triptuckers

[triptuckers]

Can you write a fluff fic with Rob please?? 🥰

Pancakes For Two

( Bobby Skeetz x female!Reader)

Warnings: none!!

Genre: domestic fluff

Word Count: 2.3k

Des Talks!!: hey hey!!! thank you for sending in this request anon 🫶🫶 you know I love to write a good fluff imagine—and so I loved loved loved doing this for you. I hope you love love love this too!! 💗💗

"Bobby..." You called his name in a hushed, sing-song voice; crouched down by his side of the bed and your hand rose up to delicately glide over his sleeping face.

He was sleeping on his back, the duvet had moved down whilst you got up earlier; the covers now resting over his waist and exposing his bare chest. His head was turned your way, the side of his face half nestled into his pillow; causing his lips to push into a soft pout, a peaceful expression on his face.

"Wake up..." You continued to try and coax him out of his sleep, your voice growing a little louder but he remained in the serene state; his chest continued to rise and fall at the same pace, his facial features remaining still.

Christ. You weren't surprised, it took a lot to get him to wake up. As soon as he was asleep; he was out. Sometimes you had to wake him up yourself if his alarm wasn't doing nish.

You pulled away from the edge of the bed, rising to a stand as you assessed the situation for a moment; figuring out how to wake him up.

You had made a lovely breakfast for the two of you this morning, deciding to to be sweet and wake up earlier to prepare it. But bloody hell if he didn't wake up soon it was going to get cold.

Well. Time to pull out the big guns.

You lifted your leg and hooked it over him, moving yourself up over him and gently lowered yourself down onto his lap in a straddle.

This should do it.

You leaned down, bringing your hands up to gently hold his face in them as you brought your face close to him; tilting your head to the side a little as you began to plant tiny kisses onto the soft skin of his cheek.

"Baby..." You began again, your voice hushed still as you spoke into his cheek.

You felt the difference in the normal rise and fall of his chest; the pattern of it changing as he finally began to wake up.

Bobby stirred underneath you, his body registering the sudden foreign weight, slowly beginning to regain consciousness; his nose twitched and he groaned against his pillow; his voice a quiet, sleep-laced grumble.

His face moved to nudge into your hand as you gently cupped his cheek, his skin tingling from the feel of your lips; his brows furrowing a little as his lips pursed against the warm kisses you laid out across his cheek.

His lips parted as he inhaled deeply, his nose catching the familiar scent of your perfume. His head turned gently as he tried to follow your kisses, a weak attempt at trying to get your lips to find his.

"Wake up...." You hummed gently, planting a kiss to the corner of his lips as you trailed them over to the other side of his face; softly tilting his head to the other side to give you more access to it.

Bobby groaned softly, his body beginning to wake up, beginning to fully register the feel of you straddling his lap and the kisses you were leaving on his skin. His eyes finally flickered open, slowly adjusting to the light; his vision blurry at first.

"It's so early," he mumbled, his voice hoarse, still thick with sleep; he brought his hands up to rest upon your hips, gently rubbing across the bare skin with his thumb. He tilted his head back into his pillow, his eyes clenching shut at the sudden daylight.

"It's half ten," You told him with a small smirk, one of your hands moving up to strangle in his blonde hair.

He let out a whine at heading the time, "It's so early.” He repeated his words from before in a much groan-ier voice—but still enjoyed the feeling of your fingers moving through his hair.

You rolled your eyes, straightening up and pulling your hands away from his head; resting them on his chest instead as you gazed down at him.

He finally opened his eyes again at the feeling of you pulling away; the absence of kisses he was very much loving suddenly being taken away from him caused him to narrow his eyes at you.

"Ayyyyy—Don't stop," he groaned, his own hand reaching up to grip your wrist as you pulled away from his hair; trying to gently guide your hand back to where it was. His bottom lip pushed out into a slight pout, looking up at you with heavy-lidded eyes as he tried to coax you into going back to running your fingers through his mussed hair.

His other hand on your hip slid up to your waist, his grip holding you down into his lap, preventing you from getting off of him.

"Please," he grumbled; his eyes slowly wandering over your body, noticing the oversized t-shirt you were wearing; the way it hung loosely over your figure. You could feel the heat of his gaze as he looked you, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles over the flesh on your side.

He wanted you to continue, to keep playing with his hair as you kissed and teased him. He wanted you closer, to be in your touch, to hear your kisses against his skin.

"Hey man, I don't like this either," You told him, mocking sweet innocence as you gazed down at him with a smirk; enjoying his early-morning neediness. You leaned down again, pressing your lips to his, "I made breakfast."

You would have kept going with your advances if you didn't spend so much time and love cooking up a breakfast for you two to enjoy together. You would have scrapped the very thought of it—ignoring it until the morning bliss in bed was over and you two went on with your morning, and then finally remembering the food you left on the table.

But you used an awful amount of eggs on the pancakes—and with the obscene price of eggs right now, you would go to hell if you let those damn pancakes go cold.

"Cant believe you'd rather choose breakfast over me," he grumbled, his eyes fluttering shut as your lips met his, "Do you even love me?"

He lifted his chin to try and deepen the kiss, but was thwarted when you pulled away and sat up; his bottom lip pushed into a little pout at the loss of contact.

His eyes fluttered open again; his gaze landed on you and he took note of the look on your face. You raised a brow, challenging him with a betraying smirk.

He wanted you, but now that you'd mentioned food, his stomach began to grumble quietly. He reluctantly loosened his hand that was gripping your hip.

He slowly sat up with a sigh, with you still straddling him; the change in positions brought the two of you closer. Your legs straightened out either said of him. He kept his hand on your bare thigh, his other hand moved up to run through his messy bedhead of hair.

He smiled sweetly up at you, his gaze flickering over you face as he sat up against the headboard.

"What'd you make then?" He asked with a small smirk, his eyes roamed over your body once more as they came to a rest on the shirt you wore; the way it hung off of your shoulder, exposing it to him. His hand began stroking the flesh of your thigh with his thumb again; his touch slow and lazy; his eyes were still heavy, clearly still a little groggy from sleep.

"Pancakes," You answered with a shrug, watching his gaze wander over you before coming back to meet yours, "Very fluffy. Very maple syrup-y. Just the way you like them."

"You're too good to me," he hummed, his smirk softening into a sleepy smile as he looked up at you. His hand moved from your thigh to the hem of your over-sized shirt; toying with the material with his fingers, slowly pulling it down to expose more of your flesh.

"I know—I'm such a good girlfriend," You sighed sweetly, your hands had moved at some point to rest mindlessly on his lower half; his skin was so soft.

His lips pressed into a thin lipped as he took in the sight, bringing his bottom lip into his mouth as he nibbled down on it; "Okay, let's go before I change my mind," He let out through a breath, patting your hip as a gesture to coax you off of him.

Then his eyes zeroed in on the socks on your feet when you began to climb off of him; his eyes widened in shock and amusement and he let out a loud laugh at your choice of socks.

Confused at why he was laughing at your socks, your eyes fell down to see what had tickled his funny spot.

They were a pair of socks that you had grabbed from your undergarments drawer earlier this morning without paying any notice to them since it was dark and you were half-awake. Socks that had his face littered all over them, gifted to you by a fan a while back.

"Oh—what are these!" He gasped, and before you could move your feet away to hide them; he quickly grabbed your socked foot to look at them.

"Jesus,” he snorted, tugging your foot closer to him as he examined the socks with a grin; "Where the hell did you get these?"

He tilted his head sideways to look at your sock with the little images of his face scattered over the material.

"Someone gave them to me; I swear," You laughed, attempting to yank your foot out of his hold.

"Sure they did, ya’ creep," He muttered to himself—joking just to tease you, his grip tight as he kept hold of your foot; not letting you go, not until he'd gotten a better look at the socks. He kept examining the socks with his gaze, his grin growing wider. He was getting a real kick out of this.

"Why didn't I get any?" he chuckled, finally letting his hold on your ankle loosen.

"you can have them if you want," You shrugged, smirking as you almost shoved your foot in his face, he let out a yelp and grabbed your ankle again; moving your foot back down to his side and quickly began to fall forward with you still on his lap.

You were the one to then let out a startled yelp at Bobby's sudden movement; and your back hit the mattress with a soft thud. He was hovering above you, his lips immediately latching onto your neck as he began assaulting the skin with kisses.

"I don't think I'd look as good in them," He mumbled against your skin with a chuckle; feeling the way you shuddered under his touch.

Your hand moved up to tangle your fingers into the back of his hair, massaging his scalp as he planted trail of kisses along your neck;

"Probably not," you sighed, tilting your head to give him more access.

He bit down on your neck with a grumble at your teasing, causing you to let out a laugh and swat him away from you.

"No—pancakes!" You exclaimed, reminding him of the breakfast that was only getting cold.

"Ugh", he grumbled, finally pulling himself away from your neck with a huff; he lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours.

He didn't make any attempt to get off of you; his body weighing down on you, trapping you in place under him. He continued to look down at you, his expression softened into a sleepy look, his lips pulled into a sweet and slight smile. He raised a hand to brush a few strands of hair away from your face, his fingers grazing gently over the skin on your cheek.

His thumb gently traced the contour of your lips, his gaze roaming over your face. He was being extra sweet this morning.

"You're just so gorgeous," He mumbled, his thumb still softly grazing over your lip as he looked down at you; he really couldn't seem to get enough.

"Stop trying to seduce me, buddy," You muttered, raising a challenging brow as you caught onto what he was trying to do.

He rolled his eyes; his hand finally pulled away and moved to hold your chin in his hand, angling your face up to look at him and planted a kiss to your lips before moving off of you.

You slowly pulled yourself up and stood up, straightening out your shirt as you waited for him to hop off the bed.

He was quiet for a few seconds, his eyes still roaming your body, looking at you over, his gaze lingering for a little longer on your bare legs; he was so cute when he was sleepy.

He finally began to get up, stretching his long limbs as he let out a quiet groan; his eyes now trained on you.

He took his time to stretch fully, his muscles flexing as he did so; obviously putting a bit of a show on for you. He was still completely topless, the sun streaming in through the curtains was lighting up his skin so well.

He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to get himself to wake up properly.

"Okay, chip-chop before I eat it all without you" You urged him, turning on your heel to head toward the open door to get him to quicken the pace.

[triptuckers]

chapter three. hairspray boy

“i don’t think i really thanked you for not running me over.” gabriela glanced at steve, “and for not actually being a serial killer.” steve grinned. “watch out, i could be playing the long game.” “i’ll keep my eyes open.” she laughed.

summary: gabriela talks to her new family, has to go to a new school after only 2 days, ends up in the same class as steve harrington, and gets an invitation to a halloween party

warnings: idk really, stancy (? idk if this needs a warning lmfao)

word count: 3.5k

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

gabriela’s dad stared at her like she might vanish if he looked away. his lips parted, but no words came out. she cleared her throat. “i know this is weird. i just… i didn’t know where else to go.”

still silence.

“i have your old note,” she added, fumbling in her pocket. “the one with this address. i kept it.”

that seemed to shake something loose in him. he exhaled sharply and rubbed the back of his neck. “you came all the way from chicago?”

she gave a small nod, biting the inside of her cheek. “yeah.”

he leaned against the doorframe, glancing past her, as if expecting to see someone standing behind, maybe her mom, or a bigger bag with all her stuff. but there was nothing; just a backpack, scuffed converse, and a girl who looked too much like someone he used to love, and just enough like him. tomàs looked at her again, softer now. “you ran away?” 

gabriela’s mouth twitched. “sort of. more like walked out.”

“your mom… does she know where you are?”

“she’ll figure it out,” gabriela said quickly, defensively. then quieter: “eventually.”

there was a long pause and the air between them felt heavy with everything unsaid. “and you got nowhere else to stay?” he asked gently.

she didn’t answer, but the silence was answer enough. tomàs sighed. “alright,” he said finally and stepped back to open the door wider. “come on in.”

gabriela crossed the threshold, her heart fluttering with nerves and a strange sense of disbelief. the house smelled warm and familiar, like tomato sauce, lemon-scented cleaner, and something faintly floral, maybe fabric softener. It smelled lived-in. the living room was modest and cluttered in a comfortable way. a few kids’ drawings were taped to the fridge, and a purple backpack rested near the door.

then came footsteps; a woman appeared, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel; her curly hair pinned back loosely and a kind face etched with questions. she stopped when she saw gabriela, but tomàs spoke first. “diane, this is… this is gabriela.”

diane blinked and a look passed between the two adults in silence. surprise, and maybe something like an understanding. “she’s going to stay with us for a while,” tomàs added, quietly.

gabriela held her breath when diane looked from her to her dad, then smiled gently. “hi, mija. it’s nice to meet you.”

���hi,” gabriela managed, unsure what else to say. then from the hallway, a small voice piped up. “mom? who’s that?”

a little girl appeared; wild brown curls and sleepy eyes, still in her pajamas. she held a crumpled drawing in one hand and blinked up at gabriela curiously.

“luci,” tomàs said, crouching next to her. “this is gabriela. she’s your big sister.”

a gasp escaped luci’s lips as she tilted her head. “i have a big sister?!”

tomàs smiled softly. “you do now.”

luci grinned like it was the best surprise of the day. “do you like cartoons?” gabriela laughed, despite herself. “i do.”

by the time gabriela found herself alone in the guest room, the sky outside had already faded into a deep navy blue. the quiet hum of crickets drifted through the slightly open window, along with the faint scent of grass and earth from the yard below. the whole house was quieter now, as if it had settled in around her, wrapping her in its unfamiliar comfort.

the guest room was simple but not cold. the walls were painted a pale yellow that glowed faintly in the lamplight, and the white curtains fluttered a little in the evening breeze. a wooden dresser stood against one wall, its surface mostly bare except for a ceramic dish filled with stray hairpins and rubber bands; evidence that someone had once used this room regularly. a folded quilt rested at the foot of the bed, the kind stitched together with mismatched floral patterns, and a small corkboard hung above the desk, with a few leftover push pins still stuck in place.

gabriela sat on the edge of the bed, her backpack at her feet. she hadn't unpacked yet, she hadn't even moved much since diane had shown her the room, just stood quietly and nodded when the woman gave her a soft smile and told her to rest. now, in the stillness, gabriela let her shoulders sink. the adrenaline of the day; the bus ride, the phone call, the note, the near collision, had faded into a dull ache of exhaustion.

she leaned back slightly, propping herself up on her elbows, and let her eyes wander around the room again. it wasn’t home, not yet. but it didn’t feel uncomfortable, either. there was something about the space, the slightly crooked bookshelf, the scuff on the baseboard, the framed picture of a lake hung a little off-center, that felt real. 

her gaze lingered on the desk near the window. she could almost imagine herself there, scribbling homework by the lamplight. almost.

a soft knock tapped at the door. “yeah?” she called out, sitting up straighter.

the door creaked open, and her dad stepped in, still wearing the same flannel shirt, sleeves now pushed up to his elbows. his expression was cautious, as if still unsure of his footing around her.

“hey,” he said.

“hey.”

he looked around the room, then nodded once. “everything okay in here?”

gabriela shrugged, trying not to seem too nervous. “yeah. it’s nice.”

“i know it’s not much,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “we mostly use it for diane’s mom when she visits, but... you’re welcome to make it yours while you’re here.”

gabriela glanced toward the corkboard again. “thank you.”

a short pause settled between them. neither of them seemed sure what to say next. “i called the high school,” tomàs said finally. “hawkins high. they said you can start on monday.”

she blinked. “that soon?”

he gave a small smile. “it’s a small town. they move fast when a new name shows up.”

gabriela gave a small chuckle, though her stomach twisted slightly at the thought of walking into a whole new school. “thanks. for calling them.”

her dad nodded, then shifted slightly in the doorway. he looked like he wanted to say more, and maybe he didn’t know how, but there was something different in his eyes now. less guarded, less uncertain. “i’m glad you came.” he spoke eventually.

gabriela didn’t respond at first; she wasn’t sure she believed it yet, but she nodded anyway. “me too.”

“goodnight, gabriela.”

“’night.” she whispered just before he closed the door behind him with a soft click.

gabriela sat still for a long moment, letting her gaze drift around the room again, softer this time. she kicked off her shoes and lay back on the bed, arms stretched above her head, exhaling a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

for now, she had a bed, a roof, and a room that might one day feel like hers and maybe, just maybe, a dad trying to be one again.

⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

the building looked exactly like how she imagined a small-town high school would. brick walls, too many windows, and a faint air of disappointment hanging over the parking lot. gabriela stood at the edge of it, backpack slung over one shoulder, watching the clusters of students drifting toward the main entrance. some moved with purpose, while others dragged their feet like this was just another monday to survive.

she adjusted the strap on her shoulder and took a slow breath. hawkins high.

the name still felt strange in her head, even stranger in reality. back in chicago, her school buzzed with noise and chaos. here, everything felt slower, quieter. 

she walked through the lot, eyes flicking between unfamiliar faces. everyone looked like they already belonged; jackets with letterman patches, backpacks marked with pins and stickers from middle school friendships, inside jokes, years of routines. gabriela felt like the new page in the back of a used notebook. she missed her friends.

the school loomed in front of her, low and wide. a sign near the entrance read “hawkins high school: home of the tigers," with the ‘g’ in ‘tigers’ permanently half-broken. a small banner hung across the front doors: snowball – december 15th! someone had drawn devil horns on the tiger mascot beside it.

gabriela tried to keep her expression neutral, but she felt her stomach twist with nerves. not fear, she’d left worse behind, but unease. out of instinct, she kept her head down as she passed a row of parked cars.

one of them was a burgundy bmw, and inside it, steve harrington sat slouched behind the wheel, fingers drumming against it, and glancing occasionally at the passenger seat. nancy wheeler sat there, flipping through a paper; his college application essay.

“it’s crap, i know.” steve sighed.

nancy’s brows were furrowed in quiet focus, lips moving slightly as she read. “it’s not crap.” 

“it’s not good.” 

“it’s going to be.” she smiled at her boyfriend, “just… it needs some reorganizing. can i mark on it?”

“yeah, i guess.” steve glanced at her, knowing he could use all the help he was given. especially from his straight a girlfriend. 

“so, in the first paragraph, you used the basketball game versus northern as a metaphor for your life, which is great.” she smiled before circling a sentence a few paragraphs down, “but then, around here, you start talking about your granddad’s experiences in the war. and i… i don’t see how they’re connected.”

“it connects because…” steve waited a moment before continuing, already knowing the metaphor he’d come up with turned out to be utter bullshit. “because, you know, we both won.”

nancy nodded slowly, turning back to the essay in her hands, “right, uhm, then in this paragraph you used ‘indeed’ twice,” she said without looking up.

steve was about to defend himself, something about emphasis or whatever, when movement caught his eye outside the windshield. a girl walking past the car and he recognized her immediately.

the same dark hoodie, the same slightly uneven walk like she wasn’t used to being watched but expected it anyway. gabriela. the girl from saturday. the one who’d practically thrown herself in front of his car, clutching a piece of paper like it held her whole world.

he didn’t say anything. just watched as she moved through the lot, eyes locked on the school like it might vanish if she blinked. she didn’t see him. or maybe she did, and didn’t care. steve leaned forward a little in his seat, jaw tight in confusion. what was she doing here?

“steve?”

nancy’s voice pulled him back and he blinked as he turned to her. she was holding out the essay again, a small crease forming between her brows.

“what?” he said quickly.

“i said… are you even listening?” she gave him a look; not annoyed exactly, more confused.

“yeah, yeah, sorry,” steve said, scratching the back of his neck. “just thought i saw… i dunno. it’s nothing.”

nancy raised a skeptical eyebrow but didn’t press. “okay. well, besides the word repeats and the weird metaphor, it’s not terrible.”

“do you think i should start from scratch?” he muttered, stealing one last glance at the direction gabriela had gone. she was gone now, swallowed up by the halls of hawkins high. he slumped into his seat, trying to focus back on nancy and his essay.

the halls of hawkins high smelled like pencil shavings, floor wax, and a faint trace of cafeteria food. it was somehow exactly what gabriela had expected and completely unfamiliar at the same time.

the front office was easy enough to spot; glass windows, tired carpet, a dusty american flag drooping in one corner. she pushed the door open and stepped inside, blinking at the sudden hush. the woman behind the front desk looked up with mild surprise, a pen paused mid-form. “can i help you, hon?”

“yeah,” gabriela said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “i’m new. gabriela torres.”

the woman, mrs. kraft, said the gold tag pinned to her cardigan, rifled through a file folder and pulled out a small stack of papers. “right, from chicago. here’s your schedule and locker info. you’ll start with mr. collins for history. principal coleman wanted to say hello before you head in. down the hall, last door on the left.”

gabriela nodded, mumbled a quick thanks, and headed toward the principal’s office.

principal coleman’s handshake was firm and formal, his voice smooth with rehearsed cheer. “you’ll find hawkins is a slower pace than the city, miss torres,” he said, motioning for her to sit. “but we pride ourselves on being tight-knit. you’ll settle in fast.”

he ran through the basics; class structure, lunch periods, the name of the guidance counselor she’d likely never talk to. she zoned out halfway through but nodded like she was absorbing every word.

when he dismissed her, she walked the halls again, her new schedule in hand. the building was old, the kind with beige walls and flickering fluorescent lights that made everything feel slightly too bright. her sneakers squeaked a little against the waxed floor.

room 108, u.s. history. she found it halfway down the hall and hesitated at the door for a second, then pushed it open. the hinges let out a tired creak that turned heads before she even stepped inside.

the classroom was a patchwork of tan desks, filled with the low murmur of students settling into routine. the teacher, mr. collins, glasses too big for his face and a tweed blazer that screamed tenure, looked up from the attendance sheet. “ah, you must be miss torres.” 

gabriela nodded, adjusting the strap of her backpack and stepping in.

“come on up,” he said, gesturing toward the front. “let’s have a quick introduction. you’re joining us from...?”

“chicago,” she replied, moving toward the blackboard with reluctant steps and she could feel the weight of eyes on her again. her gaze swept over the room, rows of half-interested faces, and landed near the back. steve harrington.

slouched in his chair, a pen twirling loosely in one hand, hair as perfectly messy as if he’d styled it with intention (he had), and that same slightly detached expression he seemed to wear like a second skin. the moment their eyes met, something flickered across his face; recognition, maybe? or curiosity? she couldn’t tell.

gabriela quickly broke the glance, heart ticking up a notch. “ i just moved here... a few days ago.” she kept her voice even, casual.

mr. collins nodded. “alright, welcome to hawkins. there’s an open seat next to the window for you.”

as she slid into the desk, she could still feel the faint pull of someone’s eyes on her, not the usual curious stares of classmates, but something sharper. she didn’t look to check if it was steve. she already knew it was.

history class was about as thrilling as watching paint dry, chicago had taught the same content, just louder and with worse chairs. mr. collins droned on about post-war policy like he was narrating a sleep tape, and gabriela spent most of the hour half-listening, half-watching the minute hand crawl toward freedom. she kept her head down, answered nothing, and let the hum of a new school wash over her like white noise.

when the bell finally rang, she exhaled softly, sliding her notebook into her bag and reaching for her pen— "hey, journey girl."

she looked up, half-smirking before she turned. “’sup, hairspray boy.”

steve tilted his head, mock-offended. “not a hairspray boy.”

“and i’m not a journey girl,” she shot back, zipping up her bag. “thought you knew that, harrington.”

he let out a short laugh, then motioned toward the hallway. “c’mon. i’ll show you the slightly less soul-crushing route to the cafeteria.”

they stepped out into the hallway, a flood of voices and sneakers against tile echoing around them. gabriela adjusted the strap of her bag, falling into step beside steve without really meaning to. while they weaved past clumps of students she noticed the walls were plastered with club announcements and sports posters.

“so,” he said, glancing sideways at her, “you survived your first class. not bad.”

gabriela shrugged. “barely. pretty sure mr. collins could make the cold war sound like a bedtime story.”

steve chuckled. “yeah, he’s got that gift.”

there was a short beat of quiet between them before gabriela said, “i don’t think i really thanked you for not running me over.” she glanced at steve, “and for not actually being a serial killer.”

steve grinned. “watch out, i could be playing the long game.”

“i’ll keep my eyes open.” she laughed. 

they turned a corner, weaving through a slow-moving crowd of students. gabriela scanned the rows of lockers, trying to memorize the feel of the place.

“you settle in okay?” steve asked. “with, uh… your dad and all?”

gabriela nodded slowly. “as okay as it can be, i guess.”

steve didn’t push, just nodded back like he understood more than he let on. when he suddenly slowed, eyes catching on someone in the crowd, gabriela followed his gaze; landing on a girl with shoulder-length dark hair and an armful of books.

“i’m gonna…” he started, gesturing vaguely ahead.

gabriela gave him a small smirk. “yeah, go. wouldn’t want you to miss your moment or whatever.”

steve gave her a crooked smile. “i’ll see you around, torres.”

“see you, harrington,” she said, already moving forward. he turned, walked off toward the girl at her locker, and disappeared into the sea of students.

gabriela continued down the hallway, letting the crowd carry her forward while her eyes scanned the rows of lockers. she pulled the folded paper from her back pocket, the one the front office had given her with her schedule and locker number scribbled in faint blue ink.

138.

she stopped walking and turned, realizing with a sigh that she’d passed it at least twenty lockers ago. of course.

muttering something under her breath, she pivoted sharply to head back the way she came, only to collide with someone coming right her way. her shoulder knocked hard into his chest, sending her stumbling half a step.

“oh— sorry,” she blurted, steadying herself.

“no, that was me,” the guy said quickly, voice low but calm. “wasn’t looking.”

gabriela looked up, brushing a strand of hair from her face. the guy was tall, kind of lanky, with tired brown eyes. his jean jacket looked like it had seen better days, and his backpack was slung over one shoulder like he didn’t really care if it stayed there.

they gave each other a brief, awkward glance, both clearly mid-thought and already on their own paths. gabriela offered a quick half-smile before turning and continuing toward her locker, already pulling out the paper again to double-check the number.

when she looked up from the note she caught movement up ahead. steve was leaning casually against a locker, and the brunette girl they’d spotted earlier stood in front of him, smiling softly. as gabriela got closer, steve leaned in and kissed her. nothing over-the-top, just a casual, comfortable kind of kiss that made gabriela feel like she was intruding.

she looked away immediately and kept walking, pretending she hadn’t seen anything. not that it mattered, she and steve weren’t even really friends. they’d shared a car ride and a few sarcastic words. that didn’t mean anything.

still, her stomach twisted a little, and she wasn’t totally sure why. she passed them without another glance and turned toward her own locker, just a few steps away now.

as she reached to spin the dial, a hand suddenly extended into her path, holding a bright orange pamphlet. “hey, you going to the halloween party?”

gabriela blinked and took the folded flyer automatically. “uh… what?”

however, the girl handing them out was already moving down the hall, offering one to the next person. gabriela looked down at the front of the pamphlet:

tina’s halloween bash — come and get sheet faced

halloween nite — 7am — oak & first se

she raised an eyebrow as she stared down at the flyer, her thumb brushing over the bold halloween lettering.

the idea felt... off. she’d only just gotten here. she didn’t know anyone, and showing up alone as the new girl? not exactly her idea of a good time. the last thing she wanted to do was squeeze into a costume and show up at some high school party like she belonged.

but still… part of her was curious.

if she was going to be here, really here, maybe getting a sense of what hawkins kids were like wasn’t the worst idea. parties had a way of pulling people’s masks off, even if they were wearing literal ones. and honestly, she’d rather be out doing something than sitting in a quiet house, she didn’t know that well, trying not to think too much.

she folded the flyer and slipped it into her bag. no promises… but maybe.

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<— previous chapter

next chapter —> (coming soon)

IF YOU’RE GONNA BREAK MY HEART MASTERLIST

[triptuckers]

chapter two. the burgundy bmw

“jesus,” he said, shutting the door with a hard clunk. “were you trying to get hit?” gabriela blinked. “uh, no. i mean… obviously not.” “that was... kind of a bold move, just diving into the street like that.” he gestured to the front of his car. “because you came about this close to getting a faceful of german engineering.”

summary: gabriela arrives in hawkins, she convinces her best friend to let her do this on her own, and almost gets hit by a car when she’s trying not to loose her dad’s address, which is where she conveniently ends up later that day

warnings: fem!oc, a bit of cursing, not much else tbh

word count: 2.8k

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the bus hissed to a stop with a final, stubborn squeal. gabriela blinked as the doors folded open, releasing the smell of diesel and the cool indiana air that rolled in like a low whisper. she stepped off the greyhound with her backpack pulling against her spine.

the hawkins bus depot was barely more than a bench under a cracked plastic awning, beside a faded mural of a cornfield and an eagle. the town itself looked like it had hit pause in 1978 and never hit play again; brick storefronts with hand-painted signs, a closed ice cream parlor with a dusty ‘see you in spring!’ sign taped to the door, and a quiet street where not even a dog barked. the morning air was damp, the sky low and grey, and everything felt smaller than she expected. still, it wasn’t exactly unwelcoming. just... still.

gabriela shifted her weight and spotted the phone booth across the lot. it stood like a forgotten relic beside a coke machine that buzzed every few seconds. she headed toward it, stepping over a puddle as her sneakers thudded against the pavement.

inside, it smelled faintly of rust and rain. she dropped her bag at her feet, fed in two quarters, and dialled her best friend’s number from memory. the line rang three times before someone picked up. “hello?” jess sounded half-awake, her voice scratchy.

gabriela hesitated. “hey. it’s me.”

there was a beat of silence. “…gabriela?” jess’s voice sharpened instantly. “where the hell are you? your mom called my mom freaking out. what is going on?”

gabriela leaned her forehead against the cold glass. “i left. i’m in hawkins.”

another silence. longer this time. “you’re where?”

“i got in a few minutes ago,” gabriela said, her voice low. “caught a bus late last night. i’m standing in the bus depot now.”

jess let out a stunned breath. “you left the city? you’re in indiana? without saying anything?”

“i didn’t really have time,” gabriela murmured. “my mom lost it again last night. she’s been at my throat for months now and she grounded me for three weeks over nothing, again. i just... couldn’t stay there anymore.”

“so you ran off to find your dad?” jess’s voice was incredulous, but underneath it was worry. “gabs, i knew things were bad with your mom, but… god. you should’ve told me. i would’ve helped you pack.”

gabriela gave a small, tired laugh. “yeah, well... you’d have talked me out of it.”

“damn right i would’ve.” jess paused, then sighed. “are you okay?”

“i don’t know yet,” gabriela admitted. “but i’m here. that has to count for something.”

jess went quiet again, and gabriela could picture her; probably tangled in her star wars blanket, hair a mess, wide awake now. “i’m coming,” she said suddenly.

“what?”

“i’ll make something up, tell my mom i’m crashing with my cousin in evanston for the weekend or whatever. i’ll get a bus. you shouldn’t be alone.”

gabriela shook her head, her fingers tightening around the cord. “jess, no. please don’t. i need to do this by myself. i’m not even sure where i’m going yet.”

“i don’t care. this is crazy, and you’re in a town you’ve never been to. what if something happens?”

“i’ll be fine.” gabriela glanced out the glass to the quiet street. “it’s like... the safest-looking place i’ve ever seen.”

“still not comforting,” jess muttered. “you have to promise to call me. like, every day. no disappearing again.”

“i promise. one call a day. i’ll use this booth if i have to.”

“you better,” jess said. “because if i don’t hear from you, i’m getting on the next bus with a baseball bat.”

gabriela smiled faintly. “noted.”

“are you gonna start looking today?”

gabriela nodded, though jess couldn’t see her. “yeah. thought i’d walk around first, maybe try the address i’ve got. i don’t know. feels weird to just show up and ask for someone who doesn’t even know i’m coming.”

“you’ll figure it out,” jess said. “you always do.”

there was a pause, a softer one this time. “can you tell the others for me?” gabriela asked quietly. “zach, mateo, kira. tell them i had to leave for a while, nothing dramatic. just that i’ll miss them.”

jess’s voice cracked just slightly. “yeah. i will.”

“thanks,” gabriela smiled sadly to herself. “for not yelling too much.”

“oh, i’m yelling on the inside,” jess said. “but i get it. just... don’t make me worry more than i already am.”

gabriela swallowed down a lump in her throat. “i’ll call tonight.”

“you better. go find your dad, gabs. i love you.”

“i will, and i love you too.” gabriela hung up slowly and stepped out of the booth. she stood still for a moment, tightening her grip on her bag.

somewhere out there, maybe even within walking distance, her dad, the man she barely remembered, was living a life without her. but not for long. she turned toward main street and started walking.

the town was quiet in that unnerving small-town way, where even the birds seemed to pause between flapping. every corner looked vaguely the same; narrow sidewalks cracked by roots, mailboxes leaning from age, american flags faded into pastels. the morning sun had started to burn through the cloud cover, casting soft light over rows of modest houses, pickup trucks, and trimmed hedges that somehow felt more judgmental than her high school principal.

gabriela shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket, trying to look like she belonged. it wasn’t working, tough. she felt like a question mark in a town full of exclamation points.

her steps slowed when she reached a signpost at a t-junction. it stood crooked, bolted into the concrete, with several metal signs nailed to it at odd angles. she pulled the note from her pocket, the yellowing scrap with her dad’s messy handwriting on it, the one she’d stared at on and off for more than ten years but never dared to use. the ink had faded a little, but the address was still clear enough.

her eyes jumped between the signpost and the note, a sigh escaped her lips when she couldn’t find a single similarity. just as her fingers adjusted on the paper to fold it away, a sudden gust of wind whipped through the intersection, fast and sharp.

“no, wait, damn it!” the note flew out of her hand.

it tumbled like a leaf, skimming the ground, then soared up and over the curb. gabriela chased after it, sneakers slapping against asphalt, hair in her face, eyes on that one stupid piece of paper like it held the last thread of her life together.

the note fluttered again and landed in the middle of the road. she darted into the street without thinking, snatching it up with both hands just as—

SCREECH.

a horn blared, tires locked and she froze.

gabriela stood at the edge of the road, one sneaker half on the yellow dividing line, the note clutched tight in her hand. her heart was still thudding, less from the near-miss and more from the sheer stupidity of it all. the burgundy bmw sat idling in front of her, the engine ticking gently, like it was still deciding whether to forgive her. the driver’s side door creaked open, and a guy stepped out.

late teens, maybe twenty at most. jeans, beat-up reeboks, and a light blue jacket that had clearly seen a few fights with the wind. his hair was a fluffy brown explosion, feathered and sculpted into the kind of volume that defied science. if hairspray had a mascot, it was this guy. he had a familiar sort of face; movie star jawline, tired but kind eyes, but gabriela didn’t recognize him, and judging by his expression, the feeling was mutual.

“jesus,” he said, shutting the door with a hard clunk. “were you trying to get hit?”

gabriela blinked. “uh, no. i mean… obviously not.”

“that was... kind of a bold move, just diving into the street like that.” he gestured to the front of his car. “because you came about this close to getting a faceful of german engineering.”

“i didn’t see you.”

“right, well… are you okay?” he asked, brow furrowed. 

“yeah, yeah, i was just grabbing something.” gabriela held up the wrinkled note. “the wind took it.”

“alright,” he sighed, glancing around like maybe the wind would confirm that. “next time maybe check for cars first? y’know, prevent the whole almost dying thing?”

“thanks. i’ll add it to the list.” she playfully rolled her eyes. 

there was a pause while he looked at her again, squinting slightly, like he was trying to place her. “do i… know you?” he asked finally. “you go to hawkins high?”

“uh, no.”

“did you? like before? did you move away?”

“i’ve literally never been here before today.”

he blinked. “oh. huh. that explains it.”

“what?”

“i was trying to figure out why i didn’t recognize you,” he said, shrugging. “small town. we kinda know everyone by default.”

gabriela didn’t respond, instead slipping the note back into her jacket pocket, now wrinkled and slightly damp from her palm.

“are you visiting family?” he asked, curiosity not letting him drop it. “or are you just into small-town tourism and near-death experiences?”

gabriela tried to fight the smile that was creeping upon her lips at his suggestion. she hesitated, unsure how much to say, she barely knew where she was going, let alone who she could trust. however, something about the guy’s tone, dry, but not unkind, made her feel less cornered than she had a minute ago.

“i’m… looking for someone,” she said eventually. “my dad, actually”

that got his attention. “your dad lives here?”

“supposedly.” her fingers brushed her pocket again. “haven’t seen him since i was five.”

he nodded slowly, his hands slipping into his jacket pockets. “shit, that’s... heavy.”

“yeah...”

another beat of silence stretched out before he tilted his head toward his car. “i could give you a ride, if you want. unless you’re planning to almost get hit by another car today.”

gabriela arched a brow. “you offering rides to strangers now? that sounds like serial killer behavior.”

the guy smirked. “do i look like a serial killer?”

“no, but you do look like you might sell hairspray door-to-door.”

he laughed, an actual laugh, light and surprised. “right, fair enough. i’m steve. steve harrington. not a serial killer. just a guy who didn’t run you over.”

gabriela gave him a skeptical look, but her lips twitched despite herself. “gabriela.”

“there. not strangers anymore.”

the girl narrowed her eyes at steve, weighing her options. she could keep wandering around hawkins like a lost extra from the goonies, or she could accept a ride from a guy who looked like he might have a total of ten hair brushes in his glove box.

“fine,” she said finally. “but on one condition.”

steve raised an eyebrow. “which is?”

“no journey on the radio. i was on a bus for about five hours and it was the only thing the driver played.” she sighed at the memory, “i swear, if i have to hear don’t stop believin’ one more time, i might actually jump out of the moving car.”

steve let out a short laugh. “wow, harsh. that’s, like, rule number two in hawkins; don’t diss the classics.”

“i’m not dissing. i’m just preserving what’s left of my brain cells.”

he lightly shook his head, then gestured to the car. “alright, miss anti-believin’, your chariot awaits.”

gabriela slid into the passenger seat, tossing her backpack down between her feet. the interior smelled faintly like vanilla air freshener and something boyish, probably hair product. steve climbed in on the driver’s side, glancing at her “so… you gonna tell me where we’re headed, or am i just gonna drive until you point dramatically?”

she pulled the worn note from her pocket and handed it over. steve took one hand off the wheel to unfold it, studying the address. “huh. that’s… kind of out near the old mill,” he said. “pretty quiet out that way.”

“is that a problem?”

“not really, just means less traffic and more raccoons.”

gabriela arched a brow. “cool, if we get mauled, i’m blaming you.”

steve grinned and pulled onto the road. they drove in companionable silence for a moment, the streetlights casting long shadows through the windshield. hawkins was sleepy, the kind of place that felt paused in time.

“so,” steve said eventually, glancing at her, “what made you come all the way here now?”

gabriela hesitated. “let’s just say… things blew up at home.”

“family stuff?”

she nodded. “yeah.”

he didn’t press, which surprised her. most people would. instead, he drummed his fingers lightly on the steering wheel and said, “well, hawkins might be weird, but sometimes weird is better than stuck.”

gabriela tilted her head. “is that a town motto?”

steve snorted. “it could be. we should print it on welcome signs.”

they passed an old video rental store and a diner that looked like it hadn’t changed since eisenhower was president. gabriela stared out the window, suddenly feeling the weight of everything she’d left behind; jess and the others, the fight with her mom.

steve noticed but didn’t say anything right away. then he asked, quieter, “you nervous?”

gabriela nodded. “a little. i haven’t seen him since I was five. i don’t even know if he still lives there.”

steve looked thoughtful. “well, if he doesn’t, we’ll figure it out. people talk in this town. gossip moves faster than the actual news.”

gabriela allowed a small smile. “sounds efficient.”

“it’s a superpower.” steve grinned back.

they turned onto a narrow street lined with trees and dim porch lights. gabriela sat up a little straighter, her pulse starting to thud again.

steve slowed down, squinting at the mailboxes. “that’s it, right?” he asked, pointing to a house near the corner.

gabriela looked at the numbers. her breath caught in her throat. “yeah,” she said quietly. “that’s the one.”

steve parked and shut off the engine. for a second, neither of them moved. “you okay?” he asked.

she nodded. “yeah. just… processing.”

“want me to wait?” he offered.

gabriela glanced at him. “no. thanks, though. for the ride.”

“no problem,” steve said, offering a soft smile. “good luck, gabriela.”

she muttered a soft ‘thank you’ as she opened the door, stepping out into the warm late summer air. her fingers clutched the strap of her backpack as she stared at the house. it looked almost too normal for something that might change everything.

as she stepped onto the sidewalk, she heard steve’s window roll down behind her. “hey,” he called. “for the record… i’m glad i didn’t hit you. even if you do hate journey.”

gabriela smirked over her shoulder. “don’t ruin your good guy points by bringing them up again, harrington.”

a chuckle fell from steve’s lips as she continued to walk towards the front door. when she stood at the bottom of the porch steps, the house loomed quietly in front of her and she could hear the hum of insects in the surrounding trees, the rustle of wind through the branches.

behind her, steve hadn’t driven off yet. she could hear the soft purr of the idling bmw. even though he was a stranger and she’d told him not to wait, she was grateful, he was the only thing tethering her to a life that made sense before this moment.

her heart thudded in her chest like it was trying to escape. after a deep breath she walked up the porch steps, each one creaking under her sneakers. her fingers hovered over the doorbell for a moment, then she pressed it.

a short chime rang inside. nothing.

she shifted her weight, glanced behind her; steve was still watching, one hand on the steering wheel. his brow was furrowed just slightly.

then: the sound of footsteps. heavy and low, someone was approaching. the porch light flickered, even though it wasn’t dark outside, and finally the doorknob turned before the door opened.

the man standing there was taller than she remembered, broader too. his hair was messier, flecked with grey at the temples, and a shadow of a beard covered his jaw. he wore a worn flannel shirt over a white tee and had the look of someone who didn’t expect visitors this late, or maybe ever.

but his eyes… his eyes were exactly the same as in the photo. the same as hers.

his brows drew together slightly as he took her in, gaze flicking to her backpack, the curve of her shoulders, the nervous set of her mouth.

gabriela stared at him, breath caught in her throat. there was no mistaking it. it was him. her dad.

she swallowed hard, barely managing to find her voice. “hi,” she said, her tone soft but steady “i’m gabriela… your daughter.”

behind her, in the driveway, steve blinked in surprise, hand frozen just above the gear shift, watching the quiet explosion of a moment he knew he probably wasn’t supposed to witness.

the porch light buzzed overhead, and the world felt like it paused.

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<— previous chapter

next chapter —> (coming soon)

IF YOU’RE GONNA BREAK MY HEART MASTERLIST

[triptuckers]

chapter one. the campfire

mateo returned a few seconds later, awkwardly balancing five beers against his chest. “i bring gifts!” he announced through a muffled voice, dropping one can into jess’s lap, before handing everyone else theirs. “hey, gabs.” he looked at gabriela as he opened the can he brought for himself, “it’s like twelve-fifteen, doesn’t your mom want you home by midnight?" gabriela’s stomach dropped. “shit,” she said, scrambling to sit up straighter. “no, no-no-no. she's gonna kill me!”

summary: the one night a week gabriela’s allowed to hang out with her friends, she forgets to check the time, and her mom’s not happy about it. that note from her dad might actually come in handy now

warnings: fem!oc, lots of character introductions, basically just teens being teens, narcissistic and toxic mom/daughter relationship i’m sorry

word count: 2.7k

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zach’s backyard stretched wider than expected for a downtown chicago neighborhood; a narrow lot that opened up in the back, almost like a secret. the lawn was patchy and uneven, still holding onto the day’s warmth, rusted bikes leaned against the fence, a weather-worn trampoline sagged in the corner and garden gnomes his aunt probably insisted on sat watching the teens from the bushes like tiny ceramic spies. in the center of it all, a fire pit glowed. flames licked up toward the stars, sending twisting sparks into the night sky. around the pit were folding chairs that didn’t match, old milk crates and a sagging hammock no one trusted. the smell of smoke clung to everything now; jackets, hair, the stale hoodie gabriela had borrowed from mateo but claimed as her own.

music played low from a beat-up boombox sitting on the porch rail. it was a mid-mixtape, something zach had made off the radio: blondie, talking heads, the clash. kira had teased him for weeks about his “cool guy” mixes, but tonight, she let it play without comment, curled into his side and in his flannel like it was stitched to her.

gabriela sat cross-legged on the grass, close enough to feel the heat from the fire on her shins. the beer in her hand was lukewarm, probably stolen from zach’s dad, but she drank it anyway. she glanced around at the people circled around the fire. this weird little collection of misfits that had, somehow, become her people.

jessica, or ‘jess’ as they’d all call her, had claimed the best seat (obviously), the creaky lawn recliner, and lounged like she was sunbathing instead of freezing in a hoodie. her socked feet were propped upon the cooler, one shoe dangling off her toes and a lollipop was placed in between her teeth. the blonde had been gabriela’s best friend since first grade; she was the kind of friend who’d fight with you and for you in the same breath. they’d stuck together through awkward phases, school fights, and gabriela’s questionable hair dye era in seventh grade. a lifetime, basically.

mateo was perched on an upside-down milk crate, elbows on his knees, his marshmallow skewered on a wire hanger he’d straightened out with dramatic flair. he poked the fire like he was performing surgery, narrating every sizzle and shift with the energy of someone who thought silence was a personal insult. his hoodie sleeves were rolled to the elbows, showing off the friendship bracelets he'd insisted they all wear years ago. a secretive smile formed on gabriela’s lips when she noticed hers was still tied on, faded and fraying.

he was the wildcard; funny, loud and slightly dramatic. the kind of guy who flirted with every pretty girl he passed, but somehow reserved his weirdest lines for gabriela. he’d been laying it on extra thick lately, and she… didn’t exactly discourage it. she didn’t feel that way about him, not really, but there was something easy about playing along; like a joke they were both in on.

zach and kira sat the closest together, sharing a camping chair that wasn’t really built for two. zach had slouched deep into the seat, legs stretched out, looking smugly comfortable, while kira had one leg tossed over his, her head resting on his shoulder, and flipping the sticker-covered lighter in her hand. her dark curls were pulled into a messy ponytail, and she looked like someone who could beat you in a fight in under ten seconds.

they had started dating over the summer. it was low-drama, surprisingly soft, and they fit together in a way that made sense once you stopped overthinking it. he’d mellowed out a little; she’d started smiling more. gabriela liked them better together than apart.

jess and gabriela had met the others during freshman orientation, when a teacher accidentally stuck them all in the wrong homeroom. mateo had been the first to speak, loudly, with a joke about the teacher’s toupee. zach followed quickly, smirking like he’d been born unimpressed, and kira; cool, deadpan, and intimidatingly pretty; had said nothing for two straight days until jess cracked a joke and made her snort apple juice.

they were in senior year now, and somehow still orbiting each other. still showing up to the same places. still a team.

while jess passed kira the bag of pretzels without looking, mateo was jabbing a half-burned marshmallow onto a stick, eyes narrowed with unnecessary focus. “i think mine’s radioactive,” he said, watching it bubble. “should i just go for it?”

“do it,” jess said flatly, her mouth full with pretzels she’d stuffed into her mouth only a second earlier, “become a science experiment. we’ll put a photo of your body in the yearbook.”

mateo carefully rotated his marshmallow over the flame, “if this thing combusts, i want at least a day of mourning. one of you has to wear black for, like, a week.”

gabriela chuckled, cradling her beer like it might whisper secrets. “at least you’ll die doing what you loved,” she smirked at mateo, “fiddling with food over open fire.”

zach leaned back in his chair, wrapping his arm slightly tighter around kira’s waist, “we should give him a viking funeral if he dies here. set him adrift in the pool. light him up with a flaming arrow.”

jess raised her hand. “i call archer.”

a snort escaped kira’s lips. “you’d miss and light the garage on fire.”

“still counts.”

mateo stood up with a dramatic sigh, brushing grass off his jeans and stretching like someone who’d just done an hour long workout. “alright, who’s low?” he asked, waving his empty can.

jess tossed him hers. “bring back something that doesn’t taste like metal and poor decisions.”

“i make no promises,” he said, trudging toward the porch cooler like a soldier heading to the front lines.

as he disappeared into the shadows, the group fell into a lazy silence, the kind that only came with comfort and firelight. kira started flicking zach’s lighter open and shut again in rhythm with the mixtape, while blondie drifted into the cars.

“ugh, he always takes forever,” jess pulled her hoodie tighter around her and glanced toward the porch. “probably stealing the cold ones from the bottom again.”

zach leaned back in his chair, “he’s lucky we put up with him.”

“speak for yourself, i just want another beer.”

mateo returned a few seconds later, awkwardly balancing five beers against his chest. “i bring gifts!” he announced through a muffled voice, dropping one can into jess’s lap, before handing everyone else theirs.

“hey, gabs.” he looked at gabriela as he opened the can he brought for himself, “it’s like twelve-fifteen, doesn’t your mom want you home by midnight?”

gabriela’s stomach dropped. “shit,” she said, scrambling to sit up straighter. “no, no-no-no. she's gonna kill me!”

“tell her i needed you for emotional support while marshmallow roasting,” mateo shrugged, popping the now cooled off marshmallow into his mouth.

“or just tell her mateo died and we were grieving,” zach offered.

however, gabriela was already on her feet, trying to zip her hoodie with one hand while chugging her beer. “she already thinks I’m sneaking around, if i come home after midnight without calling, she’s gonna have, like, a full-on crime board set up in the kitchen.”

“string and newspaper clippings,” kira nodded solemnly. “the works.”

“i’m serious guys, she’s gonna think i joined a gang,” gabriela muttered. “or that i got kidnapped, or that i’m dating someone, which is even worse.”

mateo threw an arm out in mock betrayal. “wow, rude.”

gabriela shot him a look as she backed toward the gate. “you, mateo, would not be the boyfriend she was afraid of; you’d be the reason i’d swear off dating forever.”

“ouch,” he said, clutching his chest. “i’m wounded. truly.”

kira tossed gabriela her denim jacket from the back of a chair. “want us to walk you?”

she shook her head, already halfway out the gate. “nah, i’ll run. if I’m lucky, she’s already asleep.”

zach raised his can. “godspeed, soldier.”

“call me if she grounds you for life,” jess added, “i might be able to reduce your sentence, she likes me.”

“or if you need one of us to come rescue you from being disowned!” mateo called. gabriela gave them a quick salute and darted down the sidewalk, heart racing faster than her feet.

the streetlights cast long shadows across the sidewalk as she jogged the last block to her house, breath visible in the cool night air. her boots hit the pavement with soft, determined thuds. she’d zipped her hoodie all the way up, hair tucked inside like that would somehow erase the smell of smoke clinging to her clothes.

from the outside, her house looked still; dark, quiet. no lights in the front windows, no flicker from the tv and the porch light had been switched off. that was either a really good sign… or the worst.

she crept up the porch steps, skipping the second one, it creaked, and gently turned the doorknob. unlocked.

her heart thumped as she eased the door open just wide enough to slip through, closing it slowly behind her until she heard the soft click of the latch. she didn’t breathe. didn’t move.

silence.

the house was warm, and it smelled like jasmine; the fancy candle her mom lit when she was trying to be 'calm'. gabriela kicked off her shoes by the door and padded down the hall, avoiding the floorboards she knew squeaked. she was almost there. almost safe.

she turned toward the stairs—

“nice of you to join me.”

gabriela froze. the voice had come from the living room; low, smooth, sharp.

when she turned she saw her mom sat in the armchair across from the tv, one leg crossed over the other, and a half-empty glass of wine in her hand. no lights were on except the amber glow from a single table lamp beside her. like she’d been waiting there. like a trap.

gabriela’s stomach sank. “hi,” she said carefully. “i didn’t think you’d still be up.”

her mom, elena, raised an eyebrow. “clearly.”

gabriela hovered near the hallway, one foot angled toward the stairs. “i lost track of time. we were just hanging out. no parties or anything.”

elena scoffed lightly. “hanging out? Is that what you call sneaking in almost an hour past curfew without a single call?”

“i wasn’t sneaking—”

“oh please, gabriela.” elena uncrossed her legs slowly, setting the wine glass on the side table. “you reek of smoke, and you sound like you’re one more lie away from stuttering.”

gabriela clenched her jaw. “i wasn’t lying. I just… forgot. i didn’t mean to—“

“you never mean to. that’s the thing with you, you never take responsibility for anything.”

“that’s not fair,” gabriela said, her voice rising. “i’ve been working hard in school, i don’t go out that much—”

elena cut her off with a wave of her hand. “you think you’re working hard? try raising a daughter on your own in this city. try holding everything together while your kid runs around like some wannabe rebel.”

gabriela flinched, the words hitting harder than she let on. “i’m not a rebel. i just wanted a night to—”

“to what? pretend you’re grown? drink? hang out with those kids like they’re your new family?” elena leaned forward now, eyes sharp. “you think they’ll be there when life actually gets hard? or when you screw something up that really matters?”

gabriela stared at her, anger simmering now, but buried under years of learning when to shut up.

“i don’t want to argue with you, gabriela.”

“well, too late.” the teen muttered.

elena stood, tugging her robe tighter around her. “you’re grounded. two weeks.”

gabriela’s mouth dropped open. “two weeks?”

“three,” elena said coldly. “since you want to argue about it.”

“that’s not fair!”

“you want fair?” she snapped. “try being the adult in this house for once. no friends, no going out. you come home from school and you stay here. and if you try anything else behind my back, we’ll be having a very different conversation.”

gabriela stood in silence, fists clenched at her sides, her breath caught in her throat. elena stared at her for a long second, then turned off the lamp and walked out of the room without another word.

she stood alone in the dark, the house suddenly colder than it had felt before. her heart thudded in her chest; not from fear, not even from guilt. just frustration. she exhaled slowly, picked up her shoes without putting them on, and headed for the stairs.

a creak behind her sounded as she climbed; the kind that made you feel like the house itself knew you were in trouble. when she got upstairs, gabriela shut her bedroom door with more force than she meant to. the sound echoed through the quiet house, but she didn’t care anymore.

the faint glow from the streetlight outside painted long shadows across her bed as she didn’t bother turning on the light. she dropped her shoes by the door, stepped over one of her old hoodies, and collapsed onto her bed face-first.

tears came before she could stop them. silent at first; just heat behind her eyes, then a few falling into the pillow. her chest tightened, shoulders curled inward. the argument played on a loop in her head, every sharp word sharpened further in the quiet. her mom always knew exactly where to cut.

she wasn’t even sure why this time hurt more than the others. maybe it was just the timing, maybe it was the fact she’d actually felt okay tonight; like herself, for the first time in a while.

she rolled over onto her back, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of mateo’s hoodie.

her eyes drifted to the nightstand. the photo had always been there, half-buried under books, nail polish, old hair ties, and mixtapes. but tonight, it practically glowed.

a four-year-old gabriela grinned in the picture, sitting between her mom and a tall, broad-shouldered man with kind eyes and a scruffy beard. her dad. she remembered that day, vaguely. they were at the zoo. he’d let her sit on his shoulders, fed her churros when her mom wasn’t looking.

she sat up slowly and reached for the frame. her fingers hovered over the glass, tracing the outline of the man she barely remembered. he looked tired, but happy. as if he was trying, even if things were already falling apart.

gabriela stared at the photo for a long time, jaw tight, breath steadying. eventually she set it down gently and walked over to her desk. for a minute, she just stood there, staring at the top drawer. then, slowly, she pulled it open.

old notebooks, dried-out pens, a few crumpled receipts from the bodega on the corner looked up at her. she reached underneath the stack of paper at the back and pulled out a worn envelope. it was yellowed slightly at the corners from being touched too many times but never used.

inside was a note; a small square of lined paper folded in half. her hands trembled slightly as she opened it.

“in case you miss me. –dad”

underneath it, in slanted block letters, stood an address in hawkins, indiana.

she stared at it for a bit longer. it had come in a card; a birthday card, her fifth. the last thing she remembered receiving from him. she hadn’t written back; her mom hadn’t encouraged it. the card had disappeared into a drawer and the man in the photo became more memory than fact.

but now… now it was something else.

gabriela’s breathing slowed as she looked around her room; the cluttered desk, the old trophies she didn’t care about, the pink curtains her mom had picked without asking.

in a flash she’ grabbed her backpack and dumped the contents onto the floor; notebooks, pens and half-crumpled assignments spilling out in a mess.

she moved quickly; underwear, socks, jeans, a flannel, her toothbrush, deodorant, the stash of cash in the jar behind her mirror. her eyes fell on the photo frame and she hesitated at the last second… then took it too, tucking it into the front pocket of her bag.

finally, she folded the note with the address and slipped it into the inside pocket of her jean jacket. whatever was going to happen next, she was doing this. she had to.

so, before she could stop herself she opened her bedroom window and climbed out into the night.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

<— previous chapter

next chapter —> (coming soon)

IF YOU’RE GONNA BREAK MY HEART MASTERLIST

[triptuckers]

thank you so much for including me!!! 💞💞💞

Top Gun Fic Rec Masterlist

Masterlists

F&F Universe @clints-lucky-arrow

Masterlist @shouldershimmycity

Masterlist @youlightmeupfinn

Masterlist @callsign-phoenix

Masterlist @phantomtgm

Masterlist @topguncortez

Masterlist @roosterforme

Masterlist @pmitchell

Dagger Squad

Valentine’s Day @auroradawnwrites

Jake “Hangman” Seresin

you found me @augustinescruelsummer

thumbs up @lorecraft

secret sweetheart @theundercoversquid

Girl!dad Jake @kryptonitejelly

I.R.I.S @ohtobeleah

Mine, Yours, Ours @roosterscock

Blurb @ddejavvu

Signed Away @seresinhangmanjake

Absolute filth @roosterbruiser

Contract Spouse @discount-shades

Little Wonder @hangmans-wingman

Dad's Best Friend @sugarcoated-lame

Manchild @the-shedevil-writes

Robert “Bob” Floyd

The Captain’s Daughter @coco-loco-nut (all parts are linked)

Heart Glasses @emeraldserenade

#bobfucks @princessphilly

Drunk on You by the-shedevil-writes

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw

Show Me The Way Home, Honey @warnersister

Batting Practice

The Younger Kind

I Would Never Hurt You by roosterforme

Personal Space @warnersister (part 2 is linked)

unfamiliar @triptuckers

Nick “Goose” Bradshaw

Gold Rush @duchesstypewriter

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky

Persuasion At Its…Finest? @crazyk-imagine

Let Me Prove It @bobby-r2d2-floyd

Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia

Nav @ohtobeleah

I Can’t Believe I Was Nervous

Javy "Coyote" Machado

your love is the love i need @theharddeck

Jake x OC x Bradley

Angel by the Wings @makethatelevenrings

Jake x OC x Javy

a little bit of fun @sushiwriterhere

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell

Drive In @thewhiskersonkittens

[triptuckers]

Sleep Talking | Joaquin Torres

Summary; Joaquin could never keep a secret.

Warnings: none, this is all fluff

A/N: I couldn’t sleep until I’d put something out so yeah, this is just a real quick short before bed kind of story. I’ll get back on my asks/wips/part 2s of stuff tomorrow. For now, enjoy this. Also sorry I haven’t done tags it’s late and I’m tired so hope this finds you fine.

You woke unable to breathe. “Ouch, Joaquin,” you grumbled as your mind and body slowly dragged itself from sleep.

“Huh?” He grumbled sleepily.

“Baby, you’re squishing me.”

“What?” he groaned, but you could tell he was only half awake.

“Roll over. You’re squishing me. And you’re making me feel like I’m sleeping with a freaking radiator. Jeez.” you moaned as he shifted slightly and you truly felt how stifling it had become under the covers.

“It’s not me. It’s you,” he sleepily grumbled. You didn’t even have a chance to respond before he grumbled another response. “No.” he said with a sigh as he rolled back over onto his back on his pillow. “It was you. I know you ate my sandwich.” he mumbled.

Sandwich? What was he- ohhh, he’s sleep talking.

You chuckled to yourself as you rolled over onto your side to watch him sleep. Every now and again his lips would silently move to talk again, but it was mostly silent. You were just about to close your eyes and go back to sleep when you heard the words, “Because I’m going to marry her.”

There was a pause as if he was listening to someone else speak before he said, “What do you mean who? Y/N who else. I’ve already got the ring. I’ve been keeping it in my underwear drawer for weeks now.”

You were suddenly wide awake. You didn’t know if it was just the dream or if there was some actual truth to it and his subconscious was bleeding through. But there was one thing for sure, you weren’t going back to sleep until you knew for sure.

You tried to be as quiet as you possibly could as you crept out of bed, reaching for your phone and turning on the torch. Your feet padded quietly across the floor as Joaquin continued to let out small little murmurs. Every tiny shift you made to open the drawer sounded like thunder in your ears and you desperately hoped he wouldn’t wake up and catch you in the act. You gave one last quick tug on the old dresser drawer and there it was. Barely concealed by a pair of underpants, a square blue box.

You stood frozen in agony as you warred with yourself over what to do. Did you look and ruin the surprise completely or did you pretend you didn’t know it was there and climb back into bed. But you couldn’t help it. Now you knew of its existence, it was going to be burning a hole in the back of your head. You just wanted to be sure he picked a good ring, you tried to reason with yourself. You could be a good actress. You could still look surprised. You tried to rationalise as your fingers pulled out the velvet box. I mean he’s asleep, he’s not gonna know. You thought.

“Baby? What are you doing?” Joaquin asked, his voice hoarse with sleep. You looked at him guiltily. This was no sleep talking, he was well and truly awake now, sitting upright in bed as his eyes squinted, trying to adjust to the light of your torch in the dim room. That’s when he looked at your hands. “Oh shit!” he exclaimed. “Baby, I- wait, how did you-“ he paused as you continued to stand at the end of the bed frozen. Then he realised. “I was sleep talking.”

“Yes.” you finally said softly.

He groaned in frustration. “My mom said I could never keep a secret. I just wished for once I could have kept this one.”

“It’s alright,” you said.

“Did you look?” he asked.

“Not yet.” you replied. Your answer brought a soft smile to his face and he silently beckoned you over to sit with him.

“You know, I was waiting to do this on that trip to New York we were gonna take in a couple of weeks.” he began to explain, “but I guess this is good too.” Although it was dark in the room, you could tell he was beginning to blush as he took the box from your fingers.

“Y/N,” he said as his fingers deftly removed the ring from the box before he set it to one side. He tucked the ring into his fingers so you couldn’t see it just yet before he shuffled closer to you to continue his speech. “I have been in love with you from the minute I laid eyes on you. You can ask any of the boys, the second I saw you I said, that’s her, that’s the girl I’m going to marry. And of course they didn’t believe me, but I knew. You’ve been there with me for everything. Every hard day. Every promotion. You were always there to be my light and cheer me on.” he said, his voice shaking slightly with nerves. “You make every single day of my life, so much brighter and I don’t ever want to think of a day when you don’t wake up by my side. Y/N, will you do me, the greatest honour of my whole life,” he said, finally holding out the ring to you. “Will you marry me?”

It may have been 4am. It may have been in the dark of the night and extremely unconventional, but it was Joaquin. And you were always going to say yes to Joaquin.

[triptuckers]

| THE BEST DAY | — joaquin torres

MASTERLIST

| synopsis: | a dating couple, a bouquet toss, and a wedding. what could go wrong?

| includes: | joaquintorres x fem!reader, fluff, cliche, no use of, no use of y/n, teasing, wedding stuff, reader wears blue dress, really nosy relatives, manspreading

| word count: | 2.1k

| a/n: | inspired by the song the best day by taylor swift and like half a dozen bouquet toss reels on instagram. also i have limited knowledge on southern american wedding culture/traditions so if there is anything wrong please correct me!

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

IF YOU HAD known that an after party for a wedding could contain enough energy to fuel two Cirque Du Soleils, you would’ve worn sneakers instead of heels, jeans instead of a dress, and harnessed enough mental capacity to be tackled by Joaquin’s entire extended family before you even reached the reception tent.

You adjusted the soft blue satin of your dress, smoothing the fabric where it hugged your hips, feeling suddenly aware of the way it caught in the light. It was simple but stunning—a cowl neckline that shimmered with every step, and something you had spent eons debating on whether or not you should’ve gotten it.

But it was worth it, because you had barely stepped out of the car, before several aunties rushed over, each one of them in brightly patterened skirts and tops, all surrounding you and Joaquin in a flurry of hands and flower scented perfume wafted.

One by one, they pulled you into a hug, spewing question after question; and by the time one of Joaquin’s uncles managed to wrangle them away you had answered “are you going to get married?” one too many times.

Joaquin on the other hand, was no help whatsoever. He just stood there, all smug in his navy suit and open-collared shirt, cheeks flushed with pride. He looked devastating in the sun, and he knew it, too—but instead he just watched you get circled by half a dozen women who shared his nose, his smile, and his never ending enthusiasm for you.

But it wasn’t just the aunties that took an interest in you. Several of Joaquin’s little nephews and nieces had begun trailing after the two of you, half of them already covered in grass stains and mud, giggling and whispering behind your back with large, dutiful eyes.

One of the braver girls—probably no older than six, swallowed by a white dress full of pristine lace and an aggressively large bow—marched right up to you as you were nursing your champagne under the reception tent. Her shiny black shoes were scuffed to hell, and curls frizzed from the humidity as she stared at you with curious eyes.

“Are you his girlfriend?” she asked, pointing directly at Joaquin, who stood a few feet away, talking to his uncle.

You blinked in surprise, completely caught off guard. “Uh… yeah, I am.”

She narrowed her eyes at you. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you repeated, smiling a little. “Is that okay?”

She crossed her arms, cocking her hip to the side in pure judgment. “But you’re way too pretty to be his girlfriend.”

Your jaw dropped with half a laugh caught in your throat. “Oh my god.”

“And he’s like… medium-handsome,” she continued with a shrug. “But you’re, like, really, really pretty.”

Joaquin turned just in time to catch that. “Did you just call me ‘medium-handsome’, Alejandra Luciana Torres?”

The girl ignored him, still studying you like you were an exhibit. “Are you also smart?”

“I—uh—”

“She is,” Joaquin interrupted, marching behind you before resting a hand on your waist. “Very smart and way out of my league. So let’s all be cool about it, okay?”

The little girl tilted her head up at him with still narrowed eyes. “Then how did you get her?”

“Great question,” you said under your breath, sipping your drink to hide your grin.

“I have charm,” Joaquin told her, pressing a hand to his chest. “And skills.”

“No,” she said flatly. “You have bad haircut.”

A loud “OHH!” rang out from the other kids, and one little boy collapsed onto the grass dramatically, while Joaquin’s mouth dropped open like he’d just been slapped in the face.

“What? My hair is fine,” he cried patting his loose curls resting across his forehead. “Your just mad that I look this good without trying.”

“Okay, Mr. Medium-Handsome,” you teased, “Let’s go before you end up throwing a tantrum.”

He sputtered, “I— you— you’re lucky I love you.”

You snorted and cupped his cheek, giving him a quick sloppy kiss to shut him up. The kids however, weren't as impressed. Behind you, a chorus of 'EWWW!''s rang out as you pulled away, and Alejandra— Joaquin's little cousin recoiled with enough force to make a rubber hand snapped. A few other kids screamed, one boy slapped a hand over his eyes while another started shrieking: "She's got Uncle J's cooties!"

Joaquin on the other hand looked completely smug. "See told I could get her."

The kids scurried away, as you rolled your eyes and patted his chest. "God, you're such a dork."

The sun had just begun to dip when the music started pounding over the speakers, and the soft afterglow casted a gold shine over the venue. You were halfway to the drink table, reaching out for a glass of wine when Joaquin slowed beside you, eyeing the growing crowd with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

You raised your eyebrow at him with a suspicious look. "Joaquin, absolutely not."

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "What?"

"You're trying to convince me to dance, aren't you?"

"No..." he trailed off. "Well, okay, maybe I do. But y'know if you want to break a poor man’s heart—”

The words hadn't even left his mouth before you were already dragging him towards the sea of bodies, swishing their hips as Reggaeton blasted from the speakers, and cheers going up from the crowd. Music pulsed through your body, and Joaquin was already smiling. His moves were suave and easy, twirling you around like he’d done it a hundred times before. There was no resisting the way he moved with it, smooth and confident, one hand finding your waist, the other catching your wrist mid-spin.

Laughter bubbled out of you before you could stop it. It was impossible not to smile with him looking at you like that, especially with the scent of citrus and champagne drift in the air. Joaquin pulled you closer, cheek brushing yours for a beat, his voice low against your ear.

"Te estás divirtiendo?”

You blinked at him, caught between the rhythm of the song and the heat of his breath. “I have no idea what you just said,” you yelled over the music, laughing. “But I love you too!”

His grin was as wide as yours, shaking his head as he leaned in again. “That works.”

It didn’t take long before the layers started coming off. His suit jacket was the first to go slung somewhere over a chair between Suavemente and Chantaje. His tie was loosened, then vanished entirely, stuffed into his pocket after you pulled at it with a teasing smirk. And by the time he spun you into his arms again, the top few buttons of his shirt had popped open, sleeves rolled high up to his biceps, skin glowing under the lights and that ever-present grin stretched across his face like he hadn’t smiled in years.

His forearms flexed, and his face was flushed with a sheen coat of sweat. His hair was messy and fell over his forehead in a sweep, loose curls stuck to the back of his neck. You had barely noticed how long you’d been out there until he leaned down, your hips still swaying to the music as his lips brushed against your temple.

“Water?” he asked, voice warm against your skin.

“Please,” you breathed.

The two of you peeled off from the crowd, his hand slipping into yours as you made your way toward the drinks. You grabbed a glass of something cold and fizzy, pressing it to your cheek with a sigh, fanning your red cheeks.

When you glanced over at Joaquin, he was sprawled over his chair, legs wide open and hands tucked neatly behind his head. He looked far too pleased with himself, eyes half-lidded as he watched you with a lazy grin, shirt clinging to his chest from the heat, curls damp at the edges. It was infuriating, and you had to tear your eyes away from the beautiful sight beside you to keep your sanity.

Instead, you focused on the group gathering just several feet away from you, a swirling knot of women in heels and sundresses already jostling for position behind the bride. Laughter spilled from their circle, some crouching low with hands on their knees, others bouncing on the balls of their feet, all caught up in the buzz of anticipation.

“What are they doing over there?” you murmured softly underneath your breath.

Joaquin glanced over his shoulder, then leaned in with a lopsided grin. “Bouquet toss, you should go join them.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Absolutely not.”

“Come on,” he said, nudging you playfully. “Don’t you want to fight a bunch of strangers for symbolic flowers?”

“Hard pass,” you said, trying to ignore the heat rushing to your cheeks, “Besides, I’m not that close to your family, I’d feel weird.”

But he was still watching you with a grin on his face like he knew something you didn’t. You narrowed your eyes at him, ready to fire back when suddenly a small thud sounded in your lap.

Your conversation halted, as your eyes widened at the soft bundle of roses and baby’s breaths now nestled against your chest. Your breath caught in your throat and your mouth turned into sandpaper, gritty and scratchy as you stared in shock.

It took you two tries before you could find your voice again, and by then the crowd had erupted like thunder. Applauds and wolf whistles sounded and several aunties squealed as they all rushed towards you.

You shot of from your chair and turned to Joaquin, eyes wide with horror, bouquet still clutched in your hands. “I— I didn’t—”

Joaquin looked stunned, before his mouth curled into a delighted, wicked grin. “Holy fuck.”

All eyes seemed to turn on you, digging into your back before then turning to Joaquin.

“Oh my God!” a voice shrieked as footsteps pounded towards you. “Mija! Oh my dear, I’m finally going to have a grandchild!”

Your jaw dropped as Joaquin’s mother stretched her arms out, eyes wide with joy as she swept you into a hug.

“I— no— no,” you tried, “It wasn’t—”

“You caught the bouquet!” his mother squealed, “This is a sign from the universe!” She turned towards her son. “You! I want two grandchildren with her pretty face and your eyes. Fate has already decided.”

“Mamá!” Joaquin nearly choked, eyes wide as he half-laughed, half-pleaded. “No one’s having any babies yet.”

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed, mijo,” she said waving her hands around. “Your father and I made you after a wedding—”

“Nope!” Joaquin clapped his hands over his ears. “We’re done. No. Shut it down.”

You stood frozen, bouquet still in your hands, heart pounding from the sudden storm of attention. Around you, a chorus of aunts and cousins began chiming in.

“I give it six months.”

“Ya gotta put the ring on it soon, J.”

“I’m willing to put 20 dollars that their wedding will be at the end of this year.”

“But she’s too pretty to marry Uncle Joaquin!”

Joaquin’s dad—thankfully, mercifully—stepped in saving the two of you from anymore unsolicited advice. “Okay, okay,” he said loudly, grinning as he herded everyone back toward the dance floor. “Let’s give them some air.”

He winked at you on the way past. “Congrats, kiddo, you’ve just got 100 more people added to your wedding guest list.”

You exhaled like you’d just escaped a house fire, dropping into the nearest chair, bouquet still clutched like in your lap. “God,” you groaned, rubbing your temples. “I just wanted a drink.”

Joaquin dropped into the seat beside you, his collar crooked, and hair messier than ever. He looked far too pleased with himself for someone whose mother just tried to spiritually marry him off.

“You okay?” he asked, nudging your knee with his.

“I’m alive,” you muttered. “Barely.”

He chuckled, leaning back with a lazy sprawl. “They love you.”

“They terrify me.”

A beat passed as laughter, music, and the buzz of energy still lingered around the tent like fog. You were about to close your eyes when he leaned in, his voice low, warm, a grin in it even before he spoke.

“You know…” he murmured near your ear, “I wouldn’t mind if we had kids someday.”

Your head whipped toward him. “Joaquin.”

“I’m just saying,” he said innocently, holding up his hands. “I wouldn’t mind seeing mini versions of us running around the house like maniacs.”

You swatted his arm—hard—and he winced with a laugh.

“Marry me first,” you said, jabbing a finger into his chest, “before you even think about that.”

Joaquin grinned, rubbing where you hit him. “So that’s not a no?”

You groaned and sank lower in your chair, pulling a napkin over your face. “I need three years and a gallon of wine before we talk about that again, so my answer is maybe.”

He laughed, soft and slow, then leaned over and kissed your cheek anyway—careful, sweet, and just enough to make your stomach flip again.

“Three years,” he whispered. “That’s a deal.”

[triptuckers]

do u guys want to go on a walk

[triptuckers]

the horrors persist but my friends write beautiful fanfic

[triptuckers]

Joaquin is trying really hard not to laugh as you lean all your weight into him as he opens your front door.

“You said we were going home Joaquin.”

He chuckles then, “We are home,” he wraps an arm behind him to hold onto your waist as he pushes open the door.

He needs to change that hinge.

“But this is my apartment, I wanted to sleep in your bed.” Your voice catches as you speak. Joaquin can tell tears are near.

He shakes his head, amusement lighting his face as he sets the keys in the dish near the door and sits you on the sofa.

“Amor,” he presses a kiss into your knee, spotting a bruise from the bar that he’s not sure how you got. “We live together.”

Joaquin’s hands are quick as they free your feet from your heels.

A quiet, “Oh,” leaves you at his words.

His hands massage the arches of your feet, chuckling a little when you squirm.

“Want some water?” You shake your head, cheek pressed into the back of the couch as you look down at him.

“Want a kiss,” he sits up and kisses your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. “A real kiss.” You whine and Joaquin laughs now, right in your face.

His forehead touches your chin, “We’re going to bed, nena. Just to bed.” But he lifts his head and gets a glimpse of your puppy dog eyes and he indulges in a quick peck to your lips.

You grumble, “Not being fair.” But Joaquin pretends he doesn’t hear you as he lifts you off the couch.

Joaquin carries you all the way to the bathroom, pushing your hair back with a headband he’s seen you use many times.

He has to remove your hands from neck twice when you pull him flush to your chest, trapping him against you.

“Baby,” he laughs, hugging you back before pulling away a little. You’re pouting at him severely. Joaquin already knows what you want from him.

“Just one.” You plead and he sighs.

He’s not really great at denying you, and presses his lips against yours.

Your lips move lazily and they lack a little coordination, but Joaquin makes it work. One hand cups your cheek, stabilizing you against him.

When he pulls away your lips are a little swollen and glossy.

“Better?” He asks and you nod, a happy smile on your face as you sit still again for him to finish going through your skincare.

His fingers are gentle as they scrub your eyes and face. Circular motions lulling you to sleep.

“You falling asleep on me?” He whispers and you shake your head, all slow and heavy like your head’s weighing your movements down.

“Wanna sleep with you.”

His eyebrows raise, “Oh yeah?”

You open your eyes and Joaquin gets lost in them for a moment. They’re intense pools to stare into and sometimes he wishes he were an artist, so he could render their depth.

“Yeah, we can do it naked.”

He laughs again, kissing your forehead. “As long as you keep your hands to yourself.”

Joaquin doesn’t let you sleep naked, instead you’re wearing one of his old Air Force t-shirts and underwear.

You cuddle up next to him, a vice-like grip on him as he lays beside you. You fall asleep before he even says goodnight.

[triptuckers]

I feel like joaquín would get sooo clingy after coming home from a mission, like he’s so exhausted and he missed you so much and all he wants to do is squash you on the couch with all his body weight <3

oh mal i need to live in your head. this fixed smth in me.

he's hardly even out of the suit before he falls onto the couch, dragging you down with him. he's left in a tight fitting tank top and even tighter leggings—weariness bleeding out of every inch of his skin. his head is tucked into your shoulders, and his arms are tight around your waist.

"baby, you need a shower," you say, laughing at the way he whines in response.

"tired," he replies simply, like that's enough of an excuse to stay attached to you. so you just let him stay for a bit longer, gently carding your fingers through his hair. they snag on some small tangles that only serve as further proof that his hair desperately needs washing along with the rest of him. but he just hums as you work your fingers through them.

"i take it the mission went well?" he's usually wired after a bad mission, fidgeting and trying to do something to take his mind off it. but this? this is a self-satisfied joaquín. this is contentment embodied, from the way he soaks in every touch to the sighs he lets out when your hands find a kink in the muscles of his shoulder.

"mhm, took 'em down." he winces when you press into a particularly tender knot. "missed you, though." and with that comes a light kiss to the corner of your jaw.

"i missed you, too." you laugh again at the pleased sound that rumbles through him. "think i could convince you to clean up? i'll wash your hair."

he perks up at that, still not quite lifting himself off you but certainly more aware than he was moments before. "maybe."

only, joaquín still doesn't move. in fact, his arms tighten around you.

"you gotta get up for that, big guy." you pat his shoulder, trying to urge him up, but the effort his halfhearted at best. his weight is comfortable against you, pressing you into the couch like your own personal weighted blanket.

"five more minutes?" he mutters into your neck, and though he says it like a question, you know it's not up for debate.

so you stay, listening to joaquín's breathing slowly start to even out.

[triptuckers]

I just read all your Joaquin stuff!! You write him perfect so great job! I love it so much ! If possible could you do either your both ditching eachother up after a fight (supper fluffy) or something along the lines of reader not being able to breath (either health issue or injury ) and then having to deal with that. No pressure if you don’t have time !!

(Not) Doctor's Orders

summary: Joaquín and reader tend to each other’s wounds after a mission.

relationship: Joaquín Torres x gn!reader

warnings: (18+) mention of blood, description of injuries and treating them, kisses, innuendos

word count: 1.7k

A/N: i’m gonna assume instead of “ditching” you meant “stitching” each other up? why, you’ve read my mind dear anon, for that trope is one of my absolute most favouritetest<33 the “super fluffy” aspect kinda got away from me tho and it ended up way more suggestive than intended :’v hope you’ll like it nonetheless!

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• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

After a mission abroad, you’re sent to a safe house nearby instead of flying back to HQ immediately. All in all, the mission went great, except that you got shot. The bullet didn’t fully hit you, luckily; it just nicked your leg. But it still took off a chunk of flesh, and it hurts.

Your arm is around Joaquín’s shoulders as he holds up part of your weight, helping you walk. When you make it through the door, you let your bags fall in the hallway; you’ll take care of it later. The house is pretty small, and you enter into the main room, serving as both the living and dining area, with a kitchenette on the other side. He crosses the space and brings you to the bathroom, setting you down on the edge of the bathtub.

Joaquín takes out the first aid kit from underneath the sink and you both shrug off your jackets and the bulletproof vests you were wearing underneath, tossing everything to the side. You inspect your leg and hiss when you brush over the wound, going straight across your mid-thigh. He kneels down before you, his hands hovering over it, but he stops, looking up at you.

“Can I take it off?” he asks, the slightest tremble in his voice. Heat spreads on your face, and you mentally curse at yourself for the reaction. You’ve been crushing on Joaquín for a while, and you’re pretty sure he feels the same. This is really not how you pictured how undressing for the first time would go. When you don’t immediately respond, he’s quick to add, “Sorry, no need. I’ll just cut them open.”

But you stop him from getting the scissors from the kit by placing your hand on his, and his movements halt instantly, his eyes shooting up to meet yours.

“No, don’t,” you say, quickly retracting your hand. Another wave of heat prickling on your cheeks. “I– I don’t have a change of pants.”

Lifting yourself off the tub with a hiss, you pull down the garment to your knees, and he helps you get them off completely. There’s a slight dust of dark pink on his cheeks and ears, but he tries to mask it with concern and focus at the sight of your wound. Without wasting a second, he starts cleaning it. When he applies the disinfecting spray, you take a sharp breath through your teeth, your whole body tensing at the sting.

“Sorry,” Joaquín mutters, taking out the sterile needle and thread from its packaging. “Ready?”

You nod, and when he pierces through your skin, the pain makes you slump forward slightly, holding onto his shoulder opposite to the stitching hand for support. He works with his brows slightly furrowed, trying his best to get this done as quickly and painless as possible. To distract yourself from the pain, you study his face, the bridge of his nose, the moles sprinkled on his cheeks and chin, the deep chocolate swirls in his eyes. It dawns on you that Joaquín is kneeling in front of you between your legs, and the thoughts that follow make you quickly look away from him, focusing on the generic brand shampoo bottle in the corner instead.

“Done,” he finally announces, cutting the last bit of thread after tying a knot. After putting one final plaster over it, he straightens up a bit, almost rising to your eye level. You let go of his shoulder, intending to hold onto the edge of the tub. However, he gently takes your arm in his hands, inspecting it further for injuries. Then he does the same to your other arm. Finally, he looks around you to check your back. Once he’s satisfied that there are no other big wounds that need his attention, he grabs a clean rag and fully stands up to turn toward the sink. After drenching it and wringing out the extra water, he turns back to you, gingerly holding your face in his hands as he looks down at you, and you can’t help but melt at his touch. He’s handling you with such care, it makes your whole body buzz with warmth, your heart incessantly thumping against your ribcage. 

You close your eyes so he can wipe over them, getting rid of all the dust and dried blood from the little cut on your forehead. Over that one he places a small band-aid, then his hand rests under your chin again to make you look up.

“There, that’s better,” he says with a small smile, and his voice is so soft, so intimate, you fear you might pass out right there. When he drops his hand, you immediately miss his touch.

“What about you?” you ask.

Joaquín looks down at himself, placing his hands on different parts of his body as if to check if they hurt.

“I got out unscathed, I think,” he says, and you rise a brow at him. You lean forward slightly and snake your arm around him to softly poke him in the back, and he flinches with an ‘ouch!’

“Unscathed, my ass. You got shot,” you remark, remembering all too well how a stray bullet had found him. Luckily, you were both wearing your bulletproof gear. 

Your eyes widen slightly as Joaquín grabs the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head and taking it off. You try no to stare too obviously. Really, you try. But then he turns around to look at himself in the mirror, and you spot the dark bruise already forming on his back where the bullet had impacted. Before you can help yourself, your hand reaches out, your fingertips softly tracing over the purplish skin. His eyes meet yours through the mirror.

“Well, my professional medical diagnosis is that you don’t need stitches for that,” you say, and he huffs a laugh. You’re not sure what it is, if it’s the twinkle in Joaquín’s eyes or the amount of exposed skin or the fact that either of you could have died today, but a burst of confidence bubbles up within you, and you intend to take advantage of it. “But you know what they say the best medicine is,” you add as you lean forward, then place a soft kiss to the bruise. You hear him gasp in surprise.

As you lean back again, you don’t dare look at him. Surely by now your whole face is on fire. Your whole body certainly is. In fact, you almost can’t feel your wounds or the ache in your bones, your whole focus on the man in front of you.

For a moment, Joaquín doesn’t move, and the warmth you felt earlier quickly dissipates, replaced by a cold panic that spreads from your gut into your limbs. You’ve overstepped. You’ve ruined everything. He never liked you back, it was all in your head. Your mind reels as you try to find the words to apologise for your actions. But before you can think of anything, he slowly comes back down to his knees in front of you, the deepest and most adorable blush you’ve seen on him yet adorning his cheeks and ears, all the way down to his collarbones. 

“Best medicine, you say,” he repeats your words, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes shyly find their way to yours. “I think I could use some more of that.”

Your heartbeat echoes in your ears at his words. The implication sends a flutter through your gut that spreads into your whole body.

“Where?” you ask, breathless.

Joaquín points to a cut on his shoulder, his eyes never leaving yours, and you lean in again, your lips ghosting over the spot. Then he points to a scratch on his arm, and you place another featherlight kiss. This goes on for a while, where he wordlessly points to different parts of his body, his chest, his arms, and you kiss it better.

Then one of his hands finds your good leg, staying on the outside of your thigh, and you think you’ll combust on the spot. His skin coming in contact with yours sends a series of sparks through your nerves and up your spine, eliciting a small gasp from you. 

“Here,” he whispers, his free hand pointing to his throat, right next to his Adam’s apple. Your own hands come up, a bit shaky, and hold his face as you leave a trail of small kisses from where he pointed, all the way up to his cheekbone. He lets out a shuddering breath, looking at you through half lidded eyes when you pull back. 

“Anywhere else?” you ask, but you can’t even finish your question as his lips finally come crashing onto yours, and once the initial surprise is gone, you tilt your head and sigh into the kiss. His lips move with urgency against yours, the hand on your leg sliding to your waist and pulling you to him, the other cradling the back of your head. You reciprocate as best as you can, given you feel like you’ve entirely lost control of your body. When he breaks for air, both of you panting heavily, it's his turn to leave a trail of kisses on your throat.

“The good thing about this medicine,” you say between breaths as he leaves wet kisses on your pulse point. “Is that it works both ways.”

Joaquín snorts, stopping what he’s doing to pull back and look up at you.

“Yeah?” he says, slightly out of breath, then his gaze darkens a bit. “I can think of another… treatment, too. To make you feel better.” Your heart skips several beats at his words.

“Well, it might be a while until we can see a proper doctor,” you say as you softly rake your fingers through his hair, and he hums at the sensation. “Might as well take every precaution.”

Joaquín gets back up to his feet, carefully picking you up under your legs and around your back from the tub, and you hold onto his shoulders. As he brings you to the bedroom, you don’t even look back at the mess you left in the bathroom, completely lost in his eyes. You’ll take care of that tomorrow.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

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[triptuckers]

“You still make my heart race.” shut up shut up shut up

The Aftermath

summary: reader visits Joaquín at the hospital as he wakes up from surgery.

relationship: Joaquín Torres x gn!reader

warnings: established relationship, spoilers for captain america: brave new world, mention and description of injuries and medical procedures, mention of accident and explosions, brief mentions of PTSD from events in Infinity War/Endgame, self-doubts and guilt

word count: 2.2k

A/N: i started writing this the moment i came home from watching BNW. can't believe it took me this long to write for him,, he's been rotating in my mind ever since tfantws <3 we really need more fics for joaquín, he’s so blorbo coded like cmon!! 🥹🥹 if you have any recs pls send them my way!

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(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Sitting by Joaquín’s hospital bed, you bring your hands to your face as you remember his accident on the Indian Ocean. You had watched the broadcast in horror, your heart in your throat as his figure fell from the sky into the open water. 

At that moment, you couldn’t help but remember the video from all those years ago, where you saw how Rhodey had fallen as well, like a rock, everyone watching, unable to do anything to stop him. Just like War Machine, Joaquín had turned uncontrollably on his descent, one of his wings ripped from the suit by the missile exploding right in his face.

You’ve been in the Avengers’ orbit since a little before the battle against Thanos on Wakanda, where you had also fought with everyone, but then got blipped. The transition back to society with a gap of 5 years had been very hard on you, and while you stayed in contact with everyone who remained, helping out whenever you could, you didn’t really have it in you to go back out to the battlefield. Even after all this time, you still have nightmares about the snap and the Battle for Earth. 

Bringing your hands back into your lap, you let out a trembling breath, clinging onto the constant soft beeping of the machinery to tether yourself to reality and not fall down a spiral of despair. Every time your eyes roam over Joaquín’s injuries, you close your eyes, pressing the base of your hands over them, then open them again. Your sight is momentarily sprinkled with dots, and as it clears, you hope for everything to have been a horrible nightmare. But once your view clears up, he’s still there. Unconscious. Hurt.

The surgery he’d been in last night had felt like it was never going to end. Still, you had stayed the whole time, and once he got out, you stayed at his side. 

It’s been several hours since Joaquín got wheeled into his room, the head medic saying he was still unconscious but stable. You shift in the armchair by the bed where you sit. One of the nurses brought you something to eat earlier since you refused to leave, the wrapper of your sandwich still in your hands as your eyes start feeling heavier and heavier, and you can’t find it in yourself to fight the welcome embrace of sleep, slowly spreading through your limbs. You’ve almost completely dozed off when you hear a groan, and immediately your grogginess dissipates. You straighten up in your seat, the wrapper falling to the floor as you scoot closer to the bed, tears stinging behind your eyes. How you still have tears left, you have no idea, given how much you’ve cried in the past hours, terrified of losing the love of your life. 

Joaquín blinks several times, scrunching his face, eyes trying to adapt to the light. He lifts his good arm, looking at the tubes attached to it, and his gaze roams the room and down his body, face contorting in pain lightly. Then his eyes land on you, and his face immediately softens.

“Hey, there,” he croaks out. 

“You’re awake,” you whisper, holding his hand in your trembling ones. “I was scared you wouldn’t.”

“Pfft, it’ll take more than a meagre explosion to defeat the Falcon,” he retorts with a pained smile.

Normally you’d laugh at his jokes, enjoying his silly side, but right now you have no humour left in you. Another wave of tears rolls down your cheeks, and his smile vanishes.

“Please don’t joke about that,” you plead, giving his hand a squeeze. “You were hit by a freaking missile. From a fighter jet. While up in the air between two armies about to start a war with each other.”

“Well, if you put it like that…” He sighs. 

There’s a moment of silence where you again study his bruised face, your gaze landing on the massive burn covering his whole shoulder, streaks of red raw skin visible on his jaw and throat. Your brows furrow in frustration.

“I should have been there,” you mumble, angry at yourself for letting this happen.

“What?” he asks, craning his neck to fully look at you.

“I should have gone with you,” you say, bringing your eyes to look up at him. “Then I could have helped and you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

Joaquín exhales through his nose in disbelief.

“We were in the air, and I went head to head with the missile even after Sam told me to back off,” he retorts, shaking his head. “There was nothing you could have done.”

His tone isn’t scolding; he’s telling the truth and you know it. Still, you can’t help but feel like the outcome could have been different, if you had just been better, braver. You try to choke back a sob, unsuccessful, and his hold tightens around your hand.

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” He speaks your name softly. “This isn’t on you. Please don’t cry.”

You grimace, biting the inside of your cheek.

“For a moment I thought you died, Joaquín. I was so scared,” you say with a shaky breath, bringing his hand to your face, and he cups your cheek. You place your hand over his, holding onto it and leaning into his touch like it was the last time you could hold him like this.

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

Your heart shatters at the thought that even after getting hurt, after getting blown up, he’s the one apologising to you. He’s about to add something when the door opens and a nurse comes in. You back off a bit and hastily wipe your face with the back of your sleeves as she does some check-ups, both on Joaquín and the machines, taking some notes on her clipboard. She then takes one of the tubes attached to his arm, and places a syringe at the other end.

“What’s that?” you ask, suspicious. She gives you a quick look with a raised brow, but when she sees the state you’re in, her face relaxes again.

“Painkillers and antibiotics. He’ll need both of them,” she explains.

It doesn’t take long for the fluids to reach Joaquín’s blood system, and he visibly relaxes against the pillows and closes his eyes.

“Oh, hell yeah. That’s the good stuff,” he sighs, and the nurse chuckles softly. You still can’t get yourself to let go of your worry. Once she’s done with everything, she leaves the way she came, exiting the room. As the door closes behind her, your eyes land on the wrapper on the floor, and you pick it up with a sniffle, crumpling it up further.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Can I get you anything?” you ask as you throw the trash into the bin from where you sit, to your surprise making the shot. He doesn't answer, eyes still closed.

“Joaquín?” you ask softly, not wanting to wake him in case he fell asleep again.

“Huh? Wha?” His eyes open and he turns to look at you, his face visibly relaxed now.

“You okay?” You take his hand again, and he gives you a squeeze.

“Hmm-mm,” he hums with a nod, blinking slowly as he tries to focus on your face. “I just think I’m… kinda high right now.”

That’s when you finally break, unable to hold back an endeared chuckle, shaking your head. Joaquín’s eyes are filled with warmth and then concern as they land on your face, brows furrowing as if he just noticed something. His hand comes up to wipe away the remaining streak of tears. He also playfully pinches your cheek for good measure, eliciting another smile of yours.

“That’s better,” he concludes, a smile spreading on his face as well. The smile that could light up any room he’s in, in your humble opinion. 

You prop your elbow onto the edge of the bed, head in your hands as you look at him, and he looks back at you with a silly grin. The beeps on the machine speed up a bit, and you look up at the screen, then back at him with a brow raised in amusement.

“Usually you can’t tell because I’m smooth as hell, but it’s true,” he notes, like a huge secret was just uncovered. “You still make my heart race.”

Heat prickles on your cheeks at his words and you avert your gaze with a snort. As long as your heart is still beating, you think, remembering that they had to resuscitate him after the accident, but you shake those thoughts away, preferring to focus on the fact that he’s still here, alive.

“I know that the moment you’re back on your feet, you’ll be out there again, suited up,” you start after a moment, shooting him a serious look. “So I won’t ask you to stop. But promise me to be more careful next time?”

“Pinky promise.” Joaquín lifts his hand, fingers curled except for his pinky, and you can’t help but chuckle as you mirror his gesture, curling your finger around his. He shakes your hand like that side to side for a bit, then drops it back down onto the bed. A strand of hair falls into his face as he leans back, and you brush it back, caressing over his bruised cheekbone gingerly. 

“When was the last time you slept?” he asks suddenly.

“Hmm.” You look at the timestamp on the muted TV in the corner, currently playing some movie or other. It’s only then that you realise you’ve been intermittently awake for almost two full days now. “Can’t really remember,” you lie.

“You need to rest. You look exhausted,” he remarks, gesturing to himself. “I’m taken care of.”

“No, I’m not leaving you,” you say, putting as much finality into your voice as you can in your state.

He says your name softly. You look away. He sighs.

“Well, if you insist on staying, then at least I can get pampered a bit, yeah?” he starts, and you narrow your eyes at him in feigned suspicion. He asks with a playful pout, “You know what would make me feel better?”

“Hmm?” 

Joaquín turns his head, offering you his cheek. You can’t help but laugh. 

“I thought you were high on painkillers already?”

“Even the best medicine holds nothing against your kisses.”

“Pfft, is that so.” Now it’s your heart’s turn to speed up. You two have been together for a while now, but he still makes you feel warm and fuzzy, and gives you butterflies in your stomach, when he isn’t on the brink of death, at least. “Well, in that case, I better get started on your dose.”

You lean forward, placing a kiss on his cheek, and he hums pleasedly. He doesn’t move, though, clearly waiting for more. You’re more than happy to oblige, placing kiss after kiss on his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, being especially careful around his injuries. Finally, you hold his chin to turn his face towards you, and kiss the corner of his mouth, then his lips. It's chaste but sweet, and he smiles into it. When you lean back, his eyes are filled with love, slightly unfocused because of the meds, a goofy grin on his face. As you hold his face, you consider saying something cheesy, hoping he won’t remember it. But before you can speak, there’s a knock at the door, and someone steps in. It’s Sam. He looks surprised to see you.  

“Damn, you’re still here?” he asks with concern, then turns to Joaquín. “How’re you feeling?”

“Splendid, really,” he replies, leaning into your hand still cupping his face.

“He got a decent shot of painkillers,” you explain, looking up at Sam with a tired smile. “He’s high as a kite.”

Sam chuckles, then looks at you worriedly. 

“You need to rest. Both of you.” He places a hand on your shoulder. “Go home, I’ll take it from here.”

You hesitate, looking between the two, and Joaquín nods, his eyes pleading for you to also take care of yourself. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Joaquín says, taking your hand from his face and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be here when you come back.”

“Right,” you sigh and rise to your feet with wobbly legs now that the exhaustion is finally kicking in full force, and Sam holds you up when your knees threaten to give in. 

“Whoa there. You need a nap, ASAP.” 

“Yeah, yeah I do,” you say with a sigh, steadying yourself as he lets you go, his hands still hovering over your arms for a moment in case he has to grab you again, but you manage to stand straight. You grab your jacket from the back of the chair, and turn to Joaquín. “I’ll come back this evening, okay? I’ll bring your favourite snacks too. Don’t tell the nurse, though.” You wink at him with a knowing smile.

“You’re the best.”

“No, you are.” You lean over him to kiss him goodbye, whispering ‘I love you’ against his lips, and pecking him once more for good measure. The machine’s beeps speed up again.

“Love you too. See you later.” Joaquín brings his hand up to caress over your cheek one last time, then you leave the room.

Sam is still standing there, hands in his pockets, looking down at his friend as the beeps slowly start decreasing back to normal.

“Very cute,” he remarks, unable to bite back a teasing smile. 

“Don’t even,” Joaquín says and rolls his eyes playfully, knowing perfectly well that Sam will never let him live that down.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

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[triptuckers]

getting groceries - rooster

Request: nope Pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader Summary: rooster wants to spend as much time as possible with you, even if it's just joining you as you get groceries Warnings: swearing?? this is tooth rotting fluff Word count: 2.2K A/N: have I got a major deadline next week that I should work on? yes. what better time to get back into writing for rooster ;) enjoy!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

you're in the kitchen, pulling open cabinets to see what you need to buy. a song is playing from your phone, and you're softly singing along to it. it was a song rooster had recommended. just as it gets to your favorite part, the music stops.

you frown, looking over your shoulder at your phone to see why the music stopped. rooster's name is on the screen - along with some horrible photo phoenix took of him years ago.

reaching over, you answer his call and put it on speaker.

'hi baby.' you say.

'hey sweetheart.' says rooster.

after all this time, that nickname still made your stomach flip. from the moment you'd first met rooster, you were his and he was yours.

sometimes it was difficult, given that you're both pilots. but the two of you always made it work. it was always worth it when one of you got back.

'can I come over?' says rooster.

you chuckle and check your watch. 'you left my place like two hours ago.'

'I know. but I've got all those meetings tomorrow and I won't have any time to see you then.'

'thought you went back to your place to prepare for those meetings. didn't you say they're important?'

'they are. but so are you. please, can I come over?'

you sigh, but there's a smile on your face. rooster never admitted he could get really clingy, but you know the truth.

'I'm about to go and get groceries.' you say.

'can I come?' asks rooster.

you laugh at his words. 'you want to get groceries with me?'

'I'd love to buy groceries with you.' says rooster.

'alright. but don't take too long to get here, I won't have you fuck up my planning today.'

'yes ma'am. see you soon.'

the song continues playing as rooster hangs up. you finish going through your cabinets, writing down the things you need. as you pull open the fridge, the doorbell rings.

you walk over to the front door and open it, revealing rooster. he looks at you and gives you one of his beautiful smiles as he winks at you.

'hi.' you say.

'hey.' say rooster, leaning down to kiss your cheek. 'you ready to go?'

'almost.'

you head back inside and to the fridge, scanning for any missing products or things you're almost out of.

rooster watches as you move around your kitchen, humming along a song. thinking he recognises the song, he walks over to your phone to check the name.

when he sees the familiar album cover art, he smiles.

'what?' you say, when you catch him looking at you.

'I sent you this song.' he says.

'yes?'

'you listen to it?'

'yes, I like it. I take all of your recommendations seriously.'

rooster grins as he walks over to you and pulls you in for a long kiss.

'have I told you that I'm like, really crazy about you?' he says, pulling back but remaining as close as possible to you. his hands are on your hips as he looks at you.

you smile up at him. 'you've only told me that about four times every hour since we've met.' you say. 'let's get out of here. should we take your car or mine?'

rooster makes an offended noise as you untangle yourself from his arms to grab your wallet and phone. you know he loves his car. maybe one day he'd actually let you drive it.

'mine. is that even a question?' he says, following you out the door.

'I was only kidding, my love.' you say.

'sure you were.' says rooster, holding open the passenger's side door for you.

as rooster walks around the car to get to the driver's side, you plug your phone in to resume the song you were listening to. rooster backs out of your driveway as the familiar melody fills the air.

while driving to the store, rooster's hand doesn't leave your thigh as you softly sing along to the music. you look over at rooster, his signature sunglasses sitting on his nose.

he feels your eyes on him, and briefly raises his eyebrow at you before focusing back on the road.

'something on your mind, sweetheart?' he says.

'you.' you say, then scrunch up your nose. 'ew. are we now one of those couples we used to make fun of?'

rooster laughs at your words as he pulls into the parking lot of the supermarket. 'at least we've got an excuse to act like this.' he says.

'how so?' you say, getting out of the car once rooster has parked the car.

'we've got a high risk job. I could die tomorrow, you know.' he says.

'don't fucking say that?' you say.

rooster chuckles at your shocked face, pulling you into a hug and kissing the top of your head.

'I'm serious. I might die of boredom in those meetings.' he says.

you shove him away from you. 'not funny, bradshaw.' you say, heading towards the entrance of the supermarket.

'sweetheart, I was kidding!' says rooster, catching up with you and grabbing your hand.

'yeah, yeah, sure you were. go make yourself useful.' you say, handing him your grocery list. 'get me the pasta, tomato paste and drinks on the list.'

'won't you need it?' he says, taking the paper from you.

'nope.' you say, dumping your bags in a cart and pulling it away from the others. 'I wrote it, I'll remember it. I'll go get the vegetables.'

as you enter the supermarket, rooster heads off into the store.

'rooster!' you say.

he looks over his shoulder at you.

'the pasta with the red label, not the yellow label. that one's gross.' you say.

rooster playfully salutes you, then turns around again. you find yourself softly smiling as you walk towards the vegetable section. you collect all of the things you need, then push your cart to where you think rooster might be.

you find him in the pasta isle, one of his arms holding a number of products to his chest. he's squinting at the different types of pasta in front of him.

you smile and decide to watch him for a while. you see him eventually make his choice and reach out to get a specific bag filled with penne.

as he straightens his back and turns around, he sees you. he lifts the package of pasta as he walks over to you.

'red label, right?' he says.

you nod at him, still smiling.

'I also got the tomato paste, and the drinks you wanted. and I was near the tea isle, so I got the tea on the list as well.' he says, putting all of the items in your cart.

you watch as he makes sure none of the heavy items crush the tomatoes you'd put in there. suddenly you're hit with this feeling of love for the man standing in front of you. doing something like getting groceries with him, it suddenly felt like this is what you're meant to do in life.

'move in with me.' you say.

you feel a blush creeping up from your neck to your cheeks. why the hell did you just say that? where did that come from?

rooster looks at you, his face a mixture of surprise and confusion.

'what did you say?' he says, one of the corners of his mouth lifting in a tiny smile.

'oh my god, forget I said that, I'm so sorry.' you say, wanting to push the cart away, but rooster blocks it with his body.

he leans over the cart, and this man, your incredibly gorgeous boyfriend, fucking smirks at you.

'what did you say, sweetheart?' he innocently asks you.

'nothing.' you say.

'sounded like you want me to move in with you.' says rooster. 'do you like doing groceries with me?'

'whatever.' you try to brush it off. you hadn't even been dating that long. why would he already want to move in with you?

'hmm, yeah. whatever.' says rooster, a playful twinkle in his eyes. 'let me get the rest of our groceries on the list.'

'rooster-'

'this way, sweetheart.'

you take a second to let your head fall in your hands before following him. how the hell did that slip out? you'd never really seriously thought about moving in together before. but driving to the supermarket, listening to a song you both like, then sending rooster off to get some of the groceries while you did the same. it felt so domestic.

when you had first applied to the navy, you accepted the fact you'd probably never be able to truly settle down. you thought no one would understand the devotion and effort that came with being a navy pilot.

until you met rooster.

rooster, who was every bit as devoted and and loyal to the navy as you were. who understood when you prioritised a work meeting over him. who was there for you and truly knew what you felt when a training had nearly gone wrong.

for the first time in the years that you've been a navy pilot, you allow yourself to imagine a future like that.

spending your days with your partner, getting a house, building a life. with rooster.

you're pulled from your thoughts when rooster waves a hand in front of your eyes, getting your attention.

'what's going on in that pretty head of yours?' he says, as he places the last item on your list in the cart.

'nothing.' you say quickly.

too quick.

rooster narrows his eyes on you. 'I think.' he says, stepping closer to you. 'someone is still caught up about that question.'

'I just-'

'relax, sweetheart. I'm only teasing. now let's get our groceries to checkout, yeah?'

there's that word again. ours.

rooster takes the cart from your hands and starts walking to the checkout area.

you're still caught up in your head about it all as you pay for the groceries. roosters walks to his car, then lifts your bags from the cart and places them inside.

'can you take the cart back?' he asks you.

'sure.' you say, grabbing the cart and walking back to the entrance of the store.

just as you want to walk back to the car after putting the cart back, rooster's ford stops right next to you. he smiles as you get in the car, as if doing groceries with you was a weekly routine you'd settled into. you'd take the cart back, he'd get the car.

on the way home, you're listening to the music and not saying much. rooster's hand is on your thigh again. warm and familiar. when he pulls up to your place, you've made up your mind.

rooster takes the groceries out of his car while you open the door. you hold it open for him as he walks inside and heads towards the kitchen.

you walk past him, briefly putting your hand on his waist as he's unpacking the bags. you open a drawer in the kitchen. it's filled with old mail, bottle caps, screws, things you meant to fix but never did. you rummage around in it until you find what you're looking for.

rooster looks at you as you approach him.

'I've got something for you.' you say.

he raises his eyebrow in amusement. 'how thoughtful of you to tip your driver.' he says.

you laugh softly, then tell him to close his eyes. rooster frowns, but does as you say.

you take his hand and put something in it, then close it.

'you can look.' you say.

rooster opens his eyes, then looks down at his hand.

'sweetheart.' he says softly. 'is this..?'

he holds up a key while looking at you.

you smile at him, then shrug. 'guess I really do love doing groceries with you.' you say.

before you can explain it any further, the key clatters to the floor. rooster's hands are on your waist as he kisses you hard. you laugh against his lips as one of your hands lands on the kitchen counter to steady the two of you.

rooster continues to kiss you, and the laughter dies on your lips. dear god, he's kissing you like he's going on a mission and knows he won't make it back. it's messy and passionate and full of love.

when he pulls back, you're breathless.

he rests his forehead against yours, his fingers still digging into your side.

'you really want me to move in with you?' he says.

'yeah. we'll need to figure out how-'

you're cut off as rooster suddenly lifts you. instinctively you lock your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

'where are you taking me?' you ask as rooster walks out of the kitchen. 'some of those groceries need to go in the fridge!'

'they can wait.' says rooster, pressing a kiss to the part of your neck he knows makes you lose your mind. 'I'm taking you to our bedroom.'

you can't help but to smile at his words.

'our bedroom?' you say.

rooster presses another kiss to your lips. 'yes, sweetheart, it's my bedroom as well now.'

A/N: thanks for reading! everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. please do not copy, translate, plagiarise or repost my work! some of these are requested by other people and I spend a lot of time and effort on my works <3 much love, marit

[triptuckers]

green looks good on you, babe.

Jake 'hangman' seresin x f!reader

summary: the new bartender at the hard deck is a little too friendly with hangman.

t/w: some cursing, I pictured a female reader as I wrote, but I think that it can be read gn. some allusions to smut. 18+ to be safe!

you step out the restroom at the hard deck, running your wet hands along the bottoms of your shorts. you'd have to remember to let penny know about the lack of paper towels.

scanning the bar, your gaze lands on your boyfriend. his elbows are propped on the bar, and he's wearing his signature smirk. the new bartender says something to him, her eyes full of mischief. he doesn't give her the satisfaction she's looking for. her shoulders slump at whatever he tells her.

your stomach churns with something unfamiliar--no, its just been a while since you've felt this emotion.

you're jealous.

god, Jake is going to eat this up.

Jake runs a hand through his hair, looking over his shoulder for something. or, someone.

when his green eyes land on yours, his right one drops into a slow wink. when he turns back towards the bar, the bartender is there with a fresh drink. he takes it from her, and she makes a big show of touching his hand. she winks at him.

that does it. not being able to take watching this girl shamelessly flirt with your boyfriend, you saunter over.

as you approach, Jake's eyes trail your body, sending a surge of chills through you. you slide next to him, throwing your arm around his neck. taking the glass from his hand, you throw back the remaining whiskey. he never takes his eyes off you.

you slam the glass down on the bar, then pull him in for a kiss. Jake's hands slide around your waist, where he squeezes once. this squeeze tells you he knows exactly what you're doing.

when you pull back, Jake spins you around to pull you into his lap. catching the bartender's eyes, you give her the same smirk she tried to give Jake.

if looks could kill, you'd be dead.

she turns from the two of you to take an order from another patron.

Jake buries his face into your neck and places a few kisses there. he drags his nose along the side of your neck, bringing his mouth to your ear. "green looks good on you, babe."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Jake's chuckle tickles your ear. you grind against his crotch. this shuts his smugness right up.

"hey, hey, hey. I didn't say I didn't like it," he murmurs into your ear again. his hand comes up to your jaw, and he turns you to him. those green eyes look right to your soul. "I like when you get possessive."

he looks down to your lips, his eyes slowly rise up to your eyes. Jake's surefire sign of wanting to kiss you. the hand on your jaw reaches around to tangle in your hair.

"you know I only have eyes for you, darlin'," he says against your lips. you completely melt in his arms, right there at the bar. a giddy laugh escapes your mouth as he kisses you.

"somethin' funny?" he asks, pulling back, a smirk on his mouth. you throw your arms around his neck and pull him in for a hug.

"you just make me so happy," you say lamely. no matter how eloquent you try to word your feelings for this man, you can't. he answers you with a kiss.

"hey! if you two are about to take one another on one of my stools, I will kindly ask that you don't." penny materializes in front of you. "you're freaking my bartenders out." the bartender who flirted with Jake met you with the same smirk you gave her.

before the gasp escapes your mouth, Jake stands the both of you up. he throws a wad of cash down and tips his chin to penny.

"see you next time, penny-dear," he tells her, and leads you out the bar.

"what a bitch!" you shriek as your body crosses the threshold. the bartender of course, not penny. never penny.

"calm down, killer," Jake says, pulling you into him. "let's get you home."

Jake pulls his keys from his pocket. inserting the key into his old truck, he jerks his hand to the right. he moves to open the door for you then stops. he grabs you by the waist and presses you against the door.

one hand stays on your waist while the other braces himself against the car. he moves closer to you, completely engulfing you into him. the kiss he gives you completely wipes your memory of everything having to do with that girl.

he pulls your bottom half against him. he wants you to feel how hard he is for you. a gasp escapes your lips, and he answers it with a smirk.

"now what else do I have to do?" his chest heaves, completely breathless.

"take me home, hangman," you tell him. he pulls your from the door, and practically tosses you into the passenger seat.

a/n: I am out of school for the summer! y'all know what that means! more fics! I want to keep writing to top gun maverick, but criminal minds isn't off the table, and I did recently see thunderbolts, so I am in my marvel era again. we'll see what the summer brings!

masterlist

[triptuckers]

hangman's girl

Jake Seresin x f!reader

to you, nothing is hotter than seeing your boyfriend jealous. 

short little oneshot!

t/w: jealousy, alluded sex 

���Bryan,” the guy next to you at the bar shoots out a hand. 

“Y/N,” you respond, trying to keep your grin at bay.

Bryan had been trying so hard to figure out what you were drinking in order to buy you another one. Penny kept a hard smile on her face as she watched the two of you. Her raised brow said, “I hope you know what you’re doing.” 

You did. You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew your boyfriend was watching from the sidelines. Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was a complete asshole, and totally gone for you. 

Nothing made your stomach flip more than seeing him get all riled up with jealousy.

Bryan was able to get you to participate into some small talk. He was a computer engineer on base, and totally looked the part. Cute face beneath thick framed glasses, curly brown hair sat atop his head. 

He had nothing on your boyfriend, though. 

As you start to wonder when Jake was going to make an appearance, you feel his hand press into the small of your back. 

“It’s taken quite a while for your refill, baby,” he says, laying on the pet name. His eyes flick up to Bryan. “Jake.”

His famous smirk appears on his face as he adds, “Her boyfriend.” 

Bryan returns the handshake and murmurs something before sliding off the barstool. Within seconds, he’s hidden in the crowd. 

Jake spins you toward him and steps in between your legs. Grabbing your face in his hands, he gives you a kiss, almost too deep for public. 

“You’ll pay for that later,” he whispers in your ear. Leaving you completely flustered, you watch your boyfriend saunter back to your friends. 

[triptuckers]

unfamiliar - rooster

Request: nope Pairing:  bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader Summary:  after a night out rooster wakes up in an unfamiliar place Warnings:  mentions of alcohol, swearing, rooster is drunk, mentions of being hungover, mentions of sex Word count:  1.9k A/N: rooster would 100% be a chatty drunk. fight me on this. anyways I rewatched top gun again and had this one sitting in the drafts. bit of editing, blasting my rooster playlist, and voila! enjoy!

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penny holds the door open as you stumble through. the cool evening air outside is welcoming after the crowded bar. you look over your shoulder to thank penny.

'drive safely.' she says.

'will do.' you say.

you make your way over to the small parking lot. it takes way longer than it normally would. the reason why, is because rooster is leaning almost his full body weight on you and he's a great deal taller than you.

as you're searching for his car, he's talking your ear off. half of the time he's talking so fast you can't even understand him. he's talking about a number of things, switching topics so fast you conclude he's just thinking out loud. maybe that's what alcohol does to him. it's been a while since you'd seen him this drunk. then again, nothing got him as riled up as hangman daring him to do a drinking contest. hangman was still in there, but you'd decided it was time rooster went home.

just as rooster starts to become a little too heavy for you, you spot his familiar ford in the distance.

'thank fucking god.' you mutter.

you start to make your way over to it, careful not to let rooster face-plant on the floor. when you get to the car, you remove his arm from your shoulders and lean him against the car.

'where are your keys, rooster?' you ask.

rooster gives you a lopsided, drunken smile. 'wouldn't you like to know?' he says.

'yes, in fact, I would like to know.' you say, getting slightly annoyed at him. you think about how long it's going to take to get him home. especially since the trip from the bar to the parking lot took so long already. 'I would like to know so I can get you home.' you say.

'my pocket.' says rooster.

you look at him, waiting for him to get them out. when he doesn't, you groan.

'for fuck's sake, rooster.' you say, approaching him to get the keys out yourself.

'woah there, slow down, honey.' says rooster as you reach in one of his jean pockets to get the keys. 'take me out on a date first.'

'just getting the keys.' you say. 'can you get in the car yourself?'

'yes ma'am.' says rooster, playfully saluting you.

you roll your eyes but fight back a smile. all of this takes you back to a couple of years ago, when you and rooster had just started at top gun. the two of you had quickly become good friends. you were both excellent pilots, which is why you weren't surprised to see him when you got called back to top gun to train for a mission.

meanwhile, rooster is getting in the car. or rather, trying to. he's opened the door to the driver's side and getting in with a lot of knocking his elbows and head against the car, cursing loudly as he does so.

you reach out to grab the back of his shirt and pull him back. when he gives you a confused look, you point to the other side of the car.

'the passenger's side, idiot.' you say.

'this is the passenger's side.' says rooster.

you chuckle. 'in england it would be, but we're still in the u.s. other side.' you say.

rooster gives you a very confused look, turns to the car, back to you, and then walks around the car to get in the passenger's side.

'this night is gonna be even longer than I thought.' you mutter softly.

you get in as well and start the engine. rooster is very particular about his car, and would never let anyone else drive it. but you know he'd be even more annoyed if you left his car in a bar parking lot for an entire night. after making sure rooster fastened his seatbelt, you back out of the parking spot and get onto the road.

'I don't know where you're staying 'cause you don't live here anymore, so you'll need to give me directions.' you say. 'you think you can do that?'

'yeah.' says rooster confidently.

nope.

he's too drunk to remember the way to his place. while you're driving, he's giving instructions, and you're following them. but after a while, you begin to realise he's not giving you directions at all. he's just randomly shouting out for you to go left or right.

as you stop at what feels like the hundredth red light, you turn to look at rooster. his eyes are halfway closed and he's tapping his fingers on his leg in a rhythm.

'never thought I would end up in this situation.' you mumble as you take a left when the light turns green.

rooster is still giving you random directions. he doesn't seem to notice you're not following them. finally, you pull up to your house.

'alright, here we are.' you say.

you get out of the car and walk over to the passenger's side. inside, rooster is softly singing a song. you smile and open the door.

'let's go.' you say.

you all but haul him out of the car. rooster leans all of his body weight on you again as you walk to the door. your nostrils fill with a mixture of alcohol, sweat, and rooster's cologne.

you make sure rooster doesn't trip over his own feet as you walk the few steps up to the door. it takes you a while to unlock it, but you're finally inside.

you try to walk to your bedroom without knocking over too many things. when you lay rooster down, it doesn't take him more than 30 seconds to fall asleep.

you smile softly and bend down to pull off his shoes. you wrestle the blanket out from under him and pull it over him. after grabbing a pillow and a blanket for yourself, you move to the living room to sleep on the couch.

it was a fun evening, despite having to drag rooster the entire way home. you were excited to start training for this mission. while you reunited with some other friends a well, you had been the most happy about seeing rooster again. you hadn't seen him for a while, and you were glad to see nothing had changed between the two of you since you both left top gun.

you knew you were in for some exciting flying, and lots of jokes during training.

when rooster wakes up the next morning, his head feels way too heavy. he squeezes his eyes shut and buries his head in his pillow, wanting to sleep a little longer.

but as he inhales deeply, he smells a familiar perfume. and it's not his. he lifts his head slightly, wincing at the movement.

he did not own soft, orange coloured sheets. as he looks over to his nightstand, he sees a digital alarm clock. when did he get that? behind it is a collection of perfume bottles, sunscreen, and a couple of books stacked on top of each other. rooster rarely read a book.

trying to ignore the ways his head throbs, he pushes himself up on his elbows, taking in the room. his eyes roam over the closet - much bigger than his. he sees pictures on the wall, of people he doesn't know. there are some with him in it, though. on all of them, he's standing next to a familiar girl.

his heart skips a beat when he realises exactly where he is. your bedroom. how the hell did he get here? more pressing: what did he do after he got here?

rooster sits up and swing his legs over the side of your bed. he notices his shoes neatly placed next to the bed. after putting them on, he slowly rises to stand and walks over to the door.

when he opens it, a beam of sunlight directly hits his eyes.

'ah, fuck.' he curses as he shuts his eyes.

'good afternoon to you as well.'

rooster peels open one eye to see you sitting at your kitchen table, a steaming mug in front of you.

'hi.' he says.

'I've got coffee or water, and a couple of painkillers.' you say, pointing to the kitchen counter.

'thanks.' says rooster.

he takes the painkillers, chugs the glass of water, then pours himself a cup of coffee. he takes a quick look around the room as he walks over to the table.

there's a folded up blanket on the couch, as well as a pillow. you've got your hair undone, not pulled back in a bun as is regulation. you're wearing an old top gun shirt, and you've got one knee pulled up to your chest wedged between the table and yourself.

rooster thinks you look so at ease here.

he remembers he's in your home. of course you'd be at ease here. it's been too long since he's been here. some things have changed, some haven't. the photo taken at the end of your time at top gun is still up on the wall behind the couch.

'can I ask you something?' says rooster, fixing his attention back on you.

'of course.' you say.

'how did I get here?' he asks.

to his surprise, you snort softly as you take a sip of your coffee.

'I had to drag your ass over here. you know, you're heavy.' you say.

rooster raises an eyebrow, gesturing for you to go on.

'hangman dared you to a drinking competition. you lost. I had to bring you home, but you couldn't remember where you're staying. so I took you here.' you explain.

'a drinking competition, huh?'

'figured i'd let you sleep it off.'

'thanks.'

'no problem.'

rooster is quiet as he thinks, trying to remember anything about last night. he remembers drinking at penny's. playing pool. or darts? then waking up here. in your bed.

but you weren't next to him. by the looks of it, you slept on the couch. he mentally scolds himself for letting you sleep on the couch in your own home.

'can I ask something else?' he says.

you nod at him.

'last night, did we...?'

he let's the question hang in the air, but you know what he means.

'what? have sex? rooster, I would never take advantage of you like that. you were shit-faced drunk. I got you inside, and you started snoring the second your head hit the pillow.' you say.

'I don't snore.' says rooster, his ears turning red.

'oh, you definitely do.' you say.

'I don't. and thanks.' says rooster. 'for letting me crash at your place.'

'of course. you'd do the same for me.' you say. 'now finish your coffee and get up, you're driving me back to the bar so I can pick up my car.'

rooster frowns. 'you took my car?' he says.

'yeah, yeah, I know, I drove your precious car. don't worry, it's fine.' you say.

'she better be.'

you roll your eyes at his words. 'what is it with men and naming their cars? they're always in love with them as well.'

'I'm not in love with my car.' says rooster.

'sure you aren't.' you say over your shoulder as you head into the kitchen to put your empty mug away.

no, rooster is not in love with his car. but his eyes follow you until you're out of sight, and a part of him hopes some of you perfume might linger on him for a little while longer.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit