15/08/2022: HERE WE GO AGAIN!!!! I’m Going Crazy Over This Story, Your Writing Flows So Easily To Me

14/08/2022: MISS LURKYMURKER!!!!!!!! there is no way this isn’t a dream!!!! euro tripe rafe is back on this stupid little app and I AM BEAMING!!!! you are one of my favorite authors of all time and i will follow you to the grave. i read euro trip and then college trip and then managed to just drown in all your work at the beginning of this year (i used to be too shy to get off anon but i’ve been here for a while) and the thing is: i don’t even like rafe 😭😭😭 i came across your blog because i saw another author i really liked saying incredible things about you and just had to give your rafe a chance. AND I AM SO GLAD I DID!!! the way you write him in your universes is just so lovely i couldn’t help but fall in love???? all thanks to your beautiful brain and writing (i’ll be a mess when s3 comes out and euro trip rafe just isn’t there on my screen. life is so unfair.) ANYWAYS!!! all of this to say, i breathe and live for euro trip, the story has a very special place in my heart and SEEING YOU WRITE FOR THEM AGAIN- AM I DREAMING? i’m just crazy happy. here’s me just, idk even know… crying over them??? a super classy review (me when i lie) of this beautiful little nugget you decided to bless us with!!!

“Because you’d meant it. You’d asked him how he was, and you’d wanted to know he’d be okay. Rafe didn’t know whether he deserved that. He didn’t know whether he ever would.

And so, he’d run away.” sometimes i forget how insecure he’s always been :((((

“Rafe swallows. His mind fails to stray from the first voice he heard; the heart-squeezing pressure it places on his chest.” THE HEART-SQUEEZING PRESSURE IT PLACES ON HIS CHEST. dude!!!!! your writing!!!!! i visualize and i feel everything!!!!! how do you do this idk but WOW.

“The way his name falls from your lips is a sharp knife to his chest. And then you ask, “How are you?” and it plunges, twists, cuts deeper.” she’s being so kind and it just makes him hurt a little more my heart can’t survive this.

“Some space from Rafe should come as a welcome relief.

Except that it doesn’t.

All it tells you is that he isn’t himself, at a moment; a large part of him is hurting, and a small part of you wants to fix that.” THE FACT THAT THIS PRE EURO TRIP!!!!! THEY WERE JUST BABIES, THEIR FEELINGS WERE STILL SO VERY MESSY AND CONFUSING I LOVE THEM!!! SHE WANTS TO FIX IT ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️

and then he bumps her chin!!!!! because of course physical touch is rafe’s thing, i missed him so much!!!!

“you pause, you trail off, you soften your expression and watch Rafe’s falter,” i love the way they are not exactly mirroring each other but it’s more of a action-reaction kind of thing, you know? soulmates since forever!!!!!

“And perhaps that’s why this hurts so much; why the comfort of your presence is crushing pressure to his chest. Because letting himself yearn for you — want you, hope to have you, one day — means letting himself love, feel love, feel it all.

Including that which he lost.” i am in so much pain right now.

“Why?” He teases; he’ll break if he answers honestly, he isn’t sure he’ll survive it. Bad, he thinks, I’m doing fucking bad and you’re going to make it worse before you can make it better,” BAD, HE THINKS, I’M DOING FUCKING BAD AND YOU’RE GOING TO MAKE IT WORSE BEFORE YOU CAN MAKE IT BETTER!!!!!!!!!! favorite fucking line!!!!!! just crush my heart.

“He swallows. He tries to find something else to say; something stupid and meaningless that’ll push you away.

He can’t.” of course he can’t!!!!!!!! he’s always been so honest with her!!!! and especially now that he’s so vulnerable, his mom’s death is still so recent… he can’t!!!!!! ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️

“He resists the urge to reach out and brush his fingers over your skin, ensure that you’re real, you’re here, you’re worried about him.” god he’s always been so in love i almost forgot he’s just so drawn to her, like a magnet. i can feel how strong the urge to reach out to her is for him!!!!!!!!! i love the way you write i really do i am in love!!!!!

“You’re here. You were here three months ago, when the wound was still fresh, and it may not be close to healed, yet, but you’ll still be here when it is.” ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

“A friend,” Rafe affirms with a nod. “A friend who I make out with sometimes?”

“And there he is,” Topper says then, throwing an arm over your shoulder as he brings up your rear. “Knew all it’d take was a conversation with you.” A FRIEND WHO I MAKE OUT WITH SOMETIMES QUESTION MARK… I HATE HIM, I HAVE SO MANY BUTTERFLIES ON MY STOMACH RIGHT NOW!!!!!! and really love that we get a little bit of playfulness here because he never lets himself crack open too much!!!! I’M IN LOVE WITH HIM and i love topper’s comment.

“Thank you. Seriously,” his breath is spicy mint, faint raspberry.

“I didn’t do anything,” you answer meekly, folding your arms across your chest. Your forearms brush his as you do so, warm sunshine with rippling muscles.

“You did,” he says, disarmingly sober. “You always do.” these tiny little interactions pre-euro trip make me swoon!!!!!! they kill me from the inside out!!!! it’s all so delicate and intimate and it’s just too much and not enough and it’s everything!!!!! SHE DOESN’T EVEN REALIZE HOW IMPORTANT SHE IS TO HIM!!!!! JUST HER PRESENCE WAS ENOUGH!!!!!!! my favorite interactive in this part.

“But I want to sit with you,” Rafe grins easily, nudging your shoulder with his.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 he’s adorable and i’m devastated he isn’t real.

so beautifully written as always!!!! you never miss!!!!

Euro trip blurb: august

Synopsis: Rafe remembers when wanting was enough. (For him, it was enough, to live for the hope of it all)

Warnings: mentions of a parent death, cursing, angst, fuckboy Rafe in full force

a/n: I think this is one of the earliest blurbs I’ve written! Set in the summer before junior year, right after Lillian passed. I remember mentioning that Rafe spent a lot of time avoiding Y/n during the aftermath, because a part of him knew that letting her in would mean letting everything else in too. Here’s some perspective!

“I can’t decide,” the girl whines, the space between her collarbones forming an osculate as she sighs. She angles her body toward Rafe’s expectantly, fresh sunlight bathing her skin burnt amber, faint tones of sepia. “You pick,” she decides, handing him the two spoons in her hand. “Raspberry sorbet or matcha?”

Rafe Cameron doesn’t bother. He places them into the container in front of him untouched, neat movements juxtaposing the sloven way he pulls her close. His lips are firm, impatient enough to leave her breathless; the careless kind of ardency she may define as yearning.

She’d be wrong.

Rafe hasn’t let himself feel anything since his mother’s death. When he bruises her with kisses, tastes the sea-salt, honeysuckle on her skin, it’s because he’s running away.

“Raspberry,” he says when he pulls away, giving her waist an absent squeeze. There’s a barely there imprint of cherry chapstick on his lips, brilliant red that swirls hints of sweet sorbet.

She nods her approval, turning toward the counter to place her order. And when Rafe does the same, when he reaches around her and pays (with clean wad of cash, leaving a tip that’s almost outrageous — even for him), he feels overwhelmingly as though he’s just going through the motions.

Summer’s been hard.

His mother passed away three months ago, today, and all he’s done since then is avoid, avoid, avoid. His father, his younger sisters, his responsibilities, the majority of his friends; all the things he loves, all the things he deserves — you.

Most especially, Rafe’s avoiding you.

Because when he’d walked into class two days after her funeral, red-rimmed pupils with pockets of insomnia beneath the lids, you’d looked up at him and asked, “Hey, how are you doing?”

And you’d done it in that soft, aching voice you never used; it was gentle, genuine, and it’d broken Rafe’s heart cleanly in two.

Because you’d meant it. You’d asked him how he was, and you’d wanted to know he’d be okay. Rafe didn’t know whether he deserved that. He didn’t know whether he ever would.

And so, he’d run away.

Weeks and weeks of missed periods, of stumbling into Noah White’s house dangerously half-cut, and then, at the helm of another cruel summer, opportunistic hook-ups with every girl in his class.

Except you.

“…and then, Lacy said her older brother can totally hook us up!”

Rafe blinks.

“So?” The girl adds, bringing a spoonful of ice-cream to her mouth. “You in?”

“Huh?” Rafe asks then, rubbing the back of his neck distractedly. Endless hours in the sun have lightened the tips of his hair; he’s let them grow out, tease through the frayed edges of his baseball cap.

“Lacy’s?” The girl repeats, brow furrowing a little. “The party? Are you even listening?”

“Oh,” Rafe falters, he shakes his head, he expertly avoids eye contact, “yeah, sure Liz.”

“Yay!” The girl named Liz exclaims, nudging his shoulder approvingly. The movement times perfectly with three sets of footsteps; the bell above Daily Scoop jingles, and in walks warmth, perplexing familiarity.

“Bring Noah,” Liz adds, though Rafe isn’t really listening. His heartbeat quickens. He feels the surface of his palms grow clammy.

“…it’ll be fun, I promise,” continues a voice, glowing and gentle and overwhelmingly soft. “Besides, they’re playing 10 things I hate about you, and you guys know how much I love Heath Ledger —”

“Dude,” groans a deeper voice in response; Topper, maybe Kelce, Rafe doesn’t really care, “you’ve made us watch that film like, a million fucking times already.”

“So? You don’t hear me complaining every time you guys rope me into spending my Sunday playing nine-holes —”

“Except that golf is actually fu— oh, shit, Cameron, is that you?”

Rafe swallows. His mind fails to stray from the first voice he heard; the heart-squeezing pressure it places on his chest.

“Oh, uh, hey,” he answers, turning toward the source of the commotion slowly. He hopes that his expression reads blithe disinterest, that being here with Liz gives you the wrong impression.

It doesn’t.

“Rafael,” you say slowly, taking him in. You haven’t seen much of him over the past three months; his hair is longer, his skin warmer, sunburnt. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His pert nose holds a smattering of brown freckles.

The way his name falls from your lips is a sharp knife to his chest. And then you ask, “How are you?” and it plunges, twists, cuts deeper.

Rafe needs it to stop.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says with a grin, swivelling his cap so it sits backwards on his head. He abandons his table with Liz to head over, all charm and smooth confidence, expertly hidden grief.

“Hey,” you repeat, raising your eyebrows in surprise.

Perhaps you didn’t expect him to approach you so easily. He’s been avoiding you like the plague since his mother’s funeral, and you know it shouldn’t bother you as much as it does. You’re the one who’s always complaining about his annoying grin, his annoying comments, his annoyingly relentless presence and the way he refuses to let up — aren’t you? Some space from Rafe should come as a welcome relief.

Except that it doesn’t.

All it tells you is that he isn’t himself, at a moment; a large part of him is hurting, and a small part of you wants to fix that.

“I’m good,” he answers with a grin, bumping your chin playfully. It’s a tendril of soft touch, but it’s heat enough to set nerve-endings aflame. “Better now that you’re here.”

You frown then, surveying him through narrowed eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant,” you mutter, a crease forming between your eyebrows. “I mean with…” you pause, you trail off, you soften your expression and watch Rafe’s falter, “…everything. Your mom. How are you doing?”

Rafe flinches, almost. The last few words are a barely there whisper, impossibly gentle, as though you care about his answer.

About him.

And perhaps that’s why this hurts so much; why the comfort of your presence is crushing pressure to his chest. Because letting himself yearn for you — want you, hope to have you, one day — means letting himself love, feel love, feel it all.

Including that which he lost.

Because, really, who on Earth’s capable of loving him as unconditionally as his mother did?

“Why?” He teases; he’ll break if he answers honestly, he isn’t sure he’ll survive it. Bad, he thinks, I’m doing fucking bad and you’re going to make it worse before you can make it better, and so, he adds, “You gonna cheer me up with a kiss?”

“Rafael,” you sigh, taking a tentative step forward. There’s half an inch between you, now, faint bergamot mingling with spicy cologne, musk. “Why are you being like this?”

It isn’t the response he expected, and the revelation burns his throat dry, coats his waterline with unshed tears. He swallows. He tries to find something else to say; something stupid and meaningless that’ll push you away.

He can’t.

“I don’t know,” his voice breaks, and he tries not to wince as he clears his throat. Topper and Kelce have long abandoned their posts on either side of you, burying themselves with a menu they’ve already perused a million times . “I’m… it doesn’t matter. Surviving. I’m surviving.”

“Well,” you start, chewing on your bottom lip gingerly. Rafe’s eyes fall to their raw surface, the contour of your jaw, your soft neck. He resists the urge to reach out and brush his fingers over your skin, ensure that you’re real, you’re here, you’re worried about him. “You’ve just… I don’t know. I never got to give you my condolences. I’m sorry, Rafael, I can’t even imagine how…”

You trail off, exhaling slowly. “…I’m here. If you want to talk —”

“— or not talk?” Rafe questions, but he’s grin now, crescent moon curve to his lips that meets the corners of his eyes. It’s the first time in a long while he’s let himself really smile.

You’re here. You were here three months ago, when the wound was still fresh, and it may not be close to healed, yet, but you’ll still be here when it is.

Rafe doesn’t know when the months slipped by; somewhere between his mother’s death, and now, he lost himself within loss, within mourning, endless grief. He doesn’t know when he stopped hoping for, wanting love; when he stopped living for the hope of it all.

He realises now that it doesn’t matter. Lillian Cameron wouldn’t have wanted her son to just give up.

“Will you just —” you pause, pinching the bridge of your nose frustratedly, “— I’m here, okay? As a friend.”

“A friend,” Rafe affirms with a nod. “A friend who I make out with sometimes?”

“And there he is,” Topper says then, throwing an arm over your shoulder as he brings up your rear. “Knew all it’d take was a conversation with you.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, fixing him a stern glare.

“He’s right, though,” he agrees with a wink, and then he pauses, dipping his head until he’s at eye level. This close, you can see specks of green within his blue irises. The tip of his pert nose is sunburnt. And when he adds, “Thank you. Seriously,” his breath is spicy mint, faint raspberry.

“I didn’t do anything,” you answer meekly, folding your arms across your chest. Your forearms brush his as you do so, warm sunshine with rippling muscles.

“You did,” he says, disarmingly sober. “You always do.”

His gaze lingers as he turns back around, and you try not to focus on the way your stomach flips, the way your breath catches at his words.

He’s returning to a table with Liz, you remind yourself, no doubt the millionth girl he’s taken out, kissed on the beach, this summer. You’re not special. He may look at you like you’re the only girl in the world, but you can’t be — not to a douchebag like him.

So, you don’t let his words get to you.

And when you decide to try out two new flavours (mint chocolate chip and raspberry sorbet — a combination that causes Topper to gag, violently), you try not to think about the fact that they taste like Rafe’s breath on your skin.

—

“I can’t believe you actually roped us into this crap,” Topper grumbles, nudging his way through the crowd with you and Kelce close behind. He halts nears an unoccupied patch of grass, crisp blades dried out by the unforgiving, Carolina heat.

“You guys are going to love it,” you insist, unrolling your plaid picnic blanket. The projector is a perfect distance away, cotton candy clouds overlaying large screen.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kelce scowls, setting down several snacks before getting comfortable. “You fucking owe us.”

You send him a saccharine sweet smile, stretching yourself out on the picnic blanket before reaching for a bag of Skittles. The air is thick with the scent of foxglove and forget-me-nots; it’s sticky humidity and cicadas, salty heat that reminds you of the beach.

“Come on,” you press, propping yourself up onto your elbows. You pop several Skittles into your mouth, chewing thoughtfully before continuing, “You haven’t even given it a chance. Just — just wait until the movie starts, alright? And then —”

“Wait a minute,” Topper interrupts; clearly, he wasn’t listening in the first place, “is that fucking —”

“Space for two more?”

You freezd. You recognise that voice; so well, in fact, that you know that the question is directed only at you.

“Uh,” you turn and lift your head, met with Rafe’s figure crouching down beside you. The burnt orange sunset lightens his irises; they look softer, somehow, more genuine than they did. “Why?”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “For me and Noah?”

“Can’t you guys, like,” you gesticulate awkwardly, floundering, “I don’t know, sit somewhere else?”

“But I want to sit with you,” Rafe grins easily, nudging your shoulder with his.

You frown. “This isn’t what I meant,” you say, eyes darting toward Noah furtively. “When I said I’m here, I didn’t mean you could crash every hang out I plan with Top and Kelce —”

“Sweetheart,” Rafe says then, and he’s almost laughing — how dare he? What about this is funny? “I wasn’t trying to crash your…”

He trails off slowly, trying to find the right words to say. He isn’t sure how he’s able to convey how much your Daily Scoop-side rendezvous meant to him; how very much you’ve helped him feel like himself again.

He feels like an idiot for ever avoiding you. He wants you — needs you to know that.

“…thank you,” he finishes, exhaling slowly. “For… for before, just — thank you, okay?”

For being you. It prompted him to cancel his plans with Liz, just in case, prompted him to drag Noah to the drive-in, just because. Reminded him how it felt to live for the hope of it all.

You may not have been his to lose, but Rafe Cameron held onto the promise of a future where you were.

—

tags: (just some besties) @notdisneychannel @r0und3bitch @destourtereaux @itsalexwin @flossiewrites :)

18/08/22: HI!!! ME AGAIN!!! THIS TIME TO SCREAM ABOUT JAKE SERESIN!!!! may, i swear to god, how do you do this???????????? there is no oxygen left in in lungs. you outdo yourself again and again. the way you write jake makes me feels like i’m on a roller coaster. you understand him as a character so well (the day i have the capacity to make a full review of all parts of bad habit is coming soon and i know it’s gonna break me because you dissected him on that one, BEAUTIFULLY BY THE WAY!!!) this cowboy au has ruined me forever and i owe you my life for every story you put out for us to read.

“You flip the hat again and put it on. It’s big enough that it goes slipping down a few inches, almost covering your eyes.

Something on Jake’s face goes taut, his gaze darkens, the fist on the bartop clenches once then relaxes.” my brain is buzzing already. the way you set a scene. the way you describe everything!!!!!!! AND OH- OH- HE’S JUST AS AFFECTED BY THEIR INTERACTION!!!!! WHORE ❤️

“He’s silhouetted by the lights of the bar, bordered by the people crowding behind him to order, but you can’t see anything past the green in his eyes. He’s pushed so close he’s almost between your legs, your thighs like open brackets around the shape of him. The hand at the brim of the hat wanders down your back slowly before settling on the backrest of your stool. It’s not even a touch, just the allusion to it, but your heart goes pitter-patter in your chest.” yeah. you write poetry!!!!! this is poetry!!!!! and the use of “pitter-patter” was very on theme i loved it.

“You don’t know what to say to that - your cheeks feel kind of warm, and your brain is buzzing like a beehive.” exactly the same way i feel when i read your work coincidentally!!!

“You’re a cute one, huh?” he says, voice only a little mocking. He leans into your space, crooked grin so close to you that you can see the stubble forming along his cheeks and jaw, a golden dusting of hair against the sun-kissed skin. For a breathless, head-spinning moment, you think about how it would feel pressed to the inside of your thighs, raspy and tickling and just the right side of painful.

He rights the hat, pushes it higher up on your forehead, and then his hand travels to the back of your neck, stays there. His thumb brushes from the brim of the hat to the knob of your spine, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You let out a shuddering breath, legs clenching.” JESUS CHRIST. HIS HAND TRAVELS TO THE BACK OF YOUR NECK!!!!! STAYS THERE!!!!!! HIS THUMB!!!!!! I JUST DIED!!!!!!

“He laughs, the sound a little heavier than it was before, and says, “You ever dreamed about any of those, too?”

It’s crude, it’s forward, it’s an innuendo so thinly-veiled it’s pretty much translucent. It should make you balk.” JAKE SERESINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN. I HATE HIM. I HATE YOU FOR WRITING HIM LIKE THIS. HOW DARE YOU?

“Anything I could make come true?” he asks.” 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 STOP.

“It’s an offer as much as it is an out. If you pull back now, you’re pretty sure he’d leave you alone. Jake is forward, confident, sure, but he doesn’t seem like the pushy type. For some insane reason, you feel safe with him.” yes to everything here. beautiful. he’s a prince. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

“It starts as a tingle, as pins and needles, and when you look down, you find Jake’s hand on your thigh, just above the knee. Fingers splayed wide, radiating heat. As your heart rate kicks up a notch, you squirm in your seat.” IT STARTS AS A TINGLE!!!!! AS PINS AND NEEDLES!!!! IMAGERY 11110/10 AS ALWAYS. AND THE HIS FINGERS AGAINS PLS DO NOT DO THIS TO ME. favorite lineeeeeee!!!

“See, there’s this rule, sugar,” he says and leans even closer. For a second, you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he just goes on, “You steal the hat, you ride the cowboy.” there is absolutely no rule he is lying to his teeth but i’ll allow this.

“Your brain implodes.” YEAH. NO SHIT.

“Part of you wants to say no. Let Jake take you home or to a bathroom stall or to the back of his pick-up. Make good on that rule you’re not sure he didn’t just make up. Give into the insistent thrumming of want in the pit of your stomach.” YEARNINGGGGGGGGG. their interactions feel so magnetic because of the way you describe them. very insane of you.

“So you clear your throat, slide off the barstool, and right into his arms. For a second, you’re chest to chest, stomach to stomach, then you’re stepping away, wondering distantly just how flustered you look and taking the hat off.” CHEST TO CHEST!!!! STOMACH TO STOMACH!!!!! I LOVE THIS!!!!!!!

“He waves back silently, then casts another long, lingering look at you that makes your heart miss a beat or two.” PLEASE GUYS GO TO THE BATHROOM STALL THERE IS STILL TIMEEEEEEEEE

incredible and showstopping as always. i’m fearing for my life because of part 2. you’re the best ever.

dime store cowboy . hangman

PART TWO

pairing ; cowboy!jake seresin x female!reader

synopsis ; jake teaches you about the cowboy hat rule.

wc ; 2k

warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; explicit language, non-explicit sexual content (it's just flirting)

note: YEEHAW PARDNERS.......... i'm so obsessed with this i'm gonna cry, thank you forever to the anon who requested this. also what if this becomes a series what then WHAT THEN. sorta modified the title from that one kacey musgraves song lol.

sol. sunderlust. you already know what i'm gonna say thank you for being my bestie :(

The whole thing is Carrie Underwood’s fault. You’ll go to your grave swearing it.

It’s just that you’re three strawberry margaritas deep, the lights in the bar are all dimmed, all neon, all flickering, and Jake is leaning into your space like he’s trying to smell your perfume, smiles at you like he’s completely charmed, and then somebody starts playing Before He Cheats on the jukebox and your brain just sorta like. Short-circuits.

The song always gives you an unwarranted burst of confidence, makes you feel like you, too, could vandalize a cheater’s car in a flurry of righteous wrath, so it’s not that difficult to reach up, lifting half out of the bar stool, face suddenly just an inch from his, and steal his hat. The fabric is surprisingly soft beneath your fingers.

At first, Jake looks surprised, his mouth twitching in amusement.

“What you trying to do with that, sugar?” he asks.

And the thing is this. You’re new in town and decidedly more urban (cosmopolitan, you’d like to say, but really, who are we kidding here?) than the rest of the crowd. It’s all a bit strange, all unfamiliar, but when your co-workers invited you out for a Friday night of drinks at the local bar, you were beyond grateful. It was supposed to be a nice little get-together among people who would hopefully become friends. You didn’t expect a guy who looks like he could be Mr. August in a calendar dedicated to half-naked hot cowboys doing various types of manual labor to walk up to you and start flirting like his life depends on it.

At least you think he’s flirting…? You’re not that well-versed in this whole thing.

You shrug, hope you look more confident than you feel.

“When I was little,” you say, turning the hat over and peeking at the inside, where a label proudly states Property of J. Seresin. You let a finger run over it, tracing the shape of his name. “I used to dream about being a cowgirl.”

You flip the hat again and put it on. It’s big enough that it goes slipping down a few inches, almost covering your eyes.

Something on Jake’s face goes taut, his gaze darkens, the fist on the bartop clenches once then relaxes.

“Did you, now?” he asks, his voice suddenly lower, and he takes a step closer. His hip knocks against your knee where you’re angled toward him, every point of your body unconsciously straining closer during the conversation. He tips the hat back an inch or two from your forehead, clearing your vision, and looks down at you, searches your face for something. “Looking good.”

He’s silhouetted by the lights of the bar, bordered by the people crowding behind him to order, but you can’t see anything past the green in his eyes. He’s pushed so close he’s almost between your legs, your thighs like open brackets around the shape of him. The hand at the brim of the hat wanders down your back slowly before settling on the backrest of your stool. It’s not even a touch, just the allusion to it, but your heart goes pitter-patter in your chest.

“Do I?” you ask, breath hitching, legs bouncing with the nerves of it all.

You just don’t do this sort of stuff. Flirting with people, letting strangers chat you up in bars, going along with the quips and the banter and the coy touches… you’re so out of your element. And even Carrie Underwood and her misplaced pep talks have deserted you now. She just threw the match, and then she hightailed it out of here. Traitor.

Jake nods. “You’re real pretty, sugar,” he says. “I especially like the hat with that dress.”

You glance down at yourself and grin. The dress is decidedly too much for a joint where everybody else seems to show up in denim or flannel. You’re just glad you skipped heels in favor of sneakers to dress the whole thing down - you would have stood out like a sore thumb in the sea of cowboy boots.

“This isn’t really… saloon appropriate, is it?”

He laughs, and the sound of it warms your chest. “Not exactly,” he agrees. “But I like it. It suits you.”

“How so?”

Jake lifts a shoulder in a shrug, something unreadable playing about his mouth. “Makes it look like you’re not from here.”

You frown and ask, “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Sugar,” Jake chuckles, and the sound of that stupid, ridiculous pet name sends a shiver down your back, “that’s just about the highest compliment I could ever give a girl.”

You don’t know what to say to that - your cheeks feel kind of warm, and your brain is buzzing like a beehive. 

“I can’t really… see in this thing,” you mumble, tugging at the brim that keeps slipping. Suddenly a little frail.

Jake laughs again, and you decide that you don’t just like the sound - you love it. 

“You’re a cute one, huh?” he says, voice only a little mocking. He leans into your space, crooked grin so close to you that you can see the stubble forming along his cheeks and jaw, a golden dusting of hair against the sun-kissed skin. For a breathless, head-spinning moment, you think about how it would feel pressed to the inside of your thighs, raspy and tickling and just the right side of painful.

He rights the hat, pushes it higher up on your forehead, and then his hand travels to the back of your neck, stays there. His thumb brushes from the brim of the hat to the knob of your spine, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You let out a shuddering breath, legs clenching.

“So you dreamed about being a cowgirl, yeah?” he asks, withdrawing his hand and taking a swig of his beer.

You blink a few times until your vision goes from blurred to focused. Then you clear your throat. “Yeah, like… in elementary school, I think.”

“What’s your opinion on cowboys, then?”

You shrug, turn your upper body sideways to finger the stem of your cocktail glass. “I suppose they have their uses.”

He laughs, the sound a little heavier than it was before, and says, “You ever dreamed about any of those, too?”

It’s crude, it’s forward, it’s an innuendo so thinly-veiled it’s pretty much translucent. It should make you balk.

But there’s something about the night. The music, the drinks, the boy. The heat of the summer outside and the thrill of a new town and a new dress and a new life. It all makes you feel a little bit dangerous, a little bit sexy, a little bit loose. Maybe just for one night, you can pretend to be someone else. Let your hair down.

“Maybe,” you say, hoping it comes off mysterious instead of guarded, closed-off, disinterested. You turn to take a sip of your margarita, and then, in a move so bold not even Carrie Underwood and her car-wrecking could claim it, you lick the salt off the rim of the glass.

When you glance up at him again, his pupils are blown so wide there’s barely any green left visible. He’s looking right at your mouth.

“Anything I could make come true?” he asks.

It’s an offer as much as it is an out. If you pull back now, you’re pretty sure he’d leave you alone. Jake is forward, confident, sure, but he doesn’t seem like the pushy type. For some insane reason, you feel safe with him.

“Depends,” you say. Your voice has gone so quiet you’re surprised he can hear you over the din of the bar. The song has changed, but you don’t recognize the tune. You can’t focus on anything except the man right in front of you anyway.

He doesn’t ask what it depends on, and you’re glad because you don’t have an answer for him. You’re playing this whole thing by ear, and apparently, your hearing is impaired.

It starts as a tingle, as pins and needles, and when you look down, you find Jake’s hand on your thigh, just above the knee. Fingers splayed wide, radiating heat. As your heart rate kicks up a notch, you squirm in your seat.

Jake raises his free hand and tips two fingers to the brim gently. “You know what this means, pretty girl?”

His thumb traces a path up the inside of your thigh, leaves goosebumps in its wake. Suddenly, your mouth is drier than the Sahara desert.

“What?” you ask stupidly. You feel like there’s an entirely separate conversation happening here, one you aren’t really following.

He smirks, but his eyes don’t move from your face. “It’s not really something good girls do.”

You’re distracted by the tuft of hair protruding from the unbuttoned collar of his flannel, the same color as his beard. You wonder if it stretches all the way down beneath the obnoxiously large belt buckle.

Your voice has gone airy. “Why not?”

He hums, fingers traveling just a little higher up on your thigh, almost creeping beneath the fabric of your dress now. You hope you’re not sticky with sweat. It’s so hot in here. But then his fingernails scrape over your skin, the softest of touches, and that thought dissipates along with any other.

“See, there’s this rule, sugar,” he says and leans even closer. For a second, you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he just goes on, “You steal the hat, you ride the cowboy.”

Your brain implodes. If you tried to get up right now, you’re pretty sure you’d keel right over.

“Does that really exist?” you ask, voice barely more than a whisper. He’s so close that you can smell his aftershave, can count the freckles scattered on his nose. So close if you just lean in an inch, half an inch, just a bit…

Somebody says your name, and you almost topple backward off the bar stool in your attempt to put distance between him and you.

Your co-worker stands a step behind you, eyebrow raised and a disapproving look on her face.

“I’m heading home now. You still need that ride?”

Part of you wants to say no. Let Jake take you home or to a bathroom stall or to the back of his pick-up. Make good on that rule you’re not sure he didn’t just make up. Give into the insistent thrumming of want in the pit of your stomach.

But there’s a rational part of you left, too, one that hasn’t drowned in margaritas or the green of Jake’s eyes yet. One that remembers who you really are, truly, beneath the thin veneer of tonight’s pretense.

So you clear your throat, slide off the barstool, and right into his arms. For a second, you’re chest to chest, stomach to stomach, then you’re stepping away, wondering distantly just how flustered you look and taking the hat off.

“Thanks for letting me borrow this,” you say sheepishly and hand it back to him.

Jake smirks, something in his eyes twinkling.

“Always happy to make a lady’s dreams come true,” he says, popping the hat back on. “Anytime, Ma’am.”

You grope around for your purse blindly, a lump in your throat that makes it impossible to speak. That and the fact that you have no idea how to answer that.

“Seresin.” Your co-worker nods at him.

He waves back silently, then casts another long, lingering look at you that makes your heart miss a beat or two.

“I’ll see you around?” you ask, voice trembling like a leaf in a thunderstorm.

The corner of Jake’s mouth lifts in a grin. 

“You can count on it,” he says and tips his hat at you. “I believe you may owe me a ride.”

03/10/22: MAY WRITING FOR ROOSTER EVERYBODY CHEERED I CHEERED I CRIED I LAUGHED I GOT SHOT HAD EPIPHANIES!!!!! sweet may, i will never get tired of saying how much i absolutely ADORE your writing. it’s so special, i don’t know exactly WHAT IT IS ABOUT IT, but there’s something here or a combination of factors idk i just adore it i would read your grocery list!!!!!! anyways this was adorable and i had to highlight my favorite parts because 😭❤️‍🩹

“You can’t help it - you laugh. It’s a sound that punches from somewhere deep inside of you, that comes with a certain amount of relief. That echoes through the darkness of your hotel room, bounces off the ceiling and back into the shadows.” bounces off the ceiling and BACK INTO THE SHADOWS. HELLO??? POETRY???

“Don’t laugh at me.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“By all means, Bradley could be a star in an 80s porno, what with the mustache and those Hawaii shirts. And the embarrassing dirty talk.” stop i love him!!!

“What you hadn't exactly planned on, though, is that your boyfriend, apparently, is really, really bad at phone sex.” STOP IT’S HIS FIRST TIME HE’S TRYING 😭😭😭😭 POOR ROOSTER

“You’re really good at dirty talk in person.”

He’s quiet for so long you think maybe he’s hung up. When you draw the phone away to glance at the screen, you miss half his sentence.

“... easier when you’re there,” he’s saying by the time you got the phone back up to your ear, and you can hear the note of uncertainty in his voice. It’s endearing, but then you’re totally whipped for him, so that doesn't say much. “Like this, I just get self-conscious. I don’t know.” EASIER WHEN YOU’RE THERE BECAUSE THEY TRUST EACH OTHER SO MUCH ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 (not me absolutely making up headcanons about a BLURB- anywaysssssss)

“Bradley,” you say, and hope your words are as sincere over the phone as they would be in person, “I think you’re the hottest person alive, you know? You’ve sort of ruined me. I get wet when I see an airplane now sometimes. I don’t think there’s anything to be self-conscious about. Just act like I’m right there with you, okay?” NOT HER GETTING TURNED ON BY AIRPLANES SKJCJSJXHHDDHDHDHDDH also: comforting him!!!!!!!! i think you’re the hottest person alive 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲 they’re so cute!!!!

“Another moment of silence, and then he hums an okay, and his voice has reached just that pitch that makes you think the phone should be vibrating. And like. That’ll do it. You shove your hands back into your panties, where you’re still swollen and wet and aching to be touched.” HIS VOICE GOING DOWN AND IT’S ENOUGH TO GET THE BACK ON TRACK I LOVE THIS.

MISS SEASONSBLOOM I MISSED YOU!!!

romeo - "i want you to kiss every inch of my body." with rooster?

your blurbs are always so incredible! congratulations on 1.5k!! 🫶🏻✨ hopefully i’m not too late, i’m awful at time zones as well 😅

♡ pairing ; rooster x reader

♡ wc ; 600

♡ warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; explicit language; phone sex; this is really sort of silly

♡ note ; anon I’m sorry, i read that dialogue prompt and it sort of made me laugh??? so then this was born, I apologize.

“I want you to kiss every inch of my body.”

You can’t help it - you laugh. It’s a sound that punches from somewhere deep inside of you, that comes with a certain amount of relief. That echoes through the darkness of your hotel room, bounces off the ceiling and back into the shadows.

Tinny, distorted by the miles and miles between you, Rooster’s voice says, “Don’t laugh at me.”

The comment does what it does most often: It makes you laugh harder.

“I’m sorry,” you say, breathless, giggles cascading in an unsteady stream. “You just… you sound like an 80s porn star, Bradley.”

Bradley harrumphs and you hear sheets shifting, imagine him rolling around on the mattress. “Honey, I don’t think you’ve ever even seen an 80s porno.”

“You don’t know about my porn consumption,” you say, immediately, and then you start laughing again.

By all means, Bradley could be a star in an 80s porno, what with the mustache and those Hawaii shirts. And the embarrassing dirty talk.

“I’m not great at this, am I?”

That stifles your humor. He sounds… not exactly hurt, but a little insecure, maybe. Your heart drops and you back-pedal straight away.

“It’s okay, Bradley,” you rush to say. “We’ve never done this, and I think it’s awkward anyway. This just works better over text, you know?”

It’s true. When Bradley’s gone, most of your correspondence happens via emails or scheduled video calls in computer rooms he shares with other aviators. Which means that most of your sexual endevours during his absence are restricted to your right hand or a vibrator and the wide-ranging expanse of your fantasy.

Now that it’s you gone for a change, though, you gone and Bradley all alone in your bed at home, you’d really wanted to try. See how this thing might play out. What you hadn't exactly planned on, though, is that your boyfriend, apparently, is really, really bad at phone sex.

“It’s funny,” you tell him, shoving your phone between shoulder and chin as you roll over onto your stomach and fold your arms beneath the pillow. The throbbing between your legs has receded to a dull intensity somewhere at the back of your mind, like the tides licking lazily at the shore. “You’re really good at dirty talk in person.”

He’s quiet for so long you think maybe he’s hung up. When you draw the phone away to glance at the screen, you miss half his sentence.

“... easier when you’re there,” he’s saying by the time you got the phone back up to your ear, and you can hear the note of uncertainty in his voice. It’s endearing, but then you’re totally whipped for him, so that doesn't say much. “Like this, I just get self-conscious. I don’t know.”

“Bradley,” you say, and hope your words are as sincere over the phone as they would be in person, “I think you’re the hottest person alive, you know? You’ve sort of ruined me. I get wet when I see an airplane now sometimes. I don’t think there’s anything to be self-conscious about. Just act like I’m right there with you, okay?”

Another moment of silence, and then he hums an okay, and his voice has reached just that pitch that makes you think the phone should be vibrating. And like. That’ll do it. You shove your hands back into your panties, where you’re still swollen and wet and aching to be touched.

And still, you can’t help yourself. You just have to. Biting the insides of your cheek to keep the grin out of your voice, you drawl, “Now. Let’s get back to it, stud.”

“Now who’s the one stuck in an 80s porno?”

HYPERVENTILATING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

more dom!hazel would be so appreciated if u can hehe 🫶🫶

+ another anon who asked for a cleaning bruises fic

𝐁𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐬 & 𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 | 𝐇𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐥 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐧

Hazel Callahan x fem!reader

Summary: "If I put my hands up your skirt right now, am I gonna find you wet?"

Warnings: Established Relationship, Hyper feminine!Reader, PJ as her own warning, Mentions of Bruises, Mentions of Violence, Cleaning Hazel's bruises, Domestic Fluff, Humor, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Smut (+18 Minors DNI), Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Fighting Kink?, Fingering, Dom!Hazel, Sub!Reader, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Overstimulation

Can be seen as a continuation of this fic but not strictly

Your afternoon had been almost perfect, with Hazel nestled between your open legs just a step lower on the school bleachers. Her head had been thrown back, with her curls running rampant against your skin and tickling your chest. You smoothed her hair down in vain intervals while she played with a loose string on the stitiching of your plaid skirt as she droned on and on about the unlikelihood of being enlisted as a bomb tech by the US Army.

"I don't really know where else I could use my particular set of expertise. What else could I do that won't ultimately lead me down the path of... you know, treason and terrorism?" You nod vaguely as Hazel continues her equal parts aloof and equal parts worrying rants. All while combining your fingers through her hair, "I mean, I just feel like World War III is probably upon us, you know-"

"Ugh, could you guys get a room?" You had been so enamored by Hazel's ranting that you failed to notice PJ at first. Her and Josie made their slow ascent on the bleachers until their shadows blocked your afternoon sun.

"Could you get a girlfriend?" The words had snipped off your tongue with harsh vexation as you instinctively cradled Hazel closer to your chest.

"Jesus-" Hazel had muttered, as she craned her neck up to stare at PJ and a disgruntled Josie, "Why are you trying to hijack my boob time?"

You had to reign in all murderous intentions as PJ grabbed hold of Hazel's forearms and forcibly dragged her up off the bleachers… out of your arms.

"You don't get boob time until we all get boob time. And need I remind you that you're going to be late for Fight Club," You heaved a very loud, very obnoxious sigh as you tilted your head backwards, letting the rays bounce off your pink sunglasses, "You guys should seriously get a room." Said PJ, "Stop giving the entire football team a show. Come on, you're setting us back like 69 years-"

Before PJ sunk her claws into Hazel completely, she bent down until her lips pressed against your cheek, and she whispered, "I'll see you back at my place, yeah?"

Your heart deflated at her confirmation that she was indeed leaving you for Fight Club, "Hazel..."

"Shh, shut up. Just say yes,"

But before you could wrack your brain for something coherent to say, PJ had already begun to make her descent off the bleachers, taking your girlfriend along with her.

You did not hate PJ, nor were you her biggest fan at the best of times. However, nights like tonight made your vexation grow to unimaginable heights simply because PJ is completely and utterly inescapable.

This evening, however, waiting for Hazel to get back from Figh Club, had been perfect. Etta James had been oozing through The Callahan's home speakers as you prepared the butternut soup- Hazel's favourite Post Fight Club recovery meal (although she hated admitting it, because she did not want to put you out of your way).

You are perfectly content, trapped in your web of make-believe as you prance around Hazel's kitchen, assembling your respective bowls needed for the soup. Mrs Callahan had let you in, as she always did after school, with a dismissive wave while she babbled into the receiver of her iPhone. Before she completely disappeared into the innards of her sprawling house, Mrs Callahan vaguely threw over her shoulder "Hazel is at her thing until 5 but I'm sure you've been made aware," and you were left in this great big labyrinth to entertain yourself.

Sex had been even more seldom, given that Hazel was rarely ever in any shape to commence any form of coitus due to the various bruises popping up in unlikely places. You wish you can safely tell yourself you despised seeing her bloody and battered state - that you gain absolutely nothing from Fight Club and that you most likely never will.

But you're staring dreamily into the pot of soup, and you're stirring and stirring, with your heart racing in anticipation of Hazel's inevitable return with her inevitable bruises smeared across her perfect little face.

You had not planned on cooking for anyone because seducing Hazel in her inevitably bloodied state was on the forefront of your mind, and Mrs Callahan had a very tempting bright pink apron hanging on the hook.

So perhaps you did do this all for her.

Perhaps you were waiting for her, to stride on through the foyer, nursing a streak of dried blood down her nose, eager to catch her reaction at seeing you so comfortable in her space while you rushed to swoop in and fawn over her.

This near perfect daydream might have actually manifested…

Were it not for PJ's loud and obnoxious voice bleeding into the kitchen from the foyer, accompanied by the heavy groan of the front door slamming shut. Your shoulders visibly sag as you empty the rest of the soup into your bowl just as the trio rounds the corner into the kitchen.

"Oh my God - soup!" PJ exclaimed rushing towards you with her gaze zeroed in on the bowl locked firmly in your hand. You had been so focused on keeping the bowl from PJ's incessant grabby hands that you failed to see the dazed, almost breathless look that sprinkled over Hazel's face who drifted slowly behind Josie despite this being her house.

Suddenly, every thought about the impending bruise she was facing due to not dodging a right hook earlier vanished from her mind like doves in the wind. Hazel's head was completely flooded with the image of you, in her kitchen, with your cute as fuck little skirt grazing just above your knee.

This almost did not feel real. Less than a month ago, no one barely blinked in her direction, but now...

So enamored was Hazel by your act of service, she nearly failed to catch PJ's innate need to flirt whenever you were in the vicinity.

"You look hot by the way," PJ had slyly said, still reaching for the bowl of steaming soup, which you only drew higher above your head.

"Sorry PJ, only people who make me cum get to eat my cooking."

"Is that an invitation?" She asked, leaning against the counter, "That sounded like an invitation."

Hazel cleared her throat, finally succeeding in having your eyes wash over her. "Can we probably not talk about you fucking my girlfriend, maybe, I think?" She said cooly, discarding her bag somewhere on the floor before making her up closer towards you. Her slouch was even more prominent and you swear the air in your lungs thinned as she brushed up beside you and muttered, "Hey,"

"Hey yourself." And Hazel's tummy instantly warmed as you discarded the bowl on the counter, turning to cup her cheeks in your hands as you observed her latest shiners acquired from Fight Club. Something sinister flashed through Hazel's mind as your big dark eyes scanned over her visage, eyeing the new bruise splotched across her eye and the horizontal laceration on her cheek.

"It doesn't hurt," She can barely find her words under the overwhelming feeling of your care and attention. Your scent is all encompassing, and before she ever allows for anymore of her arousal to stain her boxers Hazel attempts to draw her face out of your palm.

"Jesus, Hazel!" You squeal, pulling her head down closer to your height, until Hazel has to support herself with a hand on the counter behind you, "Please don't tell me you were sparring with anyone on the football team again!"

You hoped you succeeded in masking how turned on that thought actually got you...

Hazel's voice is deep and low as she replies,

"Jeff said that if I can at least dodge his left, left, right hook next time, I could probably be ready for the whole team." You breathe out and airy laugh almost the same time as her, the both of you silently aware of what the other was doing.

"Ugh, you're such a virgin." PJ mutters under a mouthful of soup.

"I literally have a girlfriend," Hazel mutters without looking away. Her gaze was nearly trapped in yours as she allowed you to pull her limp body away from PJ and Josie. "Come on, I need to clean you up."

And that's how you had found yourself, cross-legged on Hazel's bed with her leaning against the headboard like your Oh so compliant little patient. Her gaze is yet to waver from yours, in fact, cleaning the laceration had been utter hell, right up until this point because Hazel had taken to drawing various circles against the skin of your exposed thigh.

The skirt had ridden up marginally from your seating position, and Hazel seems perfectly fine toying with your various emotions.

"You look really pretty," Hazel breathed out as if those words were sitting heavily on her heart ever since you applied the wet gauze against her left cheek. You try to hold your composure, keeping a firm eye on the dressing of Hazel's wound as you say, "I don't really think I want you going to fight club anymore,"

"Tch'yeah okay," she snickers dismissively, "Hey, is this skirt new? It's hot- like 'gay 50s housewife' kinda hot," There's an edge to her voice that has Hazel sitting taller against the headboard before incriminatingly letting her hands drift just a little higher on your thigh. Your breathing becomes heavier as you fight hard to maintain your crumbling composure.

"I'm serious, Hazel," you had begun to whisper. Why had you begun to whisper?

"I don't wanna have to stitch you up every time-"

As soon as the gauze was plastered onto her cheek, Hazel's head was already melting into your chest, nuzzling at your open cleavage exposed by your Pastel v-neck as she says, "God, I love it when you mommy me,"

"H-Hazel," any warning you tried to inject into your tone gets fizzled out by the embarrassing moan that escaped your lips as Hazel's teeth dragged lightly against the skin of your chest. Her hands were restless, as if she was testing herself as to how far she'd allow herself to go so quickly.

You suck in so much air as Hazel's palm cradles the inside of your thigh and because you're cross legged, closing your legs is nearly impossible. "Fuck, I'm so turned on, right now," her voice cracks as she brings her face up from your boobs. Pressing a hand to your cheek, she tries and fails to bring your lips towards hers.

Hazel frowns as you say,

"You think it makes me feel good seeing you like this?"

You ignore the budding voice in your head echoing the loud and very obnoxious 'yes, yes you do like seeing her like this. You like seeing that reckless smile blossom onto her cracked and battered face. It gets you wet and you know it does-'

But your voice is full of fragile conviction as you say, "You think I like seeing my girlfriend beaten up everyday of the week?"

Hazel blinks once before she succinctly replies, "If I put my hands up your skirt right now, am I gonna find you wet?" An entire desert ecosystem is suddenly born inside your mouth, and you swallow thickly as your eyes evade Hazel's uncomplicated, piercing gaze. She tilts her head, smiles gone, simply waiting for your response.

"Do you want me to tell you what I think?" She asks before steadily closing the distance between you once more. Only, you're so terrified of being caught out, so utterly embarrassed at the thought of her finding out about the pool of wetness that had begun soaking completely through your panties, that you back away the closer she gets. Your slinking backwards only allows Hazel to crawl closer until she's hovering above you in the centre of her bed.

You have her undivided attention, and she has yours. Your eyes recklessly scans her face, every cut, laceration, and every old bruise buried under a new one has your lips turning downward as a small, almost imperceptible whimper forces itself out of your throat.

"There she is…" Hazel whispers with a palm cradling your cheek, "There's my needy little girl," You're quickly slipping into subspace right in front of her and Hazel is more than grateful. A single silver pendant dangles from her throat as she dips down, finally connecting your lips in a quietly passionate kiss. Your eyes immediately flutter shut, and so does hers. The both of you are utterly enamored by the sheer lust communicated by the intensity of the kiss alone.

"Fuck," Hazel curses, momentarily breaking apart to peel off her oversized graphic tee. You're watching your girlfriend in her sports bra with unbridled lust shining heavily on your pouty lips.

"Tell me you're wet for me," She says, "Please, Baby."

You're slipping deeper and deeper but you still have half a mind to lightly whisper, "Hazel, they're right downstairs-" She's already crashing her lips back down onto yours.

"Tell me you're wet for me," She murmurs against your lips, never being able to stray too far.

The hand that isn't holding her up, hovering above you, is once again, underneath your skirts, only this time, the tips of her fingers are dragging up against your inner thigh with no chance of stopping.

"Fuck, Hazel,"

"Is that supposed to be an answer?"

You're already pulling your own hips off the bed, seeking her hand out like a whore as you break the kiss only to whimper, "Yes, okay, fine! I'm so wet for you, Hazel- just, please!"

She watches completely fargone as you let your soaked panties meet her awaiting palm. Watching you grind yourself against her hand has Hazel's mind absolutely descending into lust.

"God, you're so beautiful," she says, before finally pressing her own hand against your soaked panties. She rubs in harsh, rough circles, eager to bring you to the very edge of insanity. She needed to see you fall apart for her again and again-

"Inside," You whisper, watching your girlfriend rub your cunt with bated breath. You're still wearing your skirt but you figure Hazel needs to fuck you in it to fulfil some sort of fantasy and you don't entirely mind. Not at all.

"Hazel, Please. I need you inside-"

"Fuck- you're such a slut-"

Your head immediately falls back against the bed as Hazel's movements against your soaked panties increases.

"You like it when I call you a slut, baby?" Your hips stutter upwards in vague response as you moan loudly into the air.

"Fuck- Hazel, I'm close- I'm so fucking- fuck," the orgasm sneaks up on you like a villain in the night and you're spamming underneath her, while Hazel continues to rub your cunt through the torrid sensation. Before you've ever even come down from your high, there's a knock on the door, and look towards it with slightly parted lips and blurry vision.

"Hey- you have no more soup, and I think you two are fucking in there so Josie and I are just gonna g-"

"Fuck off, PJ!" Hazel screams at the door, failing to hear the small little 'Okay, rude' before she's lifting your skirt until they're pooling at your hips.

"Hazel, what're you-"

"Another one, okay?" She nods encouragingly before shifting your panties aside and pressing the colds tips of her forefinger and middle finger against your soaked cunt. "You're going to give me another one. I wanna see if I can do it."

You can't even roll your eyes at her unnecessary display of pride because your eyes are rolling to the back of your head as she drags the essence of your arousal along your clit. "Fuck, you look so hot-"

"H-Hazel," the aftershocks from your previous orgasm rack through your upper body just as the oncoming tempest of lust gears you up for the next one. Hazel leans over you once more as she continues to rub at your clit, "Just one more, baby, I know you can do it. Show me, baby." It's downright evil, the effect her manipulation has on your body as you descend further and further into your lust.

"Look at how perfect you look," she says with a voice thick with lechery, "Fuck, you get me so wet to, baby," she murmurs before instinctive pressing her lips to yours once again, as if something nestled in her being, craved the touch of your lips against hers.

"You're gonna be a good girl for me?"

"Fuck- Hazel-"

"I'm right here, angel," she whispers, before bringing the tips of her fingers to your opening. Hazel is quick to slide her index and middle finger into your pussy until she's fucking you hard and deep. It takes a few short pumps for you to clutch mindlessly at her forearms with your vision slightly waning as you look up at your smiling girlfriend who watches you descend into your orgasm.

"That's it," she coos as you clench around her fingers, "You're doing so well for me, baby,"

"F-Fuck!" You stutter out as you fall into the depths of euphoria. Your mind is flooded with nothing but Hazel, all thoughts previously plaguing your brain is made null and void. In the end, you're just a beacon for her to release her frustrations out on. Even if it means overstimulating you until you become a noisy, helpless mess.

For a while, each other's heavy breathing is all you hear.

That is, until you hear a loud bump against Hazel's closed door, drawing both your attention.

"PJ-" whispers Josie with unimaginable frustration.

"Oh my God, they're definitely fucking-"

IN A WORLD OF BOYS SHE’S A GENTLEMANNNNNNN 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 this was so beautiful, my poor heart is weak!!! also, the fact that THEY ACTUALLY GET TO MAKE OUT IN A POOL!!! AND IT IS LIBERATING!!! absolutely loved this full circle moment!!!

It Might As Well Be Worth It For Once [h.c]

Summary: After a photo of you kissing your crush, Hazel Callahan, goes viral among students at your university, you try to navigate the backlash you receive on top of your newfound feelings for her.

Pairing: College!Hazel Callahan x College!fem!reader

Contains: reader sort of figuring out her sexuality, homophobia, explicit language, d slur, slut shaming, drinking, partying, violence, no explicit smut just heavy make-outs, scary ex-boyfriends, evil frat bros

word count: 3k

A/N: This is loosely inspired by Taylor Swift's song "Slut!" so listen if you want to set the mood!

Your first kiss with Hazel Callahan happened at a party, initiated by a simple dare. In the middle of a crowded kitchen, surrounded by sticky solo cups and cigarette smoke, you watched Hazel as she spoke. “Dare.” She stated to her brown-haired friend.

“Okay,” PJ starts and her eyes dart around the room,

“I dare you…” PJ’s eyes find you and she points her finger at your frame “to kiss her.”

“Real original, PJ,” Hazel remarks as she makes her way over to you.

At first, you didn't give it much thought, dismissing it as just a harmless dare amidst the alcohol-fueled chaos of the party. But as you followed through and Hazel's lips met yours, something in you shifted, and every sensation suddenly heightened. The taste of tequila on her tongue mixed with the smell of her sharp cologne made your head dizzy.

The kiss, though quick, left a new feeling that you couldn't forget. You were amazed at how in sync your movements were with each other, considering you barely knew Hazel. You’d seen her a couple of times in class, walking around campus in her stylish outfits, and at parties like these. She was friends with your roommate, Isabel, so she did run in the same social circle as you.

When Hazel eventually pulled away from the kiss, the absence of her touch left you wanting more. You leaned forward, instinctively chasing her lips. Embarrassment washed over you, reality kicking in, and you were suddenly hyper-aware of yourself. With the re-realization that it was just a game you were playing, you buried the feelings deep within your stomach, locking them away and deciding they should never be explored.

-

You found Hazel a few weeks later, outside one of the dorm buildings, returning home from another late night. That night, a couple of drinks deep, you summoned the courage to confess what had been consuming your thoughts. Her soft brown hair, her big blue eyes, her attractive scent, and how soft her lips were on yours.

Something felt different about your infatuation with Hazel, and you were dying to just be close to her again.

"I don’t know what it is about you, Hazel," you say, your back leaning against the side of the bricked building. "I’m never like this with anyone," you whisper, avoiding eye contact.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about our kiss, and I know that's ridiculous because it was just a stupid dare at a party." Hazel sensed your vulnerability in that moment. She took a step toward you and reached for your hand, gently playing with your fingers, which hung between both of you. As you rambled on, she stared and smiled at you, enjoying your attempt to express your feelings.

"Yeah?" She nodded at you, leaning in a bit closer with a cocky grin. "You liked it that much, huh?"

You avoided her gaze again, clearly growing more embarrassed.

"Well, I was never going to tell you this,” she sucked in a breath “But before the game started, I actually told PJ to dare me to kiss you. It was the only way I thought I was ever going to be able to." Her hand moved from your hand to your waist, squeezing gently, and her eyes landed on your lips. Her confession hung heavy in the air between you both.

Feeling a rush of boldness, you couldn't hold back any longer. You grabbed her by her shirt, slowly pulling her closer, and in a moment of sheer impulsiveness, you pressed your lips firmly against hers.

Your kiss deepened, the pressure between your lips gradually intensifying, the sensation giving you goosebumps. Hazel's lips were plush and inviting, just like you remembered. Her lips left yours for a moment before attaching themselves to your jaw, then your neck, sucking gently.

“Shit, Hazel.” You sighed and your back arched against the wall, already breathless.

Her hand on your waist pulled you closer, the touch gentle yet possessive. Your fingers instinctively wound into her hair, the strands soft and silky beneath your touch.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about doing this since that night,” She says between kisses to your neck. “Want you so bad,” she whines.

Her lips found yours again, the kiss hot and passionate, fueled by the emotions that had been building between you. There was an urgency to the way your lips moved together, and you felt a soft sigh escape Hazel's lips. Your bodies pressed against each other, every inch of skin on fire from the contact.

What you didn’t notice was your ex-boyfriend's roommate, Tyler, emerged out of the dorm building's entrance. He recognized you after a minute and stared at the scene in front of him in complete shock, jaw slack. He pulled out his phone, capturing the moment with a camera click. Lost in the intensity of your kiss, neither of you had noticed him. He snickered at his discovery, feeling proud of this piece of information he was now sitting on.

-

In the days that followed, you and Hazel became inseparable, caught up in the intoxication of a budding romance and newfound feelings. Mundane moments were made ten times better just by her presence. You’d been in relationships before, but not like this.

Taking walks hand in hand, you found the quiet corners of your college town, finding comfort in how easy it was to be around each other.

Movie marathons turned into shared glances and stolen kisses, the screen flickering in the background as you explored this new person. Your connection was so intense, it often escalated into heavy makeout sessions in Hazel's dorm, losing yourselves in the heat of the moment.

One particular evening, you found yourself lying in bed, your head resting on Hazel's chest while her arm encircled you. The soft glow from Hazel's laptop illuminated the room, displaying a scene where two characters shared a passionate kiss in a pool.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” you remarked.

Hazel's hand gently rubbed your shoulder. “Do what, hm?”

“Make out in a pool. It just seems so… liberating.” You shifted in her arms to gaze up at her.

“How is making out while standing in a body of water any different than doing it on land?” She laughed, looking down at you.

“You'll find out when we do it one day,” you said with a smirk. “It’s gonna blow your mind.”

“I don’t know, I think our kisses are already pretty mind-blowing. But I’ll hold you to it,” she replied, her eyes fixed on your lips.

Just then, your phone rang, and it was a call from Isabel. You answered it, still comfortably lazing on Hazel as she absentmindedly stroked your hair.

“Hey Isabel, what's up?”

“I just wanted to check on you and see how you're doing…”

“I’m fine, I’m just at Hazel’s, I’ll be back soon though.”

“Have you seen the photo? Of you and Hazel?” She blurts out.

You sit up, your heart beating frantically as you press the phone closer to your ear. Hazel looks at you, her expression shifting from contentment to concern, sensing the change in your demeanor.

"What photo, Isabel?" you ask, your voice tight with worry.

"It's on Instagram," Isabel replies, her tone heavy with concern. "Someone posted a picture of you and Hazel, and the comments… they're awful. Homophobic slurs, slut-shaming… I thought you should know."

A lump forms in your throat, and you glance at Hazel, who grips your hand reassuringly, silently offering her support. "I haven't seen it," you admit, your voice shaky. "But thanks for letting me know."

"I reported the comments, but I don't know how long it'll take for them to be taken down," Isabel continues, her voice filled with empathy. "I'm here for you, okay? Don't let those ignorant people get to you." You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

"Thanks, Isabel," you say, your voice quivering. "I appreciate your support. I'll talk to you later, okay?”

"Of course," Isabel replies, her voice softening. "I’ll see you later tonight.”

With trembling hands, you grabbed your phone to see it for yourself.

There it was - the innocent moment captured in a snapshot, now tainted by the cruelty of strangers. As you scrolled through the comments, your heart pounded in your chest, each hateful word striking like a physical blow.

The pain intensified with every comment, echoing the doubts that had been gnawing at the corners of your mind. Hazel peered over your shoulder, her expression a mix of anger and concern.

"Ignore them," she urged, her voice soft yet determined. "They don't know us”

But the words had already burrowed deep within you, festering like a poison. A sense of overwhelming shame washed over you, overpowering Hazel's words. The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in, and in a desperate attempt to escape, you grabbed your jacket and phone, your hands trembling as you stuffed it into your pocket.

"I can't stay here," you muttered, your voice strained, your eyes avoiding Hazel's gaze. "I need to get away from all of this."

Hazel reached out, her fingers brushing against your arm, her eyes pleading. "Please, don't run out like this," she implored, her voice cracking with emotion.

"I can't stay here," you repeated, your voice cracking as you met Hazel's gaze, filled with self-doubt. "We shouldn't see each other anymore." The words hung heavily between you, an unbearable admission of defeat. You turned away, unable to face the look in Hazel's eyes, and made your way to the door.

"Wait," Hazel pleaded, her voice raw with emotion, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

The door creaked shut behind you, sealing off the warmth and safety of the room you had shared with Hazel. Tears blurred your vision as you hurried down the dimly lit corridor, the echoes of your footsteps a haunting reminder of the distance growing between you and her.

-

It had been a month since you left Hazel in her dorm room. A miserable month to say the least. You felt so guilty for hurting her, but were also dealing with the hurt you felt from your privacy being so rudely invaded. Not to mention the straight-up awful comments you both received. But tonight, you were at a party you had reluctantly agreed to go to. Isabel and her girlfriend Josie convinced you that you needed to get out of your head and let loose.

Flamingo pink and aquamarine neon lights cast an ambiance on the frat house walls. The floor was sticky and the speakers were playing a rap song you didn’t know.

“Dude, we’re so young, you have your whole life ahead of you to fall in love and date hot people,” Isabel said, raising her glass to you. “Like, being this young is art. Cheers to that.” Isabel clinks her shot glass to yours. You tip your head back and shoot the tequila, burning your throat as it goes down. You needed any excuse to take a shot right now.

"I’m just going to go get us some more drinks and find Josie, okay?" Isabel gives you a reassuring look, and you nod before she disappears toward the bar. You do your best to make it look like you’re busy without your friend there, opening your phone, turning your brightness down, and scrolling through the calendar and weather app hoping no one can see over your shoulder.

“Well would you look who it is” You hear a familiar, sinister voice come from behind you. Great, it's your ex-boyfriend. Quite literally the last person on planet Earth you want to be standing face to face with right now.

“What could you possibly want right now, Josh.” You say deadpan, genuinely annoyed to be in his presence.

You and Josh had dated for four months. It was your typical college relationship, but there was always something missing, and you couldn't quite figure out what it was. He wanted sex, but you never felt quite ready to do it yet, at least not with him. Four months with no sex for a typical frat guy like Josh was absolute torture for him, so he went looking elsewhere. You ended it when you found him in bed with a brunette from the nursing program.

You can smell his mint gum as he cockily chews it and leans closer to you. “You come here to make out with more dykes, huh? You know, I always thought you were a prude, considering you never gave it up. Turns out your just a horny freak for pussy.”

His words sting. Hot tears brim at the bottom of your lash line. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry, but you’ve never been good at standing up for yourself in these situations.

“Fucking slut.” He spits, even closer to your face than he was a moment ago. He has you cornered against the wall now, your blood boiling with rage and your head spinning with shame.

In the dim light, you see a hand adorned with silver rings firmly grip onto his shoulder. Before he could react, he was yanked backward by the other figure, a swift and forceful movement that left him disoriented. The punch landed sharply, the impact reverberating through his body.

Hazel.

Her eyes met his for a moment, before she turned toward you, leaving him shocked.

Holy shit.

You stare at Hazel, stunned, your gazes locked. Bright, red blood pours from your ex-boyfriend's nose.

“What the fuck?” His hands fly up to his face. “Is this your little girlfriend?” He laughs humourlessly, pointing to Hazel. “Real fucking cute. Yeah, you’re dead’ He says as he launches toward her, only to be pulled back by another group of arms, Isabel and Josie.

“Guys! Go! We’ll take care of him”

Hazel wastes no time and grabs your hand, her fingers entwining with yours in a reassuring grip. You run alongside her, the thumping music fading as you descend the stairs and navigate the chaotic kitchen of the large frat house. Your heart races, a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation fueling your steps.

You don’t know if it's the slight buzz from earlier or the intoxicating lovesickness for the girl in front of you that continues to propel your feet forward, but you decide to just go with it. Hazel leads you through the crowd, weaving in between sweaty bodies and flashing lights.

As you step into the backyard, the cool night air hits your skin, and the scene before you unfolds like something out of a movie. A huge moonlit swimming pool stretches out, its surface rippling with the movements of people swimming in their underwear, their laughter and splashes filling the air. Realization strikes you, and you know exactly what Hazel is about to do.

With an impish grin, she turns to you, "Ready?" she asks, her voice drowned out by the music but clear in your ears. She hovers her mouth to the shell of your ear. “Just trust me, please” she whispers.

You nod, feeling a surge of adrenaline, and without another word, Hazel tugs you toward the edge of the pool.

With a shared glance, you leap into the water together, the cool embrace of the pool enveloping you. As you resurface, you find Hazel's eyes, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the pool. She looks so perfect like this, you almost forgot how stupidly into her you were.

“You look really pretty” She finally says.

“Hazel, I’m so sorry. That was so fucked up leaving you in your room like that.”

“I tried to call you,” she says, her voice tinged with disappointment.

“I know, I was too much of a coward to face you, I always bury everything that makes me uncomfortable and avoid it forever. It's unfair, you need someone who can confront those issues head-on, right away.”

“What if all I need is you?” she murmurs, her words hanging in the air, heavy with vulnerability and hope.

“Hazel…”

Your heart swells at her comment, you wanted nothing more than to hear those words come from her mouth, but your guilt makes you hesitant.

She reaches out for your hand, pulling you closer through the water, her touch reassuring. Her hands gently encircle your waist, you instinctively raise yours to rest around her neck. It feels like magnets snapping back into place,

"I don’t want to hide anymore. I don't want to be the one who runs away from difficult conversations. I want to be the one who faces challenges with you, who stands by your side no matter what." you say.

Her eyes soften, and she gives you a small smile, her grip on your back tightening. "I believe you," she says. Her voice is filled with trust.

"I mean it, Hazel," you continue, your voice steady.

She lifts your legs in both of her hands, effortlessly supporting you as you wrap them around her body beneath the water. The sensation is intimate, a silent declaration of trust and connection. Suspended in the water, your eyes meet hers, and in that moment, there's a shared understanding that goes beyond words.

Your foreheads meet each other, resting gently against one another, and your breathing hitches in anticipation as Hazel speaks. “So, are we still on for that mind blowing pool kiss?” she asks, a playful grin tugging at her lips.

A mischievous smile curves your lips in response. "Well, if they’re gonna call me a slut," you say, your voice low and sultry, "it might as well be worth it for once. I say we give them a show."

With unspoken agreement, you close the distance between your lips, capturing Hazel's mouth in a heated, passionate kiss. The world around you fades away, and all that exists is the electricity between you, the taste of her lips, and the water around your bodies.

You feel hopeful for the future, for where this could go. For where your heart might lead you. As you both pull away, breathless and smiling, you exchange a knowing glance, understanding that something has shifted between you, and you were exactly where you were meant to be.

-

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

a/n: thanks so much for reading !! this is my second fic ever so again pls forgive me if there are any mistakes. I definitely want to write more for hazel though so I am so open to requests if you ever want to send one <3333

“she couldn't pinpoint the exact moment but one day, everything about you seemed loud” SUCH A BEAUTIFUL AND ROMANTIC WAY TO DESCRIBE FALLING IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE, MY HEARTTTTTTTTTTT

“she didn't want to jump into conclusions. you wanted to rip your hair out at her obliviousness.” so cute!!!!!!! kept in on my toes for the ending!!!

"hazel... you don't understand-" "make me." BUTTERFLIES IN MY STOMACH!!!

i also laughed so hard, baby hazel was a menace planning to steal reader’s thing and pulling her hair shxhshchshchshkkkk

THIS WAS SO SO CUTE!

hi hi hi :) could u maybe write a thing abt like reader and hazel being childhood friends who slowly start to fall for each other but don’t say anything for a long time and then maybe they get into an argument of some kind and confess their feelings??

idk if you’ve done something like that but it just crossed my mind!

sour grapes – hazel callahan

— your scent is still unripe and green.

childhood friends to lovers. fluff. yearning. kind of long!

hazel could still remember the first time she became your friend. it was back in kindergarten. you had just moved into town and you were the new kid. but to her, you were known as the kid with the mcdonald's strawberry shortcake keychain where her hat slides to the side to reveal a lip balm.

little hazel was collecting all four characters— she had around 3 orange blossoms, 2 ginger snaps, and at least 5 angel cakes —but she couldn't get her hands on the strawberry shortcake one because it's always out. so when she saw your strawberry shortcake dangling from your backpack, she came up with a plan that she spent two days devising; she'll steal your keychain in exchange for one of her angel cakes.

of course her plan didn't work. it was snack time when she found herself in front of your backpack, smiling at the sight of strawberry shortcake. she was about to take the keychain off after applying the balm on her lips rather messily when she heard a loud gasp behind her. hazel quickly turned around to see you already stomping towards your teacher. "miss sandy!"

panicking, hazel ran after you and pulled on your hair to try to stop you. it did stop you, but it also made you start crying. a concerned miss sandy marched towards where you were standing. "hey guys, what's happening here?" she crouched down to your eye level while rubbing your back to calm you down, her pretty pink floral dress creasing. "what's wrong sweetie?"

"hazel was trying to steal my strawberry shortcake and she pulled my hair," you pointed at her as tears came out of your eyes and snot came out of your nose. you were sobbing so hard that miss sandy didn't understand a single word you said, but deduced that it had something to do with your keychain. you had gotten it on your birthday. you liked strawberry shortcake but you weren't much of a big fan, you only liked her strawberry scent on her head. but nonetheless, it was a birthday present and you cherished it with all your heart.

when you saw hazel's bag with an angel cake keychain, you were elighted because you both have a lip balm keychain from mcdonald's. you wanted to become her friend but you were too shy to approach her that's why you planned on sharing your grapes with her that day. which is why your heart sank when you saw her hands about to take strawberry shortcake off your bag that has your grapes in it.

"i didn't mean to!" hazel started crying as well, her mouth and cheeks glistening under the light because of the lip balm. she was embarrassed that you caught her in the act and was nervous that you would hate her for eternity after this incident. after your mothers were called to school by miss sandy to discuss what happened and after hazel got scolded by her mother, the both of you found yourself sitting across each other in mcdonald's with your moms. mrs. callahan lightly nudged hazel to apologize, which hazel hesitantly did. "i'm sorry," she looked down at her lap, kicking her little feet as you stare at her.

"honey, what will you say?" your mom cooed, nodding towards hazel's direction. you didn't want to forgive her for what she did. that keychain was still yours and you're stingy when it comes to things that belongs to you. but then you felt bad because you wanted to be her friend and you'd gladly share your lip balm with her if only she had asked you in the first place.

she noticed that you took a pink item out of your mother's bag. it was the strawberry shortcake lip balm keychain. "let's share," you grinned as you hand her the keychain. hazel looked at you with wide eyes, her blue eyes shining in excitement. the two of you played in the playplace after that.

from then on, you and hazel were inseparable. every trip, every dinner, your family and hazel's family were together. the both of you would also have sleepovers at each other's place. most of the time, you preferred to stay over at hazel's. you would spend hours on playing tekken or grand theft auto or bratz on her playstation before getting scolded by mrs. callahan for staying up late.

as years went on, your friendship grew closer and closer until it doesn't feel like friendship anymore. hazel was the first one to have this epiphany back in ninth grade. she couldn't pinpoint the exact moment but one day, everything about you seemed loud; in a good way. you were radiating like sunbeams in the sky, blinding hazel by your beauty and your presence. since then, she keeps forgetting that you've been friends for years. who could blame her. you always took her breath away every time you'd smile.

confused at this newfound feeling, hazel decided to keep this feeling all to herself. after all, it would probably go away soon enough.

she thought it would go away. she really hoped it would. but it never did. there have been multiple instances where she was so close to confessing, but the fear of getting hurt by your rejection and the fear of your friendship ending would always stop her from doing so.

you realized that you were falling for hazel during the year the fight club was created. you were inseparable up until this point in your lives as she became more busy and involved with the club as one of its founding members. when she invited you to join, you rejected her invitation, joking that you don't want to ruin your beautiful face. she somehow took this joke very seriously and distanced you from the club, eventually distancing herself in the process. this, of course, hurted you but it didn't come as a surprise. hazel seemed to be walking on eggshells around you. at first, you thought nothing of it. you became concerned when it continued after that. you found it weird as she had never acted that way before but you brushed it off, assuming it was nothing.

it was lonely without her and it would be a lie to say that you weren't jealous of her club. she's your best friend since kindergarten, why is she spending more time with them than you? they don't know her like you do. from your point of view, it seemed like she was too engrossed in the club that she forgot that you existed. but from her point of view, she was suffering from not hanging out with you despite preoccupying herself with the club to get you out of her mind, that same feeling still lingering in her chest.

you took care of hazel when she got beaten up by tucker. mrs. callahan— who's now different in your eyes after learning that she was sleeping with jeff —was glad that her "daughters" were hanging out again, recalling that time you poured alcohol on the cut on hazel's knee. unlike before, you were more gentle at cleaning the multiple cuts on her swollen face.

the sight ultimately broke you. you could still hear her head making contact with the gymasium floor, making you wince every time you remembered it. you wanted to run towards her, shield her from the big white guy— seriously, why the fuck is he not expelled yet? this school is a joke, you thought. but he was tucker and he was caged for a reason, and you don't know a thing or two about self defense. all you could do was watch in fear.

on the second night of your so-called "shift", you sat at the corner of her bed after putting away the ice pack and the antiseptics to see if she's in any discomfort while sleeping. she looked peaceful in her slumber despite her swollen eyelids painted in disgusting red, black and blue hues. you just wished that the healing process would speed up so that you could see her bright eyes again. your eyes travelled down to her parted lips, finding yourself staring at it for a long amount of time. you were aware of hazel's unbroken routine of always applying lip balm which obviously started back when you were little but this was the first time that you noticed how soft they looked. you wondered what her lips would feel like on your—

you were snapped out of your daydream when hazel stirred in her sleep, making you abruptly but gently standing up from her bed to avoid interrupting her rest. what was that about? you don't just randomly daydream about kissing your friend, especially when they're in a horrible state. cringing internally, you laid down on the sleeping bag on the floor, shutting your eyes so you could quickly fall asleep and forget about your thoughts. this is normal right? right?

you were in denial the whole time you were at hers, attempting to be your usual self around her. but because of your recent thoughts, you found yourself unintentionally hesitant and self conscious with your actions. you were pretty sure that her fight club friends— minus pj and josie —found you weird for checking on her band-aids every minute and for acting like a mom the whole time they were over. but they were nice and you despised yourself for not liking them in the first place.

hazel was thankful that you stayed by her side and took care of her no matter how distant she became. she wasn't proud of what she did and apologized to you after the fight club left her house, leaving the both of you alone in the living room. "it's not a big deal," you wearily smiled. she hoped that you weren't tired of her.

you and hazel hung out like you used to. playing games until early in the morning, talking shit about the people you hated in school, cooking in the middle of the night. she even invited you to watch the football game against huntington with her. it's been awhile since the both of you went out together. this made you happy. maybe the previous thoughts that you had were only because you missed your dear friend. it was nothing.

you thought it was nothing. but when you saw pj and hazel making out in front of you, you felt like you were going to puke. you hurriedly left the bleachers and ran all the way home. your heart was clenching in your chest and you couldn't help the tears from streaming down your face. why did it hurt so much? why did you have to see it? you wished that you never met her in the first place. that you didn't become friends. if you did, maybe this wouldn't have happened. you stopped running as your legs made contact with the ground, heaving as you did so.

during the following weeks, you were now avoiding hazel. you shut down all of her attempts trying to talk to you, wanting to ask you about your whereabouts that night after they knocked out all of the football players. hazel was beyond frustrated that you were ignoring her calls and messages. she tried ambushing you in the classes that you both shared and didn't share together, but you had somehow left the classroom without her noticing.

after the fourth week, hazel finally got you cornered at your house. screw your mom for being so fond of her. your house lacks female solidarity.

"why have you been ignoring me?" hazel spoke after glaring at you intensely that you're pretty sure if she was a deadly laser right now, your skeleton will be left behind. you looked away from her eyes and stared at your pillows. you were both standing in the middle of the room, your arms crossed over your chests.

you shook her head and muttered, "you wouldn't understand." you don't want to let her know that you like her more than a friend. you don't want to get in between her and pj's relationship. you don't want to be that kind of girl.

hazel huffed and rolled her eyes, her hands now resting on her hips and her tongue pressing against the insides of her cheeks. "oh i'd love to understand why you decided to ignore me out of fucking nowhere."

your brows furrowed as you stepped a little closer. "that's ironic," you chuckled at her. "like you didn't ignore me when you started your little fight club."

her eyes widened a little bit. hazel was thrown off at what you said, the knot in her stomach getting tighter. "no, i—"

"wow..." you breathed out, shaking your head in disbelief. "so it's only okay when you do it?"

"you didn't talk to me!" she stepped closer.

"you didn't talk to me either!" you stepped closer. hazel could see that your eyes were filled with rage. bottled up emotions from when she was ignoring you started to peek through. "if you were going to ignore me for pj, you could've just fucking told me! you could've been honest!"

she cocked her head to the side. "pj? what does pj have to do with this?"

you stepped back and paced the room, one hand on your hips and the other on your forehead. hazel was confused when you brought up pj. sure, they kissed, but it was for a distraction. the whole time she was kissing her, you were on her mind. but of course, you don't know that.

"you didn't have to hide your girlfriend, hazel."

huh? hazel thought. "what girlfriend?"

now you were confused. "pj? i mean... you guys made out in front of the entire school—"

"that was for a distraction!" hazel then started pacing around the room while you stopped and watched her.

"distraction for what?!"

"huntington was about to kill jeff by spraying pineapple across the field during the game," hazel explained while you try to search for any lies in her eyes and words. "my bomb didn't work so we needed another distraction to stall the game— wait, shouldn't you know this? weren't you at the game?"

you swallowed and wiped your hands on your shorts, trying to calm yourself down and not cringe at what you're about to say next. "i left... when you and pj... y'know..."

hazel took a step closer to where you were. "why'd you leave?"

"because..." you stuttered, looking at anywhere but in front of you, words stuck in your throat as she took another step closer. "you wouldn't want to know."

"tell me," her voice dropped into a whisper, now only inches away from you, blue eyes piercing into yours. "why'd you leave?"

you took a deep breath and pursed your lips, mentally cursing yourself and everyone in the world. "i couldn't stand watching you kiss pj."

"why?" she took one step closer.

"because i like you." closer.

"of course you do," she chuckled and walked once more until her face is centimeters away from yours. "it'd be weird for our friendship if you don't."

she didn't want to jump into conclusions. you wanted to rip your hair out at her obliviousness. you could feel her breath on your face. her eyes glancing at your lips. the both of you wanted to let each other know about your feelings, your sweet intentions. but you were afraid that it'll be sour, bitter. that your emotions are still unripe.

"hazel... you don't understand—"

"make me."

with that, you closed the space that was in between you both, connecting your lips to her soft ones. it felt right. it wasn't sour. the kiss was gentle and sweet, much like a strawberry shortcake lip balm.

AAAAAA ive been writing this one for awhile i hope u liked it!! ;v;

30/09/22: IT IS FRIDAY AND I’M GOING TO BINGE READ THIS!!! prologue was perfect, so much tension, (i read a couple of chapters already and i’ll work my way through reblogging with highlights, but i already know this bradley is a dickkkkkkkkk and i can’t help but KNOW i’m gonna fall for him and i’m already waiting for his redemption arc!!! i know you’ll do it justice!!! i loved the whole college setting, the halloween party, BRADLEY AND JAKE BEING KIND OF ROOMATES I LOVE IT BRING IN ALL THE DRAMA!!! you’re so creative!!! OK TIME FOR MY FAVORITE PARTS:

can i just say i love that you start with this “It’s just that Bradley’s determined to do it right this time around.” and it sounds SO SWEET and SO BRADLEY and then everything goes off the rails after and he’s a dick and i just loved you breaking all expectations.

“He would already be there if his Mom hadn’t gotten sick when she did. He doesn’t want to think about that tonight.” he’s just emotionally unavailable we can fix him 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 we wil fix him!!!

“Bradley’s brows furrow slightly as he looks back down at you again. You stare at him, willing something in that stupid beefy brain to figure out what you’re trying to do. He looks back at the frat boy. It clicks.” a sprinkle of fake dating i’ll take it. thank you. AND I ALSO LOVED HOW WE GET INTRODUCED TO HER!!!

“You look up at him, the red plastic fireman’s hat dangling a little too loosely off of your head.” love this description!!!

“He’s handsome. You haven’t seen him around before. Reddish-blondish-brownish hair. Cute moustache. You love facial hair. Even cuter red blush to his cheeks. Freckles on his nose.” reddish-blondish-brownish is the most accurate description of bradley’s hair i’ve read to date akhcjsjdjsjd it changes so much with the lighting like??? anyways. you are correct.

“Because before you did, you were a ten. Now… I’m thinking somewhere along the lines of a four.” He answers. You turn your gaze towards him and he’s smiling. You lift your cup and bump it against his.” ooooooh a little degrading a little flirtingggggg

“You’re cute for a longhorns fan.” He leans against the island and wets his lips with his tongue. You smile at him. “You always come with the leather shorts?”

“You wish.” You answer.” YOU’RE SO SO GOOD AT WRITING DIALOGUE I CAN’T EMPHASIZE IT ENOUGH!!!

“I will suck your dick right now if you can prove to me that you have a Paul O’Neill signed baseball.” WELL-

“He drops the ball onto his desk and reaches for his belt, shrugging his shoulders as he tugs at the leather dramatically, “Well, I sure hope that your head game is better than your negotiating skills.” he’s such a little shit!!!

“Fuck. Bradley’s frozen in the hallway, having a crisis of faith, wondering how the hell he is going to live with the fact that he fucked Jake’s girlfriend. In his defence, Jake hasn’t mentioned a girl in months. Fuck. Bradley really hopes Jake doesn’t —” this whole part was too funny, bradley going through all possible scenarios shchhshxhshdhd

“Your lip quirks slightly. Sure, he’s shy now — he certainly wasn’t when he had you folded into his mattress at 3am.” i just know that flashbacks are going to KILL ME.

“Have you met my baby sister?” Jake asks.” AND THERE IT IS!!!!!!!!!!!

“This is Bradley, he’s our running back.” Jake explains. You nod politely. You tell him it’s nice to meet him. Bradley burns red.” love this!!! favorite line!!!

and i loved it when you switched from describing bradley being uncomfortable in this scene to her being uncomfortable as well shxhsjhchshhdhss you switch their povs with so much ease!!!

“It’s mutual. Neither of you plan on speaking ever again.” BUT YOU WILLLLLLLLL!!!

so so so good as always. you never disappoint.

My Future in You | Prologue |Bradley Bradshaw x Seresin ! Reader

Synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be out of the academy by now. Instead, he’s retaking his senior year of college and praying to god that he gets into flight school. Mav’s gone, his mom’s gone. He’s mad at the world. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

Warnings: allusions to sex (fear not, there will be flashbacks in later chapters), eventual accidental pregnancy, angst, drama etc etc, enemies to lovers if you wanna call it that, no major warnings in this chapter

…

“Smile, dude, you’re bumming me out.” Jake elbows Bradley playfully. Bradley turns his head and plasters a forced grin onto his face, then leans back against the wall behind him. He brings the red cup to his mouth and drinks.

“It’s Halloween — the sluttiest night of the year, stop crying about your midterm and enjoy it!” Jake pats Bradley’s shoulder and heads for the living room. Bradley purses his lips as he looks around him.

He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek. Jake, for once, is right. A C-minus probably isn’t worth sulking over. It’s just that Bradley’s determined to do it right this time around. If he does, then this time next year he’ll be in flight school and things will be back on track.

He would already be there if his Mom hadn’t gotten sick when she did. He doesn’t want to think about that tonight.

He looks down at the brown liquid in his cup and swishes it around, deciding that the plastic looks empty enough again for a refill. Bradley turns and heads for the kitchen, brushing past a sea of horny co-eds as he does.

He steps into the kitchen with his head down, grabbing a bottle of jack from the centre of the kitchen island. He pours it, mixes it with coke.

“Here he is.” A hand wraps around his forearm. Bradley looks up, brows raised, confused. You loop your arms around his arm, press your body into his side. Bradley looks down at the barely dressed firefighter hanging off of his arm, then up at the person you’re looking at, a lanky guy from another frat with a pissed off look on his face. “This is my Adam. Hi, baby.” You breathe out, squeezing your arms around his and then smiling up at him.

Bradley’s brows furrow slightly as he looks back down at you again. You stare at him, willing something in that stupid beefy brain to figure out what you’re trying to do. He looks back at the frat boy. It clicks.

“Oh.” He says out loud. “Yeah. I’m… Adam.”

Not one of you is impressed with his less than Oscar-worthy performance. Bradley smiles at the frat boy. He looks back at you.

“This guy bothering you?” He asks bluntly. Absolutely no regard for the picture you’re trying to paint of letting this guy down gently. You look up at him, the red plastic fireman’s hat dangling a little too loosely off of your head.

He’s handsome. You haven’t seen him around before. Reddish-blondish-brownish hair. Cute moustache. You love facial hair. Even cuter red blush to his cheeks. Freckles on his nose.

“No, we were just talking.” The other guy puts his hands up defensively. Bradley tilts his head at him. “I didn’t realise she had a boyfriend. Sorry, man.”

Even though you had told him you had a boyfriend eight times and had even made up a fake name and backstory for the imaginary individual.

You pull yourself closer to Adam, who studies anthropology, is left handed and drives a 2006 Toyota Corolla, then grin at the frat boy sweetly. Bradley watches him leave the kitchen. Once he’s gone, Bradley’s chin turns and he looks down at you. You realise you’re still curled around his arm, resting your cheek against his bicep. It feels strong. Warm. He smells nice.

You withdraw quickly.

“Sorry.” You giggle sheepishly. His eyes aren’t on your face anymore. His lips quirk as he looks you up and down.

“‘S alright,” He answers, lifting his drink and taking a sip. You stand back and watch the way he checks you out so unashamedly. You smile. “Wouldn’t leave you alone?” He nods his head in the direction that little asshole just scuttled off in.

“Yeah, he’s been bugging me for like an hour.” You explain. You hold your hand out towards the stranger in an eagles jersey and tell him your name.

This time he smiles. He takes your hand and shakes it loosely. “Bradley.”

“Who are supposed to be?” You ask. He’s just wearing jeans and a green jersey. He smiles around his cup and turns around. Your eyes linger on the way his shoulders stand out, the way the fabric grows looser around the bottom of his toned back. He points to the name on the back of the jersey with his free hand.

“Nick Foles.”

You scoff. “Man, that is scary.”

Bradley scrunches his nose as you turn and grab vodka from the island. You grab a new cup, nodding your head to the music as you go. The stupid plastic fireman’s hat wobbles on your head as you move.

“Oh really? — Who’s your team?”

“Longhorns, through and through.”

Bradley visibly grimaces. He shakes his head as he takes a long gulp. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”

“Why’s that?” You challenge him, mixing pineapple juice with your triple measure of vodka.

“Because before you did, you were a ten. Now… I’m thinking somewhere along the lines of a four.” He answers. You turn your gaze towards him and he’s smiling. You lift your cup and bump it against his.

“You know what? — I agree,” You tell him sweetly. Bradley’s just thinking about how diplomatic of an answer that was, how level-headed and sweet you must be, when you continue. “We’re both fours.”

Bradley scrunches his face up, “I’m a four?”

You turn your body fully towards him. You look him up and down. Shrug your shoulders. “On a good day, I can’t see why you wouldn’t be.”

He smiles at you.

“You’re cute for a longhorns fan.” He leans against the island and wets his lips with his tongue. You smile at him. “You always come with the leather shorts?”

“You wish.” You answer.

He takes a drink, then nods his head as he looks unashamedly at the fishnets that disappear under the black leather. “I do.”

You bite your cheek. He watches you drink from the cup.

“What’s your major?”

You lean into him. Tell him that you don’t go to school here, you’re just here with some friends visiting your big brother. He studies political science. He’s a senior.

You are too, but you have to mention that you’re graduating two years early. He teases you for being a know it all. He’s easy enough to get along with. Even easier to look at.

“No you don’t.” You scoff at him. You tilt your head and the fireman’s hat wobbles. “You’re just trying to get me upstairs.”

Maybe. Rooster grins, pleased that you’re playing along. But he really does have the ball. He opens his mouth to tell you the story. All about how his Uncle Mav took him to a game on his seventh birthday and made sure they left with a signed ball. He closes it again.

He shakes his head, not wanting to think of Mav. He’s having a good time, he can’t let that asshole ruin it.

“Seriously, I have a signed Paul O’Neill baseball. It’s in my room.” He nods his head, pouring himself another jack and coke. “I’d offer to show you, but I don’t know if I can trust a longhorn.”

You smile at him sweetly and tilt your head to the side, offering him a wink, “You shouldn’t.”

He sticks his hand out, “I’m sold. Come on. This way.” He takes your hand in his without waiting for you to extend it to him.

You giggle as he pulls you from the kitchen.

You take a sip of your drink and set it on his nightstand. You silently judge his bedsheets. He could’ve come up with something a little more original than navy blue.

“I’m not an interior decorator.” He reminds you.

“Thank god, I don’t think you’d be very successful.” You answer back. He chuckles softly as he crosses the room to you. You lift your chin, lips hinting at a smile.

He tilts back the plastic fireman’s hat, then lowers his head and kisses your mouth. You relax against his chest, grabbing at his hips as he grabs at the back of your neck.

“Mm, what about the baseball?” You remind him. He furrows his brows as he pulls back to look at you, he’s halfway to smiling.

“You really want to see it?” He asks.

“I will suck your dick right now if you can prove to me that you have a Paul O’Neill signed baseball.” You’re certain he’s lying. Bradley raises his eyebrows. He chuckles as he lets you go and turns around.

You watch him pull open his closet. He pulls a box down from the top and opens it. He’s standing a little bit away but you can see the box is filled with childhood trinkets and sports memorabilia.

He turns back towards you and presents the baseball in and open palm. He watches as you read the signature and look up at him silently. Your mouth twitches as you try not to laugh.

He drops the ball onto his desk and reaches for his belt, shrugging his shoulders as he tugs at the leather dramatically, “Well, I sure hope that your head game is better than your negotiating skills.”

You laugh as you grab a fistful of his jersey and pull him forward into you. He tucks an arm around you as you fall into soft navy sheets, his knee slides between yours, his hand cupping your jaw as he works his lips against yours.

The next morning he slips out of bed early and goes for a run like he always does. Showers next. Doesn’t spend much time thinking about the girl that he left in his bed. Not until he comes back downstairs in the late morning in search of something edible that isn’t last night’s pizza.

He scrunches his face as he rounds the bottom of the stairs. He looks down the hall into the kitchen. You’re in the kitchen, in a new outfit and tidying up last night’s mess. Did you bring an overnight bag to a frat party?

Bradley hesitates at the end of the hall. He considers how to politely tell you to stop cleaning and leave. This hasn’t ever been a problem before. When girls wake up and he’s gone, they usually take the hint and leave. He should ask-

Jake.

Jake swings an arm around your shoulder and hugs you tight to his chest. He’s in sweatpants and a hoodie, his hair isn’t done. He grins as he hugs you. This isn’t how Jake treats girls he hooks up with - he likes to impress them by always looking immaculate and keep them interested with gentle teasing. Bradley’s eyes widen.

Jake must really like you.

Fuck. Bradley’s frozen in the hallway, having a crisis of faith, wondering how the hell he is going to live with the fact that he fucked Jake’s girlfriend. In his defence, Jake hasn’t mentioned a girl in months. Fuck. Bradley really hopes Jake doesn’t —

“Love you.” Jake grins, he messes with your hair as he turns to admire the job you’ve done cleaning up the kitchen this far. Bradley winces. He wonders how quickly he would be able to move out. This is going to make the team dynamic really awkward. Jake still has no idea that Bradley’s even watching. “You’re too good.”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too…” You answer back. Your back is to Bradley. You have no idea that he’s there.

Jake looks up and clocks Bradley standing at the bottom of the stairs through the kitchen doorway. He clasps his hand down onto your shoulder and gives a nod of acknowledgement to his teammate.

“Bradshaw!” Jake smiles, he has no idea. You turn, your eyes meet Bradley’s. He’s wearing a baseball cap to hide the fact that his curls dried weird this morning, and a plain black t-shirt. He smiles sheepishly at you.

Your lip quirks slightly. Sure, he’s shy now — he certainly wasn’t when he had you folded into his mattress at 3am.

“Have you met my baby sister?” Jake asks.

Bradley looks between you and Jake. Fuck, that’s so much worse. Jake’s in an especially good mood this morning. He grins proudly as he tucks his arm around your shoulder. You smile softly. Bradley looks between the two of you again.

He wants to bang his head against the wall.

How the fuck did he not notice that before? - That’s the exact same, smug smile. And you’re a longhorns fan - nobody likes the longhorns but Jake. This is bad. He fights his body’s natural impulse to slap a hand over his mouth.

Bradley realises that he’s still frozen, panicking, stood silent, still at the bottom of the stairs. He wonders if his movements look as robotic as they feel as he heads towards the kitchen. He forces himself to smile politely as he shakes his head. He hopes he isn’t red.

“I don’t think I have.” Bradley answers.

“This is Bradley, he’s our running back.” Jake explains. You nod politely. You tell him it’s nice to meet him. Bradley burns red.

You listen to Jake and Bradley’s small talk as Jake helps you clean the kitchen. Bradley remains firmly on the other side of the counter, like the possibility of coming into contact with you is terrifying. Which, it is.

Bradley knows that Jake likes to hold grudges.

“Alright, I should probably drive you home.” Jake decides finally. You let out a breath of relief and nod gratefully. You can’t stand being in this kitchen a second longer.

It’s bad enough that he snuck out this morning without saying a word. It’s even worse that he’s practically trembling now, worried about what your big brother would think. Lame.

“Nice to meet you, Bradley.”

Bradley smiles for Jake’s sake, his knuckles whitening around the counter as you pass by him.

“Sure — you too.”

It’s mutual. Neither of you plan on speaking ever again.

…

Tag List:

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29/12/22: TOP GUN BOXER AU IS SOMETING I DID NOT KNOW I NEEDED IN MY LIFE AND NOW HOW HAVE I BEEN LIVING WITHOUT IT? I DON’T KNOW!!! i think boxing would be such a good outlet for rooster’s frustrations so this is very perfect and i can’t wait to see more!!! i also saw you’re including jake and bob in this universe together and i can’t wait to read their parts!!! my favorite parts are below, your writing is spectacular!!!

r“Bradley can still feel each punch in his fists and the pain that erupts like fireworks on his skin from where the textured leather of Billy’s gloves made a direct hit. It had been a good fight.” absolutely love this description!!!

“Thought you were gonna put Hayes in a goddamn coma last week.” Adler snorts in agreement.

“I’ll try harder next time.” pls why is he so unserious sjhfhehdjdh

the way you’re setting the scenes for us and introducing this universe!!! perfection!!! the atmosphere is on point!!! it’s like a movie!!!

“That catches Bradley’s attention, his eyes drifting down to the wet shirt plastered against your bra. He rips his gaze to the floor before he can get too caught up in your cleavage, shaking off any inappropriate thoughts quickly. Adler would beat him to a pulp.” ok FIRST i love how he just instantly kind of shakes it off he WAS gonna look but then decides not to, he is a GENTLEMAN!!! and SECOND i love the line “would beat him to a pulp”, it’s perfect. probably my favorite out of this part!!! so well written!!!

“You look at the large gray sweatshirt in your hands, before timidly peeking at him through your lashes. “Are you sure? What if you get cold?” SHE’S A SWEETHEART!!!

“You hold the zipper between your fingers, before a thought comes to you suddenly and you pause to look at him again. “You can’t peek.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Bradley deadpans and closes his eyes.” already loving this dynamic 🥺🥲🥹

“Bradley’s lips quirk up only slightly at your sincerity. “Keep it, toots.” AND HERE HE ISSSSSSSS!!! yes he beats people up for a living but he IS a gentleman ❤️

“The two hardly spoke now — not after Bradley bulked up during the off season and moved up a weight class — and Maverick was set on keeping it that way, given that Bradley almost killed Isaac the last time they fought. He wasn’t sorry about it then and, looking at the motherfucker who’s groveling in front of his friend, he isn’t sorry about it now.” i support rooster’s rights but also his wrongs!!! and i also love how you placed maverick in this story!!!

“Bradley holds his hands up in mock surrender, directing his next words towards Isaac as he steps closer to him, “I just wanted to see how the fake teeth were coming in. They look good, Golovkin.” PLS WJHFHEHDHDHHD THE MOCKERY

“Fuck it, Bradley will apologize later.” the way you go back to the line about penny not liking blood on her floors with this i love ittttt and it builds the scene so well, i could visualize everything in my head!!!

“Aw,” Bradley pouts condescendingly as Isaac spits out thick blood onto the gravel. “And you just got new teeth too. I’m sorry, buddy.” WHY IS HE LIKE THIS I CAN’T-

“You son of a bitch!” Adler seethes, bunching up Bradley’s collar in his fists. “What the fuck did you do to my daughter?!” at first i thought her dad was gonna freak out because of the hoodie BUT IT GETS BETTER YOU MADE IT BETTER

“Adler’s body tenses at the way your voice wavers. “What did you do, Rooster?” this took a turn i wasn’t expecting at all the tone shift was so good!!! i can’t wait to read the rest!!!

Staking a Claim

summary - Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw was ruthless, a stone cold killer both in and outside of the ring — with the belts and trophies to prove it. When a miscalculation results in a target being put on the back of his trainer’s daughter, Bradley finds himself facing responsibility he never signed up for. You’re a whole new challenge. And Bradley doesn’t think you’re one he can fight his way out of.

warnings - DARK THEMES, boxer au, violence, threats of violence, language, mentions of drinking, brief mention of pain killers, harassment, stalking, blood, men talking badly about women, no use of y/n, does Bradley have a pain kink? the world may never know

this series is 18+, minors please do not interact

word count - 3.4k

monsters in the dark masterlist

Continuar lendo

22/09/22: i’m going absolutely insane over this!!! EXASPERATED SLEEPY FRIENDS TO LOVERS INDEED!!! this was genuinely so fun to read, your writing flows so easily, you’re so talented AND THE WAY YOU WRITE JAKE IS SO-!!!!!! ANYWAYS!!!! MY FAVORITE PARTS ARE BELOW THE CUT!!!

“Urges that increase tenfold when you open it to see Jake Seresin, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly in an old Navy shirt that looks way too soft for your sleep addled brain to deal with right now.” what an image!!!

“You narrow your eyes. “What if I have someone here?”

He smirks and you kind of want to slap him.” this part already shows so much of their dynamic i love it so much.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he drawls, letting you feel the heat of his body as he passes by you, just a touch too close for comfort.” JUST A TOUCH TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT!!! I JUST KNOW HE DID IT ON PURPOSE LITTLE SHITTTTTTTT

“You should be preparing yourself for whatever he’s about to say that’s sure to make you lose your footing. But he looks like a goddamn sleepwear model like this, mellow and soft and cuddly, eyes drooping a little from tiredness and the whiskey he was sipping on all night, clothes begging to have someone’s hands fisted in them and…okay. Stopping that train of thought right the fuck now.” droopy eyes and floppy hair. i see it all. i want him. also love how she gets lost in thought ajxhsjhxhshdhshd

“Nothing but danger lies down that road with a girl like you and a guy like Hangman.” 🥲🥲🥲

“Message received, Hangman. We both know I’m not your type.” THAT’S NOT IT AT ALLLLLLLLL :(

“It’s one hundred degrees in this room,” Hangman defends himself. “I can’t sleep in pants, I’ll die.” why is he so ridiculous and dramatic i can’t ajxhsjxhshdhhsdh

“Relax, sugar. Just trying to keep you warm, since you’re always so cold. Been told I’m like a furnace.”

By who? You want to snap at him, but instead you swallow the words and lean into his chest. He really is warm.” love love love how she’s already thinking about an answer to throw at him but decides against it because HE REALLY IS A WARM 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

"I know," you whisper, not trusting yourself to say much else without divulging all the thoughts about him you've buried deep under your comforter at home.” AAAAAAAAAAAAA SCREAMING ALREADY

“You squint, still kind of wondering if he can feel your pulse racing.” i love this quote <3

“Well, he definitely wanted to.” You’d love to imagine there’s a hint of bitterness in his tone, but you know that’s just wishful thinking.” NO IT’S NOT!!!!!! HE PAID ATTENTION!!!!! HE LIKES YOU!!!!

“Part of you wants to roll your eyes and scoff at him, as if Casanova Jake Seresin has any idea what that feels like, but he’s rubbing small, comforting circles in between your shoulder blades and it’s short-circuiting your brain. You find yourself running your fingers up his spine instead, playing with the soft threads of his t-shirt like you’ve wanted to since the moment you saw him at your door tonight.” absolutely losing it they’re so touchy with each other and COMFORTABLE WHILE DOING IT AND THEY REALLY THINK THEY’RE JUST GOOD FRIENDS??? GOOD PALS??? HELLO??? also the way you wrote this ❤️❤️❤️❤️

“You take your hand back like it’s been burned, cheeks suddenly hot as you realize you’d gotten carried away. “I’m sorry, I just—I didn’t think about what I was doing. Got distracted.” NOW MY BRAIN IS STARTING TO SHORT-CIRCUIT!!!

“He pulls your fingers back to his stomach, and you can’t help but immediately brush them over his happy trail.” STOP I’M GOING TO CRY AND THROW UP HE PUT THE FINGERS BACKSJCHSHCSHCHDHCHDHHFHSHDDH STOPPPPPPP

“I’m not like this, you want to say. I’m not like you.

He exhales audibly, looking down at you, at the cherry blooming on your cheeks, at where your dainty fingers pluck at his shirt. His hand clenches once in the pillow above your head, knuckles practically white, before releasing.

“I know, sweets, was only joking. Fuck, I get that you’re a good girl,” he breathes, strained like he’s barely holding it together. “S’why I always want to ruin you.” i’m not like you meaning jake is a slut i mean she’s not wrong there. BUT ALSO: THE WAY AND THE CONTEXT IN WHICH HE SAYS GOOD GIRL I HAVE JUST PASSED AWAYYYYYYYYYY

“How many nights you've spent biting back his name, too embarrassed to let your lips form the syllables of someone who you were certain didn’t want you.” this line hit so hard. she really had set in stone in her mind that he didn’t have feelings for her oh GOD HOW LONG HAVE THEY BEEN PINING FOR EACH OTHER I’M GOING TO CRY!!!

“All you can manage is a nod, eyes starting to glaze over as he fills every inch of your vision.” OKAYSJCHSUCYYSYCHSHXHSHD

“And suddenly his words are hot in your ear. “What do you want, sweetheart? Want me to ruin you? Tell you about all the times I’ve thought about taking you apart?” TELL YOU ABOUT ALL THE TIMES I’VE THOUGHT ABOUT TAKING YOU APART I CAN’T DO THIS HOW DARE YOU I HAVE NO WORDS.

“His hand stops at your neck, just briefly, thumb rubbing on your pulse point. And it turns every last bit of you in you to sweet, sticky, melting caramel. Your breath hitches, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, holding back a whimper.” 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 i’m going through it right now 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

“He’s not even doing anything, not really, but your mind immediately latches onto what he could be.” EXACTLY!!! OH MY GOD!!!

“Thought you were so fucking innocent,” he grunts, running his thumb from your pulse point to your jaw and back again. You bring your hands to his, pulling him closer, silently asking him to press down.” CAN HE PLEASE STOPSJDJSCHSHDHDH

“But Jake’s head drops next to his hand at the crook of your neck, and he makes a strangled noise, the moan reverberating through your skin. 

“Jesus,” he mutters against you. “Trying to kill me, sugar?” slut ❤️

“Your fingers are still grasping his hand, the one still around your neck, tightly, like you’re scared he’ll pull it away, leave you to drift without his grip to ground you, to remind you this moment is real. It’s actually happening.” feeling so many emotions right now this is so beautiful!!! getting her grounded!!!!!! there’s so much trust here at the same time that she really doesn’t believe it’s actually happening (which would make her a little insecure) but it’s jake ❤️❤️❤️❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹🤒🤒🤒🤒

“He lifts his head up to latch his mouth onto yours again and it’s heavier, so much more desperate than before. You whine into him as he slides his hands down your body, pushing up your shirt and you want to laugh at the absurdity of it, that you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your entire life and you’re both still fully clothed.” THEY’VE WANTED EACH OTHER FOR SO LONG HAVEN’T THEY AAAAAAAAA

“Warmth blooms in your chest at the realization he might’ve imagined this even half as much as you have. You’re sure you’re smiling like an idiot.” YESSSSSSS NEW FAVORITE PEOPLE EVER WHY AM I EMOTIONAL 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

“You don’t notice you’re on the verge of a sob until he brushes your hair back from your sweaty forehead. “Just a little more, sweetheart, you can take it.” no words. no words. i refuse.

“Jake practically preens. “Where’d my feisty little brat go? That all it takes to shut you up, sugar?” STOPPPPPPPSHCXHSHXSHHXHS

“You’re not sure you’re still functioning. You’re not sure you’ll ever move again. You’re pretty sure you’ll ever have a coherent thought again.” YEAH.

“Sweetheart?” He asks when you’ve been silent for minutes, or maybe hours, who knows.

You look up at him, blinking slowly, eyelids made of lead, vision unfocused.

Jake grins, and it's almost boyish. It's annoyingly cute. “That good?” god he’s SO COCKY AND IT’S LIKE YOU SAID IN THE BEGINNING OF COURSE HE’S COCKY FOR A REASON NO ONE IS THIS CONFIDENT WITHOUT REASON TO BACK IT UP. I HATE HIM. THIS PART IS PERFECT. EVERYTHING ABOUT IT.

“As it stands, you’re too dazed to actually do either. You nod, silently burrowing your face into his neck. He chuckles again, and you decide maybe you don’t hate that teasing sound that much, maybe you’ll spend your days trying to elicit it from him as often as possible. You’re still thinking about it when he peels himself off you to clean you both up.” MAYBE YOU’LL SPEND YOUR DAYS TRYING TO ELICIT IT FROM HIM AS OFTEN AS POSSIBLE I LOVEEEEEEEEEEEEE THEM!!!

“When he settles back down, he pulls you in tight, curls around you in a way that should be uncomfortable, like he’d crawl inside your skin if he could.” ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

“Jake is still glued to you when you wake up in the morning, and your heart clenches too affectionately to be irritated by the fact that you can’t really move. Or breathe.” this is all so sweet and endearing my heart is getting arrhythmia.

“You don’t think he’s that much of an asshole, you’re pretty sure the bravado is all a front. That he wouldn’t do something like this, knowing how you operate, without any intention of moving forward, but the anxiety still thrums incessantly beneath your ribcage.” HE REALLY WOULDN’T BECAUSE HE LIKES HER SO MUCH ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️😡☹️☹️🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 but she still can’t help feeling a little insecure but that’s okay!!! all will be resolved!!!

“Guess that fifty bucks I gave Phoenix to find somewhere else to stay was a steal,” he mumbles, fingers dancing across your bare skin.” AND THERE IT ISSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!

this was so good!!!!! friends to lovers with hangman hits so differently!!! and combining that with the way you write, the way you set the scene??? perfection. AND YOUR SMUT??????????????? WILL BE NEEDING SEVERAL WEEKS TO RECOVER!!!!!

have you considered maybe writing a part 2 about them or a little prequel? so we see more of their dynamic? 🥺🥺🥺🥺 sorry i’ve fallen in love, they’re just adorable and i can’t wait to read more of your work!!!

do not disturb

pairing- jake 'hangman' seresin x female!reader (no use of y/n)

synopsis-

“It’s one hundred degrees in this room,” Hangman defends himself. “I can’t sleep in pants, I’ll die.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, considering just sleeping in the hallway yourself and ending this torture. “Is your penchant for drama genetic? Are your sisters like this too?”

warnings- 18+ only minors DNI, what's a plot never met her, explicit protected piv sex, lil corruption/innocence kink, choking (pls look up the correct way before doing it), hangman's dirty mouth, size kink (if jake doesn't have a big dick I'm staging a revolt), brat tamer hangman if you squint, inexperienced ish reader (tried but I'm a hoe so idk if I managed it), no kink negotiation here (talk to your partners first irl), safewords not explicitly stated but I promise this is consensual af, excessive pet names, exasperated sleepy friends to lovers

length- 4k this was supposed to be like 1k I don't know blame hangman

an- this is just smut w lil fluff sprinkles. i'm a hangman girl (read: I'm obsessed with glen powell) so I felt some type of way about being mean to him in tailspin & that's why this now exists. also idfk what this even is sorry! hope it's not terrible ok ily bye

GIF by when-in-doubt-eat-pizza

Technically, it’s the middle of the night. 

That’s why you’re burying homicidal urges when you hear knocking on your hotel room door. 

Urges that increase tenfold when you open it to see Jake Seresin, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly in an old Navy shirt that looks way too soft for your sleep addled brain to deal with right now. 

“Hangman,” you greet drily. “Why the fuck.”

Rubbing sleep from your eyes, you’re not unhappy to see him, per se, but it’s well past acceptable social hours. He’ll have to forgive your less than enthusiastic welcome. Part of you thinks you might still be sleeping.

He at least has the decency to look sheepish for waking you up. Well, about as sheepish as Hangman is capable of looking. “Coyote said he was bringing someone back to our room. Can I crash with you tonight? Everyone else is either hooking up or dead asleep.”

Fucking weddings. 

You narrow your eyes. “What if I have someone here?”

He smirks and you kind of want to slap him. 

A testament to your willpower, you sigh instead, briefly wondering if it’s really that bad to force him to sleep in the hallway, before opening the door and stepping to the side. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he drawls, letting you feel the heat of his body as he passes by you, just a touch too close for comfort.

“Cool pjs.” He smirks again, raking his eyes up and down your colorful matching shorts and shirt set. 

“Bite me.”

Hangman smiles good-naturedly causing you to idly wonder if anything has ever bothered him in his entire life. 

“You’re real cute when you’re tired,” he says instead of being offended and now you’re debating if you actually should slap him, or maybe yourself for the way his compliment brings heat to your cheeks. 

“Where’s Phoenix? Thought you were sharing a room with her this weekend.”

Your stomach drops as you consider that Phoenix might be why he came to crash in your room, and you try not to make a face at its betrayal. 

“She’s probably in your room with Coyote,” you deadpan to cover up your discomfort, and then relish in the way his mouth drops open in surprise. “Christ, aren’t you supposed to be smart, Hangman? I’m kidding, she met someone at the reception.”

You know you’re being a little more abrasive with him than normal, but you can’t quite help the jabs that come out when you’re feeling uneasy. 

And Hangman does nothing, if not make you very, very uneasy. Especially like this, with his blonde hair soft and flopping all over his forehead, that old t-shirt clearly having been shrunk in the wash over the years straining across his chest, riding up a little high above his sweatpants. 

The gears are clearly turning in his head, no doubt forming something witty to gain back the slight upper hand you’ve gained in this verbal sparring. 

You should be preparing yourself for whatever he’s about to say that’s sure to make you lose your footing. But he looks like a goddamn sleepwear model like this, mellow and soft and cuddly, eyes drooping a little from tiredness and the whiskey he was sipping on all night, clothes begging to have someone’s hands fisted in them and…okay. Stopping that train of thought right the fuck now.

Nothing but danger lies down that road with a girl like you and a guy like Hangman.

You’re contemplating if you could get away with taking a cold shower when he finally looks around your room, its distinct lack of two beds apparently killing whatever comeback he had on the tip of his tongue. 

“I can sleep on the floor.” He’s rubbing the back of his neck again and his uncharacteristic awkwardness is starting to make your skin itch. 

Message received, Hangman. We both know I’m not your type.

You’ve seen the girls he usually goes home with. Even if every single one of them wasn’t annoyingly beautiful, you already know where you stand with him. For all intents and purposes, you’re just another one of the guys. Sure, you don’t take a different conquest home every other night like the rest of them, but you banter and compete with them like buddies. 

And since you and Hangman are just buddies, you roll your eyes for appearances. “Just get in the bed, Seresin. It’s huge, I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor.”

He shrugs, like he’s giving himself credit for his half-assed offer and goes to pull his sweatpants off. You give him a withering look of disbelief, studiously avoiding looking at the way his boxers stretch over his muscular thighs. 

“It’s one hundred degrees in this room,” Hangman defends himself. “I can’t sleep in pants, I’ll die.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, considering just sleeping in the hallway yourself and ending this torture. “Is your penchant for drama genetic? Are your sisters like this too?”

He just gives you a dazzling smile in response, and you spin away from him before everything inside you melts. 

Turning the thermostat down, you shoot an evident you’re welcome stare in his direction, but his sweatpants remain in their place on the floor. He’s laid out on the bed, all tanned skin and muscle, arms crossed behind his head in a way that’s surely meant to draw your attention straight to his biceps. 

Deep breath, you tell yourself. You can do this, just lay down on the other side and don’t be weird. 

You get in and pull the covers tight, hoping the shiver that runs through you as the air conditioning kicks on isn’t noticeable. 

“And I’m dramatic,” Jake huffs, getting under the blanket and rolling closer to you. You tense, merely out of reflex and a frown creases his eyebrows almost imperceptibly before he gets comfortable on his side, pulls you into his arms. “Relax, sugar. Just trying to keep you warm, since you’re always so cold. Been told I’m like a furnace.”

By who?  You want to snap at him, but instead you swallow the words and lean into his chest. He really is warm. 

“Would never do anything you don’t want me to,” he mumbles, but there’s a trace of a chuckle in his voice that feels like he’s making fun of you.

Mocking aside, that's definitely true.

You'd never expect him to do any of the things you want him to, either. There's a reason your apprehension stems from you crossing some sort of invisible line with him in your bed and not vice versa.

"I know," you whisper, not trusting yourself to say much else without divulging all the thoughts about him you've buried deep under your comforter at home.

“How come you didn’t ask anyone else to come up and keep you warm?” Jake teases, after a few moments of silence where you were busy focusing on the whirr of the air conditioner and trying to ignore your pounding heart. 

You squint, still kind of wondering if he can feel your pulse racing. 

“The curly haired guy, from the wedding,” he supplies helpfully to answer your confused expression.

Oh. You’re surprised Jake noticed you talking to him at all. “It’s not like I wanted to sleep with him. We were just chatting.” 

“Well, he definitely wanted to.” You’d love to imagine there’s a hint of bitterness in his tone, but you know that’s just wishful thinking.

“That’s not really my thing,” you say quietly, as if he doesn’t already know. He knew enough to know you wouldn’t have anyone up here with you, after all.

It’s so much easier, laying here in the dark, not having to meet his beautiful green eyes, to be honest. All your jabs having melted into smooth, silky edges at the warmth of his body.

There’s a playful lilt to Jake’s voice again. “Sex?”

You smack him lightly on the chest. “One-night stands. I can never get comfortable enough with a stranger to have a good time, things are just better for me when it’s more involved.”

When there’s feelings, you don’t say, because you’re pretty sure he can put two and two together without you having to spell it out.

You still kind of wish you hadn’t said anything, are kicking yourself for admitting that out loud when he cuts through the anxiety of your internal monologue.

“Nothing wrong with knowing what you want, darlin’.”

“It sucks sometimes,” you admit. “It can be a little lonely.”

“Better than being with the wrong person if it’s just going to make you feel bad.”

Part of you wants to roll your eyes and scoff at him, as if Casanova Jake Seresin has any idea what that feels like, but he’s rubbing small, comforting circles in between your shoulder blades and it’s short-circuiting your brain. You find yourself running your fingers up his spine instead, playing with the soft threads of his t-shirt like you’ve wanted to since the moment you saw him at your door tonight.

“Feels nice,” he comments, pulling you in closer.

Spurred on by his praise you keep going, wandering down his back to where his shirt rides up. You look down and see that little strip of blonde hair that disappears into the waistband of his boxers, slung low enough that you can see that stupid Adonis belt on his abs. Your hand moves to the front of him of its own accord, tracing the ridges there, brushing dangerously close to the strip of elastic at the top.

Jake’s arm pops up so he can support his head with his hand, looking down at you imploringly. “What’re you playing at, sugar?”

You take your hand back like it’s been burned, cheeks suddenly hot as you realize you’d gotten carried away. “I’m sorry, I just—I didn’t think about what I was doing. Got distracted.”

He’s definitely smirking, you can practically feel it in the air above you, but you’re sure as hell not going to look up and see that self-important grin for yourself.

He pulls your fingers back to his stomach, and you can’t help but immediately brush them over his happy trail. The dusting of blonde hair surprises you a little, having expected Hangman to be too vain to leave any hair around that might distract from his physique.

You’re silently wondering if he has any hair on his chest when he catches a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. You see his green eyes darkened, studying your face for something. You’re not entirely sure what.

Apparently finding what they’re looking for his expression softens, the hand supporting his head going to brush hair away from your face and you break eye contact, feeling small under his undivided attention. His fingers hover for a second, like he wants to do something more, but go to rest on your pillow instead.

“Thought that I had you pegged wrong all along for a second there, using lines to get in my pants. That’s not really my thing,” he mimics, smile twitching at the edges of his lips.

“Oh, I’m—Jake, I’m not—” you stutter, certain you must be bright red now. Your fingers are playing with the hem of his t-shirt, nervous and fidgety energy working to get released.

I’m not like this, you want to say. I’m not like you.

He exhales audibly, looking down at you, at the cherry blooming on your cheeks, at where your dainty fingers pluck at his shirt. His hand clenches once in the pillow above your head, knuckles practically white, before releasing.

“I know, sweets, was only joking. Fuck, I get that you’re a good girl,” he breathes, strained like he’s barely holding it together. “S’why I always want to ruin you.”

What.

Everything inside your mind shuts off.

All you can hear is the humming of the air conditioner, the slow intake of air into his lungs. Something inside you clenches.

You’re fairly certain a sound that closely resembles a whimper breaks from your throat, but you can’t know for sure, since all thoughts have been erased from your brain.

You hear him suck in a sharp breath, breathing in and out evenly for a couple seconds, regaining control, before he speaks again. “Sorry, sweetheart. Shouldn’t have said that. I won’t, told you I’d never do anything you don’t want.”

You already know that. That’s not the problem. The problem is how many nights you’ve already spent wishing his fingers were on you instead of your own. How many nights you've spent biting back his name, too embarrassed to let your lips form the syllables of someone who you were certain didn’t want you.

Now, though, those walls of certainty seem to be crumbling at every edge. 

“What if I want you to?” You ask quietly, barely above a whisper. It almost gets stuck in your throat, but you force your lips to form those words and let them leave your lungs.

Jake’s entire body goes tense.

But then he rolls over, putting you on your back and caging you in with his arms.

“You mean that?” He’s looking at you intensely, so intensely you might be frightened if you weren’t distracted by the weight of him on top of you, by every single scorching point of contact between you. 

All you can manage is a nod, eyes starting to glaze over as he fills every inch of your vision.

He chuckles. “Guess that’s a yes.”

Jake ducks his head to kiss you, it’s sweet, sweeter than you ever would’ve expected from him. Sweeter than you thought it would be when you were hiding beneath the sheets in your bed, with your fingers on your clit, choking back his name. 

But then he slides his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss as he tangles a hand in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you moan straight into his mouth. His lips move down to ghost over your neck, across your jaw. 

And suddenly his words are hot in your ear. “What do you want, sweetheart? Want me to ruin you? Tell you about all the times I’ve thought about taking you apart?”

Your thighs clench together, heat blooming in your stomach and you notice, all at once, how wet you really are, slick pooling between your thighs under the wispy material of your sleep shorts. 

You open your mouth to say yes, desperately trying to find your voice, to find your familiar jabs so you can go toe to toe with him like normal, but all that comes out is a squeak. 

His hand stops at your neck, just briefly, thumb rubbing on your pulse point. And it turns every last bit of you in you to sweet, sticky, melting caramel. Your breath hitches, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, holding back a whimper.

He’s not even doing anything, not really, but your mind immediately latches onto what he could be.

Jake’s eyes go wide for just a second before something wicked glints in the thin ring of green left.

“Thought you were so fucking innocent,” he grunts, running his thumb from your pulse point to your jaw and back again. You bring your hands to his, pulling him closer, silently asking him to press down.

You open your mouth to respond, but you don’t know how to explain. You may not do this kind of thing a lot, but you know what you like. Your imagination has certainly run wild enough times.

But any words that might’ve been readying themselves to leave your lips wither into nothing the moment he squeezes your neck.

“Jake,” you gasp, words breathy underneath the fingers around your throat. “Jake, I…”

“Hmm, what’s that, sweetheart?” His hand relents a little so you can answer, but you immediately wish he’d tighten his hold again.

“Yes, Jake,” you whine. “I want you to ruin me.”

And you don’t know what’s come over you, if you were even an ounce more present in your own body you’d probably be embarrassed.

But Jake’s head drops next to his hand at the crook of your neck, and he makes a strangled noise, the moan reverberating through your skin. 

“Jesus,” he mutters against you. “Trying to kill me, sugar?”

You don’t have an answer for that because you’re not trying to do anything, you just want more.

Your fingers are still grasping his hand, the one still around your neck, tightly, like you’re scared he’ll pull it away, leave you to drift without his grip to ground you, to remind you this moment is real. It’s actually happening. 

He lifts his head up to latch his mouth onto yours again and it’s heavier, so much more desperate than before. You whine into him as he slides his hands down your body, pushing up your shirt and you want to laugh at the absurdity of it, that you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your entire life and you’re both still fully clothed. 

He peels your shirt up and over your head, letting out another obscene groan at the sight of your bare chest. 

“Fucking perfect,” he murmurs. 

You fist your hands in his shirt in answer, tugging upwards, figuring fair is fair. You’re trying hard not to blush, not to show how his approval makes you light and fuzzy. He grins and sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt up and over his head, ruffling his floppy hair in the process. 

Lips parting unconsciously, your tongue flicks out to wet them. You knew he was built, but it’s overwhelming, really, to have all that tan skin on display just inches from your face. You get to run your hands up the length of his entire chest now though, leaning up so your fingers can dance through the tuft of blonde hair near the top.

Jake pushes you down on your back, firm, into the pillows. Smiling deviously when you pout and immediately clench your fingers in the sheets beside you, when your thighs press together, seeking some sort of relief to the ache between them. The seam of your shorts presses just right against your center, and you let your head fall back with a soft moan. 

Something akin to dangerous flashes in Jake’s eyes, as he hooks his fingers in your shorts, pulling down in one swift motion and tossing them off the bed before you can gain any more pleasure from the thin material. He pushes your legs apart and groans at the sight of you, glistening wet for him. “God, sweetheart, look at you.”

Just when you think you might die if he doesn’t put his hands on you, if he doesn’t touch you, if he just keeps looking at you like that, like he wants to devour you; he swipes a finger up your slit, tip pressing lightly, teasingly against your bundle of nerves. It’s too much, but not enough all at the same time. He slides a finger in, curling it exactly right on the first try and you can’t help but keen, throwing your head back into the pillows.  

He sucks in a sharp breath at your reaction, eyelids going heavy as he presses rough figure eights on your clit. “Want to get my mouth on you, get my tongue inside that gorgeous pussy, but I can’t wait, darlin’, been thinking about this for too long.” 

Warmth blooms in your chest at the realization he might’ve imagined this even half as much as you have. You’re sure you’re smiling like an idiot. 

Reaching down to the pocket of his sweatpants, he pulls a condom out of his wallet, and you want to tease him, presumptuous much? But any semblance of thought goes out the window when he pulls his boxers down, hard cock slapping against his stomach. Your mouth is suddenly, immediately sandpaper dry. 

Fuck.

Of course he’s huge. No one with an ego as colossal as his doesn’t have a reason, or several to back it up.

You don’t even hear yourself saying it out loud, don’t even realize the curses forming on your tongue, until he grins, eyebrow raised, chest puffed out in pride. “Think you can handle me, sweetheart?”

It takes you a few moments to answer, to figure out that you should answer, since you’re transfixed on him, on the strong fingers rolling the condom onto his length. If you had any sense of self-preservation at all you might be genuinely worried about his question, about not being able to walk tomorrow. 

Hopefully you don’t sound as winded as you feel when you tell him to shut the fuck up. 

Before you can bother with any stupid survival instincts, you’re pulling him down on top of you, wrapping your legs around his waist, savoring the grunt it draws from him as his tip reaches your folds.

“Love it when you’re mouthy, darlin’, nice little challenge for me,” he promises, before pushing himself inside of you. 

He goes slow, tortuously slow, and you screw your eyes shut tight as your walls flutter trying to adjust to him. You don’t notice you’re on the verge of a sob until he brushes your hair back from your sweaty forehead. “Just a little more, sweetheart, you can take it.”

The stretch of him seems to go on forever, just on this side of agonizing, but way too good for you to care about the pain, too good to be real and you can barely focus on anything else. Can barely hear Jake’s molten honey voice repeating a slew of continuous praises in your ear, can barely register the weight of his body covering every inch of you. 

Any moment now you’ll wake up in your bed at home, covered in sweat, grinding into your bed, achingly alone. You’re almost certain of it.  

But then you feel his lips on yours again, hand holding your cheek, gentle, affectionate as he bottoms out. When he finally moves, the heavy, slick pull of him in and out of you reminds you that you’re here. 

You don’t even recognize yourself, mewling, long string of unintelligible noises tumbling from your lips. 

Jake practically preens. “Where’d my feisty little brat go? That all it takes to shut you up, sugar?”

You can only hope those were rhetorical questions because he’s hiking your legs over his shoulders, picking up the pace, new angle hitting that spot deep inside you again and again, and you can’t form a single thought, let alone words. 

Jake’s fingers find your center again and press against your clit in heavy, decisive circles, winding that coil in you tighter and tighter. 

“So close,” you whimper, fingers tearing at the bedsheets.

He smirks. 

“Did I say you could come, sweetheart?”

Your jaw drops in surprise, eyes rolling back and ears ringing, mind engulfed in the heat burning in your belly. 

He’s still grinning smugly as one of those large hands comes back to your neck. 

You whine, high-pitched and breathless, eyes fluttering closed, gripping the hand around your neck as he applies pressure, desperate for something to hold onto, and you think you’re trying to form words, some of them may even be making it out of your mouth, something along the lines of please please please, let me come, Jake, I can’t, JakeJakeJakeJake…

“So pretty all fucked out like this, stretched around my cock.” His gaze is fixed on where he’s plunging in and out of you, tone almost reverent. “It’s okay, sweetheart, come for me, wanna feel you, want…”

You don’t hear the rest because you’re focused on where his fingers dig into the sides of your neck, tipping over the edge, string of lights inside of you tangled and blowing a fuse. Everything bursts all at once and you’re clutching Jake’s arms so hard you’re positive you’re leaving marks, but it doesn’t matter, you don’t care because you’re in a free fall, toes curling in bliss. 

When you come to, you’re just barely aware of his pace growing erratic, hand on your throat loosening as it goes to brush your sweaty hair back from your forehead. His thrusts are getting shallower, mouth spewing a litany of jumbled praises so tight, so wet, so perfect baby, when suddenly he’s arching over you, hands tight on your hips as he empties into the condom. 

You’re not sure you’re still functioning. You’re not sure you’ll ever move again. You’re pretty sure you’ll ever have a coherent thought again.

Distantly you can hear his heavy breathing, feel his weight on top of you but you don’t fully register it. 

“Sweetheart?” He asks when you’ve been silent for minutes, or maybe hours, who knows. 

You look up at him, blinking slowly, eyelids made of lead, vision unfocused.

Jake grins, and it's almost boyish. It's annoyingly cute. “That good?” 

That cuts through the haze enough that you kind of want to slap him, for the arrogance littering those three little words. Or yourself, for helping his ego grow any bigger. 

As it stands, you’re too dazed to actually do either. You nod, silently burrowing your face into his neck. He chuckles again, and you decide maybe you don’t hate that teasing sound that much, maybe you’ll spend your days trying to elicit it from him as often as possible. You’re still thinking about it when he peels himself off you to clean you both up. 

When he settles back down, he pulls you in tight, curls around you in a way that should be uncomfortable, like he’d crawl inside your skin if he could. 

Jake is still glued to you when you wake up in the morning, and your heart clenches too affectionately to be irritated by the fact that you can’t really move. Or breathe. 

But you take one look at the smirk on his face, the mischievous glimmer that seems to linger even in his sleep and the butterflies in your stomach turn to stone.

You don’t think he’s that much of an asshole, you’re pretty sure the bravado is all a front. That he wouldn’t do something like this, knowing how you operate, without any intention of moving forward, but the anxiety still thrums incessantly beneath your ribcage.

You’re lost inside your own head, fighting the panic rising in your chest when he yawns, rubbing his eyes before tucking himself back into your side, impossibly closer.  

“Guess that fifty bucks I gave Phoenix to find somewhere else to stay was a steal,” he mumbles, fingers dancing across your bare skin. 

It’s his turn to pat himself on the back as your mouth drops open in shock. 

Jake grins, eyes sparkling as he presses a kiss into your hair. “Good luck getting rid of me now.”

30/12/22: HOLY SHIT BOXER BOB!!! this is one of the best first chapters i've ever read, everything was do engaging and you gave us enough to want more i need to know how their date went i need to know more about bob and mickey’s relationship and the boxing and maverick and how the stories are all going to connect. i need it ALL. just so good. i think you really nailed his personality, or at least the little bit you showed of him in this chapter. all of bob’s lines were so on character but with an EDGE!!! something a little different, but that FITS!!! anyways i’m so excited for the future parts, you’re incredibly talented!!!

“Bob Floyd liked to think he was a good person.” such an engaging opening line!!!

“But there’s an unrelenting pressure that comes with being a good person. A weight that couldn’t be lifted as he exhausted himself with the idea of what exactly it means to be inherently good.” this is getting so good already!!!

“He gives up his seat on public transportation and has reusable shopping bags so he doesn’t have to use the plastic ones at the grocery store.” of course he does ❤️

“Bob Floyd was a good person. Bob Floyd was a good person until, suddenly, he wasn’t. And it could all be traced back to the first time he ever stepped foot into Sugar Plum Bakery.” the name of the bakery in contrast with the whole atmosphere you’ve created for this is so interesting.

“Hi!” You pop up suddenly, smiling brightly. There’s a smudge of flour on your cheek, stipples of it all over your apron, and Bob's almost certain there’s some in your hair too. “What can I getcha?” and i adore her already.

“You bite your lip, eyes squinting as you appear to be sizing him up. It reminds Bob of his opponents in the ring — though their eyes aren’t nearly as pretty as yours — and it almost makes him laugh.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

“Bob’s eyebrows raise slightly in agreement. “Today’s special, huh? Then I should probably get one of those, shouldn’t I?”

“It’d be sacrilegious not to,” you tease back, a smile growing on your lips.” love this piece of dialogue!!!

AND THE 20% TIP FOR A 5 SECOND CONVERSATION AND AN APPLE TART HE IS THE SWEETEST

“You hand the box to him with that bright smile and — just like every romantic comedy Bob has ever watched with his mom — his heart stutters when your fingers brush.” AND HE WATHES ROMCOMS????? 😭😭😭😭😭❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

“Oh?” You turn back to the croissants, pleased with their golden brown color as you move to transfer them to a different tray to bring up front.  “And what would you call him?” i also adored this description and her attention to detail in the croissant!!!

“Don’t think it was a cupcake he was hopin’ for,” she looks at you knowingly and you feel slightly flustered at her implication.

He wanted to see you?” i am a puddle on the floor!!!!

“Ball cap guy sticks out like a sore thumb against the few customers in Sugar Plum, a head taller than everyone else even as his head is tilted down to look at his phone.” 😭

AND THEN HE GENUINELY PAYS ATTENTION TO HER RAMBLING ABOUT SWEET PEAS

“That’ll be—”

“What time do you get off?” He blurts suddenly.” I LOVE THIS TROPE!!! IS IT A TROPE??? SPEAKING OVER EACH OTHER IDK BUT I LOVE IT

“You ever think about fighting, Bob?” oh… maverick is RECRUITING???

“Maybe if Bob had done that to the landlord, he’d stop making his mom cry. Maybe if Bob had done that to those preppy college boys, Mickey wouldn’t have to shrug it off with a “People tip pretty good at Charlotte’s anyway”. Maybe if he’d never taken it, and taken it, and taken it, and actually stopped to wonder if maybe he didn’t have to, they wouldn’t have had to take it either.” LOVE THIS LINE

“How much would you pay me?” smart boy!!!

“Because if Adler could come out of it all a good man, Bob could cling to that hope for himself a little longer.” BOB 😭🥺

Do Unto Otters

summary - You should have known to question when Bob suddenly appeared in your bakery and made his place in your life — but, in your defense, his smile was so charming! Five dates in and he’s already swept you off your feet completely with his thoughtful nature and kind heart. But the question still remains: what do you actually know about him? And why does he always come back to you covered in bruises?

warnings - DARK THEMES, boxer au, violence, language, Bob is 6′5″ because I said so, I roasted Mav in this a bit my bad, mentions of violence, “Bob” is kind of a stupid boxer name so I changed it, no use of y/n

this series is 18+, minors please do not interact

word count - 3.5k

please take this as my thank you for 1.5k! I am so so honored that you guys think my stuff is worth reading, it means the world to me. anyway enjoy! - bugs

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