Being inclusive with your reader insert fic is a kindness. It tells people of color (poc) that you are considering someone who does not look like you in your fic. It shows love and dedication to our craft. It tells poc that they belong here too and they can see themselves in your story.
Poc aren’t look for activism in fic, we know fandom isn’t that serious, but we should be able to have that same level of escapism when we turn to fic and fandom. We belong here too. This space is for everyone, not just one group of people.
Just to give a few examples of how simple it can be: say “skin warmed” instead of blushed, say “cradled your head” instead of running fingers through hair, say “angles yourself to kiss” instead of standing on tiptoes, use italics to indicate Spanish to take out a throwaway line of “you didn’t understand Spanish” things like that. Small changes that do not impact the fic at all but make a world of difference in inclusivity!
And for anything you can’t/don’t want to change, simply add warning in the beginning. Things like hair descriptors, anything reader might wear, some backstory for reader (especially involving family or where the story is set), readers job, things like that. A lot of times just having that heads up before the fic makes a world of difference!
And one example of kindness we as writers always worked to change: until recently (just a couple years ago) it wasn’t common to label the gender of the reader. But those who aren’t female asked writers to label it so they know which to read and which to avoid, and now it’s common to label the gender/pronouns of the reader. So it is possible! It just takes effort! And I’m a writer myself so I know it can be done!
We can pretend to be a bartender or a bounty hunter or an actress or anything else. But we shouldn’t have to imagine we’re a white one.
BOOST! AND EMPHASIS ON THE LAST POINT --- we can pretend we're anything in fic. But no reader should be forced to imagine that they are (only) a white one.
Beautifully put, Jey, because yes!! There are ways to make your writing inclusive. The willful disregard of those things just shows that a person is not interested in being inclusive. And we as readers have the choice not to engage with those things.
For months, I have been beating myself up over the fact that I don't get the interaction that others get. I don't get the same numbers of reblogs or like, I don't get the asks, I don't get the mentions. And I have been trying to do everything I can to change that. I write what I think others want me to write, I reach out as much as possible, I send comments and asks as often as I can, but still no change.
And today, it finally hit me. It's because I'm not as good as these other people.
I'm not as good of a writer. I'm not as personable or as likable. I'm not as engaging or friendly or supportive.
And you know what? That's ok.
I might not be able to write epic prose that inspires fanart, or discussion, or leave people begging for more. But I enjoy what I write. And I might not get 10, 20, 30 asks in my inbox, but the few I do get mean the world to me. And I might not have people wanting to get to know me or talk to me outside of just reading my fics, but I still have a group of people who love and care about me for me.
It can be hard to see other people on your dash get the sorts of interactions you wish you had (both on fics and just on a personal level), but they are not you. And you are not them. And that is ok. 💕
Vee, Soph, I'm sorry you both feel that way, and I assure you, you are both excellent writers, truly, promise promise promise
I beg you both to not take the lack of interaction as an indictment upon the quality of your writing. There are so many things, such as a. a lot of us are just overwhelmed with our schedules, be it work, school or irl responsibilities b. a lot of us are writers as well, and we're spending time writing too c. Even though it doesn't seem like it a lot of readers are half-decent folk who do follow the dictum of don't-like-don't-read without making a public declaration of the fact d. We're all on the social media website made for hermits and shut-ins and similar ne'er do wells and e. I had two more points to insert here but I can't remember them because I've spent all night working and it's 6.46 am and I have to go back to work and I forget but anyway I love you both and I love your writing and I love your imaginations and your perseverance and your big hearts and your love for the things I love (literally followed you because of Jason Todd, Vee, sunshine of my days, and Soph you literally keep me active and invested in TGM, you sweet cinnamon bun) so please do not sell yourself short, it is not you, nor your writing, nor necessarily your audience either. We're all just being sauteed in the giant wok of life rn and hopefully we're going to come out delicious really soon but in the meanwhile please take care of yourself to not get burnt by the high heat because I love you both so much
ok i'm supposed to be working etc., but i can't help it i got the idea from that one gifset where Mav tries to pull a Riker and it got me to thinking Star Trek AU!!!!!!! Mav is the captain of a teeny tiny covert ops war ship with Full Dagger Squad (including Halo et al) as crewmembers, has to escort the USS Enterprise somewhere!! Kirk initially picks The Felon because he thinks the captain is such a loose cannon he'll easily come around to Kirk's regularly insane plans but the joke's on him because Maverick is even more elevator-music-plays-only-danger-zone and KIRK has to be the responsible one! Spock is bemused because on one hand Kirk being ultra-safe but on the other he has to deal with Mav Don't-Think-Just-Do Mitchell
Hi hi y'all!!! This was written for Sophie, the one and only @callsign-phoenix , in celebration of her 1k followers! You're the dearest of hearts my love, a writer who gets better with every word, and I adore you to bits 💖 I wish 2023 is a joy for you ❣️ I hope you like this 💕
Drink: Sex On The Beach
Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x F!Reader
Tags & Warnings: 18+, smut, pwp, p in v sex, fingering, dirty talk, ear kisses, spitting (if you squint), unprotected sex, no specified race/physical descriptors for Reader
*********************
The tide churned and chopped in a tattoo against the breakwater, and you held the cold glass against your skin with one hand, letting the condensate roll drops down skin, your book in the other. The Mississippi was in a dry spell, Kenny Rogers on the antique vitriola somewhere down the street, set up high to a sound that was rich and tinny at the same time. The air buzzed with a dazed sort of energy, the breeze itself languishing, desultory. All of your attention, however, was focused on the way the sun was drowning into the water, and under your breath you couldn't help but recite a few lines from a poem you thought you'd long forgotten: "it will flame out/like shining from shook foil". The drip of your drink's sweat followed a path that was oft-visited by one other, and your nipples tightened at the mere thought of him, letting the drop bead off the peak, under your slip of a dress, even as your belly flip flopped and warmth spread through your core, clenching in anticipation. Your half-heartedly noted the page of your copy of Pride and Prejudice; it was a true favourite of yours, but too- you groped for an adequate word- too pastel for a night such as this. A night heavy with the weight of its own air, rich and heady, calling out for dark on dark, blood and peaches and myrrh, sinuous, sultry. Decadent. You dug your fingers into the sand, rough and soft at the same time, a cat's tongue, and held up a fistful of it, letting it slowly run through your clenched palm, a makeshift hourglass.
"So you're familiar with two sins," a rumble of a voice rasped deep in your ear, "how about a third?" You felt the question more than you heard it, and a shiver shot through your spine, juddering your body from head to toe. You turned your head halfway, nuzzling into the face at the crook of your neck, your eyes closing in sheer bliss at the friction of the stubble against your cheek. The lips laid softly on your cheek, mouthing at the proffered flesh. "Missed you, darlin'," he whispered against your skin, before settling down behind you on the blanket, slotting you between his legs.
"Missed you more," you breathed, and were rewarded with a deep chuckle. He ran his fingertips against your skin, starting fingertips to fingertips, up your arm, down the side of your neck, down down till he was dragging your neckline down alongwith, past the top of the swell of your breast till he landed unerringly at a nipple. He used a nail to give it a flick and you stopped breathing as slick gushed between your legs.
"Dreamt of you every night." He confessed, his lips at the shell of your ear, his nail giving your nipple another flick.
"I felt like I couldn't breathe without you." A confession for a confession, and he hummed into your ear and your whole body pushed into him, winding itself, a reward for the raw truth.
He pushed his hand underneath your dress, under the abused neckline, his arm banding between the valley of your breasts inerrantly to your core. His fingers found only you there, unbound from any cloth barriers, and he hummed again in approval. "All for me darlin'? Bein' such a good girl for me?" Your body arched at the dual stimulation, and you nodded fiercely. He licked a kiss into your ear as his fingers leisurely explored your folds, and you brought his other hand up with both of yours, drawing his digits into your mouth with a whimper, giving them a chaste kiss before sucking them into your mouth, drawing out a deep groan from him to match the one you let out at the taste of his skin. Without warning he plunged two fingers into you, curling them just so, the heel of his palm against your clit, as he began a a torturously slow rhythm, that made up what it lacked in speed and force with precision and pressure. Your breath caught in your throat at the onslaught, eyes rolling to the stars that were coming to play out in the darkening sky. The tide was gentling but still incessant, the metronome to your man inside of you. At that thought, the fact that your man had come back home, come back to you, had you coming onto his thick, blunt, calloused fingers, your walls hugging them into you, trying to take them deeper, deeper, deeper, and your mouth echoed this with your other hand, tears leaking from your eyes, falling back into your hairline, as the waves within your body and out alternated through your senses. His fingers were unceasing throughout, wringing out sensation upon sensation and you didn't know if this was one long orgasm or many and you couldn't bring yourself to make a distinction. The overstimulation of being surrounded and filled by Robert had your vision going white at the sheer pleasure, and you felt your soul float away.
When you came back to the positions were changed; you were at on your back, and where Robert had been behind you, he was now in front, or to be more accurate, on top. His jeans unsnapped just enough that his cock could stand heavy, red, angry, his shirt non-existent, and you could see the ridges and veins in his arms as he held himself above you his mouth open to yours as you both shared the same one breath. Your hands slid down his chest in wonderment before taking him in your hand, one cupping his balls, gently massaging, the other's nails running up his frenulum, featherlight, before teasing the little slit that was beading drops of precum. A string of spit reached out from his panting mouth to yours, an echo, and it was as if a starting shot had been fired into a race. His mouth came roughly down on yours, peaches and cherries and something darker, muskier, taking and giving with wild abandon as he bucked his hips out of your hands and into your folds. You accommodated him reflexively, winding your legs down his, grabbing handfuls of his ass, nails digging to leave marks and draw blood, your heels digging into his calves, before your toes ran up and down the length of his legs. He shifted his weight like a sleight of hand so that your knees were hooked over his elbows and he bent you in half as he slammed inside of you, pushing out all the air from both your lungs. Your whole body arched at the sensation and your arms flung themselves around his neck of your own volition, as he started a brutal bump and grind rhythm that stimulated every nerve ending you had, your walls fluttering and clenching around him like a vice. He growled against your ear with a lick, into your neck with a bite, into your mouth with a kiss, as his pace grew faster and faster, his hair falling into your face, every push into your rougher and edgier, and his mouth found your ear again, muttering deep and dark into your ear, mindless that his basest desires were spilling into you; repeated exhortations and praise; "that's it baby, that's it darlin', take it, take all of it, so deep, look, look, look at it disappear, look at this body, made for me, made for me princess, just for me, too big for you sweetheart, hmm? issok, issok, I'll make it fit, make it all better, come for me, come for me, come all around me, soak me, drench me, need you to come baby love, need you to come so I can fill you up, show you my love, have you dripping with me, that's it, that's my girl," on and on till you heard a wild keen before recognising that it was you, your wild voice, as you came, as your love followed you moments after, his voice something between a groan and a roar that had your whole body shuddering with adoration.
He dropped his full weight on you, smothering your sweat-soaked and rapidly cooling body with his furnace-like one, his fingertips drawing barely there patterns on your skin as his tongue did the same with your ear. You pushed your hands in his hair, reveling in the feel of the soft strands with nothing in them but the seasalt air. "Welcome home, Mr. Floyd," you murmured.
He gave you a thorough, bruising kiss before he smiled. "And what a welcome that was, Mrs. Floyd."
Because there is no uneventful night at the hard deck.
Warnings: small physical altercation, OC Villain is mean to reader, no specified race/physical descriptors for Reader, Reader can be read as 1/2 white because she is Mav's kid
Wordcount: ~3.7K
Previous Chapter || Masterlist || AO3 || The Receipts Universe
Mine To Keep Chapter 3: Homecoming
"Who was that?" Goose asked, a study in feigned nonchalance, as you slid into the front seat.
"An acquaintance? Honestly I'm not too sure, I just bumped into him, his callsign's Hangman." You fastened your seatbelt as the truck started up. "Anyway, what's got your knickers in a twist?" Thankfully the change in topic worked as his face twisted into a grimace.
"It's about your Godmother..."
"What's wrong? Is everything ok?"
"It's fine it's fine, it's just, our anniversary is coming up, and you know...." You did know, your godfather was a romantic guy to begin with, absolutely crazy about his wife, and he felt extremely guilty about what his career choice had put her through - his words- that he went all out for every occasion that concerned her even remotely.
"Oh yeah... So what are you thinking?"
"Well, that's just it. I've been wracking my brain, but nothing is good enough. Well, that, or I've already done it. So I thought you could help me shop for a gift?" There was indecision in his voice that you rarely heard, and your heart went out to him. You laid a hand on his arm as he swung the truck into a parking lot.
"Of course we can do that! Did you have something particular in mind?" You asked as you both scanned for an empty parking space. It was then that a window display caught your eye. It had an around-the-world trip tableau set up, from the pyramids of egypt to the palaces of Japan and the hanging gardens of Babylon. It was tastefully, painstakingly done, likely by a fresh hire who still hadn't been crushed under the pressure of work, and it caused you to let out an involuntary, dreamy sigh.
"You say something?" Goose asked, still concentrating on circling for a space.
"Nah, it's nothing, just this window display of an around the world trip. I've always wanted to do that."
"You and Carole are two peas in a pod, you know that? She's spoken about those trips as well. In fact, I proposed to her in Florence, and we went to Grenoble for our honeymoon. Of course in those days the force was footing the bill..." he trailed off, reminiscing.
You let out another dreamy sigh. And then the most perfect idea struck you, and you grabbed his arm excitedly "Oh! Why don't you and Roro do the around the world trip?"
"Don't think we haven't considered it, kid," he chuckled light-heartedly, "but there's too many hoops to jump, with the whole work-leave thing and your Godmother's volunteering and-"
"Then what about just for a couple of weeks?" You countered, cutting him off in your excitement, "You could re-create your proposal and honeymoon! THAT could be your anniversary gift- I mean you should take her out to a nice dinner anyway- maybe a beach picnic? Me and rooster and dad could help arrange it of course!- but then the actual present could be the trip! And it'll be the off-season so you'll probably not face the huge crowds! Not to mention you'd save a bundle!"
Goose screeched to a stop in the middle of his nth circle, his eyes trained wide on you. A car honked behind him and it jolted him into response, but now he coasted without looking for a space, his gaze on you. "Could we? Do you think? But what about the dates? The time off work? Should I park in front of the travel agency?"
You shook your head decisively. "No. I can plan the trip better than the travel agent. About the dates..." You grabbed his little agenda book in the cupholder and thumbed through. Dutiful husband that he was, he had his wife's activities pencilled in too. "Roro has a couple of breather weeks, could you get your leave then?" You recited the dates to him and watched his face light up.
"Yeah, that's definitely doable!" He shot out of the parking lot from hell and onto the freeway, pulling the top down on his truck and putting his aviators on. "What do you say we have a pizza night?"
"I'd say it sounds perfect!" You grinned right back, and he pinched your cheek.
"What would I do without you punkin'? I know you won't believe me, but I'll tell you again, you're my kid. We just have you to Mav because he looked all lonely and miserable. And boy do I regret it."
"Oh, I do believe you Unca." you looked him dead in the eye.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah! You're where I get my moustache from." You joked, waggling your eyebrows and crossing your eyes, and delighted in hearing his yowl of a laugh.
*****
As you loaded up the pizzas in the car, he spoke up. "How're you gonna book the trip? Should we hit an ATM?" He reached for his wallet.
“No,” You said as you hopped into shotgun. “I’ll put it on your Visa.”
Goose blinked. “Can you do that?”
You smiled at him serenely and focused on fastening your seatbelt.
“Hey, Punkin',” Goose shot you a glance. “If you ever turn to a life of crime, remember I was good to you. Punkin'?” But you just turned the dial up on the radio.
*****
"BULLSHIT!" Rooster cried out. The table had been cleared up and the slosh-click of the dishwasher could be heard throughout as you all sat, cards in one hand and coffee in the other, a half-eaten plate of cannolis sharing the centre with a stack of cards.
"Oh yeah?" Maverick asked, the picture of wounded indignation, as he upturned a pair of hearts on the table, "That's the tone you're gonna take with your Godfather? The one who fed you with his own two hands? The one who changed your diapers? The one who- no no, you gotta pick up 4, c'mon-" Rooster glared daggers as he picked the discarded cards up.
"Speaking of bullshit, Pumpkin over here- five diamonds- has been hanging out with Hangman." Goose informed helpfully, as he laid out his cards face down in the pile.
"I am not "hanging out"- five of- no Roo, it's not your turn! Caro look, Roo is bullying me! Five hearts!- I bumped into him."
"You were sharing a dessert." Goose replied, as he slapped Bradley upside the head.
"I was being nice!" Rooster snorted violently in response, rubbing his smarting skull, even as you indignantly continued, "I was! For heaven's sake, I don't even know the man's name!"
"And yet you were sharing a dessert with him."
"It's Jake, sweetheart," Carole supplied helpfully, "Jake Seresin, I believe." She was met with an en masse stare. "What, you think I don't know all of my son's friends?"
"He's not my friend." Bradley grumbled.
"He saved your life, sweetie," Carole petted Bradley's smarting head.
"He saved our lives." Rooster nudged his head into his mom's hand, amending his statement.
"Don't bring me into this." your dad replied, smartly slapping a couple of cards down.
"It's not your turn, old man! It's mom's!" Roo stuffed Mav's cards back at him. "And you say that as if you're not concerned."
"Listen, I am beyond concerned. But nothing I can say will do any good at this point. I'm just going to be ready with the Kleenex and Ben & Jerry's. You liked the one with that smug comedian's face, right?"
"Wow, your faith in me is astounding on so many levels." you rolled your eyes, kicking Rooster as he tried to peek at the ever-growing stack.
"It might be jubilant tears."
"It might be patricidal tears."
"Is that any way to talk to your father? The man who fruited you from his loins-" you gagged, "The man who put a roof over your head? Besides, why don't you get angry at Carole and Goose, they've been cheating this whole time!" Mav finished plaintively.
This time it was Carole's turn to slap someone upside the head, "Just play your cards, old man."
******
Rooster picked up his phone, hmming and ahhing as he ambled over to you, sticking the phone to your ear.
"Hi?"
"Hey, oh my god! I'm so glad I caught you in time!"
"Hey Natasha, I'm glad too! What's up?"
"Well we were having our girls' night tonight and we were hoping you could join us." Pleasure suffused you as you scrunched the phone between your cheek and shoulder, shooing Bradley away. They'd thought of you. You exercised admirable restraint in not climbing onto the kitchen counters and can-canning.
"Oh, are you sure?" Old reservations reared their head but you tamped them down.
"Of course we are! It'll be fun too! And Penny runs a tight ship at the hard deck so you can actually cut loose. Listen, I have to go, we'll meet up with you at seven?"
"Sounds good!" You said your goodbyes and let her go, mentally squealing with pure joy, even as you picked out what sundress you were going to wear.
"You going out with Phoenix and Halo?" Asked Rooster, who it turns out hadn't been shooed away far enough.
"Yeah, why?"
"Well, I know the way they order, so you may wanna go easy on the wrap." He grabbed a knife. "Here, I'll help you with that, I'll take half."
*****
Phoenix and Halo were even better company than you'd hoped. Phoenix turned out to be a big reader, and Halo and your music tastes aligned wonderfully, so the conversation came smooth and easy, and above all, it was fun. Bradley had also been right about the way the aviatrixes had ordered; you surveyed the very filled up table, and the massive dent in the portions, with no small amount of awe.
You'd been there a fair while when Bob, Fanboy, Coyote, Rooster and Hangman converged on your group. Hangman casually came to stand behind you as Rooster grabbed a stool and slid in between you and Halo, Bob doing the same on your other side, so that he was between you and Phoenix. Fanboy and Coyote had scooted in between Halo and Phoenix. The manoeuvre was so smooth it was like watching poetry in motion, but even more than that, it was the familiarity of it. As if they had been your friends all your life, as if this was routine, normal, casual, as if all these years, it wasn't just Bradley by your side with no time lost in the middle, but Hangman at your back just as he was now, close enough for his cologne to envelope you, his breath to fan ever so slightly at the top of your head, for his body heat to warm up the skin on your arms. It was homecoming. And you could have almost wept from the sheer comfort of it.
Even as you basked in the sudden wave of emotions, Halo groaned, bringing your zoning out to an end, "Why? One night guys, c'mon."
"Not you Bob, you're fine." Phoenix said, pushing a plate towards him.
"Wow, favouritism much?" Hangman muttered, grabbing a fry over your shoulder, even as Rooster grumbled, and his arm outstretched by your face made your stomach drop, your skin overheat. You could feel downy arm hair- his downy arm hair- against your cheek, and you had tamp down a shiver from going through you- even as you wondered what the everloving hell was wrong with you, to go nuts over arm hair. This night was playing havoc with your emotions.
"Hey, I'd rather be over there myself."
"Not like any of you to be shut out of a poker game this early." Natasha observed. Hangman shifted closer to your back to allow folks to pass by behind him and then stayed there. You could smell the starch in his shirt- lavender and laundry soap- and that pesky shiver was rearing its head again.
"The cards are a fickle mistress." Hangman's quip was directed at Phoenix, but he was looking straight down into your eyes, snake, meet charmer.
Bob snorted. "The cards have nothing to do with it. You have a tell, Bagman."
"Oh yeah-" Jake's hand came to rest on your shoulder as he attempted to reach over with the other, a friendly feint, but Bob had dug into the proffered plate, cheeks chipmunking, and now spoke with his mouth half-full, cutting Jake off as he casually twisted out of his reach.
"So what were ya'll talking about?" he asked, directing the conversation back to you, and it struck you how gentlemanly Bob was. You wanted to adopt him. You compromised by giving him a big grin.
"We were just starting to tell her how we got our callsigns." Phoenix answered her backseater.
"It was probably all lies," Fanboy ribbed.
"So what's your version of the story?" you asked.
"Well, Phoenix here managed to crash and burn every single time she went up during her first week-" Phoenix threw her napkin at him, "And Halo over here manages to be teacher's pet no matter what. That what they tell you?"
You subtly caught eyes with both women before turning back to Fanboy. "Well, they told it better, but yeah." you grinned, and you knew from the way Phoenix squeezed your hand that you'd answered right. "What about the rest of you all?"
Coyote started to answer, but was drowned out by an unwelcome voice.
"What do flying and my dick have in common?" Yeller called from across the far side of the tables, making his way to your group, and you stiffened under Jake's hand. Hangman clocked the change and moved even closer to you, a feat, giving your shoulder a squeeze. You breathed in the altered scent thanks to the fact that he was almost bent over you- now there was expensive perfume mixing in with the starch and soap- and sat ramrod straight.
"They're both hard for you." Yeller made eye-contact with Phoenix as he completed his both crude and demeaning punchline, trying to muscle his way into the circle of the group and failing. "What, no laughter? C'mon, I'm the funniest person I know."
"You must not know very many people then." The words flew out of your mouth before you could even think, a reflex, and the whole group cracked up at the unexpected comeback.
"Thought you weren't taking up the bet, Hangman." Yeller had venom in his voice as the laughter died down, "Didn't know you were into ugly bitches." You knew Hangman was going to move before he knew himself, somehow, though you shelved the thought to the back of your mind to examine later, and subtly pushed your shoulder back into him, grounding him, reminding him. Yeller wanted the reaction, and even though your time with him had been miniscule, you never ever wanted to give Yeller anything he wanted.
"Hey Yeller, what does it say about you that you can't even get those?" You called out instead. Once again, the words were out before you could really think, and you were faintly proud of being able to take care of yourself. Your pride came before a fall though, because that's when everything started to moved in slow motion. You saw Yeller go purple with rage, Yeller's friends push through the crowd, Penny reach for her bell, everyone at the table start to move, Yeller reach for an almost filled stein on a nearby table, Yeller arch out the liquid so that it drenched you from head to toe, Coyote and Fanboy forming a wall in front of Halo, Rooster and Hangman both reaching out to Yeller too late, far too late while Bob tried to push you and Phoenix behind him and you realised with a start that Bob wasn't as much of a puppy that he appeared at first glance, that he was built like a 6'1 stealth missile, even as Bob didn't realise you had caught hold of Rooster and Hangman's sleeves instinctively to hold them back because you knew the ramifications of infighting so that you were all a tangle of arms and heads, all of this like a collage of snapshots someone was searing onto your retinas. Your reaction was even slower. You sputtered, gasping from the cold of the stinking beer, the sticky, terrible feeling of your skin and clothes sticking, the public humiliation in the now-silent bar as your whole body heated up in embarrassment, and you looked up wild-eyed. You were going to cry very soon, but you held it in. You instead scanned till you found Yeller, who was bent over with an arm behind his back, courtesy of Hangman, and walked up to him, your steps measured, steady. You walked right up to him, and squaring your shoulders, knowing that this was probably not the best idea, but also knowing that if you didn't do this, you would regret it your whole life, you socked him on the jaw.
Apparently this had been the right move, because Yeller had a glass jaw and went down like a tonne of bricks, taking the stein in his hand with him.
It was as if the shatter of the beer mug was a cue in a play, and everyone unfroze. Coyote, and Fanboy picked Yeller up and threw him out, Halo went up to Penny to settle group's tab, Phoenix came to you and draped her jacket over your shoulders and Rooster informed you he was bringing his bronco to the front, as Bob gathered your stuff and walked with Rooster, presumably to cool him off. You were glad for it, because you didn't know what exactly you should be doing now. So it was a mercy when Hangman's arm came around you, his hand gripping your farside arm, shepherding you out into the parking lot. You walked out the door and let it shut behind you, the noise cutting away instantaneously, now a muffled faraway made-up-for-tv seeming sound, and it was only you and Hangman and the night sky and the million stars and the still still cars.
It was Hangman who broke the silence.
"Sorry," he said, his arm leaving yours to scratch at the base of his skull, and you missed his heat immediately. You could tell that he was, oddly enough, taking responsibility for the whole scene, battling guilt.
"What for?" You asked, puzzled.
"Huh?" He seemed startled, as if he had expected you to blame him as well. "Well, for that-" he jerked his head in the direction of the bar, and you shook your head, trying to make sense.
"What part of that was your doing?" You asked him gently, and now it was his turn to shake his head. "I should thank you," you laughed softly, and his head jerked up, his eyes trained on your face, "For holding him so still."
"Wha- oh. Yeah." He hung his head, scratching the back of his head again, "Yeah, you pack quite a punch huh?" He laughed a small laugh, but you could tell his heart wasn't in it.
"Oh come onnnn, what's with the aw-shucks-i'm-just-a-humble-farmer routine? Where's my Hangman? I want him back!" You demanded, and that seemed to be the key, because his eyes caught yours and stayed caught, drilling into you, some kind of dark heat in them that had warmth blooming in your chest despite your physical state and you didn't know when the both of you had moved this close to each other but-
A large honk sounded from the Bronco and you both jumped, landing further apart than you initially were as headlights highlighted you in the pitch night.
"C'mon, I'm dropping you home, I've got all your stuff!" Rooster called out, dangling your purse from his fingertips like he was showing off a hostage.
"In a minute!" You called back, already starting to turn towards the truck.
"Hey, listen-" Hangman started to reach out, his fingertips to your arm, before jamming his hands into his pockets like he'd been singed. You had no time to read into the gesture because he started speaking again. "Listen, I know the evening didn't go the way-"
"You thought the evening was going to go a way?" You accidentally cut him off in your amusement, and he just shrugged good-naturedly, and you realised what you'd done and spoke up again. "I had a fun time," you assured him.
"Oh come off it," he scoffed.
"No, I'm serious, the whole evening was really nice and even the end it was kinda...", You were picking and choosing your words very carefully, "cool." You finished.
"Cool, huh?" His mouth tipped up in one corner and you felt yourself heat up.
"Listen, how about this," he said earnestly, "Come to beach tomorrow."
"The beach?"
"Yeah, we have this thing..."
"Thing?"
"It's complicated, I'll explain the rules as we go. Just wear something you don't mind burning up."
"I don't like the sound of this."
"Just... Trust me, ok?" And the utter contriteness in his voice, his obvious need to make this better that he couldn't keep out, even though he'd done nothing to warrant it, had you nodding.
"Ok. But I better have fun."
"Bet on it." He grinned.
*****
The ride to the house had been silent, and you'd both trooped over to your house, or rather, Rooster had fun doing his frog-marchy bit with you. Sometimes you thought he'd rather like to put you in a duvet cover and fling you about again, but you weren't going to test your theory. Instead, you let yourself be shoved into the bathroom with a "You stink," as if Rooster hadn't made this amply clear with the way he'd spread out towels on the shotgun seat. When you came out though, warmed and lotioned and smelling exponentially better than when you'd gone in, and wearing your softest sleeping t-shirt, you were willing to forgive him, because on your bedside sat a big bowl of ice cream and the TV switched on and frozen on the opening shot of "You've Got Mail". You grinned to yourself as you slid between your sheets. You'd always had a special spot for the movie. You didn't know why.
#i was going to use the line 'grieg was putting his who orchestrussy into the crescendo'
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
Mine To Keep Ch. 2
GIF by thorinsbeard
Pairing: Hangman x F!Mitchell!Reader
In which there is talking. So much talking.
Wordcount: ~3.8K
Previous Chapter || Masterlist || AO3 || The Receipts Universe
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132 notes - Posted September 20, 2022
#4
Mine.
Cyclone x wife!reader
For @wildbornsiren 💗💗💗
Tags/warnings: p in v unprotected, manhandling, biting, dirty talk, PWP, degradation, creampie, choking
"Get out of the car." He bit out.
Beau had been quiet the entire drive back home, and the way he'd parked the car was manic to say the least, but you'd be lying if the way he gripped the steering wheel and the tight set to his features didn't also turn you on. Turn you on so much, in fact, that you'd been clenching your thighs and trying to keep from squirming the entire time.
"Get out." He snapped again, and when you didn't move fast enough for his liking, he moved himself, taking the keys from the ignition and coming to your door, throwing it open to loom over you.
"You're making it worse for yourself, sweetheart," he muttered darkly when he caught your wide-eyed look. In one smooth move he threw you over his shoulder, kicking the car door closed. He shouldered you through the front door without stopping, instead moving like a tank to the bed before dropping you unceremoniously on the bed so you bounced.
His eyes were blown out, hot and dark, as he unbuckled his belt just enough to set himself free, and his cock sprung through fully erect, looking more than a little angry, precum already beading the tip. He wrapped one arm around the shaft, tugging once, twice, thrice, as his other hand found the nape of your neck and pulled you forward til his length was in your face. You instinctively placed your hands on his Adonis belt for support as you licked your lips, butterflies in your stomach.
"Open your mouth." He commanded, and immediately your lips fell open. He tapped the crown on your tongue a couple of times before thrusting into your mouth without warning. You choked on his length, gagging but trying to control it, as he let out a stuttered groan, and you were glad that he was holding you up, because your knees were failing you.
"That's it, take all of it, it's what you wanted, isn't it? Looking that way all night, wearing this slutty dress, fucking me with your eyes." You tried to protest but before you could make a sound, he pulled your head back before pushing it down again, your moan increasing his pleasure. "That's it, you're just a toy for me to use, isn't it?" He pushed himself down your throat, his free hand moving to your neckline and abruptly pulling it down, so that your chest was on display. He let out another obscene groan at the sight, slapping your breasts lightly before pinching and twisting at the nipples as he started a rhythm with his thrusts, rutting into your mouth with a force that had your mouth watering and your pussy creaming as he groped handfuls of your tits, kneading and massaging them.
Then, sudden as he started, he pulled you off of him, and laughed as you looked up at him, dazed, rubbing the drool that had dribbled down your chin into your cheeks. He didn't say anything, but there was that set to his mouth again, and you shivered. His hand was on his cock again, this time wet with your spit and his come, and he stroked himself as he tore your dress off in one quick motion, before settling his hand back at the nape of your neck, pulling, pushing, manhandling you so that you were on all fours.
"Look at you, dripping wet for me. No bra, no knickers." He slapped your cunt and you gave a wild sob. " 've done nothing and still sopping." He slapped your swollen lips again before thrusting and twisting three fingers into you without warning, going straight to that spongy tissue he knew so well, crooking his fingers and scissoring them so that you gushed all over his hand with a high-pitched keen.
He aligned his length and thrust into you with one fluid motion, and you cried out loud at his invasion, even as he placed his forearm around your neck, pulling you up to him, your back to his front, as he applied even pressure to have you seeing stars as he railed you like a wild animal, pushing himself to the hilt, till your knees were raised off the bed, the wet squelches echoing in the room.
His other hand alternated between groping your tits, fondling your nipples, and rubbing your clit.
"Hate you." He pulled out of you nearly all the way, until only the very tip of him was catching at your entrance, before slamming into you. "Fucking hate you. Make me hate work. Make me hate everyone you look at. Everyone who looks at you. Make me hate everything except being inside your tight snatch. Made just for me, weren't you, just for me."
He pulled out to the tip again before slamming in, so hard that you could feel him in your throat, "Mine." He growled, and you had to bite his forearm, your fingers tangling with his, rubbing his ring.
He choked your harder, biting at the junction of your neck and shoulder. "Mine."
"Mine." He thrust up into you again, and the perfection of the angle, and the pressure from his forearm on your throat, and his teeth at your neck and fingers pinching your button had you coming, waves of pleasure crashing over you hard and fast, your whole body bucking, knees giving way so that Beau was the only thing keeping you upright.
"All. Fucking. Mine." And he slapped your clit before coming himself, growling in your ear as he painted your walls, coming, coming, coming, falling forward so that you were flat on your stomach and him covering you, caging you, pressing you into the mattress, and still he bucked into you, riding his orgasm even after you were sure he couldn't possibly come any more, till he was leaking out of you.
He stayed collapsed on top of you, and you basked in the afterglow before deciding to get cleaned up. As you tried to move away from him, to pull him out of you, he caught you by the jaw. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" He growled, his cock twitching in your dripping heat. "We've barely gotten started."
152 notes - Posted August 31, 2022
#3
Mine To Keep Ch. 1
Masterlist // AO3 // The Receipts Universe
Next Chapter
Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x F!Mitchell!Reader
Summary:
As Hangman's translator on a world tour, you and him get along fabulously. Maybe a bit too fabulously. So you decide to get married. Only problem? Oh, there isn't just one... romantic relationships between navy employees are forbidden, both you and Hangman have enough baggage to fill the cargo hold of the titanic, not to mention the whole thing with Hangman and your dad... But men like Jake don't come along too often- in fact, they haven't come along at all, so this relationship is gonna end only when it's pried out of your cold, dead hands.
Aka The one where I play necromancer on Goose and Carole, while having a slowburn friends to lovers with Hangman. (The tags are more detailed on AO3 I swear)
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165 notes - Posted September 16, 2022
#2
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252 notes - Posted October 5, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
Deserving
Pairing: Cyclone x wife!reader
PWP, 18+
Warnings: unprotected p in v sex, cockwarming/soaking, praise kink, housewife kink (if you squint), spitting, unbetaed, no word count because written in phone
You were both watching TV when you feel him shift under you, jarring you from playing with the hair on his chest. "Where're you going?" You mumbled.
He reached over to the side table where a stack of various paperwork, from tax forms and insurance policies to credit card statements and utility bills that had been exponentially accumulating. "Need to take care of some paperwork, sweetheart." He chuckled and wore his glasses as you pouted ever so slightly. But your heart wasn't really in it, because your husband was just so good. Beau took care of everything so that you barely had to lift a finger, not because he liked doing any of it, but because he loved you and knew exactly how much you hated doing it.
And for that, you decided spontaneously, he needed to be rewarded.
You started gently, nibbling at the edge of the jaw, softly sucking on that spot behind his ear before licking into it, as he filled in the forms. He smiled ever so slightly but made no comment. But your eyes caught sight of his writing, the strong, steady script, the way he was filling in your name with his last name, the way he knew all your details without having to look up or confirm anything, and it drove you wild.
You left his neck and pulled down his sweats just enough to free his dick, and you noted the way your husband held his breath, shuddering. He was already half-hard, and you nearly preened at the visible evidence of your prowess. His cock was thick and long, and your mouth watered at the sight. You nuzzled at him before licking a long stripe, and a groan escaped Beau's mouth before he could stop it.
"Princess," he ground out, "what are you doing?"
Instead of answering him immediately, you sweetly kissed the weeping tip. "Keeping you company." you smiled before you swallowed him down as much as possible, resting your head in his lap, looking up at him with smiling eyes. His face softened at the gesture, and he stroked the side of your face gently, thumb rubbing under your eyes, making you hum contentedly, before he let out a soft sigh and focused on the papers again.
You kept his hot length in your mouth, body angled on your side, having to shift every few minutes so that your jaw didn't ache more than it had to, especially since Beau was so big; a fact that had you dripping. Every time you shifted you could see his abs and traps contract, see him hold his breath, and you felt him twitch in your mouth as you drooled over him, the saliva dripping, staining the grey sweatpants. You let your tongue swirl over his tip, loving the way he tasted, like nothing else you ever had, feeling every ridge and vein throb under your tongue.
You had wanted to reward your man, but hadn't realised it would be coming at the cost of your own sanity as you clenched your thighs, your pussy clenching and fluttering over nothing again as again. Beau smelt so good, like lavender and bergamot and musk and leather, and you couldn't help but moan as you took him deep enough that your nose was buried in his curls. But it was worth it because of the hoarse chuckle it pulled from Beau, as he petted your hair. "Your intentions were wonderful, Princess, but I think the execution is leaving you wanting, hm?"
His deep voice only served to make you squirm some more, but you wanted to do this, you were determined. You shifted some more until you were satisfied, looking up at Beau as he continued filling in various boxes. You were wondering how you had managed to get lucky enough to land him when you felt his fingers ghost over your wet heat and your whole body shuddered as you keened around him, involuntarily bucking your hips to chase him. "Shh, it's ok sweetheart, you just keep being good for me, can you do that princess?" You nodded what little you could while choking on his cock, and he smiled beatifically, tweaking your nipples. "You're such a perfect little wife, aren't you?" His praise was accompanied by his fingers which ever so briefly rubbed your clit, his fingertips dipping and catching into and at your opening before withdrawing, and you saw stars as your eyes crossed. "Just a little more, darling, just a bit more, only one more form to finish up, then I'll take care of you." You hummed in agreement even as tears sprung into your eyes from sheer need.
After what seemed like an age, Beau finally put his pen down and took off his glasses, before roughly grabbing the top of your head and pulling you off. Your mouth came away with a "pop" from the suction. Your lips were swollen and glistening from a combination of your spit and his precum, and your eyes were glazed over something fierce. Beau was instantly grabbing you, manhandling you so that you were straddling him, your thong the only thing between your dripping cunt and his erection. He ground his hips into you, laughing when you keened over the stimulation before casually ripping off the undergarment and thrusting up into you in one smooth move. You gasped at the fullness of him, feeling every ridge and vein of his filling you, stuffing you so that you could swear you could feel him in your throat, and you didn't even realise that he'd whipped off your sleep shirt, which has once been his.
He carefully licked at your lips before drawing away and spitting into your mouth, his eyes darkening when you swallowed open-mouthed. "Such a pretty little thing, aren't you?" He pulled your head back so that he had greater access to your throat, peppering kisses as he pulled your body back further and further so that you were arched over his thighs, your body an offering to him, a sacrifice to a pagan god. He bit lovebites down your throat, your collarbone, the valley of your chest, before zeroing in on a nipple as you moaned with pleasure. He carefully let the focused tip of his tongue draw torturous circles around your areolae until your hands shifted from his shoulders to his hair, trying to move him even as your walls fluttered around his hard cock. He lifted his head at that. "Something you want, princess?"
"Beau, don't torture me, please." You were trying to talk, but you could only manage a whisper.
"Like when I was trying to work, and you kept distracting me with your gorgeous body?" He licked over the nipple he had been worrying, and your nearly came off your seat. He then pushed two fingers past your lips, and you suckled instinctively, swirling your tongue along their calloused length.
"Was only trying to make you feel good." You whined back, muffled.
"I know baby, I know. Just let me have my way, you trust me, don't you?" He nuzzled your cheek, and you didn't know it was possible to melt any further, but your body was managing it.
"Yeah." Your voice was barely a breath around his digits, but it was enough, spurring something in your husband. He moved so that he took a nipple in his mouth, suckling and lapping, deep moans causing vibrations to run through you as he picked you up, carrying you to the bedroom, to your bed. Each step of his jolted his cock into you, and you could barely breathe by the time he laid you both on the bed, tangling his arms under your knees so that you were bent in half as he pressed forward, hitting deeper and deeper into you, until he finally hit your sweet spot that had you nearly blacking out.
"Not yet princess, not yet." He canted your hips and his so that his pubic bone was hitting your clit with every thrust.
"There," you gasped out, "right there, please, please Beau, more, faster, please" you begged as he kept up his punishingly steady pace, "Husband, please." It was then that his hips stuttered. Something about the phrase whipped him into a frenzy, and he pushed his weight onto you even further, as he starting railing you like a man possessed, his every stroke hitting your spot in a way that had your toes curling.
"You're close, aren't you princess? That's it, let go baby, it's ok, you're such a good girl aren't you, bearing it for so long," his voice was rough, animalistic. "Come for me. Now."
And you did. You gushed around him on a wordless screaming, your back arching and legs shaking till your whole body felt like it was being torn, shattered into a million pieces. "Just like that, baby," his praise barely coherent as he rutted into you, "Come on, one more," he ordered, untangling an arm to bring it to your clit, rubbing frenzied circles on the little button, and your walls were clenching wildly again at the overstimulation, "One more baby, one more." He spit into your open mouth before giving you a sloppy kiss, moving barely enough to say "Now."
And once again you came, your hips bucking wildly as he rode out your orgasm with you, not stopping his thrusts nor his ministrations to your nub as he pushed into you once, twice, thrice, four times before he came on a roar, painting your walls with his seed til you were leaking it, not stopping his thrusts even as he pumped you full of his cum. Finally he slumped over you. "Give me a second, darling, and I'll get up off you."
You carded your fingers through his hair while crossing your ankles behind his thighs so that he was locked in on you, his cock still nestled deep, plugging you. "No honey," you purred, rubbing your body against his, "stay."
heyo! i just recently created this blog to help readers find the stories they have lost and it would mean the world to me you guys could help me spread the word. please? 🤍
Shellblossom (@wildbornsiren) requested Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift with Rooster for my Sweet September Soiree (I am well aware we are now at the tail end of November <3), and her recent piece was so amazing it CPRed me into finishing this. I had replied to the ask and everything, but it disappeared?????????? so now I'm posting it like this. I hope you don't mind Shellblossom. I love you so much <3
Pairing: Rooster x wife!reader (no specified race/physical descriptors for Reader)
Warnings: Homesickness, allusions to: dying, smut, mentions of being shot down
Written on phone so no wordcount <3
1.
Rooster was being shot down. He'd been shot down before; it's not that he was a bad pilot per se, but even if he beat the statistics, it was bound to happen now and again. But this time was different. This was his first time being shot down as a married man. People said your whole life flashes before your eyes, and this may well be true, but for him it was one singular memory of you that's superimposed over a lifetime's worth of memories. You in your wedding dress, on the beach, both of you catching fire in the setting sun as he slips the ring over your finger. The way you looked at him, eyes full of joy and promise. He doesn't know what he looked like, but he's willing to bet that it's quite idiotic. And he knows as he recalls your face that he needs to get back to you, no matter what. It was his wedding vow to you, and he wrote it with the intention of keeping it or dying trying. Mav's voice comes over the comms: "Eject! Eject! EJECT!", each syllable more forceful than the last, and he flings himself into the sky.
2.
Rooster's in his bunk, staring, squinting, at where he knows your picture is stuck to the bedframe, even though the room is pitch dark and his vision is the same whether he keeps his eyes open or closed. The room is sweltering, the humidity an unwelcome roommate, just like the memories of every mission that has gone bad and come to torment him. He breathes in, deep, deep, even soupy air is air after all, and he lets it out, huffing and puffing his cheeks, and as he does, like muscle memory, it comes back to him, the way he'd blow, cheeks puffed theatrically, into your ear, as he came in behind you while you cooked. The way you stuck your tongue out to him after eating a popsicle, so that your berry tongue and lips matched the way the sun brought up the blood in your cheeks. You attempting to do a cartwheel on the beach in your wedding dress, late late late, after everyone else had gone home. You hadn't succeeded, but you'd been so cute he'd followed suit, and fallen as well, because he didn't want you to feel bad that he'd managed one. The way you'd puffed your cheeks and stuck out your tongue to him then too, and the bonfire had burnished you gold and copper and bronze, and his heart had never been as sure about making the right decision.
3.
He was standing in a bar, but he couldn't bring himself to be the life of the party. He could now see the appeal in the way Bob did things, quiet, distanced, observing yet still part of the group. His friends were all playing pool, and they were laughing, drinking, but he could see it in their movements too, because he knew where to look. They were tired, drawn. Their movements were just a hint more stiff, their faces pinched just a hint more tight, their laughter just a hint more forced. They all wanted to go home, to fall into someone's arms, to go to sleep, to rest, to recover, to recuperate, to see joy once again so that they knew that the sun did not rise every morning just for them to do something terrible once again. He felt a hand on his shoulder, heavy, comforting, and he knew who it was without looking up.
Mav quirked an eyebrow at him in question, and it came out, raw. "I miss my wife." He said, and it shocked him how vulnerable he sounded, how earnest, how easily it had tumbled out of him, and he wanted to snatch the words and stuff them back into his heart, as if he'd accidentally popped open his underwear bag at the TSA and now was frantically shoving everything back in. But Mav just gave his shoulder a tight squeeze and his temple a soft kiss.
4.
He remembered you in the shower. Of short summer nights and longer winter ones, of being tangled up in bedsheets and need and desperation and love, of being so intertwined that neither one of you knew where one ended and the other began. He could swear he ached with the need to touch you. He wanted to sew himself to you, feel your weight on him, anchor him; he wanted to climb into your skin somehow. He wanted to make it so every inch of him touched every inch of yours. He wanted you to understand him in that way that was uniquely yours. He let tears run down his face in the privacy of that shower. Tears of sheer aching, pining, yearning.
Once he stepped out, he knew what he'd do, and his body allowed him the barest of smiles as a reprieve.
5.
You would never get used to him. He would always be new, exciting, intimidating, wondrous, even though you knew his soul like he knew yours. You couldn't help it. He was so tall, and handsome as hell; he'd be bad and he'd do it so well. He got off the plane and walked to you like a tank, blinders on, unseeing of everything but you, and your heart kept stuttering to a stop as you waited for him to walk up. In the back of your mind you dimly wondered how you'd survive being reunited when the mere sight of him disembarking was killing you, but soon you didn't have to wonder any longer as he picked you up in his arms and poured his love onto you.
"You brought the Bronco?" He whisper-asked in your ear, and you gave thanks for whatever had guided you to taking your husband's car instead of yours. Your nod was a tiny movement but Rooster's grin against your ear was anything but.
"Let's get out of this town, out from the city, away from the crowd." You nodded immediately once again; you knew that not even heaven could still you from following this man wherever he went.
He took the keys from your pocket, sliding you in on the bench seat so you were snug next to him as he drove with one hand, the other slung over your shoulders, one hand laced with yours. He'd pull you in to kiss the top of your head, while you kissed any part of him you could reach while still keeping your head buried in the crook of his neck.
You only made two stops; one for gas and the other at a Target in the middle of nowhere. All he'd said was "Better stock up, sweetheart." But the way he'd said it made you shop like you'd never done before. You stocked up on everything from groceries, enough to keep you and your leviathan of a husband for at least a week, to clothes, buying him double the amount of t-shirts and henleys and hoodies and boxers and socks because you knew you'd be taking half of them anyway, getting him those flannel pyjamas he was partial to, and allowing yourself leggings and nothing else because you doubted that whatever activity Bradley had in mind involved very many clothes. There was a Starbucks adjoined to the Target that had served as brunch, and you'd been off again.
He drove you both up to an A-Frame in what you assumed were the Rockies. It was like a fairytale house in a fairytale place, and to complete the picture, your husband picked you up and carried you into the house like you were a fairytale princess, just like a fairytale prince. His face was soft, tender, full of love and adoration, and you knew without a shadow of doubt that your face mirrored his.
And so you stood inside the threshold, and showed your husband every ounce of love you had for him, because he was even better than your wildest dreams.
Warnings: grief, angst, but with a happy ending, allusions to suicidal ideation, allusions to imprisonment and lack of free will
Unbeta'ed, no word count because written on phone.
You did it in the deep of the night, when even the stars were too tired to run their course, when the moon slept with the sun and gave the earth some time to breathe in its shadow.
You did it with fear in your heart, fear of pain, of being found, of not knowing whether it would work or not.
You did it in the dark of the woods, where the trees grew not a little bit tighter, not a little bit gentler, where they promised to hide not in their bosom but in their boots, burying, enshrouding, suffocating.
Your fingertips worked silently, your breaths a sussuration that mingled with those of the trees, skimming, prodding, sealing.
You blew gentle breaths on heated skin, charred skin, obliterated skin, skin that had taken beyond its fair share of pain, that cried out in wretchedness and misery even from the barest of glances. Just like the eyes of its master.
And that is why you did despite. Despite knowing the ache of the whip, the agony of the shackle, the helplessness of the chains.
Because you would do what no other ever allowed him to.
You would do anything to set your soul free.
You keep your head down, your eyes assiduous in their examination of only what is in front of you, a horse with blinders and the consequences of a whip awaiting, a whip that would scar your heart first and everything else second.
You anoint with feathered touches, wondering if this feeling has been felt for millennia, of grief and love and loss and relief all together, so strong that your throat aches, like your heart feels as if it wants to give up, as if your head wants to be placed in a cool cool stream and be eroded, persistently, implacably, unyieldingly, by clear water as you beg for peace and mercy, or if this amalgamation is yours alone, yours to keep, nurture, like a mother who knows her offspring will be the death of her, to keep under her wing even with the knife to her heart. And you hope not. Whatever name they give to this affliction, you hope you are the only one who has to bear it's exquisite touches, because the thought that anyone else would suffer this is an idea too terrible to contemplate.
It has taken too long, but a small, harrowing part of you wants it to go on for longer, to keep at bay the horrific reality that is gathering, looming, a wave held back against its will. But you have forced yourself through every step prior to this, and you will do so for every step to come.
"Go." You tell him, your voice isn't even a whisper, it feels like your heart has to take up the duty your tongue owes, "Go now. There's no safeguards to this. No off switch nor tracker. This arm is yours alone." This life is yours alone. But you do not need to speak life to the words, because they will not come out right, with the right tone, the right inflection, the right joy.
"Go." You push him, even as your heart weeps Stay. "You're free, Bucky, go."
Bucky leaves.
The days change inasmuch as they remain the same, vehement in their vapidity, abhorrent in their atrociousness, at odds with the way your heart overflows with emotions you would be hard-pressed to name even if you ever had a desire to, which you didn't, because all you wanted was to make everything go away. It seemed mocking to have the world tell you you could have anything when your very soul had left your body.
The nights are worse, because they allow you reprieve from the world, and in the reprieve your heart is fooled into hoping, and nothing ever came of hope. Hope allowed your body to exist when you would rather disappear into the aether, hope allowed your mind to live another day when you would much rather your skin kiss the earth.
But the worst are the dreams. The nightmares are bad, predictably, imperturbably, consistently. But the dreams. The dreams where you had happiness. The dreams where you had joy. The dreams where the sunshine on your skin echoed the warmth in your lungs, where there were no other shoes to drop, where your soul came back to you and promised never to ever leave you. Those were the dreams that woke you from the deepest of sleeps so that you could sit. Sit up. Sit up and weep. Weep for every loss, of yours, of the ones you had lost. Weep for a world beset by cruelty where there could be so much happiness. Weep for love. Weep wretchedly for love.
Slowly the nights and days tangle their legs and arms, clasp hands and lace fingers, till your head spins without end, vertigo your new companion, nausea a close second. You feel your heart shrink into a pit, feel your mind disattach, and since your world is already gone, you pay it no need.
On the darkest night of the darkest year, a storm blankets the heavens, intent on sharing its wrath with all those who would listen, willingly or not. The curtains spin wildly around their moorings, the thunder rumbling up your spine, the lightning raising tiny hairs, nature's defibrillator, and you sit, unmoving, facing the mighty ambush, willing to be smitten.
And in the dark of the night, the deep of the woods, with no fear left in your heart, your soul comes, on little cat feet, back to you, back to you.
"I tried to go," your soul informs you. "I went."
"I went and I was not free. You laid a burden on my heart. You laid a debt on my soul. You gave me love and it tied us and now I cannot move without the anchor that holds my heart."
"Come with me," Bucky says. "Come with me, and then I'll be free."
And you go, because you'd do anything to set him free.
Hi everyone! For my birthday week, I was thinking of holding a teeny tiny event to show my appreciation for everyone who has supported me 💗 As such I'm holding open a mini event!
So leave a song, your favourite aviator (both top gun and top gun maverick folks welcome), and a prompt or trope in my ask or in the comments to this post, and I will write up a headcanon post 💕
I'll close up the requests on the 26th of September, Pacific Standard Time 💟
Thank you to everyone who has made life a joy ❤️❤️❤️
Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || Masterlist || AO3 || The Receipts Universe
Chapter 2: Going To The Mattresses
You shouldered open the storm door, calling out to your Godmother.
"Roro!"
"In here, honey!" You heard her distinctive voice, and that in itself was enough to make you feel like everything was going to be ok. Carole was excellent at doing that.
You walked into the kitchen, sniffing appreciatively at the smell of cookies in the air. Your Godmother wasn't exactly domestic- oh, she and your godfather managed the house better than alright, but she wasn't going to be any threat to Martha Stewart anytime soon- but what she lacked in domesticity she made up for in vigour and determination. Everything she did she gave it her all, and her all was often wonderful; so whenever she got a baking bee in her bonnet, your whole family was highly appreciative.
"You're here!" Carole exclaimed as you walked into her line of sight, and gave a squeal at the flowers you held out to her with a grin. "For me? Oh, you shouldn't have! They're wonderful!" She sunk her face into the blooms and inhaled appreciatively, as if she didn't know they were from the little mart on the way home. "They're gorgeous! Honestly baby, if you were a guy, I'd leave Goose for you." She hugged you as your body shook with giggles; you knew better than to believe her. All the gold in the world wouldn't entice her to leave your godfather.
"C'mon, come up here," she hiked herself on the kitchen island and patted for you to sit on the other side of the L, a tray of still warm cookies between you. "I heard you slam the door, and drive away on that terrible beast of yours, and I knew something wasn't normal." She picked up a cookie and handed it to you before picking up one herself. "Actually I knew when I woke up this morning. The clouds hung all still in this weird way, and I just knew." She got straight to the point in that precisely roundabout way of hers. "Tell me everything!" Her tone was light, but you recognised it for what it was, a command.
And you were super good at obeying hers. So you promptly spilled your guts, breaking into tears now and again even though you tried really hard to stay level. Carole pulled you into her shoulder, rubbing your back. "My poor baby. Pete shouldn't have said those things. He means well, but that wasn't the way to talk." It felt so good to have her taking your side that you just cried harder; you were sure you were soaking her t-shirt but you couldn't bring yourself to neither care nor stop. Your stuttered inhales took in the comforting scent of her, of garden flowers and clean cotton and soft shampoo, and it helped you calm down. You must have been loud enough though, because Bradley ambled in, scratching his tummy absentmindedly.
"You know what your problem is?" He looked you in the little bit of eye peeking from Carole's shoulder, and you shook your head slightly. He opened the fridge and took out a jug. "You're having those cookies without milk." That got a chuckle out of you, and a guffaw out of his mom.
"Go with Bradley, sweetheart. You can sleep in your room if you like, it's all set up." She made shooing motions with her hands. "I'll talk to Pete, don't worry. And take these away from me, I shouldn't be eating so many of them so late." She handed you the tray. You wanted to be a big girl, but you couldn't bring yourself to even protest her stepping in. Carole had a way of making your dad see when very little else could. Your mom had that gift too, you thought sadly, but you shoved that thought away before it got any bigger. Instead you hopped off the counter, carrying the tray while Roo carried the milk glasses, heading to the rocking chairs on the back porch.
You set the tray on the little table between the chairs, easing into the chair and staring out; you could see glimpses of the beach from here, and you tried to find exactly where the sky and sea met, only to get distracted by the stars. The silence was comfortable, and Roo was being considerate, matching his pace to your rock.
Finally he broke the silence. "You know Unca means well, right?"
"Roo, I don't wanna-"
"I know, I know, believe me, I know." He waved a hand and let his head drop back, watching motes of air wander in front of the little porch light. "I'm saying that I know it may seem like everything really is like what he's saying, but it's not. Or well, it is, but it's also the way you see it." He huffed before trying to figure out the words he was going for, determined to make sense. "It's like, ok, you ever know how in class we had to write those book report things after we all read the book together?" You hummed to let him know you were following him; you and Bradley had been in the same English lit class for one year because you were "ahead of your grade level" and "under-stimulated" and "disruptive"- or so quoth your report card anyway. "Ok, you remember how we would think something, and sometimes the other kids would have a completely different opinion? And their opinion kinda makes sense right? But at the same time it doesn't make it the only right idea, right?" Bradley gestured wildly with his hands, and you cocked your head to watch him. "Anyway, what I'm trying to tell you is that, I've got your back ok? Like even if you wanna become a stinky old ornery lady, I've got your back." You teared up. Bradley was clumsy, and there had been a time in your teenagehood where you’d really seen where Cain had been coming from, but age had helped him out a lot, and to give credit, he always made an effort. He reached over and tugged your earlobe, making you smile, and you reached over to ruffle his hair. "Makes you laugh, doesn't it?"
You looked at him, cocking an eyebrow in question. "You know, between us, we tried both routes, navy and non-navy, and both made our dads unhappy." That got a giggle out of you.
You raised your glass and clinked his, "To our dumb dads." Bradley clinked and toasted back, and you both grabbed a cookie and settled back. A wash of calm settled over you. Yeah, the past couple of years had been absolutely terrible, but you had your family at your back. You didn't know how long after, but Bradley was nudging your foot with his.
"Hey, you asleep? Oh no no no, you're not falling asleep here." He grabbed the back of your collar with one hand, grabbing the cookie sheet with the other, before frog-marching you to the guest bedroom, which was for all intents and purposes yours, depositing the cookies on the coffee table as you both passed it by. He shoved you under the covers, waiting for a moment to make sure you were fully in.
He started to walk away, but turned around, grasping your upper arm. "You're not allowed to do anything stupid, ok? You're the only little sister I got." He gave you a slight shake.
"Love ya too bud." You mumbled as a reply. Satisfied, he walked away.
*******************
Carole sat on the front porch with her first, most magical, most precious coffee of the day, glad that she was a morning person, especially when she thought about how her two kids weren’t, nor were her husband or brother-in-law. It was blissful to sit in the day before it truly came into its own, to watch fate decide the way it would shape destiny and see it manifest in every ray of dawn that broke across the dark night.
Today she wasn’t going to be as left alone as usual though; she could almost feel the ground thunder before she saw them riding up the little crest of the hill to their house. They parked, dismounted, and the early morning glow bathing them sent Carole back; it was as if time had faded away, and she was looking at the boys they had been decades ago, the boyish grins, the effortless banter, the sheer exuberance as they bounded up the steps to her. Nick kissed her, an I’m home kiss, a kiss he continued to perfect every day of their marriage, before tiptoeing through the storm door, and Pete bent to her cheek. She quickly clipped the edge of his jacket as he straightened, eyes pointing to the rocker beside her.
Maverick raised an eyebrow but slid easily into the rocker.
“You remember how she used to get Bradley to put her in a duvet case and swing her around?” Carole started, apropos of just about absolutely nothing, in a way that meant it was absolutely about something, and it made all the short little hairs on the back of Mav’s head stand up even as slouched himself into a comfortable position.
“Don’t even remind me. Then she got Bradley to climb into the duvet case and tried to swing him. He had a good fifteen pounds on her, at least.”
“And then she got Bradley to do that whole dance with her? On the roof?”
“To Christy Spears?”
“Britney Spears.”
“Didn’t they steal your halter tops for that?”
“And that time in English Lit where they got their class to have a protest coup?” Carole smiled indulgently, dreamily. This was a path of memories well trod on. “We used to tag team the kids’ parent teacher meetings something fierce back then.”
“I recall you did a lot of the heavy lifting in that arena, yeah.” Mav quietly reached a hand out for the coffee cup.
“Give yourself some credit,” Carole passed it along to him, watching as he took a sip and grimaced at how cold it was by now, “you and Goose came as often as possible. Not to mention the number of times you bailed out the two of them.” the smile came through in her voice.
“Oh God. I practically had to grovel. Four star admirals haven’t worked me over that hard. And that time in eighth grade…” Maverick trailed off, scrubbing a hand over his eyes.
“Yeah, and you remember the comments?”
“Oh yeah…” He adopted the nasally tone of the principal, “Ms. Mitchell shows great promise, but is not living up to her potential. Ms. Mitchell makes careless mistakes.” He shifted to make eye contact with Carole as they both intoned, “Ms. Mitchell does not test well.” they both cracked up over the memory, trying to keep their cackles quiet.
“Damn near had a heart attack when they called me in about her IEP. I thought it was something terminal.” Maverick's smile remained on as the laughter petered out, but his eyes had that look in them, no matter how much he insisted that he only had one look.
“It was all so different, especially after our experience with Bradley. I swear that boy has elevator music playing in his head sometimes.”
“You should see him fly, Ro. He’s like a sleeper agent that comes alive when he’s in that cockpit.” He looked down into the now-iced coffee cup. “She’d have been a great pilot. I’ve seen her in my ‘stang, she’s good, she has the instincts. That overthinking brain of hers was made for it.”
“I’ve no doubt. But Pete, do you think she’d have survived to get to that point? Hell, do you think you’d leave anyone alive if anyone treated her the way you were treated? Not to mention how she would have done emotionally. She puts earthworms back into the grass, Mav.” Carole placed her hand on Maverick’s cuff. “She doesn’t test well, Pete.” her voice was soft, reminding rather than accusing. “She’s got principles she’s trying to live by, and we have to be the ones who have her back.” She unknowingly echoed her son from just a few hours ago.
“I know, it’s just-” Pete broke off, head in his hands as he tried to vent his frustration. “My job is all I know- it’s all I can do for her- and it’s only a matter of time- and it’s just me…” every one of his fears and worries came bubbling up, fighting for priority and prominence and he couldn't voice a single one of them to completion, partly because there was just so much and partly because he was terrified, not so deep down, that by saying them out loud he would somehow speak them into existence.
Carole gathered his head to her shoulder with an easy arm. “Well, I hate to be the one to break it to ya, Pete, but you’re wrong on all counts there. We’ve been through a lot, and we’ll go through a lot more if we have to.” She gave him a squeeze. “Although, gawd, I hope we don’t have to.”
**********
Your body stirred as you felt the edge of the bed dip, before a soft voice spoke up.
“Hey, kid.” You had to hand it to your dad- even though you were upset with him at the moment- he had a good dad voice. It was nice and soft, good for bedtime stories and corny jokes-
Your train of thought cut off as you felt and heard the curtains being ripped open, letting the full glare of the California sun pounce on you. You gave a wordless scream of rage and tried to bury yourself in the pillow. You took it back, your dad was an as-
You felt the bed dip again, this time Mav lay alongside you on top of the covers, hands behind his head. He spoke up to the ceiling. “I said a lot of things last night, didn’t I?”
You weren’t going to answer him.
“Well, here’s the thing. I’m sorry about the way I spoke. And I said a lot of unnecessary shit too. But I’m not mad about what I did.”
“It’s called nepotism, dad.” Shit, you weren’t going to speak to him. And was that what he called an apology? The nerve of this man…
“First of all, there’s no more nepotism to this than through any recruitment drive. I didn’t lean on anyone. I didn’t talk to anyone. I didn’t mention it to anyone at all. They wanted someone who matched your skillset, and I simply slipped in your resume. The biggest clue is the fact that we share the same last name, and it’s not like we have a rare one. It’s not my fault they decided on you.”
“But it’s the navy-”
“It’s a diplomatic tour, sweetheart. Isn’t this what you’re always talking about? Keeping lines of communications open? Resolving international situations with tact rather than force? So what if we have a big stick with us as insurance?”
“That’s a mighty big stick.” you muttered darkly.
“I’ll give you that. But think of this as the start. If we all do our jobs real well, maybe someday there won’t be a need for any stick at all.”
You didn’t have a reply to that, so you kept your silence.
“How about this: you come on as a contracted specialist. After this is done, it’s done. You choose what you want to do next. And I will never do something like this again. Just one shot kid. For your dad. For your granddad.”
You groaned. Your dad never trotted out the granddad thing, which made the whole request that much more potent. You knew how your dad felt about your granddad, about the circumstances of his death. Just as you knew you now had to take the job.
“Fine.” you sighed. “Now get off my blanket so I can shower.”
“That’s my girl.” He kissed your forehead before jackknifing up and off. “Oh, wear something you can move around in, I wanna get more plane parts from that nice Korean guy and I need you to translate.” you couldn’t help but let out a grumble, and he couldn’t help but laugh. “How about we get some breakfast first?”
*******
You’d showered, worn jeans and an old old old teenage mutant ninja turtles t-shirt that was so soft it could have been a baby blanket, shared brunch- his a whole diner breakfast, yours cheese fries and pancakes (you still have the diet of a five year old/ wow gee thanks mr. fourth-cup-of-coffee/ isn’t that your third cup, ms. pot?)- with your dad, and translated back and forth as your dad got the part for the mustang p-51 he was constantly repairing or upgrading. Their conversation, which had devolved into something completely tangential (you’d somehow started translating on autopilot, and you were sure the words Alan Alda had left your mouth at some point) had gone on long enough that you didn’t have time to work on the plane itself. Instead, you were being dropped off at the mall to help Goose.
“What am I helping him with again?”
“I don’t know, he’s not really saying anything, but he’s pretty worked up, whatever it is.” He stopped in front of a cafe. “He’s gonna meet you here. He insisted it was you, whatever it was.”
"Ok, now you're making me anxious."
"Just...Be good.” He reached out his hand to pinch your cheek.
“I always am.”
**********
You sat at a cute little table with a piece of tiramisu and a deep, rich espresso which you definitely weren't going to tell your dad about. Your godfather wasn't the most punctual- it wasn't that he didn't want to be, but he has the attention span of a goldfish and a desire to help everyone whose path he crossed, and so he frequently got waylaid.
"We have got to stop meeting like this." It was Sugarpie in August, and just like last time, your head whipped round, suppressing the urge to reach for your aviators as he speared you with his golden smile, coming to stand behind you, giving you an ache in your pre-aged neck.
"Sit, you're giving me a crick." you pushed out the other chair with your foot, and he trotted over obediently with a quietly smug little "Yes'm" that did something odd to your heart.
"The navy's trained you well." You teased him.
"Yeah? Come with me and I'll show you roll over too." He grinned unrepentantly as if he could see the way your heart fluttered at his words, and you found it contagious, your lips curving up to match his even as your brain told you to get out of the whole thing. You’d been able to not pay attention to it last night between the fight with your dad, Bradley’s return, and everything else in the middle, but the fact of the matter was, guys like Sugarpie and girls like you didn’t mix. Or to be more accurate, they mixed, but it always ended up belonging to a dumpster fire.
"So what is it you do…" you were fairly certain whom you were speaking to, but you didn't want to give him the satisfaction.
"Hangman," he supplied easily.
"Yowch," you pretended to be surprised, "your parents hate you or something?"
His grin got wider, which you hadn't thought was possible, and smugger, which was even more of a feat, as he replied. "Nope, it's my callsign, I'm a naval aviator." Then he flicked his gaze to the sweet cloud of cream and coffee in front of you. “That any good?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, flyboy.”
“Wanna share?”
“Wanna be maimed?”
“Listen, I’m just saying,” Since when had he had that toothpick in his mouth? And why was he that adept at manoeuvering it around? “If we share it, and we like it, we can get more. And if we don’t like it, we’ll’ve cut our losses.”
Apparently he was really good at both, crimes against the English language via contracting words, and making persuasive arguments, because you heard yourself say “Fine,” even as you felt your soul leave your body. “But you’re getting your own fork, and your own drink.” a boundary, that’s what you were establishing, a healthy boundary.
Healthy boundary your ass.
"Fair enough. So which turtle is your favourite?" he gestured to your shirt with his fork as he pulled the plate towards him.
You looked down to your torso and then back at him. Where had he gotten that fork from? You snapped back into focus "Go on three?"
He put up three fingers.
Three.
Two.
One.
"Mikey!" You both chorused.
"Why?" He was grinning that terrible, horrible, no good grin of his as he stabbed through the pristine pastry.
"He’s sassy and adorable and dual wielding. And fast. So fast." you were fully aware that you sounded like a 4 year old explaining their top 3 favourite dinosaurs but you were thankful that you didn’t come off even more incoherent in light of the human equivalent of the full blast of the sun. Small mercies. Very small mercies. You oneshotted your espresso.
"You have a thing for speed, huh? What's the fastest thing you've ever seen?" He licked his fork. Confident he could steer the conversation to his impressive exploits one way or another no matter how contrived the shoehorning was. But you were entranced by the very pink, very nice- were tongues nice? Was that a thing?- tongue that had played hide-and-seek with the fork, and you followed the utensil’s path down, down-
And realised that the ratfink was well on his way to eating most of your dessert, and that snapped you back like nothing else ever, possibly, could.
"I could tell you,” you pulled the plate back to yourself, “but I'd have to kill you." Hangman threw his head back and laughed.
Perhaps not strictly true, but judging by the number of NDAs you'd had to sign before witnessing your dad become the fastest man alive (or so Hondo had said, but you had questions; what about astronauts for instance?), death would be the more merciful option. So you just stared at Hangman, unperturbed.
“Good one.” He caught the look on your face. “Wait, what?”
Just then you heard a goose honk and looked outside to your godfather sitting in his boat of a car, waving.
"Who’s that?"
You shoved the remaining portion of the tiramisu into your mouth as you grabbed your bag, rushing out, and answered his final question over your shoulder. "My godfather."
Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x F!Mitchell!Reader
Summary:
As Hangman's translator on a world tour, you and him get along fabulously. Maybe a bit too fabulously. So you decide to get married. Only problem? Oh, there isn't just one... romantic relationships between navy employees are forbidden, both you and Hangman have enough baggage to fill the cargo hold of the titanic, not to mention the whole thing with Hangman and your dad... But men like Jake don't come along too often- in fact, they haven't come along at all, so this relationship is gonna end only when it's pried out of your cold, dead hands.
Aka The one where I play necromancer on Goose and Carole, while having a slowburn friends to lovers with Hangman. (The tags are more detailed on AO3 I swear)
Chapter 1: Cinderella Walks Into A Bar
You sat at the bar nursing a coke, taking in all the revelry around you, letting it divert your thought process. You were your own ride. It was an odd place to be, honestly. Your friends were scattered all over the globe, just a message away, but you couldn't whine to them about this. It reeked of begging to have the smallest violin in the world played for you, but your feelings were your feelings. Your dad was a great dad, in all honesty, maybe a bit too great. Maybe if he hadn't allowed you to have your own thoughts and ideas. Maybe if he hadn't encouraged you to go to the best universities on his dime. Maybe if he himself was less than the excessively accomplished and principled man he was. Maybe if he hadn't always been there for you. Maybe then, it would all be easier. But the if and sos were wishes and horses, and your fight still rang in your ears.
"But I don't want a job in the military, Dad!"
"It would be the Navy!"
"It doesn't matter! I cannot be a part of it! Part of any armed forces!"
"So you're ashamed of your old man? Is that it, sweetheart? Well, we're living in the real world. Look at your age. Do you think you are where you need to be? Or do you think these little jobs of yours, stuck on the internet the whole day, are all that's left of life?"
You hadn't been able to answer him, and even more frustratingly, tears had started pooled in your eyes. So you'd left.
That had been a couple of hours back, judging by the lights. Now the place was crawling with navyfolk, and there was a cheerful buzz around you. A little to your right were the pool tables, and the boys in brown were running games, alongside their mouth.
"Hey, Hangman!" A particularly obnoxious voice called out.
"Yeller, as I live and breathe." The replying voice sounded like lying back on a summer afternoon with a sweating coke bottle to your neck, like the sun setting like molasses in the sky, like a heatwave after the rain.
"You still takin' bets?" Your ears perked up; where was this going?
"Sure, what you have in mind?"
"Take a girl out, tabs on me." You tensed, peripherally you could see that the guy you pegged for Yeller was picking you from the herd. You could not live through this middle school shit again, especially not today.
"Not those kinds of bets, son." Came the laughing reply. You could hear the undercurrent of firmness though, alongside disgust, and you cheered. Maybe bullies could change. But these details apparently sailed right over Yeller's peanut-sized brain.
"C'mon, you're no fun," Yeller wheedled, but Hangman was firm.
"We can do pool, or darts, I'll let you pick, bud."
"Pussy." Yeller moved away having the last word, and you were surprised that no one made a move in the tense atmosphere, fully expecting a brawl. But apparently Yeller's voice was his own worst enemy, because he'd wanted his parting shot loud enough for everyone to overhear. And everyone had. Penny started ringing the bell, and a huge cheer went up.
Someone clapped Yeller on the shoulder. "Thanks, man."
"What the hell?" Yeller demanded, but Penny simply pointed to the board. "Lady, I *am* the navy," he yelled, but Penny just shrugged and gave him an enigmatic smile.
And in all that noise, someone snuck up behind you, snaking their arm around your neck in what would have been a chokehold, had there been any pressure applied. "Heya Squirt!"
You twisted your head around. "Rooster!" You twisted around, throwing an arm around his neck. "When did you get back?"
"Just this afternoon. And I come back to find that the sun's gonna rise from the west tomorrow. You and Unca never fight. What happened?" Rooster had a smile on his face, but his voice was quiet and his eyes concerned.
"I don't know. Kinda don't wanna talk about it just yet."
"You two are a pair, you know that? He was giving my dad just about your answer, word for word?"
"Yeah? And he drowning his frustration in a coke too?"
That got a chuckle out of Rooster. "Nah, him and dad are taking their bikes out, I think. You know what that means, right?" He waggled his eyebrows, and you giggled.
"Yeah, they're gonna come home tomorrow morning with a new story to add to their repertoire."
"Don't you just know it. Speaking of stories- did you notice what a smooth segue that was?- speaking of stories-, you wanna come 'round later tonight and tell me yours? Mom's gonna be making cookies."
"I'll see how I'm feeling," you answered back honestly, and he searched your eyes. Satisfied with what he saw, he slid off his barstool.
"C'mon, I'll introduce you to some friends of mine." He tagged your arm and dragged you over to the piano, taking you over to a group who could have had day jobs as models; they probably appeared on navy brochures. "Folks, this is my sister." He pushed you in front of him. "Trouble, this is Phoenix, Bob, Payback, and Fanboy." Phoenix pulled you in for a hug, Bob and Fanboy shook your hand, and Payback clinked his drink to yours, being further away.
"There's more to our group," Phoenix kept you close to her, waving vaguely with her free hand "Hangman, Omaha, Halo, Fritz, Harvard and Yale." she recited, "They're scattered around, you'll meet 'em sooner or later. More to the point," she focused on Rooster, "you had a sister and you kept her away from me? When you know that it's only Halo and me around here?" Her indignant look put a smile to your face even as you rose to Rooster's defence.
"Well, I haven't been round in a while-" you started, but by this time Rooster had grown bored of the whole conversation and pulled the plug on the jukebox, and grabbing you under the arms in one fluid motion, lifted you up with a very vocal grunt, before depositing you on top of the piano, so that you had to sit criss cross applesauce to avoid setting your feet on the keys.
"Grunting is rude, Brad Brad," you used the nickname he hated as you swatted him on the arm.
"I call 'em as I see 'em" he retorted, before setting his fingers to the keys. You could see him getting into the zone, as he liked to call it, his fingers tinkling the keys. And as always, you goaded him on.
You knew what was coming, the family tradition, reason no. 1 why both your houses had pianos even though they were right next to each other. The Family Tradition, right up there with New Year's and Birthdays.
"Get on with it Brad Brad!" You yelled, and he gave you a wolfish smile before he threw his head back, veins on his neck prominent, fingers launching seamlessly into a pattern, as he howled
"You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain!"
"Too much love drives a man insane!" You howled right back.
"You broke my will!" He peeked over his sunglasses at you.
"But what a thrill!" You leaned forward, bawling in his face.
"Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!" He did his broken-voiced yodel, so like his dad, and everyone joined in, yelling the words more than singing them, and from then on it was an all out screamfest. You laughed and sang right along, following Rooster seamlessly into whatever merry song he led everyone, from The Lion Sleeps Tonight to Hunka Burnin’ Love, getting up and even doing a little shuffling dance, till you were nearly hoarse.
It was hours later when you all stopped, even though it was still earlier than expected, and Rooster grabbed you off your perch. "You want a ride?" He asked, still grinning from the high of the impromptu sing-along. "I've got my bronco out."
"Nah, I rode here," you grinned right back at him.
"Your call, but remember, Mom's cookies, ok?" He hauled you in for a quick one armed hug before letting you go and walking out.
"'kay!" You nodded, waving him goodbye before making your way to the till to settle your bill. You leaned against the bar, waiting patiently, when you felt someone lean in behind you.
"Come here often, sweetheart?" It was Sugarpie in August, and you fairly whipped your head around.
And were struck immediately by his looks. Voices didn't always match features, but his did. He was a golden boy, kissed by the gods, and you were going to blame this fact for the sentence you vomited next.
"Thought you weren't into those kindsa bets?"
"Didn't tag you as an eavesdropper, pretty lady."
You snorted a very unpretty and unladylike snort, "It's hardly eavesdropping when you're two feet behind me in a public area."
"Fair enough." His smile was so smooth, oil would be ashamed, and somehow his overt flirting was putting you at ease. The fella was playacting a role.
"Still didn't answer my question." Two could play the game.
"Is it against the law to talk to a pretty lady at a bar?" You both were moving up the line.
"Uh huh, they passed that law last Tuesday," you informed him blithely as you got up to the till. "Hi Penny! Could I settle my tab?"
Penny smiled at you, "Your "tab"," she air-quoted, "of *one* *coke* was on Yeller."
"Thanks Penny!", you leaned over to give her a kiss on her cheek. You moved out of line as Hangman came up to bat, and he was torn between paying up and speaking to you.
"Hey, hang on! Do you have plans?"
"Yup," you popped your "p", "My Godmother's waiting up for me." You started moving to the door. "Night!" you threw back.
"Not good night?"
"Don't know you that well."
"Yet! Don't know me that well yet! Will I see you again?" He called out, but you were too far gone for him to hear any answer. You strapped on your helmet and straddled your bike, allowing yourself one last look in before you sped off.
Which is why you didn't hear or see Hangman as he whispered "Oh, shit."
