#is this what the kids call hustling?

[goldshadows]

me bc my draft count doesn't start with a 3 anymore.

[seventeenpins]

a slight miscalculation - pt. i

pairing: Joel x F!Reader

word count: 8.3k

summary: Sarah is off to college, and Joel is about to be living in an empty nest. They road trip out together, and as she spends her first night in her new apartment, he's staying in a nearby hotel. Letting go of his inhibitions for the first time in a long time, he tumbles into a one night stand that becomes very complicated, very quickly.

content/warnings: smut, age gap, mycologist!reader, dick sucking, implied pussy eating, fingering, no outbreak au, reader likes to hike, reader also infodumps, joel miller has a big cock, he also has anxiety, reader has anxiety too, and a cat, reader is in early 20s--exact age not established, one (1) use of daddy, alcohol and weed consumption, joel is a diligent condom wearer, set in present day, discussion of girl scout cookies, joel is sweet and soft and hasn't been eviscerated by the death of his daughter

a/n: I'm intending this to be about five parts. This may change, but right now it's looking like five. I've been struggling to write for a while, unable to focus, but I think I'm back at it? as always, your feedback is hugely appreciated, and i'm kissing all likers and commenters and rebloggers deeply and with tongue 🩷

check out pt. ii

For the first time in nineteen years, Joel is completely adrift. Sarah's starting college in just two months.

It's the kind of realization that hits him like a bucket of ice water, a sudden shock and then an unpleasant trickling of anxiety wrapping about him in nasty tendrils. And then he feels guilty, because he's so, so happy for Sarah because he knows that she's thrilled, but fuck she's gonna be two time zones away and now what's Joel meant to do on Thursday movie nights when he's here without her?

It's terrifying, and it's new. And it's not that he's new to anxiety. He's usually anxious, and he has the Sertraline on his bedside stand to prove it. But if his general anxiety baseline usually hovered around a 6.4, where he was at now far surpassed a 10. It felt exponential, and totally exhausting.

When he voices his fears to Tommy, to Joel's horror, Tommy just doubles over in laughter.

"Jesus, Joel," he wheezes, wiping fake tears from his eyes in exaggerated movements, "You looked so serious I thought you were gonna say you'd killed someone."

Joel scowls. "The fuck you laughing for?"

"She's going to college, it's not like she's dying!"

"How'm I gonna be there for her? What if she needs me? What if-"

"Joel-," Tommy pats him gently on the shoulder, "She can always call you, and you can always call her. And we both know she's got a good head on 'er shoulders."

Joel snorts in concession. "Yeah, yeah. Better than yours and mine put together, and then some."

"Exactly." Tommy agrees, "And if there's ever anything that really goes wrong, you got me. We can drive out together and make sure she's okay."

Joel nods and feels the tiniest bit of tension leave him. One step at a time.

Just over nineteen years ago he found out he was about to be a dad. Suddenly, he had a purpose. Having a kid at twenty-two wasn't something he'd ever intended, but somehow he knew he loved his baby girl from the moment he knew she was a possibility. He spent a solid seven months running around, hustling, doing everything he could to get the very best for his kid. He'd take on doubles, working himself to the bone to make sure they had the best crib, and the best stroller, too. He was thrilled and terrified and so, so green.

Now, his heart feels so big he doesn't know how to handle it. His baby girl is an honest-to-god adult, moving out and going to college, and he has no idea what he's gonna do with his time now.

He has work, of course. But beyond that? He's really gotta to widen his circle, he realises, because who's he gonna hang out with? His brother?

He'd only just turned forty-one and had absolutely not come to terms with an empty nest--the few friends from high school he'd kept in touch with were so much further behind than him. The ones that had kids had them later in their twenties and thirties, and now they're raising middle schoolers while Joel's kid is a real fucking person, leaving home and everything. All the scrapping and saving he'd been doing since before Sarah was born–for his little girl to be able to follow any dream she chose–it was finally paying off. The precocious young woman she is, she graduated early and spent nearly a year working retail to save up some cash. She'd applied to colleges all across the country, and a few international ones, too. Joel had been crossing his fingers for months, hoping she'd choose something near Austin, but cheered with her all the same when she got her acceptance letter from Oregon State University. The previous summer, just before she'd started her applications, she and Joel and Tommy spent a miserable, wonderful week hiking round the Pacific Northwest. She fell in love with it, and the university offered a few of the majors she wanted to consider.

Joel didn't know what he'd do with his baby girl so far away, his life, his reason, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna tell her that. He will not clip her wings. His baby's gonna change the world and he's not gonna hold her back. He is, though, gonna require regular phone calls and check-ins and god they grow up so fast.

"Y'all should road trip out there," Tommy suggests one night over the dinner table.

Joel knew the conversation of how Sarah would get to the West Coast would come up, and it oughta be sooner rather than later. He was half afraid that she wanted to head out on her own, that she didn't need her dad anymore. Worried she would say she wanted to get a plane ticket, or take the Amtrak all the way to Corvallis. But he knows he needs to loosen his grip a little, so he braces himself when he turns to her.

"What'dya think, Sarah? You wanna be stuck in a car with your old man for a cross-country trip?"

Sarah rolls her eyes, but her face breaks into a grin. "Can we, Dad?"

This was too good to be true, he knew, but he wasn't gonna give up one last opportunity to spend some time with his girl till winter break.

"Course, baby," he tells her, and that flicker of anxiety quells just the tiniest bit.

The next few weeks fly by, and the knot of anxiety in Joel's chest feels like it's consuming him from the inside out. He's taken some time off, more than Sarah or Tommy can remember, but he's constantly trying to suggest ideas for activities to Sarah. For the most part, she's a good sport, understanding how much it means to her dad. She took pity on him, and let him drag her to places that ideally she would've gone to when she was little, but she humored him and he appreciated her dedication. He did his best to step back when she was heading out to spend time with friends--her time here was limited, after all, and she was always a social butterfly.

There are five weeks till classes start, four weeks, three, two, and in the blink of an eye, they're loading up the truck with all of Sarah's things, and Tommy is hugging Sarah goodbye, teary eyed. He gives Joel a hug, too. Joel would never admit it, but fuck he had really needed that hug.

They would take the scenic route. Make a memorable trip of it. Joel would make sure she settles in safe and sound, and then he'd head home.

6am Sunday.

You wake with a start. It's just over a week before term starts and your entire body aches. Fuck, you think to yourself, definitely overdid it with that last hike.

(The hiking part wasn't itself a problem, but one of the trails had washed out. You thought you'd found your way, but the "easy" three and a half mile hike took about five hours, leaving your calves bruised and your heels blistered.)

You roll over in your hotel room bed and, at the sound of a slight yelp followed by a gentle thud, realise with a sudden start that you just catapulted your cat off the corner.

"Shit, sorry goblin," you tell Spatula, who glares up at you with disdain as he licks at his paw. You reach down and, despite your inadvertent cat launch, he immediately rubs up against your fingertips and lets you scratch behind his ears.

"I'm sorry, baby," you soothe.

He meows, loudly. Howls, really. You take it as an apology accepted.

You sit up properly and look at your phone calendar. Nothing immediate. You don't need to get keys to your new apartment till tomorrow, nor do you meet your roommates till then–they're both moving in today, and moving is already horrible without having to navigate around the belongings of two other people. No, thanks. You can afford one more night at the hotel, and it'll make everything go that little bit more smoothly tomorrow. Besides, you have a bit of reading you'd like to get through, maybe stock up on non-perishables till you have a full-sized fridge, and get to know the city just a little.

You move gingerly, testing the ache in your muscles as you unfold yourself from the position you've been sat in and pull yourself from the bed. It hurts, but not something that won't be fixed with a little movement.

A plan forms. First, a walk, to try and loosen up your tight muscles. Then, errands. You have a whole list, with everything categorised by store, but then you enter IKEA and exit fifteen minutes later, only to find that five and a half hours have passed and it's evening now.

How was it that IKEA harnessed such a malicious power. How could anything harness that?

You need a fucking break. And a goddamn drink.

"Hey Dad," Sarah calls from the adjacent bedroom as Joel sweats, hauling another box towards her. The drive has been good, but it has been long. His legs ache. His back aches. There are parts of him that he didn't know existed that now ache.

"Yeah?" he calls back.

"Are you sure you're okay with me staying here tonight?"

Joel lets out a breath. He wants to be okay with it. And there's no way his nineteen year old would want to hang out with her dad when she could be spending the very first night in her brand new apartment. But he also wishes she wanted to spend one last night, hanging out in a hotel room with her dad. They could watch shitty movies together. Make the most of the final night before this cataclysmic shift.

But no.

That'd just be him being selfish. He can handle a night by himself. He's gotta handle a whole lotta them soon enough.

"O'course baby," he nods, hoping the smile he's plastered on his face looks totally genuine. "But we're still doin' breakfast in the morning, right?"

She nods, vigorous, and then waves her phone around. "I was looking up places! There's a diner called Tommy's," she laughs, "Wanna try that? 9:30?"

"Let's do it," he smiles, and this one is a little less forced.

"How much more do we have?" Sarah asks, nodding towards the box Joel's still holding.

"Last box," he grunts, "What else can I help with?"

He places the box down and lets out a slight, almost silent whimper. Sarah catches it, though.

"Maybe you should take it easy the rest of the day, Dad," she tells him, "We both know you have old man back."

He rolls his eyes but nods. "Guess you're right," he shrugs, "That my cue to take off?"

Sarah blushes but turns to him sheepishly. "Yeah, I-"

"No need to explain," Joel assures, "I know you must wanna get unpacked and settle in, get to know your roommates an' all."

She jumps up and, almost startling him, wraps her arms around him in a bear hug.

"Love you, dad," she grins, and she squeezes just a little tighter than usual.

He squeezes back, and they both pretend there aren't tears in his eyes.

As you step through the doors of the hotel bar, you decide you like it. The lighting is comfortably low. It's not loud, but it's not quiet, either. Colorful bottles line the shelves, the light of the filament bulbs glinting off the glass in rainbow prisms.

You take a seat at the bar and give a nod of thanks as the bartender passes you a small menu. It's unsurprisingly extortionate, hotel bar and all, but it'll do.

"Old fashioned, please," you tell the bartender, who nods in response. A minute later, he hands you a glass, delivered with a twist of orange and a cherry on top.

With your first sip, you feel your shoulders start to relax and some of the tension loosen from your body. The warmth of the burn envelops you and your stress starts to unravel, leaving only the buzz feeling good.

You order a second, and as the glass is handed to you, a voice to your right catches your attention.

"This seat taken?" a man asks.

You shake your head and offer a quick smile, gesturing towards it, "All yours."

"Much obliged," he nods, and slips into the backless stool next to yours.

The bartender comes over and passes him the same menu, but without looking at it he asks, "Could I get an old fashioned?"

You smile and catch his eye, tipping your glass towards him. "An excellent choice," you praise, "Though if you don't have a sweet tooth, I'd recommend asking Jeff there if he can go easy on the simple syrup."

"Oh yeah?" He asks, and then he leans in conspiratorially. "T'tell you the truth, I do have a bit of a sweet tooth."

You raise an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Suddenly, he breaks into a grin and it's dazzling.

"Yeah," he laughs, "I've got cookies stashed in secret locations all through my house."

You raise an eyebrow. "If I keep 'em in my pantry, my brother'll find 'em and eat 'em all," he explains, "But ever since my kid was a girl scout, I always get cravings for girl scout cookies, so I buy an armful o'boxes and try and preserve 'em throughout the year, till I can replenish."

"What's your favorite girl scout cookie?"

"Caramel deLites, hands down."

"Oh yeah?"

"Absolutely," he nods.

The bartender, Jeff, sets the man's drink down with a clink. You catch one another's eye and both erupt into a fit of laughter.

You're not even sure what's funny. Maybe it's just been a long day? Maybe the whiskey was getting to you?

Whatever it is, it feels good.

The man takes a sip of his drink and lets out an aaaahh and it's goofy and charming and then he extends his hand.

"Joel," he tells you, "Joel Miller". You shake his hand, introduce yourself, and then take a sip of your own drink.

"So, tell me about yourself," you smile, "You coming from out of town?"

"Yes ma'am," he nods, "Come up here from Austin."

"Texas?"

Joel nods.

"That's a long trip."

"Yeah," he laughs, "It really is."

"So, you're a nice Southern boy, huh?"

"Well," he swishes his glass and tries to bite back a smile, "I don't know that I'd go quite so far, but my mama did raise me to be a gentleman."

"That so?" you ask and his blush deepens.

"I... have been known to get up to some trouble, but I like to think I've mellowed in my old age." He gestures at the beautiful little smatterings of silver at his temples, and you cackle.

"Okay, that's hot," you tell him and he chokes, but you keep going, "Old age, though? What are you, like, forty?"

He exhales, chagrined. "Forty-one."

You roll your eyes. "That ain't old."

"It feels it sometimes," he smiles, "My kid is grown. My little brother's married with a kid of his own on the way. My back hurts, pretty much all the time."

You snort. You also notice, without trying to look, that he doesn't have a wedding band. Doesn't have a tan line for one, either. Interesting.

"But more than that," he continues, "I guess I feel- I don't know. A little... aimless?"

"Yeah," you nod, and you let the moment sit. "I get that."

He lets out a little breath, and then turns back to you, focused.

"What about you? Where're you from?"

"Oof," you exhale, "All over. Spent a bit of time on the East coast. The Midwest. Lived a few months in the South, even," you tease as you bump your shoulder into his and he laughs. It's a surprisingly familiar gesture, but miraculously comfortable.

"Ever make it to Texas?"

"Naw," you shake your head, "My time in the South was all in Mississippi. After that I moved out to California, and I've been slowly working my way up the West Coast."

"And what have you been enjoying about the West Coast?" Joel asks.

"The mushrooms," you grin, and Joel frowns.

"Like, the kind you get in a little baggy from the dealer down the street, or-?"

"No," you laugh, "Or, well- Okay, sometimes. Gotta say it is great out here for that, too. But I mean fungus as a whole--mushrooms, mold, yeast, lichen. But I'm most interested in mushrooms. They're just really fuckin' cool, and there's so much we don't understand about them. And, they're delicious."

"Huh," Joel ponders, "T'tell you the truth, I've never thought much about mushrooms, besides enjoying 'em as a pizza topping."

"Most people don't," you agree, "But fuck, like-- Okay, so we know there are over five million types of fungi on Earth, but we've identified less than two percent of them. Some fungus aids decomposition. Some fungus is bioluminescent. Some are known worldwide for their delicious flavours, and others are known by the slow, horrible ways they kill you."

Joel raises his eyebrows, and suddenly you feel a little self conscious.

"Sorry, I do this," you laugh, rubbing at the back of your neck, "I get very excited about fungus and manage to alienate everyone around me."

You half expect him to stand up and walk away.

Instead, though, he leans in closer. "Don't apologise," he tells you, "I'm learning something new. Tell me more?"

"No, I should stop. Otherwise I'll never stop talking," you wince.

"How about just one more fungus fact?"

You sit for a minute, pondering. "This is- well, I guess this is one of the reasons I find fungus so fascinating. So, fungus can't photosynthesise the way that plants do--they can't produce their own food from sunshine, and water, and carbon dioxide. Instead, their mycelium-- they're these thread-like networks--they branch out beneath the earth, seeking out food, growing in the direction where it can find the nutrients it needs and breaking down organic material all around them, sometimes living organisms, as a parasite, and sometimes dead organisms as a decomposer, or both. And it's just- It's this hidden world, that exists right beneath the surface even in some of the extreme places on earth, temperature-wise. And most days, we don't even think about it."

You punctuate your thought with a large swallow of your drink, which is half-watered down now that the ice is melted, and doesn't hit quite as hard as you'd hoped, but then you look up at Joel and he's smiling at you, pensive, and--

"That's- That's actually really interesting."

Before you can respond, though, Joel glances at his watch and balks. It is getting late. "Shit," he shakes his head, "I think I oughta call it a night," he says, pulling back. "Early morning tomorrow, and if I stay at the bar I'll just keep drinkin'."

Fuck. That's a dismissal. Of course you went on too much about mushrooms. You'd fucked this up. You'd thought this was going well, but now it felt like a bucket of cold water was dumped over you. "Oh," you nod, matching his posture, and try to swallow down the sudden wave of disappointment. "Of course. Have a good night, Joel."

Joel stands up and then looks you up and down, considering. It's not brazen, but it isn't shy, either. And then understanding flashes across his face.

"Wait- Sorry, that's not how I meant it." He reaches out towards you and you melt into his touch. "I'm messin' this up." He chuckles, but it sounds pained. "Now look, I don't wanna make any presumptions. And I'm really hopin' I'm not coming off as some--dirty old man. Jesus, I haven't done this in a while. But I'm in room 308."

Your eyebrows shoot up. What you'd taken for disinterest was just--nerves?

"I reckon I'll be awake for a while yet. You're welcome to... drop by."

The disappointment melts, making way for a fluttering in your stomach.

"Twenty minutes," you assure him, "308?"

He nods and he brakes into a sheepish grin, shedding what you now realise had been something of an anxious wince. "308."

You watch him leave. When he's out of sight, you toss back the rest of your watery drink and go to pay your tab, but Jeff tells you it was already settled. You thank him and tuck your shaking hands in your pockets. You feel an electricity running through you as you take the elevator up.

When you get back to your room, you hop into the shower, just to freshen up--you keep your hair dry but scrub your body. Once you're clean, you brush your teeth.

Stepping back out of the en suite, you survey the hotel room. Spatula is lounging on the corner of the bed, entirely uninterested in your movements. You top up his dry food bowl and place a kiss between his ears before slipping out.

When you knock at Joel's door, you hear a slight rustle and clatter and then the door swings open, Joel's staring a little wide-eyed, like he didn't actually expect you to show. He's wearing grey sweats and a Johnny Cash t-shirt that looks like it's been around nearly as long as you have. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, an anxious tell that's desperately endearing.

"C'mon in," he smiles, and you step in, closing the door behind you.

You reach out to cup his face, delighting in the feeling of coarse stubble beneath your fingertips. Your first kiss is chaste. You both lean forward and press your lips to one another gently, exploring.

Then, you let out a little moan and Joel shudders. Heat surges between you, and his hands are cradling your head and brushing your cheek and he's pinning you against the closed door. You're kissing again, nothing chaste remaining, learning the taste of him, his rhythm, the crashing waves of give and take between you.

You wrap one leg around him and smirk when he lets out a throaty groan as you grind against his hard cock. You're pretty sure he's not wearing underwear, the thick bulge seemingly unconstrained in his grey sweats, the whole length pressing against your thigh.

Your head falls back and you let out soft, breathy noises as his lips trace along your collarbone, up your throat, and against that tender little spot behind your ear. When he puts your earlobe between his lips and presses his teeth gently against the skin, your knees go weak and he chuckles, strong arms wrapping around you, holding you up.

"Bed?" he asks, and you breathe yes and then, with a yelp and a throaty chuckle, you're lifted up and spun around and both tumbling into the duvet.

You're grasping at each other, desperate to keep your hands on one another. The only times you part is when you undress, and even then, you're helping each other--pulling the hem of his shirt over his lifted arms, pressing into him as he reaches around and moves to unhook your bra, but then he realises you're not wearing one and lets out a groan, his thumbs brushing alongside the tender skin along your ribs, moving gently as if to cup your breasts, but then he pulls back.

Normally you might wait, do this part slowly, draw out the tease just a little bit longer.

Tonight, though, you're ravenous.

As you fiddle with the buttons of your pants, you tug at the drawstring keeping Joel's sweats on his hips. The bow comes loose in one smooth motion, and he lifts his hips and you pull the sweats down.

Your mouth immediately waters seeing him bare, laid out for you. You watch a bead of precum drip down the head and pool on his belly. The coarse hair of his happy trail glistens with it. He's thick, uncut, and looks painfully hard, his cock head ruddy. "Fuck, you're beautiful," you tell him, and his cheeks redden but he grins. It's boyish, the way he grins, and devastatingly charming.

And, what you're saying is true. His body is gorgeous, something you wish you could sketch. Soft flesh over hard muscle, visible tan lines where his chest and shoulders are noticeably lighter than his arms. The muscles and veins along his throat are driving you absolutely fucking insane as he swallows and looks up at you.

He's got freckles on his shoulders, too, and without thinking, you lower yourself down to kiss at his shoulder. He shakes, just a little, and lets out the most beautiful gasp. It's addictive, pulling these noises from him. You follow the curve of him, giving him a taste of his own medicine--tracing feather-light kisses along his collarbone, up the tendons of his neck, behind his ear. You can feel the blood pulse in his veins as your lips brush along him. Joel goes from panting lightly to full on groaning, rutting his hips up towards you and, frustrated, meeting only air.

"Can I taste you?", you ask, and Joel lets out a half-strangled sound and nods, vigorous.

You scoot back, lower yourself, poke out your tongue and, without any preamble, lick at the slit of his head, tasting the salty, tangy precum.

Joel tips his head back and groans and you decide to be kind. You grasp onto his hips and take him in your mouth, slowly sinking down, inch by inch by inch and now you can feel him at the back of your throat, your saliva dripping down the shaft and collecting in the hair between his thighs.

You bob your head up and down, taking him deeper with each thrust, but your throat is full and there are still inches to go. You relax, doing everything you can to take him deeper, and he starts to thrust up gently.

You let him fuck into your mouth but release one of his hips, allowing him to move as freely as he needs and freeing up your hand, which you shove into your underwear, rubbing furiously at your clit.

It doesn't take much to lose yourself in it, to focus only on the sensation. You're so wet, slick coating your fingers, making the glide that much smoother as you touch yourself. Joel tastes so good, too, the intrusion of his cock the most delicious thing, feeling the way he shudders when you moan, the way he moans when you shudder.

"Fuck-" Joel gasps, and then there's a hand guiding you gently off of him.

You raise an eyebrow. "You okay?"

He swallows, hard, and nods. "More than okay. Felt too fuckin' good."

"Oh yeah?" and you lean down, as if to take him back in your mouth, but he chuckles and pulls you back again.

"It's been... a while. For me. And-" He drags his palm down his face, wearing an almost pained expression. "Christ, you just look too fuckin' good down there, mouth stretched 'round me while you touch yourself. An' it feels too fuckin' good, too. I ain't ready for this to be over yet but if you keep lettin' me fuck your throat like that it's gonna be over real quick. And I wanna feel that pretty pussy myself."

You sit back up and he pulls you towards him so you're straddling him.

"You gonna fuck me, Joel?"

"Yes," he breathes, "Yes, baby, please-"

You do an awkward wobble and then stand up, shedding your pants and letting your panties drop, stepping out of them, one foot and then the other, and the way he's watching you is addictive. He watches you with beautiful eyes, drinking all of you in, and suddenly the moment has changed into one of those quiet, intimate moments where you both exhale a laugh.

You straddle him again, and lean down to kiss him, and the electric current surges up. He grabs you by the jaw, meeting your desperation. His lips on yours are exactly the balm you need and you can taste the whiskey on his breath.

"Feels fucking good," you tell Joel as you slide up and down his length. He's not penetrating you, not yet, but the lips of your pussy are spread and you're gliding along him, feeling his head at your clit and thrusting back till you're nearly seated on his balls.

He watches you, nearly unblinking, drinking it all in. Then, he lets out a groan, and half-sits up, suddenly focused.

"Shit," he closes his eyes in frustration, "I don't have any condoms. Shit shit shit-"

You push him back down and kiss him again. Then, you hop off the bed and sift around in your jean pockets.

"Ah-ha!," you exclaim, once you've found your treasure. Joel raises and eyebrow and you wink. "Saw they were selling them in the lobby. Figured it might be a good idea."

"Shit," Joel laughs, and presses his lips just to the side of your mouth. "Clever girl," he tells you, and a shiver goes up your spine.

He leans to help, but you shoo him away and he watches, entranced, as you neatly open the condom wrapper and, with a small amount of difficulty, roll it down his cock.

"Feeling okay?" You ask him, "Shit, I shoulda gotten the Magnums. Is your dick okay? It's not being choked to death by an inappropriately sized rubber, is it?"

Joel snorts. "We'll manage," he says, and then he grips you by the hips, lines himself up. He draws his knuckles along your cunt and groans, "Fuck, so goddamn wet for me-" and, the moment you look at him and nod, he holds the head of his cock against your drooling lips and presses into you.

It's a big stretch as he lowers you down onto him, the intrusion almost painful, but before you can even take a breath, it melts into absolute pleasure. You've fucked people with longer cocks before, and you've fucked people with girthier cocks before, but never have you fucked someone with a cock that's both this long and thick and it feels like you're being split in two and it's perfect and you realise, with a sudden flip of your stomach, he isn't even fully seated inside you yet.

Then, you manage to focus on the words Joel is saying-that had really just been background noise for the past ten seconds or so-and suddenly you're tuning back in for "Tha's it," his voice low and hoarse, surprisingly gentle, "Good girl, takin' this cock so well, look at you."

His brow is furrowed and he's looking at you with such dark eyes, nearly black, the pupils are so blown. "Just a little more, that's it, just one more inch, you can do it, christ, look at you, takin' all of me."

His tone is reverent and it sets a fire through you. You can feel more slickness build and drip out of you, and from the way he moans, you're certain he can feel it too despite the condom.

"So fuckin' wet," he groans, "Soakin' my cock- grippin' me so nice-Fuck--"

He leans towards you and cradles your head in his hand, kissing you hard.

When you both pull back, you know your lips must be kiss swollen and red. His are--they're soft and bright, and you want to eat him whole.

"You're gonna be the death of me, woman."

He's thrusting into you lazily, holding you in place, but you need more, you need all of him.

You push forward and move his hand from your waist to your clit. As you manoeuvre him, his nostrils flare, and you'd wonder if he was angry, if not for the way you felt his cock stiffen even further inside of you. You start to move your hips, to rub up against the thumb on your clit, and to feel every fucking inch of him.

Urged on by the way he groans, you start to ride him, properly. Holding each other close, you fuck down onto him and he leans back, awed.

"Enjoying the show?" you ask.

"Damn- right- I- am-," Joel breathes, every word punctuated with a shuddering breath after you drive back down onto his cock, "Jesus- you- look- so- good- like- that."

You like being watched. Being admired. It sent an extra thrill through you, and your hips stutter, just a little, and now you're following a new, faster rhythm.

"Fuck, that's it, baby-" he praises, "Shit, yes- bounce on it."

You lean forward and kiss his throat, and then he makes this noise, half-strangled and beautiful.

"Shit, honey-- honey, honey, hold on-," he holds you still and you're glad he has, because your brain hadn't quite processed his words.

He's looking at you so earnestly.

"Baby, if you keep ridin' me like this I am gonna blow my load in the next twenty seconds and I don't wanna end this quite so soon."

You hum, a moment of consideration. You stare into his eyes, and part of it is calculated seduction, but another part is getting genuinely lost in the way he looks at you. The crinkles round his eyes. The way he seems able to focus on you, in a way that feels as frightening as it is exhilarating.

"How about this," You smile, "You get yours, and then you can eat me out till I get mine. And if you're ready to go again by the time I've come, we can see where we're at then. Hmm?"

You see a bead of sweat trickle down his temple, and take a moment to appreciate how much he's clearly trying to control himself.

After a moments of avoiding your eye, he looks at you again and he looks utterly wrecked. "You- talkin' like that?" He shakes his head and tries to even his breath. "Fuck, I nearly came right there."

"It's okay," you soothe, and you cup his jaw and resume you movements, riding him like you had before. "You can come if you need to-" your fingertips stroke the stubble of his chin, "You're close, huh? It's okay, daddy, you can let go."

Joel lets out a strangled noise and busts immediately.

You savor the way it feels, the pulse of his cock as he spills into you. No, into the condom, you correct yourself, but you can always pretend-

After his balls relax and you can feel him start to get soft, you hold the condom down as you pull yourself off, and you're nearly unseated when there's a sudden squelch noise that sends you both into tumbles of laughter.

It takes a while to calm down, and you find yourselves heaving, tangled in the sheets, and wrapped up in each other. The condom is hanging limply on Joel's now-soft cock and it's oddly cold and gooey as you accidentally roll against it, and that sends you both off again.

"Fuck," Joel snorts, and tugs at the condom, starting to roll it off his length, "I'd almost forgotten the weird texture of a used condom. Fuckin'... Slug-like."

"That-" you declare, "Is visceral. And I hate it. Thanks."

He snorts, and you suddenly have a question.

"Condoms not making too many appearances in your life?"

"Not many, no."

"What, you usually fuck raw?"

"Just haven't been sleepin' with anyone," he shrugs, nonplussed.

"Well, I gotta say, the good people of Austin have been missing out."

Joel shrugs again, and it comes off as casual, but you notice the way his ears tint pink. "Just- not been something I did. But now, I guess, I can. And with way less guilt."

"Why guilt? Are-" you venture, dread pooling in your stomach, "Are you married?"

His eyes flit up to you sharply, and then soften immediately. He lets out a breath and shakes his head. "No. Nothin' like that. I was married, but I've been divorced nearly twenty years now."

The tightness immediately uncoils and you realise how tense you were only a moment ago. I am not a cog in the machine of a collapsing marriage. Thank fuck.

But now your curiosity is piqued. "So... why the guilt?"

"Sorry, I- I really didn't mean to get into it. I'd rather not get into it. It's- complicated."

"Of course," you shrug, and it isn't a problem because this is just a hot fantasy hookup that you'll remember fondly, and it'll be wonderful masturbation fuel for probably the rest of your life, but you don't wanna make the poor guy go into his life's trauma, especially when he's looking at you so fucking earnestly and you are actually really fucking fascinated but no, you would not let this become a problem.

"Thanks," he says, and then steps out of the room. You hear the clang of the bin as he steps on the pedal, then drops the condom, takes a piss and washes his hands.

"You hungry?" He asks, and you realize very suddenly, you're absolutely famished.

"Yes," you jump up and he laughs when you run, bare-assed and shameless, over to the corner of the room filled with brochures and traveller info and finally, you raise it in triumph when you find it, the list of nearby takeaways.

"Okay," you look at the list, "There's one place at the top of the list here that's apparently highly rated, but I actually have plans there soon and I wanna wait till then to eat there. Hope that's okay."

Joel comes over to you and rests his head on your shoulder. "No problem."

"But... alright," you continue. "There's pizza. Or... more pizza. Or, look--there's a Southern-style place, that'll make you feel right at home!" Joel pokes you in the side and you swat at him as he grunts a laugh.

Suddenly, a warning sound starts playing on loop in your brain. It was dreadfully domestic, wasn't it? This was an absolute stranger you'd just met in a hotel bar? But... it also felt... nice? And it felt nice in ways that you'd never found yourself enjoying before. Even with long-term partners. Maybe because this was so low-stakes, you reasoned, such an inevitably temporary situation, so you weren't putting the same kind of pressure on yourself.

As soon as you think that, the eternal curse of overthinking shows itself and you suddenly feel desperately self conscious. Before you can pull away and make some excuse, though, Joel's arm wraps around you and his thumb starts rubbing little circles into a tender bit of skin between your hip and your tummy. The anxiety spiral you'd been teetering on the edge of suddenly vanishes.

"How about-," he nods at the list, "Pizza?"

After Joel calls in your order, the pizza delivery service tells you to expect your food in about thirty minutes. You remember you have a little box of edibles. You ask Joel if he minds if you take one, and he doesn't. You offer him one, and he automatically declines, but then as he starts to explain, he pauses and pivots, goes "Wait, actually. Yeah. Why not?"

A freckled kid who looks no more than sixteen pulls up with a short stack of pizza boxes and a two liter bottle of root beer. He raps awkwardly on the door after exactly thirty five minutes, and it swings open.

The room looks utterly wrecked, clothing strewn along every surface. Joel answers the door wearing a robe, his entire face smelling of sex, and his moustache still shining with the slick of your release.

"Thanks, kid," Joel nods, and hands him a small wad of cash. The kid eyes him and shrugs. "Keep the change," he tells him, and the door swings back shut.

The edibles have hit beautifully. You're both blissed out, comfortably hazy, lost in the sensation of bare limbs on bedsheets and the flavors of the pizza and it's assorted sauces. You lay together on the bed, paper plates strewn between you. In the background, an X-Files rerun plays.

"Ooh!" You sit up as you catch the premise of the episode, "I love this one! See the goo? There's a giant fungal... entity.. that's working on digesting them, and giving them hallucinations as they die."

"You and mushrooms, huh?" Joel laughs, but then looks back at the episode and contemplates the viscous yellow goo. "Jesus christ," he frowns, and sniffs, now contemplating the mushrooms on his pizza slice.

You spot his glare and snort. "I think you're safe."

He takes another bite and shakes his head as if to clear it.

"I'm getting tired," he admits.

"Me too," you agree.

"No pressure, but in case it wasn't clear, you're welcome to stay the night here."

"That's sweet," you tell him, and think it over. "If I took you up on that, would you be offended if I slip out early?"

Joel raises a brow.

"I have a cat," you explain, "And I'm working on moving into a new place, and meeting a friend for breakfast, and then I need to check out after breakfast because I won't be able to get my keys for the new place until the breakfast but I can't take my cat to a diner-"

You take a breath.

"Basically, I've got a bunch of things I need to do in the morning, but if you don't mind me slipping out around, maybe, 5-ish, then I'd love to stay."

He stares at you.

You regret saying as much as you said. You don't need to over-explain yourself to this actual stranger. He doesn't care. There's no reason for him to care. He's probably in it just for the fuck, and it was fun and if you stay then there's a chance the two of you will wake up at some point in the night, still horny and lustful and you might fuck again and you'd be lying if you said that wasn't part of the draw. You realise, though, you'd also be lying if you said you didn't care what he thought of you. All of a sudden, you are overwhelmed with caring what this man thinks of you.

How fucking inconvenient.

"I wouldn't be offended at all," Joel chews, swallows, wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin and speaks again. "What's your cat's name?"

You don't know what you'd expected he'd say, but it wasn't that. You buffer for a moment. "It's- Spatula."

"Spatula?"

"Yep." You feel foolish.

"Huh. Spatula."

A silent moment between you.

"Got any pictures?"

You weren't expecting that, either. "I... do? Do you want to see them?" He nods. You pull out your phone to scroll through.

Joel, suddenly scrambled around for his phone, too. It was late and he hadn't checked it for hours. Had it been on silent? What if Sarah had called and he'd missed it?

His panic eased when he saw he had only two notifications. Both from Sarah, but neither were bad. He hadn't been neglecting any crises. The first text was a selfie of Sarah and an unfamiliar person, which she'd texted to him with the caption New roomie!! The second contained an address to the place they'd have breakfast tomorrow along with Just wanted you to know I've invited a friend to join us tomorrow morning! Is that okay? Realized I should maybe have checked with you? 😬

There was an ache in his chest. He wanted to keep her to himself, get to spend one last day, just the two of them. It was the start of a whole new chapter, but more than anything, he wished he could hold onto the moment for just a second longer.

But Sarah was stressed, he knew this, so he wasn't gonna make it worse and put this burden on her. He could handle it. He had to handle it. He typed back- No problem, baby. Can't wait to meet your friend.

After a moment, he followed up with another text. Gonna turn in now. Good nite!

The less he texted right now, the better. He did not want Sarah to know anything about the night he was having.

His screen lit up a moment later. Night Dad! He takes a deep breath and wills some of the tension away.

He slips his phone aside and you scoot into bed next to him.

"This," you announce, "Is Spatula."

Joel scrolls thru, his brows raising higher with each image.

With a single nod, he opens his mouth and instead of speaking, he collapses into laughter. It comes out a wheeze- "I-- I know this won't make any sense, but your cat looks just like my goddamn brother."

You're laughing now too, both of you almost hysterical, even though you have no frame of reference. You cherish the absurdity.

Then, Joel pulls up a picture on his phone and shows you, and now you're doubling over again because his brother looks exactly like Spatula.

You don't remember falling asleep. You curse your body's internal clock because you wake up right at 5am, and even though you know you should get up and leave, you wish you could have just a little bit longer.

It's such a comfortable way to wake up. One arm is folded under your pillow, and the other is slung over Joel's hip. He's asleep, snoring softly, and strands of his hair are mussed along his forehead. Your hand is holding his tummy, but you realise there's something pressing against the heel of your hand, and then realise, with a delicious jolt, that he's hard and straining against his boxers.

It's so fucking hard to get out of that bed, but with enough barely-effective reminders--you're gonna fuck up your whole day if you're late, gotta make a good impression, Spatula's gonna be so disappointed if you're late with his breakfast--you manage to bully yourself out of the warm and wonderful bed containing blankets and absolutely fantastic dick, and you tiptoe through the room, dress quickly, and, after making a note and leaving it on his bedside stand, you slip out.

Joel wakes up with a jolt, and then rolls over to see that the alarm clock (which he dared not contemplate the number of times he must have snoozed) was telling him it was 9:13.

He was late. Really fucking late. And then the panic made his brain spin faster and that's when he noticed the note on his bedside table.

I had a really good time If you're in town for a little longer, don't be a stranger?

It's followed with your name and phone number, and a rather detailed mushroom sketch across the page. He wasn't sure what kind of mushroom it was, but it was beautiful, and clearly hand-drawn, and for whatever reason you'd decided to tear it out of, presumably, your sketchbook? And you gave it to him, and he's gonna read that note and replay last night for the rest of his fucking life. It felt incredibly precious. He placed it in a book so it wouldn't get creased or folded. Made sure it was all contained and neat, totally flat in between the pages.

Then, he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower.

After scrubbing the smell of sex off of his entire body, he dresses quickly and checks his watch again. 9:28.

He texts Sarah and lets her know he's a few minutes behind. She responds with an eye roll emoji.

Joel settles in his truck and pulls up directions. It's only a few minutes away. He won't be too late.

When Joel steps into the diner, he's charmed by it. It's old school, with a checkerboard floor and bright red vinyl seats. He scans the room till he spots Sarah in a booth in the corner. She's laughing over a hot chocolate, and her friend must be in the seat opposite her.

He catches Sarah's eye and she grins at him, waving him over.

You've been at the diner about fifteen minutes, and you and Sarah are already getting along beautifully.

You'd met on a university message board and had become fast friends, but meeting someone in person was always a little terrifying. On top of that, you'd already committed to spending at least one (academic) year with this person, so you were damn sure gonna make it work.

Sarah waves over her dad. You can't see him yet, the back of the booth too high.

But then he's standing right there.

You already have a hand outstretched, but when he sees you and you see him, your stomach flips and dread runs through you. All the color drains from his face. He looks like a deer in headlights, and you'd be surprised if you didn't look the same.

Sarah looks between you, not quite concerned, but definitely confused. Sarah smiles and tries to diffuse the situation.

"Hi dad!" She grins, "This is my new roommate! Well, the other new roommate--the one in the picture, their name is Ellie, they weren't able to make it this morning. BUT. Breakfast seemed like a great time to hand off keys!"

Joel is still frozen and white-faced. Your brain whirs, and you know you've just fucking catapulted yourself into a disastrous mess, but you do your very best to save face.

Reaching your hand out further so he can't possibly miss it, he gives into some familiar social instinct, takes it and you shake. You think of his hands, how they dragged along your body last night, touched you, felt you, wrecked you.

You introduce yourself. He nods, avoiding eye contact.

"Joel." He grunts. "Miller."

Sarah frowns at him, but turns back to the menu.

This- was unexpected. Problematic. Arguably, really fucked up. All of those things and more. But it'll be fine.

All throughout breakfast, you repeat that to yourself, letting the words bounce around your head. It will be fine, you repeat your mantra, it will be fine, and you try not to feel too hurt at the way Joel's avoiding eye contact as if simply looking at you will cause him unimaginable disgust.

Everything will be fine.

Note: The fic's premise is loosely based on the book Mistakes Were Made which is a fucking excellent sapphic romance novel that utilises this trope. Would strongly recommend the book if you're into smutty queer stories.

[princessbrunette]

princess!! how do you think rafe would react if reader n him are arguing and she tells him that he has some serious daddy issues.

࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

he gets all mean. rafe doesn’t like being vulnerable, and if he’s not in the right mood to admit to victimhood — he doesn’t exactly like having his vulnerabilities pointed out either.

you’re huffing and puffing, storming around your bedroom as you pack for the ‘weekend business trip’ that rafe had organised on both of your behalf, forcing you to cancel your plans just so he could appease to his father and the business.

“but we had plans, rafe. why can’t you learn how to say no? you have some serious daddy issues if—” you rant angrily and he cuts you off with a sudden explosion.

“hey!” he yells and you shut up, turning around with wide eyes before he storms towards you, gripping your wrist to stop you from pushing him back in instinct. “this is for the business, a’ight? know you don’t quite understand what it’s like to have a real fuckin’ job, but uh — sometimes, you gotta put aside your little social plans to do some real shit and make some money. the money i spend on your god damn nails and shopping trips so i— i don’t wanna hear you psychoanalyse me, okay?” he scolds loudly, and in all honesty— despite him being mean you know he’s a little right.

you nod, silently and he lets go, allowing you to continue on packing as he paces in irritation behind you. “its like — like you have no idea how much i’m fuckin’ hustling right now. no appreciation. whatsoever.”

“i do.” you mope and he shakes his head, going back to picking up the clothes you’d thrown on the floor due to your miniature tantrum.

“daddy issues…” he scoffs to himself. “you’re one to fuckin’ talk. can’t cum without callin’ me dad, sounds like the calls coming from inside the god damn house, kid. shit.”

࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One / Part Two

A03

It ain’t much.” Wayne started, half-curious if the sight of his trailer would be the thing to offend Steve’s (so far lacking) born-rich sensibilities. 

Of course turning to look at the kid proved he was in his own head about this more than Steve was, because Steve had his eyes closed and looked two seconds away from puking. 

Right. 

Pain management. 

��I’ll get your stuff.” Wayne said as he guided the truck to its usual parking spot. 

Steve’s quiet ‘okay’ had him hustling a little bit, and the fact he had to gently guide the kid’s hand off his bag handle told him it was the right choice. 

The nailbat could wait in the car for the moment he figured, as he led Harrington in. He’d get it sorted once he’d fished out the pain pills and gotten Steve settled a bit. 

"Eds--he's my nephew that I told you about--has the bedroom, so you and I get to share out here." Wayne explained as he loaded Steve up on Tylenol and put a bag of frozen peas in his hand, not bothering to give a tour of the trailer. 

It was pretty damn clear which door led to the bathroom and which didn’t, given Ed’s door was wide open. 

Steve peeked at the absolute chaos strewn about beyond the doorframe but didn’t say nothing of it. 

Didn’t, in fact, even look too long, instead sitting at the table as directed. 

Seemed to sink a little into it, leaning an elbow on the cheap wood to help keep his head up. 

"The couch is a pull out, but I'll warn you the bar across the middle is nasty. I usually sleep on the cot over there," Wayne nodded to where it was rolled neatly against the opposite wall, "but given the state of you, I'll let ya have your pick." 

Steve blinked (or winked, not like Wayne could tell since the peas were pressed against half of his face) finally seeming to perk up a bit. "I can't take your bed." 

"I'm not going to fight you for it, I'm just offering." Wayne responded, now focused on trying to locate the bandages in his ancient medical kit. 

The one on Steve's hand was falling apart, and he didn't like the look of the injury he could see under it. 

Yeah, Wayne was absolutely going to need to make a run to the store. 

“Lemme see.” He asked as he finally got what he wanted. 

It seemed to take Harrington a minute to process what Wayne wanted, but he finally held out his injured hand, watching as Wayne unwrapped the bandages.

"I'll take the couch." Steve said stubbornly, but Wayne was past it, too busy frowning at the kid's hand. 

It took him a moment, once he'd gotten it all off, to properly realize what he was seeing--that the mottled bruising on Steve's wrist was separate from the cut across his palm.

In fact, it looked a hell of a lot like…

Wayne paused, then pretended to fuss with the dirty bandages for a moment while his eyes sought out Steve's other wrist.

Sure enough, matching bruises.

Someone had tied the kid up--and it hadn’t been the feds, because these bruises were partially healed. 

Wayne had initially thought of Steve as having been tortured in the same way roving bands of neighborhood kids tortured their peers. The kind of hurt that came when it was an unfair fight; four on one and wielding knives, so you had to take what you were given and pray you didn't get stabbed. 

He was not thinking actual, honest to God torture. 

Yet here the evidence was, plain as day.

'What the hell went down in that mall.' 

Someone as young as Steve shouldn't have been caught up in it, and it made a deep part of Wayne ache for the poor kid across from him.  

All this shit, and his parents still couldn't be bothered to come home.Just left him on his own, as if it was another Tuesday. 

Did they even know? Wayne wondered as he got to work. Had Steve, or Hopper, or anyone tried to call them about the mallfire? Let them know their son got hurt?

Jim said he hadn’t bothered to reach out regarding the spooks, but that had been a week or so later past the fire. 

Wayne couldn’t even imagine it. 

Getting a call that Eddie been involved in such a thing would have him off the couch in an instant, and the image that played on the news, the ones all the reporters talked over of a gurney being wheeled out of Starcourt’s on fire front doors…

He’d have been a wreck until he had his kid in his sights. 

‘Nothing you can do for that,’ Wayne figured silently, ‘but you can help him now.’

Wayne wasn't exactly an expert when it came to wound care, but like many people who just couldn't afford to go to a doctor he'd gotten by.

Learned a lot of home remedies. Figured out pretty quick when something needed to be seen by an expert and when you could hold off.

Made friends with some of the local nurses on the night shift down at the Red Barn, well enough that a few well baked treats and dishes could sometimes be traded for looking over a potentially broken arm or two. 

It had come in handy plenty, given Ed’s ability to attract trouble, but thankfully he’d never managed to hurt himself like this. 

He’d never even gotten caught in a bad fight. 

A black eye or two sure, but the kid had adapted his “scary” act not too long after Wayne had gotten him, and it seemed to work as intended. It was half the reason Wayne never said anything about it (and hell, even let Eddie take his ancient leather motorcycle jacket.) .

All of that was to say that he could tell Harrington's hand needed cleaning before it could be rebandaged, but didn't appear to need stitches. 

Course pouring alcohol all over an injury like this wasn't exactly going to be fun, and he told Steve as such.

"I know." Steve replied, with a grimace. The kid’s injuries seemed to be getting to him, and Wayne anticipated he was going to drop here the second Wayne was done looking him over. 

He hoped Harrington could get in a few hours--particularly before Eddie came home. 

Wayne gently wiped it clean, noting how well Steve sat given the amount of pain he had to be in.

Tylenol, even given the more than recommended amount he'd given Steve, just wasn't going to cut it. 

Not in general, and definitely not for this. 

What could help was likely something Eds had, which was yet another conversation Wayne wasn't looking forward to having.

Particularly given that Eds had sworn off selling hard drugs after his last encounter with Hopper, and Wayne knew damn well that had only lasted until the damn kid caught sight of an overdue bill. 

Too smart for his own good, Eddie was.

"I can give you something to bite down on, if you like." Wayne said to Steve, getting the alcohol and bandages ready to go. 

He got a tight smile in response. "So long as you don't use a needle, I'm good." 

And Wayne figured it was just teenager talk--a young man who didn't really know how bad this was going to be, and prepared himself to hold Steve's arm down accordingly so they wouldn't have to do it twice.

"Four." Wayne counted down. "Three. Two."

He poured on two.

Better that than Steve clenching up in anticipation.

Steve hissed, arm jerking, but stilled it under his own power as Wayne began dabbing his hand with some of the medkit’s wipes. 

He felt his eyebrow raise as Harrington froze himself in place, breathing in a way that felt practiced. 

This, Wayne decided, was not Steve's first rodeo. 

"Almost done." He promised softly as he finished wrapping the wound back up, this time in the pattern he'd been shown long ago. 

"Thanks." Steve said, blinking rapidly. 

The kid's eyes were wet, but he didn't let a tear fall, and that perked Wayne's attention more than anything. 

Some men felt they weren't allowed to cry--and pushed the same ideals on their sons. 

It wouldn't surprise him any if Richard Harrington was one of them. 

"I know you got hit more than just your hands and face kid." Wayne said, after letting Steve have a moment to recover. "You bleeding under that shirt?"

"Not bleeding." Steve murmured, looking more and more like he was struggling to stay upright now that the worst part was over. "I think my hand got the worst of it."

"Do I want to know what happened there?" Wayne asked, keeping his voice calm and non judgemental. 

Like they were back to talking sports.

"I fell back into a broken window.” Steve responded, and now that Wayne had seen the kid lie, it was easy to see when he was telling the truth. 

"Ouch." Wayne said flatly. Which made that hint of a smile flash across Steve's face. 

"I'll cut you a deal. I taped last weekend's game, but haven't had time to watch it yet. I figure you might not have had a chance neither." He sat back, nailing Harrington with a no-nonsense stare. "You let me take a look at what they did to your chest n' back there, and I'll put it on."

Steve just looked at him a little miserably, a beaten dog still hesitant to wag its tail. "I don't think there's anything you can do for it, it's really mostly bruised. Nothing feels broken though."

"You know what broken ribs feel like?" Wayne questioned partially out of curiosity but mostly to make sure.

Teenage boys loved to think themselves immortal after all.

Or at least his did.

"Cracked, but yeah." Steve admitted. "Couldn't finish out the year on the basketball team because of it."

He said it like it didn't hurt, but Wayne knew better.

Boy like Steve? 

He'd bet big bills something like basketball was all the kid really had, in terms of positive relationships.

(Except apparently, whatever had made Hopper decide to look after him.)

"I mostly just wanna make sure nothing looks like it's broken or bleeding internally son." Wayne said, then tried to cinch it with some good old guilt tripping. "I'd hate to have to tell Hopper that after all he went through to keep you safe, you up and died on my couch." 

"Hey, it might save him some future gray hairs." Steve responded but he looked a little more open to the idea, at least. 

It took a bit more coaxing, but Wayne finally got the kid to take his shirt off. 

The damage had him whistling out of instinct.

A fucking artist had gone to town on his torso, with bruised of all shades parading around to his left side. 

Thankfully most of it didn't hold that deep, dark tone that indicated any kind of bleeding, his back had scratches and road rash, and his shoulder had one long, thin line that looked a hell of a lot like Steve had narrowly avoided getting cut with a knife. 

"You got lucky, kid." Wayne told him.

Steve let out a shaky breath. "I know." 

He hesitated, then opened his mouth, a question clear on his face. 

Which of course, was the exact moment Eddie chose to walk through the door. 

"Hey old man, I--Harrington!?" 

"Munson?" Steve said, looking just as confused. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here?" Eddie had frozen in their little entryway, so close the door nearly whacked him on the ass as it slammed closed. 

Privately, Wayne cursed his nephew's awful timing.

"What are you doing here?" Eddie challenged back, and it was only years of Wayne knowin’ the kid to see he was struggling to decide how he wanted to react. 

“Uh…” Steve said, trailing off and looking pointedly at Wayne. 

Eddie saw this just as he registered all of Steve’s injuries. “Shit Wayne, did you hit him with your car?” 

“Don’t try to be funny, boy.” Wayne warned. There wasn’t much bite there, and Eddie, far too used to him, didn’t take it seriously.

Eddie was glued to the spot, eyes narrowing, “... Did Harrington hit the car with his fuckin’ face? Jesus christ.” 

Wayne could tell he was struggling to pull one of his usual little bits, eyes too wide and voice too high. 

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Eddie.”

“We can take him out back and shoot him, put the poor bastard out of his misery.” Eddie continued, like a runaway train. 

All gas, no breaks. 

It was a joke but a poor one, and it made Steve straighten out of his sideways slant. 

‘Dammit.’  Wayne thought with a sigh. 

He needed to stop this now, before the two of them went for each other's throats. 

“Since you already know each other I won’t bother with introductions.” Wayne cut in, before Eddie could blow up like a tea kettle--or cause Harrington to do the same. “Steve’s gonna be staying with us for a while.”

That of course, got the reaction Wayne had been hoping to avoid. 

Eddie stood stunned for a second, mouth gaping like a fish. 

“Why!?” He finally landed on, seeming both at a loss for words, and equally trying not to have a proper meltdown in front of Steve. 

Certainly wasn’t for Wayne’s benefit. 

"I'm…" Steve glanced at Wayne a second time, "...on vacation?"

 It took everything Wayne had in him not to run a hand down his face. 

He was going to give Harrington a pass, on account of the head trauma.

"You’re vacationing here.”Eddie’s tone was flat, but seething, like a lit fuse. “In my living room?” 

“...Yeah?” He finished poorly tone up-ticking at the end like it was a question. “It’s a--college thing. Supposed to help my applications.” 

This time, Wayne did run a hand down his face this time. 

God save him from idiot teenagers. 

Hands clenched tight, Eddie took an aborted glance to the right before shaking his head hard and scoffing. At least it let Wayne know exactly what his kid was thinking. 

To Eddie’s right was the counter where Wayne kept the bills. 

Before he realized just how badly Ed’s daddy had messed him up about such things, Wayne hadn’t bothered to hide the bills that were past due. Turns out the kid noticed such things, and worry over money had been the leading factor in more than one of Eddie’s run-ins with Hop.

Clearly, he thought it was the cause of Wayne entertaining this bullshit. 

Offense was written in every rigid line of his body, and Wayne knew betrayal wasn’t gonna be far behind. 

“What the hell Wayne!” Eddie spat, taking a singular step forward, the accent he tried so hard to hide growing thicker the madder he got. “We’re not a damn experiment--why would you agree to that!?” 

He had seconds to salvage this, before Ed’s ran and did something dumb. 

“‘Steve’s here cause I owe Hopper a favor.” Wayne answered honestly, standing to put himself between the two. “He reminded me of all the times he’s been good to you, and then he called it in. Now,” 

He cut Eddie off before his rant could pick up steam and bowl them all over. “I need you both to listen to me. Steve, I need Eddie to know the basics in order to keep you safe. I’ll only tell him what he needs to hear to understand why that is.” 

Steve stared at him for a moment, catching Wayne’s eye as the elder man positioned himself so he could see both boys at once.

“Okay.” Steve said, dropping the hesitant tone for something serious. 

Eddie said nothing, crossing his arms tightly over his chest and gripping the edges of his jacket hard enough to leave creases. 

Judging that as good enough, Wayne continued. “He’s not here on vacation, Ed’s. Hopper has asked us to house Steve for a bit due to an ongoing situation. It’s a dangerous one, and it’s important you do not tell anyone that Steve is here.”

Eddie’s mouth did the thing it did when he desperately wanted to say something, but Wayne held up a finger in the universal “wait.” position. 

“Let me finish.” He warned, and though he caught a hell of a glare for it, Eddie remained silent. 

“Right now I need you to trust me, son.” He said softly, and prayed that alone was enough for now. “I don’t do things without a good reason behind it. I know you know that. Let me get Steve settled, and I’ll come talk to you.” 

He could go in depth a little more, outside of Harrington’s eyesight. There Eddie would be inclined to drop the parts of his personality he put on blast as a defense mechanism, and ideally, Steve could get the sleep he so desperately needed. 

“It’ll be tight, but we’ll all get through this so long as you two keep your heads. “You both got plenty of problems right now on your own, you don’t need to add to it. You understand?”  

Eddie’s eyes narrowed dramatically as he sucked in a deep breath. 

“Fine.” He snarled, letting air hiss through his clenched teeth. “As long as King Dick here can keep himself out of my shit.”

Steve didn’t rise to the bait--or perhaps, was simply too tired to want to do anything but exit the conversation. 

‘Yes Sir.” He said instead, and Wayne didn’t bother correcting him that time. Simply clocked the title as a nervous tick of Steve’s and let himself feel that brief pang of sorrow that he’d caused the kid to backslide a bit trust wise.

No use for it, though.

Not if he wanted peace in his home. 

“Good.” Wayne said. 

Eddie stormed past, beeling towards his room. 

The door closed with an angry slam, the sound echoing throughout the trailer. 

Steve reacted like a puppet with its strings cut, letting out his own breath and going right back to slumping sideways. 

“Come on kid.” Wayne said quietly. “I think it’s beyond time you got to lay down. Let’s get you a shirt and some blankets.”

Steve didn’t say a word, just managed to get himself up and over to the couch, fumbling for his bag. 

“Oh.” He said after a moment, pulling a green sweater from the duffel and blinking dully at it. “Shit--I mean, shoot.” He shot a guilty look to Wayne, like Eddie hadn’t just sworn up a storm in front of them both. 

“What’s the matter?” Wayne just asked. 

“It’s nothing, I just-- grabbed the wrong bag.” Steve told him earnestly. It was clear the day had taken a hard toll on him, because he was blinking rapidly, fighting away sleep. 

A bad sign, given the energy Eddie had just come in with. 

It should be taking him longer to feel safe to drop off, and that he was doin’ so anyway was a bad testament to the state of him. 

“You need a different one?”

Steve shook his head. “No this is just my grab bag for the Upsi-errrm.” He hummed, before falling silent for a minute. 

Wayne let him fish for words at his leisure. 

“These are just clothes that I couldn’t get stains out of, kept them as backups.” Steve managed, before beginning the long process of pulling a shirt on. 

Wayne almost offered to help, except he knew he’d likely be rejected. It was too soon, the trust between them not there yet. 

He almost let the clothing comment go, figured it as  just one of those things the brain did when it was injured and run down. The sweater Steve was struggling with was expensive and soft, and Wayne didn’t even see a stain until the poor kid finally finished getting it on. 

He nearly froze, for the second time that day, when he did.

On one sleeve, smeared like Steve had wiped his face with it, was a bloodstain. 

This one was old, and clearly attempts had been made to get it out. 

‘Aw kid.’ He thought, staring at Steve as the kid managed to swing himself up on the couch, looking seconds away from dropping off. ‘What the hell has life done to you.’

It didn’t take long before sleep took him, but Wayne watched over him for a bit longer anyway, working up to what the hell he was going to tell his kid. 

Eddie might very well not forgive him for this, but Wayne had a shot now to head things off before they got worse. 

He just had to find the right words. 

[hoshigray]

Sit down for this one, alright? How bout a gigolo! Toji, who stumbles upon you? The reader's friends pay for his services to help ease your stress from work, and you begrudgingly have to accept the offer. And when you finally meet him, it's a night that you were not prepared for you, mentally and physically.

A/n: camgirl! reader this, prostitute! reader that; motherfuckers, if you don't slap your favs onto the field right tf now!!?? Gege himself said that Toji is a manwhore for money and women, so you know I'm running with this idea :/ Lol but fr tho, this was a prompt that has been itching me, plus I love making these scenario thingies!! I outta write them for the other JJK men when I have the time (or maybe y'all can send asks *shrugs*). All ik is that this hot dilf bastard would make a fine gigolo, I'd happily be broke ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Cw: gigolo! Toji x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - age difference (reader is at least in their mid/late-20s) - implied that reader isn't a virgin, but does try new things w/ Toji - Daddy kink - fingering (f! receiving) - breast fondling - prone bone + cowgirl/riding positions - scratching (m! receiving) - cervix fucking - pet names (baby, cutie, good girl, mama, princess, sweetheart, sweet thing) - praise - overstimulation - impact play; spanking (1x) - Toji lowkey simping for the cute, shy reader.

Wc: 2.2k

Gioglo! Toji...

...whose been in the field not as long as his hitman occupation, yet it's a side hustle he's good at. Like, extremely good at. His age and rough appearance wouldn't have you guess that he does this sort of thing; however, men and women sigh in heavenly familiarity just from the sheer mention of his name. When you venture deep into the streets, it's no surprise to the average goer that he is [if not one of] the best gigolo in the game. The younger male escorts find it hard to compete with him, but it's pointless going up against a man of his caliber.

...who enjoys the gigs even when going with it for all these years. Money was the only reason he turned to this hustle in the first place, so, surprisingly, he's continued with this for as long as he can. Especially now that he has two kids and is well past his younger prime, he still uses his body on clients who can't get enough of him. And the number of his customers has stayed steadily high (if not increasing by the day) throughout the years.

But who is he to call this lifestyle off? Easy cash all from some good sex? Toji has no complaints about this side hustle.

...who states he has no favorites among his clients. There are the faces he'll remember — his returning loyal customers — and then the faces only there for a quick fuck and never to be seen again. Not that Toji cares about such things at all. As far as he's concerned, he's only in it for the money. So, as long as the cash looks appealing, he doesn't care what he has to do or has to do it with. Besides, you should never mix your personal life with your profession, especially with a heavily explicit and raunchy one such as this. He lived by that motto all those years and will resume doing so. No matter how hard they plea with doe eyes for him to stay longer, he'll just give them what they want; his deep verdant eyes contrasting his raven hair, his titillating smirk on his scarred lips whispering dirty words to their ears, and his muscular body that put them under his spell in the sheets.

Toji swears he has no favorites. So he thought...

...who is a name you weren't familiar with until your friends came to you, and you expressed nothing but sheer horror after they explained. Apparently, as the most stressed and workaholic person in the group, they thought it'd be a good idea to pitch in and schedule you a night with the infamous Toji Fushiguro. You've practically begged them to reconsider, pull back from the deal, bargained, anything! Even so much as calling one of them ("Please, please, please just call this thing off!" "Sorry, Y/n. He already accepted the offer, so we can't get the money back. Plus, you're gonna be in good hands, I promise! I was with him once, and my body was never the same. I saw him the second time and, literally, my puss—" "OKAY, I GET IT, I'M HANGING UP, BYE!!").

Your objections were directed to deaf ears, so to say you were nervous the night of Toji's arrival was far from comprehension. Coming home from work was hard enough throughout the entire week, becoming difficult to stomach day by day when the fateful day came. Because you never had experience with an escort or playboy before — let alone one who's supposedly well-known to your friends and the streets! Blood running cold as you constantly look at the time, your foot thumping on the ground, and your fingers fidgeting as you wait for the stranger listed to take your virginity away. And with the sudden knock on your door, your heart almost lept out from your mouth. Oh, fucking Christ...

...who surveys your entire appearance after you open the door for him. And he takes his time drinking in your pretty figure, your smooth skin, the alluring scent of your floral lotion, and the cami romper that exhibits your shoulders and thighs to his liking. He notes you avert your gaze when his eyes find their way to yours, and he snickers. Already, he knows he'll have fun with this. "Hey, cutie," Toji says, his gruff tone rare to your ears. "Y'r name's Y/n, right? Heard about you from y'r friends, said they wanted me to treat you."

You gulp before replying. "Yes, that's me...Oh! Please come in, Mr. Fushigu—"

"Toji's enough, sweetheart." He corrects you before entering inside, taking his shoes off at the front and entering the living room. "Nice place ya got. Did'ja wanna do this here? Because I was told to take you out somewhere."

You open your mouth to answer, but you meekly retract yourself. Toji notices your quiet display, chewing on your bottom lip while playing with the tied straps of your romper on your shoulder. Damn, so fuckin' cute. He walks up to you and brings a hand to lightly seize your chin with his thumb and forefinger, and you almost want to scream at the older man examining you like some treasure. "Ya nervous?" You give a shy nod. "Aww, y're a cute lil' thing, huh?"

With hot cheeks, you avert your gaze away from him again. Your modesty amused the older man, "Relax, baby. I'm gonna take good care of you, ya hear? If y're feelin' any pain or somethin', be sure to tell me." He has you turn to him again, caressing your cheek with his warm forefinger. Your lips quiver with anxiousness when you give another nod to him. And with that silent confirmation, you've accepted what happens next.

...who enjoys breaking you down as the night goes on. He has you on your bed with your back against his chest, and he does what he can to warm your body up to him. His big hands grope your breasts and tweeze your erect nipples until one slithers down to your drenched panties and forces a finger between your slick-coated folds. Your whimpers seep past your pretty lips, gasps of air exiting your system when the man kisses your neck and sucks on your skin.

"Mmmm, so tight 'round my fingers, mama," his hoarse voice vibrates his chest. You melt while he nibbles on your ear. "Spread them legs wide fr' me." With quivering limbs, you try to do what you're told, and more wails exit your mouth as he pushes his digits to and fro from your leaky chasm.

And the moment he finally has his dick inside you? Oh, Toji relishes the sensation of you around him. Fucking so deep in the prone bone position, he hammers his pelvis to your ass, and his balls smack onto your vulva coated in slick and come. Your moans fuel him to go harder and faster; the sight of you griping the sheets beneath and your ass jolting with every thrust turns him on too much.

"Haaah—Ahhhh!! Toji, oh God," it was your first time ever in this position, and it's so intense and electrifying with how harsh the older man propels himself to you. His cock scraping your most sensitive walls, you had given up concealing your screams long ago. "It's too much for—Mmmph!! 'S too muuuch..."

"Feelin' good there, princess?"

"Nmmph!! Y-Yess," drool starts to pool on the pillow you're resting on, but you're too occupied to feel ashamed of this lewd image you're exhibiting. "Feels so good, so goo—Ohhoooo!!" Your brows trench with eyes sewn shut, and your climax begins to climb quickly. With a choked cry, you come on Toji's dick for the second time that night, tears wetting the pillowcase while your cunt flutters on him as you release.

Regardless, Toji still ruts into you even when you're under a blissful haze, not until he's done with you. "Good girl, cummin' on my dick like that — Nmmph!!" He pulls out of you, spilling his load onto you, covering your asscheeks and lower back.

...who was surprised to see you again after a week, scheduling him with you on another weekend. Not like he had any objections to it, absolutely not. Because when he sees you give him a bashful smile and wave, he can't help but smirk and walk in your direction. "Well, hey, sweet thing." He'd greet and kiss your cheek before wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Liked how I took care of you last time?"

You'd pull your stare to the ground yet give him a curt nod, the older man only finding your interaction adorable. "Uh-huh..." And Toji wastes no time wrapping an arm around your waist and walking with you to the nearest hotel.

And he's even more perplexed to see you two weekends after that...and the other two after that...Gradually, you've become a frequent client of his. That fact alone is enough to have him drop what he's about to do to have availability for you.

...who'd start to find himself slowly attracted to you the more you see him. It wasn't about the money when it came to you. In fact, no one knows you pay him significantly lower than the others. Can you blame him, though? When a doll like you always offers him to stay the night at your play after sex or treat him to meals sometimes, it's hard for the man to not feel some type of way about you. The two of you are aware that this relationship is founded on sex for the sake of your stress relief. Yet as the days go on, it's difficult for Toji to not fall in love and be enamored with your charming and sweet self.

Nevertheless, he'd be lying if he said the sex wasn't good between you two. Because it's quite the opposite, especially as Toji observes how sexually free you become with his visits. Whether it be you scratching on his back while he drills his dick into you, marking his tanned skin of your nails ("Oh, my God! I'm so sorry about that!" You'd apologize profusely, but he'd counter with a chuckle. "It's fine, cutie. It's not the first time I got scratched up by a kitten."). Or whether you'd allow him to convince you to try other positions — like his favorite, the full nelson.

Or, in times like this, when you'd have more confidence than before and ask if you'd ride him. And with a grin, Toji lies back and watches you bounce on his cock. An erotic image that he'd love to keep in his memory for as long as he can.

"Ohhh...Hmmm—Ahhnnn!!" Your cries as you straddle him in a desperate tempo, taking in his girth inch by inch, are music to his ears. The view of your beautiful, sweaty, hot body hopping on his dick is recorded with lustful forest-green eyes. "Ahhhh!! Feels so good, Toji, so—Ahhhh!!!"

"Not so fast there, sweetheart." Toji smacks your bare ass, prompting you to come down and lay your head on his shoulder. You look to see his eyes peer down to your teary ones."What's my name again?"

"Hmmm, sorry, Daddy," you correct yourself, your cunt twitching on his length when the title slips out. "Pleaseeee, forgive me—Eeeiiii!! Oh, Jesus..."

Toji grabs your butt with his hands, propelling them downward to match the jerk of his hips, and the tip of his length makes contact with your cervix. Choked sobs strain out from your throat as he kisses your temple. "Good girl, that's my fuckin' girl..."

Oh, fucking shit! It's coming. It's coming! "Daddy, please, I'm about to cum...Ohhhh, gonna cum—Mmmph!!" The older man silences you with his lips on yours, and you follow suit by wrapping your arms around his neck to deepen the passionate kiss. The motion of your hips goes erratic with his, your orgasm coming up for the both of you with the increased speed. It's there you two succumb to climaxing, the walls of your slit clasping around his cock while he pumps the last of his essence into you. Groans and whimpers are exchanged between clingy mouths.

A wave of calm soon calms the air and your sweaty frames stick together. He resumes kissing you until your sensitive body has had enough, removing your lips from his teasing teeth. "Thank you, Toji. Thank you..."

Even out of breath, his scarred lip uproots to a smirk. "Y're so fuckin' cute, ya know that, mama?"

...who understands he's breaking his own rule when it's just you. It's never good mixing business with personal life. He was in it for the money from the start, and that mentality has done him well throughout the years. Do whatever the clients ask, take the money, and move on. Can't attach yourself to them. Now, he's found himself going against his motto; enjoying his time with you more than any of the others he's been with, looking forward to seeing you again to enjoy having you to himself. Whenever you aren't around him, it's evident that you will cloud his mind until you text or call.

But as he's stated before: as long as their cash in front of him and both parties get what they want, there's no need to have favorites...However, as long it's just you, he'll always be willing to make an exception.

[minnesota-fats]

Watchtower Tech. Danny

Part 2

Part 1

Dick was excited when Bruce asked if he wanted to go back to the watchtower today after school. Of course he said yes, it was so fun the first time he went last week. But unlike last time, the novelty of being up in space wore off quicker than the first time. Because this time, Bruce had to attend a meeting. Dick sat in his own chair—kicking his dangling feet next to Bruce as he talked about some boring thing or another. Dick looked out the window and watched the stars outside, it was those stars that reminded Dick of Danny—the fellow Gothamite who worked below the lower levels of the watchtower. So when a break was finally called, Dick went up to Bruce and tugged on his cape.

“Hey, B,” Dick asked, looking up at the man.

“Yes, Chum,” Bruce grumbled out as he looked over his notes with a furrowed brow.

“Can I go hang out with my bird buddy down stairs?” Dick asked. Bruce looked at him, trying to recall what the words meant which made Dick sigh, “you know, Danny, the guy I met last time.”

“Hmm.” Bruce said, thinking. Dick has only just started to figure out Bruce speak, but he knew that particular ‘Hmm,” in that tone ment Bruce was weighing his options. After a few more seconds Bruce sighed, “go ahead.” He says in his gruff voice.

“Yes!” Dick exclaimed.

But before he could run off Bruce said, “as long as you are not distracting him from his work. If he is too busy, come right back.” Bruce demands.

Dick let out a groan, “fiiiiiine!” He moans before running over to the elevators and pressing the button to go to the lower floors.

The elevator doors opened to what looked like the hustle and bustle of a wearhouse mixed with an auto body shop. Several employees littered the floor, Some at computer stations, others at work tables while some just sat and ate in the corner laughing with others who were on their breaks. Also unlike last time—now having permission to be there—Dick scampered across the floor looking for the familiar black hair of one Danny Nightingale. After surveying the area with no idea where the older man was, Dick decided to go up to a group of workers near the back corner.

“Excuse me?” Dick says through the crushindo of laughter from the men on their break. They don't really seem to notice him, Dick pouted and jumped up onto the table to make himself seen. “Excuse me!” He shouts.

The group pauses and looks up at him with confusion written all over their faces. Dick smiled, “hi, i'm looking for Danny Nightingale. Do you know where he is?” He asked politely.

Several of the workers looked at eachother, some shrugged and laughed. One of the men spoke up, “where did you come from kid?”

Dick tilted his head to the side, “from upstairs?” Dick said like it was obvious. A few workers gave him a look that he couldn’t really decipher.

“And why are you looking for Nightingale?” The man asked with a cocked brow.

“Cuz we’re bird buddies!” Dick exclaimed enthusiastically with a big goofy smile. The men surrounding the table found the statement funny and started laughing, causing Dick to pout. “Can you just tell me where he is,” Dick demands, now getting annoyed.

Another man let out a snort, “sure kid,” he pointed over to a man who was crouched with his back facing the group, with his upper half obscured by the machine. “He’s over there doing something he’s probably not supposed to.”

Dick lifted a brow, “what do you mean, not supposed to?”

“Look kiddo, that kid’s crazy, but clever.” An older man spoke up, “The tech head, Dale, has him on cleanup detail but the kid keeps sticking his nose into things he's not supposed to. Managed to catch a meltdown before it could happen and Dale was furious. He's too scared to bring it up with the higher ups.” The old man smirked, “guy has it out for Nightingale but doesn't want to risk losing his job for letting the rookie fix something while also not wanting to give Danny the credit.”

Dick let out a hum in thought, thinking that there may be a case of abuse of power here. “How come?” He asked the man.

The man smirks, “the kid’s good, knows it too. It pisses Dale off!” He said with a laugh before going back to his chat with the others around him—unaware of the seed he planted in Dick’s mind.

Dick furrowed his brow, he may have to look into this further; maybe if B see’s he solved a case all by himself maybe he could stay out later on patrol! Dick smiled and waved goodbye to the men, despite them no longer paying him any mind, “thank you!” He shouts before running off towards danny.

He walked closer to the man who was half in the machine; a faint humming came from the man as he worked. Dick smirked, he snuck up behind the man, “hey, Bird Buddy!” He shouts, causing the man to jump and hit his head on the roof of the machine. Danny winced and sat back up, rubbing the spot he hit his head. He looks back with furrowed brows, though his expression changed when he saw Dick smiling up at him.

“Oh, hey Birdy, good to see you again.” Danny says with a smile.

“You too, Big Bird.” Dick said, beaming at his own nickname he made for Danny.

“Ha. Good one, kiddo," Danny paused, “actually aren't robins bigger than nightingales?” He asked, putting his hand onto his chin.

Robin mimicked him, “I don't know…. But it makes sense cuz you're bigger than me!” Dick says, explaining his reasoning.

Danny smirks, “got me there, Birdy. You wander off without Batman knowing again?” Danny asked as he grabbed a rag from his belt and began wiping grease off his hands.

“Nope!” Robin exclaims, “B and the others were having a meeting so before it reconvened, I asked if I could come see you. Batman said that I could as long as I wasn't bothering you.”

Danny smiled, “aww, you could never bother me.” He cood.

“So what are you doing?” Robin asked, head tilting to the side as he leaned trying to peek around danny.

“One of the zeta tubes is on the fritz so I thought I would take a look at it.”

“Do you know what's wrong?” Dick asked as he peeked into the open mouth of the machine.

Danny shrugged, “No, technically I'm not supposed to be working on it.” He explained.

“Then why are you working on it?” Dick asked with a raised brow.

“Because I may have a bird name but I'm not a chicken.” He says with a smirk at his own joke. Dick let out a cackle, “the guy who was working on it went on break and left all his tools out. So I took that as an invitation to finish what he started.”

“Won't you get in trouble?” Dick asked, looking around.

“People tend to ignore me here.” Danny says as he turns to look back into the zeta tube control panel that he was tinkering with.

“Why?” Dick asked, he already started making a mental catalog of everything he has heard so far like how Bruce taught him.

“Well, most people applied to this job directly to the Justice League, it's a very sought after job that takes endless amounts of screening to get. Only one in three people get hired. I, however, was scouted out directly from the dark knight himself.” Danny explained, “people think I didn't earn the job like they did.”

“Really?” Dick asked, “but if B went to you directly, that must mean you're good!” He exclaimed.

“Aww, thanks, Birdy,” Danny cood with a smile as he looked back over his shoulder, “I just have had lots of experience since I was a kid.”

“Your parents let you do that?” Dick asked before remembering what Danny said about his parents last time, “sorry….”

Danny paused and looked at Dick with confusion written all over his face before realization dawned on his face, “oh, don't be sorry kiddo, I got over them a long time ago.”

“But—don't you miss them?”

Danny sighed, turning back away from the zeta tube control panel to face Dick fully, “of course I do, they were my parents…. But they made it clear what their decision was…," Danny says looking down slightly. He sighed again, “it was so long ago that it doesn't matter anymore, I still have my big sister at least, and my two best friends. They helped me a lot and are the reason I came so far!” Danny paused, “and that's what really matters, the people who are there for you. Family doesn't always mean blood. Does that make sense?” Danny asked with a tilt of his head.

Dick thought about it, sure, his parents will always be his parents. But they were not his only family. All of Haly's circus was his family, from Zitka the elephant to Waldo the clown to even Mr.Haly himself! They were his family, but that wasn't all. His mind started to fit Bruce and Alfred into his idea of family. Dick smiled up at Danny, “yeah, that makes sense.”

Danny turned away from him, “good,” he says as he grabs a tool from the bag, going back into the mess of wires. “How was your day today, Robin?” He asked.

Dick smiled, “it was good, school was boring though,” He said with a groan as he threw his head back, “English is hard!”

Danny laughed, “I'm right there with ya, bud,” Danny exclames without turning away from what he was working on. “English was never my strongest subject either, but my favorite teacher I ever had was my high school English teacher.”

Dick lifted a brow, “really?” He asked incredulously, thinking about his own English teacher—who wore the same boring suit every day and would always stop Dick in the hall because he was “out of dress code” because of something he added to the uniform to make it look nicer.

Dick could hear the laughter in Danny's tone, “yeah, surprised me too when I realized it. His name was Mr.Lancer, he believed in me when no one else did. AND he cursed in book titles!” Danny exclaimed.

Dick laughed, “really, how?” He asked.

Danny sat back up and put his hands on his hips and exclaimed in a mocking voice, “Lord of the Flies! Mr.f—Nightingale, what are you doing!”

Dick laughed harder before falling onto his back and kicking his feet up in the air. Danny looked over his shoulder and smiled before going back to his work. The two continued to chat as Danny worked, dick talking about how boring his teacher is compared to the stories Danny had of Mr.Lancer. After thirty minutes or so, the familiar yellow light of the zeta-beam began to glow on the control panel.

Danny sat back and laughed, “Ha. Got it!” He exclaimed, proud he managed to figure out the tech.

“Awsome!” Dick exclaimed, jumping up and stretching his legs.

Danny followed suit and stood up, his joints popping in protest as he stretched. Danny looked down at dick and smiled, “cmon, kiddo, let's get out of here before the first guy shows back up!” Danny declares as he puts everything back the way he found it.

Dick laughed and followed Danny like a duckling as the man went and moved on to his next task for the day.

@cannibalisticphantom @stealingyourbones @akikkobara @spookytragedyshark @jaguarthecat @vythika96 @fae-of-the-wild @spikedlynx @cicibunbuns @redhoneysugarorange @nottmuchtopost @rosecinnamonbun

[bangchansgirlsblog]

i was wondering if we could have an argument or really angsty fanfic kind of i nEED to be hurt lolll

Keeping up with the Bhangs

Not the angstiest them all but yeah.

Warning: Angst, fighting, broken arm

Summary: Chan is a billionaire who can’t seem to stop demanding so much from his wife.

Pairing: Chan x reader.

**

"Chan I'm so mad at you," she exclaimed as she walked out their bathroom. It was as big as 4 bathrooms combined but better and more expensive.

She made her way into their walk in closet where Chan continued to put on his tie obviously not bothered by Y/n's rant.

"Baby, can we not do this right now? I have work right now," he put on his shoes and grabbed the jacket that Y/n had neatly ironed for him.

This annoyed her so much because why was he being so dismissive about the situation. He had always listened to her.

"But Chan, you can't just expect me to drop everything I have to come with you later," she crossed her arms together and glared at him as he walked up and down their room now trying to get everything together for the day.

Yes, even tho he was the CEO of one of the biggest companies in the world he still chose to be in time for work so he could be able to set an example.

"Christopher? Are you even listening to me?"

The tension in the room was high.

"I'm not Y/n!" He snapped turning to look at her, "I have work, I have meeting, I have things to do! You having to put on a pretty dress and smiling for one of the biggest events of the year shouldn't have to make me hustle like this. So please," he rubbed his temples and grabbed his phone from the table stand.

His phone was blowing up. Probably all calls from the office or his assistant. God, his assistant. The thought of her made Y/n skin crawl. Anger was  slowly fueling her outburst.

"Chan you know Joon-Ho has soccer all day and you already told me to go to it without you. Then Ji has a play. You want me to drive back home get dressed for a night out?"

The kids were downstairs watching tv while getting ready for their day. Their usual routine set by Y/n who chose to be THAT kind on mum. You know? The pretty, laid back, almond mum? It was working great for the kids.

"God! Why do you have to be so difficult. Fine. I'll just go with my assistant," he didn’t mean it but he was so angry he couldn’t hold back. He knew how much Y/n hated his assistant. How much she got jealous whenever she was around.

She frowns and the anger she initially felt, slowly melted. She couldn’t speak. She was hurt by his words.

"Chan that's not what I mean-"

"Then what? What do you possibly want from me?" He growled, "this conversation is over."

He grabbed his laptop bag and left her to stand there alone. The rising sun sending sun rays through their big windows. Her body slowly shock as each sob left her mouth.

This wasn't there first argument. They had argued the night before about the same thing but this time Chan was really laying it on her.

Chan always tried to understand her. He always listened but recently the more his business became successful the more rough and snappy he became and it wasn't helping her at all because having 3 children and one on the way was heavy.

Yes they had nanny's, yes they had drivers, yes they had maids but she didn't like to bother them. She liked doing things by herself because at the end of the they were her kids. She didn't know what evil intentions these workers had against her or her babies.

**

"Mama!" The voice of her littlest rung through her ear. Her scream making her body completely go numb.

"Soo-min? Babygirl? What happened?!" She gasped finding the little one on the ground holding her wrist.

"Mama!" She cried and jumped into her arms seeking comfort from Y/n.

"Soo-min, you have to tell mama what's wrong," Y/n panicked. How could she be so blind. She turned her back for one second.

"Mama it hurts!" She screamed once again in agony as she still held onto her wrist. Y/n's heart skipping so many beats.

It was only 10 minutes till end of the game. Why did this have to happen to her? Her brain was trying to process the situation. Trying to figure out what to do. The nanny was quick to be by her side trying to help in any possible way.

"Let mama see princess," she begged her little one, "did you fall down?" She questioned the crying girl.

"Mummy, can I go with the girls before the the play?" Ji-Yeon, their middle child, asked her.

"Not right now Ji, your sister’s hand is hurt-" she was shitting it down but a tantrum began. She couldn’t handle everything that was going on at once.

"But mum! You never let me go play! I wish daddy was here instead of you!" This stung. This hurt Y/n. This made her feel like the worst person in the world. Her husband hated her, she couldn't take care of her kids and they hated her. Her mental breakdown was slowly building up.

"Can you behave right now? I can't deal with you bratty attitude right now,"

"I hate you!" She barked back.

"Ji-Yeon. Do not try to tempt me right now or so help me God. Go sit over there and keep quiet or you're grounded."

Although she was in the middle of a tantrum the girl was scared, so scared she got up and made her way to the table where she continued to sulk.

"Soo-min, let mama see okay?" The little girl handed her mum the little hand. Her hand was so tiny that Chan loved to call it a baby paw because of the shape in made when it was in a fist.

Her wrist didn't look okay, it looked broken and that only made Y/n's anxiety grow larger but she kept her cool and continued to carry the little one to the nanny.

"Take her to the car right now, I'll get the rest of the kids. I think she broke her wrist. Please inform Chan to meet us at the hospital," the nanny agreed and slowly carried the crying girl.

Y/n rushed over to the coach and teacher to apologize for her abrupt leave. She explained to them the situation and told them that their other driver and nanny would be there to pick up her oldest son. She made sure security was with him before kissing him goodbye as he continued to play on with his game.

**

It was 6:30 when Chan run through the door. He was panicking and his tie was loosened around his neck.

"Is she okay? What happened?" His breathing was quick but his body relaxed once he saw his wife.

"How could you let this happen Y/n?" He barked at her.

"I was just trying to collect everything so-"

"She's a kid! A 4 year old. You guys should be paying close attention to her. Where's the nanny? Tell her she's fired, I can't believe you right now,"

"Are you fucking kidding me right now? Who takes care of the kids on a daily? Me! Who goes for all their shows and their sports events? Me! Who's there to pick up the pieces whenever you leave home? Me! So don't you dare come in here and say it's my fault Chan," hot tears poured from her eyes and she glared at him. He was taken back. Everyone in the room was.

“I’m not saying it’s your fault…” he looked at the floor. Regret was eating him alive.

"I want a divorce Chan." Chan didn't allow her to even get the chance to walk away before he grabbed her hand and dragged her to the private hospital lounge. He wasn't going to have this conversation out there where nurses and doctors were watching.

Just like the kpop world worked, the Korean business world worked the same. Dispatch and everyone was ready for the biggest millionaires to crash and fall. Everyone was waiting for the latest scandal or drama and this was not going to look good for him.

"What do you mean you want a divorce?" He asked in disbelief. Her brain felt foggy and she felt exhausted.

"Chan, we're always fighting. You treat me like shit. You barely listen to me. You think I'm some baby making machine. All you care about is our image!" She exclaimed gasping for air, "I wish you never became rich, I want the old you back,"

His hands wrapped around her instantly. No hesitation. Her scent filled his nostrils and his body automatically relaxed. De ja vu was hitting him hard.

"I'm sorry," was all he could say. "Let me fix this, please my love?"

"C-Chan I can't. I can't do this anymore," she cried harder. A panic attack slowly passing by.

"Shhh, hey? Look at me. We're okay. I will fix this. I love you so much." He whispered while leaving kisses on her forehead.

"Can we finish up from the hospital and talk at home? Please my love,"

"Fine," she sighed, "but I'll go use the bathroom to wash up."

So she did, she washed her face and made her way to their daughters room where she found Chan goofing around with Soo-min. The poor little girl was so intrigued by her father that she forgot all about the bandaid they were wrapping her up with.

"Mum, are we still going to my play?" She asked softly. Y/n had totally forgot. How could she forget?

"Yes my love, let me talk to your dad really quickly, go get your bag," she giggled and quickly grabbed her bag, "can we stop by Yoona's house mama?"

"Yes princess, we can but only if you behave," the little girl smiled and quickly sat in the chair waiting for her mum to finish having a conversation with her dad.

"Chan, I have to take Ji-Yeon for her play, I totally forgot. Can you finish up here? I'll meet you at the house in like 2 hours,"

"Yeah sure, are you sure you wanna go for the play? You don't look too good love, I can go instead..."

"'No, I've got it. Once your finished up here, I called the chef to cook her some soup. Just feed it to her and then put her to sleep," she instructed Chan, "also make sure when you warm her bottle it's room temperature, she doesn't like it too hot or too cold. Also when you put her in bed you have to cuddle her Chan only for 5 minutes and she'll be out like a light."

Chan admired her as she wrote down the instructions down on the paper. Watching her be so controlling and being such a good mother was low key turning him on.

"Babe, we will be okay. I've done this before-"

"Yeah like 3 years ago before you became mr boss man," she teased her and quickly gave Soo-min a kiss on the cheek.

"Mummy loves you princess, I'll see you in a bit," the little girl waved at her mum and continued to admire the pink plaster that wrapped around her hand.

[sometimesanalice]

Like I Can (Part 1)

Summary: After yet another bad date and tired of swiping on apps, the Dagger Squad steps in to help you out by setting you up on a series of blind dates. Much to Rooster’s dismay.

Warnings: fuff, slight angst. Minors DNI

Length: 3.2K

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

Part 2

(We’re kicking of Valentine’s Day a bit early❣️ Enjoy!)

“I’m all for growing the sport, but Brady buying an MLP team is ruining the integrity of the league. He may be the GOAT of football, but he has nothing on Ben John’s world-class pickleball game,” your date Max passionately states from his spot across from you at the Italian place he had recommended.

Or was his name Mac?

He’d already told you all about the CRBN paddle drama. At this point, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had already prepared a PowerPoint presentation on the topic complete with transitions and color-coded charts. He seems the type.

And he had yet to ask you a single question about yourself all evening.

You can tell he is gearing up for the next part of his rant, when your phone lights up on the table, the ringer on higher than you realized.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I thought I had this on silent. It’s my mom, I should probably take this,” you apologize to him, your phone already halfway raised to your ear.

“Hey, kid, how’s it going?”

“Hi Mom, I’m with someone right now. Is everything ok?” You let a little worry tinge the tone of your voice.

“Seriously?” Rooster drolly rasps on the other end of the line, “Are we actually doing this?”

“Oh no! Is she alright?” You wouldn’t consider yourself actress, but you think you’re really selling the performance with the way you widen your eyes and how you make your voice go a little tighter and higher.

“Yup, seems like we’re really doing this. What’s it this time, kid? Did grandma slip on a banana peel and then get run over by a reindeer?” You can practically feel his eyes rolling as he begrudgingly goes along with you.

“Oh my goodness, that sounds serious! How would that even happen?” you ask, shaking your head in in faux shock determined to really sell the act.

“Is everything ok?” Max-Mac whispers to you from across the table. 

His profile didn’t raise any red flags when you’d swiped on him. If anything, he’d seemed a bit more of the beige flag type. Your chats had been fine, he seemed fine, so why not meet up for a date?

What you didn’t realize until it was too late was that “Sports Enthusiast” actually translated to “Pickleball Fanatic”.

“Hold on, Mom,” you hear Rooster scoff as you pull the phone away from your ear. “I’m so sorry, there’s been a family emergency. It’s my grandmother. I really need to go,” you announce to Mac-Max grabbing your purse from the back of the chair. “Thank you so much for understanding. And good luck at your pickleball tournament!” you call back to him as you hustle towards the front door.

“I take it you’ve made your escape?” You can hear the humor in his voice, your antics are nothing new to him.

“Oh my god, was that seriously only thirty minutes? He wouldn’t stop talking about pickleball, Rooster. Anytime I tried to change the subject, he found a way to circle right back to it!” You tell him as you attempt to dig your keys out from where they were buried in your bag. “And then, he pulled up the leg of his jeans and said, I kid you not: ‘Don’t worry, this isn’t an ankle monitor, I’m just wearing my ankle weights.’ Who does that?”

“Just come to the Hard Deck. You should have canceled like I told you to in the first place. Bob and Coyote got back the other day, so everyone’s here. Well, almost everyone,” he says pointedly. “We’re more fun anyways. And Hangman has been harassing me about you, something about your fluke of a win?”

You’d kicked Jake’s ass the last time you played darts with him. Although in his defense, he had been pretty drunk that night and it was a less than fair game since Phoenix would distract him while Fanboy moved your darts on the board.

You wouldn’t be challenging him to a rematch anytime soon. Not unless the odds were in your favor, it was better to keep him on his toes and his ego in check.

Thankful for the princess parking you managed to snag when you first arrived, you unlock your car and toss your bag into the passenger seat before climbing in. Breathing out a sigh of relief to be done with Mac-Max once inside.

“You back in your car yet?” Rooster asked. He was such a worrier, but you can’t say it bothered you. You liked knowing he cared.

“Yeah, just got in.”

“Ok good, see you in a few. Drive safe, kid.”

Thirty minutes later Natasha was sliding a cold, frothy pint in front of you with a sympathetic look.

It wasn’t too busy at the Hard Deck yet, but it was still early in the evening. You knew it would pick up soon, and before long Penny would be ringing her bell on some rowdy unsuspecting customer.

“Ankle weights?” She asked, trying and failing to keep from laughing at your expense.

“Seriously, Rooster?” you shoot a glare in his direction, “Where’s the loyalty?”

“What? She was right there when I called you. A request that was your idea, if you remember,” he said as he walked up to you, squeezing your shoulder before sliding his arm around you in greeting. “Plus, it’s not like you don’t already tell Phoenix about all your escapades. You really know how to pick ‘em, kid.”

You’ve known Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw since before you had braces back when you were still wearing your hair in two braids. Your moms had been on the school PTA together at the time and had hit it off immediately.

He hadn’t been too happy about being forced to hang out with the kid who was couple years younger than him, especially one who was so clearly enamored with the cute older boy. While you’d outgrown that phase, for the most part, somethings stuck- like the nickname. 

And over the years you’d formed your own bond outside of the forced proximity of your mothers’ friendship.

He’d taught you how to throw a punch, the different ways to pitch a baseball, and to drive a stick shift. You’d taught him how to whistle with his fingers, to play Nerts, and to tie a tie (after asking your dad to teach you).

The give and take was easy with him, you both showed up for the other.

You were there the night he drunkenly fell through the glass patio door at Jason Cameron’s homecoming party. As one of the only sober people there since he wouldn’t let you drink, or let anyone else give you alcohol for that matter, you were the one to take him to the ER. “Don’t worry, kid,” he had slurred, pressing the Washington High t-shirt that you’d found in your trunk to his face to stop the bleeding, “Looks s’worse than it feels.” And you were the one to stay with him as he was stitched up. The evidence of that night still unmistakable on his face.

He was there for you when your parents had sat you down and told you they were getting a divorce. A hurricane of angst and grief, you hadn’t left your room for anything other than school for over a week when he’d let himself in your room one afternoon. Rubbing small circles on your back as he’d let you cry for a bit, he didn’t even tease you about the stains you’d left behind on his shirt. And then he’d herded you into his crappy car and drove you to the slightly sketchy amusement park an hour away with the Tilt-A-Whirl and the giant corndogs. And when he’d told you “It’s going to be ok, kid” on the ride back home, you believed him.

You had been there for him when his mom passed, and all during that dark period after when he was set on self-destruction after his fallout with Maverick. While he had tried to push everyone away, you were always the type to hold on tightly to the people that mattered.

And then life had sent you on different directions. First when he went to college and then when you did. Next for him the Navy, and then you with your own career, both of you always in motion. You two shared a connection the way people with a long history do, the kind where you could go months without talking but knowing the other person is always right there if you need them. Your camaraderie sustained by texts, email, and the occasional FaceTime.

A long-distance friendship for over a decade.

So when your boss had approached you about a promotion that was dependent on you relocating to the West Coast, you thanked whatever kismet in the universe had you packing for San Diego where he was permanently stationed.

The break up with your boyfriend at the time was entirely too amicable considering how long you had been together. He was nice, the sex was nice, your life together was nice. You had all but signed the paperwork for your promotion when you told him, but he didn’t see himself as a west-coaster and you couldn’t envision yourself as anything but. Whether you had stayed together all that time out of convenience or complacency, you still couldn’t say.

It was easy to fall back into the comfort of your friendship with Rooster. Although the lanky teen you had known was replaced with a mustache sporting well-built man courtesy of the Navy. One that had left you feeling confusingly flustered on more than one occasion, and forced to cycle through your mental highlight reel of embarrassing teen Rooster moments to keep from your mind from wandering.

He’d helped you find your apartment, taught you about avoiding the 15 Northbound, and showed you where the best place in town to get tacos was. The transition was made easy with him by your side as he introduced you to his team members who quickly folded you into their group as one of their own.

That was a little over a year ago. You liked this new life of yours in San Diego.

And while the dating pool of men you could swipe through was much larger, well, some things never changed.

“You don’t get it, Rooster. You’re surrounded by absurdly hot Naval eye candy all day,” you complained gesturing to Natasha, she raised her beer to you as thanks in response. “While you’re getting women throwing themselves at you because of the gold wings, I’m fighting for my life on these stupid apps where all the men on there are posing with fish. It’s brutal!”

You’d need to officially call things off with Max-Mac later, thinking to yourself how glad you were that you never gave him your real number, and instead signing up for a Google voice number. You were just not cut out for the competitive pickleball lifestyle.

“Bradshaw, why don’t you set her up? It’s not like we don’t know enough people who would be better options than these fish men,” Natasha asked, like it was the most logical thing in the world, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, Bradshaw. Tell Nat your super logical reasons for leaving your longtime friend to fend for herself.” You knew where this was heading, so you took a long swig of the beer Phoenix had brought you.

“Seriously, not this again.” His arm that was around you was removed in favor for pinching the bridge of his nose and looking up to the ceiling like it would spare him from the conversation.

“You started it, now tell her.”

“I need another damn drink if we’re going to do this,” Rooster mumbled.

“Me too,” chimed Natasha, clearly reveling in his misery.

“Make that three. I need to catch up.” You hadn’t even stuck around long enough to get a drink at the restaurant, and now you were ready to let loose a bit.

He grunts out some unintelligible thing and then stalks off to the bar shaking his head.

“I’m an upstanding citizen, I pay my taxes, I make a mean peanut butter brownie, and I always drive him around when the Bronco is in the shop for a tune up. It’s literally the least he could do,” you say to Phoenix as you watch him chat with Penny as she works to grab the fresh bottles.

“Oh, so this is thing,” Natasha says decidedly when she eyes the six beers he’s carrying back to the table, three bottles held by the neck in each of his large hands. His classic Hawaiian shirt fluttering with every step, your eyes briefly drifting down to his defined waist.

“Sure is,” you confirm, drawing out the word. Downing the rest of the beer from your pint glass before reaching for one of the new bottles Rooster was divvying out amongst your trio, “I’ve never asked him for anything-”

“That is a boldfaced lie. And you know it,” he cuts in, as he hands you a granola bar from his pocket, that he must have snagged from Penny. “You definitely asked me to set you up with Kyle Cooke from my baseball team in high school. I didn’t do it then, and I’m not doing it now,” he declared, pointing at you with an accusatory finger to further drive the statement home.

“Reasons being?” Natasha wheedled, a mischievous smirk on her face. You could tell she was eating this up, there were two things Natasha Trace loved most in this world: juicy gossip and giving Rooster a hard time.  

Ever the showman, he dramatically lifts up a finger, “First of all, everyone I know is an asshole.”

“I am offended on Bob’s behalf,” you countered, unwrapping the bar and taking a bite, annoyed. Hangman might fit the description, but certainly not Bob.

“Two,” he continues on, raising a second finger, and ignoring you completely as if you hadn’t just made a very valid point, “Let’s say I set you with a friend and then you end up hating them. Then you’ll judge me for being friends with them, we’ll argue, and eventually we won’t be friends anymore. Or even worse, I set you up with someone, you hit it off and date for a while. What happens when you break up? I’m left having to pick sides and walk on eggshells around you guys about the other person.”

“God, you’re such a overthinker. That all sounds totally rational, you drama queen,” you look to Phoenix for agreement, but she’s busy typing out a text message on her phone.

“And three, it’s messy as fuck. And I don’t need to hear about your trophy of a one-night stand.”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes, “That was one time! It wasn’t a trophy it was a gold medal.”

“Wait, what?” Confusion coloring Natasha’s features. 

“One time this guy gave me one of those plastic gold medal things on a lanyard, kind of like the ones they give out at kids soccer games, after we hooked up. I mean, kicked him out right away, but I did keep the medal. It was a good confidence boost,” you shrug.  It wasn’t exactly a high point moment for you.

After that encounter you’d definitely started scrutinizing every profile a bit harder before swiping right, or at least you thought you had been. In your defense, at least Max-Mac’s profile didn’t have a fish photo, but the bar was still clearly on the ground.

“I knew you when you wore those shirts with that big mouthed monkey on them. And that’s the kind of shit I don’t need to know about. I don’t wanna be involved. Not gonna happen, kid,” his declaration resolute.

“Well, that sure is something, Bradshaw,” Natasha states, giving him a curious look.

“What are y’all over here discussing so intently,” Hangman questions as he saddles up to your little group, tucking his phone into his pocket. 

“We were just getting into the finer details of the kid’s dating life and how I am going to fix it by setting her up with this great guy I know,” she pronounces, looking all too pleased with herself. A truly self-satisfied grin gracing her face.

Natasha Trace was probably the most bad ass person you’ve ever met, so the idea of her setting you up with someone had you sitting up straighter on the stool you were seated on, “Really?”

“Who?” Rooster demands, frowning at her.

“Yeah, I mean Bradshaw clearly has his convictions, and I respect that. However, I’m an excellent wing-woman. Seriously, I don’t know why I haven’t thought about introducing you guys before. You two would be perfect together.”

Hangman never one to miss an opportunity to rile up Rooster is quick to jump in, “Just because you fly in a two-seater doesn’t make you a good wing-woman, Phoenix. However, now that you mention it, I have a buddy who might knock your socks off. Unless you’d rather just knock boots, I’m sure he’d be up for whatever you wanted,” he shooting you a wink. “I think I’ll toss my name in the ring here too. After all, I’m very good.”

“You want to make it a bet, Bagman?” Her accent always got a little more pronounced when she went toe to toe with him.

“What’re you thinkin’, Darlin’?” he drawls suggestively with a sharp smile. That ever-present toothpick being rolled in his mouth from side to side.

“You guys are not going to be making bets around the kid’s love life,” Rooster snaps.

“The big dogs are talking, Bradshaw,” Hangman taunts as he waves him off.  

“$50 entry? The dates happen here and at the end the kid picks which date was the best. Winner takes all?” You can see the competitive gleam in her eye.

“Alright, alright. Works for me, Phoenix. I can’t wait to take your money.”

“The hell you are,” Rooster barks, still trying to regain control of the quickly spiraling situation.

Well, this had certainly taken a turn.

You find yourself reaching for your third beer of the night.

And you’re even more surprised when Hangman hollers for the rest of the team to join, and before you know it your dating life takes centerstage as the subject of the bet between the group of competitive naval aviators. Many of the others deciding to join in, never ones to shy away from a bit of rivalry.  

“What do you say? You up for it?” Natasha asks, wanting to make sure you were still on board now that her original offer had taken on a life of its own.

You look over and see Rooster looking at you like you’d be crazy to get involved in their kind of chaos. You know he can already tell what your answer will be.

“Why not?” you agree cheerily as he groans into his beer.

At least you would be spared from swiping for a while. It’s what you deserve, you are an upstanding citizen after all.

Get ready for some dates! Part 2

Written as part of @roosterforme’s #Love Is In The Air TGM Fic Challenge! 

Song Inspiration Sam Smith’s “Like I Can”.

Thank you Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for letting me bounce ideas off of you!

Edit: I’ve started a tag list for Part 2! Just let me know if you’d like to be added!

[roosterforme]

Batting Practice Part 31 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Nothing melts Bradley's heart quite like Everett's excitement for his upcoming adoption. While the three of you count down to the big day, there are unexpected houseguests to deal with and neverending happiness to absorb. 

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swearing, smut

Length: 5200 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

"Mom! Dad!" Everett shouted, running up the sidewalk when Molly arrived to drop him off at home on Monday evening. "Aunt Molly said I'm getting a baby cousin in March!"

Bradley watched as Molly hustled along the sidewalk behind Everett, and he went to meet her to get his soon to be son's overnight bag. "Thanks for watching him for the weekend," Bradley said, looping the bag over his shoulder while he thought about how sexy you'd looked in Palm Springs wearing your collar and leash. Then he glanced at where you were giving Everett a big hug on the front porch, and he thought about how hot you were even in full mom mode.

"We had fun," Molly said, stifling a yawn. "Bob took him on a hike, and then we did math problems with gummy bears. He's all ready to start second grade." Then she grinned at Bradley and said, "You owe me one for packing your wife's weekend bag with you in mind."

Bradley grunted, cracking his knuckles to try to keep his composure. Only about two more hours until Everett was in bed for the night and he could have his Kitten all to himself. "Yeah, I definitely owe you one."

Molly clasped her hands in front of her baby bump, clearly very pleased that he had enjoyed his wedding gift. Then she bent to kiss Everett and tell him goodbye. "I'll call you after your first day of school tomorrow, Ev. Love you."

"Bye, Aunt Molly!" Everett waved as Bradley's sister-in-law drove away.

Bradley scooped Everett up in his arms and followed you inside. While he had enjoyed the two nights away with you immensely, he missed Ev's laugh and his smile so much. "Pancakes for dinner? And then I'll show you the baseball jersey we got for you in Palm Springs?"

"Yes!" Everett cheered. And then as he helped Bradley mix some chocolate chips into the pancake batter with a spoon, he asked, "Did you adopt me yet?"

"Oh," Bradley grunted, pausing to really look at Ev. Wide, sincere eyes looked back up at him. He thought back to the very first day of tee ball, remembering just how much he really liked talking to Everett right from the start. How he only grew to appreciate him more and more. And he let himself feel all of the overwhelming love right now that he had for this kid. "I wish, Ev. Your mom has to call some people first, and make a few appointments. It might take a few weeks." Bradley didn't want to tell him that it might be next year before anything was finalized.

"Okay," he replied, and his shoulders slumped with dejection. "But I thought it would be cool to tell everyone at school tomorrow that I got a dad over the summer."

Bradley wrapped him in a hug and just held him for a few seconds. "You can still tell them that. I'm your dad, for sure, kiddo. It doesn't matter if it's not official yet."

"Okay," Everett whispered against Bradley's chest. "But when can I write my name is Everett Bradshaw?"

Anything. Anything in the world. Bradley would do anything for this kid. As he held him and thought about how much his life had changed, he figured the fact that he would do whatever it took to make Everett feel happy and loved was enough to make him a good dad. He'd learn all the other details over time. He would probably make more mistakes and inadvertently teach Ev more bad words. But he would do anything for him.

Bradley kissed the top of his head. "Not quite yet. But you know what? You and your mom can probably both start using Bradshaw for your last name around the same time, so that's good, right?" he asked, his voice not much more than a harsh whisper. Everett hugged him tighter, and Bradley didn't ever want to let go, because he found as much comfort in these hugs as Ev seemed to.

And then that was when you walked into the kitchen to find Bradley with tears in his eyes as Everett clung to him.

"I thought we were trying on our new jerseys?" you asked, and Bradley pulled you into the hug as well. 

He smothered your face in kisses before he said, "That's for after dinner. And then we're gonna pack Ev's bag for school and watch Toy Story. But first just let me hold you both."

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

The next day was pure chaos. Everett begged Bradley to drop him off at school on his way to North Island, and on your way to work, you answered your phone when you saw that Molly was calling. She was crying.

"What's wrong?" you asked her, trying to navigate your way through traffic, thinking you may have to turn around and head to her condo. 

"Bob's being deployed," she sobbed, and your heart clenched. 

"When?"

"In a few weeks," she said, sniffling into the phone. "I can't do this without him."

You assumed she meant she couldn't handle her pregnancy on her own, but when you tried to ask, she just cried louder. You could barely understand what she was saying, and you already knew you were going to have to have a conversation with Bradley about having her stay at your house. 

"Molly, it's going to be okay. You'll be great, and I'll be around to help you. And so will Bradley."

She laughed through her tears. "My turd-in-law likes me now, because I didn't pack any real clothing for your honeymoon."

You rolled your eyes. "He has always liked you. I think that just made him like you more. Let me call you back later tonight?"

"Okay." Molly's voice was soft and small as you ended the call, and you hated hearing her like that. But you had other important things to take care of. 

As you parked your car and made your way into your office, you rolled your eyes at Frank. You had bigger things to deal with than him. Once you were settled at your desk, you debated with yourself about which phone call to make first: Danny or your lawyer. You decided on Danny, and when he answered after seven rings with a groggy hello, you got right to the point.

"Any chance you were planning on responding to the petition I sent you for child support?"

You could practically hear him rolling his eyes, and now you were thankful you caught him first thing in the morning. "I have one hundred and twenty days to comply. And that's according to my expensive lawyer that you're forcing me to pay for. I hope you realize that this would mean there's less money for Everett."

Now you were the one rolling your eyes. "It's already been months, Danny."

"I have one hundred and twenty days," he reiterated, practically snarling at you through the phone. "You'll hear more about it when I'm good and ready. I still can't believe you're trying to destroy my life like this. You weren't money hungry prior to a few months ago. And I could still have that tee ball boyfriend of yours charged for entering my home without permission."

"He's my husband now," you said, keeping your voice as steady as possible. 

"Good for you," he replied with a sarcastic chuckle. 

"You're right. It's very good for me," you said, raising your voice over his horrible laughter. "I was just calling to let you know that you're about to be served with some papers that will negate the child support petition. And if you don't comply with what I want, I'll drag you through the legal system until you're out of money."

The line went silent, and you had to bite your tongue, forcing him to be the first one to speak again. "What the fuck do you want?" 

You took a deep breath and thought about your husband and your son and your sister and how much love was in your life now. "I would like to give you exactly what you hoped for: nothing. I can remove Everett and myself from your life completely if you agree to do something for me."

After another long pause, Danny said, "Name your terms."

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

Bradley was anxious to learn how your conversation with your lawyer had gone. But when he got home, it was just you there in your little black skirt and high heels, standing in the kitchen sipping a bottle of tequila. 

"Whoa," he said, rushing toward you and taking the bottle out of your hand. But you were smiling. 

"I was going to make us some margaritas, but I got carried away," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him. Bradley tasted the tang of the liquor on your lips and tongue. 

"Does this mean you have good news, Kitten?" He was holding you tight to him, forehead pressed to yours as he waited, hoping to hear what would make him happier than anything else right now. 

"What are you doing eight weeks from today?" you asked, raking your fingers gently along his scalp. 

"Baby, if you don't tell me right now that I get to adopt Ev in eight weeks, I'm going to cry."

You smiled and pressed your lips to his. "You get to adopt Ev eight weeks from today. We have the date set at the courthouse."

"How?" he asked as his eyes filled with tears. "How did I get this lucky? In less than a week, I got myself a wife and a court date!"

He wasn't sure how he could be this happy and also be crying so much. But when you told him that you got Danny to agree to your terms, he had to wipe away his tears even though he was smiling. 

"Where's Ev now?" he asked, kissing along your neck, overcome with so much relief.

"Molly picked him up from school. She's going to bring him home after dinner."

"So, we're alone?" he asked, smiling against the curve of your jaw and hiking up your skirt. "We're alone. Until I invite Molly to come stay with us while Bob is deployed."

Bradley's hand's froze on the bare backs of your thighs. "I'm sorry, what?"

You kissed and nipped at his lips, but he pulled a few inches away from you. "Bob is being deployed."

"Yeah," he replied. "I got that part."

You rolled your eyes and started to unzip his flight suit. "And Molly is going to be lonely and overwhelmed, and I think she might want to come here for a few weeks."

Bradley groaned. "You can't follow up the good news about Everett with this devastating announcement, Kitten."

"Bradley!" you scolded, playfully smacking his chest as he yanked your skirt up until he was palming your ass. 

"All I'm saying is that Molly is like this annoying little sister that I never wanted, and even though I do love her, she's going to cramp our style, Baby."

"How so?" you asked, easing your hand down the front of his flight suit and stroking his cock. 

"She'll have to sleep in the Phillies room," he whispered. "You know that's where we've been having our quickies."

"Hmm, you're right about that, Coach. Think I could change your mind with a blowjob?"

Bradley grunted and thrust against your hand. He tilted your chin up and kissed you. "Your lips on my cock could get me to agree to anything, and you know it."

You nodded at him with all the confidence in the world before you sank to your knees.

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

Spending several weeks waiting was not ideal. Everett was asking nearly every day if it was almost November yet. Now it was barely October, but the three of you had gotten into a routine. Bradley made breakfast every morning while you packed lunches. Then he dropped Everett off at school, and you went to work a little early. When you picked Everett up from school, most days it was just so he could rush through his homework and dinner and spend an hour or two at the park playing and practicing baseball with Bradley. 

Your husband was true to his promises. And he seemed to like practicing baseball as much as Everett did. When you joined them one day, the October air was cool enough to trick you into believing you could be somewhere besides southern California. And Everett was hitting Bradley's pitches so hard, it was unbelievable. 

"I thought you were the famous Bradshaw?" you called out, teasing Bradley before he threw a pitch. "Don't you pitch for the Navy league? That second grader is kicking your butt."

He glared at you out of the corner of his eye and then dropped his ball and glove and chased you until he caught you in his arms. Your laughter was so loud as he kissed you and tickled you, and you tried to get away, but he was too strong. 

"I take it back! I take it back!" you gasped, out of breath from laughing. "You're amazing! The best pitcher I've ever seen."

He conceded by hugging you from behind instead of tickling you. Then he whispered, "I'm not even kidding, Kitten, he's so fucking good at baseball." Then he kissed you one last time and returned to pitch a slider to Everett who looked permanently happy these days. And when he hit the pitch easily, you realized you were permanently happy, too.

But that night, you had to deal with the thing you knew was coming at some point. It was late, and you were in bed with Bradley's mouth on your pussy. You were close, so so so close. But your phone kept ringing softly on your nightstand, and you could tell it was Molly by the ringtone. 

"Don't answer it," Bradley grunted, licking a long stripe from your opening to your clit. "You can call her back when I'm done with you."

So you laced your fingers through his pretty curls and rode his face, whining his name as your phone started ringing again. Bradley slowed down his tempo, just like he knew you needed, and when he wrapped his lips around your clit, that prickle of his mustache on your sensitive skin sent you. He squeezed your thighs as you planted your feet, and you came so hard, you were seeing stars. Your knee was shaking. He was unrelenting. Your vision blurred every time you blinked, but a beat later, Bradley's body was wrenched away from yours, and he was out the bedroom door and at the top of the steps with a baseball bat in his hand. 

Then you heard Molly's soft voice calling up from the bottom of the stairs. "I'm sorry. It's just me."

You tried to scramble for your clothing, but you realized Bradley had undressed you over by the bathroom. And then you realized that he was standing there in his snug underwear with a massive erection, holding the bat like he was about to take someone's head off with it. He must have heard Molly let herself in the house. 

As you located your clothing on the floor, Bradley lowered the bat, nodded and said, "Your sister's here."

"Thanks," you told him, yanking your panties on and slipping into his undershirt. You kissed him quickly as you rushed down the stairs and into the living room where she was standing with a tote bag and a bouquet of those hideous flowers she liked so much. She was crying softly. 

"I can't," she whispered, and you wrapped your arms around her. "I can't stay there alone another night. I hate being away from Bob. You know what he did? He got the guy from the gas station to deliver the flowers to me today, because it's the six month anniversary of the first time he said he loved me."

"Oh, Molly," you whispered, kissing her forehead. 

"He set this shit up before he left!" she wailed. "I don't even know what he's doing today, because I haven't talked to him in a week. A week! And now I interrupted you having sex, and I can tell Bradley's mad at me."

You held her close. "He's not mad at you, Molly. He just thought you were a burglar or something."

"I'm sorry," she moaned, holding the flowers out to the side so they didn't get crushed. Her belly felt like it had gotten bigger since the last time you saw her, and you patted her there which made her smile. 

"Stop apologizing. You can stay with us until Bob gets back." You really should have run that past Bradley before you made such a bold declaration, but you knew he wouldn't fuss too much. Probably. So you coaxed Molly into letting you put the flowers in a vase in the kitchen, and then you led her upstairs to where Bradley was wearing a full set of pajamas and brushing his teeth in your bathroom. 

"Coach?" you called out to him softly, and he made eye contact with you in the mirror. "She's going to stay with us." You weren't really asking, and he didn't look upset. He just nodded and then spit out the toothpaste.

"I figured," he said, rinsing his mouth and drying his hands. He kissed you and pulled you in for a hug before adding, "I'll go sleep in the Phillies room for the night. Just tonight. That way you can talk to her so she can fall asleep. But after tomorrow morning, it's all red and white and the letter P everywhere for your sister. I don't fucking care how much she misses Bob. Got it?"

"Got it," you told him with a smile. "You're the best husband in the world."

"I know," he said with a grumble, but he was smiling too. And when he passed Molly in the hallway, she was still holding one of the flowers. He kissed her on the forehead without saying anything else, and then he walked into the Phillies room as Molly climbed in bed with you.

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

Everett was up so early on Halloween, Bradley needed to drink two cups of coffee just to keep up with him. "If you're this excited now, I don't know if it's a good idea for you to be collecting copious amounts of candy later." He raised the mug to his lips again as you and Molly walked into the kitchen. 

The three of you watched Everett bounce over to the white board on the refrigerator and update it to say that there were just ten days left until his adoption. That meant that Bob would be home in nine days. That also meant that Molly would be out of here in nine days or less, and that did indeed bring a smile to Bradley's face. 

It wasn't that he didn't like Molly. He actually loved her. Everett was obsessed with his Aunt Molly, and she loved spending time with him. She was fun and witty, and it brought Bradley joy to pick on her. But she was also messy, and she was eating all of their food, and he couldn't walk around in his underwear as much as he had gotten used to. 

But last night, she'd happily taken Everett out for dinner and to the movies for a few hours with Bradley's credit card. And you'd worn your collar and leash for him along with your cat ears and tail, and holy shit, he needed to stop thinking about it right now.

"Morning, Kitten," he grunted as he poured you some coffee. 

"Ten more days!" Everett shouted.

"Nine more days!" Molly shouted.

But you bit your lip and pulled a piece of mail out of the tray on the counter. "I thought it would be more fun to open this when we were all together," you said, tearing into the envelope and holding up your new social security card. "But I'm officially a Bradshaw."

"Yes!" Bradley whooped, hoisting you up into his arms as you squealed. Molly and Ev did an obnoxious dance across the kitchen as Bradley kissed your neck and ear while you chanted Bradshaw, Bradshaw.

"Everett will be next! I'm buying us one of those stupid flags people hang from their porch with their last name on it, I don't even care," you said as Bradley set you down, and his lips found yours.

"I love you, Kitten."

That evening, as the four of you got ready to go trick-or-treating, Bradley pulled on his Navy Waves uniform and then buttoned you into one of his Phillies jerseys.

"You'll have to borrow this until we can get you some Phillies gear of your own, Mrs. Bradshaw. Don't spill anything on this one," he muttered. "It's vintage."

You rolled your eyes so hard and then said, "No eating chocolate in it then?"

"No, no, no, absolutely no chocolate. This belonged to my dad."

"Oh," you gasped as he did up the last button. "Then I can't wear it tonight! It's too special."

You reached for the buttons, but Bradley stopped you with his larger hands. "Nah, it's okay, Kitten. Ol' Goose would have wanted you to wear it. I think he'd be happy to see me with you and Ev right now." Actually, Bradley knew both of his parents would have loved you and adored Everett. It was hard for him to think about the way Carole would have doted on her grandson. 

The look of awe on your face as you said, "Thank you. No chocolate," made Bradley chuckle. 

Then Molly's booming voice in the hallway had you pulling the door open to reveal her standing there dressed as a pregnant umpire. "Are you ready to rumble?!" she shouted into a bullhorn that had you and Bradley covering your ears while Everett chanted and cheered. 

"Baseball umpires don't use bullhorns! And they don't say that!" Bradley shouted over the ruckus, but when he reached for it, Molly yanked it away from him. 

"This one does," she said into the speaker, and Bradley thought one of them might not make it back tonight. 

But it was so hard to be annoyed when the four of you looked like you were ready to play baseball. And then Bradley had you take a photo of him kneeling down on the porch next to Everett dressed as a Phillies player. The photo was so sweet, he immediately set it as his lock screen. 

"Are we ready to go?" Molly asked using the bullhorn, and Bradley gritted his teeth. "Ev, that's a foul for looking so cute in your Halloween costume. You owe me a Snickers bar for that."

"That's not what umpires do," Bradley ground out, digging around in the massive bowl of candy that you had set on the porch steps, searching for the only thing that might make Molly stop.

"And my sister gets a red card for leaving the candy on the porch," she added through the speaker. "That'll get stolen by the first kid that comes by. Rookie mistake. I used to do that with my friends."

You just shook your head as Bradley said, "There aren't even red cards-"

But Molly turned the horn toward him. "And Bradley gets a foul for being a turd."

But then his fingers wrapped around the king sized Hershey's bar and he waved it in her face. "I'll trade you this for the bullhorn, Molly. Make good decisions."

She eyed him with trepidation, but he knew that candy was her weakness now more than ever. She'd finished a whole bag of fun sized Kit Kats two nights ago, and Bradley had to go to Target to replenish the Halloween supply. When Molly lunged for the Hershey's bar, Bradley quickly grabbed the bullhorn and shoved it discreetly into the shrubs as she immediately opened the wrapper. 

And after that, he had a pretty great night. Everett collected three pillowcases full of candy, and Molly ate it along the way while she repeatedly yelled, "Strike three, you're out!" every time Bradley tried to give you a kiss. But he was happy that Molly was having a night where she wasn't constantly thinking about Bob. 

"Can we get a family photo next to that huge inflatable pumpkin?" you asked, pointing at the lawn decoration in front of the last house on the street. Everett went running for the pumpkin, all hopped up on sugar. 

"Yep," Bradley said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Molly held her hand out to take it from him, but he shook his head. "You need to be in the family photo, too." So he flagged down another dad who agreed to take the picture for them, and you slipped your arm around his waist and gave him a kiss just after the photo was taken.

"Thanks, Coach," you whispered, your soft voice right next to his ear. 

"Thanks, turd," Molly told him, trying to hide the tears she was swiping at as she turned to chase Everett down the sidewalk yelling about interference and personal fouls. 

But it was after everyone got home and Everett and Molly were sound asleep that Bradley's night got even better. He was tired, he really was, but as soon as you very carefully unbuttoned and removed his vintage Phillies jersey, you looked at him and licked your lips. 

"Kitten?" he asked softly, his cock already very interested in what might be happening next. 

You closed your eyes and said, "I bought something I wanted to try on for you."

Bradley groaned, ready to beg. "Yes," he grunted, and you were pushing him toward the bed as he got undressed down to his underwear. 

"Close your eyes. No peeking," you whispered, turning on the soft bedside lamp and turning off the overhead light. So he closed his eyes and listened to you flitting around the room, opening drawers and the closet door. His hand was down the front of his boxer shorts, and he was stroking himself when he felt your warm lips meet his. He moaned softly, "Can I look yet, Kitten?"

Once you were straddling his waist, your ass rubbing his cock through his underwear, you whispered, "My name is Lieutenant Kitten," and his eyes opened immediately. You were wearing his khaki uniform shirt, complete with his Bradshaw name tag. His favorite pair of aviators were perched low on your nose, and his dog tags were tucked between your breasts, hidden by the shirt. 

"You're the sexiest naval officer I have ever seen," Bradley promised, skimming his rough fingertips down your soft thigh, bent knee and calf. He smirked as you raised his hand to your lips and kissed his wedding band. "Lieutenant Kitten."

As you leaned forward to kiss his lips, Bradley noticed some dark green lace peeking out from the collar of the khaki shirt, and he started working on the buttons as you licked the seam of his lips. 

He felt the fabric before he saw it. You were covered in green lace from your tits down to your pussy, and he was already nudging it to the side, dying to know how wet you were. 

"You're in charge, Lieutenant," he whispered, his voice harsh. "What would you like me to do?" 

"You better make me cum."

He moaned as you lifted your hips, and he slipped that finger right inside you. So warm and silky. The bodysuit fit you like a dream, and you were leaning back, hands on his thighs, letting him watch your pussy sink down around two of his fingers now. You were rolling your hips slowly, making Bradley throb, but he was determined to give you exactly what you wanted first. 

God, had you ever been this wet before? You were practically dripping. "Does that feel good, Lieutenant?" he asked. 

"Keep going. Keep going." 

With three fingers now inside you and his thumb on your clit, Bradley worked you over at a leisurely pace that had him almost in a trance. The way you were moving looked obscene, like he was viewing something so sexy, so filthy, it was taboo. He was barely moving his hand now, just listening to your little grunts and moans as they got louder while you fucked yourself on his hand.

"God damn," he whispered, tapping your clit softly each time you withdrew to his fingertips, earning him a little gasp. 

"Bradley," you whined, getting a little louder now as you tilted your head forward to look him in the eye. Your grip tightened on his thighs, and his cock was demanding a fair share of your body, but he could tell you were close to orgasm. 

"Baby," he whined, your slick coating him and glistening as you rocked your body forward one, two, three more times, and then your pussy clenched, grabbing at his fingers. "Fuck."

"Oh my god!" you whined, lips parted, gasping as you jerked yourself along his fingers.

"I need to fuck you," he said, nodding his head. "Please?"

"Yes," you gasped, easing yourself onto your back, legs spread wide. He pushed that little bit of green lace to the side and coated his cock with the wetness on his hand, and then he fucked you. And he fucked you so hard, your back arched. And then he fucked you even harder, your tits bouncing free of the bodysuit while he shoved his still slick fingers into your mouth to keep you quiet.

He didn't last; he knew he wouldn't. Not with you in brand new lingerie and his shirt. Not with the chain of his dog tags tangled up with your paw print necklace. He filled you up with his cum as he leaned down, easing his fingers out of your mouth and replacing them with his tongue. Everything was back to that languid pace you'd set earlier as you dragged your fingers through his hair and tasted his mouth. 

Bradley pulled away to look at your pretty face, and you smiled as you ran your fingers along the scars on his cheek. "Did you enjoy your Halloween, Coach?"

With a kiss to the tip of your nose, Bradley pulled himself free from your body and collected you against his chest. He carefully leaned back against his pillow, holding you close with you still in his khaki shirt. "I did," he said thoughtfully, rubbing your arm. "I...well, I know it's kind of silly, but the last time I spent a Halloween with my dad was when I was three, and now I'm a dad."

"That's not silly," you told him. "And you're not just any dad. You're the best."

He held you tight. "You think Ev is going to make us dress as baseball players again next year?"

"Oh, one hundred percent."

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

Just two more parts left now! Thanks so much for reading! If there's something for Coach, Kitten and Ev that you're hoping to see, hit me up. Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and thank you for the banner @mak-32

PART 32

Don't forget to check out Bob and Molly in The Curveball!

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@harper1666

@throwinsauce

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@whosyourgnomie4

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@wishfulwithwine

@backinwonderl4nd

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@callsign-jupiter

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@andycanbeemotional

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@starlightstories

@teddyluvs2sing

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

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

@xoxabs88xox

[mamsieur]

Used to it | Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Summary : Being Pete Mitchell's daughter has never been easy. But maybe one mission could bring you back together ?

TW : angst and fluff, angst with a happy ending, mention of alcohol, panic attack, canonical character death, age gap (reader is 27 and Bradley is 35)

Length : 7156 words

AN : I'm sorry for making Pete seem like a bad father but that man is not stable enough to handle a child in my opinion.

posted on AO3 July 12, 2023

You were 7 when your mother left your father, Pete Mitchell. 

You didn't have many early memories of him. There were only the arguments with your mother, his departures on missions that left you in tears, the missed birthdays and Christmases. It’s all you’ve ever known so you were used to it and being a child, you found it normal.

You were 7 when your mother decided to move out, leaving your whole life behind. You remember crying your eyes out in protest. As your mom tried desperately to get you out of the house, you clung with all your might to Bradley. Bradley Bradshaw was 15 and your regular babysitter, though your mother thought of him as a son, Carole and her were really close. They liked to remind you that when you were 4, you proudly announced that you were going to marry him. Bradley was almost always around, and Pete was his godfather, and they had a bond you envied. Despite the eight-year age difference, you remember being very close to your "Bradbrad" . He never pushed you away, was always ready to play Lego or other board games with you. He even took you to the park or with him when he went to the theater with his friends - when the movies were kids friendly -.

You were 7 , and your whole world shattered. No more Bradley, no more hanging to the naval base to have a glimpse of your dad and his incredible plane, no more aunty Carole and her sweet singing. You had hated your mom for years before understanding you left for the best.  She was finally happy ; not completely, she missed her friends and sometimes your father, but you could feel that she was happier away from the hustle and bustle of the navy, of your dad. You were not used to the strange calmness of the city, but your grandparents made it easy to adapt. Soon enough, you got used to the loving cocoon your mother succeeded to create around you.

You were 16, at your mother's funeral, when you had to accept the fact that you had to go back to live with Pete. When the two of you finally found each other in the crowd, he didn't say much, just gave you a few brief updates. You asked him about Bradley, a bit sad to not have seen him here, and he didn't have much to say. Only that the two of them were no longer as close as they had been.

The silence between you was uncomfortable. 

Of course, Pete had kept in touch over the years, calling on your birthdays, sending a little something. You spent some Christmas with him when he wasn't working and a few days during the summer break ; but Pete Mitchell loved his work too much to focus on you. As long as you lived with your mother, Pete's absence from your life wasn't something you suffered from, at least not really. 

You were used to it. Used to the absence, used to the missed calls, used to the Christmases with the attention of other aviators and their families but the ignorance of your dad, used to the unanswered phone calls.  Used to his silence.

But now your mum was dead... and you were dreading having to join your father in California.

You were 16 and you didn't want to live with him, you already knew what would happen ; he'd go flying, on a mission or for his own pleasure, leaving you alone at home - if you could call it home. The hangar where he lived now was something you'd always hated . It had no place for anything or anyone other than his passion for the sky, for planes and speed. You didn't want to leave your new life, even though you loved California. Your school, your friends, your family, your routine. But you didn't really have much of a choice. You were 16. He was now your legal guardian and you didn't want to drag your grandparents into a custody battle.  Even though part of you told yourself that your dad would probably agree to let you stay with them, you didn't want to take that chance. And you hoped he'd be more present, that you'd finally have the father you'd dreamed of, that your other friends had. If other military parents could be there for their children, why couldn't Pete?

Perhaps because Pete loved flying more than anything else in the world.  The sky was his one true love.

Even though you knew it, you held out the faintest hope that he would finally take his responsibilities as a father. Unfortunately, Pete was still Pete. He wasn't cut out to be a father. A fun uncle, maybe. A parent, no. The fact that Bradley no longer spoke to him proved that.

You were 18 when you packed your bags and headed off to the naval school in Maryland. You wanted to be a pilot too. And you wanted to get away from that bloody hangar, so empty, so alone.

Pete wasn't there when you left.  Not even a message or a note. Nothing at all.

You weren't even surprised.

It was Tom Kazansky - Uncle Tom - who had taken you to the airport. He had been more present in your life than your own father, even though you rarely saw him. You knew your relationship with Pete was a sensitive subject, and you knew when Tom gave him a hard time. Pete was suddenly more present - too present . He'd pop into your life for a few days, trying to be the cool or bossy dad, but it always ended in a fight. 

You hated it when he did that. You hated the way he would act like your friend, or like a strict parent, talking about curfew and how no boys were allowed in his 'home'. You hated the way he would try to be the father that he had never been in your whole life. You hated the way he tried to convince you that he was trying to change, that he'd be there for you.

But you couldn't blame Uncle Tom for trying to shake your father. He had children too, but despite his love of the air, he had been a present parent to them.  

But some days were not as bad as others. Sometimes, when he was in a good mood, Pete would take you flying. And even though it was hard to admit, you were a bit of a flier yourself. The feeling of freedom, of being alone in a comforting way. It was mesmerizing.

So, without him knowing, you decided to join the navy after graduation. You took your mother's name, Evans , so that you would not attract attention. Only Tom knew, so your dad wouldn't and couldn't pull your papers like he did with Bradley. 

You found out that he had done this when you saw Bradley one day in the summer before you made your choice. At first you did not recognize him.  He was 26 now. He was taller, more muscular and had a 80s mustache that suited him well - puberty had treated him really good. He was the spitting image of his father, whom you'd only seen in photographs and heard about when Tom and Pete reminisced over drinks about the past.

But Bradley had the same look in his eyes as his mother, Carole. 

As a child, you adored Carole. She was always there to comfort you when your parents were at odds, picking you up from kindergarten when your father was on a mission and your mother was at work… She was kind of a second mom. You went to her funeral with your mother eight years ago, you never cried so much.

The summer of your reunion with Bradley had been the summer of his return from the Naval Academy, which he had graduated from with honors. He was a very good pilot and would soon be going on a mission. The day before he left, you snuck out of the hangar to meet him at a nearby bar. He had celebrated his departure with you and a handful of friends, promising to keep in touch as often as possible.  As he left, you realized how much you'd missed your Bradbrad.

You were 18, and you remembered how quiet the ride to the airport had been. Part of you wanted to stay.  You loved California. It was close to the ocean, the people were friendly, and at the Navy base everyone knew you.

You'd even earned a nickname, the call sign you hoped to use soon : Tempest .  It was a bittersweet memory of a stormy night when Pete "forgot" to pick you up from baseball practice. You had landed on the base, mad as hell, soaked to the bone. You'd yelled at your father as hard as the storm had raged. It had been a huge fight. And of course, everyone had heard. Surprisingly, many had defended you rather than your father. You were relieved then. And to cheer you up while your dad was embarrassed, Tom took you to your favorite fast food and laughed with you about the scene. "You walked in there like a damn storm, a tempest ! Heck, that should be your call sign when you join the ranks !" You smiled as you remembered his raspy laugh and all the stories he told you about his days at Topgun . 

It was through those stories that you learned a little bit more about your father, The Maverick . His accomplishments, his reckless attitude in the air, his urge to always define what’s possible and pushing the limits.  Your desire, your need , to join the Navy to become a pilot only grew, digging a hole of longing for the sky deep inside you.  You wanted your father to see you, to acknowledge you. You wanted to be more like him.

You were 27 years old when you were called to the NAS North Island for a "top secret" mission that required "the best of the best". To your surprise, you were one of the youngest and one of the only women. But you'd missed California too much to worry about such details.  Like many pilots, you had joined the Hard Deck for a drink the day before training began. You soon met Natasha "Phoenix" Trace and Jake "Hangman" Seresin. Two strong personalities. Then came Javy “Coyote” Machado and Robert "Bob" Floyd. He was discreet, a bit shy. And before you could introduce yourself to the others, someone entered the bar and caught Jake's eye.

"Bradshaw. As I live and breathe."

"Hangman. You look... good." His voice was behind you and you didn't dare turn around to see him. 

"Well, I am good. I'm very good Rooster ."

You let the two men talk, then Bradley greeted Natasha and the others. At last, his gaze landed on you. You couldn't help but smile stupidly. He looked so surprised and happy. "Y/N Tempest Evans?!"

"Hey Bradbrad ..." you smiled and happily accepted his embrace. He squeezed you against him and asked you all about your journey, which you happily did, while in the distance the bell rang, indicating that a customer couldn't pay his bill and had to be kicked out. Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you recognized your father, but Jake and Javy had already grabbed him by the arms and dragged him outside. You didn’t have the time to really think about it, Bradley taking you by the hand to sing with him at the piano. You laughed and followed him with the others in his Great balls of fire ’s reprise. It had been a great night.

The next day, at the first meeting, you thought your heart stopped when you saw that your instructor was actually Pete... and from the look on his face, he wasn't happy to see you there. Before the meeting was over, you heard his voice call your name ; it had a barely disguised note of anger. "Lieutenant Evans. You’ll stay after training, we'll have a word."

Bradley looked at you, concerned. He knew that you had never told Pete about the Navy, but he didn't know that even after nine years, your father was still unaware of your career. The others were confused and you could feel questioning gazes on you. Great way to begin this thing , you thought.

You were 27 and a very good pilot. An excellent one. One of the best. That's why you were here after all, wasn’t it ? You walked in your father’s footsteps, perhaps as talented as him at that age. But you were also as reckless as him, living up to your callsign. A tempest was never soft or delicate, neither were you. You had risked your life so many times in your five years of service. Tom often told you that you were just like your father and that it scared him. You didn’t think, you just did , you wanted to go faster, higher and further. Acting like the storm that you were, leaving your enemies confused by what had just happened. The adrenaline, the speed, the immensity of the sky, the feeling of freedom... you finally understood why Pete loved being in his plane so much.  You felt a little closer to him in those moments.

And yet, in nine years of absence, he had never once contacted you. You had disappeared one day and he hadn't even looked for you.  Your uncle had promised not to say anything about your career, but Pete hadn't even been interested in why or where you were going.

Seeing him angry made you furious . How could he have the nerve to be mad at you? 

After the training and the 200 pushups you had to do because - of course - you didn't beat your old man, you stayed on deck and waited for the others to leave. Bradley gave you a little squeeze on the shoulder, as if to give you strength, and reluctantly left. You heard Hondo telling Pete to calm himself before saying things he might regret out of anger.

Once again, the silence between you and your father was heavy. 

You couldn't take your eyes off him, waiting for him to finally speak. You could see that he was trying to stay calm. But you already felt like exploding . You could feel the reproaches, the so-called concern. You could feel that he wanted to push you away . 

"Y/N... how did you... you went to the Academy behind my back?!"

"Iceman," you replied simply, your eyes and voice cold. "And you never asked where I was either."

"You-?! I should have known, you lied to me." 

“It’s not lying if you’re not asked.” you mutter, “You taught me that.”

“Now’s not the time to play that game Y/N,” he snapped, "you can't be here."

"With all due respect, Captain, that's not your call."

You really tried to remain calm, knowing that the others must have been listening nearby - especially Jake. You didn't want to draw any more attention, but you felt your blood boiling under your skin.

"I will talk to Vice Admiral Simpson about this. I don't suppose anyone's made the connection between us. But now there's clearly a conflict of interest-"

"You have no right to take this mission away from me. It's not fair," you gasped, eyes wide.

"I am your father ! I can and will do it."

"What ?! No ! No, you can't ! 9 years of nothing but silence and now you're acting like a worried father ?!" you snapped, moving towards him and pointing an accusing finger. A nervous laugh escaped you and you sighed, pursing your lips. "Why do you always have to act like this ? You've never acted like a father to me, except to get in my way !"

"Get in your way ? No ! I care about you-"

"Really ?!" you cut him off, raising your voice, "Then where have you been for 9 years ?! What did Tom have to say to you that you weren't even lookin' for me ? Where was all this care when I left and you were not here ? Where were you huh ?! Where was all that concern ?!"

Pete's eyes widened and he searched for words. He should have known that he could not argue with your point so he just huffed then scolded. "I'm your captain, Lieutenant Evans ! Keep your voice down !"

"Oh, now it's not my father talking ?!" you couldn't hold back a nervous, fake laugh. "You see how you are ?! Always twisting things your way ?! Why are you avoiding that conversation ? Why are you running away again ?!" you’re almost screaming, inches close to him, eyes locked in his.

"Lieutenant Evans !" he growled. You grumbled and let out a heavy sight, calming yourself. You stepped back and clenched your fists along your body.

"Will that be all, Captain Mitchell ?"

You clenched your fists even harder, your knuckles turning white. You wanted to physically shake him to finally have answers. But you couldn’t, at least not here, not now.

"Y/N..." he huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Will that be all, Captain ?" you repeated, your voice slightly trembling. Tears of rage threatened to fall. You held them back, too proud to cry in front of him. Pete looked at you and sighed quietly. 

"You're dismissed Lieutenant Evans..."

You left the deck with a quick stride. Your heart was pounding in your chest, a mixture of anger, frustration and sadness. Of course, the rest of the squadron was there, already clean and changed. Seeing the anger in your eyes, no one said a word, not even Hangman. He just stared at you, confused, as you slammed the door of the changing room. 

Later that evening, as the squadron relaxed at the bar, Jake couldn't help but bring up the earlier scene. 

"So our dear Tempest's dad is the famous Maverick?"

" He's not my father ," you muttered, finishing another beer. "My genitor maybe. But he's not my father."

"Why Evans if Mitchell's your old man?" Jake insisted. 

You could hear Bradley and Natasha telling him to drop it, but he kept coming back. You could feel your anger rising again.  You downed another beer and slammed the empty bottle down on the table. 

"Tell me, Bagman , weren’t you taught to keep your mouth shut about things that don't concern you? I'm sure your mama taught you some manners, didn't she? Now shut up before I put my fist through your face," you growled, half drunk, half angry. Jake scoffed and held his hands up in defense while Bob stopped you from approaching him. Seeing your father enter the bar only made you feel worse. And it took all your patience not to slit Jake's throat on the spot as he continued his overly curious and unpleasant comments with his snide attitude.

Bradley went with you to get some fresh air as he wasn't too keen on seeing Pete either. When you arrived at the beach, a wave of sadness washed over you. You knew that your father would do everything in his power to get you out of this mission, but what was worse was that he didn't even try to talk to you, to reconnect. Your shoulders shook and you couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Only a sobbing hiccup betrayed you and Bradley rushed to take you in his arms. You felt the strength leave your legs and the two of you ended up sitting in the sand, crying your eyes out and clinging to Bradley. "I've got you... Let it all out..." he murmured between two kisses on the top of your head. His big hands gently stroked your back, letting go of all your pain. "It's okay, baby girl... it's okay..." 

Bradley and you practically lived together now. You’ve inherited your mom’s old house by the ocean and it’s confier than being on base. So those kinds of pet names were almost common now. But this time you didn’t blush at it, your emotions a mess.

You cried against him for a long time, as you hadn't done for many years. Rooster held you until you calmed down.  "It's not fair..." you whispered, sniffling. "He's going to take me off the mission..." 

"He won't be able to... Ice recommended you... there's nothing he can do about it..."

You shrugged, not really sure if Tom could help you. He was very ill and you didn't want to tire him out with your disagreements with your father.

“He’s just an old dickhead, don’t worry…” Bradley tried to cheer you up but you’re too distraught to play along. After a little less than an hour later, you find the force to get up and you head home with him. You fall asleep in the car and wake up the next morning in your bed.

There wasn't much time left before the mission. Training sessions were coming up and so were your fights with Pete. Cyclone hadn't pulled you out of the mission, but you weren't sure if it was to spite your father or because he felt you were capable of succeeding, just like your comrades.

Days passed at an alarming pace. The team slowly bonded through group exercises and moments of relaxation, especially with the game your father had invented: dogfight football.

You couldn't lie, it felt good to have such moments. But your father still didn't talk to you and you were still angry. You remained professional, but you couldn't stand his fatherly attitude towards you.

All your hopes of renewing real ties disappeared when you learned of Tom's death. You had seen him the day before and he had made you promise to try to take care of Pete. His funeral was one of the hardest moments of your life.

And because bad news never comes alone, the mission was moved up by a week. Pete was temporarily relieved of his duties, as Admiral Simpson still believed his plan of attack was doomed to failure. Of course, your father, in his legendary arrogance and cockiness, proved him wrong with an unauthorized flight. Hope rose in the team but it was still a very risky plan. 

Cyclone decided to make Pete team leader, and not surprisingly, he didn't choose you as his wingman. Part of you was angry because you felt you could do it, and another part of you was mortified when he announced that his choice would be Bradley. This mission was suicide, and you couldn't afford to lose them both. You couldn't afford to lose anyone in the squadron, but these two, it was just too much.

You didn't catch up with Pete as much as you wanted to, there were still so many questions left unanswered, so much time to make up for… You hadn't been able to make things right with your dad, you hadn't been able to tell him that you had this passion for aviation because of him. You hadn't been able to tell him that you regretted not telling him about the academy, that you regretted the 9 years of distance between you...

And you didn't spend enough time with Bradley.

Sure, you were always glued to each other in your free time, taking walks on the beach, talking and singing together at the Hard Deck piano, having movie nights... but you didn't want it to stop. Not after you'd half confessed how you felt about him after a few too many drinks, telling him that your 4-year-old declaration still stood. He laughed and told you that he hadn't forgotten either.

On the day of the mission, you barely managed to find your way to your father. "Captain?" your voice was louder than you had expected.

"Lieutenant Evans?"

"I... Before you go, I'd like to talk-"

"We'll talk when I get back."

"... Promise me you'll come back." 

For a moment, you were that five-year-old girl again, watching her father leave. Pete must have seen it in your eyes and climbed down from the cockpit to take you in his arms. "I promise I'll come back in one piece, kiddo..." You hugged him tightly and nodded in agreement. After a few seconds, you let go and let him settle down.  You ran to Bradley and made him promise you the same. He smiled confidently, even though you knew he was stressed. "Don't worry, we've got a Star Wars marathon to watch," he smiled before gently and discreetly kissing your forehead. You blushed and nodded, a worried little smile on your face. 

Reluctantly, you left the track and joined Jake. You were glued to your radios, following the progress of the mission.  Everything was going well until two enemy fighters spotted them. 

You stopped breathing. 

First they had Bradley in sight and locked on. 

The enemy fired. 

But your father took the brunt of the missiles and saved Rooster.

Your brain didn't know how to process all this information and shut down when you heard Bradley's decision to go after Pete before getting shot down too.

You don't remember much else. All you knew is that Jake had to leave in a hurry to find and rescue them. When they landed with that really out beat up F-14, you rushed out on deck to greet them, swallowing all your worry and anger at their unconscious behavior for the moment.

Once ashore, the entire crew decided to celebrate their success at Penny's Bar, dragging Pete with them. You stayed close to Bradley, as if afraid that it was all a dream and that he wasn't really there. He wouldn't let go of you either, his arm tight around you. You felt like a schoolgirl, it was stupidly comfortable. You looked at Pete, who was happily chatting with Penny and other members of the team. You didn't want to spoil the evening with a discussion that was out of your control…

Around one o'clock you went out for some fresh air, leaving Bradley to play with those who hadn't returned home yet ; Reuben, Natasha, Mickey and Javy.

As a cold shiver ran through you, you felt a heavy jacket on your shoulders. You immediately recognized the peculiar smell ; old whiskey mixed with motor oil and a hint of cologne.

" Dad ? "

"I thought you wanted to talk ?" he asked quietly, moving toward the beach. You nodded and took his pinky with yours like a child, searching for your words.

"I'm sorry..." you breathed, holding back your tears. "For going to the Academy behind your back and not telling you… not talking to you for almost ten years... I know that giving news is supposed to go both ways and all, but... but you weren't even there when I left... and I guess... I guess I resented you as much as I wanted you to be there, you know ?" you sniffed before continuing your monologue. "I just wanted you to see me . ‘Cause… it’s because of you I wanted to go down this road, you gave me this love for flight, for speed, for the sky. I... I just wanted you to be happy that we finally had something in common, but... but you had already pulled Bradley's papers, so I didn't think and I just did what seemed most logical and easiest. Take Mom's name, ask Ice not to tell you. I know it was stupid… but I also know it would have hurt too much if you had stopped me. And... And then no news for nine years... It hurt even more. The Academy and my first years of service weren't what I thought they would be... it was rough and sometimes I just… I just wanted to call you to come and pick me from there… but… but I wouldn't change that for the world. Because I’m still a Mitchell and Mitchells never quit right ?” You took a few seconds, your gaze meeting his, to see if he wanted to intervene but he didn’t. He just looked at you, taking all the information you gave him. You let out a shaky breath, playing with the sleeves of his jacket nervously. “And I know you must and may resent me for the rest of my life, but… but I just wanted you to be proud of me and... and for us to finally be a family." You bit your lip, trying to calm the flow of emotions that came through.

The sky began to rumble and your father remained silent after your speech. A few tears rolled down your cheeks as he couldn't find the words.

"Please, Dad, say something..." you sighed, your voice breaking.

The rain began to fall slowly and Pete's silence was too much for your heart to take. He couldn't even look at you anymore. You thought you could take it ; you were used to his silenced treatment, used to the fact that he couldn’t express his feelings. But right now, you needed him to speak, to ease your worries, to confront you.

"Dad... please... I'm begging you... talk to me…" you repeated desperately.

You broke down again and cried like a little girl in front of your mute father. You hated that he couldn't open up to you and you hated that he saw you so frail, so fragile.  Your sobs mingled with the rain, which grew heavier, the wind and waves making the silence deafening. You bit your lip and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, in vain.

"I know I'm not... I know you didn't plan… you didn’t want to have me with mom-"

"No, it's true... I never planned to be a father... The very idea of having children terrified me and still does," Pete interrupted you, "but... you're one of the most beautiful things, if not the most, that has ever happened to me. And I'm petrified of anything happening to you, I'm helpless on so many levels... and I... I didn't know how to be there when you needed me... I know I must have let you down a lot..." He sighed, catching his breath and holding back his own tears. "I thought... it would be best for both of us to let you have your freedom... but the weeks, months and years went by and I didn't have the guts to try to contact you. I was too ashamed... but Y/N, I never stopped loving you... you're my daughter... and even if you have my damn temper and your mom’s stubbornness," you couldn't hold back a little laugh and a slight smile despite your tears, which your father tenderly chased away with his thumb, "you'll always be my little girl, too eager to get on our little plane for a ride, passionate and fierce… I don’t resent you… I think I would have done it your way if my old man put me in this situation…" He allowed himself to cry as well as the two of you finally hugged each other, relieved of an enormous weight.

"I love you too, Dad... sorry for everything..." you mumbled against his shoulder.

"No, no… I’m sorry… It's my turn to apologize, sweetheart..."

The two of you lay embracing in the rain for a while, making up for years of distance in a few minutes. You were the first to let go. You once again took his hand like a child.

"We better get back before Hangman starts gossiping..."

"Or before Bradley starts worrying," Pete teased. You blushed and looked at him with wide eyes. "What? Like I haven't noticed the way you two look at each other. I'm not that blind kid!" He laughed “Ah… your mom and Carole would have been thrilled !”

You returned to the bar, soaking wet, chatting about anything and everything. Seeing you, Bradley's expression changed from worried to relieved, then back to worried as he noticed you were shivering a little from the cold. He politely left his conversation with Mickey to join you.

"Are you okay? Do you want to go home and change?"

"That would be a good idea..." you smiled at him. You had to admit you were exhausted from this rollercoaster of emotions. You said goodbye to the others from a distance, then to your father in a final hug, and followed Bradley back to his old blue Bronco. The two of you made your way to your small house. 

Bradley was a good roommate. You each had your own room, but you often fell asleep together in front of the TV or on one of your beds after long late-night discussions. You liked the routine you created. And you hoped with all your might that nothing would change. But your feelings for him were becoming more and more obvious in your mind and heart. You wondered how much longer you could hide it.

Seeing you so silent, Bradley placed his hand on your thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Are you all right, lil’ Tempest?" 

His eyes never left the road as his thumb traced small circles on your jeans. A shiver ran through your entire body and you wished this contact would never end.

"Everything's fine Roo... don't worry..."

"Okay..."

He squeezed your knee again and left his hand on your thigh. The warmth of his palm made you shiver and you placed your hand on top of his shyly. Once again, you felt like a teenager. It was stupid.

The ride home was rather quiet, in a comforting way, Bradley driving carefully in the pouring rain and humming the song that passed on the radio. When he parked, you stayed in the car for a moment. You sensed that he had something he wanted to say to you, and he sensed the same thing on your side. After a few minutes of silence and shy glances, he smiled at you, got out of the car, and you followed. He ran to unlock the door and waited for you under the porch.

You wanted to run as well, but your legs felt heavy. That's when your anxiety decided to take over. The stress and worry of the past few days were finally catching up to you. As you saw Bradley step out into the rain with a worried expression, the conversation on the radio played in your head. Your father's F-18 had exploded, and Bradley was on his way to pick him up. And now it was his turn to go down. A huge pressure on your chest stopped you from breathing and new tears rolled down your cheeks. You couldn't move, pinned to the pavement. Silent sobs shook you as your vision blurred. You couldn't see or hear Bradley any more. You felt so alone, so cold. Your panic attack froze you under the heavy rain and you couldn't get out of it. You couldn't hear anything except the intense ringing in your ear. You wanted to throw up. The world spun around you as your mind screamed what the communications officer had said earlier, "Maverick's down ! Rooster's down !" 

They were dead. 

For the long forty minutes or so that followed, they were dead .  And you were stuck in that loop. One minute everything was fine, the mission was a complete success. The next, the last two most important people in your life were dead. The ground began to feel strangely unstable as you fought harder to breathe. Eventually your legs gave out and you felt yourself fall, but you didn't hit the ground. You felt two arms around you, holding you securely but not too tightly, then lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. The buzzing in your ears slowly faded away and you didn't feel the rain on your skin anymore. You gasped for air when you finally heard Breadley call your name, concern in his voice. As you raised your eyes to look at him, a sudden relief washed over you and you couldn't help but sob again.

He was home. You were home. With him.

"What's going on, Y/N? Hey... Breathe... breathe and talk to me..." he said quietly.

"I thought... I thought you and Dad... you... you were dead..." you managed to say between sobbing hiccups. You clung to his shirt, afraid he would fade away. He smiled a little and kissed the top of your head as he cupped your cheeks with his calloused hands. Then he took your hands and laid them flat on his heart. You could feel it beating at a regular pace.

"I'm here. I’m okay. You're okay. I'm very much alive, Mav is too, and you're stuck with me, with us, little Tempest..."

"Yeah ? Promise ?" you sniffed, your lower lip still trembling.

"Yeah... Promise." he smiled at you again then hugged you tightly. 

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, the bristles of his mustache tickling you a little. One of your hands reached up to his neck, your fingers brushing his little hair. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, absorbing each other's presence. You felt so relaxed in his arms, as if you belonged there. Your heart fluttered as you heard him hum one of your favorite songs and then felt him beginning to slow dance with you, taking you peacefully to the bathroom.  You were too exhausted and shaken from your panic attack to even ask him what he was doing. You just obliged and listened to him, hypnotized. He declared that you needed a long relaxing bath and in the meantime he would order pizza. He helped you take off your shoes and socks, then your hoodie. He kissed your forehead and let you finish undressing, leaving the bathroom to give you some privacy. 

You couldn’t stay too long in the bath, your mind being too loud. You knew you would break down again if you weren’t close to him .  Bradley made you feel safe, secure, grounded. That was what you needed to relax. You were so used to being alone before, used to the silence, the empty rooms. But since he decided to kind of move in with you, you couldn’t bear the loneliness. The house was so warm now, so welcoming and comfy.

As you crossed his room after you’ve washed, you noticed that old hoodie you bought him one Christmas when you were in naval school. It’s a silly one, the hood designed to look like a rooster. An amused sigh escaped you and you took it to wear. It was still as soft and comfy as the day you bought it. 

“Stealing my clothes I see ?” he chuckled when you joined him in the kitchen.

“Stealing my beers I see ?” you teased him back, pointing at the bottle in his hand, “I thought cranberry beers were for chicks ?” 

“Mama Carole didn’t raise me to be picky” He scoffed in défense, with a smirk.

“Oh I know she didn’t. And my mama didn’t raise me to steal, I’m just borrowing that hoodie.” you smiled, putting the hood on. “Look, we’re twins now, Rooster !”

The both of you laughed at that stupid joke. He then smiled at you and put a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“Feeling better sweets ?”

“Yeah… sorry about that I… I think these past days were a bit too much for my brain…”

“Don’t be sorry… it’s normal to break sometimes… everyone does.” 

You hummed and nodded, but before you could talk, the doorbell rang. “Must be the pizzas ! Get yourself comfortable on the couch and choose a movie Y/N, I’ll be right back !” He kissed your cheek, close to your lips - too close - and ran to the door. You stood there for a moment, cheeks and heart warming up, before doing what he asked you.  Once again, you felt like a schoolgirl at her first sleepover with her crush. You couldn’t help but feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach and your face turning a bit red. 

You should tell him.  But you risked losing that friendship you had. And at the same time, you wanted more than that. You wanted to feel his arms around you, his lips - oh those lips - on you, to wake up next to him each and every morning in your bed… You fantasized about a life with him for a minute, not noticing him getting back with the food. You jumped slightly when he waved his hand in front of your eyes to snap you out of your reverie. Your gaze locked with his as he asked if everything was all right.

"Yes, yes... I was just lost in thought..." you smiled shyly, your cheeks flushed, letting him settle in beside you. He took the plaid to cover both of you, then put his arm around your shoulders.

"And what were you thinking about? Or who?" He teased.

"About us, actually..."

"Us?" He said, a little surprised.

Your cheeks were crimson. You'd said too much already. You couldn't run anymore. You just nodded, not daring to meet his gaze.  You felt him come closer and turn a little towards you after a few seconds of silence.

"Me too, I have to admit..." 

"Really?" you almost whispered, looking up at him. He smiled and nodded.

"Yeah... to tell you the truth, I like it here, but... I don't want to be just another roommate anymore. We're pretty similar in a lot of things, Phoenix even says we look like an old married couple that's always jammed together." You chuckled a little but couldn't help but agree. Bradley smiled a little before continuing, a little nervously. "And... the crash, almost getting killed... It made me realize a lot of things... like the fact that I didn't want to lose you. And that... maybe... the fact that I felt so comfortable with you meant... meant more than friendship..."

Your heart raced in your chest. Was he going to confess what you were thinking? You bit the inside of your cheek to prove to yourself that you weren't dreaming, and before he could continue, you pulled him by his collar and crushed your lips against his. The kiss was desperate, as if you needed it to keep on living. Bradley didn't waste a second in responding, one of his hands sliding up your cheek and the other down your back to press you against him. You would have liked that moment to last forever, but the lack of air forced you to pull away a little. He pressed his forehead against yours and let out a small laugh. "I guess it's mutual, then?"

"You're a little genius aren’t you ?" You couldn't help but tease him before kissing him again.

You felt so good against him, kiss after kiss. You felt complete, soothed. 

And you could easily get used to it .

[winterarmyy]

Behind The Facades | Part III

An unrequited pining over a certain super soldier.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 1.9k++

Pairing: avenger!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: near assault, bickering, mini(i think?) grovelling, tiny fluff and of course what else than angst.

P/S: Thank you so much for your support from previous chapters! At first, I didn't plan to make this a mini series at all, but here we are. Anyway, enjoy!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N wished that she could live up to her own expectations. That she would enjoy every second of this date. But who was she kidding?

How was she supposed to be present in the moment and savour the wonderful dinner or relish the breath-taking scene of glimmering city lights through the windows at their table, when all she could ever think of was Bucky?

Bucky.

Bucky.

That god damn son of a bitch, Bucky.

She felt suffocated by both anger and pain. Completely distracted by the thought of him.

"I can't do this." Y/N abruptly stood on her feet as she confessed her truth. She paced and paced, despite the voice of Daniel calling out her name from behind.

She could barely hear him, or maybe she shuts it down on purpose because she can't afford having more thoughts in her spiralling mind.

She only realized that she was out when the sound of the hustle bustle of the city invades her hearing. She stood still for a while, wondering if she let her feet takes her away, where will she ended up then.

Before she could walk away any further, she felt a grip on her arms, pulling her to the alleyway besides the building. It was surprisingly dark and eerie even with the lively lights of the city leaking through the ends of it.

Considering he was an agent of SHIELD, he does have a quick reflex when he managed to grab both of her wrists and pinned her to the wall.

Honestly, she wasn't completely oblivious at Daniel's physical advances throughout the night; hands hovering over her ass when he lead the way, fingers grazing her thighs through the slit of her dress.

They were subtle but still relentless.

"Just where the fuck do you think you're going?" Daniel seethed in her ears, his impatient breaths huffed in between her neck.

"Oh, for fuck sake." She sighed with a slight annoyance in her undertone. She was really tired of everything at this point. Especially when this fool who thought he could throw her around like a ragdoll.

Y/N managed to twist her hands free from his grasps as her knee raised towards his defenseless crotch. However, the hit never happened, as a familiar black and gold metal hand wrapped tightly around Daniel's neck.

In a split second, Bucky had Daniel up against the opposite wall, head slamming into the hard crooked bricks of the building. Loud cluttering sound of the empty steel cans echoed down the alleyway, almost drowning Daniel's strained groans.

Although Y/N was not able to see Bucky's face, but she could imagine the cold grim in his eyes when the grit of his voice growled, "Touch my girl again and you'll see what Hydra had made of me."

She averted her eyes down to the dark and murky color of the ground when a strike of pain ached within her chest.

She hates it when he acknowledged Hydra's label on him.

A weapon. A monster.

It's imbrute and dehumanizing.

Her view didn't change its imagery until a pair of black combat boots entered the picture. She lifted her gaze just to spat at her saviour, "I could've handled him myself."

Bucky's eyes soften as a proud smile appeared on his lips, "I know, doll."

Very contrast to his gentle expression, Y/N's face was rigid and irritated. Ironically, they were imitating each other's default guise.

Y/N rolled her eyes before pushing him aside and started to walk away, leaving Bucky alone in the dark alleyway. Though her attempt was unsuccessful when Bucky managed to grab a hold on her wrist, "Wait, y/n."

She halted but refused to look back, "No. So, can you let go of my hand now?" her hands bundled into fists as she try to hold back her wrath.

Though the sidewalk was not crowded with people, in fact it was nearly empty, however she didn't want to make a scene.

"Please, hear me out." Bucky pleaded.

At least, she tried to keep it in.

Y/N yanked her hand from his, "Why the fuck should I listen to you, Bucky?!" she snapped, eyes flashing with fury.

Bucky was honestly not prepared for this, he went here without thinking of a plan to coax her. He ran to her with a sole purpose of telling her the truth, and Y/N yelling at him is not helping his nervous wreck,  "Because..bec.."

Growing impatient to his hesitation, she fumed even more, "What?! Just what is it that you want from me Buck--"

And then all loud sounds of the roaring rage in her head suddenly fell into complete silence when she felt his lips on hers.

The sensory within her skin abruptly heighten, becoming sensitive to Bucky's contrasting touch on her cheeks; hot and cold in either side as he cupped her face in his palms.

His soft lips, his intoxicating scent, his desperate touch.

Everything was too overwhelming for her short-circuited brain to process an appropriate response; in fact any type of response.

So when she let her body go on auto-pilot she found herself leaning forward, craving for more of the delicious friction.

It was a short lived moment of deafening sound of her own beating heart thundering in joy and excitement before the noises of rationality came rushing back to her.

Y/N ripped herself away in complete shock and panic, "Wh--what" even she herself was lost for words.

What have she done?

She pushed Bucky harshly she shouted, "Why? Why did you--? Y-you have a girlfriend, Bucky! You have Gail!"

God, how could she kissed her friend's boyfriend?

"I can't believe you just kiss me knowing that." And she reeled into the pure anxiety.

Bucky's pleads sounded muffled as her mind spiralled in guilt and shame. He grabbed her by the side of her arms before briefly pulling her back into reality, "Listen to me, y/n"

Y/N ran her hands through her hair, gripping it in her fists as her mind turned into complete chaos, "No, god this is wrong." He could hear panic in her trembling voice.

Bucky snapped as he yelled, "y/n, we broke up!"

There was a pause in time and air. Her body frozen as his words seemed to infinitely repeated in her ears. Head slowly turning towards Bucky; finally giving him the attention he demanded.

She just blankly stared at his truthful eyes with her own pair, wide open.

"He's bluffing. He's just making excuses."

"Bullshit! You looked very much in love last time I saw you, which let me remind you, it was few hours ago!"

Bucky thought about it for awhile before he replied,  "It's hard to explain everything now but she wanted to end it, for my sake." He paused. "...It's over."

He was not lying. Y/N knew that; she could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes. He was telling the truth. But, it didn't make sense; why why why.

Gail was perfect for Bucky. He needs someone like her. He deserves that type of love that she gave; soft and tender.

"No no no. That can't be it. W-why the fuck are you here then? You gotta get to her Bucky! You're not suppose to here. Not with me. Go before it's too late--"

He is worthy of someone who's completely unbreakable, someone that can stay with him even at the darkest times, someone that won't see him as a weapon, but a human being.

Someone who will love him unconditionally.

Because, Bucky of all people, deserves to be loved.

"You don't mean that, y/n"

It hurts Bucky to see that Y/N thought she was unfit for a place in his heart, when she literally owns it. It pained him that she keeps putting up this facade that she unable to see her true self.

It burns her heart to let him go but that shows how far she was willing to sacrifice for Bucky, "I do. I mean it.." she can feel her tears pooling in her eyes, "You deserv--"

"Stop lying to me. Stop lying to yourself." Bucky couldn't understand she keeps pushing him away. If he truly deserve to love someone then why can't it be her?

"Lying?"

Y/N find it harder to breathe as her chest tightens. Did he see right through her? Her voice trembled as she struggled to let the words out,  "I..I'm not lying."

Bucky almost scoffed in disbelief, "You think I didn't noticed it, y/n?"

All those masks she hides in. Behind the facades she wore so boldly, so willingly. Hurting herself over and over everytime she had to put up a brave face.

No.

He made her do that.

If he was honest from the beginning then things wouldn't turn out like this. She wouldn't suffer as she did. She never needed to.

"And fuck was I so stupid to turn a blind eye on you for the sake of keeping you." Bucky was breathless with anger. A rage towards himself; for his foolishness.

"Do you know why I get together with Gail?" Bucky felt as if his chest was burning, searing with flames, that if this goes any further then his heart will turn to ashes.

But Y/N deserve the truth even though he knows he need to admit his shameful doings,  "Because she reminds me so much of you. Warm, gentle and so unconditionally kind. And I let myself fooled by the illusion of you that I saw in her."

"I'm a bad man y/n. I hurt her. And I hurt you. Fuck, I hurt everyone around me." His eyes stung to think how effortlessly he destroy every single person he love; as if he was designed to do so.

"I know that I deserve every single curse and scrutiny that come my way. I've always known that."

"But for once in my fucked up life," his voice betrayed him by revealing its' stuttering form, "...I also know that I am lucky to have the chance to love someone as unforgivingly enchanting as you."

There was a brief pause where the air was still and soundless; reserved for the painful sounds of their breath.

His raw emotions was laid out unfiltered in a form of streaming tears across his cheeks, "I won't ask for your love in return." He reached his hand to hers and held it dearly, "All I ask is for your forgiveness."

His eyes searched her soul, willing her to bare with him a little longer, "Because god I can't lose you. I can't."

Bucky felt like he was drowning; as he was 70 years ago at the Austrian Alps. The unbareable emotions rushed in like the frozen waters that filled his lungs.

Panic. Shame. Regret.

Y/N never thought she could come this far.

She thought she would able to lift the weight; and with the long record of success, she thought she wouldn't able to break.

But after all, she was just a human and there will always be a limit to where she will end up at.

What's the point of pretending when the person she loves is as miserable as her?

The tripedation of her only give false signals to Bucky; this is it, he was losing her.

But, there it was, the forgiving embrace he longed for. In her arms the world stopped still on its axis. He felt her body pressed in, soft and warm. This was the love he'd waited for, prayed for. Bucky's shaky hands roamed from the side of her waist before his arms crossed behind her, squeezing her closer, tighter.

How could she not forgive him? When he had pour all of him as he did.

There was no time, no wind, no sound. Just the heat of their body against each other. The melody of their heartbeats intertwining. Bucky's mind was at peace. So was hers.

No more more pretending.

No more putting on act.

She settled into the crook of his neck and whispered so soft and quiet that some won't be able to hear but Bucky did.

"I love you, too."

End.

<< Part II

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Thank you so much for your time to read my work. Feel free to express your thoughts in the comment/reblog! I love to hear from you~

Taglist: @ghostofwinter @angstysebfan @erinallene @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @paarthurnax59 @nomajdetective @kentokaze @dexter99 @nana1000night @prettyinpink350 @calwitch @unadulteratedbeardpeanut @kandis-mom @abitofblues @obsessivelycraftygothfandomwitch @its-daydreamer23 @hopelessromantic423 @rabbitrabbit12321 @lovely-geek @loonalockley @superforgottensoul @awkwardalie @peter-parkers-gf @opheliabarnes @blackhawkfanatic

[bigfan-fanfic]

Reclaim (Male!Reader x Dean Winchester)

Could I request Dean's bf taking him out to just spend a day or two doing whatever childhood things he never got to do, no matter how much he huffs about it not being a big deal.  Just fluff and carthartic stuff, that kind of thing

A grumpy bearded man glares at you from a swingset that is far too small for him, his bowed legs bent pretty far.

"Are you happy now?"

You chuckle. "You didn't even swing."

"It's too small."

"Then go use the big boy set. Not my fault you wanted to go for the kiddie swings."

He huffs and stands indignantly.

you laugh harder. "This was kinda supposed to be fun, Dean."

"But, like... this is all kid's stuff."

"You're never too old for some of this stuff!" you cry, and pull him along to the swings. "Don't you have any fun stuff you used to do as a kid?"

"Uh... target practice with Dad?"

"Wow. Yeesh."

"What?"

"So, like... you never really got to have a childhood."

"Dude. You can't just say crap like that to someone's face. Besides, it's not a big deal. I can-"

"I know what we're doing today!"

"Oh boy."

You challenge Dean to see who can get higher on the swings before you chicken out - mainly to stop your competitive boyfriend from trying to go all the way over.

And then when you hear the tinny calliope noises of an ice cream truck you go running, calling out for Dean to come with you, and you both chase down the truck.

It's silly and stupid, but then the ice cream salesman tells you about the fair in town, and you give Dean an excited stare.

"......"

"...."

"...fine."

Dean usually doesn't get to stay in any town long enough for any local events, so a county fair is still relatively new to him.

The overwhelming amount of sight and sound is enough to burst his bubble of attempted adult disapproval, and you catch a glimpse of the goofy kid he probably would have been.

He grins, and eventually takes the lead in pulling you to the different attractions.

You gorge yourself on fried county fair food - Dean is in fried heaven, defying all the angels to come up with a food better than the fried oreo, but even his insatiable appetite can't conquer a huge funnel cake with a dollop of ice cream that won't even melt all the way on the hot day because it's so big - not without your assistance.

You make him do the petting zoo, and he tries to impress you at the dunk tank, pitching a fastball that sends some cute local guy splashing.

He wins you prizes, accepts those you win for him, and admits that it's probably just about as fun as that time his dad took him into a bar for the first time and showed him how to hustle pool.

For now, you'll take it.

He even lets you drive home, since he's tuckered himself out so much. You let him lean against you, and you grin to yourself when you hear him quietly ask-

"Can we go again tomorrow?"

[princessbrunette]

okay but why are we all sick rn. calling for the absolute princess treatment john b would dose out when reader is sick. i also think rafe would FOLD!!! like wdym all the tests at the doc are coming back negative and they dk why his princess is sick ??? - 🍓

ugh right !!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

john b is the king of princess treatment it’s true :(( but ugh thinking bout rafe in this situation, complying and helping you because wtf :( you don’t deserve to be sick :( hustling you to the doctors office n sitting on the cold plastic seat next to you with you curled into his side or even on his lap with your eyes closed cos you feel so rough :( and he’s starting to shake his head n dramatically check his watch at how long they’re taking to call you in, and if they tell you there’s gonna be a bit of a wait he’ll head right up to that front desk and lean his elbows on it, talking to them using the quiet intimidating ‘do you know who i am’ voice ‘til he gets you seen by someone 🙄

he’d probably do all the talking in the appointment too, brow creasing as he listens to the doctor who seems to not really know properly what the problem is, which frustrates rafe cos he’s worried :(

“wh—what so you’re tellin’ me it’s the 21st century n’you don’t have the resources to figure out whether this is a stomach infection or something worse?” he squints and you put a hand on his arm tiredly, rasping out a ‘rafe’ to stop him.

“sir, we have taken her vitals and they are fine. best thing we can do is send her home with a generalised prescription and you can call up if things get worse.” the doctor explains calmly as rafe shakes his head, mouth turned down as if to say ‘nope’.

“nah, nah here’s what’s gonna happen. you’re gonna run some more tests, and figure out the problem. shit, call in a professional i don’t care. just figure it out, alright?” he was so rude, and you turned your cheek against his arm to face the other way in embarrassment, knowing the doctor was just doing his job.

eventually, after rafe gets what he wants — you get sent home with a more targeted prescription, rafe carrying you to the car and into the house whilst you doze off.

“okay, there you go.” he sets you down on the bed, huffing out a sigh after the long day of arguing he’d had. he brings you a glass of water, hand cupping the back of your clammy neck as he brings it to your mouth. you groan and he raises his brows, concentrating on not spilling it. “drink.” he demands quietly and you do, before pulling away and wiping your chin from a little spillage, sleepily wiping your wet hand on rafes shirt. he only shakes his head slightly in acknowledgement to this before pulling your blanket off you when you try to snuggle up.

“hey, no— can’t have this, okay? you’re burning up still.”

“but i’m cold.” you complain, curling into yourself miserably.

“i know, kid.” he sighs out his nose, watching you for a moment. “you want anything?”

“you.” you pout.

“i’m already here. anything else?”

“no thank you.” your eyes flutter shut, feeling the exhaustion (and medication) take over your system.

“alright, sweetheart. rest up, yeah?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[beyondthesefourwalls]

Merry Christmas Mishaps

Summary: Christmas looked a little different this year, and Javy knew you were having a hard time adjusting to it. You were used to the lights and the hustle and - God help him, the snow - that came with where you had called home for so long. You had given all that up to move to California to be with him, and he decided that if he couldn’t get you back on the east coast for the holiday, maybe he could improvise and start making new traditions here together, with a few surprises along the way. 

Pairing: Javy Machado x Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 3.7K

Warnings: Warm fuzzy Hallmark feelings. Non-descriptive smut that’s more alluded to but still there. 

Notes: Back on my Javy Needs More Love agenda, but make it the ✨Holiday Edition✨

Written for @bellaireland1981's Winter RomCom Challenge with the prompt "I have a secret".

---

Christmas looked a little different this year, and Javy knew you were having a hard time adjusting to it. 

When you had fallen in love with him, agreeing to move to San Diego to be with him since he couldn’t exactly relocate for you (he would have, in a heartbeat), you had done so with little to no hesitation. Being together was worth getting used to a new time zone and weather patterns. Last year, he had accompanied you home for the holidays, being introduced to every aunt and uncle and cousin twice removed as the boyfriend who had whisked you away to sunny California, experiencing every tradition and festive tourist trap he could have imagined, his cheeks cold and his toes numb, but with a giant smile on his face because of how happy you were. 

This year, though, he had drawn the short straw amongst his squad and would be working half a day on the 23rd and then the day after Christmas, too. And you, in all of your beauty and grace and complete and utter stubbornness, had refused to entertain the idea of going home by yourself. 

“For God’s sake, Javy. You think I’d let you spend Christmas alone?” 

You had sounded truly scandalized at the suggestion, and neither of you had talked about it since. 

But he knew. 

You were as cheerful as ever on the outside, even more so, really, overcompensating with the winter wonderland that your shared condo had turned into. Hardly a surface wasn’t covered in something festive since your negotiated date of the 15th of November (you were of the belief that Christmas started on November 1st, where he was a strict after Thanksgiving guy). Christmas playlists were on a constant rotation, and he’d watched more Hallmark movies in the last few weeks than he was willing to admit. You were doing everything right to make it seem like you were in the holiday spirit, but he could see the way the light in your eye dimmed just the slightest bit when you didn’t realize he was looking, and how sometimes your smile was just the tiniest bit forced. 

He knew that you missed the familiarity of home and the warmth of family and tradition. He had tried to get your parents out here instead, but it hadn’t worked out like he had hoped. It really would just be the two of you for Christmas. You had assured him that that was all you needed, and deep down, he knew you were telling the truth. Still, he wished he could do something more to make it feel like what you were used to. 

It was a week before the holiday when the idea came to him. You were watching yet another Hallmark movie, set in a snowy mountain town that was fighting to keep a beloved bakery alive (or maybe it was a toy shop, the plot lines were all starting to blend together for him), and you made an off hand comment about the likelihood of ever seeing snow while living in California. It was nearly two AM as you both slept in bed under a green and red duvet when his eyes popped open and he shot up to grab his laptop, suddenly knowing exactly what he could do. 

Javy spent the next several days feverishly planning, making calls and sending emails in between hops and classes. He felt like a kid trying to keep the ultimate Christmas present a surprise, giddy with excitement. It was a gamble, the forecast changing almost by the hour, but he was confident it would be worth it. 

Coming home from work at lunch time on the 23rd, he was practically vibrating with anticipation. You were in the kitchen transferring cookies into a tin from a baking sheet when he walked through the door, the condo smelling like chocolate and sugar. Michael Buble played in the background, and he couldn’t help but watch you for a moment before he announced his presence. 

“Hey baby,” he said. You spun to face him, and he could see the touch of melancholy in your eyes. 

“Hey you.” 

He crossed the room to wrap his arms around you, kissing the top of your head. You pressed your face into the crook of his neck and he could feel the way your body relaxed against his. He held you tighter. “Merry Christmas Eve Eve,” he whispered into your hair, and you giggled as you pulled away to look at him, your smile warm and sincere. He felt a flutter that he was able to do that. 

“Merry Christmas Eve Eve,” you returned, raising on your toes to kiss him. He could taste your peppermint chapstick on your lips.

“I have something for you,” he said, and your eyebrow raised in question. He shot you a wink and squeezed your hips before he stepped away. He practically jogged over to the Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, grabbing one of the boxes he had placed there earlier this week and hurrying back to you. He held it out to you with a dramatic bow, causing another laugh to escape from between your pretty lips. “For you, m’lady.” 

“You’re such a dork,” you said, but there was fondness laced through your voice, and Javy just smiled. You took the box from him, running your finger over the shimmering gold wrapping paper. You looked at the gift wistfully before looking back at him. “It’s not Christmas yet.” 

“An early gift. Come on, open it. For me?” 

You rolled your eyes at his exaggerated puppy dog expression that he played up just for you. With a sigh that quickly turned into an excited grin, you tore into the paper. He laughed as you did, knowing that no matter how hard you tried to hide it, you loved presents. 

He could tell you were confused when you pulled out the soft, fluffy scarf, followed by the matching beanie, both in a dark forest green that he knew you favored. 

“These are so nice, baby. I love them. But it’s 70 degrees outside right now?” 

Javy nodded, not bothering to fight the smile that was taking over his face. “Yeah, but it’s colder up in the mountains. So you might need to bundle up.”

You looked up at him in shock, your eyes widening with each passing second. “What are you talking about?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“I rented us a cabin up in Big Bear. It’s just for a couple of days, but I thought maybe we could get away just the two of us. Maybe get some snow and have a white Christmas after all, if the weather pulls through. But at least a colder one, just like you like.” 

You were staring at him with a mix of disbelief and pure joy, and Javy knew he had made the right decision in surprising you. He mentally captured the look on your face right now, wanting to keep it as a memory forever. 

“Javy…” 

It wasn’t often that you were speechless, and he couldn’t help the laugh he let out as he asked, “Are you surprised?” 

Instead of answering, you threw your arms around him, hugging him tight. You wrapped your legs around him when he lifted you off your feet and pulled back just far enough to kiss him soundly. 

“This is the best gift ever,” you whispered against his lips. “I love you.” 

You were on the road within the next two hours, the presents from under your tree all packed up in the car as well as the cookies you had just freshly baked. It was almost a three hour drive and by the time he was winding his truck up the mountain side, the sun was setting. You were leaning as far as you could against the window, eyes glued on the outdoor landscape. A thin sheen of snow lined the ground, and you could see the faint shine of Christmas lights from tucked away houses.

Javy reached over to take your hand, lacing your fingers together. You turned to him smiling, and he felt his heart swell. He knew that this was exactly what you needed.

He helped you out of the car once he parked in the small driveway, and he could see the awe written all over your face. The cabin was wooden and cozy, the outside completely decked out in twinkling lights. He could see through the windows that the inside had lights on, too, and he knew the request he had put in with the rental company to have all the Christmas lights up and turned on at the time of arrival had been fulfilled. 

“Oh, baby,” you breathed, spinning in a slow circle once you walked through the front door. The cabin itself was small, a studio set up where every room flowed together with ease and little separation, but it was decorated just as extravagantly as the condo, only moreso, somehow, with the mountain environment and cabin feel adding a deeper element of festivity. 

“This is beautiful,” you said softly. Javy dropped the bags by the door and closed the small distance between you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head. 

"I'm glad you like it," he said, his breath warm against your ear. "I know Christmas looks a little different this year. So I wanted to make it special for you." 

You turned in his arms to look at him, eyes shining with tears. “You make everything special,” you told him, and he could hear the conviction in your voice that made it so he couldn’t help but believe you. "Thank you," you whispered. "This means everything to me."  You kissed him, and Javy held you close, his hand stroking your back in a soothing rhythm.

You kept things simple that night, making an easy dinner and then cuddling up on the small couch in front of the fireplace to watch a movie. He insisted on something not Hallmark, and you didn’t fight him at all, laughing as you threw on The Santa Clause instead. 

The next day, the two of you went all out on modified versions of your family’s Christmas traditions. You made an absolute feast for breakfast, full of way too many carbs and way too much sugar that you both ate happily and without a care in the world. You baked even more cookies, and Javy discovered that he had quite the talent for decorating them. The two of you laughed and teased each other as you both tried to outdo each other’s designs, and he kissed your pout away when you eventually conceded defeat.

“You’re too perfect. It’s actually ridiculous.” 

You went for a walk in the early afternoon, bundled up in coats you never got use out of in San Diego. You wore the scarf and hat that he got for you and kept your hand in his the entire way. When you got back to the cabin, noses and fingers cold, you started cooking a meal that was way too much for two people. Normally that was reserved for Christmas day, but you’d have to head back home tomorrow night so you were modifying everything just the slightest bit to accommodate while still making it a trip to remember. 

You sipped sweet red wine together after dinner, trading stories about holidays as kids, when you gasped loudly, jumping up from the couch. He looked at you in concern as you practically sprinted to the window. 

“Baby, what-”

“Javy, it’s snowing!” 

The wonder in your voice was palpable. He got up and joined you at the window, watching the snowflakes fall gently to the ground in the dark, reflecting off of the array of outdoor lights. It was a beautiful sight, truly. 

“Looks like we’ll have a white Christmas after all,” he said, his voice low and husky as he wrapped his arms around you. You leaned into him, smiling contentedly. You just stood and watched for a few minutes before he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Want to go outside?” 

You turned to face him, the excitement in your eyes evident. “Yes!” you exclaimed, already grabbing your coat and shoes. Javy chuckled at your enthusiasm, but really, he was just as excited as you were. 

The air was crisp and cold, but you hardly seemed to notice as you twirled around in the falling snow. He just watched you for a moment, content with the spectacle he was witnessing. You slipped just the slightest bit on your next spin, and Javy caught you, holding you steady as you started to giggle uncontrollably. He couldn’t help but smile at your joy, feeling his own heart warm at the sight.

“Careful,” he playfully admonished. You just sighed happily as you settled against him. 

“Never thought I’d get a white Christmas in California,” you whispered. 

Javy’s pulse picked up as he thought about one of the gifts he had for you, suddenly desperate to give it to you. He swallowed thickly as he kissed your cold cheek. “Let’s head back in.” 

You showered together, the hot water helping you regain some of the warmth you had lost from your unexpected snow excursion. You poured glasses of wine as he set some cookies on a plate for you to share, and the two of you settled in front of the Christmas tree. You eyed the gifts eagerly; it was nearing midnight now, and neither of you wanted to wait until morning. 

You took turns opening the handful of gifts you got each other, swapping stories and reasonings behind them as you did. Plenty of laughs and kisses were exchanged as you went, and before he knew it, you were both surrounded by wrapping and tissue paper. 

Looking at you now, basked in the tree lights and the glow of the lit candles scattered throughout the room, the fireplace crackling in the corner, he knew there wouldn't be a better time than right now. He cleared his throat gently, drawing your attention from the custom puzzle he had made for you of one of your favorite pictures. 

“I have one more gift for you,” he murmured, and his heart started racing wildly in his chest as he reached behind the tree, lifting the tree skirt to grab the small box he had hid underneath it. It was beautifully wrapped, adorned with a silky green ribbon and a small gold bell. Your eyes widened as you looked from the box to his eyes, and he could see the question written all over your face. His heart leaped in his chest as you took it from him, your fingers brushing his before smoothing over the elegant paper, different from what the rest of your gifts had been wrapped in. 

“Javy,” you breathed. “Is this…?” 

“Open it,” he urged, a small smile playing on his lips. You slowly undid the ribbon, setting it aside and then gently running your finger beneath the tape to get the paper off, showing a delicacy you hadn’t before. 

You gasped when the velvet black box was revealed, and when you met his eyes again, there were tears lining yours. 

“Go ahead, open it,” he encouraged, his eyes dancing with anticipation. 

You bit your lip through the smile he could see appearing, staring at him for a long moment, before you finally looked back down. With a deep, shaky breath you snapped the box open. He held his breath as he waited for your reaction, only for his stomach to drop when, instead of the radiant smile and excitement he was so confident you would have, your eyebrows furrowed together, a frown contorting your features. You looked not only confused, but heartbroken. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“What?” he asked, heart racing for an entirely different reason now. “What do you mean?” 

Without saying anything, you turned the open box to face him. Javy felt horror course through him when he looked down to see that the ring box, which was supposed to be housing a shiny, sparkling engagement ring that he just knew you would be in love with, was completely empty. And instead of the name of the jewelry store staring back at him on the silk lining of the inside lid, the LSU logo from the box that at one point held his class ring that was on his hand was staring back at him instead. It took his mind a moment to really register the implications of that, and the groan he let out was long and drawn out. 

“Oh my God,” he said as he smacked his forehead, “I’m an idiot.” 

You still looked confused, but maybe a little less heartbroken as you cleared your throat. “Huh?” 

“Baby, I am so sorry,” he pleaded, and he scrambled to grab your hands, sliding himself closer to you on the floor. He knocked the offensive empty box to the ground. 

“I kept your ring it in my sock drawer-”

“Real original.” 

“Thank you, I know,” he responded without missing a beat, “But I also keep my class ring box in there, and I must have grabbed the wrong one when you were in the shower before we left yesterday. I had looked at the ring so many times that I swore the hinges on the damn box were gonna snap so I made myself keep it closed and oh my god-” 

You cut him off with a laugh, shaking your head and wiping at the tears in your eyes. “Javy, it’s okay,” you said. 

But it wasn’t, not to him at least. He had planned this whole getaway so meticulously and the proposal had been something he had been thinking about for so long. He had bought your ring months ago, and had been so excited to give it to you. 

“No,” he shook his head, “it’s not okay. This was supposed to be perfect, and I ruined it. I’m so sorry,” he apologized again. 

You took his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you, and he couldn’t help but lean into your touch. “It’s not ruined,” you said firmly. “I mean, yeah, this wasn’t exactly how you planned it, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you or the fact that I want to be with you forever.” 

“I just wanted it to be special,” he muttered, still feeling embarrassed. He imagined he would for a good long while. 

You smiled at him, that sweet tug of your lips that has damn near brought him to his knees since the very beginning. You rubbed your thumb across his cheek, giggling softly. You leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. 

“I don’t care about the ring, Javy. I care about you. And this is perfect.” 

He looked at you, tears stinging his eyes. A grin slowly spread on his face as he processed your words. “Are you saying yes?” he asked, his voice tinged with excitement. 

You grinned right back at him, shrugging playfully. “Are you asking?” 

Javy couldn't contain the emotion that coursed through him. The empty ring box was forgotten as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. Laughter bubbled up between you. "Yes! Yes, I'm asking!" 

Your eyes sparkled when you pulled away, and you looked at him expectantly, eyebrows raised. It took him a second through the excitement to realize why, and he felt his face heat with embarrassment again. "Oh! Right. Right. Baby, I love you. And I had a whole speech planned, but it doesn't feel like it matters anymore. All that matters is me and you, yeah?" You nodded, tears in your eyes, and Javy felt as calm as he had all night just from the look you were giving him. "Marry me?" 

You kissed him again, your lips molding perfectly against his. He had to rank it as one of the best kisses the two of you had ever shared together. “Yes,” you breathed, your noses brushing together as you nodded fervently. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” 

You squealed at the sudden movement as he scooped you up into his arms as he stood. He spun you around once, twice, your shared laughter filling the small, warm space. Your arms wrapped tight around his neck as he held you, trusting him not to drop you. He knew the smile on his face must have been ridiculous - his cheeks were starting to ache by the constant pull. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you said, your voice soft but sincere. He kissed you again, and you returned it eagerly. You moaned into his mouth as he carried you the few steps to the bed, laying you down gently before climbing on top of you. 

He made love to you slowly, his hands roaming every inch of your body, caressing and exploring with a tenderness that matched what he was feeling. He savored every breath and every touch. There was no rush as you moved together. The tree lights glowed and the fireplace crackled, and it was like just the two of you existed, tucked away from the rest of the world. You clutched at him as he expertly brought you to the edge. 

You lay cuddled up with him afterward, your head on his chest as his stayed wrapped around you, holding you close. 

The room was filled with a comforting silence, broken only by the sound of your steady breathing and the crackling of logs in the fireplace. Javy traced lazy patterns on the bare skin of your back, his touch gentle and loving. The Christmas tree glowed in the corner, snow was still slowly falling outside, and a quick glance at the clock on the bedside table told him it was after midnight at that point. He pressed a kiss to your head, sighing in content. 

"Merry Christmas, Sweetheart." 

-----------

Main Masterlist

Notes: This was incredibly self indulgent. I actually love him so much, it's unhealthy. Hope you enjoyed this one!

Thanks to @roosterforme and @mak-32 for all their help as usual, and to Mak for the absolutely stunning banner.

[aerynwrites]

If you would be open to it, I’d love to ask for your HCs on: (* * spoiler-ish ahead * *) what if reader/tav went with Halsin at the end of Act III to establish a sanctuary for the refugees/take care of the children? Little snippets of life sort of things for how you think it would be between the two of them without the pressures of saving the whole world. I love your perspectives and writing !! Definitely would be awesome to read your take on that sorta thing

I as going to have this up sooner but tumblr apparently hates me and deleted the post on two different occasions when I was working on it lmao. so sorry for the delay, but I hope you enjoy!

Halsin and Reader after The game

Okay so

I feel like a lot of their first few months would be focusing on rebuilding efforts.

bc personally - I know Halsin in game says that he is going back to Thaniel's realm. But I love the idea of him actually returning to Moonrise/the old shadow lands and rebuilding the area there to truly give the refugees a place to call home.

so lots of rebuilding, coordinating relief efforts, etc.

I also feel like you would convince Halsin rebuild the little house that you all found Oliver in for a house of your own away from the hustle and bustle of things.

and after just a few short months it seems like its done.

sure there will always be things to do and fix and rebuild, but everyone had a roof over their head and full bellies and safety!

something none of you have had in a while.

Halsin relishes in it. you thought he was a bright light in the darkness before, he's even more so now.

like a actual weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

for the first time in centuries he's able to truly take in what's in front of him, and he spends pretty much every moment of that new feeling with you.

one thing you love doing is looking at the stars, an activity Halsin also enjoys.

he loves pointing out the different constellations to you, or if he's in bear for you'll do the same for him as you lean into his furry side.

speaking of his bear form...

The refugee children fucking love that shit.

the children love Halsin in general, especially those who lost their parents and look to him as a father figure of sorts.

They practically hang off of him whenever you two venture into the more populated areas.

they always beg him to wild shape, something he hardly ever denies since he often prefers that form anyways.

And he's admitted to you on a few occasions that he loves to see them happy and laughing after all they've been through.

life would continue this way for a while, your only true responsibilities being protecting those around you.

Life is finally peaceful, quiet and you wouldn't change much.

after a few years I could see Halsin possibly bringing up the idea of children, but he would never push.

if you want children of your own biologically he would be More than happy to indulge that desire lol.

but if that's not something you envision for yourself he would be happy that way too: kids, no kids, adopting one of the children in need...Halsin is happy if you are happy.

and no matter what life throws at you, you both know you have each other from now on.

[thelastofhyde]

prologue. rome.

pairing. tourguide!joel miller x fem!reader. series synopsis. on the brink of undergoing a life-altering change, you runaway from your problems in the only way any sane person can: embarking on a mediterranean cruise. there you meet joel miller, a grumpy, private tour-guide, who just so happens to be tasked with touring you through each stop on your cruise. from greek goddesses to roman ruins, you have ten days to avoid your fate. maybe a frowning, southern, sex-on-legs of a man is just what the doctor ordered. chapter summary. like all epic love stories, this one starts with a meet-(un)cute. series warnings. no use of y/n, set in 2015, cruise!au, rom-com, enemies-ish to lovers, sunshine!reader, tour-guide!joel, age gap, depictions/discussions of grief, angst, fluff, a whole load of smut, a lot of cheesy stereotypical romance tropes bc i just wanna see joel not suffer ( too much ) <3 chapter warnings. i’m pretty sure there’s no warnings this chapter. word count. 845. hyde’s input. & so it begins! my goal is to try post a chapter every other friday, but it may be weekly if i write + edit on time. likes and reblogs are appreciated <3 next chapter - series masterlist

Under the buzz of a dying light, you assess the damage.

Tousled hair, smudged mascara, bags under your eyes. Chapped lips, wrinkled clothing, a missing earring. Nail indentations, dry hands, a bruise on your knee.

You'd call yourself a mess, had you not been travelling at full-speed in the air, trapped inside an overgrown Pringles can that grew wings, for the past who-knows-how-many hours.

With a snoring seat-neighbour, a kid kicking at the back of you and the embarrassing sting of tears in your eyes, you'd not known peace until the plane had landed on solid ground. And, even then, the nightmare had picked right back up where it had left off, shapeshifting into a mile long customs queue and the overwhelming dread of watching the conveyor belt spin round and round with not a single sign of your suitcase.

It took a whole hour and speaking to an airport staff member later for them to find your case, right down the other end of the arrivals hall, sitting amongst luggage from a destination you'd certainly not arrived from.

But none of that matters, not now. At least you tell yourself that as you splash some cold water on your face. Looking back in the mirror, you try out a smile. It doesn't look genuine, but it's been a little harder to do recently, and so you give yourself credit for managing to at least have it meet your eyes.

There's a series of disgruntled, irritated faces that greet you as you exit the bathroom. You walk past them, head down, trying to count the beat in your footsteps and feel the roll of your suitcase's wheels.

Finding the signs that point to the arrival gate, you keep a low profile, as if anyone would know you here. Why would anybody know you here? Still, the need to stay hidden, out of sight, it intensifies, even as you take in the welcoming sign above sliding doors.

Buongiorno, benvenuto in Italia!

An overwhelming wave of loneliness hits you as you take your first step past the sliding doors, the usual hustle and bustle of an arrival's lounge greeting you. Couples embracing in reunion, families excitedly catching up on all that they've missed, strangers meeting for the first time, men in suits holding up signs with names and-

A different kind of wave hits you, physically, and suddenly you're on all fours, the sound of your knees smacking harshly into the marble floor taunting you with yet another bruise that'll be making a cameo in every picture you’ll take.

The world continues to pass you by, even as you juggle turmoil and pain. It’s a feat you’re trying to grow used to, but, for now, all you can manage is to not feel your stomach knot. You straighten your back, hands off the floor and your weight resting back against your knees. Pull a deep breath in, ignoring the tremble in your lower lip. In a moment of pure desperation, you wonder what more awaits you on this holiday from hell.

An awful flight, a lost-luggage scare, several bruises and now a public humiliation. What’s next?

You’re plucked up from where you sit, strong hands taking a gentle grip of your forearm. A simple tug and you obey the stranger’s signal, shifting to stand up straight. Turning on your heel to face your rescuer, you’re met with the back of a head, dark locks adorning it as the man reaches back down to grasp at your suitcase’s handle.

The man’s face is revealed slowly, undeliberately, as he rises to level once more, steadying your case back onto its wheels. Handsome, you notice the etching of laugh lines around his eyes and the peppering of patchy, yet fitting, facial hair along his jaw. A pair of headphones, big and chunky and sporting a wire, rest on the back of his neck and the strap of a backpack rests over his right shoulder.

You notice you’re staring a little too late, when there’s already a frown line splitting the skin of his forehead. Clear your throat, take back control of your suitcase and your senses.

Raised with manners, you rather clumsily thrust out your hand for the man to shake. “Thank you for your help, I appreciate it. So much. I'm-"

"You're in the way."

There’s no time to respond, not properly, as the man side-steps you with a grunt, his shoulder catching yours as he passes by. He doesn’t stop to apologise, simply readjusting the sliding strap of his bag and continuing his stride out into the sea of awaiting people.

Involuntarily, frozen where you stand, your eyes follow him as he comes to a stop in front of a uniformed man, a printed sign in his hand.

Signore Miller.

As you scan the crowd for your own name, spotting a casually dressed older gentleman carrying it upon scribbled cardboard, you repeat that name, over and over.

Miller, Miller, Miller.

Whoever the rude man may be, you pray for all those who cross his path on his trip.