#I GRADUATED COLLEGE WHILE THIS MAN WAS IN THE NAVY

[waitingforminjae]

finally wtf i thought the navy was never gonna give him back

[august126]

Scenes from an Italian Restaurant

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller is a lot of things: your dad’s best friend, your boss, your next-door neighbor. And, y'know, the guy you’ve been harboring a massive crush on since your freshman year of college.

You're pretty sure your feelings aren't reciprocated... until one night that changes everything.

Warnings:Age Difference,Joel is 49 and Reader is 24,Oral Sex,Car Sex,semi-public sex (sort of),Flirting,Masturbation, and Dirty Talk

Words:12,334

a/n: so sorry it took me almost a month to post something new ffs - life got busy and my inspiration simultaneously disappeared.

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“Y’know, while ‘m happy that you’re livin’ with me again, I’d appreciate it f’ya started tryin’ to find a job that put that fancy degree t’use.” You peer over the top of the book you’d been reading at your dad, who’s taking up a spot at the end of your pool chair. His arms are crossed over his navy work shirt, drenched in sweat from working all day in the roiling heat customary of a Texas summer, and he’s watching you expectantly for an answer. 

You set your book on your chest and sigh. It’s not that you aren’t thankful or don’t appreciate your dad allowing you to move back in with him after graduating from college a year ago. You fully understand how fortunate you are not to have to worry about paying rent; you’re also eternally grateful to your dad for hooking you up with a decent-paying job as a secretary at the contracting business his best friend owns. However, you were getting very, very tired of having this conversation. 

“And you know that I am lookin’, but it’s silly for me t’apply for an entry-level position at a firm that’s gonna pay me less than what ‘m makin’ now.” Your dad rolls his eyes and grumbles something snippy under his breath, his go-to combo when he doesn’t like that you’re right. You pin him with a pointed stare. “Care to repeat that?”

“Said maybe I oughta tell Joel to dock your pay then,” your dad states, but any lingering irritation in his tone dissipates by the time he’s finished speaking. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, and his slight frown turns into a small, teasing smile. 

“Somebody say my name?” Your gaze shifts from your dad to the sliding glass door behind him… or, rather, the man who opened it. 

Joel Miller is a lot of things: your dad’s best friend, your boss, your next-door neighbor. And, y'know, the guy you’ve been harboring a massive crush on since your freshman year of college. Currently, Joel Miller is the tanned, broad, tall man striding leisurely through your backyard, navigating around your pool, and stopping beside your father. 

He slaps a hand on your dad’s shoulder in greeting and shoots you a bright grin as he coos, “Hey, lady.” Although Joel’s addressed you with the pet name for years, it never fails to cause an eruption of butterflies in your belly and a crimson blush to paint your cheeks.

“Hey, Joel,” you respond, trying to appear nonchalant even as you’re reining in your thundering heart and halting the pulse throbbing just south of your belly button. “Dad was jus’ sayin’ how he’s gonna ask ya to give me a pay cut.” Joel turns to your father, shaking his head.

“And risk losin’ my best employee? No can do, bud.” Even if he’s only joking, you preen at Joel’s praise. You cock an eyebrow at your dad, waiting for some sort of a comeback, but he only glares at you both before huffing. 

“I don’t like when the two of ya gang up on me.” You giggle, and Joel shoots you a lazy wink and a warm, victorious smile. “Anyway,” your dad turns his attention back to Joel, “you said reservation’s at 6:45?” 

“Uh-huh, so we oughta get our asses movin’,” Joel asserts, and your dad starts heading swiftly back toward your house. Joel’s eyes shift to you, still lounging on your purple pool chair, and he nudges your foot with the toe of his boot. “That means you too, lady.” 

“What’s the occasion?” 

“Sarah’s birthday,” Joel answers incredulously, and a lightbulb goes off in your head; that’s why you felt like you were forgettin’ something all day. “Please tell me ya didn’t forget my daughter’s birthday. Your friend’s birthday,” Joel teases, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. 

“ Of course I didn’t forget,” you lie, narrowing your eyes. Joel sees right through it.

“I bet. Now go get changed ‘fore ya make us late … unless you plan on wearin’ that to dinner.” The blush you just managed to school comes back in full force as he unabashedly rakes his eyes over your body, and only now do you realize how little the tiny black bikini you’re wearing covers. 

Joel’s pretty brown eyes, usually so teeming with emotion, are utterly unreadable as you stand from your chair and begin heading inside. As you pass him, you mumble, “Don’t see why you’re complainin’.”

“Didn’t think I was.” You stumble a bit, glancing over your shoulder to find Joel’s gaze slowly sweeping down your body. When his stare lands on your ass, practically bare save for the minuscule cover your bikini bottom provides, his attention snaps back to your face, an impish grin on his lips that makes your skin flush. 

“Fuck off, old man,” you reply cooly, flipping him off as you saunter inside; you can still feel Joel’s gaze on you as you ascend the stairs, and if that makes you sway your hips more than usual… well, who the fuck cares? 

Once you’ve entered your bedroom and stripped off your bathing suit to assemble an outfit for dinner, your mind drifts into a space you’ve grown all too familiar with over the last five years. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t understand how wrong your crush on Joel Miller was. Ignoring the fact that he’s been your dad’s best friend for years, he’s also over two decades your senior and has a daughter only a few years younger than you. It’s disgusting, really, that you have even the slightest hint of attraction toward the man. And yet…

You really can’t find it in yourself to care. You’re no longer a college student parading around under the guise of adulthood. No, you’re a woman now, a woman with autonomy who is perfectly capable of making her own choices. If one of those choices is fucking her dad’s best friend, well, then so be it.

Even as you tell yourself this for the thousandth time, the sentiment feels weak. Sure, the opportunity to fuck Joel Miller is perfectly viable, in theory. However, so many things would have to go right for a thing like that to happen, and you are a notoriously unlucky person; quite frankly, you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve gotten lucky to the degree that you would need to for something like having sex with Joel to happen. 

For one, no one would ever be able to find out. Your dad, Sarah, any of your nosey neighbors. Not to mention that the logistical feat of such a thing would be tricky. Where would you guys meet up? Not your house, not his house, and anything public like a bar would be far too risky. No, it would have to be a one-off deal, and you’re not so sure you’d be able to stop at just a single taste of Joel.

And that’s all assumin’ he’d even want me, you think as you comb through your closet looking for a summer dress right for the occasion. Joel Miller had never, never shown a flicker of interest in you. That display by the pool, him ogling your ass in your skimpy bikini? That was just him keeping up the incessant string of banter that passed between the two of you. Sure, he was older than you, but that didn’t matter when it came to the way he treated you, as if you were his friend. 

Right, his friend. 

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. This line of thinking was an absolute rabbit hole, forcing you down, down, down until there was a headache ebbing at your temples and your veins were licking with equal parts frustration and lust. 

Three quick knocks come on your door, and your head whips around at the sound, pulling you out of your Joel-induced stupor. “Hey, lady?”

Fuck. You stand in your closet, stunned into inaction like a deer in headlights as you realize the only thing separating you, butt-ass naked, and Joel is the mahogany of your closed bedroom door. 

“Just checkin’ to see ‘f you’re ready yet. Sarah jus’ texted, said her and what’s-his-face are waitin’ at the restaurant.” You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. You off-handedly wonder why you haven’t just slipped a dress on over your head on the off chance Joel decides to swing open your door, and you realize with a sick sort of excitement that you wouldn’t entirely mind Joel walking into your room at this very moment. 

“Almost,” you call out, forcing your words to come out smooth as the image of Joel entering your room enters your mind unbidden; you imagine how his eyes would take in your naked form, how it’d take three short strides for him to reach you, how he might drop his head and lick one of your already hardened nipples into his warm, waiting mouth. You swallow thickly before calling out, “Just need another second s’all.” 

A dull throb begins at the apex of your thighs as you picture the man on the other side of the wall putting his rough, work-worn hands all over your soft, supple skin. You wonder what his calloused touch would feel like against your flesh, if his honeyed skin would grow rosy under the thorough ministrations of your wet tongue, if his eyes would grow dark and a deep groan would drip from his lips as you closed your mouth around his-

“Sweetheart? Y’alright in there?” You think you mumble an airy affirmation as you mindlessly trace your fingers along your collarbone, imagining that they’re longer, thicker, belonging to another individual entirely. Any semblance of rationality escapes you as your other hand creeps down the smooth skin of your belly, and you cup your sex with a groan you’re barely able to muffle. You’re so outside of yourself, caught up in the slow path your fingers are tracing along your body, that you don’t notice the doorknob begin to turn. 

Only when your door starts to lurch open do you fall back into your body from where you were floating a few seconds earlier. Your eyes blow wide, a strangled cry of surprise and horror falling from your mouth as you realize the precarious situation you’re about to be thrust into. “WAIT.”

The slow sway of your door opening halts immediately, and you let out a breath, spinning on your heel to face your closet. “I- ‘m jus’ comin’ in t’make sure you’re alright.” You hastily decide on a sage green strapless dress, something you can slip into quickly and inconspicuously, and rip the silk garment from its hanger. 

“Yeah, no, ‘m good, Joel. Great, I’m great, jus’… yeah, gimme a sec.” You throw the dress on, its hem falling to your mid-thigh as you grab a pair of strappy sandals from the bottom of your closet and slip one on, hopping into the other as you approach your door. 

“Y’sure, baby? Ya sound-” You slip your shoe on and grab the door handle in one movement, opening it fully to give you an unobstructed view of the man you’d just been on the verge of touching yourself to. Wouldn’t be the first time, you think to yourself unhelpfully. 

He’s looking down at you, concern and curiosity bubbling in his gaze, and you raise your eyebrows at him. “See? ‘m fine, all good. Jus’ needed a minute.” Joel’s eyes blaze a lackadaisical trail over your body, and you swear you can feel him cataloging each inch of bare skin you have on display. He reaches out, plucking one of the flimsy green spaghetti straps between his thick fingers before letting it go to snap back against your shoulder. You stifle a gasp, and he brushes the hair careening down your chest back over your shoulder. 

“This is pretty,” he says, voice low and velvety, and you can feel your pussy beginning to grow wet at his praise. He bends down until his mouth hovers just next to your ear, and you’re suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of him: musky cologne and citrusy body wash and something unidentifiable yet so undoubtedly Joel. “Did ya mean t’be wearin’ it backward?”

You look down at yourself, heat rising to your face when you realize that he’s right: you’ve managed to put your dress on the wrong way. You shove Joel’s shoulder, and he takes a step back, a smug grin painted on his lips that makes you roll your eyes. 

“You’re a dick, y’know that?” He chuckles at your dig, crossing his arms over his broad chest. 

 “And you’re makin’ us late to this dinner. Now, can I trust ya to fix your dress yourself, or do ya need me to help?” He delivers it like a joke, and the logical part of your brain reminds you of that the moment your pulse begins to flutter. He’s just teasin’ you like he always does. 

However, the dark, hunger-tinged stare Joel is pinning you with doesn’t feel humorous. You swallow thickly, saliva pooling in your mouth and pinning your tongue to the roof. “I-” you stutter, words failing you as he continues dragging his eyes slowly over your flustered form. “You-”

“Spit it out, baby.” Baby. You turn the endearment over in your head a few times, testing the weight of it on your tongue. Finally, the corners of your lips pull up in a cheeky smile and your eyelids grow heavy as you gaze up into Joel’s face. 

“You askin’ to undress me, Miller?” And this doesn’t feel like your typical banter. No, this feels weighted, laced with something headier. Something full of innuendo and promises and an unquenchable appetite for… something. And then your dad’s voice is cutting harshly through the fog.

“Hey hon, I’ll be- oh, Joel, didn’t realize ya came up here.”

Joel doesn’t even spare your dad a glance, eyes still on you as he says, “Jus’ wanted to check and see if your slow-ass kid was ready t’go.” Your dad snorts, and you narrow your eyes at Joel before turning the withering look to your father. 

“Don’t laugh at that.” 

“Sorry, sweetie, but ya are kinda slow.” Joel’s smirk only grows, and you huff incredulously. Your dad, apparently oblivious to the bubble of tension he popped, continues. “Anywho, was jus’ sayin’ that I’m gonna head out to the car ‘cause we need t’get goin’, so quit your dilly dallyin’ and let’s get a move on.” He raises his eyebrows at you expectantly, and you sigh in defeat. 

You look at the ground as you mutter, “Yes, Dad, ‘m just about ready,” and your reply is met with a loud clap of your father's hands.

“Wonderful!” he exclaims, rubbing his palms together before bringing a heavy hand down on Joel’s shoulder. “C’mon, Joel, you can wait with me in the car. I need t’talk to ya ‘bout some work shit anyway.” Your dad begins to drag Joel down the stairs, but not before Joel can get the last word in between you. 

He cranes his head back, catching your glare as he descends the stairs. “Y’heard your daddy, no more dilly dallyin’,” he sing-songs, and you scoff. 

“Oh, fuck you, Miller.” “Language, ma’am,” you hear your dad chastise sternly, and you grumble a half-assed apology as you close your bedroom door behind you. It only takes you a minute to flip your dress so that you’re wearing it the correct way and throw on a pair of light pink, lace panties, bounding down the stairs and out the front door when you’re ready. Before you know it, you’re seated in the backseat of Joel’s old pickup truck as it cruises down the highway toward Austin’s metro area. 

You watch the residential neighborhoods littered with little kids running through sprinklers and elderly couples sitting in chairs on their front porches morph into the city, full of streets tightly lined with buildings and bar-hoppers entering their first destination of the night. The sun still hangs rather high in the sky, dappling the world in a warm amber glow as Joel pulls up outside a quaint Italian bistro nestled between an ice cream parlor full of bright-eyed children and a sushi restaurant rattling with the heavy bass of the music from within. 

“Cute lil’ place,” you say, surveying the old brick exterior of the building and the burgundy awning hanging over the open front door that bears the name of the restaurant, Palermio’s, in loopy, white script. “Sarah’s choice?”

Joel reaches his hand behind your dad’s headrest, using one hand to turn the wheel while he starts to squeeze his truck into the last snug parking spot outside of the bistro. “No, darlin’, I did.” You stare at his side profile as he maneuvers the truck, surprise lacing your features. It’s not until he’s parked the car and meets your eyes in the rearview mirror as he’s straightening out in his seat that you realize he’s bullshitting you. 

“Asshole,” you mutter under your breath as you throw open your door and slide from the backseat, and he’s following you a second later.

“Y’know, you oughta be nicer t’me. I am your boss,” he says as you round his truck, his arm brushing yours, and you look up at him. “Could fire ya for bein’ disrespectful, ‘f I really wanted to.” You smirk at him and shrug. 

“Ya could, but then you’d be losin’ your best employee, right?” His chest bounces as he laughs, and you smile at the pleasant noise before getting distracted by how his relatively new-looking cream-colored t-shirt bearing the album cover of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors stretches tautly over the slopes of his wide shoulders. 

“Damn right, lady,” he agrees, his gaze crawling over your body as he drags his thumb over his mostly pepper, slightly salt mustache that decorates his upper lip. Your skin crawls pleasantly as you feel him examining you, and you’re just about to reach your father, who’s waiting for the two of you by the entrance to the restaurant, when you hear Joel quietly say, “Prettiest employee, too.”

Your head whips around, feet planting on the concrete as you wait for Joel to say something, anything else. Much to your chagrin, he struts right past you shamelessly, heading inside as your dad gives you a confused look. 

“You comin’, honey?” You shake your head, trying to dispel the medley of thoughts whirring around your brain. Did I hear him right? No, no, he didn’t mean that. Definitely not. 

“Yeah, sorry,” you say, stepping inside with a sheepish smile in your dad’s direction. “Thought I heard someone callin’ my name, ‘s my bad.” Your dad just nods his head in understanding before draping an arm over your shoulder and steering you toward the back of the restaurant, where you can see Joel already greeting the members of your party who have already arrived. 

As you draw closer, you watch him envelope his daughter in a firm hug, rocking back and forth for a few seconds as he whispers something in her ear. She giggles, punching him lightly in the shoulder, and when Sarah pulls back from his embrace, her deep brown eyes, which are almost identical to her father’s, catch a glimpse of you over his shoulder. Before you have a chance to react, she’s colliding with you so hard you grunt. 

“You came!” she squeals, jumping up and down as you wrap your arms around her and giggle. 

“Course I came, Sarah. Wouldn’t ‘ve missed your twenty-first birthday for the world, ‘re ya kiddin’?” She takes a step back, holding you by the shoulders before drawing you back in for another tight hug. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Jus’ didn’t know ‘f you’d be able to make it, didn’t know ‘f you’d have other plans or somethin’.” She bites her lip when you pull away this time, trying to hide the way she’s beaming at you, and a big smile paints your face. 

“Nah, no plans more important than my best friend’s birthday.” She smiles and leads you back to the table, where your dad and Joel have already found their seats. You lean against her and whisper conspiratorially, “Did have to fight with my boss t’get some time off for the occasion, though. He can be a pain in the ass sometimes, like ya wouldn’t believe.” Sarah giggles, leveling you with a knowing grin. 

“I’m sure I’ve got some idea,” she says as she takes her seat at the head of the table, and you slip around to take the only empty seat, which happens to be between Joel and Tommy, his younger brother that you’ve only seen a handful of times. You offer the younger Miller brother a polite smile, which he returns with a cheeky smirk before you turn back to the birthday girl. 

“You’ve ain’t ever been that excited t’see me,” Joel says accusingly at Sarah, jerking his head toward where Sarah had practically tackled you, and you stifle a laugh at the hint of playful jealousy in his tone. 

“‘s ‘cause I’m not a grumpy old man,” you snark, and Tommy guffaws beside you, reaching around your back to slap Joel’s shoulder lightheartedly. 

“She gotcha there, big brother,” he says, accent saturated with his heavy Texas twang. Joel grumbles something incoherent and Tommy shoots you an amused wink. You watch your dad snort with laughter in his seat across from you, and Sarah’s boyfriend, Luke, who’s seated on her other side opposite Joel tries not to look too entertained by your ribbing of his girlfriend’s father, wisely busying himself with the menu. 

A few minutes after ordering your drinks your waitress reappears carrying a large tray brimming with an assortment of alcoholic beverages. You take a sip of your Pinot Noir, hiding a small smile behind the fruity flavor as the waitress sets a large cocktail layered with green, white, and red liquid and adorned with a small Italian flag attached to a thin, black straw in front of a wide-eyed Sarah. You’re unable to mask your laughter, however, when Joel’s eyes find the massive drink and he nearly chokes on his sip of Peroni. 

“Babygirl,” he sputters, still recovering from his small conniption, “that’s a lotta-”

“I’m twenty-one now, Dad, I can handle my alcohol,” Sarah assures him with an annoyed roll of her eyes and a look at you that says can you believe this guy? And it’s true, Sarah is more than capable of handling her drinks if the videos she’s shown you of her time at college are any indication. 

“I know, jus’... jus’ pace yourself, yeah?” She concedes with a small huff, and you wiggle your eyebrows at her tauntingly. 

“Yeah, Sarah, make sure ya pace yourself. Got a while ‘fore ya can hang with us big dogs. Right, Joel?” You elbow him in the side, and he looks at you disdainfully. 

“You’re a little shit, y’know that?” he murmurs under his breath. You shrug, snagging a piece of fresh, warm bread from the basket the waitress sat in the middle of the table and dipping it in the plate of olive oil and seasoning before stuffing it in your mouth. 

“Learned it fwom the besht,” you say merrily, grinning at him through your mouth full of food, and he sneers at you in disgust before turning his attention to your father and Tommy, who are in a heated debate over the Dallas Cowboys chances of success in the upcoming season.  

“I’m tellin’ ya, Tommy, this s’our year! We jus’ picked up that kid from- from… aw shit, where’s he from again?” Your dad rubs his temples, hoping to dislodge the information from some small, dusty compartment of his brain. 

“Notre Dame,” Joel chimes in as he reaches for his own piece of bread, and your dad snaps his fingers as his face lights up in remembrance.

“Notre Dame!” he bellows, and you shoot him a look that he promptly returns with an apologetic wince. “Notre Dame, yeah, s’right,” he says, quieter this time with a little smile, and you leave him and Tommy to continue their chat as you tune in to the conversation at the other end of the table. 

“Anyway, Dad, so Becca-”

“Which one s’that?” Sarah looks at Joel in disbelief. 

“Becca. Rebecca Landry. My best friend in high school, goes t’LSU with me, we lived together ‘fore I moved in with Luke…” Joel just stares at his daughter with vacant eyes, and you snort. “Dude, come on, ya literally grilled for her graduation party.” Joel shakes his head, taking a swig of his beer. You watch how his throat bobs as he swallows and quickly avert your eyes, hoping no one caught you gawking. 

“Sorry, hon, doesn’t ring a bell.” She huffs, and Joel smirks, clearly just giving her a hard time. 

“Whatever. Anyway, her boyfriend proposed to ‘er last week, and it was jus’ the cutest thing. Real private ‘cause y’know how she is. She told me they don’t have a date set yet, but they’re thinkin’ ‘bout next Spring. Said t’ask if she should add ya to the guest list.” Joel hums non-committally, clearly lacking an opinion on the matter, and you pinch his elbow. He jerks out of your grip, looking at you with annoyance, and you cock your head in Sarah’s direction. When he turns to see her expectant glance, he huffs, head leaning back as he stares at the ceiling. 

“Tell ‘er I’ll be there,” Joel capitulates, and Sarah beams in excitement before giving you a grateful grin. 

“Awesome! She’ll be so excited, she loves ya.” Joel crosses his arms over his broad chest, shaking his head slightly as he leans back in his chair and spreads his thighs farther. You have to try desperately to keep your breath from hitching at the action. 

“Speakin’ o’ weddings and proposals n’ all that,” your dad says, giving Luke a friendly clap on the back. “When’s it your turn, buckaroo? ‘s been, what, three years of datin’? Gotta be soon, hm?” 

Luke looks like he wants nothing more than to melt into a puddle and sink into the floor at the line of questioning, something your dad remains completely oblivious to. Feeling bad, you throw the guy a lifeline. 

“Leave ‘im alone, Dad. Jesus, you ain’t even that interested in my love life,” you huff, sipping your wine. Luke seems to remember how to breathe, a look of thanks on his face as your dad scrunches his nose up.

“‘s cause I’m not. Don’t wanna know about some boy who’s wastin’ your time ‘cause he ain’t good ‘nough for ya.”

“Your daddy’s right, hon, ya deserve more than what some boy can give ya ,” you hear from your right side, and then a thick arm drapes loosely over your shoulders. You turn to look at Tommy, who’s closer to you than the last time you paid him any attention. 

“Knock it off, Tommy,” you hear Joel grumble, and you watch Tommy’s eyes dart over your shoulder and narrow minutely. An expression of innocence plasters over his face to quickly replace the mischievous smirk previously there.  

“Knock what off, big brother?” Your gaze shifts to Joel, and you nearly wilt at the stormy look he’s shooting his brother. His eyes are simultaneously full of emotion and totally unreadable, jaw ticking in… wait, is he jealous?

“Quit.” You bristle at Joel’s harsh tone, not realizing until it’s too late that when you shrink back at his timbre, you lean further into Tommy. You can feel the egotism rolling off of the younger Miller brother, and the tension building in Joel’s figure seems to grow until he’s at serious risk of snapping. You’re sure that the only way this ends is with Tommy making another haughty comment that results in Joel leaping over your lap and strangling the man…

“Alright, who ordered the lasagna?” Your waitress’ voice dissipates the thunderous air instantaneously, and everyone’s attention snaps to her. The wide, practiced smile she’s wearing falters for just a second, and she shifts uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, ‘m I interrupting somethin’?” The tight pinch of Joel’s face evaporates before your eye, and you watch, stunned, as he turns toward your waitress. 

“Nah, darlin’, you’re alright. Reckon that’ll be mine,” he says, cool as clam. By the time all the food is dished out and you’re digging into your respective dinners, the near fight is long forgotten. Unfortunately, you’re not able to shake the bitter feeling of envy that twisted in your stomach at hearing Joel call the waitress “darlin’”. 

Before long, all six of your plates have been cleaned, and each of you sits back in your chairs, thoroughly stuffed full of rich Italian food. Your dad belches, drawing a laugh from the other men at the table while your and Sarah’s faces pinch in distaste, and the casual conversation continues as the street outside grows raucous with the Austin nightlife. 

Your dad, ever the chatterbox, is going on about some upcoming project at his contracting firm when you feel it: the firm weight of an arm draped over the backrest of your seat. You pay it no mind at first, chalking it up to Tommy’s touchy but harmless hands. 

That is until you feel soft, gentle shapes being drawn into the bare skin of your bicep on Tommy’s side. Your brain doesn’t comprehend the logistics of this immediately, and your head snaps in Tommy’s direction to find the younger man’s attention focused raptly on your father with his hands in his lap. 

Your back straightens, and goosebumps prickle across your skin when it finally clicks whose hands are on you; you slowly, inconspicuously face your father again, pretending like you’re listening so as not to spark anyone at the table’s awareness, all while peeking at Joel out of the corner of your eye. 

At first glance, it appears that he, like everyone else at the table, is completely engaged with the words tumbling from your dad’s mouth. But you know Joel too well. You pick up on the slight quirk of his lips, the way his thick thighs spread almost obnoxiously wide so his knee grazes yours, and how he’s drumming the thick fingers of his other hand rhythmically against the table. Joel felt how your body reacted to his touch.

And he liked it. 

That piece of information is what has the low burn in your belly from earlier in your bedroom reigniting, blazing up your skin and making your neck and chest flush a deep red. Joel must be able to sense your blundering state because he removes his hand from you altogether, causing your heart to drop. Your whole body begins to slump in disappointment just as you feel Joel replace his touch on the bare skin of your thigh, exposed when you sat down and the already short dress you’d thrown on in a panic earlier rode higher up your legs. 

He squeezes you there, thumb passing back and forth lightly, and your thighs spread of their own volition to allow him more room. You can see his eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, but he’s able to play it off easily as a reaction to your dad’s story. You do the same with the small smile that stretches your lips as his hand begins to creep higher up your leg. 

And it’s risky, what you’re doing. Allowing your dad’s best friend, the father of the girl you’ve lived next to almost your entire life, your boss, to inch his big, calloused hand closer and closer to where you want him most right here at this very public dinner. 

And yet, you simply do not care. 

Well, you don’t care until you feel the pad of his thumb brush your sex over your panties, and you jerk at the sensation, thighs closing to stop the movement of his hands. The action draws your dad’s attention to you, and his brow furrows as he scans your face. 

“You okay, hon? You’re not lookin’ too hot.” Your pulse thunders in your ears as you fumble for an excuse. 

“No, yeah, ‘m fine. Jus’... yeah, not – uh, not feelin’ too hot.” Everyone at the table looks at you with concern. Even Joel, though his eyes possess an air of arrogance at your state. The bastard. 

“Babe, you can go home ‘f ya need to,” Sarah says, and your eyes go wide as you shake your head. 

“No! No, ’m fine, really. I wanna stay for you, ‘s your birthday ‘n all.”

She waves her hand as though she’s physically batting away your excuse. “Party’s basically over anyway. Luke and I were gonna meet some friends at a bar a few blocks over anyway, so y’all are good t’go whenever.” 

“Well, I’m ready t'head home now,” your dad says, beginning to rise from his chair. “Rangers game ’s on at 9, and 'f we hurry, I won’t miss more than the first inning.” Joel, reading your dad’s eagerness to get home as his cue to be ready to leave as well, stands, and you catch the way he subtly adjusts himself on the way up. You resign yourself to the fact that the fleeting, secret moment between you is slipping through your fingers, and, albeit reluctantly, you follow his lead.

Tommy’s still seated, sipping casually from his beer, when he informs your dad, “Nah, man, it’s Friday night in downtown Austin. Reckon y’all won’t get home ‘til the third inning, at least.” Your father curses, running a hand over his semi-bald head in genuine worry, and you almost have to laugh at the concern twisting his features into a grimace. The urge to laugh quickly fades as you watch Tommy shrug his shoulders and carelessly say, “There’s a place 'bout five minutes away, lil’ sports bar my buddies and I go to t’watch the game sometimes. Can get kinda rowdy, but you’re welcome to tag along, ‘f ya want.” 

Your jaw almost falls off at Tommy, who’s completely oblivious to the bone he’s just thrown you. When you turn just enough to allow you a view of Joel out of the corner of your eye, you immediately notice his almost imperceptibly stiffer posture. You watch your dad’s face light up with excitement, a hell yeah on the tip of his tongue.

And then, suddenly, his expression drops and he’s looking at you guiltily. “Aww shit, Tommy, that sounds great, but ‘f this one,” he says, jabbing a thumb in your direction, “ain’t feelin’ well, I oughta get ‘er home.” Shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

You go to object, to insist, practically beg your dad to take Tommy up on his offer so that it’s just you and Joel on the ride home, but Joel beats you to it. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, man, I’ll take ‘er.” For the second time in mere minutes, you’re filled with the overwhelming urge to gawk at one of the Miller brothers. 

“You sure, Joel? Don’t wanna inconvenience ya or nothin’.” You watch Joel shrug, and then he turns to you, pinning you with an unreadable stare. 

“Y’alright with that, lady?” You stare at him, speechless. Are you alright with spending the entire ride home, perhaps even longer if your dad stays to watch the whole game and Sarah is bar-hopping, alone with Joel Miller right after his hand was brushing against your wet, wanting pussy?

Yeah, you were pretty fucking alright with that.  

Your silence must draw on for an uncomfortably long time because Joel raises his eyebrows at you, prompting an answer. “Yes!” you say, just a touch too loud, and you take a deep breath before turning back to your dad. “Yeah, sounds good – cool, ‘s cool with me.” 

Your dad gives you one more half-hearted once-over, verifying that you don’t need his escort home, but he’s in a losing battle with himself; the moment that Joel offered his services, your dad was sold. The coy little, “Well, ‘f you’re sure it’s not too much trouble,” he extends to Joel is like a tepid stamp of finality as his mind is already half-full with Rangers jargon. 

Joel gives your dad a nod before jerking his head toward the door. “C’mon, darlin’, let’s get ya home.” And you try, you really do try not to walk with your chest puffed out the entire way to Joel’s truck. You try to keep up the facade of illness that was brought on by your lustful tizzy. 

But Joel called you darlin’, and fuck if it didn’t sound better falling from his lips when it was directed at you and not some waitress. 

***

Tommy, for perhaps the first time in his entire life, was right; traffic absolutely crawled in the downtown Austin area at this time on a Friday night. You’d peeled away from the restaurant almost thirty minutes ago, when the sun was beginning its descent. 

Now, the analog numbers on Joel’s dash blink 8:57 p.m. , the summer sky having just shifted from muddy brown to steel grey and will soon start to give way to the dark of night and the whisperings of stars, and you’ve just managed to make it out of the city. 

Thirty minutes, nearly two thousand seconds, and each one totally void of speech. Joel stared straight out the front windshield, hands carefully gripping the steering wheel as you leaned your cheek against the cool glass of the passenger window and watched the metro landscape give way to soil and farmland, groups of clubgoers replaced by black and brown spotted cows. 

It’s not until the current CD in Joel’s radio reaches its end and the gears click, switching to the familiar crooning voice of Bob Dylan, that your soft singing breaks the silence. 

“What was that?” Joel asks, and you turn your gaze to watch him, focus still intent on the road in front of him. 

“Nothin’, just singin’.” He looks at you then, just a quick glance in your direction, but it makes your blood sing. 

“Y’like Bob Dylan? “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door”, hm?” You shrug noncommittally, and his responding smirk makes you sit up in your seat. 

“What’re ya laughin’ at?” Joel just shakes his head, and you lean over and swat his bicep playfully. “What?” 

“Nothin’, baby.” The word sounds perfect in his low, gruff timbre, and you grin stupidly. When he sees your expression, he reaches over and wraps his big palm around your knee, giving it a shake. “Got good taste s’all. Didn’t expect it from ya.” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest and trying to pretend like the large spread of his hand over your bare skin doesn’t make your core throb. 

“Don’t act so surprised, Miller. You should know better than anyone how much I like old shit.” He clucks his tongue, sliding his hand farther up your leg and squeezing your thigh in warning. 

“Careful,” he advises teasingly, but you’re not feeling particularly cautious tonight. 

“Says you.”

“Says me?” 

You roll your eyes, but there’s no heat behind the action as all the warmth in your body is currently shooting to a spot in your tummy. “Yeah, Joel, says you. I wasn’t the one with my hands between your legs in the middle of dinner tonight.” You watch Joel’s posture straighten and you try to hide your grin at his reaction.

Bingo. 

You bite your lip and watch his eyes dart in your direction. Even in the ever-darkening dusk, you can see the hint of hunger in his pupils. “Didn’t see you complainin’.” You adjust in your seat, and Joel’s hand slips higher, his pinky just barely dipping beneath the hem of your dress.

“‘s ‘cause I liked it,” you say matter-of-factly, and you watch him exhale heavily. His head swings lazily to look at you, eyes dropping to where his palm rests on your slightly spread thighs before traveling up to meet your stare. 

“Yeah? Liked me touchin’ your pussy with all those people ‘round? Any of ‘em coulda caught us, pretty girl. Coulda caught me feelin’ how fuckin’ wet you were, soakin’ through your panties.” And you’re almost sure Joel’s trying to make a point in there somewhere. That what you two did was risky in and of itself, not to mention the fact that he was touching you like that in public. 

And yet all you can focus on is that name. Pretty girl. You think it’s your favorite thing he’s ever called you.

When you don’t answer right away, Joel looks back to the road. You watch him check the rearview mirror, and then he’s making a left down a long road and parking the car on a small dirt pull-off a few hundred feet in.

You look around, surveying your surroundings; tall prairie grass decorates your side of the road while a large cornfield stretches over the side closest to Joel, and the only thing lighting the earth for a few miles in any direction is the soft glow of the moon overhead. When you focus your attention on Joel again, half of his face is shadowed while the gleam of lunar opalescence illuminates the other half. 

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight, and you can’t help but stare. You reach toward Joel, cautiously at first, but emboldened when he squeezes your leg. You cup his jaw and rub your thumb over his stubbled jaw; his eyes flutter closed at the sensation, and you shuffle closer, Joel’s hand falling away from you as you sit up on your knees and reach across the center console to cup the dark side of his face with your other hand. 

His palm finds a new position on your hip, and when his eyes open again, revealing his dark, chocolatey irises to you, your body leans closer toward his of its own volition. As if something inside of him, perhaps the very marrow of his bones, is magnetized to yours. 

“Joel,” you say, soft voice cutting through the silence in the cab of the truck. 

“Hmm?”

“Is this… is this bad? What we’re doing?’ His eyes dart around your face, taking in your heated gaze with a warmth of his own. He sighs as his other hand traces up the side of your body before slipping around your shoulders and resting on the nape of your neck.

“I wouldn’t say it’s good.” You nod, scratching your nails lightly through the salt-and-pepper beard he’s let grow. 

“Should we stop?” It comes out as a whisper, laced with apprehension, tediousness, and want. So, so much want. 

“Probably.” And he’s right. Whatever this thing between you and Joel is, it’s not feasible. Sure, it would be great. Amazing, even… until it’s not. Until the appetite for each other dies out and what’s left is a hollow skeleton of awkward encounters and forced conversation to keep up appearances.

Either that or the hunger becomes all-consuming, to the point where you can’t eat, can’t breathe, can’t sleep without thoughts of Joel dominating your mind. 

And maybe that’s worse, you think. Finding out what Joel tastes like, what it feels like when he sinks into your wet heat, just for it to one day be stolen from you. 

Because there isn’t an angle to approach this from that doesn’t end in the same unfortunate reality; Joel can’t be yours. He will never be yours. 

And, so, yeah. You probably should stop. But as you go to pull away, to take your hands off of Joel and sit back in your seat while Joel returns the truck to the main road before depositing you safely at home like the good friend he is, Joel’s grip on the nape of your neck tightens. And then he’s tugging your mouth to meet his and your hands, still cupping his cheek, are pulling his face in to meet you halfway.

When Joel’s lips slot against yours, you’re surprised by how soft he is. Joel Miller, perpetually gruff and probably born with callouses etched into his hands, is so inconceivably gentle at the first contact of his mouth against yours. You sigh, breathing him in as he threads his fingers into your hair, and a moment of tranquility washes over you. This truck is the only place that has ever or will ever exist, and you and Joel are the only two people in the world.

You slide one of your hands from his jaw to his neck, stroking the solid strength of his throat, and a rough noise vibrates from him. You repeat the motion experimentally, and he groans into you, tongue darting out to politely ask for entrance into your mouth. 

You accept with an enthusiastic moan, and that’s when the seemingly endless reservoir of Joel’s reserve drains dry. He licks into you, tongue caressing yours when you part your lips for him, and the hand in your hair tightens, keeping you held steadily against him. He feasts on you, stealing the air you breathe as he kisses you ferociously. 

Joel sucks on your tongue when you go to mewl, and the sound is replaced by a wanton whine. You roll your hips over nothing, and Joel clocks the movement immediately. You feel his reluctance as he drags his mouth from yours, and you sit and wait, carefully assessing every minute change in his expression as you try to regain your composure. 

You’re sure you’re supposed to be embarrassed right now, ashamed that you couldn’t keep your neediness in check. However, you can only think about two things: how fucking horny you are at the moment, and how that was probably the only time you’ll ever kiss Joel because this entire thing is about to come crashing down in short-lived, fiery oblivion.

But Joel does something. Something that really shocks you, leaves you vulnerable to attack and exposed right down to the root of you. He looks you up and down, from the slightly frumpled state of your green dress to the no-doubt wild gleam in your eyes, and smirks before saying, “You need t’be filled up, don’t ya, baby?”

You smile and nod, licking your lips as you appraise the man sitting in front of you. He’s so intoxicatingly broad, the sleeves of his shirt stretching tightly over his biceps while the legs of his jeans pull taut along his thighs. You shift in your seat again, causing Joel to pull you closer, and though you’re uncomfortably sprawled across the center console, you’ve never felt more right than you do right now. 

Your lips are brushing Joel’s, so close you can feel the warm puffs of breath leaving his nostrils, and any slight surge forward by either of you would connect your mouths again. Instead, you stay like that, so close but still too far for your liking. 

“Tell me what it is you want, sweetheart.” You angle your head, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his mouth before drifting your lips back to hover over his. 

“Want your cock, Joel.” Your bluntness must take him by surprise because his head falls back against his seat and he groans. You take the opportunity to drop your lips to his neck, kissing it lightly before licking up the column of his throat and biting delicately at the junction where his neck meets his jaw. 

“Yeah?” He takes one of your hands and drags it down his front, letting you feel the muted strength of his abdomen tailored from years of manual labor and the soft swell of his belly before landing on the thick bulge in his pants. You pull away from where you were beginning to leave a small bruise on his neck to look at where your hand cups his clothed erection, and you practically drool at the sight. “You want this, hmm?”

“Yes,” you confirm airily before your eyes snap up to meet his, heavy-lidded and clouded with lust. “Please, Joel, I- I need it.” He nods, the hand that guided yours leaving you to your own devices and drifting back up to rub his thumb over your lips. You take the opportunity to massage him through his pants, and he sighs, smirking at you. 

“Tell me where ya need it, honey,” he lilts, and you grip his bicep as you squeeze his cock lightly. “Need it here?” He nudges his thumb gently between your parted lips, and even as you shake your head, your mouth opens to him, allowing him to push his finger inside. You swirl your tongue over the salty pad of his thumb, switching to mellow kitten licks before taking it deeper. 

“No?” he asks, quirking a brow at you. He presses his thumb down against your tongue, and you open your mouth wide so he can see down your throat. “Gotta tell me where then, baby.” You close your mouth again, sucking on his thumb briefly before pulling off of him with a lewd pop. 

Your eyes never leave his, and you watch them turn impossibly darker when you tell him earnestly, “My pussy. Want you to stretch my cunt with your fat cock.” He huffs lightly at the vulgarity of your words, and you squeeze him through his pants again. 

“You’re a dirty fuckin’ girl, y’know that?” He looks almost in awe, and you smirk at him, beginning to crawl across the center console to straddle him. When he stops you with a hand to your sternum, you look at him in confusion. “We can’t tonight, darlin’. Wanna take my time with you when I fuck ya, gotta make sure I get ya ready.” 

You’re so utterly disappointed you ache with it, pouting at him as you draw in close. “But I’m ready now, Joel. So fuckin’ wet for you, have been since the restaurant.”

He gives you a chaste kiss before pulling back and jerking his head toward your seat. “Show me.” You smirk as you slink back into your seat. You rest with your back against the car door, your right leg dangling off the seat while you tuck your left leg up and spread your knees farther apart, causing the hem of your dress to ride up your thighs until it’s brushing your tummy. You can tell by the wrecked look in Joel’s eyes that from this angle, he has a perfect view of the damp spot decorating the slip of pink lace that is your underwear. 

“Fuck, baby, ya weren’t lyin’,” he mutters, fingers smoothing his mustache. “Pretty lil’ panties are soaked. That all for me?” You bite your lip and nod, pupils blown wide and eyelids heavy as you ghost your fingertips over the soft skin of your thighs. He makes a noise of appreciation as he watches your movements hungrily, fist clenching as your digits move closer to your aching core.

“Mhm, f’course it is,” you assure, letting out a breathless, needy gasp when your fingers brush your clit over your underwear. You’re sure you must look fucked out, and you’d be embarrassed by that fact if it weren’t for the heady look Joel’s pinning you with right now. You whine as Joel brings his hand down to palm the thick, rigid outline of his cock bulging against his jeans, and your mouth goes dry at the sight. You roll your hips and whine at the stimulation, doing it again without breaking eye contact with Joel. 

He squeezes himself and groans as you rut slowly against yourself, dipping a finger down to tease at your soaking entrance over your damp panties, and he smirks. “You gonna show me how ya fuck yourself, baby? Show me how ya like it, hm?” 

And you would. You really, really would. Except Joel Miller is sitting in front of you with nothing but a few measly scraps of fabric preventing you from his hard length, and you think that it would be such a waste to not take advantage of that fact. 

Besides, you’ve already made yourself come more times than you can count with Joel Miller’s name on your tongue.

“No, baby,” you shake your head, and his brows pinch in confusion. You lick your lips, hand halting its ministrations as you sit up on your haunches and stare at Joel. “Want ya to fill me up.” 

He huffs exasperatedly at that, and his tone is laced with annoyance when he says, “Jus’ told ya, ‘m not fuckin’ ya t’night-” 

“Joel.” Your interruption shuts him up and he watches you lean in. You brush your lips over his, along his jaw and up his cheek before halting by his ear. “I want you,” you say, dragging a hand down his chest to rest over his in his lap, “to put your cock in my mouth and fill me up.” 

You apply pressure down over his hand, making him squeeze himself and the sound he makes is something close to a growl. He angles his head so that your lips meet for a heated kiss and he licks into your mouth immediately, tongue dancing with yours.

“Yeah?” Joel breathes into your mouth, and the hand not palming his dick threads into the hair at the nape of your neck. He tugs, pulling your head back so that you look down your nose at him with wide eyes and heavy lids. “Ya wanna suck me off?” You smile almost shyly and nod, and he tuts at you, bending to kiss the hollow of your throat before licking a stripe up your neck. 

“Don’t go quiet on me now, darlin’. You had so much t’say earlier, know this pretty mouth s’good for more than just takin’ my dick.” You whine, pressing your thighs together as best you can and rubbing, trying to give yourself some, any friction. 

“Wanna taste you, Joel,” you murmur, already delirious and you haven’t even gotten your mouth on him. “Want it so bad, please.” 

He rakes his eyes over you, takes in the needy glide of your thighs against each other and the ragged pants making your chest heave. He must take pity on your haggard form because he grins affectionately and releases his hand from your hair. 

“Since ya asked so nicely,” he says, palm gliding around to sit on your shoulder. He strokes the column of your throat a few times, watching you with a hooded gaze before nodding toward his crotch. “Go on, baby. Show me how much ya want it.”

You don’t need to be told any more than that before you’re hastily undoing his belt, ripping it from his pants and tossing it into the backseat while simultaneously popping the button on his jeans. Where your movements are hurried and ravenous, Joel’s are soft and sweet; he strokes your back lightly, broad, calloused palm feeling heavenly as it tracks over your bare skin. 

You lower the zipper on his jeans and he lifts his hips, allowing you to drag the coarse fabric down his thighs. It takes you a second after you’ve maneuvered his pants out of your way to realize you’re face to face with the stiff outline of Joel’s cock, straining against the black fabric of his boxers. Your mouth goes chalky when you see the small dot of moisture near his fat tip, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning over and pressing a kiss to the spot. 

Your groan is in unison with his, and Joel must be growing impatient because his hand snakes up to gently cradle your neck. “Don’t be a tease, pretty girl,” he scolds tenderly, and the endearment causes you to look up at him through your lashes. What you find in his eyes is something lusty, full of desire and want and… pure, unadulterated awe. It makes your pussy flutter around nothing. 

“Wasn’t bein’ a tease,” you say, bending back down to mouth at his cock over his boxers, and he moans when you lave at his swollen tip through his underwear. 

“Nah, jus’ so needy ya can’t even wait ‘til I get my cock out t’put your mouth on it, hm?” You lick up his dick and feel it twitch, his thigh tensing underneath the hand you have braced there. You smirk, looking up at him as you dip your pointer fingers under the band of his underwear, hooking your digits and arching your eyebrow.

He acquiesces with a lazy smile, lifting his hips, and you slowly drag the tight fabric of his boxers down to where his pants pool around his knees. However, you don’t immediately look at Joel’s length after fully freeing it from the confines of his clothes. You’re not sure why a cool feeling of nervous anticipation washes over you, but you find yourself stalling, rubbing your thumb over the inside of his knee and kissing his thigh gently. 

Joel, the attentive man he is, picks up on your nerves immediately. He massages the area where your spine meets your skull, and you practically melt at the feeling. “Y’okay?” he says softly, and you nod, turning your head to rest on his thigh. Your eyes avoid his dick, jumping up to land on his face. His expression is so kind, so compassionate and observant, that it makes you ache. 

“‘m fine. More than fine, ‘m good. Great.” He nods, stroking your cheek before he frowns. 

“Y’know, ‘f ya aren’t feelin’ it anymore, we can stop. We don’t have’ta-”

“S’not that,” you mutter, and he stops talking, waiting for you to go on. You inhale deeply, looking for the courage to speak your thoughts into the charged atmosphere of the truck. “I jus’... don’t want ya to regret this.” He flashes you a perplexed look before tipping his head back and laughing. Your cheeks blaze with heat, embarrassment creeping in to tamper the fire of want, and you bury your face into Joel’s thigh to hide. 

“Baby,” he says, and when you don’t respond, he grabs your jaw and makes you turn to him. “Baby. Look at me.” You stare, lip twisted in your teeth, and you can’t help but feel small under the weight of his gaze. He angles your chin down then, and you finally let your eyes fall, taking in the cock you’ve tried to conjure in your imagination while your fingers were stuffed in your pussy more times than you can count. 

In a word, Joel Miller’s dick is pretty. Thick and long and tan. Veiny and girthy, easily the biggest you’ve ever seen. His tip, which is a few shades darker than every other part of his length, is an angry red, weeping precome from the little slit at the top. The thick weight of him bobs up and sits at attention against his belly, resting against him obediently. Your mouth pools with saliva at the sight of it. 

Through the cotton in your ears, you can just barely make out when Joel says, “You tell me, honey. ‘s that look like regret t’you?” You swallow thickly and shake your head. 

“N-no,” you stutter, sitting up slightly. You admire the way pearly beads of precome trail down his length and subconsciously lick your lips. 

“No.” You can feel his stare on the side of your face, but you can’t focus on anything except the cock in front of you that has you drooling while your cunt begs to be filled. “Want this, sweet girl, jus’ as bad as you, and that ain’t gonna change tomorrow or the day after or next week. I want this,” he says, and he says it with such confidence and surety that you have no choice but to believe him. You nod, almost in a trance, before bending over and pressing a chaste kiss to his fat head. 

He must not have been expecting that response from you because at the contact of your lips against his hard member, his head falls back against the seat and he groans, the sound drawing out when you start to press soft kitten licks to his slit. 

“That’s it, honey – fuck, feels good.” You preen under his praise, smirking as you spread your lips to wrap around his tip. He hisses through his teeth, and the noise is all you need to start slowly working him down your throat. He’s so big, and even just the head of his cock has your jaw straining slightly.

You know that there’s no way you’ll be able to take him fully in your mouth, that you’ll have to use one, if not both hands to stroke the rest of his long, thick dick as you focus your attention on the head. But that doesn’t stop you from trying. 

You pull off of him quickly, and he responds with a disappointed little grunt, mouth turned down in a depressing little frown. That is, until he watches you spit into your hand and place your palm around his base, stroking him slowly. A lopsided smile replaces his previous expression and when you twist your fist at the same time your mouth latches back onto his cock, he can’t help but jerk his hips. Joel’s thrust makes his tip kiss the back of your throat and it takes you by surprise, making you gag.

You watch his eyes go wide in worry as he immediately murmurs, “‘m sorry, baby,” his voice utterly wrecked. You lick from the space your fist occupies and swirl your tongue over him a few times, looking into his eyes as you catch your breath. 

“S’okay, Joel,” you purr, lips against him as his cock twitches at the low cadence of your voice. “I can handle it, I won’t break.” And then you’re right back to easing him down your throat. Drool dribbles from your mouth as you work him in your fist, stroking and twisting and pulling while your tongue focuses on the sensitive area you’ve discovered just under his head. 

The cab of the truck fills with the melody of your slick mouth sucking Joel off, punctuated by the sweet sounds falling from his lips. Joel isn’t a particularly talkative person, but you’re incredibly happy to find that all that changed when your head was bobbing up and down his length. 

“Good girl, perfect fuckin’ girl,” he grits out, tightening his hand into a fist and slamming it against his window a few times as he struggles to keep his hips stationary. You hum around him, taking his hand in yours and guiding it to thread into your hair to encourage him to move. A throaty groan rips through him as he realizes what you’re asking, and he thrusts lightly into your mouth. 

You relax your throat, allowing him to push deeper than he had been just a minute ago, and the feeling of being so utterly full of him makes you whine, shuffling slightly to relieve the pressure building at the apex of your thighs. 

“Y’like that, sweetheart? Like when I fuck your pretty face?” The utter filth he’s spewing at you makes you gasp and whimper, and he laughs almost smugly at your reaction to his words. “Yeahhh, you like that. Go on, baby, touch yourself while you suck my cock.” You don’t have to be told twice, snaking your hand down to rub frantically at your aching clit while he slowly, gently jerks his hips into the tight, warm, wet vice of your mouth. 

You feel yourself teetering on the edge of orgasm in no time, seeing as how you were already thoroughly worked up from your little display at the restaurant and everything that’s transpired in Joel’s truck since. Actually, if you’re being honest, you’ve been soaking into your panties since that stunt you pulled in your room before you even made it to dinner. 

You feel stuffed to the brim, Joel’s cock hitting a spot in your throat over and over that has tears of pleasure dripping down your cheeks to combine with your spit lathering his cock. He brushes his big thumb over the path a tear careens down, brushing away the wetness as he drags his hand down to cradle your throat. 

“Doin’ real good for me, doin’ perfect.” He squeezes lightly around your neck and curses. “Shit, darlin’, I can feel my cock right here.” He taps your throat and you whine, eyes rolling back as you rut desperately against your fingers. You’re so, so close, and you can tell that Joel is too by the way his tempered pace is growing more erratic, his shallow thrusts less controlled. The noises dripping from his lips to meet your ears are gruffer now too, words he’s failing to string into sentences as they're cut off by expletives and needy moans. 

Joel looses a low, gravelly groan that signals he’s mere moments from reaching his peak, and you hear him choke out, “Where do ya want it, baby?’ just as the pull of pleasure burning in your tummy goes taut. You don’t answer, opting instead to simply pull off of him and seat your open mouth at the head of his cock, sticking your tongue out and looking up into his face. Joel smirks as you continue jerking him off with the hand not paying attention to your clit, but his smile falls into a slack-jawed look of lust as his balls pull tight and he comes.

The thick ropes of warm cum spurting over your tongue and decorating the inside of your mouth are just what you need to push you into your own climax; your legs shake and you let a high-pitched sound ring through the truck cab as your cunt clenches hard around nothing, wetness seeping from your underwear and coating the insides of your thighs. 

Despite your own orgasm, you make sure to catch every last drop of Joel’s spend, holding it on your tongue for him to see. The space goes silent for a few seconds, both of you basking in your respective post-coital bliss as your eyes scan over each other. Your gaze hangs heavy as he takes in your sweaty, disheveled form languidly before landing back on your face. Joel shoots you an endearing, sweet look, before brushing the hair plastered to your sweaty forehead away from your face. 

“Go on, honey. Swallow it f’me.” You do as Joel says, swallowing the sticky fluid he’s shot down your throat, and you find the salty, tangy taste surprisingly pleasant. You clean the corners of your mouth where some of his seed landed with your thumb and, with his eyes on you, push the digit into your mouth, sucking it dry. The dirty act makes Joel shake his head and chuckle, and once you’ve finished, you open your mouth and tip your head back to show him that you’ve taken care of his mess. 

You both sit there for a while, just staring at each other with your head resting on his thigh as he strokes your cheek. You’d almost call the gesture loving, but you don’t want to be presumptuous. After a decent amount of time has passed and the stars have come to bear witness to your dirty deed, you turn your head and catch the pad of Joel’s thumb in a soft kiss. 

“Oughta get back,” you say, reluctantly breaking the silence. He nods, and you stay like that for a second longer before sitting back in your seat. Joel starts the truck and traverses down the lonely path toward the main road. As he pulls back out onto the black asphalt, likely still warm from the summer sun that’s long disappeared, you can’t help but wonder if this moment will forever belong to the space between that long stretch of prairie grass and corn stalks. 

You can’t help but hope that it won’t.

***

As Joel nears your development, you pull down the sun visor on your side and flip open the mirror. Your mouth falls open and a little gasp slips at the sight that meets your eyes. Joel must hear it because his gaze flickers in your direction. 

“Somethin’ the matter?” he asks, worry lacing your tone, and you almost giggle at his concern. 

“I’m a fuckin’ mess,” you groan, raking your fingers through the hair that Joel’s fingers knotted. Your lips are swollen and chapped, your eyelids heavy with the look of lust, and there’s a track of mascara streaking down your cheek from your tears. To put it bluntly, you look like you’ve been freshly fucked. 

Joel looks at you again and barks out a laugh as he turns down your street; he pulls into your driveway and puts the car in park so that he can turn to you more fully. You’re frantically trying to will the bright blush on your cheeks indicative of sex from your cheeks as you wipe furiously at the now-dried trail of black mascara. 

“Waterproof” my ass. 

Your head snaps in Joel’s direction when you hear him chuckle again, your eyes wide with a plea for help. He shrugs, smirking slightly. “Better get inside ‘fore someone sees ya, or else they’ll know what we’ve been up to.” 

You know he’s teasing, but his words make you deflate slightly nonetheless as they feel a little bit like he’s kicking you out; however, you steel yourself quickly. There was nothing for him to kick you out of, and it was silly of you to think otherwise. Sure, you’d just sucked his dick and made him come down your throat. And, yeah, maybe he’d almost gotten caught with his hand between your legs at dinner. But that didn’t mean anything. 

Just two adults engaging in a casual hookup. That’s all.

Even as you try and convince yourself of this, your reasoning, and consequently your attitude, falls flat. You grunt with thinly veiled annoyance as you grab the door handle and make to leave. “Could’ve jus’ parked at your house, I woulda walked,” you mutter, irritation simmering in your gut as you go to open the door, but then a strong hand reaches across your lap to wrap around your hand on the handle and pull it back shut.

When you try again and are met with the same result, you huff and turn, coming face to face with Joel. His brows are furrowed and the corner of his plush lips are turned down. You hate yourself for wanting to kiss him right now, even though he’s actively telling you to go while not allowing you to do so. 

“What?” you bite out, and it comes out harsher than you mean it to. He squeezes your hand, and you feel tension you didn’t realize was making your body go rigid ease. 

“What’s a’matter, baby?” The pet name makes you blush, and now you feel even more stupid. 

“Nothin’,” you lie. Rather convincingly too, you think proudly, until Joel cocks an eyebrow and informs you just how shoddy your facade is. 

“Know ya too well t’believe that bullshit. Tell me what’s wrong.” You huff, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. You drop your hands into your lap, eyes falling to watch your thumbs twiddle. You don’t think you can look into those all-consuming brown eyes right now. 

“Jus’... I dunno, bein’ dumb. Thought you were kickin’ me out or somethin’.” You shrug indifferently, and he sits there for a second, watching you fidget nervously. You see him scan your surroundings out of the corner of your eye, making sure no prying eyes are around, and before you can even react, Joel’s gripping the back of your neck and turning your head to meet his lips in a bruising kiss. You melt into him, sighing in relief at the feeling of his tongue licking the seam of your mouth.

You stay like that, greedily tasting each other. Or, in Joel’s case, greedily tasting the lingering flavor of himself in your mouth. He pulls back suddenly, chest heaving and eyes dark, and you lick your lips and grin at him. 

“I’ll see ya soon, baby,” he says with conviction, and you nod slowly. But apparently your response isn’t convincing enough for him, because he pulls you in closer and says against your lips slowly, “I will see you soon.” 

“Okay,” you breathe into his mouth, and he kisses you chastely once, twice before opening your door and tapping your thigh. 

“Now get.” You smile, hopping out of his car, and you can feel his eyes on you the entire way to your front door. Even when you’ve disappeared into your house, you can feel the brand of his gaze on your flesh. 

You watch through the window as he sits in his truck for another minute, and then he reverses down your driveway and pulls into the one next door, hopping out of his truck and leisurely heading up to his front door. You watch him walk into his house, and only then do you stop watching.

You’re not entirely sure how you get up to your bedroom, but you’re almost able to believe that you floated there like an apparition, head airy and thoughts bordering on dream-like. When you collapse on your bed, your mind is on the feel of Joel’s tongue in your mouth, of his cock thrusting into your throat, of what that same tongue and those same thrusts might feel like in your pussy. 

What you’re not thinking about is how utterly fucked you are. You’d told yourself once that you wouldn’t be able to do a thing like this with Joel because you’d never have your fill, always wanting more after that first initial taste of him. But you’d gone against your better judgment tonight, and now that little crack of yearning had split into a yawning chasm of want; greedy and unsatiated and hungry. 

Hungry for one thing, one person, one man: Joel Miller.

Yeah, you were fucked

___________________________________________________________

[billthedrake]

SUGAR DADDY (PART ONE)

I was cooling down from my run, and I was paying more attention to the traffic light to cross. I almost didn't see them.

But the man saw me, a look of embarrassment sweeping his face before the familiar friendly tone won out.

"Luke?" he said.

"Mr. Keenan," I replied automatically, as if the recognition was coming out of my mouth before it hit my brain. Mr. Keenan was my buddy Rich's dad, a successful corporate lawyer or something. I know Rich had issues with his father, made even worse by his parent's divorce, but Mr. K was always beyond nice to me. And truth be told, I always found him incredibly attractive. Tall, handsome, salt and pepper coming in on the temples, kind of like a TV dad. Even now he was in a nice-cut navy suit, dress shirt and no tie.

His blue eyes were taking me in. It had been over three years since I'd last seen the man, since high school graduation, and I'm sure I looked different now. "I almost forgot you went to school here," he said. "Georgetown?" he prompted.

"Yes, sir. They haven't kicked me out yet," I smiled in my self-deprecating way.

It was then that I noticed the woman standing next to him. She couldn't have been any older than me. She was pretty, real pretty, with that sorority girl look. Straight blond hair and big tits for a girl with her trim frame. At least they showed off well in that spaghetti strap cocktail dress she had on. Her high heels didn't get her close to Mr. K's 6'3" height but they added a couple of inches.

I now had a pretty good idea why Rich's parents got divorced.

The man's date was good at hiding her annoyance at my presence but not good enough that I couldn't see that she wanted to get on to where they were going. Part of me couldn't blame her. It was fall, the evening was cool, and she was underdressed for it.

Mike Keenan realized where I was looking and that embarrassed look came back on his face. "Luke, this is Kimberly..." he turned to his girlfriend or date or whatever. "Luke's from back home," he explained. Almost with an emphasis of meaning.

Turning back to me. "We should go, buddy... but it's great running into you, Luke."

"You, too, Mr. Keenan," I said. It was only then that I was self conscious about standing on a busy Georgetown sidewalk in my sweat-drenched running clothes, the cool getting to me now that the exercise was wearing off.

He flashed his trademark smile, like he always did when I came over. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, deftly extracting a business card. "I'm in DC a few nights a week these days. Reach out and we'll catch up, OK?"

"Sure thing, Mr. K," I said, taking the card in my fingers.

Then I watched as my friend's dad and his college-aged girlfriend went walking on to their date spot.

****

"I was gonna ask if you can keep things under wraps about Kimberly," Mr. Keenan said as we waited for our burger at a nice but not overly fancy bistro that DC seemed to have a ton of. I'd met Mr. K closer to his hotel, just two nights after running into him.

"Oh yeah, sure," I said. If the man had asked me to give an alibi to the police for something I probably would have. I mean, Mike Keenan always was great to me, encouraging me in my baseball playing and even helping me out with college admissions stuff, since my folks were more blue collar. His dating life was really none of my business, but I felt like it was conversation worthy. "How long have you two been dating?"

He squirmed in his seat and sighed. "A while... not too long..." he said then gave me a long hard look. "Listen, Luke, you can keep this between us, right?"

The blue eyes and handsome jawline and perfect teeth were gonna make me crush out a little on the man, like I did back in high school. "Absolutely," I replied. Earnest as hell.

He smiled. He could read my sincerity, and I think it amused him. He leaned back and had a soft leer on his face, a side of him I'd never seen. "She's not my girlfriend," he explained. "I met her on one of those sugar daddy sites."

I may have been a dumb jock, but I figured out what he meant pretty quick. "You mean she's a hooker?" I asked. I had to laugh, and Mr. K laughed back.

"No, well, not exactly," he replied. "But there's a little of that, even if we both pretend that's not what's going on." His eyes searched out mine, and I knew he was trying to read if I was freaked out or judgmental. I wasn't, just surprised.

I tried to pass off my shock with a joke. "She expensive?" I said.

He grinned, with a I-can't-believe-you-asked-that look. But he replied anyway. "Very. But I can afford it."

Something about his tone and lecherous nature got me hard. Not chubbed, but full on erect in my jeans.

The man mistook my horniness for a different reaction. "Sorry Luke," he said. "I shouldn't have said that... only you asked."

"No, it's good," I assured him. "Just didn't expect it, is all."

"Fair," he said. He sighed again. "Seriously, Luke, not a fucking word to Rich. Or anyone. I mean it."

"I won't, Mr. K, promise," I assured him. He probably didn't want to talk about it anymore, but I was very curious. "So... how's it work exactly?"

"How's what work?"

"The sugar daddy thing."

He seemed more businesslike. Maybe he enjoyed being able to confide, or maybe he just was humoring me. "I pay for Kimberly's apartment and of course for dates," he explained. "There are gifts, too, but she doesn't make me jump through hoops like some of the others."

I was letting it sink in that this one wasn't Mr. K's first. I knew the guy was loaded, but that kind of money was wild to me.

"Damn, I should get a sugar daddy," I joked.

Without missing a beat, Mr. Keenan shrugged his shoulders and said, "You could. If that's what you wanted."

I blushed. I was still pretty closeted though Rich Keenan knew. Maybe Mike Keenan knew too.

The man seemed to enjoy catching me off guard. "A colleague of mine goes for high-class call boys, but I've been trying to convince him to go for something more legit." This was definitely a new side to Mike Keenan than I'd seen.

He paused. "Sorry, Luke. I'm not really suggesting... You know that, right?" The old Mr. K was back.

"Yeah, Mr. Keenan," I said. I wasn't totally naive, but this evening had already made me feel more green than I wanted.

He held up his empty rocks glass in a gesture for the bartender to bring another. He then turned to me. "You have any special men in your life?"

So Mr. K did know.

I shook my head. "I've hit the apps some," I said with candor. "But no one special."

He patted me on my shoulder, like he used to back when I'd come over to visit Rich. Like a buddy or a dad. "Well, you've grown into a fine young man, Luke Bowman. I'm sure that someone special will come soon... maybe when you're not expecting it."

OK, I was more than a little crushed out.

***

Something about seeing Mr. Keenan was a spark in my life that I needed. I'd spent too much of my college years scared. Scared of getting out there, of meeting men. I liked men who were older. Coach types, though that was out of bounds and not realistic. But I changed the age range on my app profile and decided I was going to be open to engaging with men who turned me on there.

It was hit or miss. I heard from some real obnoxious guys. I went on some dates with a really fucking hot doctor who was great sex but then basically ghosted me. I had a couple of hookups that were good for what they were.

I wasn't being a man-whore exactly, but I enjoyed making up for lost time a little.

Strangely Mr. K became my confidante. I don't know why I thought the man would be homophobic, hell maybe deep down he was, but we each shared a secret with the other. And once he was back in DC for business that spring, I met him every other Wednesday for burgers and beer, depending on my game schedule. I got the increasing feeling that he valued his time with me, since he and Rich didn't get along well these days. The man carried a lot of guilt for his broken marriage, but he'd be the first to admit that he'd probably do the same thing all over again.

"Buddy, college girls are the best," he leered one Spring night as we finished our meal. Mr. K let his hair down a LOT with me these days. "I know they don't do anything for ya, Luke, but Jesus, fuck..."

I laughed. I knew Mike Keenan was a grade-A horndog and probably not a good man in that way, but I enjoyed seeing his naughty side.

"You ever think about dating one for real, Mr. K?" I asked. For most of our meetings, it had been mostly my buddy's dad asking me about my life, but it was just now getting to the point where I felt like I could ask personal questions like this.

He shook his head. "It wouldn't work. Besides, I wouldn't do that to Rich." It was a strangely profound admission.

I gulped. Yeah, I could see it from my buddy's perspective, having a stepmother his age, or younger even.

"That's cool, Mr. Keenan. But you gotta live your life, too," I said.

That caught the man off guard. He looked at me then smiled. He reached over and ruffled my hair. "You really think that, dont ya?" he asked.

I nodded, embarrassed.

He grinned. "Don't worry, kiddo. I'm enjoying my middle age years. A little too much."

"With Kimberly?" I prompted. He hadn't mentioned her in a while.

"I called off that arrangement," he said bluntly. "She wanted more."

"A ring?" I laughed. I didn't get straight people, not really, but at the same time they were my entire world.

That leer returned to the man. "No. More money. I'm taking a break for now."

"How long will that last?" I teased.

"Dunno. A month. Maybe two. Till I get horny again."

"I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have to wait that long to get laid, Mr. K."

It was meant as a playful comment, at least in my head. But the second it came out I realized I'd said too much. That Mr. Keenan could read everything in my face, everything I'd kept hidden. How attracted I was to him, how crushed out I was on him, how jealous I was of Kimberly or whatever sorority chick he was banging.

The look on the man's face could now see it all.

Tears welled up in my eyes and I started getting a panic attack. I stood up from the bar stool. "I should go," I said.

A hand reached out and gripped my forearm. Mr. K's grip was surprisingly strong. "Luke. It's OK."

Somehow, his understanding made it worse. I shook my head and broke free. "Sorry," I muttered. Then made a beeline for the door.

I felt dumb and intensely vulnerable as I walked to the bus stop. I'd messed up this friendship thing I had with Mike Keenan, but maybe it was fucked up that I was hanging out with my friend's dad like this in the first place. No maybe about it: it was majorly fucked up.

I was a block away from the stop when I got a text.

"Can I convince you to come back, Luke?" the man wrote. "I get it buddy."

I knew the smart thing would be to keep walking. To send a polite no thanks reply. Or just ignore the text. Instead I typed. "Yes Mr. K." And I walked back to the restaurant.

Mike Keenan was standing outside, looking handsome as fuck in his expensive suit. He had a worried look on his face, and I knew immediately he'd dashed out after me but didn't know which way I went.

His face brightened when he saw me. "We don't have to stay here," he said. "I settled up."

"Oh," I said. "Sorry..." I started to apologize, but he stopped me.

"You were honest," he said directly, blunt but still friendly. "Besides, what man doesn't like to hear he's attractive?"

I gave a wan smile and hunched my shoulders in a shrug. "A lot of straight men, I imagine."

I couldn't tell if Mike Keenan was just humoring me. He had a look of sympathy on his face for sure as he reached out and patted my arm. "How bout this? No labels between us, Luke?"

I didn't get what he was saying exactly, but I knew it was meant to reassure me. I nodded.

"Feel like coming to my hotel?" he asked. "We can just talk."

"Yeah." I was feeling a ton of emotions coursing through me. But I wanted more Mr. K time. "Sounds nice."

That seemed to relax him and put him in a good mood as we walked the few blocks to the nice, business-class residence hotel where he was staying. I couldn't help but sneak looks over his way. He just looked incredible in his suit, not a trim cut one like younger guys sometimes wore but it still flattered his build and height. In my mind, the suit made him look like one of those DC power players and in some messed up way that turned me on.

We weren't too chatty as he led me up to his room. It was fancy to my eyes but had that empty aura that hotel rooms do, even if Mr. K's luggage and belongings were around.

I was looking around the place when the man stepped up right behind me and wrapped his arms around my midsection. I smelled his cologne and felt his kisses along my neck. I guess we were going to do more than just talk.

"Oh, God, Mr. K," I hissed. This probably a record time for how fast I could throw hard. That boner was nearly instant.

"You can call me Mike," he said.

"OK," I said dumbly.

His hands traveled up and down my T-shirt. I was primed to be turned on by this man, but he was going to put me in heat.

"You OK with this, buddy?"

"You have no idea, Mist.. Mike" I replied.

My slip up got a chuckle from him. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of my shirt and the touch of his hand against my belly felt electric. "You have an amazing body, Luke."

"You too, sir," I replied.

He kissed some more along my neck and his voice got deeper, hoarser. "Do you suck cock, Luke Bowman?"

The grunt from the man was an indication I'd said the right thing. "I don't know that I'm good for all the other stuff," he said, "but I'd REALLY love to feel your mouth on me, buddy."

I knew what he meant. The man wasn't going to reciprocate, and I'd have to be fine with that. I was. "I don't need anything in return, Mike," I said. "I want to suck you."

He had that huge horndog grin on his face when I finally turned to face him. We were matched in height but he felt like my opposite in so many ways. Older, successful in his career, straight, though I was getting the fuller meaning of his "no labels" comment.

Especially as his face inched in and his lips met mine. I was kissing Rich Keenan's dad and the forbidden nature of that just added to my thrill. I took a second to feel up his sides, under the suit coat. Mr. K didn't object, he just went deeper with the kiss. Mike Keenan was a great kisser.

"You're a very handsome young man," Mr. K finally said as he pulled back.

"God, Mike," I grunted. This was every JO fantasy I'd had coming to life.

With that naughty look on his face, he reached down and started unzipping. I didn't even look down, not yet, but I could tell from his shoulder motion that he was hauling out his cock.

"Please, buddy," he hissed.

"Here?" I asked dumbly. In my hookups before BJs had been naked and on a bed.

"Here," he growled. This was that other side of Mr. K, the kind who hired sugar babies to get his needs taken care of.

I squatted down. I was a catcher for the Hoyas baseball team, so at least I had this motion down, I thought to myself.

Mike Keenan's cock was gorgeous. Big and meaty and cut but not overly long. It jerked and pulsed as he looked down on me.

"You done this before, right?" he asked. That concerned paternal voice coming out.

I nodded. "Some," I replied. "I wish I had more practice." Then with an honesty I probably shouldn't have had, I added, "I want this to be good for you, Mike."

He chucked and moved his hand to run through my hair. It was strangely affectionate. "You'll do great, buddy."

That was all the encouragement I needed. Leaning in, I could smell the mild, natural musk of a man's crotch, which was matched by Mr. K's saltiness as I began licking him. I gripped the base of his prick to steady it for my sucking, but I maybe didn't even need to do that. Mike was rock hard.

"Yes..." he hissed as I went down on him. I was still pretty green at sucking cock, but I was probably better than Kimberly or whatever sugar baby he'd lined up in the past. Or even the former Mrs. Keenan, I thought crudely.

That knowledge had me going for it. I swallowed four inches of the man in one go, held just a second to let my throat get used to it. Then I started going up and down. It took a second for me to get my rhythm and another for me to get the suction. But I knew I did by the urgency of the man's fingers in my hair, not exactly pushing me down on his crotch but aiding and guiding me in my bobbing motion. He was probably thinking of some chick while I blew him, but I was OK with that.

Only his next words broke me of that idea. "Luke, buddy... you're getting me there," he hissed. Mr. K was very present in this blowjob. I paused a second and looked up at him, and could see he was looking down at me.

I wanted to get him off. So I looked back forward and went for it. The best I could deliver. I hoped it was enough.

The fingers grew tighter. "Gonna cum... Don't pull off," Mike growled. "Please."

At that moment I felt bad for straight men. Even if I should have felt bad that Mr. K wasn't gonna suck me. I just felt any woman was stupid not to want to swallow Mike Keenan's cum.

"UNNFH!" came the sound of his release as he flooded my mouth and throat with his salty-sweet cum. Maybe Mike was backed up, but he was a heavy shooter all right. I accepted it all, swallowing it in waves as quickly as he fed it to me. I think my sucking sensation only added to his orgasm. He finally pulled out, prick wet and still hard.

"God fucking damn, buddy, that was great," he said with a satisfied smile. Then as he caught his breath and I stood up, he added, "Can I jerk you off or anything?"

That sounded great. "You got any lube?"

He nodded and walked over to the bathroom to root around his toiletries bag. He stepped back in, his prick softer but still sticking out. With a grin, he tossed me travel container of lube. "Don't be shy," he said.

I was already undoing my shorts, which fell to the floor. Then I peeled down my underwear, letting Mike see my hardon. It was a trip for me, being mostly naked in front of him. Maybe he wasn't gonna be fully gay for me, but he was open to seeing my dick as I squirted the liquid on my stalk and start stroking.

With a grin he stepped up to me, a little to the side, placing his hand on my belly and working up beneath my shirt as he met me for a kiss.

That's all it took. I didn't come instantly but instantly I began that climb to orgasm. Mr. Keenan's kiss and touch was the extra stimulation to get me there.

I moaned into his mouth as I shot my cum, shooting out onto the hotel carpet.

He broke the kiss when I was done and patted my chest. "You needed that, buddy," he said with satisfaction.

"I did," I nodded. "Thanks."

Things felt a little awkward now. I'd crossed some major lines with this guy that evening, and now that I'd gotten off I felt majorly self conscious about it.

"You OK, Luke?" he asked as we tucked back in.

"I'm OK, Mr. Keenan."

"You can NEVER tell Rich about what just happened," he said.

"You know I'm gonna keep everything private," I said. "You can trust me."

He nodded. "Why don't you get cleaned up. Feel like a drink? I have some scotch here or you can raid the mini bar."

I nodded. "I don't know anything about scotch, but you can teach me."

He chuckled. "All right."

It felt nice to just talk. Mr. K let me open up, about men and being gay and what I really wanted from dating and sex. The man talked about his very limited experience with guys when he was a teen.

"I should have figured men would be better at giving head," he said with a playful leer. "That was incredible, Luke. For real."

"I'm glad," I said. Maybe this wasn't a healthy hookup, but it had felt incredibly satisfying for me, a dream come true.

"You're going to make some dude VERY happy," he said with a smile.

"I hope so," I said with a defensive chuckle. "I hope he makes me happy too."

Mr. Keenan got what I meant. "Yeah, you deserve that," he said a little chastised. He polished off the last of his liquor in the rocks glass. "Listen, it's been a long day."

"Yeah, I'll head off," I said, drinking the rest of my scotch and standing up.

Mr. K pulled his walled out and fished out a couple of twenties. "Here you go... you're not taking the bus back. Especially at this hour."

I tried not to take it. "It's Ok, Mike," I said.

He shook his head. "Just get a fucking Uber, Luke. I insist."

"OK," I said, capitulating. The man could be bossy, and I didn't know whether I liked that or not.

He was quieter now, as he led me to the door but he said before I stepped out. "I'm gonna sleep like a baby tonight, buddy. Thanks."

"You too, sir."

[mynameismckenziemae]

I Love You Two

Part 1

(next part here)

Bradley Bradshaw x OFC x Jake Seresin.

Summary:

You (Olivia ‘Liv’ Kazansky) have been chasing Bradley Bradshaw as soon as you learned to walk. He follows his dad’s footsteps and joins the Navy after high school, and you move across the country for college a few years later at 18.

10 years pass but you never forget that brown-eyed boy…maybe that’s why yet another relationship fails. The friendship with Bradley is easily rekindled when you move back home, along with the feelings you’ve tried to suppress. It seems he feels the same about you after an incredible, life-changing night together. But he’s gone the next morning, without a word or even a note, leaving you heartbroken and humiliated.

A few months later, a green-eyed aviator defends your honor from a drunk patron while you’re bartending. To show your thanks, you buy him a drink that leads to a month-long fling, and a plan to pursue more when he gets back from his deployment.

After returning from a rough deployment of his own, Bradley’s determined to find you as soon as his feet touch dry land. Undeterred when you ignore his phone calls and leave his texts on read, he heads to the Hard Deck, hoping you’re there or that Penny will take pity on him. He’s spent countless nights beating himself up for leaving you the way he did and nothing will stop him from telling you how he really feels before he begs for your forgiveness and another chance.

But he finds you in the arms of the man who’s made the last 3 months of his life a living hell.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

This is going to be a love triangle, why choose, enemies to lovers, repressed bisexuality, polyamorous angsty story. Please let me know if you have any questions and if you’d like to be added to the taglist.

Like everything else I write/post/reblog, this is not intended for anyone under the age of 18. It will contain adult language, themes, and situations. MDNI!

Warnings: Angst, adult language, smut.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

A feeling of nostalgia has your hand pausing as you reach for the picture sitting on your dresser.

The 3-year-old version of yourself is grinning up at 6-year-old Bradley who’s sticking his tongue out to make you laugh. Even back then it was obvious you thought he hung the moon.

Bradley had always been so good to you; letting you tag along with his friends to play baseball, wiping your tears in middle school when you’d gotten teased for your braces, punching your wasted boyfriend for getting too handsy after prom. He wrote to you when he joined the Navy after he graduated, and let you crash at his shitty apartment when you were in college when he was stationed in Pensacola for spring break.

You were good to him too; you helped him pick out flowers for his crush for Valentine’s Day (even though it broke your heart), gave him your shoulder to cry on at his mom’s funeral, and bought him a pink, purple and blue pride flag when he came out to you as bisexual.

The two of you drifted apart when he got into a serious relationship, and not long after you did too.

Both relationships ended, he stayed single and you tried again, but it didn’t last either. You found yourself missing home. Missing Bradley.

The two of you picked up where you had left off when you moved home, like you’d never been apart. Your dormant feelings for him came back too, more intensely than ever. You started to suspect he felt the same; his once innocent touches now held intent, and you caught the heat in his gaze when his brown eyes lingered.

The simmering tension reached the boiling point the night before he deployed. One too many drinks at the Hard Deck gave you the courage to tell him how you felt; that you were in love with him.

Cold nauseating dread crept in at his silence from your admission. But then he kissed you. And didn’t stop.

A shiver dances down your spine at the memory of that night together; the way he pulled orgasm after orgasm from you with his mouth, hands, and cock, knowing your body like a longtime lover. You’d fallen asleep with a smile on your face, wrapped in his arms as the sunlight began to creep in through your bedroom windows.

A few hours later, you woke up cold and alone.

You hurried out of bed to see if he was in the kitchen or at least left a note. But the Bronco was gone and no note in sight. No new texts or missed calls when you’d found your phone. You��d fallen to the floor with a sob, heart-shattering when you’d dialed his number and went straight to voicemail.

When he didn’t reach out and avoided the Hard Deck when he came home for leave, you’d lost all hope.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

You blink back the tears threatening to spill over now as you return to the present.

Taking a deep breath, you toss the framed photo into the box containing the rest of the things he gave you or reminded you of him before shoving it under your bed.

Next, you put on a set of clean sheets, you can’t help but picture how you’re going to dirty them with Jake.

He’s due back from his own deployment any day now and you couldn’t wait to have him over for the first time. During your month-long fling, you’d preferred his apartment as the heartbreak from Bradley had been too fresh and you hadn’t been ready to welcome another man into your home yet.

Jake unintentionally snuck through the walls you constructed around your heart a few months after you’d given up on Bradley.

While bartending, a drunk patron had started to get handsy. You’d noticed Jake watching, but you had it handled; brushing it off at first and then getting stern. When the drunk cornered you in the hallway, you got scared. But Jake had stepped in with his southern drawl and escorted him (none too gently) outside. You’re not sure what Jake said, but the color drained from the drunk’s face, and hasn’t been back since.

You had a cold beer waiting on the bar for him when he came back inside, shaking your head when he pulled out his wallet. So he claimed a stool at the end of the bar instead and proceeded to chat you up all night.

Like a moth to a flame, you were drawn to him; he was so easy on the eyes, a cocky- sarcastic-yet-somehow-still-charming-asshole. And he made you laugh, really laugh for the first time since Bradley broke your heart.

After the last call, he laid you down on the pool table and knelt on the beer-sticky floor to eat you out. The wrecked groan he let out when you pulled his hair had your toes curling and sent you spiraling. He too, because when you pulled him up with an order to fuck you, he mumbled an embarrassed, “Give me 5 minutes and I will,” before kissing you and doing just that.

The following weeks were the same; frenzied, hot, unable to keep your hands off the other. But during the times the two of you had to come up for air, you started falling for him.

You’d expected the worst when he asked to see you the night before he was scheduled to deploy for 3 months. But instead of another heartache, he asked not only to continue things when he returns but to make it official.

He’s called you every chance he got; which wasn’t many but you cherished each one. He didn’t talk much about life on the carrier besides complaining about a jerk in his new squadron but never elaborated, preferring to listen to you in the limited time he was granted.

The ping of an incoming text pulls you from your thoughts.

Penny: Have I told you lately that I love you?

Liv: 😑 Who called in?

Penny: Jimmy

Liv: I’ll be there at 4

Penny: You really are the best kiddo. Thank you.

Liv: You owe me 😘

With a sigh, you finish making your bed and get in the shower.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

There are a few more texts when you get out of the shower and your heart speeds up when you see it’s from Jake.

Jake: Hey sweetheart

Jake: Just found out I’ll be stateside soon

Jake: I can’t wait to see you

Liv: I can’t wait to see you either, but I’m helping Penny out tonight until 10, Jimmy called out.

Jake: Goddamn it, Jimmy.

Liv: Right? You can always visit me too.

Jake: I’ll be there. Did you hear anything about that job?

Liv: I can’t believe you remembered. I got it! Orientation starts in a few weeks.

Jake: Congratulations! I’m thinking we should celebrate?

Liv: Thank you 😘 what are you thinking?

Jake: My head between your thighs to start.

Liv: I like the way you think.

Jake: I’ve gotta go, but I’ll see you soon.

Liv: Can’t wait.

Jake: Me either

You feel like you’re on cloud nine as you get ready, spending a little extra time on your hair and makeup in anticipation of seeing him.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

Your phone rings on your way to the bar and the onslaught of emotions makes your stomach turn at the name on the screen.

Bradley.

You ignore the longing, hurt, anger, humiliation, and unfortunately excitement as you do the same to the call, letting it go to voicemail.

The feelings intensify when he calls again a moment later, but you refuse to do this with him.

Not now. Not ever.

Too little, too late.

He starts texting as you park around the back of the building.

Bradley: Call me when you get a chance.

Bradley: Please?

Bradley: We need to talk.

Bradley: I’m so sorry, I’ll explain everything. Bradley: Just call me back. Please, Liv. Or tell me where you are.

A smile pulls at your lips as you silence your phone before sliding it into your back pocket, leaving him on read.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

To say it’s busy would be an understatement.

You hardly have time to breathe much less overthink things with Bradley for the first few hours. Eventually, he stops; that or your butt cheek has gone numb from the constant vibration through your jean shorts.

“What can I get you?” You ask, not looking up from your open till as khaki approaches the bar from the corner of your eye.

“A blow job?”

Your eyes fly to Jake’s at the sound of his voice.

“The shot of course,” he smirks.

“Of course,” you grin back, pushing the till closed before leaning across the bar to kiss him. You pull back to murmur. “Promise to keep your hands behind your back and swallow it all?”

You’re just teasing, but you don’t miss the way his pupils dilate and the slight flush your words cause. But he recovers, “Spitters are quitters.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, “and I’m no quitter.”

His eyes drop to your lips, remembering how right you are.

A throat clearing has you stepping back.

“Sorry for interrupting whatever the fuck that was,” Natasha says with a disgusted look, “You’re with Bagman, Liv?!”

“Hangman,” Jake corrects, resting his elbow on the bar.

“Whatever,” she’s still looking at you, a bit horrified, a little disgusted.

“Uh…yeah,” you reply, looking at Jake confused as you pull a couple of beers from the fridge before popping the caps off and handing them to her. “Why?”

“Your funeral,” is all she says before walking away.

“What was that all about?” You ask. “Wait-how do you guys know each other?”

“She’s-“ his response is drowned out by Penny ringing the bell, and the cheering that follows, “when’s your break?”

You look at the clock and then the decreasing crowd, “Should be okay to go now if you want to meet me round back? I’ll check with Penny.”

He nods before making his way there.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

“I’ll be out back,” you tell Penny.

She nods just as Bradley struts through the door. He looks so fucking good in those tight jeans and one of Goose’s Hawaiian shirts, unbuttoned. The white undershirt is tight against the abs you traced with your tongue the last time you saw him.

He scans the place but you duck out of sight before he spots you.

Any questions you had and Bradley’s presence are forgotten when you swing open the door. Jake’s leaning against the building, twirling a toothpick with his tongue as he waits.

Your fingers pull it from his mouth and fling it away before meeting him halfway in a heated, biting kiss.

He turns, guiding your back against the wall and you both sigh when your hips meet. You can feel the heat from his erection through the layers of your clothes and when he thrusts, the seam of your shorts rubs your clit just right; you’re suddenly convinced you can’t wait until your shift is over.

“Liv?”

You sigh as he kisses a trail down your neck, not hearing your name being called.

“Liv!”

Recognition tugs as your lust-addled mind but then Jake nips your collarbone while he grinds his hips harder. If he keeps going just like that…

“Olivia!” The door slamming open against the wall beside you makes you both flinch.

“Liv?” The desperation in Bradley’s voice tugs at your heartstrings.

“What do you want Bradley?” You ask as Jake takes a step back, still close but no longer touching.

Bradley’s head whips toward you two, brow furrowing before he pulls Jake off you.

“What the hell!?” Jake pushes him once he gets his footing.

“I-what-Liv?” Bradley stutters before looking to you for an answer.

“What?” You cross your arms.

“I need to talk to you,” Bradley replies, “please.”

“Now you wanna talk?” You laugh without mirth. “Now?! After 6 months of nothing? No calls or texts or emails or letters?”

“Liv,” he winces, “I know. I fucked up, okay? I-“ he looks at Jake, “can we please talk about this privately? Or just not in front of Hangman?”

“Hangman?” You’re confused. Both he and Natasha know Jake’s callsign. “How…?” You trail off as you look between them.

“We were deployed together,” Bradley answers, “he was assigned to the Daggers.”

The thought of them being deployed together had occurred to you, but there were typically several squadrons on the carrier at a time, so it wasn’t likely that they knew each other more than in passing; much less being in the same squadron.

You look at Jake and he nods at your unasked question.

Bradley was the one he’s been complaining about.

“Anything you need to say, you can say in front of Hangman,” you sigh.

“I’d rather not,” Bradley says, his jaw clenching.

“Then fuck off,” you push off the building to head back inside but Bradley reaches for your arm.

“Bradshaw,” Jake warns, taking a step forward.

“I was scared,” Bradley says hoarsely as he releases your arm, “and I panicked. I can’t lose you, Liv. I can’t another person I care about; my parents, Mav…I’ve been beating myself since I left, trying to figure out a way to make things right, and just making things worse by not reaching out. I know. I fucked up and I’m so sorry. Let me make things right.”

“Same old Rooster,” Jake chuckles cruelly as he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, “sitting too snug on that perch again, huh? Missed your chance. Again.”

Bradley watches him kiss your cheek and doesn’t look away as his lips start to make their way down your neck. You’re not a fan of being this affectionate in front of others but this feels…different. It almost seems like Bradley likes it too. Until he opens his mouth.

“You’re doing this to hurt me, aren’t you?” Bradley says lowly.

“Doing what to-what are you talking about?” You ask.

“This,” Bradley nods at Jake, “You found out through Uncle Ice that he’s been making my life a living hell and decided to fuck him. Just to stick it to me?”

Jake stops kissing your neck to look up at him too.

Hot tears fill your eyes and spill over before you have a chance to blink them back. Bradley’s bravado deflates as he realizes he’s so wrong; that he fucked up. Again.

“Fuck you,” you whisper before heading back inside, Jake shaking his head as he follows.

.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.•*•.•.

A/N: I…dunno what to say. I’m really excited for this and I really hope you’ll like it. What’d ya think? Is Bradley getting what he deserved or too harsh since he’s been through so much?

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I LOVE hearing what you think in the comments/reblogs! Seriously, feedback helps me more than anything.

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[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Office smut where reader is Rafe's assistant and they both work at cameron developpement

I've never been a fan of these assistant/boss dynamics, but it fits for Rafe so I gave it a try...and it ended up being 2.5k

Warnings: 18+, fingering, unprotected p + v,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Never in your life did you imagine yourself pursuing a career in real estate, but when an opportunity to work as a personal assistant at Cameron Development practically fell into your lap, you hadn’t been able to decline. 

It was a sunny day on the golf course with your father, enjoying some quality father-daughter time before the end of summer. As you both played a round, you came across one of his golf buddies — Ward Cameron. You vaguely remembered the man, having played with his kids a few times when you were little. Sarah was the one you remembered the most, she had blond hair and always talked about turtles.

Small talk flowed between your father and Mr. Cameron as they caught up on each other's lives. Then, your college studies came into the conversation. You had graduated college this spring, but hadn’t found any jobs in your field yet. Fortunately for you, Mr. Cameron informed you that there were a few jobs available at Cameron Developpement. 

You weren’t interested in real estate, but working for a well reputed company could do no wrong to your curriculum vitae. So you accepted the offer, not knowing that you would be working for his son, Rafe, as his personal assistant. 

You knocked on the door at the end of the hallway, announcing your presence. ‘’You wanted to see me, Mr. Cameron?’’ 

He looked up from the stack of documents neatly placed before him on his desk and your breath caught in your throat. Fuck me. It was a good thing you had put on lipgloss and a nice pair of heels instead of loafers because Rafe Cameron was a fine man. He looked right out of a smutty romance novel with his crisp button up and a navy blue suit jacket that brought out the color of his eyes. 

‘’Yes,’’ he replied, flashing you a polite and effortlessly charming smile. ‘’First, I wanted to meet my new assistant before I hand off the work I'd rather not deal with. My father was insistent about getting me a personal assistant, but I'm actually glad he hired you.’’ His eyes followed down your body in the most subtle way, taking note of how well your skirt was hugging your hips and anticipating the even better view when he’ll watch you go.  

‘’I’m glad I took the job too. Hopefully I won’t disappoint you,’’ you responded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips, trying to hide everything you were feeling right now.

‘’I’m sure you won’t,’’ Rafe assured, his voice carrying a trace of amusement. ‘’Secondly, I was reviewing some paperwork, and it has come to my attention that Mr. Gilbert has not remitted his payment for the condo he recently bought. Can you give him a call and ask for payment? If he refuses to forward us the money before 4pm, we’ll cancel the sale agreement and find another prospective buyer.’’

You nodded in acknowledgment. 

Calling Mr. Gilbert. That should be easy for your first task. 

‘’Anything else?’’ 

Rafe shook his head. ‘’Not for the moment. You may leave.’’ 

‘’Well, Mr. Cameron.’’ 

His eyes lingered for a second, a hint of something more as he watched you turn to leave, a sly smirk playing on his lips.

Over the span of a few weeks, professional exchanges gradually morphed into something outside of your assigned tasks. You were still bringing him coffee whenever he asked and answering emails, but specks of flirting now laced your conversation and soon evolved with lingering glances to your chest while going over some work related paperwork. 

Once in a while, he would call you into his office and scheme excuses just to look at you. 

It wasn’t until that argument with his father that he — finally — made a move on you. 

You came to work early that day and, on your way to your office, you had heard Mr. Cameron shout at his son for a mistake he had made concerning the company and how it was going to make a big dent in their finances to fix it. To respect their privacy and not wanting them to think you were eavesdropping, you quickly went to your workspace and started your work. 

When Rafe came out of his father’s office, he saw you sitting at your desk. His chest was heaving with the intensity of the encounter, a storm brewing in his expression. You heard his office door close and, a few seconds later, an email popped on your screen.

My office. Now.

You thought he needed something, but when you stepped in, Rafe was waiting by the door and crashed his mouth on yours, giving in to the desires he’s been pushing aside since you walked in his office on your first day. 

A small gasp left your lips, not expecting to be kissed by your boss on a Thursday morning. A cloud of confusion fogged your brain and you broke the kiss, trying to fight the invisible string pulling you to him. 

Rafe's gaze lowered down yours, a complex blend of frustration and longing evident in his eyes.

The reason why he had never made a move on you before stemmed from a promise to his father, who had made him promise to not fool around with the personnel if he wanted to be part of Cameron Developpement. It hadn't been too difficult until now, the employees being mostly women in their thirties and up. Then, you came around and Rafe had to use a lot of self-control to not charm his way into your panties. To further complicate the situation, you were responsive to his advances and flirting. 

However, after a heated exchange with his father, Rafe was in the mood to piss him off, so to hell with his stupid rules.

‘’Can I trust you that this stays between us?’’ His hands roamed across your sides, down your body, feeling what he had been staring at these past weeks.  

‘’I never kiss and tell.’’ 

Rafe's thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, removing a smudge of lipstick. ‘’Good girl.’’

The way he said it went straight to your core, waking an ache between your legs. How could a voice have such a strong effect? 

Your eyes traveled to the clock on the wall. Agnes, one of the secretaries, should arrive in twenty minutes. You knew her routine because her desk was right by the hallway leading to Rafe’s office. You also knew that she visited him every morning after checking her emails.

Your thoughts were interrupted when Rafe’s mouth found its way back on yours, his tongue slipping between your lips and he pulled you closer to him, pressing his body against yours as his other hand traveled down your legs, to the hem of your tight skirt. He caressed and grabbed one of your ass cheeks, groaning at the feeling. 

Wasting no time getting undressed, Rafe hiked your skirt up, eliciting a small gasp as cool air hit your skin. ‘’Can you be quiet for me?’’ he asked, pressing against you and letting you feel the length of his hard cock against your thigh. ‘’The walls are thin and Agnes is gonna get here soon. We don’t want her to hear us, do we?’’ 

You shook your head. ‘’Are you gonna fuck me, Mr. Cameron?’’ 

Aside from one mishap, you and Rafe successfully kept your secret business from the other employees. If the whispers of your unprofessional doings in his office were to get to his father, you would both be in a lot of trouble. 

 ‘’I have Anthony Gilbert from the construction company on the first line. He has some questions about the new condos,’’ you informed Rafe after he returned from an afternoon meeting, his tie slightly loosened.  

A sigh left his mouth as he leaned back in his chair, visibly tired. ‘’Transfer him to my secretary.’’  

You shifted on your heels, sensing Rafe didn’t want to speak to this man. ‘’He asked to speak to you specifically.’’ 

‘’Well, we can’t always get what we want,’’ he pressed. ‘’Agnes will take care of it,’’ Rafe repeated, his tone final. 

You nodded. ‘’Yes, Mr. Cameron.’’ 

‘’Now, would you please close the door? There’s a document I would like to go over with you.’’ 

A document. You held a snicker and shut the door as requested. 

Once you turned the lock, Rafe patted his lap and you walked around his desk. He watched you with hungry eyes, impatient to get his hands all over you. Get his cock inside you. 

‘’Looking good today, babydoll. Is this new?’’ he asked, running his thumb over the neckline of your wrap dress as you seated yourself on his lap, careful to not rub the sole of your heels on his pants and leave a mark. 

You hummed in response, leaning forward to expose more of your chest. ‘’Do you like it?’’

Rafe let his hand glide down, following the cut of the dress, until he reached the tie to undo it. He pulled until the knot came off, revealing your bra — a soft pink lace number that did not much other than looking pretty. A shudder left your lips as his hand cupped your breast through your bra, his thumb brushing over where he knew your nipple was. 

‘’Very.’’ 

You carded your fingers as he mouthed at your chest and neck, careful to leave no marks behind. A sigh left your lips, wishing he would pull your bra down and just take suck on your nipple, but Rafe had other plans. While his mouth was working, one hand slipped between your thighs, seeking out your warmth, his hand pressed itself against your soaked panties.

He grinned against your skin. ‘’Would you look at that,’’ Rafe murmured, teasing you over the fabric and sending jolts of pleasure to your core. ‘’Were you thinking of me while I was at my meeting?’’ he questioned his fingers pushing your panties to the side, fingers delving into your slick, a low moan fell from your lips. ‘’Get on the desk.’’ 

You wordlessly climb up onto his cold desk, ignoring the papers that got scattered, leaning back with your hands to spread your legs for him. Rafe pulled your panties down your legs and discarded them in one of the drawers — a little keepsake. 

He dipped two fingers between your soaked folds, causing you to moan slowly. ‘’You look so pretty spread out for me like this,’’ he muttered between you, his cock twitching in his pants and straining against the fabric. ‘’Ready for me to take.’’ His thumb grazed over your clit and a gasp fell from your lips, your hands instinctively grabbing the edge of the desk to brace yourself.

‘’I’m always ready for you,’’ you said, speaking the embarrassing truth. ‘’I’ve never wanted a cock as bad as I want yours.’’

Your words had the desired effect, making Rafe groan. ‘’Shit, babydoll. Where did you get that filthy mouth?’’ 

Rafe reached down and rubbed himself over his pants before deftly unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers. He stood from his seat, the bulge in his boxers making your mouth water and your pussy clench. 

You used to feel guilty for fooling around on your work hours. It felt wrong and dishonest to your boss, but all guilt would go out the window the moment Rafe’s big cock entered you. Fuck work ethics and policies. 

The rest of his clothes came off and he stood between your parted legs, one of his large hands grabbing your thigh while his other was holding his hard length at your entrance. His blue eyes gazed up at you with a mischievous glint as he rubbed his tip against your folds, making you whine with anticipation. 

His teasing turned on him as you reached for his cock and wrapped your hand around its length, drawing a moan from him. ‘’Little minx.’’

You grinned, continuing your motions. Teasing could go both ways. 

‘’Ahh,’’ you gasped as he pressed in, a slow delicious burn that sent a shiver down your spine as he pushed his way through your tight walls. 

Rafe leaned down his forehead, pressing down onto yours and breathing you in as he rolled his hips into you. A moan spilled from your throat at the sensation, a little too loud, and he was quick to clamp his hand over your mouth to muffle any sounds, the floor still full at this hour. 

To add to the noises, the desk was creaking every time Rafe was dragging his cock in and out of you. Although the angle was great, the desk might not be the quietest — unfortunately. 

 ‘’You like that babydoll, you like when I fuck you like this?’’ 

You nodded, your mouth still covered. 

Fuck, just like that, you wanted to scream, your back arching when he hit the right spot over and over at a toe curling pace. God, this was the best sex of your life. Some men just knows what they're doing.

The shrill of the phone echoed in the office, but you both ignored it — Agnes will answer. It was probably the man who wanted to speak to Rafe calling again. 

Sorry Mr. Gilbert, Mr. Cameron is very busy fucking the life out of his personal assistant.

Your body writhed against Rafe, your hands leaving the desk to pull at his hair and grab at his arm while your heels dug into his ass. He grunted, your walls clenching around him. A few more hard thrusts and his thumb sweeping over your clit had your thighs trembling as the waves of pleasure washed over you.

Rafe continued to push into you, dragging out your orgasm as his took over, pulling out quickly and cumming on your stomach, trying to not get any drop on your dress.  

You didn’t have time to get dressed or catch your breath that a knock came on the door. Momentarily forgetting you had locked it, you jumped, thinking you were going to get caught. 

‘’What is it?’’ Rafe called out, trying not to sound too out of breath. 

‘’I have Mr. Gilbert on the phone on line three. He’s asking to speak to you,’’ Agnes’s sweet voice said through the door. ‘’A pressing matter, he said.’’ 

‘’I’m unable to take the call at the moment. I’m busy going over a document for a client I’m seeing tomorrow morning. Could you please take the call for me?’’ he asked, rubbing his hands over your thighs, wishing his secretary would leave so he can get on his knees and get his mouth between your legs.

Agnes nodded although he couldn’t see her. ‘’I understand, Mr. Cameron. I'll inform him right away.’’ 

Rafe waited to hear clicks of her heels down the hallway to sink to his knees and get back to business. He did tell Agnes that he was working on a document, no one would question how long you were locked in his office for.

—

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[sunflowersandsapphires]

If the Sun Starts Setting

Of Oak and Ivy, Chapter 7

Series Masterlist         Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: In college, Matt Murdock had two best friends, Foggy Nelson and you. However, life had no intention of letting you graduate with him. When he reconnects with you in adulthood, he is troubled to see the hand God has dealt you and vows to use every tool at his disposal to save you from damnation.

warnings: Swearing, family drama, characters celebrating Christmas, mom with terminal illness, crying mentions

a/n: Sorry to post this so late everyone! I have had the WORST brain fog today. I hope you enjoy! As always, comments and reblogs fuel me!

After just one semester of law school, the drive between suburban Connecticut and the Columbia campus was one you were becoming well-acquainted with. It wasn’t unbearably long, nor flooded with traffic on a dark Sunday evening. Headlights of oncoming vehicles painted swatches of light against the navy sky, a semi-urban work of art unlike anything you’d enjoyed before. Usually, it was a sight you took the time to admire. However, this particular evening you were unable to focus on anything but the tinny voice bubbling out of your phone’s speaker. 

Gritting your teeth and rolling your eyes to the heavens, you cursed the universe for a moment, tuning out the man on the other end of the line while you did so.

The sharp call of your name across the speakers regained your attention. ”Are you listening to me?“

Your father's inflection was grating on the best days. After three weeks spent waiting on him and your two ungrateful siblings while they preached about the importance of family during the holidays, you were ready to scream with every word he spat at you. The two hour drive back to campus was supposed to be the growing light at the end of the tunnel. Instead, you'd spent the last third of it arguing with your father about healthcare charges.

”Yes, I'm listening.“ ‘Unlike some of us’, you thought to yourself. ”As I said, that charge was for her brief hospital stay over Thanksgiving. I've already paid it and it might take a week or two to reflect—“

”This is a debt collection notice, hun. That means they didn't receive the payment yet. Which means they'll be coming after me when your mom inevitably cannot pay.“

Contemplating banging your head against your steering wheel just to remove the memory of this conversation, a flash of movement across the parking lot caught your eye. Expression softening, you almost sobbed in relief when you caught the two beaming expressions of your friends waving from the exterior door. Unfortunately, your father wasn't quite done arguing with you.

”Dad, I understand you don't want to be on the hook for this—“ ‘Not like you would be anyway.’

”I most certainly do not.“ He interrupted. Once again ignoring his rambling, you snatched your backpack and exited your car, slamming the door with a bit more force than usual.

”Dad, just forget about it, ok? I'll deal with it, just—“

”Well, clearly you won't deal with it in a timely fashion, which is why I'm calling...“ ‘Was he trying to kill you? It sure felt like it.’

”Ok, well I just got back to school so I need to go now.“ You tried to nudge him into polite farewells as you practically sprinted across the pavement towards your friends. As expected, he didn't take kindly to being rushed off the phone.

”Of course you do,“ He laughed incredulously. ”You know, this is your mother's livelihood we are discussing. It wouldn't kill you to be a bit more compassionate.“ ‘You're one to talk asshole.’

”You're right. I'll try to work on that this semester,“ You remarked drily. ”Gonna go inside now. Bye.“

Not bothering to listen to the screaming that answered your callous goodbye, you hung up, breaking into a strained smile as you greeted your boys. ”Why hello there, strangers.“

As if he didn't just witness you walk literally and figuratively closer to a breakdown, Foggy squealed, nearly taking you to the pavement in a tackling hug. “Welcome back, bug!”

“Christ, Fog, you're gonna crush her.” Matt laughed, hearing you grunt as you fumbled to stay upright with Foggy coiled around you like a boa constrictor.

“I missed you too, Fog.” You murmured, tears welling in your eyes at the sensation of being embraced.

You had missed them. Deeply and almost pathetically. After an entire semester at each other's sides, the few weeks in your hometown for Christmas had felt like an eternity.

After Matt and Foggy had been struck with the campus flu, the rest of the semester passed in a whirlwind. The two clingy boys had unsurprisingly infected you, meaning you were unfortunately sick for Thanksgiving and had to remain on campus to avoid passing the virus on to your immunosuppressed mother. Matt had been incredibly apologetic, and plagued with his typical Catholic guilt, so he'd stayed with you while Foggy returned to Hell's Kitchen for Turkey Day.

The next few weeks were spent cramming for finals and, eventually, celebrating the end of your first semester at Columbia—which you had all, amazingly, passed. Leaving for the lengthier winter break had been an abrupt end to the joy you felt over your grades, however.

You returned to New Haven a day earlier than expected to sit in the local hospital's oncology ward with your mother. While you were ill over Thanksgiving, she'd had a recurrence of stage 3 pancreatic cancer, which meant more frequent trips to see her doctor as well as numerous bills that neither of you could afford. Because of her declining health, your father and siblings had come to Connecticut for Christmas. The extra company meant that your holidays–which were meant to be a time for recuperation following a strenuous first semester–had been frustrating to the point of tears. Which, embarrassingly enough, Matt had been burdened with when you called him to complain.

The two of you called multiple times a week, exchanging stories and annoyances just like you did when you were living within a few blocks from each other. But it didn't stop you from missing him and Foggy fiercely for 24 excruciating days.

Swallowing a lump of pent up emotion, you huffed out a shaky exhale, your breath clouding in the frigid winter air. “Ok, Fog. You know I love you, but it's cold as fuck out here.”

“Right! Sorry.” Foggy withdrew from the embrace, blushing furiously as he scratched at the back of his neck.

Immediately replacing Foggy in front of you, Matt took a chance to hug you quickly before pulling you inside. “Glad you're finally here, I thought Nelson here was going to combust.”

Letting Matt usher you inside, you heard Foggy's baffled scoff. “Do I look like a patient man to you, Murdock?”

Matt smirked, “How would I know?”

You and Foggy both groaned loudly, looking to each other for support as Matt cackled. “C'mon, you set that one up perfectly. What's a guy to do?”

“You should've heard him over break, bug. He was driving my poor mother towards a stroke, I swear.” Foggy shook his head in feigned irritation.

“Oh please, she loved me.” Matt shoved his roommate, nearly bowling the three of you down the staircase as you trudged toward their room.

“I bet she did.” You snorted, “You probably dialed the charm up to 11.”

“Try 15.” Foggy remarked, unlocking the door and shoving it open.

Ignoring the jab, Matt held out a hand for your bag, allowing you to slip out of your coat and shoes.

“Who were you on the phone with?” His question was meant to open the can of worms in a structured way, rather than answer his own burning question. He’d bet dollars to donuts that it was–

“My father.” Came your fatigued response, confirming his suspicions. Your words were tinged with a bitterness that he’d expected, but they held a deeper upset thinly veiled by your exhaustion.  

“Is everything ok?” Foggy asked quietly, his brow pinching with worry as he studied the bags under your eyes. The blond was less informed on the hell you’d been put through over the last month or so, only picking up bits and pieces if Matt relayed them.

With a groan, you collapsed unceremoniously onto Matt’s bed beside him, leaning heavily into him as one of his arms fell across your shoulders. “Of course, it’s just…it wasn’t the pleasant send off I was hoping for.”

Your pulse jumped when you spoke, steadying out as you reached the end of your sentence. Matt already knew that things weren’t “ok” with your mom or your home life in general, but he blinked in surprise to hear the disappointment that coated your words as you referenced your father’s curt goodbye. Making a note to bring that up when you seemed more inclined to be vulnerable, he rubbed a palm over your arm in a comforting gesture.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wish it had been better.”

Huffing a tiny laugh, you let your head fall against his shoulder. “Me too. How were your holidays?”

“Pleasant.” Matt murmured at the same time Foggy clapped his hands together.

“Fantastic! I forced Matt to watch all of the Star Wars movies with me and we ate our weight in cookies.” The long-haired boy explained with genuine enthusiasm. As he began to recount the escapades from the annual Nelson holiday party, your eyes flicked upwards to look at Matt, whose arm was still moving slowly across your shoulder and back as he caressed your sleeve. His eyes were trained forward, but a muscle in his jaw twitched as you focused on him, so you had a sneaking suspicion that neither of you were listening to Foggy’s story. You’d forgotten how well he could read you, until he gave you the option to pretend everything was fine with your dad.

He knew it wasn’t, and you did too. And maybe shoving that shit deep down and pretending it didn’t exist wasn’t a healthy way of handling it, but if you met Foggy’s worried gaze right now it would make you cry, which you were not prepared for. So, whether it was a wonderful coincidence or Matt could truly read you like a picture book, you were thankful for his deflection.

Smiling softly, you looked back to Foggy, listening to him talk about his drunk aunts fawning over Matt and feeling the thick tension bleed out of your shoulders.

Eventually, Foggy took a deep breath, slapping a hand to his forehead. “Woah, head rush!”

Matt chuckled, “You didn’t even stand up, buddy. You ok over there?”

“Yah, I’m fine! Just excited!” Foggy waved a hand, unfazed.

“And I can’t wait to hear about everything, Fog. But maybe we should take a break for presents?”

“Presents?” Foggy’s eyes widened along with his grin, his behavior as animated as a child’s at the mention of gifts. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”

You laughed, prying yourself out of Matt’s secure grip and opening your bag. Tossing two wrapped bundles across the room and onto Foggy’s bed, you set the other two in Matt’s lap.

“Merry Christmas, my lovely Musketeers!” You giggled as Foggy mime-fenced toward you. As soon as the blond was finished beating you in the imaginary sword fight, he eagerly tore into the glittery wrapping paper. Next to you, Matt looked much more apprehensive about the packages in his lap.

“Go on, Matty. Open them!” You encouraged, bumping his shoulder with your own.

“But we don’t have anything for you,” Matt’s lips curled into a pout, looking like a sulking kitten as he trailed a single finger along the crisp edge of the parcel nearest to his hand.

You rolled your eyes fondly. The poor kid had a strong enough sense of justice for the whole campus. ”Matty, we're in college. And I'm the only one with a job. I didn't expect you to get me anything.“

”But—“ Matt argued, but you cut him off with a laugh.

”No more buts! I got these presents for you because I wanted to, not because I thought I’d receive something in return. Please open them?“ Though he couldn't see your face, you batted your lashes and widened your eyes, hoping he could sense the pleading expression.

With a frown, he nodded once, carefully peeling the tape from the paper as if the task required surgical precision. Grinding his teeth as the paper crinkled raucously, he slid the first gift out of its casing carefully, as if he was expecting it to shock him if he moved too quickly. Withdrawing a lump of the softest material he'd ever felt, he ran a thumb over it, trying to decipher what it was. The strip of wool was composed of thick braided stitches, promising to retain warmth in even the most bitter winter weather.

”A scarf?“ He asked, his lips pursed into a small, surprised oval. A rosy blush dusted the tops of his cheeks.

”Yes! I made one for you and one for Foggy. Except yours is a deep red and his is orange.” You spoke softly, smiling over to where the longer-haired boy was wrapping the length of yarn around his neck triumphantly.

“Our favorite colors.” Matt murmured, his fingers still tracing the fuzzy stitching. “You remembered?“

”Of course I did, trouble. That's important information. I'd be a fool to let it slip through the cracks.“ You hoped the joke would make him laugh, but he continued to stare blankly at the scarf as if it was an animal that had just died in his arms. ”If you don't like it, I can take it back, and donate it or something–“

”No!“ Matt looked up, horrified, clutching the scarf to his chest. ”No, I love it. I just...“

Turning his face back to his lap, he licked his lips before continuing. ”I've never gotten something like this before. I don't know what to say, is all.“

”No need to say anything, bub. I'm glad you like it.“ You rubbed your palm over his arm, mirroring his actions from just a moment ago.

Still focused on his own gifts, Foggy's excited screech startled both you and Matt. ”NO WAY!“

Turning to you with a dropped jaw, Foggy shook his head. ”There is no way you got this.“

”What is it, buddy?“ Matt asked, his lips curled into a soft smile as he heard Foggy open a hardcover book eagerly.

”A first edition of The Fellowship of the Ring!“ Foggy was practically giddy, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he rifled through the pages. ”How did you even get this?“

Grinning at him, you giggled. ”My mom has a friend with an extensive book collection and asked where we could find one. Turns out, the friend had one of her own and was willing to part with it for next to nothing. Guess she owed my mom a favor.”

Diving across the room to crush you in another hug, Foggy kissed the top of your head. “Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!”

Laughing brightly, you struggled to shove your friend off of you. When he was this worked up, Foggy had the tenacity of an overexcited golden retriever. As usual, Matt helped release you from his clutches. ”You're welcome, Fog. I wanted to get you a nice copy since you lost the one you brought to school.”

“I'd say you accomplished that, my lovely jitterbug.” Foggy ruffled your hair, retreating to his bed and launching himself onto the mattress–the rusted springs creaking in protest.

Giggling at him, you turned back to Matt. “Alright, Murdock. Your turn, again. After this, I promise never to put you through this torture again. Until next year.”

Matt groaned in response, snatching the second gift with more vigor. “Let's get this over with.”

Approaching the gift with the same systematic tactic as the first, he slid the paper off of the box without a single tear. Setting the wrapping aside, he opened the cardboard package and pulled out his real gift.

“Ok so, I'm not sure how helpful these will be,” You warned, fidgeting with your hands as he ran his fingers along the band connecting the ear pieces. “But, they're, um, noise-canceling headphones?”

Matt's breath caught in his throat. He was overwhelmed with guilt and affection and surprise at the present, all words of gratitude pulled back down to his vocal chords as he focused solely on not bursting into tears.

Over the past few weeks, the Nelsons had been kind enough to invite him to stay and celebrate with them. He was flattered, and so thankful, but he wasn't used to so many...people. During a few of your phone calls over the break, he'd mentioned that the excessive stimuli, mainly noise, had been getting to him and giving him headaches. And rather than chastising him for being ungrateful, you'd listened and sympathized with him over the phone, ultimately buying him a solution to the issue with your own money.

Sure, there was no guarantee that these would work for his heightened senses, but you didn't know that. And the idea that you were willing to go to such immense lengths to ensure his comfort...it was evidence of a love he hadn't experienced in a decade.

“Are you ok? Did I do something wrong?” Your worried murmur broke his train of thought.

“No,” He choked out. ”No, they're perfect. So is the scarf. Thank you, bug.“

”Of course. Merry Christmas, Matt.“ You kissed his cheek gently and he felt a flush crawling up his neck. Wrapping an arm around you, he tucked you close to his chest, hand cradling the back of your neck.

”Merry Christmas, sweetheart.“

The two of you sat there in silence, holding each other close for a minute before your phone rang. Sighing deeply, you rested your head against Matt's shoulder as you fumbled for your phone. Thankfully, the screen displayed your mom's contact information, not your father.

“Sorry, trouble. I have to take this.“ You squeezed his arm, pulling out of his embrace and stretching as you stood. ”I'll be right back. Hopefully.“

Smiling at your near-groan, Matt jerked his chin towards the door. ”We'll be here.“

Slipping into the hallway, you lowered your voice. ”Hey mama, everything ok?“

”Hey baby, everything's fine, just had a couple questions for you about bills.“ Her sweet voice was strained and you could practically see her flicking her gaze to meet your father's, his metaphorical gun to her head as she made the call.

”Ok,“ You ground out, trying not to snap at her when she wasn't the reason you were frustrated. ”Um, what questions did you have?”

“You did pay the one from November?” She asked, predictably.

“I did. It'll reflect soon and Dad has nothing to worry about. The bill is attached to our names, not his. That's why Collections isn't writing to him.“ You explained as calmly as you could, knowing that she was aware of this already, but probably had you on speakerphone. ”Was that all?“

”Not exactly.“ Her tone shifted, pitching lower and sounding almost embarrassed. A crackle rippled over the line and suddenly your father's gruff voice replaced the one you adored.

“You need to come home next weekend to help your mom with the next round of billing. I've run out of time off and can no longer assist.” He commanded, the ‘compassion’ he held for her livelihood nowhere to be found.

‘Oh because you were so helpful this month when you were ordering us around.’  You griped internally. “What round of billing? The one from Thanksgiving–”

“Was four appointments ago. These things aren't free, you know. They’re wanting us to pay for them.”

Both you and your bank account were intimately familiar with the steep cost of her treatment. Inhaling deeply, you paced a few steps from Matt and Foggy's room. “I know they aren't free. We signed her up for a payment plan two weeks ago that offers a deferral–”

“She was denied.” His laconic answer made your spirits plummet as time came to a halt. Your pounding heart froze in place, dread creeping up your spine. 

“What?” On the off chance that he was being unintentionally misleading, you needed to clarify.

Your mother's apologetic voice came over the line once again. ”I wasn't accepted into the financial assistance program, baby. But, it's ok! I can pick up more shifts–“

”No!” You exclaimed, the shrill edge of your cry echoing down the hallway. You tried again, digging your nails into the flesh of your palm as you fought to keep your voice steady.

“Don't...you don't need to do that mama. I don't want you to overwork yourself. I'll come home on Friday and we can talk about options, ok?“ You bargained, running through your work schedule in your head to create a plan.

”Are you sure, honey? Won't you be busy getting a head start on the semester?“ 

Blinking back tears at her obvious care for you, you cleared your throat before answering. “It’s alright, mama. It’s just syllabus week, I’m sure I’ll have time to come home and sort things out.”

“She’ll make time.” Your father’s promise was more for your mom than you, but it felt like a swift kick to the gut all the same. 

Because you would make time. You had to. No one else would. You were your mom’s last line of defense. Prioritizing yourself and failing to be there for her wasn’t an option you had. The emotional burden you were carrying felt impossibly heavy, as if there was a line of anvils across your shoulders and chest, slowly forcing the oxygen out of your lungs until you perished. 

“Of course I will. I’ll see you this weekend, mama. Love you.” You choked out, slapping a palm over your mouth before you broke. 

“I love you too, baby. Have a good week at school!” You could picture her tired smile as she wished you a proper goodbye, the image cracking your composure. 

You hung up before the first tear rolled down your cheek. Dropping your face into your hands, you bit your lip to stifle a sob, letting the tears flow silently instead. Falling back against the wall behind you, you let your legs give out as you collapsed to the disgusting dorm hallway carpet. 

The blood rushing in your ears drowned out the noises drifting through the thin walls, an urge to scream churned in your chest. Ugly, rage filled sobs were barreling up your throat, desperately trying to claw their way out, to make your pain known. Hunching over your knees in a pitiful crouch, you shielded your face with your arms, preventing any passersby from seeing your much-needed meltdown. 

Choking out a breath around another half-smothered sob, you nearly screamed when a warm hand landed on your shoulder. Looking up frantically, the outburst downgraded to a strangled whine when you saw Matt’s furrowed brow directed at you. 

Wordlessly, he sank down beside you, opening his arms with a frown. Throwing yourself into his embrace, you couldn’t help the hideous sounds that escaped you as he enveloped you in his muscular arms with ease. Tucking your head under his chin, you shook violently against his chest as you bawled. 

“I can’t do this, Matt. I can’t–” You gasped out, your breath stuttering as you wept forcefully into his shoulder. 

Shushing you gently, he rubbed circles into your back with his large hand.

Whimpering at the touch, you wiped at your tear-streaked face furiously. “”I’m barely an adult. How am I supposed to do this?” Your voice shattered around the words, throat constricting with anguish.

“I don’t know,” Matt cooed, stroking a fresh pair of tears away from your skin with his thumbs. “But I’ve got you, sweetheart. We’ll get through it together.” 

Burying your face into his neck miserably, you shuddered with distaste. “I can’t ask that of you.”

“You don’t have to ask.” He whispered gravely, pressing a kiss to your crown. 

With that promise, your brain seemed to shut off. Your tears gradually slowed to a halt, leaving you dazed and exhausted in Matt’s lap. Heaving out a shaky exhale, you closed your eyes, letting his soft touches wash over you like the tides. Kissing your forehead tenderly, Matt cupped your cheek. 

“Why don’t we go sit somewhere softer than this shitty floor, hmm?” His small question was meant to make you laugh, but your fatigue had chased away every other emotion. 

Nodding softly, you let Matt pull you from the ground and back into his room, welcoming the darkness after the harsh fluorescent lighting of the hallway. Sliding off his glasses and placing them on his nightstand, he guided you to Foggy’s bed. The blond frowned at you, setting his book aside. 

“You ok, bug?” He asked, sitting up to inspect your puffy eyes.

Shaking your head tiredly, you crawled onto his mattress and let him wrap you in a hug. Matt, with an impressive amount of agility, somehow leapt onto the bed behind you, snaking his arms around your middle so that you were sandwiched between him and his roommate. You listened to their steady breathing, letting the sound lull you into a more peaceful state of mind. 

Tangling his fingers with yours, Matt’s lips scratched over the back of your head. “Fog, think you could read some of your book for us?”

“Uh, yah totally.” Foggy pouted, gaze still lingering on your drained face. “Let me just find my page.”

The combination of your worn-out consciousness and the comforting presence of your two best friends was dangerous. Your eyes fluttered shut and you could feel yourself drifting off. 

As if reading your thoughts, Matt kissed your hair. “Go on, sweetheart. We’ve got you.”

Squeezing his fingers, you stopped fighting the darkness pulling at the edges of your vision, drifting off into a dreamless sleep. 

Taglist: @eugene-emt-roe@abbyhaslongshorts @mrs-bellingham @abucketofweird @yeonalie @jadeunstablexx @spider-murdock @0ctober-writes @danzer8705 @mattmurdockstateofmind

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[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Don't You Forget About Me

Part One

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

Description: Sometimes the most unlikely encounters with people have an immeasurable effect on your life. For Bradley Bradshaw, life at 22 right after graduating from college is far different than he ever thought it would be. It kind of seems like his whole life hasn't gone according to plan. No parents, no support system, just one man and his dad's old Bronco against the world. A chance meeting with a blond-haired teenage menace in Texas may just change everything, shaping his future in a way he never would have expected. Disclaimer: This is a Hangster story -> What you see is what you get, folks. Slight mention of homophobic/ lgbtq+ phobic family members. Word Count: 3624 Author's Note: Hiya! I wrote this fic for @roosterforme's Top Gun Rocktober Event based on the song Don't You Forget About Me by the Simple Minds. Everything about it just screamed Hangster when I listened to it again. As anybody who knows me or has read my works can surmise... I can be quite long-winded so what was supposed to be a quick blurb turned into a short two-part series. I hope you all love this fic! (Also I'm self conscious about this one because I do not write in first person. It's surprisingly hard so I'd love any feedback if you've got it!)

It's dark and smoky and loud in here and I can't believe that I let Jessica and David drag me to this party. They've long since disappeared into the crush and left me on the under-stuffed chintz armchair in some frat house’s living room. It doesn't help that I haven't been to Texas in years and I feel even more like I’m out of my depths because of it. My mom grew up here, and most of her family is still here. But she's not. In the years since I graduated from high school, I've turned hundreds of times, looking for her sweet smile, searching for her to take solace in. But she's not exactly on this mortal plane anymore. Neither of my parents are. And the closest thing I've ever had to a dad fucked off after destroying my dreams.

It fills me with an unreasonable rage every time I think about it. I know Virginia, I've lived in Virginia for years, putting myself through school in Charlottesville while working single-mindedly to get into the US Navy. I’m so close to flight school that I can taste it. I just need to get through Officer Candidate School in Rhode Island now that I’ve graduated. One final summer of building my savings by working odd jobs and I’d be free. Or so I thought.

Then, I received a notice telling me my apartment building needed to be tented for termites. My lease was only valid until I left for OCS, anyway. I debated living out of my dad's car, now mine, until I had to be in Rhode Island. That’s when I received a letter from Stephanie Williams, my mom’s cousin, inviting me to spend the summer in Texas. Driving to Texas is far from convenient, but I haven't spent any time around my family, no matter how distant they may be, in so long. And, I’m kind of homesick - homesick for the sense of camaraderie, of walking into the house after baseball practice or school and hearing anyone in the house besides myself.

Jessica and David, Stephanie’s kids, are as nice as their mom. They both attend the University of Texas, but it still feels like there is a distance between us. They can't understand the drive burning in me about the Navy, how I need to do well at OCS, how I need to become an aviator, how I need to be better than anyone else. Aunt Steph doesn't really get it either if the way she practically pushed me out the door when Jess and David mentioned the party is any indication.

It doesn't help that I'm only a week from reporting to OCS, either. I know it’s not flight school, not yet, but I know I need to study more than I need to be in this stupid little ramshackle frat house on Greek Row. The beer’s watered down and warm, tasting like piss in my mouth. Normally, I’d be right in the center of the makeshift dance floor grinding up against the scantily clad girls in sight, most of them wearing bikinis, but not tonight. 

I just want to go home again, but that’s not possible. It hasn't been for years. I leave the mostly full beer behind and search for Jess and David. There are hundreds of drunk kids in the house, and it doesn’t matter at all that I’m taller than most of them, not when people are dancing on the tables and licking alcohol off of each other. I feel like I’m suffocating. The entire house stinks of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and sweat. It takes fifteen minutes to look for either of them in the basement. When I’m halfway up the stairs, I’m tempted to leave them here and drive by in the morning to get them. But Aunt Steph would hate that.

The first floor is even worse than the basement. There may not be anybody dancing on the tables, but there is far more clothing being thrown about. It looks like there’s a drunken orgy happening in the living room on the floor. The carpet isn’t all that clean, to begin with, and add bodily fluids to it, and I nearly hurl on the spot. 

If this is what I’ve missed out on in the traditional college experience, well, I don’t want it, not at all. Thankfully, I don’t have to see either of my cousins naked and that eliminates the kitchen and living area entirely. All I have left are the bedrooms above. Just walking up the stairs, I can hear the creaking of bedsprings and lusty moans. It sounds like a contagious disease waiting to happen, and I don’t make it past the top step.

That’s it. I can’t search for Jess or David anymore and I fight my way to the front door while trying to ignore the tits that seem to get shoved into my face every few steps. As I open the door, a body slams right into me. It’s a kid, gangly and blond, knobby shoulders protruding sharply through the fabric of the worn t-shirt he’s wearing.

“Watch where you’re going, asshole!” I can’t help the chuckle pouring out of my mouth. I’ve got at least 8 inches in height on him and I could easily break him into two if I wanted to. He must be ninety pounds soaking wet and his indignation is about as intimidating as an angry chihuahua. But I’m not looking for a fight, so I just move out of the way. Something about his angry green eyes and how they glow in the fresh night air is oddly captivating. I’m honestly not expecting to see him again, but just as I reach the Bronco and open the door, I see the same person get bodily chucked out of the house.

He’s shouting expletives into the night air, and when his anger runs out, he hunches his shoulders and stomps in my direction. Of course, a snarl rips out of his mouth the moment he sees me.

“What, asshole? Haven’t you seen someone get kicked out of a party by a bunch of dicks before?” 

“I have, kid. But I wanted to know if you were okay. Your knuckles look rough.” It’s true. His knuckles are bloody and bruised like he’s been punching something hard with no control. Those are going to sting like a bitch in the morning.

He snorts and must see something unassuming in my face because he uncrosses his arms and says, “I’m not a kid, I'm seventeen.” He’s a little young to be running around the UT campus and getting thrown out of parties, but I have the feeling if I say anything, he’ll probably just jump down my throat again. “I’m Jake.”

“Bradley.” I grin back. “Get in.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but I don’t get into cars with strangers.” He’s quick-witted, that’s for sure.

“No.” If my eyes roll as I look at Jake, that’s just between him and me. He must feel like shit if he hasn’t called me out for it yet. “I have a first aid kit in the glove box. I wanted to look at your knuckles before they scab over.” Jake looks shocked. I can almost see the gears grinding in his head as he thinks my words over.

“Move over.” I have to hide my grin until he’s safely in the passenger seat. I don’t know why it feels like such a victory, having this stranger accept my help. I leave the door open and lean in. He smells coffee and spice with an undertone of musk, sitting in my passenger seat with his eyes looking far too green in the low light.

“You don’t go to UT, do you?” Instead of responding, I just pop open the glove compartment and tug out the med kit.

“So what is this, Bradley?” He sounds disgruntled. “No answers without you taking care of my hands?”

I just hold my hand out until he puts his into mine. It’s a long-fingered hand, thin and bony. No well-fed eighteen-year-old boy has hands that look like this. Hands that look like they’ve been working every day of their life. I want to know why Jake’s got such a big chip on his shoulder and why someone so young has hands that look so worn.

“I’m really alright, you know?” I’m as gentle as I can be, patting at scraped knuckles with an isopropyl alcohol soaked cotton ball. Jake may talk a big game, but he’s wincing with each word. 

“Who’d you punch to fuck up your knuckles so badly?” 

“My asshole ex-boyfriend. He was cheating on me with one of his teammates. And I just found out today.” Jake’s voice chokes on a sob, and I can’t help the twinge of sympathy that goes through me at his words. Maybe I’m too quiet, because there’s a sharp tug on my sleeve.

“D’you have a problem with that?” Jake’s glaring at me, and it takes me longer than it usually would for me to figure out why.

“About the fact that you had a boyfriend?” He nods, the movement jerky and sharp. “Why would I care about that? You love who you love, that’s it.”

He looks blown away by my immediate acceptance of who he is. But Jake seems uncomfortable at the same time, uncomfortable enough that he changes the subject. “You never answered me earlier. You don’t go to school at UT.”

“No, I don’t.” I collect the trash into a small ball and put the kit away again. It feels weird to stand out in the night and talk when I have a perfectly good driver’s seat right on the other side of the car. I can already see a hundred questions on the tip of Jake’s tongue, so I hold one hand up and point to the trash bin nearby. I can feel every bit of his gaze on my back as I lope to the can and back, opting this time to get into the driver’s seat. Of course, no sooner am I buckled in, Jake’s looking right at me.

“Why are you here, then? Why were you at that party tonight?” I can hear the naked curiosity in his tone.

“I’m staying with some of my mom’s family over the summer. A couple of my relatives go to UT for school and invited me to the party. I just graduated from college and I’m joining the Navy in a week.” It sounds so real as I say the words. They sound equally real, it looks like, to Jake.

“Why the Navy?" I haven't felt like I'm the focus of another person in a long time. I feel flayed open, horribly, uncomfortably, seen.

My voice is quiet, a little rough, a little raw as I say, "My dad was in the Navy."

"What did he do?" I blink a little, not expecting this question so soon. Normally people want to know why my dad was in the Navy, in the past tense. They want to know what happened to him. They never want to know what he did or anything else about him.

"He was a Naval Aviator, a Radar Intercept Officer, to be specific." It makes me smile, like always, remembering my dad.

"What does a Radar Intercept Whatsit do?" Jake's nearly open-mouthed in the passenger seat, body turned my way in a jumble of limbs that looks nearly too cramped to be comfortable, beat up sneakers on the floor and wholly fascinated by every word pouring out of my mouth. That's unique too. I've never felt this rush, this instant connection before with anybody. 

"A Radar Intercept Officer," I repeat, earning myself an eye roll, "is the person sitting behind the pilot. They're responsible for enabling communications with ships and other jets, navigating and monitoring the radar. Pilots fly the plane, but RIOs do everything else." 

"Sounds boring." I have to chuckle at that, because when he's not angrily grumbling, Jake's actually handsome. And that's not a realization I ever wanted to have about a seventeen-year-old I just met. Forget the place, there's the matter of how this is all the wrong time, too. I can't afford any distractions, not even cute little twinks with more attitude than sense. I'm joining the military for fuck's sake. Don't Ask, Don't Tell is still very strongly enforced and Jake seems like the type to bulldoze his way on base one day just for the hell of it. Better stick to talking about flying, that's all. And that’s if we manage to stay in touch until he’s actually legal, too.

"Do you want to become a RIO too?" His voice is hesitant as he sounds out the acronym.

"Nah, I've always wanted to become a pilot. Actually fly the planes, y'know?" I swear I can see literal fighter jets flying around Jake's head, he's so enraptured by the idea.

"Is it hard?" 

I have to shrug at that, because maybe I just have flying in my blood. "Not any harder than learning how to drive or ride a bike - at least that's what it was like for me."

I can see Jake think of a few hundred more questions, but stop him with one of my own. "What’s a seventeen year old doing at a UT frat party?" 

 His nose crinkles, "Who said I’m not a student at UT?"

"Nobody. But something about you tells me that you aren’t a UT Student, even though seventeen-year-olds join universities as freshmen all the time." I’m almost afraid to see that look on his face. But instead, Jake seems to be feeling the same awe that I was earlier - horribly, uncomfortably, seen.

“Nah. I work at one of the coffee shops on campus.” No wonder he smells like cinnamon and coffee.

"But you don't want to, do you?"

His nod is sheepishly affirmative. "My uncle says I should get out of the house and do something with myself over the summer. If he had his way, when I graduate in a year I’ll be doing the same thing. But I want to do something exciting, not farm work or work in a factory or hell, even be a barista anymore. I think the Navy might be just the thing."

I have to grin at his enthusiasm. But a part of me can’t help wondering if the reason why Jake is so interested in escaping Austin is because of something else. But I’m not quite sure how to broach the topic. It’s silent and still in the car for a little bit. Jake looks like he’s thinking of what to say, and I’m struck by the halo the streetlight we’re under makes around his hair. He’s pretty, indescribably so, even with a purplish bruise rising on his cheekbone. His long lashes shine golden against the freckles dotting his cheekbones. I reach for the polaroid I always keep in the car and snap a couple of quick pictures. I hand one to Jake, but just as he’s about to ask me why I did that, I see red and blue lights in the rear view mirror and hear sirens blaring our way.

“Shit! C’mon, Bradley! Drive the car!” It takes me a few seconds to process what he’s saying but when I do, I put the car in drive and drive sedately down the street. 

“What the fuck, Brad!” I haven’t heard anyone call me Brad in years. That’s what my mom called me, what Mav did too. “Drive a little bit faster, why don’t you?! You keep driving like a fucking turtle and the cops will catch us in no time flat!”

“I’m driving at the speed limit.” I chuckle at the way Jake grumbles under his breath. “The police won’t pull us over if we’re doing everything right. You probably don’t want them calling your folks to tell them you were at a party, underage where alcohol was being served and an orgy was happening on the living room floor, now do you?”

We’re thankfully able to leave the scene without any trouble, and I let Jake direct me through the late night Austin streets. It’s quiet, and in the half-light I can’t help noticing how incredibly small and delicate Jake is at this moment. He has me pull over a few blocks away.

“Do you make a habit of running from the cops?” He laughs at that, a genuine belly aching infectious cackle bursting out of his mouth.

“No, I don’t.” Something dark glows over his eyes just as easily as the laugh. “My uncle wouldn’t have been happy at all if he had gotten that call.”

I really don’t know what to say to that, so I just wait.

“My mom always says that she doesn’t know who my dad was, and well, I don’t know if you know much about conservative Texans, but that was a no-go for most of my family. She’s out of state, working in a library in North Carolina, I think? And I’m with my aunt and uncle until I turn 18.”   

“I’m sure the minute that happens, I’m going to get kicked out. They didn’t approve of me just because I was born out of wedlock. They hated me even more when they found out I wasn’t exactly only into girls. My mom doesn’t know how bad it is for me here. And I’m not going to tell her either. I just don't know what to do.” He sniffles, sitting in the passenger seat, cheeks pinking in the glow of the streetlights. “I don’t really know why I’m telling you this either. But it feels like the universe wanted us to meet tonight. It feels like I can trust you.”

I’m struck dumb by those words and the butterflies swarming in my stomach. I’m flattered by his trust. It has me spilling all of my biggest secrets. I tell him more about my dad, about mom, about Mav. I tell him about my biggest victories and darkest regrets. We talk for hours, taking turns baring our souls until the sky turns gray at the edges. It's the small hours of the morning, that small section of the twilight zone where everything feels extra still. My throat is scratchy and my eyes are dry. Jake’s not much better.

The sleepy drawl in his voice makes shivers trail up and down my spine and it’s still so foreign feeling like this for someone I’ve just met. It’s a little terrifying, too. Far too soon, we’re pulling up in front of the party house. 

"I should get going." A part of me wants to stop him, offer to give him a ride, anything to stay in his presence just a bit longer. But the more rational part, the one chanting US Navy and Top Gun is screaming just as vehemently no.

"Do you need a ride?" My voice is nearly too loud for this time of night.

"Nah, Bradley. I live right around the corner." Jake gives me a two-fingered salute and begins to walk away, his shoulders bowed and looking incredibly small. It's a surprise when he stops, turns back around and jogs back to the car. He flings the door open, and I'm surprised to see the two spots of pink high up on his cheeks.

"Can we stay in touch? I'd love to pick your brain about the Navy, sometime?"

I'm nodding before my common sense can speak, ignoring the insidious little voice that says, "No you won't ever see him again. You're joining the Navy."

I hand Jake a pen and a scrap of paper I found in my pockets. What I get back is his first name and a phone number. "This is my landline. See you around, Bradley?"

My reply is too quiet as I roll the syllables of his name over my tongue. By the time Jessica and David have staggered their way out to the car, I'm sure Jake was just a figment of my imagination. Two weeks later, when it's my first turn with the phones on base, I call that number. I get a message telling me that the phone number I'm calling has been disconnected. I never get rid of that note though. It's almost like something's screaming at me to remember Jake. Maybe one day I'll find him again. And who knows? Maybe he's a lot closer than I think he is.

Nine Years Later

It’s been a long road getting to Top Gun. Walking through the halls it feels like everything I’ve worked and struggled for has finally paid off. I’m a pilot, I’m talented, if I do say so myself, and there is nothing I want to do more than finally put the Bradshaw name on that trophy. Walking into the classroom that first morning, I feel like this is the start of something great. Until the first hop later that week. There’s a blond in class with an ego that cashes checks for money he doesn’t have. But he has the skill to back up his words.

“Rooster, Rooster, Rooster. Are you ever going to get off your perch?” Hangman. Even his callsign fills me with rage. I’ve never met a more annoying person in my life. But there is something about him which seems familiar. Why does Hangman of all people seem so familiar? It’s a puzzle I can’t devote any time to solving. Not when I have to knock a blond idiot down a few pegs. I wonder what the Jake I met all those years ago would think about Hangman. I hope he’s doing well, wherever he is.

Taglist:

@chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @shanimallina87 @mayhemmanaged @desert-fern @cassiemitchell @dakotakazansky @roosterforme @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @sarahsmi13s @horseshoegirl

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[natashatrace]

11/365

Would anyone like to join me for an 900 word not!fic about an AU living in my head involving alpha!Cyclone and omega!Rooster?

//

Mav pulls Bradley’s papers when he’s 17ish, right, and they’re all assuming he’s a beta bc he hasn’t presented yet. Bradley cuts Mav out of his life, moves away for school, and surprise - not a beta, just a late bloomer. He goes into heat his first or second year in college.

Bradley’s out of his mind with fear and the overwhelming heat and just. On instinct, he calls Mav bc he doesn’t have anyone else. And even though they haven’t spoken in so long, Mav answers on the second ring and Bradley manages to choke out what’s happening and Mav’s just. So terrified for and determined to help his kid despite all the distance between them. Especially because a newly presenting omega on a college campus does NOT a good situation make, right? It’s dangerous and Maverick knows it.

And Mav is calling around to try and get flown out to Bradley ASAP, trying to get him help from someone he trusts, etc etc etc. Finally, he gets in touch with Warlock and Warlock’s telling him that Cyclone, an unmated Alpha, is near there (for some reason, not important, shhh)

Mav and Cyclone haven’t met, but Mav’s heard good things about the guy and Ice says he’s a good man, too. So Mav just tucks his tail between his legs and calls and asks for the most embarrassing favor of his life, all the while still texting with Bradley to make sure he’s okay. Cyclone hears the situation and is immediately like “absolutely I’ll help, how do I get to him”

Cyclone’s really intending on just picking Bradley up and keeping him comfortable until Mav gets there, or maybe taking him to a clinic where he’ll be comfortable. Maybe Cyclone doesn’t have a mate on purpose bc it doesn’t appeal to him, again not important, but Cyclone showing up is a lot for poor new omega!Bradley to handle.

Bradley just clings to him and he’s so touch-starved already and, like. Cyclone tells him “Maverick sent me” and that’s enough for Bradley, he’s trusting Cyclone right away.

(Which, sidebar for worldbuilding, is also so dangerous!!! And is absolutely a byproduct of Bradley being assumed to be a beta, so he hasn’t been ‘brought up’ as an omega to know when to let his guard down, how to focus on pushing past his instincts, etc. And maybe that’s why Cyclone’s thinking “I can’t take him to a clinic, he could be taken advantage of by someone there because he just genuinely doesn’t know any differently, I’m keeping him with me…” ANYWAY)

He gets Bradley back to his house and starts to get a nest made for him and is, like. Talking him through what he’s doing, telling Bradley why he’s doing it, bc so much of this Bradley just doesn’t know.

And with it being a first heat, Bradley’s more terrified than he is turned on, tbh, so he’s incredibly grateful that Beau is actually so good to him?? Like, so obvi in control and caring for him while keeping a decent distance between them so Bradley knows he isn’t in danger here.

So by the time Mav gets there a day and a half later or whatever, Bradley’s calmer and the heat’s mostly passed and Bradley, like. Literally instinctively hides behind Cyclone when Mav gets there bc the Alpha v Alpha dynamic is a lot to handle at the moment. But he’s also so frustrated and very “I’m gonna fucking pull my own hair out what are these instincts I am feeling” (exasperated!Bradley my beloved)

But anyway, Mav sees how well he’s managed and he and Cyclone just share this nod and Mav is so fucking grateful. He’s able to get Bradley back to campus and they rebuild their relationship and Bradley still ends up in the Navy.

And then whoops, years later, Bradley’s at Top Gun for the first time, and whoops, Cyclone is one of the instructors. And he remembers how sweet Bradley smelled, and Bradley’s grown into himself now, confident enough that at the graduation ceremony, he tells Cyclone “your scent hasn’t changed, y’know” and is just a Flirty Handsome Boy. Cyclone is mildly distressed.

And maybe it’s a thing in this world where omegas can be on suppressants, but they do have to actually cycle every few months for their own health, so Bradley’s due for his. And obviously, he can go through it alone, but Cyclone’s back in his life and he wants.

He’s telling Cyclone he’s never had a real Alpha before, he’s only ever been alone for his heats, so Cyclone would be his first heat partner and Cyclone’s just like, “I’m not an animal, I’m totally unaffected by this” but spoiler alert: he’s LYING

Bradley just squaring his shoulders, meeting Cyclone’s eyes. “I’m telling you now, when I’m slick and out of my mind with heat, I’m going to ask for you, and I’m going to mean it.”

And that’s what actually convinces Cyclone to spend the heat with him. Bradley telling him ahead of time, when he’s lucid about it, that this is what he wants. So Cyclone agrees, Bradley starts his cycle and gets to make a nest in Cyclone’s living room for them both, just like Cyclone did that very first time.

Spoiler alert: it’s incredible and they fall in love, probably, and I think it’s great. Join me on the Cyclone/Rooster rarepair train, it’s fun ❤️

[catlynhoss05]

Home Sweet Home Ch.5: Too Close to Home

Pairing: OCfem!reader x Emily Prentiss

Summary: A man from Remi's past shows his face in a horrible way.

TW: mentions of rape & other CM case-related stuff

It's been a few weeks since that weekend and Remi and Emily have become much closer in their relationship than they were before. The team -especially Hotch- have all noticed how much closer they've become. In the last few weeks, the team had one case that was short and local.

Remi and Emily made their usual stop for coffee before work whenever they carpooled together. Remi was wearing a nice navy blue pantsuit with a light pink button-up shirt, a maroon bow tie, and chestnut brown dress shoes. She knew how much Emily loved seeing her all dressed up like that. "Someone's looking snazzy today," Derek chuckled as the couple made their way to their desks. "Thanks, Morgan. Just make sure to keep your eyes in that bald head of yours," Remi joked with a grin, making Emily laugh.

Derek put a hand over his heart as he faked being hurt. Remi chuckled as she sat her bag down on the floor and sat down at her desk. After greeting Spencer and JJ, everyone started to work on their stacks of paperwork. About an hour later, Penelope came out of her batcave excitedly. "What's up, baby girl?" Derek asked, causing the others to turn their attention to the colorful woman. "You were a cheerleader!?" Penelope asked aloud. Remi ended up choking a bit on her coffee because she was not expecting a question like that. Emily was the only one who knew about Remi being a cheerleader in high school after she asked Emily to keep it a secret. Especially from Derek. "H-How-" Remi cleared her throat. "How do you know about that?" She asked in utter shock.

"You see, I was wondering what you looked like back in high school. So I looked up your yearbooks and came across you being a cheerleader as well as the star basketball player," Penelope explained. "Yeah, I got a full-ride scholarship for basketball to my college of choice.... What's so funny, Morgan?" Remi asked. "I just can't imagine seeing you as a cheerleader!" He laughed. "Well believe it, bucko! I only did cheerleading in my freshman and sophomore year of high school for Aspen. Then focused on my schooling, sports, and farm-related things until I graduated," Remi explained with a smirk. "Plus, the cheerleading squad needed someone strong enough to do the lifting and spotting of the cheerleaders. And also someone to do the occasional front flip, back flip, and cartwheel as well," Remi explained. "Okay, Miss Fancy Pants. I wanna see you do all three of those," Morgan challenged.

"Okay. First off, you got yourself a deal. Secondly, not here because this is a workplace; not a playground. I rather not lose my job. And lastly, I also rather not have my ass handed to me by Emily for not acting like an adult in a public setting," Remi chuckled. "Is that true, Prentiss? You've done that?" Morgan asked, smiling widely as well as Penelope and Reid. "No, I haven't," Emily stated with a sly smile on her lips. "Three times... And on the same day while grocery shopping," Remi smiled into her coffee cup. JJ came into view from Hotch's office. "Hey, we got a case," she announced to the team. Everyone gathered in the conference room within the next few minutes. Remi took her usual seat in between Emily and Morgan.

"So what do we have here?" Remi asked aloud. "Three 9-year-old girls who were all taken from their homes in the middle of the night, raped, their necks were snapped, and their bodies were dumped next to a hiking trail in Pryor, Oklahoma," JJ explained to the team. Those words raped and necks snapped echoed in Remi's head as she continued to look through her case file in hand. "I suggest y'all stop staring at me," she said aloud as she looked through the file. "Are you sure that you want to do this case, Remi?" Rossi asked. "Yes, I'm sure. If I can't handle the pressure, I'll let y'all know," she assured the team. Once the team finished briefing, Hotch stopped Remi from leaving the conference room after everyone else had dispersed. "Look Hotch... I'll be fine." "That's not why I'm stopping you," Hotch said, letting out a small sigh as he looked at Remi.

"Then what -" "I just got word that John Stephenson had escaped from prison. They think that he might be the unsub," Hotch informed her. The look on Remi's face was a look of fear that the Unit Chief was all too familiar with. "W-What..." Remi paused, trying to wrap her mind around the bombshell of information she just received. "How would that even be possible? He was in prison in Nashville... If it's true that he did escape from prison, it would've taken him roughly about 9 to 10 hours to get to Pryor if he went there by car," Remi wondered aloud to her boss. "Let's go and find out," Hotch stated. They both hurried to grab their stuff and went to meet the rest of the team on the jet. Upon arriving on the jet, the others noticed a not-so-good shift in Remi's attitude. "Everyone, get some rest. The flight will be about roughly 4 hours or so to get to Pryor," Hotch said to the team.

Remi took her usual aisle seat next to Emily who watched her closely. She put her hand gently onto Remi's right knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Everything will be okay," She whispered reassuringly. Once the jet had landed in Pryor, Oklahoma, the team made their way to the precinct around 2 p.m. When they arrived, they grabbed the stuff they needed and headed inside. A few 10 year olds that were walking by had recognized Remi and immediately came over to her. "You're Remington Montgomery... We're big fans of yours! May we get your autograph?" One of the 10-year-olds asked. "Of course!" Remi smiled at the kids and signed their cowboy hats with a sharpie. "There ya go, kids! I've gotta get back to work so y'all be safe, okay?" She asked with a smile, receiving some 'yes ma'am's'. Emily had waited for her and they went inside together. "That was sweet of you," Emily smiled. "I try to be," Remi chuckled.

"And these are Agent Prentiss and Agent Montgomery," Hotch introduced to the police officers. "Wait, like as in the Remington Montgomery? The two-time record holder for bull riding?" An officer asked while shaking Remi's hand. "Yes, sir. That's me, but it's Agent Montgomery... If y'all don't mind," Remi said, the thick southern accent in full swing. "Yes ma'am... I'll show y'all where you can set up at." The officer said. After the team got set up, Reid started working on the geographical profile, Rossi worked on the paper trail, JJ and Emily went to the coroner's to get read into the autopsies, and Hotch, Morgan, and Remi went to talk to the victims' families.

Hotch wanted Remi to come along with him and Morgan because she was quite close with this case and he wanted to keep a close eye on her. She was quiet on the ride to the first victims' house. "So, Remi... What took you so long to come into the precinct earlier?" Morgan wandered, breaking the silence. "A few kids had stopped me and asked for an autograph," Remi smirked. "You seem pretty well known around here then," Hotch commented. "My family and I were a part of a few rodeos in Tulsa and did quite a bit of charity work there and here," She explained. Hotch, Morgan, and Remi had finished up at the last victims' house and headed back to the precinct.

Remi had a bad feeling that Aspen's stepfather was to blame for the three young lives that were taken. Once back at the precinct, Remi had made her way to the restroom and was followed by Emily. "Hey, Remi. Is everything okay?" She asked, stepping closer to her girlfriend. "Yeah, I just gotta pee... Plus, I just have this feeling that somethings off with this case," Remi explains as she uses the restroom. "Is your 'off' feeling about John Stephenson escaping prison?" Emily asked, hearing the toilet flush and the stall door opening slowly. Remi stepped out of the stall, looking a bit pale and shocked. "How do you know about that man escaping prison?" She asked in a very serious tone.

"Because Hotch told me over the phone while you guys were at the second victims home. Honey, if he is behind all of this, we're going to get him. You're not alone in this because the team and the officers are in this with you. I'm in this with you until the very end." Emily explained, cupping Remi's face in her hands. "You know I love you more than anything in this world, right?" Remi smirked, wrapping her arms around Emily's waist. "I love you too, honey buns," Emily said, laughing when Remi glared at her. "We should get back to work once I wash my hands," Remi stated, giving Emily a quick kiss. They left the restroom to get back to work when they had noticed a group of maybe 50 people being escorted out of the precinct.

"Hey, Rossi... What's with all the people?" Emily asked as they walked into the room they were using. "They all heard that Remi was here in town and wanted to meet her," He explained with a soft smile, making Remi chuckle. "Let's get back to work, shall we?" Remi suggested. Emily and Rossi went to the lobby to talk with Hotch about the case while Spencer took a quick bathroom break. Morgan, JJ and Remi continued to work in the conference room when a police officer came in with some cookies for the team to snack on. "What kind of cookies?" JJ asked. "Chocolate chip... My wife made them from scratch," the officer smiled. The three agents all took a cookie. Hotch, Rossi and Emily all had a cookie as well. What Remi wasn't aware of was that the officer had brought the wrong kind of cookies and brought peanut butter cookies.

After taking the first bite of her cookie, Remi started to feel a bit funny and started to cough a bit. She started to have trouble breathing and started to wheeze, catching the attention of JJ and Morgan. "Remi? You okay?" JJ asked worriedly. Her question was answered when Remi collapsed to the ground, taking a few chairs with her. "HOTCH, HELP!" Morgan shouted as he rushed to Remi's side. Rossi, Hotch, Spencer and Emily -along with a few officers- rushed into the conference room to see Remi on the floor, wheezing and turning blue. "Oh my God! Remi..." Emily panicked, rushing to her girlfriend's side. "She's having an allergic reaction. She must've had one of the cookies," she explained, getting out Remi's spare epi-pen out of her back pocket. Emily administered the epi-pen just in time and Remi's color and breathing started to slowly get better.

When Remi had taken her first deep breath, she started to have a coughing fit and tried to sit up with assistance. "Are you okay, honey?" Emily asked worriedly. "Water," Remi croaked. Derek got her a bottle of water and a couple paramedics with a respirator came into the room. Remi thanked Derek for the water and took a sip. The police officer that brought in the cookies was distraught and felt horrible for bringing in the wrong cookies. After about 30 minutes of the paramedics checking over Remi, they gave her the all clear and packed up their gear and left. Emily and Morgan helped Remi up to her feet. "You okay, kid?" Rossi asked. Remi coughed a bit and cleared her throat. "Uh, yeah. I'm alright." Remi stated, voice still a bit hoarse. Emily still had a hand on her back that she had found quite comforting.

A police officer had come into the conference room in a hurry. "Everyone, we got a fourth victim. But this time we got a witness who saw your unsub. They're with a sketch artist now," the officer informed them. "Alright, thank you. Remi, you stay here and continue to work on the profile. Also, call me when the sketch artist is done and if it's who we think it is," Hotch ordered, leaving the room with the rest of the team. Once the sketch artist was done about 15 minutes later, an officer brought the sketch to Remi in the conference room. With one look at the sketch, Remi knew exactly who it was. "For fucks sake," She muttered, pulling out her phone to call Hotch. "Yeah, Hotchner," he answered. "Hotch... It's him. It's the bastard, John Stephenson," Remi explained, anger in her voice. "Are you positive that it's him and not just your imagination?" Hotch asked. "Look, Hotch. I know what this man looks like and what he's capable of. I know him and I know it's him because he's got a very visible scar on his forehead. So yeah, I'm pretty fucking sure it's him," Remi explained with an attitude.

"Okay, okay. We'll be there shortly. And Remi, try to keep your head straight. We need you on this case," Hotch stated. "What did she say?" Emily asked. "It's him. It's John Stephenson," Hotch sighed. After they finished up with the crime scene, Hotch decided to stop and get some take-out for the whole team on the way back to the precinct since it was getting close to half past midnight. "Everyone, take a break and eat something. Then go to the hotel and get some rest. We'll start back up here at 6 a.m.," Hotch informed. Everyone sat around to eat while talking amongst themselves. Remi was unusually quiet as she ate her food. "You okay, honey?" Emily asked quietly. "Yeah. Just hungry," Remi explained, taking another bite of her food.

"Excuse me, Agent Hotchner. There's a couple of people here wanting to see and speak to Agent Montgomery," an officer informed them. Hotch and Remi walked out of the conference room. "Hello, I'm-" "Sherry? Matthew?" Remi questioned surprisingly. "Oh my gosh, Remi," Sherry exclaimed, being enveloped in a big bear hug from Remi. "Oh Hotch, I do apologize. These are Aspen's parents. This is Agent Hotchner," Remi introduced. "So, what're y'all doin' here?" She asked. "I-Is it true about John? That he's behind all this mess?" Matthew asked sternly. Remi rubbed the back of her neck, not wanting to answer his question so she looked over at Hotch. "We're not able to answer that right now since we're not 100% sure if he's behind it all. We'll know as soon as we can get more information on him," Hotch informed them. "If he is behind all of this, I promise that the team and I will get him one way or another," Remi explained to them. "Good... And look at you, Remi. You're so grown up and beautiful. And in amazing shape, wow," Sherry gushed, her hands on Remi's biceps and making the woman blush and chuckle.

"Do you have a girlfriend or a wife yet?" Sherry asked. "I do have a girlfriend and she's here if y'all wanna meet her. If that's okay with you, Hotch," Remi said. "Yes, that's okay. I'll go get her for you and it was nice meeting you both," Hotch smiled, going to get Emily. Emily came out to them and was a bit taken aback when she saw Sherry with her hands on Remi's biceps. "Hey, honey. I want you to meet Aspen's parents. This is Sherry and Matthew Greene. This is my girlfriend Emily Prentiss. We also work together too," Remi introduced with a smile. "Hi, Emily. It's so nice to meet you. You got a real beauty here, Remi," Sherry smiled, making them all chuckle. "I think that every day. She is quite amazing," Remi gushed, making Emily blush beat red. "Well, it was nice meeting you both but, we gotta get back to work," Emily explained. After their goodbyes, the team packed up some of their stuff and headed to the hotel to get some well-deserved rest.

Emily and Remi were sharing a room like they usually do. "So, do you wanna take a shower together?" Remi grinned, setting her stuff on the bed. "Sounds good to me," Emily chuckled. After a well-needed shower, the couple got changed and crawled into bed. Emily cuddled up against Remi's chest. "Honey, what's going on? You're tense," Emily asked bluntly. "It's just this whole case that's buggin' me. Then Sherry and Matthew showed up at the precinct earlier and it sunk in that this case is real and I'm not imagining any of this," Remi confessed. "I promise that this case will be over before you know it, I promise. Now, let's get some sleep," Emily stated.

The next day, the team decided that Remi should give the profile. She does have a better outlook on the man than the others. "Our unsub's name is John Stephenson. Twenty-six years ago, Stephenson raped and murdered his nine-year-old stepdaughter, Aspen Greene, in their home in Nashville, Tennessee. Stephenson was serving the last 26 years of his life sentence in prison until two days ago when he had managed to escape and made his way here... his hometown," Remi cleared her throat. "The man is in his late fifties now, about 6'2", 230 lbs, fit and also bald. He's an egotistical, self-absorbed narcissist who will lay low and stay in the same spot to get his next victim," Remi explained. "By laying low, that means he's, for a fact, staying somewhere that's completely abandoned and where he has full access to both the dump site and any next victim that he can get to," Remi finished.

"We have come to find out that his location is the abandoned house 1098 on West Grove Street. Use precaution and know that he's fully aware that we are after him," Hotch added. "Does he know that Agent Montgomery is an agent and that she's a part of your team?" One of the officers asked. "It's a possibility that he could know that I'm here. But I doubt that he knows because I made sure that he wouldn't hear anything about me after what he had done twenty-six years ago. I made sure that it seemed like I had fallen off the face of the Earth while he was in prison. However, there IS a possibility that he could have heard some things since he had escaped over 48 hours ago. But I wouldn't put my money on it," Remi finished explaining.

Hotch pulled Remi aside afterward while everyone was gearing up. "I think it would be safe for you to stay behind, Remi," Hotch stated. "Stay behind, my ass... Hotch, with all due respect, I'm going with y'all if you like it or not. I NEED to get this bastard no matter what it takes," Remi seethed with anger. "You will wear a vest and will go with Morgan. Morgan, keep a close eye on her. Do NOT break protocol, Remi. Got it?" "Yes sir." Remi agreed, putting her Kevlar vest on. Everyone got into the proper vehicles and made their way to take down John Stephenson. Hotch and the sheriff made sure that everyone stopped a block away so they didn't tip the man off. Once everyone arrived, Hotch gave the team orders on how they would go into the abandoned house.

They all carefully made their way down the sidewalk to the front of the house. Rossi and were at the side door, Derek and Remi went to the back door, and Emily, JJ, and Hotch were at the front. Morgan was very puzzled at the calmness that Remi was presenting. The officers were scattered all around the house a bit of a way away to make sure that they had the team's back if the man decided to run. "John Stephenson, open up. FBI," Hotch's voice boomed out, silence being returned. On cue, Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan all kicked the doors in at the same time. Each member entered the house, glocks raised, searching for the man. While going down the hall, Remi was on Derek's six when she abruptly stopped. "Morgan," she said quietly, making Derek turn around.

She pointed at the door that was blended very well into the walls. "I can hear something behind this door," she stated, keeping an eye out as Morgan wedged the door open a bit. "Ready?" He asked, getting a nod in return. Upon entering the room, they noticed Emily and JJ comforting a little girl while Hotch and Rossi dragged Stephenson out of the house and Reid calling for a medic. "How'd you guys get here so fast?" Morgan asked. "Just did," Rossi stated. "Hi, sweety. My name is Remi... Would you like it if I carried you outside?" The agent asked as she crouched down, waiting for the little girl to answer. She somehow knew that the little girl knew of her. The little girl nodded her head and reached out to Remi. Rossi had a slight smirk on his lips at the scene of Remi carrying the little girl. He loved the way that Remi had with kids.

The little girl was attached to Remi like a koala bear while she carried the girl outside to get checked. After everything was said and done, everyone headed back to the precinct. While at the precinct, the officers had John Stephenson in their interrogation room. Hotch and Emily had found Remi in the observation room, just staring at the man. "Remi..." Hotch started. "I want to talk to him... I NEED to talk to him, Hotch," Remi said lowly, continuing to stare at Stephenson. "You think that's a good idea, Remi?" Emily asked. "Would it be better if Morgan went in there with me?" Remi asked. Hotch sighed, not liking the idea at all but it's worth a shot. "Morgan, you go in there with Remi," he ordered. Morgan enters the interrogation room first, followed by Remi. She made her way over to the table and carefully sat down, getting the attention of Stephenson.

"Do you remember me, John?" Remi asked as she carefully watched as the man studied her face. "No. Should I?" He asked, a bit confused. "My name is Remington Montgomery..." she paused, waiting to see if he remembered her. "Aspen Greene was my best friend when we were kids..." She showed him the picture of her and Aspen that Hotch allowed her to take in with her. "That is until you murdered her... You're stepdaughter, John," Remi stated. It all started coming back to him and he then remembered the woman in front of him. "I remember you now. You've changed a lot since then, Remi" he said. "It's Agent Montgomery or Ma'am to you, John. My friends only call me that." She said sternly.

"Oh, well that's just too bad," the man gave her a nauseating smirk. "Why's that, John?" Remi questioned. "Just thought we could be friends. Or maybe a bit more then friends," he grinned as leaned forward towards her. "There's no chance of that EVER happening, John," she explained, trying to stay calm. "Well, at least Aspen knew better to give herself to me when I asked," Stephenson said, starting to laugh. With that, Remi lost her composure and leaped over the table, tackling the man out of his chair. She started to beat the man black and blue. Morgan struggled to peel Remi off of the man to the point that Hotch had to come in and help him drag her out of the room. "Get off of me," Remi yelled, shoving the men off of her. "What the hell was that, Remi?" Morgan asked, dumbfounded. "I did what needed to be done. He deserved it and more... Now, get the hell out of my way, Morgan... I'll be at the hotel getting ready to leave," Remi said as she stormed off, her knuckles still bloody.

The rest of the team returned to the hotel not long after Remi did. Emily carefully entered hers and Remi's shared room to find both of their belongings packed and sitting by the door while Remi was tending to her cut-up knuckles. "Hey you," Emily spoke gently. "Hey," Remi said quietly. "Here, lemme help you with that," Emily stated, surprised that Remi didn't put up a fight. "Thank you," Remi spoke, looking up at Emily as she got her hands cleaned up. "You were out of line back there, Remi. Hotch isn't very happy with that but he said that you're not in trouble with any higher-ups," Emily explained. "That's good to hear and I know I was out of line. I realize that now," Remi said. "Good. Now, let's get out of here and go home," Emily stated. "Sounds good to me," Remi smiled.

[momentaryescape]

Everything I Didn't Say

Pheonix x Reader Warnings: Mentions of past relationship Word Count: 1.4k

You were working for Penny when you saw her from across the bar. Natasha “Pheonix” Trace. Moving to North Island to work for your aunt you knew you would see a plethora of people in the Navy. But the last person you had expected to see was Her.

She had come over to the bar to order more beers for the group she was with when she finally saw you. She smiled wide asking how long you were in town, answering that you had just moved there. Penny called you away, telling you to take the rest of the night off, saying she had enough hands for you to have fun.

You and Natasha had walked around talking for a while before eventually sitting on the beach. “Do you remember the night we almost got arrested? When we drove right past that no trespassing sign to watch the planes take off, man I thought your dad was gonna kill me.” She recalled one of your favorite nights from that summer. 

“That was the summer after senior year, you were scared my scholarship would be pulled if they arrested us, and I was afraid you wouldn’t be allowed into the Navy.” You look to your right looking at her as she watches the water. The smile on her face is one you shared. Memories of when neither of you had any worries when you were together. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

“You saved all the letters?” She laughed as she flipped through the box holding items from your time in college.

“Of course I did! They were my favorite thing.” You couldn't help but blush, remembering how excited you got when you saw the letters. Your roommates used to tell you how they wished they had someone who wrote to them. It stung knowing that to Nat you were just friend’s now. There were times you thought it could be something more, go back to when you told her you liked her and she kissed you. But in the end, it never came.

“What’s this?” She questioned pulling out a journal. The phrase “Everything I Didn’t Say” written across the cover in your handwriting.

“Don't open that.” You said a little too fast. She arched her brow, a questioning look on her face. You knew she wouldn't invade your privacy, but even her holding the notebook brings waves of anxiety flooding your body. “It's uh… Things that were better left unsaid. Things I wanted to say but in the end, never got shared.” 

“I get it. Trust me, I have a fair share of things I've wanted to share but never said to the person they were meant for. It's safer that way I guess.” Her emotion is unreadable. She put the journal back before finding the pictures you had from when the two of you were in High School.

~~~~~~~~~~~

When Natasha told you she was going on a mission and might not come back you broke. You had just gotten her back, and now, you might lose her again. This time you wouldn’t be able to stumble into her at a bar. She had 3 days before her mission when she told you.

That night when you got home you sat down at your desk grabbing a pen and paper. Suddenly it felt like you were in college all over again, but this time instead of writing what you felt in a notebook nobody would see, you were writing to the person you cared about the most.

Natasha,

I know it's not fair that I’m telling you this now. But I can't pretend I don't want to tell you. I never stopped loving you. When we ended it a part of me broke. I've spent years trying to fix it. And I did, the night I saw you at the Hard Deck. That was the first time in years I felt whole again. And these last few weeks have been some of the best of my life. Sometimes I think of what could have been if we had stayed together. 

When you would write me letters I hoped that you would say what I’m saying now. That we were too young to know we had everything. And that what we had is something some people spent their whole lives looking for. I tried telling you a few times. Like when I surprised you when you graduated from the naval academy, but I couldn’t get you alone. And when I finally did I didn’t have the guts to say it. Then again when you did the same for my graduation.

 When the letters stopped I thought maybe you had found someone. I tried moving on, but no matter who it was, or how amazing everyone said they were, I never found someone who made me happy like you did. Maybe it was because in the end, I didn't want someone like you. I wanted the real thing.

With all of the mistakes I've made not telling you how I felt. And all the letters that I've saved, this is everything I didn’t say.

I know you will make it back. Give them hell Natasha. 

Always,

y/n

P.S. Don't be mad at Bob for being the one to give you this, I knew I probably wouldn't see you before you leave.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Natasha read and reread the letter over and over again after the mission. She felt a feeling she hadn’t felt in a long time when she saw you. She hadn’t met anyone new when she had stopped writing the letters. She stopped because she thought that you had and hadn’t stopped her because you knew she didn’t have anyone else to write. Natasha thought back to the night she suggested the breakup. It wasn't that she didn’t love you. It was that she didn’t want to hold you back from your dreams. Everything you felt is what Natasha had been trying to pretend she wasn't feeling for years.

As soon as she was back on the ground she showered and changed as fast as possible. She tried calling you but got your voicemail instead. Deciding to try and find you another way she headed to your house only for you to not be there. She was starting to give up hope when she got a call from Bob telling her you were at the Hard deck.

Stepping into the bar she instantly saw you pouring drinks for the people in front of you. Waiting for you to be free she walks up saying your name.

“Y/n.” You stopped in your tracks. It was the moment of truth. You were about to find out if you just lost not only your friend but the love of your life. Turning you face her. Relived when you see her smiling back at you. “Are you able to take a break?” She asks. Your shift was almost over, you tell her you have 15 minutes left before asking if she wanted anything. She asks for a water and you get it for her.

The next 15 minutes feel like they are passing as slow as possible, but finally, when you look up they're over. You clock out before walking out from the back and over to her. “I’m good to go when you are.” She pays for her drink before standing up and walking out with you.

It's quiet at first, neither of you knowing what to say until you break the silence. “Did Bob give it to you?” You ask, your voice low. 

“Yeah.” Is all she says at first. “I didn’t find someone else you know. I stopped writing because I thought you did and I didn't want to hold you back. When I told you we sound breakup it was because I didn't want to be the reason you didn't succeed. I thought things would go back to how they were when we were just friends. But they never did.” grabbing your hand, stopping you in your tracks she takes a step toward you. “And now I want to fix that. I want to make up for the years you lost.” You look at her and smile. She looks at you as if looking for a way to ask if she can kiss you without saying a single word, and you nod. 

She leans forward placing her lips on yours. That part of you that felt broken before felt brand new with her. You knew that it wasn't going to be how it was before. But you didn't want it before, because last time it had an end.

This time you wanted forever.

[unhappycylinder]

Gonna Be Trouble (Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x F!Reader) Part 1

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Female Reader

Word Count: 3049

Warnings: none really, just some anxiety about school ig (reader is in college), flirty hangman, awkward reader, fluff and flirting to a concerningly self-indulgent point

Summary: Y/n goes back to her hometown airshow to escape the stress of school for a weekend and reconnect with her childhood passion. Hangman just happens to be a demo pilot at this same air show and falls for y/n instantly. Part 1 of idk how many but this will be ongoing and will move beyond the airshow pretty quickly. Strangers to lovers arc. Hangman is a sucker for a smart woman what can I say...

Part 2 Part 3

The sun was just setting under the desert horizon and you still had an hour and a half before you were back in Las Vegas. You had moved away to go to college three years ago and were looking for literally any excuse to escape the hell-hole that was university and reconnect with yourself. Years of books, essays, exams, and frat parties had taken their toll on you and your health (and your liver but we don’t have to unpack that yet because you literally turned 21 a month ago). 

Anyway…even though planes weren’t your main thing anymore, you still loved them. Everyone has a soft spot for their childhood obsession. Most kids loved dinosaurs or the Titanic or horses, but not you, no…the American military’s aviation department really tickled your fancy when you were in elementary school. You even wanted to be a pilot for a while, contemplated joining the Navy and everything, but your family’s academic goals put a stop to that pretty quickly.

There was a quaint hotel within a few miles of base that you opted for instead, deciding to take the shuttle to and from the air show each day.

As your music played quietly over the car radio you finally got some time alone with your thoughts. Time to unpack all the crazy shit that had happened to you since college started, and time to think about what was next for you after you graduated next year. You decided that you were going to focus on yourself this weekend and nobody else. You’d silence your phone, try not to take pictures and post much on Instagram, and for the love of God you’d leave your barren dating apps alone cause lord knows nothing was gonna happen there. 

“Love Me Tonight” came on the radio and you turned up the volume, swaying to one of your favorite songs as you passed the final mountain and saw Las Vegas in the distance, sighing in relief that your 15 hour day had finally come to an end.

–The Next Morning–

You only heard two gunshots outside your hotel last night, which to be fair was pretty chill for a night in Vegas, and the sunrise indicated that it was time for you to start getting ready for your day on base. You wanted to beat the crowd so you could have time to check out all the static displays before trying to find a seat in front of the runway.

Throwing on an outfit of leggings and a tight black long-sleeve with a denim bomber jacket on top, you finished getting ready before leaving your hotel room.

Hopping on the shuttle, you realized the only open seat was next to a man in his 70s wearing a Vietnam War Veteran ball cap who was blankly staring out the window with a slight frown on his face.

“Excuse me sir,” you said, “can I sit here?”

He perked up almost instantly and shuffled lightly towards the window, patting the seat gently and smiling up at you.

“Of course honey, it’d be a pleasure”

“Are you here with your family, or is it just you today?” You asked, leaning in to make sure he heard you

“Just me I’m afraid. My grandkids all live out of state and well my wife passed not too long ago. It’s just me now, and I haven’t missed one of these shows in years” he nodded

You smiled at him and nodded, “Me too. I used to come every year as a kid and this is my first time back since starting college”

“Oh how wonderful! What do you study?”

You and the old man chatted for what felt like half an hour but was really only the 10 minute ride to base. His name was Hank and he served two tours of Vietnam when he was 19. He met his wife, Marlee, a couple months after the war at an air show in California where he was promoting a veterans organization and they were married for forty-five years. He asked you about college, family, your interest in planes, and complimented you any chance he got. When the bus parked he struggled to get up, pulling out a cane from in between the seats and trying his best to wiggle his way out of the bus until you grabbed ahold of his other arm and helped him off the vehicle and through the air show gates.

“You know y/n you remind me an awful lot of my wife when I first met her. She looked just like you…” he paused, studying your face, “did her hair the same way, talked the same way you do”

“Aw thank you Hank that’s really kind,” you brought your hand to your chest and smiled at him, he beamed back.

“You know I hope you get to experience a life like me and my Marlee did, I just know it’ll happen for you”

You thanked him again and smiled, it was a sweet thing for him to say and you didn’t have the heart to tell him your only romantic endeavors thus far had been one-night-stands off of bumble. He smiled once again and shook your hand, hobbling off with his cane towards a C-5 parked right in front of the gate.

“And y/n,” he said while walking away, “enjoy the air show”

–

A-10s, F-15s, F-16s, F-35s, a B-1, and so many more aircraft that defined your childhood lined the runway along with the frequent hot dog and pretzel vendors. You wandered past each plane, circling them to check out their engines and empennages, taking special note of all the specs and features you used to obsess over as a kid. 

“Any questions over here ma’am?” a tall brunette in camo and aviators asked you from beneath the wing of the A-10.

“Oh god, I don’t think so. This was my favorite plane as a kid and I’m just kinda reminiscing about it now,” you responded, squinting from the sun which was over the plane right now

“She’s my favorite too, I mean I’d hope she was cause I fly her, but y’a know”

“What’s it like to fly ‘em?”

“Magnificent ma’am, truly indescribable,” he said while walking closer to you

“I’ll ask you a question about them then if they were your favorite as a kid, how’s that sound ma’am?” He asked, you laughed

“Jeez okay go ahead, hit me with it”

“Alright, how many pounds-” he was cut off by a little kid running up and playing with the ‘remove before flight’ tags on the aircraft

“Excuse me miss” he said in a hurry as he ran to the child and politely but sternly asked him to stop fiddling with the aircraft. You chuckled and shook your head as you walked quickly behind the plane.

It was then that your eye was caught by the most magnificent thing you had ever seen in your entire life. You must have skipped over this part in the brochure online, because nothing would have enticed you more than the U.S. Navy’s very own F/A-18 Super Hornet. If the A-10 was your favorite plane as a kid, the F/A-18 might as well have been the reason you considered a career in the military or pursued anything aviation related at all. This plane was your absolute dream, and you had zero clue one was going to be here.

Completely forgetting your trivia game with the A-10 pilot, you practically ran over to the jet, shedding your jacket in the process. It was still early in the day and this bird was the last display on the lot, so nobody else was in sight. You dropped your jacket to the ground as you approached the jet, scanning every single inch of it, especially the name painted on the side below the cockpit:

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin 

Your eyes were wide as you walked the length of the wing, hovering your hand over the grey metal, being afraid to touch it and damage it. As you got behind the wing however you noticed the beautiful dark blue Navy logo and simply couldn’t resist reaching out to trace your fingers along the gold ribboning which encircled the logo. Just as you made contact with the jet a voice erupted from behind you, making you jump.

“Scuse me ma’am,” it was said in the most delectable Southern drawl you’d ever heard

“Jesus Christ!” You yelled, turning around and immediately shrinking into yourself.

Standing before you was God’s very own favorite creation…literally the most beautiful man you had ever seen. He was in a dark green flight suit and aviators with his dark blonde hair slicked back from a side part. He twirled a toothpick in his mouth, which was twitched into a seductive smile as he peered down at you.

“Sorry,” you struggled to get out, turning red in the face, “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking,” you turned back towards the wing and started walking to pick up your jacket from the nasty ground. A strong hand grabbed a hold of your upper arm before you could take more than a step.

“Darlin’ it's okay, sorry I startled you, didn’t realize you didn’t see me coming up behind you”

He pulled you back in front of him and kept his hand gently on your shoulder, you almost combusted from his touch.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to yell, or to touch the jet, I seriously don’t know what got into me. I mean I just watched a kid get yelled at for doing basically the same thing and now here I am, a grown woman, doing the same exact thing, feeling up the aircraft.” You rambled and he just smiled, letting out a little chuckle here and there, “I don’t mean feeling it up, not like that. Sorry. I mean touching it. I shouldn’t touch government property, that’s a lawsuit waiting to happen…”

“I’m gonna cut you off now darlin’,” he interjected while rubbing your shoulder, “no need to apologize for feeling up my jet, I get it, I feel her up all the time” he winced at his comment.

“...your jet. You’re the pilot?”

“I’d hope so, last I checked that was my name up there on her cockpit”

You both glanced up to the name then down to his name patch on his suit…they did indeed match.

“Lieutenant Jake Seresin ma’am, callsign Hangman,” he removed his hand from your shoulder and held it out for you to shake it

“Y/n Y/l/n” you responded, placing your smaller hand in his and giving it a firm shake. He glanced down at your hands as you shook them.

“You got a strong handshake there miss y/l/n, you sure you’re not in the military?”

You chuckled, “no sir, thought about it, but no. I guess I just have big hands?”

You held your hands up in front of you and wiggled your fingers, making Jake laugh. 

“C’mere,” Jake said as he stepped towards the jet where you had been looking earlier, motioning for you to follow.

“She’s an F/A-18E Super Hornet, but we like to call them-”

“The Rhino,” you cut him off, looking up at him with wide eyes

“So you’re a plane nerd, huh?” Jake asked, leaning against the fuselage of his jet

“Sorry. I used to be. These were my dream plane, I always wanted to fly them”

“You can touch it,” Jake smiled at you, you were still standing a good 2 feet from the jet, afraid to get any closer.

“No really it's okay, I don’t need to-”

“Come here,” Jake grabbed your right hand and pulled you towards him as he rested against the plane. You two stood there face to face for a second, inches from each other, hands interlocked, before Jake stood behind you and lifted your hands to touch the Navy logo together. His large calloused hand rested on top of yours as he guided your hands in a circle around the logo, his chest bumping into your back when you had to reach a little farther to touch the top of it.

“It’s a beautiful jet lieutenant” you said as you touched the plane, you felt his breath hitch when you said that last word. You looked over your shoulder to face him, his face inches from yours, his eyes more visible now through his sunglasses.

“You sticking around for the whole day?” He asked, removing his hand from yours and resting it against the jet so you were between him and the jet, enclosed by his arm.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here both days all day” you said, looking up at him, blushing beyond belief. How you were functioning right now was beyond you.

“Good. I’m gonna be taking her up in a few hours and I’d love for you to watch me. Maybe after I land we could go out for a drink,” he smirked, twirling the toothpick with his tongue to the other side of his mouth. God this man was doing unspeakable things to you.

“Are you asking me on a date?” You said with absolute disbelief, chuckling as if it was a joke. No part of you could believe that an actual in-person man was asking you out for the first time, and it was even more unfathomable that that man was the sexiest fighter pilot in the entire U.S. Navy.

“I suppose I am miss y/l/n, if you’d have me,” he said, his confidence wavering the slightest bit after your response.

“I can’t believe it. There’s no way! Look at you!” You gestured up and down to him

“Look at me? Darlin’ you must not have a mirror cause all I’m seeing in front of me is pure beauty. You’re gorgeous sweetheart, and damn smart too” Jake brought his hand off the plane to fix a stray hair that had stuck to your lip gloss, tucking it behind your ear.

“I-” you began but you couldn’t seem to form the words, “Yeah, yes. You’re perfect. Drinks after you fly, I’ll be there.” That was apparently the most coherent thing you could come up with.

Jake smiled a million dollar smile and took his sunglasses off his face, resting them on the zipper of his suit. His eyes were a gorgeous light green and they creased at the sides when he smiled, making you absolutely melt. He bent down until his mouth was right next to your ear, his warm breath sending chills down your neck.

“I’m looking forward to it Y/n,” he practically growled, “meet me back here after the demo,” he planted a soft kiss on your cheekbone as he pulled his head back, winking at you once you finally got the courage to make eye contact with him.

All you could do was smile and nod as Jake walked away and returned with your jacket,

“Don’t want you forgetting this darlin’, gotta stay warm, don’t want you catching a cold before our date,” he beamed.

You smiled up at him as you took your jacket, intentionally running your hand down his as you took the fabric, making his eyes widen and stare deeper into yours.

“You’re gonna be trouble for me, I can already tell,” he smirked and spun on his heels, walking over to a family approaching the nose of the aircraft. You stood behind the wing clasping your jacket in front of you, too shocked to move or think.

“What the actual fuck,” you whispered as you shook your head and started walking towards the stratotanker to the left of the jet. You fixed your hair as you walked, fiddling with the strands to alleviate your anxiety about whatever just occurred. Jake focused on the way your ass moved under those leggings as you walked away from his jet, completely ignoring the kid in front of him asking him a gazillion questions about his plane. He was right, you were definitely going to be trouble for him.

----

This is just part 1!! Let me know what y’all think. This is my first time posting a fic to tumblr so pls drop suggestions below!! Part 2 coming soon

[father-jude]

— BASICS

Name: Father Jude (Jude Sinjin Freling) Age / D.O.B.: 49 / December 22, 1974 Gender, Pronouns & Sexuality: Cisman. He/Him. Homosexual Hometown: Staten Island, New York Affiliation: Civilian Job position: Catholic Priest at The Church of the Holy Innocents in Manhattan Education: Bachelors in Philosophy, Master of Divinity Relationship status: Single Children: None Positive traits: Trustworthy, Calm, Empathetic, Understanding, Patient Negative traits: Repressed, Self-critical, Conflicted, Haunted, Lonely

— BIOGRAPHY

When looking at Jude while he leads mass on Sunday's one does not usually think Marine. But no matter how long it's been since he's worn the uniform that is part of who he will always be. Jude Sinjin Freling was born and grew up in a Catholic home in New York. Living with his parents, brother, and sister on Staten Island.  He’d always felt called to the church and after graduating from college was just starting seminary when the Towers fell. Jude was young and caught up in the wash of patriotism in the aftermath and enlisted. He was accepted into the Navy Chaplin program and spent eight years with the Marine’s feeling called to stay less and less over any sense of patriotism and more to ensure that his fellow soldiers had someone to unburden their souls too. Jude was caught in an IED explosion that left him with a permanent limp in his left leg. The wound got him a purple heart and a ticket home. Jude returned the US and went back to seminary school where he took his holy vows and became a Catholic Priest. Jude took several mission assignments when he was first ordained, wanting to go back overseas in a different uniform than before. He also spent time working in several other Dioceses Volunteering as a Chaplin in Prisons, Juvenile Justice centers and Veteran hospitals. Finally coming back to New York for good to take over as the head Priest of the Church of the Holy Innocents in Manhattan in 2018.

It’s a smaller church in a rough area. And Jude strives very hard to keep it a safe and secure place for anyone seeking help. No matter who they are or what they have done. Which has put him in direct conflict with the Police once or twice when he refused to allow them to search the Church in 2018 without a warrant. Father Jude is not easily intimidated, and he has never liked bullies. But the lack of funds for the small parish is always a struggle for Father Jude on a professional level. He is always looking for ways to fund raise in order to keep the programs that run out of the Church still open. A small shelter, a soup kitchen, counseling services and the like.

On a personal level most people don’t see much past the collar and the calm demeanor. But one of the things that led him to the church was his own struggles as a young man with his sexual orientation. Being a gay man in the Marines and then the Catholic church has not been easy. And it is not something many know about. Just like his time in the military is not something he speaks on often. But because of his struggles and his experiences Father Jude doesn’t judge. He understands more than many how conflicted most souls are.

— WANTED CONNECTIONS / PLOTS

Parishioners: People that have gone or go to his church and use him either for counselling or just confession.

Angel Donor or Deal with the Devil?: Jude's church is always looking for donations to keep the place maintained and it's services open. And Father Jude feels no qualms in taking money that might be made in less that legal ways and using it for good.

Different life: Someone that he was romantically connected to when he was in college or while he was in the military who he lost when he chose to stay his course and go back to Seminary school.

Childhood friends: Someone that he grew up with on Staten Island.

[cowboysandpilots]

The Love That You Had — Bradley x Reader

Summary: Bradley's college girlfriend shows up, Phoenix knows all the tea, and Hangman is a little jealous and not at all unsure. (Minor hangster/Implied Hangster endgame)

A/N- Hi, I'm so happy you're here. :) If you would like to support me and my writing, please remember to hit the reblog button, as Tumblr has no algorithm and likes (while appreciated) do nothing to get creators work seen. Since Tumblr is hiding all my posts with my Ko-Fi link, THIS is a list of things I need/want while I'm away at Uni if you would like a commission or just to support me. It is beyond appreciated but, of course, not required. ❤️

"Knock, knock"

Phoenix came rushing into the academy with no other context clues, and Rooster, who was used to his best friend's less-than-personable traits, only turns from where he was talking to Hangman, to answer.

"Who's there?"

"The only person who can change your life from, 'things are going pretty good right now to,'" and then she let out a shriek that Bradley's sure he's never heard before.

"The only person who can change my life from 'things are going pretty good right now to'," — He points to her so she can add her shriek as he's not sure he could ever recreate it, "Who?" He finishes.

Bradley's life was going pretty good right now; he and Jake had finally moved past their fighting and fucking stage and finally admitted real feelings. It was new and very delicate, but Bradley really liked where it was going. That is, until the person in Phoenix's cryptic riddle walked in. If they were on a sitcom, everyone was sure there would be a track of people cheering and clapping in the background.

"Hey, Mozart." You give a soft smile and tilt your head just slightly.

Bradley is starstruck. He hadn't seen you since he graduated from university, where he studied music, hence the nickname, and left after he had finally been accepted to the Navy. Phoenix looks awkwardly between the two of you, giving Bradley a look like she's wondering how the hell he's going to handle this.

In all honesty, Bradley doesn't know how he's going to handle this either; he shuffles forward, awkwardly wrapping his arms around you, giving a tentative hug, and you can't do anything but give the same back.

Phoenix is even less helpful. When you both backup, she stands facing the two of you and puts one of her hands on each of your and Bradley's shoulders. "Wow, awkward. I know pronounce you awkward." She chuckles, and you can see Bradley actually grimace. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Phoenix can't seem to stop running her mouth as she turns to you. "Hey, remember in University when he found your backpack after you left it in the library? Remember when he got handcuffed by campus security? That was fun. Remember you and him for four years, but then he asked you to marry him, and you ran away? Huh?" She has a great big smile, like she's trying to make a joke, but it isn't making things less awkward. "Let me show you what that looked like." She says, running out the door and dragging a reluctant Hangman with her by the arm.

You both know they're not gone, neither are subtle with the way they keep peaking their heads around the door to listen in. Still, Bradley soldiers on. "Wow, look at you, you're... here." He chuckles.

"I need to talk to you." You say, figuring it's better to get right to the point and rip the bandaid off.

Outside, Phoenix and Hangman are talking quietly. "I'm sorry." Phoenix sighs. She and Hangman might not be the best of friends, but she can still feel bad.

"What for?" Hangman frowns.

"What for?" Phoenix repeats in disbelief. "That's the love of Bradley's life. She's going to take him away."

Hangman only gives a signature cocky smirk, "I'm not giving up hope yet; I just got it."

—

"I don't know if you heard, but my dad died." You start. So much for ripping off the bandaid.

Bradley can only frown softly, "Oh, I'm so sorry."

You can only answer with a dry chuckle. "Military man," You nod toward Bradley's uniform. "War hero, and he dies in his sleep." You huff softly, blinking fast to hold back the tears.

"I liked him a lot." Bradley offers in the softest voice you've ever heard from the man. You figured if anyone would understand, it would be Bradley.

"Oh, he liked you," You smile, taking a chance and reaching out to put your hand on Bradley's cheek. "Do you... still have that thing where you can see your dad?"

"Yeah, I do." Bradley smiles, "It's crazy; I barely knew him; he died when I was six, you know that, but I can still see him anytime I need him." He blinks like he's being brought back to the situation in front of him. "Why are you here?"

You slowly take your hand away from Bradley's face and go to sit down with a sigh. "I need someone to talk to. It can only be you. How about that?"

"Okay." Bradley sits beside you, no judgment on his face.

"I'm married now," You admit softly, holding up your left hand with a sparkly diamond on the ring finger. "Military man." You admit again, and Bradley flinches.

"So you just didn't wanna marry me then?"

That had been the thing that caused your breakup in the first, Bradley proposed, and you said no because you didn't want to keep having to relocate and didn't want to always be worried that he wouldn't come home. "I wasn't ready." You whisper.

"And then you were?" The hurt is evident on Bradley's face.

"Well, life goes on, Bradley. You know, I think life puts people in front of us, so that we can be prepared for what comes next. I was ready because of you." You smile.

"I hope life knows what it's doing," Bradley mumbles under his breath, but you don't miss it.

"My husband wants to have children. And you know that I've always been scared of being somebody's mother because my own mother left."

"Yeah, we were both broken that way." Bradley's mom didn't leave; she passed a few years after Goose — broken heart syndrome.

"Yeah, now he's trying to convince me that I'd be a good one, and I need somebody who understands me to tell me if that could be true. I mean, I can't talk to my father. He doesn't just show up for me like yours does. You're the only one I can trust with this." That was the honest truth.

Bradley sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "Have kids, sweetheart. Put more of you in the world. And then sit in a chair and watch them grow. You'd be amazed. We're here to make somebody else happy." Bradley didn't have kids, but he always wanted them— wanted them with you.

"Thank you, Bradley." You smile. "Now, can I give you some advice?"

"I wish somebody would," Bradley snorts.

You lean forward in your chair and look right toward the door where Phoenix and Hangman's heads are still poked out. They don't move even though you're looking. "He yours?" You smile.

"All mine." Bradley smiles back.

"Don't let him go, Bradley. If he tries to leave, chase after him. Let our mistakes teach you something. Life knows what it's doing." You smile again, quoting Bradley's muttering and lean in to give him a soft, only slightly lingering kiss on his lips.

One last goodbye.

[frigid666]

til that the first man in the united states to gain significant media attention as a male rape survivor was bisexual activist, writer, prison reformist, and punk stephen donaldson (born robert anthony martin jr). 

prior to his initial rape, he was the proposer and a founding member of the student homophile league (shl), which was a lgbt student-lead campus organization - the first in the world of its kind - with gay fellow colombia student james millham and other anonymous lgbt-identified students. he later transitioned from gay activism to other counter-cultural activisms after graduating from college and joining the navy, such as the peace movement inspired by the contemporaneous war in vietnam. he was arrested in 1972 (aged 26) during an anti-war protest, and was brutally assaulted while imprisoned in a dangerous cell block. he believed (and imo, is highly likely) that he had been purposefully transferred to the dangerous cell block by a police captain hostile to his political views and set-up to be raped for listing his occupation as a journalist during intake. unfortunately, he would find himself being victimized similarly in future times of his life. he bravely went forward with a legal complaint, but ultimately received no justice. his experience is a manifestation of the fact that sexual abuse victims are often repeatedly traumatized throughout their lives.

link is for a primary source that was written about the incidents of rape that influenced donaldson’s interest in male rape advocacy and prison reform. 

cw: graphic descriptions of rape, violence, and abuse, mentions of police brutality 

i debated including a link to this article in my post, as it was extremely difficult and upsetting for me to read and i don’t want to cause others similar distress, but i think it is a valuable resource because it includes donaldson’s own words on his trauma. i don’t personally agree or resonate with everything he says in it, but i respect that he was a victim, and that the perspectives of ALL victims are valuable to understanding how sexual abuse affects people, and i believe in affording trauma victims the grace to try and decipher their own feelings even if they are vulgar or not always normative/appropriate. 

in spite of lasting mental and physical results of his abuse, he remained a prolific writer, volunteered as a peer counselor to other male rape victims for many years, and eventually helped to create an organization against prison rape, stop prison rape (spr), which continues to fight for the rights of imprisoned people, such as protections against peer and correctional officer sexual abuse of prisoners.

i am grateful to finally have some time to read more about the rich history of bisexual activism. it has been so so important for my journey of healing from internalized biphobia, and i knew there would be many painful testimonials to be read alongside all the joyful ones. there is a lot to be said about donaldson, as i have read a lot more about him that i did not include in this short write-up (like him being published in flipside and maximumrockandroll, will definitely be looking out for anything he wrote for those) and he is far far more than the terrible things that happened to him. he would 100% be someone i would talk to in the afterlife. however, i am left with a feeling of just wanting to give donaldson a hug. why do bisexual people have to go through so much. 

[aemonded]

Okay, so my best friend and I pieced together why Rooster was so pissed at Maverick for pulling his papers solely based on the dates giving on his record in the movie.

So to give you a timeline, Maverick pulled his papers and Rooster is 35 at the time of the movie.

The records say Rooster graduated college in 2009, but it shows that he enlisted in 2004 at twenty.

So what basically happened is that Rooster applied for Annapolis, which is the naval college, didn’t get in because his records were pulled at 20, and had to enlist as a basic dude. 

The records then say he got promoted around 2006, which makes sense- and that’s when he started to take online classes to attempt to be an officer the long form way around. 

This is why he says his career was set back, because he basically had to start off at the bottom of the pecking order (pardon the pun), and then do college to skip some of the steps, which took him six years instead of the four years if he’d been admitted into Annapolis.

If you come out of Annapolis like a lot of enlistees do as officers, they get a guarantee as pilots, and then you get assigned your type of pilot you are. A super-straightforward process. 

So basically Rooster had to do regular college, while he was doing his regular enlisted job, for SIX YEARS to get to the same position Annapolis would have done in four. And he had to do really well in all his coursework to be like PLEASE LET ME BE A PILOT.

It also says his address is Virginia Beach, Virginia, and the University of Virginia has programs for active military dudes, because it’s near Quantico, which is the biggest Navy base in the United States.

So either he did some coursework before that he paid for on his own, or worked until twenty/ took care of Carole, and then enlisted. Attempted to go through Annapolis, got rejected because Maverick pulled his papers, and then had to enlist as a regular schmuck and then most likely once he got his promotion in 2006, then they were like SURE WE’LL PAY FOR ALL OF YOUR SCHOOLWORK because he was finally on the officer track/ was seen as serious enough to do his degree work, and then this man had to complete three more years of coursework remotely at sea with bag-ass shitty wifi. 

Even though there’s the GI Bill, it’s harder to get involved in higher level officer coursework/ or degree coursework as a “grunt.” So that’s most likely why it took him three years to apply, and why he started classes in 2006 when he got promoted. 

So on top of all this, imagine poor Rooster just having to do his entire degree remotely and having to have his big ass type away with two fingers (cause you know he’s a two-finger typer), for three years along with active duty, in order to graduate and get to the same level he would have been if he’d gotten into Annapolis in the first place.

On top of all that, there was still no guarantee that he could have been flying jets after all this. Because it’s a draw system after you choose like your top three choices for being a certain type of pilot, and not like, the straightforward process it is at Annapolis where you can get assigned a jet pilot right off the jump.

So like, he also had a hell of a lot of luck, because if he had been given the other two options, this poor asshole could have been flying a chopper or some shit.

SO TO BE FAIR MAVERICK I’D ALSO BE PISSED AFTER YOU MADE ME DO MY ENTIRE DEGREE BY BASICALLY THE MODERN DAY EQUIVALENT OF PIGEON CORRESPONDENCE BECAUSE YOU COULDN’T HANDLE YOUR GUILT PLUS HAD TO HAVE A HELL OF A LOT OF LUCK SO I WASN’T FLYING HELICOPTERS FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE THANKS MAV IM 35 AT THE SAME RANK AS A 30 YEAR OLD

[daniwritessometimes]

Love Never Fails Series

Folks, I have been working on this series off and on for a while. The foundations were actually put in place while I was still in college in the late aughts (I graduated in 2009). It started with the parents of the Osborne kids and I decided the kids were more interesting. Especially when I started thinking of Anthony and his best friend Susan. Those I have shared a lot. 

But there are eight Osborne siblings and they all have their own lives and loves and I am desperate to write them all down. Some have been explored at length, some briefly, and a couple not at all. I have decided to just work on them all whenever I feel like it instead of just trying to do one at a time. Maybe in doing this, I’ll actually finish.

I will be sharing bits and pieces as I go and I hope you enjoy them. Some of these relationships are LGBTQ+ and some are cis/het. I have posted on the outline below which are which. Some may seem like they aren’t LGBTQ+ by the description, but I will be sharing more and letting you know how as we go along. 

There are also characters with both visible and invisible disabilities.

Feel free to ask any questions. If you would like to be tagged in any updates on this, please let me know and I will add you to the list. 

1882

Book 1: Athena (22) and Charlie (22) Love Is Patient

Athena’s first husband has died and she is in the last months of her pregnancy. Alec decides he needs to stay with his sister and drags Charlie along. Charlie and Athena start to rekindle their childhood romance. (cis/het)

1884

Book 2: Alec (24) and Jess (18) Love is Kind

Alec and Jess have always been close. So when Jess discovers she is pregnant after a fling with a boy who is in no position to marry her, she and Alec marry quickly in secret. They slowly start to connect as the pregnancy progresses. (LGBTQ+)

1888

Book 3: Anthony (26), Susan (30), Zoe (18) It Does Not Envy

Susan’s uncle and his wife pass. As there is no other family, Susan has been given the care of her young cousins and the home they live in until the oldest is of age to fully inherit, but she has to be married. She and Anthony marry. Zoe and Susan grow close and eventually sparks fly. (LGBTQ+)

1889

Book 4: Percy (24) and Niamh (21) It Does Not Boast

Niamh has fled from an abusive situation with children that aren’t hers. She is also heavily pregnant. Percy gives them refuge in the vicarage. At some point, Percy and Niamh are caught in a completely innocent, but compromising, moment and are quickly married. (LGBTQ+)

1889

Book 5: Sebastian (23) and Elizabeth (22) It Is Not Proud

After getting into trouble, Sebastian joined the Royal Navy. After falling from the ship and being presumed dead, he is mourned by his family. But he actually was rescued by a family and suffered amnesia. He is nursed back to health and slowly realizes who he is and starts to make his way home with his lady. (cis/het)

1911

Book 6: Jason (22) and Phillip (22) It Does Not Dishonor Others

Jason is still trying to exist in life without his wife who left soon after their son was born. What Jason didn’t know is that his wife left after the birth of their son because he was transgender and was seeking to live his authentic life. But he is back now and Phillip wants to reconnect with Jason and their son. (LGBTQ+)

1911

Book 7: Victoria (25) and Richard (18) It Keeps No Record of Wrongs

Victoria is still looking for Mr. Right after all her friends have married and started their families. No one has caught her eye. Until Richard, a newly titled duke and the younger brother of one of her closest friends, starts to pursue her. She’s not sure she wants a younger man nor is she sure she can look past him being Little Dickie. (cis/het)