#pink station zero | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sometimesanalice · 13 days ago

Text

Are You Gonna Be My Girl?

Summary: It’s been a couple of months since the two of you have started hooking up, and it’s no secret that Rooster is hung up on you. He takes the gamble and invites you to the yearly Halloween bash at the Hard Deck. The only problem is he can’t figure out what the hell you’re supposed to be.

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 6.2K

Warnings: allusions to smut and Rooster being a simp (but what else is new 😂) (mdni)

The Black Keys’ “Howlin’ for You” playing loudly over the static-y speakers of the Hard Deck masking the sound of Rooster’s fingers as he impatiently drums them on top of the worn table, uncaring of the fact he’s out of tempo with the song.

Penny’s yearly Halloween Spooktacular has always been a fan favorite with those stationed at North Island. A name that Amelia had thrown shade at no less than five times as she worked on designing the event flier the afternoon that the Daggers had been bribed with free beers for coming in on their free time to help decorate.

There wasn’t an inch of the bar that was left untouched, and it wasn’t just that Bob had gotten carried away with the downy spider webbing. There were orange and purple string lights threaded around the circular mug racks, floating candles over the pool table, dangling bats and streamers, and an enthusiastic but poorly executed attempt at a balloon arch over the entry door.

The wispy fog covered punchbowl with a suspicious dark purple beverage bubbled away on the bartop, tendrils cascaded over the side only adding to the atmosphere. The stuff was so potent that Bradley was pretty sure it would put the jungle juice he’d thrown back in college to shame.

Rooster had been tasked with curating the playlist for tonight’s party, and if he’d been paying even a little bit of attention, he’d have known his choices were being well received by the boisterous crowd. But his attention is half split trying to listen to Hangman’s story about the Halloween prank gone wrong that left him with twelve stitches and half listening for-

Ding

He’s quick on the draw to pull out his phone from the chest pocket to check if it was his that went off.

When he’d arrived Nat, decked out in a sequined pink gown with a gun he wasn’t sure was fake or not strapped to her thigh for her Miss Congeniality costume, had given him a look of disdain and said what he was wearing was low effort even for him.

Rooster tucks his phone away with a disappointed sigh when there are zero new notifications on his lock screen.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you so whipped over a girl before, Bradshaw,” Hangman drawls, leaning into the gunslinging cowboy thing he has going on for the evening. His shirt is unbuttoned more than is strictly necessary, and is complete with a belt buckle that is larger than the state of Texas and too heavy looking to have been bought off Amazon.

Ding

Bradley fishes out his phone again from the pocket he’d put it back in only moments earlier.

You, 10:32pm: “u up?”

He grins.

“And we’ve lost him,” someone snarks, but he’s too busy punching in the password to unlock his phone to care.

Bradley Bradshaw, 10:32pm: are you ever going to let that go?

You, 10:32pm: Mmm, no. You were so bad at being a fuckboy, it was funny.

You, 10:33pm: But in a very hot way, might I add. And clearly, it worked in your favor since I let you come over and hit it a second time.

Rooster snorts in amusement.

It was the first and last time he’d taken Fanboy’s advice and you teased him about it every opportunity you got. He had been a little rusty with the ins and outs of no-strings-attached sex with someone who wasn’t in the Navy. But he’d more than made up for it that same night by eating you out until your legs were shaking and you were weakly pushing his head away as he’d coaxed you into coming just one more time against his tongue.

Bradley Bradshaw, 10:33pm: don’t remember hearing you laughing last night when your pussy was dripping all over my cock

He takes a sip of beer as he waits for your response.

You, 10:33pm: Look! You’re already so much better at sexting than you were when we met!

You, 10:34pm: “u up?” is still on the table, by the way. Not to brag, but I even have a pumpkin shaped pizza.

You, 10:34pm: If you want to come over.

If you want to come over. He shakes his head reading the text again.

As if he’d ever pass up on getting to spend time with you.

As if Rooster hadn’t been hooked on you since the moment he’d met you.

𝗧𝗪𝗢 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗛𝗦 𝗔𝗚𝗢

As a general rule, Bradley hated grocery shopping.

He’s never had the patience for it, with the way that everyone is in their own world. He gets tired of always having to weave around people and the way that there always seems to be carelessly parked carts or people catching up standing between him and the items on his list.

Which is why when he noticed the parking lot was mostly empty on his way home, he decided to stop and spare himself the headache of doing it over the weekend when everyone else was out and just get it done.

He’d expected to be in and out in record time until the uniform lines of colorful cartons of ice cream caught his attention as he was tossing in a few bags of frozen chicken into his cart. Normally it was always so crowded that he never felt like he could take his time looking without being in someone’s way, that he’d skip it entirely and later try to convince himself that his Greek yogurt was just as good. But tonight since no one was around, he was taking his time.

Under the glare of the fluorescents, he stands there with the hum of the freezers competing with the too-twangy-for-his-taste country song playing over the speakers and debating his options when he feels an arm thread around his own, surprising him out of the pros and cons list he was making in his head between the healthier low-calorie choice versus the one he actually wanted.

“Hi, hello there.” Bradley glances over to see the prettiest pair of eyes looking up at him expectantly. “Do you mind playing along for a few minutes, there’s some creep who keeps trying to bother me.”

He looks over the top of your head to see some guy lingering at the end of the aisle. “The guy who looks like off-brand John Mayer?”

You scrunch your nose up. “That’d be the one.”

“How good are you at picking out ice cream flavors?” he asks, standing up straighter and pulling his shoulders back.

You blink at him in confusion before your lips tick up in a relieved smile. “Very good, as a matter of fact.”

“Great, you came to my rescue just in time.” Bradley guides you closer until you’re in front of him, lightly resting a hand on your hip the way he would if you were his girlfriend. “Is this ok?” he asks under his breath, only loud enough for you to hear.

When you nod, he feels the knot in his chest loosen. Because while he wants this to be convincing to the guy still loitering at the edge of the aisle, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

“First things first, we need to establish a baseline.” You point at the carton covered in cartoony looking chocolate chip cookies. “What’s your opinion on cookie dough?”

“Overrated,” he answers, not missing a beat. “I’d rather just eat the stuff out of a tube instead.”

You lean back into him a bit more. “Ooh, tough crowd,” you tease, your head finding his shoulder. “Ok then, mister tempting-fate-with-salmonella, what’s your stance on the great vanilla bean vs French vanilla debate?”

Bradley takes a quick look around to make sure they’re not blocking any other late night grocery shoppers. He pretends to ponder for a moment before responding, “I like the one with flecks.”

“A dignified choice.” You say it so solemnly that he can’t help but chuckle.

The easy back and forth banter goes on for a few more minutes. Sometimes you rib him about his answers and other times agree. It shouldn’t be so fun standing there in front of the cooler filled with tubs of ice cream, but it is. It was the last thing he could have expected when he’d decided to stop in at the last minute on his way home after hitting up the Hard Deck.

When he tells you the two choices he had been contemplating before you’d come up to him, you hum contemplatively and tap a finger against your cheek, “Well this changes everything if you’re dairy free.”

“Nah, just watching my figure. The containers are smaller and I have a sweet tooth.”

“Respectfully, I don’t think that’s something you need to worry about. You fill out those khakis just fine, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“I don’t mind at all.” Rooster wonders if you can hear his self-satisfied grin. “Not every day I get a pretty girl telling me she was checking out my ass.”

You let out a small, amused scoff and all he feels is pleased with himself.

“I was not checking out your- oh.” The surprise in your voice has him leaning back enough to get a look at your face. “Wait, is he gone?” You peer around his shoulder, but don’t make a move to pull away from the gentle hold he has on you.

“He left around the time you were giving a very impassioned speech about how overlooked spumoni is. I probably should have mentioned it sooner, but you were making a pretty compelling case and I didn’t want to interrupt,” he says, trying to play it off casually and hoping that he didn’t just become the creep in this story when you tell it to your friends later.

“Oh, ok. That’s, um, that’s good.” You sound almost… disappointed? You take a step towards the case and he drops his arm back down to his side, already missing the feel of you under it. “Thank you so much for committing to the bit. Seriously, I truly appreciate it,” you say over your shoulder, opening the glass door.

He rubs the back of his neck, watching as you grab a carton out of the freezer, not sure whether to move on with the rest of his shopping or not. But when you turn back towards him, he’s hit with the full force of your smile, feeling it all the way to his toes.

“Rocky Road,” you say, setting the carton into his cart. “It has peanuts in it, which is a nutrient-dense food and an excellent plant-based source of protein. There’s collagen from the gelatin in the marshmallows. And chocolate has antioxidants in it and is known to trigger the holy trinity of happy brain chemicals. It’s basically a superfood.”

Rooster grins. “I don’t think it works like that.”

“No, unfortunately, it really doesn’t,” you agree, playfully leaning a hip against his cart. “But it’s more fun this way, don’t you think?”

He’s so fucking charmed by you and he doesn’t even know your name yet.

While he’s glad he was there at the right time and got to play a small part in deterring that guy from continuing to hassle you, he kind of wishes the two of you could have met under different circumstances, because he’d jump at the chance of being able to score a date with you. He sighs and shakes the thought out of his head.

“Would you like me to walk you to your car?” Rooster offers, ready to abandon his groceries for a few extra minutes with you.

“Oh wow.” That mischievous gleam that had been in your eyes changes to something softer. You tilt your head, taking him in with a thoughtful expression on your face. “You’re one of those rare genuinely a gentleman types, aren’t you? Like the kind who always walks closest to the curb and mows their elderly neighbor’s yard without being asked.” Bradley just lifts a shoulder. He’s used to looking out for other people, it’s just something he’s always done. “And they say chivalry is dead,” you muse, contemplatively, “I should let you know though, knock-off John Mayer is my ex.”

He feels his hackles rise up immediately and scans the area again to double check the guy isn’t still hanging around. “Is he harassing you?”

“Oh no, it was only an unfortunate fluke, I promise,” you say, patting his hand that’s gripping the handle of the shopping cart reassuringly. “He’s just a jackass who thought he could cheat on me and that I’d still take him back.” Bradley grunts at that, even more irritated than he was before. “But he was still trying to test the waters, even after I told him I was seeing someone,” you continue, with a roll of your eyes, “Which was technically true- even if I am in fact single right now- because that’s when I saw you over here gazing very intensely into the freezer case like you’d been personally victimized by Ben and Jerry.”

“You’re out of his league anyways,” he rasps.

There’s no way in hell Bradley would fumble a girl like you.

You grin widely, clearly amused at his annoyance on your behalf. “He was a tool with an overinflated ego and a flat ass.” Rooster barks out a surprised laugh. “And you’re so much hotter than him, so I really lucked out there with you as my knight in ironed khakis,” you say unabashedly, reaching out to straighten out his already perfectly straight name tag. “You really went above and beyond for your country there helping me win the break up.”

“I don’t think you needed me for that part. It’s pretty clear you came out on top.” His eyes dart down to your hand on the cart, like you forgot it was still resting on top of his. “But I was more than happy to help all the same.” He takes a half step closer into your space, deciding just to go for it. “I’m thinking we should keep up the ruse though, you know, just in case he is lurking by the pasta or something.”

You quirk a knowing eyebrow at him. “Is that so?”

“I could also use your professional opinion on cereal. That is if you still have some more shopping to do,” he suggests, nodding to your mostly empty handbasket.

There’s no question that he’s caught your interest, not with the way you’re looking at him. That smile you’re wearing tells a story of its own. “What a coincidence, that just happens to be my forte.”

“I had a feeling you might be the right girl for the job.” Bradley takes your basket from you and sets it in his cart and gestures for you to lead the way.

He learns your name around the same time he does about your hottake on Frosted Cheerios.

And later that night, his groceries are packed away in your fridge as the container of Rocky Road the two of you were sharing melts on your coffee table- the condensation puddling on the marble surface reflecting the credits rolling across the TV screen- as you ride him on your couch. Your hands tightly fisted in his hair and your breathy whines in his ear urging him to fuck you harder and faster until you come with his name in your mouth.

And in the morning, he gets your number over a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

The two of you have been fooling around for a couple of months now.

On the nights Rooster wasn’t fucking you, he was getting himself off to the thought of you and wishing you were in bed with him. You’ve never been to his place, so he doesn’t even have the bonus of that bright citrus scent of you lingering on his sheets on the nights he spends alone.

The sex was great. Mind-blowing. You were loud and enthusiastic and gave just as good as you got. Bradley found your confidence sexy as hell. You were the type of girl who knew exactly what she wanted and he was always up for the challenge of finding new ways to make your back arch and toes curl.

But he was just as much of a fan of the parts that came before and after getting you spasming around his cock.

He liked the way your mind worked. You were always telling him about something interesting you’d read, because you were naturally curious about the world around you. You asked him thoughtful questions about his job and his life in the Navy, but not in the way he was used to from the tag chasers that frequented the Hard Deck. There was no mistaking you were asking because you wanted to know more about him, and not fixated on the shiny sheen of his golden aviator wings.

Rooster has never laughed as much as he has with you. In those moments between catching your sighs with his mouth and waiting for the knock on the door for whatever late-night craving was being delivered, you’d have him laughing and grinning until his cheeks ached.

The closest he’s ever gotten to taking you on a proper date was that one late night drive-thru run when everything on delivery apps were closed. You’d looked like his favorite daydream sitting there under the glow of the streetlamp in the nearly empty parking lot in a shirt of his that he must have accidently left behind after a hook up.

That night was the most real it’s ever felt. And he wanted more nights just like that.

He liked the way you always seemed to have a documentary to recommend for any given topic, he has a list on his phone and has been working his way through them. He liked the way the glasses you wore sometimes seemed slightly too big for your face because it was cute the way you’d constantly push them back up your nose. He liked that you texted in full sentences with complete and proper punctuation.

Bradley could already imagine how tonight would most likely go.

He’d dip out of the party early and come to your place. Your tongue in his mouth and your greedy little hand tugging to get his belt undone before he’d even made it through the door. The two of you going at it until someone has to tap out- which he is smug in the fact that more often than not it’s usually you- now that he knows all the best ways to pull orgasm after orgasm out of you. Sometimes the two of you order in, and other nights you’ll pass a bowl of ice cream or cereal back and forth over the island in your kitchen where he gets to hear you laugh and tease him and tell him about your day. Then do it all over again and once you’re thoroughly spent, he’ll hold you as you fall asleep. And then in the morning he’ll press a kiss to your cheek and take one more look back at you before leaving through the same door he’d shown up at only hours before.

And that was fine for now, but he wanted more of you. He didn’t want to be just a casual hook up, he wanted to date you.

He wanted to be soft launched and hard launched, or whatever it was that Mickey was talking about that night he’d taken his misguided advice and sent the much teased “u up?” text. He wanted to block people in the chip aisle of the grocery store as you talked him into getting some crazy flavor, turning his least favorite chore into the highlight of his week. He wanted knockoff John Mayer to see he got the girl and knew how to treat her right.

He wanted you to be his girl.

“Aren’t you too old to be in a situationship, Bradshaw?” Jake asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Fuck off,” Rooster grumbles, his eyebrows furrowed and his thumbs still hovering over the screen. A couple minutes have ticked by since your last text as he sits there stewing. He knocks back the remainder of his beer, it’s mostly foam, “I think I’m gonna head out.”

“No, you’re not. Bob hasn’t even performed the dance routine to “Thriller” yet,” Nat says, pinning him to his stool with a look, “Come on, Bradley, just invite her here.” She reaches overs and squeezes his shoulder. “You’ve been seeing her for a couple months now. You’re clearly into her, and you wouldn’t disappear on us as much as you do if she wasn’t into you too. This is a low stakes environment with everything going on and people off having fun doing their own thing. And the two of you can still go and do whatever you’re going to do after.”

“I don’t know, Phoenix, she might dump him when she sees what he’s wearing at a Navy bar on Halloween,” Hangman drawls, unhelpfully, grinning around that damn toothpick.

“Shut it, Bagman,” they both say simultaneously.

“Just throw it out there and see what she says.” Nat slides out of her seat, the beads on her dress scraping against the edge of the stool. “Now, we’re going to let you panic in peace for a few minutes while we get another round.”

“We’re?” Jake asks slowly, deliberately drawing out the word.

“Yep,” she confirms, the look on her face leaving no room for arguments as she tugs him off his seat. “And you’re paying, let’s go.”

Bradley scrubs a hand over his face, but not before he sees Nat punching Seresin in the arm on their way to the bar.

He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous all of a sudden, he’s never had an issue asking girls out before. Not that he’s ever had to work that hard for it, but still.

His knee bounces on the foot rest as he works out what to say. He types out the message and gives it a quick once over and hits send before he can overthink it.

Bradley Bradshaw, 10:42pm: I’d never say no to you or a pumpkin shaped pizza. But I’m actually at a Halloween party right now at the bar near base with some friends. And I’m thinking you should stop by.

Bradley Bradshaw, 10:42pm: I’m sorry it’s a last minute invite, but it’s always a good time and I think you would have fun. I’d like to see you, if “ur up” for it.

He tries not to dwell on the fact he just double texted you, a thing he didn’t know he should be worried about before Fanboy warned him about doing it.

It’s like he’s been hit by lightning the way he shoots up in his seat when he sees those little dots appear on the screen. Rooster holds his breath when they start and stop a few times, each time they disappear and come back again his heart pounds a little harder in his chest.

You, 10:44pm: I’m all in. What’s the address?

All the bubbles from the beer he’d had earlier swarm and rush to his head at once as he drops you a pin.

Nat pushes a shot of bourbon towards him across the table when they return. “Did it go well?”

He nods. “She’s on her way.”

“Good, because you know Halloween is my favorite holiday and your sulking was bringing the vibe down.”

He chuckles, there’s no way he’s beating those whipped allegations now.

She clinks her own shot with his and they throw them back together, the warmth of the expensive tasting liquor sticks behind his sternum.

The next thirty minutes are the longest of Rooster’s life. His head swings to the front door every time it opens, hoping that it’ll be you outlined by the purple, green, and orange string lights.

When he sees you come through the swiftly deflating balloon arch scanning the bar for him, he almost does a double take.

You’ve got on a black and white polka dot top, the cuffs are a flared ruffle that are tied with a bow at your wrist. Your skirt is plain black, but the way it hugs your hips leaves little to the imagination. He can’t even begin to guess what you’re dressed as because other than the night he met you, it’s the most clothes he’s ever seen you in.

Excluding those little silky matching sets you’re usually wearing when he comes over. But those don’t usually stay on too long before they end up on the floor of your living room. Or bedroom. Or kitchen.

He usually has to leave before you, so he’s usually headed out your front door while you’re still wrapped up in one of those fluffy white towels you have. He’s enjoying seeing you here in his favorite bar in that outfit and heading towards him like you’re just as happy to see him as he is to see you.

“Huh, if I'm not mistaken I’m pretty sure that’s what I sent you into work in this morning,” you say, grinning up at him and lightly tugging on the zipper of his flight suit. “Are you supposed to be a Walk of Shame?”

Bradley wraps an arm around you because he can’t help himself. “Please, we all know it’s called the Stride of Pride. It’s never a shame when I get laid.” He presses his fingertips into the swell of the top of your ass before leaning in close, his lips brushing against your ear, “Plus, I didn’t have time to go home and grab my costume because someone lured me back into bed this morning.”

He had to do 200 extra push-ups and stay behind to do paperwork as penance for being late the third time that week, but it was worth it. But by the time he was finished, the sun was already well on its way to setting. If he’d been a bit more forward thinking he would have brought the costume he had planned with him, instead of thinking he’d have time to swing by his house to change. Bradley didn’t think it was too much of a let down for you, not with the way you’re looking at him. It’s that same heated way that tells him you’re remembering your reaction to it the first time you’d ever seen him in it.

“Sounds like poor planning on your part,” you tease, your finger tracing the edge of his nametag. “I can’t believe you’re wearing your work clothes to a Halloween party, Rooster.”

“Ok, funny girl. Tell me then, what’re you supposed to be?” He takes a step back and gives you a blatant once over, taking his time admiring the shape of you from your head to your toes in some wicked looking heels and back up again.

Maybe if things went well tonight, you’d leave them on for him later when he gets you alone.

“That’s for me to know, and for you to spend the night guessing,” you smirk, the curve of your mouth promising mischief. “But I think you’ll like it once you figure it out.”

“Bradshaw, are you going to introduce us to your sexy librarian?” Hangman hollers, waving the two of you over back to the table with his hat. Bradley doesn’t hear as much as he sees the oof that comes out of the blonde when Phoenix sends an elbow into his side.

Rooster glances at you with a raise of his eyebrow and you shake your head. Not a sexy librarian then.

“I take it you know the rodeo clown?”

He tips his head back and laughs, already looking forward to telling Hangman. “I do. And Gracie Lou Freebush over there too.”

You wave over at Nat, gesturing to her costume and mouth obsessed, before turning back to him to ask, “Is that gun real?”

“I’m too afraid to ask,” he jokes, only half kidding. “C’mon let me get you a drink, I have an in with the bartender.”

“Are you trying to show off for me, Bradley?”

“Definitely.” He reaches out and toys with the end of the bow on your sleeve. “Is it working, Leslie Knope?”

You just send him that devastating smile of yours and thread your fingers through his. “I think I'm going to have so much fun with this tonight.”

“But full disclosure, you see Napoleon Bonaparte?” He points over to where Mav is behind the bar wearing tasseled shoulder pads pouring pints behind the bar next to a bedazzled Penny in a white neoclassical style dress. “That’s my godfather and his fiancée.”

You school the surprise on your face quickly. “Bradley Bradshaw, are you a nepobaby?”

“That’s a story for another time.” He chuckles, carefully winding his way around a Fred Flintstone and a Deviled Egg to the bar. “Be warned though, the Blue Slime Sipper is lethal. I had four last year and put on an a cappella performance of the Ghostbusters theme song.”

“Please tell me someone has a video of that,” you laugh.

“I called in every favor I had to get all evidence of that particular performance erased.”

At the bar, you order two Blue Slime Sippers looking the picture of innocence as you admire the giant spider affixed to the top of the bar by the till, even though he knows better.

One for him and one for you.

He briefly introduces you to Penny and Mav, trying to keep it casual. Thankfully, it’s busy enough that there’s not more time for small talk or jokes about the frosted tips he had when he was thirteen.

Their guess at a modern day I Love Lucy was also met with a no.

But he’s pretty sure Mav’s attempt to stealthily shoot him two thumbs up after you get your neon blue colored drinks fails based on the way your lips are pressed together in an attempt to smother the smile that he sees toying at the corners of your mouth.

Over the course of the night, it becomes a game that the rest of the team joins in on as he introduces them to the girl he’s been hung up on for weeks.

You help him kick Payback and Fanboy’s asses at the Eyeball Beer Pong that Penny had set up outside on the deck.

“Damn, Lawyer Barbie has an arm,” Fanboy says, the spring of the Slingy Dog costume sagging sadly between him and Payback, watching as you sink another doodled on ping-pong ball into a cup.

“I think we need a rematch,” Payback countered after their loss, “Flight Attendants have great hand-eye coordination, it’s an unfair advantage.”

Both guesses were met with a no.

When you side with Nat over Death Becomes Her as the best, but most underrated, Halloween movie, she throws her hands up in victory, “Thank you! Finally, someone with good taste… Olivia Pope?”

It’s another no, but he’s happy to see how much fun you’re having with his friends.

Between the riotous costume contest voting, and the one-man performance of “Thriller” that Bob puts on, and the pumpkin tic-tac-toe, Rooster has a lot of fun making his own guesses.

Except for the time he offers up Miss Bliss, he nearly chokes on his Cauldron Cooler when you ask him, “Is that a porn thing?”

Which in hindsight, he probably should have specified from the show Saved by the Bell, that he only knew because he’d been into Tiffani Amber Thiessen as a kid, but he doesn’t get to because you’re too busy delightedly laughing at his near spit-take.

He sticks close to your side, an arm slung over your shoulder or around your waist. There’s a moment when he gets worried he might be smothering you, but then you’d lean your head on his shoulder and he figured you were right where you wanted to be.

The two of you step outside when the Monster Mash smashburger contest starts up, the song following you to the sun-bleached wooden deck.

There are less people out here now, a few people are stationed behind the ping-pong table and others are seated on the picnic tables chatting and swapping stories. Most of his friends had stayed inside to cheer on Coyote’s attempt to hold onto his burger eating crown.

It’s the first time all night that he has you on your own, and while he appreciates how welcoming his friends are with wanting to make you feel included and slipping in more than a few jokes at his expense, he’s ready to have you to himself for a while.

But first.

“Are you ever going to tell me what you’re supposed to be?” He runs a finger along the ruffle down the front of your shirt. “I think I’ve lost count of how many failed attempts I’ve made now and It’s starting to take a toll on my ego.”

“How about this, you tell me what you were supposed to be and then I’ll tell you what my costume is,” you offer, playfully.

You’re still toying with him like a cat does a string and he doesn’t mind a single bit.

He steps in close, winding an arm around your low back pulling you in close. “James Bond,” he says, enjoying the way your eyes light up.

“Now that’s something I would love to see,” you murmur, running your hand along his arm. “Not that the flight suit isn’t working for me.” He grins smug because he knows exactly how much this flight suit works for you.

Rooster shakes his head amused. “I’ll put it on for you later if you want.” He grins smug because he knows exactly how much this flight suit works for you, but you haven’t seen him in a tux yet. “Now, I’ve been dying to know since the moment you walked in, what are you dressed as?”

You grin, wide and bright, like you’ve been waiting for this all night.

“Your future girlfriend, I thought it was pretty obvious.”

Bradley doesn’t waste a moment bringing both of his hands to your face and getting his lips on yours. A surprised noise escapes from the back of your throat before you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him even closer.

Your full lips soften under his demanding ones, the sensual slide of your lips against his has him desperate for more. His tongue chases after the sweetness of your mouth. He can’t get enough of it.

He can’t get enough of you.

“So I take it, you like my costume then?” you ask against his lips.

“I’m about to go swipe that trophy from Cousin Itt because yours is the best one here by far.” You giggle when he pulls you back in to kiss you again- or tries to. “C’mon, sweetheart, I need you to cooperate here. I’m trying to kiss my girlfriend.”

But then his teeth click against yours because now you’ve got him smiling too.

You skim another soft kiss against his mouth and lean back. “You know, I did have a back-up costume, just in case things didn’t go well.” You put a finger up and twist a little in his arms to rummage in your purse. And when you turn back towards him you’ve got a bright red clown nose on your face.

“Are you kidding me? The only clown here is Seresin.” He chuckles and gently pulls it from off your nose. “I’ve been trying to figure out how lock this down for weeks now. That tux was going to be my ace. It’s about a half size too small, but I figured it might do the trick to make things more official. It’s a good thing I’ve got a girl who knows what she wants.”

“Don’t think you’re off the hook, Bradshaw. I still want to see you in it.”

“I can make that happen. Especially since that means I get to take you home with me tonight.” He drops a kiss on your cheek. “I’ve got an idea about what we can be next year though.”

“It’s not even midnight yet, and you’re thinking about next year?”

Bradley shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m all about playing the long game. Just want to give you something to look forward to.”

“Let’s hear it then,” you say, giving him an expectant look.

“Considering how we met and all, I think contestants from Supermarket Sweep would be a solid choice for us. There’s nothing sexier than some khakis and sweatshirts.”

You look delighted and amused and like his.

“Done. You know I am a big fan of you in a pair of khakis.”

Rooster tugs you to him again needing to taste your grin. He hears a cheer go up inside of the bar, probably for whoever won the contest, but he pretends it’s for him.

After all, he’s the one who got the girl.

Happy Halloween! I'm dropping a smitten Rooster into everyone's candy bucket this year! Thank you for reading!

You can read my other stories here!

taglist:

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

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

656 notes · View notes

skyahri · 6 months ago

Text

Remember Part One |SatoSugu X Reader| HC

Part Two Masterlist Ko-fi

Summary: You get a second chance to save him, but for right now you can only enjoy the fact that he's still here.

Warnings: Implied poly??? Idk I don't say anything specific. Vomiting, blood, Canon related warnings. Angst bc im sad.

- - - - -

Your eyes flew open. You could barely breathe, your lungs still stinging from the char of imaginary burns. You desperately drag your hands across your face and body, searching for something, anything wrong, not quite processing what was going on.

You sprung up from your bed, immediately thanking your muscle memory as it guided you through your dorm room. You shoved your way into the bathroom and just barely made it to the toilet before emptying the contents of your stomach.

Tears pricked your eyes. You had no idea what was going on. You could only assume that you had another prophetic dream, but had no idea when it had started. Had it been days or weeks? Hell, had it been months even??

You remember the pain of being burned alive by Jogo in Shibuya Station. You remember dying, the feeling of your lungs giving out and your heart stopping.

Yet here you were, alive and relatively well back in your dorm room God knows when. The unchanging state of Jujutsu High was not helping you determine just how much time had passed.

What did, however, was Suguro Geto standing in the doorway. He was saying something you couldn't hear and your foggy mind couldn't process the lack of stitches on his head, but that didn't stop you from screaming.

Was this your Suguru? The boy who held doors open for you and dragged Satoru away after one too many flirty remarks. Could this man already be leading the Star Religious group? Or worse, be reduced to a corpse in his Kenjaku era?

There's no way you could possibly tell in such a hazy state of mind. Your gift had drained you to zero, leaving you absolutely defenseless against what could very well be a tyrant.

Lucky for you, you're within ear shot of a handful of other sorcerers who woke up the second they heard a scream. They were filing into your room within the minute, confused at the commotion, or lack there of.

Satoru had pushed his way past Suguru and bent down next to you, grabbing your hair in a makeshift ponytail as you continued to retch.

He's leaning in next to your ear, whispering, begging for you to calm down enough to tell him what's going on. You can barely hear him over the sound of your uncontrollable crying, the sobbing and shaking caused by panic making everything a hundred times worse.

Satoru is motioning for someone to hand him a rag to clean your face, which Suguru does without hesitation. When he enters your peripheral vision, you can practically feel the hairs on your neck stand up. You push your way past Gojo, who had just barely managed to wipe your mouth, trying to climb behind him, pleading that he doesn't come anywhere near you.

You can't see the hurt look on Geto's face. He has no idea what's going on, all he knows is he's somehow causing whatever it is that's happening to occur.

You don't hear Gojo shoo everyone away, apologizing for waking them up in the middle of the night and assuring them that he has it handled.

He rests against the wall and twists you around so you can sit comfortably in his lap. He holds you tight against his chest, it's almost suffocating, but you can feel the pressure slowly melting the anxiety away.

The fog that once clouded your brain is retreating, allowing you to take in your environment more clearly. There's makeup and skin care products scattered on the counters. You can make out enough of your bedroom to see the dozens of Polaroids pinned to your walls.

You eyes finally focus on a more defining feature that better cements your whereabouts. Your nails are painted pink and Satoru's an icy blue, something you haven't seen since your teenage years before Geto defected. You remember finally convincing Satoru to match with you and Suguru, tempting him with an iconic color that you knew he couldn't turn down.

"What's today?"

"February 21st, 2006."

You hum in response.

"Were you dreamin' again?"

You don't answer. You're too focused on how much time has passed. Twelve years gone in an instant. That's nearly half your life, nearly all your memories, and they were all fake. But now you had the opportunity of a lifetime. An opportunity to save all the people you've lost and protect your future.

You're thankful for Satoru in this moment. He isn't always the most socially aware, often times he actually makes things ten times worse, but right now he was just what you needed.

You take in just how warm he is, how he's managed to keep his hands from touching you inappropriately for so long. He's wearing that stupid pair of Hello Kitty boxers that 'convienently came with a matching bra and panty' and 'would hate for them to go to waste.' You scolded him for getting the sizing correct, knowing he had to have gone snooping for answers.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"No."

You had good friends, ones that trusted you without a second thought. They know the deal. Things are going to happen and sometimes that requires interference or being intentionally kept in the dark to avoid them. It was both a blessing and a curse- being given the gift of future sight yet being forced to hold the weight of the world in your hands.

You stand up, forcing Gojo to release his tight grip on you. He expects you to get in bed, but instead, you walk right past the door of your room and right across the hall into Suguru's. You don't knock, opting to just head straight in and crawl across him to lay down.

Suguru is confused. An hour ago, you were completely terrified of him, and now here you are, staring at him like he was the most important person in your life.

You reach forward and trace your fingers across his face; his nose, his lips, and eventually his bare forehead. You run your fingers through his hair; disheveled but clean. You pick up his right hand and set it on your face to savor the heat of it. He doesn't hesitate to rub his thumb back and forth across your cheek reassuringly. What he's supposed to reassure you about, he doesn't know, but he can tell you need it.

"You're oddly affectionate tonight."

"I missed you."

"I saw you yesterday."

You shake your head. You want to respond, to tell him you've dreamt of this opportunity for over a decade, that you haven't seen him alive in a year, and sane in nearly twelve.

But all you can do is cry. You lace your fingers with the ones on your face and let him pull you closer. His chest is broad and he smells like cologne, just like how you remembered.

The last time you saw him, he was sickly pale and missing an arm, just moments away from death. He smelled like blood and didn't even have the energy to stand. This view of Geto was much more pleasant than anything you had seen recently.

He has no idea what's going on, but can see it's obviously a lot. He wonders what you could have seen, how long you could have possibly lived. He wonders if someone died, if he died.

He's not sure how long it goes on before you're passed out, your grip on him relaxing ever so slightly, but he doesn't dare let go.

Gojo makes his way into the room from his waiting place outside. He stuck around on the off chance things got out of hand and he needed to intervene.

"How's our girl doing?"

"I have no idea."

"That's unlike you."

Suguru isn't sure how to respond. The vibe in his room is definitely more relaxed, but it's far from peaceful. All he can do right now is anchor you down to earth and hope whatever it is you saw can be fixed.

Fortunately, Satoru is a brave man. He clumsily makes his way onto the other side of you and flops down. You don't even flinch at the roughness of his actions.

"What are you-"

"Sleeping here with you guys, duh."

"Can't you read the room?"

"Nope."

#jjk headcanons #jjk hc #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #suguru geto #getou suguru x reader #geto suguru #geto x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #satosugu #satosugu x reader #geto angst #gojo angst

519 notes · View notes

cottoncandy-system · 2 years ago

Text

they dont knlw im am. hesitant alien

#pink station zero

3 notes · View notes

bluestationfour · 1 year ago

Text

on the show next week

Make sure to tune in next week with movie actress Jina Barbeau, cloning engineer Stuart Stewart, and music from Gerard Way. This is Pink Station Zero, signing off. Keep it cosmic!

#unreality #hesitant alien #pink station zero

1 note · View note

le-velo-pour-dru · 2 years ago

Note

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

HIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!! 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖 AAAAAAAAAAUGH HE'S SO CUTE HELP- 🥰 Waaaaaaa thank you so much for these <33 He's so pretty aaaaaaaaa ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

#dru speaks #thank you so much!!! <3 #i appreciate that you'd do this for me when you're not even attracted to men XD 🫶#man. he's so 💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖💘💖#aaaaaaaaaaaa ☺❤#dallon weekes #idkhow #asks #pink-station-zero-zero

15 notes · View notes

dollykiller · 8 months ago

Text

My name is anna. From France/Algiers

Lana del rey is my religion

Cancer sun. Leo moon. Libra rising

My bdy is July 13th

I ♡ ballet (used to be one) ,diet coke, baby pink, ribbons and bows, true crimes documents, writing poetry, watching movies, daydreaming, listening to music, fashion and brandy Melville and Victoria secret, makeup, dolls, cats and deers, hot chocolate, shopping, gas stations, older men, blood, Burberry clothes, my room, Long car rides, Rollercoaster, motorcycles, tennis, candy, coca cola .

My fav movie for of all times is sucker punch ♡

My fav holiday is Halloween

Fav movies are the virgin suïcides and the love witch,somewhere, black swan,Priscilla, the neon demon, the valley of the dolls, gilda ,blue velvet ,American beauty,Lolita 60s and 90s, zero, the perks of being a wallflower, poison ivy, marie Antoinette, the being ring, I believe in unicorns, Frankie and Johnny, girl interrupted, uptown girls, candy, pierrot le fou.

Fav series: the vampire diaries, pretty little girl, gossip girl, the simple life, the originals, the secret circle.

Fav books are valley of the dolls, girl interrupted, the virgin suïcides. Gone girl,the bell jar, white night and Romeo and Juliette and religious book

Music taste:lana del rey aka lizzy grant obv, marina and the diamonds, ,ethel cain, the doors, jeff Buckley,Britney spears, hole, mötley, Brigitte bardot, caviar noir, the smiths, Melanie martinez, Nicole dollanganger, she wants revenge, elita, Jack off jill

My fav lana album is honeymoon and fav songs of all time are last girl on earth and religion

This is a safe place for ed or anything as long as you're being nice

Confused, floral, odd in case you're wondering

Thank you so much for 6.6k

Spotify

Instagram

Airbuds

#dollykiller #dollyswan #about me #asks

423 notes · View notes

mindtrcks · 2 years ago

Text

oh, dilute me

Pairing: Tyler Galpin/Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: AFAB reader, manipulation, light d/s

Summary: Tyler can’t have Wednesday, but he might still be able to have you

So Wednesday knows. So Wednesday was bound to figure it out, because she’s nothing if not stubborn, and Tyler stood no chance against the Addams’ family values that have been instilled in her. The values that tell her not to trust, and not to forget, and certainly not to give up. So Tyler can’t have Wednesday.

But he might still be able to have you.

He keeps the act up in the police station; it’s clear Wednesday’s not buying it, but you keep avoiding his gaze and biting the inside of your cheek and he thinks he still has you on the line. You’re not tense and sharp like Wednesday, not glaring at him from across the room. You’re still making yourself small, still staring mostly at the ground, remaining silent while Wednesday takes the blame for everything. While Wednesday gets expelled. While Wednesday gets out of the picture.

She’s seething when Tyler’s dad finally steps away, you standing by her side looking like you don’t know what to do. Wednesday has lost . Tyler’s sure that was never in the cards when you followed her to that shed. And now you’re out of your depth. Torn between your friend who's supposed to know everything and the guy who’s supposed to be a murderer, and Tyler knows you like him far more than you could ever like Wednesday. He stands up from the bench he’d been occupying and walks toward you, keeping his shoulders hunched and his eyes skirting. He’s gotten good at playing the victim, at garnering sympathy. Your eyes zero in on him immediately, he can hear your sharp intake of breath.

He says your name once he’s close enough, whispered and reverent and betrayed. Your lips press together like you’re holding back tears , and isn’t that something? Doesn’t that mean that he’s won you, too?

Your eyes flick to Wednesday, worry clear on your face, but Wednesday doesn’t look at you. She doesn’t soothe your doubts or reassure you that you did the right thing. And that’s her first mistake, because that’s what you need. You need somebody to look you in the eye and say it’s alright , to hold your hands and tell you that you’re good . Tyler’s known that about you since the first time you walked into the Weathervane, with a small voice and fleeting gaze. Tyler’s known that about you since before he knew your name.

“This isn’t over,” Wednesday says, staring up at him with those same dead eyes as always. The sad part is that she believes it, believes there’s some way she can win, still. But Tyler’s got the police, and Tyler’s got the school, and now Tyler’s on his way to having you, and Wednesday isn’t even putting up a fight. It’s pathetic.

She walks past him, shoulder checks him as she does, and he winces for effect. He’s still battered and bruised from Wednesday’s torture, but the pain is nothing to what he’s felt before. You don’t need to know that, though. You’re still standing in front of him, watching Wednesday walk away, and Tyler side-steps until he’s the only thing in your view, waiting patiently until you finally look in his eyes.

It really does look like you’re about to cry. He’d do anything to see the tears fall. “I’m sorry,” you say, your voice shaky and soft. “I should’ve trusted you, I don’t know why—”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, grabbing your hands. Instantly, they stop shaking, and a pretty pink blush spreads across your face. You’re so much easier than Wednesday; Tyler could have made this all go so much smoother if he’d never let Wednesday get under his skin. If he’d looked past the glamor of the shiny new toy to see you behind her, ready to be pushed, ripe for the taking. He sees you now, though, a delicate flower trusting him to hold it, trusting him not to crush it in his palms. “I know how convincing she can be.”

You look down, embarrassed, maybe, or just still not able to hold eye contact with him. “I should’ve stopped her anyway,” you mutter, pulling your hands out of his and towards your own chest.

Your guilt is thick in the air and Tyler knows he’ll be able to milk that for ages; instead of reassuring you again, he just ducks his head down, revels in the way you instinctively step forward. “It’s over now,” he says, letting his eyes skirt up to your face. “Do you want a ride back to Nevermore?”

You trust him enough to get in a car with him; Tyler wonders what else he can get you to do.

—

He’s fighting Enid in the woods when he realizes he has to make a choice.

There’s no way he wins this; even if he snapped Enid’s neck and left her for dead, he wouldn’t walk out of these woods a winner. Because after Enid, he’d have to go through Wednesday, have to go through the principal, have to go through anybody else who's been convinced of his guilt, and by the time he was done with that, he’d already be in a prison cell. So if he wants to win, if he wants to leave this mess behind him and walk away a free man, an innocent man, he has to make a choice.

Enid gets a paw at him, and he lets himself be pushed into a tree, lets his head hit the cold bark, lets himself slide down until he’s shivering and naked on the leaves, and Enid’s staring at him with wide eyes.

“Tyler,” she says, cautiously, both of them human again now. She ducks down to pick up a stick, holds it out like it’s a sword. “Stay right where you are. I’m not afraid to use this thing.”

He blinks up at her, intending to look confused and out of it. “Enid?” he asks. “What the hell is going on?”

She narrows her eyes, but lowers the stick anyway, and Tyler knows that he’s going to get away with this.

—

He stumbles out of the woods wrapped in a bright pink coat, eyes scanning the crowd of disgruntled students as he looks for something he can latch onto.

Of course you’re the first person he sees.

He hasn’t had time to think about how he’s going to play this yet, but when he spots you standing there, staring at him with wide eyes and fingers twitching at your sides, he gets an idea. He pulls the coat further around himself, makes sure he’s shaking enough for it to be visible as he approaches you. He watches as you take him in, cataloging the scrapes and bruises, the dirt on his skin. He says your name, and your eyes flick to his face. “I—” he starts, ready to rattle off something untrue and pitiful, something that’ll make your gaze soften, that’ll make you reach out to touch him.

But you’re interrupting him before he can, stepping forward and jutting up your chin. “It’s over now,” you say, echoing his words in the police station, and he freezes. Tries to scan through his memory to find what he got wrong, because he had you, he knows he had you, why are you—

His careening train of thought is once more cut off when you take both of his hands in your own—you have a thing for stealing his moves, evidently. “I don’t want to know,” you say, looking grim. Looking like you really already do know. Tyler’s panicking a little; this is his last card to play, and if you don’t believe him, and Wednesday doesn’t believe him, then nobody will. He furrows his brows, doesn’t have to fake the confusion in his eyes. “Whatever lie you’re spinning,” you continue. “I don’t want to hear. Save it for the police.”

And that’s not what Tyler was expecting. But he can work with it. Right? Sure, maybe you know more than he thought. Maybe you don’t trust him the way you were pretending to. But you’re still here. You’re still holding his hands, fingers on his pulse point, and standing close enough that your hips are touching his. You’re not what he thought, but you’re not as bad as you could be; you’re not Wednesday, who's already glaring from across the crowd. You’re not on your way back to the station, ready to tell the whole world that Wednesday was right.

You’re here, with him.

—

His story is that it was all Thornhill. She manipulated him, tricked him into killing people and he didn’t know anything about any of it.

You’re next to him in the police station as he gives the official statement to his dad. He’s wearing your clothes—pajamas you’d rummaged through your dorm room for while he stood in the doorway, not knowing what to say or how to act. He still doesn't. He doesn't know what you know or what you’re thinking or what your plan is. But he knows you’re here, and for now that’s the only thing he really cares about. He gives the statement, lets his dad hug him and apologize, rattle on about how it’s his fault.

And then he looks at you. He doesn't know where he's supposed to go next, what he's supposed to do next. But he does know that wherever you go, he'll follow.

—

Six months later, and he's enrolled at Nevermore.

The general student population leaves him be; in a school for outcasts, he's not the strangest one there. He can skirt by without being noticed by most. Fly under the radar, go unrecognized. People who don't remember what happened, who weren't there that night in the woods, assume he's a wolf; they don't question why there has to be a special set of chains for him in the nurse’s office. They don't question anything.

There are a few exceptions. They come mostly in the form of Wednesday’s friends. They look at him like they're sorry for him, sorry that he's there, sorry for what he is, or sorry that they locked him in a shed and tortured him not even a year ago. It makes Tyler’s skin crawl, their pity, their guilt. It's like he's the one who's supposed to absolve them, and he's got no interest in doing that. But he supposes it's better than them knowing . Anything would be better than them knowing.

The only people who know are you and Wednesday. The latter reacts about how he would expect; she glares at him in classes they share, calls him a monster in the hallways for everybody to hear. She avoids spending any time with him at all unless she has to, and she rarely has to. She hates him, that much is clear, but Tyler doesn't mind. It seems like she's given up on trying to convict him, which is all he really cared about. She's moved on to bigger things. In a place like this, with people like him, there's always a monster to hunt. For Wednesday, Tyler is last year’s obsession.

For you, the story is different.

Because you know. He knows you know; how could you not? You know what he did and you know all the things he lied about, and you know how he's still lying now. But you don't seem to mind. You act like nothing's changed. You spend your weekends in his dorm, your free periods sitting with your legs tangled up in his. You brush your fingers over his cheekbones, smirk and whisper things under your breath that only he can hear. If his life was once sink or swim, now the only thing he can do is drown in you. He's wearing your clothes more often than he wears own; he's with you more often than he’s not.

He knows he should be concerned. He's supposed to have the upper hand over you, supposed to make your cheeks flush and your words tumble out of your mouth. But he’s increasingly finding that the opposite is true. One look from you and he forgets everything he's ever taught himself about not getting attached, about the danger of distractions. If you say run, he says how far , if you say jump, he'll ask how high?

He doesn't do anything without thinking of you; he does everything hoping it’ll make you happy.

“Like this?” he asks, crooking his fingers as you’d instructed. You sigh and press your face into his shoulder, nodding against his skin. He's best at pleasing you like this, at taking you apart under his hands. He brushes your hair out of your face and presses deeper, harder, reveling in the way you gasp. He’s always done anything to get you stay; if only he knew back when he met you that this is what it takes.

You lift a hand to push at his, say, “ Okay ,” all out of breath, and he knows immediately to stop, eyes flicking up at you, waiting for direction. “Okay, Tyler. I want your mouth now.”

He makes a pitiful sound that he would've been embarrassed about a year ago, but doesn't think twice of now as he pushes himself further down the bed, lifts your legs up and over his shoulders. You’re already wet; he’s been fingering you for God knows how long, but he would’ve kept going until his fingers cramped up if you wanted him to. He’s glad you didn’t. He likes tasting you so much better, and he wastes no time getting to work now that he’s got permission.

You’ve said before he eats you out like he’s starved for it. Maybe he is. As he licks at you, your thighs trapping him in place and your hand pulling ever-so-slightly where it's buried in his hair, he feels as though his taste for blood has been replaced with a taste for you. Maybe that was your plan all along, get him addicted to this so he won’t do that again. If it was, it’s working. You’re the only person he’ll kill for now.

“Just like that,” he hears you breath out, your hips lifting up to grind into his face. He squeezes his eyes shut, moves his tongue faster. His own hips are searching for friction against the bedsheets, but it’s fruitless. You still haven’t touched him, and he knows he won't be able to come until you do. He can’t find it in himself to be frustrated, though, not when you’re letting him do this. Not when he can hear you gasping above him, when he can feel you wet against his lips.

He’s done this enough times that he can tell when you’re about to come. You grip at the sheets, your hand in his hair tightening enough to sting. He can feel your legs tense up, your thighs quiver. But what gives it away are the little punched-out moans that start tearing out of your mouth, loud enough they almost sound like sobs. Tyler hums against you, shifts the angle so work his tongue inside you and nose at your clit.

At that, you cry out, shaking underneath him, and he knows you’ve finished, but he doesn't stop, doesn’t pull away until you sink back into the bed and brush your knuckles over his cheekbone. When you pull him up to kiss him all slow and sweet, there are tear tracks on your cheeks.

He once thought he'd give anything to see you cry; turns out, all he had to give was himself.

#wednesday #tyler galpin #tyler galpin x reader #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #i did the thing #this is what people post on tumblr right #reader insert #i also posted this on ao3 it isn't plagiarism i swear

4K notes · View notes

sanguinewolves · 1 year ago

Text

made a tag game!

take my uquiz and do this picrew

no pressure tags: @az-is-somewhere-else @roahthefunkpoet @i-got-da-rubes @wingl3ssthing @hauntedestablishments @7410s @joplinspiderz @spinspoon @airbluest @trannydean @queerplatonicboyfriend @dakrapatops @zeloxriel @jacklesbrainworms @cipher-of-the-round-table @eggie-o @cyclicalaberration @pink-station-zero-zero @caffeineecold @tiredstressedemotionalmess @mike-queerler @nerf-cat @foliefaggot @defectivegembrain @melanch0ly-gh0st @dicklessswonder @gooseberry--fool @girlatreus @reportinglivefromsoda @girlbrianmolko @unfashionableboybush @tazdrgaoneyetagain @endren oh man this is way too many people. i started tagging a couple mutuals and then i got carried away. sorry yall. uh. just anyone who sees this 👍

#my uquiz results probably arent accurate. bc i know the meaning behind every answer. but oh well #anyway sorry for the giant fucking paragraph of tags. i dont want to delete any of them but i didnt mean to tag this many ppl #rambling #tag games

741 notes · View notes

trashmouth-richie · 8 months ago

Text

this promot was sent in by my lovely @joejoequinnquinn here.

prompt words were: chair, belt, “good girl” and smut 🧐

18+ no minors, talk of bdsm, two idiots in love, drug use, steve is mentioned in this off handedly, (i love adding him in at random) eddie, once again, talks about his dick, fluffy smut, Journey slander 😩, high activities, smut! be aware that the dialogue probably doesn’t make sense because they’re jenelle evans from teen mom 2 high

<1.3k eddie x fem reader

a trip to skull rock with a shared joint and a random piece of furniture, what could go wrong?

“Is this your idea of bdsm?”

Eddie tightens the belt around your wrists, a joint hanging slack from his lips, his eyes squinted with concentration, “FM?—the radio station?”

Looking back, it probably wasn’t the best idea to get higher than a kite on Easter with your boyfriend and then try to seduce one another. But alas, here you were.

The drive to skull rock was interesting to say the very least. Eddie claimed he knew how to get there only to have you traveling fifteen miles in the wrong direction— the ‘come back soon!’ sign should have been a giveaway.

“It’s an acro—af-ro—” your tongue felt like a piece of rubber in your mouth, you’d already mistaken it for gum once tonight, “Dan Aykroyd?”

“That guy from Ghost?”

The giggles took you over making you lose balance and tipping over the chair you were supposed to be sitting in, hitting the dirt with a soft little thud, hands still tied behind your back.

Eddie sat in the chair, looking down at you and shaking his head, knowing full well you both shouldn’t have smoked that last blunt. But you were so cute when you begged, he could never deny you.

“BDSM,” you continue, managing to sit up right, “it’s an acronym… but I dunno what for.”

“Oh, yeah—” Eddie scratched his head, eyes red and hazy, “I mean Harrington said it was pretty easy, and chicks went nuts over it, calling him ‘daddy’ and shit, begging to be choked.”

“‘Sir’ suits you better.”

“How about ‘Master’?”

“Now you’re pushin’ it.”

You’re intrigued. interests officially peaked as your scraped dirt under your nails, attempting a castle behind your back.

“Would I get a title? Is the peasant whore royal enough for such luxuries?”

Eddie frowns and puts the joint to your lips, “don’t call yourself that. I could punish you y’know.”

Your eyes widen as they follow the circle of smoke into the air, Eddie’s finger dancing around the center of it as if it were a ring.

He sighs audibly, loud like a bored child. Suddenly fixated on the chair he was sitting in.

“Did we bring this?”

You both burst into laughter, scaring away birds and monsters alike. Disrupting any bit of peace the forest animals had before two stoned idiots stumbled into the wilderness with a plan they had zero idea on how to execute.

BDSM in the woods, only Eddie Munson would think that was sexy.

He hoists you up, loosening the belt that was barely held on, holding your dirty hands in his, pulling you onto his lap so you’re straddling his narrow slutty boy hips.

Onyx would be jealous by your eyes alone, and Eddie’s looked downright demonic. Demon eyes in a cherubs face, that was your Eddie.

One of your favorite parts of being with him is how his weirdness meshed with yours. Whenever you got this high you could spend hours staring at his porcelain skin, wondering how in the hell he was crafted, molded, carved from the rarest of granite and marble stones and that he was yours— all yours.

Your hands walked across his face, counting his eyelashes to ten and starting again.

“Your lips are squishy,” you announce after a while of staring and not blinking,, “like gum— spongy, pink, could be almost made of cake.”

Eddie adored you, the way your eyebrows quirked like a cartoon when you were deep in thought or admiring his face.

“Definitely not cake, but you could taste them if you’d like?”

“Does it hurt?” you ask, removing your fingers from his mouth and squishing his cheeks.

“The boner you’re sitting on? Yeah, a bit.”

Your eyes widened in honest horror, “swear to God— I thought it was a flashlight.”

“Nope,” Eddie attempts a wink but ends up shutting both eyes for a collective six seconds, “that's all me baby.”

Hands lacing around his neck you grin stupidly into him, pressing your lips to the pretty plush that makes up his mouth. Pecking them with soft chicken like kisses.

His hands work the globe of your ass, squeezing, rubbing, spanking, as you bite along his collar bone, keeping your teeth marks printed into his skin— your own method of claiming him.

Buttons scatter along the dirt floor as you rip his shirt open, desperate to see the black widow that had been teasing you, the grotesque demonic zombie head that called the left side of his chest home. He promised someday the right side would be all yours.

Tracing your name into the blank space with your finger nail, Eddie lets out a low groan. Hooded eyes stare at you and his mouth is on yours before you can finish taking a breath.

It’s hot, uncoordinated in every way as the two of you claw at each other's pants in the mile high condition you were both in.

“Why…” you grunt struggling against his zipper, leaning backwards towards his knees, “..is this so difficult.”

Eddie looks down and grins lazily.

“Here, lemme help.” He unfastens the button on his jeans, wiggling his hips to shove hia jeans down enough so his cock stood like a tent in his checkered boxers.

“A picnic?” You gleam with red stark stars in your eyes, “for me?”

He pulls you forward, “oh baby, take all that you want.”

It’s quick, dirty, every bit of clumsy filled with shared laughs that were laced with whimpering moans as your bodies rock together, coming together so hard you nearly break the chair.

You buckle into him, fingers digging into his shoulders to hold yourself up. His spend on the belly of your shirt and the top of the waistband of your ‘easy access’ cotton shorts.

Nestling into him further you inhale the scent from the sweet burn of weed and sex clinging to his skin and the toothpaste that dribbled down his neck that wasn’t wiped off well enough.

His hands stroke your back lazily, lips pressed to your shoulder, cock softening on your thigh.

“What time is it?”

“Sweetheart, I couldn’t read my watch right now if I tried—everything is spinning.”

His face is pale, neck clammy with sweat.

“Gonna puke?”

“Tryin’ not—”

Holding tight to your waist and moving you over, he throws up the breakfast you had made at two in the afternoon. Eddie hurled and hurled until he shook from the ache of dry heaving.

Leaning back in the chair that you both couldn’t remember the exact whereabouts of how it appeared— he yawned with exhaustion.

“Let’s go home, take a hot shower, have a little nap?”

He nods and you help him up, pulling his hands until he’s flat footed, and you’re stumbling your way ahead of him.

“Jesus, I fucking came and barfed on your shirt.”

You shrug, slurring, “it’s okay— it’s yours anyway.”

He scoffs in bratty metal fashion, offended by your music knowledge or lack thereof, “I don’t own a ‘Journey’ shirt.”

Eddie pulls you back by the waist and examines the shirt, flipping the collar to see a sharpied ‘WM’ on the tag.

He geeks out a smile, the color of his irises bleaching back to dark brown, “better get that ‘good girl’ act ready— because Wayne is going to lose his fucking mind.”

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie drabble #eddie munson blurb

299 notes · View notes