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sometimesanalice · 1 year ago

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Bedside Manner

Summary: You were expecting the perfect summer afternoon with the Daggers, but when a game of dogfight football takes a turn for the worse, you’re left with a bleeding head and an aching heart. And it’s up to Bradley to show you his bedside manner.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K

Warnings: A little angst, a little pining, and two idiots in love.

It’s a perfect summer afternoon. Well, almost.

The sun is high in the sky and the steady salt kissed ocean breeze keeps it from being too uncomfortably hot. The coolers are filled with beers and sodas and a few pink cans of rosé that Coyote had brought. And the beach blankets were littered with open half-eaten family sized bags of chips and cubes of bright pink watermelon and containers of various dips and ziplocs with sun warmed and mostly melted chocolate chip cookies.

“You guys, really, I’m fine,” you state as adamantly as you can given the circumstances.

Sure, you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your throbbing, bleeding head. Sure, you are a little afraid to put your full weight on your left ankle and already dreading the long walk back to your car.

But it’s fine, you’re fine. Everything is…peachy. Or it will be as soon as they all stop looking at you like you’re about to crumple to the ground like some 1920’s silent film starlet from on the silver screen.

Nat has that deep pinch between her sharp brown eyes. Jake’s lips are pressed together in a firm white line. The rest of the team stands hovering around you in a misshapen semicircle, all sandy and sweaty, and wearing the concern painted across their faces.

All except for Rooster, who can’t seem to look at you at all.

“Clearly, you’re not,” Phoenix says flatly, clearly unamused by your attempts to minimize the situation. And you wish that just this once she could have let this go and follow your lead. But then she wouldn’t be Natasha Trace.

Your best friend since middle school had always been the most capable and sharpest person in the room and you loved that about her.

Normally.

But not so much when her keen assessment of you keeps you from being able to slink away quietly without fuss.

“No, seriously. It’s just a little scratch. It’s not a big deal.” It sounds feeble even to your own ears. Trying to hold back a wince when the way you shake your head makes starbursts bloom behind your eyes.

You could have dealt with the pounding in your head if it weren’t for the relentless burning of your ankle that was only making things worse. One or the other would have been easier to manage, but both vying for your attention as the pain pulses with every heartbeat was miserable.

The sun was too hot, the kids frolicking the ocean were too loud, the sunscreen on your skin felt too greasy. All you wanted was a shower and your bed and to forget this whole day even happened.

You look around the group trying to gauge how successful your efforts are, but it’s clear that no one seems to be buying your brand of poorly performed bullshit. You wanted to crawl into yourself like a hermit crab, protected by your own shell, as six pairs of eyes all looked on at you sympathetically, while the pretty brown ones you wanted to see the most were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses and trained down at the ground.

It was supposed to be a fun day.

You’d woken up that morning absolutely giddy about trading spreadsheets for sand and sunburns and sea salt tangled hair. Your cheery, new swimsuit already laid out and waiting for you from the night before.

There was something thrilling about hooky on a Friday with all of your favorite people that made you feel all kinds of young and free. Well, hooky for you. They’d been given the day off after a month of intensive training and testing of some new defensive software. They all deserved the break and you were more than happy to tag along.

You were always the good kid in school, never skipping, never missing a class. You’d felt like a rebellious teen as you crafted your ‘out of office’ email, a smug grin on your face like you were getting away with something. Even though you’d earned the right to use that PTO whichever way you wanted.

The anticipation of a snow day from your childhood school days had nothing on the intoxicating promise of a beach day on a golden summer Friday.

The team must have felt the same way too because the group chat the night before had been chaotically amusing. The excitement was palpable enough that you’d almost think you all lived in some landlocked state rather than San Diego, where it felt like all roads led to the beach whether you wanted them to or not.

Somewhere between the string of all capitalized sentences and exclamation points with a few well-chosen emojis scattered throughout, Natasha had managed to wrangle everyone in enough into sorting out who was responsible for bringing what. There wouldn’t be another veggie platter incident, not on her watch.

You’d felt bright and effervescent as you’d pulled into the parking lot, your eyes reflexively seeking out a blue Bronco that hadn’t arrived yet. With a beach chair over one shoulder and a beach bag over the other and a packed cooler bag in your hand, you’d made towards the multicolored sprawl of blankets and the striped peaks of the umbrellas, where you were met with the smiling faces of shiny happy people.

Some of the boys had rushed over to help you carry your things and added your offerings to the communal pile of snacks and sunscreen and bottles of water. It had been easy to fall into conversation with everyone as you set up your own little patch of paradise and shimmied out of your frayed cut-offs. Natasha had given you a wolf whistle and you’d laughed as you give her the finger.

And hour and a half later with an easy grin on his face, carrying a case of beer and two big Ziploc bags stuffed with what you learned later were homemade cookies balanced on top, was Rooster.

You’ve had plenty of beach days with them but every time you saw him in those damn denim shorts he always seemed determined to wear, regardless of how impractical they were, your mind still went a little fizzy as you took in just how well they clung to his thighs.

He’d taken the ribbing from his squad in stride as he unboxed the beers and added them to the collection already chilling in Bob’s bright yellow cooler. You were trying- and failing- to read your worn paperback book when he’d surprised you by plopping his things next to yours on your oversized towel and stole a chunk of juicy watermelon off of the plate balanced on your lap.

“Hey, book worm,” he grinned as he popped it into his mouth, “How’s my favorite girl doing?” That smile of his getting bigger when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Hi, Rooster,” you’d said looking at him from over the top of your sunglasses with an amused smirk.

And if your cheeks felt warm, it was from the sun and not the teasing tone of his raspy voice.

When he’d shrugged off his shirt to apply the sunscreen you’d brought with him in mind, the wink he’d shot you went straight to your head like champagne. The sun highlighting his impressive abs and sculpted shoulders didn’t help either as he took great efforts to cover his chest and stomach with the lotion. He had to be doing it on purpose, because he’d kept rubbing it in well past when the white hue faded. But who were you to complain? Melanoma was no joke.

“You wanna help me out?” he’d asked turning his back to you, looking over his shoulder. You’re pretty sure that he’d been flexing because he’d looked impossibly broad, every defined muscle standing out for eyes to map out and explore.

You’d been at war with yourself, because while your eager hands were desperate to touch him, you also knew that once you ran your hands along his solid frame that you’d never want to stop. That you wouldn’t be content until your fingertips had traced every inch of him.

You had been blessedly and devastatingly spared the choice.

“I got you, Rooster. My hands are already all sunscreen-y,” chimed in Bob, who had just finished rubbing his own freshly applied layer. “Wouldn’t want it to get on her book.”

You were only half relieved to be off the hook, while Bradley on the other hand was still looking at you expectantly, almost hopefully, still with the white and yellow bottle of sunscreen partly extended towards you.

“That’s so sweet of you, Bob-” you’d started.

“Yeah, so sweet-” Bradley grumbled under his breath.

“I appreciate you sparing my pages the sunscreen grease,” you’d said shooting Bob a smile, choosing to ignore Bradley’s comment completely. “Plus, your hands are bigger than mine. You’ll have him covered in no time.”

Bradley looked between you and Bob before he passed the bottle to the other man, shaking his head a little in defeat. You’d giggled to yourself as you wiggled your book at an openly brooding Bradley, and then leaned back on your elbows to observe the way the attentive WSO made sure to carefully and thoroughly cover Bradley’s entire back.

Respectfully, of course.

Behind your sunglasses you’d admired all of Bradley’s bulk compared to Bob’s lithe grace. But in your defense, they were standing right in front of you and you’d already reread your book at least five times in the past, so it wasn’t nearly as interesting as the scene in front of you had been.

“You look awfully comfortable over there,” Rooster called out with a raised eyebrow.

“Just taking in the view,” you’d teased back.

“Yeah, I bet you are,” he huffed as Bob finished up, giving him a thanks, man before tossing you back the bottle of sunscreen. He’d nudged his sunglasses down his nose and pinned you with his gaze, “Let me know if you want me to get your back. My hands are just as capable as his.” Even in the high heat of summer, the way he’d looked at you sent chills running along your arms.

You felt the way his keen eyes traveled from your face, down the deep-v of your swimsuit and along the swells of your breasts, and down your legs to your freshly painted toes. His mouth had ticked up in the corner then left you reeling and your heart pounding away in your chest as he’d strut off to go join Fanboy and Coyote by the mountain of snacks.

And that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. You never knew if he was just flirt-y or flirt-ing.

You hadn’t had a crush in ages, but when Nat had introduced you to her team five months ago, the man with the sunkissed curls and surprisingly attractive mustache had immediately caught your eye.

And as you’d gotten to know him, it had only gotten worse.

Not only was he very nice to look at and could make you laugh until your sides ached, but he also he had depth about him in a way that most men your age didn’t. You liked talking to him and listening to his stories. You liked learning his perspective on things. You liked being around him.

He made you feel interesting and special and funny and seen. You’ve never felt as comfortable in your own skin as you did when you were around him.

Rooster would send you flirty winks, give you less than subtle once overs, and could flash you such devastating slow grins that they’d have you trying to catch the butterflies they released in your stomach for hours after you went home.

But he’s never made a move.

If only he wouldn’t play hide and seek with his true intentions.

You felt like you were still waiting on some small clue whether he was serious or not. You didn’t know if he was just having fun with you or if he was into you and it was more than just friendly banter. It would be so much easier if he’d straight up tell you one way or another.

Needless to say, you’d let Nat be the one to help you with your sunscreen a little bit later. The idea of Bradley’s big hands on you, gliding along your sun-warmed skin and under the crisscross straps of your swimsuit, was too much for your hummingbird heart.

The sun climbed higher into the sky as the butter yellow midmorning transformed into a Midas-touched golden afternoon.

The squad had been able to reserve a fire pit and the plan had been to stay until the sunset. An endless summer day stretching out before them like a cat. They had nothing but time.

Clusters of people came together and split apart like a kaleidoscope as some went to take a dip in the ocean or raid the cooler and snack spread or go for a walk along the shore. Changing and shifting with the direction of the wind, going where the mood took them.

And for a peaceful moment, it had been you with your book and a napping Bradley sprawled out next to you on your towel with his arm flung over his eyes. Close enough that you could feel his warmth, almost but not quite touching. The sound of his soft breaths and the waves their own kind of lullaby as you contentedly read your book, turning your pages quietly to not disturb the man next to you, as the droplets of the Pacific dried on your skin.

You still don’t know how you got roped into playing a round of dogfight football with the Navy’s best and brightest. You were more of a corn hole or ladder toss kind of girl, but Coyote had all but thrown you over his shoulder and dragged you out before you’d agreed to participate, conceding your defeat.

You were on a team with Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy against Nat, Rooster, Payback, and Bob. A few plays in and you had been getting the hang of it. They’d all been making sure to take care to go easy on you even in the chaos of two teams playing offensively and defensively at the same time. You were more than a little out of breath, but you were having fun.

Before the next snap, Mickey gave the most impassioned pep talk you’d ever heard, “Fuck luck, we don’t need luck. We gotta fucking win.” You had been about to laugh, but then you’d seen the looks on Jake and Javy’s faces and decided against it. Curious about the other team, you’d glanced over only to see Rooster looking back at you.

The calls had been made, the blur of plays in motion as people whirled and dodged and sprinted.

You’d just lobbed the ball to Javy before darting around Nat when a big, solid body collided with you. Hard. You’d felt the twinge of your ankle twisting in the sand right before the force sent you flying in the opposite direction you’d been headed.

The impact had been jarring. The air knocked from your lungs.

Where you should have been met with a mouthful of gritty sand, instead your head had connected with the rough surface of a partially buried rock. The low, thick thud reverberating throughout your whole body.

You’d been so stunned that you didn’t even register you were even on the ground until you heard the chorus of oh fucks and holy shits and goddamns and jesus christs over the ringing in your ears.

The game coming to an immediate and conclusive end.

For how many empty bottles and cans were sitting collected in a trash bag off to the side of your beach set up, they had been surprisingly quick to act as you blinked blankly, trying to clear the spots from your vision.

It was a silent ballet of efficiency as they instinctively fell into their roles, much like you imagined they did the sky. Everyone stepping up and then stepping back as they did their part, like the ebb and flow of waves.

Nat had carefully poured some fresh water from a bottle on your face to remove the sand that clung to the sweat and sunscreen on your skin. Then Jake had wordlessly passed her his clean spare shirt he’d jogged of to get to help stop the bleeding after Javy checked on your pupils to make sure they were the same size. While Bob stood off to the side holding your warped sunglasses in his hands, as if he was hopeful they could still be salvaged. Mickey and Reuben had been waiting in the wings giving you space, ready to help if they were needed, but not wanting to not crowd in.

And from the corner of your eye, you’d caught Rooster standing a couple feet away with his hands in his hair looking absolutely wrecked.

“Bradley?” you’d tried, even though his name stuck to your teeth. But he’d just shook his head at you before turning away slightly, like he couldn’t look at you, which made your heart sting as well.

They only allowed you to move to sit up after they were content with the answer to their questions- What day is it? Friday. Where are you? San Diego. What else hurts? My ankle and my pride.

It wasn’t until someone hauled you up from underneath your armpits that the throbbing and stinging and aching settled over you. The pain seeping and spreading through muscle and bone like an inky oil spill.

It’s still an almost perfect summer afternoon except for the fact you hate everything about this.

You hate the way they’re gathered around you with too many pairs of assessing eyes pinned on you. You hate that you’re the reason the game of dogfight football came to a definitive and abrupt end. You hate that you’re the reason their carefree and fun afternoon off has turned into this.

There’s a pressure building behind your eyes, the hot tears of hurt and frustration and embarrassment are clamoring to be released. You have to bite your lower lip to keep it from trembling.

And it doesn’t help that you’re the type who’d rather lick your wounds in peace.

You just need to get back to your car and you can figure things out on your own from there. You just need a moment to yourself.

As you open your mouth to argue your case again, Jake puts his hand up and stops you before you’ve even had a chance to start, “I hate to break it to you, sugar, but you’re not fooling any of us.” He says it gently, but gives you a pointed look at the way you’re leaning heavily on your right leg to keep the pressure off of your left ankle.

“That head wound is not a little scratch. Just like your ankle isn’t just a little puffy, when it’s twice the size it should be. You need to go to the Emergency Room,” Nat says, final and resolute. A lifetime of friendship has taught you not to argue when she has that look in her eyes, the one that says try me, I dare you.

They all talk over you as they figure out who is the most sober of the group after your suggestion to call yourself an Uber is immediately shot down. Drinks are being counted on fingers, and memories are searched to make sure every sip and bottle and can is accounted for.

Your eyes drift over to the man who is still actively avoiding looking at you, even as he talks to everyone else on the team. You aren’t paying too close attention to what he is saying, but you can hear the short, clipped staccato of his words.

Bradley’s shoulders are tinged a little pink even though you know for a fact that you had purposely passed him the 65 SPF. His eyes are hidden behind his dark green tinted sunglasses, but you don’t need to see them when you can read his body language better than any book.

His arms are crossed firmly over his chest, the tendons in his forearms flexing and shifting, like he is squeezing and releasing his fists from where they’re tucked under his biceps. Everything in his body looks coiled tight and strained, so at odds with the easy going and loose-limbed man you know him to be.

You don’t realize just how much you’ve zoned out until Natasha has to say your name a couple time before you pull your gaze away from Bradley and back to her.

“Ok, it’s settled,” Nat informs you, “Rooster’s going to take you.” You barely nod your head in acknowledgement when she tells you, because it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach now too.

“It’s the least he can do,” Jake drawls.

“That’s not fair-” you start, defensively.

“Fuck off, Bagman-” Rooster snaps.

The rage in his voice shocks you, you’ve never heard that much heat from him before. There’s none of the teasing tone that usually underscores their banter. Jake puts both of his hands up placatingly like my bad, folks and Javy just shakes his head and sighs.

And this time when you look at Bradley, he is finally looking back at you with a deep furrow in his brow. His jaw is clenched tight, that muscle ticking and jumping, as he takes in the way you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your forehead.

Not exactly the way you’d hoped he’d be looking at you when you put on your new blue and white striped swimsuit this morning.

The one you’d bought because you wanted to make him look.

Just not like this.

With everything sorted the rest of the team trickles away a smattering of take cares and get better soons and let us know if you need anythings. But not before Mickey hands Rooster his stuff and passes Nat your bag and sandals. He gives you the gentlest of squeezes on your shoulder before he leaves to join everyone else back on little part of the beach you all had claimed before things went to shit.

Your group of eight now downsized to a trio.

Bradley is quick to roughly pull on his tank and shirt, and Nat fishes out your car keys from your bag as she waits for him to slip his shoes on. When he’s ready she passes it to him and he silently slides it over his arm.

Nat bends down to help gingerly glide your feet into your sandals, “I’ll grab the rest your things and drop them off at your place and then one of the boys will drop off your car later. We’ve got it all covered, ok?”

“Thanks, Nat,” you say quietly, trying to hold back a wince as she slips the left one on, your ankle pulsing in tempo with your heartbeat.

“Best friends don’t say thank you, they just do,” she says matter-of-factly as she stands. It’s the same thing you’d told her after you’d dumped a carton of strawberry milk on Carly Radke for outing Natasha your freshman year in high school. It was only time you’d ever gotten detention, but it had been worth it.

“They just do,” you repeat with a small smile.

You’re so grateful that your friendship with her is one that has spanned years. That you’ve been able seen one another grow and change and come into their own, but that you haven’t outgrown each other. She’s the person you want by your side and having your back. There is no one quite like Natasha Trace.

She turns to Bradley and you watch him stand a little taller under her sharp eyes, your straw tote still dangling from his forearm.

“You good?” Nat asks him with a look in her eye that you can’t place. And you’re reminded that even though she’s your best friend, that he has also earned a spot as one of her closest friends. Their relationship built over years and experiences that you could never fully understand. Different, but just as deep.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got her. I’ll take care of her,” Rooster promises with a stiff nod, as he gives her his word. It might have made your heart beat a little faster if you didn’t feel like such a burden. That it’s simply a twist of fate and three less drinks than everyone else for the reason that he’s the one to look after you. That he’s the one stuck with you.

“I know you will,” she says softer now, patting his shoulder, “Keep me posted.” Nat presses a kiss to your cheek and gives you an encouraging smile then heads off to go rejoin everyone else.

You watch her go with longing. The cheerful beach set up with its colorful blankets and umbrellas looks more like a desert mirage now. The sweet coconut scented potential of what the day could have been now forever out of reach.

And then it’s just you and Bradley and the sound of the waves and cries of seagulls.

The two of you silent and motionless.

You feel one wrong move and the fragile attempt of the stiff upper lip you’ve cocooned yourself in will crack open and all the soft parts of you will seep out into the sand beneath your feet.

His expression is shuttered closed as he bends a bit like he is going to pick you up.

“Woah, buddy, what are you doing?” You’re squinting into the sun as you look at him. You’d step into his shadow to block it, since you’re now in need of a new pair of sunglasses, but that would mean moving to the left which isn’t an option with your ankle.

“Buddy,” he grunts under his breath, slipping off his sunglasses and carefully putting them on your face, being mindful of stinging scrapes and wad of soft cotton you’re holding to your head. “They’re definitely going to have to run concussion protocol on you,” he mutters more to himself than to you, “I’m taking you to the Bronco and then we’re going the ER, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, Rooster,” you grit out, even rolling your eyes hurts, “But I don’t need you to carry me.”

Everything about this was excruciating and embarrassing enough without him being the Clark Gable to your Vivian Leigh. Maybe you could lean on him and hop over to his car? Like a six-foot-one pair of crutches with good hair.

“Take a step without wincing and I’ll think about it,” he says firmly, pointedly calling your bluff. There’s an expectant look of go on then, whenever you’re ready on his face. Because he knows he’s right, and you do too.

You don’t even bother to make a move, but the way your lower lips wobbles speaks volumes.

“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly, almost like pains him to be right.

He bends a little to hook his arms around your knees and back to lift you up, and this time you let him. Your free arm automatically wrapping around the back of his neck. And he starts off towards the winking windshields of the parking lot.

You’ve thought about what it would be like to be wrapped up in Bradley’s arms, how good it would feel to be pressed closed against him. And now you are and it’s nothing like you’ve imagined, because there isn’t anything sweet or swoon-worthy about how you ended up in them. You’re his duty, you’re not his desire.

All your sandcastle hopes have been washed away by the tide.

You’re so frustrated. You’re frustrated by the day, by yourself, by him.

This time you can’t blink back the tears that well up in your eyes. They flood through your tear ducts carving hot trails down your sun-tinged cheeks.

You want the Bradley from earlier.

The one who stole your watermelon with warmth in his eyes.

The one who dozed next to you in the sun like a cat, his features soft free of the tension he now holds in his shoulders.

You want your Bradley.

The one who’d whispered cheeky comments in your ear whenever the team got into lighthearted tequila fueled arguments about things like whether a hot dog was a sandwich.

The one who’d always go up to the bar with you on busy nights at the Hard Deck and make sure you didn’t get bumped into on the way back to your friends with your freshly refilled drinks.

You’re aching, aching. Everywhere.

For a brief moment, as you swipe at your tears, you’re happy for the throbbing in your head and ankle, so that way you don’t have to think about the stinging in your heart.

“I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you’re hurting,” Rooster says gentle and low as you sniffle, but you can hear the thickness of the words in his throat. The term of endearment is the sweetest of nothings, making your tears come faster. Where it should ease the heartache, all it does is make you angry at yourself for giving your emotions away. “We’re almost to the Bronco. It’s ok, we’re gonna get you taken care of, I promise.”

We.

You wanted that with him.

You want to press both of your hands to his cheeks to make him look you in the eyes to ask him is it going to be you and me together? You’ve been a fool for love before, but you didn’t know if could take another hit-and-run with your heart.

The salt of your tears makes your cheeks feel tight and itchy as the summer breeze dries them on your skin.

Bradley carries you like you weigh nothing, but cradles you like you’re the most precious things he’s ever held. He’s mindful of any dips in the sand and gives wide berth around the college kids playing volleyball close to the entry back to the parking lot.

When he reaches the Bronco, he sets you down gently, making sure both of your feet are planted on the asphalt before letting go of you to unlock his car. He tells you to wait a moment when you move to open the passenger side door.

“I never know when I might get called up for an emergency deployment, so I like to have some extra clothes just in case,” he explains as he digs around in the backseat, pulling out a pair of gray athletic shorts.

“Oh.” And you realize you’re still just clad in your striped swimsuit. “Thank you for sparing me from the hospital germs,” you say lightly, an attempt at a joke to break the ice. One that doesn’t land, since instead of cracking a grin he just presses his lips together in a firm line and nods.

Bradley crouches low in front of you and you put a hand on his shoulder for balance as you lean against the Bronco, still trying to keep as much pressure off your left ankle as possible as you step into them. He’s looking up at you and even through his sunglasses perched on your nose, you swear his brown eyes get a shade darker as he eases the shorts up your legs. You’re touched by the effort as he ties the strings in a lopsided bow, even if things are feeling tense between the two of you.

“Think this’ll be easier,” he mumbles shrugging off his light blue button up. You’ve always liked this one, with its soft pastel pink and minty green watercolor prints of net fishermen and hula girls and palm trees.

He holds it open for you, helping you thread your arm through it, and then takes over holding Jake’s now ruined shirt to your head so that you can get your other arm past the sleeve. It smells like him, citrus and amber. Your fingers brush against each other when you reclaim the makeshift bandage, and he adjusts his shirt so that it hangs over your shoulders just right.

It’s an awkward kind silent as Rooster helps lift you into the Bronco with his strong hands around your hips. He is all smooth efficiency as he buckles you in with a click. You pass him back his sunglasses the same moment he hands you your tote bag, and it almost feels like a hostage exchange.

He says nothing as he hauls himself into the driver’s side. The car rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition and a cheery song from the 80’s station on the radio comes on. Bradley quick to turn the volume down low. His thumb brushing your shoulder as he sets his hand on the back of your seat to look behind him as he carefully backs out of the spot.

It’s never felt this strained with him before.

It’s so painfully obvious that the two of you are walking on eggshells around each other. You can almost feel the wall that’s gone up around him. The white noise of the radio drowned out by the hum of the road as he drives in near silence.

Your day has been most effectively ruined by a chunk of sedimentary rock, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still recoup what’s left of it.

He could still have the perfect summer afternoon.

He could still go back to your friends and their perfect beach set up and laugh with them as Coyote keeps accidentally setting marshmallows on fire. He could still catch the bold oranges and soft pinks of the sunset with all the satisfied contentment he deserved to experience.

“You can leave me and go back, you know. I’ll be ok if you just want drop me off and then head back to the beach,” you say looking down at your fingers as you trace the stitching of his leather seats.

When he doesn’t answer right away, you glance over at him. The vein in his neck is standing out boldly against the column of his throat.

“Do I seem like the kind of guy who would leave someone at the ER alone?” he asks, his voice rougher than sandpaper.

“No. No, of course not,” you say emphatically, “That’s why I’m giving you permission.”

“Permission?” he scoffs with a shake of his head.

“Yes, permission,” you say, clipped.

You’re giving him an out, why doesn’t he get that?

He heaves a big sigh and grunts. “Is it… Would you rather have Bob- with his big hands- here instead?” Bradley asks, frustration leaking out around the edges of his words.

“Bob with his big hands?” you repeat baffled, “What does Bob have to do with anything about this?”

“That’s what you said earlier, sweetheart. I’m just citing the source. Or I can call Phoenix? Or…” he pauses glancing at the t-shirt pressed to your head, “Or even Seresin. Once we get you checked in I can call any of them an Uber or something, and they can be there with you, if you don’t want me.”

“No, Rooster, I don’t want anyone else.” You wince at the implication and hope it doesn’t read into it further than the current situation to two of you are wading through like quick sand.

“Ok, good,” he grumbles.

“Great,” you lob back.

His hand tightens on the steering wheel, the knuckles turning white, “Then where is this even coming from?” The action makes his thick forearm flex in this most delicious of ways that you’d appreciate more if you didn’t feel the anger simmering low in your stomach.

“It’s pretty damn clear that you’d rather be back there, Rooster. Or literally anywhere else right now.” You flip down the sun visor with more force than it deserves, regretting that you gave him his sunglasses back when the bright California sun in your eyes turns your headache into a full-blown migraine.

“Of course, I’d rather be anywhere else!” he says hotly, tossing his sunglasses back in your lap, “Do you think I like that you’re hurt and that we’re on our way to the hospital?” You shove them on your face with an angry huff.

A car speeds by blaring their horn as they pass by.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck off,” he grunts but speed of the Bronco doesn’t change, “Asshole.”

Bradley’s driving five miles under the posted limit, and you know for a fact he religiously drives at least ten miles over. And his turns have been smoother than butter, as if he is trying not to jostle you anymore than you’d already been today.

You are so tired of this hot and cold thing that he’s doing. His words and his deeds weren’t going hand in hand. He keeps giving you the cold shoulder, but is also so in tune with your every movement and need.

Gingerly, you angle yourself in your seat to look at him better, resting your tired left arm on the back of your seat and taking in his strong profile.

“Why are you being like this?” you demand, waving your free hand in a vaguely in his general direction.

“Like what? I’m not being like anything,” he retorts, making the same vague hand gesture as you did a moment earlier.

And oh, if that doesn’t fill your chest with hot indignation. That low simmering anger has turned into a full roiling boil as you shift in your seat trying to get your ankle in a position where it doesn’t hurt.

“Seriously, Rooster? I can feel tension rolling off of you in waves. You’ve been like this since everything turned to complete shit on the beach. I didn’t mean to ruin your day, I’m just trying to figure out how to make things better,” you bite out unable to keep things bottled up anymore.

He sucks in a sharp breath, “Are you kidding me right now? You think you ruined my day?” He glances from the road to you and back again, his brown eyes wide and searching.

“Yes?” Or so you’d thought until you’d seen the shock written all over his face, but now you weren’t so sure. It’s like you’ve dumped ice water on him instead of simply calling him out. “I feel like you’re taking it out on me and I don’t know why.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rooster swears under his breath, shaking his head. “I’m so damn sorry, sweetheart. I’m mad at myself, because I ruined your day. I should have been more careful, I should have been looking out for you. It’s not like you’re hard to miss in that swimsuit.” Your cheeks heat up at the comment, but you choose to ignore it.

Misery drips from his words like spilled ink off a page. You knew he was upset, but you didn’t realize he was upset about that. That he’s shouldering this fluke of fate as if it is his burden to bear. Some of the anger you’ve been feeling leaves your body like the tide washing out back out to sea. You’re still upset at him for how he has been acting up until this point, but you’re not mad at him about that.

“Bradley, no. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, an accident I’m responsible for,” he says hoarsely, rubbing roughly at his forehead. “God, I can still hear the sound it made when you hit that rock and it makes me feel sick. I would give anything to undo that moment. I need you to know that.”

He is being so hard on himself and your heart squeezes, this time in sympathy rather than hurt. He didn’t place that rock in the sand, the both of you were victims of circumstance.

“It could have happened to anyone. It could have been anyone,” you press delicately, trying to get him to hear you, shifting in your seat again still uncomfortable.

The sunshine bounces off of his slumped shoulders as he sighs raggedly.

“But it happened to you and it’s my fault. You’re bleeding, you’re in pain, and you’ve been crying. And it’s because of me.” He reaches down with his right hand and lifts up your leg so that you can rest it on his thigh, some of the ache alleviating immediately. He asks quietly, “That better?”

“Yes, thank you,” you murmur. He looks so upset, and all you want to do is curl into his lap. You want to hold him and you want to be held by him. “You know I don’t blame you, right?”

You expect him to move his hand back to the steering wheel, but he keeps it on your leg. His thumb stroking your still slightly sandy shin. Your cheery toenail polish at odds with the color blooming around your ankle.

Bradley’s throat bobs as he swallows hard, “Yeah, I do. I know that. But I still blame myself.”

The Bronco rolls to a soft stop at the light. There’s enough traffic that you know you’ll be here for a bit, and so does he since he turns in his seat to look fully at you. You take his sunglasses off, tucking them into the pocket of his shirt that rests above your heart, so nothing stands between his brown eyes and yours.

“So, you’re going to keep beating yourself up over it and icing me out? Making me feel worse? For what, Bradley? Because you’re a glutton for punishment? That’s not fair to me or to you.”

“Shit,” he mutters, his left hand running through his curls. “You’re right and I’m so sorry. I’ve been in my head feeling so damn guilty that I’ve been such an asshole. Can you forgive me?”

You’re about to answer him that when a horn startles you, making you jump in the leather seat. You see the light is green, the car that had been in front of you is gliding through the intersection passing under a blue sign pointing the way to the hospital.

“Bradley, the light.”

The car behind the two of you honks their horn again.

“They can wait. This is important, you are important. Do you forgive me?” There’s an underscore of need that punctuates his question.

“Yes, of course,” you say easily and sincerely. There’s so much remorse in his eyes, you would have forgiven him with that look alone.

“Thank you,” he breathes out in relief. And then he smiles at you for the first time since the beach and that ache in your heart is completely soothed, bandaged by that soft way he is looking at you.

Atlas no longer, he can simply be Bradley.

He takes his foot off the brake and by some miracle he’s able to make it through the light before it turns red again. You can see the tall structure of the parking lot near the hospital poking out above the line of the treetops.

The destination is closer than ever, but there are still things on your mind.

“And you aren’t an asshole, Bradley. But your bedside manner could definitely use some work,” you tease with a smile of your own.

“Baby, I’ve been trying to show you my bedside manner, but you keep holding me at arm’s length,” he groans dramatically.

The idea of experiencing Bradley Bradshaw’s bedside manner makes you feel all kinds of weak in the knees, even as you’re seated in his Bronco with your leg propped up in his lap, his big hand skating up and down along your shin comfortingly.

“How can you even say that with a straight face? You’ve never made a move!” you exclaim incredulously, “I was even the one to ask for your phone number, if you remember.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I hit on you all the time,” he argues with your favorite brand of Bradshaw banter, “I’ve been waiting for you to give me the green light, sweetheart.”

“I thought you were supposed to be pretty and smart,” you smirk.

He barks a laugh and the last tendrils of all the tension and all the pressure that had been swirling around you like a marine layer evaporates.

“You saying I’ve had the green light this whole time?” He looks over at you with a boyish smile, you like the way you feel when he looks at you like this.

“What I’m saying, Bradley, is if you’d have actually asked me out I would have said yes.” You press your toes into the muscle of his thick thigh and immediately regret it, wincing as pain ripples around your ankle.

He makes a sympathetic sound deep in his chest, “Sounds like I’ve been an idiot.”

“A very pretty one,” you allow, leaning your aching head back against the back seat.

“At least there’s that,” he concedes good-naturedly as he pulls into the parking lot, turning on his blinker for a spot opening up near the entrance to the Emergency Room by some twist of fate, one that’s in your favor this time.

Bradley pulls into the empty spot and kills the engine turning to you. He gently eases your foot back down onto the sandy floormat of the Bronco and leans into unbuckle your seatbelt.

He’s so close now looking up at you from under his eyelashes, and your breath catches in your throat. He moves closer, you can see the bits of hazel that surround his pupils. Your eyes flutter close and you tilt your head up, lips parting at the anticipation of his kiss.

There’s no holding back the noise of dissatisfaction you make when his lips press a tender kiss to your cheek. You lean into him wanting to feel, wanting him to give you more. His warm breath coasts over your skin as he chuckles. You can feel the way his lips are pulled up into a smile.

“I’m a gentleman, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls away, his eyes lingering on your lips. “My mom raised me not to go for the kiss on the first date. Or ones with head wounds and potential concussions.”

“Some first date,” you lament jokingly, looking in at the fluorescent lights awaiting you inside the hospital. You’d rather skip over this part entirely, but you’re ready to be done with holding Jake’s shirt to your head. “Nothing like insurance cards and scrubs to really set the mood.”

“Mmm. How about this, after we’re done here, I’ll take you through whatever drive-thru you want-”

“In-N-Out,” you cut in without a second thought. The novelty of it still hasn’t worn off on you, even if the fries are terrible.

“Ok,” he grins, “I’ll take you through in In-N-Out and get you your number two combo with mustard and grilled onions with a vanilla shake.” He pauses waiting for your nod of approval, looking more than pleased with himself when you acknowledge he got your order right.

“I like the sound of this so far,” you hum.

“Well that’s good. Since it’ll be our first date, I want to set that bar high,” he says giving you a wink. And there are those butterflies again, this time you don’t try to catch them with a net. They’re free to flutter around as they wish.

“If you really want to impress me, you’ll also take me through the McDonald’s drive-thru for their fries,” you muse.

“Done.”

“I was kidding,” you laugh, shaking your head at him disbelievingly and thoroughly charmed.

“Well, I wasn’t. So after we get you fed, give or take some fries, I will bring you home. I’ll get you whatever you need, I want to make sure you’re comfortable. Think you might be on crutches for a bit, sweetheart,” he says softly, playing with the ends of your hair. “And then in the morning, if you’re up for it, I’ll take you out for breakfast. Or bring you breakfast. Whatever you want. We can call that date number two.”

“And then you’ll kiss me?”

“And then I’ll kiss you,” he promises, offering you a crooked pinky finger. You beam and you wrap your own around his.

He slips out of the driver’s seat leaving you to contemplate the terms of his offer as he rounds the front of the Bronco. The nurses are going to get an eyeful of him in only those snug jean shorts and thin white tank. You make a mental note to avoid looking at him if they have to connect you to a heart rate monitor, he doesn’t need to know the effect he has on you. Not yet anyways.

“I have counteroffer,” you announce turning your body towards him as he opens your door for you.

“Let’s hear it, baby,” he says with a grin that almost makes you forget how bad your head and ankle hurt, “Shoot.”

“We still go to In-N-Out, but then in the morning you make me breakfast in bed with some of those famous Bradshaw pancakes I’ve heard about,” you say, as he steps in between your legs, “Seems like a good way to work on that bedside manner of yours.”

“I think you’re going to like my bedside manner, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over your cheek.

You tilt your head at him, taking in the sunkissed strands in his hair and the affection in his eyes, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

“Guess we will,” he rasps.

Rooster drops another sweet kiss to your cheek, whispering for you to stay put, and then he struts off towards the automatic doors of the Emergency Room. Leaving you alone with the butterflies in your stomach and the hope in your heart.

You dig your phone out of your straw tote and check the time, doing the math in your head.

There are a few messages from Nat and other people on the team already checking in, but you know you’ll have time to reply to them later as you wait with Bradley sitting by your side.

You look up and see he’s got a wheelchair now and is making his way back to you, wearing a soft smile on his face just for you.

Only seventeen more hours until you get to kiss Bradley Bradshaw and you can’t wait.

You’ve got that forever feeling about him.

Oh, oh, oh.

Thank you for reading! Rock on. Oh that joke was schist, I'll see myself out.

This was written as part of @roosterforme's Rocktober Playlist! You can check out all the other great submissions here!

The song that inspired this story was Paula Abdul's "Straight Up"

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader

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menagerofmischief · 2 months ago

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Dia's Diner

Welcome to Dia's Diner, here you'll be able to order your meal (fic) with as many specifications and dishes as you want. We hope you leave satisfied ;)

first step is choosing who you want your fic to be about, so pick a server (you can even pick two)

SERVERS:

Max Verstappen

Charles Leclerc

Carlos Sainz Jr.

Lewis Hamilton

George Russel

Lando Norris

Oscar Piastri

Daniel Riccardo

Alex Albon

Fernando Alonso

Franco Collapinto

Pierre Gasly

Esteban Ocon

Lance Stroll

Ollie Bearman

Kimi Antonelli

Mick Schumacher

Arthur Leclerc

Sebastian Vettel

Mark Webber

Jenson Button

Nico Rosberg

Toto Wolff

every good meal starts with an appetizer, by choosing your appetizer you're setting the main trope of the fic

STARTERS:

charcuterie board (dating)

artichoke dip (brother’s friend)

olives and cheese (friends to lovers)

stuffed cherry tomatoes (sugar daddy)

hummus nachos (teammates)

shrimp cocktail (rivals to lovers)

and how you want it served

HOT OR COLD:

hot appetizer (sweet sex)

cold appetizer (rought sex)

now it's time to order the main dish, feel free to choose as many as you want

MAINS:

lobster (“I love watching my cum leak out from your pussy”)

caviar and oysters (“Gonna look so good full of my babies”)

fish and chips (“Where are your manners?”)

steak (“Made just for me. My pretty little cocksleeve”)

burger and fries (“Hurts? That’s too bad baby, should have thought about it before being such a slut”)

buffalo wings (“Count them for me”)

ramen (“What would your brother think if he saw us?”)

gyros (“Gonna fill you up”)

full english (“My pretty little slut”)

pizza (“My good girl”)

pesto pasta (“Slow down, you just told me to speed up. What’s it gonna be silly girl?”)

carbonara (“Look so good on my cock”)

sausage rolls (“I’ll make it fit”)

sushi (“Better quiet down, you don’t want them to hear us.)

tacos (“I’m gonna give you an attitude check”)

chicken quesadilla (“So pretty with my cock down your throat”)

crab cakes (“Yeah, gonna swallow like a good girl?”)

chicken nuggets (“Couldn’t help being a brat, could you?”)

kimchi (“Be a good girl and take it”)

tomato soup (“Running away from my dick? I don’t think so.”)

cheese fries (“I love making you squirt”)

stuffed potato (“Just where you belong … on your knees for me”)

sarma (“Gonna put a baby in you”)

moussaka (“You look your best covered in my cum”)

caesar salad (“Lie to me again and you’re not gonna like what happens next”)

chicken skewer (“Be a good girl and cum for me”)

mac and cheese (“Only good girls get to cum”)

mango sticky rice (“Next time you try that shit I’ll make him watch while I fuck you”)

chicken fingers (“Yeah, you like being filled in both ends like a slut”)

butter chicken rice (“If you want it then you better beg for it”)

eggs and bacon ("Are you gonna stop moving or am I gonna hold you down?")

spring rolls ("All you do is complain, perhaps I should shut you up")

sloppy joe ("You have the prettiest mouth. Why don't you put it to good use?")

kebab ("Look at that my cock is splitting you in half")

grilled cheese ("I buy you nice things and then I get to fuck you in them. Sounds fair to me")

pot roast ("You going to let me take my anger out on you, sweetheart?")

chili ("Look at you humping my thigh like a bitch in heat")

california rolls ("Scream my name - I want everyone to know who's making you feel this good)

PB&J ("Look at him while I make you cum")

dumplings ("Ride this cock - it's your cock")

black pudding ("There we good, you're such a good girl, taking you punishment so well")

smoked salmon ("My good girl deserves a reward")

fish tacos ("Just lie back and let me take care of you")

seafood boil ("Maybe I'll make a mix tape of your moans to listen to while I drive")

spaghetti with meatballs ("Why don't you put on that pretty little set I bought for you?")

veggie burger ("Feel how hard you make me")

hot dog ("Thought about you while touching myself. The real things is much better")

ratatouille ("I'll mark you up so much no man will dare talk to you again")

bacon pancakes ("I love when you wear dresses. It's so easy to flip it up and fuck you")

chicken alfredo ("You haven't been very good, have you? And you know what happens to bad girls")

avocado toast ("Look at you all dumb and crying on my cock")

lasagna ("Where did all that cockiness go now that it's time to take your punishment?)

gnocchi ("You like when I treat you like a toy, don't you?)

mashed potatoes and gravy ("You had no problem getting fucked in here like a slut. Then you should have no problem walking out there with my cum dripping down your legs")

having a drink with your dish really elevates the experience, drinks represent different kinks

DRINKS:

ice tea (oral giving/receiving)

sweet tea (morning sex)

redbull (filming sex)

mint tea (body worship giving/receiving)

white wine (sir kink)

vodka redbull (squirting)

white claw (pegging)

red wine (daddy kink)

rose (spanking)

champagne (threesome)

old fashioned (drunk sex)

whiskey (double penetration)

mai thai (mirror sex)

cosmopolitan (temperature play)

beer (bondage)

root beer (blindfold)

apple cider (spitting)

apple juice (edging)

orange juice (overstimulation)

pineapple juice (wax play)

smoothie (hickeys)

boba (anal)

matcha (toys)

vanilla milkshake (nipple play)

hot chocolate (dry humping)

chocolate milk (thigh riding)

espresso (dom/sub)

black coffee (chocking)

mocha coffee (degradation)

pumpkin spice latte (losing virginity)

fanta (size kink)

coca-cola (somnophillia)

coke zero (free use)

pepsi (car sex)

lemonade (public sex)

strawberry lemonade (breeding)

coconut water (jealous sex)

sparkling water (phone sex)

iced water (dirty talk)

to end the night you might consider getting a dessert, in this case dessert is aftercare

DESSERT:

yes (aftercare included)

no (aftercare not included)

special instructions: tell me your favorite track/race at the end of your request and I'll throw you in a freebie on the house that goes best with your order

Thank you for visiting! Here at Dia's Diner your pleasure is our priority, so be on the look out for new additions to our menu. Come back again.

A/N: I'm so grateful for each and every one of your requests, but I just ask that you be patient about waiting for it since I don't have much free time because of school.

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meowshark12 · 3 months ago

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i know it won't work (rc)(4)

series summary: you're best friends with topper, kelce, and rafe. it has never bothered you to see them with other girls, knowing that they usually only have flings, but, when rafe gets what appears to be a girlfriend, how does this change things?

(not canon)rafe x kook!reader, original characters

chapter 4 summary: day on the boat. another party. jealousy. do our protagonists finally become aware??

warnings: some violence kinda not really graphic tho

1 2 3 4

6.2k words OOPS SORRY

not very proofread toward the bottom. hope you like it though.

chapter 4: the druthers

You step on to the boat, the familiar feeling of the ebb and flow of the waves already lulling you into a false sense of comfort. You're greeted by Rafe with a "Hey," and a small smile and by Amber with a look that you can't exactly decipher. You ignore her, but you don't miss how his eyes dart away from you after his glance lingers for a second too long.

"Hey guys!! Who wants a drink?" Kelce announces as he is the last one to step foot on the boat. He always has known how to break the tension quite well. The awkwardness is forgotten as you all greet Kelce and begin to make yourselves comfortable on the familiar yacht you have embarked. You give Kelce a quick hug and he hands you your favorite drink, already prepared for you.

Your boys were always attentive to you, Stella, and Macey. Always remembering your favorite drinks, knowing the most obscure things about you (your obsession with your favorite animal, Macey's lego collection, and why Stella loved crab rangoons so much), and making sure to be friendly with and respected by your parents. Though none of you had ever pursued any of the others, you knew there had to be small crushes that each person had but chose to bury.

Macey was the most obvious about it, pining after Topper without a care in the world. She would always say it was a joke, but, when he started dating Sarah, she was more than joking with how upset she was. Topper liked the attention and would probably get with her if she made the first move, and only if there would be no consequences.

Everyone loves Stella. She's the most beautiful and down to earth girl. She was the mediator of your friend group, almost impossible not to love her. Stella had never mentioned it, but you could tell that she liked the attention that Kelce gave her. He liked her too (obviously), though he tried to hide the blush that creeped up his neck when she gave him various compliments or when her touch lingered too long.

Rafe was always the toughest to crack. Though he took the most comfort in you, telling you about his family and other things that he didn't even tell the boys, it was always hard to tell what Rafe was thinking.

You had never had a favorite, though you seemed to always gravitate more toward Rafe. Maybe it was something about his looks, his captivating blue eyes and effortless handsomeness drawing you in. Or maybe it was the way he seemed to need you sometimes, not opening up to anyone but you, calling you whenever he just needed someone to talk to. But you felt like you treated all the boys equally.

None of the boys had ever seemed to crush on you.

This is not to say you aren't enchantingly beautiful. The boys are your best friends, but they were first pulled in by your beauty and charming personality. The main reason Rafe and Kelce wanted Topper to bring you (and your friends) along was because they wanted to know why such a gorgeous girl wanted to hang around Topper. But, you had never noticed anyone reacting to you the way they did to others. Although this didn't hurt your feelings. You were glad to have such good friends, and it wasn't like you felt that you were missing something.

Last summer, the Druthers was your group's favorite spot to hangout during the hot summer days where you found yourselves in need of some entertainment. Kelce would always suggest taking a dip in your pool (which you had all done millions of times before), but Rafe had managed to save you from hosting many times by coaxing Kelce onto the Druthers with a beer in hand and the promise of free beer and food all day long.

Since Ward was away for most of last summer, you spent most of your time on that boat, laying out, swimming, drinking, napping, dancing, partying, etc. You name it, it probably happened on that boat.

Your favorite memory of the Druthers was the day it started storming out of nowhere. Nobody had checked the weather, anticipating that the day would be as sunny as it was long. But, the 6 of you were mid-dip in the water when the storm clouds on the horizon began rolling in faster than you had thought possible.

Before you knew it, the sky was black and it was pouring down rain right on you and your friends who were still in the water.

Instead of getting out, you began laughing and floated on your back, letting the rain water cascade over your body to disappear in the water beneath you. Soon after, your other friends joined you, all enjoying the rain, until the thunder struck.

When you heard the thunder, the six of you raced back to the boat (Kelce won) and hurried to get under the cover.

Your bag was the only one left out on the deck and your belongings were already soaked. You decide to enjoy the feeling of the rain, since your dry clothes and towel were already wet and there was no saving them, but Rafe comes over to you after a few minutes and drags you to the covered portion of the yacht.

"What the hell were you doing out there??" he asks bewildered. Water hangs on to his features, tracing lines over the contours of his face.

"Sorry! All my stuff was wet and I wouldn't have a towel, so I figured I would appreciate the rain! We haven't gotten rain all summer." you explain, still dripping wet and clad in your swimsuit, feeling self conscious as those around you are already covered by their towels. You cross your arms around yourself.

"Oh my god, yn. You're something else..." he trails off, laughing slightly and pinching the bridge of his nose before he speaks again. "You know Rose stocks this thing with like a million towels, right?" he pauses, then says, "c'mon, I'll get you one"

You follow behind him down the hallway, the boat rocking and causing your wet feet to slip slightly on the tile floor. Rafe stops in front of a closet, and, sure enough, it was full to the brim with expensive, monogrammed towels. He hands you one.

"Thank you," you say, looking up at him. "I'm sorry... you really didn't have to come get me. I would've been fine and come in eventually." you begin to explain while wrapping the towel around your shaking shoulders.

"It's fine, yn..." he begins, "I just didn't want you to freeze to death, or slip and fall and hit your head... or... I don't know, I was just worried about you and I don't want to be the one in charge if something bad happens to you." he finishes, looking somewhat distraught as he looks back into your eyes.

"Rafe." you say, and he couldn't be more attentive if he tried, "I promise, I would've been fine. I was on my way back in when you came to get me anyway." you lie with a smile. At this, he nods and looks into your eyes, the light reflecting just right to make them hold onto his attention more than ever before. You're basically having a staring contest at this point, for nobody has spoken in almost a minute.

His gaze trails over the rest of your face, and he notices that you're still trembling and your lips are a shade of purple.

"Okay, fine. Just come with me" he finally says, and you follow him down to one of the bedrooms on the boat. The bedroom was clearly his, resembling the one he had at Tanneyhill quite well and the pictures on the wall were a dead giveaway. He goes into a drawer and pulls out a pair of gray sweatpants, a pair of socks, and an old UNC hoodie, one that you haven't seen since the first few times you met Rafe. "Change into this."

"Rafe, it's fine." you protest, but he cuts you off.

"No, yn." he shoves the clothes into your arms. "Your clothes are soaked and I can't have you getting hypothermia on me. Just change and come upstairs." He says, and with that he leaves the room.

After you change, you head back up to where your friends are gathered, still drinking and carrying on. The rain clearly did not affect their high spirits.

"There you are!" says Stella. "Nice outfit. We are trying to get the tv to work but Rafe must be poor or something and his Netflix won't work out here." she explains, making a jab at Rafe.

"Hey, hey, okay give me the remote and I'll get it to work." Rafe comes to his own defense and the rest of you laugh.

You sit down next to Kelce, and Topper comes over to you with a drink in each hand, one for you of course. You quietly thank him before he leaves to sit in a chair, and you begin listening in on the conversation that Stella, Macey, and Kelce are having ('is water wet?' like Kelce starts it bc you were just rained on in water and he's like 'but does that mean the water is now wet' and the girls are like 'ur dumb').

You're sat on the large couch with Kelce, while Stella and Macey share a smaller one. Topper is in a chair across from the girls. Rafe stands in front of you all, trying to fix the tv. As the conversation dies down, the focus is turned to Rafe.

He is clearly not making any progress, as he turns the tv off and puts the remote on the table, announcing "we don't talk enough, lets not watch tv and just talk to each other for once!" and he sits next to you on the couch.

The events of today are already not beginning to mirror your favorite day on the Druthers.

For one thing, there are seven of you. An odd number, always leaving someone out. For another thing, Rafe was totally preoccupied by Amber, leaving the five of you to wonder why you were on his boat in the first place.

The five of you sat on the deck, lounging and each of you with a drink in your hand. Rafe and Amber were inside, doing God only knows what.

You lay sprawled out, your legs over Toppers lap as he sat up beside you. Kelce mirrored Topper on your other side, his sunglasses on and arms on either side of the boat behind him. Stella was engrossed in her book and her vodka cran, and Macey sat next to Topper with her legs out on a table, nursing her beer. The five of you were quiet, enjoying each others company, yet still somehow on edge because of the presence of a plus-one.

Almost an hour passes before one of you speaks.

"Why aren't we swimming?" Topper says after finishing his third beer. Your ears perk up at this, excited at the idea of getting into the water.

"I'm down," Kelce says, to which you all agree. By the time you all are ready to get in the water, Rafe and Amber appear out of thin air, ready to swim right along side you.

Rafe is on your right, Amber to his right, as you are preparing to jump off the boat.

"Going swimming without me?" he teases, but you aren't in the mood for his antics right now.

"Didn't think you'd ever come back outside," you say, and you follow your words with a swift dive under the surface of the cool water beneath you.

The rest of your friends (Topper, Kelce, and your girls) jump in after you, not totally sure what you had responded to Rafe, but excited to swim nonetheless.

You look up to see Rafe and Amber staring at you from the deck, but you begin to float on your back before you can find it in you to care that she's here. The five of you swim around for a few minutes before they coming wading over to you.

"Oh, look who decided to join us," Macey mumbles to nobody in particular. You stifle a laugh, not wanting to draw attention to yourselves.

The seven of you swim for a while with no issues, other than Amber clinging to Rafe like she had never been in water higher than her knees. Stella is the first to go back on to the boat after about 30 minutes, and the rest of you follow.

You are on the deck, drying off, when you hear Amber complain. "Rafey, my shirt is all wet, I can't wear this!!" she cries to Rafe. The nickname is new.

You shoot a look to your friends. "Rafey?" you mouth to Macey. She rolls her eyes.

Rafe looks at you and your friends before he looks back to her.

"Why don't you just wear your bathing suit top for a while? We aren't leaving any time soon," he suggests, knowing that the five of you (just the boys to his face) would make fun of him endlessly for giving a girl his clothes.

"Ugh, no. I'm not doing that. I don't do my 10-step skincare routine just to get sunburnt." she replies, which you had to admit was a somewhat valid point. But, as she holds her shirt in her had, you notice that it is mostly dry.

"Fine," Rafe says, "follow me," and they go upstairs.

When they return, Amber is wearing Rafe's UNC sweatshirt.

While on the boat together, the four of you were told by Topper that there would be a boneyard party tonight. You all agreed to have Topper drive there in his Jeep, bringing you five.

So, you and your girls got together at Stella's house after to get ready and pregame (though, to be honest, you were still buzzed from earlier).

Stella let you borrow a top of hers, a pretty, lacey top that was the perfect color on your skin tone and fit you like a glove, while you wore a pair of jean shorts and sandals.

The three of you were buzzing with excitement. Boneyard parties included all sides of the island, including hot pogues and hot tourons. You all needed to branch out sometimes, which was why the boneyard parties (usually only around once or twice a summer) were the best.

It was around 9pm when Macey gets a call from Topper, assuming they are on their way. She picks it up.

"Hey, you on your way?" she asks, though the question was rather rhetorical.

"...about that..." Topper trails, one hand on the wheel, the other holding his phone. Macey puts the call on speaker.

"what the fuck do you mean 'about that' Top? You're on your way, aren't you?" she asks, still thinking he's joking.

"So basically... well, I guess that you could say," he begins again before he is interrupted by another voice.

"Is that yn?" the voice says, "Give me the phone" and before you know it, you were talking to Rafe.

"YN! Hey, so, Top wanted to give me and Amber a ride, so there's no more room in the car with the four of us, so you and Stels and Mace are gonna have to find another way there, kay?" he says in a drunken ramble and you hear Topper protest on the other end. The three of you were seething.

"Rafe. Give the phone back to Topper." Macey says.

"Kay, don't be mad, see you later bye" he finishes, clearly happy with how he delivered the news.

"Topper what the fuck is wrong with you??" Macey nearly yells.

As Topper begins to defend himself, you pull out your phone to start texting other people to give you a ride. Your phone hovers over the name, but you find yourself mad enough at the boys that you quickly type out a message and hit send anyway.

Before you know it, you're sat in the passenger seat of John Townsends Audi convertible on your way to the boneyard. Your girls are behind you in the backseat, and you are nearly there.

"Thanks again for taking us," you say to John with a small smile. He pulls in to the parking lot of the beach. He looks over at you.

"Anytime." He says and looks into your eyes. His gaze lingers over your face.

"Ok ladies let's go!" Macey announces, clearly drunk enough to ruin a moment.

The four of you exit the car, you and John following behind Stella and Macey, close enough to see them, but far enough that you can't hear a word they're saying.

"I hope you know, I kinda missed you." John says as you reach the edge of the beach. He takes your hand.

"Only kinda??" you say, and the two of you laugh lightly. He shakes his head at your joke, and you continue through the silence that settles. "I hope you know that my friends will lose their minds if they see us together," you say, but you let him take your hand anyway.

"I hope you know that I don't really care what they think," he whispers and kisses you on the hand before leading you into the boneyard party.

Stella and Macey are already waiting for you with a beer from the keg in their hands. They pull you out of John's grasp, but it wasn't missed by anyone that the two of you came in together.

John walks over to his friends, who greet him with a pat on the back. You are pulled over to yours. Kelce, Topper, Rafe, and Amber stand together.

"What the fuck." Kelce is the first to speak. You're not as mad at Kelce, so you just give him a small shrug.

"No really, yn, what the fuck?" Topper asks.

"Oh I'm sorry, I thought I was supposed to get another ride?" you say incredulously, pretending you don't know what is wrong with your actions.

"Not with that guy, yn." Topper responds. He looks between Rafe and Kelce. Kelce has a look of betrayal on his face, while Rafe has a look of pure hatred.

"I don't understand, John is like super nice!" Amber comes to your defense.

"You can date him then, Amber." Topper bites back, staring at you.

You let there be a few seconds of silence before speaking again.

"So was I just supposed to not come to the party then?" You ask, wondering what the right option was. Topper rolls his eyes and pulls you aside from the group, who begin to interrogate Stella and Macey about how long 'this' has been rekindled.

"Yn." Topper says.

"What, Top?" you ask, "I really don't understand what's so wrong about him taking us here because you wouldn't! It's not like he was my first choice or anything."

"Yn, you could've had anyone on our side of the island come and pick you up and you chose him, of all people?" he responds.

"Top, you were supposed to pick me up. But you didn't. So I texted him. This is not totally my fault. If you wouldn't have picked up Rafe and Amber instead of us..." he interrupts you.

"Rafe begged us for a ride!! He wanted us to take him and Amber and leave early so we could leave her here." Topper blurts out, leaving you more than confused.

"What?" you begin to ask but are interrupted by Stella.

"Macey just threw up." She says, looking between you and Topper. The two of you point at each other at the same time, as if to say 'not my job!' Topper rolls his eyes and walks over to where Macey is sat on a log, hunched over.

When you arrive, trailing behind Topper, you see Rafe and Kelce on either side of Macey to support her as she stays hunched. Kelce is talking to her, while Rafe tries (and fails) to tie her hair out of her face. Amber is nowhere to be found.

"We've got it from here, boys." Stella says to Rafe and Kelce. You walk around the log on the side Rafe is sat on. He looks up at you and gives you a look that is rather hard to read, when you offer him your hand to help him up. He takes your hand and you help him, but you weren't fully prepared for his weight (and drunkeness) and he fell into you. You stop his momentum with a hand on his chest, still holding his hand in your other one.

"Sorry," he says meekly, your hands still together. You laugh it off and take Rafe's seat, and Stella takes Kelce's. The boys walk away, except Topper.

"Hi, Macey girl" you begin, using the nickname and singsongy voice you only use when she's in need of some support. "You doing ok?" you ask, genuinely concerned because, if Stella came over to you, that meant it was serious.

She mumbles something that you don't quite catch, when Topper says that he will just take her home.

"You don't have to do that, Top," you say, about to offer to drive her when you realize you have no car to transport her in.

"Yeah, Topper, I'm ok." Macey says, and there is a silence that follows. That is, until Macey throws up again right in front of Topper.

"I'm gonna take you home." Topper says finally.

"I'll go with you," Stella offers, "I'll ride in the back with her so she doesn't throw up."

"I might as well go too then, it's gonna be no fun without you guys here." You add.

"No, yn, you should stay with Kelce and Rafe. You're the most sober here, you should keep an eye on them. I'll come and get you guys after I bring Mace and Stella home." Topper says, already getting up with Macey and pulling his keys out of his pocket before you can object.

They walk away and, before you know it, the Jeep is gone down the road. You make your way over to the fire, hoping to find some semblance of your friends. You run into John, who has clearly had more to drink than when he brought you here, since he is stumbling all over you and trying to get you to dance with him. You promise him a dance another time, and set out further on your way.

You finally find Kelce after around 15 minutes of searching. He's at the keg, and you let out a sigh of relief. But you still don't know where Rafe is.

"Hey. They took Macey home, and Topper will be back for us later." you say, looking around for Rafe as you do.

"Okay," Kelce begins, "did Stella go too then?" he asks, his question hinting at a crush that Kelce might have on a certain someone.

You raise an eyebrow at him. "Yes... she went too." you pause, seeing that he has accepted it. You move on, "Where's Rafe?" you say, finally getting to your point.

Now, it's Kelce's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?" he says, voice obviously hinting at something.

"What do you even mean? I just wanted to know where he is, Topper told me to keep an eye on you two because you're apparently super hammered." You say.

"Oh, well, I don't know, it just seems to me like you might have a little crush on Rafe." he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

"What??" you ask, "Kelce you're crazy, Rafe's my best friend, just like you and Topper."

"He might be your best friend, but it's not just like me and Topper, that's for sure." He says finally.

"Oh my god, you really are hammered." you say. "Where was the last place you saw him? Topper will be here to pick us up soon."

"Last I saw he was making out with Amber behind that tree." Kelce says, searching you for a reaction. When he doesn't get one, he continues, "Ok fine I saw him go out behind the dunes. but don't be too long getting him because I want to go home"

You ignore the last part, setting out to go behind the dune. When you pass Amber on her way back, all she says to you is, "Good luck, he told me he didn't want to talk."

And it seemed like good luck was what you had. You sat down next to Rafe, and he put his forehead straight onto your shoulder. You reach your hand up to rest on his head, and you lean your head onto his. You slowly feel your arm dampen, but you ignore the tears because that seems like what Rafe would want you to do. You couldn't tell if he was drunk and emotional, or just emotional.

You let a minute go by before you speak. "You wanna talk about it?" you ask, not expecting an answer.

"Not really," he mumbles into your shoulder.

"Okay," you say back. You wait another minute before speaking again. His head has turned to look out at the water. You turn to him before you say, "If you don't want to talk now, we don't have to. But Kelce wanted me to get you quick because he wants to go home. Is that ok?" you say, gauging his response to get an insight into how he is really feeling.

He laughs, but it doesn't reach his eyes like it usually would. "Yeah, that's fine." He says. Neither of you move. He finally lifts his head off your shoulder and stands up, offering you his hand. You take it, and he pulls you up without anyone falling onto anyone else. He doesn't drop your hand.

You lead him to find Kelce, where you two separate to wrangle him and both are then able to get him into the front seat of Topper's Jeep.

"What took you so long?" Topper asks.

"Just couldn't find these freaks, and then, once I did, Kelce tried to run away and drink even more." You say, covering Rafe's tracks. "You're babysitting him tonight, by the way." You say to Topper.

"That's fine, we are all staying at your house anyway." he mentions without even so much as a look in the mirror at you.

"What?!" you say.

"Your parents aren't home, and we have two, maybe three, drunk people who need help. Mine are home and they hate when we come home drunk."

"Fine, as long as you're taking care of Kelce." You say.

He agrees. You turn to look at Rafe, who is looking out the window of the car. You tap his hand that is on the seat next to you. He looks and gives you a small smile before looking back out the window.

You arrive to your house, where Topper pulls in the driveway. Topper is able to get Kelce out of the car and into the house before either you or Rafe move an inch.

"You wanna go in?" you ask. He doesn't move, but you know he heard you.

"Not really," he says honestly, turning to face you.

"Let's go in." you say, grabbing his hands together. "We can order pizza and watch Revenge of the Sith if you want?" you suggest, throwing out his favorite movie and his favorite meal to cheer him up at least a little bit.

"...okay, if you insist." he says with a hint of a smile on his face, and he follows you out of the car and inside.

You order the pizza when you get inside after you check on both Macey (who is sound asleep in your guest room) and Kelce (who is laying restlessly in your brother's bed asking Topper where Stella is). You come back to the living room where you see Stella sitting on one of your couches talking to Rafe, and you send her up to Kelce. There is quiet as you watch her ascend the stairs. You clear your throat and turn to Rafe, who is sat on the other couch.

"I ordered the pizza, it should be here soon." you say, trying to break the ice. He looks at you in acknowledgement and then turns back to his phone.

You come to stand in front of him, the backs of your legs touching the coffee table that is centered in the room, and the front of your knees just barely brushing the inside of his thighs. You sit down on the table, something your mother would reprimand you for, and Rafe puts his phone down.

He avoids your gaze. "You know I'm gonna ask you what's wrong, right?" you say, obviously.

"I know," he says, and he looks down, "I was just kinda waiting to see if you would forget about it."

"I wasn't gonna forget about it, you know that." you say honestly, looking at him as he finally meets your eyes. His blue eyes shine with the hint of a tear forming, and you admire how he still manages to look good even after he has cried.

He sighs, wiping under his eyes before a tear can escape. "Its just that..." he pauses, and your eyes prompt him to continue with his sentence, "tomorrow is the anniversary of the day my mom died, and Ward and Rose are leaving to go to the Bahamas." he finishes.

"Oh wow, Rafe, I didn't realize, I'm so sorry." you say, and that's all you can really manage to get out. You put your hand on his leg.

"Its really ok," he tries to brush the feelings off, "I just thought my dad still cared about her a little bit, even though he's with Rose now I thought he would still think about her sometimes or even know the day she passed away." he pauses his ramble, "It just still hurts a lot more than I thought it would, you know?" he says finally, sitting up and moving toward the edge of the couch, his elbows resting on his knees. Your legs are nearly intertwined, your hand still on his leg.

"It's definitely not 'okay', Rafe. This is a big deal. How you feel is a big deal... to me especially. I'm so sorry that it seems like Ward doesn't care." You pause, noticing that his hand is resting on his leg close enough that his fingers brush both your hand and your leg that is in between his. "...I promise you that this is important, and it's more than okay that you are still grieving her. She was so amazing. I have no idea what it's like, and I'm so sorry that you have to know."

"Thanks, yn" he says, but you know your words aren't going to heal his pain completely. You smile at him. He grabs your hands and gives them three tight squeezes when the doorbell rings.

"I'll get it, it's probably just the pizza," you look through the peephole of your front door, and you see John, looking out of breath and leaning on your doorframe.

You open the door, "Oh, hey, John," you say, loud enough for Rafe to hear and hopefully come over to the door. "What are you doing here?"

"I just needed to make sure you got home okay," he slurs, running a hand through his hair. He looks past you into your house and you close the door a little bit.

"Oh, yeah, all good, thanks for checking." you say, confused how he got here since his car wasn't in your driveway.

"Yeah of course... I ran here once I noticed you were gone. I just needed you to be safe." he explains, getting closer to you and stumbling as you back away slightly.

"Yep, all good here." you begin to tell him goodbye when he interrupts.

"Is that Topper's car?" he asks, his words blending together, and you nod. "...oh yeah, I was just thinking that's weird because you asked me to give you a ride because you didn't want to ride with Topper, and now he's here..."

"...well Topper is still my best friend, I couldn't be mad at him for too long, plus we worked everything out." you start, and you finish by saying, "so, thanks for checking in, I really appreciate it, but we are all good!"

"yeah of course, so what are you up to now?" he begins, looking into the house behind you again.

"Hey what's taking so long?" Rafe comes up to you, and his confidence falters slightly when he sees John. "What is he doing here?"

"He was just leaving, Rafe. He just wanted to check in on us and make sure everyone was safe." you explain, never having seen the two boys interact. All you knew was that Rafe hated him, and John wasn't so fond of Rafe either.

"Yeah just wanted to make sure my girl was okay, you know?" John says, and Rafe steps forward, blocking you from sight due to his tall and broad stature.

"Yeah, she's fine. So, why don't you get going now, huh?" Rafe says, clearly trying to hold back the anger that was sparked in him by the comment that John made about you being 'his girl'. If anything you were Stella's girl, Macey's girl, Your Boys' girl, Rafe's girl, most definitely not John Townsend's girl.

"I don't know... yn was just about to invite me in to stay for a while, said she missed me" John lies, drunkenly trying to get a rise out of Rafe. And whether it was Rafe's emotions talking, or whether Rafe just really wanted to punch John Townsend in his stupid pretty-boy face, one punch was thrown, and then suddenly the boys are fighting on your front porch.

You tried to get them to stop, but it was no use. The pizza guy pulls into the driveway a minute or so later, and Rafe stops beating on poor John's pretty face. John stands and gives Rafe one final shove before walking away. "Bye, yn, text me if you're ever tired of these losers." he says, and with that, he was gone. Rafe is still breathing heavily. You tip the pizza guy and he leaves very soon after his arrival.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up." you say, hoping that Rafe will follow you inside. He waits until John is out of sight, then he does, you place the pizza box on the counter, and you begin rummaging through your cabinets for your first aid supplies.

"Sit," you command, once you've found the supplies. He sits, and, even sitting, he is almost eye level with you. You begin to clean one of the wounds he has on his face, the one that already seems to be swelling.

"You didn't have to do that," you say after a few minutes go by.

"I know." he responds.

"I hate it when you fight," you say.

"I know." he responds.

"This bruise looks like it's gonna hurt pretty bad tomorrow," you begin.

"You should see the other guy." he says and tries to crack a small smile.

You smile sadly, thinking about the handful of other times you'd had to patch Rafe up. "I remember the first time I ever had to do this," you begin to reminisce, "you had gotten into a fight with someone in school about something in ninth grade gym class, and then they sent you to the nurse before you could go to the principal's" you say, laughing lightly at the memory, and you finish cleaning the cut near his eye.

He smiles, "you were in the nurse for a migraine, and you told me she was out for a little but that you could try your best to help me." You pick up his hand, cleaning the cuts on his knuckles from 'the other guy'

"yeah, that was when I was convinced I was gonna be a nurse, so I was determined to patch up your skinned elbow really well so maybe the nurse would hire me." you say, laughing at the memory as you finish putting a bandage on his knuckles. "I shouldn't keep having to do this," you joke, but you don't drop his hand.

"You should stop making me get in fights over you," he retorts quietly without thinking, looking up at you and hoping you didn't realize what he said.

"You should stop getting in fights... wait, over me?" you say, perplexed. He looks away, before he gets up from the chair and clears his throat.

"Let's put the pizza in the fridge, if we aren't gonna eat any now?" he says while packing up the pizza into a bag.

"Why did you say that?" you ask, still frozen in place.

"Say what? We should put this pizza away if we aren't gonna eat it." he says, acting oblivious.

"No, Rafe, the other thing." you say, expecting an answer.

"We can just talk about it later. It's nothing." he says, and he finishes packing up the pizza and puts it in the fridge.

"Really?" you say, now leaning on the counter.

"Yes, really, yn." he responds, walking past you and giving you a small squeeze on the shoulder before heading upstairs and leaving you by yourself in the kitchen.

"Goodnight, yn" he says quietly as he leaves.

"...goodnight." you say, still confused.

a/n sorry started school this week forgot to post. hope you enjoy, not [proofread!

🏷️list: @flvredcas @rafesno1bae @kiiyomei @silkylovey @girlwedontcare @sunny1616 @asterizee @pillowprincess4him @patychieffi @rafeslittleangel @anightlikethisss @drewsdirtyslut @mattyskies @theyluvmesblog @gothamgirl2024 @ujws5 @kmhbygss @kaiparkerwifes

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dumbkiri · 25 days ago

Text

𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐙𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐑𝐘

[Name] Velaryon watches in surprise as his best friend, Addam, is choosen by Seasmoke. AKA Vermithor is tired of his babysitting role.

NOTE: very short and just a scribble

“I need you to keep an eye on Seasmoke with Vermithor. Figure out his flight plan and where he likes to nest.”

“Mother, I have,” [Name] pointed out, his eyes looking over at the dragon that flew over the ocean aimlessly, “Seasmoke likes to fly over Driftmark as if he is searching for-” He stopped himself, thinking over his words. The loss of his father, Laenor Velaryon, hasn’t really seeped into his reality. Neither has the death of Luke. Maybe Seasmoke experienced loss just like they do.

“Dragons aren’t simple creatures, if Seasmoke is restless it’s because he is in need of a rider. He’s lonely, it’s that obvious to me.”

Rhaenyra bowed her head down in shame knowing her oldest son spoke the truth. It was very obvious that Seasmoke portrayed the feelings of loneliness. She could hear his weak roars over the waves that crashed on the shore.

“He won’t be for long.”

A recent memory of Rhaena and Seasmoke invaded his mind when his mother said that. His cousin trying to claim his father’s dragon didn’t go well for either party.

[Name] shook his head and argued against what he thought was her idea, “Rhaena cannot try to claim him again. He almost devoured her! We were lucky enough that Vermithor bumped heads with him. ”

“It’s not luck when a Targaryen claims a dragon, it’s fate.”

……

“Seasmoke!”

[Name] yelled in surprise seeing his father’s dragon fly after a poor man collecting shells and crabs on the shore. Today was supposed to be a day off for [Name] and Vermithor to relax, but the moment Seasmoke left Dragonstone after burning two people…his mother demanded they go after him.

Seasmoke is literally acting out!

Now this was an unusual event, but one that warranted complete submission from Seasmoke or else this man was going to die horribly.

“Aderī, Vermithor!”

His bronze dragon snarled and dipped his snout down, tucking its wings to his side to gain some more speed downward. Vermithor flew down into the clouds and towards the ocean blue with a low rumble in his chest. This old dragon seemingly grew tired of this behavior from Seasmoke. And Vermithor couldn’t wait to dig his claws in the nimble dragon.

Then with a sharp tug up with the ropes around his neck, Vermithor leveled out by spreading his large tan wings out. The surge of wind brushed the shore and trees aside announcing his arrival.

Quickly, the Velaryon Prince searched for the gray shimmer of scales wanting to save the unknown man’s life. After a few seconds, [Name] spotted Seasmoke a bit further away from the shore approaching what he believed to be a man with dark hair.

“Ninkiot.” [Name] gave Vermithor three pats on his neck and Vermithor skillfully landed on the sandy hill. From on top of his mighty dragon, [Name] watched from a good distance as Seasmoke claimed a rider.

“This is unheard of,” [Name] whispered to Vermithor, seeing as his dragon was the only thing he could talk to in this moment. “When a Targaryen claims a dragon, it’s fate. But when a dragon claims a Targaryen, it’s luck. This man is lucky to be alive!”

Vermithor groaned as he felt [Name] shift on top of him, sensing the excitement radiating from his rider’s body. But all this dragon cared about was ‘Finally, we’re not babysitting anymore’.

[Name] jumped off of his saddle and ran towards the new duo with Vermithor hot on his heels. His eyes watched the man gently, but fearfully pet Seasmoke’s snout.

“Addam?” The confusion totally knocked [Name] into a buzz as he watched his best friend with his father’s dragon.

Addam turned around with wide eyes, a nervous smile on his face. Before Addam could explain his situation, Seasmoke pushed him aside with his snout roaring at [Name] like a child lashing out at their parents.

[Name]’s confusion turned into a flash of anger, then he pointed at the gray dragon shouting, “Hey! You don’t get to do that! Not after how you left!”

Seasmoke raised his left wing and slapped it on the sand which Vermithor had no patience to endure any longer. The bronze dragon snarled and approached Seasmoke, snapping his jaw at the smaller beast daring the younger dragon to do it again.

“Go on,” [Name] crossed his arms over his chest, “Do it again.”

Addam watched [Name] and his bronze dragon put Seasmoke in his place, that being underneath them. He couldn’t help the burst of laughter that emerged out of his lungs.

“I thought I was dead for sure!” Addam laughed some more and walked over to [Name] who met him halfway.

“You could have been,” [Name] hugged Addam and gave his back a few pats, “Seasmoke killed two people before coming to get you. It’s a good thing he has claimed you now.”

“He claimed me?” Addam couldn’t believe it, he owned a dragon now. The words from his best friend cement the reality for him.

[Name] pulled away from the hug and shrugged his shoulders, “We didn’t know that a dragon claiming could be possible until now. You’re officially his second rider, congratulations, friend.”

“His first rider…he was your father, right? I-I don’t feel right claiming a dragon that belonged to your-”

“Now don’t get a big head, you didn’t claim him, Addam,” [Name] chuckled and watched Vermithor settle down in the sand finally getting a break from babysitting, “Seasmoke claimed you and honestly my father would appreciate that Seasmoke isn’t alone anymore. This brat of a dragon has been a thorn in our sides ever since my mother put us on this chore. I think Vermithor might have killed Seasmoke if this continued any longer.”

“Why is that? Are they like brothers who get annoyed towards one another?” Addam asked with amusement walking next to [Name] who decided to take a stroll towards the beach.

“Vermithor is about a hundred years old, he’s a veteran while Seasmoke is a child in his eyes. Stupid, brash and energetic doesn’t mix with a bloodthirsty beast such as Vermithor.”

“I thought you said Seasmoke killed two people before coming after me, would you not say that’s bloodthirsty in your eyes?”

[Name] paused in his steps and recalled the memory of claiming Vermithor. The bronze dragon killed a lot of the Night’s Watch men who guarded him and Viserys in the dragon pit. He vividly remembers their screams and the stench of their burning flesh.

“Compared to Vermithor, Seasmoke is a lot more tame.” [Name] turned towards Addam and pressed onto further problems, “Anyways, it’s time you learn some commands so we can fly back to Dragonstone. Seasmoke is relatively calmer with a rider, my father commanded him with no problem at all. So if your accent is rough, it’ll be fine.”

“You want me to fly him to Dragonstone? To your family?” Addam looked back at Seasmoke who begrudgingly followed after Vermithor. The two dragons made their way to their respectful riders and waited for the ride back home.

“Whether you like it or not, you have joined the war,” [Name] grabbed onto the ropes around Vermithor’s neck. He began climbing up and explained as he did, “You’re my best friend and it’s obvious you are a dragonseed; a person with Valyrian blood. What better candidate could the gods have given us if not you? Now my family will accept you, but question your parents like who your father or mother is.”

“It’s…complicated.” Addam huffed out quietly and even the height [Name] gained on top of Vermithor didn’t stop him from hearing the words.

“Nothing’s what it seems, Addam,” [Name] reassured in an odd way. Then gestured at Seasmoke waiting patiently for Addam to mount him. “Make sure to hold on to the ropes, they could be your lifeline if you accidentally dismount the saddle.”

When Addam climbed on Seasmoke with relative ease, [Name] explained four crucial commands for dragons. “I’m going to pull Vermithor away from Seasmoke so he actually doesn’t hurt him.”

Vermithor’s chest rumbled then at a safe distance, [Name] shouted at Addam, “I’m going to teach you four commands for flying! Number one; Dracarys!” [Name] gave Vermithor the go ahead to breathe fire by saying the command once more.

The bronze dragon raised his head high and breathed a stream of golden fire into the blue sky. After a few seconds of Vermithor showing his technique off, the dragon seized his action and looked over at Addam with a bratty Seasmoke.

“Dracarys is meant for the dragons to set anything ablaze; humans, structures, land, anything. Sometimes they breathe fire on their own; your dragon being one that does it with attitude.” [Name] teased and moved on to the second one.

“Number two; Angōs. This one is meant for attacking, they will attack with their claws or by snapping their teeth at one another. Number three; Aderī. It’s used to make the dragons fly faster. Last, but not least is Sōvēs, this is your flight command that will take you to the skies. Go on, try it.”

Addam gave [Name] a weary look, nonetheless he was eager to fly. He readjusted himself on Seasmoke’s saddle and clenched the ropes in a steady grip. “Alright, Seasmoke, this is going to be our first and probably last flight together assuming I survive.”

“Addam, for crying out loud,” [Name] laughed while Vermithor roared at the new dragonrider as if saying ‘Go already!’

Fearful of Vermithor, Addam cleared his throat and commanded Seasmoke with a stern resolute, “Sōvēs!”

No hesitation whatsoever, Seasmoke ran along the shore then with two beats of his wings the dragon took off. His talons no longer dug into the sand and he easily glided into the sky with Addam laughing in pure excitement.

“Sōvēs,” [Name] pulled Vermithor along and his dragon grumbled tiredly. Despite Vermithor’s clear disdain for more babysitting of Seasmoke, the bronze fury flapped his wings and raced after the smaller dragon way ahead of him.

[Name] heard Addam’s laughter as clear as the sky was. Then Addam turned around to address him, “Wait, how do I land?”

“Now that’s something you have to figure out yourself. See you at Dragonstone, friend.” [Name] gave Addam a charming smile and commanded Vermithor to fly faster with Aderī. Seasmoke banked left dodging the larger dragon that roared past him picking up the leisure speed.

“Your dragon should learn some manners, [Name]!” Addam joked watching his friend flying ahead of him now. He readjusted himself again for the sudden turn, his heart racing just a little bit faster.

“Nah, he’s perfect the way he is! Worry about your tantrum-throwing dragon instead!”

As if Seasmoke understood [Name]’s insult, the beast cried out then huffed with a shake of his head.

#x reader #x male reader #x male y/n #hotd x male reader #hotd x reader #hotd spoilers #hotd season 2 #hotd

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unreliable-narrator-chilaios · 4 months ago

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chilaios week; day 6 prompt: "beach episode/alternative universe", using both prompts; 1,579 words

no i did not do the previous days. yet. but i WAS struck by inspiration for this one. i don't want to give too much away so i'm not saying what the AU is, but you'll figure it out lol

title: Chilchuck's Secret

cws: not any, I think? this one's very sweet. i wanted to use the good vibes of beach episode... i guess there's some suggestive lines, but it's not nsft at all.

There’s a secret at the beach, if you know where and when to look.

And nobody knows but Chilchuck, of course.

He was always the sort of man to keep his cards close to his chest, and this was no exception. Anything that he treasured, he had to keep locked away - hoarding everything he held dear to keep it safe and sound, out of the way of harm… with maybe only a hint of jealousy inherent in that act. Greed, even.

Not that he was the greedy one out of the two of them. That title belonged to Laios, through and through.

The brittle shale that crumpled beneath his fingers was cool to the touch, compared to how it would feel later. It hadn’t yet been baked in the sun for hours today. The shale and limestone and sand were blissfully cool for now, letting him take his time on his way down the short cliffside to the cove. It was the time of year that it was cool in the morning and searingly hot in the afternoon, the time of year that he was always tempted to stay from dawn until dusk. Maybe even longer than that. It was a rush to get across the route when the sand scalded and blistered his feet, but when it was cool, it was almost soft. Pleasant.

He needed the lack of urgency - the slowly building arthritis in his hands and knees made him especially stiff in the mornings. His tri-weekly trips here had been helping considerably, but the way down to get there was rough, even if the reward was well worth it. His body creaked traitorously, even as it allowed him his nimble movements down the short rock wall, the sudden lurch from his hop down onto flat stone.

Tide pools flourished here. It was low tide, making the shallow dips and pools in the rock especially prominent, where hardy, stubborn plants drooped at the surface and critters scuttled within and between them. He was careful to sidestep a crab on his way to the sand proper, relaxing as his feet sank into the fine grains.

He breathed in the scent of sea spray, salt and foam, the smell of things washed up by the tide and left stranded when the waters receded. A chunk of driftwood would soon be picked up again at noon, when the high tide came back; clumps of washed-up kelp and algae littered the beach, at the line where he knew the tide would come up to later.

The sun was still low in the sky, just barely peeking through the trees that sheltered the cove. The passage to the ocean was narrow, and the forest was thick in this area. Most of the cove wasn’t just blocked off by trees, but cliffs. His route down the side of one was the safest; the beach here was free of litter, free of the sound of crinkling plastic and the smell of waste, the bright eyesores of humanity that left their mark on nature’s majesty.

Chilchuck relaxed as his eyes gravitated towards an outcropping of rock in the center of the water. He wasn’t here yet, but that was fine. The half foot was early to their meeting.

He made himself comfortable. The sand yielded to him where he stepped, slipping between his toes and under his heel as he walked across the sandy portions of the beach, coming up to a rock that he’d begun to favor in the past month. Pebbles and sharp stones littered the sand here, but he didn’t mind, avoiding them the best he could before he quickly scaled the side of the beach rock.

It was the outermost boulder of a wider outcropping that extended from the cliffs, forming a small, flat perch on top that let him have an excellent view of the cove. The chill in the rock was soothing as he sat down, careful not to let his swimming trunks get caught on the sharp little crags.

Other than his swimming trunks, he wasn’t wearing much. Just a plain white swim shirt. The trunks themselves were solid black. He would have opted for clothing that looked a little better, but he had to replace them often - he kept stashes of extra pairs in an alcove nearby, in case of them being ripped or shredded while he was here.

It happened much more often than he’d like. The thought alone made him huff, amused, as his whiskers twitched and his tail curled around his side. His ears flicked when he felt the breeze stir the inner ear fur. He usually hid his more… animalistic features when he could, but he knew Laios would just rip his clothes off even faster, just for a chance to feel his tail. Grabby bastard.

Speaking of. Speak of the devil, and he shall come.

There’s a large, dark shadow in the water. The water here is practically crystal clear, but it’s massive and far away - the cove is huge, after all, stretching across half a mile from one side to the other. He can see the little flurries of shoals of fish scattering in its wake, schools dispersing and reforming as they flittered between open water and the abundance of plants in the makeshift, tiny reef that had formed here. Small stretches of coral were in the deeper parts of the water, here, and seagrass and algae offering food and shelter a little further out, teetering off into just rocks closer to the beach. Algae particularly liked the base of the sea stack in the middle, the base of the colossal rock wrapped in slimy dark green.

With a burst of ripples and sea spray, the figure breaks the surface of the water, hauling itself up the rock with relative ease, even as gravity drags it down. He isn’t meant for the surface, after all, and without the buoyancy of the water, he’s heavy - because, after all, he’s an utterly massive cecaelia. Pale skin transitioned to yellow-gold at the waist, the muscular fatty upper human half matched with a fat, bulky form of an octopus, rippling with muscle underneath slick, oddly-textured skin and suction cups. He easily hauled himself onto his own perch, running a hand through his blonde hair and practically deflating under his own weight for a moment.

Those golden eyes light up like always when their gazes meet. Swaths of his skin light up in a blushing pink, giving away how happy he is. Laios was always, and would always be, an open book. He loves that about him.

Chilchuck carefully made his way back down the rock, feet planted into the sand and pebbles and sea glass. He waded into the shallows, where the water was relatively warm. It wasn’t long until he was swimming, doing a bit of a pathetic doggy paddle to the base of the sea stack - and then one of those muscular arms gently wound its way around his torso, lifting him up out of the water and onto the little plateau. The routine was wound into them at this point, wordlessly slumping into one another as soon as he was able to reach his human half. Those big, strong arms wrapped around him, one hand coming down to pet along the drenched fur of his tail.

He didn’t shake himself out like he wanted to. That was a bit too dog-like, for his tastes. Laios always laughed at him when he did it, with that soft, genuinely happy laugh.

“Dork,” he mumbled, non-contextually. It earned a chuckle, vibrating through that broad chest.

He’s pulled into a kiss, small and chaste, but sweet nonetheless. He curls his tail around the cecaelia’s hand, relaxing into his hold like always after he pulled away. That chest was the perfect pillow, letting him listen to his breathing, the beating of his heart. He knew it would sound different if he listened to it while the man was underwater, when he used his gills instead of his lungs. He found his body idly fascinating, but not as fascinating as Laios found his to be.

The hand not occupied with his tail pressed softly against the back of his neck, thumbing across the muscles between his neck and shoulder. “You missed me,” he teased, curling one of those arms around his leg to hold him securely. He always wanted to completely surround him, hold him with everything he had. “That was… what, two days?”

“Shut up,” he scolded, playfully. He smacked his bicep lightly, swatting at him like a fly. It just made the man laugh. His ears burned and he knew they were scarlet on the inside. He couldn’t help that Laios was the best thing going on in his life right now. His secret treasure. “I didn’t miss you, you were just annoying immediately. I mean, come on. You’re bright pink. I thought that the color change was for camouflage! Eedjit.”

He laughed that sweet laugh again.

“M’eudail.” He said it with the tone of an insult, a curse, even if it very much wasn’t, as he swatted him again. “Ye fuckin’ sook.”

“You definitely missed me.” Laios was grinning, more of that oddly-textured skin flushing pink and red. “I can change the subject, though. Do you want to hear about a weird fish I caught the other day?”

Chilchuck huffed, whiskers twitching. “Sure.”

He could listen to him talk about just about anything for hours.

#chilaios week #chilaios week day 6 #chilaios

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wakandamama · 2 years ago

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Routine

Yall been knew I had fallen down The Bear rabbit hole and have YET to climb out. So it was only a matter of time before I drop a Carmy x Sydney fic lol. So here it is! It's a bit of smut, a bit of sneaky around, a bit of character deep dive. A whole bunch of sexual tension, way too may food allegories. This is just a ONESHOT!

Sydney thinks about just how this became routine for her and Carmy.

It may have happened when he and her were the last ones left in the kitchen on a Saturday. Three weeks before the disaster of Pre-Order and the blessing of Tomato Money.

Sydney’s highschool cousin had begged her to provide some of her family famous crab cakes for a graduation kickback for one of her friends. The friend remembered having them from way back when 18 year-old Sydney still had to babysit them as ever-hungry 10 year olds and never forgot. Honestly, Sydney felt honored that her food made such a lasting memory on a stranger just like Camry had for her-

Anyway, the kickback was at 8 and it was 7:20 and Sydney had just put the last sheet of crabcake from the oven. She called out absentminded goodbyes as Tina’s quiet “Night Jeffes,” and Richie’s brash “Night Cousin” kinda floated behind her.

As she waited for the batch of paprika-savry crab cakes to bake, she was whipping up a creamy tabasco base sauce to dip them in. Carmy was softly in her space, like usually. He was precious in sharpening all the knives of the kitchen, old school style with a grit stone set, he stood catty-corner to her. His drilling blue eyes didn’t stare directly at her soul but instead to the delicately-deadly curve of the knife.

For once it was Sydney stuck side eyeing him with a soft focus. Her cooking had come to a quiet moment of waiting. Waiting for her sauce to set, waiting for the last batch and waiting for the batch before to cool, waiting to taste test.

Camry chuckled when he heard her mutter out a quiet yet frantic “hot hot hot hot” as she let her impatience get the best of her to taste her sauce with the crab cake. He shut up at her moan of delicious pleasure. A soft but throat-y sound of pure satisfied bliss. He practically tasted the seasoning of such a sound in the air and a craving to hear it again and again hit his gut, spreading warmth all over his skin.

He glanced up from the black grit of the stone to see her all eyes closed, swaying in the taste and her crafted fingers still clutched half of the cake. He took her in further, she was dressed down from her kitchen wear, instead wearing the outfit for the kickback ( - supervising, one last babysitting gig I guess. Because I know those brats are gonna get high off their asses)

A pair of black jeans that should be illegal on her body, a gray cropped sweatshirt and sneakers that would lead to certain death by slip in a busy kitchen.

His eyes followed every line of hers like he was seeing the best grain to cut for optimal presentation. The curve of her calf into the curve of her thigh, into the curve of her tempting ass into the concave of her back. His eyes skirt the plane of her stomach onto the lines that made her shapely waist. Over her petite chest to the curve of her lean shoulders that connected to the slope of her neck that was still stretched back in bliss from a euphoric bite of damn good food.

She moaned over the second bite. Camry licked his lips at the way her lips kiss over the crumbs and speckle of sauce left on her lithe fingertips. Fuck, he wondered how those plump lips of her witty mouth would fe-

Carmy bit back a curse as the grit of stone scraped with a rude sting over the side of his thumb to the heel of his hand. Like some punishment for allowing her to take his attention with one whisper of a sound and to greedily take in her beautiful shape when the fucking knives are dull.

“You good Chef?” Carmy asked. He brushed past her with a light hand on the small of her back to get to the sink. She finally opened her eyes and her nose scrunched cutely in slight embarrassment for moaning like that over a freakin’ bite of crab.

“Sorry, it's just I haven’t made these in forever. I forgot how good I am at making ‘em. Shit, that probably sounds so conceited.” Sydney chuckled a bit nervously and Carmy shrugged.

“I only eat veal, if I cook it. That fact’s gotten me beat up by Mike once or twice.” he joked. It made Sydney smile. She grabbed another one with a graceful swoop of her wrist; she dipped it and came to his side.

“What do you think?” she asked, excitement in her eyes that Carmy was going to eat something so casual of hers. Carmy licked his lips at her obliviousness, her hands were still busy as he washed them and absently wrapped a bandage around the meat of his thumb.

But he would never deny a taste test from her.

Sydney freakin’ squeaked when he leaned his head close and ate the bite from her hand. Her body stiffened as she felt his lips grace off the side of her pointer finger and thumb. She is forced to focus on his working jaw as he chewed over it and gave a hum of pleasure himself. The sound made her bite her own lips, she wondered how such a sound would feel against her throat.

“That’s some amazing sauce Chef. Oughta add it to the menu.” he commented, looking into her eyes once again. Sydney gave a stiled nod that almost brushed their foreheads together.

“Thanks. It’s- jus-just uhm, well y'know something I’ve perfected since I was a kid. My great uncle taught me how.” She rambled with a shuffled step back.

“Whoa!” Carmy warned softly. His quick hands grasped her hips and pulled her back to him before she crashed back into the very full trash can. The movement collided her into his chest, his hands slid up to her waist and back to steady them before they ended up on the floor.

“Uhm.” Sydney whispered as their noses bumped and she was nearly eye to eye with him.

“Whoa uh-” he muttered back as Sydney’s hands fisted into the front of his shirt.

It was awkward and exhilarating.

Certainly, wrong and natural as they both found each other pulling their lips closer. Carmy closed his eyes tightly and Sydney refused to move her grip on his shirt because no-way was this real. Their lips placement is slightly off initially, they taste the same to one another and Sydney is pretty sure her foot is stepping on his.

Their next smack of lips was more of a moment to be connected yet adjusting. Sydney leads them to correct their posture, him leaning down more comfortably, one of her hands leaving his shirt to hold his cheek as their heads shift. Noses bumping once more but the kiss deepened deliciously. They got greedy with one another as they refused to separate for air.

Sydney’s hand gripped down on his gold chain, locking him down as she started to trail her lips to his jaw. Carmy’s hand grabs at her breast and gives a soft squeeze as he forces her lips back to his and swallows her moan.

His other hand rubbed down her side until they gripped tightly on her hip. The combination of his caresses caused her to give a stuttering moan that sent lust running wild under Carmy’s skin. He turned them and lifted her with ease. Sydney pulls apart in shock as he sat her on the edge of an empty prep table with such swiftness.

They are forced to breathe and look at each other now, their bodies still wrongly close. Sydney's hands slid down to hold his wrists as he still had a grip on her hips.

“Fuck.” they both whispered off wet, kissed bruised lips. They looked each other deeply in the eyes for a moment before Carmy turned away first. His hand instantly ran with worry through his hair as Sydney snatched her hands and crossed her arms, pressing into herself as she looked down at the titles.

“Uhm, that wasn-”

“Shit, sorry w-”

They both hum to a quiet, lost for words at what they just did.

And how they both liked it.

And how they both wanted it again.

Sydney feels an embarrassed warmth under her skin to see her lip gloss over Cramy’s mouth and chin. Carmy went red and nervous as he saw how much he had hiked up her shirt.

“Sorry for uh… you good Syd?’ Carmy asked, still not looking at her. She slid off the counter, adjusting her clothes. She pointed her look past his head to the clock on the wall.

7:55 pm.

“I’m good, Carmy. Are you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Good.”

“I’ve got to go.”

Sydney has to bush close to him to get back to her counter to get the last batch and pack the food then getting the fuck out. Carmy flinched to see that his wet hands had left a drying imprint on her shirt. He passed her to the back door and collapsed into a resting crouch, lit a cigarette on instinct.

Five minutes later she was outside too, tupperware full of the best crab cakes and sauce he’s ever had and the girl that now owns his first kiss in 8 years.

He hastily stood up and they gave each other tight smiles.

“I’ll see you on Monday?” Sydney asked. She frowns a bit, that wasn’t meant to come out as a question. It doesn’t matter though with how fast she is walking away.

“Yeah!”Carmy called nervously after her, she turned just in time to catch him ducking back inside.

Sydney is sure that’s not the start. Because they showed up on Monday and worked with their usual stressed ease. They each had their usual bicker with Richie, they each worked on prep, Sydney wrote in her little notebook, Carmy ticked over leftover paperwork, they sat across from each other during family and never met eyes.

They did the same thing Tuesday.

They did the same thing Wednesday.

If she was trying to determine something official, it would be that Thursday.

At the end of the day she swiped a piece of leftover lemon cake and two spoons as everybody left. She went into the office and Carmy looked up in soft surprise as she sat it on top of some random receipt book from 2015.

“What’s up Chef?” Carmy asked and Sydney shrugged.

“Just cake. I… we need to talk abou-”

“Shit, yeah, uh-yeah. We don’t-”

“Yes we do Carmen. That's the whole communication thing we talked about when I first started.”

“Oh, right.”

They both went quiet as Sydney cleared some space on the desk and sat on the edge. She dived into a bite of cake and ignored the nerves created from Camry staring at her mouth again.

“I’m sorry for kissing you like that.” Carmy said after a minute and Sydney handed him the other spoon.

“I’m sorry too. That was unprofessional of us.”

“No, it’s on me Sydney. I’m older than you, I’m your boss.” he added, going for a bite as well. They are quiet as they share it down to an empty plate and yellow crumbs.

“I’ve liked you for a long time Carmen. Admired you even. I think you can go anywhere and do anything and it’s great.” Sydney said. Carmy let out a bitter chuckle at her statement.

“Sydney you have a lot of talent, creativity and whatever else makes a great person. From the moment you walked in the door you started lifting this place up. I’m a piece of shit compared to you.”

“Still like you though.”

“... I like you alot too…”

It’s quiet again, no cake to fill in the time and space. Both chefs felt like they were going to bust and the silence was the only safe space.

Ever impatient, Sydney is the first to break it.

“Ya know… The first time I made scrambled eggs I was like 8. I set the fire alarm off with how high I cooked them. There was salt and pepper everywhere, somehow they were both browned as shit and still runny. I’m pretty sure I broke my dad’s heart fucking up his cast iron pan like that.” Sydney rambled and Carmy gave a soft smile at that.

“I’m pretty sure I broke my nan’s heart cause I broke spaghetti noodles in half before I boiled em. I had seen someone do it on Food Network and Sugar had to save my ass from getting beat with a spoon. I was 7 I think.”

Sydney couldn't help but snort at that.

“Yeah, but we got better with practice right?”

“Yeah.”

“Not to be mean, but you could improve your kissing skills.” Sydney said, pointedly not looking at him as he settled back in his chair in shock and awe.

“... is this a complaint?”

“No.”

“No?”

“... it’s an offer to improve I guess. With practice.”

“Sydney.”

“I’m just saying! I liked it, you liked it. You could use practice. I could use pract- oh.” Sydney is cut off by Carmy rising up. He stood in the space between her legs and crossed his arms. Sydney couldn’t help but blink in surprise as he bent in slightly to look her in the eyes.

“We can’t.” he scolded quietly. His voice is soft yet stern.

“We can’t?” Sydney rasped.

“It’s unprofessional.”

“...It is unprofessional.”

“It’s getting too close, even if we did like it. I can’t just make out and fuck you in the Beef like I’m some asshole line cook that only floats Waffle Houses.”

Sydney huffed then crossed her arms as well, leaning back and squinting at him. Her head gently bumped the shelf above the desk as she settled back. She can’t meet his eyes though, so she focused on his nose and thinks about how it bumped her the other night.

“This joint wishes it was a fuckable Waffle House. Richie might actually get a life.'' She smarted. Carmy jerked his head to a tilt, trying to force her eyes to his in disbelief.

“Sydney!”

“Carmen!”

“We shouldn’t and aren’t doing this here.”

“Fine.” Sydney shrugged, plump lips pursing in attitude.

She finally got the nerve to meet his eyes but smiled to see that he was checking out her mouth. Carmy pressed the inch of space closer so her legs encompassed his hips. His arms dropped so that one hand braced on the shelves behind her head and the other rested on her knee, making her leg enclose his. She felt the subtle bulge in his pants settle against the desk and the edge of her inner thigh. She glances down at it and lets her posture correct up in a deep breath.

The layer of their jeans blocking skin was fucking infuriating.

Once again, they were dangerously in each other's faces.

“So, we aren’t doing this here?” Sydney challenged.

“Nope.”

They ended up half stripping in the back of his car, bruising each other's necks with hungry lips.

Sydney finds out his hair is just as soft as it looks and he groans when you tug at his nape but flinches when you go too far up his crown.

Carmy learns to draw out moans from her. You had to kiss her down from the bottom of her ear, follow her jar and end at the center of her throat.

Sydney learns that holding his cheeks makes him cry. Carmy learns she likes to hide her face in her braids when her moans are out of control. Carmy learns that he’s really fucking handsy. Sydney learns that she’s a biter.

Both of them have very talented yet untrained hands that excel in finding the right spots.

It became routine.

They’d work on Monday, then come in on Tuesday. They work like Carmen didn’t nearly crash his car with how good Sydney sucked him off on the drive to his place Monday night.

They’d work on Wednesday. Pretending that the reason Sydney was walking so carefully is because she dropped a pot on her foot and not that Carmy fucked her thighs numb back at his apartment last night on Tuesday night.

The reason Sydney had to wear her braids in a high bun instead of her usual scarf this Thursday morning? She overslept and didn’t have time to grab one. Not the fact that it slipped off her bucking head last night and is under Carmy’s couch right now.

The reason Carmy wore a long sleeve rolled up to his forearms instead of his usual short sleeve shirt this fine weather Friday? He had to fight the alley cats throwing out the trash. Not the fact the ‘cat’ was most definitely named Sydney as she rode him in the back seat while they were parked outside her and her father’s apartment building.

Friday was their exception.

They alway went home separately and alone on Fridays. The dinner rush was too taxing on their bodies to be hungry for anything else but a sandwich, a beer, and to drop dead into bed. (Friday didn’t stop nudes however. It didn’t stop Carmy from getting hard at the videos of Sydney muffling her loud moans of his name into her childhood pillows. It didn't stop Sydney’s gut from tightening up at the obscene shot of Carmy beating his dick to the sound of her name)

Work was work on Saturday.

It was Sunday mornings like this. Where they woke up cuddling in Carmy’s bed. Him smoking out the window into the cool morning air and Sydney listening to his heartbeat in his chest in the soft light of sunrise.

That she thinks about this, about how they got here.

She feels guilt forever getting in a situation like this. She’s fucking her boss, fucking her idol, fucking a man five years older than her, fucking a white man, fucking a Catholic, all the without a ring nor relationship in sight. Her father would burn The Beef down to the ground with Carmy inside of it and expose her to church ladies for correction. Her mother would just cackle out of the grave.

“At least you didn’t dirty the kitchen, Syddie Kitty.” Sydney can picture her teasing out of plum-colored lips over a wine glass as funeral dirt shakes out of her locs.

Sydney turns over so that she and Carmy are pressed chest to chest. Her chin rests on his sternum so she can look over his face. His hand absently rubs a firm circle over the knot in her lower back as he continues to stare at their city waking up.

He’s beautiful.

She’s beautiful.

Carmy huffs a laugh as he dodges her trying to take the cigarette out of his hand, blowing the cloud high as he snuffs it out. She sticks her tongue out and dodges back, making the kiss he aimed for her lips land on her cheek instead.

Before they can tease each other again, Carmy’s phone rings. He cringes at the tone he has set for Sugar echoing over them. He grabs it and just stares at the screen as it vibrates and lights up with the picture of his sister.

Sydney taps her hand on his wrist, thumb ghosting on the green accept slider. Carmy is quick to deny the call, toss the phone back to the side table and twist into Sydney's body.

“You can’t keep doing that.” Sydney says after a while. He burrows further into their hold until she melts back.

What would Sugar think? Every time he declined her calls or avoided weekly family dinners was because he was in the hands of his younger sous that he still hasn’t introduced her to. Yeah, the one Richie has been complaining about changing everything. That she was the only one that made him feel like he could breathe and that he hated church.

He knew what Richie would say, that's for sure. He’d be all smug and smartassed and judgmental. Announcing that he knew all along baby Carmy despite the prestige of his NORMA bullshit, was just a bitch who fell for pussy and would drive The Beef and the lives the revolved round it into the ground for it.

Both chefs are shamefully selfish this Sunday morning.

They make savory crepes and drink coffee with Good Eats playing in the background.

They shower together about it.

Carmy drops her off at the farmers market.

Carmy cleans the Beef alone with a toothbrush as one of Mikey’s old mixed CD’s plays on the old Beef stereo.

Sydney tosses her laundry in the washing machine as her dad plays Charles Jenkins & Fellowship aloud and remarks that he missed her at service again.

Carmy shows up 8 minutes late to dinner at Sugar's with the wine his big sister likes.

Sydney fries fish and makes smothered green beans for dinner, her father sets the table for them to play cards and watch Down in the Delta.

Both chefs pray that this stays their routine.

Taglist 🥰

@blowmymbackout @kdoxkeic @pantherxrogers @soufcakmistress

#the bear fx #the bear hulu #carmy x sydney #sydney x carmy #carmy berzatto #sydney adamu #Chefs kiss #the bear fanfiction #smut #black girl reader #sad fluff #sneaky link

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