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[minejungwoo]

Title: Not a Cyclone, But a Monsoon

Part 2 of 2 - Completed

Find Part 1 HERE, and my Master List HERE

A request based off of THIS prompt, from the lovely @inkandarsenic

Romantic Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader Past Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem!Reader

Platonic Pairing: Beau "Cyclone" Simpson x Fem!Reader

A few uses of Y/N

Word Count: This part: 14k+ Total Fic:20k+

Rating: R

Warnings: Talks of death, minor character deaths, labor, loss of a child in utero, abandonment, drinking, talks of God and destiny, swearing, general military talk and lingo, descriptions of food and eating, coughing fits, talks of violence, actual violence, blood, vomit and throwing up, mention of near death experiences. ANGST

---

I DO NOT CONSENT FOR MY WORK TO BE REPOSTED OR TRANSLATED

Miramar, California. TOP GUN. The weekend before the organization of the Dagger Squad.

A cellphone is tucked between Monsoon's cheek and shoulder, the line trilling. She carries her duffle bags and kit, feeling like a battering ram as she makes her way through the crowd of people. The airport is packed and she can feel just how humid it is form how sticky she feels.

The hallways of the airport wind as she follows the crowd out of the baggage claim. The people around her move just a bit too slowly as they wheel their bags behind them, just begging for someone to trip over them if they dare pass. If there is one thing Monsoon did not miss about being at Top Gun, it's the trip in.

Fuck flying coach.

Fuck PSC Season and all of the families taking all the seats on the military flights.

Fuck the crying lady sitting next to her, who wouldn't stop sobbing at the shitty romcom she was watching, and fuck when she decided to start it over, just to watch it all over again.

But the best thing about coming back has to be seeing her surrogate father, Beau Simpson. Their relationship has only grown stronger since that night at the bar. They have spent countless meals together, drinking at bars when they are in the same place and always sending 'check in' emails. Phone calls have always been a bit dodgy between time zones and deployments.

Neither one knew exactly what they were getting into when the bond between them grew, neither really sure exactly what a parent/child relationship looks like, especially when the child is really an unrelated adult. But as the days went on, and the email chain got longer and longer, things seemed to just make sense.

The pair talked about everything, from work to dating, friendships and recipes. Cyclone opened up about June and their baby, sharing his favorite stories of their marriage. From how they started dating, to the day that June passed, Monsoon heard it all. 

Calla lilies were June's favorite, the only flowers that Beau believes should ever be given to a woman, and Monsoon smiles at the memory of her graduation from Top Gun, and the way Cyclone smiled at her with the bouquet of lilies in his lap.

When Monsoon found herself in Vermont she carved out time to visit June and Baby Boy Simpson at the cemetery. She showed up with two bouquets of calla lilies and a speech to give them. Monsoon cleaned their headstones and laid the flowers delicately across their plots, speaking to them the whole time about herself, and Cyclone, and the world they live in.

Cyclone's phone buzzed in his pocket while in a meeting. When he snuck a peak, he was met with a photo of Monsoon, a light smile adorning her face as she sits just in front of the burial plots. The message read "With Mama June and Bubba, thinking of you, Pops". Cyclone had to excuse himself from the table with tears in his eyes.

As the years went on, the surfaces in Cyclone's office slowly began to fill with more photos of the two of them. The collection of frames started out sophisticated, it really did, but as time went on, the frames became more eclectic, more fun. 

It's juxtaposes the rest of Cyclones office in a way that is almost comical. As he is shouting at someone for their latest fuck up, there are shelves full of silly frames just a few feet away. Cyclone's favorite just so happens to read "Clown College Class President" while Monsoon's favorite is one of those irregular shaped ones, with an oval opening for the photograph.

There is a photo of the two of them tucked in the cockpit of Monsoon's jet. It catches the mechanics off guard every time, but no one dare says a word about it- mostly out of fear that word would get back to Admiral. The photo depicts the two of them at one of those giant truck stops, posing with the large dinosaur sitting out front. She is sat atop of it, like a cowboy, with Cyclone leaning up against it, his shoulder near her thigh. They both wear larger than life smiles as the sun beats down on them. It was a silly thing, really. Both stuck in at little forgotten Air Base in middle America for a flight test, but the pair managed to make the best of it, remembering to take photographs as they went.

There is a postcard folded up in Cyclone's wallet. Once upon a time, it read the catchy saying "Why Not Minot?" printed across the front of it, with a cute little photo of a town square, a little forgotten town in North Dakota. It's one of those bases that people dread being stationed at, that much has always been true, but the little photo on the front of the post card sold a different tale. It wasn't the cutesy saying or the photo that made him keep it, the edges now worn and fibrous. On the back, written in neat blue ink, underneath a little blurb about how there is absolutely nothing to do in North Dakota, the sentence "I love you, Pops" sits next to a scribbly little heart.

The staticky, tolling, phoneline picks up after a few rings as Monsoon pushes around a family with one too many screaming toddlers. They have on those little backpack leashes and Monsoon almost gets close lined as a little dark haired child bursts in front of her without warning. She dodged, but she catches one of those damn rolling bags with her toe. Monsoon barely notices the glare the lady sent her way, but the lack luster wrath of a stranger isn't going to stop her.

"Hey, Kid," Cyclone greets over the line, the smile on his face evident through the sound of his voice. There is no need for an official "hello" to begin the conversation, both knowing full well that Cyclone had been watching the flight itinerary like a hawk to make sure Monsoon wasn't going to be delayed. The call upon landing is just expected at this point, though neither of them have mastered the cool,casual, its good to see you.

"I just landed," A woman walks right into one of the duffle bags hanging off of Monsoon's shoulders, throwing her completely off balance. She hikes the bag higher up on her shoulder, trying to rebalance the hefty weight she is carrying. Monsoon sways like she is at sea, attempting to get her balance back. There is something so familiar about the way she sways a bit, just like the jet carriers do as the waves bash against the metal of the hull.

"Fuck" she curses under her breath, steadying herself once again. For a Seaman, one might think Monsoon would have better balance. Cyclone rolls his eyes on the other side of the phone. "I'll be over for dinner tonight, if that's still the plan,"

"Sure is, I'm making your favorite,"

"Steak and potatoes are your favorite," Monsoon corrects.

"You can correct me without the side of guilt, you know," Cyclone is chuckling through the phone, earning him a roll of the eyes.

"I only meant to tease," There is a nonchalance to her voice, though she is the furthest thing from cool. Cyclone isn't either. His kid is coming home and they get to sit down for a meal for the first time in months and he is beyond excited.

"I'm going to drop my stuff off at my rental, then I'll be headed your way, you better be ready for me to eat enough for a small village," Monsoon heads right for the exit, ready to look for a taxi. "And Pops, maybe think about adding a-" The word "vegetable" fails to make it's way out of her mouth as Monsoon looks up as the double doors in front of her slide open. Cyclone is standing on the other side, a large sign reading "WELCOME HOME KIDDO" sits loosely in his hand, the other holds his phone up to his ear.

It's like one of those cheesy scenes from a movie, both wearing matching grins and laughing. Cyclone knew the whole thing would be a surprise; he took a leave day to make sure he would bet there to pick her up.

"Pops!" The name still makes Cyclone's heart swell, even if he had been responding to that very name for the past few years. It's funny, really, how easy it was for the pair to adjust to the name, though Monsoon waited for him to acknowledge it first before she actually said it.

The acknowledgement came from a recorded phone message, shortly after her first move after her Top Gun Graduation. Cyclone got stuck in on the highway with a dead car and no cellphone. The call came in from a payphone, an unknown number. Cyclone left a message, "Hey, kid, it's Pops, my car died and I am stranded. I could use an assist. Do you know anyone in Missouri?". That message is still saved on Monsoon's phone to this day.

"Hey, Kiddo!" And then Monsoon is stumbling closer, her bags swinging her center of gravity all over the place. He reaches a hand out to take one, ready to throw it over his shoulder, but instead, each one hits the pavement with a hard thud. Monsoon is quickly wrapping her arms around his body, one over his shoulder, one under his arm, meeting around his back and squeezing him hard.

The hug is returned in kind, both damn near trying to squeeze each other to death. It's playful, as they share "good to see you's" and "I've missed you's" .

"I hope you don't mind, Kid, but I invited another one of the recruits to dinner tonight," He speaks the words into her hair. Monsoon pulls back to look up at her Pops with furrowed brows. She doesn't have to say a thing, he already knows exactly what is going through her mind.

"I know it's unorthodox, but, Kazansky said it might be a good idea, and when the good Admiral says something like that, you set another place at the table,"

"Yeah, unorthodox is definitely a word for it," Monsoon is pulling out of Cyclone's embrace, dipping to grab her discarded bags from the pavement. Cyclone grabs one before she can, which earns him a roll of her eyes.

"Be nice, would you?"

"To you or the mystery guest?" Her words are dripping with sarcasm.

"Preferably both," Cyclone chides, poking her in the side with the welcome home sign. She swats it away with a quick hand, both laughing.

"I'll see what I can do,"

---

The sun is setting over the horizon, painting the sky orange with wisps of pink the lower it sinks behind the curve of the Earth. Monsoon is spread out on one of the lawn chairs, relaxing, well, more like waiting out her Pops' little outburst. She had opened the grill to check on the steak, making sure the edges wouldn't be too crispy, and Cyclone all but snapped the lid shut in the middle of her investigation. He banished her to the other side of the patio to wait for the food to finish cooking. Then, and only then, would she be allowed to touch the grill again.

If there is one thing to be true, Cyclone has a method when it comes to grilling. Monsoon had it all explained to her the first time he grilled for the pair of them. He has it down to a science, all from the temperature and the kind of charcoal to use, to the length of marinating time and spices to make even the worst cut of meat from the Commissary the most perfect dinner.

And Monsoon couldn't exactly tell him he was wrong. After all, every single thing Beau had ever placed in front of her tasted delicious, delectable even. Not only that, but Monsoon really couldn't have done it better if she tried. Her Pops wouldn't let her try, either, but that is beside the point.

Soon, everything is pulled off the grill and the pair are inside, Monsoon tasked with setting the table. All of the windows are open, the evening breeze cooling the inside of the house. As she places another fork down, Monsoon takes in the way the breeze dances across her skin. Goosebumps threaten to crest over her exposed arms at the chill the air carries. In that moment, she is thankful for the California air, the smell of the freshly made sides sitting in the center of the table, and the fact that she is setting the table in her Pops' house.

It has been too long since the pair got to sit together and share a meal. Cups of coffee over video chat were no where near as nice and Monsoon couldn't lie, she missed Cyclone's cooking. As she sets down the last knife, Cyclone is bounding down the stairs. His causal jeans and t-shirt have been replaced by a nice pair of brown slacks and a cream polo shirt, tucked in with a belt. He's even sporting loafers.

"Hey Pops, there is something I want to talk to you about tonight," Monsoon shouts down the hall. She tries to shake the bit of nerves rumbling through her chest like a handful of loan bees.

"Okay, kiddo," Cyclone calls back as he is rounding the corner into the kitchen, "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, promise,"

"Okay," It's a simple response as he walks further into the kitchen. He pats her on the shoulder as he passes, a loving gesture.

"Got a hot date?" Monsoon chides as she looks him up and down. She sets the bundle of flatware down on the table, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No," Cyclone is shaking his head, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at her words. "We are having company tonight, remember?"

"Oh, I remember, but I didn't think some random Lieutenant, that is only coming over because the good Admiral all but ordered him to, was someone worth dressing up for."

There is a shrug of her shoulders as her head sways down nonchalantly. Cyclone crosses his arms, mirroring his kid, with a stern look on his face. It's a look that Monsoon isn't used to seeing out of uniform. Maybe it should worry her, but the vein that would usually protrude from his forehead is nowhere to be seen.

"Remember, kid, you too are just 'some random Lieutenant'" Those words stir a bit of anger within Monsoon, but it dissipates as fast as it came.

"Well then, Admiral Simpson, sir," Monsoon stands up a bit straighter, dropping her hands to her sides, "Let me find something more presentable to wear for the strange man who's crashing out family dinner," She grimaces a bit, but they both laugh. Beau is just laughing, in that way that make's his whole body shake, his eyes scrunched closed while whole hearted giggles escape his lips.

"Go on, kid," He waves in the general direction of the hallway, towards the front of the house where she dropped her bags by the front door.

The zipper of her duffle bag slide open easily, the separation of the teeth vibrating her fingertips. Monsoon fishes out a sun dress and a cropped sweater, something to keep her warmer as the sun sets below the horizon. It's a nice enough combination, something that will surly look like she gives a fuck about her appearance without looking like she planned too much. Monsoon changes out of her sweat shorts and t-shirt in the half bath, emerging looking like a brand new woman, though the feeling  of the plane still lingers on her skin.

Just as she is stuffing her travel clothing back into her bag, the doorbell sounds throughout the house, the bells tolling just a bit too loud.

"Jeez, Pops, could that doorbell be any louder?" Monsoon is yelling just as she reaches for the door. She pulls it open with a swift movement, a smile on her face. Then it falls as soon as she sees who is standing on the other side of the threshold.

Clad in a button down shirt, one with a pattern that would rival any rodeo clown, with one too many buttons undone stands Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw; a man she hasn't seen since a deployment five years ago, about six months after she graduated from Top Gun.

There is a gold chain hanging around his neck. It's just long enough to graze over the tops of his collar bones. His shirt is untucked, the bottom a bit wrinkly, like he has tucked and untucked it a couple of times trying to decide which looked better. He made the wrong choice, by Monsoon's calculation, the patterned shirt covering the top of his dark khakis. He looks a bit silly, really, from the chain down to his boat shoes. The thing that catches her the most off guard though, is the fucking mustache he has decorating, no, vandalizing his upper lip.

Her own mouth hangs open just a bit, her hand tightening it's grip on the door handle. Bradley shoots her that mega wat smile, that million dollar, dentist office poster smile- the one that made her swoon all those years ago. But now, now it makes her fucking angry. Or maybe it's resentment that she feels boiling up inside of her, steaming her insides with a sort of sick feeling that she hasn't felt in years.

The last time this strange, queasy feeling flowed through her she was wrapped up in the white sheets of her mattress on an aircraft carrier, somewhere out in the pacific. Her naked body feeding off of the warmth of spot that Rooster once occupied. When she awoke, there was a feeling of contentment that spread over her skin, until she reached over to find the spot next to her cold.

Their deployment relationship ended with a fucking post it note, "Duty Calls" is all it read, scribbled down in a mess of black ink, the pen itself skipping. Hell, the pen couldn't even bother to work long enough to get a complete message through- their relationship simmered down to nothing more than steamy nights together in a twin size bunk while the ocean waves rocked against the carrier.

The contentment drained from Monsoon faster than than the anger could take over, and for a moment there was nothingness in the spaces between her ribs.

And now, Bradley fucking Bradshaw is standing on her Pops' front porch, smiling at her like nothing has ever happened between them, holding a bottle of wine, and somehow she is just supposed to let him in!

"Hello," He scratches at the back of his neck, his brows pinched together just the slightest bit. "Is this Admiral Simpson's house?"

Words are caught in the back of Monsoon's throat, each individual letter sticking her in the esophagus. Monsoon stands there looking at Bradley, each growing a bit more uncomfortable as the seconds go by. But, she is on the inside of the doorjamb, she has the upper hand. Just as she goes to slam the door in his fucking ugly mustache, Cyclone catches the door.

"Mr. Bradshaw!" Beau booms, his tone friendly as he sends Monsoon a what the fuck look. She pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, though it does nothing to relieve the rapidly growing headache that's taking over her skull.

"Come in, come in!" Cyclone practically ushers Bradley into the house. "This is my daughter, Y/N Mitchell, she is in the new Top Gun class as well!"

Beau is doing his best to defuse the tension in the room, between Monsoon's anger, and Bradley's overall discomfort from being in an Admiral's house, the vibes are askew. Bradley crinkles his brows at the information and Beau quickly jumps in with a chuckle, "No relation, but I claim her anyway. Introduce yourself, Son,"

"Brad-"

"We already know each other,"

The pair speak at the same time. Monsoon's tone is full of distain, like the words taste bitter and unforgiving on her tongue. She pushes past Bradley's outstretched hand and past Cyclone. Bradley can't help the fact that his face twists up in confusion as he wracks his brain trying to figure out where exactly he knew her. 

The woman's definitely too upset to be a recent fling- hell, Bradley hasn't even managed to bring a girl back to his place in such a long time. Deployment really limited his prospects and she sure wasn't on the mission he just finished. 

"Please, this way," Cyclone guides Bradley back to the kitchen, taking the bottle of wine from the younger man. They follow the path Monsoon took, down the hall and back to the large kitchen. She is standing at the sink, her hands braced on the counter top.

"Make yourself at home, Mr. Bradshaw. If you'll excuse me, I have to speak with my daughter for a second." Cyclone is moving before Bradley can acknowledge him. So, Bradley pretends to be very interested in the view just outside the kitchen window.

"What the hell, kid?" Cyclone carefully grabs Monsoon's elbow, leaning in just a little bit closer to fake some sort of privacy. He sets the bottle of wine on the counter. With all the tension blooming in the air around them, Cyclone decides alcohol is the last thing they need. 

"It's complicated, Pops, just leave it be, okay?" Monsoon is running a hand through her hair, a shallow attempt to ground herself. "I can play nice for one dinner,"

"What the hell happened between you two? And it's not just one dinner, it's the next few weeks."

That fact is met with a grumble from Monsoon. It took her only a few seconds to convince herself that she would be able to make it though a dinner, but the idea of having to see Bradley fucking Bradshaw every day for the foreseeable future had a mixture of nausea and frustration swirling through her. 

"Pops, trust me, this really isn't something you are going to want to hear about, nor do I feel like discussing it in your kitchen, at a whisper, while the man who doesn't even seem to fucking remember me is only a few feet away! No thank you," Monsoon pushes past Cyclone once more, picking up the bowl of salad from the kitchen island and bringing it over to the table. Cyclone is hot on her tail, speaking lowly after her.

"Y/N" That gets her to stop, Beau never uses her first name, "We are not finished discussing this,"

"After supper then," The words leave her tongue sharp, but they are met with a nod of approval. Then Cyclone is moving, ready for the night to move on as planned. 

"Mr. Bradshaw!" Cyclone is turning his attention back to their guest, a makeshift smile plastered to his face, "Please, take a seat, I am just going to grab the food off the grill,"

And then Cyclone is disappearing out the back door, leaving Monsoon and Rooster alone, the room already threatening to burst from the rapidly accumulating tension. Monsoon chances a look at Bradley as she finished setting out the flatware that had been left abandoned earlier, suddenly a little bit glad that her Pops hinted at her to change clothes. She looks good, that much she knows, if only it mattered at this point.

Maybe, if it mattered, Bradley would look at her and realize just how much he walked out on. Maybe he would see the way Cyclone cares for her, and their little family that they've created and know that he threw away his chance to be apart of it. If only he could see just how happy she is now- yet he doesn't even fucking recognize her, and that makes her heart burn like cheap kerosene. It's like gulping down saltwater, the feeling of being forgotten, drowning right out in the open for everyone to see.

As Monsoon is drowning in thoughts of Bradley, he is just trying to remember her.

Bradley takes in the slope of her nose and the freckles that are smattered across her legs. His eyes wander over the frizzy bits of her hair, down the line of her shoulder and ending at the tips of her fingers. The way that she glances at him, her face still turned down as she adjusts the table settings, strikes him as familiar- but in a far off sense of the word. Familiar in the way his own face is reminiscent of his father's. 

His father, Goose, and Maverick... Pete Mitchell... Mitchell!

"Mitchell?" Bradley breaks the silence, his gaze  a bit wider, still locked on her downturned face. Monsoon's eyes shoot up at the name, locking with his dark brown eyes. They bore into her the same way they always had and a part of her aches. 

"Are you-" The breath he sucks into his lungs burns a bit with hazy memory, "Are you Pete Michell's kid?"

An audible, pained groan leaves Monsoon's throat at the question. 

"Not anymore," Are the only words she can manage, the flames of anger licking at her legs.

"But you were, once?" There is almost a ribbon of hope laces somewhere in his tone, but Monsoon pays it no mind. She walks away from the table, keeping her back to Bradley as she attempts to calm the heat of rage that's licking at her legs. 

Why couldn't Bradley just ask her about normal things? Why aren't they talking about work, their partners, their friends. Hell, he could hit on her at this point and it would go over better. 

If he wanted to talk about Maverick- Pete Michell, there were countless times when they were tangled up together in blankets, in the dark save for the crack of light breaking into the room from under the doorway.

He could have asked as they scurried up the stairs of the carrier, their gear smacking against their chests as they ran. Bradley could have asked then, as they bounded out into the early morning, salt soaked air.

Hell, Bradley could have asked over coms, high in the air as the wind whistled past their wings. They were just test flights after all, no enemy to contend with. He could have asked her then.

But he didn't.

"That was a very long time ago," She's turning to the fridge, pulling a pitcher of lemonade out. The sigh that leaves her lips is nothing but tension attempting to escape from the confines of her chest. It doesn't work, and Bradley doesn't catch the hint to just shut the fuck up and leave it be.

"We knew each other, right? When we were kids?" The question catches Monsoon off guard, almost as much as his initial presence did. She wants to laugh, really she does, at the ridiculousness of the situation. 

He didn't remember that fact when they met on the carrier five years ago, and Monsoon tried not to let that bother her, especially when he was buried inside of her, moaning filthy things into her ear. But now? Now he remembers. But somewhere, the memory of their torrid love affair escapes the great mind of Bradley Bradshaw.

"Oh, for fucks sake,"

Though the whole thing is laughable; Bradley isn't laughing. He's holding his breath, too caught up in the scene in front of him, in the soreness of his chest and the way his heart thrums against the backside of his ribcage. 

Fuck how his chest aches. 

There is this part of his past, this piece that he once knew like the back of his hand, that's just in reach now- again, and Monsoon is laughing at him. The memory of her was erased with the sounding of artillery, the three volley's fired into the air. And now, he craves this memory like he craves the memory of his father, the pieces of his innocence having crumbling into his hands like ash.

It still stains his hands that sickly blackish gray, gritty against his skin, though he is the only one that can see it.

The sliding door opens once more and Cyclone is slipping though, holding a large platter of steak in his hand, the meat is grilled to perfection and he looks proud. Bradley looks at Monsoon with furrowed brows, questioning the words that she let slip past her lips. Cyclone steps between them, setting the plate of meat down on to the dinner table, more than enough food to go around.

"Please, Y/N, come and join us," Cyclone is pulling out a seat right next to Bradley, offering it to her. Reluctantly, she pads over, taking a seat next to Bradley who can't seem to take his eyes off of her face. He runs his hands up and down his pant legs, more out of anxiety than anything else. Cyclone takes a seat across from the pair, a tight smile on his face. 

In any other world, it may look like a child introducing their significant other to their father, the way the tension hangs in the air between the trio. Cyclone awkwardly dishes himself servings of the food before passing it to Monsoon, who does the same before placing it down next to her, leaving Bradley to fend for himself. It's petty, that's true, but to Monsoon, it's a small act of defiance. A small fuck you for not remembering her, or the nights they spent together.

The Admiral knows something is going on right under his nose, just out of his understanding. He can see it in the way Monsoon shifts awkwardly in her seat while Bradley's gaze gets overly friendly with the plate in front of him. There's a question on the tip of his tongue, "kid, is Bradley your boyfriend?" but he knows better than to ask it. As he observes longer, he takes in the way his daughter tilts her shoulders just a little further away from Bradley, the arm closest to him resting elbow down on the table. The moment Cyclone notices the unpassed dishes sitting between the pair, he just knows. 

"So," Cyclone clears his throat, "Are you two excited to be back at Top Gun?"

It's a reasonable question, very middle of the road. Monsoon opens her mouth to answer, but Bradley beats her to it.

"Yes, sir. It's good to be back stateside. Hell, it's good to be back on solid ground. I've been stuck on a carrier for the past nine months and I was beginning to lose my mind!" He's chuckling now, and Beau joins in right along side him, the deep chuckles of the men filling the air. "But you know how it can get on the carriers. It's hard to pass the time, no going to the bar with friends, no dating,"

Then, Monsoon's fork hits her plate with a metallic clank against the glass. No dating, yeah, right. Out of all of the things Monsoon pegged Bradley to be, a liar was not one of them, but then again not much could surprise her after the way he left. 

"How about you, kid?"

"To be determined, Pops," The answer is genuine, spoken through grit teeth. 

Maybe she shouldn't be so upset with Bradley's lack of remembrance for her. After all, it's not always the wrong time with the right person. Or the wrong place. Sometimes it's wrong, maybe he just didn't like her that much- more a deployment fling to get him through the lonely nights than a future. 

"Well, I am excited you're back," Cyclone returns her direction, but Monsoon just shoves a fork full of salad into her mouth.

"Sir, can I ask what exactly they called us back for? And are there more of us?" Bradley asks between bites, his fork and knife busy against his plate.

"I am not obliged to share much, but I can tell you that fifteen of you have been called back, from varying Top Gun classes." The explanation leaves something to be desired, but both recruits are nodding on the other side of the table. Bradley eats another bite of steak, complimenting Cyclone on his grilling; Monsoon is just pushing the food around on her plate with the tines of her fork. It's easier than finding the appetite that was lost somewhere between the front door and the kitchen after Bradley's arrival.

"Are you teaching us this go around, Pops?" Monsoon's question is spoken quietly, in the middle of Bradley's sentence about his own grilling technique- there is no remorse for the interruption.

At her words, Cyclone visibly stiffens, his fork stilling on his plate. Then he's setting it down, eyes still locked with his plate. With a huff and a lick of his lips he looks across the table, met with two pairs of curious eyes. He knew this was going to be hard, but he didn't expect it to be quite like this. 

"No, I'm not teaching," Cyclone takes another breathe, unsure who to make eye contact with, knowing the words he's about to say are not going to be received well, by either one of them. "We- Top Gun has decided to bring in-"

The doorbell is ringing loudly through the house, startling Cyclone in his seat. It breaks though the tension like a fucking bullet, the whole thing blasting apart on impact. The trio trade glances that last milliseconds, like someone just knows whos going to be standing on the other side of that door.

"I'll get it, Pops," Monsoon is already pushing out of her seat, placing her napkin next to her plate. She is a bit too eager to get away from the tension surrounding that table, not only from her question but from the way Bradley is basically staring out of the corner of his eye. Though she can't exactly see it happening, she can feel it- the way his eyes are boring into the side of her head, almost burning. She will take anyone being on the other side of that door if it means she doesn't have to sit in Bradley's swimming gaze any longer. 

"No, you stay, I'll get it," Cyclone corrects, "You stay and chat,"

Then, Cyclone is pushing away from the table, heading right for the front door. He gives his daughter no time to protest. Cyclone leaves the slowly rebuilding tension behind him, and Monsoon is stuck having to sit back down, next to Bradley, left to simmer in it.

"We did know each other, right?" Bradley is quick to ask the moment Cyclone rounds the corner. It's a speed he's not used to- too used to sitting and waiting for the perfect timing that just doesn't come. But this isn't something he's willing to wait on, it's just something he has to know.

"Yes, Bradley, we knew each other. But that was a long time ago," Monsoon is shrugging, avoiding his eyes. The words should have hit him harder, from the way they all but flew from her lips, but the impact is almost gentle, like the comfort of them bore the brunt of it all.

"Do you remember my father?" The question is so innocent that it almost hurts; and Monsoon knows just how much throbbing pain there is inside Bradley. After one drunken night while on the carrier, he poured his heart out about his father, about how much he missed him and how he wished- hoped that Goose would have been proud of him. Monsoon sat and listened the to the whole thing, through the tears and drunken hiccups, reassuring Bradley that Goose would be proud of him.

After all, she knewhim, even if that was a million years ago- even if Bradley didn't know it.

She knows he would have been, because Goose was a good man.

A trait that seemed to have skipped over Bradley.

Good men remember their lovers. They remember their old friends. They remember the people who showed up to their mother's funeral- and have the decency to show up to their friends' mother's funeral.  

Good men don't leave women in the dead of night, a break up message scrawled on a sticky note. They don't leave their friends to grieve alone. They don't forget. 

"Yes, I remember him," Monsoon chances a glance at Bradley, unintentionally meeting his eyes. God, he's looking at her like she holds the fucking secrets to the universe and all she can feel is a sort of twisted up sickness, like her sternum is bound together with poisoned ropes. Bradley can see the stars that cling to her fingertips, the secrets to the cosmos, but can't seem to find the words to beg for their translation.

Cyclone is walking back into the room a second later, accompanied by another set of footsteps. Neither Monsoon nor Bradley look up when they walk in, both too busy staring at each other. Bradley looks curious, Monsoon looks hurt. 

She looks away first. 

A tall blond walks in behind Cyclone, his gaze focused on a set of files in his hand. He's reading over the top file carefully, running his free hand through his cropped hair. There is a toothpick in his mouth, resting between his teeth. Dressed in his tan uniform, his biceps are straining against the cuffs.

He's a Stetson model type, clean cut and masculine. The line of his jaw accentuated by the clean lines of his uniform. His jaw ticks with frustration as his brows furrow at the paperwork. There appears to be a word on the tip of his tongue by the way the toothpick bobs between his plump lips.

"Hey, guys, sorry for that, this is-" Cyclone swings his hand, introduction interrupted by twin gasps.

"Jake?!"

"Hangman?"

Hangman isn't sure who to look at first, but his eyes meet Bradley's form first, his eyebrows knitting together at the familiar face before shooting to his hairline when his eyes land on Monsoon sitting next to Bradley.

"Y/N, Doll! What are you doing here?"

Cyclone is whipping his head around in the way he might flip a jet. And Monsoon is pushing out of her chair again, ready to round the table and throw herself into the arms of the strong, blond man who just walked in, but her eyes meet the bewildered look on Cyclone's face, causing her to halt her movements. Hangman sets the paperwork down on the kitchen island, his eyes still locked on Monsoon, that damn smirk of his playing on his lips. Monsoon can tell he is holding himself back, fully aware of exactly who's house he is standing in, and the relationship between Monsoon and the Admiral.

It's been months since they've seen each other. Their goodbyes were said on the front porch of his little rental outside of Lake Hurst. Neither of them relished being in New Jersey, but they had each other and that's all that had mattered. They fostered a brand new relationship over a year, neither of them brave enough to label the nights spent together in that house. 

Then new orders came down the pipeline, on a TS Need-To-Know. The pair were being separated with the flick of a pen. So, they labelled their year long relationship through tears standing on his stoop, the night the orders came down the channel. 

They packed Jake's small house, and Monsoon's apartment, neither one knowing just what was to come. In the name of a temporary duty station, they got storage units next to each other, the closest thing to living together they'd be able to swing. 

That was six months ago. 

Monsoon did a little time in Pensacola while Jake got sent to Oak Harbor. Thousands of miles apart, their dates turned from late night dinners to quick conversations over the phone just to hear the other's voice. 

Neither of them expected their reunion to be here, in Admiral Simpson's kitchen, with Bradley Bradshaw and the Admiral watching the whole thing, confused expressions written into their features. 

"I got recalled to Top Gun!" Monsoon giggles a bit, her gaze still trapped with Hangman's.

"Me too!" The words leave Jake's lips and the pair are smiling. It's taking everything for them to hold themselves back from embracing each other, after months apart. Then, Cyclone is clearing his throat.

"Pops," Monsoon begins, clasping her hands in front of her, "God, this is weird. Remember earlier this evening when I said I wanted to talk to you about something?"

She had fully been intending on telling her Cyclone about her relationship with Hangman, in fact, she had been working up the courage for the past few weeks. But, Jake comes with a record, a reputation, and a respect problem, things Monsoon knows her Pops won't approve of. 

"What's going on? Is everything okay?" The words are leaving Cyclone's lips almost too quick, but Monsoon is quick to reassure him that it is.

"Well, this isn't exactly how I saw this going, but, Pops, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Jake Seresin," Monsoon is gesturing to Jake now, a worried smile on her face. The pair know each other, of course they do. They had met the first time Hangman went through Top Gun. Cyclone was on instructor duty and Hangman didn't take overly well to being instructed; though he did finish top of his class. 

Monsoon bobs up and down on the balls of her feet, the nervous energy flowing through her body. If she could push all the energy out of her and into the floor she would. Her soles grounding the electric current flowing through her, unapologetic and lightning hot. Monsoon would stand there in front of the three men who have played such a large roll in her life, back straight and eyes forward like the Navy trained her to do, if only she could coral that fucking energy and send it straight through the floor.

Monsoon bounces instead.

If she had the time, she could have prevented the look that crosses Cyclone's face. That look of you're not good enough for my kid that is so evident on his features. She knows that Jake saw it, clear as day from the way he almost winces. Everyone in that room knows the reputation that Hangman wears like a neon sign. The "voted biggest player" social life with the stellar callsign, the pilot known for leaving his wingman hanging, acting alone- selfish.

So much for putting off telling Cyclone; so much for easing him into the news. 

Bradley is watching the whole exchange from his seat with his eyebrows raised, like a fucking soap opera but the whole spectacle's happening in real time. He lets his eyes shift from person to person, taking it all in. Monsoon looks hopeful, though she is waiting with baited breath for her Pops to blow a fucking gasket. Jake, on the other hand, looks absolutely cool. Though he is the reason for the interruption, and for the impromptu introduction, he is impossibly collected. Then, Bradley's eyes shift to Cyclone, who has backed up a few steps. He keeps looking between Monsoon and Hangman, like he is playing some sort of invisible game of connect the dots.

Hangman and his fucking reputation are courting his daughter, and Cyclone really isn't thrilled about the news. 

Though Bradley isn't exactly thrilled to see Hangman here either, he's taking the whole thing in stride, as opposed to Cyclone, but the younger man can't exactly blame him. If it were Bradley getting this major bomb dropped on him, he wouldn't be sitting pretty, either. Bradley is bringing his glass up to his lips, his eyes still flashing between the trio.

"Monsoon-" Cyclone starts, but the sound of coughing interrupts. Bradley is coughing, choking on his water. He attempts to wave a hand, letting everyone know he's okay, but in reality, he's far from it.

Monsoon. The woman he left asleep in her bunk five years ago stands next to him now, and not only that, they fucking grew up together, at least for a little while. And she remembers his Dad, and she's Maverick's kid. And fuck, she's dating Hangman!

Things are moving just a bit too fast, and Bradley can't quite catch his breath between coughing fits. 

The glass is quickly set back onto the kitchen table, but is sent over the edge as Bradley reaches for a napkin. The glass falls in faux slow motion, the liquid flowing from the cup as it hits the hardwood, shattering like a pinprick galaxy upon the floor. Bradley, still coughing, searches the new formation of cosmos on the floor for the answer to all the mixed up bullshit he has found himself in.

"Rooster?" Monsoon pats him harshly on the back, right between his shoulder blades. Then, she is rubbing his back, her hand full of warmth through the thin fabric of his shirt. His skin burns under her touch as he struggles to return his breathing to normal. There's still a knot in the back of his throat made of unsaid words and new revelations that he can't seem to swallow down. 

"Rooster, are you okay?"

Hangman and Cyclone are quick to circle around the table, Hangman taking a knee next to Monsoon, his hand quickly finding her lower back. Cyclone is on the other side of Bradley, the glass crunching under his expensive leather loafers. Bradley is red from all the coughing, but an embarrassed blush still floods his skin from all the attention.

"Mons?" The nickname comes out all scratchy as Rooster wipes a newly formed tears from his eyes. The concerned expression morphs to hold a bit of shock before settling on some sort of mix of frustration and downright sadness. Monsoon tries to school her expression but her eyes still swim with emotion as they are locked with Bradley's.

"Yeah, Roos," Monsoon shoots his nickname right back, a confirmation that all but shakes the world around Bradley. She brings a tender hand up to squeeze his shoulder before pulling back, subconsciously leaning closer to Hangman, into the warmth of his hand on her back. She finds safety in her boyfriend's touch, the warmth of his skin pooling against her through the fabric of her dress. 

The lack of contact makes Rooster feel cold, but the feeling is short lived as Cyclone is grasping at his other shoulder. A swivel of his head and Bradley is met with the furrowed brows of the Admiral.

"Are you okay, Mr. Bradshaw?"

"Yes, sir," Bradley responds, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "I'm so sorry about the glass, please, let me clean it up,"

As Rooster stands, he is pushed back down gently by Cyclone, his hand still on the younger man's shoulder.

"Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it, please," And so Bradley is sitting again, in the center of the standing trio, feeling completely out of place. "As for the two of you, take a seat, we have some things to discuss,"

The sound of chairs being pulled out against the hard wood floor is accompanied by the intense ringing of the doorbell once again. The group look from person to person, once again looking for any clue as to who could be at the front door this time. Cyclone is padding over to the door, the crunching of glass less evident the further away her gets.

Bradley attempts to clear the lump in his throat, now without the luxury of his glass of water. Monsoon takes her untouched glass and slides it closer to Bradley, a barely there smile on her face. Her expression holds more sympathy than anything. Bradley takes the glass with both hands, a little too careful as he brings it up to his lips. 

"Let me get you a plate, okay?" Monsoon speaks to Hangman, her smile clearly wider, brighter, more full of life when it's directed his way. "Pops will give me so much grief if he comes back and that spot isn't set,"

So, Monsoon excuses herself from the table, leaving the men sitting in apprehensive silence. 

With a strong tug from Cyclone, door swings open and there is no time for a 'hello' as the man on the other side is pushing in, a wild look in his eye, a vein on his forehead bulging with frustration.

"We need to talk Simpson," The tone holds misplaced authority. Beau runs cold at the sight of Pete "Maverick" fucking Michell standing in his entryway, looking pissed off enough to catch a charge.

"That's Admiral Simpson to you Captain," Cyclone's teeth are grit so hard they might crack under the pressure of his jaw. "You cannot be here right now,"

The raised hand does nothing to stop Maverick from pushing further into the house. There's a folder in his hand, wrinkling under the closing of his fist. Sweat clings to the Admiral's brow, a vision of the crown of thorns, droplets running down the side of his face. It might as well have been blood from the way his stomach twists as Maverick steps closer to him, pushing the paperwork, right against the center of his chest.

"Do you know who got recruited for this mission, huh?" The words are dripping with venom, "Do you realize who you've chosen for this fucking death wish of a goddamn mission?"

Captain Michell's tone is all accusatory and full fury. He's pushing into Cyclone's chest harder, his knuckles white under the pressure. Cyclone grabs at the older man's wrist, his own knuckles paling as he squeezes.

"Captain, I will not repeat myself, you cannot be here,"

"Who is it, Pops?" Monsoon is calling from around the corner, her voice full of curiosity. Cyclone isn't a praying man, especially after what happened with June and their sweet baby boy, but now Cyclone is praying to every god, every deity that crosses his mind, even those who's names he cannot recall, that his daughter will not walk around the corner to see Pete Mitchell standing in his entry way.

"Nobody, kid, I'll be there in just a moment," He calls before turning his attention back to the man in front of him. He tightens his grip on Pete's wrist before he's wrenching it away from his chest. He pushes it back into Pete's own chest, leaning in close, "My daughter is not to see you here, leave. Now."

One might think Maverick would get the hint, since he pulls his hand from Cyclones grip. But then, Maverick is throwing open the file, pointing at the first page's photo. There is so much frustration in the action, it bounces between the two men like they're sounding boards, building and building.

"See this? Jake "Hangman" Seresin? You really want to send somebody in the sky who has a pension for leaving their wingman? You want to send someone into the air with a guy like him when the mission is already guaranteeing a loss of life?" 

That catches the attention of the trio in the other room. All motion stills as they strain to hear more. 

Wide mouthed, pointed tongue, Maverick is yelling without a care in the world. It doesn't matter who hears as long as Cyclone is hearing it too.

"And how about this," The paper tears as Maverick turns the page, "Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw. You know about his father. You damn well know about Goose and you want to send his son to an early grave too?"

Jaws tick, fists tighten. Cyclone breathes deeply, thinking- choosing his words carefully as the older man continues to scream. It's not beautiful or noble like books would describe. There is no gift from God, no blessing, no one anointed with the ability to see into the future, to see just how this is going to play out. Instead, it's just words exchanged between mortal men, both too damn stubborn to back down with knives to each other's throats.

"And check out these two," Maverick is laughing now, leaning in closer to Cyclone, his breathe reeking of whiskey. Cyclone can see the way Maverick's eyes are bloodshot and weepy as he pushes him back. Sweat coats his skin leaving him clammy to the touch. 

"Natasha "Phoenix" Trace and Robert "Bob" Floyd," Another strangled laugh escapes Captain Mitchell, "You really think this scrawny kid and a woman are up to the task at hand? Really? I can think of at least five better pilots and Wizzos who are better qualified than these two. And look! She's the pilot! Hell, I don't even know how they made it through Top Gun the first time around! The fucking Navy is getting soft."

"It's time for you to go, Captain Mitchell. Sober up. We will discuss this on Monday," Cyclone puts a hand to the older man's shoulder, attempting to usher him out without too much force. Cyclone can't risk Maverick being in his house any longer. He has already been gone too long and his guests are likely getting curious. "Time to go, Pete,"

"But, Cyclone, you haven't even heard the best part," Maverick can barely get the words out through drunken laughter. He's turning the page with clumsy fingers, the paper tearing under his touch.

The trio, Rooster, Monsoon, and Hangman round the corner as Cyclone is attempting to usher Maverick out the front door. They watch as the Maverick stumbles out of Cyclone's grip and further into the house.

"Pops?" Monsoon speaks as the strange man hits the floor, laughing as he does. The file has fallen open, scattering pictures of the newest Top Gun brain child called The Dagger Squad. They sit scattered all over the entry way like freshly fallen snow. Her eyes go to the paper that falls near her feet. 

"Well if it isn't the prodigal child," Maverick speaks, pushing himself further off the floor. "How many strings did you have to pull to get your own daughter onto the squad? Are you trying to send this kid to an early grave like the last one?"

The three Daggers stand speechless. Monsoon is quickly folded under Hangman's arm, her face pressed into his chest. Rooster stands just off to the side of them, his eyes flashing to Monsoon. 

The arguing doesn't stop.

"Shut your mouth," Cyclone spits, "You don't know a goddamn thing,"

Maverick stumbles to his feet, standing up at straight as possible to get into Cyclone's face, just to taunt the younger man.

"See, Admiral, that's not true, now is it? You and I both know that she isn't actually yours and this would be an easy way to get rid of her, right? Send her back to-"

His words are met with a swift punch to the face, the cartilage of his nose crunching under Cyclone's knuckles. The punch feels good, like it had been coming for a long, long time. Like it had been building within Beau Simpson for years, every single time Maverick missed out on a celebration of the amazing life Monsoon is leading. For every birthday, every graduation, every reenlistment and promotion ceremony, Maverick missed it all, and the rage built inside Cyclone. Now, it finally came out, popped like a Champaign cork, blood instead of the fizzy alcohol dotting itself over Cyclone's entryway.

A warm hand slips into Monsoon's; Bradley stepped closer, clutching onto her. He recognized Pete Mitchell the moment he got a clear view, both his anger and anxiety flaring. Bradley squeezed her hand once, nice and strong, before dropping it once more, stepping in front of her and Hangman.

"Captain Mitchell," Bradley begins, his voice firm, full of hurt.

The words make Monsoon's head spin. She leans away from her boyfriend's chest to get a better look at the bloody faced man and it sends a chill down her spine. Her Dad who she hasn't seen in years is now standing in a room full of people who can't fucking stand his existence. It's a fucking miracle that all he has is a bloody nose.

"Bradley," Pete spits a little bit of blood as he speaks, looking up at the younger man. He reaches a hand out, but it's dodged. "It's good to see you, son,"

"I'm not your son. It's time for you to go," Bradley is ready to grab Pete Mitchell by the collar and haul him out of the house. He's ready to throw him onto the lawn and leave him there to spit blood and sober up enough until he can walk himself home. Bradley has his own selfish reasons, his own grudge against the Captain, and now would be as good a time as any to feed into that frustration that he's been stewing in for years.

"I'm calling Admiral Kazansky," Cyclone declares to the room, then he's spinning on his heel the moment Bradley takes a step closer, clearly putting himself between Maverick and Monsoon.

The Admiral is ordering Hangman to move, to take his daughter anywhere else so that she doesn't have to see any more of the disaster that the night has turned out to be. He doesn't want her to see him throw Maverick out- hell, he didn't want her to see him punch the older man, but there's no going back in time. 

As much as Cyclone wishes he could have protected her from this, he couldn't. One can't stop a speeding bullet, as they say, and the shot had already been fired the moment he pulled open the front door. And as much as he doesn't want to, Cyclone has to trust Hangman with his daughter, he just has to, now. 

So, Hangman is all but carrying Monsoon away as she fights to stay put. She misses the order from her Pops, her blood thrumming too loudly through her ears. Hangman takes her through the house, dodging the pile of glass still glittering on the hardwood in the kitchen, hauling her out the backdoor and right to his truck. Monsoon flights the whole time, though it's unclear as to her reason to want to say behind.

The pair are pulling away from the house as Bradley and Beau are hauling Maverick out to the front lawn, his nose still pouring blood.

Jake drives in the direction of his apartment, holding onto her hand the whole time. He squeezes it reassuringly though there isn't much he can assure her of at the moment. Neither of them know what's going to come of Maverick, or of Cyclone's heated action against him. They don't know if Bradley is going to get caught in the crossfire, or if they are going to get called into the MP's office sometime in the middle of the night.

There is no clear answer, so, Hangman squeezes her hand and drives.

And drives.

And drives.

As far away as he can get from that house, that situation, the feeling in his chest spurred on by the broken look in Monsoon's eyes.

He drives until the sun crests over the horizon. Pulling off onto the side of the highway, Hangman kills the headlights, the world around them just beginning to come to life. That's when the tears come, falling fast and hard from the pools of Monsoon's eyes. Hangman just holds her there, inside of the truck.

The world around them awakens as Monsoon's falls apart, crumbling like unquenched Earth between her fingers. Maybe that's what the whole situation is, after all, how many times have the great authors related relationships to gardens, to plants, to life. Without nurture, without care and tending, the soil dries out, the plants die. The whole garden becoming a wasteland for the decaying plant matter; the soil turning to clay as the days roll on.

But isn't decay an unescapable fact of life?

Miramar, California. TOP GUN. Two weeks after the organization of the Dagger Squad.

Hangman had completely expected to pretend like the whole fight at the Admiral's house didn't happen when he met up with the other recruits at the bar, save for Monsoon. He took a little too much joy ordering drinks for the team on Maverick's tab- the older man not seeming to remember him from the incident, even after Hangman sent him a wink and a "thanks, Pops,".

When Bradley strutted in like the world was full of golden promise, Hangman took it upon himself to act like it was the first time they had seen each other in years. Bradshaw was quick to get the memo: last week didn't happen.

There's no surprise that Maverick got thrown out of the Hard Deck that night, either. Hangman sure as hell wasn't expecting to be the one to throw Maverick out of the bar, but that part gave him a sense of pride that he can't quite put words to.

The feeling bloomed in his chest as he watched Maverick hit the sand. A wide smile spread across his face as he yelled for him to "come back anytime," if that meant getting more free alcohol and the chance to throw him out again. Then, as Hangman closed the doors behind him while Rooster began one hell of a rendition of "Great Balls of Fire", everything felt like it was going to be okay.

Oh boy, how wrong he was.

Tensions are high now, Hangman and Rooster's rivalry is back and stronger than ever. They have been at each other's throats since that night at the Hard Deck, though the reason wasn't the mission or the usual dick measuring contest, even if the other recruits would say that it is.

They have been battling it out over a woman. Monsoon, specifically. The team doesn't know about her involvement with Hangman, and the pair try and keep it that way. So, she sits in the back of the classroom, right behind Yale and does her best to pay attention. The mission seems more impossible by the minute, the deadline has been moved up, and nobody has been successful.

Rooster and Maverick argue about the plane vs the pilot and how he had been the only one to make it to the target, though it was a minute late.

Then, Hangman opens his fucking mouth, living up to that reputation of his. "It's no time to be thinking about the past,"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rooster's expression is unreadable, though his brows twitch.

"I can't be the only one that knows Maverick flew with his old man!" Hangman continues through Maverick's pleas, "Or that he was the one flying when-"

Rooster is out of his seat in a matter of seconds, launching himself at his fellow Lieutenant. Hangman took it too far this time. Rooster gets one good push in before the rest of the squad are separating the two hot headed men from each other, everyone yelling for the fighting to stop.

Everyone but Monsoon, who sits in the back staring at the fight in front of her and can't seem to make herself move.

"You son of a bitch!"

"Hey, hey, I'm cool, I'm cool," Hangman reassures, pulling out of the arms of his teammates.

"He's not cut out for this mission, you know it... You know I'm right." He gets up into Bradley's face, a fucking smirk on his lips. The others are still holding Bradley back as he calms down, but it's that fucking smirk that spurs him on.

Bob's hands slip from Rooster's shoulders as he gets into Hangman's face. "You think you can talk shit about my family when it's your girl that's got the most fucked up situation of all," Bradley keeps his eyes trained on Hangman, but the blonde's eyes tick to the side, in the direction of Monsoon, who is still in her seat. It's Bob who notices the way Hangman's eyes shift, and he's the first person to look in Monsoon's direction. Then, Bob's nudging Phoenix. 

They watch as Monsoon tenses in her seat, her jaw ticking. Her hands grip the arms of her chair, knuckles white. Then, Bob and Phoenix turn their attention back to the men as the screaming match continues. 

"I'm not the one who broke up with her on a goddamn post-it note, Rooster," Hangman points out with a raise of his brows, that stupid little smirk still evident on his lips. Rooster is bringing his hands up to his temples, his expression scrunched.

"You son of a bitch," Rooster is cursing at him through grit teeth, his voice low.

The crowd of Aviators are still gathered around the two men watching them fight, Maverick's eyes flicking between them as words are exchanged. His mind flashes back to two weeks ago, when he broke down the Admiral's door and saw them standing there with Cyclone. He suddenly flashes his eyes back to Monsoon, only to be met with her piercing glare.

"What? Was taking her father for yourself not good enough for you? Did you have to break her heart too?" Hangman questions, watching as Bradley's face contorts, "You're just pissed because not only could you not keep your shit Rio of a father around, you couldn't keep the girl, either,"

"That's enough!" Monsoon shouts, her eyes finally leaving Maverick. The Daggers' eyes are locked on Monsoon at the back of the makeshift classroom, anger evident on her features. Then, with her hands firmly planted on the table in front of her, she is pushing up from her seat.

"Seresin," Monsoon begins, turning her eyes to him, "First, you will not speak about my uncle that way. Goose was a good man and a damn good Rio. Uncle Nicky would have moved the fucking Earth for Bradley, or for Maverick, or for me and my Mama, don't you dare think anything different."

Monsoon is moving closer to the group now, taking each step slowly, methodical as her words. There is a large, yellow envelope tucked under her arm as she approaches. She had been sitting with that envelope since their first class, no one having even the slightest idea what's tucked inside.

"Secondly, Rooster, my relationship with Jake is not your business, not now, not ever. What we had was over the moment you wrote that post-it and walked out the door. You didn't even remember the fact that we grew up together, for fucks sake. I get it, I was your little deployment fling, and that's all. Now, you get to live with the fact that's all I'll ever be. Hangman put you in your place, now say in it."

The crowd is too stunned to speak, but there is a rumble of laughter that escapes Maverick. He doesn't even try to hide it, thinking the tension in the air would be enough to cover it. But then, Monsoon is turning her pointed gaze to him.

"Finally, Captain Mitchell," There is a sick little smirk on her lips as she says his name, "I wouldn't be laughing if I were you. After all, Bradley had to get his pension for forgetting women from somebody."

Monsoon is standing toe to toe with Maverick now, eyes locked in on his, "After all, I've been in this class for what, two weeks, and I know you have had the roster for longer than that, considering that little stunt you pulled at my Pop's house. You think it's funny to forget someone when your own flesh and blood is standing right in front of you?"

Maverick furrows his brow, head cocking to the side. Monsoon can practically see the gears turning in his head with the way his eyes move across her features. She breathes deeply a couple of times, letting his mind piece the puzzle together.

"I asked you a question, but go ahead, take your time," Monsoon leans in just a fraction further, "After all, I'm told I look more like my mother, anyway," Wide eyes from the man in front of her stir out a strangled giggle from her chest.

"Wha- bu-" Maverick flounders, his mouth opening and closing, no words forming on his lips.

"Hi, Dad," The name is said with so much venom as she pushes the envelope against his chest with enough force to make him stumble. Monsoon doesn't wait for him to recover before she is turning to walk down the aisle of the makeshift classroom, paying no attention to the stares, the eyes burning holes into the back of her head. Instead she focuses on the momentary feeling of lightness that washes over her as she leaves the hanger.

It isn't until Monsoon rounds the corner that the tears begin pricking at her eyes. She takes off running as soon as the first one hits her cheek, the only thing she can hear over the rushing of blood in her ears is the thunking of her heavy boots on the pavement.

The Daggers stand looking at Maverick. He's holding the envelope to his chest, unsure of the emotions wracking though his body. Then, with a quick hand, he's crudely tearing at the envelope. The contents pour out over the floor of the hanger, looking just like that night at Admiral Simpson's house. Maverick tries to push that thought from his mind as his eyes focus in on the papers covering the floor.

Birthday Cards. Children's birthday cards.

The same ones he wrote to her for her first ten birthdays. He can't even get himself to bend down to pick one up, his neck aching from the way he stares down at them. He notices the little circles of wrinkled paper from long dried tears and his heart fucking breaks. 

The image of Monsoon at four, at seven, that he can see clearly in his mind, but there's a gap missing. Still, Maverick imagines her sitting and rereading the cards at seventeen, at twenty-two, crying over them and the father she could barely remember. Tears prick at Mavericks eyes and he lets them, making no attempt to wipe them away. 

It doesn't take long for the Daggers to figure out that the pile of cards is noticeably small, no more than nine or ten cards on the ground, though no one is near brave enough to say anything.

Moments like this remind Maverick he's still just a mere man. No matter how many records he breaks, aircrafts he tests, or brushes with death he encounters, Maverick is nothing more than a man with a skill set. He has flaws. He makes mistakes. 

That fact is almost too much for him to take. 

The memory of Goose flashes through his mind, the moments leading up to the failed ejection birth the feeling of ocean water weighing down his flight suit, soaking into the padding of his helmet as the water washes over them. So much blood where there should be none. And then Maverick is thinking about cleaning the scraped knees of his daughter, the blood bubbling up through the road rash. The tears, then, were hers as she begged, "Daddy, not the ouch-y cleaner, I don't like it,". But Maverick cleaned her wounds with the alcohol anyway, only to end up holding her against his chest in the same way he would hold Goose in less than a year. 

Maverick's mind is a patchwork quilt of shit memories; stuck reliving them all, fragment by fragment. 

"Class dismissed," Maverick manages, his eyes still glued to the floor. The sounds of fourteen pairs of boots, first loud then quieter as they go, leave the hanger, leaving him standing there, looking at the past he threw away illustrated simply in faded and forgotten birthday cards.

The hands of the clock circle once before Maverick moves. He walks right over the pile, his boots leaving angry, dark tread marks across the colorful paper. He doesn't look back once, not at the pile of cards, not at the hanger, not at the base. 

He drives straight for the Hard Deck. It's the only thing he can think to do, and after all, maybe Penny has some sort of advice. She's the only person he actually knows with a kid- a daughter.

Maverick only makes it half way before he has to pull over. Quickly, he throws himself off his bike, his knees hitting the dirt as he empties the contents of his stomach. As a pilot, he should have a stronger stomach than this, but a choice he made almost eighteen years ago is coming back to haunt him. 

He can still see Monsoon's eyes in the forefront of his mind. They haven't changed a bit from when she was a kid, Maverick realizes, as he's sat back on his haunches trying not to puke again. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing at the feeling of his swirling stomach. 

Maybe he should have stuck around, or at least circled back when he wasn't on deployment. After all, Maria left messages on his machine for almost two years after he up and left. It started with her begging to call which slowly turned into begging him to at least send a fucking birthday card. So he did. 

Then, she stopped calling, and he stopped writing. Monsoon grew up. 

It would be so easy to blame Maria. When she stopped calling, he stopped remembering. Between deployments and missions, flight tests and ceremonies, Maverick could pretend that it all got lost in the shuffle. But then, he remembers Maria and the way she always seemed to flawlessly manage her Naval carrier with raising their daughter, how she could juggle it all without his help when he was deployed and it was all okay. At least that's what he told himself. 

So, he thought if she could do it alone already, no harm could come from putting in for extra duty. That turned into extra deployments, more time away from home. He knew it was all a lie, but he had to tell himself something to justify it. 

It did get easier after a while, as his daughter slowly slipped to the back of his mind. It wasn't until one day, six years after he left that the realization hit him. Maverick hadn't thought of his daughter in months. He should have felt more guilty; he drank himself sick at the thought.

Two years later Maverick didn't even realize he missed her eighteenth birthday. 

Or her twenty-first. 

Over the years he convinced himself he did the right thing. That part of his past became a distant memory that he told himself he didn't miss. Maverick would be lying to himself if he still believed that to be true in this moment, sat on the side of the road after having been faced with the consequences of his long forgotten actions. 

Maverick kept one constant reminder playing on repeat in his mind all those years, You can't be a bad father if you aren't there to be one at all. 

And for the first time since he walked out, Maverick thinks he may have been wrong. 

He sits on the side of the road until the sun sets, stewing in his misery. When he manages to pull himself back up onto his bike, he heads for home, knowing that if Penny knew the whole story he would be on the outs with her, too. And so, he drives slowly, back to an empty house, wishing for the first time in years that it wouldn't be empty when he got there. 

---

When Monsoon finally reached Cyclone's office, eight blocks from the hanger, she almost collapsed in the entryway of the building. But, she pushed through the crowd, ignoring the calls of his assistant who insisted that Cyclone could not be interrupted while he was in a meeting. Monsoon couldn't find it in herself to care. 

When she pushes the door to his office open, she is met with three pairs of eyes. Iceman, Warlock, and Cyclone's eyes meet her frame. She is breathing heavy from the mix of running and sobbing, though it's unclear as to which is causing the redness in her cheeks. 

"Excuse me, recruit, but you can't-" Warlock starts, closing the file sitting in his lap. There is an edge to his tone, not taking too kindly to being interrupted. 

"Hey, kid, what's wrong?" Cyclone is cutting off Warlock without a second thought. The moment he moves out from behind his desk, Monsoon is throwing herself into his arms, her barely contained tears now overflowing. Without a second thought, Cyclone is folding her into his arms, doing his best to hold her shaking form. 

"I'm sorry, sir, I tried to stop her," Cyclone's assistant huffs, running a hand through his hair. Cyclone waves the younger man off, the door closing behind him with a click. Then, Cyclone is wrapping his daughter tighter in his arms, one hand coming up to rub between her shoulders while the other is wrapped securely around her waist. 

"I'm sorry, gentleman, but the meeting will have to be continued another time," Cyclone speaks, his tone clear, unwavering. Warlock shakes his head but gets up to leave anyway. Iceman follows after him, nodding a sort of good luck to his fellow Admiral before closing the door behind him. 

"Tell me what's wrong, kid," Cyclone is pulling back, his hands squeezing at her shoulders. Monsoon is rubbing at her cheeks, smearing her tears over the expanse of her face. It's the same ugly cry she had when they first met, and the connection make's Cyclone's heart twist. 

"I-" She starts, sentence interrupted by a hiccupping gasp, "Everything is falling apart," 

Monsoon tries to wipe at her face again with her hands, but Cyclone plunges a hand into his pocket only to offer her a green pocket hanky a second later. She takes it with unsteady fingers, her heart still thrumming a mile a minute. 

"Hangman and Rooster got in a fight in class. Jake said a shitty thing about my uncle Nicky, Goose, you know?" 

"Bradley shoved Jake, which isn't exactly a surprise, but then he told everyone that my family situation is all kinds of fucked up, which it is, but it's nobody else's business. God, Pops, I know now that I made a mistake when I started seeing Rooster while we were on deployment together, but God, that was five years ago! It's in the past!"

Cyclone nods at her, listening intently while trying to keep calm. So much new information is being thrown at him with each sentence that leaves her lips and it makes him angry. 

"Worst of all, though," Monsoon wipes at her nose with the hanky, "Maverick knows,"

"He knows?" 

"I told him," She confirms with a whimper and a nod, not daring to meet Cyclone's eyes. If she managed to meet them, she would have been met with nothing but rage boiling behind his irises, red hot flames behind the dark brown of his eyes. 

"I had to, everything was already coming out anyway," She laments. 

"What did he have to say for himself?" The question is asked through grit teeth as he pulls her body tighter against his, a move meant to feel protective but does nothing to quell the flames burning Cyclone from the inside out. All Monsoon can do is shake her head "no" as she sobs against the denseness of his chest. 

"I'm gonna kill him" is all Cyclone can think as he rests his chin against her hair. His jaw ticks as the flaming feeling overtakes his body. If he could, he would strip Maverick of every single one of his achievements, his medals, his rank. He would cut the older man down so far that he was nothing more than a civilian with a dishonorable discharge. 

But he can't.

So instead, he holds his daughter as she cries. He lets her tears soak the tan fabric of his uniform top, the buttons scraping against her skin. He rubs her back and whispers into her hair, promises that everything will be okay. 

---

Somewhere in the Pacific. The Uranium Mission. Three weeks after the organization of the Dagger Squad. 

Moments after the Uranium mission is completed, the team piled on the aircraft carrier, all grateful to be alive. Monsoon and Hangman got sent up to shoot down the enemy aircraft, saving Maverick and Rooster. The whole thing left nothing but swirls of confusion and gratitude in Monsoon's heart. 

On one hand, she is so thankful that everyone made it back home. There will be no funerals, no folded flags and no Taps to be played. Instead there will be celebrations, beer and cheering and one too many speeches for a job well done. The whole thing should be liberating as their impending doom has been starved off for the time being, however there is still a feeling of anxiety sitting heaving in her chest.  

Now, Monsoon is stuck watching the pair climb out of the museum piece that they managed to land on the carrier. The wind is whipping past them as she watches the team embrace the two men. Her strangled feelings clog her chest as she makes her way into the fray, first approaching Bradley. 

"Glad to have you back on the ground," Monsoon shouts over the crowd.

"It's good to be back, even if it's not quite the ground," Bradley attempts to joke, "But seriously, we owe everything to you and Hangman," 

"Nobody left behind," Monsoon holds her hand out to Bradley, a gesture of good will. 

"Nobody left behind," Rooster echoes, taking her hand in his own. 

As they shake hands, a sort of understanding forms between them. They share a look, one that reads no hard feelings and Bradley almost tears up. Then, they are pulling back from each other, sharing one last smile. 

Monsoon watches Bradley disappear into the crowd, his tall frame quickly swallowed up by the sea of uniforms. She catches him shake hands with Hangman a moment later, the scene bringing a small smile to her lips. 

Then, Maverick catches her eye, standing a few yards away. There are tears shining in his eyes, but he makes no effort to move forward. They share eye contact for a moment as people move between them. Monsoon offers him a half smile, her brows lifted just slightly. Before Maverick can return it, she nods at him. He nods back, then it's his turn to watch her disappear into the crowd.

It's not quite an understanding, but maybe it's a truce.

At the risk of breaking her own heart, Monsoon chances a look over her shoulder. She watches as Maverick pulls Bradley into a hug, or maybe it's the other way around, it's hard to tell with the swarming of bodies. Either way, the pair wear bright smiles as they embrace and Monsoon doesn't even try to fight off the tears that make their way to her eyes. They aren't tears of anger, no, they are tears of gratitude. Grateful that they all get to live another day, grateful that Maverick and Bradley are giving each other a second chance, and grateful that there isn't a looming cloud hanging over her head anymore. 

She no longer has to wonder about her father, because now she knows he's exactly where he is supposed to be, and both of their lives are better for it. Instead, she has Cyclone, the best father she could have ever asked for, and that is more than enough. 

Cyclone breaks through the crowd, pulling his daughter into his arms, more than thankful for her safe return. He shouts at her, over the crowd, about how well she did and how happy he is that she made it back. The pair hold each other tight for another few moments, neither ready to let go. 

Maverick takes one more look at Monsoon, who's now folded into Cyclone's arms. It's an unfamiliar sight but not an unwelcomed one, for Maverick. One thing's for sure, she is exactly like her Pops- disciplined and talented in the cockpit of a jet. Even more, though, beyond being a good aviator, she is a good person and that's something that Maverick can't regret. 

---

Miramar, California. TOP GUN. One year after the completion of the Uranium Mission and the organization of the Dagger Squad.

A year later, Cyclone and Monsoon find themselves sitting in The Flight Line Bar, her hand thrust out in front of her, ring glittering under the amber lights. 

"You're going to give me away at my wedding, right?" There is a sort of apprehension to her voice as she sips on her beer. 

"It would be my honor, kid," Cyclone slings an arm around her shoulders, pulling her sideways into him. He holds her there for a second before letting her sit back upright, a large smile on her lips. 

"Y/N Seresin has a good ring to it," Cyclone adds, bringing his beer up to his lips. 

"About that," Monsoon starts, causing the Admiral to set his beer down, "Jake and I had a conversation, and we thought that having two Aviators in the same squad with the same last name would get confusing, so it's going to be Y/N Simpson, if that's okay with you,"

The Admiral's eyes flood with tears before he can say a single word. They quickly spill down his cheeks and all he can do is look at his daughter, tears of her own overtaking her eyes. 

"I take that as a "yes"?" Monsoon chuckles, wiping her eyes with a shitty bar napkin. 

"Of course it's a yes, kid," Cyclone grabs her hand, holding it on top of the bar. 

The pair sit, hand in hand , tears still wet on their faces and all Cyclone can think about is how fucking lucky he got, how blessed his life is. He finally has a daughter who is happy and in love, a daughter that he will get to walk down the aisle on the most important day of her life. 

When he chances a glance over to her, Cyclone can see the frizz of her hair highlighted by the neon sign buzzing behind her, her cheeks bright red. For a moment, he can see June in the roundness of her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes. Cyclone thinks back to all those years ago, when he and Monsoon first met sitting in this same bar, but he doesn't entertain the memory very long, after all, he has so much to look forward to. So instead, he squeezed her hand. 

"I love you, kid," Beau tells her earnestly, smiling though a few stray tears. 

"I love you too, Pops," Monsoon returns, leaning her head on his shoulder, "Now and always," 

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The Younger Kind Part 48 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley is just trying to make it to the weekend. When he realizes he needs to visit Meredith, he's starting to feel like his sanity is hanging on by a thread. At least he has you, and he knows he can trust you implicitly. And maybe this will give him the kind of closure he didn't know he needed.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, mention of abortion, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4800 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Afternoon rain clouds had rolled in, making the city look darker than normal. You noticed right away that the usual sunlight wasn't coming in the windows at work, and it was putting everyone in a strange mood. Even the tiny patients you were taking care of seemed to be crying a little bit more than usual. 

You needed to leave soon to pick up Noah which required you to cancel your nail appointment. Bradley didn't even tell you why he'd be late, he just said he would be. It wasn't that you didn't trust him, you just wanted to know that he was okay, but you hadn't heard from him again.

As soon as you walked outside and headed for your car, it started pouring rain. It was so unexpected, you started laughing. You couldn't even remember the last time you'd had a rainy day. Maybe if the lightning and thunder held off, you could take Noah outside to play in it. But as you opened your car door and ducked inside, a streak of jagged light went shooting across the sky. 

"Damn," you muttered, carefully driving through the parking lot. You thought about Skittles home alone in her crate. She must be terrified all alone right now, and at this rate, it was going to take you longer than usual to get to Noah. Traffic was backed up like crazy, because nobody knew how to drive in this. You sat at the same red light for three cycles before you were finally able to move at all, and by the time you reached Noah's daycare, it was almost time for them to close.

You dashed out through the rain and inside the building where you were confronted with Casey while you looked like a drowned rat. "Common sense would tell you to use an umbrella when it's raining," she said sweetly as you started to shiver in the air conditioning. 

"It's San Diego," you replied coolly. "It never rains here."

She made a production of leaning past you to look out the door. "I think you're wrong, but I can't be certain." She set the clipboard down on the counter and turned away from you as she said, "Poor Noah is going to get completely soaked."

You rolled your eyes as you signed your name a little bit aggressively. It's not like the child would melt. If Bradley came to pick him up instead of you, there was no doubt in your mind that Casey would have bent over backwards to make sure there was an umbrella for him to use. But since it was you, she just stood there with her arms crossed as you scooped Noah up.

"You ready to get a little wet, sweet Noah?" you asked him, kissing his cheek. "It's really raining hard."

He squealed in delight as you ran to your car with him, but you ended up getting a lot more soaked than he did. Your scrubs were clinging to your body when you finally closed the drivers' door behind you. "How about we go home, get dried off and snuggle under a blanket while we watch Mickey Mouse?"

"Yes!" cheered Noah. Maybe you'd just order a pizza later when Bradley got home. You were wet and tired and just wanted to relax. 

"Okay. Here we go."

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

Bradley was a nervous mess on his way to see Tracy. "Come on," he groaned, trying to fight his way through the traffic downtown to get to her office in the rain. He should have left base as soon as he was grounded for the rest of the afternoon, but everyone started talking shop, including the admirals, and he didn't want to leave too early. 

The array of invasive thoughts plaguing him at the moment was making his stomach churn. Every image in his mind was worse than the last. He was itching to call the First Bank of San Diego, but he thought he'd better talk to Tracy about it first. Reeking of jet fuel that was only made worse by getting his flight suit soaked in the rain, he rode the elevator up to her office. It was kind of late, and the building was mostly empty, but sure enough, the lights were shining brightly in her suite. 

When he walked through the first set of glass doors, Tracy leaned out of her office door with a completely neutral expression on her face. "Hi. Come on back."

Bradley closed the distance in a few long strides. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I really didn't want to have to see you today. And I don't have my checkbook with me."

Tracy shook her head and gestured toward the small conference table before she grabbed a Red Bull from her refrigerator. "I'm not billing you for this."

Bradley's heart took a nosedive as he sank down into one of the chairs. If she wasn't even collecting payment, this must be worse than he thought. "Just get it over with, please. What's going on? Did Meredith open an account in my name or something?" he asked. Then he gripped the edge of the table. "In Noah's name? Fuck! Did she figure out a way to fucking bankrupt me?"

He was about to be sick. Once again, he was kicking himself for never taking all of these precautions earlier, right after Meredith left him with a three month old. There would have been ways to safeguard both of them from this sort of thing, but he would have never believed Meredith was capable of doing what she did before. She probably took out a mortgage or opened a credit card. She would have had easy access to Bradley's banking information and social security number. It had been ages since he checked his credit score.

Tracy was offering him a Red Bull, but she slowly pulled it away from him like it was the last thing in the world he needed as he gripped her table so hard, the whole thing was vibrating a little bit.

"Take a deep breath, Bradley. It's nothing so extreme," she assured him in a calm voice as she pried his fingers away from her furniture. "Meredith opened an account right after Noah was born and put a few thousand dollars into it."

Bradley clasped his hands in his lap and thought back a few years. Meredith had been happy for a little while. She seemed to warm up to the idea of Noah, and after he was born and they had a tiny newborn at home, she was very involved. But as the weeks wore on, Bradley noticed her involvement slipping while he was the one picking up all the loose ends and working full time. 

"I don't remember anything about a bank account," he told Tracy. "What does this have to do with me exactly?"

She took a drink before she said, "You're listed as a custodian on the account. Technically the money was put in Noah's name, but since he's a minor, he can't handle it himself."

His brow was furrowed as he shook his head. "I'm still confused. Isn't it Meredith's account?"

"Yes and no," she replied. "Once she put your name and social security number on the line below hers, she made you liable for the money, too. And the bank must have uncovered that Meredith is incarcerated. This happens from time to time. When they couldn't reach her, they found her lawyer's information on the court docket. And then her lawyer called me. Apparently your address wasn't listed."

Bradley felt like his head was swimming with information. "So you're telling me I can go to the Coronado branch of the First Bank of San Diego tomorrow and get this money out?"

"Potentially," she replied mildly.

He thought for a beat before he asked, "Is Meredith still entitled to the money? Even though I have sole custody of Noah?"

"Sure. Her name is also on the account." She shrugged and checked the time. "It's not quite six yet. Should we call the bank and find out exactly what's going on?"

"Yeah," he agreed, reaching for his phone. It would be better to do this with her here so he could make sure he got all the information he needed. "Should I just put it on speaker?"

She nodded as she finished her drink and tossed the can into her already overflowing recycle bin. He tapped on the number of the missed calls from earlier and waited while it rang. "First Bank of San Diego corporate offices, this is Belinda. How can I help you?"

Bradley cleared his throat. "Uh, hi, Belinda. My name is Bradley Bradshaw, and I missed some phone calls earlier? I... was hoping you could answer some questions about an account?"

"Please hold."

He looked at Tracy who seemed completely unfazed by all of this as she examined her manicure. It was great that she was always able to stay so calm, but his heart was thundering up into his throat. He wasn't about to believe there weren't a thousand credit cards maxed out in his name until he investigated it all for himself.

"This is Barry."

Bradley didn't know quite what to say as he cleared his throat again. "Hi, this is Bradley Bradshaw. I'm actually here with my lawyer, and I missed some calls earlier?"

"Right, yes," came the man's voice along with the sound of him typing on a keyboard. "We were trying to reach you regarding an account that was opened with your minor child listed as a beneficiary. Information would have been mailed to you, but we did not have an associated address on file."

"Can you tell us more about the account?" Tracy asked, and Bradley was relieved that she knew what to do.

"Well, I can tell you that once an account reaches over $15,000 without any activity in the prior three years, we make a courtesy phone call to see if the owner wants to move any of the funds."

"Fifteen thousand?" Bradley asked, running his fingers through his hair anxiously. "That account has fifteen thousand dollars in it? And she never touched it?"

Barry was silent for a beat. "I really can't provide much more information unless you visit one of our branches in person, sir."

"Shit," Bradley muttered, leaning back in his seat and staring at the ceiling. 

"Sounds great, Barry. Thanks for your time," Tracy said before she ended the call for him. "You need to go to the bank. Can you go tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Bradley grunted. "So... there's money just sitting there that potentially belongs to Noah through me?"

"Sounds like it."

Bradley met her eyes. "And I can just take it out? And move it into a different account?"

Now she looked a little apprehensive. "I wouldn't advise you to do it quite that way."

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

You let Noah play out in the rain with Skittles for approximately five minutes while you stood inside the backdoor and watched. He had bugged so long and so hard, you caved. But as soon as you heard a rumble of thunder, you ran out and picked him up where he was splashing in a puddle in his dinosaur rain boots while the tiny pup barked. You got soaked all over again in the process, but you carried him inside as lightning flashed across the sky. 

"It's getting too stormy!" you told him over all the noise. "Time to go in!"

You grabbed a towel from the stack you left on the kitchen table, and Noah let you fuss over him. You wrapped Skittles in a towel when she started to shake from the cold air conditioned temperature inside, and eventually all three of you ended up on the couch under a blanket with cartoons playing. There was no sign of Bradley, but when you texted and asked him to bring pizza home, he agreed right away. 

Anything my Princess wants.

You smiled at your phone as you sat with Noah on your lap and Skittles on his lap. Every few minutes, you buried your nose in his fresh smelling hair and inhaled as you gave him a squeeze. "When's Daddy coming home?" he asked as the sky outside just got darker as the evening wore on. "I'm hungry."

"Soon," you promised him, but it had gotten so late, you were about to make Noah a snack when you finally heard a key in the front door lock. 

Skittles was the first one who jumped down from the couch. "Daddy!" Noah launched off of your lap and ran to the door as Bradley kicked it open. His hair and flight suit were basically soaked, but he was holding a pizza and a container of salad with a coffee cup balanced on the top. His handwriting on the cup was wet, and the marker was starting to run, but you could still read Princess. And he looked absolutely exhausted. 

"Hey, Bub," he mumbled, kneeling to kiss Noah while he balanced everything in one hand. "You having fun with Mommy?"

Even Bradley's voice was laced with fatigue that you could practically feel as you stood and went to him. You kissed his wet cheek and whispered, "Thank you," as you took the food and your coffee cup from his hand. He just looked at you and nodded, and you gave him a minute with Noah and Skittles as you took the food to the kitchen and got more clean towels. He was just taking off his boots when you returned and asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

He grunted as he took the towels from you and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can we wait until Noah's in bed?"

You really did not want to wait another hour, but you agreed anyway, and Bradley kissed your lips before he ran a towel over his face and hair. "Thanks, Baby," he whispered as you gave him a minute to get changed. You took Noah into the kitchen and started to cut up a slice of pizza for him. You were just adding a liberal amount of dressing onto the salad when Bradley walked in wearing gym shorts and a black undershirt that hugged his perfect torso, fresh from a quick shower.

"I love that about you," he crooned next to your ear, his hands soft on your waist as he nodded at the salad.

You laughed and said, "I know you do, Daddy." You were tempted to crawl onto his lap and try to make him feel better while he ate, because he'd clearly had a stressful day. With a quick glance at Noah where he was getting sauce all over his face, you decided to settle into your own seat with a piece of pizza and half of the salad. Bradley stacked two slices together and ate them at the same time in about ten bites. 

"You really had a bad day, huh?" you asked, breaking off a piece of your crust and eating it. 

He shook his head, brow scrunched in something like concern as he watched his son eat. "Not exactly. Just very long."

Once all the food was gone, you sipped your coffee while you cleaned up. Bradley would have normally done that, but when Noah asked to play blocks with him, you sent them into the living room. You could hear the block towers go clattering to the floor over and over again as Noah giggled. The rain hadn't tapered off, and you were already starting to yawn by eight o'clock. That's when Bradley poked his head into the kitchen with Skittles held in one big hand.

"Hey, Baby. I'm going to get Noah ready for bed, and then we can talk in the living room?"

You nodded and finished loading the dishwasher before curling up with the blanket on the couch. Bradley brought Noah in for a goodnight kiss and then vanished again. By the time he returned empty handed, you were half asleep, but you climbed onto his lap after he sat down. "What's going on?" you asked, your cheek cradled on his shoulder and your lips brushing his neck. You could feel his soft length against your thigh through his gym shorts, and you let your hand settle low on his abs.

He cleared his throat softly and whispered, "I need to go to Las Colinas Detention Facility either tomorrow or Wednesday." A chill rippled through your body even though you were tucked in his warm embrace. You jerked yourself back so you were looking him in the eye as he added, "I need to talk to Meredith."

All you could picture was the stress you saw on his face months ago when she dragged him through the court battle over Noah. You grabbed at your arm where you'd gotten all cut up when you fell in the parking lot at Meyer Park. You could practically still feel and hear all of the pieces of broken glass crunching beneath your feet when you found that your apartment had been broken into. 

"Why?" you gasped as tears stung at your eyes. A sick feeling settled into your belly, and all you could do was repeat the question, "Why?"

"Shh. It's okay, Princess," he promised, kissing your cheeks and the tears you weren't even aware you'd shed. "I'm going to make sure it's okay."

You were nodding and shaking a little bit as you listened to him explain that Meredith had opened an account when Noah was a baby. Apparently there was a substantial amount of money now, and Bradley's name was also on the account. "It makes me feel like, even just for a little while, Meredith actually cared about Noah," he whispered, and now you saw tears in his eyes too before he tipped his head back against the couch. "I have a lot of mixed feelings about this, but I guess it's not all bad."

You swallowed down the discomfort you felt and whispered, "You loved her then. And she loved you. And Noah. I mean... she was his mom."

Bradley lifted his head up and tightened his grip around your waist. "You are Noah's mom," he insisted, and you immediately burst into tears. "That's how I want it. That's how Noah wants it. That's how you told me you want it. And that's not going to change. But I just feel like Noah should have this money from Meredith."

You nodded as he wiped at your tears. "He should," you sobbed. "But why do you have to go to Las Colinas? Why can't you just withdraw it?"

Now Bradley let his forehead come to rest on your shoulder, like he needed the comfort associated with being close to you. "I could do that, but I stopped to talk to Tracy, and she thinks that would do more harm than good. There's a simple form I can get from the bank tomorrow after I talk to someone about the exact amount in the account. The plan is for me to take the form to Las Colinas myself, talk to Meredith, and ask her to sign it and effectively forfeit the funds over to me. That way there could be no questions asked."

"And what if she won't sign it?"

He kissed your cheek. "Then you and I can decide if I should withdraw the cash and move it to a different account or just leave it there and pretend it doesn't exist."

You were struck once again by the way Bradley made all of his decisions for you and with you. He treated you with respect when he made plans, and he valued your opinion. "Do you want me to come with you? To the bank or to see Meredith? So you don't have to do it alone?"

His lips and mustache were tickling your jaw as he said, "No. Tracy and I agreed I should go alone. And I really want you to take care of Noah after work so that's one less thing I have to worry about." He kissed you softly. "But thank you for offering."

And that's how you fell asleep, on his lap with his lips pressed to your skin.

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

Bradley couldn't be sure if it was his khaki uniform, but it definitely seemed to help his cause. When he got to the bank after work on Tuesday, he was called right back to a small office where an agent started helping him. "Okay, Lieutenant Bradshaw, let's check this account balance for you," she said as she typed in his social security number. "You are looking at $17,271.28. Would you like to transfer it to a different account?"

He just gaped at her. That could pay for a year of college for Noah. "Actually... I'm going to need to think about it," he replied, and a little while later he left her office with a single piece of paper. 

He started the thirty minute drive out of the city to the women's correctional facility. You were probably leaving work right now. Maybe you were pulling into the daycare parking lot. Either way, he didn't have to worry about his son when he was with you. Instead, he could focus on what he needed to do right now, because he was having some mixed feelings about taking this money at all. But if it was actually intended to be used for Noah, then he wanted to give Meredith the opportunity to do the right thing. 

After he parked, he waited in line to be searched before entering the building. Here, his uniform did absolutely nothing. In fact, he had to remove his belt and all of his pins and leave them in a little tray in the front office before going though another metal detector. When an officer asked who he was there to see, she looked surprised when he said Meredith's name. 

"Right," she replied, leading him toward a small waiting area. "Sit in here, and I'll call you in if she wants to see you."

He eased himself down onto a metal chair that was bolted to the floor and started to sweat. If Meredith wouldn't even talk to him, then he was going to have to leave the money where it was. He wouldn't be able to bring himself to touch it. He was starting to resent even coming here, because this week was supposed to have been a fun one with the air show coming up on Saturday and the hospital tour on Friday night. He could have just told Tracy and everyone at the bank that he didn't care about the money.

"Bradshaw?" called a different officer, and Bradley stood. Well. Apparently she was willing to talk to him after all. A door was held open for him and then another one. He was scanned into a narrow hallway, and once that door closed behind him, he was scanned into a room with a large number '3' on it. 

And there sat his ex in a gray jumpsuit with her hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her sleeves were rolled up her forearms, her hair was longer now, and frankly she looked a lot better than he was expecting. Her eyes tracked his every move as she crossed her arms over her chest and said, "Bradley."

He sat in one of the two chairs that were once again bolted to the floor, and his knees almost hit hers as he did so. "Meredith. How are things?" he asked for a lack of anything better coming to his mind.

"What are you doing here?" she asked immediately, leaning a little closer to him. "What do you want?" When he hesitated with his answer, she laughed and shook her head. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't need something from me, so just spit it out."

He shifted in his seat and withdrew the sheet of folded paper from his pocket. "You opened a savings account for Noah right after he was born? I had no idea it existed. The bank just started trying to reach out to me, because you put my name on the account as well," he stated as he tried to hand her the paper. 

She stared at him, eyes wide as her cheeks flushed pink, but she said nothing, and she didn't move at all. 

"I'm assuming you forgot about it," he added. 

Meredith finally took the paper from him as she said, "Why didn't you just take the money then?" She seemed to begrudgingly move her icy stare from his face to the page as she unfolded it and started to read. Bradley knew if she signed it, she would be willingly forfeiting the funds. She would know the exact amount of money and offer it up on her own. He knew he shouldn't feel guilty about asking her to do this, but he kind of did anyway. And now that he was looking at her, he knew he couldn't just do it behind her back if she didn't sign.

"I wanted you to know about it before I did it," he told her softly. "I wanted to ask you why you put the money in the account in the first place."

She refolded the paper and once again met his gaze. "I originally opened the account so someday Noah could go to business school like me instead of joining the Navy like you."

Bradley nodded and almost wanted to smile. "Makes a lot of sense." He took a deep breath and whispered, "You were excited when you were pregnant. You were excited when he was a newborn."

Meredith closed her eyes and shook her head as she held her hand up in front of her. She didn't look at him as she said, "I tried, but I couldn't do it. You were better at all of it than I was, and I fucking hated it more and more every day. I hate being at home. I hated having to feed Noah and change diapers while you went back to work. I hated it so much. The four months that I took off completely ruined my career, and I was never able to recover. And that's where I was happiest."

Bradley nodded and clasped his hands in his lap. Her next sentence hurt him to hear, but she had every right to say it. "I think it would have been better for me if I'd had abortion. I think I could have been happy right now if I did." She kind of shrugged, barely looked at him and then turned toward the corner of the ceiling. Bradley followed her gaze as she loudly said into a camera, "Can somebody bring me a pen? I swear I won't stab him with it."

Bradley was afraid to say anything yet, and nobody appeared with a pen right away. Meredith read over the sheet of paper again, and eventually she said, "This was the only account I added your name to. Don't go sniffing around my bank for more, because you won't get it."

"Right," he replied, finding her words almost comical since she was the one trying to fleece him earlier this year. 

"And every cent goes into a savings account for college tuition for him. A university or a trade school or something. Anything except the Navy. And none of it goes to that disgusting little slut you're living with now."

Bradley had to bite back his response as the door opened, and an officer walked in with one black ink pen. She handed it to Meredith and stood next to her while she signed the form, and then the officer collected the pen once more before leaving the room. He was honestly a little shocked, but he accepted the paper when she handed it to him.

"Thank you," he told her, deciding not to mention that you were going to be his wife and Noah's legal parent sooner rather than later if he had anything to say about it. She really didn't need to know about that, because she didn't have any say in the matter. "I'll save it for Noah for school. And if he wants to join the Navy like a real idiot, then I'll donate it all to your alma mater. But just... thanks for signing for it."

She nodded. "You were going to be able to take it anyway. At least now you'll cooperate with its original intended purpose."

Once again, he wasn't going to waste his time arguing with her by trying to say that he would have left the money untouched. He didn't need her to believe anything he said except that he'd save her money for Noah. "I will absolutely do that."

"I know you will."

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

Well, well, well. What do we have here? Proof that Meredith cared at one time? Please ignore any financial inaccuracies, I tried my best. Aaaaand, onward to the air show. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 49

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[minejungwoo]

The Younger Kind Part 40 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Casey is obnoxious to you once again, you try your best to go about your day even though you're on the verge of tears. Bradley knew he shouldn't have been lying to you, but he didn't see any other way of dealing with things. Especially not when he was making some last minute changes.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, mentions of smut and age gap (18+)

Length: 5000 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Bradley didn't answer his phone when you called him on your way to work. Casey was trying to bait you, of that you were almost positive. But Bradley was acting strange all on his own, and the twin bakery boxes made you a little more anxious than you wanted to admit, even to yourself. 

This was going to be the downside to being with Bradley. He was older and sexy and had a real job and a cute kid, and other people were always going to take notice of that. But he put you in his will. He'd talked about rings, and you'd seen them in his internet tabs. There was no way he wasn't serious about this, because even if he was messing with you, he wouldn't mess with Noah. 

But you still felt jealous and petty as you drove to work. That crown shaped donut was adorable and delicious, but at what cost? Now you wished you had taken the time to see what was inside the pastry box Casey had at the daycare. You called Bradley one more time as you walked into work, but of course he didn't answer even though he should still have his phone on him at this hour. The urge to text or call Natasha was strong right now.

After you took care of a few of your patients, you caved and dug your phone out of your bag. Bradley finally responded to you.

Bradley Bradshaw: Hey, I know you said you're going grocery shopping on your way home today, but I need you to pick up Noah. I'll be late again.

You rolled your eyes as you texted him back.

Why exactly will you be late today?

You didn't have time to wait for a response, because you had to get the exam rooms ready for the upcoming patients. Dr. Kelly was dealing with an emergency in exam room one, and there was another child throwing up all over the waiting room. At the rate you were going here, you'd be lucky if you could even get to Noah on time after work. You felt like you were being pulled in four different directions, and you weren't in the mood for Bradley's bullshit. 

When nobody else wanted to clean up the waiting room, you went ahead and did it without complaining; it wasn't that kid's fault he had food poisoning. But you ended up crawling around on the floor for fifteen minutes with rubber gloves on, and then you just got more backed up with the child who was waiting for you in the last exam room. You didn't have time to eat lunch, but you took a quick bathroom break and checked your phone. 

There was nothing from Bradley, but Natasha had texted asking what you were wearing to Admiral Bates' retirement party. You pressed your lips together and took a screenshot of the poofy purple skirt and top that should be arriving today and sent it to her. Before she could respond, you sent another quick message.

Are you working late with Bradley today? Did you have to work late with him yesterday?

You used the bathroom and washed your hands, and you checked your phone one last time. 

Natasha Trace: I haven't been working late, and I followed him out of the parking garage yesterday. That shade of purple is going to look stunning next to Bradley's dress whites. I can't decide between my own dress whites or a formal gown. What's your opinion? Look like one of the guys or look like I'm trying too hard? Like I can't fucking win here, you know?

You absolutely loved that she wanted to ramble to you about her black tie options, you really did. But now you felt uncomfortable in your own skin. She just confirmed for you that Bradley left work on time yesterday. At the bare minimum he was lying to you again, but he could be doing something behind your back that would hurt you even more than that.

"Fuck," you muttered, knowing you had to get back to work. You smiled at your patients and let them take their time picking out stickers all afternoon. You cleaned and disinfected the exam rooms. You entered all of the information into the electronic charts while you answered questions for parents. You did it all without freaking out like you wanted to. 

When you were dismissed, you grabbed your things and rushed to your car to make it to the daycare in time to get Noah. Tears already stung your eyes, because you just knew you'd feel so much better when you got to see him and get a hug. You were still trying to decide if it was better or worse if Casey was still here as you parked and headed inside. Then her eyes locked with yours as soon as you entered the small lobby, and she still looked so smug in her cute outfit. But at least this meant she wasn't with Bradley. 

"Oh, it's you again," she said pleasantly as you walked to the counter. 

You put your hand out for the clipboard and said, "Yep. It's me. Told you I wasn't going anywhere. Could you please bring Noah out?"

"I will," she replied, reaching into that fucking blue box and pulling out a crown shaped donut. She nibbled on the end before setting it down again and handing you the clipboard. "You're the last one to arrive for pickup, which actually makes sense when I think about it. Bradley has you running all over the place for him, doesn't he?"

You ground your molars together to keep your mouth shut and signed your name as she took another bite of the donut. 

"I guess that's what babysitters do though. But it's funny that he didn't mention you at all when he and I were at the bakery yesterday."

Your eyes snapped up to meet her self satisfied gaze, and you wanted to rip that pretty donut out of her hand. "Just go get Noah."

"Gladly," she replied, heading for the classroom door. "You're holding me up right now anyway. I need to get back to Sweet Dreams to meet up with someone who looks damn good in a pair of aviator sunglasses. It's so nice having the best bakery in the city right in my neighborhood. It's a great spot to meet up with people."

If Bradley came home with another blue pastry box and claimed he was at work late again, you were going to throw the box back in his pretty face. 

"Mommy!" Noah called as he streaked across the lobby to you a second later. "I painted a purple dog for you!" He was holding up a painting of a purple blob with eyes and a nose, and you couldn't hold back your smile. 

"I love it," you whispered as you picked him up and kissed his chubby cheek. You made the decision to completely ignore Casey as you turned and walked out to the parking lot. "Hey, we need to stop and get groceries, so how about you pick what you want for dinner tonight."

He looked at you with those brown eyes that were identical to his dad's, except that these ones didn't have to try to look innocent, they just were. "Probably mac and cheese and ants on logs."

"Sounds perfect."

Once you and he got inside the grocery store, you were feeling extra ridiculous. You thought about making it a point to run up Bradley's credit card bill as high as you could by selecting imported exotic fruits and a bottle of champagne, but you just couldn't waste the money. You did buy yourself some expensive chocolate that you ate on the drive home though as you wondered just how late he was going to be tonight. 

You were kind of shocked as you pulled down the block with Noah and a trunk full of groceries to see the Bronco parked in the driveway. It was 6:45, so he must have arrived just before you, and you couldn't wait to put him on the spot. You slammed your door before unbuckling Noah from his seat in the back, and you really did feel like the fucking babysitter again right now. 

"Let's go, sweet Noah," you told him, leaving the groceries where they were for now. Hand in hand, the two of you walked up to the porch while he told you how many raisins he wanted on his carrots, but you barely heard him. When you opened the front door, Bradley was standing right there in the middle of the living room with a stupid smile on his face. He was holding another blue pastry box. 

"Hi," he said, leaning down to kiss you, but you backed away. His face scrunched in concern. "Everything okay?"

Noah was already bugging to see what was in the box this time, and you noticed Bradley had his other hand tucked behind his broad back. 

"I mean... no, not really," you said, slightly embarrassed by the way your voice shook. "Did you see Casey at the bakery again today? Just like last night?"

He looked completely taken aback. "How did you know I saw Casey last night?"

You crossed your arms over your chest and whispered, "Why do you keep lying to me about coming home late?"

Bradley sighed and pressed his lips together. "Look, I didn't want to have to lie to you, okay? That wasn't really my original plan, but then things got a little out of hand, and I didn't really see any other option."

"Just say it," you whispered, ready to reach for the box as your hands shook.

"I just wanted it to be a surprise," he said blandly as he pulled his hand out from behind his back. You gasped, and Noah immediately gave up on his mission to get something sweet out of the blue box.

"A dog!" Noah shouted as you looked at the tiny little Yorkshire terrier that Bradley was holding around the middle with one hand. It had a purple bow on top of its head and one leg in a cast, and it was honestly one of the cutest things you'd ever seen in your life. "A dog! A dog!" 

Bradley dropped down to kneel so Noah could get a closer look, but he kept his eyes on you as he said, "I adopted her from the shelter across town. It's on the same block as that fancy bakery. She has a broken leg, so we need to be really gentle with her while she's healing, okay?" He set the box down on the floor and sat with Noah, and now you were feeling pretty embarrassed. You still wanted to know what Casey was doing, but you tentatively sat down on the floor as well. 

When Bradley held his other arm out, you crawled in to give him a huge while Noah petted the little brown bundle of fur. He was showing how gently he could be, and the dog started licking his hands. You kissed Bradley's cheek, but he looked a little stern as he softly said, "You know I did this for you, right? You and Noah."

You didn't know what else to say, so you simply said, "Thank you."

He sighed and kissed your lips. "I saw Casey for like five minutes while I waited in line to buy your crown donut, okay? The guy from the shelter needed to interview me about getting a dog with an injury, so he and I sat in the bakery for a while and talked. I dropped off a check this afternoon, because they don't accept app payments, and I stopped at the bakery again for you. Then the guy from the shelter came by and did a quick inspection of the house and our backyard like an hour ago. And he left the dog with me. That's all."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and whispered, "I love you, and I love the dog. And I'm happy you got to use your checkbook without anyone laughing at you."

Bradley chuckled as you ran your fingers through the dog's fur. She looked up at you with brown eyes that you swore perfectly matched those of the Bradshaw boys. 

"What's her name?" Noah asked as he got his face licked.

"Whatever you want it to be," Bradley replied. "She doesn't have one yet."

You and Noah made eye contact and both smiled brightly. "Skittles!"

Bradley groaned and laid back on the area rug right next to the snag, and he plopped Skittles down on his chest. "You already had a name picked out? And it's Skittles?"

"Yes!" Noah replied, also laying on Bradley's chest to get better access to his new pet.

"We picked a name that could work for a boy dog or a girl dog," you told Bradley, your heart feeling lighter than it had for the past day. "She's so adorable," you crooned as you ran your dand down her back. "Hi, Skittles. You're precious." Her brown eyes were transfixed on your face as you scratched just the right spot behind her ear. "Why is she in a cast?"

Bradley propped his hands behind his head, and the pup carefully walked up to lick his neck and face as you took a few pictures. "Hit by a car. She was abandoned down near Imperial Beach and someone dropped her at the shelter last week. I mentioned I was looking for a small puppy or younger dog that didn't shed, and Bob found her on the shelter website."

"You were left all alone? You sweet thing," you whispered, getting close enough for a lick across your nose. "She's darling!"

"Can she sleep with me in my bed?" Noah asked as Skittles climbed carefully onto Bradley's bicep and then onto the rug. She sniffed around the pastry box before plopping down bedside Bradley with her broken leg sticking out in front of her. 

"Maybe after her cast comes off, Bub."

Noah tried his best to pout, but you saw right through it, and a few seconds later he was smiling again. "Noah, what do you say to Daddy?" you reminded him. Then he was in Bradley's arms saying thank you a million times in a row.

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

While Bradley unloaded the groceries, you and Noah played on the living room floor with Skittles. He shook his head as he locked your car. "Skittles," he muttered, hauling the last few bags inside. "You've got to be shitting me." He chuckled to himself. You'd come into his life with your candy and your glossy lips and your sweetness and upended everything. He owned a fucking dog now, and you'd named it after your favorite snack. He even had a reminder in his phone to pay off his credit card balance so he could start shopping for a ring next month.

You smiled up at him from the floor as Noah squeaked a toy and held it out to the dog. Damn it, she was actually adorable. And the shelter gave her a little purple bow when he asked for that color. And she definitely had the puppy eyes down pat, because Bradley couldn't even walk through the room without stopping to pet her. 

He ended up carrying Skittles around the house for the rest of the night after you made mac and cheese for dinner. The dog was already trained to go to the bathroom outside, but he needed to be careful with her cast. The staff from the animal shelter had absolutely grilled him for information before they even came out to inspect whether or not the house and yard were safe for her. 

"Yeah, this is your yard now," he whispered to the dog as he carried her outside in one hand. She licked his cheek before he set her down and watched her sniff around as it got darker outside. She was only a year or two old, which is what he wanted. This way Noah and potentially his younger sibling could have more time with her as the dog grew older. 

"Come here," Bradley called, and Skittles moved as quickly as her little casted leg would allow her to. She stopped at his feet and looked up at him. "Fuck. You really are cute. And I'm going to look like an asshole when I take you for walks." But he was smiling as he picked her up again. When he turned, you were standing in the open doorway.

"You won't look like an asshole, Daddy. You'll look as adorable as Skittles does."

He kissed your forehead and asked, "Is Noah in bed?"

"Yeah. He wants you to go in and say goodnight. And may I please hold the dog for a few minutes?" you asked with a little pout. 

"Nope," he replied, kissing your cheek. "Gotta let Noah say goodnight to her, too."

"Then can I play with her?"

Bradley held the dog's face up to his ear. "What's that, Skittles? You said you like me the best and want me to keep holding you? That's what I thought."

"Hey!" you complained, playfully hitting his arm as the pup licked his ear. You looked happier right now than you had earlier, but Bradley knew he needed to have a conversation about Casey. He couldn't understand what set you off so much earlier. 

As he carried Skittles toward Noah's room, he replayed the events from yesterday in his mind. He'd been sitting in the bakery for about an hour before he finished talking to the representative from the animal shelter, and when he stood up, Casey was already there. And yeah, she was a nuisance as usual. She put her hand on Bradley's forearm and mentioned that she liked his uniform, but she always tried to do that shit. Then she waited in line like she was with him instead of behind or in front of him, and she went on and on about how she lived right around the corner.

When he finally managed to leave with the bakery box and your cute donut, he was exhausted. And he'd only had to listen to her for a few minutes. Then she stood next to the Bronco with him like she expected a ride home or something, which was ridiculous since she told him so many times that she lived around the corner. 

He sighed and kissed Skittles on the head as he carried her in to say goodnight to Noah. "I love her," his son said as Bradley held her so she could lick his face. "I'll be really careful so she can sleep in here with me," he pleaded. 

Bradley kissed his cheek. "Not tonight, Bub. I already told you, she needs to heal up first."

Noah reached out to pet her before rolling onto his side with a little scowl, but he was already asleep by the time Bradley left the room. And then he went into his bedroom which always smelled like wildflowers and found you on the bed wearing that sexy little purple nightie you bought online. For a brief second he wondered if you were wearing your plug, but then he remembered he needed to have a conversation with you. 

You held your hands out to Skittles, but Bradley just shook his head and carried her to the little plush bed he set up in the corner and set her there. She walked in a delicate circle before plopping down and yawning. "How are you this cute?" he asked the animal before turning back to where you were sitting with your arms crossed.

"Why won't you let me hold Skittles?"

"Because we need to talk," he replied immediately. You flopped back against the pillows as Bradley climbed in bed with you. "Come here," he whispered, patting his chest, and sure enough, you crawled over and snuggled against him. "Tell me what's bothering you."

You draped your arm across his abs and said, "You won't let me hold Skittles!"

"That's not what I'm talking about," he murmured, kissing the top of your head. He didn't want to have to be the one to say it, so he stroked your bare arm and waited. 

You sighed softly and said, "Casey always tries to bait me when I see her at daycare dropoff or pick up. I'm sorry I came in hot with you today. But you should hear what she says."

Bradley thought he'd made it clear that he wasn't interested in her after he returned from his last deployment. He made no secret of grabbing at you and kissing you in front of Casey. He knew it was probably because you and she were the same age, and Casey definitely saw the way he doted on you. "She's probably just jealous, because I like to spoil you."

You snorted. "She's jealous, because you're hot, Daddy."

Bradley could feel his cheeks flush with heat as you shifted slightly and looked up at him. "What did she say to you today?" he asked.

Your eyes fluttered closed in embarrassment, and you looked bashful as you whispered, "She made it seem like she met you at the bakery. Like it was something you and she planned ahead of time. And she had a blue bakery box and a princess crown donut, and she ate it in front of me. And now I'm starting to realize how ridiculous this sounds, because I trust you."

"I know you do, Princess," he replied as he looked at your purple crown on the bedpost. "And I trust you. But I just can't believe she did that." He studied your gorgeous face and ran his knuckles along your cheek. "I'm sorry I lied to you about staying at work late. That was shitty. I just wanted you and Noah both to be surprised since you've both been bugging for a dog. I just wanted to get you something special."

"Apology accepted. And dog accepted, too," you whispered as he stroked the soft skin of your neck.

"Listen. I'm not interested in Casey. I'm never going to be interested in Casey. I saw her for five or ten minutes at the bakery, and she asked why I was on that side of town. I told her the other guy was from the shelter and I was thinking about getting a dog. She waited with me in line and practically gave me a migraine from how much she talks. I didn't pay attention to what she bought, so if she had a princess crown donut, then she bought it herself."

You smiled up at him. "Those donuts are so good. Pissed me off that she had one and tried to rub it in my face. She must have heard what you ordered."

He smirked. "Yeah well, you're the one getting cream filled donuts and a cream filled pussy anytime you want."

"Daddy!" you gasped. "That's fucking naughty."

"Get up here," he whispered, and then you moved up his body until your lips met his. "I love you. You're Noah's mommy. You're my Princess. I want to be with you. Don't worry about Casey." But he knew he'd have to have another conversation tomorrow, which he was more than happy to do for you. 

You pressed soft kisses to his mustache as he ran his hand up your thigh, curious if you were wearing panties. You were not. "You know what I really want, Daddy?"

"Tell me, and I'll give it to you."

You gently bit his bottom lip before releasing it and giggling. "I want to play with Skittles."

Bradley groaned as you scrambled off of his semi hard cock and climbed out of bed. He got a delicious view of your bare ass as you bent to pick the dog up and carry her back to bed. "You're the cutest little girl! Look at you in your purple bow! Oh, I just love you!"

Then he watched as you climbed back onto the bed with all the care in the world and had the pup cradled against you. When he chuckled and left the room, you didn't even seem to notice. He used the bathroom and went to the kitchen in search of the blue pastry box while he planned out what he'd say to Casey. He wasn't about to tolerate someone intentionally making you uncomfortable, especially when it came to him. 

He grabbed a plate and the fresh princess crown donut, wondering if he could get the bakery to make one that looked like a wedding ring. Then he carried the plate back to the bedroom where Skittles was laying on her back while you tickled her tummy. Bradley just stood there and held the plate as he watched you play and listened to you laugh. You kissed the dog and said, "I'm going to buy you a purple collar and leash with Daddy's credit card. And when your cast comes off, Noah and I will take you for hikes around the block. And Daddy is so big, he's going to look so hot walking such a tiny dog. Either that, or he'll look like an asshole."

"I'm standing right here." 

You smirked when you looked at him. "I know," you said, scratching Skittles on her belly as she squirmed around. "Is it okay if I order her a leash and some snacks?"

"Get whatever you want," he said, handing you the plate and kissing you before he stole the dog from your grasp.

"Hey!" you complained with a laugh.

"It's time for Skittles to go to bed. Eat your princess donut, and then I'll fill you with cream if you're in the mood for it."

You just looked at him coyly as you nibbled on the donut, and he put the pup in her little bed once again.

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

The next morning, Bradley let you sleep in a little later than usual while he got Noah ready and packed you a sandwich for your lunch. He'd kept you up pretty late, fucking you slow and steady until he got a shaking orgasm out of you. Then he took his time as you babbled and kissed him sweetly, finally filling you up with his cum. He called you his little donut as you fell asleep. 

"Fuck," he grunted as he thought about it, starting to get hard in his flight suit as he made your peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

"Morning," you sang as you strolled into the kitchen in your scrubs. You kissed his cheek and then pet Skittles where she sat looking up at the sandwich, hoping some would fall on the floor. Then you sat down next to Noah as he ate his cereal and told you that he loved Skittles even more than dinosaurs.

"More than dinosaurs?" you asked, brushing his hair back from his forehead as he dipped his spoon back into his bowl. "That's a whole lot."

"Yep," he agreed. "I love Skittles almost as much as I love you and Daddy."

Bradley watched you kiss his son on the cheek before you got your own bowl of cereal ready. "Should we thank Daddy again for bringing her home?"

"Thanks, Daddy," you and Noah sang out in unison. 

Bradley just smiled and said, "You're welcome. Noah, finish eating so we're not late. Princess, can you put Skittles in her crate before you leave?"

"Yes," you told him between bites of breakfast. "And I'll order her leash and stuff later today."

He kissed you hard before bringing you coffee in the mug that said Noah's Daddy. Then he scooped Noah up and carried him off to get his shoes on. It was getting seriously late at this point, and he knew he'd be in the daycare for an extra minute or two this morning. "I love you, Baby," he called out, rushing back into the kitchen for a second when he was finally ready to leave. 

You gave him and Noah one last kiss apiece, and then Noah hugged Skittles. "We gotta go," Bradley told him, rushing him out to the Bronco. It only took a few minutes to get to the daycare, and Bradley had a good idea what he wanted to say. He found himself hoping that Casey was at the front desk this morning, not wanting to draw this shit out any longer. 

When he walked Noah inside, hand in hand, Bradley saw her right away. She looked up at him with parted lips and a little smile as he tugged his aviators off. Then she looked at his son and said, "Good morning, Noah!" Her eyes darted back up as she added in a softer voice, "And Bradley."

He watched her walk Noah into the classroom before he signed his name on the clipboard. When Casey walked back toward him, there was nobody else in the lobby. He held out the clipboard for her and said, "I'd actually prefer it if you called me Lieutenant Bradshaw."

She giggled as if she was being treated to something even better than use of his first name, and Bradley had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. "Okay, Lieutenant Bradshaw," she whispered, tossing her hair over her shoulder. 

He cleared his throat. "Can we chat for a minute?"

Casey set the clipboard down and came to stand alarmingly close to him. This was every bit as bad as you had claimed, and frankly he was more than a little bit surprised by how bold she was. Bradley took a step away and shook his head. "Look Casey, this is never going to happen."

She froze on the spot, and her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. "Oh."

"Right. And I really don't want to have to go to your boss, so I need you to just knock it off, okay? My girl and I don't keep secrets from each other, so I know about how you talk to her, and I don't appreciate it at all. She's as good as being Noah's mom and my wife."

Now her cheeks were a deeper shade of red, and she was rushing back around to the other side of the desk. "Okay," she whispered. "I'm just surprised she said something to you about it."

"Don't be. Like I said, we talk about everything. And if you pull some more shit, I'll hear about that, too. Promise."

He stood his ground until she looked up at him. All she said was, "Okay," and then Bradley put his aviators back on as he turned toward the door. 

"You have a great day."

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

Casey, you literal nightmare. She'd be delighted if she broke them up. Can't wait to see her next time Princess shows up. And Daddy shouldn't even try to be sneaky. Just no, Daddy. But welcome, Skittles! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 41

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[minejungwoo]

The Younger Kind Part 16 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley finally comes clean about what's really going on and begs you to forgive him. You both know what's at stake now and agree that some things need to change. But it's so hard staying away from each other, especially after a week apart. He shows you how sorry he is over and over again.

Warnings: Angst, smut, fluff, swearing, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4900 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

Your ears were ringing. Bradley's words did not make sense. "What?" you gasped.

"Meredith wants custody of Noah."

You suddenly felt dizzy. Maybe you had misheard. But you could tell by the look on Bradley's face that he was stressed and upset. "No," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him tight. "No."

"Yeah." His big palms were warming you through your dress as he pressed his face against your neck. "And I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize to me," you told him as tears filled your eyes. You couldn't imagine a world in which Noah grew up in a different house with a different parent. The idea of if was unsettling. 

"But I lied to you. On purpose. I wanted you far away from Noah and I, but I couldn't stand it. And I need you to be safe."

"Safe? From what?" you asked, easing away from him a bit so you could look him in the eye. He shook his head, still reluctant to tell you everything. "You keep saying that. You can talk to me, Bradley. About anything," you said, stroking your thumb along his mustache. 

He kissed your nose. "Baby, when you got hurt in the park? That was intentional. Meredith was trying to throw me off. She came here and told me she intends to get custody of Noah. She... insinuated that she followed you to there on purpose, and she promised me she wouldn't hesitate to go through you again if she had to. To get to Noah and I."

Your skin broke out in goosebumps as you shivered and gaped at him. "What?"

He nodded, rubbing his hands along your back. "I can't let anything bad happen to you. That's why I had you come here that night, and I lied my ass off to get you mad enough to want to stay away."

"But I don't want to stay away from either of you," you whispered, and he kissed you softly. "Bradley, you have to fight for Noah.

"I know, Princess. I know. But I have no idea how long this could take. And if you and I are something, then Meredith can try to use that to hurt you. Or twist it into some fabricated story about..." He shook his head, hesitating before he said, "About how you're so much younger than me. It would look bad."

Something. Being something with Bradley would feel so right. "Is that what you wanted to talk about before Meredith found Noah and I at the park?"

He nodded miserably. "I wanted to talk about us."

Your heart couldn't handle this. You looked at Bradley's gorgeous face and emotion filled expression, and you felt tears again as you stroked your fingernails along the short hair at the back of his neck. It felt good, and it looked like he was starting to calm down as you dug your fingers in a bit more. 

"You can't worry about that right now. You need to worry about Noah. Do you have a good lawyer? Someone you can trust who knows what a good dad you are? Will it help if I give a statement about how you take care of everything for him? You're so responsible, you even hired a top notch babysitter."

You laughed softly when Bradley smiled at you, but now your tears were starting to fall. 

"It's okay, Princess," he muttered using his thumb to brush them away. 

"No, it's not okay. Because you're Noah's dad. You'd never abandon him. You love him." 

Bradley kissed your cheeks, damp from the tears. The prickle of his mustache on your skin and his hands on your body felt so good, it was almost unbearable. "You're so fucking sweet," he crooned. "I can't believe I told you I wanted anything else except you. Can you even forgive me?"

You nodded with your eyes closed as his lips brushed along your forehead. "Of course. But don't hurt me again."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I won't."

You wanted to be able to trust him again. You thought you could. "What does this mean then?"

He shook his head, still looking sad. "I can't give you a commitment, baby. Not now. I need to focus on Noah and my lawyer and this fucking court case."

You nodded as he kissed your forehead again and again. "What if you had started dating one of the women from the app?"

"I'd have ended things. For real. And it would have been easy to put Noah and myself ahead of them. Not like with you. You're different."

"Oh," you gasped as he backed you up against the counter. His words made you feel as good as deleting the dating app had.

"I want you. But I need to give the appearance that I'm one hundred percent focused on Noah right now. Distraction free. I couldn't ask you to wait for me."

You let Bradley's words wash over you, and you marvelled at him. "You would want me to wait for you? You would wait for me?" 

His eyes were wide as he squeezed your hips and nodded. You were both silent for a moment as the skim of his thumbs along your dress was somehow enough to leave your breath ragged. He licked his lips  "You want me to beg?"

"Yes, Daddy."

You moaned as he dropped to his knees in front of you, and you grabbed two fists full of his hair. You bit your lip as he looked up at you with his pretty brown eyes. "Please, Princess?" he asked. "When you look at me like that and talk to me like that, I just about fucking lose it, baby."

"Bradley," you moaned, pulling him closer to you. And then his hands were at the backs of your calves, and he was kissing your belly through your dress.

"I barely lasted a week without you," he whispered, his hands slowly making their way up to your thighs. He rested his chin just below your belly button and looked up at you with needy eyes. "Do you have any idea how jealous you made me feel today? I couldn't stand it when Jake was touching you. I wanted to level him to the ground when he kissed you." Bradley guided your dress up to your waist and kissed along your belly until his nose was buried against the front of your underwear. 

"Daddy. I'll wait for you."

He kept his eyes on yours as he bunched your dress up in one fist and pulled your underwear down with his other hand. Then his lips were on your pussy, so soft as the rough feel of his mustache made you gasp his name.

Bradley licked slowly along your slit, separating you until he had his lips wrapped around your clit. Your fingers were still wound so tight in his hair, but you couldn't let go as you bucked against him. 

"You're so damn sensitive," he growled, wrapping his hands around your thighs and lifting you up onto the counter without warning as he stood. 

"Bradley!" you screeched, tugging on his hair as he set your bare butt on the cold granite. He kissed your lips and pulled your dress over your head, and then he pulled you to the very edge of the counter as you let your own taste linger on your tongue. "What are you doing?"

He looked you up and down, sitting there in your bra and sandals with your underwear dangling from your right foot. "Gonna make you cum."

And then he was back on his knees with his face buried in your pussy while you braced yourself on the edge of the counter. He was so good at this, and you couldn't help but rock against his face as you watched him get you so close. 

"Daddy," you whined. "You really like doing this, don't you?" He sucked on your clit until you were squeaking and kicking the lower cabinet. 

"Eating pussy?"

"Yeah," you moaned as he licked you while he grinned.

"I do. And a pussy as sweet as yours? I never wanna stop."

Your eyes fluttered closed as he slipped two fingers inside you. You arched your back and accidentally put your hand in the corner of Noah's leftover birthday cake as he nibbled on your clit. "Oh, fuck."

"Remind me," he said, in that deep Daddy voice. "Anyone else ever put their lips here, Princess?" He kissed you so softly just above his fingers sliding in and out of you. 

"No!" you nearly screamed, so thankful that Greyson was just a boy compared to Bradley. Just the idea of Greyson was laughable. He wouldn't do this for you, and thank god he hadn't. It would have been so disappointing. 

"That's a good girl," he crooned, and your hand sunk further into the cake as you came.

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

Bradley's lips and mustache were wet and his dick was so hard. You said you'd wait for him. He couldn't believe he had been bold enough to even ask you. 

Bradley watched as you pulled your right hand out of Noah's birthday cake. You looked like you were in a daze, already so pliant in Bradley's arms as he stood and unhooked your bra. "You feel good, Princess?" he asked softly, and you nodded as he eased the fabric away from your tits and tossed your bra on top of your dress. "Perfect."

He raised your bandaged arm and kissed the inside of your elbow softly before taking your thumb between his lips to clean off the icing. He licked each of your fingers in turn until you were mostly cleaned up.

"Are you gonna fuck me?" you asked as your eyes followed the movement of his lips gliding along your hand. 

He leaned in to kiss you, letting you taste the icing as it mingled with your wetness. "Do you want me to?"

"Yes."

Bradley groaned as you reached for the front of his jeans with your left hand and yanked his zipper down. "Easy, baby. There's no rush."

Your moan was so pretty, head tossed back as you whispered, "You're such a man."

Bradley stripped his shirt off before toeing off his shoes. You watched him ease down his jeans and remove the rest of his clothing before he came to stand between your spread thighs. He knew he was big, and the sight of his cock rubbing through your wet pussy had him grunting as you whined loudly. 

Thank goodness Noah was gone for the night. 

He pushed himself inside you with one hard thrust, and your body completely lit up for him. "Daddy," you gasped, keeping your wide eyes on his as you wrapped your fingers around the back of his neck. Your perfect lips were parted, and when he pulled your bottom lip between his, you moaned. 

Then he started thrusting into you as his hips rubbed the insides of your soft thighs where you were spread wide for him. "I knew I needed it to be special," he mused out loud, tipping your pretty face up with his big hands on your neck and cheek. "You're so fucking perfect."

"Daddy."

He shook his head and went harder as your hands fell back next to your ass to brace yourself on the counter. "No more college boys. No more Jake."

"No," you gasped, the quiver of your voice getting louder and higher. "I don't want them!"

"Just us," he said, and you nodded your head vigorously as you bit your lip.

Bradley could feel your thighs tighten against him as you pulsed softly around his cock. "Fuck," you groaned, looking up at him, your face screwed up in pleasure. 

"You're already close." He couldn't believe it. He wrapped his hands around your waist and gave you long, hard strokes as you shook your head slowly from side to side. The tip of your tongue met the corner of your lips, and then Bradley's mouth was all over yours. He swallowed every gasp you made before you started keening and gripping him harder.

"Oh my god," you whined, cumming around him when he reached for your clit with his thumb. And there went your hand, right back into Noah's cake. Bradley smiled and enjoyed the bounce of your pretty tits as he fucked the last bit of your orgasm out of you.

You were shaking a bit, looking up at him in shock as his movements slowed. You leaned forward to kiss his lips softly, and your clean fingers trailed down the front of his body. Bradley groaned loudly as you grazed his pubic hair and reached down to cup his balls as he was still hard and buried inside you.

"You gonna keep going, Daddy?" you asked him softly, your eyes entirely too innocent looking for your own good.

"I can stop if you need a break," he promised, kissing your cheek. Your fucked out face was going to be his undoing.

"No," you whined, wiggling your pussy up and down his cock. "I want you to cum, too."

Bradley let you fuck yourself on him while he stayed still. Your gaze was transfixed on your pussy as you took him nice and slow. "God, you're big. Daddys are big," you whispered, seemingly to yourself. You were getting icing all over his counter and your thigh, and Bradley wanted you to fucking stay here with him forever. 

"You want me to cum too, Princess?" he asked, his voice rough, drawing your gaze up to his face.

"Yes."

He had you off the counter in an instant, spinning you and bending you over. "Good girl," he crooned as you spread your legs a little wider and got up on your tiptoes for him. "Yeah, you know what to do." He guided himself inside you again, fucking you as he palmed your ass. Your cheek came to rest on the granite counter, and Bradley watched you lick icing from your hand as you took him.

When he held you by your hips, he pulled you up so you were barely touching the floor. He could see how tight you were, gripping onto his cock with each thrust. You felt too good to be true, honestly better than anything. And you were just whining and licking up the icing like the most beautifully depraved thing he could have ever imagined.

"Daddy," you groaned, your voice shaking as Bradley fucked you harder. "Oh!"

Each thrust was somehow better than the last, and soon his hips were jerking in rough little strokes. His body was slapping against yours, and his head was tipped back. "Oh, hell yes," he growled, squeezing your hips tight and clenching his eyes shut before he watched those final few strokes of his dick in your pussy. 

And then he was filling you with his cum as you whined his name. He fucked his cum deeper as you looked up at him over your shoulder. You had icing on your lips, and he leaned down to lick you clean. 

"Mmm," you moaned as he pulled out of you. But when you went to stand, Bradley pushed you back gently onto the counter and knelt behind you. 

He kissed your ass and the backs of both of your thighs, and then he watched a bead of his cum drip out of your pretty, little pussy and down to your clit before dropping onto the floor. "Jesus fucking Christ," he whispered, mesmerized by the mess he had made and how pretty it looked oozing out of you. He kissed along your backside and whispered so much praise until you wiggled yourself back against his face. 

"You okay, Daddy?" you asked, and he stood up to collect you against himself. You were a mess of cum and icing, and he kissed you gently, trying to convey how much he needed you.

"Yeah, I'm good, Princess." You wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed his neck as he reached above you for a plate. He used the plastic utensils and cut an enormous piece of cake. And then he helped ease you onto the floor with him.

You giggled as he leaned back against the cabinet and pulled you against him. You were straddling his left thigh, making an absolute mess of his cum, sticky between the two of you. It was perfect. And you settled your cheek against his shoulder as he fed you a bite of cake.

"I'm so happy you came over today."

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

You took bites of the cake from the shared fork, practically moaning over how good it tasted after getting fucked so well.

"You were hard forever," you murmured. "How did you last so long?"

"I'm not one of your college frat boys, Princess."

"No, you're not," you said, meeting his eyes. The quickie in your bedroom and the other times you'd been with him had been exceptional. You always came! He made sure you were enjoying yourself! He never asked for anything for himself! "I know we can't be...official," you whispered, sounding ridiculous to your own ears as your pussy rubbed along the coarse hairs on his thigh as you sat up straight. You met his eyes as you asked, "But are you going to stop messing around with other people?"

Bradley looked at you and cocked his head to one side. "I'm confused. What do you mean?"

You sighed and tucked your face against his neck. "You wanted me to wait for you?" you whispered, and Bradley started laughing loudly. You jerked back away from him. "What?" you asked as you tried to scramble out of his lap. But he held you firmly in place. 

"I haven't been with anyone except you in almost a year, Princess," he said, his tone slightly self-deprecating as his cheeks flushed. "That fantastic blowjob you gave me ended my dry spell."

You just gaped at him before you asked, "When I left and walked back in to get my sweatshirt?" When he nodded you grinned. "You were about to masturbate that night, weren't you?"

Bradley groaned. "I was. But I got something so much better than my own hand and your sweatshirt to smell."

You moaned softly. "How? How did you go that long? A year?"

"Noah," he said with a shrug. "If I have to choose between him and seeing someone, I obviously have to choose him. I mean I also want to choose him." He paused and fed you another bite of cake. "But you don't make me choose. You let me be Noah's dad, and then you let me spend my extra time with you. I missed you this week. I missed your Skittles, Princess."

Your head was swimming with his words as you leaned in closer and whispered, "I missed you so much, Bradley. Both of you." He set down the plate and pulled you against him. "What are you going to do about Meredith?"

He ran his fingers up and down your back as you melted against him. The rumble of his deep voice had your eyes drifting closed. "I'm going to fight for Noah. I don't know what else to do. Tracy, my lawyer, thinks I have a good case."

"That's good," you whispered. "Noah needs you." You couldn't tell him that you needed him, too. That you needed both of them. Not yet. For now you could feel secure in the knowledge that Bradley would be waiting for you, ready for a commitment after he won custody. Because he would definitely win custody. "If you need me to watch Noah for you or make a statement in court, I can do that."

He hummed against your hair and said, "I don't want you to have to do that. Meredith and her lawyer will try to find a way to make you look bad."

You pulled away from him and rolled your eyes. "Now that I know who Meredith is and what she's all about, she doesn't scare me, Bradley. I'll be there in an instant if you think it would help. There has to be some reason she's trying to get custody all of a sudden. You need to figure it out with Tracy."

"I know," he mumbled. "I'm going to keep Noah with me. I have to. And I'm going to try to get Meredith out of the picture for good."

"She doesn't deserve him."

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

Bradley's heart was telling him that you were the one who was good enough for Noah. You loved his son, and Noah was enamored with you as well. More than anything, he wanted to label this now. He wanted to put a tag on this feeling of holding you on his kitchen floor while you were a mess from his cum and the icing. He wanted you to be his for real. 

"How's your arm feeling?" he asked, rubbing the gauze on your forearm gently. 

"It's getting there," you whispered against his neck. "Hard to change the bandages by myself though."

"I'll do it." His immediate response had you looking up at him and nodding. "Might be easier to clean it up in the shower? And then rebandage everything?"

"Yeah," you agreed, and Bradley was scooping you up as he stood. When he set you down on your feet, he reached for your hand, but instead of leading you to the bathroom, he took you to the refrigerator. 

"You want a beer?" he asked, grabbing two in one hand.

"For the shower?" you asked with a laugh. "I guess."

Then he kissed the tip of your nose, and led you down the hallway. "You've never had a shower beer before?"

You giggled at the scandalized look on his face. "No, I can't say that I have."

"Well, shit. Stick with me, baby. I'll show you the finest things in life." He set both bottles down on the ledge next to his shampoo and turned the shower on, and while the water warmed up he pulled you close. 

"You are both ridiculous and adorable at the same time," you told him as he started to remove your bandage. "And I'm really happy you didn't start dating anyone from the app."

He groaned as he examined your arm. "That fucking app. I know Nat meant well, but I'm never doing that again. That was a waste of time."

"Good," you whispered as he ran his fingers gently along your healing scrapes. "I don't want you to."

Bradley reached back to test the water temperature before stepping in with you and sliding the glass door closed. First he took the time to clean your arm up as gently as he could. You watched him quietly, and every time he met your eyes, he kissed you. He knew he was going to have to focus on so many other things this week, so he just wanted to enjoy this moment with you while he had it.

After he rinsed your arm, he handed you one of the beers and tapped his bottle to yours. Then he took a long pull of beer while you took a sip of yours, pressing the bottle to your pretty lips. 

"Cold beer? Hot shower? It just makes sense, right?" he asked as you laughed. 

"I hate it when you're right," you said. "I figured this was one of your silly, old man philosophies, but it actually does somehow make sense."

Bradley rolled his eyes while he drank and then set his beer down. "You told me I'm not that old."

"You're not, Daddy," you whispered, taking a long drink before adding, "I just like to mess with you." 

Bradley reached for the soap while you drank. He was admiring the water droplets rolling down your neck to your tits and belly. When he licked up some of the beads of water from your collarbone, you moaned around your beer bottle, and Bradley's cock twitched. He coated his hands in soap before rubbing them along your beautiful skin while he hummed.

"I know that song," you murmured, head lulling to the side slightly as his fingers met the undersides of your breasts. "I was playing it the first time I babysat Noah. You were surprised I knew it."

"It's my favorite song," he quickly supplied. "And now it reminds me of you. And for some reason, I don't even find that annoying."

You almost knocked the beers down as you reached for him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you kissed him. He loved this. The feel of you in his arms, the warmth of your body under the cascading shower, and the taste of his favorite beer on your tongue. 

"I don't know why I like that so much," you told him between kisses.

Bradley reached for your hips and pressed himself against you as he said, "The song makes me happy, and so do you, Princess."

Your soft gasp had him a little dizzy. "You're already hard again," you whispered in wonder, running your painted fingernails down along his length. "We just had sex in the kitchen."

He nodded as you wrapped your hand around him. "I could get hard for you anytime." 

The whimpered, "Daddy," that escaped your lips made him throb. And this time when he fucked you from behind, it was slower, and maybe a little sweeter. You had your right hand planted against the tile wall and you were turned back to look at him over your right shoulder. Every soft whimper and each flutter of your wet eyelashes had him spewing out the kind of depraved nonsense he couldn't remember ever telling anyone else.

You're so perfect, baby.

Nobody else feels this good.

I could spend the rest of the night making love to you.

I think I need you.

And you let him say every single word to you as you whimpered for him. Whined for more. So he rocked into you and kissed your neck and cheek and shoulder. He buried his face against you, somehow still smelling wildflowers on your skin. He had so many words on the tip of his tongue, and he started to lose track of what he had even told you.

He was all lips and hands and praising as you came for him, again. And when you turned to face him, back against the tile and eyes wide, you pulled him to you. Then you kissed him until he was ready to keep begging you for more.

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

After Bradley dried you off and took you into his bedroom, he pulled out a well worn Top Gun tee shirt and some gym shorts for you to wear. He was just strutting around naked, looking hotter than sin as he tightened the drawstring of the shorts for you. "Since your dress is covered in cum and icing," he said, kissing your cheek while you laughed. 

"It was a kitchen casualty, and I don't mind at all," you replied, frowning a little bit when he pulled on some underwear. 

"Yeah, well," he grunted, "I'm not complaining about how tonight ended up."

"I was really mad at you when I got here, and since then, we've had sex multiple times," you said blandly. 

He linked his fingers with yours. "Thank you for listening to me. I'm not gonna hurt you again, Princess."

"You better not." He tugged on your hand and took you back to the kitchen, which was actually a mess. But when you started to clean up, Bradley shook his head.

"Absolutely not." He flipped on his fancy coffee maker and then grabbed a first aid kit from under the sink. "Come here." You sat on his left thigh as he took the time to carefully examine your right arm, pausing now and then to kiss your fingers. "It looks pretty good. I hope it doesn't scar," he said looking up at you with a very serious expression. "I can't believe this is my fault."

You kissed him and shook your head. "I don't care if it scars. And it's not like you forced Meredith to be a flaming bitch."

He just grunted and very gently rubbed first aid cream onto your scrapes before taping some fresh gauze into place. He actually did a pretty good job.

"You're my favorite nurse," you whispered, and then he laughed. 

"You're my favorite nurse, Princess." 

He set you down on the chair and brought you a vanilla latte in a mug that said I Like to Wing It. And then he proceeded to steal so many sips that you said, "Next time, make two, Daddy."

"Next time," he murmured, kissing you until you knew you had to leave before you just didn't.

"I should go," you told him, standing with the mug.

"You should stay," he replied, taking the mug from you and swallowing hard. "Please?"

Your eyes fluttered closed. "I want to, but I don't think we should get into a habit of that. Not right now."

He sighed and dipped his head down. "Someday, I'm going to want you to stay, and I'm never going to want you to leave."

You met his eyes and told him, "That sounds good to me, Daddy."

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

Hey, no cliffhanger! It's all out in the open now. Lord knows what he was close to telling her in the shower. Hope you enjoy your fic, @beyondthesefourwalls And thank you @mak-32 !

PART 17

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@callsigndiamond

@harper1666

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@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

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@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

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@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

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@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@xoxabs88xox

[minejungwoo]

Pink Carnations - A Bridgerton Story

ko-fi // m.list

pairing: Bridgerton Au! Chan x female reader

a/n: This was a labor of love honestly and I wanted to break out of my normal writing comfort zone so thank you all for giving me the platform to do that <3 I hope you all enjoy the first chapter. Please leave feedback!! It helps me out sm

Chapter One

Pink carnations lined the pathway to your house. That's how you knew spring was arriving. Long lines of pink. You'd push open your bedroom windows and breathe in the freshly cut grass, you'd let the warm breeze press past your hair, tickling your neck and shoulders.

It was your wedding day.

"Everyone is waiting downstairs, ma'am." A chambermaid squeaked from the doorway.

She was a new hire. A small, meek little thing that didn't talk much and avoided all eye contact. You had attempted many times to spark up a conversation with her, but all your efforts had fall flat thus far. You turned towards the door and gave her a firm nod. You took a deep breath in and made your way towards the stairs. Your dress swirled and swept across your legs as you moved.

You absolutely adored your dress. Long, flowing chiffon cascaded down your hips, falling to your feet at perfect length. A beaded corset swam up your waist and chest, while delicate lace fabric draped your shoulders, trickling down like a spring rain.

You counted your footsteps as you ascended down the staircase; one, two, three, four. Before you knew it, you were in the main hall of your family home. The kitchen staff had decorated every corner of the enormous mansion you called home. As you glanced around the room, there was only one person you were really looking for.

Chan was a potential suitor but he never pursued you. Gentlemen brought flowers to your door nearly every day. Bouquets of roses and purple tulips filled your room like something out of a fairytale. But he never sent so much as a flower petal.

"No carnations? Do these men not know you at all?" Your sister had notes the lack of your favorite flora.

Now it was your wedding day, a perfectly respectable man by the name of Felix Lee had asked for your hand in marriage. He came from a wealthy family

And had always treated you with the utmost respect. He was very well-liked in the town. Quite the charmer to the gaggle of ladies that had found themselves swarming him every chance they could. He had a beautiful smile and effortlesslessy gorgeous hair. You found yourself shrinking around him whenever he would speak, fearing that the light he exuded would burn you away.

But however magical Felix seemed, you still found yourself searching for Chan around every corridor. The whole town had been invited to this momentous occasion as Lady Whistledown had so affectionately called it.

She had gushed ansd gooned over the entire guest list, right down to the third cousin of the second aunt of the twice removed great uncle of… whatever. This was a spectacle. This was not for you. You were the eldest of your family. As your mother had never bore a son, the responsibility came down to you to marry someone in good standing to provide for your family. Although you would not live in this place anymore, your siblings and your parents would be well taken care of.

“The newest Whistledown has just arrived!” a valet ran into the dining hall with a small white paper in hand. 

“She’s writing on the day of your wedding? That has to be a good sign.” Your sister nudged your shoulder with hers.

The two of you shared a smile that quickly faded when you saw the shocked faces slowly peppering across the room. Judgemental eyes shot through you like rusty nails, leaving an infectious monster spreading through your entire body. Your mother crossed the marble floor to hand you the latest gossip. Your hands began to shake as you lifted the small sheet to your face.

Dearest, Gentle Reader, 

They say what is good for the goose is good for the gander, but what if the goose has taken a GANDER at another? This writer has heard a rumor most scandalous, about a certain Lady that has spent a significant amount of her time and attention on someone who is NOT her groom to be. A man in good standing is only considered as such if the company he keeps holds themselves to the same standards. Perhaps this bride may be having second thoughts?

taglist: @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @doohnut @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson

[minejungwoo]

His Best Friend's Wedding masterlist [three-part miniseries]

Summary: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw has been your best friend for a decade. He’s also your fiancé’s best man. So when he shows up at your hotel room the night before your wedding, it’s just because he’s your friend, right? 

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader 

Status: Series is complete

Overview:

Part One

Part Two

Epilogue

[minejungwoo]

Dancing under the Moonlight | Chapter 1. Center Stage

Bradley Bradshaw x OC Reader (Nickname Honey)

Summary: After the Uranium Mission, Bradley Bradshaw decides he wants to settle down. Maybe even start a family at some point in time. But he felt so tired (and old) to be in the dating scene. That's until he sees a beautiful new bartender at The Hard Deck. Not only that; turns out she's Penny's niece, Beatrice. They both hit it off amazing, but for some reason, Beatrice isn't letting her walls down yet. But Bradley is going to get to the bottom of what Bea's big secret is.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, drinking, mentions of past abuse, fluff, eventually smut 18+, age gap (24 & 35)

You're dancing, swaying with the music, feeling your body finally letting go of the stress, pain, and loss from the real world. Once you get on that stage, everything melts away.

Once the dance was over all of you moved seductively off the stage getting some whistles from the guys in the audience. After you made your way off you all giggled and waiting to change for the next dance. You lock arms with your Best Friend Chantal trying not to get separated from each other until you reach the dressing rooms. You both unlock from one another and sit down at your stations. Luckily you're seated next to each other so you both can still chat while getting ready. 

When wiping off your smudged and sweaty makeup from your last performance, you suddenly hear a ping from your phone that was on the table.

You drop everything you're doing, and see it was a text from Bradley. Your whole face lights up, and you try to unlock your phone as fast as you possibly can and open the message.

B🐓: Hey Bea, what are you up to on this fine evening? You: Oh ya know, just sitting down reading a good book. What about you? Jamming out with Jerry Lee Lewis. 🙂 B🐓: Hey J.L.L. happens to be a classic. Thank you very much. And what if I did tell you I was?

You laugh out loud when you read the last text, you knew he was an old soul when you two were talking about music the other night. You want to reply, but the backstage assistant Sean said curtain time was in 5 minutes. You drop your phone and finish your eye makeup. You look over and see Chantal looking at you with a smirk on your face. 

“What C?” you stand up, unzipping your costume to get changed into another, looking at her in the mirror “Oh nothing, are you talking to loverboy again?” she tries to say innocently. But she says it loudly, to make sure everyone can hear. Everybody around you keeps making “oohs” and loudly whistles. She started to catch on when you were glued to your phone for the last couple of days at rehearsal. Then finally telling her about Bradley, and your awkward, yet really sweet encounter.

Your cheeks burn up at the thought of actually being together with Bradley, and for him to think he could have feelings for you. But you try to wipe that from your mind.

You never liked lying to anyone, but now you most certainly don’t want to lie to Bradley. But, How could he ever possibly be with you after you tell him you're basically a stripper? You get paid to show off your body and dance on a stage. He certainly wouldn’t want you after that.

Plus Zeke always made you feel bad about your career. Calling you the worst possible names you could think of because you showed off your body, and flirted with the customers. But you’ve tried to tell him multiple times you were never flirting with the audience because you were on stage most of the night. And the only free time you had was when you were backstage taking a 5-minute breather, or getting ready for the next performance.

“He doesn’t know. Does he?” Chantal asks while getting up to come stand next to you. You don’t answer, you finally get undressed, and put on your other costume. But you stop when you feel her wrap her in her arms around you, so you can let some tears fall down your face.

You and Chantal have been best friends since you could remember. You both met in junior high when she was the new girl at school, one day at lunch she was getting picked on, and being making fun of her for what she was wearing, and what she looked like. One of the idiot students decided to be bold and yank on one of her braids. With one broken arm, two bloody noses, (obviously not you two), and one big lecture from the principal, you two were glued to the hip ever since. You both know each other like the backs of each other's hands. So she knows what's going on with you all the time.

You let out a sigh while trying to put on your outfit, but she cuts in and helps you finish zipping up the back. “Why don’t you tell him? You are obviously into him,” you still are silent, but give her a little nod. “Then why don’t you go for it, Honey? What’s the problem?” After she finishes zipping you up you turn to her. “He deserves someone better.” She wanted to say something else to you, but your conversation was interrupted by Sean sneaking his way through you and Chantal. “Honey, we all deserve someone better. But right now you all need to get your little buns on stage.” You roll your eyes kiss him on the cheek, and walk back to your station. You put on a final coat of lipstick, grab your police cap making sure it fits snugly over your volumed and curled-out hair, go walk on stage, and get in your stance with the rest of the group. The next thing you know, the spotlight is turned on you.

It’s Showtime.

(Bradley’s POV)

God, I can’t get enough of that girl. As soon as we started talking I wanted to know more about her. What does she like to do in her free time, what’s her job, her favorite hobby, and what she likes to do for fun? 

Now you sound like a crazy stalker right now.

But every time you think of her, you want to know more. You’re being pulled in. You gravitate towards her, and you can’t get enough. You never really opened up that much around a person at all. Not even the squad, but she feels so different from everyone else.

After the first time you met Bea, around those last couple of days, she would come by The Hard Deck and sit at the bar wanting to be near Penny. As soon as you would see her walk in, you would ditch the group to go see her and chat a little bit. You wanted to get to know her, wanted to see what she was like. We both talk about where we grew up, and what our families are like. I even talked to her a little bit about my mom. 

With the other relationships, I’ve had over the past couple of years it was always a tough subject to bring up. They would always pressure me and make me talk about what happened, and every time I would always get emotional and put my walls up and never want to talk about it again.

That was the deal breaker in why they never lasted, but when I was around Bea, she would never force me to answer the questions, she let me take my time with what I was going to say. She made me feel comfortable for who I was, and I knew she would never put that against me. And over those past couple of days, the group caught on when I would leave, and ditch them to go hang out with the “mystery girl” at the bar, they would call her. Eventually, I told them about Beatrice, and they knew for a fact that I was smitten with her. Any chance they would get, whether it was at work, in the air, or even when we would hang out for a movie night they would always make fun of me(Mostly Nat)for having a crush, and not telling her how I feel.

But I wanted to give Bea some space. I knew she just got out of something traumatic, and I didn’t want to force anything onto her. 

Plus She was young. She would move on to the next young, good-looking guy she sees and leave me in the dust. She deserves more. She also wouldn’t know how to deal with me being on deployment, always being gone for weeks, maybe months at a time. I know she wouldn’t want to wait for someone like me. You snap out of your mind when putting the Bronco in park, and making your way into The Hard Deck. 

When I walk in I immediately spot the group at the pool tables as usual, and make my way over. When I got there I made my way over to sit next to Bob who was chewing on some peanuts. We make casual conversation until Phoenix comes over with her pool stick. “Bradshaw, whaddya doing hear? I thought you were staying in?” She asks in a curious tone. “Oh, ya know. Wanted to get some fresh air, might stop in here for a little bit.” But I know this woman can see right through my bullshit, and knows why I’m here.

“You're lying B,” she tells me straight forward, not really giving me anytime time to make an excuse. But I do anyway. “What are you talking about? I wanted to come see you guys. Is that a problem to see my friends, Nat?” “She hasn't texted you back!” she sing songed the words to me. I just wanted to tell her off saying it wasn’t the problem. 

But that was the problem.

“Dude she’s probably at work, or she’s at home.”Payback chimed in, and then Fanboy “Yeah, she’ll text you later probably, don’t get in a fret.” now I’m starting to get a little annoyed. But, they might be right, she probably is at home doing something.

Pulse, the question work for Beatrice was always a little rocky when I tried to ask her what she does. At first, she didn’t answer, so I didn’t want to push her since she didn’t do it to me. But I asked her again and she gave me a made-up answer. “Oh yeah. I’m also working at a dinner not far from here.” And I know that she just got hired by Penny to work at the Hard Deck part-time. I just wanted her to tell me the truth.

But I’m not the type of guy to make her tell me something she doesn’t want. I’m gonna give her space until she wants to tell me.

“Does everyone want to be in my dating life, and give me advice?” “well, technically you're not dating her.” I look over to see the one and only Hangman. “To be honest it’s none of your business, okay?” you tell him with an annoyed tone, not really in the mood to speak with him.

“All I’m sayin’ Rooster, if you don’t make a move, I might have to go after her myself?” When the words fall out of his mouth, my fists clench at my sides and I flare my nostrils. “Back off Man.” You try and walk over to where he is standing, just to give him a piece of your mind, but Ruben, and Bob are holding you back a little bit. Not letting you get near Jake. 

When he sees you try and move over towards him he backs up and puts his hands up in surrender with a smug smirk on his face. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Rooster. No need to get your feathers ruffled. It’s not like you're dating her.” 

That’s all you hear from him, then he walks away to go over to the dart board. But you see javy gives you an apologetic look and walks over to where Jake is now. You just give him a silent nod and let him walk away. After that guys back off you want to go out back and cool off a little, so you do.

After a couple of minutes to yourself to blow off some steam, you hear someone come out.

“Hey, why don’t you tell her how you feel? By the way, you two are texting every minute, she might feel the same way?” She tries to say in a sympathetic tone. But it doesn’t work, and she knows it.

“You caught on to that, didn’t you?” you ask, and then let out a chuckle. “Dude, your phone is practically jammed in your face anytime we are on break. So yeah, everybody knows.”

“She deserves better,” was the only thing I could say to her. She just gives me a sigh and turns to go back inside to finish her game of pool with the other guys. I sit back on one of the chairs that are outside and look out into the sunset.

Trying to find a real reason why Beatrice would go for a guy like me. But also trying to think if she actually would be interested in me. 

So now, I’m sitting here thinking about the one person I can’t be with just yet.

(Back to your POV)

Chantal dropped me off at Aunt Penny’s house an hour ago, I’ve just finished getting out of the shower trying to get all of the glitter, seat, and hairspray off my body and just trying to unwind and maybe watch a movie with Aunt Penn and Amelia. 

But I realized I forgot to text Bradley back when I was at the club. 

He might think I don’t like him anymore. What?? STOP it, Bea?!?

So you decide to just skip the text and just call him. Within the second ring, he picked up the call. Your heart was beating so hard you thought he could hear it over the phone. 

“Hello pretty girl, what do I owe the pleasure this evening.” the nickname sent chills throughout your whole body, with little butterflies in your stomach.

You could only remember your mom calling you “Honeybee” and some other nicknames. But you could never remember the last time one of your boyfriends called you something. Especially Zeke.

You try and speak without letting out a whimper. “Oh, n-nothing. Just got out of the shower and lying in bed.” You may be imagining things, but it’s possible that you heard a groan on the other end. Your eyes widened a little bit when you finally remembered what you said a couple of seconds ago. But you try not to think about it too much and continue with your conversation with him. instead of not thinking about how you just made this guy get turned on.

“H-hey, I’m sorry I didn’t text you sooner. We had a busy night at the dinner.” You close your eyes, and feel a pool of guilt build up in your stomach.

I wish I wouldn’t lie to him. But this is the nicest guy I’ve met in a long time. I don’t want him flying for the hills when I tell him I’m an exotic dancer. I don’t want to lose him just yet so for now. Just put on a show like you normally do every other night.

“Oh, no worries Bea, I had some time to distract myself at the bar.” Another chill was sent through your spine, but not the fun, happy kind, the worried and a little bit jealous kind. 

I mean, you’re not even together, so it’s okay for him to flirt with other people. But for some reason, you don't want him to flirt with anyone else, you want him for only you-

“What I mean by distraction, I meant hanging out with my squad. So don’t worry about your pretty little head thinking I was with another girl. Okay?” 

You just give him a quiet “okay” and continue with your flirtatious conversation. Before you could say anything else he spoke up again,

“So, the squad wanted to go bowling this weekend, and I was wondering if you were free, you could come with. Maybe I can introduce you to the group?” 

There was a growing smirk on your face, “They can’t shut up about us, can they?” on the other end you heard him let out a hardy laugh, then that made you giggle. You hear him die down from your comment and hear them speak again. 

“Well, my friends would like to know who is taking up all my free time pretty girl.” You flop down back on the spare bed that Penny let you borrow, and just smile from ear to ear.

“Well, I’m working at the bar in the afternoon, but maybe we can all meet up there and make our way out? I’ll also try and see if some of my friends from the dinner would come to?” “Yeah, that sounds like a date. I’ll let you go and talk to ya later.” You both say your goodbyes and get off the call. The next second you start kicking your feet up in the air and scream into the pillow that was next to you. 

You try and collect yourself when you walk back downstairs to have a little movie night with Aunt Penny and Amelia, you gather all of the junk food that you can and pile it onto the coffee table.

When the movie started, Ames and I curled up next to Penny so that she was squished between the two of you with blankets all around you getting nice and warm.

When the movie is playing, your mind drifts back to your conversation with Bradley. You knew he didn’t me to say “It sounds like a date,” it might have just slipped out, and he probably might not remember saying that to you when you see him at the bar this weekend. But a part of you wanted to feel like he meant it. For real. You could only imagine what I would be like to date Bradley Bradshaw.

You could only Imagine.

Reblogs are always welcome. Unless you're under 18. I will block you. and comment if you want to be added to the taglist. If I forgot anybody message me and let me know. You will be added.

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13 @shanimallina87 @angelbabyyy99 @callsign-magnolia @nerdgirljen

Once again dividers are by @saradika

[minejungwoo]

Here's the first video of Glen's grunts, groans and some whimpers while working out

I was burning hot editing this

tagging everyone who interacted with the original post: @boringusername3 @marimiranda1520 @angelbabyyy99 @jessicab1991 @karma-is-my-girl-friend @tgmavericklover @auntiekiki20 @gpsmississippihippie @luckyladycreator2 @djs8891 @downsincejuly @punishereditz @sorchathered @illisea @lilo1471 @loverofallfandoms99 @winters-queen @julieandthe-stan-toms

and people who might enjoy that: @roosterforme @mamachasesmayhem @hangmansgbaby @hardballoonlove

[minejungwoo]

I was really enjoying young bradley, now i wanna thow some fist. HOW DARE HIM MAKE MY BABY CRY!!!! Boy've got a lot of groveling to do😡

Stars Align: Part 2

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Mentions of Abuse, Violence, Angry Bradley, Alcohol Misuse.

-- Part 1 Here --

_______________________

18+ Only

_______________________

Present:

Bradley stood looking at you in awe and shock. He couldn't believe his eyes. In front of him stood a gorgeous woman, breathtakingly beautiful, and surprisingly confident having just nearly fallen. The woman in front of him was a stark contrast to the shy girl he'd known years ago, yet she was exactly the same somehow.

"Birdy is that really you?" He blinked as his strong beefy hands held you in place.

You chuckled, your mouth curling into a grin as you looked into the familiar brown eyes that kept you sane throughout high school.

"It sure is, but I'm having a hard time believing it's you, Brad." You took in his enormous stature, tanned muscles bulging under his tight shirt sleeves, sweat glistening off of his exposed chest under the colourful lights. He now had a strong moustache, a chiselled jawline replaced his chubby cheeks, and his mop of dark hair now neat blond-chestnut curls, complimenting his sun kissed skin.

You and Bradley stared at one another for what felt like forever, before he huffed a laugh of disbelief, shook his head, and pulled you in for a hug, the familiar feeling catching you off guard and you sucked in a deep breath. He still smelled the same, like tobacco and cedar wood, just without the sweaty teen boy odour.

You gingerly wrapped your arms around him and squeezed, you forgot how much you'd missed him.

You must have been holding one another for a long time, because Gabby suddenly cleared her throat and pulled you from your bubble. You pulled away and looked at her awkwardly as she raised an eyebrow at you.

"Been here literally 2 minutes and you've already pulled." She scoffed jokingly.

You laughed, "Uhm, Gabs this is Bradley, my old best friend I was telling you about."

"Hi." Bradley smiled and stuck out a hand. She shook his hand and mouthed a not so secret 'wow' at you. You rolled your eyes and turned to Bradley.

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh, it's my friends bachelor party tonight, he's around here somewhere." Bradley scanned the room but came up short. "What about you...two?"

"I just moved here, Gabby's showing me around, I guess you could say." You chuckled awkwardly.

"I'll... let you two catch up. I need the bathroom anyway." She winked at you as she handed you her drink to watch.

"So, you're not in New York for long then I'd imagine?" You asked.

"Nah, just until after the wedding. I'm out of here Monday." He explained as you walked a little way out of the crowd to a quiet corner. You nodded.

"That's a pity, would be nice to catch up. Look Brad, I'm sorry I stopped responding to your texts, I-"

"Hey, say no more. Life gets busy, I get it." He gave you a reassuring smile. Bradley had no idea just how busy and crazy life had gotten after you moved. "While you're here, do you wanna go for a drink?"

"What you mean, like, now?" You asked. "Aren't you here with your friends? Plus I'm with Gabby, I shouldn't..."

"Okay, how about after?"

You thought for a moment, and nodded. "Yeah, okay. I'll have a few drinks with Gabs, and you can come grab me when you're finished?"

Bradley nodded and bit his lip to stop a grin, "Good. We've got a lot of catching up to do, Birdy. I've missed you." and like the old days, Bradley ruffled your hair and left. You huffed and fixed your hair just as Gabby came back from the bathroom, and you struggled to keep your focus on her for the rest of the evening.

_____________________

Past:

You'd just finished getting ready, your baby pink prom dress looked super cute and your mom had loosely French Braided your unruly waves. She'd skilfully applied makeup so that your skin looked flawless and your eyes popped. You'd never felt more beautiful, and suddenly you felt less nervous. Maybe Bradley would see you and forget all about Michelle.

The doorbell rang and your dad went to answer it, you could hear him and Bradley talking about the latest football game.

"You ready?" Your mom grinned, "You look beautiful, pumpkin."

You nodded with a grin and you walked to the front door. Bradley turned as he saw you and his jaw dropped.

"Jeez, Birdy, you look pretty." He breathed.

"Oh shut up." You blushed, "You look nice too. But what's with the red tie, you look like a rooster." You teased. Bradley scoffed with mock offense.

"Right, Birdy and Rooster, get out of my house." Your dad laughed. "Have a good time, but make sure she's home by 11, son."

"Yes sir, have a good night!" Bradley waved goodbye to your parents and you shot them awkward looks, telling them to close the door and go inside.

You mom pulled your dad inside and shut the door.

Bradley helped you into his truck, carefully lifting your dress so it wouldn't rub against the dirty sides, and even went so far as to buckle you in. Your faces were inches apart, and you scanned the face you'd gotten so used to for the millionth time, only he seemed different now.

As he climbed into the front seat, he stopped to look at you for a while.

"What?" You asked, feeling self conscious suddenly.

"Nothing, you just really do look pretty. Didn't realise you could clean up so good." He grinned as he started the truck and pulled away.

You scoffed, "Speak for yourself, Bradshaw. Other than the tie you look like a real man."

"I am a real man, thank you. If only you could see what's under these pants, you'd be-"

"Ew, shut up." You smacked him playfully on the arm and Bradley laughed.

You pulled up to Michelle's house and you waited in the car as Bradley walked up the long drive to her front door. He knocked and Michelle walked out, looking stunning in a figure hugging red dress, her boobs almost spilling over the top.

You sighed as you watched Bradleys eyes light up as they walked down to the car. Michelle stopped in front of your door, looking at you expectantly. Bradley moved around her to open the back door for her to get in, but she didn't budge.

You looked at her and rolled down the window.

"Hi Michelle."

"Hello, aren't you gonna... you know?" Her voice was steely and bored.

"You want me to move?" You asked in disbelief.

"Well yeah, I am his date. What are people gonna think when they see me climbing out of the back of this thing?" she scoffed.

"Okay." You mumbled, unbuckling your seat belt.

"No, Birdy. Michelle, she's already sitting there, it's not a big deal, can't you just climb in the back? It's less than 2 minutes to the hall." Bradley argued, and you stopped in your tracks.

Michelle raised her eyebrows at him, and immediately you sensed the energy shift.

"No, it's fine." You opened the door and hopped out, Michelle immediately taking your place.

"What are you doing? That's always your spot." Bradley whispered to you as you climbed into the back.

"Keeping the peace." you whispered back.

Bradley huffed out a sigh and shook his head, crossing over to the front and climbing in.

The drive to the school hall was silent and awkward, and you noticed Bradleys eyes flitting to you in the back seat through the rear view mirror every so often.

When the car stopped, you hopped out, and Michelle waited for Bradley to cross to her end and help her out of the truck.

The three of you walked towards the school, and as more people came into view, Michelle's energy shifted again. She was all smiles as she hung on to Bradleys arm, you awkwardly falling behind.

"Smile for the camera Brad." She forced through her grin, and planted a kiss on his cheek as the school reported snapped a picture.

This would be a long evening and you knew it.

_________________________

Present:

The night moved quickly, and the drinks were flowing as you and Gabby took to the dance floor. You lost yourself in the music until you were out of breath and beckoned for Gabby to join you outside, but she gestured to the guy she was dancing with. You nodded and went out to the balcony.

The night air was beginning to cool and you welcomed the goosebumps that covered your too hot skin. Your feet were killing you, so you leaned against the balcony railing to take some of the weight off of them.

As you watched the people on the street below, you gradually regained your breath. You stood up to go back inside, but you felt a body bump up against you.

"Oh sorry." you apologised for them, as you stepped away, giving the drunk man a polite nod.

"Wait, baby, where are you going? I was hoping to get to know you, been watching you all night. You dance real good." The man slurred, grabbing your wrist.

You pulled out of his grip, "Sorry I have to get back to my friend." You turned to walk inside, but he suddenly wrapped a hand around your waist and pulled his hand against your stomach until you were pressed up against him.

You writhed against him, but his grip was too strong.

"Let go." You demanded, "Get off of me." You tried to pry his hands away, but even in his drunken state he was too strong for you.

"Come on, lady, I just wanna buy you a drink, stop being such a fuckin' prude." He struggled against you, his hot breath gliding across your cheek.

"I said get OFF!" You elbowed the man in the chest and he loosened his grip as he gasped, and you went flying away from him.

For the second time that evening, you collided into someone else, and looked up to see concerned, familiar eyes. Bradley scanned your face for a second, and once he was sure you were ok, he turned his attention to the man.

An angry scowl you had only seen once before appeared on his face as she crossed the balcony and lifted the man by his shirt.

As the man dangled a couple feet off of the ground, he whimpered. Your jaw dropped at the sheer strength Bradley possessed. You guessed those muscles weren't just for show.

"If I don't see you leave in the next 2 minutes, I swear to god I'm gonna ruin that pretty boy face of yours. You touch my girl again, or any other girl while I'm around, that's end game for you, buddy. Got it?" He growled.

The man nodded, "I'm sorry, I- I didn't know she was spoken for, honest." He whimpered, and Bradley threw him to the ground.

"Get out."

The man hurried to his feet and passed you. Sure enough after a couple minutes he exited the building quickly and you watched as he ran down the street below, before turning your attention back to Bradley.

"That was incredible." You mumbled.

"Are you okay?" Bradley asked, crossing the balcony to inspect you fully. His hands smoother over your bare arms and then his hands cupped your face.

"I'm ok, Brad, he literally just grabbed me, I'm fine." You pushed his hands away.

Bradley nodded, and let out a breath of relief as his big hands ran through his curls.

"You ready to go get that drink?"

_____________________________________

Past:

"Oh my god, Y/N! You look so pretty!" Sophie from your English class commented.

"Thanks Soph, so do you!" You turned and made pleasant conversation with Sophie and another girl, while Bradley did his rounds with Michelle and her friends. It was all fake smiles and posing for pictures, and Bradley found himself growing bored quickly.

"Hey, I'm gonna go grab some soda, you want one?" Bradley offered, and Michelle nodded, turning back to her friends.

"You look hot, girl, and so does Mr Bradshaw over there, did he get... bigger, over the summer?" Jessica asked Michelle, their whole group giggling.

Michelle rolled her eyes, "Ugh, maybe, I don't know. I'm having the worst time. His little friend is tagging along as a pity invite. It's like having his little sister along for the ride."

"Who?" Jessica asked.

"Y/N Y/L/N." she pointed to you in the corner of the room. "I doubt I'm gonna get my V card swiped tonight, wanna ditch?"

Bradley hadn't noticed when Michelle and her friends slipped out. Jessica had a fake licence, and they'd decided to buy some drinks and hit a house party instead.

When he turned around, she was gone, and he scanned the room for her. When he saw you, he immediately crossed over to you and handed you your soda.

"Thanks, 'Rooster'." You said playfully, as you opened the can.

"Have you seen Michelle anywhere?" He asked, distracted.

You shook your head, "Last place I saw her was over by the DJ booth talking to her friends. Maybe ask the DJ?"

Bradley nodded and walked over as you stood against the wall and watched your school mates dancing and chatting away.

A few minutes later, Bradley stormed over to you.

"Did you find her?" You asked over the music, Bradleys eyes were dark and his eyebrows were creased, he was pissed.

"What did you say to her?" He demanded. You straigtened.

"What do you mean?"

"What did you say to Michelle? The DJ says she was talking about you and then wanted to leave." his face was red now, and his chest was heaving.

"I didn't say anything to her, I've literally just been standing here the-"

"You must have done something. God, that's just like you, Y/N. Just because you didn't get asked to Prom you thought it would be better to scare her away so I'd be all yours instead, didn't you? Didn't you?" He demanded, and you were too shocked to say anything. Bradley took this as confirmation.

He scoffed and his hands fell to his hips as he nodded.

"Yeah, of course you did. Thanks a lot, you ruined my fucking night."

You watched as Bradley stormed out of the hall, and hot tears rolled down your face, ruining your perfect makeup.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Sophie asked, having witnessed the whole thing, gently taking your arm and pulling you to a table to sit. You wiped your eyes and nodded, your eyes trained on the door, hoping Bradley would come back in for you.

After a few minutes, Sophie having done her best to console you, you excused yourself and walked outside. You looked around for Bradley, but he wasn't among the few students and teachers outside, so you crossed the lawn and made your way down the sidewalk to where Bradley had parked the truck.

Your lip quivered as you realised, dread suddenly washing over you. Bradley had left you behind.

________________________________

-- Part 3 Coming Soon --

[minejungwoo]

Stars Align: Part 1

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Bradley was your best friend throughout high school, and you were madly in love with him. Bradley had no idea how you felt, and had eyes for someone else, much to your dismay.

You move away after high school, and gradually lose touch with your best friend, however years later you happen to bump into the new and improved Bradley Bradshaw, and can hardly believe it's the same man. He can also hardly believe that the beautiful, grown up woman in front of him is the same dorky best friend he had all those years ago. Will things ever become more than they were in that past, as you rekindle your friendship and make up for lost time? And can you both overcome certain dark truths that come to light?

Warnings: Slow burn, Angst, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Violence, Mentions of Abuse, Angry Bradley, Alcohol misuse, Swearing, Awkward Adolescence.

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This entire series is 18+ ONLY

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Past:

You walked down the unfamiliar corridor, past blue and red lockers as you desperately searched for the correct classroom. It was your first year at a new school, and although you’d done this so many times before, you hated being new, and the unknown terrified you.

You were already late, having struggled to find your home room, and panic was creeping up your chest like hot acid threatening to burn through your sternum.

You took in a shaky breath as you reached the end of the corridor, still having not found the correct room, and you turned around to recheck the ones you’d passed.

As you turned, you bumped into someone and stumbled back slightly. Once you'd steadied yourself, you looked up.

“Sorry…” the tall boy mumbled. A smattering of small scars adorned his chubby face, the makings of facial hair beginning to show themselves on his chin and upper lip, well into the beginning of puberty. He looked at least a year or two older than you, and he was so tall you had to crank your neck to look at him. “Are you new?”

You nodded awkwardly, too shy to utter a word. You were already nervous, but boys made you even more so.

“Ok, what room are you looking for? I can take you!” He offered, a cute smile now spread across his face.

You smiled, holding up the piece of paper that showed your schedule, “Thank you, it’s Mrs Carters room, I’ve looked everywhere but I can’t find it.” You blushed.

“Ah, yeah so Mrs Carters isn’t actually in the main building, she’s over at the Art Block.” He explained, beginning to walk to the exit, you followed.

“The… the art block?” You queried.

“Yeah, she teaches art, but she’ll be your home room teacher this year. My home room teacher is Mr Dent, he’s the head of the Maths department, I hate him, blegh.” The boy mumbled as he walked. “I’m Bradley, by the way.” He stuck out a hand to you.

“I’m Y/N.” You offered, and gave his hand a little shake.

“Aw, you’re so gentle. Like a little bird. I think I’ll call you that.” He chuckled.

“L-little bird?”

“Yeah, lil bird.”

You grinned and nodded, as you crossed the small lawn between the main building and the Art Block. The Art Block was beautifully decorated, a variety of flowers and insects painted onto the brick, a colourful contrast to the pale grey building behind you.

“Hope you like art, and crazy people. Mrs Carter’s nuts.” He laughed, stopping at the door.

You nodded, “Thanks for saving me.” You joked.

“Any time lil bird. If you need anyone to sit with at lunch, I usually sit by that tree over there.” He pointed. “My friends spend breaks with their girlfriends, and they get all gross so I’ve taken to eating alone.”

You chuckled and nodded, as Bradley walked back to the main building. You watched as he left, and then took a deep breath as you pushed open the big doors to the Art Block building. Your nerves were now considerably less frazzled, and the rest of the day didn’t seem to be as scary a thought as you’d imagined it would be.

————————————

Present:

“That’s the last box, can we go get a drink now pleeeeassee?” Gabby begged you as she plonked down on your new sofa.

You chuckled, wafting your t-shirt to allow some cool air to touch your sweaty skin. The climb from the street below to your apartment on the 5th floor, multiple times with heavy boxes, proved to be all the exercise you’d need for the year.

“Yeah we can go get a drink now. Can I at least shower first?” You panted, closing the front door.

“Sure, I’m gonna take a nap in that case.” Gabby laughed, laying down and closing her eyes, as her breathing returned to normal. Gabby loved fitness, and was in much better shape right now having done similar exertions every day, but you were a panting mess as you climbed into the shower and washed the sweat off of your skin.

Once you’d finished, you wrapped a towel around your body and walked back into the lounge to fish around a box for something to wear.

Gabby was snoring now, her arm draped over her eyes to block out the light from the many lamps you’d plugged in.

“Gabby.” You whispered loudly. “Gabs, wake up, I need your help.” You whispered louder.

Gabby snored away, so you sighed and walked over to her. “Pssstt!” You hissed in her ear, nothing.

You sat down on her and that did the trick, she woke up with a “ooph!” And gave you a dirty look.

“Whaaaaat? I was having such a good dream about that guy at the coffee shop.”

“Ew, not on my sofa please. I need you to help me decide on what to wear, you can borrow something too.”

Gabby got up and helped you rifle through your boxes.

“Ohhh, you always look hot in this.” She took out a dark green satin cowl neck dress and threw it at you, and you held it out to look at.

“Where exactly are we going drinking? I was thinking a nice little bar somewhere, but this dress screams filthy club.” You grimaced.

“Okay fine, what about… yeah this is super cute, kinda classy too.” She held out a lacey little black dress, it was still small enough to leave little to the imagination, but was classier than the green dress.

“Okay, that’s better I suppose.” You nodded and she threw you the dress.

“I’ll take the satin.” She winked, taking the green dress and changing in your living room.

You slipped into the black lace and brushed your hair out into neat waves. You quickly put on some makeup and heels, and you were both out the door.

The street was now packed, a Saturday night in the city meant party time, and that’s certainly what Gabby had in mind as she dragged you to the bustling heart of the city.

————————————

Past:

The first few days passed in a blur, and you were thankful for Bradley being there. He grounded you when your mind was going a mile a minute, and helped you find all of your classes. He ate lunch with you every day under the big oak tree, and you learned about his life bit by bit each time.

You knew his dad had died, and his moms name was Carole. You knew he was an only child and that meant he could be lonely some times, so you began to meet up with him after school most days to do homework together. Bradley would come over to your house often, where you introduced him to your younger brother and sister.

Bradley also connected with your dad, possibly due to not having had a father figure in his life since his God Father wasn’t around much.

Your dad taught Bradley to drive, and helped him fix up an old car once he’d gotten his licence. Once Bradley could drive, he picked you up all the time to just drive around, and you now had a personal chauffeur to drive you to school and back each day. You two became joined at the hip, inseparable outside of your classes.

As the years passed, Bradley was even allowed to sleep over, once your parents had realised there were no ulterior motives. You would play pranks on one another, and on your siblings. You would tell one another everything, but you found that there were some things you'd rather he didn't tell you.

"I think I'm in love, lil bird. She's so hot! Ever since she came back from summer break, it's like she went to model camp or something." Bradley raved.

"Gross, I don't wanna know that." You flushed red, whether out of awkwardness or jealousy you weren't sure. Bradley had developed a crush on Michelle Jennings around the same time you'd developed a crush on Bradley, and the fact that she was so much prettier than you did little for your confidence, so you kept quiet about your feelings.

Bradley had asked Michelle to prom, and as he'd begun to develop some muscles, and his facial hair had filled out, he was beginning to look less dorky, and more like a young man, so she said yes. Bradley was elated.

“I told you, Brad, I don’t wanna go.” You mumbled, shoving your prom dress into the bottom of your wardrobe and skulking over to where Bradley stood by your bedroom window.

“C’mon. Please! What if things get awkward between me and Michelle? I won’t have anyone to run to.” He pouted.

“No, Bradley. No one’s asked me to go and I’m all… ugly and stuff.” You groaned, looking at your skin in the mirror. You had reached that awkward stage where pimples were flaring up every day and your hair was unruly. You hadn’t exactly blossomed like some of the popular girls had. The ones who’s parents could afford expensive dermatology appointments and the newest straighteners. You simply had to make do with cheap spot treatments and a thousand hair clips.

“You’re not ugly, don’t be stupid. No one looks good when they look THAT close in the mirror.” Bradley chuckled, walking over to you. “And who cares if you don’t have a date? I can have two dates, there aren’t any rules against it.”

You shot him a glare, “Yeah, I’m sure Michelle will be happy about that. You’ll spend the entire evening making out with the girl of your dreams and I’ll be awkward third wheel.” You rolled your eyes.

“Birdy, please.” He gave you soft eyes and his tone was genuinely pleading.

You sighed as you looked at him, and then at your wardrobe. “Okay, fine. Can you pick me up?”

Bradley grinned, and rushed over to envelope you in a bear hug. “You know I will, I’ll see you at 7.”

—————————————

Present:

Your skin had cleared up and your hair tamed slightly over time, you had finally come into your own as a woman and you looked damn fine. You were almost unrecognisable apart from your smile and your eyes, and so you’d made it your life’s mission not to let anyone in your new life see pictures of you in high school. You were a different person entirely, more confident, more fun, and much smarter.

You had met Gabby after you moved away, and she had taken on the role of best friend. A role you so desperately needed filling without the tall boy in your life anymore. You and Gabby both went on to study at the same university, and then you took jobs at the same school, Gabby as coach for the junior girls soccer team, and you as a Biology teacher.

You fell into a happy rhythm, and started dating one of the other teachers in the biology department, Jacob, and before long your daily thoughts of Bradley turned to weekly thoughts, and eventually you barely thought of him at all, occasionally dreaming of the best friend you’d once had and loved so dearly.

You moved in with Jacob and life continued, however things began to turn sour, and you called quits on the relationship.

Gabby had found a new job at a prep school in New York, and a few months later when a vacancy for a Natural Sciences Educator opened up, she begged you to take it. The pay was so much better, and best of all you'd be with Gabby again.

You weren't thrilled to live in such a large city, much preferring a quiet little town and more relaxed lifestyle, but you missed your best friend, and the town was becoming more and more hostile after things with Jacob had gotten out of control.

You applied and got the job due to your stellar recommendations and flawless interview. You moved not long after and there you were, with Gabby, about to have your first taste of city life.

"I feel underdressed now." You sighed, everyone was dressed to the nines, and Gabby had unwittingly dragged you to a nightclub rather than bar.

"Don't be silly, you look incredible in that dress, men are gonna be drooling over you." She smacked your butt playfully and you glared at her. "C'mon, I know the bouncer."

Gabby took your hand and waltzed over to the front of the long line.

Gabby was incredibly stunning, long blond hair and an athletic body that could make anyone do a double take, so when she walked up to the bouncer and purred a 'Hey Ronnie, is there any chance we can skip that long old line tonight, I'm so thirsty.', it was no surprise that Ronnie grinned and let you both right in.

"That... was incredible. Can I take you with me next time I go to the bank?" You chuckled.

"You know I'll do anything for you." She winked.

You made your way to the bar and Gabby squeezed through, flagging down a bar tender. She was in her element, but you felt as out of place as a polar bear in a desert. You looked around the packed night club at the patrons, all wearing Prada and Gucci, hair styled so perfectly that it didn't move when they danced, expensive perfumes choking you as they wafted past. You felt like an imposter in your cheap dress, regardless of how beautiful you looked.

Gabby handed you a glass of wine and you thanked her. She craned her neck in search of an empty table. As she found one she summoned you to follow her through the crowds.

You stayed as close as you could but inevitably got separated as a group of women danced in your path. You politely moved around them, just as a tree of a man stepped in your way and you bumped into one another. You bounced off of his hard body and lost your balance, flailing backwards as your heels wobbled beneath you.

Just as you had accepted your fate, a strong pair of arms shot out and caught you, pulling you back up before your body had the chance to make contact with the hard, sticky floor below.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry." He said loudly over the booming music. You would recognise that voice anywhere, but as you looked up, the voice did not belong to the face you were so used to it being attached to.

You gulped, and as his eyes made contact with yours, he recognised you suddenly.

"Little Bird?" He breathed in disbelief.

"Hey, Bradley."

__________________________________

-- Part 2 Here --

I don't have a taglist for this series but I will be updating my masterlist as I go! 💛

[minejungwoo]

Ridlington Park | I | Eddie Munson regency!au

Author's Note: It has been a long, long time, but I am back with another obnoxious AU. I hope you enjoy as we embark on this new adventure in Regency England. This story has been in the works for almost 2 years and is still far from finished, but I am having too much fun with this and have way too many ideas on where to take it, so suggestions are very much appreciated.

Word Count: 10k

Do be warned, Dear Reader, for this story in its entirety may contain:

female!reader. slow burn. forbidden romance. jealousy. pining. smut. alcohol consumption. swearing. OC family. horses. talks of arranged marriage. historical facts as well as trivial inaccuracies.

Due to the adult nature of the story, this author also kindly but sternly requires underage readers to pursue other works. 

Author's Previous Works | Correspondence | Join the Taglist

Chapter One: A Game of Perseverance

“I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them.”

– Jane Austen, Letter to her sister Cassandra, 1798

Three stories high, full of balconied windows, the house stood tall and overlooked the entire street. Ridlington Park, they called it, and situated at the centre of life–that is, London–the front door of the building was enveloped in flowers matching the seasons all year long. Currently, it was bright peonies that caught the onlooker’s eye. The perfectly trimmed bushes and trees were planted symmetrically, leading up to the front doors, giving visitors the right impression of what they could await once they stepped inside.

The residing family had spent a good fortune and effort ensuring the house represented them perfectly: clean, fortunate, and grand, but all done so in the utmost respectable and modest fashion as they were never the ones to boast. The walls had a light, warm tone reminiscent of early mornings in Spring, and the interior was decorated with portraits, new and old, beautiful oil sceneries of lands near and far, and busts and vases. 

The evening was slowly approaching, the sun setting over the windows of the drawing room, enwrapping everything in a golden glow. The family sat silently around the room, giving each other the peace and quiet required for an uneventful afternoon followed by a slow night of fortunate sleep. The only sound appreciated was the pianoforte siding against the window, gracefully played by Mother. Four children sat around the separate corners of their world, enjoying the music while focusing on their own activities. Like most nights, these consisted of either reading or needlework, engaging in small conversations with one another occasionally. 

As typical as any evening at Ridlington Park, it was highly unusual for the rest of London– a city which runs on scandals and gossip. Outside, the streets were bustling with lords and ladies of the Ton making their way back home from the markets, gardens and their fellows’ tea parties, gossiping about the latest impropriety to have occurred. After all, such topics, no more than nonsense really, were simply inescapable. And no matter how hard they tried to ignore it all, one way or another, it would always find its way up to the Byrnwick family. Most of the time, you, Gentle Reader, could hold yourself accountable for introducing the rumours proudly, much to your brother’s annoyance, who did his best to turn the pages of his novel as loud as possible as you talked with your mother from across the room. 

‘Have you heard what happened at Lady Faulkner’s ball?’

  ‘Yes, sordid, really.’ Your mother sighed, turning around. ‘I am sure her family is in quite the uproar.’

‘Please,’ Christopher, your brother, shut his book down in frustration, clearly incapable of making any progress amidst the conversation. ‘If she had not wanted to get caught, she should have maybe ought to think twice about being out with a man in the middle of the gardens for everyone to see.’ 

You glared up at him. ‘Well, it is absurd that a woman cannot even stand in a public space with a man without bringing disgrace onto her entire family.’

‘Believe me; she did much more than just standing.’ Christopher scoffed, quickly receiving a cold stare from your mother. 

‘Still, it is unjust.’ You ignored his insinuations. ‘Think of how men are free to go out at any time of day or night with whomever they please.’ You stabbed your needle through the cloth a bit harsher than intended.

‘My, you sure seem to be giving all this much thought. Have you any plans we should know about, sister?’ Your brother smirked.

‘Christopher!’ Your mother scowled. ‘That is quite enough.’

‘I was only joking, Mother,’ Christopher sighed, ‘we all know she is not going anywhere anytime soon.’

You were ready to retort angrily, or at least throw your needle at him, when the doors to the drawing room opened, catching everyone’s attention by storm. Five pairs of identical eyes directly aimed at the door frame, only softening when recognising the intruders. A welcoming of surprised gasps greeted the Lord and his eldest, Nicholas, as they entered the room. Not one foot in the room, and all activities were being put to a halt as the rest of the family gathered around the men—a loving reunion after a months-long journey from the Americas. 

It was a surprising return, for father and son had yet to write of their plans in recent times. The last letter was received at Ridlington Park over three weeks ago, stating that the weather was amiable, if not a bit too humid, and that the family missed each other deeply. The lack of correspondence, therefore, was also an immediate subject. 

‘But why did you not write, dear?’ asked Mother, after embracing her son. Nicholas was too occupied by his youngest sibling to answer; airways tightened in the arms of his 11-year-old sister, Marjorie. His father responded instead:

‘How could we write at sea, my love? The message would not have gotten here any faster than we did,’ the lord chuckled to his wife. He was correct, too, of course. His eyes seemed to surpass the gaze of his present family members in search of the one missing piece. ‘Where is Annabelle? I thought she would be home by now.’ 

‘She is home, with her husband,’ you explained carefully. Your father blinked slowly, coming to terms with this fact he had tried to avoid for so long. Annabelle had married last season and was very well off, to a Duke, no less, but it was still a big adjustment for the family seeing her gone and out of the house. Even with her frequent visits, it was strange to have one head less at the dinner table; one less chair occupied each evening, one less song played on the pianoforte. 

‘Ah, well then,’ Father cleared his throat, ‘then we are complete.’ He looked at his wife and five children. One day, there would be even fewer of them. They will all be leaving the nest one by one. For some, marriage was long overdue, and as a man of high society, he could not wish his children a suitor or a lady soon enough, but as a father, he dreaded the day that the following proposals would take place.

Marjorie, becoming impatient and not as sentimental about her family’s reunion, tugged at Nicholas’ sleeve. ‘Come, you must tell us everything about your journey!’ She kept pulling until the eldest brother had no choice but to follow her and sit on the couch. Soon, everyone else joined on the chaises. 

‘I am afraid there is very little to tell,’ Nicholas said, taking a chocolate biscuit off the tray beside the sofa. ‘It was all rather dull.’ 

‘Do not be ridiculous, brother,’ Fitzwilliam, the second-youngest and still hungry for adventure and the world outside of the Ton, looked at his older brother with high expectations. ‘I do not believe you and Father had been gone this long and did not experience anything worthy of a tale.’ 

You listened on as your siblings bickered, arguing over the value of a story, and its worth of being told and heard. Finally, after listening to it for about a quarter of an hour, you had to agree with Nicholas; it was all rather dull. No wonder neither he nor father did not bother to mention anything but the weather in their correspondence. Their days quickly grew into a pattern one is used to in travel and business. A pattern you might have understood if you cared to pay attention. 

This attention only returned to the room when you heard your name being spoken. The conversation had shifted from the events that had been missed overseas to the town's happenings. Just as dull and irrelevant, some might say, the most interesting thus far was the staff changes at the house, and even these held very little consequence to you, but to this, some may disagree wholeheartedly. 

‘So, the season has begun, has it not, sister?’ Nicholas asked. 

‘Some weeks ago, yes.’ You did your best pretending not to feel an effect from this, occupying yourself with your needlework that was turning out far below the usual standard. ‘But do not worry; you have not missed much. In fact, I think things will finally begin to get a bit interesting with you back home.’ Nicholas had always had a taste for dramatics and had been known for having a very… loving nature. In the past years, you must have witnessed him falling in love at least a dozen times, preparing a proposal to half of these women, going through with it twice now, with one nearly making it to the alter if not for the bride getting caught in quite a compromising position with a footman.

For the next few weeks, Nicholas was known as the heartbroken gentleman, and you would have felt bad for him… if it was not for the fact that women from all over town came around to console him, day after day, of course not knowing that when his bride-to-be had been making arrangements with other men, your brother had been too busy charming ladies himself. It took a month for him to proclaim his love to another woman again.

‘I do not know what you mean,’ Nicholas deflected your comment, quickly looking over to your mother and second oldest brother, Christopher, ‘any fitting suitors I should be aware of?’ As the eldest brother, Nicholas made it his duty to ensure his sisters found good husbands. That meant status and wealth but, above anything else, a good and genteel nature. You remembered how picky he was when Annabelle had been searching for a husband, even more so than your parents. Still, it was something you appreciated about your brother. His protectiveness showed the little heart he still held for you and the rest of your family, as much as he tried to hide it away. 

Your mother bit her cheek, holding in the many thoughts and opinions she must have kept for herself. So did Christopher, who shared a very knowledgeable look of many words with Nicholas, one he understood clearly but you could not decipher just yet. However, you assumed the general message had been sent and received. 

‘If you had seen the choices, brother, you would understand my predicament and situation all too well, believe me.’ Pretending to seem unbothered by the encrypted messages being sent around the room, you preoccupied yourself once more with the needlework. 

‘I believe it is what you believe, sister,’ Nicholas turned back to your mother, ‘do you have a list of names? I shall go through them in the morning, see if it really is as bad as we are being told.’ 

You had wanted to reply, most likely in a dishonourable way, but you held your tongue and fell back in your seat, letting the rest of your family plan out the rest of your life, just like they had always done. 

Unbelievable, Nicholas was home for all of five minutes, and he was already making lists. And knowing him, which you would like to think you did, it was merely a formality for your sake. He would already have a dozen names at the top of his head, ready to send out invitations to men for an audience with you. 

Therefore, you were not surprised when, only a few days later, at the breakfast table, Nicholas told you about all the guests Ridlngton Park would soon be welcoming. 

‘There is Mr Elton, and Mr Brookes will be coming over for tea; I also heard Lord Frankworth is interested in a visit, so is Mr Campbell, and—’ he kept on giving you names, with all of them entering one ear and immediately leaving through your other. You could not care less who wanted to see you, not after spending the last month trying your hardest to escape all of their attempts at promenading, lunching, and chatting of sheer nonsense. 

‘I must ask you to be ready for your first audience before 10; a dress is already prepared in your room.’ Of course, there was a dress. All you could do was smile as you bit into a forkful of egg. 

‘Oh, and there is one gentleman I would particularly like you to meet,’ your father chimed in, almost as if with an afterthought that he recollected at the last minute. You looked up at him apprehensively. ‘I had made a nice acquaintance of his father on our travel. What was his name– Harrolds, no…’  ‘Harrington, father. It was Mr Harrington.’ Nicholas corrected before looking over to you as he shared more. ‘He is a tradesman, quite successful. His only son had joined us on the ship back to England.’ The emphasis on his lineage was made with an apparent inclination. There were no more heirs, meaning the son would inherit the man’s entire wealth. ‘Certainly seems like a reasonable young man, clever too. The two of you will have lots to speak of.’

Well, I certainly cannot wait to meet him,’ you forced out a smile before quickly getting on with your meal despite losing all your appetite. At that moment, your stomach felt like a hollow pit, eating away at you, ironically.

‘You know, if you gave this all a chance, you might find yourself to actually enjoy it in the end,’ your mother commented with a tight lip. 

‘I am sure I shall enjoy it then, as it means that it has all, in fact, ended.’ You sighed deeply, ‘I simply do not understand why this is a must in my life? Why must I marry this instant?’

‘Do not worry, dear. You are still young; you still have plenty of time, ' your father said, missing your point entirely and making you roll your eyes. ‘But your mother is right, too, a more agreeable attitude towards this will make things much easier.’

‘For whom, exactly? Is it for me to enjoy myself, or for everyone else as you will not have to endure me any longer?’

‘Can you really blame us?’ Nicholas mumbled, receiving a kick in the shin in return. He spent the rest of the discussion rubbing the targetted spot on his leg with a pained crease between his brows. You, besides gaining the small victory of maiming your brother, found yourself yet again on the losing side of another family dispute. Like all its predecessors, this battle ended with you pushing back your chair with a harsh scrape of the panelled floor and slugging back to your room where a dress awaited. 

It was beautiful; you could not deny that. Elegant and straightforward, it accented all your finest assets for interested suitors. It was comfortable: not too heavy or too textured in its pattern, it was made of soft material that slipped right on, with the fit of a well-tailored glove. Your hair was pulled up and out of your face, leaving nothing to hide behind. 

‘You look lovely, miss,’ your maid said with a kind smile as she put the final pin in your hair. 

‘Thank you, Claire.’ You muttered, noticing the saddened sympathy enveloping her features as she knew like no other how much you detested everything about what you were about to go through. ‘Have you got any advice? On how to endure it all?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ she shrugged, brushing something off your shoulder. ‘I suppose you could try making them uninterested in you, so they will want to leave sooner.’

‘That thought has crossed my mind,’ you admitted, ‘but I also do not want to put my entire family to shame.’ 

‘Of course, miss.’ Claire nodded. As she finished working on your presentation, you pondered over your possibilities. Indeed, presenting yourself as improper had been your first idea, and its appeal remained, but you were too afraid of the repercussions. If the gentlemen were to think of you as a lady without any manners, all it would do was put your upbringing up for question, something your parents did not deserve whatsoever. 

You also considered spreading gossip about the men coming to introduce themselves, which would scare your mother off them immediately, ensuring they were never to return by your parents’ preference. But it felt cruel to make up such lies. You were sure that in other circumstances, these were perfectly fine men. At this particular moment, you just happened to despise them and everything they stood for.

Perhaps the most appealing option was to simply not attend the audience. To run away and never to return… at least until the afternoon, once all the men had lost all their patience. But that would only cause you more trouble.

The ideas rolled around your head for the rest of the day, even once the suitors sat opposite you in the room. It was all incredibly dull, if not just mortifyingly humiliating, with your mother sitting only across the room, occupying herself with a book, or so it seemed because she most definitely was listening to the conversations attempted on your part.

‘So,’ as most of the dialogues began, the Lord whose name you already forgot spoke, clearing his throat, ‘I hear you read.’

‘Yes, ' you said, blinking to avoid staring too blankly at the wall behind the man, ignoring the balding patch atop his head. 

‘Grand,’ he smiled, somehow satisfied with your response already.

‘Do you… ride?’ you asked, hoping that at the least your mother heard your attempts at making a connection and would release you from this torment soon enough on the principle of your good sportsmanship.

‘No, God no, horses are far too beastly for my liking, unless we are speaking of the track, of course.’ The man scoffed, ‘However, I prefer more dignified activities, such as hunting.’ 

‘Of course, you do,’ you smiled, but the expression never reached your eyes. ‘What about chess? Do you play?’

‘I do not have the patience to commit to such silly games.’

Patience, you thought, or intelligence? And how ironic of him to speak of perseverance. You watched him take another small sandwich from the tea tray provided on a side table, which you were taught to ignore so as not to be observed as “gluttonous”. After all, no one wanted to marry a lady that ate all day. 

Considering that, you grabbed a plate and a piece of cake from the top of the tray and bit into it. The soft sponge melted on your tongue. In the meantime, you were asked a question, but you could not possibly answer with a mouthful of cake, could you? Once you had finished, you considered grabbing a second portion, but you could feel the judgmental look of your mother digging into the back of your head. 

You put the plate back down and your hands on your lap. 

‘I’m sorry, my lord, could you repeat the question, please. I fear I may have lost myself for a moment.’ And so, it continued. Thankfully, the man excused himself not long after, thanking you and your mama for the time, just for his seat to be replaced with someone else almost immediately. This time, the gentleman was significantly younger, with thick hair atop his head and charming eyes, but the second he spoke, you knew this would not reach much further than the comfort of this room. At the least, you did not see this relationship going any further than any of the other acquaintances you had made that day.

By lunchtime, you felt your eyes burning with fatigue, possibly caused by a constant suppression of tears. How much more could you possibly take of this torture?

‘Mr Elton was quite a charmer, was he not?’ Your mother commented as she sipped her tea. 

You suppressed your initial thought, rephrasing it to cause less offence, ‘He is too stubborn and self-centred. He barely let me speak a single word, too occupied by his own achievements to expect me to have any.’ 

‘Well, Lord Frankworth seemed to care very much for what you had to say.’ 

‘Only because he barely managed to string any thoughts together himself,’ you sighed. 

Your mother tightened her grip on the teacup before smiling. ‘Soon enough, we will find you a perfectly fine young man, dear. You just have to remain open-minded.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Speaking of, your next suitor should be here shortly.’ 

You did everything in your power not to groan at the announcement and instead nodded politely. ‘Who is it?’ 

‘Mr Harrington, the one your father was so keen on you meeting.’

‘Ah,’ yes, the American. The only thing that gave you some slight hope in the situation was that Mr Harrington had already spent plenty of time in the company of your father and brother Nicholas and had seemingly gained their blessing. But nothing could help you gain the energy to entertain yet another man with polite conversation. The sun had been beaming into the room since the early morning, only growing warmer and warmer, making the hairs at the small of your neck stick. 

‘Will you just excuse me for a moment, mother.’ You got up. 

‘Is something wrong?’ She looked suspicious but with a glint of worry in her eye. 

‘I am quite fine, just require some fresh air, I think,’ which was not entirely a lie.

‘Alright then, just make haste, child.’ Mr Harrington was on his way, after all. ‘We do not want to keep the man waiting.’ 

‘Of course not,’ you smiled, heading towards the door. When the large panels closed behind you, you picked up your skirt and ran toward the gardens. Your footsteps echoed through the corridors, and you caught several members of the house staff glancing your way with inquisitive looks. 

Ever since you could remember, the grounds around Ridlington Park had a fantastical power about them. It had been the turf on which you would spend countless childhood summer days playing games with your siblings, whether the competitive or imaginary type. But no matter what the six of you could think of, your favourite game would always remain Hide and Go Seek. The gardens were a perfect place for it, with endless nooks and crannies one could disappear into. It was nearly a giant maze, and you had mastered it from a very young age. Whilst most got lost between the shrubbery and flowers, you knew exactly where you had found yourself. 

There were plenty of hiding spots you enjoyed over the years, some that to this day remain a mystery to the rest of your family, but nonetheless, it was the stables you adored the most. It was a safe haven for you on many days, to the point that you had nearly become invisible to the staff working there. 

The stables were located in the far east corner of the grounds, and the walk towards it already cost more time than you had if you had ever planned on returning that quickly. Undeniably, there was a pinch of shame and guilt nipping at your heart towards the strange Mr Harrington, but that soon dissolved when you heard the neighing of Barley Sugar, a golden-brown mare you proudly called yours. A gift and result of a successful business trade made by your father years ago, the horse technically belonged to all of the Byrnwick children, as much as any of the other horses under the family’s possession, but the bond between you and that particular horse just turned out to be that much stronger. 

This was visible as soon as you entered the stable. Barley Sugar went wild at your presence, happily swinging her head from side to side. 

‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ you grinned, petting the horse, who leaned into your touch immediately. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’

But your plans were quickly interrupted by a voice. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’ 

❀❀❀

An average sea voyage from the Americas to England should take approximately 16 days, considering the weather corresponds with the sails of the ship. During this journey, passengers would most likely endure days upon days of heavy and tall waves bashing across the ship’s sides, and that is to be expected in favourable conditions.

As Lord Byrnwick and his eldest had boarded the ship headed to London, the sky had been bright blue, and it did not change far beyond that. There was, of course, a risk for the two of them to sail across the world as they did, them being head of the family and its heir. A journey such as this one can go awry in many ways, and if it were not for the dangers of seafaring, there were the Anglo-American tensions to consider. After all, the previous year's war was still fresh in everyone’s mind, and one could not be careful enough when entertaining both sides. Luckily for the Byrnwicks, they were not of the superstitious kind, and good fortune had always seemed to be in the family’s favour up until the very moment they stepped on the boat to return home, many years beyond that. 

Ever the convivial one, the most considerable success of the trip, according to Lord Byrnwick, was not the business or diplomatic aspects of their ventures but the social. The man immensely enjoyed meeting other like-minded spirits from across the pond, and there had been plenty of fine nights at gentleman’s clubs spent over fine spirits and betting games, discussing all sorts of topics and exchanging information on all subjects. Promises were made to keep in touch whilst arrangements were made for more future meetings. It was only the polite thing to do. 

But aside from acquaintances and business partners, an addition to the household had also been made. Of some sort, that is, for it seemed that the two had found a new groom in America.

Now, Gentle Reader, do not conclude of the worst, as the groom we speak of is not the sort one is meant to meet at an altar but the kind who spends his days tending the horses and carriages. The young man, Mr Munson, had been doing precisely that when the Byrnwick heir stumbled upon his conveyance services in town, in dire need of transport for his regular means, which had already been occupied by his father for the day. It was an encounter by utter chance but certainly one with greater consequences. 

Several days later, coincidentally, a letter from London had arrived. Five pages long, each written by a member of the family recounting their most notable memories of the week. The children spoke of the ton's gossip and anecdotes of what occurred at home. Mother, however, took it upon herself to write of more important matters regarding the household. Many topics had to be discussed, but in the middle of her letter, there was mention of the unfortunate passing of the family’s barn manager, Mr Falstipp. It was an unexpected death, leaving the entire house in shock as the man had been working for the family for longer than the children had been alive. But it also resulted in the question of what was to be done now? 

It was likely only because the interaction had been so fresh in his mind that Nicholas suggested finding a replacement for Mr Falstipp here in America. This was an unusual offer, as his father commented, especially since they would not leave for home until another few days, but that was to be resolved by having the footmen take care of the horses for the time being. Besides, Nicholas was sure his siblings would be more than happy to help with the chores. 

The next day, he returned to the public stables and immediately noted how much cleaner they seemed than any other in town. The horses also looked exceptionally well taken care of and content. 

Mr Munson had just been feeding a colt when Nicholas eagerly announced, ‘Mr Munson, may I offer you a proposition?’ 

This, to no surprise, startled the other man for various reasons. ‘Sir?’ 

‘This must be a peculiar request, but you see, as of recently, my family has found itself in need of a new stablehand and from what I have seen you do, you, sir, would be the perfect candidate.’ Nicholas had the smile of a man losing his sanity, but his words could not be more genuine. 

‘Your family—’ Munson blinked, ‘you mean in London.’

‘Yes, and I understand that this might be a problem, but trust me when I say that you will most certainly find England to your liking, Mr Munson.’

‘Please, call me Eddie.’ 

‘As you wish,’ Nicholas agreed. 

Eddie pondered over the offer for a short moment. It would have taken him no time to decide if it was not for what he was to leave behind, but he knew that his current employer would be able to find his replacement in no time, as jobs in town were hard to come by. 

But what must have been even more challenging to obtain was a ticket out of the wasteland he called home. For years, he had dreamt of an escape, never imagining it to be possible, and suddenly, here comes this stranger offering it to him on a silver platter. 

It would be terrifying to move so far away, he knew that, with many risks, but the further away he could manage to go from where he was now, the better. 

Eventually, after a minute of silence that left Nicholas restless and on the verge of embarrassment, Eddie smiled: ‘It would be my pleasure to work for you, sir.’ And he had meant that wholeheartedly. While it had only been a short few interactions that he had had with the man, the young Mr Byrnwick had already shown Eddie far more kindness than any of his prior employers, or any other man in his life, for a fact. Most importantly, the man knew nothing about Eddie’s past, which must have been the biggest selling point in the life-changing choice. 

‘Marvelous. You will not regret this, Eddie.’ Nicholas leaned in to shake his hand, only to realise that Eddie was still carrying the giant bucket of feed. ‘Well, we shall finalise everything on the boat, shall we?’ And so they did. 

A week later, Eddie found himself still in shock at his circumstances. He could not believe he was really to be leaving for England until the moment he set foot on the boat, and even once the sails had set and the American coast was nothing but a grim line on the horizon, the fact did not seem to settle in his mind just yet. 

Over the next 16 days, he had encountered the Byrnwicks only a handful of times. First, to meet Lord Byrnwick who, as head of the household, wanted a final say on the matter. A bit late, thought  Eddie, as the boat had long departed the harbour by then, but his ticket had already been paid for, and thus, he had little else to complain about. He had quickly made peace with the idea that he could make his new life across the ocean work no matter the circumstances. He had done it before, so what is one more homeless night under a new sky?

But the lord seemed all too happy to have found his staff replacement. Overall, the man was nothing like Eddie had expected a gentleman of English high society to be. From his previous experiences, the type often was rather conceited and arrogant, with a transparent opinion of anyone below their class. His new employer and his son, while undoubtedly lordly, had a modest nature about them. Quickly, Eddie had also gathered that the spontaneity with which Nicholas Byrnwick had called upon him for a job opportunity was not uncharacteristic of him, as the young man was rather energetic in his step and impulsive in his actions. 

But no matter how unassuming the men were, they did belong to a different rank of man and, therefore, stayed on the boat to the upper decks, engaging with the rest of their kind. 

The travel moved on slowly, but in the end, it was also a mere blink of an eye moment, and before he had realised it, Eddie had reached the shores of England. It was another day or two of travel to be done by horse. A carriage had been acquired for Nicholas and his father, but Eddie and the rest of the staff that travelled with the family for their adventure rode on horseback. No matter how much Eddie enjoyed the form of transportation, it was a tiring experience after several hours, but it also allowed him to meet the people he was to work with and, through that, those he would work for. 

‘So, what is the rest of the family like,’ he asked Mr Trowbridge, the lord’s valet. If there was anyone who could tell Eddie something, it would be this man. 

‘Well,’ Mr Trowbridge had a particularly nasal tone about his voice that especially came forward at the beginning of his sentences, ‘I do not believe there is much to tell. They are as any other family, really.’ 

‘My good man, you can hardly expect me to believe there is nothing worth telling about these people,’ Eddie laughed. ‘If it puts your mind at ease, I am only asking for the simplest facts—nothing to interest my fancy.’

The valet pondered over this for a moment. ‘Very well. You have, of course, met the Viscount and his eldest.’ He took a moment for Eddie to respond with a nod in agreement. He then took another moment to consider his following words. The longer he took, the more keen Eddie felt to suggest what to speak of. 

‘What about Lady Byrnwick?’

‘Lady Byrnwick is most amiable and has a very caring character, but you will not find her in the stables often unless she is searching for her children.’

‘Not fond of horses, is she?’

‘Rather the outside—-’ Trowbridge cleared his hair vigorously. ‘In the sense that the sun and pollen often leave her poorly. But the children…’ he punctuated his half-sentence with a heavy sigh. 

‘They are a handful?’ Eddie assumed. To this, Trowbridge searched for another description but found himself lacking the vocabulary, leading to a confirmation. 

‘I have worked for this family for nearly three decades, and I will assure you that each member is as proper a member of society as the next. While boisterous, they have been taught to be independent individuals.’ The valet's tone made Eddie consider how much of their good decorum was in gratitude for the man’s own intervention and guidance. 

‘At 27 years, Nicholas is the eldest, and the responsibilities of this role are one of the few aspects of his life which he takes seriously, I cannot put any doubt behind that.’ Indeed, whilst extremely impetuous, the heir’s son also understood the duties of his position and towards his family. 

‘Then there is Christopher. The boy has immense athletic abilities but not much beyond that. For a young man of his age of five and twenty, one would assume he would be able to compose himself with a bit more propriety, but it is very difficult for him. He is adventurous and rarely can sit still for an extended period of time, including his mouth. It is suggested that people be careful of what they say around the man.

‘The eldest daughter, Annabelle, married just before we had departed for America, thus is now the lady of her own house.’ Something in his tone suggested he was sad to see the young woman leave home. This possibly has to do with the fact that Miss Annabelle (Now known as Duchess Annabelle Ramsbury) was the most dutiful and respectful of the six children. ‘The marriage had been long overdue as she had just turned 22 on the day of the ceremony, but a love match was found nonetheless.’ The valet guffawed with pride. It was clear to Eddie that, while considering them a nuisance, the man cared deeply for the family he served.

‘I must admit, Trowbridge,’ Eddie chuckled in this horse’s trot pattern over the uneven paths. ‘When you began speaking of the family, I had imagined the children to be… well, children.’

‘How old are you, Munson?’ Trowbridge asked, somewhat bluntly. 

‘Twenty, sir.’ Perhaps closer to his next birthday than the last.

‘Ah, just the age of the second daughter then,’ he nodded in agreement. ‘She may perhaps be the most… rebellious of the kin. It is all in good spirit, as you must imagine, and I am sure the interest in such nonsense will dwindle as she matures. She is also the most fond of the family horses; thus, you will see her quite often, I expect. But as her sibling, she has mastered the care for the animals as well as the equipment.’ 

As he spoke of your skills, something about Trowbridge's expression communicated particular dismay to Eddie. ‘Is that bad? For a young woman to know how to carry herself around a horse?’ He, for one, certainly did not see a problem in it. On the contrary, it was an instrumental skill to develop for anyone. 

‘It is not exactly lady-like, is it?’ Trowbridge spoke as if that was the only relevant argument on the matter. Eddie had learned from a very young age that some opinions were better left unsaid, and seeing him as the senior in age and position, Eddie thought it unwise to argue with the valet on his first official day of employment. He instead simply nodded in understanding. Instead, he opted to continue the civil interrogation—

‘What of the youngest two? What are they like?’

‘Fitzwilliam is a dapper fellow. He is but seventeen, but very accomplished, though I cannot say he knows how to put his acquired skills to good use. He has ambitions that cannot be denied; it is just a question of whether these ambitions can ever be met. 

‘And lastly, we have Miss Marjorie. A darling girl, I assure you,’ Trowbridge stated. I can only suggest not letting her size fool you, Munson. She has managed to wrap her family around her little fingers the moment she learned to mumble a word, leaving her to cause quite the ruckus for the past eleven years.’ 

‘I do not see how that involves me, Sir,’ Eddie said. By this time, the sun had begun to set over the fields they passed, and soon, the company would break for their overnight travels at a nearby inn. 

‘It had come to my attention over the years that Mr Falstipp–the previous groom, that is— had been quite lenient on the children and their usage of the horses. This has caused a number of incidents that I would rather not see a repetition of.’

‘Understood.’ 

‘I am unaware of your er– American customs,’ the valet began his lecture, ‘but you must also know that here, ladies are not to ride unaccompanied—something that has been protested in the family to no avail, but it is simply the procedure. There must always be a chaperone nearby to supervise, whether that is a senior member of the family or an entrusted member of the household.’ 

‘I do not expect to have gained that trust just yet,’ Eddie said earnestly.

‘But let us hope you will.’ The smile Trowbridge gave Eddie was kind at first glance, but the movement of his eyes that inspected him told an entirely different story. He knew he still had much to learn about navigating himself around the kinds of people that were the Byrnwicks, even those who worked for them. The moment he set foot on English soil, he knew it would be challenging to fit in if he ever planned to do so. 

The truth is that he did not plan such a change. For you see, Dear Reader, Mr Eddie Munson was also a radical. He did not believe in adapting to society, which was visible in his entire being. One can also imagine the struggle he had to endure when given a uniform to wear. Frankly, the ensemble did not differ much from how the man dressed himself before, but the simple fact that he was told to wear this particular set of clothing upset him severely. 

On the first day after his arrival at Ridlington Park, he had managed to justify himself out of dressing in the required clothing by claiming that the trousers were a smidgen too tight. Without another size available, he was told to wear the clothes on his back until the new, fitted attire arrived.

But the clothes did not even begin to reach the problem of the horses he was meant to care for. 

Turned out, while he had been given all sorts of warnings against the family, what Eddie should have been preparing for was the beasts that homed the stables. The stubborn animals would not let him touch them, and any attempts were met with angry stares and stomping of the hooves. 

‘Easy, there,’ Eddie spoke as softly as he could, taking small steps in any direction that would not enrage the stallion whom he was currently attempting to feed. White Liquorice, a white Arabian, was undoubtedly an animal worthy of a viscount, and from the moment he had stepped into the Ridlington Park stables, Eddie knew that the Kentucky Saddlers and Quarter Horses he grew up with were no match for these and he would quickly have to learn to get on with them if he was to stay here. 

Yes, the first days were hard, but not even one week later, he had gotten used to the rhythm of operations. It helped that, working as the barn manager, he was the one in charge and mostly left alone. Mr Trowbridge had visited him to ensure he was adjusting to the new working conditions, which was kind, but besides that, Eddie rarely saw anyone but footmen requesting the carriage to be prepared for the family. 

That is until one afternoon when he heard the doors open and someone walking inside. He had been around the corner of the stables, cleaning some grooming tools. 

‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ he heard the intruder speak. It was soft and gentle, most likely referring to one of the horses. Immediately, Eddie was reminded of one of the conversations shared with Lord Byrnwick’s valet. He swiftly got up from his seat and immediately found the culprit. 

He watched you pet one of the horses—Barley Sugar, was it—-petting her in a way he had not yet managed to do confidently. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’ These words triggered him to jump into action. 

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’ He stepped forward, but his words startled you, causing you to turn around. As you did so, your foot got caught in an old set of bridles Eddie had still planned on detangling and putting away. The surprise coming with the unexpected presence of someone else, combined with the awkward position of your foot, led you to fall over with a shriek. 

Eddie cursed under his breath as he watched you huff on the ground. ‘Let me help you,’ he extended his hand to you, ‘and my apologies, it was not my intent to—’ 

‘Who are you?’ you said in a tone that could only be deemed skittish, if not directly fearful, but not enough to deny his offer to help you stand. Your reaction was validated as you had never met the man standing before you. You eyed him up and down, and the more details you noticed, the more you were sure that you had just stumbled upon a robbery, nay, a kidnapping. 

The man's presentation spoke for itself, truly. His long hair was dark and unkept, well over his shoulders. His clothes were nothing like the workers around your house were meant to dress like, making him stick out like a very sore thumb. The trousers were old and worn, and the shirt was loose over his upper body, revealing—oh god, was that a tattoo?

It was clear this is how you were to die.

‘Are you here to steal my horses?’ you blurted out before you could think. 

‘What?’ He blinked. ‘No, please, listen—’ but you did no such thing. Instead, you did the only thing a lady in distress could do. 

You screamed bloody murder. 

‘Help! Anyone! Help—’  you would have kept on going, shouting over his attempt at reason until he finally shut you up by placing his hand over your mouth, his other hand sturdily over your upper arm. The two of you stood there for a moment, chests both heaving in all forms of panic, listening for footsteps or any other presence, but the only sound was the soft breathing of the animals around you. 

‘I will let go now, miss,’ Eddie said slowly. Both your eyes were wide from the uncultivated situation that had just occurred. ‘And I will explain everything to you, just, please—and I beg you— do not scream.’ You nodded your head beneath his palm in agreement. Eddie counted to three as he stepped back and finally let go of you. Despite him never blocking your airways, you inhaled deeply. 

‘There is absolutely no reason to panic, ma’am.’ His accent was distant, one you had never had the pleasure of hearing before. His eyes, large and dark, locked you in, almost making you lose count of the lingering feeling of his hands on your body. He had given you a moment before he continued speaking, ensuring that you would not resume your screaming or make a run for it.

‘What is your reason of being here?’ You inquired. 

‘I work here. Have been, for the past week. I think it was your brother, in fact, that gave me the position. We met on his travels.’ 

Now, come to think of it, you remembered your family's conversation on the day your father and brother returned. There had been talk of new staff—a young man they had brought along with them from America as an official replacement for the late Mr Falstipp. But that did not explain his attire. 

‘You could be fired for breaking the dress code alone, you know. Not to mention for the, uhm, actions you had just performed.’ You commented.

‘Well, you can always report me, miss.’ Eddie, against all his better judgement, smiled. 

‘Maybe I should.’ Your heart was still pounding, and you felt so disoriented that even a simple smile made your head spin. ‘What is your name?’

‘Eddie.’

‘Well, Mr Eddie—’ you began, just to be quickly interrupted.

‘No, just Eddie.’ Eddie shook his head.

‘What do you mean? Do you have no family name?’ You had heard of men bringing in street urchins to work for them, but surely, this man was too old for such charity. And you could not imagine your brother to perform such acts of kindness anyway.

‘I do.’ His smile only widened in amusement at the conversation. ‘Eddie Munson.’

‘My, is it usual in America to introduce oneself like that?’ Never had you heard of a man introducing himself by only his first name, let alone a byname. 

‘It is usual to me,’ he quipped, ‘And it is more common than not introducing yourself at all.’ The way in which he looked up at you from under his lashes felt accusatory, but you could not find it within you to be upset at the critique, so you gave him your name instead. 

‘Pleasure to meet you, Miss Byrnwick.’ He gave you a small, polite bow that reminded you more of how children play Lord and Lady rather than a gentlemanly act. Next thing you knew, a smile was pulling at the corner of your lips, and a small giggle was ready to escape. 

For some reason, you hesitated to say your following words: ‘It is a pleasure, Mr Munson.’

‘Please, call me Eddie.’ While always respecting the titles of others, Eddie never saw himself as one to follow such formalities. 

‘That is most improper.’ You held back the urge to scoff. 

‘But I insist.’ There was something in the corner of his eye that you managed to catch a glimpse of—this spark that no sunlight or fire could match. It was pure mischief, a spirit of chaos. But still, to call a man you barely knew by his first name was simply not right. Your family may jest as they please about your rebelling attitude to primitive customs, but you had to admit that some things ought to be done in a proper manner. And this was certainly not it. 

However, Mr Munson saw it in another light but did not find enough of an interest in the subject enough to argue it further. Rather, he cleared his throat briefly and observed you for a moment. 

How silly you must look in your fancy dress! Your hair was done up to match, and your shoes were most likely covered in mud. There was also no doubt that he had overheard you talking to your horse about running away. You had good faith that he could connect the pieces to form the complete picture. 

A bird flew past a window, making you glance past Eddie’s shoulder in haste. 

‘I hope I am not keeping you from any other plans, miss?’ He finally asked. Could you be so bold as to admit that he was saving you from other commitments by conversing with you?

‘No, of course, not Mr Munson,’ you persisted. ‘I am simply cautious.’ Come to think of it, your screams must have been heard all around the grounds. If those who heard, in turn, had an ounce of common sense amongst them, they would have called for someone in the house. If that was the case, your mother would be here momentarily, and then it was back to the house for you. All you could do now was hide. 

‘May I ask what are you being cautious of?’ Eddie followed you with his eyes as you walked through the stables, looking for a hiding spot. 

‘If you must know, I am currently on the run,’ you stated while looking over a haystack in the far corner. 

‘Ah, so whilst you had accused me of being a criminal, it was you who had been committing the crimes then? Should I now scream for help?’

‘I’d rather you didn’t, ' you said, attempting to climb the hay to get past it. ‘I have already brought much too much attention to myself.’ Your foot slipped, making you tumble back down to the ground. The accident made you stop for a moment before attempting to climb again, looking over your shoulder at the man. ‘Are you not going to even try and stop me?’ 

‘Oh,’ it was as if he had awakened from a deep thought or had just realised that what you suggested was exactly what he ought to do. ‘Well, would you listen if I told you not to climb up there?’ 

You pondered his question for a short moment. ‘No, I highly doubt it.’ Thus, you resumed your climbing. As you did, you heard the shuffling of his feet behind you. The next time you slipped up, this time from a far higher distance, he had been in precisely the right place to catch you in his arms. 

‘I cannot assure you I will be able to catch you once more, so it is in good conscience that I suggest you stop, ma’am,’ he said as you got back to your feet. 

‘You are right,’ you admitted. Then you realised just how close the two of you stood and quickly occupied yourself by looking for another hiding place. That is when you noticed it. You had spent years in this stable and knew every inch of the space, yet… ‘Have you moved things around?’ You looked back at Eddie. 

‘Only a little. I’m afraid my predecessor did not have a flair for organisation,’ he explained.

‘That may be so, but I would prefer you would put things back as they were.’ 

‘Excuse me?’ Eddie could not help but laugh at the demand.

‘Your new floor plan has completely disoriented me, ' you admitted. ‘It is unbecoming.’

‘My apologies. I will be sure to put things back as they were, then.’ His laugh still echoed his words.

You had not expected him to actually agree to this request. ‘You will?’ But quickly, you regained your composure and tried to hide the surprise in your voice. ‘Very well, thank you. Then, since you have discarded all of my possible hiding locations, what do you suggest I should do?’ 

‘I suggest you run.’ But it was not Eddie who had answered you. 

‘Mother, ' you gasped. What was it, in God’s good name, with everyone sneaking up on you today? Lady Byrnwick stood at the threshold of the stables with her arms crossed. Her lips tightened into a thin line as she took a step inside. You prepared yourself for a disciplinary outburst, but instead, your mother focused on the man standing next to you. 

‘You must be Mr Munson.’ The kindness in her voice was laughable. The overcompensation of her kindness threw both you and Eddie off. 

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ You noticed that he bowed his head in a much more orderly fashion than he had done to you. 

‘I hope my daughter has not been too much of a nuisance.’ 

‘Not at all.’ Eddie politely replied. 

‘Good, good. Well, I can already see that my son did a good job in finding you,’ she stated as she looked around the retouched interior. ‘And I hope that you will grow to enjoy England.’

‘I’ve had nothing to complain of yet.’ Eddie proudly said with that smile of his, and for a moment, you thought to have caught his eyes on you for just a second. Your mother nodded along with his words in satisfaction, but this cheeriness dissipated as soon as she directed herself to you. 

‘Has your headache cleared, dear?’ Her eyes were spitting fire. 

‘Yes, mother.’ 

‘Then we will be on our way.’ She stepped aside, giving you room to walk outside. ‘Goodbye, Mr Munson.’ Eddie had become the unintentional victim of the venom that perferred your mother's words. 

He was polite enough to look away as you made your shameful walk through the aisle between the horses’ stalls, but you couldn’t help but look behind you one final time as you left and catch his favourable grin. What a peculiar man he was, indeed—one whose presence you immediately began to miss. 

Perhaps that was because of the company you were in at the time. 

‘Have you gone completely mad?’ Your mother scowled. ‘Mr Harrington has been waiting for well over half an hour.’

‘He is still here?’ You stopped in your tracks. This day could not have gone any worse. It seemed like everything you had been doing was working in your favour.

‘Yes, so you better come up with a clever excuse for your tardiness as I will not be embarrassed any longer. I swear, have you no shame?’

‘I am truly sorry mother, I had lost track of the time.’

‘Doing what exactly? What were you doing in the stables, exactly? Considering you had told me you were going out for some fresh air.’ Yes, the air around the horses was not exactly to be called “fresh.” 

Unfortunately, you had no satisfying answer to any of your mother’s questions. Come to it, you yourself were unsure what exactly had brought you there in the first place, not to mention what made you stay. It must have been a sense of child-like naivete to think you could hide from your problems the way you attempted. 

Problems that were coming closer as Mr Harrington walked towards you through the aisle of hyacinths that grew all around you in various colours. 

‘What is he doing here?’ you mumbled towards your mother.

‘Considering the lovely weather, I had offered for us to sit out in the gardens.’ Your mother spoke out loud. That is when you noticed the set table and chairs under a large parasol on the patio. 

‘I hope you do not mind. I took the initiative of taking a stroll in your absence.’ Mr Harrington spoke in a cadence that would have been new to you if not for the fact that you had spent the last hour in the presence of a very similar tone. 

‘Of course, not,’ your mother had regained her ability to smile. ‘May I introduce my daughter.’ And so she did. 

‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting, sir. I completely lost track of time.’ You apologised and were ready to offer your hand to Mr Harrington when you noticed how filthy your gloves had become. In a panic, you pushed both your hands behind your back, trying to distract the man with a wide grin.

‘The important thing is that we are all here now,’ he manoeuvred, which you could not help but agree with, then led you to the patio. 

The next hour went by faster than you had ever imagined it would. Mr Steve Harrington turned out to be not only a great conversationalist but a rather fascinating one at that. It was only a fault of your own that you were distracted for a larger part of the conversation. There was simply something about the man’s brown eyes that constantly reminded you of somewhere else. He was very charming and, abiding by your brother’s promises, had a great, though perhaps somewhat awkward, wit. It seemed that his confidence, once clearly overt, had been lowered, causing him to stumble over his words at times and laugh at his own mistakes in a deprecating manner, but never enough to make it a bother in your eyes. Truly, it was all rather endearing.

But you could not, for the life of you, figure out what exactly caused these fumblings in his character, as nothing seemed to be particularly wrong with the man. Though you did not see him as an academic or scholar of any sort, from the way he spoke, you could tell he was one of the more clever men you had the fortune of meeting. And his looks were certainly no topic of discussion either. He was tall and lean, with a wonderful smile and soft brown hair that apparently was more common than imagined, as were those dark eyes and the way he held you in his arms—

You took a sip of the cold water as Mr Harrington expressed his gratitude to your mother for the audience and made sure the message would be conveyed to Lord Byrnwick, too. You nodded and smiled along. Even when he bid you farewell and bowed his head, your mind was elsewhere. As if expecting something to emerge from behind the hyacinths, you could not help but glance in the Eastern direction of the gardens. 

‘See, it was not all that bad, was it?’ your mother immediately said, pulling you back to the patio. By then, Mr Harrington had excused himself and was crossing the patio to the exit from the grounds but had turned briefly for a final goodbye, which you met with a polite wave. 

‘No, I suppose you are right, mother.’ You had persevered against all odds. As you watched the gentleman leave, you felt quite content with the meeting—happy, some would even say. The only problem was that you could not make quite clear what, or rather, who brought on this particular mood.

To be continued...

Thank you so much for reading!! I really do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Remember the best way to support writers is to reblog and share. I love to hear what people think of my stories so feel free to leave a comment or an ask or message.

[minejungwoo]

Ignorance Is Kind

Seven months ago Bradley Bradshaw attended a barbecue hosted by Jake Seresin. Seven months ago Bradley met a girl at said barbecue. Seven months ago Bradley railed her.

And here she was at Jakes next barbecue, even months pregnant.

2.5K

Warnings: smut, fingering, marking, light degrading, unprotected sex, pregnancy

Bradley Bradshaw x Seresin!Reader

"Come to my barbecue," Jake Seresin insisted as he spoke to his little sister on the phone. "You owe him that much."

From the other end of the phone, he heard her release a sigh. "Jake, c'mon," she said. "Leave it alone. If I wanted him to know, I would have told him," she muttered.

"You know I don't like him either," Jake replied. "But he deserves to know. Plus, I want to see you."

She couldn't admit that Jake was right. And still, some small part of her wanted to resist. "Fine," she finally agreed. "But just because I wanna see you, too."

Jake let out a cheer, one that had his sister laughing. "Brilliant," he said. "I'll go and get the spare room ready for you!"

"Jakey," she said before he put the phone down. "Can you get some pickles and potato chips?"

"Of course I can," Jake replied. "Anything else?"

"Maybe some ice cream?"

Jake let out a laugh. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said and got him ready to run out to the store.

***

The last time Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw had gone to one of Jake Seresin's barbecue, things hadn't gone too well. Or they'd gone exceptionally well, depending on who you ask.

Bradley hadn't expected to meet a pretty girl at Jakes barbecue. He hadn't expected to bump into somebody as he walked away from the drinks cooler, a beer in his hand. His free hand settled on her waist as he steadied her.

"You okay?" Bradley asked her, stooping ever so slightly to look into her eyes.

She nodded her head and swallowed. "Yeah, uhm, yes. Yeah, I'm fine," she said and offered him a sweet smile. Bradley didn't think he had ever seen something so sweet.

He hadn't meant to spend the entire barbecue chatting up Jake Seresin's little sister. In his defense, he didn't realise that she was Jake's sister. He got her drinks when she ran out and brought over a selection of food from the barbecue.

The thing about Bradley was that he was irresistibly charming. She held herself back for most of the barbecue, waiting until Jake found himself distracted by some pretty thing that 'wanted to see the way he grilled'.

And as soon as Jake was distracted, she slipped into Roosters lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm staying at Jakes tonight," she muttered and she slowly moved in his lap.

Even as disappointment crossed his face, Bradley kept a tight grip on her waist. He shifted slightly and her eyes closed as she let out a whimper. "I think you should come up to my room with me," she whispered as she buried her face against his neck, kissing and nipping at his skin.

Bradley couldn't stop the shiver from running down his spine. "Who are you?" He asked through a breath.

The way she moved against him now, her hands running through his hair, Bradley had to get her inside. He didn't care about who she might have been to Jake in that moment, he just wanted to be sliding his cock through her folds and watch as her eyes rolled back.

She hopped off of his lap. The sun was setting and Jakes guests were still eating, but neither of them cared much. If anybody noticed them sneaking into the house, they didn't say anything.

She led Bradley up to the spare bedroom. He'd stayed in it a few times before, but that wasn't what he was thinking about as she pushed the door shut and popped her the button on her shorts.

Bradley salivated as she walked towards, hips swaying from side to side. She pushed him back onto the bed. Bradley could have resisted, but he allowed himself to fall back onto the bed. His hands touched her sides, drifted beneath her shirt as she climbed on top of him and attached her lips to his.

Bradley's hands cradled the back of her head, holding her close as moved her lips against his own. He'd let her lead, for now.

When her tongue began to explore her mouth, Bradley decided that he had had enough. He flipped her over, his thumbs brushing over her stomach as he pressed his lips to her own. She let out a whine from the back of her throat as his lips moved across her jaw and down to her neck. He sucked dark purple bruises into her skin, not caring for who would see them in the morning. She moaned out, nails against his back, not quite scratching the skin.

She pulled her shirt off and threw it to one side. Bradley immediately moved down her chest, lips against the supple flesh that wasn't covered by her bra. "Take it off," he commanded as he kissed down her stomach, making his way towards her shorts.

She did as he asked and unclasped her bra. The moment she pulled it away from her body, Bradley's lips were around her nipple, sucking as his hands pushed her shorts down her legs.

She whined and moaned, nails finally digging into his skin. Bradley couldn't stop his own moan as he released her nipple.

With her shorts pushed all the way down her legs, Bradley unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it to the floor. He got to his knees and gripped her thighs, dragging her to the end of the bed.

The first touch of his lips against her thigh had flames igniting through her body. She cried out, reaching for something to grab onto. But Bradley stopped her. He wrapped his fingers around her wrists as he lifted them above her head. "Keep them there, pretty girl," he said and kissed her again.

Bradley travelled back down to where she needed him. He nudged her legs apart with one hand, the other working to free his length from the confines of his jeans. He ran a single finger through her folds and a desperate whine left her lips. "Fuck!" She cried, hands coming back down.

But then Bradley pulled away completely. Desperate tears ran down her cheeks as she put her hands back above her head, just as he had told her to.

He pushed his finger through her folds, brushing over her clit. She jolted her body but Bradley kept going, pushing a single digit into her hole. "Please!" She cried, immediately rolling her hips against his hand.

"So fucking needy." He let out a low chuckle, finger completely still inside of her. "Humping my hand like a little slut." He withdrew his finger and pushed it back in, a second one accompanying it.

Bradley's thumb brushes against her hip as he used his other hand to stretch her out. She rode his fingers desperately, babbling incoherently. "Please, please, please," she cried, but Bradley could barely understand her.

"What do you need, pretty girl?"

"You!" She cried through a gasp. "I need you."

Her thighs were drenched when Bradley pulled his fingers out of her. He pushed down his jeans and climbed on top of her yet again.

Bradley reattached his lips to her own. Her hands were around his shoulders as she drew in quick breath. "Ready, pretty girl?" He asked and she nodded quickly, desperately.

She looked down, looking at what he was working with. Her lips drew in a gasp as she saw just how big he was.

Bradley pushed himself through her folds. It was slowly and gentle. Every time her breath hitched, Bradley kissed her. But the way he filled her, it was all consuming. She couldn't concentrate on anything other than the way his cock filled her.

He bottomed out with a grunt, his forehead against her own. "Fuck," she hissed, eyes squeezed shut. Nothing had ever made her feel like this, certainly not the other people she had slept with over the years. No, there was just him and nobody else. He was the only thought that entered her mind.

Slowly, he began rolling his hips. Her legs locked around his hips as he rocked his hips against her own. His cock pushed through her folds again and again, his pace building. "That's it, pretty girl," he grunted. "Feel so good."

Every nerve in her body was on fire. Her back arched from the bed, chest pressing against his own. The lines on his back that her nails were creating, Bradley couldn't wait to show them off.

His lips swallowed her moans, her desperate cries. She rolled her hips against his own as he hit every single spot inside of her.

"Fuck," she whispered as she pulled away. But Bradley swallowed it, his lips against her own.

Her walls clenched around him and Bradley squeezed his eyes shut, pulling away from her lips to press his forehead against her own. His breath came out in short puffs, grunts leaving his lips. "I'm gonna..."

But she couldn't even finish her sentence. Her legs tightened around his mid section, holding him close as she came around his cock. Bradley kept going. He pressed himself as close to her as he could get as his thrusts grew sloppy. "Shit," he hissed, her walls still squeezing him.

When Bradley came he slumped forward, his arms barely holding him up on top of her. His cum painted her walls and he kissed her one last time. Sweetly, deeply, slowly. It was nothing like the way he had just fucked her, nothing like the way he had sent pleasure crashing over her.

Bradley pulled out and laid on the bed beside her. His hand was resting on his chest as he stared at the ceiling above him. "That was... amazing," he said through gasps, turning his head towards her.

She sat up. On shaking legs she grabbed a shirt and a pair of pyjama shorts. "Where are you going?" Bradley asked as he watched her move towards the bedroom door.

"I'm gonna shower," she said and pulled the door open.

"Want me to come with you?"

She shook her head and Bradley felt himself deflate.

But that was seven months ago. He hadn't even gotten her name, but she was the best fuck he'd ever had. Bradley thought about her often. Whenever he picked someone up from The Hard Deck, he couldn't help but think of her.

When Jake invited him to another barbecue, seven months after he'd last seen pretty girl, as he had been calling her, Bradley jumped at the chance.

He was unable to stop himself from arriving to the barbecue early. The only one there before him was Bob. Bradley got himself a drink from the cooler and sat himself down as he waited for the rest of the guests to arrive.

Every time somebody walked through Jakes back door and out into his garden, Bradley couldn't stop himself from growing hopeful. It wasn't her. He started to think it would never be her.

He didn't know that she was in the spare bedroom, hand on her swollen stomach as she looked down at the barbecue bellow. She'd seen him the moment he walked in, moustache and hawaiian shirt the same as the day they'd met. She immediately remembered why she had found him attractive in the first place.

She had promised Jake she'd he at his barbecue, but something kept her in the spare room. Fucking pregnancy hormones. But she was craving potato chips. Potato chips that Jake had put outside.

Mustering all of her courage, she slipped on her shoes and made her way outside.

Nobody was looking at her, but she couldn't help feeling exposed as she stepped into the garden. Even in the sunshine she wore loose pants, a tank top hugging her seven month bump.

Bradley didn't notice her as he sipped his beer. He had long since given up looking for her. It seemed as though she wasn't coming.

But then she walked in front of him.

"Pretty girl!" Bradley said through a gasp as he stood up.

She completely froze up. "Shit," she squeaked and turned around. "Hi," she said, giving a small, awkward wave.

"Hey-"

But then Bradley spotted it. Well, how could he not? Her bump was huge; she looked ready to explode. "Wow," he said, swallowing nerves. "You look... different."

"Save it," she said and walked away, going to sit with Bob, Natasha and their potato chips. (She didn't know them any better than she knew Bradley, didn't even knew their names, but she needed to get away from him).

Bradley downed his beer. In two gulps it was gone. He placed it down onto the table behind him and strode over to Jake at the barbecue.

"Is it mine?"

"Huh?" Jake asked as he looked away from the barbecue. "What the fuck are you on about?"

Bradley's nostrils flared as he looked at her across the garden, watched her as she got acquainted with Bob and Natasha. "You know what the fuck I'm on about," he said. "Is the baby mine?"

Jake let out a dry laugh. "That baby is a Seresin and that's all that matters."

"So it's yours," Bradley said, his voice defeated.

Immediately Jake began to fake barf. He clutched his stomach as he pretended to throw up onto the grass. "Gross, Rooster. That's my fucking sister." He turned the sausages. "Yes, you're the babies father. Happy?"

No Bradley wasn't happy. He walked away from the barbecue, instead striding over to her. When Bob met his eyes, saw the fury in them, he stood up and pulled Natasha with him, leaving Bradley alone with the woman he had gotten pregnant.

"Jake is your brother," he said as he sat in the seat Bob once occupied. "You didn't tell me that."

"You didn't ask," she replied bitterly as she placed a potato chip between her teeth.

Bradley couldn't stop himself from staring at her bump. Fuck, she looked incredible. He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to look in her eyes. "Jake said its mine."

"It's not an it," she spat. "He's a boy. And he's mine."

"But I am the father, right? Like, without my sperm you wouldn't have been able to get pregnant, right?" He challenged. It was taking everything he had to not let himself get frustrated.

She picked at her nails. "I suppose so," she mumbled and laid her hand against her bump.

"Were you never going to tell me?"

She sucked in a breath and looked up at the blue sky above her. "You were a one night stand, somebody who's name I didn't know," she said. "How was I supposed to find you? And, what was I supposed to say? 'Oh hey, remember that girl you slept with at Jakes barbecue? Well I'm pregnant. By the way, whats your name?'"

Bradley sucked in a breath. She wasn't right and, by the look on her face, she knew it. But there was nothing they could do to change it now. Instead, he held his hand out towards her. "My names Bradley," he said as she placed her hand in his. "What's yours?"

[minejungwoo]

Ignorance Is Kind

Seven months ago Bradley Bradshaw attended a barbecue hosted by Jake Seresin. Seven months ago Bradley met a girl at said barbecue. Seven months ago Bradley railed her.

And here she was at Jakes next barbecue, even months pregnant.

2.5K

Warnings: smut, fingering, marking, light degrading, unprotected sex, pregnancy

Bradley Bradshaw x Seresin!Reader

"Come to my barbecue," Jake Seresin insisted as he spoke to his little sister on the phone. "You owe him that much."

From the other end of the phone, he heard her release a sigh. "Jake, c'mon," she said. "Leave it alone. If I wanted him to know, I would have told him," she muttered.

"You know I don't like him either," Jake replied. "But he deserves to know. Plus, I want to see you."

She couldn't admit that Jake was right. And still, some small part of her wanted to resist. "Fine," she finally agreed. "But just because I wanna see you, too."

Jake let out a cheer, one that had his sister laughing. "Brilliant," he said. "I'll go and get the spare room ready for you!"

"Jakey," she said before he put the phone down. "Can you get some pickles and potato chips?"

"Of course I can," Jake replied. "Anything else?"

"Maybe some ice cream?"

Jake let out a laugh. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said and got him ready to run out to the store.

***

The last time Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw had gone to one of Jake Seresin's barbecue, things hadn't gone too well. Or they'd gone exceptionally well, depending on who you ask.

Bradley hadn't expected to meet a pretty girl at Jakes barbecue. He hadn't expected to bump into somebody as he walked away from the drinks cooler, a beer in his hand. His free hand settled on her waist as he steadied her.

"You okay?" Bradley asked her, stooping ever so slightly to look into her eyes.

She nodded her head and swallowed. "Yeah, uhm, yes. Yeah, I'm fine," she said and offered him a sweet smile. Bradley didn't think he had ever seen something so sweet.

He hadn't meant to spend the entire barbecue chatting up Jake Seresin's little sister. In his defense, he didn't realise that she was Jake's sister. He got her drinks when she ran out and brought over a selection of food from the barbecue.

The thing about Bradley was that he was irresistibly charming. She held herself back for most of the barbecue, waiting until Jake found himself distracted by some pretty thing that 'wanted to see the way he grilled'.

And as soon as Jake was distracted, she slipped into Roosters lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm staying at Jakes tonight," she muttered and she slowly moved in his lap.

Even as disappointment crossed his face, Bradley kept a tight grip on her waist. He shifted slightly and her eyes closed as she let out a whimper. "I think you should come up to my room with me," she whispered as she buried her face against his neck, kissing and nipping at his skin.

Bradley couldn't stop the shiver from running down his spine. "Who are you?" He asked through a breath.

The way she moved against him now, her hands running through his hair, Bradley had to get her inside. He didn't care about who she might have been to Jake in that moment, he just wanted to be sliding his cock through her folds and watch as her eyes rolled back.

She hopped off of his lap. The sun was setting and Jakes guests were still eating, but neither of them cared much. If anybody noticed them sneaking into the house, they didn't say anything.

She led Bradley up to the spare bedroom. He'd stayed in it a few times before, but that wasn't what he was thinking about as she pushed the door shut and popped her the button on her shorts.

Bradley salivated as she walked towards, hips swaying from side to side. She pushed him back onto the bed. Bradley could have resisted, but he allowed himself to fall back onto the bed. His hands touched her sides, drifted beneath her shirt as she climbed on top of him and attached her lips to his.

Bradley's hands cradled the back of her head, holding her close as moved her lips against his own. He'd let her lead, for now.

When her tongue began to explore her mouth, Bradley decided that he had had enough. He flipped her over, his thumbs brushing over her stomach as he pressed his lips to her own. She let out a whine from the back of her throat as his lips moved across her jaw and down to her neck. He sucked dark purple bruises into her skin, not caring for who would see them in the morning. She moaned out, nails against his back, not quite scratching the skin.

She pulled her shirt off and threw it to one side. Bradley immediately moved down her chest, lips against the supple flesh that wasn't covered by her bra. "Take it off," he commanded as he kissed down her stomach, making his way towards her shorts.

She did as he asked and unclasped her bra. The moment she pulled it away from her body, Bradley's lips were around her nipple, sucking as his hands pushed her shorts down her legs.

She whined and moaned, nails finally digging into his skin. Bradley couldn't stop his own moan as he released her nipple.

With her shorts pushed all the way down her legs, Bradley unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it to the floor. He got to his knees and gripped her thighs, dragging her to the end of the bed.

The first touch of his lips against her thigh had flames igniting through her body. She cried out, reaching for something to grab onto. But Bradley stopped her. He wrapped his fingers around her wrists as he lifted them above her head. "Keep them there, pretty girl," he said and kissed her again.

Bradley travelled back down to where she needed him. He nudged her legs apart with one hand, the other working to free his length from the confines of his jeans. He ran a single finger through her folds and a desperate whine left her lips. "Fuck!" She cried, hands coming back down.

But then Bradley pulled away completely. Desperate tears ran down her cheeks as she put her hands back above her head, just as he had told her to.

He pushed his finger through her folds, brushing over her clit. She jolted her body but Bradley kept going, pushing a single digit into her hole. "Please!" She cried, immediately rolling her hips against his hand.

"So fucking needy." He let out a low chuckle, finger completely still inside of her. "Humping my hand like a little slut." He withdrew his finger and pushed it back in, a second one accompanying it.

Bradley's thumb brushes against her hip as he used his other hand to stretch her out. She rode his fingers desperately, babbling incoherently. "Please, please, please," she cried, but Bradley could barely understand her.

"What do you need, pretty girl?"

"You!" She cried through a gasp. "I need you."

Her thighs were drenched when Bradley pulled his fingers out of her. He pushed down his jeans and climbed on top of her yet again.

Bradley reattached his lips to her own. Her hands were around his shoulders as she drew in quick breath. "Ready, pretty girl?" He asked and she nodded quickly, desperately.

She looked down, looking at what he was working with. Her lips drew in a gasp as she saw just how big he was.

Bradley pushed himself through her folds. It was slowly and gentle. Every time her breath hitched, Bradley kissed her. But the way he filled her, it was all consuming. She couldn't concentrate on anything other than the way his cock filled her.

He bottomed out with a grunt, his forehead against her own. "Fuck," she hissed, eyes squeezed shut. Nothing had ever made her feel like this, certainly not the other people she had slept with over the years. No, there was just him and nobody else. He was the only thought that entered her mind.

Slowly, he began rolling his hips. Her legs locked around his hips as he rocked his hips against her own. His cock pushed through her folds again and again, his pace building. "That's it, pretty girl," he grunted. "Feel so good."

Every nerve in her body was on fire. Her back arched from the bed, chest pressing against his own. The lines on his back that her nails were creating, Bradley couldn't wait to show them off.

His lips swallowed her moans, her desperate cries. She rolled her hips against his own as he hit every single spot inside of her.

"Fuck," she whispered as she pulled away. But Bradley swallowed it, his lips against her own.

Her walls clenched around him and Bradley squeezed his eyes shut, pulling away from her lips to press his forehead against her own. His breath came out in short puffs, grunts leaving his lips. "I'm gonna..."

But she couldn't even finish her sentence. Her legs tightened around his mid section, holding him close as she came around his cock. Bradley kept going. He pressed himself as close to her as he could get as his thrusts grew sloppy. "Shit," he hissed, her walls still squeezing him.

When Bradley came he slumped forward, his arms barely holding him up on top of her. His cum painted her walls and he kissed her one last time. Sweetly, deeply, slowly. It was nothing like the way he had just fucked her, nothing like the way he had sent pleasure crashing over her.

Bradley pulled out and laid on the bed beside her. His hand was resting on his chest as he stared at the ceiling above him. "That was... amazing," he said through gasps, turning his head towards her.

She sat up. On shaking legs she grabbed a shirt and a pair of pyjama shorts. "Where are you going?" Bradley asked as he watched her move towards the bedroom door.

"I'm gonna shower," she said and pulled the door open.

"Want me to come with you?"

She shook her head and Bradley felt himself deflate.

But that was seven months ago. He hadn't even gotten her name, but she was the best fuck he'd ever had. Bradley thought about her often. Whenever he picked someone up from The Hard Deck, he couldn't help but think of her.

When Jake invited him to another barbecue, seven months after he'd last seen pretty girl, as he had been calling her, Bradley jumped at the chance.

He was unable to stop himself from arriving to the barbecue early. The only one there before him was Bob. Bradley got himself a drink from the cooler and sat himself down as he waited for the rest of the guests to arrive.

Every time somebody walked through Jakes back door and out into his garden, Bradley couldn't stop himself from growing hopeful. It wasn't her. He started to think it would never be her.

He didn't know that she was in the spare bedroom, hand on her swollen stomach as she looked down at the barbecue bellow. She'd seen him the moment he walked in, moustache and hawaiian shirt the same as the day they'd met. She immediately remembered why she had found him attractive in the first place.

She had promised Jake she'd he at his barbecue, but something kept her in the spare room. Fucking pregnancy hormones. But she was craving potato chips. Potato chips that Jake had put outside.

Mustering all of her courage, she slipped on her shoes and made her way outside.

Nobody was looking at her, but she couldn't help feeling exposed as she stepped into the garden. Even in the sunshine she wore loose pants, a tank top hugging her seven month bump.

Bradley didn't notice her as he sipped his beer. He had long since given up looking for her. It seemed as though she wasn't coming.

But then she walked in front of him.

"Pretty girl!" Bradley said through a gasp as he stood up.

She completely froze up. "Shit," she squeaked and turned around. "Hi," she said, giving a small, awkward wave.

"Hey-"

But then Bradley spotted it. Well, how could he not? Her bump was huge; she looked ready to explode. "Wow," he said, swallowing nerves. "You look... different."

"Save it," she said and walked away, going to sit with Bob, Natasha and their potato chips. (She didn't know them any better than she knew Bradley, didn't even knew their names, but she needed to get away from him).

Bradley downed his beer. In two gulps it was gone. He placed it down onto the table behind him and strode over to Jake at the barbecue.

"Is it mine?"

"Huh?" Jake asked as he looked away from the barbecue. "What the fuck are you on about?"

Bradley's nostrils flared as he looked at her across the garden, watched her as she got acquainted with Bob and Natasha. "You know what the fuck I'm on about," he said. "Is the baby mine?"

Jake let out a dry laugh. "That baby is a Seresin and that's all that matters."

"So it's yours," Bradley said, his voice defeated.

Immediately Jake began to fake barf. He clutched his stomach as he pretended to throw up onto the grass. "Gross, Rooster. That's my fucking sister." He turned the sausages. "Yes, you're the babies father. Happy?"

No Bradley wasn't happy. He walked away from the barbecue, instead striding over to her. When Bob met his eyes, saw the fury in them, he stood up and pulled Natasha with him, leaving Bradley alone with the woman he had gotten pregnant.

"Jake is your brother," he said as he sat in the seat Bob once occupied. "You didn't tell me that."

"You didn't ask," she replied bitterly as she placed a potato chip between her teeth.

Bradley couldn't stop himself from staring at her bump. Fuck, she looked incredible. He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to look in her eyes. "Jake said its mine."

"It's not an it," she spat. "He's a boy. And he's mine."

"But I am the father, right? Like, without my sperm you wouldn't have been able to get pregnant, right?" He challenged. It was taking everything he had to not let himself get frustrated.

She picked at her nails. "I suppose so," she mumbled and laid her hand against her bump.

"Were you never going to tell me?"

She sucked in a breath and looked up at the blue sky above her. "You were a one night stand, somebody who's name I didn't know," she said. "How was I supposed to find you? And, what was I supposed to say? 'Oh hey, remember that girl you slept with at Jakes barbecue? Well I'm pregnant. By the way, whats your name?'"

Bradley sucked in a breath. She wasn't right and, by the look on her face, she knew it. But there was nothing they could do to change it now. Instead, he held his hand out towards her. "My names Bradley," he said as she placed her hand in his. "What's yours?"

[minejungwoo]

It comes with perks (Reader x Jake 'Hangman' Seresin)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly @denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn

Summary: When you need someone to be your fake boyfriend to get you out of a situation with your ex, Hangman is the closest guy you find. What needed to be a one time thing, turned out into a long term act of fake dating. Certainly now that your dad Iceman is involved in as well. Slowly the lines of fake dating fade as Hangman becomes obessed with you, a ray of sunshine. When your ex tries to get back in your life, Jake becomes protective, finally ending those unclear lines of fake dating.

Phoenix and you entered Penny’s bar when your phone suddenly rang. Taking it out, the nametag on it made your eyes widen. You touched Phoenix on her shoulder, letting her know you needed a moment. She simply smiled, heading further into the bar to the booth were Bob, Coyote and Fanboy already were. The phone kept buzzing as you weren’t sure what to do. Panicking a bit as to say. You knew not picking up, would do nothing as he would just keep calling you.

Answering was even terrible, as you knew he’d say anything to get you to yield. Like a collective caller, kept he calling you. Looking around frantically, you spotted the first person at Penny’s bar. You rushed over to the bar, pulling Hangman back by his shoulder. – “Emergency, you’re my boyfriend.” – you breathed out, holding the phone out to him. Hangman smiled cocky. – “Well, well. If you were desperate for a kiss, you’d just had to ask Y/n.” – Hangman replied all smug to your annoyance.

“No. No! You’re not actually my boyfriend.” – you informed him hastily. Hangman furrowed his brows, frowning. – “Make up your mind girl.” – he let out confused to what was happening. You moved your phone higher up for him to notice. – “I need you to be my boyfriend and make him stop calling me!” – you called out almost frantically at how slow he was catching up.

“Right.” – He simply said, setting a beer down and taking your phone in his hand. He answered the phone, giving you a cheeky eyebrow wiggle. Hangman didn’t even listen to what the other person was saying on the phone. – “Listen bud, stop calling my girlfriend.” – he spoke through. He heard an immediate response. – “Uhm her boyfriend.” – Hangman answered, showing you a goofy look at how obvious it was who he was talking to.

The man kept blabbing in his ear as Hangman had little interest in keeping him on the phone. – “Stop calling us, bye.” – he spoke in such a manufactured voice, he could work in sales and be dealing with a terrible customer but still upholding his work voice. Hangman hung up, giving you the phone back. – “Thank you!” – you let out relieved, bending a bit through your knees out of gratitude. – “So what do I get in return?” – Hangman asked.

“This beer?” – you suggested, placing your hand on the counter by it. Hangman tsked his tongue. – “Already paid for it sunshine.” – he said with a chuckle. – “Fine.” – you breathed out. – “I’ll clean your locker.” – you took out another suggestion as Hangman thought. – “How about wash my clothes?” – he responded. – “Deal.” – you agreed it was just that. Hangman shook hands with you to seal the deal.

He picked up his beer, throwing his arm over your shoulder. – “Who was the dude anyways?” – he asked, leading you to the others. – “My ex.” – you sighed out. Hangman looked half in shock at you. – “I didn’t know you dated someone.” – he called out as you had to shush his loud voice. – “It was like 6 months ago.” – you informed him.

“And he’s still calling you?” – Hangman blurted out as you hummed with a nod as response. – “I can’t shake him off.” – you sighed out nearing the booth with your friends. – “Well good thing your boyfriend saved the day.” – Hangman winked with a ridiculous smile. – “Not my boyfriend.” – you reminded him before sitting down.

Back in the locker room, you were washing Hangman’s attire. Washing them by hand as he called them delicate and needed to be handled with care. – “Uhm what are you doing?” – Phoenix asked seeing you in the locker room as she had walked by. – “Are those Hangman’s clothing?” – she pointed out when you had pulled it up to see if it was clean enough, revealing his nametag. – “Phoenix!” – you called out startled, splashing some water as your arms lowered immediately. – “Why are you washing his clothes?” – she wanted to know. – “I owe it to him.” – you responded, scrubbing his pilot gear.

“You dared to bet with Hangman. Bold.” – she answered impressed. – “It’s not that.” – you told her with a soft sigh. – “He did something for me, so I have to return the favour.” – you explained. – “Right.” – Phoenix widened her eyes briefly in delight. – “If your dad could see you know.” – she chuckled a bit. – “He’d flip that you fell so low.” You grunted soft. – “Good thing my dad.” – you emphasized. – “Can’t see me.” – you replied bitsy. – “Ohh cold touch.” – Phoenix teased touching her own shoulder. You scooped up some water, splashing it at her to wipe that smile off her face.

Phoenix screamed, dodging away when the water came her way. Half laughing, you teasing her with another scoop as she already darted away. When you were finished up with Hangman’s uniforms, you hung them neatly to dry. You came out of the lockers, making your way out of the hangar when you got pulled aside by Rooster. He pushed you firm up against the wall. – “Are you dating Hangman?” – called out at the brink of losing his mind. – “What?” – you responded confused.

“Are you dating him?” – Rooster wanted to know with a stern look. – “What, no, no…” – you replied waving your hands across. Rooster exhaled deep moving his fingers through his hair. – “Who told you this?” – you asked curious. – “Hangman has been bragging to everyone he’s dating you.” – Rooster let you know. Your eyes widened with shock.

You pushed Rooster a bit back, to make some room for you to leave. You needed to find Hangman and you needed to find him now. Jogging out of the hangar into the open. You saw a group of people near the F16’s going over to them. The closer you got, the clearer you saw Hangman amongst them.

“Hangman!” – you shouted drawing his attention. – “Looks like my girlfriend needs me.” – he said to Fanboy and Coyote all smug. Coyote rolled with his eyes as Fanboy shook his head. Hangman turned round to you, welcoming you with a warm smile. – “Yes my love.” – he said as you grabbed him firmly by the arm, dragging him away from the others. – “So eager.” – Hangman whispered to his friends with a chuckle. You came to a stop, letting harshly go of him.

“What are you doing?” – you called out giving him a little shove. – “Au.” – Jake mouthed pretending to be hurt from your shove. – “Jake!” – you called out wanting an answer out of him. – “What?” – he replied loud, making himself taller. – “Why are you telling everyone we are dating?” – you freaked out. Jake scoffed loud, turning his head away. – “Are we not?” – he answered cocky, wanting to slip his arm over your shoulder. It made you puff annoyed, crossing your arms.

“Oh come on Y/n, don’t be such a baby about it.” – Jake said taking you by the elbow, wanting you to uncross your arms. – “It’s a joke, sunshine.” – he kept tugging at your arm, trying to be smooth and cool at the same time. – “Sunshine!” – you suddenly heard loud, making you straighten your back. Hangman’s back straightened as well. Cyclone appeared coming to you. – “Iceman wants to speak to you.” – he said firmly, making your shoulders slouch. Jake was snickering quietly at you with a little point. – “He asked for both of you!” – Cyclone made clear, making Jake’s smile drop.

You tugged on his elbow, pulling him with you. Following Cyclone inside and up the stairs to Iceman’s desk. Cyclone knocked on the door, before popping his head inside. – “They are present.” – he said to Iceman. Cyclone stepped aside, expression flat as he allowed you to walk in. – “Tell me, am I hanging?” – Jake whispered to Cyclone wanting to know his outcome. Cyclone ignored him, giving him an extra shove into the room. – “Dad!” – you said with mixed expectations, opening your arms to a hug.

Iceman got up from behind his desk, coming to hug you. – “How is my little girl?” – he asked. – “Flying and thriving.” – you told him, making him form a smile on his lips. His gaze then shifted to Jake, who swallowed nervously. Iceman got all serious. He went to sit again, gesturing for you to sit as well. Jake and you sat down, unsure what to expect. – “So you are the one dating my daughter.” – Iceman spoke. – “Dad no…” – you blurted out, waving your hands across.

Iceman observed Hangman closely as it made him move uncomfortable in the chair. – “How’s his flying?” – he asked. – “Superb… sir.” – Jake replied loudly, humbling himself immediately. Iceman glanced your way. You could only smile sheepishly at him. – “I’m a bit saddened you didn’t tell me Y/n.” – Iceman began. – “But he looks decent enough. As long as he doesn’t hurt you… or else…” – Iceman gave Hangman his death stare.

Jake swallowed again. – “Dad we’re not…” – you began wanting to explain as Jake grabbed your hand out of the blue. – “No, no sunshine, it’s okay. He knows now.” – Jake spoke upholding the image of dating. You stared confused at him, why he would even want to go on with his stupid joke. – “Jake, this is my dad.” – you said between clenched teeth to him. Making it clear that he didn’t need to mess around. – “I’m so happy for you Y/n.” – Iceman said cheery.

“The man’s happy Y/n, let him be.” – Jake said to guilt trip you. You sighed soft letting yourself fall back in the chair. Jake got up. – “Well it was nice of you to call us in, sir.” – Jake said, nudging you to get up as well. Your dad chuckled happily at his manners as you could only roll your eyes. Jake extended his hand out to Iceman. Iceman took it to shake. – “I’m not one for favours, but if you ever need one for my daughter.” – he whispered to Jake with a wink.

Jake breathed out a laugh of surprise, glancing your way. Just to rub his it more in your face. – “Now we must really go.” – Hangman spoke tapping your elbow, to get you to follow. – “Give her a kiss.” – Iceman replied. Jake’s expression dropped. – “S’cuse me?” – he blurted out. – “Give her a kiss.” – he repeated gesturing at you.

Jake looked sheepishly at you, chuckling nervously. – “Sir truly…” – Jake began wanting to talk his way out of it. – “I want to see just how much you care for my daughter.” – Iceman persisted. Hangman took your hand, pulling you closer to give a kiss on the cheek. – “Give her a real kiss!” – Iceman shouted out of good sports. Jake sighed loud with a soft drop of his gaze. You raised your eyebrow at him, curious to see what he would do. He took you by the elbow, pulling you even closer.

“Just a quick one.” – he whispered to you. – “One second.” – you responded. Hangman held his finger up to his lips, looking all smug. He lowered his finger, giving you a quick nod before he’d kiss you. Your lips touched for a split second, pulling away quick. Iceman shook his head with disappointment. – “We have to go dad!” – you called out, opening the door. Dragging Jake with you out of his office. Downstairs, you let go of Jake.

“Your joke just escalated Hangman. Now my dad knows!” – you called out panicking. – “Hey you asked me to be your boyfriend.” – Jake replied loud. – “For like a few seconds.” – you shouted back. – “You asked for this Y/n.” -  Jake answered loud taking off. – “Where are you going?” – you called out to him. Jake turned around, pulling his shoulders up. It made you groan loud.  

Phoenix and you were stretching before exercise. – “Boyfriend coming over.” – she pointed out, turning her torso, holding her arm by her elbow. You looked up seeing Hangman come over with the other boys. It made you look at her with a certain glance. Phoenix stopped, walking off when Hangman came near. She joined the others behind him. – “You know for a sunshine, you frown a lot.” – he pointed out, touching your forehead.

You slapped his hand away. He grabbed you by the shoulders, moving his head closer to you. – “Smile, your dad is going to watch.” – he whispered making you widen your eyes. Jake moved aside from you, throwing his arm over you as he led you to the others. Maverick, Cyclone and Iceman neared. You all followed Maverick to the beach for a match of rugby. A good team exercise Maverick would call it. Cyclone and Iceman sat down, watching the pathetic play of rugby.

Hangman and you were on opposite teams. Fanboy had the ball, throwing it at Coyote. Hangman jumped in front of him, catching the football before his eyes. He then ran with it to your side, throwing his hard on the ground. He called it out in victory, pointing towards Iceman. Iceman clapped for Hangman’s score. He then looked all smug at you. Phoenix nudged you as you rolled your eyes at him. Trying not to find it sweet. Rooster caught the ball wanting to throw it at you. You caught it, wanting to run when you got picked up from the ground. 

Hangman had picked you up, making you squeal loud out of surprise. Your feet hit the ground again, as he kept his arms around you. – “Try getting out of this now, sunshine.” – he breathed out. You wriggled in his grip for freedom. When you weren’t getting any, you tried running. Hangman laughed loud, squeezing his arms tighter around you. – “Where are you going sunshine?” – he laughed out. You tried so hard not to laugh as well, not to enjoy it too, but you failed.

You stopped trying to run, laughing loud. You tossed the football over to Bob. You showed him your empty hands, showing him his attempt to stop you failed. Hangman picked you up in response, making you squeal again. He then pressed a kiss on your cheek so quick, he barely caught himself doing it. You turned round in his embrace, staring a bit at him. Jake stared back at you.

Swallowing, he let go of you, scratching his neck sheepishly. You looked blissful away. The two of you hesitantly got back into the game, questioning whether you were actually starting to like each other or that it was the drive of fake dating for a while now.

After practise, you were all exhausted. Having been playing till the sun had set. Worn out, you all decided to grab a few drinks at Penny’s bar. You went up to her bar as Jake followed. Almost instinctively. You held four fingers up to Penny, ordering beer. Jake leaned with his elbows on the counter, throwing you a smug smile. Your phone vibrated in your pocket. Confused, you pulled it out holding it to the front. Jake’s eye fell on the caller, taking the phone from your hand before you could react.

He picked up, turning around to lean against the counter with his back. – “What do you want?” – he said bothered. Your ex didn’t even have to finish his sentence when Jake spoke again. – “Listen asshole, if you call her one more time. I’ll make sure you’ll never see daylight again. You won’t see me coming. I’ll fly above your house, aiming for your pathetic bedroom and you’ll be burned to crisps in a matter of seconds.” – Jake threatened making you stare in shock at him.

“She doesn’t want you cause I’m her boyfriend. She’s mine and let me tell you ass, I don’t like sharing.” – Jake said over the phone. – “This was your last call or you’re dead!” – he angrily hung up the phone. – “Thank… thank you…” – you said astonished by how hot that was. Jake tugged your phone in his pocket.

Penny arrived with the drinks as he took them, motioning with his head for you to follow. You slid into a booth with him as the others were waiting. Hangman threw an arm over your shoulder, pushing you closer to him. It made you feel like squealing. The lines of pretend and real blurring away. Jake caught you staring at him, melting as he saw you smile like the sun back at him. He moved his head closer to you, wanting to kiss you in that moment, but caught himself just in time.

He shifted his head to the side, kissing your cheek instead. It didn’t feel satisfying, but he wouldn’t dare himself to kiss you out of the blue with everyone around. Your friends were so used to the two of you dating, they hardly had any eye for it. Not clear it was all an act, started from a joke. After an hour or two, checked Jake his watch. – “I’m taking Y/n home.” – he said removing his arm from you. He got out of the booth, taking you with him.

You said goodbye to the others. Jake grabbed your hand, walking out of Penny’s bar with you. Outside he was still holding your hand as it made you snicker soft. – “No one’s watching Hangman.” – you told him. Hangman looked at you with eyes full of affection. – “I know.” – he responded, pausing you. – “Are we still faking it?” – he asked catching you by surprise. Unsure, you pulled your shoulders up. That seemed to answer Hangman enough as he cupped your cheeks, kissing your lips.

The kiss was long, anticipating the moment till he could finally kiss you. His tender kiss moved to longing and desperation as his hands grabbed you tightly. You kissed him back, fully surrendering under his spell. The lines of fake dating having been shattered long ago.

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[minejungwoo]

The Girlfriend Experience

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie doesn’t think he’s cut out for dating. Self-resigned to a life of one and done hookups, you’re determined to make him see that he has the capacity to be a worthy companion… for when the right girl comes around. Fake Dating AU, classic corny fic for a fav corny troupe, Stranger Things canon divergent ofc, 18+ smut (see warnings below), big dick energy but also slightly emotionally unavailable!Eddie, yada yada yada, you know the drill. 

Content warnings: AFAB reader with she/her pronouns, use of y/n, alcohol, smoking the devil’s lettuce, mention of panty stealing, food consumption, semi-public sex, fingering, PIV, Dom-ish!Eddie, oral (m and f receiving), pierced dick Eddie because I said so!, unprotected PIV sex, hair pulling, mild angst but nothing too angsty just like one heated conversation and Eddie feeling a little worthless but happy ending I promise

Word Count: 20k ahhhhhh!!!

A/N: Thanks to all those who comment and reblog! Your feedback and engagement makes my heart soar and keeps me motivated to write this filth! Sorry for the gargantuan length, in very-me fashion I always ending up writing one behemoth fic every so often rather than just separating it out into chapters. Also, realizing after the fact that I use the brand name ‘Goodwill’ a lot in this fic, which maybe not everyone might know is a thrift store, not sure if that’s just an American thing or not but figured it was worth noting. 

“I guess I’m just not boyfriend material, ya know?” Eddie shrugs.

“Don’t say that, Eds,” your eyebrows pinched together, “different qualities are important to different people. Not everyone is looking to date a Steve, or a Brian, or a whoever. I’m sure someone is out there looking for an Eddie.”

“It’s not that,” he shot a look towards Steve, who, despite your analogy, was unfortunately everyone’s type and the textbook definition of boyfriend material.

“I just don’t think I’d be very good at gooey romance stuff, or even like, passable boyfriend behavior. I mean, look at me, I hardly take care of myself, I’m loud, I have no money, I’m basically every dad’s worst nightmare, do I need to keep going?”

“The nightmare thing can actually be a bonus,” Steve chimes in, “the whole bad boy persona can be a huge draw for most girls.”

“Sure Steve,” Eddie’s voice grows exasperated, “I’m the mysterious bad boy until they realize I’m a huge loser who runs not one but two dungeons and dragons groups. Real fuckin’ attractive I’m sure that is.”

“Shows you’re committed to something…” you trail off when his eyes tell you to stop coming up with a positive spin for every excuse he gives. 

This whole discussion had started because of something that happened at the bar last night. A small group of you decided to meet up for drinks, your usual group of pals. It was a Thursday, so the bar wasn’t too busy. Your friends all squished into a booth in the corner, chatting and catching up over a plate of shared nachos, when Robin started making frantic gesture at you and Steve.

“Please just say what you’re trying to say instead of this elaborate charade,” Steve makes a few mocking hand signals back at her.

“Okay, one at a time, and keep it subtle,” her voice lowered to a whisper, for some reason, “over at the bar, some girl is totally flirting with Eddie.”

You and Steve both turn around. “I said not at the same time!” She whisper yells. 

There was, in fact, a pretty girl with shiny hair and glossy lips doing a half fake laugh and pressing her manicured hand to Eddie’s bicep. You whip back around to find Robin with her mouth hanging open in a “can you believe this is happening” way. 

“Good for him,” Steve swivels back around too, “She’s pretty hot.”

You return to your nachos, pretending there wasn’t a ping of jealousy in you. Eddie was your friend, that had been made abundantly clear.

When Robin introduced you to all her friends from high school, you had easily gotten along with all of them. You especially got along with Eddie. He was funny, authentic, abrasive at times, but a truly good person at his core, creative, protective, you could go on.

After getting to know him a bit, and developing a budding crush, you had made a few passes at him. Nothing too forward, just small compliments here and there, open ended offers to hang out that never lead anywhere.

It’s not like he flat out rejected you, but any feelers you were putting out to see if there was potential there were met with him looking past your flirtatious intent and just being his goofy, friendly self. He treated you exactly the same way he treated everyone else, which was awesome, except for when it wasn’t. 

“Oh no,” Robin’s gaze was not subtly fixed on the unfolding scene at the bar, you and Steve watched her face drastically shift from confused, to a cringe, to an eye roll.

Still half whispering, as if Eddie could even hear your corner of the bar, “He’s totally blowing it. DON’T both turn around at the same time again.” 

“Okay, so,” she starts before either of you can even confirm that you want to know, “she was totally laying it on thick, like you could see it from all the way back here. And he must have said something off putting, cuz all of a sudden she like went cold on him and pranced away. Shhhhh, okay okay, he’s coming back.”

She was acting as if she wasn’t the only one gossiping. You and Steve were innocent bystanders in all this. 

“WHAT was that?” She immediately blurts out when Eddie returns to his seat, fresh drink in hand. 

You and Steve share a side glance to sigh at Robin’s inability to be subtle, god bless her. Eddie shifts around awkwardly and lets out a forced dry laugh, taking a long sip from his drink before facing the wrath of a curious Robin. 

“Oh, that,” he gestures to the bar as if she could be asking about anything else, “some girl. Not sure.”

“Not sure? Eddie she was FLIRTING with you,” Robin all but yelled, causing Steve to scan the bar to see if the girl in question had landed somewhere within earshot. 

“I know that,” he hisses, “She just… wasn’t my type…”

“Okay sure, hot girl in a tube top and no bra isn’t your type, riiiiight,” Steve rolls his eyes.

“It’s just,” Eddie was so over this inquisition, “she asked if I wanted to get coffee.”

You, Steve, and Robin all give him a blank stare, trying to decipher what he could possibly have against getting coffee with a hot girl. 

“That’s like,” he gets defensive, detecting the wall of confusion facing him, “something people do on a date. Coffee is serious, and I’m not a very serious guy.”

“What do you mean ‘coffee is serious,’ coffee is like, as casual as you can possibly be?” Steve’s tone now emulated Robin’s from earlier, half whispering, half yelling, all scolding towards his friend. 

“That’s just not really my speed. Coffee dates and flowers and hand holding and all that,” he was avoiding eye contact with all three of you, “Yeah, she was hot, sure, and maybe if she had been like ‘hey lets go fool around in the bathroom’ then I wouldn’t be here having this lame ass conversation with you three. But I don’t do coffee dates, so I’m not gonna waste her time and pretend like I’m that sort of guy when I’m just not.” 

“Well good on you for not leading her on, cuz I’m sure you could have agreed to the coffee date and still gotten lucky in the bathroom,” Steve mumbles, and you smack the back of his head lightly to scold him. 

“So you only date girls who’ll fuck you in a bar bathroom the first time you meet?” You redirect your now equally scolding energy to Eddie.

“No!” He runs his hands through his hair, “I don’t date. Anyone, really. At all. Ever.”

“Oh,” you think for a minute, realizing in your few years of friendship you never had seen him with anyone, or heard him mention a romantic interest of any sort. 

Leading you to your present conversation, you and Steve continuing to question Eddie on his decision to reject the hot tube-top girl at the bar and why he felt like coffee was such a scary commitment. 

“You guys know me,” he continued to defend his stance, “If I took that girl out for coffee she probably would have picked some fancy hoity toity place and I wouldn’t know what anything on the menu meant, I’d probably spill something or like, get crumbs everywhere, and the bill would be way more than two coffees should be. It would have been a waste of both our time.”

He was staunchly refusing eye contact with the two of you, knowing he’d be met with something along the lines of pity. 

“Fine, we’ll drop the subject,” you shoot a look to Steve, “but I just need to make sure you understand that not every girl likes expensive coffee, or flowers and handholding, or whatever your expectation of girls and dating is. There’s plenty of girls who have similar interests to you, who feel the same way about PDA and mushy romance stuff that you do. You do know that, right?”

“Of course I do, y/n,” you could practically feel his eyes rolling at you, “but girls like that sure as fuck aren’t here in Nowhere, Indiana. Even if she was, I’m sure I’d still find a way to fuck it up given that I’ve had exactly zero serious girlfriends and the closest thing to a date I’ve ever been on is when you me and Steve pooled our ski ball tickets to win that ugly stuffed turtle.”

The memory of what you had all agreed to be the world’s ugliest stuffed animal caused all of you to crack a smile. Steve had silently agreed to change the subject, not wanting to dig Eddie any deeper into his pit of self despair. 

Steve’s mouth was half open, about to suggest that the three of you have a smoke and watch one of the rental movies he brought over, the words just about to escape him when you harshly cut off any chance at ending the pity-party.

“Date me!” You exclaim, without much thought. The shocked look from both boys caused you to rapidly back pedal , “You can date me, as practice!” You said it as if it was the simplest concept in the world. 

When met with gaping mouths and confused stares you continue on, “You and I can be fake boyfriend-girlfriend for like, a month, and I’ll tell you everything you do wrong, and like generic do’s and don’t’s, so that way the next time some hot girl hits on you, you can be all like ‘Coffee isn’t really my thing pretty lady, but I’d be down to get drinks sometime’,” you did a silly impression of Eddie’s voice, and then switched to a high pitched one to impersonate what you assumed the girl at the bar sounded like, “and then she’d be all like, ‘Oh yeah that sounds greaaaaat, getting coffee is just like, a generic catch-all thing that most people say when they want to get to know someone better, but you can buy me a drink’ and then the two of you will ride off into the sunset and it’ll be great.”

Still no reply.

“It won’t be all romantic and gooey, I promise I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. It’d be a way for you to get some honest feedback and catch up with the stuff most people have to learn the hard way.” 

“I suppose you are the most brutally honest person I know,” Eddie doesn’t sound convinced. 

Steve just looked between the two of you with eyebrows raised, not knowing if giving his opinion on the matter would be appreciated or not. “I guess I would’ve appreciated someone telling me that most girls don’t want to be asked out with a pickup line from a John Hughes movie, would have saved me a few dozen rejections.”

“I’m pretty sure Robin did tell you that…”

“I don’t know y/n,” Eddie scratches his head. 

“It’ll be easy. Ask me out.”

“Huh?”

“Ask me out, for practice, ask me out on a date like I’m a pretty girl you met at some metal show or a DnD convention or something like that,” you stand in front of him with your hands out as if to prompt him to say something. 

“Will you go out with me?” He sounds more like he’s asking himself if he even wants to be asking the question.

“No.”

“What the hell!” He throws his hands up.

“I said no because that wasn’t a very good effort. Go out where? To do what? You’re asking me, a pretend stranger, out on a date Eddie, not if I want to go have a smoke with you.”

“Ughhhh,” he spun around and tried to get some sympathy for Steve, who unfortunately was on your side with this one. 

“A compliment or two doesn’t hurt as well,” Steve added, deepening Eddie’s groan. 

“Hey pretty stranger lady,” his voice was laced with sarcasm, but at least it wasn’t disdain, “you seem really…” he hesitated to find his words, “cool? Would you like to come see my band play this weekend at The Hideout? We-“

“No,” you cut him off.

“WHA-“

“Eddie, you can’t ask a girl to watch Corroded Coffin play for your first date with her, that’s like date four or five material, no girl wants to go sit by herself at a bar to watch some guy she just met play an hour of heavy metal. She would have to know you a little bit more for that to feel organic. Pick something more generic, like coffee.”

“I think you seem cool, would you like to get coffee with me?” it all came out as one monotone mumble from him. 

“Sure,” you wait for him to lift his head up to make eye contact with you, “But coffee isn’t really my thing, maybe we can go out for drinks?”

“Oh fuck off,” he flopped back onto the couch next to Steve. 

“See, now we have our first fake date, and then you can ask me to be your fake girlfriend, and then you’ll be so comfortable with emotional vulnerability that you can find a real girlfriend to take on real dates.”

“Yeah, I suppose it could be beneficial,” Eddie was slowly coming around to the idea. He knew that he was oddly charismatic at times, but he was just always too self conscious to follow through with the whole romance thing.

This maybe wasn’t a bad idea, because he knew you weren’t the kind of person who would make fun of his hobbies, or put him down if he slipped up, the sorts of things he was always afraid of girls doing. Sure, he’ll agree to the girlfriend experience. 

After a night of movies and pizza with Steve fake-third-wheeling, you made sure Eddie knew that the fake-date was actually happening, that the two of you would go out for drinks this weekend as your first official practice date. 

After giving it a bit of thought, you realized that you and Eddie had never hung out alone. In your feeble attempts at flirting with him all those months ago you had invited him to have movie nights or grab a bite to eat, but he always showed up with Steve and or Robin in tow.

As the night of the fake-date rolled around, you’d be embarrassed to admit it to him, or Steve, who didn’t care to hide how skeptical he was about this whole idea, that you went through your normal pre-date routine. You took some extra time on your hair and makeup, exfoliated in the shower, chose an outfit you felt confident in, added a few spritz of perfume for good measure too. 

Eddie rolled up in his van, only a few minutes late, but a few minutes was very impressive compared to his typical chronic tardiness. The two of you agreed to just grab some food and drinks at your usual spot, considering you and Steve openly agreed that it would be a good first date spot in theory. 

“Hey,” he reaches across the center console to pop the door open for you, “you look nice.”

It took you a second to register as you settled into the passenger seat, and then whip around with your arm outstretched to give him a high five. He scrunches his face at you.

“High five me Eddie, that was really good! I know you usually open the door for me anyways, but the compliment right away, A+,” you flop your hand down to gently slap his, still gripping the steering wheel. 

“Don’t patronize me, y/n,” deep down he knew you weren’t trying to talk down to him, and deep down he hadn’t even given complimenting you a second thought, he really did think you looked great in your date get-up. 

On the ride over to the bar, the two of you discuss some logistics. Considering all of this is just practice dating, you don’t expect Eddie to pay for you, but you explain that in theory if he had been the one to ask you out then he should be the one to pay for the first date. 

“To me it’s less of a gender thing and more of a who asked out who thing, but I know some people would abide to the stereotypical ‘the man always pays’ standard, which is why you’d just have to be honest on date like two or three about what you enjoy doing and what sorts of things are in your budget. You can still have fun and be thoughtful without spending a lot of money.”

He asked a few questions, like if he should have gotten you flowers for a first date, or what he should do if someone asks to go to a fancy restaurant that he surely couldn’t afford. You tried your best to give solid advice, but always reminded him that every person is different and every relationship is different, so all he can do is be honest. 

You take up a spot at the bar and both order for yourselves, splitting some fries and slipping into some easy conversation. 

“Am I supposed to, like, beat someone up if a guy tries hitting on you in front of me or something like that?” you nearly choke on your drink at his question. 

“Eddie, no,” you answer, also questioning, “why the hell would you ask me that?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “My buddy Jeff was with his girlfriend at this punk show before they were even together, and some guy made a creepy comment to Amanda and Jeff just decked the guy in the face. He say’s that’s what made her want to date him, cuz he defended her honor or whatever.”

“I guess that’s sort of circumstantial, but I prefer my dates to not engage in any sort of violence,” you sip your drink, “even if it’s for my honor. I’d like your face a lot less if you were all bruised up.”

“Well I never said I would get hit,” the two of you were laughing a bit now.

Over a few cocktails you went over some first date etiquette with him. PDA and being touchy, how to follow her lead and gauge if she’s the type who wants everyone at the bar to know you’re together, or keep it strictly platonic to start. How far of a grip on the leg is too far up, that sort of thing.  

“So if she does something like this,” you fake laugh a bit too loud and, lean into his personal space, and then run your hand from his slender down his arm, “that doesn’t necessarily mean she wants to fuck you, but it’s pretty close. You’ve at least got a green flag to get a little closer to her, tell her she looks nice, maybe offer to buy her a drink.”

“I know how to tell if someone finds me attractive, y/n, I’m not stupid,” he said casually, “obviously that girl the other night was hitting on me, I’m not blind. I wasn’t going to ask to buy her a drink or try and get lucky in the bathroom because I was out with my friends. I can find a quick fuck in a bar on my own time. I was having fun with you guys, I wasn’t going to abandon all of you to talk to some stranger, even if she was hot.”  

“Oh,” you processed his comment, “Steve would be happy to know he ranks above tube-top girl.”

“Steve would be happy to be above tube-top girl in any context,” he jokes. 

“You really just find random girls in bars to fuck?” You question, not in any sort of judgmental way, just curious. 

“Not specifically, I guess I did make myself sound like some serial bar-bathroom type of guy. I never really had girls interested in me when I was in high school, at least the first four years of it. Then when we started playing regular gigs at The Hideout it was a little easier to find girls who were interested, but it was always that they were more into fucking some guy who could play guitar and was in a band, so it usually just always happened on-site, probably cuz they had an actual boyfriend or husband to go home to. Girls think I’m fun. Which isn’t untrue, I do enjoy a romp in the Hideout bathroom, or the back of my van, or wherever we end up.”

“So that’s what all those blankets are back there for,” you say with a fake scowl, referring to his van set-up. 

“Not exclusively! They make a cozy nest for smoking blunts and listening to tapes too!” 

You return to your drink, trying not to think too hard about the girls that Eddie brings to bar bathrooms or his van or wherever. 

“I just find the energy of those situations very different from like, talking and getting to know someone. Fucking is easy. I’m not interested in ruining that by adding emotions and the looming feeling like sex is contingent on me acting a certain way or checking a certain number of boxes for someone.” 

He shrugged, and you could understand where he was coming from, sometimes a quick fuck or hookup could be cathartic and easy. But it also saddened you to think that Eddie believed he had to get in and out before the person on the other end got the chance to know him. 

Moving away from the subject of his inability to be emotionally vulnerable, the two of you practice some cheesy ‘first date’ questions as you had called them. As your drinks started to settle into your system you were having more fun being silly with him, pretending to be a stranger on a first date. 

“When’s your birthday?” You ask, twirling your drink straw with your finger and making some fake flirty eyes at him to accentuate the facade of asking him a bunch of questions you mostly knew the answers to. 

“August 9th,” he flips his hair over his shoulder, joining in on your fake ostentatious flirting. 

“Oh my gosh, a Leo! This will never work out, cuz I’m an asparagus…”

The two of you nearly fall out of your bar stools laughing, realizing you meant to say Sagittarius. 

“Okay, let’s get you home Asparagus,” he helped you up, having kept his drinking to a minimum so he could drive you home. 

“Wait, wait,” you grabbed his arm as the two of you exited the bar, “can we go back to your trailer?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, “that’s a little presumptuous for a first date missy.”

“No, no, this isn’t girlfriend y/n asking, just regular friend y/n, who thinks it would be a lot of fun to smoke and watch a movie without Steve there spewing all his annoying fun facts, like, we get it, you read the little insert inside the tape while you were bored at work!”

Eddie did agree that the idea of packing a bowl and watching a few movies with you didn’t sound too different from what his plans would have been otherwise, so he agreed, as long as you promised not to give him any dating advice while hanging out as friend y/n and not girlfriend y/n. 

Although you promised to try your best, you immediately started lecturing him on t-shirt borrowing and the potential weight that could hold in a relationship when he offered to give you some more comfy clothes to change into. 

“It’s important to know!” You emerged from the bathroom in one of his oversized shirts and a pair of boxers, “Some girls are very touchy about it. Any shirt you lend her to sleep in, you have to be willing to sacrifice for life.”

“For life?!” Eddie finishes making a bowl of popcorn for the two of you, swallowing his words when he sees you in his clothes, an unidentifiable emotion rising in him at the sight of you so cozy and integrated into his space. 

“Well maybe not life,” you plop down onto the couch, “but do NOT ask for it back. Most girls will give it back once it stops smelling like you.”

“If she gets my shirt, can I have her underwear?” He asked without thinking, the weed he had just smoked with you hitting him a bit too hard in that moment. 

“Oh my god,” you squeal and bury your face into a pillow, “la la la la, pretending like I didn’t hear that!”

“I’m just saying!” He laughs at you, now curled up into a ball, “fair is fair, right?”

“I guess it depends on the girl,” you mumble. 

“So I’m guessing not you, by your reaction.”

“Eddie!” You smack him with a pillow, “I don’t know, no one’s ever asked!”

“If my girlfriend isn’t going to ask before stealing my shirt for an indefinite amount of time, I think that gives me panty privilege.”

“Wow Eddie, if I had known you were such a perv I would’ve reconsidered being your fake girlfriend,” you say sarcastically, with no real judgement behind it. The idea of him wanting to steal your underwear dampens them ever so slightly. 

“Don’t worry babe, I won’t do anything pervy to you unless you ask nicely,” he shoots a wink at you, which you meet with an eye roll and a turn away to hopefully hide the heat rising in your cheeks. 

The two of you carry out your platonic movie night as planned. You suppressed any urge to note on his actions from a romantic lens, and he ignored the itching desire to sling his arm around your shoulder or pull your legs into his lap to get more comfy on the couch. 

“Can I sleep here Eddie,” you ask after movie two, “too sleepy to move.”

“Sure, I can take the couch and you can have my bed. It’s been a minute since I washed the sheets but it shouldn’t be too bad…”

“Nonono,” you mumble, “Your legs will totally hang right off the end of this thing. I’m conked out anyways, I can crash right here I promise.”

“Ignoring that you’re my fake girlfriend, I’m not letting you sleep out here on this lumpy thing. You’re taking the bed, no arguments.”

He helps you up from the couch, letting you keep the blanket that’s wrapped around you, snaking his arm underneath it and pulling you from the couch by your lower back. You were slightly taken aback by his assistance, body still limp from your relaxed state, your torso easily arching into his. Your arms fly up to grab his shoulders, steadying yourself with an awkward giggle. 

“In the real world, a time like this would be good for a first kiss,” you make note of your closeness, the way he swept you up off the couch and held you steadily as you made your way to your feet. 

“I know that, y/n,” his face was closer to yours than it had ever been, making your words hitch in your throat. 

“Well, I’m just saying,” you turn your head to avoid the tension, “I’m sure the way you kiss your bar-hookups isn’t the way most girls who’re looking to date you long term want to be kissed for the first time.”

‘Oh yeah? And how do you presume that goes?” He kept his hand planted on your lower back.

You pretend to act wildly drunk, throwing yourself at him and letting your limbs go a bit heavier than they already were. “Ohmygod guitar man, I’ve had like, six dirty Shirleys, please finger bang me in the bathroom,” you slur your words and let your tongue loll out the side of your mouth as if to lean in for the world’s sloppiest and most uncoordinated kiss.

“First of all,” his voice was very serious, “I don’t hook up with girls who are too inebriated to stand, let’s get that straight. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t even have our first fake kiss like this on account of the drinking and smoking, gotta make sure you’re in the right headspace. Secondly,” 

He spins you around and quickly backs you up against the wall that stood a few feet behind the couch. His hand sliding up in between your shoulder blades, blanket now slumped around your waist, his other hand suavely cupping the side of your cheek, His hips angled into yours, pinning you back against the vinyl, almost collapsing back into it. 

He pressed against you, not aggressively, but enough to let you know that if you were to try and squirm away he had the capacity to keep you right where he wanted you. He accomplished this all in one elegant motion, leaving you a bit dazed.

As you started to snap into reality, he moves his hand from your cheek down to grab your chin in between his thumb and the knuckle of his pointer, angling your face directly up at him. 

“If you were some girl in a bar, it would be like this.”

The moment before your brain turned to absolute mush, you silently cringed at the thought of what you must look like, mouth hanging open, eyes glassed over, body instinctively sinking into his touch. Pathetic, you were sure of it. 

Sure, Eddie did think you looked a little helpless, but he also thought you looked perfect. Exactly as he had imagined you to in this situation. Of course he had thought about you before, like that.

Of course he had felt an immediate spark with you when you had first met. But he never flirted back, or lead you on, because as much as he was attracted to you and enjoyed your company, he knew that it wouldn’t work out. He wasn’t relationship material, and you were the picture perfect girlfriend that he didn’t deserve. 

He spoke directly into your parted lips, mouth hovering just far enough away to toe the line of ‘holy shit, is he going to?’ But no, as he made very clear, he wouldn’t kiss you under these conditions. He had made his point, and slowly backed off and let you find your footing. 

As soon as he was sure that you were steady, he backed away and started down the hallway. 

“I might have an extra toothbrush stashed away somewhere, let me look…” he ducked into the bathroom, leaving you stunned in the kitchen, head swimming and your stomach traveled up into your throat. 

He was teasing you, he must be. That was his little way of getting back at you for thinking you could give him dating advice. If he was unsure about his capacity for romance, he was going to make sure you knew he was more than capable in other ways. Understood. 

You shook your head, weeding through your inner monologue of how he could possibly look at you like that and then just walk away. Your shock gave him just long enough for you to to not notice him splashing cold water on his face in the bathroom while he “looked for a toothbrush.” 

The two of you decided to ignore the lingering tension from the events in the kitchen, not a peep of fake-girlfriend talk from you for the rest of the night. He did find you that toothbrush, and the two of you moved through a too-easy domestic routine of getting ready for bed. 

You told him that you wouldn’t be able to sleep if you knew he was cramped on that couch, and that you were fine with sharing a bed. You mumbled something about  getting around to bed sharing etiquette at some point anyways, and sleepily pulled him into being your little spoon. 

Eddie lay there, trying not to twitch or fidget, relaxed as best he could into your cuddled form thinking about how horrible of an idea all of this was. He was convinced all it would take is roughly ten more minutes of you burying your face into his hair and making cute little sleepy noises for him to fall irreversibly in love with you. 

But what was he supposed to do? Move and wake you up? Never. 

You rolled around enough in the night to wake up in a less intimate position than when you had fallen asleep. You knew Eddie was a deep sleeper, and took it upon yourself to creep out of bed and back into your day clothes, make a pot of coffee, and watc a bit of TV before he roused and joined you in the living room. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” He rubbed the crust from his eyes and was pleasantly surprised to see you had brewed a whole pot of coffee to share. 

“You looked so peaceful and cozy,” he shook his head at you, as if that was no excuse for letting him sleep an extra forty minutes.  

After a slow morning, he agrees to drive you home. 

“So this is the part where I say ‘Eddie, I had such a wonderful time on our date. I’d love to do it again sometime.’ And then you agree and tell me when you’re free. It’s best to be super direct and make plans to get together again soon, cuz then it’s not an awkward who’s-gonna-call-who-first sort of thing.”

“Uh-huh…” he stares at you blankly. 

“But for our sake, let’s just agree that I’m in charge of planning our next date. Okay? I’ll do it from the perspective of what I think most girls would enjoy, so you can steal it for the future. I’ll call you later.” 

You hop out of his van before he can agree, and leave him with a “Thanks for letting me stay over!” As you bound away from his view. 

He squeezed his eyes shut the moment he caught himself checking your ass out as you walked away, and let his head rest down on the steering wheel. He was fucked. How the hell was he supposed to tell you that you needed to stop being his fake girlfriend without disrupting the homeostasis of your friendship?

On one hand he could lie and say he doesn’t want your advice, making you think he didn’t enjoy your company, which was entirely untrue. On the other hand he could tell you the truth, and you would never be friends the same way again. 

He drove home with the music too loud, and patiently awaited your call later that evening to iron out the details of your second fake-date. 

Per your instructions, he let you pick him up this time with the argument that you were the one taking him out this time. He didn’t know what you had planned, but let himself fall to the mercy of whatever you had decided was an exemplary date fore him to ‘steal in the future’. 

You picked up two coffees and rolled up to the trailer park, popping a mix-tape he had made you ages ago. 

“Hey, I thought we said no paying for each other with fake-dating,” he objects to the coffee sat in the passenger cupholder, some abomination of mostly cream and sugar, the way you know he likes it. 

“Yes, that’s true, but you smoked me up the other night, and this coffee was like a dollar fifty, so don’t worry about it,” you give him a look that tells him to drink the damn coffee and not sass back, to which he complies, even though he smokes you up expecting nothing in return about every other weekend. 

The two of you sip away and listen to Eddies ‘must-know-to-be-my-friend’ mixtape and arrive shortly at the strip mall across town. This was a regular weekly stop for both of you, the strip of connected stores containing the Goodwill, a pet store, the pharmacy, and grocery. A pretty mundane collection. 

“Okay, what are we doing at Greg’s?” Eddie gestures to the grocery store, the back of his mind running through the grocery list he’s been making for this week anyways.

“What’s the perfect date?” You ask, and answer for him, “a romantic picnic. But gathering supplies is half the fun. Picnic food supplies at Greg’s, some pills to get fucked up at the pharm, some turtles or something to let loose into the wild from the pet store, and then hats, cups, blanket, etcetera from the Goodwill.”

He turns to you with the most bewildered stare, which sends you into a fit of giggles.

“Okay, I’m joking about the pills and the turtles,” you nudge his arm, “but won’t it be sweet to get together some picnic supplies and then drive out to lookout point? We can still swing by the pet store to check out the ferrets though.”

To Eddie, the idea of a date involved him doing something he didn’t want to do, some awkward small talk, and spending money on shit he truly thought was useless. This didn’t sound half bad. You would “work backwards so the food purchases come last” according  to your reasoning, and he followed you in tow without any arguments into the Goodwill.

“So I’m thinking…” you start to wander into the aisles of used clothes and knick knacks, “maybe a blanket? A basket would be sort of corny, but if we find one for cheap I don’t see why not. Surely two glasses for drinking, and maybe some sun hats?”

Swiveling back around to see a half stunned Eddie, who was still processing how in the hell this was your idea of a romantic date, you grab his hand and pull him to the bric-a-brac section. 

After it got through his thick skull that the same place he had uncomfortably tried on new pants throughout his growth spurt, and picked up his daily-worn leather jacket, had the same potential to provide some silly, cheap, used items to add some flair to this picnic. 

Silly and cheap was right up Eddie’s alley. The two of you picked out mismatched champagne glasses, one with the engraved name of a couple who got married in 1943 and the other a flashy rose color with baby angel carvings dancing around the sides. 

You luckily find an on sale beach blanket, and the two of you pick out some very goofy sun hats. A floppy farmers hat for you, and a bedazzled trucker hat spelling ‘hot mama’ for Eddie.

Through the midst of your giggles and debate on whether you should buy a wooden bench to bring out to your picnic destination, Eddie found himself having a really good time with you. 

As promised, you visited the pet store and checked out the ferrets and fish and geckos. 

“If you could have any pet, what would you want?” You asked him, noses pressed against the chinchilla enclosure. 

“Jaguar,” he said, a little too quickly.

“For real, dummy,” you knock your hip into his.

“I don’t know, we never had enough space or extra money for pets growing up, so maybe someday if I had enough room for it to run around I’d like a dog or something,” he tells. Eyes still transfixed on the chinchilla behind the glass. 

“I can see that,” you imagine Eddie with some mutt from the shelter, wrestling around and giving it lots of scratches behind the ears. 

Skipping the pharmacy, you pop into the grocery store and assemble what may be the world’s most eclectic picnic. 

“That’s the definition of a picnic, I’m pretty sure,” you explain after Eddie insinuated that the gingersnap cookies you grabbed, along with grapes and a block of cheese, wasn’t exactly a meal, “you know, just a smorgasbord of whatever we want!”

Admittedly, Eddie had considered a handful of pretzels and a beer to be dinner on more than one occasion, so he couldn’t argue with you. Quickly catching your drift, the two of you picked out an assortment of snacks and some ingredients for pb&j sandwiches. 

“I thought picnics were supposed to be classy?” Eddie holds up the Wonder bread and bag of potato chips with a look that suggested his question was rhetorical.

Your response was simply to raise the, admittedly cheap, bottle of champagne you grabbed to accompany with your meal, more for the irony of drinking the bubbly liquid out of your new used glasses with your sticky sandwiches than anything else. 

You pack your supplies into a tote bag, not having found a suitable basket at the thrift store, and drive across town to a dirt paved road that leads to a nice lookout point with a view of the lake. 

“Let’s walk down the path a little bit, but not too far,” you grab the blanket and tote bag from your trunk, motioning for Eddie to put on his ‘hot mama’ hat and carry your other auxiliary supplies, “I do not fuck with bugs.”

“I’ll protect you,” Eddie puffs out his chest, making you both giggle.

“From bugs?”

“Yeah, I’ll punch a mosquito right in the face, to defend your honor and all that.”

“I know I told you not to do that, but a mosquito might be the exception to the rule.”

You found a nice little clearing not far from the car, a spot that still had a nice view but was a bit more secluded. Eddie sat pressed right up next to you, making your sandwich ‘to be a proper gentleman’ but simultaneously spilling a glob of jelly onto your leg.

“Shit,” he doesn’t think twice before leaning down and slurping the grape flavored blob off of your bare knee, tongue poking out and licking the spilt jelly from your skin.

“Eddie!” You squirm away, barking out a surprised laugh. 

“What! Your knee is clean, wouldn’t want to waste perfectly good preserves, or a napkin.”

You feel your skin tingle where his lips had touched you, for only a moment, but you still felt it. He was so confident and casual in his movements, not having any hesitation to grab your hand or brush your hair out of your face. It wasn’t under the guise of fake romance, he had always been like that. Not touchy, per se, just sure of himself. You’d never seen Eddie do anything half assed, that’s for certain.

After the conversation you shared the other night, you were unable to stop your mind from wandering to thoughts of what Eddie does with those girls in bars, if he touched him with the same confidence and sureness he put into everything else he did. 

It was wrong to let your mind go to such dirty places about someone you considered a friend, but you couldn’t manage to feel any guilt. He had offered that information freely, so who were you to punish yourself for staring a little longer at his fingers, conjuring up the context in which he’d bury them inside you against some grimy bar bathroom. 

The date was all peanut butter smiles and bubbly laughter that floated up into the trees. Silly, yes, but neither of you could deny there was something sweet, maybe even romantic about it. A cheap meal in the woods shared between two friends in ill-fitting fifty cent hats, but an undeniable touch of romance lingered nonetheless. 

Eddie started to realize that maybe the whole dating thing wasn’t as uptight and scary as he had initially thought. It could be easy and fun, with the right person. And fuck, if he could even imagine doing this with anyone but you. 

Like most things Eddie did, he did not consider any potential consequences before acting. You looked so pretty sitting there in the sunshine, sipping from your cheap ‘Martha & Dave ’43’ glass, a few sandwich crumbs dotting the corner of your mouth.

What else was he supposed to do other than lean over and wipe them away with his thumb, stroking your soft cheek and feel the warmth of your skin beneath his palm. 

“You had some,” he uses his other hand to motion at his own mouth, “and I suppose this is the sort of moment where I’d ask if I can kiss you.” 

You find yourself a bit dumbfounded, his big stupid hand on your cheek and those big stupid puppy dog eyes unrelenting in making everything he says seem so genuine.

“Are you?” You find your voice, only half embarrassed at how shy it comes out.

“Am I what?”

“Are you asking me?”

“Yeah,” his answer comes out in a way that insinuates that he never meant anything other than that, that he was always asking to kiss you, he wasn’t asking in theory, in another universe, in the context of advice. 

“Okay,” you found yourself behaving like Eddie, not really thinking of consequences before your words and actions spoke on behalf of your instincts.

Everything so far had been so easy. Your fake first date at the bar, curling up next to him in a haze, making up stories about what sort of people donated the fake palm tree or the Garfield mug at the Goodwill, imagining Eddie running around a yard with a puppy, lounging in the grass and eating your assorted picnic snacks. It was all effortless.

Suddenly, being kissed by Eddie sucked the ease from your lungs and sent your mind spiraling into a cacophony of bells and whistles and giant swirling red flags. If this is how he kissed you, casually across some half eaten peanut butter sandwiches, you’d spend the rest of your days yearning to know how he kissed someone with true intention. 

Of course, his intentions were all there, but the lingering knowledge that all of this was happening under the umbrella of “you giving him advice” or “helping practice for the next girl” poisoned any true feeling he poured into it. He cupped your cheek, soft, let his lips press into yours delicately for a moment before he felt your breath hitch, opening his mouth just enough to deepen the kiss and capture your lower lip fully. 

He was more careful, gentle, methodic with his movements and so receptive to every little signal your body gave him, it was unlike any first-kiss, heat-of-the-moment-kiss, in-the-throws-of-passion-kiss, any of it. Like hell you’d ever tell him that, inflate that big ego that fuels his snippy comebacks at you, but Jesus, was it remarkable. 

While at war with yourself internally, your heart was on the precipice of exploding in your chest from the way he snaked his hand into your hair and pressed his forehead against yours to catch a breath. You suck in a sharp breath and feel that stupid cocky smirk creep up onto that pretty mouth of his.

“’S that sufficient for a first kiss?”

“Fuck offfff,” you were still a little out of breath, smacking his chest and flopping back down onto the picnic blanket, throwing your arms up and rolling your eyes at him, “if you’re so damn confident, maybe we just should fake break up, cuz you don’t seem like you need my advice.”

“Nooooo,”he slumps down next to you, burrowing his head under your arm so he can pop up right next to your face, “I’m learning a lot, I promise! This date was so fun, and cheap! I would have never thought any of this could be remotely romantic. I’m hopeless, y/n, look at me.”

He wriggles around and gives you a big fake pout, “If left to my own devices I would probably do something horribly embarrassing or off-putting, like…” he digs his head into the crook of your neck and blew a fat, wet raspberry right into your skin, making you yelp and squeal, but his position half on top of you pins you down. 

“See!” He pulls up for air, you were in a fit of screaming giggles, “I’d go right in for a kiss and just,” and he does it again, leaving you gasping for air, trying your best to tickle his ribs to get him off of you, but not minding the close contact by any means. 

“Now I’m not so sure,” he pulls back to give you a minute to catch your breath, “it seems like you enjoyed that, so maybe survey says I should pull that move on the ladies.”

Your airy laughter subsided, but he stays half pinning you down to the blanket and the lumpy grass underneath.

“I didn’t mean to give you the impression that I’m not grateful for your help,” he says earnestly, catching your gaze, “it’s just… this isn’t what I need help with.”

As his statement is processing, you find his lips back on yours, his torso pressed flushed with yours and his wild mane of hair coming down to curtain around your head. He doesn’t take it too far, but kisses you as earnestly as he had before, giving your lip a slight drag with his teeth and running his hand up from your hip up the side of your ribcage, leaving you arching slightly into him by pure instinct.

Before your head got too dizzy again, before you could really throw yourself into it and say fuck it and kiss him back the way you secretly wanted to, he pulled back.

“That.” his voice was even, you hated how needy you felt and how even keeled he could be milliseconds after stealing the air from your lungs, “It’s the rest of it,” he threw his hands up and gestured to all the food and knock knacks around you, “it’s this stuff that you make seem so easy, so forgive me if I lay it on a little thick when we get to the parts I’m actually good at.”

“Just,” you sat up a bit, grounding yourself and formulating a response despite your brain looping the past twenty seconds back infinitely, “don’t do that again.”

“Okay,” he sat back and popped a grape into his mouth, “sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you knocked his knee with yours, struggling to articulate how you felt without showing too much of your hand, deciding to just be candid, “I just- I liked that a little too much if you know what I mean. And this is strictly business, or education, maybe?”

“You liked it when I pinned you against the wall the other night,” he said matter of factly, “I think you liked that a little too much too, and you still took me on this fake educational business date.”

“Yeah, well, you caught me,” you threw your hands up in defense.

“Which one is it though?” He asks and you don’t quite understand, “are you a sweet kiss on the picnic kind of girl, or an up against the wall kind of girl?”

“That’s none of your business, as far as fake-dating is concerned,” you say a little too quickly, “and no you can’t have my panties.”

You say it with a smirk, but he doesn’t press any further. He turns and does that Eddie-thing he’s so good at, just changing the subject and shifting the vibe completely away from what might have been a stale moment or awkward pause. He starts asking if you like green or purple grapes better, going off about how he used to put them in the freezer as a kid. 

The remainder of your date went without a hitch, of course. You picked away at your picnic until the sun started to set, and once the sky started turning purple you made your way back to the car. The drive home consisted only of easy conversation and no further mention of the kiss, well, kisses that had transpired. He hopped out of the passenger seat with a ‘thank you’ and a ‘see ya later alligator.’ 

A scalding hot shower, a restless night of sleep, and too many cups of herbal tea the next morning did nothing to quell the noise in your head that blasted those moments over and over. You couldn’t stop picking apart whether he had thought about it for even a millisecond, and felt embarrassed that you could think of nothing else. 

It was simply an amplified version of what your whole friendship had been up until this point. You silently admiring him and wishing he would look at you the way you looked at him, and settling for friendship over heartbreak. 

Pushing it aside to the best of your ability allowed you to get through your week, but you had the lingering feeling that the next time you saw him would strike you with warm cheeks and a scrambled mental state.

Guilt had started to seep in at the corners of your mind, but you reminded yourself that you shouldn’t punish yourself for having romantic or sexual thoughts about someone you simply found attractive and compelling, it was your actions that would determine the validity of your guilt. 

“Long time no see, loser,” Robin hollered from the pool table across the bar, where she was likely kicking Steve’s ass. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” you shrug off your coat and plop down at their regular booth, knowing her jabs were entirely empty. You notice Eddie’s leather jacket hung up by the wall, and scan the bar to find him ordering a drink. 

There was a silent mutual understanding that you’d keep the fake dating thing to a bare minimum when out with your friends like this. Even though Steve was well aware, and therefore Robin was too, you figured tainting your social time with the performance of romance is the exact reason Eddie turned down the girl at the bar in the first place. 

“For the lady,” Eddie waltzes over and hands you a drink.

“Oh, thanks,” you take it with a confused smile, “you didn’t have to do that.”

“You bought me coffee last weekend,” he sat across the booth from you, “plus I’m trying to get better at buying drinks for pretty girls, right?”

You remind him that he doesn’t have to keep tabs on things like coffee, but you appreciate the gesture regardless. As per the past few times you’d been out with your friends, you expected him to put a pause on the flirting, but it seems to be bubbling over tonight. You weren’t complaining, but admittedly the arm around your shoulder or the noticeable way he checked you out when you got up to refill your drink took you by slight surprise. 

Sneaking in to claim the always occupied dart board for a challenge against Eddie while he uses the restroom, you keep your eyes on the corner of the bar to signal him over once he returns.

“You need a partner?” A man suddenly appears behind you, a little closer than you’d like but the bar was crowded, so you’ll let it slide. 

“Oh, I was just waiting for-“

“Let me fill in until your friend gets here, we can get you warmed up, yeah?” His tone wasn’t too pushy, but you didn’t love the look he gave you when making that comment.

Awkwardly staggering for a second, unsure weather to just agree or tell him to fuck off, “He really should be just a minute-“

“Or maybe less,” Eddie comes up right behind you and pulls you possessively into his side.

Your head whips up to see him with a devilish smile, his hand on your waist and the fire behind his eyes telling his guy to get lost.

“Oh, sorry man,” the guy starts backing away with an apologetic look.

“Yeah, better luck next time, pal,” Eddie snakes around to take the guy’s spot in front of the dart board.

He had his darts in hand and took his stance to start the match, gesturing for you to do the same. 

“What was that,” you ask with a slight joking tone, but seriously curious.

“What?” He doesn’t make eye contact and instead throws the first dart, “I’m not allowed to get fake jealous?”

“You’re allowed to feel any fake emotion you want, I guess,” your tone is somewhere in between a joke and a question. 

“You’d feel fake jealous if I was getting blown in the bathroom by some chick rather than playing darts with you, I bet.”

“Okay,” your tone shifts to defensive, “getting blown is very different than some guy asking to play darts with me.”

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” Eddie turns to face you, having thrown all his darts, “for real.”

A moment lapsed where you didn’t register that your mouth was hanging open in disbelief, the look in your eyes Eddie immediately clocked as lust and bottled up to store away for a later time. 

“I knew the scary dog thing would work,” his ‘i-told-you-so’ tone rubbed you the wrong way, but he wasn’t wrong, “you said girls weren’t into that, but you totally looooove that I defended your honor.”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit, I said girls wouldn’t be into it if you punched him,” you rolled your eyes.

“I don’t know, babe, I think you liked the whole ‘back off of my woman’ act.”

You mumble out a ‘whatever’ and let him have this win, which he was clearly reveling in, trying to focus instead at beating him at darts. 

“Just don’t pull shit like that on a first date, acting too possessive off the bat is a huge red flag for a lot of women.”

“I thought we weren’t doing dating advice tonight?” You don’t even have to look at him to know he’s got that stupid sarcastic smile.

“Yeah I thought so too,” you fail at your attempt to beat him in darts, as well as your attempt to not flirt back with him. 

He insists on collecting all the darts, picking up the ones haphazardly strews across the floor from failed attempts to hit the board. 

“I’m no pro or anything, but I think you’d hit the board a lot more if you fixed your stance.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you flip him the bird and take back your red tipped darts. 

As you steady your arm to aim your first shot he comes up behind you and grabs your hips, causing you to let out an unexpected squeak. He adjusts your stance, not aggressively, but with some force, twisting your hips and using his big combat boot to sweep your foot around so you stood more sideways. 

“You’re standing straight on,” he backs up, allowing you to secretly catch your breath, “and all your shots are veering to the right. If you plant your feet more angled you’ll hit the board.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at him, miss on purpose to show him he’s full of shit. You flippantly toss the dart, not trying particularly hard, and it hits. Not a bulls-eye or anything like that, but a lot closer than your previous attempts had been. 

“Good girl,” he comments, leaning in to breech your personal space just enough to make your blood boil.

You drop the remainder of the darts in your opposite hand onto the floor and whip around to face him, half jokingly smacking him on the shoulder. 

“Oh my god, fuck off!”

You’re met with his trademark shit-eating grin.

Truthfully, Eddie hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off you all night. He’d spent the night after your picnic date with his hand in bis boxers, squeezing his eyes shut and remembering the little gasp you had made when he grabbed your waist, the hum in your throat that bubbled up when he kissed you pinned against the blanket, that night and every night since. 

“Oh, you don’t like that?” that joking tone he uses to cover up what he actually wants to say. 

“Shut up, you know I do,” you didn’t even try to stifle your reaction, knowing it was his intent to get under your skin.

“How would I possibly know that,” he playfully looks up at the ceiling and around the bar, hands clasped behind his back now, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“You better cut that shit out, unless you plan on doing something about it,” you manage the most assertive tone your wobbly insides could muster, a little shocked at yourself for actually saying what you were thinking. 

“I’m not much of a planner,” he gracefully takes a stance next to you and rips all three darts, not great shots, but all hitting the board, “I’m more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of guy, you know that.”

“Well your pants better make up their mind if you’re playing boyfriend tonight or not,” your insinuation was heavy but you had fumbled your hand, and he had already seen all your cards at this point, so there was no reason to bluff.

“The real question is,” he leans in, his imposing figure crowding your space in a way that made your head spin, “do you want me to play boyfriend? Or do you want me to play guy who fucks your brains out in the bar bathroom?”

Your eyebrows pinched together for a millisecond, and before he could decipher your expression you grabbed his hand and started storming through the crowds hoarded by the bar. Why the hell a seedy downtown bar has a single stall family bathroom with a changing table is beyond you, but you drag him inside and slam the lock down behind you. 

“You’re not allowed to treat me any differently after this,” you start to fall into the sinkhole of oh my god what the hell is about to happen, but are cut off by him pressing you against the closed door the exact way he had handled you against his kitchen wall that night weeks ago. 

“Not unless you want me to,” he doesn’t hesitate to get his mouth on yours, immediately pulling your mind from wondering what the vague sticky substance on the door pressing into your back could be. 

“I mean, you’re not allowed to fuck me and then never talk to me again,” you say in between moving lips and tongues, giving him a moment to bury his face in your neck, "Promise me."

“Oh don’t worry about that,” he pulls back, “we can go get coffee tomorrow and you can give me a full performance review. Promise.”

Your annoyed eye roll quickly turns into them fluttering shut as he licks a stripe up to the junction behind your ear that has you melted into a boneless puddle between his pressing hips and the door. He drags his teeth across your lobe while leaning into you with a black denim clad thigh.

“Why don’t we make a deal,” you let out, voice breathy and unfocused. Before he can even pull back to reply you continue, “if you’re half as good at this as you claim to be, and can make me cum in this dingy bathroom, I’ll let you take me back to your trailer and you can do whatever the fuck you want to me.”

He was leaning in to seal the deal with a kiss before he could even process your request, because yes of course, a million times yes he’s taking this deal. Despite the rouse of you playing bar hookup for the night, and despite the idea of bringing you back to his place and finally doing what he’s wanted since the day he met you absolutely terrifying him, he nods and kisses you. 

It’s electrifying. His confidence only spurs you on to kiss him harder, grip his hair a little tighter, say the things you would only imagine in the deepest parts of your mind. The feeling of his grin against your lower lip and his fingers quickly unbuttoning your jeans fuels your fire. 

“You sure you know what you’re getting into,” he mumbles playfully, pulling you away from the wall with a gasp and leading you over to the tiny built in counter against a mirror by the sink. 

“Well I’m certainly not letting you fuck me against any of these sticky surfaces,” you note as you’re lifted onto the counter covered in mystery substance, “and I think you need to earn it.”

Of course it was no surprise to you that Eddie was good with his fingers. You probably could have told anyone that long before this impromptu bathroom hookup. Egging him on and challenging him in a way you were sure he wasn’t used to was well worth abandoning your assumptions. 

“Oh yeah? I think, if you’re lucky, I’ll earn it more times than you can count before the night’s over,” he positioned himself in between your legs, pressing your torso into the mirror behind you as he leaned in for another heated kiss. 

He pulled your ass to the edge of the counter, and looped his thumbs into the waistband of your unbuttoned pants. You were quick to assume that he’d yank the fabric right off your legs, preparing to lift your ass from the counter to assist.

Eddie paused, pulled back and gave you a look that asked ‘you’re sure about this?’ and when a dreamy smile spread across your cheeks he melted into you with a kiss that turned your stomach inside out and made your pussy flutter.

He snakes a hand from its grip on your torso down into your unbuttoned pants. You arched up into his touch, wanting to urge him to get on with it and get your pants and underwear out of the way, but appreciating how much he seemed to be reveling in feeling you for the first time. 

“So fuckin wet,” he mumbled against your lips, his fingers only feeling up your cunt from outside your underwear. He pressed the fabric into your slick center, following the path up to your clit and then teasingly back down to where your panties were soaked through.

“You weren’t lying when you said you liked this a little too much,” he’s rolling his hips ever so slightly against your spread thigh as he rubs your clothed pussy, his teeth sinking into your lower lip as he moves the material aside and sinks two fingers right into your wet cunt with ease.

You were sure that you’d retrospectively have a million quippy compacks that come to mind, but in this moment it was impossible to come up with words when his fingers were buried inside you, still, just letting you squeeze around them, and his hard cock straining against his jeans nestled against the inside of your thigh.

He slowly drags his finger’s up from your hole to your clit, and you let out a whine of desperation as he fully removes his hand from your damp underwear. 

Before you can manage the breath to tell him to please, for the love of god, get on with it, he brings his fingers up to his lips and gives them a long suck, never breaking eye contact with you. 

“Yeah,” he sighs out and presses his forehead against yours, “I might like that a little too much too.”

Protests and urging words catch in your throat as he yanks down your pants and underwear with one quick pull, not even needing you to lift your ass off the counter more than it already was. He was methodical and moved with intention, folding up your pants neatly and shoving your soaked panties into his back pocket, shooting you a wink. 

“Eddie, please,” your overdue complaints are finally bubbling over. You hardly finish your plea before his face is buried in your neck, and his fingers are sliding right back into your needy hole. 

The top of your head rests against the mirror behind you, exposing your neck and arching your back into his touch. He sucks and nips at the soft skin between your collar bone and ear, all while letting his two middle fingers pump slowly into you.

“Mmmm,” he mumbles into the crook of your jaw, “such a good girl for me, perfect pussy squeezing my fingers so tight, can’t fuckin wait to feel you soak my cock.”

Nearly orgasming at his words alone, your eyes flutter shut and you let out a moan of his name as he lets his thumb drag circles across your clit. “Eddie, please, just like that, I-”

“Oh, suddenly she’s not questioning my abilities?” he says with a biting smirk, “What was that about me not being half as good as I think I am?”

“Fuck,” you want to raise an eyebrow and shoot something back, hold out and make him work for it, but after hardly two minutes of his fingers rolling inside you, hooked up to drag along that perfect fucking spot, you had no choice but to feed his ego and let him win. 

“You wanted to make your little deal,” he pumps a little faster, making your head loll to the side and mouth hang half open, “I’ll sweeten it for you, babe. I say we can get this pretty pussy to come twice all over my fingers before anyone even knocks on this door.”

“Yes,” is all you can squeak out, “yes, please.”

If Eddie was being honest, he was a few half-thrusts into your thigh short of coming in his own pants from how hot you looked. Your eyes glassed over, pretty lips parted and gasping his name, perfect cunt sucking his fingers in. 

The hand not occupied by your gushing cunt slid up to cup the side of your cheek, forcing you to look into his fiery eyes. “Feel’s good?” he questions, knowing the answer and not expecting a verbal response.

He drags the pad of his thumb up to your parted lips, running it along your plush bottom lip and dragging it down a bit, relishing in how under his spell you were. His thumb slips into your mouth and you immediately wrap your lips around it and suck. 

“Good girl,” his thumb on your clit is rubbing more focused circles, “suck on that and keep your voice down, don’t want the whole bar knowing what a good little slut you are for me.”

Jackpot. 

A muffled moan around his thumb and the spasming of your inner walls signaled that you were hitting your peak. He drags the spit slicked digit from your lips and quickly replaces it with his lips and tongue, kissing you with fervor as he feels you ride out your orgasm on his hand. 

“Mmmmmmm” you moan, somewhere between a pleading whine and a sigh of satisfaction into his lips as his fingers don’t let up. 

Under different circumstances you would tell him to slow down, give you a minute to catch your breath. Eddie was stubborn, this you knew, and he had already made it abundantly clear that one orgasm wasn’t going to be enough. 

He pulls back from your lips, loving the sharp intake of breath you swallow as your cheeks continue to flush and eyelids keep fluttering. 

“So fucking good, came all over my fingers,” his gaze locks in on where his hand was buried into your cunt. “Gonna give me one more?”

Of course you would, whether it was up to you or not. He did slow up for a second, just enough for you to regain your grip on reality before he started curling them up again. 

“Eddie,” you whine out, eyes nearly crossed and unable to focus your attention on his face, hands, anything other than his boner poking into your inner thigh, “wanna feel you.”

The hand formerly gripped tight onto the edge of the counter snakes forward and pulls his hip into you, a permanent indentation of his stiff cock molding against your skin. 

“Not yet baby,” he rolls his hips forward, giving you a delicious feel of how it would be if he was inside you, but instead pushing his fingers a touch deeper and then pulling his hips away, “one more and then I’ll take you home. You’re gonna let me ruin that perfect little cunt, right? That was the deal?”

“Yes,” you gasp out, his other hand moving from your hair down to rub fast tight circles on your clit, the other hand still pumping steadily inside you.

“That’s right, I know this pussy is gonna take me so well. You’re already drooling for my cock, so fucking perfect.”

You feel it building up again, that sacred double orgasm that only ever came during your alone time in the shower or when you were so desperate for release that your hand didn’t stop after the first, but never with another person, never like this. 

His smile nearly touched his ears at this point, pulling back to take in all of you as your eyes screwed shut and thighs threatened to break his wrist at how fast they snapped together. 

Hitting you like a punch to the gut, your abdomen tightened and released rapidly, air sucked from your lungs and his hand working you through it between your clenched thighs. 

Yeah, maybe this was a bad idea. 

If you were in a cartoon, stars and chirping birds would be swirling around your head as you slowly came back to reality. He gave you some space, and begrudgingly gave you pack your panties after you hand out your hand and gave him a stern look.

“I’m gonna go tell the others that you aren’t feeling great and I’m taking you home,” he makes sure you’ve pulled your pants back up before unlocking the door, “Take your time, and I’ll meet you at the van, okay? I’ll grab your stuff.”

“Yeah,” you still feel a little flustered, looking back into the mirror and smoothing down your hair, “thanks.”

He shoots you a wink before slipping out, giving you a moment to collect yourself and splash some cold water on your face. Okay, so you’re doing this. 

Any nagging feelings that this might ruin things or that he’s only teasing you because of your arrangement are quickly squished down into a deeper compartment of your brain, overtaken by the post orgasm bliss and wandering thoughts of what might happen next. 

You peek your head out of the bathroom door, and slink your way to the back door without passing your group table or a stray Steve or Robin. The fresh air equalizes your buzzing thoughts, and you spot Eddie, already in the driver’s seat of his van. 

“You good?” He asks as you hop into the passenger seat. You won’t let him have the upper hand, just because he made you come twice in under ten minutes. 

“Yeah,” you gather as much assertion as your voice will project, “You good?”

“F’course,” he starts backing up, you internally roll your eyes at the way his outstretched arm muscles and curved neck make your stomach flutter, “Just wanted to make sure I passed the test.”

You sit in silence, not wanting to give into the cocky game he clearly wants to play, yet know that he’s entirely correct in his assumption that he’s driven you completely crazy. Once he’s on the main stretch of road, finally rolling to a stop at a red light you let your hand migrate across the center console, dancing its way into his lap. 

As you hoped, his cock was still half hard and apparent underneath his jeans. You let your hand draw circles next to it, loving the little twitch you get when you run your nails against his thigh. 

“Easy there, tiger,” he lets out a huffed laugh, with just an edge to his tone that suggested you were getting yourself into something you’d soon regret. 

“C’mon Eds,” you let your head fall on the corner of the headrest, gaze angled over at his tight grip on the steering wheel while your hand dancing around the bulge in his pants, “you’ve been pushing this thing against my thigh for the past twenty minutes, forgive me for wanting a better feel.”

You put on a pretend pouty face and flash him your best puppy dog eyes to ward off any incoming snippy comments from him. He rolls his pretty eyes at you and silently bites the inside of his cheek as you feel up and down his lap, grazing his growing cock with each pass. 

“Forgiven,” through gritted teeth, he squeezes his eyes shut as your fingers circle around his head, now taking visible form beneath his black jeans. He internally reprimands himself for losing focus on the road, and zeroes his concentration on getting back to his trailer as fast as this van can take him. 

You have your fun watching him wiggle in his seat, feeling his thigh muscles clench under your palm every so often. You weren’t full on jerking him off over his pants, but you were certainly relishing in the feeling of his dick getting harder and harder with each occasional pass of your hand.

He parks diagonally across the lawn in front of his trailer, not giving a shit where the van ends up as long as it’s stopped. He wanted to dash around the vehicle and scoop you out of your seat, throw you over his shoulder and take you inside to continue with whatever this evening had in store for you.

The second his hand stalled on the clutch, shifting the van into park and taking a moment to let his mind wander to what would happen once he got you inside, you were already halfway out the van and skipping up the steps to his front door. 

Entering his trailer, you start taking off your coat and shoes, trying to act as normal as possible. Your facade of keeping it cool entirely shatters when he enters behind you, calmly clicking the door shut and patiently waiting for you to finish unlacing your boots.

You remain crouched down, darting your eyes up at him, deciding against being a brat and undoing your laces as slowly as possible to keep him waiting. Any caution you had was long swept away by the wind, and he’d taken control in your little bathroom tryst, so it was your turn to say fuck it and just do what felt right. 

And in this moment, there was only a few quick movements and about six inches of space between you and Eddie’s semi-hard dick. One shoe was only half off, haphazardly kicked behind you as you pivoted onto your knees and had your hands moving eagerly up his tensing thighs.

“Can I?” Your question was half formed and he was already nodding. 

You’d teased him enough on the ride over, you wanted him, now. Pants quickly unbuttoned and blue checkered boxers pushed down to his knees, and you were about to go feral and just go for it when a silver glimmer adorning his thick cock caught your eye.

Your mouth was already half open, but your jaw nearly unhinged and hit the floor when the pierced head of his dick falls out of his boxers and lands at your eye level. 

Unmoving, mouth agape, you look up to make eye contact, ripping your eyes away from the shock of two silver balls on his cockhead. He knew it was nice, he wouldn’t have bedazzled it if it wasn’t, but the look you were giving him sucked all the unwavering confidence from his body for a split second, suddenly feeling weak in the knees at the sight of you slowly sicking your tongue out, not making any contact but waiting. 

He took the base of his dick in his hand and gave it a few precautionary strokes before angling it down and slapping your wet tongue with the tip a few times. 

You were two and a half seconds away from being entirely fucked out. If he pulled away and asked you to crawl on all fours to him, you’d do it without a second thought.

You let him slide his cock gently against your outstretched tongue a few times before coming to your senses and wrapping your lips around him, moving your hand to replace his and move against the length that your mouth couldn’t yet reach. 

All it took was a few steady bobs of your head, hand twisting and eyes still focused upwards on his face, to have him biting his knuckle and looking up at the ceiling to ground himself to try and not bust on the spot. You love this, of course, seeing him visibly spiral paired with the salty taste of precum already leaking from him. 

The hand not jerking him off comes up to the back of his hip, gently pushing against him in tandem with the movements of your head, encouraging him to shallowly thrust into your mouth.

“Jesus fu-“ he grunts out, not wanting to overestimate your encouragement, but unable to keep his hips from rolling forward slightly with the push of your hands and the bob of your lips. 

After an unexpected snap of his hips that sent his cock sliding into the back of your throat, making you gag slightly, a pang of guilt struck through him for pushing too hard. That was, until you let your head pull back a touch to catch your breath, but a long string of spit connected your lips to his cock, and a wild smile broke across your face that nearly sent him to the moon. 

You dove back in and pushed his cock all the way into the back of your throat, going so far that your nose pressed into the patch of dark curls that sat above his perfect dick. Focusing your breathing through your nose, you make a point to constrict your throat a few times until you feel him twitch inside you.

Pulling off with a gasp for air, you notice his eyebrows pinched together and gaze locked on you. 

“I like how these feel,” you comment, letting your pointed tongue dance around the metal balls on his tip.

He shudders and you clench your thighs at the sight of his stomach muscles tensing up when your tongue makes contact with the underside of his head, right where it meets the shaft. 

“If I let you fuck my mouth until you come, are you still going to be able to give it to me in a bit, or are you a one and done kind of guy?” You ask with a playfully teasing tone, but genuinely want to know if you suck him off to completion if the night will be over or not. 

“Fuck,” he spits out, more blood rushing to his cock at the idea of coming down your throat, “I’d fuck you all night if you’d let me babe.”

Half a second doesn’t pass before his cock is back in your mouth, hips shakily moving forward with your movements, gaining confidence as you flicker your eyes up at him through your lashes, the glimmer in them telling him he can take what he wants. 

“Fuckin’ look at you,” he comments to himself, “takin’ it all.” 

“Mhmmm,” you hum around him letting your tongue roll around his tip each time before he pushes his cock back down your throat. 

“You think you can get away with teasing me like that? That shit you pulled in the van back there, you think it’s cute to try and get me all riled up?”

You nod, tongue out and saliva coating your lips and chin. You could tell he was close by the way his words came out staggered, and his hips started snapping towards you in a new tempo, like his body was chasing it. 

Grunts and moans pulled from his chest fill the space mixed with the hums of satisfaction you let out while you take him deeper and faster. Moving in for the kill, you carefully slip your hand up in between his legs, cupping his balls, trying your best not to startle him. 

“Oh fuck,” it was a pitch of his voice you’d never heard before, a new tone especially reserved for the moments before orgasm, “you’re gonna make me fuckin come, y/n, y/n, I’m…”

The feeling of his balls constricting in your hands cues the warm wash of come sputtering down into your throat.

Getting the feeling he’d appreciate a bit of a show, you continue to jerk him off and pull off his cock slightly, letting the tip balance onto the tip of your tongue and the rest of his load spills out into your open mouth, some landing around the corners and onto your lips. 

“Christ, y/n,” his chest is heaving, his eyes finally pulling from you to squeeze shut for a moment. 

Once you’re sure he’s looking at you again you swallow down the salty white substance and lick the excess off your lips. You take his head back into your mouth, sucking just enough to clean off the tip and lap up any stray drops. He’s sensitive, you can tell, so you stop torturing him and place a final kiss right in between the two metal balls. 

You thought of asking him if the piercing hurt, or maybe make a comment about the two matching tattoos on his hipbones, ink of his you’d never seen until now. Before your brain can jump from swallowing his come to making post-nut chit chat, he’s yanking you up off your feet and wrapping you in a searingly passionate kiss. 

In your past experience most guys wanted you to drink some water or brush your teeth after they came in your mouth, at least before kissing you. Not Eddie. The way his tongue immediately slipped into your mouth, you almost believed he was trying to get a taste for himself. 

“C’mon,” he whispers in between slotting his lips with your, “Bedroom. Now.” 

He takes your hips in his hands and spins you around, causing a surprised yelp to bubble up from you, making him chuckle behind you as he walks you down the hall, keeping his hands on your sides. 

You knew where you were going, there were only so many doors in his tiny trailer, and you’d been here plenty of times before, but you liked the feeling of his hands pushing you forward, guiding your movements and steering you down the hallway into his room. 

Before your knees can hit the bed he spins you back around and captures your lips in another heated kiss. His hands trail up your sides, letting his fingertips slide beneath the hem of your shirt and push it upwards until your ribs were exposed. He pulls away from your face, leaving you leaning back into him, not wanting the kiss to end. 

“Up,” he pinches the sides of your shirt in his hands, and signals with his chin that he wants you to lift your arms, which you comply. 

It slides up and off of you, his hands quickly darting back to unclasp your bra, seemingly without even trying. This makes you roll your eyes, but the realization that you’re bare before him eclipses the thought of making a snippy remark about what a man whore he is. 

Flat palms caress your sides and move up to cup your breasts, his tongue pressing into the side of your neck. 

“These too,” his thumbs dip into your pants, managing to wiggle under the waistband of your panties as well. You’re going to do it yourself, but he gently pushes you back onto the bed, letting you flip back into the unmade blankets. 

“I wanna see you,” he pops your pants button and waits for a nod before sliding your pants and underwear down your legs. 

In between the blowjob and now, he’d tucked himself back into his pants, pulling his boxers and jeans back up, still unbuttoned, but covering him back up as his cock returned to a half hard state, unlikely to stay that way for very long considering how things were going. 

The scene of you now sprawled out onto his bed, naked and needy for him, and him standing above you, basically fully clothed, had a flood of lust traveling south between your thighs.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous,” you burned under his intense gaze, raking down your body and soaking in the image of your skin laid out against his flannel plaid sheets. 

He crawls over you, letting his body melt into yours, the center seam of his jeans pressing against your soaking core, just as it had when he had you pressed up against the door of the bar bathroom.

Rocking gently against you, you feel his cock already starting to harden again. His tongue moves against your neck, hands roaming freely against your skin, arching into his touch. 

His breath was heavy against your lips, he was already starting to lose himself, and he knew he wanted to make you come with his tongue at least once before his dick came back out, but it was already pulsing between his legs, growing rock solid with every little whimper that came past your lips. 

Your fingers intertwined themselves into the tresses of his long, messy hair. You use your new grip to pull his face as close into yours as your bodies will allow, smushing his nose up against your cheek and foreheads plastered together. The weight of his body on yours, and the lovely rocking motion of his hips against yours stopped as he pulled away and hooked his arms under your knees. 

He slides off the side of the bed, feet returning to the carpeted ground and yanking your body to the edge of the mattress. You let out an unexpected giggle, body limp like a rag doll, moving wherever he wanted you. 

He leans back over to give you another deep kiss, teeth dragging against your lower lip and tongue sliding gracefully against yours, before he slides his mouth down, stopping to lap up at your nipples for a moment, not letting any part of your skin go untouched as he takes his time moving down to where you want him most. 

Wiggling around on his mattress, your body is begging him to get on with it, but he loves to make you squirm. He takes his time licking up your hip bones, kissing from the innermost part of your thigh all the way down to your knee, and then back up the other side. He even takes a long moment to suck a dark purple bruise into the meat of your thigh, biting down on the flesh and licking over the skin to soothe it, noticing how your back arched a little when he bit down harder. 

“Please Eddie,” your voice is hardly above a whisper, whimpering and whiny.

“All you had to do was ask nicely,” he has that too-cocky tone again, but it’s long forgotten once his tongue is buried in between your thighs, lapping up the excess of wetness already pooled there.

“Ohhh,” you let out a moan, sucking in a sharp breath and allowing your body to relax under his focused touch. 

His hands push up from your ass to the crooks of your knees, moving your legs back to either side of you, strong palms finding their resting place on the backs of your thighs, keeping your legs spread wide open for him while he buries his face deep in your cunt. 

“You-“ the start of a compliment, or maybe a request, escapes your lips but the sudden harsh suck of your clit into his mouth has you speechless and moaning, “Mhmmmmm, uhhhhhhh.”

The sloppy wet sounds of him making out with your pussy are enough to drive you wild, your hands originally balling his sheets in your fists quickly move to the top of his head, resting atop his mop of messy curls. 

“Y’can give it a tug,” the first half of his statement spoken directly into your pussy, “I don’t mind a little pain.” He shoots you a wink and keeps his eyes locked on you as he lets his tongue lap a fat long lick up your slit, and then leaning back down to encourage you to tangle your hands into his hair. 

Coming to either side of his head you grab two points of purchase, locking your fingers in at the roots and feeling him hum into your cunt when you grabbed it a little tighter. 

Your hips start to quiver, so he brings one hand from your thigh up to your lower stomach, pinning you against the bed, and still keeping you spread open with the other. 

Working a steady rhythm against your slick center with his lips and tongue, he can tell he’s found the spot you like most by your open mouth and tight eyebrows.

“Ohmygod,” your chest starts moving with heavy breaths, you can’t bear to keep yourself up any longer and flop back down flat onto the mattress, eyes screwing shut in pleasure. He lets go of his anchor on your tummy and returns his hands to your thighs, allowing your hips to wiggle and wriggle against his face to chase after your own pleasure. 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” one glimpse of his big brown eyes looking up at you and his nose pressing deliciously into the spot above your clit has your head reeling, “please don’t stop, fuck.”

Rather than reply, he just continues to devour you at that steady pace, your thighs almost snapping shut around his head . 

“Uh huh, right there, oh fuck Eddie I’m gonna-“ 

A strangled moan rips from your throat and your back arches off the mattress, his hands quickly come to wrap around your thighs and keep your center held closely against his face. He’s pulling your hips flush with his face, despite your spasming torso and gushing core. 

As your orgasm peaks, your hips angle themselves to push up deeper into his face, and he uses his leverage against the backs of your thighs to lift your ass, the entire lower half of your body now off the mattress and sliding backwards as he keeps his moving tongue glued to your clit. 

He climbs up onto the mattress as you slide back, the grip he had on your legs was sure to leave a sore memory of him unwilling to let your coming pussy away from his face. 

When he finally pulls away, your hand pushing at his forehead to prevent overstimulation, both of you gasping for air, his knees are propped under your thighs, and your hips are propped up right at perfect level with the bulge in his pants. 

“Fuck me,” you say through catching your breath, not as an expletive but rather a demand, “Eddie, I need you to fuck me,” your voice was whiny and desperate. 

“This okay?” he starts pulling his dick from its constraints in his unbuttoned jeans, not even shoving them halfway down his thighs before he had that pretty pierced dip dragging through your open and ready folds. 

“Yes, inside, please,” you were chasing after his length, while he tossed his shirt off. He teasingly ran it up and down your slit before sinking into you, collapsing down to press your lips into a kiss to swallow your moans as he slid the whole thing in slowly, making sure to take his time and fuck you right. 

He grabbed the back of your neck and pressed his forehead to yours, finally sheathed all the way inside you and stilling for a moment to relish in the feeling. Pulling back so he can watch your face as he pumps his first few thrusts, he knows he’s beyond fucked. 

“So fucking good,” you slur out, eyes almost crossing from how deep his cock was hitting your insides.

“Yeah? This pussy’s god damn perfect, fucking made for me,” he articulates each thought with a snap of his hips, “suckin’ me right in.” 

“Wait, can we,” your voice had a little more weight behind it unlike the airy moans he’d grown obsessed with in the past forty minutes.

He pulls back, and rather than finish your thought you slip him out of you and roll over, shuffling up the bed and positioning yourself face down ass up, knees spread and back arched. 

“You think you can handle it?” he asks jokingly, swatting your ass playfully and then landing a second, harder smack on the flesh when he notices you pussy clench around nothing at the sensation of him spanking you. 

“Want you to fuck me hard,” you mumble into his pillow, wiggling your hips a little bit to jiggle the fat of your ass, “I know your cock is gonna feel so fucking good in me this way, wanna feel that fucking piercing back in my throat from the other direction.”

“Jesus Christ, y/n,” he was genuinely a little shocked at your words, slowly learning that your freak side might match his. 

You expected to feel his cock slam into you once his hands came to spread your ass apart, but instead the mattress dipped and he was licking another fat stripe from your clit all the way up past your second hole, running this back a few times until you were moaning into the pillow and thighs were tensed up from the attention he was giving you.

“Sorry babe, just needed another taste,” he pushed the head of his dick into you, and moved the first few inches agonizingly slow into your soaked hole. 

“Eddie please, need it, need you,” he loved that his sheets were balled up in your fists, using the tension of the material to bounce yourself back onto him. You only manage to slide back down about three quarters before he’s tightly gripping your hip and pulling out half way again. 

“Tsk tsk tsk, you need to learn to be patient, pretty girl,” he’d thrust it an inch of so, and then slowly pull back, making you whine and start to feel tears bubble up in the corners of your eyes. 

“Want it so bad,” your cheek laid flat against his pillow, and you could catch a glimpse of him behind you out of the corner of your eye if you craned your neck a bit. You sounded so desperate, but you knew he liked it, liked hearing how badly you craved him. 

He starts moving in and out of you, firm grip on your ass never wavering. Restrained grunts left his mouth as he fucked into you, causing your eyes to practically roll into the back of your head. He leans down to place a soft kiss on your shoulder blade, despite how viciously he's pounding into you. His head cranes down to your shoulder, his hand coming up to brush your hair out of your face. 

As his long fingers move your hair away from your eyes, you push your head back into his hand, not wanting to lose contact. He tentatively runs his hands up into your hair, taking a soft grip on your roots.

“Is this what you want?” he whispers, “you like it rough?”

“Yes,” you manage to squeak out, “fuck, pull my hair, spank me, do whatever the fuck you want to me, please.”

His vision practically goes black with this new unrestricted passion, allowing himself to thrust into you as hard and as deep as his hips would propel him, twisting your hair in his grip and pulling you up from your laid position, quickly letting your hands jump to his headboard to support you as your head was pulled back. 

You tried to bounce back onto his cock, wanting to feel him as deeply and wholly as your bodies would allow, but you could hardly keep up with the pace he had set. 

Your ass bouncing against him and the occasional glance he caught at your fucked out expression spurred him on to fuck you even harder. He had your hair pulled back so tight that your back was pressing flush up with his chest every so often, and he took the opportunity to snake an arm around you and hold your chest up flat, his other hand moving down to rub frantic circles on your clit.

“You’re gonna make me come like this,” you manage to croak out, voice hoarse from the harsh bend in your neck. 

“Nuh uhh, no,” his voice was gruff and commanding, right into your ear and sent a shiver down your spine. 

He pulled out of you fully, and had you flipped around flat on your back again before you could even open your mouth to complain. 

“Need to see that pretty face when you come on my cock,” he lines himself up with you again, pushing into you and making a mental note of how the bulge of his cock looked pressing up from the inner part of your lower stomach. 

And of course, your face screwed up in pleasure, puffy lips and sweaty brow, slack jawed and panting his name would be something Eddie wouldn’t be able to forget even if he tried.

His thumb found its way to your clit to pick up where he had last left you, steadily building to an earth shattering orgasm. Talking you through it, knowing you were close by the vice grip your walls had on his dick, in between grunts he spilled out some “good girl”’s and “right fuckin there, that’s it.” 

When he felt your thighs tense up, and the muscles in your neck strain against the soft skin he’d previously had his lips all over, he knew you were nearing the finish line. 

“So fucking perfect, feel so good wrapped around me,” he managed to sweet talk you without altering the pace of his hips, “That’s it, come on my cock, give it to me.”

With that, your body can’t help but throw itself over the edge of pleasure. A deep grunt rattles in your chest, and you lose all sensation other than the wild pulsing in between your legs. You can’t be bothered to worry about what your face looks like, or if your thighs are squeezing him too hard, you only feel the riptide of an orgasm shattering through you. 

The animalistic noise that Eddie grunts out, his wild gaze locked on your face only makes your body shake with pleasure even harder. He had that instinct that most men lacked, to keep the exact pace and motion when your orgasm hit rather than speed up or slow down, it was a gift, a talent. 

Of course he wasn’t going to change a thing about what he was doing, look at you. You were so fucking perfect, shaking and coming all over him, those sweet noises and the beautiful squelching between your thighs. He’d rather die than change a single thing about this moment. 

He stilled only when you paused to catch your breath, and within seconds was flipped over by the power of your thighs onto his back.

Unexpectedly, you began to ride him, trying to match the pace he had earlier set. The aftershocks of your orgasm still washed through you, but you seized the moment to get him right where you wanted him. This angle was different, deeper and more connected. You roll your hips and bring your hands up to his hair, foreheads pressing together once again. 

“You’re making me feel so fucking good,” you manage to breathe out into his lips, he quickly comes to the realization of what’s happened and shifts the angle of his hips to hit you even deeper. 

“I’d give you everything, if you’d let me,” he doesn’t let a single thought pass in his mind before the words slip out, “always.”

Your lips capture his in a kiss that has far more emotion behind it than two friends play-dating and fucking for fun. His hands come up to grasp your cheeks, your hips continue to roll down into his with purpose. 

“I’m- Where-“ his words are hardly intelligible in between breathless kisses, but you know what he means. 

“Inside, please, need all of you inside me,” you try to keep your voice steady so he hears you loud and clear, wanting to give him the exact attention he had paid to you, “Please Eddie, come inside me.”

His hands travel down and guide your hips to fuck down onto him one, two, three times before he’s groaning in your ear and letting out the prettiest and most vulnerable sounds you’ve ever heard form him. 

The swell of his cock inside you makes you drape your head into his neck, focusing on riding out his orgasm and making sure he was twitching in the aftershocks of his orgasm before you let up. 

When you felt his grip on your hips tighten, signaling that he’d had too much, you sink all the way down one final time and let your body lay limp on his, pulsing cock still filling you up. 

His chest rose and fell harshly with his recovering breaths. You could feel his heartbeat pulsing up through the spot on his neck where your ear laid on his sweaty skin.

Silently awaiting the inevitable tap on the shoulder, the slow pull out and post-sex cleanup process, you try to savor every passing moment. But it doesn’t come. Eddie wraps his arms around your midsection and holds your limp body close to his, letting his cock start to soften inside you. 

You nearly fall asleep like that, all wrapped up in him, until you recognize that you should pee and clean up to avoid a UTI. You slip off of him, and hear a disappointed groan from him. He makes cute grabby hands at you as you cross the room, making you roll your eyes, but something deep inside you flip flops with how sweet he’s being, so caring, so unlike the picture of himself that he had painted for you. 

You give him a wet hand towel to clean up the remnants of your activities, and slip back into bed with him per his insistence. You doze off for a while, until the rising sun peeking through his blinds catches your eye, striking you with the sudden decision to stay and face the music or leave and let it settle. 

You’d already regretted it, but weren’t ready to have the “hey, so I know we had fake boyfriend-girlfriend sex, but I actually really like you so what should we do about that?” conversion with him, so instead you take the cowardly path and tiptoe out of his room in the early morning hours, leaving behind your underwear on his nightside table with a scribbled note saying to call you. Hopefully that was enough of a signal. 

Apparently not,

Days pass, and no call. 

It was all starting to get to your head. While you had gone through the stages of being nervous that you had done something wrong, that he was avoiding you to spare you the rejection, thinking he regretted what had happened and didn’t want to face you, who was so obviously into him it was painful, you’d just now turned a new leaf. Fuck that. If he was too much of a coward to call you, you'd hope he'd at least give you the decency as a friend to tell you the truth, you deserved to be angry, and you deserved a response. 

After stewing in your feelings for longer than felt healthy, you just get in your car and start driving to his trailer. If this all blew up in your face at least you wouldn’t have to keep biting your nails and waiting for the phone to ring. 

Three deep breaths, and a quick moment to gather your thoughts, and suddenly your body acted on instinct, putting the car in park and walking up to pound three concise knocks on his trailer door. 

“Just a second,” he hollered from inside, giving you a few seconds to be stricken with regret for showing up unannounced without a plan on what exactly to say. 

“What do you- oh, y/n,” he was in a pair of plaid pajama pants that hung low on his hips, shirtless and hair still damp from a recent shower, “uh, hey?”

“Oh, hey,” your tone was laced with annoyance, “I left something here last week and I’m here to get it back. If you don’t mind.”

“What- oh,” he’s a second too slow to realize you mean the underwear you had purposefully left behind with that note. The note telling him to call you. Which he never did. 

You were left standing on his porch steps, arms crossed and shooting daggers out of your eyes while he stood there in the doorway, an apparent guilty expression plastered on his face while he rocked back on his heels to buy some time to figure out what to say. 

“You don’t have to invite me inside, if you can just grab them and give them to me, and I’ll be out of your hair,” you say flatly, recognizing if he does as asked then this might be the last time you speak to Eddie Munson. 

“No, no, uh, you should come in,” he steps aside to let you in, “we probably shouldn’t have this conversation on my front steps.”

Avoiding eye contact, feeling an overwhelming mix of anger, confusion, and betrayal, you step inside and don’t make any effort to move into the space. You just stand by the door and give him an expectant look. Either he could go get the underwear, or he could grow a pair and say something to you. 

“I, uh-“ he looked so defeated you started to feel bad for using such a pointed tone, but then you remembered the days and days that passed without hearing from him, “I’m sorry, that I, y’know…”

“Yeah, well I don’t really care if you’re not looking for any post sex recap conversations, because you’re obviously pretty sure of yourself in that department,” the words flew out before your mind could even conjure them up, “but you fucking promised me that you wouldn’t do this, so can I please just have my underwear back and I won’t bother you again.”

He runs a hand through his hair letting out a deep exhale and searching the ceiling for words, “I know, I-“

You cut him off, your thoughts were ripping through you now and you were going to say your piece whether he asked for it or not, “You said you wouldn’t pull this shit with me, but I guess our friendship isn’t substantial enough for you to see me any differently than you do every other girl you throw away after you’ve gotten what you want. You clearly don’t want any more advice and you clearly don’t want to be my friend, so please, just give me my shit so I can go.”

“That’s the fucking thing y/n, of course I don’t want to be your friend,” his gaze still fixed on the ceiling.

At this point you were seconds away from just storming out, letting him keep your underwear as some twisted little trophy for breaking your heart. 

“Yeah, crystal clear Eddie.”

“Being your friend is already hard enough, and I knew this shit was a bad idea, the whole trial-girlfriend thing. But how the fuck was I supposed to say no to that? The girl of my dreams offers to do all this no-strings-attached romantic shit, I’d be the dumbest man alive to turn that down.”

You just give him a blank stare, your scalding anger twisting into a more confused frenzy of bees swarming in the pit of your stomach. Eyebrows pinched together, you just stare at him until he finally makes eye contact with you. 

“And yeah,” he goes on, letting all his words out like a big exhale in the same cadence that you had just hurled all your angry words at his, but his tone was filled with guilt as opposed to rage, “maybe we let it go a little too far, but I would never say no to you, I couldn’t. I’m sorry I didn’t know what the fuck to say to you after, but that’s exactly the reason I’m not good enough for you. The more we kept that fake dating shit up the worse it was gonna get, so I’m sorry, but I can’t keep spending time with you like that, because it’s starting to fucking hurt.”

“Hurt,” you say with a dry laugh, which almost scares him, “YOU’RE hurt? Give me a fucking break Eddie. I know you don’t see me that way. So what, you’re too scared to hurt my feelings? You’re doing a wonderful job, keep it up.”

“What the fuck do you mean, not see you like what?”

“Don’t pretend to be dumb Eddie. When we first met I tried so hard to get your attention, asking you to hang out, and you always blew me off. It’s fine that you don’t want to date me or whatever, but at least just tell me that, don’t fuck me like I’m special or something and then toss me aside. I deserve better than that.”

“Yeah, y/n, you do,” his voice was no longer guilt stricken, and was on the same straightforward plane as your last responses, “you deserve so much fucking better than me, that’s why I could never let anything between us happen. I don’t call girls back. I’m rude. I don’t take care of myself, let alone others. I like to smoke, and drink, and get head from girls in bar bathrooms and never learn their names, and that’s not the kind of person that a girl like you dates. I’m a fun quick fuck. You’re the kind of girl that after three dates he’ll already have a ring picked out. You’re everything, and I’m nothing, so forgive me for sparing you of that.”

Your bones are frozen and the beat of silence gives him the opportunity to spin on his heel and start down the hallway, presumably to get your panties. 

Snapping back into it, you let out a louder than expected, “Hey,” and you start following him, not taking long to catch up to him in his bedroom. 

“You,” you point a finger at him, and start to feel the rage bubble up again, “don’t get to decide that you’re unloveable. And you don’t get to tell me what kind of girl I am. Have you ever considered that maybe the reason you’re so lonely and miserable is because you choose to be? You don’t get to decide what I deserve, I do. And I really fucking like you Eddie, so forgive me for acting like it.” 

You snatch your underwear off his bedside table, and give him a look, not fueled by anger or resentment, but empathy. 

“I’m going to leave. And if you don’t want to see me again, that’s fine, but if you do, you can call me. Goodbye Eddie.”

You feel out of your own body, floating above it all and rewinding the conversation over and over, body on autopilot taking you home while your soul stayed behind and relived his words over and over, unsure if you feel better or worse than when you showed up. 

Days pass by again, and you take his silence as more of a response than anything he had said to you during that conversation. You try not to wallow, but you feel scattered and distraught, at both the prospect of losing Eddie and having to deal with your shared friends, would they allow you to dance around each other, or would they flat out choose him and shut you out? Would group nights out bowling suddenly just turn into the occasional one-on-one coffee with Robin? 

Until suddenly, on a random Tuesday afternoon when you've gotten home from work and are relaxing on the couch in your pajamas, three knocks are at your door.

At this point you figured it was over. He hadn't called and he'd made no effort to continue the dialogue. So a thought of Eddie doesn't even cross your mind in between the couch and opening the door.

And there he is.

In a suit, slightly descheveld in Eddie fashion, and holding a slightly wilting bouquet of flowers. Posture straight and brave face, but expecting your brutal edge upon answering the door nonetheless.

"Hey?" you're somewhat at a loss for words answering.

"Hi," he seems like he's running lines of a play in his mind, "I was hoping we could talk."

You reluctantly let him in, and he hands the flowers to you, as if it was a normal occurrence for him to bring you such a gift.

"First off," he starts, hardly breaching your living room entrance before starting his apology, "I regret the way we last left things, and I'm sorry for leaving you waiting for a response."

He flicks those big brown eyes at you and you can't help but give him the benefit of the doubt, he always was so sincere with his words.

"You're amazing. And although I'll remain adamant that I don't deserve someone like you in my life, I've been thinking a lot about what you said, and I'm sorry that tried to tell you how to feel."

You remain stoic at your seat on the couch, watching him shift his weight and bare his soul to you.

"You're perfect. Nice, funny, sexy, brave, all of it. And if you're willing to give me a chance, I don't know why the fuck you would, but if you are, I want to put aside all my bullshit and try this out, if you'll have me."

He stood there for a moment, letting you take in his request, bouquet in hand and suit adorned.

"And I owe you a few dates, for real."

As hard as you want your exterior to be, a smile cracks through.

"Okay, but know I don't fuck until the third date, at best," you jab, breaking his nervous exterior and visibly relieving the tension from his shoulders.

"I'm somewhat of a refined gentleman myself, so that won't be an issue," he bows and extends a hand to you.

You pull him down by the hand onto the couch with you, wrapping him up in a deep kiss. He was worth it, and you both knew it was worth the shot to try.

[minejungwoo]

The Breakfast Club - Eddie Munson X F!Cheerleader!Reader

Part Two - Low Tolerance For Dehydration

Chapter Summary - We begin to learn the truth about why these kids are the way they are. (A retelling of The Breakfast Club, written and directed by John Hughes.)

Chapter Warnings - Characters are all 18+ / Strong Language / Illusions to Abuse/ Abusive Relationship / Dysfunctional Families / Kleptomania / References to Religious Beliefs / Sexual References / Drug References / Stereotyping / Angst

Word Count - 7.2k

(Series Masterlist) (Masterlist)

(Part One)

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Saturday.

October 25th, 1984.

Hawkins High Library.

10:30am.

~~~~~

After that rather thrilling event courtesy of Eddie Munson and Principal Higgins, the next two hours went on forever.

The grinding of gears, the hum of the electric motor, and the movement of the clock's hands invaded the silence. The second hand made a rapid clicking sound. You counted each one. At twenty-second intervals, the minute hand squeaked. The clock sounds became the percussion for a lullaby that almost lulled you to sleep.

Eddie remained seated next to you, spending the better part of an hour sulking that he had just wrecked the rest of his winter. The rest of the time, he spent scratching markings into the table with his car keys (which you immediately told him to stop out of annoyance. He ignored you, of course) and counting all the pictures he can see in the medullary rays of the wood. In his mind, he connected the lines and dots. Before his eyes, they formed the crude outline of a shapely woman with her legs rudely spread apart. He used the notebook paper to cover it up. He did not want to spend the next five and a half hours with a boner he couldn't get rid of. Especially one given to him by something as ridiculous as an imaginary table lady.

Steve was lazily picking off the fuzz of a tennis ball that he found in the lost and found box behind the front desk, piling it up in a small illuminous heap. The bald patches reminded him of principal Higgin's round, balding head. He picked at it harder, really digging his fingernails into the stringy felt like it had personally offended him.

Nancy was trying to write her paper. Normally, the undisturbed silence would be prime time to work on an essay, but she began staring off into space, her mind wondering. All she had managed to write was a title 'Who Am I?', her name, the date, and the time. Each time she would bring herself back to reality, she would check her watch, then erase the time and write the new one. 

Robin was hunched over, hidden in her hair as she scribbled over her cherry red converse. She wrote whatever came to mind; her name, milk duds, a drawing of the top half of a naked woman, a copy of her fingerprint. She kept going until the red had almost disappeared.

You rested your head in your palms, eyes looking up as you counted the tiles on the ceiling. You got to thirty eight when Eddie nudged you. You opened your mouth to scold him for making you lose count, when he slid a sheet of paper over to you. He'd drawn a tic-tac-toe grid and placed an X in the centre square. You grabbed a pencil and drew a circle in the top right corner, deciding to keep him entertained before he starts causing more trouble. He smiled cutely when you slid the paper back to him. 

The two of you played until both sides looked like a gingham tea towel. Much to your distaste, you lost 38 - 43. Eddie pulled tongues as the victor and you decided then to never play tic-tac-toe with Eddie again; you didn't want his head getting bigger than it already was.

The library door swung open and Principal Higgins stood with a scowling face.

"All right. Who has to go to the rest room?"

All hands shot up. 

Higgins gave a single nod, signalling that everyone could get out of their seats. You groaned in relief when your spine cracked, though you still had pins and needles in your left foot and your butt was numb from sitting on it for too long. The Principal lead you all down the hall to the restrooms, where he unlocked them with a jingling of keys.

"Two minutes for the boys. Three minutes for the girls." He stared at his watch like he was already starting the count down.

"How come they get an extra minute?" Eddie complained, pointing at the group of girl who all had their arms crossed, looking at him like the answer was obvious.

"Try and remember your biology, Munson." Principal Higgins rolled his eyes, still staring at his watch.

"Oh, right. Does that mean Harrington gets another minute?"

Annoyed, Steve pushed through into the bathroom. Eddie followed behind, laughing manically. 

The two of them rarely used the schools restroom, even for Eddie who was kind of a slob, they were too disgusting. Students only ever really used them to hide when skipping classes. The walls were covered in graffiti and a few of the tiles were cracked, and there was always something on the floor that made the bottom of their shoes sticky. They didn't even want to try to guess what it was. Steve stood in front of the urinal and unzipped his jeans. Eddie hopped onto the countertop and fished through his hair to retrieve the cigarette from behind his ear.

"You want one?"

Steve took a peek behind him. "Oh yeah, ten of 'em please. I need to prove I'm a man."

"Whatever man." That was the last time Eddie would offer Steve anything ever again.

He fumbled in his pocket, took out a lighter and lit his cigarette.

Meanwhile, the state of the girls bathroom wasn't much better. The floors were less sticky, but there was always tissue all over the place, and a funny smell in the air.

"Is this a drag, or what?" You looked at your tired eyes in the reflection and started complaining about them to the girls. 

Nancy rummaged through her purse, pulling out perfume bottles, make-up, compacts, brushes; an incredible amount of things that she probably didn't need. Nancy very helpfully let you borrow the make-up out of her bag. You were looking as good as new in no time.

"You want one?" Robin pulled out a pack of spearmint gum and stuck one in her mouth.

You looked at her repulsed. "Robin, you can't eat in the bathroom. What if you get VD of the mouth or something!"

She paused like she hadn't thought about that. She quickly walked to the sink and washed her hands. She grabbed a paper towel to dry them and then used it to open the door. She held the door open with her foot, wadded up the paper towel and made a three pointer into the waste bin. A shot that even Steve would find impressive, even if she did surprise herself making it in the first place. She didn't show that though. 

"You're into washing your hands, but you eat inches away from a live toilet?" 

She gave you an offended glare her, and left the bathroom, letting the door close on you and Nancy. You turned to Nancy and gave her a look that said 'I'm not crazy for thinking that am I?'. 

"I mean that was a little disgusting, but you could have worded it a bit nicer."

She walked out, leaving you wondering whose side she was on.

"I didn't mean to upset you." You called after Robin. "I was just reacting to something I thought was seriously weird. I mean, I'll listen if you needed some one to talk to about it." 

Robin didn't give you the time of day, just rolled her eyes to herself. She didn't appreciate the way you worded your apology; like she was the one with the problem.

"Let's go. Shake it off!" Higgins called into the boys bathroom.

Even with the extra minute you were given, the girls still managed to be done before the boys. Eddie opened the door, smelling strongly of tobacco.

"Where's Harrington?"

"Drowned." Eddie said bluntly.

The Principal crossed to the door and peaked his head in. "Alright, Harrington, c'mon. Lets go!"

Steve made a few final adjustments to his hair, raking his fingers through it to position his chestnut curls perfectly on his head. Principal Higgins dragged him out before he could finish.

~~~~~

11:30am

~~~~~

You laid across three chairs as some sort of make shift bed and tucked your coat underneath your head for a pillow. You had planned to take a nap, but Nancy had decided to sharpen her pencil. The winding and grinding of the sharpener grated your ears. She knew she was making a lot of noise, but she couldn't seem to get a good point on her pencil. She took it out of the sharpener, blew the dust from the tip, and examined it before shoving it back in. She had three quarters left of her pencil.

Steve had a straight leg on the front table and reached over to touch his toes, stretching his hamstring. How he did it in those jeans was beyond you. His little grunts of effort and heavy breaths as he switched legs annoyed you almost as much as Nancy's sharpening. Robin was in her same seat, picking at her black, chipped nails in her lap and chewing her gum loudly out of spite. How you had gone from sitting in hours of silence, to a sudden ruckus when you wanted to sleep was just your luck. 

Eddie had chosen to sit in front of you on the table, ripping out pages of textbooks from the history section. 

Nancy winced at each tear. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, Princess? I'm vandalising public property." He said it like it was obvious, loudly ripping another page to emphasise his point. "You get off on being stupid, or something?"

"You're such a waste."

Eddie placed the book gently on the table, giving it a few taps for good measure. He sat up straight, hands on his knees like a teachers pet. He nodded sarcastically in agreement. "You're absolutely right. It's wrong to destroy literature. It's such fun."

He jumped down off the desk, kicking up loose pages as he stalked over to his next victim: the card files. He pulls out the entire draw completely and lugged it back over to his spot on the desk. The unexpected slam of it on the table startled you, and you sat up with a huff. There was no way you were getting sleep any time soon.

Nancy scoffed as he began yanking the catalogue cards out and putting them back in a random order, creating a horrible mess for someone to sort out later. She continued to grind the sharpener.

"Big deal." You mocked her, she and the sharpener were really starting to get on your nerves. "It's not like there's anything better to do."

Eddie was impressed. He turned to you. "You grounded tonight?" 

His question threw you off, but you knew there was definitely more to it. "No, why?"

He looked surprised that you weren't, but he didn't know that your parents weren't even aware you were here in the first place. "Reefer Rick is throwing a Halloween party down by Lover's Lake tonight. Wanna come?"

Apparently, all it took was a few games of tic-tac-toe to get into Eddie's good books. There was a part of you that wanted to go. It was another excuse to get away from your parents, but you didn't want to imagine the shit you would get from Carol if she found out you had gone to a party with Eddie 'The Freak' Munson. Then Billy crept back into your mind. Your blood went cold at the thought. You knew he wasn't here, but you expected him to come charging through the doors any second now. You had to make sure he knew you weren't interested in Eddie. You didn't want another repeat of this morning.

"Why would I want to go to that crackhead's place? I'll probably catch a disease."

Eddie looked a little disappointed and a little offended that you had insulted his friend, but he hid it well. So why did you feel kind of bad?

You looked up at him with big eyes. "I mean, my mom doesn't like me going to parties anyway."

"What about your dad?"

"If I do what my mom doesn't want me to it's because my dad says it's okay.  And if I do what my dad doesn't want me to it's because my mom says it's okay. It's like this whole big monster deal. It lasts forever and it's a total drag. It's like any minute: divorce." You hated talking about your parents, but I felt good to get off your chest. Carol and Tommy never cared to ask.

"Who do you like better?"

"Huh?"

"You like your old man better than your mom?"

"They're both screwed." You sighed. You didn't like where this conversation was headed anymore. Nancy had stopped sharpening her pencil and you could feel everyone listening in.

"If you had to pick?"

"I don't know. I mean, they must have loved each other at some point, but I guess I wasn't around for that part. So I don't think any of them really care about me either. They just use me as ammunition in their little wars."

"HA!" Your response had provoked a laugh from Robin. A laugh that let you know she thought you deserved it. She was more offended by that comment in the bathroom than you had thought.

"You're just feeling sorry for yourself." Steve added, shaking out his legs.

You didn't find it very fair that they were ganging up on you all of a sudden. "If I didn't, nobody else would."

"Oh, you're breaking my heart." But Steve didn't sound sincere at all. You weren't enjoying this side of Steve one bit. And it was all because of Billy. 

"Do you get along with your parents?" Eddie sided with you.

"If I say, yes, I'm a real idiot, right?"

"I think you're an idiot anyway. But if you say you get along with your parents, you'll be a liar, too."

"You know something, I've just about had it with you. If we weren't in school, man, I'd wail all over you. They'd have to pick you up with tweezers."

Eddie didn't seem fazed. Eddie got threats like this all the time, it wasn't anything he hadn't already heard before. 

"I don't really get along with my parents." Nancy piped up, trying to get the boys attention away from each other so there wasn't a brawl in the middle of the library.

"Yeah right, you're every parent's wet dream."

"That's the problem." She paused, you saw her eyes glaze over then looked at you. "I don't think my parents ever loved each other either."

Everyone was silent, looking at her like they were waiting for her to burst into tears. She regretted bring it up.

"They must have married for some reason?" Steve asked. Whether it was because he was being nosey, or he was concerned for her, you couldn't tell.

"My mom was younger. My dad was older, but he had a cushy job, money, came from a good family. So they bought a nice house at the end of the cul-de-sac and started their nuclear family."

"Screw that."

"Yeah, screw that."

"I could see you not liking them for making you wear those kind of clothes, but, shit, what else would you be doing if you weren't busy making yourself a better citizen?" Eddie clearly hadn't read the room.

"Why do you have to insult everybody?" Eddie was really pushing Steve's limits. You noticed it happened especially when it came to Nancy.

"I'm being honest, asshole. I'd expect you to know the difference." He said it like he had had a similar argument with Steve in the past.

Nancy raised her middle finger at him. 

"Whoa, obscene gestures from such a pristine girl."

"I'm not that pristine." Nancy argued, though she regretted it almost immediately.

She cleared her throat and make her way back to her seat. 

"Are you a virgin?" She caught Steve's eye, they shared a look, but Eddie missed it. "I'll bet you a million dollars that you are."

"Would you take that bet, Robin?"

"Not really."

"That's the last time I call you 'Robin', Buckley."

He continued. "Have you ever been felt up? Over the bra, under the blouse, shoes off...hoping to God your parents don't walk in?" 

Nancy was getting upset. "Do you want me to puke?"

"Over the panties, no bra, blouse unbuttoned, Calvin's in a ball on the front seat past eleven on a school night?"

You squeezed your thighs together. His voice was deep and masculine, sending you off into an alluring day dream. You found yourself in the back seat of a car, a strong man towering over you, rough hands caressing your soft skin. He takes off your bra, exposing your breasts to the cold air of the night, nipples hardening. He's groping them, kissing them, loving on them. Your moaning and he's trailing his lips lower. Your hands thread themselves in his brown, wavy hair. He's pulling your panties down with his teeth, looking up at you with those big brown eyes of his. And suddenly you were in the back of his van, pulling off his patched, demin jacket until he's leaning over you completely naked. He put his lips to your ear, whispering --

"Hey, why don't you leave her alone!" Steve breaks you out of your imagination.

"You gonna make me?"

"Yeah."

"You and whose army?"

"Just me and five of my fingers. I hit you. You hitting floor. Anytime you're ready."

Eddie realised that Steve was being serious, but doesn't believe he is quite capable of making good on his threat. 

"Yeah? You want a black eye to go with that split lip? You couldn't fight Billy Hargrove, what makes you think you can beat me?"

Your chest tightened at his name and your eyes darted to the door. They stayed shut. It calmed you a little, but your heart was still beating against your ribcage. You placed a hand there in case it burst out. You wondered how Eddie knew about the fight at the party, you hadn't seen him there. But then again, word travels fast around Hawkins High. Your breathing became heavy. All this arguing was making you dizzy. You could do without a repeat of last Thursday.

"Try me."

"Eddie." You pleaded him not to retaliate, swallowing down your pride for a second of peace.

He looked at you, and suddenly Eddie was not in the mood to fight Steve. The fear in your eyes scared him a little. You were serious about them not fighting. But luckily for you, Eddie knew when to stop. Besides, there were ladies present, and he was a gentleman.

To some extent.

 "Whatever man, I'm not getting into this with you."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" He paused. He wasn't going to tell Steve he did it for you. "'Cause I'd kill you. It's real simple, you'd die and your fucking parents would sue me and It'd be a big mess and I don't care enough about you to bother. So drop it."

"Chicken."

"You know, you should see a doctor. I think those steroids are frying your brain."

Steve just laughed him off, believing that he had scared Eddie into yielding and he was just giving one last dig to preserve his pride. Eddie looked a Nancy, but she was already staring at him. 

"What is it that makes you act like such a fool?"

"I'm not getting enough vitamin B."

Steve fumed. He wanted his fist to connect with that smartass mouth of his. "Let's end this right now. You don't talk to her...you don't look at her and you don't even think about her! You understand me?"

"I'm trying to help her." He said it like it was as plain as a pikestaff.

"Help me?" Nancy was insulted. "Why don't you work on yourself?"

"I did. I finished last Tuesday. Now I'm working on the rest of the world." He pointed at Steve, who looked about ready to swing. "I could help you, big boy."

"Spare me."

"I can help a lot of people, all they have to do is ask nicely."

"I'll kill you." Steve threatened with a clenched fist.

Eddie looked unmoved. He heard threats like that at least five times a day. "Well, I should just let you and everyone else who wants to kill me fight for the privilege."

There was a rumbling from beyond the library door. In a flurry of panic, everyone got themselves into position, acting like they hadn't moved an inch away from their seats. Eddie sat next to you again, accidently kicking your foot under the table. You kicked it back in annoyance. He did it again, only on purpose this time. 'What a child' you thought. You put your coat on the back of your chair and sat up straight, expecting Principal Higgins to come storming in.

Everybody visibly relaxed when Carl, the janitor, came rumbling in with his music playing quietly from his radio, dragging his cart behind him. He had a face you didn't quite know how to take; he looked friendly enough, but could turn at the snap of your fingers. He was skinny and stood at a height of 5"8, with a limp of a man who worked hard for his living. He smiled everyone, but the only one who seems the acknowledge him was Robin. She returned the smile and gave him a small wave, in hopes of being nice but not letting the others see. He went into the librarians office and grabbed the waste basket.

"Hey Sweetheart, your dad's here." 

You gave him an unamused smile and kicked his shin under the desk once more.

Carl came out of the office and dumped the basket on his cart. He left his cart in the main library and walked down the pathway to grab another trash bin at the back of the room. 

"Hey, Carl?"

Carl paused in surprise that any student here, with the exception of Robin, would talk to him. He turned around, but Eddie still remained facing the front, putting his back to him. 

"How does one become a janitor."

Everyone supressed a giggle, even Steve despite his dislike for Eddie. Only Robin remained silent. She didn't find it very funny.

"You want to become a janitor?" Carl raised an eyebrow.

"No I just wanna know how one becomes a janitor because Steve here, is very interested in perusing a career in the custodial arts."

Steve stopped laughing at that. Carl scratched his head. He knew that they were making fun of him. But Carl wasn't one someone should mess with. He turned off his radio, pulled off his rubber gloves and shoved them in his back pocket.

"You guys think I'm just a lowly janitor. Some fucking untouchable peasant. Maybe so, but following a broom around after shitheads like you for five years, I've learned a few things. I read your notes, I go through your letters. I listen to your conversations. I am the eyes and ears of this institution. I know where you are now and I know where you'll be in the future."

Everyone exchanged worried looks as Carl moved to tower in front of Eddie. "You got ten years, max. Drugs. Rundown trailer in West Texas. Whore wife takes the baby, you shoot a fatal dose. Probable? Maybe not. Possible? Think so."

He turned to you. "You get married to a guy with lots of material success. Corporate position. Big bucks. Black Jag. You have three kids, nobody gives a shit. You get divorced and have a big fuckin' heart attack at thirty-eight, thirty-nine."

Steve was next. "District sales manager for a golf club manufacturer. Shitty little compact company car, twenty-two five a year and a wife as big as a boxcar."

Finally, Nancy. "Six face-lifts and two boob jobs by forty and a husband with more girlfriends than anniversaries."

He stepped back and put on his gloves. The stunned reaction on everybody's faces made him smile. "But I'm just a janitor." He shrugged.

And with that, he grabbed his cart, wheeled it around and headed out. He paused at the door and looked at the clock. 

"By the way, that thing's twenty minutes slow." He winked as he left and everybody groaned. 

~~~~~

12:30pm

~~~~~

Everybody was bored out of their skulls after the shock of Carl's speech had worn off. You took the time to think about what he had said. He had tried to put a downer on you, but the life he had predicted for you sounded like paradise, compared to now. Even if you did only have twenty years left to live. As crazy as it sounded, it gave you a bit of hope. There was a chance that you could work up the courage to leave Billy and meet someone nice, or at least wealthy. You had never given any thought about having kids, especially not with Billy, but now, maybe you could see yourself with a kid. You'd want a boy, and he'd look just like his father; Curly brown hair, big russet eyes, and a toothy smile. What would you name him? Would you name him after his father? Maybe Michael, or Christopher, James. Edward? You liked that name. 

Your eyes flashed to the door as it opened. Principal Higgins strolled in with a frown of his face, even though no one had done anything to upset him yet.

Yet.

"Thirty minutes for lunch." He declared.

"Excuse me Sir, I think the cafeteria would be a more suitable place to eat lunch."

"I don't care what you think, Harrington." 

Steve sunk back into his seat.

"Uh, Dick?" Eddie cleared his throat. "Sorry, Richard. Will milk be made available to us? Someone like Steve could choke to death on a dry sandwich."

"I have a low tolerance for dehydration, Sir." Robin added.

"I've seen her dehydrated, Sir." Steve sat up again. "It's pretty gross."

You wondered if that was true, or if he was just playing along. The things he said about her, you wondered if they knew each other. Probably not, you brushed off the thought. They were on complete opposite ends of the spectrum, there was no way they knew each other.

Principal Higgins scowled.

Eddie stood and raised his hands like he was trying to calm a wild animal. "Relax, I'll get it."

"Ah,ah,ah. Grab some wood there, Munson. You think I was born yesterday? You don't fool me for one minute. I'm not having you roaming these halls."

Eddie plopped back into his seat with a defeated sigh. It was worth a shot.

"You." He pointed at Steve. 

He eyed up the other students, skipping over Eddie as he decided who else was most suitable to leave. You sank into your seat. You did not fancy having some alone time with Steve. Steve stared directly at the Principal before darting his eyes to the right where Nancy was sat, signalling for him to pick her. She sat up to make herself more evident. 

Higgins ignored them and pointed a finger at you. "And you. There's a soft drinks machine in the faculty lunch room."

You broke into a cold sweat. This was going to be the most awkward ten minutes of your life. Either Steve was just going to pretend you didn't exist, or he was going to absolutely grill you. You hoped for the former. 

As you reluctantly got out of your seat, Steve held out a hand to the others for money. Nancy took out a change purse from her bag and handed him fifty cents. Robin does the same with the loose change in her jeans pocket. Eddie fished through his coat pockets. He found some assorted change, crumpled gum wrappers, some loose tobacco and a screw. He handed it all to Steve. 

Steve made his way out, not even looking to see if you're following him. You do, of course, but you lagged behind him, not feeling particularly comfortable being alone with him. You counted your steps as you walked, fiddling with the delicate chain around your neck. It was a simple design: just your name written with gold, cursive lettering. But it was the only jewellery you never took off. Your parents had bought it for you when you had started cheerleading at eight years old. It was a reminder of when life was much more simple, when you believed that your parents actually loved each other, that they loved you. 

A minute passed and you already couldn't stand the silence. You dreaded it, but you knew this would probably be the only opportunity you would get to hash out your grievances.

"Why do you hate me?" A forward start, but at least it's a start.

"You know why."

"Look, what Billy did wasn't my fault --"

"Of course it is. If you hadn't been there in the first place he wouldn't've showed up."

"Hey, I didn't even tell him I was going to that stupid party. He was there anyway. If you hadn't come over and butted into our argument, maybe you wouldn't have that split lip."

"My parties aren't stupid."

"Is that seriously all you took from that?"

"No..." He paused. After hearing your side of the story, he was beginning to feel like a fool. "What were you guys even arguing about?"

You sighed. "Billy and I had plans to go to this drive in movie theatre. I don't think he wanted to watch a movie though, I think he was just hoping to get lucky." The two of you had stopped walking. Steve looked at you intently, encouraging you to carry on. You shifted on your feet. "If I'm being completely honest I didn't really want to go, but then Carol asked me to go to your party and I took it as an excuse not to go with Billy. I knew he would be angry if I cancelled our plans last minute, so I told him I was sick. Biggest fucking mistake of my life."

"So you went to the party and Billy caught you out in your lie."

"Yeah. Turns out one of his friends had asked him to go but he'd declined 'cause we were going on a date. He accepted the offer once I'd cancelled our plans."

Steve started walking again. You followed next to him this time. "I know Billy is a bit of a shitbag, but why didn't you want to go on your date? I mean, it seemed like a good time."

There was no such thing as a 'good time' with Billy. He had his moments, sure, but he was as cranky as a wet hen. Time with him was like trying to swim with rocks on your back. He sucked all the fun out of everything until you started drowning. You didn't tell Steve that though. 

"I just wasn't in the mood to be around him, is all." You brushed him off. "But he's bringing it up all the time, and were arguing all of the time. Even in school."

"Is that why you're here today?"

His question made you pause. He stopped a couple of steps ahead of you and turned around when he saw you weren't next to him anymore. You played it off like you were itching your leg and jogged up to him. The two of you made it to the teacher's lounge. 

The first thing you noticed was that it was very brown. The floor and ceiling had the same white speckled tile that ran throughout the entire school, but everything else was just ... brown. Brown wallpaper, brown leather sofas, brown table, brown countertop. Even the fridge was brown. The vending machine was in the far corner.

"Why are you here?" You asked Steve, hoping he hadn't realised that you hadn't answered his question. 

"Me? I'm here because my father and my coach don't want me to blow my ride." He started feeding the change into the machine. "They think my intensity's for shit. You see, I have a different set of standards. I get treated different because Coach thinks I'm a star. So does my old man. But you know what? I don't care. I'm not a star because I want to be a star, I'm a star because I got good legs and reflexes. I'm like a racehorse. That's about how involved I am in what's happening to me."

You nodded, but you had a suspicion that that wasn't the whole truth. "Yeah, so why are you really here?"

Steve was annoyed that he hadn't managed to persuade you. "Forget it."

You studied the set of lockers on the other side of the room. You walked over to them out of curiosity, trying your luck with one of the doors. To your surprise it opened. 

Steve caught you out of the corner of his eye. "You really shouldn't be doing that."

Inside lay a set of keys attached to a green Hawkins High lanyard, a pack of cigarettes, a 'thank you teacher' mug, and a Prince's Purple Rain album on vinyl. Steve came up behind you, looking inside and letting the soda cans thunk loudly at the bottom of the vending machine.  

"This is a teacher's stuff?" He asked surprised.

"Yeah. Does this mean that they're actually human?" You laughed together for the first time.

Daringly, you pocketed the pack of cigarettes in your cardigan pocket and took the record. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. No, put them back." 

"C'mon Steve, when are you ever going into the teacher's lounge again? Besides, it'll give us something to do while were stuck in that god damned library."

You shut the locker door and brushed past him. You gathered up the soda cans, giving Steve his share to carry and made your way back to the library.

"It was pretty strange looking at teacher's personal shit, huh?" You said, examining the purple record sleeve.

Steve shrugged, he'd seen stranger things. "I went over to Coach's house for dinner once during the summer. It was really weird to see how he lives."

He paused, anticipating a question, but you just looked at him to carry on.

"His wife was fat. And one of his kids was in a wheelchair. It was kinda sad. He was a nice kid."

"If he invites you over to his house, why does he shit on you?" 

"He and my old man are working to get me a scholarship. It's not an economic issue. Scholarships make the newspaper. They think I have a shot at a full ride. They think I deserve a Big Ten school."

You simply nodded and walked through the library doors. The others were gathered in the corner by the comfy chairs. Eddie was holding a book opened to a page displaying a man with elephantitus to the nuts like he was reading children a bedtime story.

"How do you suppose he rides a bike?"

The clattering of soda cans on the table drew their attention away. They all walked over to grab a can. Before the others could take one, Eddie reached out and shook one furiously.

You look at him like he was crazy. Perhaps he was. "That's going to spray all over you."

"Not necessarily."

He put the drink back with the others and moved the cans around so than no one would know which was was shook up. 

"You're such a dingus." Robin bravely took a can first.

Everyone else followed before taking their seats and pulling out their lunches. You simply took out an apple, loosing your appetite after seeing a man with elephantitus to the nuts. You noticed Eddie didn't have any lunch as he surveyed everyone else's. 

"Where's your lunch?"

"You're wearing it." He winked. 

You curled your lip in disgust, but felt about as red as your apple. 

"You're nauseating." Nancy complained, opening her lunch.

"Look who's talking. You don't care what you put in your mouth." He eyed Nancy's lunch like she had just shown him a plate full of snails. "What is that?"

"Sushi."

"Sushi?"

"Rice, raw fish, and seaweed."

"You wont accept a guys tongue in your mouth, but you'll eat that?"

She scoffed impatiently. "Can I eat?"

"I don't know, give it a try."

The room went silent as everybody watched Steve pull out his lunch from a large brown grocery bag; three sandwiches, a family-sized bag of chips, an apple, a banana, a bag of cookies and a carton of milk.

"Are you really going to eat all that?" Robin asked in shock.

"No, I'm only going to eat half."

"What are you going to do with the other half?"

"Shoving it up Eddie's ass."

How charming. He reached for his can and everybody shrunk away, thinking it might explode. He cracked the tab. 

Nothing happened.

Robin took out a sandwich covered in saran wrap. She unwrapped it and pulled the bread apart, starting to work on it like a mad scientist. She tossed the meat away, blindly whipping it to the side. It slapped on the wall and stuck there. She reached into her sweater pocket and pulled out a bag of chocolate M&M's. She tore the bag open and dumped all of it on the buttered bread. Out of her coat pocket she pulled out a little baggie filled with Captain crunch cereal and sprinkled it over the M&M's. She closed the mess of a sandwich and took a huge bite. She noticed that everyone was watching her. 

"You are bizarre." Eddie thought Steve's lunch was bad.

She reached for her Pepsi to wash it all down. She put it to her mouth and popped it. The soda sprayed cleanly into her mouth. 

After the fizz was gone, she smirked at Eddie. "Nice try, dingus."

"What do you have?" He turned to you, watching take a bite into your apple.

You handed your bag over to him, rather than speaking with a full mouth. He started pulling things out. He pulled out a sandwich, a thermos of soup, which he opened and give a big whiff, and a bottle of water.

"Well Sweetheart, this is a very nutritious lunch. All the food groups are represented. Did your mom marry Mr. Rodgers?"

Eddie stood so he was front and centre of the room, all eyes on him. 

"This is my impression of life at our darling Sweetheart's house." He gestured to you and your face flushed.

"Hello, dear. I'm home from the coalmine." Eddie impersonated your father.

Eddie quickly played your mother. "Oh, hello, sweetie pie. Dinner's almost ready. I'm serving stuffing instead of potatoes." 

"My favourite!" 

His voice turned high and shrill, playing you. "Hi, Dad! Yippee, you're home! I danced in a skimpy skirt in front of hundreds of people today. I went to church and I wrote Grandma a letter. Now can I have a pen pal?"

"Dear, isn't our daughter swell?" 

Quiet and motherly. "Yes Dear, isn't life swell?" 

Eddie mimed your mother kissing your father, then father kissing mother, and then your father punching your mother in the face. Suddenly it was not so funny anymore. 

Your eyes were wet. You hated how much that hurt. It wasn't his words that hurt you, it was how much you wished it were true. 

You bravely stood up. "No, it's more like --"

"Dad? Is it okay if I shoot heroin?"

You lowered your voice, playing your father. You held an imaginary newspaper in your hands, not taking your eyes off it and pretending that you weren't paying attention. "If it'll make you happy, pumpkin." 

You extended your fingers and blew on them, doing your mother and her fresh nail polish. "What are you talking about, Frank?! How's she going to wear her Sunday dress with holes in her arms? We are going to church aren't we?

"It's okay. Never mind. I won't be a junkie." You said sadly.

"Now, just wait a minute. If you want to be a junkie--" 

"I'm not going to be the only woman at the congregation with a junkie daughter. Now what about church?" Your mother said.

"Go by yourself!" Said your father.

"With pleasure! I'm taking Y/N." 

"Over my dead body!"

"I love her more than you do!"

"Go to hell!"

Everyone looks at you with a hint of sympathy. Even Eddie.

"Do you wish they'd get a divorce?" He asked.

"No."

"Why not?" 

"I'd have to live with one or the other. And I don't know which one is worse." You laughed, but there was no humour behind it.

"Whose next?" Eddie ask, like he didn't already know he was going to single out Steve. Eddie pointed at him. "You're next."

"Yeah, no thanks."

"You an orphan?"

"I don't need to dump on my parents. Especially when they're not here to defend themselves." Eddie gave him a look like he was being chicken.

"What about your family?" Steve asked Eddie. He wanted him to have a taste of his own medicine.

"Mine? Real simple, pal."

He climbed onto the table, really setting the stage and getting himself into character. His eyelids lowered and his body moved clumsily, like he was drunk. "Stupid, worthless, no good, goddamn freeloading, son of a bitch, big mouth, know-it-all, asshole, jerk!"

He stands up straight, crossing his arms and raising the pitch of his voice. "You forgot ugly, lazy and disrespectful." His mother said.

"Shut up bitch!" He smacked the air, hitting his invisible mother. He yelled it so loud you were worried Higgins was about to storm through the door.

As his father, he threw a punch. Eddie dramatically dropped from the table and fell to the ground. He stood up, brushed himself off and took a bow. The show was over. 

"Then they make me work to pay off the dentist for the teeth he busts."

"Is that for real?" Nancy looks like she's going to start crying for him. 

"You wanna come over some time?"

She didn't want to believe that something like that could happen to anyone. Even someone as vexing as Eddie. Nancy decided then to never complain about her parents again.

"That's part of your image. I don't believe a word." Steve brushed him off. His re-enactment hadn't moved him at all. 

You wondered if he was right. You had been so truthful about yours, you would feel ashamed if he had lied about his.

Eddie actually looked hurt. "You don't believe it, huh?" 

He whipped off his red shirt and pulled up the sleeve of his black t-shirt. He shoved his arm in Steve's face, displaying a grotesque purple scar. Steve recoiled away from it, but Eddie forced him to look at it. You subtly tugged at the sleeve of your cardigan. You could feel the bruises of Billy's fingers purpling on your wrist.

"You believe that? It's about the size of a cigar." Eddie spoke through gritted teeth. "That's what you get in my house when you spill paint in the garage."

Eddie was breathless with anger. His muscles were tensed up so tightly he thought he was going to give himself a full-body cramp. He needed something to calm himself down. Luckily, he knew just the thing.

~~~~~

~~~~~

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[minejungwoo]

We'll burn the sky | part six

Warnings: a lot of angst, mentions of suicide (reader's dad's death), mentions of drug abuse, absent parents, mentions of cheating

Pairings: Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Rockstar!fem!reader | Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham

Summary: after finding out the truth about Eddie, you struggle with your feelings and your trust in him.

Words count: 7.6k

@littledemondani thank you for the idea with the *cough* kiss *cough*

Series masterlist

-

When you were 7 years old, you watched your mother pack your clothes into the pink bag your dad gave you for your birthday. You were crying, holding your favorite plushie against your chest as you stared at her. 

“Please mom, I don’t want to go,” you said to her, “I wanna stay with you.” 

Your mother didn’t listen and if she did, she didn’t care. She threw your clothes and your shoes in there, not even bothering to fold your shirts or your pants. 

“I can’t do this anymore.” Is all she said to you, letting the tears fall down her pretty face, “he can take better care of you.”

“I don’t want to live with Dad, he’s never home.” 

Your words meant nothing to her. She continued to pack your clothes until they were all stuffed in the bag. She grabbed your hand and led you to her car. She dropped you off at your Dad’s house. She gave you one last hug and a goodbye kiss on your forehead before she left you standing in the rain, crying for her not to go, not caring that he wouldn’t be home until later that night. 

That was the last time you had seen her. Sometimes she would call or send you a letter but that’s all. She never gave you an explanation as to why she left you. 

You weren’t shocked, even at the age of 7, you could tell that she struggled with you in her life, you saw it coming. 

At the age of 12, you watched your dad being hospitalized after a concert. He collapsed on stage after performing the last song of the night. You watched him sing from backstage and when you saw him passing out, you didn’t even hesitate to run towards him, brushing Sam’s hands off of you when he tried to pull you away from your dad. 

They told you that he was dehydrated and tired and that is why he had passed out but you weren’t clueless. Even then, you already knew what he did when he locked himself in the bathrooms and came out wiping his nose.

You weren’t shocked about what happened that night. 

He was an amazing dad and when you moved in with him, he did everything to make you happy. He spent as much time with you as he could but he was a suffering person and you knew that it was only a matter of time before he left you too. 

At the age of 15, you watched your best friend choosing others over you. She began to pull away from you more and more, every day. Always making excuses to cancel plans with you. She’d tell you she was sick but then you’d see her making plans with other people, with girls that didn’t like you. 

That didn’t shock you either. 

At the age of 17, your life changed forever. 

On Christmas Eve, you came home after visiting Sam and his family. You brought the cookies that his kids made, the ones that your dad loved so much. You placed them on the counter before you went looking for him, thinking that you would find him in his office. 

You could still smell his cologne and the pine from the christmas tree that stood in the large living room whenever you thought of that day. 

A dreadful feeling settled in your stomach when you didn’t hear his voice or the sound of his guitar playing. 

He wasn’t in his office, he wasn’t in his bedroom either and deep down you already knew what you would find. You called out to him with a shaky voice as you neared the open bathroom door. You opened it fully and the sight in front of you made you want to throw up. 

Your dad was laying on the bathroom floor, needle still sticking inside his skin, his eyes were closed, he was already gone.

You ran towards him and dropped to your knees, you pulled his dead body into your lap and cried for him to wake up even though you knew that he would never wake up again, he would never open his eyes again, he would never come back again.

What you found that night didn't shock you either, you saw it coming. He had been dead for a long time already, what was left was only an empty shell.

But nothing, absolutely nothing could have prepared you for this moment. 

You stand frozen in place, your heart is racing in your chest, you feel the emptiness in your stomach starting to eat at you. The coil in your throat makes you struggle to breath. 

Her lips are moving but you can’t hear what she is saying. 

You blink, furrowing your brows as you tear your eyes away from her and look into those brown eyes that you have found home in. He is staring at you, looking into your eyes with shock, sadness, panic, regret and guilt, the guilt that has been there so many times, the guilt that you couldn’t explain until now. 

And even though she is there and other's are rushing past you, no one else exists in that moment but the two of you as you stare into each other's eyes.

You are confused and lost. There is no other emotions yet, just endless confusion.

Your eyes trail down to her hand that is resting on his chest, her body is pressed against his, she is smiling as she looks up at him, not realizing that he isn’t even listening to a word she is saying.

Your breath gets caught in your throat when you notice that his hand is laying on the small of her back. The hand that had been holding yours a few moments ago. Your eyes find his again and you can’t even hide the shock on your face. 

You don’t need words, you don’t need an explanation, you don't need to ask questions to find out what this is. 

She is his. He is hers. They are together. 

How long have they been together? How long has he been keeping this from you?

Chrissy.

His voice calling her name echoes in your mind.

Chrissy. Chrissy. Chrissy.

You have heard that name before.

He feels sick, he feels like crying, he feels like taking your hand in his and running away, not even caring about the girl in his arms, that one he hasn’t thought about once today. 

His heart aches in his chest when he sees the look on your face.

He pleads with his eyes, he blinks as he feels the tears welling up in his eyes. 

‘What have I done?’ he thinks to himself. 

“Eddie…. Eddie!” 

Chrissy’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, he tears his eyes away from you and looks down at her. Blinking the tears away, he tries to give her a smile but he can’t, he only looks at her in confusion. Why is she here?

She smiles at him and snuggles into his chest, “aren’t you happy to see me?” 

He doesn’t answer her, he looks up at you but you are gone. Panicked, he starts looking around for you but he can’t see you anywhere. 

He closes his eyes, a shaky sigh falls from his lips.

You let your feet carry you towards the others, who are waiting to go on stage. None of them notice the confused and shocked look on your face. Gareth and Jeff are joking around, Johnny occupies himself with his guitar. 

The opening act is still playing but you can barely hear anything, you feel as though you are underwater, hearing the faint voices coming from somewhere on the surface. 

Your chest is rising up and down heavily. 

You don’t understand. 

“You okay, kid?” Rob asks, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

You flinch and he raises his hands up in surrender, “whoa, it’s just me, y/n,” he mumbles. The boys turn around to look at you after hearing his words. Jeff furrows his brows when he sees the lost and confused look on your face. 

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks, taking a step towards you, “did something happen?” 

The confused look stays in your eyes as you stare at him. Does he know? 

“Where’s Eddie?” Gareth asks, looking at you in concern. 

Rob places his drink on the equipment cart before he takes a step forward, “kid, are you okay? You’re about to go on stage. Do you feel sick or nauseous, do you need something–” 

“Oh shit,” Jeff mumbles as he catches the sight of Eddie, holding Chrissy’s hand as he walks towards you. 

“Fuck,” Gareth sighs with an unreadable look on his face. 

Your stomach drops. Closing your eyes, you let out a laugh of disbelief. They all know. 

The only clueless one is your manager, he looks around with confusion written all over his face. 

Jeff mumbles your name as he tries to place his hand on your shoulder but you slap it away with an angry sigh. 

“Hi, guys.” 

You hear her voice and it makes your heart ache even more. 

“Hi.. Chrissy.” 

You feel so much hurt and so much anger but you refuse to let them see it right now, you refuse to let these feelings take control of you right now. 

‘Pull yourself together,’ you think to yourself. Taking a deep breath, you plaster a smile on your face and turn around to look at the girl, you have yet to speak to. 

Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see Eddie shifting uncomfortably. 

Her eyes meet yours and a smile appears on her face– a smile, you can tell, is not genuine in any way. You can see the distaste in her eyes, the jealousy, the coldness, “hi, I’m Chrissy. I’m Eddie’s girlfriend.” 

Girlfriend. You want to throw up. 

“Girlfriend?” you ask with a smile on your face, “Eddie never told me he has one and he usually tells me everything, right Eddie?” you say without looking at him. 

She blinks, squinting her eyes, her lips twitch, “I-I’m sure he told you, after all he wrote all those songs about me,” she says, tilting her head as she looks you up and down. You can see the judgmental look in her eyes. 

He wrote the songs about her? You want to scoff, you want to laugh, you want to scream and cry. He wrote the songs before he came to Los Angeles, he wrote the songs when he was still in Hawkins. All this time, he had been with her already, when he met you, he had already been with her, when he touched you he was with her, when he kissed you he was with her, when he said all those things to you, he was with her.

“What songs?” you laugh, shaking your head. You watch the anger appearing in her eyes, her lips part and she’s about to say something when you cut her off. 

“Oh, you mean the songs that were shit? They didn’t even make it on the album, honey.” 

Eddie can’t even be hurt by your words, the songs were shit but he feels surprised. He stares at you with a slightly shocked look in his eyes, just a few minutes ago, you stood there with a heartbroken look in your eyes and now there was nothing but a coldness in them, he has never seen before and it scares him. 

Rob raises his brows, he places his hands on his hips and looks around with wide eyes. 

Gareth clears his throat, he looks down and starts playing with his drumsticks. 

“Didn’t you listen to the album?” you ask. 

She shifts uncomfortably, playing with the hem of her skirt as she looks up at her boyfriend. He looks back at her and you look down at his hand, she is holding it but his hand is limp in her touch. 

“It’s not my style,” Chrissy mumbles, giving you an icy glare.

"But he wrote those songs about you," you tilt your head, pouting slightly.

She hates you, you can tell that she does. You can see it in her eyes.

She only shrugs in response.

You nod, “well, I hope it won’t be too wild for you tonight,” you mumble as you give her one last look before you turn away from her and Eddie. The boys are all avoiding looking into your eyes and you scoff at them. 

Reaching for the glass of whiskey that Rob placed on the table. 

“Wait–” Rob mumbles but quickly stops when he sees the anger in your eyes, waving his hand, he turns away from you. 

Eddie watches with a bad feeling in his chest. 

You slam the now empty glass back on the table and take a look at him, “better get your good luck kiss, Munson,” you mutter as you reach for the red microphone on the table. 

His lips part, he wants to say something but no words come out. 

The soft look in your eyes long gone, all there is now is the angry, betrayed and cold look in your eyes and it breaks his heart. He wants to take your hand, he wants to leave this place, he wants to explain everything, he wants to pull you into his arms, he wants to kiss you again and beg you to go back to the way things were.

Everyone notices the shift of energy. Everyone notices the anger and the intensity in your voice. 

You don’t change anything about your performance with Eddie, you let him touch you the way he always does, you let him pull you closer, you let him touch your waist, you let him lean his forehead against yours, you let him sing in your microphone with you. 

You can feel his fear, his regret, his guilt. 

He can feel your anger, your pain and the stiffness in your body when he lays his hands on your body. 

The anger and the rage is so clear in your voice and in some weird way, it makes you even better. 

Usually, you engage with the crowd a lot more but tonight, all you see is Eddie. You look into his eyes with so much anger, it makes him nervous. 

The pain doesn’t hit you until the last song- the one that you have spend so much time working on with him. The realization that floods through you makes your heart hurt the way it never has before. Everything begins to make sense. Why he never told you, why they boys never told you. 

He used you, in every way possible and the realization makes you feel sick.

You let him take your hand as you say your goodbye’s and you let him keep holding your hand when you exit the stage. You see Rob staring at you in concern and you see Chrissy staring at yours and Eddie’s hands with anger in her eyes and it only makes you even more sick. 

He has a girlfriend, he had one all this time. 

You rip your hand out of his. 

“What was that?” Gareth asks you in excitement, blind to the angry tears in your eyes, “you were fucking fantastic out there tonight!” 

You huff in anger as you rush past all of them, ignoring his words, or Jeff’s or Rob’s as they all call out to you. 

Eddie follows you with his eyes, fear and worry lingering in his eyes.

Chrissy walks towards him with a smile on her face, “hey–”

“Hold on,” Eddie mumbles, not even looking at her, “I’ll be right back,” he says before he runs after you. 

“Eddie!” Chrissy yells in disbelief. 

You slam the door shut and walk further into the room. Breathing heavily, you put your hands on your head. Your bottom lip quivers and your vision blurs, your eyes fall on the couch you kissed Eddie on, just a few hours ago. 

“I’m crazy about you.” 

“There’s no other like you.” 

“I fucking adore you.”

Lies. All lies. 

You felt pain before, you felt heartbreak before but not like this.

You feel the tears welling up in your eyes but you refuse to cry. You scoff in disbelief and shake your head angrily.

“Sweetheart.” 

You freeze at the sound of his voice. You hear him closing the door. You don’t even bother to blink the tears away before you turn around to look at him. His bangs cling to his sweaty forehead, his hands are shaky, his eyes are filled with regret. 

For a moment, neither of you say anything. You just stare at each other. He sees the pain in your eyes, the pain that he has caused. 

He walks towards you slowly, you don’t move, you just blink as you stare at him in confusion and disbelief. 

He stops in front of you, “I can explain.”

You frown at his words, your bottom lip quivers, a fresh wave of tears well up in your eyes as you stare into the eyes that once brought you so much comfort. 

Explain? Is he serious? What is there to explain? 

You don’t even notice that your tears have started to fall. He cups your cheek and wipes them away. 

His touch brings you nothing but pain. 

You push him away from you, “don’t fucking touch me.” 

Hurt flickers in his eyes, “sweetheart–” 

“I’m not your sweetheart!” 

“Please,” he whispers, “don’t do this.” 

“Do what?” you scoff, shaking your head. 

“Don’t push me away,” he whispers. 

His eyes are glassy, filled with nothing but guilt and pain. 

“What the fuck, Eddie?” you mumble as place your palms against his chest, pushing him further away from you and he lets you, he doesn’t fight it, he just closes his eyes as you keep pushing him back until he is pressed against the same door, that he pushed you against when he kissed you, “what the fuck?” 

“You have a fucking girlfriend? What the hell is wrong with you?” 

He blinks, looking away for a moment, he sniffles, bringing his hand up to his face to wipe his tears away. 

“Why are you crying?” you ask angrily, “why are you fucking crying? You lied to me all this fucking time! You lied about your fucking feelings, you lied about the shit you said to me earlier!” 

He shakes his head.

“I never lied to you about the things that I said. I meant them,” he says as he cups your cheeks again, “I meant them.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whisper, staring at him in confusion.

He shrugs.

"How long have you been with her, huh?"

He looks down, brown eyes flashing with guilt, "two years," he whispers.

You laugh in disbelief, "two years and you haven't mentioned her once."

You know why, you know exactly why he didn't tell you.

“I-I didn’t want to,” he says, “I didn’t think that anything would happen between us, I-I fought the feelings for a long time but I– I couldn’t fight them any longer and I couldn’t, I just couldn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t want me anymore if I told you about her."

"How dare you talk about feelings?” you ask, not even feeling the tears anymore, “you fucking used me, you did so from the start!” 

“What? No!” he shakes his head with wide eyes, “I never used you!” 

“Yes, you fucking did! That’s why you never told me about her! That's why the guys never told me! You used me for everything! You used me for the songs, you used me for this fucking band, you knew who I was– who my dad was! You needed me and you needed to make sure that I stayed, that’s why you spent so much fucking time with me, that’s why you made me like you, that’s why you made me fall in love with you!” you scream at him, your voice heavy with emotions, your eyes filled with nothing but disgust and anger for the man in front of you. You don’t even care about hiding your feelings anymore, you don’t care about hiding the pain or the anger. 

Eddie only stares at you with a shocked expression on his face, he blinks and stands frozen in place. 

He knew you liked him, he knew you liked spending time with him, he knew you liked touching and kissing him but he didn’t know that your feelings were as deep as his. 

“Using me for the music wasn't enough, you just had to go even further, huh? Was I her replacement? You needed someone to keep your bed warm?” you cry, throwing your hands up. 

He doesn’t say a word, he just stares at you as tears slip down his cheeks, not knowing that he makes it all even worse with his silence. 

You sniffle, your chest is filled with so much pain and you begin to struggle to breathe. 

How could you let this happen? How could you not see all the clear signs? How were you so blind? 

He talked to her when you were there, Chris. 

“Chris…calm down! Please.. just stop calling her that.” 

“I’m not coming home, don’t you get it?”

You shake your head at the memories. You can’t even look at him and the broken look in his eyes, you turn away from him as a sob falls from your lips. 

His heart shatters at the sound of it. His own tears run down his face, he rushes towards you, hands itching to touch you and comfort you. 

You want to pull yourself together, you want to stop crying, you want to push him away and walk out of the room but you can’t. Right now, you can’t, it all hurts so much. 

You feel his hands on your cheeks again, he tilts your head up, “I never used you, not in any way, you hear me?” 

“Yes, you did,” you whisper angrily, “you all did, I was a big fucking joke to all of you! You needed me for this stupid band, you said so yourself, remember? And while you were at it, you decided to use me too because she wasn’t there!” 

“No!” he pulls you closer, you can feel the shakiness of his hands, you can see how much he’s hurting too, “that’s not true, at all!” Yes it is, no one and nothing can convince you otherwise. 

You close your eyes and shake your head, the stiffness in your body disappears and you melt into his touch, you’re exhausted. Eddie leans down, his lips touch your cheeks, he kisses your tears away, “please, that’s not what happened. I– we never used you. I wanted you right from the start, I wanted you in the band, I wanted you with me,” he mumbles against your skin. 

“Just stop, Eddie,” you whisper even though you want to yell at him and push him away from you. 

He continues to kiss your tears away as you stand there frozen in place. 

“Please, just stop,” your voice breaks and so does his heart. One look into your eyes and he knows, he lost you. 

“I’m done with this,” you say shakily, “I’m done with you.” 

His bottom lip quivers, his face falls and just the sight of him alone is enough to shatter the last piece of your already broken heart. 

“Please.” 

“Stay away from me, Eddie,” you whisper as you take one final look at him before you turn away. 

His shoulders slump as he begins to cry harder, he wants to follow you, he wants to take your hand, he wants to pull you into his arms again but all he can do is watch you leave. 

You grab your jacket and wipe your tears away before you open the door and walk out with fresh tears in your eyes. 

Betrayal and heartbreak is all you feel. His tears, his pleading eyes, his words, his touches didn’t convince you. You don’t believe him, you don’t believe a single word he told you. 

You feel stupid, you feel like a fool for falling for him, for believing him. All this time, he led you on. 

Using you for the music was one thing but using you to fill the hole that she left when she wasn’t there was another. 

You press your lips together to keep yourself from sobbing. Putting the jacket on, you walk away, not bothering to look for the others. You don’t want to see them, you don’t want to see anyone. You don’t want to go on the tour bus, you don’t want to go back into the hotel room that you have shared with Eddie. 

“Y/n!” 

You clench your jaw at the sound of Gareth’s voice. 

“Wait up for me!” 

You halt in your tracks, closing your eyes, you take a deep breath. You turn around and tilt your head as you look at him.

His hair is wet and he changed his clothes, you can smell his aftershave as he stops in front of you. His eyes widen a little, guilt flashes in them, he speaks your name softly. 

“What do you want?” you ask. 

The anger rises up in you again. He pushed you into Eddie’s arms, he did everything to bring the two of you together, all while knowing about his girlfriend. 

“I-I.. shit, I didn’t think this would happen.” 

A look of disbelief settles on your face and you can’t help but laugh at his words despite the burning in your eyes. 

“Well, what did you think would happen, huh?” you ask, not caring about the prying eyes of the staff. 

Gareth sighs, looking down, “I just, Eddie likes you and you like him, I just wanted.. to help.” 

You scoff, shaking your head, “help? You helped real fucking good, Gareth. He had a girlfriend all this time and you what? You thought that it would be fun to convince him to cheat on her with me?” you point to yourself, “the fool that fell in love with that asshole?”

He shakes his head with wide eyes. 

"No, I-I thought he would leave her, I didn't even know that they were still together, you were so close, I thought it was over."

Bullshit.

“What a fucking shit show,” you mumble before you walk away to look for one of the security guards that will get you out of the venue. You don’t want to be around any of them tonight. 

-

Eddie walks out of the room after wiping the tears off that continued to fall after you left.

“There you are,” Chrissy says as she walks towards him after leaving the conversation with Rob. 

He plasters a smile on his face as he looks at his girlfriend. 

“Is everything okay?” she asks, reaching for his hand. 

He nods, “yeah, everything is okay, Chrissy,” he lies. 

She furrows her brows and stares at her boyfriend, “you know, I thought you’d be happier to see me.” 

“I am happy, Chris,” he mumbles, “I’m just tired.” 

A breathy sigh leaves her lips, she stands on her tippy toes and places her hands on his chest as she starts to kiss his neck, “are you really? I missed you,” she purrs as she continues to kiss his neck, “I thought we’d make up for lost time tonight.” 

Eddie closes his eyes, he places his hands on her waist and sighs, not out of pleasure but out of frustration. He can’t do this, he doesn’t want to do this. 

“Come on,” he mumbles, “I just want to go back to the hotel.” 

She gives him one last peck before she pulls away. 

The smile he gives her is so painful and forced, he is surprised that she doesn’t question it. 

“I didn’t know you were planning a surprise.” 

“I uh–” she lets out a quiet laugh, “I’m actually here for Aubrey’s bachelorette party, we’ve been here since monday.” 

“Oh,” he nods. Of course she didn’t come here just for him. 

“How are things back home?” he asks to fill the awkward silence between them.

Her blue eyes flash with something unreadable, she looks away for a moment before she looks back at him with a sheepish smile on her face, “good.. yeah, they’re good.” 

“Do you see Wayne sometimes?” 

She laughs a little as she shakes her head, “where would I see him, Eddie?” 

He frowns at her words, shrugging, “at the store?” he suggests, “family video? I know you love to get your movies there.” 

She looks down, “I never see him around,” she shrugs. 

Leaving the venue was always a lot, fans were waiting outside, hoping for an autograph or a picture or more and usually, everyone would stop to engage with the fans but everything was different tonight. Gareth felt guilty after the conversation with you, giving his fangirls nothing more than a few smiles and hugs before disappearing in the tour bus, Jeff signed a few poster and so did Johnny but Eddie walked straight into the tour bus, trying to shield his girlfriend from the prying eyes and the paparazzis.

Eddie doesn’t mind the fans but he hates the media, the flashing lights, the prying eyes and the questions that are constantly thrown at him and at you. 

As he looked around, he noticed that everyone was there but you. 

“Where’s y/n?”

“She already left,” Rob says with a pointed look on his face, “with one of the security guards.” 

“Oh, okay.” 

-

You felt angry on stage. 

You felt angry when you talked to him. 

You felt angry when you talked to Gareth. 

You felt angry on the way back to the hotel. 

But the moment you stepped into your hotel room and turned the lights on, your eyes fell on the bed that you shared with Eddie earlier, all the anger disappeared and all you felt was agonizing pain in your chest. 

He left his things here, the shirt he wore earlier is still on the bed, his sunglasses are still on the dresser, his leather jacket is draped over the chair. One of his necklaces laying next to yours that you have taken off this morning. 

You close your eyes as you lean your back against the door. 

You are still in disbelief, still in shock. You feel like a zombie as you waltz through the room, throwing your jacket on the chair by the window, you take your boots off and throw them on the floor. You collect some fresh clothes before you make your way to the bathroom to take a shower. 

Usually, you are excited to wash the sweat off from performing all night but tonight, you just want to wash his touch off. As though that could ever be possible. 

His touches, his kisses are burned into your skin for eternity.

You stand there for what feels like forever, your legs almost give out and you have to sit down to keep yourself from falling. You pull your knees up to your chest and let the water fall down on you. 

You sit there until the room is filled with steam and the heat gets too much. 

The tears don’t appear until you stare at yourself in the mirror. 

You brush your hair and stare at the marks that Eddie left on your neck, the tears begin to fall, staining your cheeks once again. 

He touched you and thought of someone else. 

He kissed you and had her on his mind. 

You were nothing but a placeholder. A body to keep his bed warm. 

He was using you while you were falling in love with him like a fool.

You feel sick, you feel like screaming your lungs out, you feel like destroying things, you feel like destroying yourself, you feel like punishing yourself for being so stupid and blind.  

You turn off the lights and leave the bathroom just as a knock on your door echoes through the silent room. 

“Y/n, kid, are you in there?” 

You sigh in relief when you hear Rob’s voice on the other side of the door. 

“Yeah.” 

“Is uh– is everything okay? You need anything?” 

With your eyes closed, you lean against the door. Warm tears slide down your cheeks, your breathing gets heavy and you can feel yourself nearing a breakdown. 

“No, I’m good, I’m just gonna get some sleep now,” you say. 

“Okay. Don’t miss breakfast tomorrow, alright?” 

“I won’t.”

“Good night, kid.” 

“Night.” 

You drag yourself to the bed, throwing Eddie’s shirt on the ground as you lift the covers and crawl inside. The moment your head hits the pillow and you smell him, a sob falls from your lips. You squeeze your eyes shut and pull the blanket up to your chest. 

The pain is unbearable.

You never understood what your dad felt like when he got his heart broken, you could only imagine it. 

Now you understand it. 

Now you understand everything. 

Through the thin hotel room walls, Eddie can hear you crying. He can hear your sobs, he can hear you suffering. Because of him. He wants nothing more than to go over to your room and pull you into his arms, hold you and take away all the pain that he has caused but he can’t.

Another girl is laying in his arms, snuggling into his chest with a sigh. She sleeps soundly in his arms. 

Eddie looks down at her and his heart hurts. She is not the one he wants any longer. He doesn’t want her in his arms, he wants you. 

Your cries make him cry, hot tears run down his skin, staining the pillow he is lying on. He broke your heart and his own too. 

Losing you was something he was always afraid of but he hoped that he could prevent it, he hoped that he could break things off with her before you found out. 

But everything he had built with you fell apart in one night. 

And he knows that there is nothing he can do to change it, there is nothing he can do to fix it. He ruined it all himself. 

Maybe there is a way for you to fall back together but deep down he knows, he lost you. 

-

If there is one useful thing that your mother has taught you in one of the few phone calls you have had with her, it’s to never show how much you’re hurting. 

‘You always gotta look good, even if you don’t feel good. You don’t need others to be all up in your business and see how much you’re suffering. They want to see you suffer, don’t show them.’ 

So you pull yourself together even if you don’t feel like it. 

‘Always make sure your hair looks good, fix your makeup, wear your best clothes, smell good.’ 

You do your hair, you put on makeup, you pick out a good outfit and your favorite shoes, you put your favorite perfume on. 

‘Smile, honey. Don’t show them how miserable you are, you don’t want to give them that satisfaction.’ 

You nod to yourself as you look into the mirror. 

‘And if someone hurts you, make sure to hurt them back. Make them suffer.’ 

Yeah, thanks mom. 

The thought of seeing Eddie makes you feel sick and yet you make your way into the dining area. 

You don’t hear the whispers around you and you don’t feel the eyes on you, focused on something— someone entirely else as you get yourself a coffee before leaving the buffet to look for the others. 

You find them sitting at a round table by the big windows. All of them are there, including Eddie and his girlfriend. You clench your jaw at the sight of them. 

Your heart aches in your chest when you see her moving closer to him, whispering something in his ear as she pushes his hair away. It makes you angry, he makes you angry and she makes you angry too. You want to rip her hands off of him and you want to hurt him. 

Why does he get to be happy after what he did?

“You spend the night by yourself, Gareth?” Rob asks as he sips on his coffee. 

Gareth hums, “yeah, I–”  he pauses to shovel the scrambled eggs into his mouth, “didn’t feel like hooking up with some stranger.” 

Chrissy gives him a disgusted look as he talks with his mouth full, “ew,” she mumbles. 

Gareth gives her sarcastic grin before he stabs his fork into his pancake and takes a bite out of it. 

She rolls her eyes and turns away from him. 

Rob chuckles, “look at you, turning into a whole new man,” he jokes causing Jeff to laugh. 

“Yeah, he is ready to settle down,” Johnny grinnes. 

Gareth swallows, almost choking on his food, he reaches for the orange juice and gulps it down, wiping his mouth with his sleeve to piss off Chrissy, he smirks to himself when she hears her mumbling something under her breath. 

“Settling down isn’t my thing, look at Eddie, he is in a relationship and he’s miserable,” he says as though he is stating a fact as he places his elbows on the table and points to his friend with his fork. 

Eddie’s puffy eyes widen and he looks at his friend in surprise. 

“He is not miserable!” Chrissy gasps in disbelief. 

Jeff clears his throat. 

“He looks pretty miserable to me, Christy.” 

She glares at him as she tries to come up with a response. 

Eddie avoids looking into her eyes, instead he looks at Jeff, who stops chewing as he stares at something behind his shoulder, his eyes widen a little and he suddenly looks nervous. 

Eddie's eyes flash with curiosity. 

Just as he’s about to turn around, he suddenly feels a ringed hand settling on his shoulder and sliding down his back. It’s your hand. His heart flutters and so does his stomach, even with his girlfriend here.

You place your coffee on the table and sit down on the chair next to Eddie’s. Everyone pauses what they’re doing, staring at you with nervous and curious looks on their faces. 

You smile as though nothing ever happened. 

You turn to look at Eddie. You have to restrain a gasp when you see the puffiness and the dark circles under his eyes. He looks just as miserable as you are feeling and the sight alone is almost enough to make you cry again but you keep smiling at him, sliding your hand back up to his shoulder, you lean closer, “good morning, baby.” You kiss the corner of his mouth. Your lips linger for longer than necessary, you watch his eyes widen in shock, a little gasp falling from his lips.

Chrissy stares at you, frozen in place just like her dumbfound boyfriend. 

A shit eating grin appears on Gareth's face.

Johnny stares at you in shock.

Rob smiles into his mug and Jeff almost spits his food out as he looks between you and Eddie and then at Chrissy who stands up suddenly, chair scraping against the floor as she looks at you angrily, “what the fuck?!” She shrieks, “Eddie!” 

Chrissy looks down at him in disbelief as he makes no move to remove your hand or push you away from him or look up at her. His eyes are on you as he sits there frozen in place.

He doesn't move when Chrissy slaps his shoulder, he doesn't move when she says his name again.

Leaving your hand to rest on his shoulder, you take your mug and take a sip as you stare at him with a satisfied smile on your face. 

Two can play that game, Eddie. 

"What's wrong, Chrissy?" you ask with a sweet smile.

She shakes her head, furrowing her brows at your question, "why are you kissing my boyfriend?"

"Do you want a kiss too?" you ask.

She gasps, "I- what?!"

Eddie gapes at you.

Gareth can't even contain his laughter any longer, earning a slap on his shoulder from Jeff.

"Eddie and I share everything, didn't he tell you?"

You move his hair back, running your fingers through it as you lean your chin on his shoulder and he lets you.

Her cheeks are red, her eyes are filled with anger as she looks between you and Eddie. It's amusing to you.

"Eddie?"

He finally tears his eyes away from you and looks up her. His confused stare turns into a guilty one and she easily figures out why he looks so guilty.

"Chris-"

"You asshole!" she cries as she delivers a harsh slap to his cheek before she storms away.

Eddie closes his eyes, clenching his jaw, he deserved that.

The moment she's gone, you move away from Eddie and you lean back in your chair, taking a look around, you smirk to yourself when you see all the shocked faces.

Rob scratches the back of his neck as he glances at you.

Eddie speaks your name softly.

You expected him to get mad at you, to yell at you and ask you why you did that but instead you're met by the sight of his soft eyes as you look back at him and irritates you.

"Don't you want to follow your girlfriend, Eddie?"

Confusion is written all over his face as he shakes his head. His cheek is red from the harsh slap, eyes filled with concern and hurt.

"What was that?" he asks, not understanding why you would touch him and kiss him again after what you said to him last night. A foolish part of him hopes that things can go back to the way they were before yesterday but the coldness in your eyes shows him that things will never be the same again.

"That was me showing your girlfriend what a piece of shit you are, Eddie."

Saying these words hurt you just as much as they hurt him.

He says your name with a shaky voice, like he is on the verge of crying.

You can't do this.

You can't do this.

Looking into his glassy eyes, hearing his shaky voice, seeing how hurt he looks, breaks your heart even more.

You thought you could make yourself believe that you would be fine, that you could pretend that it doesn't hurt but you would be lying to yourself.

You get up and storm out of the room without looking back.

"Y/n!"

He didn't follow her out but he follows you.

You walk through the lobby and back to the elevators, blinking your tears away.

"Wait!"

He grabs your upper arm and pulls you back, placing both of his hands on your arms, he cages you against the nearest wall so you don't escape him again.

"Let me go."

He shakes his head.

You can see the fear and the pain in his eyes, the sadness; as though he wasn't the one that got him into this situation in the first place. Your heart still hurts.

"Please," he whispers, "I know I fucked up, I know what I did was wrong, I should have told you, I should have left her before we-"

"Stop," you sigh, "I don't wanna hear it."

"I'm just, I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you."

"But you did."

His eyes are filled with tears and yours are too.

"Last night you told me that you have feelings for me-"

"I do," he says, squeezing your arms.

"How long have you known then?"

"For some time now, before we left California."

You nod, sniffling, you look down and close your eyes.

"See, I don't believe a word you're saying, Eddie. If you did have feelings for me, you would have left her- I'm not saying that you should have done that, I don't want to be a fucking home wrecker but a good person would have been honest about their feelings and leave their partner before becoming a fucking cheater," you pause as you take a deep breath and look back into his sad eyes, "you didn't tell her anything, you didn't tell me anything. You don't have feelings for me, you needed me to keep yourself satisfied and now that I know the truth, you do everything to make me believe you because you're scared."

You push him away from you, "you're scared that I'll leave the band because you know, you'd be nothing without me."

"No, please, y/n," he sighs in defeat, "that's not true, I don't even care about that, I care about you, about us."

"There is no us, there never was and there never will be," you say, staring at him through your blurry vision, "I'll stay for the rest of the tour but the moment it's over, the moment we're back in LA, I'm out and I never want to see you again after this, Eddie."

He starts crying and so do you.

"No," he whispers.

The look in his eyes and pain in his voice destroys you, it leaves a hole in your heart.

Your eyes are filled with betrayal and heartbreak.

His eyes are filled with pain, fear and heartbreak too.

Now you are nothing but two broken people.

And this is only the beginning of all the pain that is about to follow.

-

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