got it," you said confidently, and Jas walked away chuckling. This time Rooster eased himself down onto an empty stool between two women who looked at him like they'd just won the lottery. But his eyes were on you. 

"Lager or bourbon?" you asked, and you were rewarded with those perfect, white teeth and his deep laughter. 

"You got everyone's regular drinks memorized?" he asked as you reached for his empty glass. But he didn't let you take it. He kept one hand on the glass for a few beats while your fingers met his. 

He was making you feel bold tonight. He was even more gorgeous up close like this, with a few gray hairs at his temples and some laugh lines around his eyes. His eyebrows shot up, and his smile faltered when you said, "No, Rooster. Not everybody's regular drinks. Only the hottest guys. Lager or bourbon?"

He grunted and swallowed hard. "Dealer's choice." Then he finally let you take the empty glass, and it was a good thing, too, because you needed to turn away from him. You took a few extra seconds to reach for the bottle of Wild Turkey. Your nipples were hard, your skin felt like it was on fire, and you were turned on just talking to him.

When you turned back to face him, his gaze was neutral again. You uncapped the bourbon and poured it for him, neat. 

"Thanks," he murmured, moving like he was standing to leave. 

And then your mouth worked before your brain, and you said, "Anytime, Sexy."

You watched him pause halfway out of his seat, his eyes dipping down to watch you nervously lick your lips. If he left for the pool table, you really were going to have to let Jasmine wait on him next time. Embarrassment flooded your veins, leaving you uncomfortable with a sheen of cold sweat on your neck. But he eased himself back down onto the stool and kept his eyes on you. "Alright. Babydoll."

You laughed softly, pulling out some glasses for the woman who wanted two cosmos. Rooster sipped his bourbon and kept his focus on your face and your body. He grunted as you took a shaker in each hand, and as you poured them out at the same time, he asked, "What's your favorite drink?"

He was hyper focused on you now, leaning in just the slightest bit further as you served both pink drinks. "To have or to make?" you asked, taking more orders.

"Both. I want you to tell me both."

You smiled at him, and he matched it right away. "Nothing is more fun to make than an expertly crafted Bloody Mary, but those are best as breakfast cocktails."

He nodded, accepting your answer, and then he asked, "And what do you order when you go out?"

You shrugged. "I don't often get to have someone make my drinks for me, but when I do, I usually order a Manhattan."

"A Manhattan?" he asked, balking at your answer. "How fuckin' old are you, Babydoll? People in their seventies drink those things!"

"I'm twenty three," you told him, laughing so hard you were doubled over. He looked delighted when you were finally able to stand up straight again. Your smile was still bright as you leaned on the bar until you were only two feet from his face and softly asked, "How old are you?"

The song on the jukebox changed as Rooster rubbed his mustache and said, "I'm a lot older than you are." His little self deprecating laugh just made you want to get closer to him. He looked amused by you and also resigned to the fact that he thought his age was something you wouldn't like about him.

"How old?" you asked again, biting your lip. 

His brown eyes found your mouth, and you thought for a moment that he was going to kiss you. Oh god, you wanted him to, so badly. "I'm thirty eight."

You hummed softly as Phoenix came to stand next to him, and you started to get her favorite kind of beer ready. 

"You coming back to the pool table?" she asked Rooster, but he just grunted something about needing to finish his bourbon first. When you handed Phoenix her drink, Rooster told you to put it on his tab, and he looked relieved when she walked away.

"Thirty eight," you said, watching him down the remainder of the drink in his glass. "That's why you're so good at flirting? You've had time to practice?"

He coughed a little bit as he set his empty glass down on the bar top. "Babydoll, I'm fifteen years older than you."

"So?" you asked, pulling another perfect pint for him. "You don't want to flirt with me?"

"Now wait, that's not what I'm saying at all. Just surprised you don't want to flirt with someone your own age."

"I don't like boys my age," you told him fearlessly. "I like men."

"Oh, hell," he groaned, taking a long sip of his fresh beer. "Just look at you. You're gonna get yourself in trouble if you don't find a nice guy."

He looked flustered now. You were making Lieutenant Bradshaw flustered. His cheeks were pink, and he kept sipping his beer, avoiding your gaze. He looked adorable and boyish, and you didn't know quite what to do about this. Or about the fact that talking to him was making you wet. 

"Hmmm," you hummed, and his eyes met yours immediately. "Are you a nice guy?"

"Fuck," he groaned, adjusting himself in his seat. "Sometimes."

"You're always pretty sweet to me," you whispered. "What's it like when you're not a nice guy, Rooster?"

You wanted to touch him for more than a few fleeting seconds. After six months, you thought you were going to. His long, thick fingers were just resting there in front of you. But then Fanboy came to the bar and asked you to close out his tab. And then you had to help Lizzy pour a massive round of shots. And then when Rooster asked you to close out his tab as well, you did it with a pout on your lips. 

As you slid his credit card, the slip he needed to sign, and a pen across the bar, he smiled at you. "Aww, come on. Don't give me that look. You know how it is."

"I don't, actually," you replied, watching him sign the credit card receipt for you. "How is it?"

He looked up and studied your face. "You're too perfect to mess with, Babydoll. Too young. Too pretty to touch."

You chewed on your lip and squeezed your thighs together. You had to know. Your voice was soft and unsure as you asked him, "Do you wanna touch me?"

He didn't meet your eyes again as he scribbled on the receipt and then left it and the pen for you to collect. He stood up from his stool, gave a quick salute to his friends and then headed for the door. 

You moaned helplessly. You blew it. He thought you were just a kid, and you never stood a chance. And now he'd probably never even look at you again. 

But when you picked up the receipt, you read one word written there under his name. YES.

-----------------------------

When you strolled into the bar the next evening, you got right to work. You had no idea if Rooster would show up, and you weren't sure if you even wanted to see him or not. You'd torn off the bottom of his credit card slip and taken it home with you. That little scrap of paper on which he'd admitted he wanted to touch you was hanging on your bedroom mirror. But it was the fact that he was probably never going to touch you, even though he was more than welcome to, that was making you frustrated. 

"What's wrong with you?" Lizzy asked as she arrived a minute later. "You look hot."

You glanced down at your Hard Deck top, denim skirt and beat up sneakers. "I look the same as I always do," you told her, continuing to dump buckets of ice into the cooler behind the bar. 

"Maybe it's your makeup," she replied. "I think you're hoping Rooster comes in tonight."

You rolled your eyes. "I always hope he's going to be here. He's pretty. I like looking at him."

"I'm not going to dispute that," Lizzy said as she cut up the lemons again tonight. "But I think you actually like him. Not just the way he looks."

You didn't respond, because it didn't matter. You'd keep the flirtation to a minimum the next time you saw him. The last thing you wanted to do was make him think you were desperate. He wanted to touch you? He could go right ahead. But you weren't about to beg him to.

As the bar got crowded, Jasmine showed up as well. The three of you got into a nice rhythm. A lot of the aviators were back again tonight, and you were serving them drink after drink. And then it was like you knew he was there before you saw him. After you handed a couple their drinks, your eyes automatically shifted toward the doorway, finding it filled with Rooster's big body. And he was already looking at you. 

"You want me to wait on him?" Lizzy asked you softly as Rooster approached the bar. 

But you just shook your head and reached for two different glasses, holding them up as he took a seat in front of you. When he pointed to the pint glass, he said, "Lager. Please."

"Sure," you replied, setting the smaller glass aside and pulling a perfect pint of beer for him. "Start a tab?"

"Nah, I'm not staying long tonight," he told you as you placed the beer in front of him without meeting his gaze. "Just wanted to see you and get one drink."

"Mmkay," you said. But when you pulled your hand away, he reached for it. 

Stunned, you let him take your hand in his large one, and then he asked, "Does this mean you're done flirting with the old man now? You got it all out of your system yesterday?" His eyes were guarded, cautious, and he held onto your hand, expecting an answer. 

You shook your head slowly, running your fingertips along his rough calluses. "I was just getting started."

A crooked little smile danced across his lips. "I am too old for you, Babydoll. And it's a shame."

Your heart jumped in your chest, hand still tangled up with his on the bar top. You could hear Lizzy and Jasmine working extra hard to take all the orders, trying to give you a moment here. So you smiled back. "You think you're old. So what? You expect me to call you Daddy?"

"Shit," he grunted, squirming a bit in his seat but keeping your hand in his.

When he didn't respond right away, you leaned a little closer, one eyebrow raised. "I asked you a question."

His eyes were wide, and that little grin was back. "I could be a... Daddy. Maybe for the right girl."

You pulled your hand free of his and planted both palms on the bar top and leaned closer to him. "And just how is a girl supposed to know if she's the right one?"

But his cheeks were tinged with pink once again, and he looked flustered. It was flattering, such an ego boost. You were the one who made him like this. But he wasn't responding now, and you needed to help Jas pour some chardonnay for the impatient ladies at the end of the bar. You sighed and said, "Well, I work until eleven. So just think on it."

But he wouldn't let you leave. Rooster reached for your hand again, but this time he was the one leaning closer. "The right girl would be one that I can't seem to stay away from. You said you work until eleven?"

"Yes," you replied softly, his large hand completely covering yours on the bar top.

"Right. Then ask me again if I want to start a tab."

You pressed your lips together, trying not to giggle. "Would you like to start a tab, Rooster?"

"You're damn right I would, Babydoll. I can't get enough of you. Think I'll just hang here until eleven. If that's okay with you."

This time you did giggle. "Yeah. That's okay with me." As he pulled his wallet out and handed you his credit card, you asked, "Bourbon or lager?"

"Make it a Manhattan."

"I've been told these drinks are for people in their seventies," you said with a straight face as you reached for the vermouth, secretly pleased he wanted your favorite. "You're only thirty eight."

"Listen," he said, watching you fix his drink. "You said you don't like boys your own age. And maybe I'm a little older than you, but all the parts are still in working order."

You felt giddy. When you set the glass down in front of him, you couldn't help but ask, "Does that mean you'll let me take you for a test drive?" 

You had to work to keep an innocent expression on your face as Bradley's blush deepened. He took a sip of his Manhattan, licked his lips and said, "I don't do test drives anymore."

"Oh," you said with a little pout. "You don't?"

"No," he replied a bit cautiously, taking another sip of his cocktail. "I'm getting too old for that. I like at least a little bit of commitment from the driver. Don't wanna feel like I'll get dinged up."

You shivered at his words, mesmerized by his voice and his demeanor as he looked down into his glass. Could you do more than a test drive? Of course you'd thought about it. You were crushing so hard, you'd imagined what it would be like if he was your boyfriend. But you'd barely even let yourself hope for a one night stand. Even that much seemed too good to be true.

"Oh," you said again in a softer tone. When he glanced up, his dark eyes were no longer guarded, and he was looking at you warily. Without giving it much thought, you pushed up onto the bar and leaned until he met you halfway in a kiss. It was just the softest brush of your lips against his. But the sound he made and the prickle of his mustache on your skin left you wide eyed and out of breath as you eased yourself back down. "No. You're too handsome to get all dinged up. I'm a great driver."

"Yeah," he said with a little laugh. "I can already tell. And that's what I was afraid of last night. There's just something about you, isn't there?"

"You have a thing for me?" you asked him, gripping the edge of the bar top. "Because I definitely have a thing for you." You had stopped breathing now, and your heart was pounding in your ears. 

With a little grin, he said, "Yeah, I do, Babydoll."

"Well, what are we going to do about it, Daddy?" you asked with another giggle as Jasmine thrust a bottle of prosecco into your hands. 

"We're going to go out my Bronco the minute your shift is over. We'll figure it out there." 

You nearly dropped the bottle when you met his eyes. "A quickie?" you asked softly, but you were sure he heard you.

"No," he groaned, running his big palm along his mouth and shaking his head at you. Then he finished the rest of his Manhattan in one gulp and pushed the glass your way. "Nothing about this is gonna be quick. I'd like to take my time, especially with someone as perfect as you."

You sounded like a feral animal, thighs clenched together and gripping the bottle of prosecco with both hands. 

"Shit," Rooster grunted. "You're making it hard to just sit here, Babydoll."

"Hard?" you asked with a grin. 

"You'll find out."

After another embarrassing noise, you had to excuse yourself to the other end of the bar for a few minutes. Jesus, you needed to keep your job, after all. But his eyes followed you everywhere. Any time you looked his way, he was transfixed on you. When you pulled a pint of lager and set it down for him, he whispered, "Thanks, Babydoll," sending shivers along your skin again. 

"Anything else you want, Rooster?" you asked him sweetly. 

His gaze dipped down to your chest before returning to your face. "Nothing I'm allowed to have inside the bar."

"At least not when we're open to the public, sir," you replied, giving him a little salute that had him reaching for you across the bar. But you managed to skirt away from his grasp with another laugh. 

"You coming back over here?" he asked between sips of his beer. "I didn't get a chance to ask you if you'll make me a Bloody Mary for breakfast tomorrow morning."

"Breakfast?"

"Yeah. Breakfast," he confirmed with a smile. "At my place?"

You pressed your lips together to keep from screaming. "So since this isn't a test drive, what are my options, exactly? Am I looking at a lease? A financing package?"

"I'm sure you'll know what you want to do when the time comes. And I'm going to need you to stop saying package right now."

"Just go," Jasmine told you suddenly. "It's after ten, and you're useless. You and he have had hours of foreplay already. Go."

"Are you sure?" you asked, already reaching for your bag and Rooster's credit card.

"Yes," Lizzy confirmed. Then she looked at Rooster who was already standing up and told him, "Pay your tab next week. And get her out of here."

"My pleasure," he rasped, and you practically ran for the opening in the bar, ducking underneath the counter. And when you stood up again, he was right there. He was so tall and broad, and with a coy smile, you slipped his credit card into the pocket of his jeans. When your fingers trailed closer to his zipper, he grabbed your wrist gently. 

"Just checking for myself to make sure all the parts are working," you mused as he raised your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles gently. In the middle of the crowded bar. Then he wrapped your fingers around the back of his neck, and you pulled him down for a kiss. 

He kept it pretty clean as he promised, "Wait until we get outside."

"Now," you demanded, pulling him along behind you by his shirt collar. As soon as the cool, night air met your hot skin, he had your bare thighs in his hands, and your back was pressed against the side of the building. "Oh my god," you gasped. Your body was pinned between the siding and Rooster, and the rough denim of his jeans was rubbing you deliciously through your underwear. 

"I told you I'm not going to rush," he whispered, pressing into you as you held onto his shoulders. He teased you with that delicious mustache and his lips on your neck before he kissed your ear and said, "Now, I'm gonna need verbal confirmation, Babydoll."

"Yes!" you nearly shouted. "Everything!"

He chuckled next to your ear and asked, "You wanna fuck in my Bronco?"

"Yes," you moaned so loudly, you were sure Jasmine and Lizzy could hear you. 

"I don't have any condoms with me," he said, looking you in the eye. "Do we need them?"

"No, I'm clean, and I take the pill," you said, leaning in to kiss his lips. He tasted you, running the tip of his tongue along yours before pulling his lips away. 

You whined for him, but he was undeterred. "I need you to tell me that you'll come home with me and make me that Bloody Mary in the morning while I make you breakfast."

He already wanted you to sleep over with him. He wanted to make you breakfast. He didn't want to have a one night stand. He was waiting for an answer. "You'll have to let me know if you want it traditional or extra spicy."

"Fuck," he grunted before his lips came crashing against yours. His big hands held your thighs wide as he rolled his hips gently against you. 

"Rooster," you moaned against his lips as he let you gently slide down his body until your feet hit the ground. 

"Please call me Bradley," he whispered as he wrapped his hand around your waist and quickly guided you across the dark parking lot. 

When you saw the Bronco, you ran the last little bit hand in hand. His laughter mixed with yours as he unlocked the door. "Come on, Bradley," you sang, looking up at him over your shoulder before climbing up onto the driver's seat on your hands and knees. "Do you wanna touch me?"

"Babydoll," he moaned, keeping you still as he guided your skirt up over your butt and around your waist. You cried out as he kissed the backs of your thighs. He slipped his fingers inside the thin strips of lace fabric that made up your thong, and you couldn't ever remember being this turned on before. 

"Bradley!" you gasped loudly when his lips and tongue met the globe of your rear end. He slid the lace to one side and kissed your slit from behind until you were panting. You might cum. You might actually have an orgasm on your hands and knees with your ass in his face. Boys your own age couldn't get you like this no matter what they did.

He gently swatted at you before palming your ass and saying, "Get in the backseat."

Oh yes. He was about to show you what else his age and experience had to offer, and you were already shaking with need. "Yes, sir," you whispered, and you heard him mutter a string of obscenities as you scrambled onto the backseat. As he slid the driver's seat forward and climbed in the back, you carefully pulled your underwear down your thighs. He helped you and then pressed the lace to his nose before pulling you onto his lap. 

"I've thought about this so many times when I touched myself," you blurted out as he teased your clit with his thumb. "Bronco sex," you whined, head tipped back, enjoying the perfect pressure he applied to your body. "Bronco sex with Bradley Bradshaw."

"Forgive me, Babydoll," he whispered, voice harsh. "But last night was the first time I jerked off thinking about you. Too afraid to go there before that, thinking there was no way in hell you'd want me."

"I want you," you swore, meeting his eyes in the near darkness. If anyone else was out in the parking lot, you couldn't see them. And you didn't care if they could see you, because he was slipping one thick finger inside you. "Wanted you for so long. Months and months."

"Jesus, you're tight," he groaned, sliding your snug top up to your chest as you rode his hand. "And you skipped a bra tonight like a good girl."

"Bradley," you gasped as he cupped your bare breast in his big hand. He lazily swirled his thumb around your nipple before bending to take you into his mouth. "Oh my god!" 

Your orgasm was already building. You had only been in the backseat with him for a few minutes, and he was still fully clothed. But now you were riding two fingers, and his thumb was delicious against your clit. As he licked and sucked on your breast, you started to clench. 

"Damn," he muttered against your body. "Already?"

You just nodded before guiding his lips up to yours, and you came as you moaned loudly against his mouth. "Bradley." You raked your fingers up into his hair and kissed him. He was hard through his jeans, and when he withdrew his fingers, you felt them trail up your body. 

"You're so pretty," he whispered, pulling your top over your head. "You'll look even better in my bed."

You wanted him to fuck you here first, but you'd be lying if you said you hadn't already thought about his place and what he might make you for breakfast. And as you sat straddled his hips in nothing but your skirt up around your waist and your sneakers on your feet, you felt adored by him. He was kissing a trail down between your breasts and rubbing his thumbs along your thighs. 

"Bradley," you whined, rubbing your pussy against his jeans, already feeling a little wrung out. "Please."

The street light at the corner reflected in his eyes, letting you know he was looking at your face as he raised his hips and unzipped his jeans. And a few seconds later, they were down around his knees along with his underwear. Your lips met his as you felt the velvety soft tip of his cock resting against your core. As you kissed him and tugged on his hair, he throbbed for you. And suddenly you weren't in such a hurry either. 

"Let me make you feel good," he whispered, and as you slid down around him, Bradley guided you with his hands on your hips. "You're so wet, my god."

"You always make me wet, even when you just talk to me at the bar," you admitted softly, your voice shaking as he kept pushing deeper inside you. "Oh. You're huge."

"Am I hurting you?" he asked, pausing where he was. But you just shook your head and rolled your hips slowly until he was completely inside you. He kissed you softly as you gasped and got used to him. "I don't wanna hurt this sweet pussy," he whispered next to your ear. "Perfect."

And then he brushed his knuckles along your clit and leaned his head back, watching as you rode him. "Take it off," you gasped, and he let you push his shirt down his arms and pull his tank over his head. You explored his broad chest with your hands and his shoulders with your lips. He was warm and rough and oh so sweet. His chest hairs brushed against your nipples as he guided your hips with his hands.

"Bradley?"

"Hmm?" 

You wrapped your hands around his neck and kissed his lips. "Fuck. So good." He felt delicious, his big hands everywhere, sliding up to span your back and keep you close. He fucked you in long, fluid movements that just got faster and faster. His pubes were coarse against your clit. His little grunts and words of praise kept you going as you started squeezing around his cock.

"Don't stop, Babydoll," he coaxed as you got closer. When his lips met your sweat slick chest again, and he pulled your nipple between his teeth, you came for him.

"Oh!" 

As your legs shook and your fingers went loose in his hair, Bradley fucked up into you until you were screaming his name. 

"Good girl," he grunted, and suddenly you were on your back along the seat with your legs spread wide. He fucked you with long, hard strokes that made your tits bounce and prolonged your orgasm. His lips were everywhere, and you were surrounded by his voice in the dark, holding onto his biceps as he came inside you.

You scrambled to get your mouth on his as you both caught your breath together, and as your heartbeat started to return to normal, you pressed a dozen soft kisses to his lips, one after the next. "Will you take me home?"

His hands stilled on your thigh and your neck. "Yeah," he said with a tone of sadness. "I can drop you off at home."

When he started pulling away without so much as another kiss, you reached for him, keeping him firmly inside you. "No, no. Take me home with you, Bradley."

"My place?" His voice was still soft, but it sounded hopeful now.

"Of course," you reassured him, and his kisses returned. "I'll spend the whole morning tomorrow making you Bloody Marys with little heart shaped garnishes."

He smiled against your lips before he said, "I'd like that, Babydoll."

---------------------------

The Hard Deck was pretty busy the following evening, and you were so physically exhausted from your night with Bradley, you could barely keep up. The Sunday crowd was keeping you on your toes, and Jasmine wouldn't stop asking you how your night ended. 

"Did you go home with him? You did. I can tell," she said as you just shrugged at all of her questions. "Are you going to see him again? Come on! Tell me!"

When you saw movement on the other side of the bar top, Jasmine's eyes went wide. "Hey, babydoll." The deep rumble of his voice was so distinct, you didn't need to look at him to know it was Bradley. He had whispered dirty, sweet things in your ears all night and all morning. You knew the sound of his voice by heart now.

When your eyes met his, you reached for a pint glass and filled it with his favorite beer. "Hey, Bradley. Wanna start a tab?" you asked with a soft smile.

You giggled as he reached for your hand and tugged you closer. Then he leaned across the bar and kissed you as his nose brushed against yours. "For you? Always. And don't close the tab until your shift ends."

---------------------------

No more test drives. I'm sure she's already considering her options to make him hers permanently. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32. Also, the pretty banner was made by Mak!

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[m1dnightsnackz]

no one talks about how hard it is when your mood is constantly switching between "its okay, i don't care. i'm fine" and "i don't know how much more i can take"

[m1dnightsnackz]

OUT OF TOUCH (1)

- you lost contact with the boy next door, and you believe your life is better for it. (bradley “rooster” bradshaw x fem!reader, ⚠️ adult topics mentioned, part of the series “out of touch”)

OUT OF TOUCH: It’s been twenty years since you last saw Bradley Bradshaw, and, suddenly, you realize he’s finally grown up.

word count: 1,003

a/n - aaaaaa my top gun obsession as of late is currently taking up everything in my brain 🥹 now that i’m out for the summer, i really am going to try to finish what i started. come along for the journey, if you dare <3

You were never “together” together with him. You used to wish you were, praying desperately to every fallen eyelash and coin in a fountain and 11:11, but nothing could make Bradley Bradshaw, the only thing your teenage self wanted, settle down.

Instead, you followed him like a lost puppy, and he reveled in your affection. He was fifteen years old, just barely starting to grow his hair out, and you were fourteen. He was also your neighbor, something you could not get out of your giddy head every time you caught a glimpse of him riding his bike outside your window. You supposed it was a thing of proximity; you fell for the only boy you had ever really talked to, and he wanted a warm body.

It was an innocent crush. You liked the way he moved his (frankly horribly styled, which you only realized later) hair out of his brown eyes, and he liked that you liked him. So you went out on “dates”, and you had a fun time, and he inevitably left you to fend for yourself when his friends came around. It took two months of this for you to finally realize that it just wasn’t going to happen.

As soon as you pulled yourself off of your metaphorical knees, he was attached to another girl. A blonde named Rebecca with curves that were certainly not age-appropriate, even at seventeen. You hated her, for a time, but looking back on it, she had the same lovesick look in her eyes that you did. He had that effect on everyone.

When Bradley left, you didn’t even miss him.

You’re thirty-four now, with a brand-new sparkle in your eye. Things are perfect. You just accepted a new job in sunny San Diego to be closer to your long-term boyfriend, and really, life couldn’t be better.

After high school, you moved halfway across the country to attend your dream college, where you met Derick. He’s a nice guy. He brings you flowers, knows your drink order by heart, and, most importantly, he isn’t afraid of commitment. He has a big, shiny ring tucked in the back of his sock drawer, and you won’t ever tell him you know where it is.

Even your job is amazing, which is something people rarely get to say. You got the opportunity to own and manage a cafe quietly nestled into the cozier part of the California coast, and you wouldn’t change it for the world. Its proximity to a naval base is also a great thing, as uniformed men line up in droves for an early morning coffee or the odd pastry on their cheat days.

You’re hardworking, and finally, finally, it’s starting to pay off. You smile to yourself as you pull the morning’s cash profit out of the cash register and divide it into folded envelopes. Nothing, you think, could ever go wrong.

//

Bradley’s life is great, too. That’s what he’d like to think, at least. He has friends. He loves his job. He loves the freedom of hooking up where he wants when he wants, without anyone trying to tie him down. He likes condoms and birth control, too, which are very important to his lifestyle. But when he looks at couples, rings around fingers and hands tucked into back pockets, something inside of him gives a little.

He’s never been one to stay in one place. He moved around a lot as a kid, and some essential part of that stuck with him. His job doesn’t make it easier, either–he’s constantly on the move. Now, though, he’s living in San Diego semi-permanently, and his roots are beginning to dig into the sand. And the whole time, he’s stayed depressingly single.

Women want him. There’s no doubt about it. He’s young enough, at thirty-five, for the twenty-something’s to chat him up, but old enough for the forty-somethings to not feel creepy talking to him. He’s fit, smooth, confident, and if he wants to take it that far, very good in bed. Despite all of that, he’s never found anyone that could truly tie him down. He’s getting a little tired of it at this point.

“Lord, she’s the hottest thing I’ve seen all week.” Fanboy moans into his palms. There’s a croissant on a napkin in front of him that he hasn’t even touched.

Hangman grins from behind him. “You gotta get us there so we can take a shot. As a humble man, I can firmly say that she won’t even think about her boyfriend when I walk through the door.”

The daggers are going on about their new crush of the week. Apparently, Fanboy had spotted what he describes as a “cuteness off the charts” cafe owner on his quest for a new dessert spot. There’s only one thing that deterred him from sweeping her off of her feet: she has a boyfriend, one that she’s evidently quite serious about.

Rooster isn’t into taken women. It’s too much hassle, and he doesn’t like getting in the way of a relationship. He’s made that mistake in the past, and gotten a black eye to show for it. A bit of him is curious, but he won’t take that bait.

“I want to go back. Maybe… maybe I can say the croissant was so good that I had to get another. Guys, you need to go with me. It’s serious serious.” Rooster can firmly say that he’s never seen Fanboy so worked up about a girl before. Who in the world could make his friend geek out like this?

Phoenix chimes in from her spot behind Rooster. “I don’t condone messing around with girls with boyfriends, but I’ve gotta see her for myself.”

Fanboy stands, determination written on his face, as he takes a bite of the croissant. “Let’s go. And you guys better not steal my thunder.”

Rooster rolls his eyes, but follows behind his very smitten friend. He’s in for an interesting (if not somewhat funny) afternoon.

Taglist: @m1dnightsnackz @itsarabellebabes

[m1dnightsnackz]

A BRADLEY “ROOSTER” BRADSHAW X READER SERIES

a/n - yes, this was sparked by hall & oates because i love them, but i also desperately love rooster. this masterlist will constantly be changing as i get a better grip on how long the story will become and if i want to do a prequel/sequel.

- It’s been twenty years since you last saw Bradley Bradshaw, and, suddenly, you realize he’s finally grown up. (Bradley Bradshaw x fem!reader; ⚠️ adult themes, preferably be 18+ to read although there may not be actual 18+ writing)

1. Out of Touch - upcoming

2. Out of Time - upcoming

[ongoing series]

Taglist: comment/send an ask to be tagged <3

[m1dnightsnackz]

Eddie is hot-wiring the RV when he should have noticed. The signs were there, clear as day. If only he had paid attention then.

The air is musky and unfamiliar — it smells like other people. 

Like something stolen. 

Steve asks him where he learned how to hot-wire as he leans over Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie’s movements are hurried as he cuts the wires and strips them to expose the copper within. 

Steve is still wearing Eddie’s jean jacket over his naked torso and leans in closely. Eddie can feel the heat of his skin settle in the leather of his jacket and it seeps into his skin like ink on paper.

The RV smells familiar, like when he was younger and his dad took him along, teaching him how to steal a car. The smell of copper meeting copper. 

Nostalgia. But not in a good way.

Steve is not backing off, not even after Eddie shoots back an uncomfortable fact about his negligent father. In fact, Robin joins in on the fun. She leans over Steve, looking worried as she asks whether Eddie will be the one driving.

Eddie feels antsy and needs something to take the edge off. Maybe a smoke. But there is no time right now. The thrill of messing with someone is the next best thing.

He knows an opportunity when he sees one and turns his head.

“Harrington's got her” – Eddie leans in close, his breath hot on Steve’s cheek – “Don’t ya, big boy?”

A playful smile.

Every normal person would have pulled back by now, but Steve remains unmoved. He regards him with dark eyes and dark lashes. There is no betrayal of emotion. No betrayal of anything amiss.

He doesn’t even flinch. 

***

The second time it happens they are hanging out at Robin’s house while her parents are out of town. 

It’s a strange mix of company, consisting mostly of people from band. Eddie recognizes some of them, although he doesn’t know them by name. Music is music, regardless of whether you are in the school band or play in an actual band – although the latter is way cooler, obviously – and Eddie finds himself actually enjoying the company of some of them.

Eddie realizes he rambles too much when his mouth runs dry. He takes a final sip from his beer, crumples the can, and makes his way to the kitchen with a swagger in his step.

The kitchen is semi-crowded and Eddie spots an untouched six-pack on the kitchen counter. As he pulls out a can, he feels a weight settles next to him. Eddie turns, beer in hand, and leans against the counter. 

He realizes it is Steve.

Steve acknowledges him with a simple nod and Eddie raises his unopened beer to him in a silent toast.

He side-eyes Steve as he cracks open his beer, the hiss loud in his hands. 

Steve’s presence is like a loose thread and Eddie feels the irresistible urge to pick at it. 

To elicit a reaction.

To make Steve squirm.

He leans in closer until his shoulder is pressed against Steve's and their thighs touch.

Eddie fidgets with the can lip as he waits for the inevitable reaction of uneasiness. It usually doesn’t take long. 

Steve remains still. 

Eddie shifts his weight, pressing himself closer to Steve’s side. 

This was his little game and he always won. For more than a year now, Eddie had been the undisputed king of personal space invasion. 

There was something so empowering – so utterly bone-tingling – about the way people’s shoulders would grow tense, how they shifted to create some distance without making it seem intentional.

Eddie reveled in it.

Steve casually sips his beer, seemingly unaware of the fact that they are too fucking close. He takes his sweet time staring through the open kitchen door into the living room.

Taking in the people around him. 

Totally, utterly unaffected.

Eddie taps his foot on the floor as he feels himself grow restless. He can’t believe Steve is so oblivious — or maybe he is fine with it — but there is no way he can’t notice that the way they are standing is just…not normal.

The music seems to synchronize with his thoughts. 

He is about to lose his own game if Steve doesn’t move soon.

“Steve!” Robin bursts into the kitchen. 

Her dark-lined eyes are wide and she looks flustered as she makes her way over to Steve’s side. 

Eddie thinks she looks pretty cute, although a bit of an odd match for Steve. He had always figured someone like Steve would end up with a cheerleader or some perfectly prissy blonde. Robin is a little nerdy, her style bordering on alternative, and she is anything but prissy. Eddie would go as far as to call her a decent choice. 

But Robin just didn’t suit Steve in a way Eddie could hardly put his finger on.

Steve shifts his weight and leans more towards Robin.

Eddie feels his shoulders tense in a way that has nothing to do with the fact he is about to become the once-defeated king of personal space invasion. 

Absolutely not. 

Robin casts Eddie a quick look before making up her mind and then the floodgates open. She is whispering at such a rate, Eddie would be surprised if she was speaking English at all. He catches bits and pieces. A name. Ricky ?

He drums his fingers along his beer as he tries not to focus on the fact that, due to Steve’s turning, his ass is currently brushing against Eddie’s thigh with every small movement he makes. 

Only when Robin pulls Steve to the living room does Eddie feel like he can breathe again.

Eddie realizes Steve is a tough nut to crack.

***

Robin insists Eddie must join them for movie night. 

Somehow, Eddie has become a third to the dynamic duo — although he has a feeling he’ll never get as close to either Robin or Steve as they are to each other. 

They aren’t dating, Robin told him — insisted on it — when he had made the assumption, and somehow Eddie likes that. 

He likes the fact that Steve and Robin are just friends. It makes him feel like he fits in better, even if it will never be at that level.

That’s fine with Eddie. 

He’s not a close-friendship kinda guy anyway. He has friends for D&D, friends from the band, and now he also has friends with whom he shares a strange supernatural trauma. 

Each in its own little corner, as all things should be.

Although his relationship with Robin is far better than that with Steve, he wouldn’t say they are on bad terms. He just feels very… judged by Steve. And it may have something to do with the way he dresses — the polar opposite of Steve — all black leather, ripped jeans, and silver.

Or the fact that Dustin apparently won’t stop talking about him and Eddie is pretty sure it makes Steve jealous.

Robin and Steve work at Family Video. It’s strangely adorable, the idea that these two idiots even work together. It’s hard to believe they aren’t dating, but whatever floats their boat. Eddie wouldn’t be surprised to be invited to their platonic spring wedding.

They’re weird like that. 

Family Video comes with a nice bonus; they can take the new arrivals home once the store closes for the night. It's a neat perk of the job, Eddie supposes, although he isn’t much of a film guy. He sometimes watches them for inspiration when it comes to a new D&D campaign, but good films are far and few between when it comes to his tastes.

When Eddie walks up to the house, one of Steve’s neighbors eyes him suspiciously and Eddie resists the urge to flip her off. Instead, he balls his firsts and stomps a little more aggressively towards the door, hoping it will make the lady clutch her pearls.

Hawkins is a small town and people talk.

Steve’s fancy little neighborhood is even smaller.

“Hey, man.” Steve opens the door and steps aside to let him through.

“He’s finally here?” Eddie hears Robin call from somewhere in the house.

Steve asks if he wants a beer and leaves for what is presumably the kitchen. Eddie is left alone and looks around the living room. It is large, but only the three-seat sofa faces the TV. Besides that, there are two chairs facing the seating area and Eddie finds it an absurd amount of sitting surface for a family of three.

Eddie sits on one side of the sofa and plays with the rings on his fingers as he waits for either Robin or Steve to return. The silver skull disappears and reappears maybe five times before Robin walks in carrying a bag.  Only a moment later Steve returns with three bottles of beer. The good stuff, Eddie notes. Not whatever has to pass for beer back at the trailer.

Robin empties the bag on the floor in front of the TV and rummages through some VHS tapes, holding them up while Steve comments. 

“We’ve seen that one last week — I can’t stand to see her face again — Fine, fine, let’s go with that one.”

Eddie is fine with anything because he will most likely think it's trash anyway — especially if Steve has a say in it. 

Steve lets himself fall in the middle of the sofa while Robin works on the VHS player. Eddie feels like there is plenty of room on the other side of the sofa where Robin will take her seat and he wonders if Steve is challenging him for his title as King of Personal Space Invasion. 

Such a greedy boy, Eddie thinks. After all, Steve already had one ‘king’ title to his name and he should leave some for the rest of them.

“Have you heard of this one yet?” Steve asks as he slings his arms over the back of the couch. Eddie feels the ghost of his hand linger behind his neck. Steve is playing on the offensive here and Eddie feels himself growing flustered.

“Remind me what this abomination is called again?” 

Steve scoffs in disagreement with Eddie’s assessment. “Ferris Bueller’s day off. Right up your alley.”

“And why is that?”

“It’s about a guy playing hooky. I recall missing you from class every now and then.” Steve gives him a knowing smile.

Robin joins them on the sofa. She rests her back on the armrest with her legs against Steve’s thighs. She probably doesn’t realize that she is effectively pressing Steve further into Eddie.

“Oh, you recall huh? I didn’t know I was disappointing my fans,” Eddie tries to keep his tone light and shifts in his seat. 

Steve responds with a small chuckle but any further responses are drowned out by the sound of the movie starting.

Eddie can’t seem to make himself comfortable and he feels it has everything to do with Harrington’s startling audacity to be so physically present. Around the halfway point of the movie, Robin moves herself in a lying position with her legs over Steve’s lap. Eddie looks down on her socked feet as they move mindlessly in tune with the soundtrack.

In some ways, Ferris Bueller reminds Eddie of Steve with his floppy hair, enigmatic personality, and the way everything just works out for him. 

Perfect Ferris with his stupidly gorgeous girlfriend.

The place where his thigh touches Steve itches for him to move it, but Eddie keeps still. Eddie is cool, he can handle this. 

This. Whatever Steve is doing. 

That is until he feels Steve’s hand droop down from the backrest and settles itself in his neck. Eddie feels his breath catch in his throat, a soft gasp escapes his lips — too soft to hear. 

Unless you sat currently plastered to his side, that is. 

From the corner of his eye, Eddie can see Steve shoot him a curious glance. 

There is no way Steve doesn’t know what he is doing. 

No way.

***

Eddie squats down in front of the sci-fi wall. He does this more often now — hanging out at Family Video when Steve and Robin are working.

Whenever he’s bored or has nothing better to do, he somehow finds himself there.

He sometimes wonders if he’s imposing himself. Inserting himself into their friendship.

But both Robin and Steve greet him with smiles. 

They welcome him into their little world and it makes Eddie a little weak.

Eddie is used to feeling unwanted. An outsider. A freak. This type of friendship is new to him and he hasn’t been able to give it a proper place in his mind yet — like a fresh layer of paint still sticky to the touch.

He goes there often.

He’s there so often that people sometimes confuse him for an employee, asking him questions about where to find stuff. Eddie always points them in the wrong direction, even though by now he knows the shop by heart.

Mainstream films are always displayed at eye height. Easy to reach — it’s what most people come here for. But not Eddie. Those types of films hardly interest him, even though he will watch them with Robin and Steve during their movie nights ( Our movie nights). He does so because they like it and he likes their company.

The good stuff is always at the bottom.

He feels Steve before he hears him — the weight of his legs on Eddie’s back.

Steve starts restocking above him and Eddie’s mind is screaming. Steve has no regard for the fact that Eddie had been there first. He stocks the shelf, reaching over Eddie’s head. 

Leaning his weight into him. 

Steve’s proximity makes Eddie nervous. Makes the necks of his hair stand up on end. 

It makes him crave more. But that’s a thought he shoves away, deep.

On the small TV from the ceiling, Back to the Future is playing and Eddie can hear Marty McFly declare, “Nobody calls me a chicken!”

Eddie won’t be a chicken either.

***

It's unbearably hot, and Eddie is certain he'll perish if he stays another second in Wayne's trailer. The insulation is poor, and the metal shell traps the punishing heat of the heatwave, making it impossible for even the coolness of the night to offer any relief.

Eddie hasn’t slept well for days.

He is fanning himself with a trashy magazine when the phone rings and it’s Steve’s voice on the other end.

Steve’s parents have air conditioning and a pool and Eddie would be an idiot to refuse an invitation to a Harrington-exclusive pool party.

He arrives at Steve’s house wearing a Dio shirt over his swimming trunks. Style be damned, Eddie just wants to have the least amount of layers to shed before he can hit the pool. 

Steve’s garden is big. The pool is big. It smells like chlorine and sunscreen and the sound of loud splashing echoos against the house.

Lucas and Dustin are in some sort of competition to see who can drown who the fastest. Max and El are cheering them on, although Max seems much more invested in Dustin’s untimely death than El, who is cheering for them both from the side of the pool.

On one of the sun chairs, Mike and Will are huddled together — hair wet and knees pressed together. They are reading a comic of some sort, discussing it in hushed voices. They don’t seem the types for rough-housing. Of the boys he knew, Mike always seemed the most reserved. 

And a bit cranky, though less so now that Will and El were back in Hawkins. 

Next to them, Robin rubs sunscreen on herself. She’s pale and freckled — the type of skin that burns easily. Eddie is the same, pale but without the freckles. He should probably mooch some off her soon.

Sunlight is bad for tattoos.

“You runnin’ a daycare here, Harrington?” Eddie greets as he saunters into the backyard.

He doesn’t ring the bell, not anymore. He’s been over at Steve’s house a couple of times now and the backdoor is always unlocked.

Steve sits in a hammock, dressed in swimming trunks and reading a magazine with a car on the front. He looks up when he hears Eddie and unapologetically smiles at him. 

“Eddie!” Dustin calls out when he notices him. He tries to swim to the edge of the pool but is promptly intercepted and tackled by Lucas. While Dustin is busy drowning, Eddie loses his shirt and shoes. The moment the boy rears his curly head above water, Eddie launches himself in front of them, splashing water in their eyes.

Dustin shrieks, wiping at his eyes and Lucas releases him in the violence of Eddie’s attack.

“You little shitheads better swim fast.” Eddie grins as Lucas and Dustin scatter in the pool. 

Eddie finally feels cool after three full days of overheating. 

“I should’ve come here sooner,” Eddie says, hair dripping wet, as he sits at the other end of the hammock. Steve protests as Eddie’s feet hit his magazine.

“You’re dripping all over my read, dude!” 

Steve’s frowns at him, but in a way that he doesn’t really mean it. Eddie sees him do it to the kids as well when they’re pushing boundaries. 

Like Steve should be mad, but he actually finds it humorous.

They’re a tangle of legs and the hammock hangs low to the ground. It’s not made for two adult men, Eddie knows, but it feels more fun this way. 

Besides his precious car mag, Steve doesn’t comment on it. He settles comfortably and continues reading, even when Eddie’s water-streaked legs poke him in his side. 

Steve only swats at Eddie’s feet when he pushes the magazine closed. The silence between them is comfortable and only intercepted by the endless squabbling of the kids.

When the sun sinks behind the trees, Steve leaves the hammock to fire up the grill.

Eddie watches lazily as Steve puts an apron over his naked torso and swimming trunks. He ties the apron over the hollow of his back. Warm skin, slightly tanned, with a little mole to the left. 

“Quit drooling, dingus.” Robin settles herself in Steve’s old place.

“I wasn’t—”

“Right.” Robin smiles at him and it's so gentle that Eddie forgets to be snarky. The hammock swings slightly from Robin’s addition, but it doesn’t drip as deep as when Steve sat there.

They all eat together. All the kids, Steve, Robin, and Eddie. 

A strange feeling settles in Eddie’s heart as he looks around him. 

This must be what family is supposed to feel like.

Safe. Comfortable.

Belonging.

“You can stay the night,” Steve says once they’re back in the hammock. Dusk has settled in and Eddie can only barely make out the expression on Steve's face. 

Around him, the sound of crickets embraces the night and their skin smells like citronella to ward off mosquitos.

Nancy and Jonathan had picked up the kids. Only Robin remained, but she had since claimed the guest room.

The air is still warm, but Steve’s legs against his own are warmer. Eddie looks up at the sky where stars linger in the violet absence of the sun.

“We could stay out here.” Eddie stretches his arms behind his head. “Anything better than the trailer.”

“Hold on.” 

Steve ungracefully lifts himself from the hammock, leaving it to swing in its wake.

He returns with a light blanket and settles himself back in the hammock. Legs entangling once more before he throws it over the both of them.

Eddie pokes Steve’s cheek with his toe and unsurprisingly, Steve has no reaction to it. It seems that way no matter what Eddie does.

“You ever slept out here before?” Eddie asks while he settles his foot back at Steve’s side.

“When I was a kid,” Steve begins, “I sometimes build a little tent in the garden from cushions and the like. My parents allowed me to sleep there in the summer if it was warm enough. It’d be covered in mosquito bites the next morning, but it felt like an adventure.” Eddie hears Steve’s smile in his voice.

“Sucks to be a mosquito tonight. We smell like shit,” Eddie quips. The lemony smell of citronella is piercing and it sears itself into his memory as much as it does his skin. 

Steve nudges his leg into Eddie’s. The hairs of it tickle his skin.

“You ever slept outside?”

“Hm…once a few years back. Got in a fight with Wayne and trailers aren’t very big. I walked out and slept by a tree. The next morning when I walked back I saw a snake coiled up on the ground with a footstep in it. Made me never want to sleep outside again.” Eddie chuckles.

“Shit, a snake?”

“Not a venomous one.”

“Did you step on it?”

“I think so. Poor fucker.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t sleep out here then,” Steve says. In the darkness Eddie can see him turn his head to scan the ground, looking for snakes presumably.

Eddie follows Steve upstairs. He didn’t bring a change of clothes as he didn’t anticipate staying. 

He has never been in Steve’s room before and he takes a moment to take in.

The plaid walls with matching drapes, the framed picture of a car on the wall — It’s like Steve's parents bought his room straight from a folder and Steve’s absence from it feels loud. 

Hideously impersonal. 

Not at all like Steve.

“Robin has the guest room. That only leaves the couch, but trust me, it will break your back—” Steve says as he clears some clothes off his bed. “ — so I thought we could share. It will be a bit of a tight squeeze…” Steve looks at the bed with his hands on his hips. 

Eddie knows he should take the couch. It would be the polite thing to do. The problem is, Eddie hasn’t been polite since he was seven.

“Yeah, sure.” Eddie tries to keep his tone cool. 

This is like playing chicken on steroids. But maybe this will be the moment Eddie can finally win from the unflappable Steve.

Steve turns back to Eddie and gives him a once-over. 

Suddenly, he feels very naked, standing there in just his swimwear. Steve nods to himself, coming to a silent conclusion as he turns to his drawers.

“Here.” He hands Eddie a pair of boxers. “For sleeping.” 

Eddie takes them, grateful, but it's also kinda fucking weird to be wearing Steve’s boxers.

“I’m gonna hit the shower real quick. There’s another bathroom down the hall. You can just take one of the towels. I’ll show you.”

Hot water hits Eddie’s skin and he closes his eyes as the scent of Citronella slowly dilutes until it’s gone altogether. 

He – Eddie freaking Munson — would be sharing a bed with Steve Harrington. Wasn’t that a wild thought? Definitely not something he’d imagined when he sat at the back of the class, three years prior, staring at the back of Steve’s perfect hair.

Neither had he thought that Steve would be immune to his little proximity game. 

Nor that Eddie could grow to tolerate Steve’s — or maybe even grow to like it. 

Life is a fucking riot.

When he walks back into Steve’s room, clad in baby-blue cotton boxers, Steve is already in bed. When he hears Eddie enter, he scoots over, making space.

Eddie settles in beside him, on his back, staring at the ceiling. 

“Good night, dude,” Steve says as he leans over Eddie to turn off the light. Eddie can smell his deodorant and unfamiliar shampoo, and Steve’s skin radiates heat where it touches him.

Eddie can feel his heartbeat in his throat. It thumps so insistently, he is sure Steve must feel the bed move with it. But if he does, he doesn’t show it.

Eddie turns to his side, facing away from Steve. When they’re both on their sides, the bed feels bigger, but that doesn’t stop the scent of it from engulfing him in a tight embrace. It smells like Steve. 

Everywhere. 

Clinging to his skin. 

Sinking into his pores.

He can feel Steve shift behind him, moving his head closer to the shared pillow until he feels Steve’s nose in his neck and his arms against his back.

His breath hitches in his throat and Eddie tries not to make a sound when he feels Steve’s lips against his neck as he lets out a sleepy sigh.

Nobody calls me a chicken, he hears Marty McFly echo in his mind.

Eddie isn’t sure who is playing who right now. Part 1 of 2 | AO3

[m1dnightsnackz]

13 Going on 30 (Part 1)

Synopsis: After moving to Virginia when you were 13, you were worried you wouldn’t make any friends, luckily Bradley Bradshaw found his way into your life and made it better, at least for a little while. After a falling out when you were teenagers, you are suddenly reunited years later, unsure how to feel. 

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x reader, best friends to strangers to lovers

c/w: Angst, sad Bradley & sad reader, Mentions of death

w/c: 3.7k

A/n: This is my contribution for @sorchathered Rom-Com Writing Challenge! One of my fav romcoms 13 going on 30, but with so much more angst lol. I hope y'all like it :)

Chapter: We meet, and then we meet again

Virginia 1997

When your parents told you that you were moving to Virginia you were devastated to say the least. How were you supposed to make friends, 13 year old girls were already ruthless enough, and being the new kid was not something you were looking forward to. 

It was the last week of August when you and your parents moved into your new house. A simple white 2 story home that was practically identical to the one next door. The movers began unpacking the truck, while you took a few of your bags up to your room dropping them onto your mattress. It felt very stuffy so you decided to try an open your window to let some fresh air in. 

Once you finally have it opened about halfway you notice a boy around your age and an older man walking up to the house next to you. You were kind of staring at them, noticing that they were carrying some baseball gear, and then suddenly the younger boy was looking right at you in the window. You quickly moved away, embarrassment evident on your face, as you’ve just been caught staring, at who you assume to be your neighbours. 

Taking one last glance out the window again, the coast is clear. You eventually start unpacking your bags one by one. 

Later that evening your doorbell rings.

You mom answers the door, your dad following behind her. They open the door and it just so happens to be your neighbours, they quickly introduce themselves, Carole holding a platter of cookies, meanwhile Bradley shyly looks at his feet, muttering a quick hello.

You dad calls for you to come downstairs. As you make your way down from your room your steps slow at the bottom of the staircase, eyes wide at the two figures standing in the entryway. 

“This is our daughter y/n, y/n say hi to our new neighbours.” You mother sates. 

“Hi” you say quietly. 

You mother then has the bright idea to invite them in for you guys to eat some of the cookies that Mrs. Bradshaw made. Sitting at your kitchen table its mostly just your parents talking to his mom. Every now and then one of you adds a few words to the conversation but really you’re both eating the cookies. Your parents talk for a long time, so long that at some point you left the table to you the restroom and just didn’t come back, instead opting to sit out on the back deck watching the sunset. 

You’re alone for a few minutes, until you hear the back door opening, and suddenly Bradley is stepping through, he silently joins you, and sits down on the deck. 

“So, your mom said that your gonna be going to Thomas Jefferson High?” Bradley asked.

“Oh, um yeah.”

“Cool, that’s where I’m going so at least you’ll know one person” he joked.

You smiled, nodding you head. The two of you talked a little bit more, about your interests, Bradley going into great detail about baseball, he was definitely rambling but you were perfectly fine just listening to him. You eventually tell him about some of your hobbies, while you did play some sports growing up, you were definitely more of an artistic person, with a passion in writing and storytelling. 

Eventually it was pitch black out, the moon illuminated your backyard as his mom walked out through the back door. 

“Oh there you are, I thought you were being a bad guest and went home without telling me” She states. “Come on, it’s getting late.”

The two of you stand up, heading back inside and saying goodbye to Bradley and his mom. 

Over the course of the next week, Bradley and you hang out a bit more, him showing you some things in the neighbourhood. 

Finally the first day of school arrived. The two of you planned to meet out in front of your houses and walk to school together since you didn’t know the neighbourhood yet. On the walk Bradley tells you about some of the teachers and people at school, as the two of you round the corner and your school comes into view, you stop, needing a moment. Your stomach full of butterflies. Nerves. Bradley who was a few steps ahead was still talking, not yet realizing you weren’t beside him, then he looked back eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

He walked the few steps towards you, as your focus shifted from the school building to him. 

“Hey, you’re gonna be alright, just breathe okay.” Bradley said while grabbing your shoulders and looking into your eyes. For a brief moment you felt a different kind of butterflies. Taking a big breath, you nodded your head as you continued toward the school.

From that day on the two of you would always walk to and from school everyday, even if Bradley had baseball practice, or you had the newspaper club, both of you would simply wait for the other. As time went on the two of you quickly became best friends, always hanging out. Whether if it was riding your bikes, movie marathons, having snowball fights in those cold Virginia winters, or just doing homework together, the two of you were practically glued at the hip. 

Of course the more you got to know him the more you liked him, it was easy talking to him, he was funny and smart and not to mention really cute. Over the years you definitely noticed him mature, the few bits of facial hair, a growth spurt or two, and building more muscle mass, but at the end of the day he was your best friend, and you wouldn’t have traded that for anything. 

The two of you were inseparable. 

And then his mom got sick. 

And it was like you never really knew him at all. For the first few months he was quieter, as they were still hopeful that she would recover, focused on taking care of her. And you were completely understanding, you would even help out sometimes on the weekends, but as time went on and her illness got worse, you could feel Bradley slipping through your fingers as well. 

When she passed, just a few months shy of his high school graduation, thats when things really changed. Maverick had taken a temporary leave from the Navy in order to take care of Bradley since he was still a minor, but instead of sulking and dealing with his grief, he just tried to distract himself from it. 

He stopped walking to school with you, claiming that he was busy or meeting up with some other friends first. He started hanging out with a different group. The popular group. He was staying out late, going to parties every weekend, you honestly didn’t know how he still managed to keep his grades up.

You obviously knew about his dreams of joining the Navy, and it seemed like that was the only thing he took seriously, however it all came crashing down when he found out Mav pulled his papers.

You were walking home from school when you saw it. Mav was standing in front of Bradley on their front lawn, block him from leaving. Bradley was angry, you’d never seen anything like it, him yelling at Mav while he tried to get around him and into his car. Eventually Bradley shoulder checked Mav hard enough for him to lose his balance a bit, and with that Bradley stalked his way across the lawn in and into his car, driving off quickly.

As you watch Bradley drive off, you turned back to see Mav a bit closer to you now. Staring at each other for a few seconds before he finally spoke, “He’ll be alright, he’s just upset about something I did.”

“What did you do?” You asked.

“I think it’s best if I leave you out of it kiddo.” Mav replies solemnly. He did come back after a few hours. You were anxiously waiting by your bedroom window when he parked, and took a long time to actually get out of his car and head into his house. 

You didn’t see much of Bradley after that, yes he still went to school, and yes he crossed the stage at graduation but even the following summer, he worked two jobs. You knew he was going to University of Virginia, but other than that he was like a ghost. 

You had focused on other things, reading, writing, researching schools with good journalism programs you hoped to get into, and you eventually did. You moved on, grew apart, but you never ended up finding another friend like Bradley, that was a once in a lifetime type of bond the sadly came to an end to early for your liking. 

San Diego

After college you bounced around from a few small small companies here and there, writing articles, copywriting, etc. until you finally landed a job writing for San Diego Magazine. Ever since your first week in San Diego, you fell in love with the warm weather, often going to the beach and spending time outside, well when you weren’t working of course.

You slowly worked your way up, helping out on various projects and stories, learning and studying how to develop ideas, and complete features and articles that people wanted to read, and now it was finally your chance to develop your own story for millions to read, well hopefully.

And of course while living in San Diego, it was almost impossible not to notice the affect of the US Navy, and its base nearby in Coronado, so you decided to take a chance and see if an idea would come to you. After calling and scheduling an appointment with on of the Admirals, you were all set to visit and tour the grounds two days later.

Arriving on base you exit you car and head to the building the admiral mentioned earlier. After briefly signing in, you ask where to find the office you were supposed to be meeting at. You eventually found it after stopping to admire some of the photos that plastered the hallways. 

After a quick introduction with the Admiral, the two of you set off on your tour, him explaining what the Navy does, and the types of missions/deployments they go on. The two of you happened to be passing the Top Gun classes as he continued to boast about how skilled and talented their Naval Aviators are, and the you saw him.”

Walking down the hallway with a few folders in hand. You squinted your eyes, not believing that the only person in the Navy that you knew was walking towards you. As he got closer you were confident who it was. 

“Maverick?” You asked, as he was only a few step from you now. 

“Y/N?” 

 “Oh my gosh, it is you!” You said as you hugged him. 

“Its good to see you, how are you doing?” He asked. 

“I’m doing good, I’m actually here getting a tour, trying to do research for a story for work.” You explain. 

“Wow that’s great!” He replies, “find anything interesting yet?”

“Um not really, well not until you showed up, what are you doing here I thought you stayed out on the east coast, at least thats the last place I saw you.” You replied. 

“Yeah I haven’t been there for a while, a was working on a few projects out here on the west coast, and then I got called back to Top Gun to teach, and train some pilots.” 

“Oh wow, that’s great, that must be so cool, getting to still fly the jets and everything.” You said enthusiastically. 

The admiral was awkwardly standing there when he eventually cleared his throat. “Miss, I’m sorry we have to continue the tour, I need to stay on schedule as I have some meetings coming up.” 

“Oh I’m so sorry for getting distracted.” You apologized. “It’s really good to see you Mav.”

“Hey why don’t you come over for dinner and we can catch up some more, does tomorrow night work?” Mav asked. 

“Yes that works, here’s my phone number so you can text me the address and time.”

“Great, I just gonna run it by Penny first, but I think we should be fine.”

“Oh, is Pete Mitchell finally settled down?” You ask jokingly. 

Laughing at your antics he replies, “well I can now since I’m stationed here permanently, so its nice.”

“Great! I can’t wait to meet her!” You say while giving him a quick hug goodbye. 

You continue on your tour, and once its over and you’re on your way back to your car you can’t stop thinking about the chances that you and Maverick would be in the same city again. It’d been so long, after he sold the house, you weren’t sure you were ever going to see him again. The more you thought about it the more you thought of Bradley. The last time you saw him was when he was packing up his car and leaving for UVA. Shaking your head to rid yourself of the thought of your old best friend, you pulled out of the base and headed home. 

Later that day you got a text from Mav letting you know what time to come over for dinner as well as Penny’s address. You were happy to get the chance to catch up with him, and hopefully find some inspiration for your story. 

Pulling up to the house, it was beautiful. You parked your car in the driveway, and made sure to grab the bottle of wine from the passenger seat before making your way up to the door. Ringing the door bell once you waiting on the porch for Mav to greet you. 

Inside the house Penny and Maverick were putting the finishing touches on the food, speaking in harsh whispers clearly in some sort of argument, meanwhile Amelia and Bradley were setting the table, however he noticed that there was an extra place setting, looking at Mav and Penny he asked “Hey why’s there an extra plate setting?”

Just then the doorbell rang and Bradley moved to answer the front door, Mav and Penny shared a look almost wincing, and both holding there breath as Bradley opened the door. 

“Hi” Bradley said before really opening the door all the way, but when he did he was met with your wide eyes staring back at him. 

You were shocked, you definitely thought you were dreaming, you simply couldn’t believe your eyes that Bradley Bradshaw was standing in front of you, or well a grown up version of him that is. After a beat of silence, you finally spoke. 

“Bradley.”

He swallowed. 

“Y/n.”

That’s the only thing the two of you say to each other before Maverick comes racing in, greeting you and ushering Bradley out of the way, as Penny makes her way to the door as well. 

“Hi, it’s so nice to meet you, please come in” Penny says cheerfully, trying to release some of the tension between you and Bradley. He’s still just standing there a bit off to the side with an awestruck look on his face. As you make your way inside, you are introduced to Amelia, and Penny brings you into the kitchen to open up the bottle of wine you brought. Meanwhile Mav and Bradley are having a harshly whispered argument in the entryway. 

You assume that he had no idea you were coming to dinner, but in all honesty you were just as surprised to see him in the same room with Maverick all these years later. You thought they hated each other, or at least the Bradley hated him. It’s like you were suddenly taken back into time and watched a teenage Bradley getting upset at Maverick. 

Eventually you and the girls make your way to the table carrying the food. You sit down on one side of the table, with Amelia sitting beside you to your left. Penny calls Mav and the boys take there seats, Mav sitting at the head of the table to your right, and Bradley sitting directly across from you. You actively try and avoid eye contact with him, instead just looking at your plate.

He didn’t talk much during the dinner, the conversation leaning more towards Penny and Mav, and what you’ve been up to. You talked about your job, some stories from university, and updates on your parents. You never looked at him, but man could you feel his eyes on you the entire meal. After dinner Amelia took you outside to their backyard to show off her garden and relax a bit. Mav stayed inside with Penny and Bradley, claiming that they needed help cleaning up. 

After a few minutes outside with Amelia talking on the back porch, you hear Penny call for her, with that she rushes inside to see what her mom wants. Now alone, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to force yourself to relax even just a little. You simply could’t believe the circumstances right now. 

“I had no idea you were coming” he said startling you. You didn’t even hear the door open and close. He stood there eyebrows pinched as he stared at you sitting down. 

“Yeah I can tell” you sigh. “Look, I had no idea you were gonna be here either, and to be quite honest I’d never thought I’d see you and Maverick in the same room again after what he did to you.”

“You know what he did to me?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah he told me sometime after you went away to UVA.” You explained. 

“Do you think I over reacted?”

“No.”

He stared at you, not expecting you to agree with what he did. 

“I know how important joining the Navy was to you, hell you talked about it practically every day… its just… nothing forget it.

“No say it, please” he pleaded.

“You changed, and I’m not just talking about growing up, you changed when you found out about your mom.” You said quietly. “And when she passed away, you completely shut me out.” Tears now filing your eyes as you up look at him. “You stopped hanging out with me, stopped walking me to school, you drank a lot, you partied a lot, and made new friends who did the same, and I understand you were upset and dealing with a lot of grief, but we all were. I loved your mom, she was one of the sweetest women I knew.” You explained emotionally. 

He stood there taking in what you said before speaking again, “I’m sorry.”

“Oh save it Bradley, really I don’t need your pity.”

“Its not pity, I really am sorry, I’m sorry for the way I ignored you, I’m sorry for shutting you out, I’m sorry I stopped walking you to school… I’m sorry for everything, and I should have said it sooner.” He was getting emotional now. “I didn’t know how to live, I didn’t know how to process so much grief, everyday I think about my mom and dad, and everyday I hope I didn’t disappoint them.”

“I’m sure your mom would have been disappointed in you for the way you ignored me.” You said it before you could stop yourself. But it was the truth, you know that if she were here today, Bradley and you would still be best friends, would see each other when visiting home for the holidays, would still be on good terms, but that ended a long time ago and it was his fault. 

“Look, I know what I did was wrong and dumb, and I should have known better but I didn’t, and I’m sorry.” He said before making his way back inside and saying goodbye. You faintly hear a car start and drive away. 

You were exhausted. Eventually Mav came outside to check on you. 

“Hey kiddo, how ya feeling?” He asked.

“Tired” you replied.

“Look I’m sorry, I didn’t even think that either of you being here would be a big deal, I guess I thought you guys were still old friends.”

“We haven’t been friends senior year of high school… when he started taking care of Carole more, and then after she passed, and he completely changed.” You stated. 

“Yeah that was a rough time for all of us, but I think that if Bradley can forgive me for what I did to him, then you could find it in your heart to forgive him for how he acted.” Mav explained. 

“I don’t know… its complicated, at least for me it is.” 

A few minutes later you and Mav made your way inside to say goodbye to Penny, she knew there was some tension and some hurt feelings between you and Bradley and so she tried to take your mind off of it. 

“Hey what about that story? Huh? Did you ever come up with an idea?” She asked. 

“Oh, um well I did think about writing about the Top Gun program, but I don’t know if I will anymore.” You said solemnly. 

“Hey don’t let this whole Bradley thing ruin what could be a great story, Pete and the instructors are some of the best in the world, and I think It’d be really cool if you wrote about the program, heck maybe even interview some of the classmates, the typically have quite the characters.” She said. 

“I’ll think about.” And with that you  said your goodbyes and made your way home and into bed, just emotionally drained from the day. 

The next morning you woke up and the only thing on your mind was the story, so you sent an email off to your editor with your pitch hopping it would get approved, because even though there was some healing to be done between you and Bradley, you weren’t gonna let it stop you from writing a kick ass article. 

Once your boss approved your idea, you set up your next plan of action… being able to sit in on a week of Top Gun classes, and possibly interview a few of the pilots. With an extensively written email to the Admiral you meet earlier in the week, you hit send before you could stop yourself. 

You would be professional, you had to, but you would also try your best to avoid Bradley as much as possible. 

To be continued…

————

Have a bit more in store for these two, just wanted to put it into different parts. 

[m1dnightsnackz]

If you guys are wondering why I'm not as active on here, I started my summer job yesterday, and it kinda takes up most of my day.