#jo reads 📖

[currentlybradshaw]

*insert that post that says “riding that old man would fix me”* 😵‍💫

Do You Wanna Touch Me? | Rooster x Reader

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

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, age gap, and smut

Length: 5800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Make it a Manhattan."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hard?" you asked with a grin. 

"You'll find out."

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

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

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

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

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

"Breakfast?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Bradley?"

"Hmm?" 

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

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

"Oh!" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[wysterianotes]

09.07.2024

Uh, hi, it's me, i'm back! I'm at my vacations right now but still have to study. It's incredibly hard right now but i hope the changes i did in my routine + doing a little cleaning and organizing day by day + coming back here actually help me.

I was honestly shocked when i came here to shake the dust and my last post had so many notes. It made my day!

📖 read 7% of the killing moon by jo nesbø, reaching 31% of the book. i'm slow. i'm hating it.

[habitual-creatures]

WAIT, THAT'S THE PLAN?! I'VE READ ABOUT THE COLLECTIVE. YOU WANT THE-

J0...W3'V3 W3IGH3D TH3 RISKS.

AND YOU EXPECT SCARFACE TO ACTUALLY HELP BRING THEM BACK?

W3 D0N'T HAV3 ANY 0TH3R CH0IC3.

~✒️📖/🕕

(congrats, Jo sees everyone in the house as her children now)

Yes. They want the COLLECTIVE because they're stupid.

It's a GREAT idea, I know!

You'd have other options if you fucking looked... But NOOOOO- give him back to his fucking cult without a second thought to if this is a REAL THING they can fix for him...

[currentlybradshaw]

“Uh — I — I’m pretty into reading, and s-stuff— um —“

“In bed, Mitchell — I meant what are you into in bed?”

lol me

“Amelia already told on you, sweetheart. Is that your lipstick on Bradley’s collar?”

*screaming*

When All Is Said and Done | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (18+)

In which Maverick’s best man and his daughter come together to plan a wedding, then celebrate the success of their endeavours.

Warnings: smut, porn w very little plot, unprotected pinv (use protection pls), oral (f receiving), choking, drinking

“I do.”

“I do.”

“And do you, Penny Benjamin —“

“I do.” Your mother beams, smiling at the love of her life from across the alter. She has been waiting for this day for a long time. Pete was her first real love. They had met when she was wild and he was even wilder. They’ve been on and off for decades, but this time, they’re making it official.

You were a result of one of their on times, followed by some pretty bumpy offs through your childhood. They did their best to keep you out of the ugliest parts of it, you know that they’ve loved each other for as long as you’ve been alive.

But, not always like this. There was Stu, your Mom’s second husband, Amelia’s dad. He was there through most of your adolescence. Not to mention the countless women that Mav has introduced you to.

Your parents reconciled about a year ago. It’s been a whirlwind, you’ve never seen them this in love. So, when they announced two months ago that they were engaged and wanted to be married as soon as possible — you had known that the pressure was on.

This was your seven year old dreams coming true, it had to be perfect. Unsurprisingly, you were chosen to be maid of honour. More surprisingly, Maverick chose Bradley Bradshaw to be his best man.

As kids, you saw Bradley frequently. Whenever you would stay with your dad, he would drop you over at Aunt Carole’s house often. Bradley was a couple of years older, he wasn’t ever really that interested in playing with you but Carole adored having you around.

As teenagers, you barely saw him at all. He was always at sports, or in his room with friends, or out of the house. Then he and Maverick had had that huge argument. You hadn’t seen him since he was maybe seventeen.

Then he had come strolling back in to your life.

Taller than he was back then. Stronger. Broader. Tanned, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, a neatly groomed moustache on his face, calling himself Rooster now. At first, you had thought he had shown up in costume.

You were quickly corrected by him. That had been an embarrassing mistake to make.

Your parents lasted through a week of wedding planning before they were butting heads and arguing about different shades of green for the chair covers. Sitting at the kitchen counter, looking between the two of them disapprovingly, you had known that you would have to intervene.

“Just relax, Rooster and I will take care of everything.” You had breathed, stepping between the two of them.

“We will?” Bradley frowned.

“Yes, we will.” You had insisted.

The two months that had followed had been hard. Planning the wedding that your parents had wanted in two months had proven to be damn near impossible. You had to take time off work, stay up late. The majority of your early summer had been spent arguing with venues and coordinators to make sure that the wedding went off without a hitch.

Bradley had been busy with work. Unable to take time off like you could. Too busy to help with decorations and suit rentals, even though that was what you had allocated. Somehow not too busy to plan your father’s bachelor party.

Things had changed at the end of May. You had cornered him and told him that things had needed to change. He insists that you had threatened his life — you aren’t so convinced that you did, but either way, it had worked.

Now, in the middle of June, your parents lean together and kiss softly. The church, filled with your closest family and friends, cheers for them. You clap, grinning at your parents.

“I want to start off by thanking everyone who helped out, and worked hard to make today special for my beautiful wife and I,” Mav begins, smiling softly. He turns his head and looks at you and Bradley individually, “Especially our incredible daughter, and my best man over here, Bradley.”

You lean back in your seat and extend your champagne glass behind Penny and Maverick’s chairs, towards Bradley. He smiles softly and takes his, leaning around them to clink his glass against yours.

“We did it.” You mouth across to him.

“Told you we would.” He whispers back. You grin, bringing your glass back and taking a sip from it.

You sit there politely, listening to your father’s speech, feeling Bradley’s eyes on you every couple of minutes.

After Maverick has thanked everyone for their part in the wedding, the band takes over for a while to give your parents some time to talk to each other and to their guests. You get up to stretch your legs, Bradley heads over to his friends to greet them for the first time since the reception.

You walk out onto the patio, the buzz from the champagne and the breeze from the dropping temperature hits you all at once, but it’s a pleasant feeling. The stress from the past few months fades as you walk down the steps and into the garden. The decorations from today’s ceremony are still up. You look around at them, proud of yourself for the work you did.

You walk up to the front, taking a seat on the bench closest to the arch. You sit down and take a drink from your champagne glass.

The peace and quiet is nice, you sit with your sense of accomplishment and mild buzz, listening to the wind in the trees.

“Hiding already, Mitchell? — Mav’s not even rapping yet.” Bradley teases, calling back to the Eminem incident at your father’s fifty-eighth birthday party, as he follows along the same path towards you. You cringe at the memory, unable to stop yourself from letting out a soft groan.

“Oh, don’t,” You complain, letting out a dry laugh. You shake your head as he steps around and sits down next to you. “He was so wasted that night.”

“So were you, if I remember right.” Bradley comments, taking a sip of his beer, stretching his legs out in front of him. He’s handsome in his tux, especially under the twinkling lights strung above the garden. He turns his head to you, his expression a mixture of amusement and challenge.

“I was not!” You insist, shaking your head again as you sip at your champagne.

“So you dance like that when you’re sober, good to know.” Bradley comments, lips quirked up into a soft smirk. You scoff and drive your elbow into his ribs playfully. He laughs and shifts closer to you. He extends his arm along the back of the bench.

It’s not technically draped around your shoulder, but it’s also not not around your shoulder.

You turn your head to look at him. He bumps his beer bottle against your champagne flute gently, “You did good. Today was incredible.”

“We did.” You correct him, fully aware of how close you’re sitting. You’ve never noticed that he’s got soft brown freckles dotted along the bridge of his nose before today.

He shakes his head, lifting his hand from the back of the bench. His thumb strokes along your bare bicep and makes you shiver, “This was all you and we both know it. Your parents are so lucky to have you.”

“I can’t believe those words just left your mouth,” You scoff playfully, leaning your head back to look at the twinkling lights above both of you. There’s a soft breeze tonight, you can still hear the music playing inside. Bradley’s warmth radiates onto you. This is nice. “Aren’t you the one who called me a control freak a couple of months ago?”

Rooster smiles, caught.

“I didn’t think your Dad was going to snitch on me, in my defence.” Bradley replies, stroking his fingertips along your arm. “I don’t think that anymore, anyway. You’re just bossy.”

“I am not—“

He raises an eyebrow at you, challenging you to go ahead. You bite your cheeks to keep from smiling, staring him down. Rooster smirks. His eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips.

Oh. This is happening. He leans in, closing his eyes, tilting his head, pressing his lips to yours. You lean slightly into him, lips tenderly moving against his.

Rooster leans closer, resting his hand against your knee, trailing it along your skin. It slides along your thigh, trailing the slit in the side of your bridesmaid dress.

“Hey - woah, oh no - oh, ew!”

You pull apart sharply to look at your younger sister. Amelia raises her eyebrows as she looks between the two of you.

“Were you two…?”

“No!” You answer sharply, Rooster looks between her and you. “What do you want?”

“Can I use your ID to get a drink?”

“No.” You frown at her. She groans, rolling her eyes and walking away from the two of you. Bradley takes his hand away from your thigh and shifts back slightly.

He covers his mouth with his hand, brushing it over his jaw and sighing, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

You curl your fingers into the fabric of his shirt and pull him forwards again, pressing your lips to his. He nips at your bottom lip, the taste of champagne on your tongue as it slides against his.

He slides his hand up your back, curling it around the nape of your neck and pulling you closer against him. Your chest presses into his as he caresses his tongue into your mouth.

You pull apart abruptly again at the sound of footsteps behind you.

“Not here.” Rooster mumbles. You slip your hand into his, leaving your drinks on the bench as you pull him up and guide him back into the building. Trailing your fingers along the wall, you push open a random door on the right of the hallway.

It’s a small room, someone’s office maybe. A desk in the middle that’ll work just fine for what’s about to happen. You round on him as the door closes behind him. Rooster’s hands find your waist as yours drape around his shoulders.

His hands wrap around your waist and trail down to cup your ass, causing you to let out a small gasp. Rooster presses himself into you, walking you back until you bump into the desk. You tense up as he grabs your hips and drops you onto the desk.

This has been a long time coming. All those bickering arguments, late-night phone calls, all those hours you’ve spent planning today. Deep down, you had known this was coming.

Rooster lips his tongue into your mouth once again, grabbing your knees and parting them, moving to stand between your thighs. His fingertips trail up along your legs, as far as the slit in your dress will allow him. Not far enough.

This time, not skipping a beat, he hikes up your dress. Thick thumb swiping over your cleft, eliciting a soft purr from your lips. The honeyed sound has him growling softly in anticipation, pressing his mouth hard against yours, picking up his movements.

You reach forwards, tugging at his bow tie, loosening it in one movement. Your hands fumble with the buttons on his white shirt. Rooster presses himself against you, nipping at your bottom lip as you tug his shirt out from under his belt to finish unbuttoning it.

Rushing to get him out of it, he works with you, shrugging his suit jacket and his unbuttoned shirt at once. He tugs hard at your knees, almost making you slip off of the desk as you’re pulled to the edge of it.

“Holy shit.”

Leaving him in just his trousers, you take a moment to marvel at his bare chest — god, he’s so much hotter now than he was when you were kids. He pushes your dress up further around your waist, grabbing the back of your knee with one hand, cupping your throat with the other.

“So wha— god,” Rooster breathes out as you pepper a dozen kisses over the length of his neck. “What are you into?”

Your brows furrow slightly, grabbing onto his bicep for leverage as he pushes the thin strap of your dress of your shoulder, attaching his mouth to the skin.

It’s hard to think when he’s nipping at your skin like this. Your head lulls back, a soft moan slipping your lips.

“Uh — I — I’m pretty into reading, and s-stuff— um —“

“In bed, Mitchell — I meant what are you into in bed?” Bradley interrupts, pulling back and giving a soft shake of his head. You stare at him, letting a moment of silence fall between the two of you.

“Choke me.”

“Huh?”

You grab the back of his neck and pull him in again, humming softly as he relaxes into you. The kisses grow more passionate, there’s a certainty between the two of you about what’s going to happen here.

Braldey’s hand found its home back between your legs, pulling your panties to the side this time. You’re dripping for him already and he has barely touched you.

Circling his digits around your sensitive clit, you mewl quietly. Dipping into your wetness, he pushed the tip of his finger into you and lifts his head to look you in the eye. Your head just about spins, met with soft honey coloured eyes and parted lips.

Pushing deeper until his entire middle finger is in you, Bradley groans out. He works the digit into you, stretching you open more and more. Dripping onto his palm, you gasp for breath. Rooster eagerly presses another finger into you, making you whimper out softly.

He picks up the pace, kissing your lips as his fingers massage that spot inside of you that makes it hard for you to keep your eyes open. His other hand brushes the other strap of your dress off of your shoulder.

His attention quickly focuses on your exposed breasts, nipples peaked from the cold air. He groans softly.

You lean back on your palms, lips parted as his mouth works its way along your bare chest. Open-mouthed kisses, leaving a warm trail along your collarbones and down your chest.

You gasp as he curls his fingers especially deep into you.

“Fuck, Rooster — like that.”

He palms at your breast softly with his free hand, rolling your nipple between his index finger and thumb. It hardens further under his touch as his mouth attaches to the other, flicking his tongue softly over the sensitive bud.

“Oh my god…” You lean your head back, sliding your fingers into his neatly styled hair as the knot in your stomach grows tighter.

Rooster lowers himself to his knees, parting your knees further. You gasp as his teeth graze the inside of your thigh, fingers curling into his hair. He sucks softly at the tender skin, his mustache scratches softly, in the best way.

He pulls back for just a moment and hooks his fingers into the sides of your underwear, you lift your hips, he slides them down your legs, trailing their path with his mouth. He kisses your ankle tenderly and guides it over his shoulder.

Bradley shoves them into his pocket and nestles himself between your legs, glancing up at you. You look so beautiful, staring down at him so eager, but he doesn’t have time for heartfelt proclamations. He wastes no time in tasting you. Licking a stripe over your folds, he groans softly against your core.

You jolt at the feeling, watching him between your legs. He continues lapping at your core, thick fingers curling into you. You spread your legs wider for him — he grabs your thighs and guides them around his shoulders, pulling you impossibly closer.

He takes one hand away from your legs and palms himself over his dress pants, uncomfortably hard against the already tight fabric.

The wet muscle of his tongue dips inside of you, his nose brushing against your clit as he drags it slowly up again to the swollen nub. He traces the tip of his tongue around it before sucking hard then soft and letting go.

Your fingers curl tighter into his hair, panting out. Bradley groans against you, repeating the movements again and again until you’re crying out.

He grins against your skin at the shattered cry that slips your lips, sucking harder. You tug hard at his hair as his teeth gently scrape over it, your thighs squeezing around his ears. Rooster sucks at it softly again, fingertips digging into your thighs.

“What’s my name, baby?” He murmurs against your skin.

“Rooster, fuck!”

Bob and Fanboy stop walking at once, turning their heads to look at the door and then to look at each other. Mickey grins as he slips the joint between his lips, both of them shake their heads as they walk by the door.

They both laugh as they continue outside.

Your toes curl, heels pressing into his shoulders as he draws your orgasm from you. You cum, shuddering against his mouth. Rooster doesn’t ease up, lapping up your release, giving hums of approval as he guides you through the aftershocks.

He pulls away, raking his nails along your thighs. His eyes seem darker as he looks up at you this time. You push yourself upright, breathless. Rooster’s hands go for his belt as he stands up, tugging at the leather.

The sound you make is almost a growl. You pull him closer to you by his belt. He sighs contentedly as you pull it open, lips pressing hungrily to his throat. You leave his belt open, yanking down his zipper, pushing his boxers down just enough to expose him.

He rests one of his palms down on the desk, the other wrapping around the base of his cock. You both gasp softly as he pushes into you. You look up, met with pretty brown eyes. You whine softly.

“Oh fuck,” Rooster shivers, cupping your throat with his hand, pulling you in for a heavy kiss. You groan softly against him as he presses forwards until he’s buried into you completely. “Fuck. You feel so good.”

He rocks back, pulling almost all of the way out. Rooster rests his forehead to yours, lips parted as he looks down between the two of you, watching as he slides slowly back in. You whine through bitten lips, brows knitted in focus as your body stretches to accommodate him.

Forehead to forehead, your eyes meet for just a second. He curls his fingers tighter by just a fraction, guiding you in by your throat until his mouth is on yours. He nips softly at your bottom lip and uses the surprised gasp that follows as an opportunity to slip his tongue in against yours.

You moan softly against his lips, the sound catching in your throat as he squeezes at the sides of your neck and drives his hips forwards sharply.

“Ah - oh my god.” You whimper out, breathless, your eyes focused solely on him. He squeezes slightly tighter, setting a pace that has your head lulling back in pleasure.

“Look so fucking pretty, Mitchell.” He murmurs affectionately, lips brushing your earlobe as he fucks into you, constricting the airflow just enough to dizzy you without it hurting.

You smile at him, taking your bottom lip just slightly between your teeth. Rooster’s lips part. He takes in the sight of you, grinning devilishly at him, his hand around your throat as he fucks you.

“So pretty.” He breathes out unsteadily. He releases his hold, wetting his lips with his tongue as you gasp for air.

“Bradley - R-Rooster - fuck, fuck - that’s so good.” You whimper, grabbing onto his bicep for leverage, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He leans forwards and presses his lips to your hair, snapping his hips forward and making you cry out.

He goes right to setting a brutal pace, ruthless as he fucks into you. Just how you need it. You’re gasping, moaning out for him as he grunts in your ear.

“You gonna cum again for me, honey?” Bradley teases, punctuating his question with a hard snap of his hips that draws a pleasured shriek from your lips. You nod eagerly as his hand wraps around your throat once more.

A strangled moan slips your lips, your heel pressing into the small of his back. Rooster growls softly into the curve of your jaw, tugging at your hair as he pounds into you.

Your nail drag sharply down his back, leaving scorching red marks in their wake. Rooster’s hips stutter slightly at the feeling, he squeezes his fingers tight at the sides of your throat as he rams himself into you, hard. You cry out into his shoulder as your vision goes blisteringly white.

“Bradshaw? You in there?” Three heavy knocks rattle the door. Rooster takes his hand from your throat and clamps it over your mouth. Jake bangs at the door again.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck.” Bradley whispers. You squeak against his hand, the sensitivity making you tremble through the aftershocks of your second orgasm. You nod hurriedly, moaning against his palm.

You're vaguely aware of Rooster’s praises raining over you, telling you how good you feel — how good you’re doing for him, as you tremble under him. His hips stutter to a stop as he releases inside of you, pressing himself as close as he could possibly be.

He rocks his hips a little, riding out his high, groaning against the curve of your jaw.

“Bradshaw!” Jake pounds at the door again. “Maverick’s looking for you!”

Rooster blinks, looking down between your bodies and then back up at your face. You watch his adam’s apple bob in his throat.

“One second!” Bradley answers, curling his fingers around your hips. He rests his forehead against his shoulder, both of you whining just slightly as he pulls back and slips out of you.

“Oh my god.” You breathe, legs trembling. You push yourself up from the desk, hurrying the straps to your dress back up your shoulders to cover your chest.

“Rooster — you have a speech to give, man, you have to get out there!” Jake insists, knowing that Maverick is happy and smiling now but that things are likely to take a turn if the best man doesn’t show up soon.

“I’m-“ Rooster tucks himself back into his pants and rushes to buckle his belt. “I’m coming! — Just hold on.”

He looks to you and finds you smirking as you fix your hair. He’s not coming now, but he was a couple of seconds ago. Rooster grabs his shirt and jacket, slipping them on in one motion and fumbling to button up his shirt.

You turn around and look into the reflection of the candle holder, fixing up any smudged make up. You smooth your hair out once more, making sure there aren’t any indents from Rooster’s fingertips.

Rooster finishes buttoning his shirt and smooths out his hair, knowing it must be fucked up from how you were grabbing it when he was between your legs.

“I gotta go, I’ll - Just let me do this, I’ll come back-“

“Rooster, wait!”

He turns quickly.

“Rooster!” Jake calls again on the outside of the door, smacking his fist into it. Rooster’s eyes widen as you dip your hand into his pocket. You pull your underwear from it and hold it up.

“Oh, shit - sorry, honey. You look beautiful. I gotta go.” He leans in quickly and kisses your cheek. You step back, making sure Jake won’t spot you when the door opens.

Bradley opens it a fraction, slipping through the gap and slamming the door shut behind him.

Jake steps back and furrows his eyebrows, “Mav’s going to fucking kill you.”

“What? — Why? — I didn’t do anything.” Rooster rushes out, his cheeks flushed, eyes wide. All in all, looking fairly disheveled. He tucks his shirt into his pants.

“Because speeches started fifteen minutes ago and you were supposed to start. You’re going last now, but there’s only so long that Penny’s dad can stall for you, man — where’s your tie?” Jake frowns. Rooster looks down and realises his bow tie is still on the floor of the room he just exited. He shakes his head.

“Doesn’t matter. I have to pee, two seconds and I’ll be right there.”

“What? — I thought that was the bathroom, what were you? Oh. Oh, Bradshaw, you were not fucking one of the bridesmaids!”

“Shh!” Bradley hisses. He glares at Jake. “Go, stall for me, two seconds.”

Bradley rushes into the men’s room to clean up. You have the same plan. Jake’s handing Bradley the microphone when you step back into the room and cross to take your seat at the head table. Bradley’s on Mav’s left, you’re on Penny’s right.

“Where did you disappear to, honey?” Penny whispers as Bradley cracks jokes about Maverick’s wild, younger days.

You swallow, adjusting your dress slightly, lifting your head to look at Bradley. “Had to get some air.”

“Hm,” Penny hums, nodding her head softly. She smiles and pats your knee, “Amelia already told on you, sweetheart. Is that your lipstick on Bradley’s collar?”

You pick up the glass of champagne in front of you and take a long gulp.

…

[etes-secrecy-post]

Hi, before I explain my post, I want to say something important.

• What you see my blog has become a major overhaul. And despite the changes, I decided that my 2nd account will be now my artwork blog with a secret twist.

⚠️NEW RULE! (W/ BIGGER TEXT!)⚠️

⚠️ SO PLEASE DO NOT SHARE MY 2nd ACCOUNT TO EVERYONE! THIS SECRECY BLOG OF MINE IS FOR CLOSES FRIENDS ONLY!⚠️

• AND FOR MY CLOSES FRIENDS, DON’T REBLOG IT. INSTEAD, JUST COPY MY LINK AND PASTE IT ON YOUR TUMBLR POST! JUST BE SURE THE IMAGE WILL BE REMOVED AND THE ONLY LEFT WAS THE TEXT.

⚠️ SHARING LINKS, LIKE POSTS, REBLOG POSTS, STEALING MY SNAPSHOT PHOTOS/RECORDED VIDEOS/ARTWORKS (a.k.a. ART THIEVES) OR PLAGIARIZING FROM UNKNOWN TUMBLR STRANGERS WILL IMMEDIATELY BE BLOCKED, RIGHT AWAY!⚠️

😡 WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT EVER LIKED & REBLOG MY SECRET POST! THIS IS FOR MY SECRET FRIENDS ONLY, NOT YOU! 😡

Okay? Capiche? Make sense? Good, now back to the post…↓

Title: My "Baggy Cloth-Ober" Day 20: 🦇🌙

Hello, October! 🎃🦇 My daily "Baggy Cloth-Ober" continues with our next daily Inktober! 🧢👕🧤👖🧦👟😊

If you haven't seen my previous related post, then please click these: ↓

• Day 1: Maxwell 🐰🖌️ • Day 2: May 🐰👊💥 • Day 3: Sam 🦊⚽ • Day 4: Mikey 🐱🎧 • Day 5: Brown 🥜 • Day 6: Choco 🐰🍫 • Day 7: Stripes 🦝⚾️😴 • Day 8: Leo 🦁🖌️ • Day 9: Wilson 🐶 • Day 10: Foofie 🐩🌸 • Day 11: Jumbo 🐘 🎮 🧹 • Day 12: Jo 🐆 • Day 13: Emme 🦌🌼 • Day 14: Ziggy 🦨 • Day 15: Jazzy 🦨💃🎵 • Day 16: Todd 🐑📚 • Day 17: Bearo 🐻🎒🚗 • Day 18: Joey 🦘 • Day 19: Katie 🐨

DAY 20: Batty Midnight's Normal Clothes 🦇🌙

•⚠️SPOILER ALERT!⚠️ This the last OC from my A-Pal's OC list, and is this one! 🙂 I've already talked about the 📖 "Main Bookworms" 🪱 of the aforementioned A-Pal's OC list, and "Batty Midnight" 🦇🌙 was one of them! 😊 An "Innocent" bat who loves reading, and doing homework just like Katie 🐨🇦🇺, along with other interest hobbies that she loves. And yes, I said "Innocent" to her because she loves drinking any types of fruit like apple 🍎, grape 🍇, tomato 🍅, etc... SIDE NOTE: Some BATS DO SUCK BLOOD, like the 'Vampire Bat', not to mentioned "Rabie Baby" 🦇🩸 from Nightmare Critters (in the upcoming "Poppy Playtime Chapter 4"). Right now, she's fetching more perfectly ripe fruits from all sorts of trees/plants, flying from above while she's wearing baggy & invisible without any notice from the farmers during the hours of the night. 🍎🌳🤫🌙 The best strategic way to fetch some fruits, trust me! 😉

Well, that's all for now. More daily "Baggy Cloth-Ober" artworks to come, until the end (of October)!😊

Batty Midnight's Normal Clothes - owned by @bryan360

[darlingian]

✨Macy's Tag Game Tuesday✨

thanks macy for making these lil posts! Thanks to @deedala, @creepkinginc, @stocious, @gallawitchxx, and @energievie for the tag! I genuinely am touched that you think of me!

name: Chani!✨(pronounced shaw-knee.)

age: Thirty, flirty and thriving. 😌

pronouns: she/her 🤷

tell me about one of your hobbies: I think crochet🧶is probably the hobby I've stuck with the longest. Writing ✍ Reading 📖 (Last year I read 76 books! And then this year I fell head over heels for fanfiction and so I have only read 14 books so far.)

what languages do you speak? I speak english. I can stumble along in french. (Canada requires everyone to take french through school but they don't actually teach us how to speak it?)

one of your comfort movies: Little Women 2019. Jo March my beloved. <3

do you have any kids? do you want any? I have two. I will not be having any more. (I was also a surrogate for a gay couple and it was a complicated but lovely thing.)

cold weather or hot weather? Medium? Lmao I'm a fickle bitch.

you're at an amusement park. what ride are you going on first? I am a water park girlie. So if that's an option, that's where I'll be! 🛝

what's your go-to hairstyle/how do you wear your hair most days? So my "signature" hair is long long long hair and kinda swept over one shoulder. Buuuuuut I had a breakdown and cut my hair into bangs and bob which I'm trying to grow out to my usual. These days it's twisted and pinned back bangs and sometimes I'll curl it.

who was your top artist in your spotify wrapped/apple music replay in 2022? I share a spotify and they use it more than I do, so it's super skewed. But I think it was Bo Burnam and the Encanto soundtrack. Because I am sad, and I have kids. lmao.

you've just been handed $1000 but you have to spend it on clothes. where are you shopping? Ohhhh I'm definitely buying myself a couple custom corsets/bustiers.

wireless or corded headphones? I have big ol wireless sound reducing headphones. A sensory deprivation dream.

finally, tell me something that sparks joy: just went camping, and every single time I'm back swimming in a lake I remember how right it feels. I belong there.

alrighty, I'm so bad at tagging because I worry I'll annoy someone if i tag them or hurt someone's feelings by leaving them out. lol so I'm sorry in advance. @gardenerian @michellemisfit @thepupperino @mickeysgaymom @milkmaidovich @softmick

[victoriagleasuredesigns]

It is July, and time for some refreshing reads! 📖 🌊 This month’s @owlcrate @OCthenest @words.and.whimsy reading challenge is Dead Men Tell No Tales. So we are off on a pirate adventure! 🏴‍☠️

What is your favorite pirate or ocean themed book?

My TBR this month has a nice blue theme:

That Self-Same Metal by Brittany N. Williams

Sirena by Donna Jo Napoli

Capt. Hook: The Adventures of a Notorious Youth by James V. Hart

Operation Red Jericho by Joshua Mowll

A River Enchanted by Rebecca Ross

Sea Witch by Virginia Kantra

Midnight Pearls by Debbie Viguié

Blaggard’s Moon by George Bryan Polivka

We are having a summer sale on all our wonderful quilts, including the pirate and ocean themed ones! In our Etsy shop at VictoriaGDesigns or www.victoriagleasuredesigns.com 💙

[currentlybradshaw]

okay alex this was incredible!! the roommates trope gets me every time!

Bradley blinked at you. There truly was nothing behind those big brown eyes, huh? Just sawdust and jet fuel.

this part made me laugh because, honestly, it’s true. there’s not a thought behind those puppy dog eyes. (sorry bradley)

mess w/ roommate!bradley 😵‍💫😵‍💫 for blurbs:)

oof, okay we're starting off on a roommate spree here folks! i love it so much. I tweaked it a little bit because I'm just such a slut sap for first times 🥹

[ MESS ]  our muses are supposed to be cleaning up in the shower after sex,  but sender starts to finger receiver. 

warnings; female reader, afab!reader, roommates to lovers, smut 18+, fingering, masturbation, tit worship, thigh grinding, pet names

word count; 2.4K (did you say blurb?! god damn it I have a problem)

tagging some people; @roosterforme @mak-32 @lt-bradshaw @roleycoleyreccenter

"Bradley." you tried to keep your voice stern, shoulders squared, and eyes blazing with the power of every woman who had ever cleaned in her entire life. "We need to have a conversation."

"Alright, what's up, tiny?" Bradley looked up from the paper he was reading, the nickname he'd given you did nothing to alleviate the frustration you felt with your roommate. You weren't tiny, you were actually on the taller spectrum of it all, according to you. But not to chicken man.

"Have you--" you had to cut yourself off, taking a deep breath to make sure you didn't accidentally hurt any feelings here. "Has anyone ever taught you how to properly clean a bathroom? Because I distinctly remember that we said yesterday that I would take the kitchen, and you would take the bathroom." Bradley had skirted that particular chore one too many times.

"I don't follow," Bradley furrowed his brows and put his paper down beside him.

"There's still your tiny facial hair remnants in the sink! And don't get me started on the shower! Did you even scrub the shower walls?" Bradley blinked at you. There truly was nothing behind those big brown eyes, huh? Just sawdust and jet fuel.

"Tell me who to contact to file a complaint about your lack of cleaning knowledge." you put your hand on one hip, unfortunately taking the well known stance of a woman scorned.

Bradley licked his lips before looking down at his lap. You thought you knew what might come next. As he looked up, there was a perfect iteration of a hurt expression on his face, those same brown eyes now misty and puppy-like.

"My mom--"

"Oh, for fuck's sake Bradshaw, you already pulled that card this week. Ain't no excuses for being in your mid thirties and not knowing how to clean your own damn bathroom!" try to get out of that one huh, feminist king. See how you'll chicken your way out of that.

You figured Bradley might take offense, or at least start arguing with you. He'd been well known for his short fuse. To your great surprise, those big eyes that had just been misty widened initially in shock at your brusque statement, before his head tipped back and a roaring laughter eased from his throat.

"Oh god, tiny - you're just perfect, aren't you? You're right. I should know better," he now moved to stand, mirth playing in his eyes as he took a few steps forward until he - to your great annoyance - towered over you.

"I know this is not supposed to be your job then," he murmured softly, using his hand to make your stubborn gaze meet his "but would you be so kind as to show me your preference in making our bathroom squeaky clean then, doll?" he was smirking now.

God damn naval aviator knew he was hot. It irked you that you could not say that he didn't affect you. His little pet names, his stupid broad shoulders, his ridiculous sun kissed skin, the way he always smelled so good the way he--

"C'mon tiny, we got a tight schedule now!" Bradley called you out of your dazed state, and you huffed as you followed him towards your spacious shared bathroom.

"Alright, sweets, talk to me." He talked as if you were his god damn backseater, trying to blow up the enemy toilet. "What's the first step?"

Rolling your eyes, you started to peel off your socks and shorts. "Tiny!" Bradley's eyes went wide before he averted his gaze promptly.

"Oh, c'mon, Bradshaw, don't tell me you're in your mid thirties and have yet to see a woman in underwear," you smirked "I'm gonna walk you through a deep cleaning. Don't want to ruin my clothes. Tends to get a little wet,"

If Rooster's lips wobbled at your use of the word 'wet', you chose to ignore his childish quirk.

"But if you want to ruin your Grateful Dead shirt by getting cleaning shit on it, fine by me," you shrugged before ridding yourself of your top, leaving you in a matching black panty and bra set. They were plain, nothing sexy about them at all.

Swiftly pulling out the cleaning supplies, you started ordering your roommate around the bathroom as the two of you started to hose down the room. You hadn't made it far in your mission to scrub the sink before you felt a spray of water against your back.

Turning around, you were met by a mischievous looking Bradley, the shower head pointed straight at you. If looks could kill, you're sure Bradley would have a paper cut by now. Maybe a bruise.

"Rooster!" you tried sounding stern, but it came out more as a tired whine. "Hey, I'm sorry, Tiny - c'mere!" Bradley must've sensed you were starting to get fed up, because he opened his arms to you. Stupid naked, muscly chest looking inviting and warm as hell. You stepped into the shower, wrapping your arms around Bradley's waist as he maneouvered the shower head back into it's position on the wall.

It seemed like neither of you cared that the warm water was now washing over the both of you, your underwear becoming soaked. You'd always wondered what it would be like to shower with your roommate, but you never envisioned this scenario. In your scenario there were even less clothing, and much more moaning.

It wasn't always easy, breezy (but definitely beautiful) living with Bradley - in spite of the fact that he lacked competence in bathroom cleaning, he made up for it in every other aspect of householding and in his caring nature.

"This feels good, Tiny," Bradley murmured against the top of your head as he held you. "Told you it'd get wet," you mumbled against his skin, your lips currently smushed against his sternum. You could feel his chest rumbling as he chuckled, his large hands leaving their safe spot in your embrace. They started gently caressing your sides, before one hand again found it's place on your chin - tilting your head softly upwards.

Looking into Rooster's brown eyes, there was no twinkle of mischief left, nor confusion or mistyness - you weren't quite sure what this look was. As his other palm cradled your jaw and a portion of your neck, it dawned on you. Before you could name the emotion, Bradley's lips were upon yours in a wet kiss.

His lips moved slowly against yours, as if he was giving you the option to either engage or leave. A soft noise left your throat as you pushed up on your toes, wanting to feel more of him. The grip he had had on your chin eased, that hand moving to grip at your hip to keep your body steadily pressed against his.

"Wanted to feel you like this for fuckin' ever, Tiny," Bradley groaned as you took a gasping breath, his lips kissing down your throat. "Bradley--" you whined, eyes fluttering shut as his skilled hand rubbed at your ribs, slowly inching up towards the underside of your breasts.

"Is this okay, doll?" he breathed against your ear, his mustache tickling slightly against your earlobe.

"So okay, Rooster - oh god," you moaned softly as his thumb graced the swell of your breast, applying just enough pressure to send anticipatory waves of pleasure rolling through you.

"Please, I-- more," you whimpered, your hands tangling into Rooster's damp locks, tugging slightly - eliciting a rough groan from him. "More of what, doll? Tell me," his voice was husky against your throat as he switched sides, tongue soothing where his teeth nipped and his lips latched on to suck marks onto your soft skin.

"You-- Please!" his hand was still teasing the underside of your breasts, and you were squirming against his warm body, trying to make him fucking grab them already. You needed his hands on you.

"Words, sweetheart," he sounded pleased, a smile forming against your skin. Yanking his hair a little harsher, you licked your lips as the water cascaded down Rooster's well muscled upper body.

"I need your hands on my fucking tits, Bradley," you commanded, a certain bite to your tone that had a moan rolling off of Bradley's parted lips. Your words seemed to have triggered something in your roommate, because he promptly pressed you against the cool tiles of the shower wall. Not before his one hand had swiftly undone the clasp of your bra, flinging the wet garment to the floor.

"Such lovely fucking tits," Bradley groaned, eyes transfixed on your naked breasts as his large hands covered them, his fingers squeezing and kneading in unison. Letting your head fall back against the wall, you let out a long, relieved moan at the stimulation. Bradley whispered out a breathless 'Fuck' as his thumbs rolled over your nipples, taking in how well the soft flesh looked squeezed in his hands.

"Fuckin' dreamt of these tits for so fucking long," Bradley confessed, leaning down to let his warm tongue circle over the now pert nipples. "Wanted to hold them, lick them, suck them-" at the last word he let his lips enclose around your nipple to suck, making you cry out - the sound echoing over the sound of rushing water.

"Fuck them," Bradley growled as he put more pressure into his kneading movements. At this he looked into your eyes, pressing his body up against yours, his thigh slotted between your slightly parted legs.

"Bradley," you whimpered, not in a state of mind to say much else, and the fire it ignited within those brown eyes had you whining in pleasure again, his thigh pressing against your clothed core. "Wanted to make you mine for so fucking long," Rooster continued, letting his lips meet yours for a hard kiss.

"God, make me yours, Rooster," you whined, grinding down against his large thigh, needing the heat he'd started in you satiated.

"Fuck, Tiny!" he rutted his pelvis against your own thigh, and you could feel how hard he was against you.

"C'mon baby, tell me what you need," your roommate murmured before he once again leaned down to lick and suck at your breasts, relishing in finally getting to drown in their supple flesh.

Who knew Bradley was a tits man?

"Need your hands," they were everywhere and nowhere all at once, you needed them to bring you more pleasure.

"Need my hands, hm? D'you need them here, sweets - is that it?" his left palm had left it's perch on your breast, reaching between your bodies to cup against your soaked pussy. A soft mewl left your parted lips as you nodded fervently.

"Yes! Please, Bradley," you were practically begging for him now, but you found you didn't care.

"Sweet girl... fuck - I'll take care of you," Bradley's voice sounded a little wrecked as his fingers slid underneath the soaked cotton of your panties, his fingers rubbing against your core. Lifting your leg, you held it against Bradley's thigh to give him easier access, your hands gripping on to his shoulders as he let his cupped hand, two middle fingers, glide through your folds over and over again.

At the sensation of one of his fingers slipping into your welcoming heat, you let out a gasp - tightly followed by a moan. Fuck, even his fingers were big. Your hips started moving on their own accord, slowly swivelling against Bradley's hand. His other hand had begun pushing at his wet underwear, only managing to pull them to rest past his hips - successfully freeing his hard cock.

"You drive me crazy, Tiny - I've heard you touch yourself through the walls for so fucking long. Your little gasps and moans," he groaned, adding another finger to your hole, fucking them slowly in and out of you as the heel of his thumb dragged against your clit.

"You know why I call you Tiny, baby?" you shook your head, delirious with pleasure as you noticed Bradley had wrapped his other hand around his cock, pumping it slowly, the thick tip of him rubbing slightly against your abdomen.

"'Cause of your tiny fucking gorgeous moans as you try to keep quiet," Rooster moaned loudly as he pressed his cock harder into your skin for friction "Try to keep from moaning my name, huh?"

Nodding your head, you were properly grinding down onto Bradley's fingers now, fucking yourself against his palm as you bit your lip. "Yes, Bradley! I thought of you," you whined out, finally opening your eyes to look at him, soft moans and gaspy breaths rolling from your parted lips onto his as he pressed his forehead onto your.

"You gonna cum for me, Tiny? Gonna moan my name as you fuck yourself on my fingers?" brows pinched together, nodding against his forehead, small mewls and moans left you as he brought you closer and closer to the edge, his fingers meeting your bucking hips as they curved inside of you. The sound of him fisting his cock against your skin adding to the sensuality of it all.

"Bradley," his name was a drawn out moan "I'm gonna cum so hard on your fingers," you mewled out, pressing your tits against his hard chest. He didn't speed up his movements at your warning, but kept the pace and angle at the almost exact position of where they had been when you uttered the words.

"Cum for me." Bradley spoke against your lips "Look at me." he commanded, brown eyes meeting yours as you gasped, hips grinding hard against the palm of his hand before you let out a tiny moan of his name, euphoria washing over you as your body convulsed from the pleasure your roommate was giving you.

Bradley let out a soft curse, his fingers still fucking into you as he moaned your name, hips stuttering as he fucked his own hand too, his cum coating your hips and thighs as he shot his load over you. Slowly easing his two fingers out of you, you whimpered at the sensitivity, letting your arms wind around his neck as you buried your face in his skin.

"Bradley..." you voice was small, and his strong arms circled around your waist, hands resting on your ribs as he held you. "S'okay Tiny, I've got you," he smiled, kissing the top of your head.

"I've got you," he repeated, softly caressing your skin.

"We're gonna have to clean this up..."

[izicodes]

April Study Challenge - Day 28

• Friday 28th April | 🌐 link to challenge's info page

“Learn three new words in each of your native or target languages” I love Spanish so I learnt ‘pero’ (but), learnt ‘Jo napot’ in Hungarian and ‘willekeurig’ in Dutch (my native but haha I stopped speaking it…)

What I did today

📖 Reading: Nada!

👩🏾‍💻 Coding: Personal project about creating old web designs day 2!

🎧 Listening to: Odetari - Narcissist Personality Disorder

<< previous day

[victoriaplaysims]

get to know me a lil bit more

thanks @smulie for the tag! 💛

💛 ships: alex and jo from grey's (i'm still hoping for the theory that ava kidnapped him, forged the letter to jo and that he will come back. i hate the "oh izzie had my babies a hundred years ago so peace out" storyline. ahem, anyway..)

🎧 last song: sweet creature - harry styles (obvs)

🎬 last movie: the holiday (yup, it is the end of january, let me be delulu for jude law ok)

📖 reading: red, white and royal blue (sort of, i got new sleep meds and i've tried reading it before bed but the meds are so strong i haven't gotten past the first page in like three weeks lol)

🎂 craving: the best carrot cake in the world, i'm making it again for my birthday in february and omgitssogood. vegan ofc, with extra frosting

👯‍♀️ relationship status: delulu and sick of irl people lol

🥖 last thing i googled: a new bread recipe i want to try out (i love baking if you can't tell)

💫 current obsession: the sims 4, heated blankets and chai lattes. and the bright magenta-purple-yellow january sunsets in sweden

I tag: @calicosimgirl @tulipberrysimss @naileklegacy (no pressure, just saying hi 👋)

[luminoustarlight]

— mae’s 2024 reads

(because i don’t want to give out my goodreads)

this is how i rate my books:

5 ⭐️- LOVED IT! An absolute favorite, would rec, cannot stop thinking about it.

4 ⭐️- SO GOOD! A great read, would rec, keeping it on my shelf.

3 ⭐️- ENJOYABLE! A good read, kept me interested. Might rec, no regrets reading but not my fave.

2 ⭐️- MEDIOCRE. Not quite for me. Decent enough to get through the book but not a fan.

1 ⭐️- NOT FOR ME. Waste of time, almost DNF, why did I read this?

i do not count books i dnf (do not finish) towards my reading goal. i often use .25/.5/.75 in my ratings.

📖 send me book recs! i’m open to all genres. i have kindle unlimited, audible, and i use libby to get books from my library. my tbr is extensive and embarrassing. but i’m getting through it!

2024 reading challenge: 36/80

ebook = available on kindle unlimited | ebook = library borrow

book list below the cut ⤹

J A N U A R Y

1. A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas

12.26.23-1.1.24 // physical // 4.5 ⭐️

2. The Woman in Me by Britney Spears

11.12.23-1.2.24 // audio // 4 ⭐️

3. Babymoon or Bust by Ava Hunter

1.1.24-1.4.24 // ebook // 3 ⭐️

4. The Risk (Mindfuck 1) by S.T. Abby

1.4.24-1.5.24 // ebook // 3.5/3.75 ⭐️

5. Sidetracked (Mindfuck 2) by S.T. Abby

1.5.24-1.5.24 // ebook // 4 ⭐️

6. Scarlet Angel (Mindfuck 3) by S.T. Abby

1.5.25-1.7.24 // ebook // 4 ⭐️

7. All the Lies (Mindfuck 4) by S.T. Abby

1.7.24-1.9.24 // ebook // 3.75 ⭐️

8. Counting the Cost by Jill Duggar

1.7.24-1.10.24 // audio // 4.5 ⭐️

9. Paint It All Red (Mindfuck 5) by S.T. Abby

1.9.24-1.10.24 // ebook // 4 ⭐️

10. My Roommate Is a Vampire by Jenna Levine

1.11.24-1.16.24 // ebook // 3 ⭐️

11. That One Night (Jacksonville Rays #0.5) by Emily Rath

1.16.24-1.16.24 // ebook // 4 ⭐️

12. Saddle Up (Ryker Ranch #1) by Kim Lorraine

1.17.24-1.19.24 // ebook // 3 ⭐️

13. Bucked Off (Ryker Ranch #2) by Kim Lorraine

1.20.24-1.21.24 // ebook // 4 ⭐️

14. A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas

1.18.24-1.27.24 // physical // 5 ⭐️

F E B R U A R Y

15. The Exception to the Rule (The Improbable Meet Cute #1) by Christina Lauren

2.03.24-2.03.23 // ebook // 5 ⭐️

16. Worst Wingman Ever The Improbable Meet Cute #2) by Abby Jimenez

2.03.24-2.03.23 // ebook // 4 ⭐️

17. The Trade (Brentwood Boys #4) by Meghan Quinn

01.21.24-02.03.24 // ebook // 3 ⭐️

18. Rosie and the Dreamboat (The Improbable Meet Cute #3) by Sally Thorne

02.03.24-02.04.24 // ebook // 3 ⭐️

19. Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead (Finlay Donovan #2) by Elle Cosimano

02.07.2024-02.12.24 // ebook // 3.75 ⭐️

20. Talking as Fast as I Can by Lauren Graham

01.16.24- 02.13.24 // audio // 4 ⭐️

21. Raiders of the Lost Heart by Jo Segura

02.12.24-02.19.24 // ebook // 3.5 ⭐️

22. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

02.01.24-02.24.24 // physical // 4.5 ⭐️

23. Junie B. Jones and the Stupid Smelly Bus by Barbara Park

02.25.24-02.25.24 // ebook // no rating

24. With Any Luck (The Improbable Meet Cute #5) by Ashley Poston

03.09.24-03.09.24 // ebook // 3 ⭐️

25. Drop, Cover, and Hold On (The Improbable Meet Cute #4) by Jasmine Guillory

03.10.24-03.10.24 // ebook // 3 ⭐️

26. Royal Valentine (The Improbable Meet Cute #6) by Sariah Wilson

03.10.24-03.11.24 // ebook // 2 ⭐️

27. Amelia's Shadow (Blaze Collection) by Marie Benedict

03.23.24-03.23.24 // ebook // 3 ⭐️

28. The Block Party by Jamie Day

03.13.24-03.23.24 // ebook // 2 ⭐️

29. The Forgotten Chapter (Blaze Collection) by Pam Jenoff

03.26.24-03.26.24 // ebook // 4 ⭐️

30. The June Paintings (Blaze Collection) by Maggie Shipstead

03.24.24-03.26.24 // ebook // 3 ⭐️

31. Fires to Come (Blaze Collection) by Asha Lemmie

03.28.24-04.01.24 // ebook // 4 ⭐️

32. I'm Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy

03.21.24-04.01.24 // audio // 4.5 ⭐️

33. Tune in Tomorrow (Blaze Collection) by Melanie Benjamin

04.01.24-04.03.24 // ebook // 3 ⭐️

34. Fallen Grace (Blaze Collection) by Sadeqa Johnson

04.04.24-04.07.24 // ebook // 4 ⭐️

35. Barriers to Entry (Blaze Collection) by Ariel Lawhon

04.08.24-04.09.24 // ebook // 3 ⭐️

36. Things We Do in the Dark by Jennifer Hillier

04.11.24-04.17.24 // physical // 4 ⭐️

[currentlybradshaw]

why did this: You fall asleep there and so does Hangman, the lights in the room are low and the record spinning soundlessly. And Rooster watches.

have the same energy as this: “I think you will marry Jo. I think you’ll find someone and love them, and you will live and die for them because that’s your way, and you will....And I’ll watch.” (laurie, little women) 😭😭

𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝟑

☿ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐘𝐨𝐮 (𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞: 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐀𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐧) ☿ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Another day in the sun. You meet someone new. ☿ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7.5k ☿ 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲 ☿ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ☿ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭--𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟖+. 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝟎𝐬--𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐞𝐫𝐚.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐂𝐀 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟗𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟖

Rooster is lying in a sun chair, his swim-trunks still damp from his dip earlier. He’s holding a sweaty glass with half a Tom Collins left and his face tilted towards the sun, shades over his eyes. It’s warm--there’s a sheen of sweat covering his skin, sitting atop the oil he covered himself in. 

There are birds calling in the palm trees and cars rumbling down the residential street before his house. He has a sound system set up on the bar and Do It Again by Steely Dan is playing right now. Below the music, he can hear the soft sounds of you splashing as you take languid laps around the pool. 

You’re naked--partly because you don’t have a swimsuit and partly because you just like to be naked--and you were slathered in oil before you got into the pool, but now you’re thoroughly soaked in water. Your skin is already growing darker, soaking up all that precious sun. This will be your first time not having swimsuit lines in your life and your first time getting tan in a pool in California instead of a pond in western Nebraska. 

Pulling yourself up to the side of the pool, you grab your sweaty glass and take a long, long drink. A few beads dribble down your throat and onto your chest. This is your third Harvey Wallbanger and Rooster makes them just the way you like; strong. Your fingertips feel fuzzy and your belly is warm.

You keep yourself propped up as you gaze at Rooster’s resting form, kicking your legs to stay afloat. Your head is fuzzy and your skin is warm and the water feels fucking perfect right now. If this hasn’t been the way you’ve been living your life the past three days, you would consider this your perfect day. You feel like perfect days are supposed to only happen once.   

“So, why didn’t you go to Vietnam?”

Rooster sputters out a shocked laugh, face snapping to yours in an instant. 

You’re staring at him, smiling softly, still nursing your drink. 

“Jesus Christ, Cherry,” Rooster mutters, shaking his head. “Can’t just ask a guy why he didn’t go to war.”

“Sure I can.” You shrug, furrowing your brows. “I just did. Duh!” 

Rooster laughs again, sitting up on his elbows. 

“How do you know I didn’t?” 

You eye him like there’s a physical marker on his body that gives it away. You noticed the other day that he has some faded scars littering his face and throat, little lines that stretch a few inches. They’re white--old. But you’ve seen boys come back home from Vietnam; their scars are deeper and pink still.

“I can just tell,” you simply answer. “You weren’t a college student, right? Since you started in the industry so young. So, how’d you get around it?” 

Rooster bites his lip, watching water drip from your hair and onto your shoulders and chest, your skin pinkening. 

“Take a guess,” Rooster says, grinning.

A pang of guilt spreads across his chest: he’s grinning while talking about the atrocity of war. But he feels like it’s impossible not to grin at you, no matter the conversational topic. For a moment, he thinks of Jake and the guilt multiplies and starts to make his stomach ache. But then you start to hum, tapping your chin. 

“Did you tell them you were gay?” 

Rooster shakes his head. 

“Conciencense objector?” You ask, tilting your head. 

“I don’t agree with it,” he breathes, “but it doesn’t say that on paper, no.” 

You nod again. You take another long drink and continue humming, chewing the inside of your cheek. 

“I know you didn’t fail your physical. You don’t seem like a dodger either,” you tease. He laughs, nodding. It’s true--he didn’t fail his physical. And he’s definitely not a dodger, either. “Fine. I’ll bite. Why did the almighty Rooster Bradshaw get excused from the war?” 

Rooster takes a breath, propping himself up further in the chair. He hasn’t talked about this in a long time--honestly, no one’s asked him in a long time. No one wants to talk about the war, especially now that it’s been almost four years since it ended. But you’re young--the notion of war must seem so abstract to you, so far removed from your reality. 

“My old man was in the Navy,” Rooster starts, watching you chew an ice cube. “Croaked during a hop. Technically during active duty.”

He doesn’t like to think about his life before very much--it’s hard, simply put. His dad died before Rooster was old enough to tie his own shoes. He got seventeen good years with his mom before the cancer started eating her; then he got two bad years with her before she let go and he became an orphan.  

Something catches in your chest--something that clogs your throat and slows your breathing. Jesus Christ, he’s saying it so casually. And he’s watching you now as you digest it, as you realize what he’s saying to you. His dad is dead--and from what you’ve gathered here and there, so is his mom. He spends Christmases alone, which is probably why he was so willing to share his special caviar and wine with you that first night. 

“So, you were exempt from service,” you say softly. “When did that law pass? ‘64? ‘65?”

Rooster takes another drink.

“‘64,” he answers.

“How old were you in ‘64?” 

God--it seems like a million years ago. 

“I was seventeen,” Rooster answers, sucking in a deep breath. 

Your eyes are wide, your breath finally escaping your parted lips. 

“Jesus Christ,” you mumble, shaking your head. “Just missed it, then, didn’t you?” 

He nods.

“Do you know anyone that went to ‘Nam?” He asks. 

You nod, too. 

“A few boys back home,” you answer. You still remember their hollow gazes and scraggly hair, the way they carried themselves around town so precariously. “Came back all freaky deaky. Poor chumps. You?” 

Rooster considers lying to you--Jake doesn’t like telling people about his time in Vietnam. But everyone knows and soon enough, you’re going to know everyone. It’s going to come out. 

“Yeah,” Rooster answers. He rakes a hand through his damp locks, tutting. “My man, Jake. You’ll meet him on Sunday, he’s an actor for Goldman Homevideos. Don’t bring it up with him, though--he tries to forget it. You dig?” 

As audacious and rambunctious as you are, Rooster understands how deeply you understand him when you nod. Your eyes are big and earnest and your lips are flat and unsmiling. You get it. You won’t ask.

You’re having a hard time imagining some veteran being good at porn. All the boys back home were so scrawny and sad--who would want to watch scrawny, sad boys fuck on camera? You can’t imagine fucking one.  

“How old were you in ‘64?” Rooster asks, content in his decision to change the direction of the conversation. 

You grin something fierce at him. 

He knows it’s gonna feel like a blow to the chest. 

“Six for most of the year,” you answer, sticking your tongue out at him. 

He grimaces. 

“Christ, Cherry,” Rooster mutters, swiping a hand over his eyes as your melodic laughter echoes off the concrete. “I need another fucking drink. You down?” 

You shake your empty glass at him with a tight smile. 

As he fixes the two of you another drink, you rest your cheek against the warm concrete and cut through the cool water very carefully. All your limbs are loose and flowing freely beneath the surface, skin skimming the slippery red tiles. 

“So, where’d you grow up?” 

“Am I on The Dating Game right now or something?” 

“You wish,” you tease. 

He peers at you over his shoulder, glasses low on his nose. You blow him a kiss and a wink and it makes him sigh deeply. You really are going to be the death of him.  

“Virginia,” he answers finally, pouring a couple ounces of gin in his cocktail shaker. “Small town near a Naval base.” 

“What was it like?” You ask. 

He chuckles, dropping a few ice cubes into the shaker and screwing the lid on tight. 

“Boring,” he answers. “Moved out to California right before my eighteenth birthday.” 

“Why?” You ask. 

You have a way of making him feel like all you want to do in the world right now is listen to him. When you ask him questions about his life, he feels like he’s doing you a favor by giving you the skinny. 

“Well,” he starts, shaking his cocktail and chewing his bottom lip, “my ma was sick. Wasn’t much they could do for her in Small Town, Virginia. So we came out here and I just never…left.” 

It makes your chest feel hollow to think about losing your mother so young--even if she isn’t being a good mama to you now, even if you’re not sure if she loves you anymore. You imagine that there is little worse than losing your mother. 

“You look like you grew here,” you tell him with a sigh. He glances at you and you grin. “Like you just sprouted out of the dirt. Got pulled up ‘stache first.” 

“Ever heard the phrase don’t bite the hand that feeds you, Cherry?” He asks.  You laugh again. He starts on your drink, pouring a few ounces of vodka and orange juice in another shaker. “Funny, though. I think you look like you aren’t from here.” 

Ouch. You frown at him, scoffing. 

“I’m gonna freak if you tell me that I look like I’m from a fucking chicken farm,” you threaten, pointing at him with that cherry-red nail. 

“No,” Rooster quickly corrects. “You just look…tougher than the broads brought up here, you dig?” 

“Tougher than you?” 

He gives you an exaggerated nod. 

“Most definitely,” he says. “Didn’t you prove that last night?” 

He’s referring to when you rode him last night after a few glasses of nice brandy, when you held tight to his wrists and pushed them against the flimsy water bed. You and Rooster have had little else to do but peruse his liquor collection and fuck--both of which you two have been doing frequently. 

“You’ve got such a good memory for an old man,” you say gingerly. “You probably eat, like, all your muesli, don’t you?”   

Rooster laughs again. He’s already used to you calling him an old man--he’s used to everyone calling him an old man, really. He’s the oldest among his friends by a substantial margin. 

“You clearly don’t have an issue fucking old men,” he says, shaking your cocktail now as you smile at him. “So, in turn, I don’t mind being called an old man.” 

“Hey, grandpa’s need love, too!” You exclaim, watching him strain your drink into a frosted glass. “And I’ve got a lot to give!” 

“Thought you tried to keep love and sex separate?” Rooster asks, crossing the concrete and settling your drink in front of you before sitting down to dip his feet in the water. “Ms. Arsan.” 

You take a long drink and then nod. 

“Ever heard of a euphemism?” You ask. Rooster nods, spreading his legs when you move in the water to settle between them. You let your elbows prop on his knees and stare up at him, skin gleaming in the sun. “Love is a euphemism for sex sometimes. Wise guy.” 

He grins. 

You two like to keep each other on your toes. 

“Isn’t that the antithesis of everything you stand for?” 

You cough out a laugh, pinching his thighs softly. He can see every inch of your naked body from his spot above you, especially with your arms spread out the way they are right now. He’s nearly gotten used to you in this state--prancing around the house in little more than one of his shirts and nothing else most of the day. He’s had you everyday, multiple times a day since you met, but he is still learning your body. He likes this part of sexual relationships; tweaking here, rubbing there, curling, thrusting, pulsing, pushing. 

Honestly, you want him again. Right now. You’ve never had sex on tap like this before--it was always a bit difficult back in Nebraska. Sneaking off the farm, finding a suitor, convincing the suitor, finding somewhere to actually fuck. But living here with Rooster, who seems to have an identical sex drive and mutual want, has been heavenly. Anytime you want that itch scratched, anytime you want that hill climbed, anytime you want to be cast into the choppy seas of an orgasm--Rooster’s here. 

This is your version of Utopia, really.   

“Well, let me rephrase my sentence, then,” you say, sighing. You clear your throat. “Grandpa’s need to get fucked, too! And I’ve got muff to give!” 

At that, Rooster clinks his glass against yours and the both of you take a few gulps of your respective cocktails. 

“So, you don’t mind fucking older men?” 

You purse your lips. 

“You don’t mind fucking younger girls?” 

He purses his lips. 

The two of you clink glasses again and take a few more gulps. 

“How many people have you fucked?” You ask. 

He takes your glass and with your free hands, you gently knead his thighs. It’s something you do absently--your daddy worked long, long hours on the farm. Whenever he would come inside late in the evening, you would help him take his boots off and rub his calves like this. It’s just something you do. 

“Haven’t kept count,” he tells you, tucking a few strands of wet hair behind your ears. He likes the way your fingers are digging into his skin--he hadn’t even realized his legs were sore until you started to massage them. “But if I had to guess? God, I’m not sure I could even do that.” 

“We talking Jagger numbers here?” You ask. 

His throat is warm. 

“We are,” he says. And that’s all the answer you need. “What about you, Cherry? Keeping score?” 

You are. 

“Seventeen,” you answer proudly, squaring your shoulders. “You make seventeen, actually.” 

For some reason, it makes Rooster feel bad that you know precisely what number he is and he couldn’t take a shot in the dark for you. 

“That’s my lucky number,” Rooster tells you. 

You blink up at him in surprise, eyebrows raised.

“You jiving me?” You ask suspiciously. 

“No! Swear it,” Rooster says. “Seventeen’s my lucky number.”

It is now. 

You just nod, sighing. Strange. 

“Your turn,” you tell him. “Ask away.” 

He only has to think for a moment. 

“How old were you when you cashed in your v-card?” 

It’s a good question--relevant. But it makes your chest feel a bit tight. You haven’t ever told anyone this before--not whatever few girl friends would stick around, not any family, not any other boys. This has been sitting alone in your chest for a long time. 

“I was thirteen,” you tell him. Your voice is thin and your cheeks are warm. “He was fifteen. He mucked the stalls on my family’s farm. Seasonal help or whatever. It was just once. I think his name was Grover.” 

You’re not telling the entire truth. You know his name was Grover. He’s come back to your family’s farm every single summer to shovel chicken shit. He’s never looked your way again, though. 

Rooster studies your flaxen face and the way you maintain his gaze like you’re afraid to show him a weak spot, like a dog lying on its belly.

“Where was it?” He asks. 

“In the barn,” you answer. “Smelled downright funky in there.” 

Rooster grimaces. 

“Gnarly,” he laughs. 

You just shrug. 

“It was the first time I ever wanted to jump someone’s bones. I was just…watching him. Like, not in a creeper kind of way. I was just--I was just, like, noticing him for the first time, I guess? The muscles on his arm and back, his thighs. His hands.” You exhale wistfully, remembering the way the muscles curved elegantly beneath his smooth, dark skin. The way sweat gathered on his hairline and clung to his curls so deliciously. Even now, at twenty-one, it arouses you to think about it. “I just had to have him. And he took me. It was good--only lasted a few minutes. But it still is probably, like, the best fuck I’ve ever had.” 

Rooster lays a hand over his heart, frowning. 

“Ouch,” he says softly, grinning when you roll your eyes. “Why only twice?” 

You shrug. 

“The first time was random. The second time, I told him to come to my room that afternoon and he did. I think he was kinda scared of me or something, because he didn’t stay long. It was barely sex the second time. I didn’t ask him again and he didn’t try anything.” 

Rooster nods again. 

Again, he tries to imagine you in some ineffective farmhouse, asking the workers to come into your bedroom and cum inside you. It’s strange--he can’t picture it at all. Even with you here before him, totally nude, he can’t picture it. 

“Your turn,” you tell him, squeezing his thighs. 

Rooster sighs, leaning back on his palms. You scoot forward and settle yourself higher up between his legs letting your elbows rest on his upper thighs. 

“I was sixteen. It was with Lisa-Anne Monterey at the drive-in. We were seeing The Great Escape and she cried on the way home because her pantyhose snagged.” 

You laugh loudly, wrinkling your nose. 

“What a casanova,” you tease, pinching his taut belly. “Snagging pantyhose and making girls cry since ‘63!”

He knows you’re joking--he does. Of course you are. But he doesn’t like the sound of that suddenly--being known for making girls cry. He doesn’t want to be known for that at all. And he can’t help it when an image suddenly flashes through the forefront of his mind, one of you crying before him, mascara running down your cheeks. You don’t seem like the crying type, though--he wonders what would push you that far. 

“Your turn,” Rooster says, squeezing you between his legs. 

You’re pleased that he’s playing along now. 

“You ever been in looove?” You ask, grinning up at him. 

Rooster immediately wrinkles his nose at the question. For a moment, you think maybe you shouldn’t have asked him--but then he shakes his head, humming. 

“Not that I know of,” Rooster says. 

He’s telling the truth. He hasn’t had the time for any of that junk. 

“Heavy,” you sigh, frowning. “Me neither.”

“Does that make us unlovable?” 

“Probably,” you answer, a smile biting at your lips. “What makes you unlovable? For me, it’s that I’m too foxy. It’s been a real issue in the past.” 

Rooster grins at you. As if to agree with you, he reaches forward and pinches your cheek softly. He does think you’re foxy--real foxy. But even just like this, naked in his pool, bare-faced and soaking wet--you’re beautiful. It’s a different form of foxy, one that isn’t as easy to come across. 

“It shows,” Rooster teases. “I guess for me, it’s probably that I’ve got too much money, you know? People hate that. And my house is, like, way too big.” 

“How’s that Fleetwood song go? Rulers make bad lovers, better put your kingdoms up for sale, right?” 

You’re giggling, shaking your head softly. He can see every one of your teeth when you smile that big toothy smile at him. God, he already feels like he’s getting used to it--that big, toothy grin and those freckles sprinkling across your cheeks. 

“Bradshaw!” 

The voice echoes out across the backyard, vibrating across the pool and skimming the calm waters you’re still submerged in. 

You’re surprised, but you don’t move to cover yourself--it seems pointless. And even if you felt the need to protect your modesty, you wouldn’t have much to cover yourself with other than Rooster. And even Rooster doesn’t have much clothing on--just some little swim trunks that sit high up on his thighs. 

Rooster whips around, straightening his spine, pushing his glasses up in his hair. And there, walking across the threshold of the backdoor is Hangman. He’s grinning at Rooster beneath his bushy mustache, his hair tucked behind his ears and his cheeks pale pink. 

“What it is, brother! I’ve been trying to hit your line like crazy!” Hangman says, swaggering over towards Rooster. “Where the Hell you been, Rooster--?”

It isn’t until he’s close enough to smell all the tanning oil Rooster is donning that he catches his first glimpse of you: you’re completely naked, standing shamelessly between Rooster’s legs, grinning up at Jake from your spot in the red pool. 

Hangman’s cockwalk stutters and then falters entirely, his grin spreading as he lets his eyes rake over you. A naked woman in Rooster’s pool isn’t an uncommon sight--honestly, a clothed woman is more of a rare sighting in this backyard--but you’re a stranger. He’s never seen you around before--anywhere. 

“Thanks for knocking,” Rooster says, frowning at Hangman. 

Hangman barely glances at Rooster before he utters, “I was knocking for like five minutes, dipshit.” 

Hangman is handsome--like the Ken-doll type of undeniably handsome. He’s wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a Western-style button down with a bolo tie loosely secured around his neck like some sort of California cowboy. He’s drinking you in, you can tell, and there’s not an ounce of shame in all of that hunk of that blonde, tan muscle. 

“Who’s this?” Hangman asks, settling his hands on his hips. 

“This is Cherry,” you answer, mirroring his stance. “Cherry Arsan. Who’re you, cowboy?”

He licks his lips, glancing at Rooster, who is watching you with a fondness secured over all his soft features. 

“Hangman,” Jake says.  

You bite your lip and then shrug. 

“I like Cowboy better, I think.”

Hangman swallows hard. His eyes are lingering on your bare chest, which is slightly obscured by the water. Fucking Christ--there isn’t an ounce of shame in your body. 

“Right on,” Hangman says. “You can call me whatever you want, baby. I’m no square.”  

 Rooster smiles at you with tight lips, then turns to Hangman again. 

“Cherry here just signed a twelve-movie deal with Goldman Homevideos,” Rooster explains to Hangman. “She’s crashing here until she gets her dough.”

Hangman’s mouth is ajar. You’re the girl Dennis is buzzing about--God, Dennis wouldn’t shut the fuck up about you whenever Hangman went into his office for a meeting the other day. You should see the way she sucks cock, Jake, it’s out of this fucking world! She ain’t even acting, the kid just likes to fuck! On and on he’d gone about you, talking about all the films he wanted you to be in and who he was going to let go so you could replace them. She’s gonna be the next big thing, my man. 

“I’ve heard a thing or two about you,” Hangman coolly says.

“Radical,” you tell him. “I haven’t heard anything about you.” 

You don’t know that this is the Jake that Rooster mentioned earlier--the one who was in Vietnam. But even if you did know, you wouldn’t tell Hangman that you and Rooster had been talking about it. Not just because you’re a trustworthy person, but because you feel indebted to Rooster now--you feel that the two of you have formed some kind of alliance the past few days.

“I’ve been at my pad all week, man,” Rooster tells Hangman, squinting up at him. “Haven’t gotten any phone calls from you. Right, Cherry?” 

“Uh huh,” you confirm. “We’ve been hunkered down. I don’t own any shoes.”

Hangman quirks a brow at you. You’re sinking lower into the water, your hips bending and your arms moving peacefully below the surface. Your chin just barely grazes the surface.

“You don’t own any shoes, baby? Rooster, what are you doing to the girl? Holding her hostage?” Hangman grins. 

Before Rooster can answer, Hangman grabs one of the lounge chairs and drags it over to the side of the pool, plopping down with a sigh. You’re in between the two men now, not touching the side of the pool. You’re just watching them watch you. 

“We just haven’t left the house,” Rooster explains. He knows for a fact that Jake hasn’t tried calling the house--he would’ve picked up. But he doesn’t say anything; not yet, at least. “Shoes are on the docket before Sunday.” 

“What kinda shoes you like?” 

You raise your brows. Hangman’s grinning at you, holding his chin in his palm. 

“Pretty ones,” you tell him. “Expensive ones.” 

You’ve never owned expensive shoes in your life. You owned a whopping three pairs of shoes back home: rain boots, leather Mary Jane’s for school, and tennis shoes for gym glass. You didn’t take very good care of them, especially when you started to outgrow them after you graduated; they were all three falling apart. 

“Solid,” Hangman grins. “Dennis paying you the big bucks?” 

You nod. 

Rooster pats Jake on the shoulder amiably. 

“You want a drink, man?” He asks. 

Hangman nods, barely dragging his eyes away from you. 

“Aperol spritz,” Hangman answers, patting Rooster’s shoulder in gratitude. “You nervous, Cherry?” 

“Right now?” You ask, shaking your head. 

Hangman laughs a big laugh. 

“Nah, baby. About being in the business,” he answers. “You know--erotica. Spank movies. Triple-X. Porn.” 

Biting your lip, you shake your head. 

“No,” you answer. “I like sex. I’m just getting paid for it now.” 

He nods, smoothing his hand over his mustache. He likes that answer. It’s how he felt, too. 

“This is gonna be like living a different life, baby,” Hangman tells you, crossing his arms. “You won’t even remember what life was like before once you really get into the thick of it.” 

That sounds good to you. That sounds very, very good to you. 

“Groovy,” you answer. “Not much life to remember before, anyway.” 

He thinks he remembers Dennis saying something about you being from some desolate, nowhere state. God, he thinks he can remember Dennis saying something about a farm, too, but maybe he just made that up. No way you’re from a farm--they don’t make girls like you there. 

Rooster is mulling over to the bar, keeping his ears perked to listen in on your conversation with Jake. Jake is like a brother to Rooster--Rooster took him under his wing a handful of years ago when Jake was just breaking into the scene. And because Hangman is like a brother to Rooster, Rooster knows that Jake has a bit of an issue with nose candy. It’s a rather new thing that Rooster’s noticed, only in the past couple months or so, but it’s definitely something that’s happened. Rooster knows all about nose candy--which is why he is so vehemently against doing it himself again. 

“What brings you around, Hangman?” Rooster calls, popping open a bottle of Aperol. “Not that I’m not jazzed.” 

Hangman, legs spread and fists resting on his thighs, leans back in his lounger and glances at Rooster. 

“Wanted to talk about the party,” Hangman calls back. “See who’s coming.” 

Hangman also wanted to talk about this new broad Dennis has been going on and on about, but you’re standing right in front of him. 

“The usual,” Rooster answers, slicing an orange. “Anyone can come. Same as always.” 

Hangman nods. His fingers are starting to tingle, his nose is starting to burn. You’re just watching the two of them, letting your chin submerge in the water so you just breathe through your nose. 

After shrugging on his paisley pool-robe, Rooster crosses the concrete again and hands Hangman his drink. Then he sits back down on the edge of the pool and nods for you to retrieve the orange he carried over for you. 

“You’re gonna prune, kid,” he says to you, eyebrows raised. 

You’re swimming towards him, grinning. You take the orange from his hand and press a chaste kiss to his mouth before burrowing your thumb through the soft skin of the orange.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Hangman excuses, jumping out of his seat and wandering inside the house. 

Rooster knows what he’s going to do in there--you don’t, not yet. For now, you’re oblivious, just eating your orange in the pool and tossing the discarded skin on the hot concrete beside Rooster. 

“That’s Jake,” Rooster says to you, fingering a piece of orange skin. He watches the realization dawn on you, orange juice dripping from out mouth and onto your chest and into the water around you. “You picking up what I’m laying down?” 

“I get you,” you answer softly. 

You’re perplexed. Hangman seems fine. He seems chipper, even. You can absolutely imagine fucking Jake--he doesn’t seem like the boys you saw back home, the ones who didn’t care much to be alive anymore. 

When Jake skips out of the house a few minutes later, there’s a new energy about him. He’s grinning something fierce, practically vibrating with excitement. He feels good--his heart is racing the way he likes it to, his ears have that slight ring, and he just feels fucking good. 

“Room in that pool for two, Cherry-berry?” 

Cherry-berry. It tickles you. 

You chew the rest of your orange carefully, nodding with a smile. The juice is sweet and tangy on your tongue; it makes your belly warm. 

“Fab,” Hangman answers. He starts stripping just beside Rooster, letting all his clothes fall in a heap on the concrete. “Get in with us, Rooster!” 

Rooster can see the white powder dusted across Jake’s mustache. Jake is moving with a rapidity that can only stem from taking a bump--even if Rooster already knew that’s what he was doing, it’s good to have confirmation. Jake hasn’t really been trying to hide it these days, not that anyone really does. Rooster did whenever he did it--but that was a long time ago. 

“Hangman,” Rooster says quietly. 

Jake’s gaze lands on Rooster’s easily--his pupils are blown and he’s naked now. Rooster just subtly swipes a finger across his own mustache and nods at Jake. But Jake gets the memo immediately, carefully dusting his stache off and swiping his finger across his gums. 

You watch the interaction curiously, tilting your head.

But then you go back to admiring Hangman’s naked body. He looks like California the same way Rooster does--carved out of marble, his form broad and serious. He’s flaccid right now--it’s not a sight you’re used to. But even in its softness, you find a certain beauty in the natural state of being. 

Then Hangman grins at you. 

“I feel like me and you are gonna get along just fine, Cherry,” he tells you, pointing to you. He’s suddenly much more energetic than he was before, his smile impossibly wider and brighter. “Fuck swimming. Wanna fuck instead?” 

Rooster glances at you, a frown tugging at his lips. He loves Jake--really, he does. He’s the closest thing to family that Rooster has. He always brings good wine to parties and fought in a pointless war because it was a duty placed upon him by the big guys. 

But for some reason, he really wish Hangman wasn’t here right now. Things have been blissful between you and Rooster the past few days: in between fucking, the two of you have talked politics and literature and art. You’ve ate dinner together and watched whatever spaghetti Western’s have been playing on the television. You’ve watched the television sign off every night together, which Rooster hasn’t done since he was young. Strangely, he just wants to preserve that. Not that it’s going to be possible in your line of work. He knows he’s being stupid. He knows it. So, he says nothing. 

You bite your lip, raking your eyes across Hangman’s body again. 

“Sure,” you answer. “Practice makes perfect.” 

It isn’t uncommon for Rooster’s friends to talk about this so openly in front of him, even if they’re at his house. Especially Jake--he’s shameless. Rooster’s grown comfortable with sex surrounding him on all fronts, especially when Jake shows up. 

Rooster stays sitting on the edge of the pool, sipping on another Tom Collins, as you take Jake through the house and lead him into your bedroom. He fiddles with the orange peels you left behind and thinks about you between his legs, asking him if he’s ever been in love. 

Jake doesn’t waste any time when you get into the spare room across from Rooster’s, the one you’ve been sleeping in. The room is the nicest you’ve ever had--big windows that you keep open to let the evening breeze float through, a gargantuan waterbed that curves around your body, dark walnut furniture that you have precisely no use for, and a big fluffy rug that feels like feathers on your perpetually-bare toes. Your room back home was little more than an antique mattress and magazine cutouts on the wall; and you were sleeping on the pullout portion of Jenny’s trundle bed when you were staying with your aunt. 

He holds your naked body close to his, your skin still slick with chlorinated water. He kisses you ferociously, all tongue and teeth and spit. And you’re kissing him right back, already keening at the hardening of his cock against your belly. 

“Nice to meet you,” Hangman mumbles against your lips. He leaves a sloppy trail of kisses across your jaw and down your throat as you reach down and begin to pump him in your hand. He groans against your skin. “Where you from again? Mississippi?” 

“Nebraska,” you breathe out. He cups your breasts and pinches your nipples hard enough for you to gasp out--it arouses you that he’s being so precise and rough. “Where are you from?”

“Texas,” he mutters, sucking softly on your collarbone.

“I can spot a cowboy from a mile away,” you breathe, thumbing the pearl of precum that’s dripping from the head of Jake’s cock. He’s big like Rooster, too--maybe a bit thinner and longer, but still sizable. Your mouth is watering. “You ever go by Tex?” 

“Not after Manson,” he answers, leaning down to capture your pert nipple between his lips. He suckles harshly, bucking his hips up to meet yours. “Jesus.” 

“Forgot about that,” you mumble.  

Jake reaches down, everything moving in hyperspeed for him, and dips his fingers between your legs. You’re aroused already, aroused enough that the pads of his fingers slip easily around your clit. You bite into his shoulder, intense flames of pleasure licking your heels instantly. 

This is the kind of sex that you’re used to. This is the type of sex you would have back home, except much less exciting. But this is how quickly the men and boys used to move back home--spitting in their cupped hands and smearing it over your cunt and rutting into you before their wives could come out of the grocery store or before their lunch break ended. 

Rooster is sitting at the bar now, making himself another Tom Collins. He still has a little piece of your orange peel in his grip, pressing it between his fingers. He’s changed the record--now, It’s Your Thing by the Isley Brothers is playing. It’s louder now, too. There’s something heavy sitting on his chest--something that feels similar to envy. But he knows he’s being stupid; he’s had you all to himself since you were discovered. 

And you are not his. You are thoroughly not his. 

Jake sits down on the edge of the bed, gripping your hips and guiding you to him. He presses into you easily, securing your back against his chest and sighing deeply when your warmth surrounds him. 

You feel good--you feel very good. He knows he’s high right now, he knows every one of his senses is heightened, but this feels like fucking magic. You’re warm and soft everywhere, letting your wet hair fall over his shoulder as you tip your head back. He feels good, too--he’s quicker, rougher than Rooster but it isn’t something you necessarily mind at all. He’s holding onto you tightly, already thrusting rapidly. 

“Feel so good,” Jake mutters to you, kissing your exposed throat feverishly. “So fucking tight, baby. Been giving this to Rooster all week, huh? Holding out on me.” 

You’re grinning--not just because he’s making you smile but because you love this. You love that you just met this man and that you were naked and no one cared and now you’re fucking. And after you’re done fucking, once that itch has been scratched, you’re gonna get back in the pool and have a few more drinks. 

“Jealous, Cowboy? I just met you,” you moan out, hooking your legs over his so you’re spread. 

His hand wanders down and lands on your clit easily, his strokes rapid and inexact, but you don’t care. Sex has never been about cumming for you. 

“Maybe we’ve known each other all along,” Jake mutters, pressing himself deeply inside of you. You keen, squeeze around him and he bites into your shoulder to lessen his groan. “Like some sort of hippie-dippie shit.” 

“You’re just saying that cause you like fucking me.” 

“Mind your potatoes,” Jake grunts. 

This definitely isn’t Jake’s first time having sex with someone within minutes of meeting them, especially not in his business. And this isn’t his first time fucking this high or even fucking in this bedroom. You can tell all of this somehow the same way he can tell that you’re no novice. No chance in Hell with the way you’re grinding yourself against him and keeping up with his pace. 

“How long have you been in the industry?” You ask. 

He chuckles dryly, settling his sweaty forehead against your neck. His nose is running, but he doesn’t care--he won’t let anything interrupt the pace he’s set. 

The two of you seem to be in some sort of unspoken stand-off, asking each other questions and seeing who can fuck and answer at the same time. 

“Since ‘73,” he mutters, digging his fingers into your hips when you clench particularly hard around him. He’s still circling your clit and you’re still moving your hips against his expertly. “After I got back.” 

You know what he’s talking about. But you don’t know if he should know that.

“How’d you get started?” 

His thrusts are starting to falter, stuttering. He’s close. 

“Red, let’s talk about this later,” he groans. He moves to hold onto the crease of your hips and starts to guide your body down onto his cock over and over again as he pants against your skin. “Fuck, where should I cum?” 

“Inside,” you pant. 

He’s touching a spot deep inside of you, one that was opened up by your legs spreading, one that you always want to be caressed and pressed against. You’re moaning out, letting him guide your hips up and down against his rapidly. 

You don’t have to tell Jake twice. He spills into you after a few lazy thrusts, holding down harshly on your body before letting your body relax against his. You’re both panting, your chests flushed. 

“Trying to trap me or something?” Jake asks, playfully biting the slope of your shoulder.

Laughing, you shake your head. 

Your hair is still dripping down both of your bodies. It smells like chlorine and cum in here now. 

“Can’t make babies,” you mutter, swallowing hard. “Doctor said I’m twisted up in there.” 

Jake lets his flat palm press against your chest. 

“Here?” He asks. He’s teasing you of course. 

You bite your lip. Your throat feels thick for a moment.  

“Yeah,” you answer. 

He laughs, then. Sometimes he’s accidentally cruel when he’s this high--all semblance of the Southern gentleman he really is fades and is replaced with someone with blown pupils and a bloody nose. 

“Right on, Cherry.” 

 Jake stays for a long time. 

The three of you swim around until the sun sets low in the hills, the sky painted an obscene shade of orange. You drink your Harvey Wallbangers, Hangman drinks his Aperol spritzes, and Rooster drinks his Tom Collins. Rooster picks a Fleetwood Mac record and dances with you on the concrete, both of you bare-naked while Hangman takes a couple more bumps in the privacy of the spare bathroom. Rooster makes everyone steak as you and Hangman scour the record collection and sip on brandy--which Rooster considers to be an evening drink. 

By the end of the night, when the red waters in the pool glow beneath the pristine light of the moon, all of you are drunk. Hangman is high and drunk, but that doesn’t put a damper on his mood. Everyone’s lazing on the couch, half-dressed, telling stories about porn stars before and after them. 

All day, you’ve had that warm feeling in your chest. It’s the feeling you get whenever you now that you’re somewhere you belong. And you know, with your entire heart, that this is where you belong. 

“You ever been in love, Hangman?” You ask, combing your fingers through Rooster’s hair. He’s sitting on the floor before you, his limbs strewn about like spilled liquid. He’s very drunk--drunker than he’s been in a while. And he’s drinking in your touch and attention, absently rubbing circles on your bare foot as he lets his cheek rest against your knee. “I asked the old man earlier. Your turn.” 

Hangman is laying across from you on his back, a tall glass of brandy balanced on the flat of his chest. Everything is fuzzy around him and he’s heavy and warm. No way he’s gonna be able to get up--let alone drive home. He’s gonna crash here tonight, he already knows it. 

“You first,” Hangman declares, his head lulling as he glances at you. 

He’s struck by how easily you and Rooster have seemed to click. There is some sort of immediate connection between the two of you, which Hangman doesn’t often see with Rooster. Rooster is like everyone’s dad, really--and he’s guarded about who he’ll spend his time with. But here Rooster is, drunker than a skunk, holding onto your calf and leaning against you as you play with his hair. 

“No,” you answer. You point to your chest and shrug. All twisted up in there. “No from Rooster too, right, big guy?” 

Rooster nods. Your fingers feel too good in his hair--you’ve rendered him silent. He’s so drunk that he doesn’t even comment on your new nickname for him: big guy.  

“Once, I think,” Hangman slurs. “His name was Gentry. We were in the same…well, anyway. We never said it to each other. But I think I knew and I think he knew.” 

You’re drunk--drunker than you’ve ever been, maybe. But you’re slightly more sober than Rooster and Hangman. You have had a significant amount less brandy than they have. So you see it when Hangman’s eyes get glossy, when his pupils shrink. You see it when the glass of brady starts to rise and fall rapidly. 

“Why didn’t you tell him?” You ask. 

You wonder if this is what it’s like to be good friends with someone. This feels like what girls at slumber parties talk about--which is something you missed out on entirely. But there is such a warmth in your throat right now, such a sense of admiration for both of these men here. It could be the alcohol--or that hippie-dippie shit Hangman was talking about. 

“Oh, he died,” Hangman answers casually, tutting. “Bam! Landmine. All gone, Gentry. Later days, man!” 

Hangman starts to laugh, his mouth wide open and his throat flushed. 

And even as drunk as you are, as abstract as this all seems, you understand that this is not a normal reaction. You understand that this laughter is not born from humor and that gloss over his eyes isn’t just because of the aperol or the brandy or the coke. 

Rooster told you earlier that he doesn’t like talking about it. You don’t know if Hangman is talking to you about it because he’s so out of his mind right now or if it’s because of how the two of you have clicked today.

You detangle yourself from Rooster--he’s almost asleep now, his eyelids heavy and your fingers as good as a wool blanket and warm glass of milk. He comes to a bit more as you crawl across the sofa gracefully, just a t-shirt covering your body. He watches you, his vision bleary, as you move the glass of brandy and lay your body on top of Hangman’s. You’re lying entirely parallel on top of him, holding him close to you. Rooster’s chest is starting to hurt. He misses your fingers in his hair, your skin beneath his thumb.

Hangman is surprised for a moment when you move his glass away and even more surprised when you lay down on top of him. For a moment, he thinks you’re initiating sex and moves to pull your t-shirt up since he’s always game. But then you’re just still, your arms wrapped around him and your cheek against his shoulder. He doesn't know what to do--but he suddenly feels bad for laughing. Gentry. Gentry.     

His heart is racing below your ear. Your eyes are growing heavy at the sound, the constant and erratic beating. Hangman isn’t moving and neither are you. You don’t know what you’re doing, but it feels right. 

You fall asleep there and so does Hangman, the lights in the room low and the record spinning soundlessly. And Rooster watches. 

☿ 𝐚/𝐧: I'm not going to tell you all a story. I grew up in a very religious household--AKA my mom is a bible thumper and my dad is Jewish but my mom decided that all her kids were gonna be Jesus freaks--and I went to church every Sunday. like I was the kid that was like yeah, my mom said you can stay the night tonight but you have to go to church with us in the morning! and then my mom was like baptism time! and on THREE different occasions when they tried to baptize me...something went wrong. TWICE the water boiled. ONCE the pool was drained mysteriously. and the hospital I was born at burned down. why am I telling you this? I think it's bc God knew I was going to write this story and knew better than to grant me entrance.

☿ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

☿ 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠

☿ 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬

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[oflights]

top five books

gahhh i love and hate this lol. love because i love to evangelize about the books i love, and hate because i love sO MANY BOOKS

okay, again in no order because how could i rank these?? also i added another restriction because i could not actually handle coming up with only a top five that included classic lit (if someone else wants to ask me that one so i can have another meltdown, feel free).

anyway, these are top five books that i've read in the past five years!! linking to my goodreads reviews for receipts.

A Brightness Long Ago by Guy Gavriel Kay

Lent by Jo Walton

The Which Way Tree by Elizabeth Crook

She Who Became the Sun/He Who Drowned the World by Shelley Parker-Chan

Piranesi by Susanna Clark

ask me top 5 anything! 📖📚

[doitinanotherlanguage]

July 2023: 1960s

(You can read more about the Reading Through the Decades reading challenge on my post introducing the challenge. Basically, it’s a year-long reading challenge where we read books - and explore other media - from the 1900s to the 2020s, decade-by-decade.)

My Recommendations for July

🎬 Hidden Figures (2016), dir. Theodore Melfi 🎬 A Single Man (2009), dir. Tom Ford 🎬 The Shape of Water (2017), dir. Guillermo del Toro 📖 The Bell Jar (1963), Sylvia Plath 🎬 Dirty Dancing (1987), dir. Emile Ardolino 🎬 The Man from U.N.C.L.E. (2015), dir. Guy Ritchie 📖 Brokeback Mountain (1997), Annie Proulx 🎬 늑대소년 (2012; A Werewolf Boy), dir. Jo Sung-hee 🎬 Last Night in Soho (2021), dir. Edgar Wright 📖 Babel-17 (1966), Samuel R. Delany 🎬 The Trial of the Chicago 7 (2020), dir. Aaron Sorkin

[caspiangreyling]

🌈📖 New Page Monday! 📖🌈

In which the murderer is found, but that is just the start of Cypress and Jo's problems.

Into the Dreamlands is a fantasy comic about two detective boyfriends on a date that turns perilous in a realm where almost anything is possible.

Read the latest update

Start Into the Dreamlands here

[currentlybradshaw]

MAE MAE MAEEE!! you really outdo yourself every time. this was so incredibly hot 😵‍💫🫠

did you climb into rooster’s brain in the first half?? because i feel like those are the exact thoughts that were floating around in his mind the whole time leading up to the mission

as smutty as this was it was also kinda sweet too? like in the way that she knows he so stressed and anxious and she just wants to help him forget for a bit?

the first paragraph after the + took me out 🥵

is it bad that all i could think about while reading this is how pretty he would look? flush across his chest all the way up to his cheeks and his puppy dog eyes and messy curls oh my god i’m gonna go now

bradley bradshaw eats shredded wheat cereal and nature valley granola bars and you heard it here first folks. mae makes the rules 🤷🏼‍♀️

wasted and strawberry lace with sub!rooster for the 1k celebration 💗💗 love u mae!!

your ecstasy (i'm floating away)

pairing- rooster x afab reader

synopsis- sometimes bradley just needs to get out of his head a little

warnings- 18+ minors dni (glen don't read this either ik you want proof rooster's a bottom but this is not the droid you're looking for) sub bradley, dom reader, dirty pics, teasing bradley while he's supposed to be working, unprotected piv, orgasm control, subspace, established relationship so kink negotiation is implied to have happened pre-fic, lots of anxiety and rooster's bummer of a life

length- 1.9k

an- thank you so much jo ily!!!! this is weirdly not just filth it kind of turned into a character study almost? my b

for the prompts wasted; ‘i know baby, I know’ & strawberry lace; lingerie. I had two other requests for {wasted} which’ll get posted separately the muse is just very fickle right now

i think of this as part of the heart in danger (rooster x roommate) universe but can definitely be read separately there's only one comment about it. also let's hand wave the fact that rooster would probably not be allowed to be on his phone while getting briefed on a life endangering mission

the link to lingerie is not very inclusive, if that bothers you feel free to skip the link. it fit perfectly so i had to use it. but as always envision whatever you want :)

title courtesy of dopamine - børns

The problem with being back in North Island is that no matter how many renditions of Great Balls of Fire Bradley does, that pit of uneasiness still sits like a rock in his stomach, reminiscent of the last time he was here.

He remembers being so heavy, having such a chip on his shoulder going through TOPGUN the first time around that it’s a wonder his jet was ever able to get off the ground.

So, when faced with Maverick - the one person who purposely ensured that Bradley was well and truly alone - for the first time in over a decade, the anxiety simmering deep within him starts to claw its way to the surface.

And it’s not just Maverick. It’s all too much; the idea that he might die serving the Navy, die doing the same job his mom always wanted to keep him safe from, die flying as close as he can to a blonde guy with a mustache that he barely remembers – his only real memories of him consisting of brightly colored shirts and deft fingers flying over piano keys.

Or maybe it’s even worse if he burns in trying to emulate the guy that never believed he was ready in the first place.

No time to be thinking about the past, Hangman spat at him. As if Bradley doesn’t know that, how high the stakes are. As if he doesn’t know that he’ll be a danger to the entire team if he doesn’t get his overanxious mind under control; like he’d still be thinking about this given the choice not to.

If only he could just get his brain to shut up for one goddamn second.

He’s pulled from his internal self-pity by his phone, nearly jumping in his seat at the vibration. He really needs to get it the fuck together.

Wanted something fancy under my new button-up today, what do you think?

“Christ,” Bradley mutters, flipping the device over before anyone sees the lingerie you’ve so kindly sent him a picture of, a sinful black lacy little thing, while he should be paying attention to Maverick.  

“Feathers ruffled, Rooster?”

Bradley tries to keep his eyes from rolling, he really does, but Hangman’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard to him, always has been. No amount of team bonding and dogfight football can fix that.

He flips the blonde off while Mav’s attention is on Fanboy, not trusting his tone to stay calm. When Hangman finally turns back to the front of the room, he texts you back as sneakily as he can with one hand and his eyes fixed forward.

Are you trying to make me jerk off in the bathroom like a teenager?

I don’t remember saying that was allowed, Lieutenant.

Fuck.

Bradley drops his head back and stares at the ceiling, trying to control his breathing. Whenever you use his rank against him it always spreads heat under his collar.

It only means one thing.

He’ll count his lucky stars that you were able to come with him to North Island, even if there is a death sentence at the end of it. Because you’ve always been able to read him better than anyone.

You must’ve sensed how much he needs this, needs to be taken out of his head for a little while. How his brain’s been running a hundred miles an hour, ever since he got called back.

It’s not something you do all the time, more often than not he likes to take the reins, likes to lay you out and take you apart.

His cheeks still get ruddy with embarrassment sometimes, thinking about how domineering, brushing against the edge of mean, he was with you the very first time you crossed the line from roommates to something more. But he knew what you needed, what you were too scared to ask for.

As it turns out, just as much as he knows what you need, you do the same for him. Like you know everything’s too much for him this close to the beaches of southern California.

That every day his flight suit has sat unpleasantly against his tanned skin. The straps holding him into his F/A-18 have felt like they were in danger of rubbing his skin raw.

Since the moment you both headed stateside his mind has supplied him with endless possibilities of what could go wrong, and probably will go wrong in this mission.  

He hasn’t been able to finish one coherent thought. That’s the thing about your mind spinning with possibilities – eventually, they come too fast to really register them. He’s halfway through one nightmare sequence when his brain moves on to another.

Every day he’s come back to you, watched you answer work emails while perched at his Navy-issued hotel room desk, and felt a sob catch in his throat as he considers what he’ll leave behind if he gets chosen for the mission.

He almost wishes he could wash out, but knows his stupid, bull-headed pride won’t let him. That as much as he doesn’t want to be, deep down he’s still the same eighteen-year-old screaming in Maverick’s face for pulling his papers, for telling him he’s not good enough. No matter how much he tries to hide it, the chip on his shoulder hasn’t quite filled itself out.

Sorry ma’am. I can be good.

He can practically see your smartass grin when he gets your response, a simple two words that have him counting the seconds until he can bolt out of the debrief.

Prove it.

+

You’re still wearing the lingerie that’s sure to haunt his dreams for the next several deployments, that’ll be stuck in his head when he’s suffocating on other pilots’ egos and wishing desperately he didn’t have a bunkmate. It’s pulled to the side, his eyes transfixed on where you’re letting him thrust his thick cock into your wet heat, his feet flat on the bed so he has enough leverage to fuck up into you.

“Stop, baby,” you say, and Bradley knows his face crumples like he’s in pain, but he immediately halts his movements, hands tearing at the bedsheets in protest of the orgasm quickly being ripped out from underneath him.

You run your hands down his chest, nails raking red marks across his pecs, the sharp sting his only tether to reality.

“Plea –” He tries to beg, but it gets lost in a groan as you swivel your hips on his cock, too slow for him to build back up to the edge.

It feels like you’ve been at this for days and distantly, Bradley can tell he’s shaking with need, breathless whines leaving in a stream without his permission as you whisper how gorgeous he is like this. He’d preen under the attention if he weren’t currently floating, as close as he ever gets to flying when he’s on the ground.

He can feel the wetness beneath his lashes, spilling hot tears onto his cheeks as you move to cup his jaw, your harsh grip offset by affectionate strokes across his cheek with your thumb. “I know, baby, I know.”

Sounds are leaving his mouth, he thinks his hands are reaching for you, but he doesn’t know what world he exists in right now, his mind light and high in the clouds.

“You need to cum, don’t you?”

Bradley leans into your touch, the soft pads of your fingers giving him something to focus on, something to ground him as he tries to wade through the fog to understand your words, to be good for you.

Your fingers tighten on his jaw, just on this side of painful, bringing him back to Earth. “I asked you a question, Lieutenant.”

He nods and you tut, the disapproving noise lancing him, your displeasure bringing more burning tears to his eyes.

You look down at him, his world narrowing to the soft light behind you, glowing around your head like a halo and the smile that Bradley has dreamt of on every aircraft carrier he’s had the displeasure of being on since he met you.

“Words, Bradley, you know better than that.”

He can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed about the whine that rips from his throat, high-pitched and reedy. His head is empty, a lone yes rattling around his brain like the last piece of candy in those little cardboard boxes you get at the movies.

“Please, princess.” The words force themselves off his tongue, syllables falling out of his mouth slowly like molasses. “Need you, need to cum inside you.”

He should probably be calling you ma’am or something more deferential given your current situation, but at this point, it’s truly a feat he was able to get any words out at all.

"Good boy."

When you tangle your fingers in his curls and tug, another drawn-out moan leaves his lips involuntarily.

You smirk. Bradley thinks he’ll be seeing that coy, self-satisfied look on the back of his eyelids every day for the rest of his life.

“You’ve been so good,” you murmur, sultry and bringing more heat to his cheeks, which he didn't even think possible after they've been flaming for hours now. He wants to keen, wants to bottle up your praise and live with it inside his ears forever, but you’ve started moving your hips again, building your rhythm back up and it drives any coherency from his brain.

“Cum for me, baby, fill me up,” you whimper, leaning down so your words are hot in his ear, sending sparks down his spine.

His thrusts turn erratic at your permission, hands gripping your hips for dear life as his head falls back, exposing the thick line of his throat. Your hand stays on his jaw, moving down his neck, thumb rubbing softly over his pulse as his climax snaps through him, every muscle tensing and releasing as his vision whites out.

He’s boneless, afloat, mind blissfully, finally blank. For the first time since he got the order to return to California, his chest feels light.

Your hands are carding through his curls, voice soft and melodic when he comes to. It warms him all over. “You back with me?”

Bradley nods, face tucked into your neck. He hears the crinkle of a wrapper, opening his eyes to spy a piece of a Nature Valley bar inches away from him. He wants to roll his eyes, tell you he’s fine, but decides he’s too tired to argue, taking the snack between his lips.

“Thank you for taking care of me, princess,” he mumbles through a mouthful of granola bar.  

“I needed it too,” you admit quietly, like you don’t want to ruin the calm that’s taken over your shared hotel room by being too loud. “I know you can’t tell me anything about why we’re here. But it can’t be good, right? It was nice, to be in control for just a little. I feel a bit better now, more settled.”

“Me too,” he agrees, nuzzling the soft skin behind your ear before nosing his way to your mouth for a kiss.

He tries to pour all his love into the press of his lips against yours, hoping it��s enough.