#thecitysgraveyard

[fuckmymunson]

hello love, how are you? it’s been so so long even i haven’t been much online on here haha im just checking up on everyone :3

Me neither, don't worry. My blog has been pretty abandoned and you caught me writing lol. I'm alright! Too much shit happened but anyway. How are you?

[bunnywritesmarvel]

honestly, i just put the warnings and stuff, the rest everything else is the reader's choice, its the reader's choice whether they wanna follow the warnings or not but don't stress about it, its just gonna really gonna affect you mentally, you just try relaxing and getting off the app, i hope you're doing alright and i hope you have a great year <3

i know but i still honestly get paranoid about legal stuff if im being honest 😭😭 i just wanna protect myself as much as possible LMAO

but thank you for the lovely words and i hope youre doing alright too! <333

[makeyoumine69]

hellol my love! im back :) how are you doing?

HELLO! I missed you!

Uhhh, I desperately need more time for my writing, just as always. Anyway, I'm so glad you're back!🖤

[natti-ice]

Oh my god, guys this is actually crazy😭 thank you SO SO much for 1k!! When I came back to tumblr I genuinely had no idea what I was gonna do on here and I’m very glad I went back to writing fanfic, the love you all have shown me on my old and new works means so much to me! It’s been so nice to be welcomed back so warmly to a fandom after leaving it for some time. To all my old and new followers, thank you for being here <3

Tagging mutuals just to say I love y’all! Even if you aren’t tagged I LOVE YOU!!

@imabee-oralizard @juneberrie @madwcman @miss-celestial-being @maroon-winestain @augustinapril @vinzity @thecitysgraveyard @anglbby444 @marshymallo @themadhattersqueen @lovie-dovie-angel @alanangels @pxgeturner @ashley-slashley @ali-r3n @olives-and-sunshine @eddiesxangel @ddeadly-succubus @canmargesimpson @nailbatanddungeon @str4ngergirlw0rld @jenniquinn @thepurplelovewitch @rowanswriting @mediocredreams @mmunson86 @tiredasstaurus @eddies-puppet @eddie-munsonscoffin @yoongisababygoat @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @boa-hemian @kingstevesgf @asimpforthe80s @tracymbcm @arthurcerverogf @voyeurmunson @mxrcjqckspnchqsc @rafesmuse @queermaxwooo @mrssoapmactavish @hiya-itsamber @taintedcigs @perseephoneee @damp4eddie @toadstool-amongst-the-tulips @emilyj444 @spenciesprincess @ceriseswift

[imyourbratzdoll]

reader teasing dbf!steve at a pool party :)))

hey baby, @thecitysgraveyard - I hope you enjoy it! I apologise for how short it is.

summary - you've wanted your dad's best friend since you met him, but he seems to pay less attention to you than you would've liked. so, the only thing you could think of was to tease him at a pool party.

warning - jealousy, teasing, nipples, cock, liking an older man.

18+ only please, the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips

Your father’s friend Steve was here. God, he was hot. He was possibly the most alluring man you had ever seen, and he had the attention of every female at this stupid party. So you did the only thing your jealous mind thought of. You walked out of the house in the tiniest skirt with the smallest shirt, stepping near the lounge chairs and beginning to pull your clothes off teasingly. Gaining the attention of every male in the backyard, eyes gawking as your cute, skimpy light pink bikini is on view. Your plump breasts pushed up, and your bikini bottoms hugged your bottom half perfectly, shaping your ass to the point it looked nice and juicy. You bend over, pumping some sunscreen into your hand and slowly rubbing it all over your young body, making eye contact with the man you’ve secretly wanted ever since your dad introduced him. 

Your friends giggle behind you, watching as Steve fumes from across the yard, trying to hide the raging boner that’s popped up faster than it has in years. He doesn’t like that other men are looking at you, doesn’t like that you’re freely putting on a show for others. Steve watches you slowly enter the pool. His cock throbs as your body becomes wet, and from where he’s standing, he can see your nipples harden. He no longer pays attention to the desperate females at the party.

After swimming around for a while, your dad mentions that food is ready, and you get out. You smile as he piles your plate with food, and you take your seat across from Steve. You bat your eyelashes innocently as you pick up a sausage and bring it to your lips. Your eyes connect with Steve’s as you wrap your lips around it and suck it deeper. Practically moaning as the flavour bursts on your tongue, you bite into it softly and chew, not breaking eye contact with the older man as he squirms in his seat. His eyes flicker down to your juicy lips and further down to your nipples that poke through the tiny bikini.

You were going to have fun with this, seeing how long it’ll last until he completely destroys you.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[thedroneranger]

The Drone Ranger's Be Kind Rewind ⏪ beyondthesefourwalls Edition!

A rec reblog series dedicated to the fics that we love so much, we've re-read them!

@beyondthesefourwalls' Rewind is here! We all know how much I love my Bradshaw Baddies™, so I was delighted when Alli slid into my messages :)

While we continue to churn out amazing new content, let's be kind and rewind to look at some of the OG content we love! And don't forget to reblog when you re-read! Continue to show your comfort fics and favorite creators some love. It helps keep the fresh content coming :)

Let's keep this going throughout the summer. If you're interested in participating in the Be Kind Rewind, message me. The more, the merrier!

If you want to know when a new Rewind drops, join the tag list, and check out previous Rewinds!

fics below the cut (listed in alphabetical order by title)

and so it goes, Bradley Bradshaw, @laracrofted This story is so fucking hot, so it’s only fitting it takes place in a hot tub. There’s that tiny element of forbidden romance/we shouldn’t be doing this that makes it that much spicier. It’s a delicious read.

Come Back, Bradley Bradshaw, @ereardon One of my absolute favorite exes to lovers fics ever. It’s so well down and I love how Bradley has to earn every bit of her forgiveness, and how willing he is to build the trust back up.

Early Birthday Present, Bradley Bradshaw, @clints-lucky-arrow The touch of angst in this one makes the fluffy ending that much sweeter. It’s such a cute one!

home to you, Bradley Bradshaw, @iwritetopassthetime Love at first sight is my favorite trope, and protective Bradley always gives me a thrill. This had me hooked from the very first chapter. Bradley and Blossom are just 😍

Hot For Teacher, Bradley Bradshaw, @roosterforme There’s just something about Rooster and a slightly older woman (who outranks him nonetheless) that really REALLY does it for me.

Is It Working For You?, Bradley Bradshaw, @roosterforme If tumblr ever creates a filter revealing how many times someone has visited a specific post, I’ll have to run and hide. I’ve reread the BG and Roo origin story more than I’ve read anything ever. I fall in love even harder every single time. My OTP of OTPs.

little wallflower, Bradley Bradshaw, @bradshawsbitch This is so wholesome and cute and makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. How Bradley doesn’t shy away at her disability and then puts in the effort is so adorable.

skyrockets in flight, afternoon delight, Bradley Bradshaw, @gretagerwigsmuse The first story I ever read for the TGM fandom, all completely by accident. It popped up on my dash before I ever watched the movie and for some reason I read it anyway. It set down the TGM rabbit hole and here we are.

The Only Thing, Jake Seresin, @justfandomwritings Jake and Addie’s love story is so pure. They were only ever each others even if it took awhile to make it official and I love revisiting how it all came together.

your love is the love i need, Javy Machado, @theharddeck My favorite Javy story! I can’t tell you how many times I’ve reread it. The build up and tension is so so good and I love how connected they clearly are.

Creator's Own

This Love Came Back to Me It’s an ongoing one, so not a throwback, but I’m so proud of this one that I would love people to give it a read!

Tag list and friends: @petcr3 @desert-fern @Sagittarius-Lovewitch @mygyn @sweetwhispersofchaos @horseshoegirl @the-annoying-fan @dingochef @moon42flight @thecitysgraveyard @ereardon @roosterforme @cherrycola27 @galaxy-of-stories @taytaylala12 @malindacath @violyn20 @awildewit @potato-girl99981 @shanimallina87 @blue-aconite @djs8891 @linkpk88 @furiousladyking @daggerspare-standingby @princess76179 @jstarr86 @hecate-steps-on-me @darkheartcherry @soulmates8 @roosters-girl @dempy @roosterisdaddy36 @hangmanscoming @s-u-t @mavrellover91 @chicomonks @averyhotchner 

A kind reminder, this is a 18+ blog. While not all stories in the recommendation list are 18+, please respect boundaries and do not interact unless you are 18 years of age or older.

[lixiesbrowniess]

ੈ♡˳Mama lixie tag list

❥This post is my definitive taglist.(The previous one won't let me add anything)

❥Interact if you wanna be added

❥specify if you want to be tagged in all my works or in

❥specific ones between these:

☑ Lo'ak's works 🌱

☑ Ao'nung's works 🌊

☑ Neteyam's works 🫐

☑ Tonowari's works 🍯

☑ Jake Sully's works 🧊

☑ Rotxo's works ☘️

☑ Multi characters works 🍁

☑ Everything 💐

theycallmesia azaleaniath moslaying zeroqueen0555 flowerfoxsstuff chanyeolsbeloved girlnred samaarmar avatarmasterlistblog sasakiharumi-blog neteyamsfreckles angeliclynx fuzzycandywitch bakenekosimp waterriot le3n4a-23 thunderstorms000 sullymenrhot lunajay33 neteyamsblog vermilionzombie bxbyalixo rotxo-shawty seokmin130 aphrodisiackz aiinaavatar athenalikethegoddess thecitysgraveyard

☑ Old masterlist

serenaaasworld atokirina-writings luvlydrac epicy0n hanhanartz answer-the-sirens neteyamsgirll selinbaskaya im-kaii ripneteyam babamiasworld sereisstuff wisterila lillypad44 oomietopia trsmyuka kawaistrawberry21 historygeekqueen rainbowsocks roselilasstuff selkie-at-sea hooman-tree kikosaurscave katieavatarfan ↴

❥let me know you wanna specify anything.

☑ You can change by commenting

☑ If you interacted and you don't see your tag is probably because it doesn't let me tag you.

☑ You can comment just the emoji

⚠ BE AWARE: MY CONTENT IS MOSTLY DARK, NSFW, 18+ RATED, IF YOU'RE A MINOR PLS DON'T INTERACT.

[thecitysgraveyard]

"and we're off to never-never-land"

Introduction

kurt/ash/kai. twenty. infp. asian. scorpio. bi. chaotic mess. kirk hammett and james hetfield's cherry pie. <3 est may 2023.

・❥・- Likes : drawing ,doodling ,singing , animals, comedy movies, horror movies, rainy days, nirvana, marvel, guns n' roses, metallica, beaches, midnight drives, star wars, american psycho, whiplash, top gun/tgm, hyperpop. (i have more yall)

・❥・Dislikes : tea, rude people, myself, fake fans, going out, waking up.

"teenage angst has paid off well, now i'm bored and old"

Socials

mutuals can ask for discord and instagram

Ask me anything you want.

⚠️ English isn't my native language. Please feel free to tell me what's wrong or sounds strange in my writings.

DNI and things to know before requesting.

requests are closed

masterlist

requests

celebrations

"things have never been so swell, i have never failed to fail"

Now playing ~ you know you're right - nirvana

"goodbye sadness, hello jokes"

thecitysgraveyard® 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟸.

[thyme-in-a-bubble-taglist-reblog]

...

@blogs-imagines-fanctionstories @rintheemolion @iiheartbowie @wrenreid @partr1dge  

@harleycao @midniteluv @ceruleanrainblues @criminalmindsbau-spencerreid

@spideyman-peter @r-3dlips @uwiuwi @fairyy27 @austinbutlerssimp

@sassyrebelrockerprincess @raajali3 @anaislfbv @fairydxll @n3ttt

@oliviah-25 @honeysucklepotter @vecnaschargingtentacles @trudy_shams @clearstrawberryzombie

@marygoddessofmischief @couragemydearheart @dontbescaredtosingalong @jassy2101 @day-dreaming-goddess

@crthurston @reading-writing-737 @kiki17483 @laaundromat @lune-de-miel-au-paradis

@twilightlover2007 @luqvee @violetteshoneybee @mjtalksaboutanything @slut4timotheechalamet

@sakuralikestars @user294829329  @technicallydecafinatedpeanut @hoeforevery1 @rhealoml

@thecitysgraveyard @latorsgatorz @patzammit @imboredat2am @mansaaay

@dani-is-a-princess 

boo! surprise bitches! i'm doing kinktober this year! finally doing it! bet you didn't see that one coming, did you hehe 🕸

there is a good mix of both short and long stories coming your way throughout this (and i will also still occasionally post other fics this month that aren't related to this). also, a handful of these fics are darker in nature, thought it was fitting for halloween, so remember to read the warnings, if there's something that's not for you then please, as always, be kind to yourself and don't read the story.

masterlist | join my taglist

day one | sore

stepbro!sirius black x cheerleader!reader + dubcon massage

day two | don't smile

steve rogers + throat fucking + size kink

day three | stuffed

devil!eddie munson & angel!steve harrington + tentecles + double penetration in one hole

day four | a little fashion show

best friend!stiles stilinski + lingerie

day five | stay still

peter parker + bondage

day six | hold up, let me record this

jj maybank + tittyfucking + sextape

day seven | the palace guards

guards!poly!marauders x princess!reader + secrets relationship

day eight | it’s practically like we’re down there with them

mob boss!bucky barnes + exhibitionism

day nine | keep that pretty mouth shut

tommy shelby + keep quiet quickie

day ten | I couldn’t find it in me to wake you

poe dameron + somno thigh fucking

day eleven | I just want you a little longer all to myself

matt murdock + secret office sex

day twelve | nothing more than a toy

rafe cameron + using you like a toy to masturbate with

day thirteen | I still got a few rounds left in me

boxer!steve rogers + bathtub sex

day fourteen | open your fucking mouth

dark!wild west cowboy!joel miller + gun kink

day fifteen | tiny

miguel o'hara x fairy!reader + extreme size difference

day sixteen | the wall between us

cult member!steve harrington + fem glory hole + breeding

day seventeen | be a rebel, be bad, stay here and cuddle with me

spencer reid + aftercare

day eighteen | pleasant pile of pillows

brother's best friend!james potter + pillow humping

day nineteen | ring ring

sam winchester x reader x bf!dean winchester + phone sex + cheating

day twenty | window

perv!neighbour!billy russo + voyeurism

day twenty-one | say yes

fiancé!bruce wayne + possessiveness

day twenty-two | i can think of something better than that 

bucky barnes + anal

day twenty-three | double check

dark!professor!ben solo + power imbalance + manipulation

day twenty-four | maroon

vampire!remus lupin + biting + blood kink

day twenty-five | i want you

pirate captain!miguel o'hara + sex as payment

day twenty-six | teamwork

pro football team!avengers (bf!steve rogers, bucky barnes, pietro maximoff, clint barton, sam wilson, tony stark, thor odinson) + gangbang

day twenty-seven | my little flower

din djarin + fantasy au + cockwarming

day twenty-eight | hysteria

doctor!aleksander morozova x hysteria patient!reader + historical au + fuck machine

day twenty-nine | can't fight the moonlight

werewolf!bucky barnes x gf!reader + predator/prey + monsterfucking

day thirty | magical mimic

eddie munson x witch!reader + magical mutual masturbation

day thirty-one | you can’t put it in

stepbro!peter parker + halloween pussyjob

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[makeyoumine69]

1 year ago, on September 23rd, I posted my very first Patrick Bateman fic, and that day changed my life. I had no followers, no friends, and I didn't expect my fics to get any attention at all. Patrick became my biggest inspiration and the most comforting character I could have ever dreamed of.

Despite the fact that Tumblr can be very cruel and depressing at times, after a year of being here I now have almost 2.5k followers, and I've met so many amazing people.

So I just want to thank everyone who has ever read my stories. Every like, every reblog, every comment makes me happier and motivates me to keep going. I've written over 100k words for Patrick, and I hope this is just the beginning!💗

My special thanks to my mutts who have always been there for me, I love you guys!🥰💓😍 @sleeplessphantom @lissasharp @theesirenteller @moosesquirrelrb @melis-writes @melis-writes @thvshusband @ahsxual @nervousbananacupcake @r04dk1ll-w4nn4b3 @bookwormvoyageuse @whereireid @bunnylouisegrimes @thecitysgraveyard @tres-spades-hotel @bluujaiwrites @jacktorrancekinny @ladyalexandranna @jadeslashes

[natti-ice]

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

Thank you so much for 700 followers! Coming back to this app I didn’t expect such a big welcome, to show my appreciation I wanted to have a little celebration based on my obsession right now. Rupaul’s drag race! This is open to everyone, followers, non followers, anons!

CLOSED!

My only rules are:

Only send one game per ask, you can send as many asks as you’d like!

To request smut for the writing game you must be 18+

Navigation | who I write for

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

Games:

⟡ Work room talk - send a line from one of these prompts + a character and I’ll write a little drabble for it! Smut. fluff. angst.

⟡ Reading is fundamental - tell me a little bit of what kind of books you like to read and I’ll recommend a book I’ve read/ a book on my tbr!

⟡ Shantay or sashay - give me a hot take about a fandom and I’ll tell you shantay you stay (I agree) or sashay away (I don’t agree) PLEASE BE RESPECTFUL! Do not involve real people only characters/storylines!

⟡ Snatch game - classic tumblr games fmk, cym, top 5, etc!

⟡ Mini challenge - give me a little description of yourself + a fandom and gender preference and I’ll ship you with a character!

⟡ Maxi challenge - tell me your favorite color and I’ll give you one of my favorite runway looks in that color!

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

Mutuals: apologies to anyone not tagged!

@imabee-oralizard @juneberrie @madwcman @miss-celestial-being @maroon-winestain @augustinapril @vinzity @thecitysgraveyard @anglbby444 @marshymallo @themadhattersqueen @lovie-dovie-angel @alanangels @pxgeturner @ashley-slashley @ali-r3n @olives-and-sunshine @ratsematary @ddeadly-succubus @canmargesimpson @nailbatanddungeon @str4ngergirlw0rld @jenniquinn @thepurplelovewitch @impmunson @mediocredreams @mmunson86 @tiredasstaurus @eddies-puppet @eddie-munsonscoffin @yoongisababygoat @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @boa-hemian @kingstevesgf @asimpforthe80s @tracymbcm @arthurcerverogf @voyeurmunson @mxrcjqckspnchqsc @rafesmuse @queermaxwooo @mrssoapmactavish @venuslore @taintedcigs @timbradfordisbae @perseephoneee @damp4eddie @toadstool-amongst-the-tulips @emilyj444 @spenciesprincess

[thedroneranger]

The Drone Ranger's Be Kind Rewind ⏪ clancycucumber230 Edition!

A rec reblog series dedicated to the fics that we love so much, we've re-read them!

The next Rewind has landed: @clancycucumber230! Also, we have our first all Jake Seresin Rewind!

While we continue to churn out amazing new content, let's be kind and rewind to look at some of the OG content we love! And don't forget to reblog when you re-read! Continue to show your comfort fics and favorite creators some love. It helps keep the fresh content coming :)

Let's keep this going throughout the summer, so if you're interested in participating in the Be Kind Rewind, message me. The more, the merrier!

If you want to know when a new Rewind drops, join the tag list, and check out previous Rewinds!

fics below the cut (listed in alphabetical order by title)

Reader note: I’m an unapologetic Jake girl, although I’ve been dipping my toe in the water of Bob and Bradley recently. Jake’s character is so open, I love all the different ways he has been written by so many amazing authors. Not to mention Glen Powell is so god damn hot! Huge thank you to all writers in this fandom for your contributions!

can't unfeel that, @theharddeck FWB that have caught feelings. Really sweet and the breeding kink in this is off the charts hot.

Fruits of My Labor, @roosterbruiser I’m highlighting ‘Fruits of My Labor.’ It’s a heartbreakingly beautiful read. I would be remiss if I didn't mention The Fuck universe, though. This is a masterpiece with my favourite OC callsign Wisteria!

Hotshot, @topguncortez This first TGM smut I read. It’s rivals to lovers with electric banter and sexual tension. G has a masterlist that will rip your heart out and put it back together all at once. She’s also queen of the pregnancy trope.

Line of Sight, @top-hhun A three-parter ,featuring a reserved Jake protecting reader that flows into fake dating. It’s filled with sexual tension and possibility.

Operation Apollo, @sunlightmurdock This work isn’t complete yet but I have reread multiple times. Jake and Apollos’s growth from enemies to lovers to two people that just need each other is so natural. Throw in a shitty father, suspense and some smut smut smut and it’s a delicious read.

Slow Burn, @ereardon Jake gets Kate pregnant after a one night stand and it’s full of angst, love and dagger squad. Em is queen of the slow burn. Shes got a masterlist of my favourite tropes: pregnancy trope, Dad!Jake, Frat!Jake, Roomie!Jake, exes to lovers, plus Bob and Bradley series’ too. The OCs and settings she writes are also incredibly detailed. If I’m reading a book I can’t get into, this is where I go.

Teaching You Respect, @enchanting-eloquence Anything where Jake is taken down a peg by a strong woman is so SO good! This fic is cold shower amazing.

Terms of Endearment, @ohtobeleah TOE's Jake and Amilia are some of the best characters I’ve ever read. They have so much depth. Every time Leah answers a question about these two I have five more.

The Off-Season, @ereardon One of my most favourite series’. I’m so invested in these characters. They have the best banter and chemistry. Plus you can’t go wrong with the forbidden sibling trope!

Who Did This to You?, @justfandomwritings The first one shot I ever read. It’s got protective Jake with a new friend in need of help with her abusive ex.

I wish I could write, but I can’t, so here is a current read I’m absolutely loving:

Brother's Best Friend, @tongue-like-a-razor

Tag list and friends: @petcr3 @desert-fern @Sagittarius-Lovewitch @mygyn @sweetwhispersofchaos @horseshoegirl @the-annoying-fan @dingochef @moon42flight @thecitysgraveyard @ereardon @roosterforme @cherrycola27 @galaxy-of-stories @taytaylala12 @malindacath @violyn20 @awildewit @potato-girl99981 @shanimallina87 @blue-aconite @djs8891 @linkpk88 @furiousladyking @daggerspare-standingby @princess76179 @jstarr86 @hecate-steps-on-me @darkheartcherry @soulmates8 @roosters-girl @dempy @roosterisdaddy36 @hangmanscoming @s-u-t @mavrellover91 @chicomonks @averyhotchner 

A kind reminder, this is a 18+ blog. While not all stories in the recommendation list are 18+, please respect boundaries and do not interact unless you are 18 years of age or older.

[roosterbruisercatalogue]

@lt-spork

@spideegwen

@perpetuelledaydreaming

@toomuchfluffs

@lunarcatbun

@amortentiadrops

@saesire

@laracrofted

@itsarabellebabes

@i-simp-much

@topguncortez

@passionatewrites

@desert-fern

@callsign-cacti

@s-u-t

@x-bubblegum-x

@bradshawsweetheart

@blueoorchid

@givemylovetoall

@galaxy-moon

@seresinsaint

@rhettabbotts

@waklman

@crustyhoneybadger

@afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff

@adoreyou976

@fromirkwood

@proceduralpassion

@thecitysgraveyard

@sgt-barnesveins

@schreksdoubledeckerhomechecker

@ohtobeleah

𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄? — 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟒

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐏𝐎𝐏 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈-𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒. 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 (𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓) 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒 𝐁𝐔𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐖𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄? 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄'𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟒

The tough leather football catapults off the laces of Jake’s right cleat and soars across the true-blue sky through the yellow guideposts staked at the opposing side’s endzone. It’s clean--doesn’t so much as skim the chipped paint before it bounces off the net gloriously.

Triple.  

And just like that, the game ends the way everyone already knew it would: with Jake Seresin’s jersey blown up on the jumbotron, with the home team’s score dwarfing the opposing team just barely, with the crowd roaring in abundant approval.

The loyal crowd packing the stadium, all dressed in a sea of morning yellow and teal, erupts like an undefeated crowd should. Everyone is on their feet, breaths no longer held and fingernails no longer bitten, with their hands in the crisp autumn air surrounding them. The bright stadium lights wash over the field--all the celebrating players, the exuberant turf, the moping opposing side glitter inside its glow and beneath the evening sky.

Thunderstruck by AC/DC starts screaming through the speakers. At this point, you’re well-versed enough in your school’s football history to know that this song is synonymous with victory. It’s the only reason you put up with the song.  

“Holy shit!” Bob calls out. He’s grinning, his lips a bit pink and wet and his eyes wide and watered with joy. “Bullseye, man! Bullseye, bullseye, bullseye!”

Bob rarely curses so liberally--you’ve noticed this over the past year between late night runs to the corner store and lazy afternoons in Jake and Brad’s dorm. He says things like good Lord and have mercy and now just hold on a darn second there. But during football games, his lips are looser and he isn’t as quick to flush. He can say shit and damn and sometimes fuck. It is partly because of the sticky, nippy atmosphere and partly because of the few cheap beers Javy always buys for him.

“I told you! I told you he never misses!” Javy returns excitedly. “Fuck outta here, ‘Bama!” 

Javy brings his pointer and his tongue to his mouth, glancing over at you to make sure you see--you do and you’re already covering your ears. He gives you a courteous warning before he whistles after he nearly made you jump out of your skin during kick-off a few weeks ago. 

He heard all about it from Jake when you let it slip casually in conversation. 

“You trying to maim her or something, you dick?” Jake had said with his brows furrowed, his cheeks still pink from running though the football game had ended hours ago. He took a long, languid drink from his water bottle and then drew it away and pointed at Javy with it. “How about some warning next time, big guy?”

“Let’s fucking go!” Javy calls out, his voice ragged from calling out referees and hollering Seresin and Bradshaw, the paint on his face crumbling as his mouth stretches into a grin. “Don’t Trip on your way out, bitches!”

He wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side--he smells like face paint and sweat. Bob, all his excitement bubbling over, blows a yeasty breath out and wraps you up in his arms, too. Bob, somehow, always smells like he’s only just stepped out of the shower. 

Jake can hear everything from the field--everyone screaming, the noisemakers snapping, the hands clapping, the other players cajoling, Javy’s absurdly loud whistling--for only a moment. He only experiences the win for a few fleeting seconds, teammates punching his shoulder pads and slapping his ass through his tight game pants, until he turns his face to the bleachers.

It is easy for him to find you. Maybe if he told someone that, someone like Javy or Bradley or Bob, they would tell him that it’s because he’s the one who bought your tickets, picked your seats. That he simply memorized where you’re gonna sit, glances over during practice, always checks on you. 

But Jake knows better than that. 

He knows that it is so easy for him to find you because he looks for you in every room now--even if it’s the chem lab he knows you aren’t even enrolled in, even if it’s his family’s living room in Texas over the summer when you’re home in Virginia, even if it’s his dorm room at four in the morning and he’s just dropped you at your own hal, even if it’s the crowded dining hall he knows you wouldn’t ever step foot in on your own. 

He’s good at finding you--always has been. And now, a year to the day he first saw you at that shitty house party that only played a few good songs, he finds you wedged in between Bob and Javy. 

Jake’s chest is tight as he looks at you.

You’re standing in the first row of bleachers, grinning as you continue applauding your team’s victory. You’re wearing the sweatshirt he gave you, that soft yellow thing that used to be his dad’s when he went here, and there are little butterfly clips in your hair--team colors, of course. 

It’s funny, Jake thinks. A year ago you didn’t own even one school team shirt. Not even a hat, a keychain. And now you have matching hair clips. 

Almost instantaneously, you know he’s looking at you. Even when he’s across an entire football field, even when he’s being crowded by the rest of the football team and the coaches, even when his eyes are nearly hidden behind his helmet--you know.

And because you know he’s looking at you, you know that when he jams his finger in the sky and angles it--he’s pointing at you. You. That’s who the win was for. You. It’s always you. If someone were to be writing it down, they would know that every single win this season--and every single one during the latter half of last season--is dedicated to you. You own them, really. Technically. They’re gifted to you, thrusted into your lap, by Jake. 

Just like you do each time he points to you after a win, you hold your hands in a heart--a juvenile and crooked thing. But you hold it high and proud in the sky as confetti reigns down from the bleachers above. 

Jake’s beaming underneath his face mask, filled to the brim with unadulterated joy as you hold your hands up in a heart. It’s for him--it always is. 

He doesn’t remember what he was doing after wins before this--before he started looking for you. Maybe he was indulging in the celebration. Maybe he was letting Bradshaw tackle him to the turf. Maybe he was running to the sidelines. He can’t remember. He experiences this a lot when he thinks of life before you--it’s all blurry. Unimportant. 

“You fucker! You dumb fucker!” Bradley laughs in his ear as he jumps into Jake’s arms, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and knocking Jake’s helmet with his own. “Just take me already!” 

“You fucking goon, get off me!” Jake howls, stumbling backwards with Bradley’s entire weight on his torso. But he’s still grinning. “You’re giving the other team way too much ammunition right now!” 

“Ammunition-shammunition!” Bradley says gleefully, panting and laughing as he hugs Jake close to him. They both stink--almost indistinguishable from each other. “We won! We fucking won! Let ‘em talk!” 

“We always do,” Jake says, planting Bradley’s cleats back on the turf. “We’re literally 10-0!” 

Bradley slaps his hands on the sides of Jake’s helmet and pulls him close so that the hard plastic clashes roughly. Jake starts to whine, but Bradley is too amped to notice or mind. 

“I love you, man! I love you!” 

“Stop!” Jake insists. The grin is devouring his face. “Be normal!” 

“I can’t! Something’s happening to me! Something big and-and--!” Bradley’s already starting to gyrate, spreading his arms out and running in place on the tips of his toes. “Oh, God--it’s happening!”  

“Don’t!” Jake warns, shaking his head seriously. “Please--just this once, don’t do it--!” 

The team is already watching the two of them, amused. They know what’s coming. It’s the same thing at the end of every game that Jake wins for the team--which is almost every single one at this point. 

“It’s taking me! Oh, Lord! It’s taking me!” Bradley cries. 

“Uh-oh,” Bob says with a fond smile tugging on his lips. He squeezes you and Javy. “Trouble! One o’clock!” 

You and Javy grin at the scene on the field. The other team dejectedly fielding sneers and boo’s as they sulk off the field as AC/DC shakes the ground beneath their cleats. Your football team watching on in amusement as Bradley howls and breaks out in dance while Jake desperately tries to get away. 

“The Bradshaw Boogie,” you sigh, beaming. “Who could've guessed?” 

“Me, you, Bob, that guy over there, that guy over here, even the lady down there,” Javy lists, shaking his head.  

“Doesn’t this all feel so American?” Bob asks. He’s pushing the cart, squinting beneath the harsh fluorescents flickering above the lot of you. He’s in his costume already--a freakishly accurate Indiana Jones costume that has gotten more than a handful of compliments since arriving at the grocery store. “Going to a football game and then buying pumpkins at the local twenty-four hour superstore?” 

“Winning a football game,” Bradley corrects from his spot inside the cart, knees against his chest as he cradles a few bottles of the cheapest vodka in stock. His face is partially painted--which means he just looks partially rabid. He scratches the real dog collar around his throat and the metal name tag that he sharpied the Hell hound’s name on jangles melodically. “And we’re not just buying pumpkins.” 

“Yeah,” Javy echoes from ahead of everyone, skimming the aisles absently as he reads all the price tags. He’s the certified sales finder, which is always why he walks ahead of everyone. The bright read-and-white sweater of his Waldo costume, ironically, sticks out like a sore thumb in the dull aisles. “We’re buying Bradshaw a leash, too. Finally.” 

“Ha-ha,” Bob says. “Funny. ‘Cause he’s Cujo.” 

Javy pauses and glances over his shoulder at Bob and Bradley. Bob’s watching him, brows knit and lips quirked. Bradley hasn’t even noticed that the cart’s halted--he’s too busy chewing his fingernail. 

“No. We were supposed to get around to it last week,” Javy says. 

Now Bradley looks up--suddenly realizing that Bob and Javy are looking at him.

“Oh. Kinky,” Bradley grins, waggling his brows. He adjusts himself in the cart, uncomfortably packed against the metal grates between bags of Doritos and robust pumpkins. “I like it. Can Goldie put it on me?” 

Bradley leans out of the cart to grin at Jake, but all he sees is an empty aisle. 

“Hey. Where’d they go?” Bradley asks. 

“Who?” Javy returns, starting down the aisle again as he straightens his crooked glasses. “Sonny and Cher?”  

“They’re Daphne and Fred,” Bob says, shaking his head. “You know that.”

“More like Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumbass,” Bradley says good-naturedly. He releases his fingernail from the wrath of his teeth and then sighs dejectedly. “Anyone got any clippers on ‘em? I have a hangnail.”

Two aisles over, you’re sorting through the various bags of candy sitting on the beige shelves. Nothing is striking your precise fancy and Jake can tell from the careful way he’s watching your brows crinkle. You take your Halloween candy seriously and he knows he’s already on thin ice taking you to a superstore to get pumpkins instead of a patch. 

“Who the fuck likes Dots?” You whisper to him, shaking your head disapprovingly. 

“I’ll give you one guess,” Jake says, tightening the orange ascot around his throat. 

Glancing at him through your lashes, your belly already in a puddle at your platform heels right beside your heart, you meet his gaze. He’s always already looking at you--just like he always is. It’s one of the first things you noticed about him after you two met for coffee on November 1st of last year, a mere twelve hours since you broke things off with Spit Sabler. Jake was the one who stood from the table he snagged for both of you, the one who was watching the door for thirty minutes before you arrived, the one who called your name across the cafe and waved you over.

“Hey,” he’d said when you crossed the cafe shyly and ended up at his feet. “You look great out of costume, too!” 

“Jokes on you,” you’d told him, eyeing the ridiculously good-looking denim jacket he had shrugged over his The Innocence Mission t-shirt. “You don’t.” 

You cheek your grin and whip a bit of your stringy red wig over your shoulder. When he sees you struggling, two little strands of artificial hair stuck in your lipgloss, he reaches up and carefully peels them away from your lips. His fingers graze your cheek as he retracts--a ghost of a touch, the hint of a touch, the hint of a ghost of a touch. Enough for both of you to curl your toes identically in the safety and privacy of your own socks. 

Both of you pretend not to be warm from the interaction. 

You clear your throat.  

“Nobody likes Dots,” you insist. 

Jake shakes his head smugly. 

“Somebody you know and love likes Dots,” Jake insists. 

He doesn’t bother checking his grin--he can hardly muster when you’re looking up at him so prettily. Fuschia eyelids and candy-apple lips, all that sweet softness and playfulness sitting in the fat of your cheeks as you try not to smile.  

“You lie like a rug,” you challenge, crossing your arms indignantly. “I’m calling your bullshit.” 

“Error 404. Bullshit not found,” Jake says, holding his palms up in defense. “C’mon. One guess. You’ve got it.”

“You,” you say. 

He holds his chest in mock insult and you beam at him. 

“Ouch,” he says. “No. I underestimated your ability to be wack as Hell.”  

“Okay Fresh Prince,” you bite back, open-mouth laughing now. “Then who is it? Hm? Who do I know and love that likes Dots?” 

“Scrappy Doo,” he says. 

He watches your face contort--first confusion and then realization. 

“Bradshaw really does make it hard for himself, doesn’t he?” You say quietly. “But, like--now that you say that? I can see it. Unfortunately. I can see it.” 

“He went to the movie theater one time to--like, literally just to buy Dots. Brought, like, five boxes back to the dorm and ate them overnight.”

“Ew,” you say, nose wrinkled. “Did he get sick?” 

“No,” Jake says, rolling his eyes. “He has an industrial stomach.” 

“Shit,” you say, laughing. “Go figure.” 

Jake glances down at the mounds of candy before you, scouring for a bag you would actually enjoy. He’s learned a lot about you--he feels like he’s learned everything about you--in the past year, so he knows how tricky this is going to be. You won’t eat coconut or dark chocolate--nor do you like non-sour gummies. You only tolerate Smarties and you can’t stomach M&M’s after last year’s milkshake incident. 

“Here,” Jake says, tugging a variety bag out from the bottom of the pile. He hands it to you and nods for you to follow him as he starts down the aisle again. 

“That’s ballsy,” you say to him, not moving from your spot. You squint as you read the labels of the candy in the variety pack. “You know this is a most sacred process with me.” 

He turns, now in the middle of the aisle, and watches you read it silently. He already knows--before you even do--that this is the one you’re going to choose. 

“You underestimate my fondness for you,” Jake says. Heat blooms all cross his chest and his ascot suddenly feels tight when you glance back at him in amusement. He laughs dryly. “Idiot.” 

“I stand corrected,” you tell him with a shrug and sigh, slinging the candy over your arm. “And you know how much I hate standing.” 

“Who hates standing?” Jake grins, shaking his head. You are slowly making your way over to him in that strangely authentic Daphne costume, the one you put together over the course of three months with him in tow. “Nobody hates standing.” 

When you come close to him, you can smell the aftershave on his face, the sandalwood on his pulse points. He grins down at you, unrealistically handsome even in this truly awful Fred wig--truly, it’s less Fred and more of a tow-headed Sonny Bono.

“Someone you know and love hates it,” you tease, pressing the bag of candy in his awaiting arms. “Right?” 

He looks down at you in between taking measured, deep breaths. He can’t believe how much he adores you. Well, he can because he does and he has been since the moment he first saw you. He felt like he already loved you when he saw you in the cafe the day after Halloween, when you walked across the checkered tiles with your glasses on and your backpack slung over one shoulder. 

“What--you didn’t bring your backpack? Do you not care about passing midterms?” You’d asked him seriously. But you were smiling softly as your lashes kissed the tops of your cheeks. “Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of doctor?” 

Sometimes he wonders when it happened--when something happened between the two of you that halted both of you in your tracks, something that stalled anything real and romantic happening at the party or the dorm room. He thinks about it when he zones out in class, when he’s trying not to fall asleep during film in the locker rooms. 

Maybe it was when some John puked all over your legs. 

Maybe it was when he didn’t walk you to the door of your dormitory. 

Maybe it was when he didn’t bring his backpack for coffee. 

Maybe it was when you were the one to ask for his number first, scribbling it on the corner of your notebook with a smiley face. Smiley face. Not a heart.

Maybe it was on a Tuesday in April or maybe a Friday in September. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever know--doesn’t even know if he wants to know. 

But Jake isn’t one to complain, though. 

Maybe you’re not what he wants you to be--his girlfriend--but you’re still the best person he knows. And, in a lot of ways, he considers himself very lucky to have landed you at all. Even as a friend. 

You have quickly--effortlessly--become one of Jake’s favorite people on God’s green earth. He thinks about you each morning when the sun touches his face for the first time, thinks about how warm your hands always are when you pinch his cheeks. He thinks about you each night as he flicks off his lamp, glancing at the framed photograph he has of you on his bedside table--one Javy took of you on a disposable camera, one where you’re decked out in team colors and holding a foam finger with Jake’s number on it.

Sometimes, though--like right now--he gets overwhelmed with everything. It’s like there’s a ball of light in his chest that’s starting to puncture his skin. Like there’s something bright and hot and big that wants out and wants out now. 

“Right,” Jake whispers now, pretending like he’s not choked up. He grips the plastic bag in his arms to keep himself from holding your cheeks. He’s watching your lips. “You are someone I know and love.” 

There is a hotness radiating from Jake, but you hardly notice. If you did, you’d be fanning yourself and un-pinning your wig. But your gaze is unwavering, even if you feel like Jake isn’t quite meeting your eyes right now. 

“Prove it,” you whisper to him. 

It sounds like an invitation--maybe it is. 

Yes, it lingers there in the air between you, the one that smells like leaves and artificial apple and gardenia perfume. You and him both see it, clear as day, as if it’s some sort of bright red mist surrounding you. 

You have a supremely good eye for detail. You notice eyelashes on sidewalks and memorize license plates on speeding cars and have never once missed foreshadowing. That’s why Bradley has you proofread all his essays, why Javy has you watch football games with him, why Bob studies with you, why Jake loves to watch movies with you. 

So, you notice it whenever Jake’s eyebrows pinch. Whenever he looks confused, like he’s just about to sputter out a what? and step away from you. That’s when you realize, flushed as ever before, that your faces are a mere inch apart. 

“Buy my candy,” you say, straightening out and moving your face away from his. 

Jake’s heart is hammering in his chest.

Fuck.

He was going to do it. He was going to ask if he could kiss you--Hell, he was just going to hold the stupid wig in place and press his lips to yours before he lost the nerve. 

But it’s too late. You’re already smiling at him, expression unreadable to him even though he’s well-versed in you, nodding towards the register. 

“Goldie--!” 

“Hey!” Javy says when he sees the two of you. “Simon! Garfunkel! Let’s get a move on, huh? We’ve gotta get our drink on!” 

Both you and Jake turn to find your three friends standing at the end of the aisle. Javy with his hands on his hips and his lips pursed, Bob smiling almost apologetically like he knows he interrupted something, and Bradley struggling to his knees in the very-full cart to get your attention. 

“Hey, Goldie! I made a really good joke earlier and you weren’t there,” Bradley starts, grinning as he gestures wildly. “Okay, so Javy said--!”

“Down boy,” Bob says, nudging Bradley. 

You and Jake trudge towards the three of them, a strange aura of embarrassment and disappointment permeating the air around the two of you.

“What?” Bradley asks, genuinely oblivious. “She missed it! She’s my audience!” 

“Audience of one?” Javy asks, brow raised. 

“I’m a one-woman kinda guy,” Bradley defends. You’re smiling at him, rolling your eyes, when he pats his thighs while waggling his eyebrows. “Hey, pretty lady. Wanna take a seat?” 

Jake thumps the back of his head hard, even if he knows that Bradley’s adoration for you is purely platonic and flirtation if in complete jest. 

“Nah,” you say softly. You hold your own hands and try not to breathe in too much of Jake’s cologne. “I’ll stand.”

Technically it’s still Halloween when you and Jake stumble into his dorm room. Time is ticking and so are you as he shuts the door behind the both of you, a broken laugh falling from his vodka-flavored lips at something you said on the elevator. 

“Jesus, it’s dark,” you say as you pull your lop-sided wig off your head and let it slink to the wooden floor. “You live like this?” 

The room is dark and empty, completely quiet besides the usual clanging and hollering outside his window from the drunk boys in the courtyard. And, of course, the laughter still dying on Jake’s tongue and the thumps of your heels. 

You have been in this room more times than you can count--so much so that several of the floors RA’s have approached you about blowing off floor meetings. So, despite being a bit drunk and despite being in the dark, you’re able to find the radio sitting on Jake’s dresser. It’s where it always is beside a pack of gum and his favorite bottle of cologne. 

“Like a hermit,” Jake says. 

“Spooky,” you whisper to him. “Really getting me in the mood over here.” 

“Yeah? Sitting in Bob’s room and watching creature features didn’t do that for you already?” 

“Nope,” you say, shaking your head despite the fact that he cannot see you. “You know I like more high brow stuff.” 

“Right,” Jake says distantly as he reaches blindly for the switch to the lava lamp. “Slashers.” 

“Uh huh,” you mutter. Then you clear your throat and drunkenly giggle as you sing. “Gimme gimme gimme some gore after midnight.” 

“You know how I can tell when you’re trashed, Goldie-girl?” Jake grins, still fumbling for the switch. “You start singing ABBA parodies.” 

“You like my parodies,” you whisper back. 

“Love ‘em,” he says and he really does mean it. 

The lamp suddenly illuminates the room. The both of you squint in tandem, on opposite sides of the small dorm room, stumbling in your steps in surprise. 

“Hi,” you whisper to him. 

Your makeup is smeared--bleary. His wig is gone and his ascot is untied. 

“Hey,” he returns. “What are you in the mood for? Pick your poison.” 

He nods to the CD’s you’re sorting through. 

“Julee Cruise,” you whisper back. 

“On the left,” he tells you. “Towards the bottom.” 

Nodding, you dig it out. Jake rubs his eyes, trying to sober up. It isn’t that he wants to even be sober--he feels good right now. But after what happened at the store, the way you have been inside of a hard shell all night between Jaws and The Blob, he wants to have a clear head. 

Fumbling only slightly, you manage to start the CD. And without looking back at Jake, you wander over to his twin bed and flop down on the brown plaid bedding, sighing in relief. 

“I’ve been awake for too long,” you whisper to him, blinking up at the ceiling. 

He’s still standing beside the lamp, watching every one of your moves with his heart in his throat. 

“How long?” He asks. 

You turn to him, biting a smile and blinking your bleary eyes. 

“My whole life,” you return. 

Now he’s biting a grin. 

“Wow,” he whispers. “You must be exhausted.”

“Yup,” you confirm. You point to your platform heels and crooked stockings. “Too exhausted to take my costume off.” 

A bubble pops inside of Jake, inside of you, in tandem. You blink at him. He blinks at you. There are only a few feet separating you and him, only a few paces across a shitty rug and old hardwood floors. 

He swallows hard. You notice it when his Adam’s apple bob. 

He considers what could happen next. He could press forward, tell you that he can help with that. And then maybe you would sit up and draw your knees to your chest and tell him he’s just like every other guy you’ve ever been friends with. Or he could stand right where he is now and just nod like he didn’t quite hear you, then sit on Bradley’s bed while you huddle up by yourself in his. Neither of which sound palatable to Jake right now--or ever. 

Your heart is racing as you watch him. Fuck. You keep word vomiting, keep accidentally inviting him, keep telling the truth too voraciously. 

When he moves, he doesn’t say anything. That’s what he’s decided on--he won’t say a word. He’ll just…walk towards you. And you watch him as he crosses the floor, his footing suddenly a bit more sober than it was when the two of you left Bob’s dorm after Bradley insisted on a second screening of Critters. 

Then he’s standing before you--you’re laying below him. Both of you watch each other, drink in every movement--there hardly are any. His palms are damp and your throat is dry. 

His movements are slow, but calculated. His fingers wrap around your right ankle and your leg feels weightless as he lifts it and places the bottom of your shoe on his pristine Fred Jones sweater. The color of your shoe, that sweet purple-pink, is a stark contrast from the muddy print the sole of your shoe will leave. 

Jake doesn't look away from your face as he reaches for the buckle. 

It’s a tiny thing, flimsy and delicate. But he’s dextrous. 

“Thanks,” you whisper preemptively--just to say something. 

Falling by Julee Cruise is playing. You can only hear the blood rushing through your ears--you’re sure Jake hears it, too.  

“Jesus,” Jake says and he’s still looking you right in the eyes. Your heart rate spikes--your back almost leaves the bed in a sudden arch at just the sound of it falling from his lips. All rasp, all football player, all Jake. “How’d you get these things on?” 

“With a little help from my friends,” you say back pathetically. You shift slightly and he re-secures his grip on your ankle like you are trying to climb away from him. “You know. Fingernails.” 

You hold your hands up to him weakly and he nods, still not smiling as he fingers the buckle. 

“Right,” he says. “Something I don’t have.” 

“Right,” you say. 

“But anything you can do, I can do better,” he says. 

His heart is hammering. 

But you smile--smile despite the apple vodka staining the back of your throat and the heat pooling in your belly and the thoughts of him muddling your ever-present attention. 

“Tell it to the heels, baby,” you whisper to him. 

And, like you’ve said a magic word, he gets the first heel unbuckled. 

With a raise of his eyebrows, as if to say ha!, he delicately removes the heel from your foot and sets it on the floor. He’s still holding your ankle, softly stroking the light pink nylon tights. Wishing it was your skin. Burning all the same. 

There’s a muddy shoe print on his chest now. He sees it--so do you. But neither of you say anything about it. You’re too nervous to accidentally invite him to something he doesn’t want to come to--he’s too nervous to say the wrong thing and make you retreat. 

Your socked foot rests against his chest even after he releases you, which is what he wants. Any part of you against any part of him. 

He makes quick work of the other buckle and you watch, sobering quickly beneath the warmth of his touch and the velvety music flooding the radio. 

“You’re a pro,” you whisper. Your voice is somewhere between a whisper and a jive. 

He doesn’t say anything. 

Here you are, below him in his bed. Here you are, your legs open and your ankles in the stronghold of his hands. Here you are, a year to the day since he first saw you. Here you are, listening to his dream pop in his dorm after hanging out with your friends that used to be his friends that you now share. 

Here you are. It astounds him, really. 

How lucky he is that you’re here. Now. Right now. 

There is an intensity to his gaze, one you see fleetingly, rarely in certain instances. If you were someone else and so was he, you would call those instances stolen glances or maybe pensive longing. 

But you’re you. 

He’s him. 

So you don’t know what to call it.  

“Are you okay?” You ask.

“No,” he answers. 

He clears his throats, ignores the ringing in his ears. 

Fuck. He didn’t mean to answer like that. 

You’re already scrambling to sit up, to probably interrogate him and press your knuckles to his forehead and check for a fever, but then he’s pressing his flat palm to your belly and pushing you back against the bed. 

It is not a hard touch--nor is it a violent one. It is a guidance, a suggestion. One that takes your breath from your lungs and smacks his face with it. One that renders you almost voiceless. 

“What’s wrong?” You whisper. “Did I…do something?” 

“What could you have done that would ever make me not okay?” He asks, a strangely kind bite to his tone. As if he were saying Don’t you know that I love you, you idiot?

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Buy you a Red Hot Chili Peppers CD?” 

A dry laugh falls from his parted lips, but he doesn’t smile. He can’t. Not when his throat is so dry, not when you two are so close. So, so close. Close enough to smell that warm amber in your hair and against your throat. 

“Get serious,” Jake insists. 

“I am,” you whisper. 

“No, you’re not,” Jake says back, brows furrowed. 

You glance down at your costume. 

“I can’t be serious in pink tights.”

Jake doesn't have time to think--doesn’t have time to stop himself. He’s reaching up, up and under your dress, hooking his fingers in the band of your pink tights and tugging on them. They come loose much easier than the buckles, practically purr at Jake’s touch as he draws them down your legs, leaving a trail of gooseflesh on your skin. 

You’re gasping, nearly moaning before you choke on it, as he swiftly removes your tights. And then your legs are bare before him and your legs are still open and he’s standing and you’re sitting and your pink tights are in his fist. They’re still warm from your skin--still smell like you. 

Jake drops them on the floor, not peeling his gaze from yours. 

Now you’re speechless, which doesn’t happen often. 

“What happened at the grocery store?” He asks. 

“What?” You sputter out. Your heart races. Fuck. You were hoping to just forget it all. “What are you--what do you--?” 

“You know what I’m talking about,” Jake says. He flushes when he realizes that your legs are still open, when he realizes that you couldn’t close them if you wanted to since he’s standing so close to you. “C’mon. Don’t bullshit me.” 

“You tell me,” you demand. “I thought you were gonna…I don’t know…” 

You’re too flustered to continue, throwing your arm over your face under the guise of shielding your eyes from the light. Your face, your arm, your skin, your breath--it’s all so hot. You want to melt into the plaid bedding and become one with the dust bunnies. 

“Marigold,” Jake says and it sounds like he’s begging. “Don’t hide from me. C’mon. C’mon, we’re friends!” 

Friends. There’s that word. 

You want to roll over on your side, want to just apologize and go to your dorm and pine privately for him, but you can’t. You can’t because he’s leaning forward and tugging your arms away from your eyes. 

He’s suddenly infinitely closer to you. So close that you feel tipsy just breathing in his breath, all the alcoholic apples that have died there. 

The two of you stare at another. You’re searching his eyes, his nose, his lips, trying to get a read on him and what he’s thinking and what he’s doing. He’s leaning over you, slotted between your legs, his hips only a breath away from your core. He feels it when you squirm--he isn’t sure if you’re trying to get closer or farther, so he shifts backwards a few centimeters. 

“Did you want me to do something?” Jake asks. It’s a quiet demand. A plea. “Back there. At the store.” 

You swallow, don’t know what to say. The light is suddenly too bright and the music is suddenly too loud. 

“Did you want me to want you to do something back there? At the store?” 

He scoffs--it’s a mean, but soft sound. 

“You’re impossible,” he whispers.  

“I’m trying not to be,” you say back. “Sorry.” 

“We almost kissed,” he says and his lips are quivering. “Right? That’s what that was, right? You wanted me to kiss you.” 

When the words fall on your ears, in your already heightened state, you feel like they’re accusatory. You wanted him to kiss you. And it made him knit his brows and falter, stumble. 

You’re fucking everything up. 

You can’t afford to fuck everything up with the best friend you’ve ever had.

“No, I didn’t,” you whisper. Your voice is hoarse, thin.

“Yes, you did,” he whispers. “You’re a bad lair.” 

He almost says that he couldn’t look away from your lips all night. He almost says that he wished you were closer to him. He almost says that he wants you to kiss him, too. He almost says that he’s wanted to kiss you for a year--an aching, throbbing year. 

But he doesn’t.

“Stop it,” you tell him quietly. Tears are welling in your eyes. You blink rapidly, try to ease yourself from the absolute comfort of his heat. “Why would I want that?” 

Now he says nothing. There it is--that crippling fear he always has, the one where he fucks it, the one where he’s rejected, the one where he fumbles the ball, the one where he misses the goal. Except it feels realized suddenly. Suddenly as you’re looking up at him in artificially warm light, your tights tugged off your naked legs by him, you look hurt. Your eyes are watery and your lips are twisted and you’re not drunk anymore. 

And he’s the one caging you in. Holding you against the bed. 

At once, he lays on his back. He’s no longer between your legs, no longer hovering you and looking into your eyes. He’s laying beside you. 

The both of you lay there, side-by-side, blinking up at the ceiling. You’re desperately blinking, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. And you’re curling your knees to your chest, holding yourself together with flimsy tape.

His chest is heaving. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t know what to do. 

But he doesn’t have to because as he’s running his hands over his face, shaking his head and opening his trembling lips, your hand is on his forearm. 

“Hey,” you whisper. You’re watching him, lying on your side now, trying not to sound as desperate to keep him as you feel right now. “Jake. Look at me.” 

He does at once. 

Plaid bedding separates your mouth from his and your eyes aren't as watery anymore. It’s good. That’s good. Jake still can’t muster a word. 

“We’re just drunk,” you say dismissively. And even you sound like you don’t believe that bullshit. “Saying dumb shit when you’re drunk is, like, a rite of passage. Right?” 

He nods meekly after a long, sober pause. 

“I’m…” he starts. His cheeks flood bright red. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Hey, don’t be,” you tell him. “Like--it’s…don’t worry about it. We can talk about it when we’re sober.” 

He nods. Grateful, kind of, for your grace. But also angry that he couldn’t make it work--angry that things didn’t end up the way he needs them to. 

He glances at the clock just as it strokes midnight. No longer Halloween. Time to take the costume off.

 Absently, carefully, you reach forward and press the pads of your fingers against the muddy heel print on his chest. He won’t be able to wear this sweater again, but you feel like this isn’t going to be something that he throws away. And if he did--you would climb into any dumpster on campus to retrieve it. Just to hold it. Just to keep it. 

“Wanna get coffee tomorrow?” You whisper. 

The hint of a smile tugs on his lips. He finally tears his eyes away from the clock and looks at you. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I think I know a place.” 

Your lungs deflate slightly--with relief, with grief. It all feels the same. 

“Don’t forget your backpack.”

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: OH MY GOD JUST FUCK ALREADY!!!!!!!

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

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[thedroneranger]

The Drone Ranger's Be Kind Rewind ⏪ mothdruid Edition!

A rec reblog series dedicated to the fics that we love so much, we've re-read them!

Have no fear, @mothdruid's Rewind is here! Abby, thank you for contributing to this series!

While we continue to churn out amazing new content, let's be kind and rewind to look at some of the OG content we love! And don't forget to reblog when you re-read! Continue to show your comfort fics and favorite creators some love. It helps keep the fresh content coming :)

Let's keep this going throughout the summer, so if you're interested in participating in the Be Kind Rewind, message me. The more, the merrier!

If you want to know when a new Rewind drops, join the tag list, and check out previous Rewinds!

fics below the cut (listed in alphabetical order by title)

and even when we’re wrong in every way, we come out the other side okay, Bradley Bradshaw, @gretagerwigsmuse god, bradley is such a wimp for smart people and it shows.

Coveted Facade, Jake Seresin, @inklore laur, sweets. laur's jake fics are phenomenal and truly encapsulate how canon jake is.

Heat, Bradley Bradshaw, @clints-lucky-arrow this was the first top gun fic i ever read! i'd like to thank mack for creating such a mind melting fic, that i still think about to this day.

I Touch Myself, Bob Floyd, @rhettabbotts subby bob is a delight, and shelby did a great job with this.

Old Habits Die Hard, Bradley Bradshaw, @roosterforme frat bradley is so special to me!!!! this whole series means a lot to me.

Silk, Jake Seresin, @siempre-bucky this is so fucking hot, and it's not even smutty. jake is so in love and it's adorable.

Sin Adorno O Flores, Mickey Garcia, @rae-gar-targaryen this was one of the first things for mickey I ever read. and it really made me love how sweet and soft he is.

Songbird, Bradley Bradshaw, @bradshawsbitch my urge to go to a cabin was increased after reading this. especially one with bradley.

The Professor, Jake Seresin, @topguncortez this was the first thing of G's i read! it's so good and just makes me melt!

Creator's Own

Home for the Holidays, Bradley Bradshaw this is my pride and joy, something i'm very happy and glad to have written. the rom-com i'd like to make into a movie.

Tag list and friends: @petcr3 @desert-fern @Sagittarius-Lovewitch @mygyn @sweetwhispersofchaos @horseshoegirl @the-annoying-fan @dingochef @moon42flight @thecitysgraveyard @ereardon @roosterforme @cherrycola27 @galaxy-of-stories @taytaylala12 @malindacath @violyn20 @awildewit @potato-girl99981 @shanimallina87 @blue-aconite @djs8891 @linkpk88 @furiousladyking @daggerspare-standingby @princess76179 @jstarr86 @hecate-steps-on-me @darkheartcherry @soulmates8 @roosters-girl @dempy @roosterisdaddy36 @hangmanscoming @s-u-t @mavrellover91 @chicomonks @averyhotchner 

A kind reminder, this is a 18+ blog. While not all stories in the recommendation list are 18+, please respect boundaries and do not interact unless you are 18 years of age or older.

[sunlightlibrary]

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Wayfaring Stranger | Prologue | Rhett Abbott x Reader

* reposting this bc I want to give the story a second chance and because I’m down bad for Lewis Pullman, prologue and chapter 1 merged, further rewrites to come <3 *

synopsis: betrayal sends Rhett veering further West, searching for answers and searching for himself. Instead, he finds you.

warnings: 18+, minors dni. Will be smut, violence and swearing. No warnings for this particular chapter other than Rhett smokes. Enemies to lovers in a very loose sense.

…

Rhett’s been saying that he’s going to get out of here for about as long as he can remember. Even before he was angry enough to say it out loud, the promise had been scrawled with adolescent lettering, held within the pages of a leather bound journal that had been a gift from his grandfather.

There were days that Rhett really meant it. Some days he meant it more than others. Some days, it was more of an affirmation than a plan. Leaving the courthouse on that day in April, looking his childhood sweetheart in the eye and telling her that he wasn’t coming back — that seemed more binding than any of the words he had told her before.

The sign looked bigger in his dreams. The Welcome to Wyoming, Forever West, planted in the dirt on the border of Montana — when Rhett had dreamed about covering it in dirt as it grew smaller in his rear view mirror, it had looked bigger. It had meant more.

His blue eyes watch the sign grow smaller. The road behind him isn’t empty like it always is in his dreams. There’s a minivan behind him, the tired brunette behind the wheel is bickering with a child in the backseat. Behind her, a truck that doesn’t look all that different from Rhett’s. He wonders if their journey is the same as his. He’s certain it’s not.

It’s a Wednesday when Rhett leaves. He doesn’t say a damn word to anyone other than Maria, they’ll just try to ask him to stay. The road behind him isn’t empty, and neither is the road ahead of him. It’s different than in his dreams, but not in a bad way. Truthfully, it’s like a pinch to remind him that he’s actually awake. That he did it.

Radio off, everything he owns on the bench beside him.

In his dreams, Rhett makes it further. Drives until he hits the horizon and then some. On that Wednesday, he drives until he can barely keep his eyes open and he’s got a cramp in his calf from the stiff clutch pedal in his old truck. He doesn’t quite hit the horizon, but the glowing neon of a faded motel sign seems far enough there and then.

He has some money with him. It’ll get him where he needs to go, wherever that is. Winnings from bull riding and wages from helping out on neighboring ranches. What his father had paid him usually hadn’t ever stretched far enough to make it into the savings.

Rhett pays for a room for the night, though this is the kind of establishment that’s used to more of an hourly rate. He drops his bags onto the spare bed and sits down on the one that’ll be his for the night.

He’s a couple hundred miles in, near Richfield according to the last sign before he took his exit. Idaho. He’s been here a few times before. Riding competitions, auctions and stuff. It’s never made too much of an impression before and it doesn’t on that Wednesday night.

There’s nothing on TV, Rhett hadn’t thought to bring a book when he was packing in the middle of the night. After about an hour, Rhett can’t stand the sound of his own thoughts any longer. He grabs his coat and heads out, walking along the roadside for a bit until he’s at a bar off the side of the road.

Just another lonely stranger, sitting at a barstool. He considers tequila. After the couple of weeks he has had, he could do with something strong. But, he isn’t far enough — he still feels that pull, telling him to go home and won’t risk being too hungover to drive far enough to shake that feeling tomorrow.

In lieu of tequila, Rhett finds it’s warmth elsewhere. After a couple of beers, Rhett settles out his tab. Pleased with his manners and intrigued by how he teeters on the edge of kicked puppy and mysterious outlaw, the pretty girl behind the bar tells him her shift’s almost over.

Always a gentleman, Rhett makes sure she has someone to walk her to her car once she’s ready to go. It’s not his fault that they wind up walking a little bit past her car. It’s her hand that dips into his front pocket and retrieves his motel room key — her lips that drag along his throat, her hand that curls into his hair.

She kisses him goodbye the next morning. He isn’t sure how he feels about it, but her name plays on his mind through the morning and into the afternoon. Carrying with him through Idaho and into Oregon.

It’s a couple of days of that. Driving around, learning new names between thin motel sheets, forgetting them by sundown the next day.

Rhett’s mother always had it in her head that he was a womaniser. He isn’t sure where she got it from, considering that he didn’t have his first kiss until he already had his driver’s license.

The hard part is, Rhett hadn’t ever really known enough about himself to disagree with her. She raised him, saw the intricacies of his growing mind — if that’s what she said he was, then it must’ve been true. So, Rhett let it grow to be true.

He isn’t necessarily proud of it. But, he is somewhat proud of the manner in which he does it. He’s never resorted to a sleazy pick-up line or a bold-faced lie to get a woman into his bed. He’s quiet enough to be mysterious without being mysterious enough to be unapproachable. Handsome enough but not too put together.

It’s been four days since Rhett left Wyoming when he realises that yesterday, he had turned back around. He’s on the cusp of Montana, headed back the way he came.

He had stopped feeling the pull a day or so ago, because he had already turned back towards it. He’s pulled off to the side of Route 212 in the parking lot of a diner, his head in his hands.

This had been predicted. It had been Cecelia’s go to answer every time Rhett had threaten to leave. Go on then, I’ll be here when you get back. She hadn’t meant it with spite, but those words had always struck Rhett like venom. When you get back, because she was so confident that he would.

He hadn’t ever let her explain whether she thought that he’d be back because he belonged there or because she thought he just couldn’t make it on his own. Either way, she was wrong.

Rhett just needs a destination — an end goal. After five days of driving through the West, he feels scattered, and it’s just going to get worse. It was kind of stupid, to pack up and leave without anywhere to go.

That’s all he has to do — figure out where he’s going.

He grabs his baseball cap from beside him on the truck bench and secures it over his messy hair, leaving the truck in its space as he heads into the almost empty diner.

He takes a seat up by the counter and orders a coffee from the polite, young waitress standing behind the counter. He probably should eat too, he just can’t stand the thought of more diner food. It takes him a while, but he orders a sandwich finally. It’s the only thing on the menu that contains a vegetable and his body’s going to give out if it doesn’t get one of those soon.

With no one here now to tell him not to play with his food, Rhett sits distracted. Under fluorescent light, calm country playing over a radio in the kitchen, he takes his time to look around him as he picks at his sandwich.

There’s a pinboard that sits behind the counter. It’s partially blocked by the pale blue uniform shirt of the waitress as she texts on her phone, but Rhett can still see most of it.

Missing people, things for sale, help wanted signs — there’s a mixture of stuff on there. There’s a piece of yellow card that stands out. Ranch Hands Wanted. The Blue Mountain Ranch, MT.

It’s a stupider idea than driving aimlessly around the country, falling right back into what he’s running away from. Still, his mouth makes the decision before his head is on board.

“‘Scuse me,” Rhett’s voice gruff from not speaking much, he quietly clears his throat and brings his coffee cup closer to him. The waitress turns towards him and raises her eyebrows, a polite smile on her lips. “Could I see that notice, please?”

A quick glance behind her to see which one he’s talking about, and then she’s looking at him dubiously. Her smile grows with intrigue. Rhett swallows, watching as the unpins the yellow paper from the board and sets it down on the counter in front of him.

He turns his gaze down and starts to read through the desired skills. All stuff that he’s been doing since he was a kid. Herding cattle, fixing fences. Nothing new except the scenery.

“Thinking of joining the Mountain?” She asks. Rhett looks up at her over the brim of his baseball cap. She’s resting both hands on the counter and leaning forwards slightly, interested.

“Does that sound like a bad idea?” He asks in response, setting the paper down on the countertop beside his coffee. He leans back in his seat and parts his knees. She looks him up and down, pink lips quirking slightly at the edges.

Handsome guy like him, hands that are clearly used to some dirty work — Lena’s got a very good friend on that ranch that could do with a pick me up.

She gives her head a soft shake, “Actually, I think you’d fit right in.”

Rhett hums. He bites the inside of his cheek as he looks down at the printed information. Somewhere to lay low until he’s got a destination in mind doesn’t sound too bad. As long as he’s not back there, it doesn’t matter.

Six days after leaving the Abbott Ranch to crumble into the earth it had sprung from, Rhett’s back to what he knows. Standing on fertile ground with a Stetson on his head, talking to an aging ranch manager.

“Bud Hawthorne, if you don’t come and get this girl, so help me god, I’ll—“

The screen door swings open and clatters loudly into the wall before it swings shut again. Rhett lifts his head, brows raising in slight surprise as his attention centres in on the porch around the main house.

The house is two stories, excluding the basement and a small loft hatch above one of the upstairs bedrooms. It’s nice, nicer than his parents’ place back in Wabang was anyway. Built by someone who could afford a couple of extra luxuries around the place.

A tall woman is the culprit behind all of the racket, talking loudly into her phone, letting the screen door swing shut with another clattering bang behind her. She sets a cigarette between her lips and fumbles with the lighter, her hands trembling as she pins the phone between her ear and her shoulder.

As far as Rhett has been made aware, Mr. Hawthorne is the boss — he owns the place, the land has been in his family for generations. It’s the same story for most people that still have a family ranch going these days.

The man shaking Rhett’s hand at this moment in time is Duke, the ranch manager. He deals with all of the ranch hands. No need for Mr. Hawthorne to spend his time worrying about people who aren’t going to stick around long.

Duke’s tanned and broad, skin wrinkled from decades under the sun. His forehead is less wrinkled than his neck. Years of wearing the same brown, wide-brimmed cowboy hat that’s on top of his head now has saved him from the sun damage up there.

He has green eyes and a firm handshake. He’s a little shorter than Rhett, greying at his temples but not quite there yet. Younger than Royal, but not all that different from the man who raised Rhett.

“If it’s all the same, I’ll be fine sleeping in my truck.” Rhett shrugs his shoulders softly, his hand still slotted into the palm of his new boss. Duke’s lips quirk around the toothpick he has been chewing on since Rhett arrived about an hour ago.

The woman on the porch splutters on her first inhale. Rhett’ll grow to know her as Mrs. Hawthorne, Dottie to her friends. She doesn’t smoke, it’s just that she’s got a daughter who drives her to the point of madness and back sometimes.

She’s Bud’s second wife.The first left him and is somewhere in Florida last he heard. Dottie and Bud share two girls together, he’s got two sons and a daughter from his first marriage that have grown to love her just fine, it’s her own kids that cause her problems.

Pretty, not only for her age but in all senses of the word. Short hair that curls at the bottoms, long legs and perfect posture.

Rhett glances up. Looking down at him from the window above the second story, the loft space, is the girl that Dottie must be screaming about. It’s mid-morning now, but might as well be afternoon if you know anything about ranching, and yet, you’re still not dressed.

Wearing a modest nightdress that should come down to your ankles but has skimmed up to your mid-calf because of how you’re sitting. Your arms are folded over your chest, the sun on your face as you stare down at him.

Below you is a stretch of roof similar to what was under his own window back home. He spent a lot of evenings led out on that roof, thinking about being anywhere other than there.

Lena had said she’d sent a blue eyed brunette wandering your way. He’s cuter than you had been expecting, hat pulled down over his face too much for you to get a good look at him, but still undeniably better looking than most of the cowboys around here.

“I’m sure you would, but that ain’t how we do things here,” Duke explains calmly, it’s a polite enough way of telling the new guy no. Rhett quickly turns his gaze away from you. Duke squeezes Rhett’s hand and drops it. “All cowboys’ll stay in the bunkhouse. Good to have you all in one place.”

Back home, Rhett might have argued. Here, he gets the sense that Duke isn’t doing this to be cruel, and Rhett knows better than to be disrespectful on his first day.

Dottie Hawthorne throws the cigarette off the side of the porch and let’s it burn, scorching a small patch of grass beside the foundation. She turns and walks back inside without another word, letting the screen creak, crash and slam behind her.

Rhett nods calmly. “Yes, sir.”

There are fifteen guys in the bunkhouse, minimum. Rhett spends the first night staring at the ceiling, which is conveniently inches from his face, thinking of home.

At least back there, he’s got his own room and a bed big enough for an adult. His shoulder hangs off the edge and a pillow flat enough that his neck’s already hurting after a couple of hours on it.

Not to mention, he hears a car pull out across the gravel and hit one of the barrels of feed at around eleven at night. Then, he hears it pull back in and hit something else — a fence, maybe — at around three.

When he’s pulling himself out of bed at four, he starts to rethink his choices. Being kept up by snoring, bugs and bad drivers wasn’t exactly how he had thought freedom would look.

His morning involves riding up to the east pasture, checking on the cattle up there. Mending a couple of fences. Riding down to the river and letting the horses drink. Mending a couple more fences. Nothing new from what he’s used to.

He doesn’t learn most of the cowboys’ names on the first trip. They don’t bother to learn his either. Rhett isn’t sure what it is, but they all seem to have decided that he isn’t going to be ‘round long enough for it to matter.

The only reason that they’ve decided that, is because his truck’s still packed. He brought a bag in and kept it at the foot of his bed. Didn’t unpack a single thing, the rest is still in his beat up old RAM. No point learning the name of a guy who doesn’t bother to unpack.

That first day, dirty, sweaty and aching in places that he had forgotten could ache — Rhett is puzzled. He’s been doing this all his life, he has built up quite a tolerance to this stuff. Or, he thought he had.

He rolls his shoulders back and cranes his neck side to side as they walk back to the bunkhouse, him trailing behind most of them.

Maybe Royal had been taking it easy on him all along, because this shit is no joke. He’s exhausted, and starving, and he needs a cigarette. He hasn’t smoked in a couple of years but shit, he needs one today.

Rhett should’ve known this was going to be tough with how quickly he was hired. Hardly any questions asked, hands shaken, pay at the end of the week in cash. That’s it.

He keeps a pack in his glove box for emergencies. That can wait for now, though. First, he has to eat something or he might puke.

Mrs. Hawthorne cooks dinner once a week for the bunkhouse and apparently that’s something that they all look forward to — that’s on Saturday. Tonight, Thursday, Rhett makes himself a cup of noodles and sits out on the back of his truck by himself.

The sky is purple and fading into a darker blue. He doesn’t much like the taste, but he finishes his noodles in a matter of minutes and then lights his cigarette. He takes to it much more naturally than Dottie had yesterday morning. Inhale, hold, exhale.

Truthfully, it doesn’t make him feel that much better. Sure, it satisfies the craving but it doesn’t bring the relief that it used to.

“You’re not meant to be smoking this close to the building.”

Rhett turns his head, cigarette dangling from his lips as he sets his sights on you. He wonders for a moment where you came from, why he didn’t hear you sneaking up on him. Standing a couple of paces away, more dressed than you were yesterday, your hands tucked sheepishly behind your back.

He raises his brows at you, then looks around him. There’s gravel below him and he’s a good way away from the bunkhouse.

“How far away have I gotta be?” He asks back, watching you fidget. You’re wearing jeans today and an untucked sweater that’s a size too big. He kind of misses the nightdress, figures that you’re probably too warm in that.

You take a step forwards and point. “Should be over there.”

Rhett turns his head. Sure enough, there’s a smoking area on this ranch. He chuckles out loud, a dry and truly amused sound. That’s something he’s never seen before. A wooden board nailed into a wooden post with the word smoke and nothing else carved into it.

It’s further from the bunkhouse than he is, but not that far away. You watch as he flicks ash from the cigarette into the gravel and grabs his hat from beside him. He sets it on his head and pushes himself up.

Without argument, his boots disturb the rocks in his path as he trails over to the unofficial smoking area. He turns and leans against the post, a head and shoulders taller than it, more if you include his hat.

“Duke said you weren’t eating.” You comment, taking a couple of steps forwards. He tips his hat back to get a better look, realising now that you’re hiding something behind your back.

“I ate.” Rhett shrugs, he places the cigarette between his lips again and takes a drag. He nods towards the truck bed and the empty cup of noodles still sitting on it.

“You’re going to put that in the trash, right?”

His lips quirk. Cigarette between his index and middle, he lets it hang by his side as he looks you over. “Are you the law enforcement around here or somethin’?”

“Something like that.” You answer back sharply. He sees you immediately stop, like you’re scolding yourself in your head. You’re meant to stop talking back. Another drag of the cigarette, he flicks the ash onto the ground.

He shrugs his shoulders and shoots a glance up to the big house. You wandered down here all by yourself just to tell him off?

“You’re closer.” Rhett nods towards the heavy set trash can just by the bunkhouse door. He’s testing you, to see if you’ll do it or not, watching with his lips toying at a smirk. “You’ll do it for me, won’t you, kid?”

You scowl instantly at the pet name. He can’t be that much older than you, he looks pretty young himself. It’s just to taunt you.

“No.” You answer swiftly. You pull your hands from behind your back and toss a Tupperware container onto the truck bed. His lips quirk. You brought him food. He takes another glance up towards the house, he can just about see Dottie standing on the porch from here. Your mom sent you down.

He shrugs his shoulders, exhaling smoke, “Damn shame. I hate littering.”

“So, throw it away.” You reply sternly. His smirk spreads across the rest of his features, blue eyes glinting under the shadow that the brim of his hat casts.

“No.” He mimics the way you had said it, just as swiftly and calmly as you had. It’s just to tease you, he likes the way you fidget as you grow more agitated with him. This is the most fun he’s had since he left Wyoming.

Under purple skies, on a day with a soft breeze that settles the ache in his muscles better than a shower could, you march over to him and smack the cigarette right out of his hand.

His lips part slightly, surprised for a split second before the laughter takes over. Your sneaker presses the cigarette into the gravel in front of him, you tip your head back and scowl up at him. So serious about it, too.

“Oh for goodness’ sake!” Dottie mutters in frustration. She slams her mug down on the porch railing and turns quickly. Bud, having missed the exchange, sits up and looks down to the bottom of the hill curiously. “No man’s ever going to take her off of our hands if she keeps on acting like this.”

Rhett’s still laughing at you, lips quirked up into an amused smirk as you point a finger into his chest. You open your mouth to scold him further but the frustrated screaming coming from up at the house interrupts you.

Rhett shoots a glance in that direction and looks back down at you, still smirking. “Your Mommy’s calling you.”

“Bite me.” You answer back. It catches him off guard and his face shows it. His brows raise in intrigue. Quite a mouth on you for someone with a mother as strict as yours, you were probably a nightmare to raise.

You turn away from him and start back towards the hill before your mother passes out from all of that yelling. You shoot a look back towards the new cowboy and glare at him as you head back to the house.

He lifts his hand and waves his fingers at you, lips quirked. You roll your eyes and continue on.

Finished with his cigarette earlier than he had planned, Rhett picks the butt of it up off of the ground and tosses it and the empty cup of noodles into the trash. Then, he sits down and opens the Tupperware.

He can hear your mother scolding you at the top of the hill as he eats. He listens amusedly, just imagining that little scowl on your face again.

It’s mashed potatoes and some kind of slow cooked beef. Better than the small portion of noodles he had had. After he finishes, he understands why the cowboys get so excited for Saturday. Your mom’s not a bad cook.

He wanders back inside and takes his hat off, finding most of the guys gathered around the table by the kitchen. They’re all huddled around, holding their cards close to their chest.

“Hey, new guy,” The man that speaks is older than Rhett but a little bit younger than Duke. He’s heavy set and could probably lift Rhett up over his head if he really wanted to. Rhett makes a mental note not to fuck with him in particular. “Wanna play a round?”

Rhett takes his hat off and pulls up a chair, settling down for a round of blackjack. He’s good at this game, he’s been hustling Royal at it as a form of payback since before middle school. He doesn’t hustle tonight, but he does make himself a little profit. It’s all good natured.

By the time that Rhett’s head hits that flat, uncomfortable old pillow, it just about feels like a cloud. He settles down onto the mattress, less able to feel the springs in it than he was yesterday, and he sleeps right through the snoring.

The next morning, we wakes up a little earlier than he needs to. Duke’s walking down from his cabin, the ranch manager’s house, to get the guys for the day when he spots Rhett out by his truck.

It’s a pinkish morning, not too cold for this time of year. Duke stops on the hill, expecting for Rhett to get into his truck and drive off. Instead, he pulls his belongings from the passenger side footwell and bundles them in his arms.

Duke’s lips quirk softly as Rhett walks back inside to unpack.

…

[thedroneranger]

The Drone Ranger's Be Kind Rewind ⏪ roosterforme Edition!

A rec reblog series dedicated to the fics that we love so much, we've re-read them!

The Be Kind Rewind is back with the OG Bradshaw Baddie™, @roosterforme! Thank you Em for taking the time to share your favorite re-reads 🖤

The Top Gun fandom has been going strong for over a year, and while we continue to churn out amazing new content, let's be kind and rewind to look at some of the OG content we love!

And don't forget to reblog when you re-read! Continue to show your comfort fics and favorite creators some love. It helps keep the fresh content coming :)

We want to keep this going throughout the summer, so I'll continue to invite friends—other creators and readers—to share their lists. Stay tuned!

If you're interested in participating in the Be Kind Rewind, message me. The more, the merrier—let's keep this going as long as we can!

If you want to know when a new Rewind drops, join the tag list, and check out previous Rewinds!

fics below the cut (listed in alphabetical order by title)

A Change to Everything, Bradley Bradshaw, @beyondthesefourwalls

A Snowed in Baby Bird, Robert Floyd, @mothdruid

Christmas on Deck, Bradley Bradshaw, @tongue-like-a-razor

Jealously, Bradley Bradshaw, @gretagerwigsmuse

little wallflower, Bradley Bradshaw, @bradshawsbitch

Love Me, Love Me, Robert Floyd, @bussyslayer333

Relationship questions, Jake Seresin, @whisperofsong

The 1%, Bradley Bradshaw, @notroosterbradshaw

Vibe Check, Robert Floyd, @thedroneranger

Creator's Own

I Would Never Hurt You, Bradley Bradshaw

Tag list and friends: @petcr3 @desert-fern @Sagittarius-Lovewitch @mygyn @sweetwhispersofchaos @horseshoegirl @the-annoying-fan @dingochef @moon42flight @thecitysgraveyard @ereardon @galaxy-of-stories @taytaylala12 @malindacath @violyn20 @awildewit @potato-girl99981 @shanimallina87 @blue-aconite  @djs8891  @linkpk88  @furiousladyking  @daggerspare-standingby  @princess76179  @jstarr86  @hecate-steps-on-me  @darkheartcherry  @soulmates8  @roosters-girl  @dempy  @roosterisdaddy36  @hangmanscoming  @s-u-t  @mavrellover91  @chicomonks  @averyhotchner @penguin876

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