summary: Bucky is finally stable and after your friendship turns into a relationship, Bucky asks you to teach him about the little things. (set around civil war)
words: 3355
warning: legit none just fluff!
pairing: bucky x reader
Masterlist
You were sat at the little desk in your room, your music was blasting through your headphones as you nodded your head to the beat. It was paperwork day, the worst day. For some reason it was a busy time or missions which meant mission reports, you liked to just bang them out all at once for one day every couple of weeks. Some people did them right after but the little notes you take in your journal allow you to wait a bit and then do five at once. The plate that used to have a sandwich was now empty, Bucky brought it by because he knew it was your day and if he stayed around you it would most likely lead to Bucky trying to pull you into bed for snuggles. He’d claim you’d look too cozy to be doing work, you’d wear one of his shirts and maybe some pants.
With a sigh you lean back in your chair, a couple pops coming for your back. “Four outta five…” you muttered to yourself as you took the papers and stacked them on the other reports. As you reached for the final one there was a knock on the door, “come in, Bucky.” You called over your shoulder.
“How’d you know it was me?” Bucky slipped through the doorway, he walked over and spun your chair around.
“Your knock is very polite,” was all you said. It was true, he’d knock loud enough to be heard but not too loud to seem demanding.
Summary: Every time Poe leaves, he asks for a kiss.
+++
You were helping your parents manage the garden when Poe came by. Your parents had gone inside to give you some privacy.
He sighed, “I’m going. I’m going to flight academy for the New Republic.”
You gave him a look of surprise, “Your dad’s letting you go?”
Poe nodded, “Yeah. He said it’s what my mom would’ve wanted.”
“Well, when are you leaving?”
He looked down at his feet, “Tomorrow morning.”
Your heart dropped, “So soon?”
Poe shrugged, kicking the dirt under his feet, “A shuttle’s coming by, picking up a group of us.”
You looked at him, pain in your eyes, “So you’re just gonna leave me? I’m your best friend, Poe!”
“Y/N, you know I can’t stay here! I can improve my flying and help out there!”
You pulled him by the shirt into your embrace, “I just don’t wanna lose you.”
Poe hugged you back, “I’ll be fine. I’ll be the best pilot in the galaxy. You’ll see, Y/N. Then I’ll come back and get you outta here. We’ll be fighting the First Order side by side.” He wiped the tears rolling down your cheeks.
You chuckled, “You stay safe out there, Poe.”
He smiled, “How ‘bout a kiss for good luck?”
You rolled your eyes, a playful smirk on yiur lips, “Not a chance, flyboy.”
Poe hugged you again, “I’ll miss you. And I’ll be careful. I promise.”
+++
3 Years Later
Your parents were hard ti persuade, but they finally let you go to the academy to work for the New Republic. You had become a communications officer, a lieutenant.
Around the academy, you heard stories of Poe, of his bravery and eventually getting picked uo by the Resistance. Words got around about what an amazing pilot he was. Hearing such stories made you proud to be his best friend.
It was during a drill that you had receiced news about you being selected to join the Resistance. You had top marks and was now an intelligent translator. Despite there being a main Resistance base and several outposts, you hoped to somehow be located at the sane location as Poe.
As fate might have it, you were. Poe entered the bridge and as soon as he saw you, he ran over to you giving the biggest hug he could. You were then assigned as his communicating officer.
You and Poe were stuck at the hip like old times. You met all of his friends, which eventually became yours. As they all observed how you and Poe behaved around each other, they figured there was some unspoken thing. Especially whenever he left to fly the galaxy’s skies.
“Poe, you and some of your crew will scout the outpost on Dantooine. It should be an easy fly by. Any questions?” General Leia asked. She received silence and nodded, “Alright, get to it.”
Poe walked up to you at your station, “Walk me out, sweetheart?” Sweetheart. He’s been calling you that lately. But you thought nothing of it, despite all of yours and Poe’s friends giving you hell about it.
You nodded, “Yeah.” You took Poe’s arm that he offered.
“So, I’ve been thinking about home lately.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I was planning on visiting my dad. Wanna come with?”
“Sure! I think I’m due for a visit. My parents have been getting my ass about it.”
Poe chuckled as he approached his X-wing. He gkanced at his ship and then at you, “Kiss for good luck?” He asked as usual.
You rolled your eyes, “You’re just scouting an outpost, Poe. It’s nothing dangerous.”
He shrugged, “You never know when some bucket heads come out of nowhere to ruin things.”
“Still. Not a chance, flyboy.” You said with a smirk.
Poe laughed to himself, “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
You hugged him, mumuring into his ear, “Good luck, Poe.” You then stepped back as he climbed into his X-wing.
You felt a nudge and looked down to see BB-8. It beeped at you, asking if they could get a kiss for good luck. You giggled and knelt down, pressing a kiss to it’s head. It squealed in delight as it followed Poe to his X-wing.
Poe hollered, “So my droid gets a kiss but I don’t?!”
“Bee bee’s a lot cuter than you are, Dameron!”
+++
Everything was falling to shit. The First Order was constantly on your tail. There were only a small portion of the Resistance left, including Poe.
“We gotta take that big thing down. So any pilots left. Come with me. We gotta hurry!”
Poe began to lead a group towards the rust buckets of land speeders, but your voice stopped him, “Poe! Wait!” He stopped and let everyone else get into their own speeders.
He looked at you with concern, “Y/N, what’s-mph!” He was silenced by your lips being pressed to his.
Before he could kiss back, you pulled away, “Be careful out there.”
Poe softly smiled, “Now that I finally have my good luck kiss. I think I’ll be just fine.” He gabe you a chaste kiss on the lips, “Stay safe. I’ll come back to you. I promise.” He then yankes his necklace from himself and set it in your hand. You held it to your chest as he hopped into the landspeeder, ready to fight off the First Order once more.
summary: sometimes all it takes is a RIO who likes to gossip and some friendly competition to help you understand what you feel for Ice.
readers callsign is ‘foxglove’ (a beautiful, but deadly flower 😉)
WC: 5k
a/n: i wrote this fic like a woman possessed yesterday … my bets are on the ghost of val kilmer (even though he’s very much alive).
warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of sex, swearing
This has to be wrong. Someone, whoever’s in charge of keeping score and writing it on the board, has made an error. Ice can’t fathom how hard it could be to get right, it’s simple addition. Yet somehow, your callsign is listed above his. You and your RIOs point total has accumulated to above his and Sliders.
Yeah, this has to be some kind of mistake.
He bites at the inside of his cheek as he stares at it, the word ‘Foxglove’ scrawled in chalk. It’s mocking him. You’re mocking him - in more ways than one. You’re similar to Maverick in that right, a little loud and reckless, not a fan of playing by the rules. And God, does it get under his skin.
You know it gets under his skin, that’s half of the reason you continue to do it. Riling up Tom Kazansky, the man given a callsign based on his unfazeable nature, is a game you’re always willing to participate in. The reward, the faint red hue that spreads across his cheeks and the amused smirk you earn, is worth it every time.
When you see him planted firmly in front of the standings, staring at that board like its an enemy MiG-28, you can’t help yourself. You saunter up next to him and put your hands on the hips, humming a curious tone.
“Huh,” you mutter before glancing at Ice “looks like they’ve made a mistake.”
Fake dating your friend, Bradley Bradshaw - what could possibly go wrong? Your sister is getting married and you need a date. You enlist Bradley's help and the rest is history.
pairing: bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x pilot!reader
word count: 1.1k
warnings: a reunion of sorts?, pre-mission nerves, comfort, just fluff really!
a/n: this is just a little reunion fic with our new favorite wingman to start us off.. get us acquainted <3 (could totally write more for him if y’all want it? might do it anyways because i’m buzzing..)
The waves crashed calmly on the shore just a few yards away from the loud chatter and music of Penny’s. The sun was setting, casting a golden glimmer onto the pacific.
But even the view couldn’t stop the conflicting feelings of fear and peace swirling in your chest.
Only the best of the best made it to Top Gun— You were proud to be looked at as talented by your superiors. It was an honor, truly. But with that honor was an unspoken promise. A promise to keep your team safe, even if that meant risking your life.
Only it wasn’t yourself you were worried about having to make that promise.
Just thinking about it made your stomach twist in on itself as your palms grew sweaty.
They trusted you.
He trusted you.
As if he could read your thoughts from inside the bar, you heard the door to the deck open and shut carefully. You didn’t have to turn around to know who was coming to stand beside you. His shoulders bumping against yours carefully as he leaned against the railing— Mimicking your stance. The wind blowing in off of the ocean felt cool against your flushed cheeks.
“Thought I’d find you out here.” Rooster spoke, the weight of his gaze on you makes your cheeks feel even hotter.. Even after all this time. You couldn’t stop the breathy laugh that escaped your throat as you nodded.
“Yeah.. Turns out time doesn’t change everything.” You smiled tiredly as you finally looked over at him. Sadness flashed in his eyes for a brief moment before he smiled, shaking his head.
“You’re telling me.. You weren’t gone for five minutes and I was already heading towards the door.” He laughed almost to himself as he looked down at the ground.
A tense silence settled between you as you shifted on your feet, anxiously picking at your nails.
“Don’t get me wrong, Bradley. I’m happy you’re here— But god it makes all this so much more terrifying.” You shook your head as you looked up at him.
“When I walked out onto the Hard Deck earlier and saw you standing there talking to Phoenix..” His eyes grew glossy as he looked over at you and you nodded as you reached over and placed your hand on his arm.
“We’re the best of the best.” You squeezed his forearm gently as you repeated Admiral Simpsons words from earlier— Making him breathe a laugh as he nodded while he moved to take your hand off his arm and hold it.
“The best of the best.” His eyes never left yours as he spoke and your heart felt like it was going to implode in on itself. God you’ve missed him.
The air grew impossibly thicker as the sunset grew closer to the horizon— You found yourself wondering just how long it had been since you’d last kissed him.
Two years? Maybe three..
No matter the time that has passed— When you’re standing there in front of him and he’s looking at you like that.. You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into him. And of course he leaned down to meet you halfway— Because why wouldn’t he?
His lips met yours and for the first time in years you were home. The taste of whiskey and mint mixed with the smell of his cologne invaded your senses and was all encompassing. The tension you held in your shoulders dissipated slowly as his hands moved to pull you to him, your chest carefully colliding with his while your hands moved to his neck, your fingers carding through his hair.
In a split second it was as if the years spent without him by your side had done nothing to change the fact that he was woven so tightly into the very fiber of you. And you in his.
Rooster moved to pull away before you— And it’s a good thing he did because you could have stayed there like that all night. His forehead rested in yours as he tried to steady his breathing.
“Rooster— Whatever happens. Just know I wouldn’t want to be flying with anyone else.” You spoke as your hands moved to rest on his shoulders and he nodded in agreement.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Dove.” The use of your call name makes you break out into a bright smile as you move your head to look him in the eye. His dark brownish green eyes shining with something akin to admiration in the last second of sun makes your heart beat quicken and your stomach flutter as you move to press another kiss to his lips.
This time he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you fully against him while humming with contentment. Your hands are on either side of his face when he pulls away again, this time with a mischievous smile on his face as his eyes meet yours when they open.
“What do you say we blow this popsicle stand? Go somewhere more… Private.” He speaks lowly as he looks back over his shoulder towards the crowded bar and you inhale sharply— So his cockiness was still very much intact.
“Bradley Bradshaw… You don’t think I’m that easy do you?” You fein offense as you pull away from him more and he looks back at you as he moves his hands lower on your back.
“Oh for me? Always.” His smile widens slightly as you gasp, smacking his shoulder slightly as you laugh and he leans in for another quick peck before moving to pull you with him towards his truck.
His hand only lets go of yours when you move to get in the passenger side, and then it ghosts over the small of your back protectively on instinct. The action makes the conflicting emotions swirl in your stomach again. As he slides in the driver's seat and the engine rumbles to life. He’s pulling out of the parking lot his hand automatically moves to grasp yours and you stare at the sight of your fingers laced with his. Still a perfect fit.
a/n: i am so happy to see glen powell getting the recognition he deserves <333 also listen to 'they don't know about us' by 1d cause that also kinda inspired this imagine!
top gun: maverick masterlist
you've had a passion for flying ever since you were little. it came from spending time with your dad on the airbase whenever possible. seeing the glimmer in his eyes anytime he would return with a new story about flying the f-14s made you want to pursue the same thing, so you did.
the second you were able to sign up for flight school, you did. it was against your mother's wishes because she had already lost your father to the sky and didn't want to lose you too. ultimately, she knew there was no convincing you because once you had your heart set on something, that was it.
flight school was interesting, to say the least. the boys in your class didn't view you as much competition but ever since you smoked their asses on the first day, they were quick to respect you. during your time at flight school, you became super close with natasha aka phoenix as she was the only other girl present and you two got on like a house on fire.
when you found out you and pheonix were heading to top gun, you nearly threw up from the excitement. top gun was no joke. it was the elite school for the best of the best aviators and you were now one of them. it was difficult, wild and stressful but also you also had the best time of your life there. you met all kinds of new people, especially ones that you normally would never surround yourself with because they are cocky, egotistical and very full of themselves making them insufferable. so imagine your surprise when you ended up falling for said person.
jake 'hangman' seresin caught you by complete surprise. you and him didn't talk much until one day you were put together on the same team for beach volleyball as a team bonding exercise. no one knew that you were on your high school volleyball team and took them all the way to the championships so it was fun watching their faces when they realized how good you were at serving the ball.
"holy shit, y/c/s! you're pretty decent at this," hangman said dragging his eyes up and down your body. you were in a black sports bra and biker shorts, nothing too fancy yet the way his eyes lingered on you made you feel like you were dressed in the finest clothes.
"i think you mean to say she's fucking incredible!" phoenix proudly put her arm around your shoulders pulling you in and resting her head on yours. your team won 10 to 4 and it was all thanks to you.
the losing team had to buy the first round of drinks at the hard deck. fanboy and bob were not fans f that but still did it with a smile on their face. you were sat at the bar watching your team bond. one thing about you is that you liked to people watch, not in a creepy way but you liked to see people living in the moment. what you didn't realize is that hangman was observing you. he stopped playing pool with the boys and joined you at the bar.
"tell me something," he began as he pulled a seat next to you. you almost choked on your drink as you weren't expecting company. "where did you learn to serve like that? cause it looked killer,"
you smiled into your drink. "i played a little in high school."
"how did i not know that?" he scoffed.
you gazed into his eyes, slightly taken aback by how intensely he was staring back. "you never asked. in fact, you haven't spoken more than 10 words to me since we started at top gun so there wasn't ever a chance."
"well," he raised his empty glass. "it's time we change that."
you knew you shouldn't get sucked into his orbit but was too late the second you started to clench your thighs anytime he smiled at you, you were a goner.
taking your cup and clinking it against his, you grinned at him. "i guess it is."
"penny darling, another round please."
the two of you fell into a comfortable conversation. of course, hangman being hangman he flirted in the most obvious ways but you laughed it off. it was quite alarming how much you were starting to enjoy being in his presence but you brushed off those thoughts and embraced the moment. the rest of the bar fell into a blur and it was like you two were the only ones there until you two were actually the last ones there. he was a gentleman and asked to walk you back to the accommodation you shared with phoenix.
"this is me," you said walking up the steps to your door. you turned around and found him on the step below you so were at eye level.
"thanks for today. i had fun."
"name the time and place and i can always show you a good time," he smirked.
"okay hangman. good night," you started to turn around but his hand caught your arm.
"wait, y/n," you looked back and your heart softened a bit. you've never seen jake 'hangman' seresin so nervous before.
"do you-can i see you again?"
"yeah, i'm gonna see you tomorrow for class." you joked. you knew what hewas really asking but you wanted to make sweat a bit.
"yeah i guess you are," he said chuckling, scratching the back of his neck. "what i'm trying to say is i liked your company a lot tonight and i'd like to do it again in a more... intimate setting?"
you couldn't help but let out a giggle. "jake seresin, are you asking me out on a date?"
"only if you say yes"
you pretended to deliberate for a few seconds before putting him out of his misery. "i'd love to."
you had no idea then but those three words changed your life. you fully intended that date with hangman to be a one-off, but it turned onto second and third and with each passing day you fell more and more.
hangman and you wanted to keep things professional at school but off-hours, you were all over each other. because he couldn't touch you in front of your peers in private, his hands were always on you. while you two studied? his hand on your legs while it was on your lap. sleeping together? his hand will always find yours in the middle of the night. walking on the beach at night as you are right now? you guessed it, his hand was holding yours.
hangman was a confident man, to say the least, but he came undone when it came to you. it terrified him at first but it quickly became a strength of his because you made him want to be a better man. he loved you and he knew you loved him and in your shared world things moved so fast but he wanted one thing to remain constant and that was you.
you stopped at random and took in a deep breath. "i don't think i will ever get over the ocean breeze at night. it's incredible."
hangman's eyes were on you. "yeah, it is."
you looked back and smiled but it feel a little when you saw his look of unease. "hey, what's wrong?"
"n-nothing." he grabbed your hands and kissed your knuckles "it's all good."
"i know you too well to know it's not, so spill."
"i love you," he began. "like a lot. with everything that flight school or life could have prepared me for there was no way, i could have prepared for you. for the longest time, i thought that flying was my first love but i've never been more wrong. it's you y/n and i want to spend the rest of my life with you. only you."
your eyes were burning with unshed tears. "jake," you whispered.
he got down on one knee and opened a small black velvet box travelling a stunning ring. "there are many ways to be happy in this life but all i really need is you. so y/n 'y/c/s' y/l/n will you marry me?"
you got down on both knees not caring if the water was soaking your silk skirt. "yes! yes! a million times yes!"
he slid the ring on the appropriate finger before you took his face and kissed him as hard as you could. it took a second before hangman took full control of the kiss, running his hand through your hair.
you pulled away and brushed his nose with yours. "hi future husband."
"hi future wife," he kissed your forehead before lifting you back into a standing position with him.
you two couldn't wait months to plan a whole elaborate wedding to be married so on a random day you two had off, you went straight to the california city hall and got your papers.
you guys kept it very lowkey around others much like when you were dating but to the outside world, it looked a budding friendship. for the rest of your time at top gun, you guys pushed each other to be the best always trying to one-up each other. the competitiveness usually ended up with you two having hot sex later on but no one knew that. it wasn't until graduation day that the cat was out of the bag.
you had decided to hyphenate your last name and your husbands name and you wanted to be said like that when your name was called. "lieutenant y/n 'y/c/s' y/l/n-seresin."
whispers broke out among your peers but you stood up proudly and saluted your commanding officer before sitting back down. pheonix tried to catch your eye but you stared straight ahead not wanting to have a much-needed conversation non-verbally.
the second graduation was over you went over to the refreshments table. "i knew i'd find you here,"
the comforting voice slid his hands around your body and kisses your head. "i'm proud of you, baby"
"never in a million years did i ever think i'd see hangman so cuddly!" a voice called out behind you two.
you guys turned around and there was rooster, coyote, phoenix, fanboy and payback.
"someone quickly explain because i am so lost,” rooster said.
"surprise?" you nervously chuckled holding up your hand and hangman did the same showing off his wedding band.
"what? how? when?" fanboy asked.
hangman went on to tell the story and as you stood there watching him, surrounded by your friends, you were the happiest you had ever been. you and hangman went through tough times together and made it out the other side stronger. there is truly no other person you'd want to spend the rest of your life with.
note: first fic let's gooo !! always love doing these prompts to process the character. no warnings other than a few curse words. i did my best to keep this gender neutral!! likes, comments, & reblogs are always appreciated xx (send a message to be put on the taglist for future fics!)
A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)
Rooster is a man raised by his mother. He knows how to treat a woman. At work it’s all about him, it has to be. He has too much on his plate to day dream. He is all about being the professional pilot. When he’s home? All hands on deck. This man follows you around like a lost puppy dog. He’s constantly reminding you how much he cares about you and how much he loves you. He never wants you to wonder how he feels. You’re the best thing in his life, and his only wish is that you’re taken care of.
Car trouble? He’s working on it. Something in the house broke? He’s grabbing his tool belt and going to town. He likes to take care of you. There is no limit to money he would spend to ensure you have everything you possibly need. He particularly goes crazy before he leaves for missions. He refuses to leave you with anything that needs done. Your fridge is stocked, car in perfect condition, and even extra money for your hobbies and anything else you may need.
B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)
Rooster is the best friend anyone could have. He’s fun and adventurous, always there to help you out when you need a friendly face. He’s got a joke on deck to lighten the mood. He’s also protective, once you’re marked as a friend he always ensures that you’re protected from harm. Being his goofy self you’ll end up with several different nicknames that he creates from jokes and memories. He’s very annoying about reminding you of an embarrassing situation that he found particularly hilarious. For a potential relationship, he likes to start being friends first. Ultimately, his partner is his best friend. He has to know that you can be friends first in order for it to work. He has to see that you won’t gossip behind his back and spread his business, and that you’re not only in it for perks.
C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)
This man is a koala. As long as he’s completely attached to you he’s happy. His favorite is to lay behind you on the couch, watching the latest netflix show that the two of you have started. You’re completely engulfed within the limbs of the mustached man. 9 times out of 10 he falls asleep, lightly snoring behind your ear and completely dead to the world. You always have to catch him up later.
Before bed he’s laying ontop of you, barely allowing you to breathe. He likes to feel your nails raking his back and rubbing the tired skin. Any time you stop he’s whining for you to continue. As he gets more sleepy he slides to the side, pulling you in to tuck into his chest. He likes to feel your breathing against his neck to help lull him to sleep. The last thing he feels before a deep sleep is your lips and breathing against him, and his hand pressed firmly to your back to keep you in position. Whenever you break apart during the night you’re slightly awoken to him pulling you back to him. He whips his arm around your waist and tugs as hard as he can.
D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)
Rooster has always dreamed of having a stable home life. His mother had always told him stories of her life with Goose. The couple were clearly madly in love. Rooster always kept that in the back of his mind. He hoped that he could one day recreate that with his own partner. That idea did not hold much importance as he worked his way through school and his time in the academy. However, once he found his place in Top Gun the need for domestication hit him like a truck. He loved the thought of having someone to come home to after stressful days.Someone to share a home with.
He got exactly what he wanted. A nice home not far from his work place, its porch decorated for every season. Someone waiting for him to pull in the drive in the late afternoons. He ate it up. Sundays were used for cleaning days - blasting a random playlist and getting to work on anything that needed sprucing up. Breakfast was a daily occurrence, as well as dinner. There was a small chalkboard menu hanging in the kitchen he would help you fill out every week of what was planned for dinners. Grocery store trips that were somehow fun and lighthearted.
E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)
Ending a relationship is hard. Having to accept a relationship is ending is even harder. Rooster will do anything possible to save it. He’ll talk about all problems and do every solution he can think of. The truth is that he probably was too busy. He would feel terrible for being away from home, being in dangerous situations all the time. It takes a toll on him, he could only imagine that it affected you just as much.
He would sit you down and explain why it wasn’t working and how sorry he was that he couldn’t care for you like he wanted to. It would be a crying session with snot and sobs. He would insist on remaining friends, not wanting you away from him completely. However breaking up is his absolute last option.
F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)
Rooster isn’t in any rush. He likes the life that the two of you have. He’s monogamous and happy. He does have plans to propose, but the planning stresses him out. Does it do it over dinner? What if you don’t like the ring? What if you say no? There are so many things that swim around in his head, and it’s easy for him to get overwhelmed. He has a deep seeded fear of people leaving. He’s not sure he could make it if you decided you were moving too fast in the relationship.
With that being said, he has had chats with Bob about rings and ideas. Surprisingly, Bob gives great advice on ring shapes and proposal places. Bob does his best to reassure his friend that everything would be fine and you would most definitely say yes. He’s helped his friend Rooster pick out wedding colors and venues, preparing the idea of marriage. It’s a conversation the two have when Rooster gets relationship anxiety.
G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)
Physically, he is the softest man alive. He touches you so gently, as if you’re made of glass. He makes sure that he’s not hugging you too hard or messing around too intensely. He likes to playfully punch your arm, although he doesn’t realize his own strength. If you let out a yelp he is instantly apologizing, rubbing the place where his knuckles previously were. “Shit, babe, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to.” He gives you strong puppy eyes to forgive him, even though you weren’t mad in the first place. He’ll continuously ask if you’re okay, no matter how many times you reassure him you are indeed perfectly fine.
Emotionally, he struggles. Rooster deals with so many things in both his professional and personal life. He has a tendency to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He does his best to help with whatever problem you may have, but at some point he shuts down. He’s quiet and numb. He walks around as if he’s in a daze. That’s when you know that he needs space. He needs space to recover and come to his senses so he can bounce back and be the goofy guy you know him to be.
H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)
He’s also a fan of wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. At the grocery store? You’re trapped between the cart and his toned torso as he guides you through the isles. He’s giving you a quick hug from behind as you read the label on a new product you’ve found.
Not to mention the way he holds you on his lap. Having a get together? He’s got you sat on his lap, arm lazily wrapped around you while his other hand nurses a cold beer. The man craves physical touch. Of course, this also includes when he’s playing the piano for the entire bar.
I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)
It took Rooster a bit of time to say those three words. He knew that he cared for you more than any person he had ever know. But, those words held so much power and he refused to say them until he knew he felt them with every fiber of his being. It too roughly 6 months for him to attempt to say them.
You had been working on a project all day, your focus keen. He had watched you around your house, noticing the way your eyes would light up. He felt blessed to even be apart of it, even if he was just a bystander. The way you lived in your own little world was so fascinating to him. As he sat there he felt a flutter in his chest, realizing that he wanted to be a part of this view for a very, very long time. Once he blurted out “I love you” he never stopped.
He makes sure to tell you at every moment. Before he goes to work he gives a small “have a good day, I love you” followed by a kiss. As he’s drifting off to sleep he mumbles “sweet dreams, I love you honey.” Before he hangs up a phone call, he says them. When he’s missing you he sends a quick text to let you know he’s thinking of you, and he in fact loves you more than you could ever imagine.
J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)
That little green monster has popped out on more than one occasion. He completely trusts his partner in a relationship, but what’s his is his. He’s not afraid to show it. He’s constantly throwing glares in Hangman’s direction when the group is out at the bar together. He likes to keep you close, an arm tightly wrapped around your hip and tucked underneath him as he chats away to his friends.
K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)
Rooster is a kisser. A kisser of all types. He’ll leave little pecks on your lips during the day: before he leaves for work, when he gets home, once he wakes up, and before he goes to sleep. They’re a constant thing. If you’re out in public, he’s placing kisses to your forehead and hands. It’s his best attempt at keeping his privacy while still showering you with love. You look over at him with flushed cheeks during a night out and he can’t help but to place a kiss to them.
He saves the deeper ones when he’s feeling particularly romantic. He’s watching you get ready for the fancy dinner scheduled for the night. He’s eating up the way your clothes fit perfectly to your body, the way the jewelry dangles against your skin. He comes up behind you, firmly grasping your waist and spinning you around. Before you can ask what he wants he’s planting a strong kiss to your lips, one that exudes all of the pint up romance he plans of expending that night. “You just look so beautiful, I couldn’t help myself.”
L = Little ones (How are they around children?)
This man is the best person around children. He has such a friendly and childish personality. He talks to children as if they’re a little friend. He’ll high five them, ask for a knuckle touch, and beam with pride whenever a child gives him a smile. He exudes kind and fatherly energy that draws kids to him. He has the hopes of eventually starting a family of his own once he’s more structured in his job. He doesn’t want to put a child through a potential loss like he experienced. His proudest moment in life would be to give his child the kind of relationship he had with his father.
M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)
God is this man hot is as fuck in the mornings. Raspy voice? check. Watching him stretch his toned limbs? check. He’s always up first. He’s used to waking up early for work every morning. Most of the time you wake up to him gently caressing your cheek, playing with loose strands of your hair.
Rooster greets you with a “good morning, baby.” and you’re instantly putty in his hands. When it’s an off day he likes to take his time. He’ll curl his arms around you to snooze for another hour, just enjoying being able to hold you in his arms without a time limit. When he’s finally awake and eyes shining he wastes no time initiating morning sex. It’s slow, it’s soft, it’s tender. The perfect way to start his day.
Breakfast? whatever you want. He’s stationed at the stove, flipping golden pancakes on the skillet wearing nothing but a pair of boxers that he’s lazily pulled just over his hips. He’s got Spotify playing his 60’s hits playlist as he sings Can’t Help Myself by the Four Tops at the top of his lungs. He’ll find you resting against the kitchen island with coffee before he scoops you up into his arms to dance around the kitchen. A pancake may have been burned in the process.
N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)
Night time is for relaxing. After cleaning up from dinner he’s ready to plop down on the couch and relax. He’ll rest his head in your lap as you curl up in bed, massaging his scalp to help him release all the tension from the work day. It’s typically quiet, as the two of you are comfortable in silence. The only thing he’s focused on his being around you. Occasionally, he’ll participate in your skincare routine. The man has to get his glowing skin from somewhere. He’ll sit on a stool in the bathroom as you apply a cool hydration mask. He’s absolutely loving it, even if he jokingly threatens you not to tell anyone about it.
Your bed is filled with blankets and pillows that you love to drown yourself in. There’s a routine of hiding under the covers as if it’s your own little cave. His voice is soft and rasp as he talks about his day, or anything that is really on his mind. Bed provides a safe space for him to talk. The feeling of the fuzzy blanket and your hand rubbing on his cheek puts him in a state of pure bliss. He’ll talk until his words get softer and softer and he’s halfway to dreamland. A kiss is placed to your lips and nose as he says his nightly ‘I love you’ and ‘goodnight, sweetheart’.
O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)
Rooster was a hard cookie to crack. He didn’t share much of his personal life until the 5th date. The man has experienced so much in his life that he decided was best kept to himself. He didn’t want to scare you away by opening up about his struggles. He wanted to be the big macho man he had become. He let you talk most of the time, listening to every word. He listened as you talked about your home life, career, etc. It wasn’t until you guys had a date on the beach, listening to the waves slowly drift in and out under the moonlight.
He suddenly felt a feeling in the pit of his stomach that made him realize you were a person meant to be trusted. Just like that he spent well over an hour spilling out his entire life story. Word vomit spewed into the cool air without a care in the world. You watched as he animatedly flopped his hands around as he talked. The way his lips would twitch into a smile when he would mention a fond memory of his father. You were thankful for the moment and hung onto every single word.
Once he finished his storytelling, he felt as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders. He was overwhelmed with the feeling of finally feeling safe. Since then he makes it a point to tell you anything he can possibly tell you, other than classified information that couldn’t be shared with anyone.
P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)
Rooster has a bit of a temper, depending on the topic. Although he did his best to keep a calm composure when talking with you. If he was having a bad day he would typically be closed off and quiet. He would politely tell you that he wasn’t interested in talking. If you pushed the subject he would get snippy-but immediately follow that up with an apology. You soon worked out a healthy way of knowing when he wanted to talk and when he just wanted to be left alone.
Apart from you, Rooster could be a ticking time bomb to everyone else. The one time you witnessed him truly explode was at the bar when a patron decided you were his new target. It took one compliment from the stranger to make your boyfriend see red. Rooster suddenly appeared in front of you, cheeks red and eyes glaring into the poor victim. His knuckles grew whiter as his fists were tightened. “Do you want to fucking repeat that?” He had asked. Your hand on his shoulder helped to calm him down as you did your best to pull him away. “It’s not fucking fine, babe. Fuck that guy. If he says anything else to you his ass is grass.”
Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)
Rooster remembers anything and everything. He has a notes page on his phone listing all your favorite food orders than he can surprise you with, the kind of flowers you like, even your coffee/tea order. He likes to show up with your favorite thing, for no other reason than to make you smile.
He’s the first person to tell you ‘happy birthday’ when it’s your special day. He’s got breakfast waiting for you and let’s you do whatever it is you want to do. He’ll have presents of things that you mentioned to him in passing, or from where he ordered it from the shopping cart you left open on your computer. Anniversary dinners are his specialty. There has never been a single anniversary that he has forgotten. It’s how he shows that he pays attention to every word you speak. He remembers your favorite color, animal, song, everything. He makes playlists of your songs. He’ll buy something random just because he thinks you’ll like it. Your favorite snacks are always in the cabinet.
R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)
The first time he had to go on a mission he was almost throwing up in the cockpit. Of course he was worried about the actual mission itself, but his main concern was if you would still be there when he got back. Of course the two of you had had a lengthy conversation about his job and the dangers he faced. He made it very clear that he did not expect you to put up with his career if you felt you couldn’t handle it. Would it crush him? yes. But his main concern was that you were happy.
He was finally back after five grueling days with absolutely no contact. Rooster was exhausted, but the anxiety and adrenaline had given him an extra boost of energy. His body was on auto pilot as he drove down your street, your driveway slowly coming into view. You were home, the car he had had detailed for you was sitting in its spot on the left side of the drive.
His bag was left in the backseat as he climbed out of the truck. He stood on the porch for a minute, contemplating if he should walk right in or ring the doorbell. You gave him no time to make a decision. As soon as you heard the truck door shut outside you made a dead sprint to the front door.
As you flung the door open you were met with an exhausted, but still extremely handsome Rooster. The two of you collided in an instant, wrapping arms around each other in squeezing hugs. Relief filled his senses as he held onto you for dear life.
“You waited,” he gasped.
“Of course I did!” you chuckled, lightly smacking his chest. “I kept a countdown on my phone.”
That moment solidified the relationship in his mind.
S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)
Again, your safety is his number one priority. He would never make you do anything you felt uncomfortable doing. If someone makes you nervous he’s the first person to show up and pull you away from the situation. He’ll do it with words or with fists. To him, he will do anything possible to keep you safe - even if that’s pinning a man down to the bar after he tries to touch you.
Since he’s such a brooding man, he can typically handle himself in situations. You are not expected to provide protection of any kind, even though you’ll always stick up for him in friendly arguments. You constantly come to his defense to anyone, even Hangman. He thinks it’s incredibly sweet, and even a little bit of a turn on.
T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)
Rooster goes all out. You have your typical places that you enjoy and like to go to, but he’s all about new experiences. He’ll plan trips for you to take to places you’ve never been before. He’s researching your hobbies and supplying you with anything you need to do them. He’s constantly taking you to the beach for a day out in the sun to play in the sand and relax.
He’s always surprising you with little gifts of things he thinks you’ll like. From simple snacks to expensive pieces of jewelry. The man showers you with everything. You have never had to wonder that he doesn’t try. He will run himself to the ground to ensure that you’re happy and taken care of. Every birthday and milestone is extremely important to him.
U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)
His worst habit is shutting down. He’ll suddenly become quiet and gloomy, and overall different. You have to fight tooth and nail to get him to open up with what’s bothering him. He always eventually cracks, but the process of getting him to spill the beans gets a little exhausting. He actively works on it, but does occasionally slip back.
He also cares too much about what people think. His ego can easily be deflated by a bad day at work. If he receives criticism he spirals. You becomes a kicked puppy and think he’s the worst at what he’s actually very good at.
V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)
Let’s be honest, Rooster can be pretty vain. His mustache is always groomed to perfection, his body is toned, and he keeps his hair cut to standards. It’s not uncommon to find him looking at his reflection, running his hand through his hair and over his facial hair. Whenever you compliment him he’ll rebuttal with an ‘I know’ and a swoon worthy wink and smile. He knows that he’s good looking.
He especially loves for you to watch his work outs. He works just a bit harder whenever he knows that you’re staring. It’s another way for him to show off everything he has to offer you. He eats up any and every compliment that you give him. The easiest way to perk him up is to mention just how handsome he is.
W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)
Rooster is a mess when you’re gone. He loves the routines that you have, and he particularly struggles on missions. It’s hard for him to not wake up to your sleeping face. He can’t sleep knowing you’re hundreds of miles away in the bed that you two share, without him. He misses the smell of your perfume/cologne and finds himself reaching for you in the night.
Whenever you’re on a trip with friends he’s counting down the minutes until you’re back. He wants you to have your freedom and independence, but he just loves having you around.
X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)
This man loves gossip. He will sit and talk for hours about a situation that happened at work that got a little heated between coworkers. Or, he’s hanging on to every word of drama that you say. “She did what? No way.” He finds it thrilling. He even loves reality tv, although he would deny that to anyone who asks.
The two of you have code words when you have something juicy to share. It’s something that he considers bonding. The two of you share anything and everything. “If they say that again come tell me, I know exactly what to say to make that bitch shut up.”
Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)
The one thing that he will not put up with is not being understanding. He works long hours and he’s gone occasionally doing who knows what in dangerous situations. If you couldn’t handle that he would have to put a stop to it. It already bums him enough that he has to be gone, he can’t handle being made to feel bad about it. He also doesn’t like prying. He’ll tell you anything when he’s ready. He has to have the space to process his feelings before he can share them.
Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)
He needs sounds to fall asleep. He likes to fall asleep from the sound of your voice, telling him some story of your day or describing a podcast you had listened to that day. Something about your voice just lulls him to sleep. When he’s away and able to call he likes to fall asleep on a phone call or face time.
Rooster is also a twitcher. He’s constantly flopping around trying to get comfortable, turning this way and that and whining when he can’t get comfortable. “Babe can you get the other pillow? I can’t get comfy”. It’s a pitiful, but adorable, sight to see.
Summary: You were expecting the perfect summer afternoon with the Daggers, but when a game of dogfight football takes a turn for the worse, you’re left with a bleeding head and an aching heart. And it’s up to Bradley to show you his bedside manner.
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader
Length: 8K
Warnings: A little angst, a little pining, and two idiots in love.
It’s a perfect summer afternoon. Well, almost.
The sun is high in the sky and the steady salt kissed ocean breeze keeps it from being too uncomfortably hot. The coolers are filled with beers and sodas and a few pink cans of rosé that Coyote had brought. And the beach blankets were littered with open half-eaten family sized bags of chips and cubes of bright pink watermelon and containers of various dips and ziplocs with sun warmed and mostly melted chocolate chip cookies.
“You guys, really, I’m fine,” you state as adamantly as you can given the circumstances.
Sure, you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your throbbing, bleeding head. Sure, you are a little afraid to put your full weight on your left ankle and already dreading the long walk back to your car.
But it’s fine, you’re fine. Everything is…peachy. Or it will be as soon as they all stop looking at you like you’re about to crumple to the ground like some 1920’s silent film starlet from on the silver screen.
Nat has that deep pinch between her sharp brown eyes. Jake’s lips are pressed together in a firm white line. The rest of the team stands hovering around you in a misshapen semicircle, all sandy and sweaty, and wearing the concern painted across their faces.
All except for Rooster, who can’t seem to look at you at all.
“Clearly, you’re not,” Phoenix says flatly, clearly unamused by your attempts to minimize the situation. And you wish that just this once she could have let this go and follow your lead. But then she wouldn’t be Natasha Trace.
Your best friend since middle school had always been the most capable and sharpest person in the room and you loved that about her.
Normally.
But not so much when her keen assessment of you keeps you from being able to slink away quietly without fuss.
“No, seriously. It’s just a little scratch. It’s not a big deal.” It sounds feeble even to your own ears. Trying to hold back a wince when the way you shake your head makes starbursts bloom behind your eyes.
You could have dealt with the pounding in your head if it weren’t for the relentless burning of your ankle that was only making things worse. One or the other would have been easier to manage, but both vying for your attention as the pain pulses with every heartbeat was miserable.
The sun was too hot, the kids frolicking the ocean were too loud, the sunscreen on your skin felt too greasy. All you wanted was a shower and your bed and to forget this whole day even happened.
You look around the group trying to gauge how successful your efforts are, but it’s clear that no one seems to be buying your brand of poorly performed bullshit. You wanted to crawl into yourself like a hermit crab, protected by your own shell, as six pairs of eyes all looked on at you sympathetically, while the pretty brown ones you wanted to see the most were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses and trained down at the ground.
It was supposed to be a fun day.
You’d woken up that morning absolutely giddy about trading spreadsheets for sand and sunburns and sea salt tangled hair. Your cheery, new swimsuit already laid out and waiting for you from the night before.
There was something thrilling about hooky on a Friday with all of your favorite people that made you feel all kinds of young and free. Well, hooky for you. They’d been given the day off after a month of intensive training and testing of some new defensive software. They all deserved the break and you were more than happy to tag along.
You were always the good kid in school, never skipping, never missing a class. You’d felt like a rebellious teen as you crafted your ‘out of office’ email, a smug grin on your face like you were getting away with something. Even though you’d earned the right to use that PTO whichever way you wanted.
The anticipation of a snow day from your childhood school days had nothing on the intoxicating promise of a beach day on a golden summer Friday.
The team must have felt the same way too because the group chat the night before had been chaotically amusing. The excitement was palpable enough that you’d almost think you all lived in some landlocked state rather than San Diego, where it felt like all roads led to the beach whether you wanted them to or not.
Somewhere between the string of all capitalized sentences and exclamation points with a few well-chosen emojis scattered throughout, Natasha had managed to wrangle everyone in enough into sorting out who was responsible for bringing what. There wouldn’t be another veggie platter incident, not on her watch.
You’d felt bright and effervescent as you’d pulled into the parking lot, your eyes reflexively seeking out a blue Bronco that hadn’t arrived yet. With a beach chair over one shoulder and a beach bag over the other and a packed cooler bag in your hand, you’d made towards the multicolored sprawl of blankets and the striped peaks of the umbrellas, where you were met with the smiling faces of shiny happy people.
Some of the boys had rushed over to help you carry your things and added your offerings to the communal pile of snacks and sunscreen and bottles of water. It had been easy to fall into conversation with everyone as you set up your own little patch of paradise and shimmied out of your frayed cut-offs. Natasha had given you a wolf whistle and you’d laughed as you give her the finger.
And hour and a half later with an easy grin on his face, carrying a case of beer and two big Ziploc bags stuffed with what you learned later were homemade cookies balanced on top, was Rooster.
You’ve had plenty of beach days with them but every time you saw him in those damn denim shorts he always seemed determined to wear, regardless of how impractical they were, your mind still went a little fizzy as you took in just how well they clung to his thighs.
He’d taken the ribbing from his squad in stride as he unboxed the beers and added them to the collection already chilling in Bob’s bright yellow cooler. You were trying- and failing- to read your worn paperback book when he’d surprised you by plopping his things next to yours on your oversized towel and stole a chunk of juicy watermelon off of the plate balanced on your lap.
“Hey, book worm,” he grinned as he popped it into his mouth, “How’s my favorite girl doing?” That smile of his getting bigger when you rolled your eyes at him.
“Hi, Rooster,” you’d said looking at him from over the top of your sunglasses with an amused smirk.
And if your cheeks felt warm, it was from the sun and not the teasing tone of his raspy voice.
When he’d shrugged off his shirt to apply the sunscreen you’d brought with him in mind, the wink he’d shot you went straight to your head like champagne. The sun highlighting his impressive abs and sculpted shoulders didn’t help either as he took great efforts to cover his chest and stomach with the lotion. He had to be doing it on purpose, because he’d kept rubbing it in well past when the white hue faded. But who were you to complain? Melanoma was no joke.
“You wanna help me out?” he’d asked turning his back to you, looking over his shoulder. You’re pretty sure that he’d been flexing because he’d looked impossibly broad, every defined muscle standing out for eyes to map out and explore.
You’d been at war with yourself, because while your eager hands were desperate to touch him, you also knew that once you ran your hands along his solid frame that you’d never want to stop. That you wouldn’t be content until your fingertips had traced every inch of him.
You had been blessedly and devastatingly spared the choice.
“I got you, Rooster. My hands are already all sunscreen-y,” chimed in Bob, who had just finished rubbing his own freshly applied layer. “Wouldn’t want it to get on her book.”
You were only half relieved to be off the hook, while Bradley on the other hand was still looking at you expectantly, almost hopefully, still with the white and yellow bottle of sunscreen partly extended towards you.
“That’s so sweet of you, Bob-” you’d started.
“Yeah, so sweet-” Bradley grumbled under his breath.
“I appreciate you sparing my pages the sunscreen grease,” you’d said shooting Bob a smile, choosing to ignore Bradley’s comment completely. “Plus, your hands are bigger than mine. You’ll have him covered in no time.”
Bradley looked between you and Bob before he passed the bottle to the other man, shaking his head a little in defeat. You’d giggled to yourself as you wiggled your book at an openly brooding Bradley, and then leaned back on your elbows to observe the way the attentive WSO made sure to carefully and thoroughly cover Bradley’s entire back.
Respectfully, of course.
Behind your sunglasses you’d admired all of Bradley’s bulk compared to Bob’s lithe grace. But in your defense, they were standing right in front of you and you’d already reread your book at least five times in the past, so it wasn’t nearly as interesting as the scene in front of you had been.
“You look awfully comfortable over there,” Rooster called out with a raised eyebrow.
“Just taking in the view,” you’d teased back.
“Yeah, I bet you are,” he huffed as Bob finished up, giving him a thanks, man before tossing you back the bottle of sunscreen. He’d nudged his sunglasses down his nose and pinned you with his gaze, “Let me know if you want me to get your back. My hands are just as capable as his.” Even in the high heat of summer, the way he’d looked at you sent chills running along your arms.
You felt the way his keen eyes traveled from your face, down the deep-v of your swimsuit and along the swells of your breasts, and down your legs to your freshly painted toes. His mouth had ticked up in the corner then left you reeling and your heart pounding away in your chest as he’d strut off to go join Fanboy and Coyote by the mountain of snacks.
And that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. You never knew if he was just flirt-y or flirt-ing.
You hadn’t had a crush in ages, but when Nat had introduced you to her team five months ago, the man with the sunkissed curls and surprisingly attractive mustache had immediately caught your eye.
And as you’d gotten to know him, it had only gotten worse.
Not only was he very nice to look at and could make you laugh until your sides ached, but he also he had depth about him in a way that most men your age didn’t. You liked talking to him and listening to his stories. You liked learning his perspective on things. You liked being around him.
He made you feel interesting and special and funny and seen. You’ve never felt as comfortable in your own skin as you did when you were around him.
Rooster would send you flirty winks, give you less than subtle once overs, and could flash you such devastating slow grins that they’d have you trying to catch the butterflies they released in your stomach for hours after you went home.
But he’s never made a move.
If only he wouldn’t play hide and seek with his true intentions.
You felt like you were still waiting on some small clue whether he was serious or not. You didn’t know if he was just having fun with you or if he was into you and it was more than just friendly banter. It would be so much easier if he’d straight up tell you one way or another.
Needless to say, you’d let Nat be the one to help you with your sunscreen a little bit later. The idea of Bradley’s big hands on you, gliding along your sun-warmed skin and under the crisscross straps of your swimsuit, was too much for your hummingbird heart.
The sun climbed higher into the sky as the butter yellow midmorning transformed into a Midas-touched golden afternoon.
The squad had been able to reserve a fire pit and the plan had been to stay until the sunset. An endless summer day stretching out before them like a cat. They had nothing but time.
Clusters of people came together and split apart like a kaleidoscope as some went to take a dip in the ocean or raid the cooler and snack spread or go for a walk along the shore. Changing and shifting with the direction of the wind, going where the mood took them.
And for a peaceful moment, it had been you with your book and a napping Bradley sprawled out next to you on your towel with his arm flung over his eyes. Close enough that you could feel his warmth, almost but not quite touching. The sound of his soft breaths and the waves their own kind of lullaby as you contentedly read your book, turning your pages quietly to not disturb the man next to you, as the droplets of the Pacific dried on your skin.
You still don’t know how you got roped into playing a round of dogfight football with the Navy’s best and brightest. You were more of a corn hole or ladder toss kind of girl, but Coyote had all but thrown you over his shoulder and dragged you out before you’d agreed to participate, conceding your defeat.
You were on a team with Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy against Nat, Rooster, Payback, and Bob. A few plays in and you had been getting the hang of it. They’d all been making sure to take care to go easy on you even in the chaos of two teams playing offensively and defensively at the same time. You were more than a little out of breath, but you were having fun.
Before the next snap, Mickey gave the most impassioned pep talk you’d ever heard, “Fuck luck, we don’t need luck. We gotta fucking win.” You had been about to laugh, but then you’d seen the looks on Jake and Javy’s faces and decided against it. Curious about the other team, you’d glanced over only to see Rooster looking back at you.
The calls had been made, the blur of plays in motion as people whirled and dodged and sprinted.
You’d just lobbed the ball to Javy before darting around Nat when a big, solid body collided with you. Hard. You’d felt the twinge of your ankle twisting in the sand right before the force sent you flying in the opposite direction you’d been headed.
The impact had been jarring. The air knocked from your lungs.
Where you should have been met with a mouthful of gritty sand, instead your head had connected with the rough surface of a partially buried rock. The low, thick thud reverberating throughout your whole body.
You’d been so stunned that you didn’t even register you were even on the ground until you heard the chorus of oh fucks and holy shits and goddamns and jesus christs over the ringing in your ears.
The game coming to an immediate and conclusive end.
For how many empty bottles and cans were sitting collected in a trash bag off to the side of your beach set up, they had been surprisingly quick to act as you blinked blankly, trying to clear the spots from your vision.
It was a silent ballet of efficiency as they instinctively fell into their roles, much like you imagined they did the sky. Everyone stepping up and then stepping back as they did their part, like the ebb and flow of waves.
Nat had carefully poured some fresh water from a bottle on your face to remove the sand that clung to the sweat and sunscreen on your skin. Then Jake had wordlessly passed her his clean spare shirt he’d jogged of to get to help stop the bleeding after Javy checked on your pupils to make sure they were the same size. While Bob stood off to the side holding your warped sunglasses in his hands, as if he was hopeful they could still be salvaged. Mickey and Reuben had been waiting in the wings giving you space, ready to help if they were needed, but not wanting to not crowd in.
And from the corner of your eye, you’d caught Rooster standing a couple feet away with his hands in his hair looking absolutely wrecked.
“Bradley?” you’d tried, even though his name stuck to your teeth. But he’d just shook his head at you before turning away slightly, like he couldn’t look at you, which made your heart sting as well.
They only allowed you to move to sit up after they were content with the answer to their questions- What day is it? Friday. Where are you? San Diego. What else hurts? My ankle and my pride.
It wasn’t until someone hauled you up from underneath your armpits that the throbbing and stinging and aching settled over you. The pain seeping and spreading through muscle and bone like an inky oil spill.
It’s still an almost perfect summer afternoon except for the fact you hate everything about this.
You hate the way they’re gathered around you with too many pairs of assessing eyes pinned on you. You hate that you’re the reason the game of dogfight football came to a definitive and abrupt end. You hate that you’re the reason their carefree and fun afternoon off has turned into this.
There’s a pressure building behind your eyes, the hot tears of hurt and frustration and embarrassment are clamoring to be released. You have to bite your lower lip to keep it from trembling.
And it doesn’t help that you’re the type who’d rather lick your wounds in peace.
You just need to get back to your car and you can figure things out on your own from there. You just need a moment to yourself.
As you open your mouth to argue your case again, Jake puts his hand up and stops you before you’ve even had a chance to start, “I hate to break it to you, sugar, but you’re not fooling any of us.” He says it gently, but gives you a pointed look at the way you’re leaning heavily on your right leg to keep the pressure off of your left ankle.
“That head wound is not a little scratch. Just like your ankle isn’t just a little puffy, when it’s twice the size it should be. You need to go to the Emergency Room,” Nat says, final and resolute. A lifetime of friendship has taught you not to argue when she has that look in her eyes, the one that says try me, I dare you.
They all talk over you as they figure out who is the most sober of the group after your suggestion to call yourself an Uber is immediately shot down. Drinks are being counted on fingers, and memories are searched to make sure every sip and bottle and can is accounted for.
Your eyes drift over to the man who is still actively avoiding looking at you, even as he talks to everyone else on the team. You aren’t paying too close attention to what he is saying, but you can hear the short, clipped staccato of his words.
Bradley’s shoulders are tinged a little pink even though you know for a fact that you had purposely passed him the 65 SPF. His eyes are hidden behind his dark green tinted sunglasses, but you don’t need to see them when you can read his body language better than any book.
His arms are crossed firmly over his chest, the tendons in his forearms flexing and shifting, like he is squeezing and releasing his fists from where they’re tucked under his biceps. Everything in his body looks coiled tight and strained, so at odds with the easy going and loose-limbed man you know him to be.
You don’t realize just how much you’ve zoned out until Natasha has to say your name a couple time before you pull your gaze away from Bradley and back to her.
“Ok, it’s settled,” Nat informs you, “Rooster’s going to take you.” You barely nod your head in acknowledgement when she tells you, because it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach now too.
“It’s the least he can do,” Jake drawls.
“That’s not fair-” you start, defensively.
“Fuck off, Bagman-” Rooster snaps.
The rage in his voice shocks you, you’ve never heard that much heat from him before. There’s none of the teasing tone that usually underscores their banter. Jake puts both of his hands up placatingly like my bad, folks and Javy just shakes his head and sighs.
And this time when you look at Bradley, he is finally looking back at you with a deep furrow in his brow. His jaw is clenched tight, that muscle ticking and jumping, as he takes in the way you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your forehead.
Not exactly the way you’d hoped he’d be looking at you when you put on your new blue and white striped swimsuit this morning.
The one you’d bought because you wanted to make him look.
Just not like this.
With everything sorted the rest of the team trickles away a smattering of take cares and get better soons and let us know if you need anythings. But not before Mickey hands Rooster his stuff and passes Nat your bag and sandals. He gives you the gentlest of squeezes on your shoulder before he leaves to join everyone else back on little part of the beach you all had claimed before things went to shit.
Your group of eight now downsized to a trio.
Bradley is quick to roughly pull on his tank and shirt, and Nat fishes out your car keys from your bag as she waits for him to slip his shoes on. When he’s ready she passes it to him and he silently slides it over his arm.
Nat bends down to help gingerly glide your feet into your sandals, “I’ll grab the rest your things and drop them off at your place and then one of the boys will drop off your car later. We’ve got it all covered, ok?”
“Thanks, Nat,” you say quietly, trying to hold back a wince as she slips the left one on, your ankle pulsing in tempo with your heartbeat.
“Best friends don’t say thank you, they just do,” she says matter-of-factly as she stands. It’s the same thing you’d told her after you’d dumped a carton of strawberry milk on Carly Radke for outing Natasha your freshman year in high school. It was only time you’d ever gotten detention, but it had been worth it.
“They just do,” you repeat with a small smile.
You’re so grateful that your friendship with her is one that has spanned years. That you’ve been able seen one another grow and change and come into their own, but that you haven’t outgrown each other. She’s the person you want by your side and having your back. There is no one quite like Natasha Trace.
She turns to Bradley and you watch him stand a little taller under her sharp eyes, your straw tote still dangling from his forearm.
“You good?” Nat asks him with a look in her eye that you can’t place. And you’re reminded that even though she’s your best friend, that he has also earned a spot as one of her closest friends. Their relationship built over years and experiences that you could never fully understand. Different, but just as deep.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got her. I’ll take care of her,” Rooster promises with a stiff nod, as he gives her his word. It might have made your heart beat a little faster if you didn’t feel like such a burden. That it’s simply a twist of fate and three less drinks than everyone else for the reason that he’s the one to look after you. That he’s the one stuck with you.
“I know you will,” she says softer now, patting his shoulder, “Keep me posted.” Nat presses a kiss to your cheek and gives you an encouraging smile then heads off to go rejoin everyone else.
You watch her go with longing. The cheerful beach set up with its colorful blankets and umbrellas looks more like a desert mirage now. The sweet coconut scented potential of what the day could have been now forever out of reach.
And then it’s just you and Bradley and the sound of the waves and cries of seagulls.
The two of you silent and motionless.
You feel one wrong move and the fragile attempt of the stiff upper lip you’ve cocooned yourself in will crack open and all the soft parts of you will seep out into the sand beneath your feet.
His expression is shuttered closed as he bends a bit like he is going to pick you up.
“Woah, buddy, what are you doing?” You’re squinting into the sun as you look at him. You’d step into his shadow to block it, since you’re now in need of a new pair of sunglasses, but that would mean moving to the left which isn’t an option with your ankle.
“Buddy,” he grunts under his breath, slipping off his sunglasses and carefully putting them on your face, being mindful of stinging scrapes and wad of soft cotton you’re holding to your head. “They’re definitely going to have to run concussion protocol on you,” he mutters more to himself than to you, “I’m taking you to the Bronco and then we’re going the ER, remember?”
“Yeah, I know, Rooster,” you grit out, even rolling your eyes hurts, “But I don’t need you to carry me.”
Everything about this was excruciating and embarrassing enough without him being the Clark Gable to your Vivian Leigh. Maybe you could lean on him and hop over to his car? Like a six-foot-one pair of crutches with good hair.
“Take a step without wincing and I’ll think about it,” he says firmly, pointedly calling your bluff. There’s an expectant look of go on then, whenever you’re ready on his face. Because he knows he’s right, and you do too.
You don’t even bother to make a move, but the way your lower lips wobbles speaks volumes.
“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly, almost like pains him to be right.
He bends a little to hook his arms around your knees and back to lift you up, and this time you let him. Your free arm automatically wrapping around the back of his neck. And he starts off towards the winking windshields of the parking lot.
You’ve thought about what it would be like to be wrapped up in Bradley’s arms, how good it would feel to be pressed closed against him. And now you are and it’s nothing like you’ve imagined, because there isn’t anything sweet or swoon-worthy about how you ended up in them. You’re his duty, you’re not his desire.
All your sandcastle hopes have been washed away by the tide.
You’re so frustrated. You’re frustrated by the day, by yourself, by him.
This time you can’t blink back the tears that well up in your eyes. They flood through your tear ducts carving hot trails down your sun-tinged cheeks.
You want the Bradley from earlier.
The one who stole your watermelon with warmth in his eyes.
The one who dozed next to you in the sun like a cat, his features soft free of the tension he now holds in his shoulders.
You want your Bradley.
The one who’d whispered cheeky comments in your ear whenever the team got into lighthearted tequila fueled arguments about things like whether a hot dog was a sandwich.
The one who’d always go up to the bar with you on busy nights at the Hard Deck and make sure you didn’t get bumped into on the way back to your friends with your freshly refilled drinks.
You’re aching, aching. Everywhere.
For a brief moment, as you swipe at your tears, you’re happy for the throbbing in your head and ankle, so that way you don’t have to think about the stinging in your heart.
“I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you’re hurting,” Rooster says gentle and low as you sniffle, but you can hear the thickness of the words in his throat. The term of endearment is the sweetest of nothings, making your tears come faster. Where it should ease the heartache, all it does is make you angry at yourself for giving your emotions away. “We’re almost to the Bronco. It’s ok, we’re gonna get you taken care of, I promise.”
We.
You wanted that with him.
You want to press both of your hands to his cheeks to make him look you in the eyes to ask him is it going to be you and me together? You’ve been a fool for love before, but you didn’t know if could take another hit-and-run with your heart.
The salt of your tears makes your cheeks feel tight and itchy as the summer breeze dries them on your skin.
Bradley carries you like you weigh nothing, but cradles you like you’re the most precious things he’s ever held. He’s mindful of any dips in the sand and gives wide berth around the college kids playing volleyball close to the entry back to the parking lot.
When he reaches the Bronco, he sets you down gently, making sure both of your feet are planted on the asphalt before letting go of you to unlock his car. He tells you to wait a moment when you move to open the passenger side door.
“I never know when I might get called up for an emergency deployment, so I like to have some extra clothes just in case,” he explains as he digs around in the backseat, pulling out a pair of gray athletic shorts.
“Oh.” And you realize you’re still just clad in your striped swimsuit. “Thank you for sparing me from the hospital germs,” you say lightly, an attempt at a joke to break the ice. One that doesn’t land, since instead of cracking a grin he just presses his lips together in a firm line and nods.
Bradley crouches low in front of you and you put a hand on his shoulder for balance as you lean against the Bronco, still trying to keep as much pressure off your left ankle as possible as you step into them. He’s looking up at you and even through his sunglasses perched on your nose, you swear his brown eyes get a shade darker as he eases the shorts up your legs. You’re touched by the effort as he ties the strings in a lopsided bow, even if things are feeling tense between the two of you.
“Think this’ll be easier,” he mumbles shrugging off his light blue button up. You’ve always liked this one, with its soft pastel pink and minty green watercolor prints of net fishermen and hula girls and palm trees.
He holds it open for you, helping you thread your arm through it, and then takes over holding Jake’s now ruined shirt to your head so that you can get your other arm past the sleeve. It smells like him, citrus and amber. Your fingers brush against each other when you reclaim the makeshift bandage, and he adjusts his shirt so that it hangs over your shoulders just right.
It’s an awkward kind silent as Rooster helps lift you into the Bronco with his strong hands around your hips. He is all smooth efficiency as he buckles you in with a click. You pass him back his sunglasses the same moment he hands you your tote bag, and it almost feels like a hostage exchange.
He says nothing as he hauls himself into the driver’s side. The car rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition and a cheery song from the 80’s station on the radio comes on. Bradley quick to turn the volume down low. His thumb brushing your shoulder as he sets his hand on the back of your seat to look behind him as he carefully backs out of the spot.
It’s never felt this strained with him before.
It’s so painfully obvious that the two of you are walking on eggshells around each other. You can almost feel the wall that’s gone up around him. The white noise of the radio drowned out by the hum of the road as he drives in near silence.
Your day has been most effectively ruined by a chunk of sedimentary rock, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still recoup what’s left of it.
He could still have the perfect summer afternoon.
He could still go back to your friends and their perfect beach set up and laugh with them as Coyote keeps accidentally setting marshmallows on fire. He could still catch the bold oranges and soft pinks of the sunset with all the satisfied contentment he deserved to experience.
“You can leave me and go back, you know. I’ll be ok if you just want drop me off and then head back to the beach,” you say looking down at your fingers as you trace the stitching of his leather seats.
When he doesn’t answer right away, you glance over at him. The vein in his neck is standing out boldly against the column of his throat.
“Do I seem like the kind of guy who would leave someone at the ER alone?” he asks, his voice rougher than sandpaper.
“No. No, of course not,” you say emphatically, “That’s why I’m giving you permission.”
“Permission?” he scoffs with a shake of his head.
“Yes, permission,” you say, clipped.
You’re giving him an out, why doesn’t he get that?
He heaves a big sigh and grunts. “Is it… Would you rather have Bob- with his big hands- here instead?” Bradley asks, frustration leaking out around the edges of his words.
“Bob with his big hands?” you repeat baffled, “What does Bob have to do with anything about this?”
“That’s what you said earlier, sweetheart. I’m just citing the source. Or I can call Phoenix? Or…” he pauses glancing at the t-shirt pressed to your head, “Or even Seresin. Once we get you checked in I can call any of them an Uber or something, and they can be there with you, if you don’t want me.”
“No, Rooster, I don’t want anyone else.” You wince at the implication and hope it doesn’t read into it further than the current situation to two of you are wading through like quick sand.
“Ok, good,” he grumbles.
“Great,” you lob back.
His hand tightens on the steering wheel, the knuckles turning white, “Then where is this even coming from?” The action makes his thick forearm flex in this most delicious of ways that you’d appreciate more if you didn’t feel the anger simmering low in your stomach.
“It’s pretty damn clear that you’d rather be back there, Rooster. Or literally anywhere else right now.” You flip down the sun visor with more force than it deserves, regretting that you gave him his sunglasses back when the bright California sun in your eyes turns your headache into a full-blown migraine.
“Of course, I’d rather be anywhere else!” he says hotly, tossing his sunglasses back in your lap, “Do you think I like that you’re hurt and that we’re on our way to the hospital?” You shove them on your face with an angry huff.
A car speeds by blaring their horn as they pass by.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck off,” he grunts but speed of the Bronco doesn’t change, “Asshole.”
Bradley’s driving five miles under the posted limit, and you know for a fact he religiously drives at least ten miles over. And his turns have been smoother than butter, as if he is trying not to jostle you anymore than you’d already been today.
You are so tired of this hot and cold thing that he’s doing. His words and his deeds weren’t going hand in hand. He keeps giving you the cold shoulder, but is also so in tune with your every movement and need.
Gingerly, you angle yourself in your seat to look at him better, resting your tired left arm on the back of your seat and taking in his strong profile.
“Why are you being like this?” you demand, waving your free hand in a vaguely in his general direction.
“Like what? I’m not being like anything,” he retorts, making the same vague hand gesture as you did a moment earlier.
And oh, if that doesn’t fill your chest with hot indignation. That low simmering anger has turned into a full roiling boil as you shift in your seat trying to get your ankle in a position where it doesn’t hurt.
“Seriously, Rooster? I can feel tension rolling off of you in waves. You’ve been like this since everything turned to complete shit on the beach. I didn’t mean to ruin your day, I’m just trying to figure out how to make things better,” you bite out unable to keep things bottled up anymore.
He sucks in a sharp breath, “Are you kidding me right now? You think you ruined my day?” He glances from the road to you and back again, his brown eyes wide and searching.
“Yes?” Or so you’d thought until you’d seen the shock written all over his face, but now you weren’t so sure. It’s like you’ve dumped ice water on him instead of simply calling him out. “I feel like you’re taking it out on me and I don’t know why.”
“Jesus Christ,” Rooster swears under his breath, shaking his head. “I’m so damn sorry, sweetheart. I’m mad at myself, because I ruined your day. I should have been more careful, I should have been looking out for you. It’s not like you’re hard to miss in that swimsuit.” Your cheeks heat up at the comment, but you choose to ignore it.
Misery drips from his words like spilled ink off a page. You knew he was upset, but you didn’t realize he was upset about that. That he’s shouldering this fluke of fate as if it is his burden to bear. Some of the anger you’ve been feeling leaves your body like the tide washing out back out to sea. You’re still upset at him for how he has been acting up until this point, but you’re not mad at him about that.
“Bradley, no. It was an accident.”
“Yeah, an accident I’m responsible for,” he says hoarsely, rubbing roughly at his forehead. “God, I can still hear the sound it made when you hit that rock and it makes me feel sick. I would give anything to undo that moment. I need you to know that.”
He is being so hard on himself and your heart squeezes, this time in sympathy rather than hurt. He didn’t place that rock in the sand, the both of you were victims of circumstance.
“It could have happened to anyone. It could have been anyone,” you press delicately, trying to get him to hear you, shifting in your seat again still uncomfortable.
The sunshine bounces off of his slumped shoulders as he sighs raggedly.
“But it happened to you and it’s my fault. You’re bleeding, you’re in pain, and you’ve been crying. And it’s because of me.” He reaches down with his right hand and lifts up your leg so that you can rest it on his thigh, some of the ache alleviating immediately. He asks quietly, “That better?”
“Yes, thank you,” you murmur. He looks so upset, and all you want to do is curl into his lap. You want to hold him and you want to be held by him. “You know I don’t blame you, right?”
You expect him to move his hand back to the steering wheel, but he keeps it on your leg. His thumb stroking your still slightly sandy shin. Your cheery toenail polish at odds with the color blooming around your ankle.
Bradley’s throat bobs as he swallows hard, “Yeah, I do. I know that. But I still blame myself.”
The Bronco rolls to a soft stop at the light. There’s enough traffic that you know you’ll be here for a bit, and so does he since he turns in his seat to look fully at you. You take his sunglasses off, tucking them into the pocket of his shirt that rests above your heart, so nothing stands between his brown eyes and yours.
“So, you’re going to keep beating yourself up over it and icing me out? Making me feel worse? For what, Bradley? Because you’re a glutton for punishment? That’s not fair to me or to you.”
“Shit,” he mutters, his left hand running through his curls. “You’re right and I’m so sorry. I’ve been in my head feeling so damn guilty that I’ve been such an asshole. Can you forgive me?”
You’re about to answer him that when a horn startles you, making you jump in the leather seat. You see the light is green, the car that had been in front of you is gliding through the intersection passing under a blue sign pointing the way to the hospital.
“Bradley, the light.”
The car behind the two of you honks their horn again.
“They can wait. This is important, you are important. Do you forgive me?” There’s an underscore of need that punctuates his question.
“Yes, of course,” you say easily and sincerely. There’s so much remorse in his eyes, you would have forgiven him with that look alone.
“Thank you,” he breathes out in relief. And then he smiles at you for the first time since the beach and that ache in your heart is completely soothed, bandaged by that soft way he is looking at you.
Atlas no longer, he can simply be Bradley.
He takes his foot off the brake and by some miracle he’s able to make it through the light before it turns red again. You can see the tall structure of the parking lot near the hospital poking out above the line of the treetops.
The destination is closer than ever, but there are still things on your mind.
“And you aren’t an asshole, Bradley. But your bedside manner could definitely use some work,” you tease with a smile of your own.
“Baby, I’ve been trying to show you my bedside manner, but you keep holding me at arm’s length,” he groans dramatically.
The idea of experiencing Bradley Bradshaw’s bedside manner makes you feel all kinds of weak in the knees, even as you’re seated in his Bronco with your leg propped up in his lap, his big hand skating up and down along your shin comfortingly.
“How can you even say that with a straight face? You’ve never made a move!” you exclaim incredulously, “I was even the one to ask for your phone number, if you remember.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I hit on you all the time,” he argues with your favorite brand of Bradshaw banter, “I’ve been waiting for you to give me the green light, sweetheart.”
“I thought you were supposed to be pretty and smart,” you smirk.
He barks a laugh and the last tendrils of all the tension and all the pressure that had been swirling around you like a marine layer evaporates.
“You saying I’ve had the green light this whole time?” He looks over at you with a boyish smile, you like the way you feel when he looks at you like this.
“What I’m saying, Bradley, is if you’d have actually asked me out I would have said yes.” You press your toes into the muscle of his thick thigh and immediately regret it, wincing as pain ripples around your ankle.
He makes a sympathetic sound deep in his chest, “Sounds like I’ve been an idiot.”
“A very pretty one,” you allow, leaning your aching head back against the back seat.
“At least there’s that,” he concedes good-naturedly as he pulls into the parking lot, turning on his blinker for a spot opening up near the entrance to the Emergency Room by some twist of fate, one that’s in your favor this time.
Bradley pulls into the empty spot and kills the engine turning to you. He gently eases your foot back down onto the sandy floormat of the Bronco and leans into unbuckle your seatbelt.
He’s so close now looking up at you from under his eyelashes, and your breath catches in your throat. He moves closer, you can see the bits of hazel that surround his pupils. Your eyes flutter close and you tilt your head up, lips parting at the anticipation of his kiss.
There’s no holding back the noise of dissatisfaction you make when his lips press a tender kiss to your cheek. You lean into him wanting to feel, wanting him to give you more. His warm breath coasts over your skin as he chuckles. You can feel the way his lips are pulled up into a smile.
“I’m a gentleman, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls away, his eyes lingering on your lips. “My mom raised me not to go for the kiss on the first date. Or ones with head wounds and potential concussions.”
“Some first date,” you lament jokingly, looking in at the fluorescent lights awaiting you inside the hospital. You’d rather skip over this part entirely, but you’re ready to be done with holding Jake’s shirt to your head. “Nothing like insurance cards and scrubs to really set the mood.”
“Mmm. How about this, after we’re done here, I’ll take you through whatever drive-thru you want-”
“In-N-Out,” you cut in without a second thought. The novelty of it still hasn’t worn off on you, even if the fries are terrible.
“Ok,” he grins, “I’ll take you through in In-N-Out and get you your number two combo with mustard and grilled onions with a vanilla shake.” He pauses waiting for your nod of approval, looking more than pleased with himself when you acknowledge he got your order right.
“I like the sound of this so far,” you hum.
“Well that’s good. Since it’ll be our first date, I want to set that bar high,” he says giving you a wink. And there are those butterflies again, this time you don’t try to catch them with a net. They’re free to flutter around as they wish.
“If you really want to impress me, you’ll also take me through the McDonald’s drive-thru for their fries,” you muse.
“Done.”
“I was kidding,” you laugh, shaking your head at him disbelievingly and thoroughly charmed.
“Well, I wasn’t. So after we get you fed, give or take some fries, I will bring you home. I’ll get you whatever you need, I want to make sure you’re comfortable. Think you might be on crutches for a bit, sweetheart,” he says softly, playing with the ends of your hair. “And then in the morning, if you’re up for it, I’ll take you out for breakfast. Or bring you breakfast. Whatever you want. We can call that date number two.”
“And then you’ll kiss me?”
“And then I’ll kiss you,” he promises, offering you a crooked pinky finger. You beam and you wrap your own around his.
He slips out of the driver’s seat leaving you to contemplate the terms of his offer as he rounds the front of the Bronco. The nurses are going to get an eyeful of him in only those snug jean shorts and thin white tank. You make a mental note to avoid looking at him if they have to connect you to a heart rate monitor, he doesn’t need to know the effect he has on you. Not yet anyways.
“I have counteroffer,” you announce turning your body towards him as he opens your door for you.
“Let’s hear it, baby,” he says with a grin that almost makes you forget how bad your head and ankle hurt, “Shoot.”
“We still go to In-N-Out, but then in the morning you make me breakfast in bed with some of those famous Bradshaw pancakes I’ve heard about,” you say, as he steps in between your legs, “Seems like a good way to work on that bedside manner of yours.”
“I think you’re going to like my bedside manner, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over your cheek.
You tilt your head at him, taking in the sunkissed strands in his hair and the affection in his eyes, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”
“Guess we will,” he rasps.
Rooster drops another sweet kiss to your cheek, whispering for you to stay put, and then he struts off towards the automatic doors of the Emergency Room. Leaving you alone with the butterflies in your stomach and the hope in your heart.
You dig your phone out of your straw tote and check the time, doing the math in your head.
There are a few messages from Nat and other people on the team already checking in, but you know you’ll have time to reply to them later as you wait with Bradley sitting by your side.
You look up and see he’s got a wheelchair now and is making his way back to you, wearing a soft smile on his face just for you.
Only seventeen more hours until you get to kiss Bradley Bradshaw and you can’t wait.
You’ve got that forever feeling about him.
Oh, oh, oh.
Thank you for reading! Rock on. Oh that joke was schist, I'll see myself out.
This was written as part of @roosterforme's Rocktober Playlist! You can check out all the other great submissions here!
The song that inspired this story was Paula Abdul's "Straight Up"
summary: the best saturday nights are the ones you spend together, and steve can't wait for all the saturday nights to come when he asks you to make a home with him while you're dancing in his kitchen
pairing: steve harrington x gn!reader
warning(s): fluff and steve being hopelessly in love
word count: 2.0k
notes: i've really been craving domesticity lately and steve is absolutely perfect for a lot of what i'm thinking and feeling so i hope you enjoy this too!
...
To say Saturday nights were the most anticipated nights of Steve’s week would be an understatement. He usually gets to leave work by six—since he and Robin normally take the Friday night closers and the Sunday afternoons, that means Keith gets to close on Saturdays—and come see you on his way home. More often than not you come with him back to his house when he leaves your place, since his parents are normally either out of town or completely ambivalent to his presence. You warm up the cold house, lighting up the dark corners with your smile and causing his heart to swell with how much love he feels for you.
Sometimes you cook dinner together; others you order pizza or grab something on the way back, curling up on his couch with a movie or in his bed talking about your job, or what hijinks the kids have been up to, or anything and everything as long as Steve gets to hear your voice and you can cuddle up next to him for the night.
Recently, though, Saturday nights have become group movie nights for anyone who can make it. Since Hellfire nights are Friday nights, Saturday nights made more sense for everyone to be able to get together. Steve grumbles about it from time to time, sure, but having his house full of people brings him a kind of exasperated joy that he’ll never admit to anyone but you in the comfort of his room, whispering to each other in the darkness as you’re falling asleep.
It started with Dustin and Robin swinging by, and very quickly evolved into the Robin, Dustin and the rest of the kids—who were not-so-slowly moving from kids to awkward teenagers right before your eyes—Argyle, Jonathan and Nancy (sometimes, when they didn’t have their own date night being third-wheeled by Argyle), and even Eddie was becoming a more frequent sight as of late. You were happy that Steve had made another friend, and Eddie always made you the best mixtapes which never hurt.
And this Saturday night was yet another designated movie night. Steve had picked you up after his shift at Family Video had ended, his BMW parked out front of your apartment building and the man himself leaning against the wall of mailboxes in your lobby when you’d come down, your arms loaded with snacks and treats for everyone. He’s still in his green polyester vest and name tag, and you can see the sag to his shoulders as you walk up to him. But his face brightens almost immediately upon seeing you, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks as he kisses you.
The two of you drive back to his house, his hand holding yours over the gear shift while you listen to Steve go on about his day—the group of middle schoolers who always try and sneak into the back room tried to go back there when Hopper was picking up a movie for him and Joyce and Steve doesn’t think he’s ever heard Robin cackle that loudly before—and he lets you know which movies he’s snagged for tonight (just in case Robin tries to sneak something in later, or one of his choices mysteriously goes missing when he goes to put it on).
Argyle had promised to swing by sometime later with pizza and the kids who could make it loaded up into the back of his van. Nancy and Jonathan were grabbing Robin, which Nancy had told you about an hour ago on the phone, and you had no idea if Eddie was coming tonight—but you still grabbed a bag of Eddie’s favourite chips, just in case.
Steve grabs all of the bags you brought, stuffing the movies he rented into one of them, not letting you take a single one. You roll your eyes playfully, but snag his keys from his back pocket and hurry to unlock the front door. He dumps all the bags onto the kitchen table once he’s in, going back to the front door to take off his shoes and place them next to yours on the mat.
You turn the radio on before starting to unpack everything, grabbing bowls and plates from the cupboard to place on the counter by the sink. Steve comes in to join you, one of his arms snaking around your waist as he grabs a bag of Oreos and the box of Twinkies that have him wrinkling his nose.
“Hey, Mike’s been very good at only complaining when he thinks I can’t hear about not having them the last two weeks,” you say, and Steve rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah. There’s plenty more for him to eat.” He takes the snacks in his hands out into the living room, starting a pile on the coffee table that he’ll sort out once there’s more snacks to fill the space.
“There is, but if Mike doesn’t have Twinkies then he eats half of Will’s cookies, and then Jonathan gives up half his Smarties for his brother and steals some of Dustin’s gummies, but Dustin thinks someone else stole them and it changes the whole atmosphere,” you explain as he walks back in the room, and Steve feels a bloom of fondness in his chest that you’ve memorized all of this about the people you call your friends. You’ve started placing unopened bags of chips in bowls, passing them to Steve to carry out.
The two of you manage to get things done fairly quickly, and you’re pouring glasses of water for the two of you when he comes back into the kitchen. He accepts his gratefully before downing the glass in one go. He places his in the sink, and then reaches over to turn up the volume of the radio. He waits until your glass is set down on the counter before he takes your hands in his and starts swaying around the kitchen. You’ve got more than enough time before the others get here, he thinks, that he can take some time to hold you in his arms and move to the sound of what he recognizes as the oldies station when Elvis starts crooning.
You smile at him, moving to the beat of the song and spinning Steve around. The music swirls around you, cocooning the two of you in your own little bubble of joy and love, making silly faces at one another as you step together on the cool tiled floor.
The song playing changes to something slow and soft, and Steve smiles as he pulls you in closer. One arm circles your waist and his warm palm rests on your lower back like an anchor keeping you present in the moment. His other hand holds yours gently but firmly, while your own free hand clutches at his shoulder. Your face rests against his chest, while he presses a kiss to your forehead.
“I love you,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. You nod, gripping his hand a little more tightly as they sway back and forth. “I really do, baby. More than there are stars in the sky.”
“I love you too, Stevie,” you say, your voice a soft mumble as your eyes close. Steve tries to commit the sight to memory as best he can, the way your face looks so much more relaxed while he holds you in his arms; the way you smell, like your favourite body was and shampoo, and how your skin feels so soft to the touch. The way the lighting in his kitchen, dimmed and much too yellow, always made you seem like you were glowing.
He wants to hold you against him like this for the rest of his life, warm and safe and loved, and his chest aches with how much he loves you, loves the idea of this being his forever.
“Move in with me.” Steve didn’t mean for the words to slip out like this, and he feels your body tense in his grip. He’d meant to ask you properly once he'd found a place to take you to see, when he had more of a plan in his head, but between work and the kids and life it just hasn’t come together yet. He’s been saving up and squirrelling money away for months, wanting to surprise you when the time was right.
But the more he thinks about it, the more Steve doesn’t regret asking now. He wants to think about waking up to the sunlight coming in through the window because he forgot to close the curtains before bed, or smelling the toast burning because you’re trying to accomplish a million things at once and it’s always the poor toast that suffers. He wants your opinion on all the new movies that come out, the songs on the radio, and the new dishes he’s going to teach himself to cook for you. He wants to watch you learn and grow and do everything you’ve ever dreamed of.
He wants a future with you. So he repeats himself. It’s still as quiet as before, but he’s more sure of what he’s asking now, of what he wants. You relax in his grip, just a little, and you pull him closer.
“Just to be clear, I‘m not cleaning up after Dustin or any of the other kids,” you say, and Steve feels himself start to laugh because it’s a yes, very much a yes to opening the door to your future together—and that you probably would end up cleaning up after the kids, but he’d be right there with you to promise the two of you would never let the kids do that again, even though you always would. “Or you. And I’m bringing my bed with me.” Thank god for that, Steve loves your bed so much more than his own. It’s the perfect size for the two of you, together.
“We can pick out something with a second bedroom, maybe an office for you and space for the kids to stay with us,” Steve says, continuing to sway with you even as the music changes tempo to be slightly more upbeat. “Even though they’ll probably all insist on one big sleepover in the living room. Or our room.” Not that he’d change anything about that, of course. Well… that one of the many somethings you’ll both have to figure out later. Together. The thought still makes him feel giddy.
“I’ll talk Keith into giving you Sunday mornings off, so we can make breakfast together,” you say, and Steve hopes that you do. Keith isn’t hard to intimidate, but the mere thought of spending Sundays in your own place, together, nearly melts him on the spot.
Steve leans down to press a soft, chaste kiss against your lips, and lets go of your hand for just a moment to flash a very rude gesture towards the hooting and hollering coming from the kids who have apparently wandered into the house and his kitchen.
“Hey, brochachos! Nice tunes,” Argyle says by way of greeting, and you turn to see him carrying four boxes of pizza behind Will and El. Dustin has jolted forward to give you a hug and start ribbing Steve for being too cheesy, and you move to clear a space at the kitchen table for Argyle to put down the food he’s brought.
It all devolves from there, and you and Steve exchange fondly exasperated glances from behind the kids you’re shepherding into the living room to take up their usual spots. The rest of the gang, including a smiley Eddie who has yet another new mixtape for you, arrive not long after, and Steve can’t help but imagine if this is how things will be when the two of you are living on your own. He hopes it is, hopes that the two of you will be able to squeeze everyone in together to watch Back to the Future with the smell of greasy pizza and sugary snacks, though Mike Wheeler can start buying his own Twinkies.
Steve has no idea if there’ll ever be another Saturday night as good as this one, the one where two of you start planning your future together much later when you're alone in his bed, but the smile on your face as you pass Lucas and Erica plates of pizza while Robin pours you a drink, has him looking forward to all the ones you’ll spend together from now on.
A/N: Welp! Despite saying I'm done with reader fics, here I am. A short angst and fluff Waffle House date with Obi-Wan that is somewhat of a sequel to this fic. (Note that the original fic isn't a gender neutral reader)
Warnings: trauma implied, age gap implied, minimally edited at best
Pairing: Obi-Wan x GN reader
Word Count: 1.2 k
It’s four in the morning, and it’s every bit as magical as Waffle House usually is. You look from the man squashed next to you on the same side of the booth (you always asked him to) to the other clientele in their varied states of misery, and you wonder if you two stand out.
Or perhaps you fit in perfectly, the lack of sleep obvious under both your eyes and his. Does anyone plan to be at Waffle House at four A.M.? Or does everyone just find themselves there?
That’s what tonight is: A series of findings. His text found you awake, your response and recommendation found him amused and ready.
You find affection, now, in his eyes when you steal another side glance in between bites of the most mediocre toast you’ve ever had the pleasure of being acquainted with.
Obi-Wan has placed his paper napkin on his lap and is using his knife to neatly press more syrup-soggy waffle onto his fork. “I’m surprised at your remembering my partiality for this place.” His voice is still sleepy, deeper and more lingering between his words.
You swallow your bite of grits. “Am I so bad at remembering it warrants surprise?”
“No, it’s not that. Rather that I didn’t think it was something that would stand out to remember.”
“Oh, it stood out all right. I kept trying to picture you here but…” you shake your head and smile into your orange juice glass for a sip.
He tilts his shoulders to you. “But what?”
Even now, in a dark blue sweatshirt and grey sweatpants, he somehow looks like a J. Crew loungewear ad. “Let’s just say it’s easier to picture you sipping on a martini in a… speakeasy or something.”
“I’m so pretentious I’ve somehow landed myself in the twenties?” His tired eyes awaken slightly behind his glasses with a hint of mischief.
“Not pretentious, exactly. Proper is a better word. Well-mannered.”
As if on cue, a piece of his waffle falls from his fork into his beard. You can see his upturned lip between the blots of his napkin. Once it’s remedied, he playfully bumps his shoulder against yours. “I’m so glad you think so.”
A warm silence falls over the two of you, and you take in the room while you continue eating. The windows are frosted over; the only little bit you can see outside is dark. It gives the feeling that this is the only place in the world.
The line cook in charge is so tired and unamused she seems to float, unaffected, above the few orders she gets. The other cook has his headphones in as he stirs the eggs for much longer than necessary, and he only pretends to listen when the woman says something, referring instead to the paper orders.
There’s a man waiting for his to-go order, leaning against the window under a light fixture that’s adorned with forgotten gaudy Christmas decor. He scrolls through his phone and glances up to the counter every so often, not truly concentrated on either task.
Next to him is a jukebox.
“You don’t happen to have cash on you, do you?” you ask Obi-Wan. He sets his chocolate milk down and lifts a brow at you.
“I will eat your hashbrowns if you select ‘What’s New Pussycat’,” he says with the admonishing teacher voice that always makes your cheeks warm.
“The thought did cross my mind, but I will refrain.”
“In that case, you don’t need cash. I believe there’s an app you can use.” He points to the digital screen on the jukebox with the instructions.
You fiddle with your phone until Bing Crosby’s “Let me Call You Sweetheart” washes the place in song. At first, it’s uncertain if it fits, the crooning notes bouncing along the greasy corners and syrup-sticky tables and booths. It’s so unflinchingly sincere in a bubble of cynical dissociation you almost mourn on its behalf.
Obi-Wan looks at you in that piercing way, and you watch a decision settle on his face right before he stands and offers you his hand. You know what it means, he’s asked you a few times before, but never in public. You take another glance around the room and its unaffected inhabitants and take his hand.
His large hands have taught you all sorts of lessons of warmth and security and pleasure and trust. You don’t know if yours have taught him anything in return, but they’ve held him in the grief he can barely voice. You’ve learned of his brother more in the emptiness of what he doesn’t say than any information he volunteers, but you know enough to know it’s the reason he can’t sleep. It’s the reason you know he recognises your grief too, why you’re both painfully awake when the rest of the world sleeps. Indeed, he’s known earthquakes.
You can’t fight each other’s demons, but there’s something to be said for what rests for you both in the other’s hands.
Grief grows next to unlikely things, and you often wonder how it can share the same soil as love. It’s asked you to walk alone many horrible, necessary times, but tonight, it asks you to dance it together.
Your bodies fall into familiar closeness, his hand on your lower back, your hand probably where it shouldn’t be on his arm, and you let him lead you into slow rhythm. When he presses his lips softly to the side of your head, you close your eyes and allow yourself to sink into the tenderness and smell of his skin on his clothes.
“Now who’s landed in the twenties?” he whispers close to your ear.
“Thirties, technically.” You’re pressed so close, you know he can feel you smile against him.
“Do beg my pardon, we can’t all be sentimental jazz experts.” He pulls back enough you can see the entirety of his face, and it fills your heart with an ache of fondness. His eyes have those creases behind the rim of his glasses that accompany his joy, right above those circles underneath from the opposite. “I suppose it’s appropriate that even in this timeline your music taste is a decade younger than mine.”
How he can talk and dance, even if it’s slow and leisurely, you’ll never know. You almost lose the movement of your feet trying to retort, “Is that a compliment or a complaint?”
“Neither, just mere observation.”
You have to fully look down to watch your feet as you say, “I’ll remind you of that, that you’re just observing, the next time I get to DJ.”
“Tying my tongue of both compliment and complaint? Whatever will I do?”
You look up at him pointedly but have to look away the moment it leaves your lips. “You’ll think of something.”
Obi-Wan gives a conspiratorial “Hm,” and tilts your chin slowly to place his lips to yours. You deepen it, tasting everything distinctly him plus the addition of syrup. When you pull back, he lets out a sigh that chokes on itself in that telling way. “Will you stay with me tonight?” His voice goes so, so quiet when he asks for anything. The night is already morning, but it’s still dark to him. Of course you’ll stay.
The evening has been a series of findings, more than anything, perhaps, is the courage to keep loving and living in the midst of grief and the impassive echo chamber surrounding.
Warnings: Protective Mav Dad, Reader is Maverick's Daughter but no Description of Appearance or Biological Parentage; Can be treated as an OC; She's referred to as 'Baby Mitchell' occasionally; Third Person POV, No "You" or Y/N
This work, all of my other works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only.
Summary: Maverick finds out that his daughter is dating someone that he knows when she invites her new partner to dinner. And so he makes it his mission to greet them at the door first.
A.N. Starts out with the same basic set up but then it splits. All seven main Daggers have their own separate story (about 250 words each), so read your favorite(s) or all seven!
Master List
Maverick never exactly looked forward to meeting his daughter’s partners.
Maybe it was because he was a little worried that he didn’t exactly give her a healthy example to follow. Maybe it was because he was just trying to compensate for all of the times that he wasn’t there for her when she was little. Maybe it was because he was just a smidge overprotective.
But either way, he never looked forward to meeting his daughter’s partner.
So, when she told him that she was inviting over her new partner for dinner, and mentioned that he already knew her partner, Maverick was given a new mission—to answer the door before her. He wanted to see if her partner could cut it on their own without his daughter coaching them through every step of this new dynamic.
And when the doorbell rung five minutes ahead of schedule, Maverick sprang into action.
“I got it!” he called up the stairs to his daughter.
“No, I’ll get it, Dad!”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Maverick insisted, reaching for the front door.
Twisting the knob, Maverick flung the door open and paused when he saw who was standing on the other side of the door.
[Pick Your Dagger:]
Rooster
Rooster stood on the front steps of the Mitchell house, nervously shifting his weight around.
“Why did you ring the doorbell, Bradley? Just go through the side entrance,” Maverick instructed Rooster, completely missing the point of Rooster’s arrival. He held the door open and stepped aside. “But my daughter’s new partner is coming for dinner. You’re free to join us if you like, but it might be a little awkward.”
“Uh . . . yeah . . .” Rooster trailed off, really wishing that his girlfriend would get down the stairs already. “I was . . . going to stay.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll just set out another plate.”
Rooster stared after Maverick like he’d grown a third head as he walked off to reset the dinner table. Shaking his head, Rooster glanced up at the stairs as his girlfriend hurried down them, smiling at his appearance. Rooster shut the front door behind him and held out his arms as his girlfriend threw herself at him.
“Hey,” she giggled, pressing a loving kiss to his lips, “how’d you survive?”
“Well, he seems to think that you’re bringing someone else home,” Rooster explained sheepishly, causing her to raise an eyebrow.
“You didn’t tell him that you were my boyfriend?”
“Well . . .”
Letting out a sigh, she grabbed her boyfriend’s hand and pulled him with her down the hall. Maverick was in the middle of setting down another plate when the young couple walked into the room. Maverick looked up and smiled at them. But he froze when he caught sight of their intertwined hands. Maverick straightened up and glanced erratically between Rooster and his daughter.
“You . . . you’re dating my daughter . . . Bradley?” Maverick asked his godson, who started to sweat a bit.
“Yes, we’re dating,” Baby Mitchell answered on Rooster’s behalf. “We have been for four months.”
“This is some kind of joke, right?” Maverick tried to laugh off, but Rooster and Baby Mitchell’s expressions did not change. “Right?”
“No, it’s not,” she replied calmly. “Rooster is my boyfriend. We’re dating. I invited him over for dinner. So, let’s have dinner.”
Baby Mitchell led the way over to the table and sat down in her seat. Maverick shot Rooster a look and in response Rooster simply shrugged his shoulders and followed after his girlfriend.
~~~~~
Hangman
Hangman offered Maverick a curt nod and his usual smile-smirk-combination.
“Hey, Mav—”
Maverick slammed the door shut and locked it, just to be sure. Shaking his head, Maverick glanced up at the stairs as his daughter hurried down them.
“Who was at the door?” she questioned, looking confused.
“Just . . . a delivery driver.”
“Where’s the package then?” Baby Mitchell demanded, frowning at him.
“Well, that’s the funny thing—”
The doorbell cut off Maverick’s lie and caused his daughter to shoot him an aggravated expression. Reaching around him, she unlocked the door and pulled it open to see Hangman still standing on the front steps of the Mitchell home.
“Really?” Baby Mitchell scoffed at her dad before letting her boyfriend inside.
“Oh, Hangman, I didn’t see you standing there,” Maverick lied poorly.
“Frankly, I was expecting worse,” Hangman told his girlfriend, who shook her head in response.
“Dad, Jake is my boyfriend and I invited him over,” Baby Mitchell began, trying to keep the aggravation out of her tone. “So, you can’t go around slamming doors in his face just because you don’t like the fact that we’re dating. Okay?”
“I . . .” Maverick trailed off when he caught his daughter’s annoyed expression. “Alright, alright.”
Baby Mitchell shook her head before turning for the dining room. She grabbed Hangman’s hand and pulled him along with. But, while her back was turned, Maverick shot him the ‘I’ve-got-my-eye-on-you’ gesture with his fingers. Hangman nodded in return, but Maverick didn’t miss the slightly nervous look that he wore.
~~~~~
Phoenix
Phoenix gave Maverick a sarcastic mock salute as the door swung open. Standing confidently on the front steps, Phoenix straightened up.
“Hey, Mav.”
“Hey, Phoenix,” he returned with a nod. He held the door open for Phoenix and she stepped inside. “So, you’re the one who gave my daughter a hickey two weeks ago?”
Phoenix blinked, clearly a bit caught of guard, before her usual confident demeanor returned. Phoenix nodded in response and didn’t let her nerves show.
“Yes. But, to be fair, you weren’t supposed to see that.”
“I assumed,” Maverick replied, nodding along. After another moment of thought, he shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Well, at least you can’t get her pregnant.”
“You’re not going to give me a shovel talk?” Phoenix asked Maverick, folding her hands over her chest.
“I like to give it at the end,” Maverick assured Phoenix while his daughter hurried down the stairs. “Let’s me personalize it a little better.”
“Hey, babe,” Baby Mitchell called, pulling Phoenix in for a quick peck. Turning to Maverick, Baby Mitchell shot him a look. “I hope that he wasn’t too overprotective.”
“No, he was fine,” Phoenix assured her girlfriend with a small smile. “Though we have a debriefing scheduled for after dinner.”
“Dad.”
“What? I would do the same if she was a man.”
The two girlfriends shared a look and Phoenix shrugged her shoulders in response. Baby Mitchell let out a groan and shook her head.
“Fine,” she muttered, grabbing Phoenix’s hand. “Well, come on. Let’s get you some dinner first before you’re interrogated.”
~~~~~
Bob
Bob offered Maverick his usual awkward smile. Maverick blinked once in surprise before he let out a humorous breath of relief.
“Bob, I’ve never been happier to see you,” Maverick chuckled, holding the door open for the WSO.
“Really?” Bob asked curiously, walking inside the house.
“Yeah, I was worried that she was bringing Hangman home,” Maverick replied with a light chuckle, closing the door. “But I’m glad to see that I was completely wrong.”
“Thank you?” Bob returned quietly.
“Hey, babe,” Baby Mitchell called out to Bob as she walked down the stairs. “Glad to see that the dragon guarding the castle didn’t hurt you.” She hurried over and pulled Bob in for a quick kiss in greeting before turning to her dad. Leaning against her boyfriend, she smiled brightly as she glanced between them. “Should we sit down and start dinner then?”
“Yeah, I’ll start bringing stuff out from the kitchen,” Maverick agreed, walking off.
When Maverick’s back was turned, Bob reached out and grabbed Baby Mitchell’s ass playfully. She giggled and pressed a heated kiss to his lips that Bob eagerly returned. Reluctantly pulling away, she leaned towards his ear.
“We should go. Don’t want him to get suspicious,” she whispered to Bob.
“Alright. But . . . later?” he suggested, giving her ass another light pat.
“Absolutely,” she agreed with a wide smile.
~~~~~
Coyote
Coyote offered Maverick a small, nervous smile. Maverick paused for a moment before opening the door wider for him.
“So, you’re dating my daughter, Coyote?” he asked as Coyote stepped inside the house.
“Yes, sir,” Coyote returned politely.
“You don’t have to call me that,” Maverick replied, closing the door. “Yet, anyways.”
“Yet?” Coyote repeated, confused.
“I only make my daughter’s boyfriends call me ‘sir’ if I don’t like them,” Maverick explained quietly to Coyote, trying to prevent his daughter from overhearing. “And, frankly, as long as you don’t toss me out of my own home and onto my own lawn, I think that you’ll be okay.”
The sound of footsteps caused both aviators to look up. Baby Mitchell walked down the stairs with a bright smile when she spotted Coyote. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she pressed a quick peck to his lips before turning to her dad.
“Did you get the shovel talk out of the way, then?” she asked sarcastically, leaning against Coyote.
“Not yet,” Maverick replied before turning to Coyote. In a quieter voice, he added, “We’ll get to that after dinner.”
Baby Mitchell gently shoved her dad away from her boyfriend and shook her head.
“Honestly, I’m not sixteen anymore.”
“Well, I like Coyote a lot more than the boy that you were seeing when you were sixteen,” Maverick conceded, causing his daughter to wince.
“Who was—” Coyote started to ask.
“—No one!” Baby Mitchell interjected.
~~~~~
Fanboy
Fanboy smiled nervously at Maverick as the door swung open. Maverick could tell that the WSO was nervous if the way that he fidgeted was any indication, but Fanboy was doing his best not to show it. Unfortunately for him, Maverick was very observant.
“Hey, Maverick,” Fanboy greeted him politely with a slow nod.
“Hey, Fanboy. Come on in,” Maverick replied, holding open the door for him. Fanboy stepped inside and Maverick shut the door behind him. “So, you’re the flyboy who’s dating my daughter?”
“Yeah, I am,” Fanboy agreed confidently, though with an edge of concern. He glanced up the stairs for his girlfriend before turning back to Maverick. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“No, not yet,” Maverick replied calmly, shaking his head. “And between you and me, backseaters tend to be more . . . stable than their pilot counterparts. So, that helps you as well.”
“Well, I don’t disagree with that,” Fanboy chuckled before his girlfriend started down the stairs.
“Hey, amor,” Baby Mitchell called down to her boyfriend.
She hurried the rest of the way down and greeted Fanboy with a quick peck to the lips. She grabbed his hand and turned back to her dad.
“Everything okay, Mr. Overprotective?” she asked Maverick.
“Wouldn’t he be Captain Overprotective?” Fanboy quipped, earning a groan from his girlfriend and a distinct ‘dad’ laugh from Maverick.
“I like him,” Maverick chuckled, pointing over at Fanboy. “Come on, let’s go eat.”
~~~~~
Payback
Payback nodded and smiled confidently at Maverick as the door opened. Maverick shot Payback a small smile in return and held the door open.
“Are there any bets on how tonight goes then?” Maverick asked as he let Payback inside the house.
“A few,” Payback agreed, nodding along. “Why? Did you want to place your own bet?”
“No, no, I try not gamble. But, out of curiosity, is there a way to make sure that Hangman doesn’t win . . . at all? And maybe Rooster a little bit too.”
“You can’t threaten to chase after me in a F-18, you can’t make a joke about the two hundred pushups, and . . .” Payback trailed off, trying to remember the rest of the bets. “You have to greet me like you would a son-in-law tomorrow on base. But that last one is only if you want Rooster to lose.”
“How much money?”
“Fifty bucks each.”
“Well, his mother taught him not to gamble, so Rooster should have paid more attention,” Maverick replied, clearly taking the bet.
“Hey, babe,” Baby Mitchell called down to Payback, walking down the stairs. She gave him a quick hug and peck before glancing between Payback and Maverick. “Everything going well so far?”
“So far,” Maverick agreed with a nod and smile. “And by this time tomorrow, both Payback and I will be fifty bucks richer.”
“Good. Because that was the whole point of this dinner,” Baby Mitchell replied sarcastically. Grabbing Payback’s hand, she turned for the dining room. “Come on, let’s go eat.”
Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, f!reader
Word Count: 1796
TW: Angst, Fluff, Kissing, Presumed Dead (but not really), Grief, Reunion
Spoilers for Top Gun: Maverick
Top Gun Masterlist
You lingered outside the briefing room, waiting for the news you were certain was about to come but yet you prayed didn’t. As much as you knew Rooster wanted on this mission, the thought of him going made your stomach roll and your heart clench. Though you only worked the coms in the control room for the mission and had no clearance for the details of the current assignment, you had managed to sneak a look at the mission plan. It was a near-suicide mission, and everyone knew it. And yet, you knew better than to ask Rooster to step down. It was missions like this that he trained for his entire career, and he wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to fly it. Even for you.
Suddenly, the door to the briefing room flew open and Hangman stormed out. The second you saw his face, all of your fears were confirmed. The only reason he would look that pissed off is if he hadn’t been selected for the team, which meant…..
Rooster walked out of the room, and he stumbled to a stop when he saw you standing there. Without saying a word, he opened his arms and you were instantly in them, wrapped in his tight embrace for what might be the last time. Burying your face into his chest, you said in a muffled voice, “I told you he would pick you. Maverick knows talent when he sees it.”
Rooster sighed as he rested his chin on the top of your head. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly objective when it comes to my skills.”
You chuckled softly but the sound quickly shifted into a sob. You tried to bite your lip to keep your tears from falling, but it was useless. Rooster placed his hands on your arms and pushed you away from him, getting a good look at your face. “Aw, baby, please don’t. If you cry, I’ll cry and that won’t be good.”
“I’m sorry, I just- I need you to come back. Okay? I can’t…. I can’t sit there and watch you go down.” The tears were flowing more steadily down your face and Rooster reached up and wiped them away with his thumb.
“I’ll come back. I promise.”
You shook your head. “You can’t promise that. There are so many things that could go wrong, so many chances to fail. You know I believe in you, baby, but this….. this isn’t something that just relies on skill. If even the slightest bit of information is incorrect, if they miscalculated anything, this could all go wrong, and I can’t-”
“It’s not going to. I will come back. I promise you. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He trailed his hand down your cheek before lifting your chin with his thumb. His lips brushed against yours, gentle and soft, and as much as his words were saying differently, you knew this was him telling you goodbye.
You rested your head on his chest once more and the two of you held each other in silence for as long as time permitted.
To everyone’s astonishment, the mission had been accomplished perfectly even with Dagger 4’s laser malfunction. You smiled broadly as pride swelled in your chest as Rooster managed to hit his target without the guidance. However, that feeling quickly faded as he crested over the top of Coffin Corner and into range of the SAMs. As missiles filled the radar screens in the control room, you gripped the arms of your seat so tightly, that the muscles in your arms began to tremble. And it felt as if your heart stopped when Rooster’s desperate cries filled your headset as he informed everyone he was out of flares. But Maverick had flown in at the last second and saved him. And as much as it pained you to see Maverick go down, at least Rooster was safe.
Until he wasn’t. Despite his orders, despite your desperate pleas to him over the coms, Rooster went back for Maverick. And it was then that your world exploded as you watched a SAM slam into his plane before his signal blinked out.
Frantically reaching for your controls, you said, “Dagger 2, come in….” Silence. “Dagger 2, I repeat, co-come in.” Still no response. You jumped to your feet as you slammed the com button and screamed, “Rooster! Answer me!”
The entire control room was deathly silent as you felt every eye on you. But you didn’t care. You just needed Rooster to answer. But he never did.
You collapsed back into your seat in stunned silence, still unable to grasp the reality of what just happened. From somewhere behind you, you heard Vice Admiral Simpson mutter, “Get her out of here” before you felt a pair of hands gently rest on your shoulders and help usher you out into the hall.
It wasn’t until the door to the control room closed that you collapsed to the floor in a heap of sobs and tears. Rooster couldn’t be gone. He just couldn’t. He promised you he would come back. He promised he wouldn’t make you go through watching his readings blink off of your screen, wouldn’t make you watch him go down. Yet, he had gone back for Maverick and made you watch him die.
Another sob rattled through your chest and you felt the hands from before rest softly on your shoulders. Looking up, you saw Hondo staring back at you, a tear running down his face as well. You nodded at him, a sign of thanks and understanding. While you had just lost the man you loved, Hondo had just lost a dear friend who he had served with for many years. The pains you were feeling were different yet not really so dissimilar. And as terrible as it was to think, at least you weren’t alone in your grief.
As he lowered himself to the floor, you slid over and rested your head on his shoulder. Neither one of you said a word. You both just sat silently as you tried to come to terms with what had happened and what you had lost.
After what seemed like an eternity, you managed to stop crying and pull yourself together for the most part. The pain was still there, but the initial shock had started to fade a little, leaving a deep emptiness instead. But you knew that feeling would take much longer to fade.
Just as you were about to ask Hondo how he was doing, the door to the control room flew open and Rear Admiral Bates stuck his head out. “You two need to get back in here now.”
Through your puffy, bloodshot eyes, you looked up at him in confusion. “Sir?”
“We’re receiving a signal from Rooster’s tracker.” Your eyes went wide as your breath caught in your chest. “He’s currently in the air in what appears to be in a F-14 Tomcat headed this way.”
“Maverick.” Hondo chuckled in relief.
Your head swam as you tried to grasp the miracle that was being presented to you. “Are you saying they’re both okay and on their way back?”
Warlock shook his head. “We can’t say for certain. We haven’t been able to hail their craft and…. there appears to be two, possibly three Su-57s closing in on their position.”
Suddenly, the entire ship shook as a roar of a plane taking off sounded from the deck above. Exchanging a confused look with Hondo and Warlock, you all hurried back into the control room where chaos was currently ensuing.
As you looked around, you heard someone saying, “Dagger Spare, you were not cleared for takeoff. I repeat you were not cleared for takeoff.”
A smile spread across your face as you realized what just happened and a voice came in over the comms. “This is Dagger Spare and with all due respect, you’ve been denying my requests to go help my team all mission and I won’t let my fellow pilots die because you refuse to give me authorization. So, I’m willing to take whatever reprimands are warranted when I get back, but I won’t be coming back alone.”
Hangman. You made a note to never bad-mouth the pilot again. He had just risked his career to save Maverick and Rooster and for that, you would never be able to repay him.
There was a pause as the room held its breath, waiting to see what Hangman’s fate would be. Finally, Vice Admiral Simpson sighed and said, “Dagger Spare, you are cleared for the mission. Go bring our men home.”
The room erupted in a cheer as Hangman said, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Hope soared through you for the first time since you found out Rooster was going on the mission. With Hangman and Maverick (two of the only men in active duty ever to have a confirmed kill in aerial combat) by his side, you knew they would make it.
Rooster was coming home.
They wouldn’t let anyone from the control room up on deck until all aircrafts had safely landed (safety protocols or some bullshit). But the second you received the all-clear, you burst through the door. The deck was swarming with people trying to congratulate the returning pilots, so you had to shove and elbow your way through. Finally, as you approached the spot where the planes had come to a stop, you could see Rooster and Maverick embracing. It looked like an emotional and tender moment that under any other circumstance would have warmed your heart to see the two men seemingly settling their differences. But after what you just went through, you were willing to spoil their moment.
“Rooster!” you screamed.
Immediately, he dropped his hold on Maverick and pivoted towards the sound of your voice. Without saying a word, he opened his arms and you were instantly in them, wrapped in his tight embrace after fearing you never would be again. As you buried your face into his chest, he whispered, “I promised you I’d be back.”
His voice was choked and strained and when you pulled back to look at him, you saw tears shimmering in his eyes. Quickly reaching up to wipe them away, you said, “Oh, baby. Come on. If you cry, I’ll cry, remember? And no one wants to see that.”
“I don’t care, let them see.” Rooster smashed his lips into yours and you quickly returned his embrace with just as much love and devotion. Soon, you could taste the salty sting of tears on your lips and you weren’t sure if they were yours or his but you didn’t mind. Because Rooster was alive and safe and back in your arms. And that was all that mattered.
A/N: Title subject to change. This is a GIANT CONGRATULATIONS PRESENT for my fave Doctor!Bucky lover and yours @captainscanadian Because my girl finished undergrad today! Congrats, bby! Enjoy this doctor!bucky fluff that I said I would write a million years ago. ;) I'm so proud of you!!
Summary: What should have been a fun night out ends in the ER. At least your doctor is handsome?
Characters/Pairings: Bucky x Reader, Wanda Maximoff
Warnings: Injuries (fractured ankle), hospital, getting a cast, xrays and catscan. I think that's it. Fluff
Word Count: 2190
For the first hour of your stay in the ER you couldn’t decide if the constant beeping from the machine beside you was calming or irritating.
As it rolled into the second hour, you settled on irritating. You glared down at your ankle even though it was hidden under the blanket. You moved it ever so slightly, wincing as it caught on the sheet.
You unlocked your phone, letting your friends know that yes you were still here. And no you didn’t have any updates. And no they shouldn’t feel guilty.
A small part of you had blamed them in the first moments, after all they were the ones who convinced you to celebrate the end of finals with some drinking and dancing.
You checked your make up in the mirror next to your front door before locking up. You glanced at the door across the hall, hoping to catch the eye of your hunky neighbor before heading out. But no dice.
Oh well. At least your dress would likely be appreciated at the club. You’d even pulled out your comfy heels. Heels which were now mocking you from their spot on the chair next to your purse.
You’d been feeling good strutting down the stairs of your apartment building when a group of college kids who had clearly been pre-gaming, thundered past you, forcing you to press up against the wall. When you’d taken your next step your heel broke and you went sliding down 15 stairs.
You’d thought your ass had taken the worst of it until you tried to stand up and immediately cried out in pain.
So instead of ferrying you to a club, the Uber your friends arrived in took you to the hospital. You’d sent your friends on their way once you’d been processed and were waiting to be admitted. No need to spoil everyone’s night.
But now five hours later and bored out of your skull you were regretting that decision. You were going to lose your mind. You’d only left the room twice. Once for an x-ray and once for a CT scan.
You turned on the TV and settled on the game show network, letting the episode of family feud distract you.
You were on your third episode when a nurse came in.
“Hello. I’m Wanda, the night shift nurse. How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay. I’m just eager to get out of here.”
“I’ll bet you are. Dr. Barnes should be in soon,” she assured you. “He just finished up a surgery.”
“Sounds good.”
She checked your chart, noting your vitals and making sure that you weren’t tangled in any wires.
“Can I get you anything?”
“Can I have some water?”
“Sure. I’ll be right back.”
Wanda brought back a cup of water and a warm blanket.
“Thought you might be cold,” she explained.
“Actually yeah. Thanks. Is there any way I can take this off?” You gestured to the heart rate monitor on your finger.
She shot you an apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry. It’s protocol.”
“Worth a shot,” you shrugged.
“I’ll come and check on you in a little bit.”
“Thank you.”
She bustled out of the room and you turned your attention back to the TV which had moved on the Price is Right reruns.
You must have drifted off because the next thing you know you were being gently shaken. Your eyes were finally able to focus on a pair of entirely too blue eyes.
As your brain caught up, you realized the blue eyes were set in a very handsome face. A familiar handsome face at that.
“2A?” you asked cocking your head to the side.
He chuckled as you readjusted yourself trying to discretely check that you hadn’t drooled in your sleep.
“Most people call me Dr. Barnes. Or Bucky.”
“Bucky?”
That made even less sense. You were certain the name on his mailbox was James.
“My middle name is Buchanan. And what shall I call you, 2B?”
“Y/n.”
“Well it’s very nice to officially meet you, Y/n. Although I wish it were under better circumstances. Let’s take a look at this ankle shall we?”
You nodded, and he took that as an assent to lift the blanket. He folded in neatly up over your knee leaving most of your lap covered. You grimaced when you saw the swelling was even worse now than when you arrived.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
You relayed your story to him, omitting the bit about hoping to run into him. He listened intently, making the occasional note but mainly he just nodded.
“I’m going to examine it now,” he announced.
His hands were sure and practiced as he gently turned your ankle from side to side. It twinged occasionally, so you focused on his features to distract yourself.
You catalogued each in turn but lingered on his sharp jawline. Your thoughts drifted to peppering kisses along it and down his neck.
You were startled when his cerulean gaze met yours with a concerned look.
“Did that hurt?”
“Not really. Why?”
You were genuinely confused by the question. You hadn’t noticed anything amiss in his examination.
“Your heart rate was elevated. And you, ummm,” he broke eye contact for the first time.
“I what?”
“Squeaked.”
Your eyes widened and your chest felt hot with embarrassment. You glanced at the traitorous machine which was live casting your racing heart. Although that probably was less of the issue than the fact that you squeaked.
“I guess the hospital just makes me nervous,” you lied lamely.
He didn’t look convinced but thankfully let it go.
“I just need to check one more angle.”
This time it was painful and you yelped.
“Sorry.” He gingerly placed your foot back on the pillow that had been elevating it and covered it with the blanket.
He held the CT scans and X-rays up to the light as you watched him. You once again failed to notice your heart rate climbing as you admired the bulge of his bicep.
Dr. Barnes however definitely noticed. He smiled over at you reassuringly, which failed to help the issue at all. He glanced at the erratically beeping machine, before looking back to you. You would swear that there was a hint of smugness in his expression. But he kept it well hidden.
“Well, I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news.”
“Lay it on me, doc.”
“Well, the good news is that you will not be needing surgery. It’s a minor fracture.”
“And the bad news?”
“It’s a minor fracture that requires a cast.”
“How long?”
“Eight weeks. Total.”
“Eight weeks on crutches?” You whined.
“You should only be on crutches for the first four. After that, assuming everything is healing well, you’ll be in a walking cast.”
You groaned and shot a murderous glare at your heels once again.
“The price we pay for fashion.”
“I’ll have Wanda prepare everything now. It should only take about an hour.”
“Well, that sure cuts into my dancing plans,” you joked, frustrated by being stuck there for another hour.
It would be morning before you got home.
“Is that where you were headed?” he asked as he pressed the call button.
“Yeah. My friends finally convinced me to go out with them for once and look where it got me,” you laughed humorlessly. “Well at least I’m done for the summer. So the leg won’t mess me up too bad.”
Wanda appeared in the doorway.
“What do you need, doctor Barnes?”
“I need a cast kit. For the ankle.”
“Got it. I’ll be right back.”
You expected Bucky to leave then, but he continued bustling around the room.
“You said you’re done for the summer. Are you a teacher?”
“Kinda.”
He quirked an eyebrow at you.
“I’m a graduate student. So I just finished up TAing for the semester.”
“Ahh. Are you doing research then?”
“I’m finishing up the edits on my thesis actually. So this might actually make me do it instead of procrastinating," you giggled.
“What’s your thesis on?”
You were in the middle of explaining your thesis, when Wanda returned. Genuinely interested in your area of research, Bucky continued asking you questions as he wrapped the liner around your leg.
From time to time he would grin up at you and the damn heart rate monitor would go off all over again. You’d gotten over your embarrassment for the most part, until Wanda had to suppress a giggle because your heart actually skipped a beat.
“Alright. You are all set. Wanda will grab you your crutches and your discharge papers. You’ll need to make a follow up with your Orthopedic in four weeks.”
“Since I don’t have an orthopedic on speed dial, do you know any good ones?”
Bucky chuckled.
“I’ll have her put my practice’s number on the sheet.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
“No problem. Do you have any questions before I go?”
“How long do you think getting all the paperwork sorted will take?”
“Not long. Twenty minutes or so. Why?”
“Just wondering if I should order my Uber now or wait.”
He glanced at the clock on the wall. His fingers drummed against the clipboard in his hand as he momentarily mulled something over.
“If you’re willing to wait another forty-five minutes, I can drive you home when I get off my shift.”
You immediately shook your head.
“You so don’t need to do that.”
“Please. It’s literally on my way home.”
You nibbled on your lip. It would be a lot easier.
“If you’re sure.”
He seemed almost relieved when you accepted.
“Absolutely. It’s been pretty quiet tonight, so you can just hang out in here until I get back.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem.”
He smiled, softer than the other ones he’d given you so far before hanging your chart on the end of your bed and exiting the room, bumping into the glass door as he went. You stifled a giggle. Maybe you weren’t the only one affected.
It took a little over thirty minutes to get you processed. And before you knew it Bucky was helping you into his car. You went in butt first and then swung your cast leg, followed by your good leg in just a hospital sock. Bucky handed you your shoes and purse.
“So, do you chauffer all of your patients home?” You teased as you left the parking lot.
“Only the ones who live across the hall. Speaking of which, I am sorry this is the first time we’ve gotten to meet properly. Not very neighborly of me.”
“I can’t imagine why you haven’t made your way over with your loads of free time,” you deadpanned, earning you an eyeroll. “But however it happened, I’m glad that we met. It was getting to the awkward stage.”
“Yeah, seven months of passing waves is a long time.”
You hummed your agreement.
“So, how did you get into medicine?”
“Family business.”
He told you all about his surgeon mom and physician father as you drove home. His siblings were also in medicine and even his childhood best friend.
“That is so many medical degrees in one house. Must be rousing holiday dinner conversations.”
“We actually have a no shop talk rule.”
“And how long does that last?” you asked knowingly.
“Through appetizers… maybe.”
“Your family sounds amazing.”
“They are. I wouldn’t trade them for anything,” he admitted as he parked his car.
Bucky carefully helped you out of the car and up to your apartment. You’d never been so glad to live in a building with an elevator.
“I feel like I should offer you breakfast for bringing me home,” you admitted as you plopped down on the couch, and lifted your foot onto the coffee table exhausted from the crutches.
“You need to stay off that foot. But I’m sure you’re starving and so am I. Got any pancake mix?”
“Doctor Barnes, you really don’t have to do that.”
“It’s Bucky. We’re back to just neighbors here. And I want to.”
“How can I repay you?”
“Think about going out on a date with me when your leg is all healed.”
You cocked your head, as you appraised him.
“Just think about it?”
He scratched behind his ear as he shrugged a little.
“I’ve been wanting to ask you out for well… about seven months. But I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything. Because you don’t. I would have brought any of my neighbors home,” he rambled.
“You’re a really good guy,” you hummed.
“Could you tell my Ma that?” he joked, though his ears tinged pink.
“Happily. And I’d love to think about going on a date with you.”
He beamed back at you.
“I’ll take it. So pancakes?”
“In the cabinet above the fridge. Next to the chocolate chips.”
He nodded, taking the hint on your favorite add on.
“I’m on it.”
Eight weeks later when your walking cast came off, you and Bucky went out for dinner… for your two month anniversary.
Your heart definitely still raced when he smiled at you. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
A/N: There we have it! I hope you enjoyed @captainscanadian.
jake seresin x fem!reader <33
6k words (yes i went overboard.)
summary: It’s Halloween at the Hard Deck and Jake is letting out the Texan in him. You find out that you may have a thing for cowboys - or perhaps just for Jake Seresin as a cowboy. Either way, the evening takes a turn.
big big big thank you to @perasperaadastrawriting!!! not only did she motivate me to do this in the first place but she also helped decide a lot of what happens in this. also for just being the best hype woman out there.
top gun masterlist
The Hard Deck was usually overcrowded, but today it was overcrowded only by the navy. They had rented the bar for a, more or less private, Halloween party to keep up morale. You weren’t complaining. You’d have been at the Hard Deck anyway, with the Dagger Squad, just like every other Friday. This way, that just meant there weren’t any civilians fluttering about to gawk at your coworkers. Yeah, you really didn’t mind.
You were leaning against the sink in the bathroom, fixing up your makeup, talking to Phoenix, who stood next to you trying to adjust the straps of her black dress. She looked stunning - more than stunning - and you were pretty sure that this was the first time you had ever seen her with her hair down. She had curled it - you thought, you didn’t really know - and she had really put a lot of work into her costume. She was carrying a clear crystal ball around, had a tarot deck in her pocket, pointy nails, eyeliner that you were sure could cut you if you touched it, and her dress could have been tailor-made for her with how perfectly low cut the back was, with how perfectly low cut the cleavage was and with how very perfectly it accentuated her curves.
summary: Fred would do anything to see you, 'Hogwart's strictest Prefect', loosen up.
genre: fluff 'n stuff, and only slight angst, also borderline slowburn
warnings: swearing, bullying moments, implied that reader is in Slytherin, lots of teasing, flirting, kissing, Fred is completely and utterly whipped for reader, "your highness" nickname
a/n: not me in the middle of writing a neville fic and then having a shower thought of a fred x reader and writing this instead.
words: 6.9k
masterlist
»»————- ⌁ ————-««
You can hear them. And you know it's them, because of the sniggering and that laugh.
By now, when you patrolled outside of class hours you'd find yourself actively seeking out these boys. Today happens to be good day to continue your spotless Prefect record.
With a hand sliding to your hip, you smoothly round the corner of the door to your Potions classroom and as you suspected, Fred and George Weasley are there, huddled over a particular cauldron. Something's clearly already been brewed and Fred is holding a cork screwed flask with the mysterious liquid.
It takes a minute until Fred happens to glance toward the door and sees you there, nose in the air and hands now clasped in front of you. He's trying not to laugh when he sees you, and elbows his brother.
The said Weasley is about to say something, but as he meets your gaze his lips press together in a slightly curved line.
Successful in catching their attention, one eyebrow and then one corner of your lips gently raise. "We've really got to stop bumping into each other like this."
"I think you wanted to bump into us," Fred says with a prominent smile. He looks innocent, just like always.
You neither confirm nor deny his remark and instead stride closer to them. You take your time, head turning in each direction, eyes scanning for any other suspicious looking activity. It feels good, because you can feel their stares and how they wait with bated breaths for your next move.
With a last step you settle on the opposite side of their table. You look at Fred, head tilted softly, studying his expression.
His smile only grows when you reach his eyes and it's finally time to address the elephant in the room.
In a newly straightened posture you say in a slow and sarcastic tone, "did you know... that I can take away points from your House? From each of you, in fact?"
"Oh, come on. Our favourite Prefect. Can't you pretend you never saw us, like last time?" George answers.
"Sorry what was that? You'd like 30 points taken away?"
"Hey, hey, hey!" Fred waves with a chuckle, "let's not get hasty. What about... a-a compromise?"
George nods desperately.
Your eyebrow raises again, and you lean back, crossing your arms. "A compromise, instead of taking away your precious points?"
"Yes, we'll do anything."
"Anything?"
"Anything." Fred glides a tongue over his bottom lip, speaking to you through his eyes.
For once he looks completely serious and it makes you smile in delight. An expression seldom found in your features. It's completely magical and Fred finds no regret to bargaining with you.
"There is something you can do for me," your eyes glaze over Fred's face and then you turn to George, leaning forward over the table on your elbows. "The next Quidditch Game."
"Yeah? Slytherin v Gryffindor. Need us to bug someone?" George grins.
You shake your head and smile again. You're frighteningly beautiful with that curve on your face as you continue. "I need you to make sure that Slytherin wins."
"What?"
Fred captures your attention, so you lean in closer to his side of the desk. "It shouldn't be too hard for you both, right?"
He squints, unable to hold back a smile of his own. In the previous times when you had caught the twins in the middle of scheming, you'd never been so coy with them. Ruffling your feathers a bit was always the boys' goal when getting caught by you, however now that you seem to be playing along, Fred can't get enough. "That's hardly something to wish for, your highness. You can have anything from us, really anything. Don't hold back."
You shrug, "well, that's what I choose."
"But if you think about it you cou—"
"I can take the points off now, if you like? It's really no problem."
"Fine. W-We'll do it." George huffs, and his brother follows with a playful bow.
"Your wish is our command."
"Please just don't take the points off. We'll be kicked out of Gryffindor if you snitch again."
"Me? Snitch?" Your voice drips in sarcastic innocence, and you push yourself off of the desk. Your feet turn to walk back outside first, but your eyes remain on Fred until it's physically impossible to stay focused on him. As you saunter to the door, you feel their gazes on you again and it's oh so satisfying to know that you get the last say. "You need to get better at not getting caught. Because, if I didn't know any better, it looks more like you want me to bump into you."
You turn around to face them again, and stare at the flask in between Fred's long fingers. By some miracle you'd never found yourself to be the butt of their schemes, unlike the other prefects. Even as a chaser of the twins' opposition in Quidditch, you've been the only lucky soul on your team to come out the other end. The question was why? Why spare you?
"Who in Salazar's name threw that?" Your captain shrieks, massaging the back of his head, small flakes of snow dropping to the skin of his neck.
How bothersome, you think, looking around at the rest of your teammates who're busy cooling down after Quidditch training.
"What?! A snowball just happens to gain sentience and hit me, huh? An owl maybe? Just come forward, admit you did it and I'll go easy on you—"
The spray of snow flies off of the captain's head again and you dodge the icy substance in time, some of it landing on your beater and chaser teammate. Everyone exclaims except you, you're too busy scanning over the field.
Suddenly, the burly boy of a captain huffs toward you, and you take a shove to the shoulder.
Stumbling back by a metre, you frown. Increasingly annoyed by your captain's baseless judgements. "What the hell is wrong with you? How many times do I have to tell you I'm a prefect?"
"I know a guilty person when I see one."
You're about to give him a piece of your mind until the idiot is hit again and you stifle a laugh at the noise he makes.
"Clever," he says through gritted teeth. Despite clearly looking at you just seconds before the snowball made contact with his thick skull, his pride is still hell-bent on accusing you. "I knew you were good at school, but I didn't think you'd stoop so low to use non-verball spells for something so stupid."
"Well, I knew you were delusional before, but now it's perfectly clear that you just don't have a brain."
As though your words were a signal, a tsunami of white ice balls appear in the sky and you don't hold back your smile as it pauses over your team. They each look up, faces with panicked expressions, and before they can even begin to escape, the snow crashes down over your peers. Figuring, it's the perfect moment to leave, you zoom out of the field on your broom and land to your feet once you can't see those angry faces anymore.
And that's when you hear him. That laugh, and he's looking at you and combing a hand through his ginger hair, all whilst adorning a satisfied ear-to-ear grin.
"Thanks." Is all you can say at first, then you realise his partner-in-crime George isn't right by his side. "Where's your brother?"
"On the other end of the field."
You nod. When you don't say anything more and turn to leave, you feel long fingers wrap around your wrist. He's warm against your icy skin, and your eyes shoot up, only to be greeted by a soft smirk.
"You're not going to snitch on us are you, your highness?"
"Me? Snitch?" You stop yourself from feeling so giddy about the previous event and instead focus on the fact that would you be doing your prefectoral duties correctly, you would have absolutely told a Professor about the twins. But the adrenaline rush feels too great and so you finally shake your head at the tall ginger. "You were just... watching us practice, right? I don't see anything suspicious about that."
His smirk twists into a genuine smile, and he allows your wrist to slide out of his grasp. A twinkle of mischievousness reaches your eyes, and then you're off, jogging into the distance. A few metres in, you take a chance to glance back to where you left Fred. And you don't know whether it was from training or the adrenaline, but you feel your neck and cheeks flare with heat at the sight of him lean against the frame of the entrance, steadily watching you run.
Clearing your throat, you push your recollection of the past away and take out your wand.
“You know you’re not allowed to use spells outside of class, your highness,” says Fred, his voice playful.
“That’s okay,” you shrug, “because I know you won’t tell on me.”
“Are you quite sure about that?” George chimes.
You nod immediately, the easiest question to answer. “I’m your favourite prefect, am I not?”
Fred’s expression is unreadable to you at first as he shakes his head slowly. He looks shocked, but at the same time pleased and a hint of something else that you can’t quite grasp.
Figuring you’ve stared at him long enough you send the twins’ a wink and the door shuts with a swipe of your wand.
»»————- ⌁ ————-««
Your robe is floating behind you, a spitting image of Professor Snape, as you walk with purpose to your class, books cradled in your arms and head held high. You round a corner of the halls smoothly and find yourself at your Potions classroom. It's been a week since finding the Weasleys in there, and you still haven't found out what concoction they had created.
In any case, your class has already begun, and Snape's voice is barely audible with the door in front of you. You let your fingers clench around your books for a moment, taking in a breath. Then you push your way in, and each one of your classmates turn their attention to you.
"How lovely of you to join us, Miss L/N."
Having already predicted the Professor's sarcasm-filled reaction to your tardiness, you hand out a small slip of paper. "A note from Professor McGonagall."
He barely skims over the words and indicates for you to find a seat. Fingers clenching around your books again, you let yourself look over your peers. There's a seat next to Ginger Jorkins from Hufflepuff, but after noticing your stare she's quick to put her belongings where you could have sat. You hold off from sighing, because to your relief there is one more free seat, all the way at the back of the room. Right beside the vacant spot is a familiar head of red hair, and the pain from your tight grip subsides upon seeing him. That sigh you've been holding lets free once you sit down and the class continues.
"Welcome to the back of the class," Fred whispers with his signature grin. "You're with the cool kids now."
"Speaking of..." You glance behind him and frown. "Where's your brother?"
He makes a face. "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." And then it hits you. The Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch Game. The compromise. The "make-sure-that-Slytherin-wins" game. The "George-has-been-completely-annihilated-by-a-bludger" and "won't-be-walking-around-anytime-soon" game.
"Oh... right."
Fred simply nods, finding the way you froze for a moment to be equally funny and endearing. The rest of your face doesn't show it, but he notices the panic in your pretty eyes and gives your arm a little nudge. "Hey. The git's okay. Says it was worth the pain because the girl he fancies paid him a visit."
You bite your lip and let yourself focus on Snape, who's mouth is moving, but you can't hear anything coming out. "It's still technically my fault. He looked awful."
Fred leans forward, his head turning to rest against his crossed arms. He studies your features as you attempt to listen into the class. When he speaks, his voice is a whisper again. "Come to Hogsmeade with me."
You give him a side glance. No one's ever invited you to come before and for all you know he could be making fun of you. It'd been hard in the beginning, though you eventually found comfort being in your own presence; drinking butterbeer while other people joked and laughed and shared stories and the gossip of the week. And talked about how they received a pointless detention after being told off from that know-it-all bitch.
"I-I don't..." You stumble upon your words, the crease between your brows growing deeper as you try to recollect your thoughts.
"Yeah, you're coming," he declares. And when you go to protest, he sits back up, sending you a wink.
"AND so..." Snape glares in your direction, "by the end of this class, I will be testing the quality of your potions by using a simple leaf. If it melts you've brewed successfully, and if not... you'll be in here on the weekend till you get it right."
To your surprise, Fred doesn't make a fuss, instead he beams at you with a clap of his hands. "Let's get started then, shall we Professor?"
The said man only grunts in response, so you all begin.
Forty minutes passes by in an instant, and no matter how well you follow the recipe, the liquid in your cauldron doesn't look like a liquid anymore and it smells differently to Fred's.
Wait. Fred's?
You frown down into his cauldron. His potion's immaculate.
You pull at the sleeve of his robe till his head comes down and his long hair tickles the tip of your nose. "How are you doing this?"
"I'm smart when I want to be," he chuckles.
"That's not an answer. I demand you give me an answer, or... I will take off points from Gryffindor."
He feigns an expression of shock which immediately gives way to a smirk, face just a few inches away from yours. "And what if I do tell you? You promise not to snitch?"
"Me? Snitch?"
That mischievousness is back into your dolomitic eyes, and Fred swears that the potion isn't required to melt the leaf.
"How about a compromise?" you whisper.
He shoots a glance toward the Professor and then hums when he feels it's all clear to keep talking. "I'm listening."
"I come with you to Hogsmeade, and I promise to do whatever you want to do. Deal?"
He doesn't need a moment, or even a second to reply. He's already nodding, slipping a hand into yours. "Deal."
You share a knowing look and shake your intwined hands. Compromise confirmed. "Now—"
Before you get to finish, he pulls out a very familiar cork-screwed flask, and in perfect fashion you keep from gasping or reacting at all, but Fred can see it in your eyes. He scans over the classroom, Snape's busy writing something on the board, and so he's clear to lower his head to you.
Your fingers graze as he passes you the concoction he had made with his brother. Electricity runs through the veins of your fingers till it hits your heart, skipping a beat.
"Someone might've tipped us off about this assignment," Fred murmurs. "So, naturally, we just wanted to be prepared. There was no way we were going to miss out on a Hogsmeade visit."
Not with George in the Hospital Wing, you think to yourself with guilt, pulling your robe sleeve down to hide the flask should your Professor stop by.
"Well... my beloved brother sadly will. I'll never forget his bravery." Fred makes a show out of a simple sigh and you feel like slapping his arm. He places his hand over his chest and sighs again, only it's a little louder this time and longer. "A girl we know threatened us to rig the Quidditch game so that Slytherin would win, if we didn't do as she asked she would've gotten us into trouble—"
"Fred." Images of the poor Weasley twin with a whole half of his body covered in the sickening colour of a bruise flood your brain.
"—and being the good man that he is, Georgie sacrificed himself, in order to satisfy the needs of this girl."
"Oi! I already feel horrible, okay?" You finally give his arm that well-earned smack, and when all he does is laugh, you huff with a pout.
He recollects himself, and makes sure Snape's still preoccupied. He bends down to your level again, and his breath fans over the strands of hair by your ear. "I would do the same for this girl."
There's that heat in your neck again and yet another electric feeling runs up your spine at his worlds. You don't meet his gaze and instead stare forward. To save yourself from embarrassment, you lift your chin and with one swift movement, the liquid from the flask falls into your cauldron.
Fred watches in delight as you stir until your previously horrible creation morphs and dissolves into that flawless fluid that you had just seen in the Weasley's cauldron. From such a result, you're unable to stop yourself as your lips curl into a smile, parting slowly to reveal your teeth.
You are the embodiment of this potion. Any person or creature of the magical world would completely disarm at the sight of your expression. And Fred's lucky enough to be your first victim.
"You seem very pleased, Miss L/N."
The black figure of Snape shadows yours and Fred's vision as he glides in front of your desk. He peers into your cauldron, nothing shows on his face and then he's examining Fred's, the same reaction of nothing.
The man then clicks his tongue and floats back to the front of the classroom, picking two leaves off of the plant on his desk. He returns swiftly, gesturing the rest of the class to join him by your table.
"Look closely." Snape says as his hand hovers over your creation, and then his fingers let go of the green object.
Hushed breaths watch as it hits the surface of the liquid with a ripple. There's no reaction at first and it fills you with dread. You even see Fred stiffen in the corner of your sight.
Then the leaf twitches with a change in colour, and soon it's no where to be seen, dissolved. Successful.
Someone mutters a 'wow', others share glances of contempt or roll their eyes. You on the other hand feel relieved and lean onto your hip, arm brushing against the tall boy beside you. He relaxes at your gentle touch.
"It seems you will have the fortune of freedom this weekend." Professor Snape mutters, and then with no time to waste, moves on to Fred. You barely have a chance to thank the man. His hand hovers, fingers open and a new leaf falls.
In a blink, the leaf has melted and you feel the Weasley straighten up in pride.
Snape however, isn't convinced and folds his arms. "How convenient that you should produce a successful potion - out of many failures - when seated beside Miss L/N."
Innocent until proven guilty, you think and look up at Fred, who's only smiling like a fool, his focused trained on Snape's. Your classmates murmur, and it isn't hard to place who they're talking about with their not-so subtle glares pointed in your direction.
"So I did a good job?" The boy's happy expression grows with innocence.
"Somehow. Five points... to each of you." The raven-haired man admits, his gaze lingers on the Weasley before he turns away, addressing you both and the rest of the class. "L/N and Weasley, seeing as you have completed the task, you may be dismissed. However, by next class I expect a 2,000 word written report of your method and findings. That'll be all. The rest of you... you have fifteen minutes."
Groans and curses hidden under breaths echo through the room, you and Fred, however, turn to each other with eyebrows raised and stupid grins plastered over your faces.
Adrenaline kicks in, and you both scramble to clear up the desk and snatch up your belongings. You sprint out the door not after sending the Professor a 'thank you', and then you're out the door and sprinting into the courtyard, crisp winter air nipping at your extremities.
You pause by the fountain, leaning against the tall structure and Fred follows suit, situating himself in front of you. "I can't believe I did that," you say in a breathless tone still grinning, books hugging into your chest.
He chuckles in between his own pants of breath. "Feels good doesn't it, your highness?"
"I hate to admit but... yes."
You watch as his gaze on you softens, as well as his grin subduing into contentment. "You make a good partner-in-crime. I think I might just replace George."
"Then he will surely kill me once he's recovered! That is... if he doesn't already."
Fred winks, "I'll make sure that won't happen. A princess such as yourself deserves a knight-in-shining armour."
"Oh yes." You give a curtsy and wave of your hand, your voice forming a posh accent. Well, no more posh than you already sound. "Then will you do the honour of escorting me to Hogsmeade tomorrow?"
With a fist to his chest, Fred bows. "For you, my dear, anything."
»»————- ⌁ ————-««
It's irregular of you to be so fashionably late. Last night you'd found yourself restless, thoughts of sleep hidden behind scenes of you and Fred eating candy together, laughing, using magic outside of class to throw snowballs at your Quidditch Captain. Despite the chill of a winter night, being covered by your duvet and blankets was suffocatingly warm, especially when you kept seeing Fred pull you behind a tree, gloved hands drawing you into him by your hips, noses barely touching and lips parted with warm butterbeered breaths.
Your chocolate-brown screech owl whinnies by the foot of your bed and you flinch, adjusting your beanie for the hundredth time. "What do you think, Prim? Do I look tired? I look tired, don't I?"
The owl blinks and gives another whinny, a sound similar to that of a miniature pony. You check the clock on the wall of your dormitory and bite your lip, jostling through your belongings and retrieving a small purse of galleons to shove into your coat pocket.
One more look in the mirror, just one more. Your hair looks surprising lovely, strands of it squished against your thick scarf, and fortunately covering areas of your blemished face that couldn't be covered enough by your concealer. "It'll have to do!"
Prim purrs when you stroke her head and then you're off. You almost trip at the bottom of the stairs and as a result you pause, taking in a breath, calming the pounding in your chest. This Hogsmeade visit is just like any other. Just like any other. You’re just… not alone this time. That’s enough to get you smiling, as you saunter through the halls and finally out the gates, where you see a few groups of students still hanging around Hogwarts.
At the top of the steps you crane your neck in an attempts to find Fred amongst the small groups.
“I was beginning to think you stood me up.”
You spin on your heels at the sound of his voice, and are greeted with a growing grin. Teeth sparkling and everything. It takes a toll on you not to tackle him in a hug right then and there. The thick hoody he’s adorning, as well as the adorable beanie all look extra cuddly. Those gloved hands that you’ve been thinking about slide out of the pockets of his jeans and reach for your scarf, gently tightening the fabric around your face and neck.
On the outside you seem unbothered by his action, but he already sees what you’re really feeling through those dolomitic eyes of yours. “A deal’s a deal,” you finally say. “But it was rude of me to keep you waiting so long, so I’ll buy you a butterbeer.”
He shakes his head, fiddling with the hem of the scarf. “You turning up is enough for me.”
You shake your head back, dipping your chin into the material to hide your smile. “I’m buying you one. Argument over.”
“Alright then.” He chuckles and gives your scarf a gentle tug. “No more time to waste, your highness, let’s go.”
“Lead the way, Sir Weasley.”
You’re perfectly giddy as you trudge your way to the little village. Fred tells you about his plans for Christmas and you tell him yours, not very big and not very exciting, but he adores listening to you speak. He tells you about George and his recovery, and teases you when he sees guilt written over your face. Then despite your many differences, you both bond over your love for Quidditch, especially the Irish team. Occasionally, your shoulders and arms graze, and other times your fingers, as you stomp through the snow covered grounds. With every touch your chest grows warm, and your belly flips. You almost forget that you should be looking out for any bad behaviour. You almost forget that you still have a duty to uphold to the school.
Hogsmeade is bustling with life when you finally arrive. More so now that you could share it with someone.
“Come on, let’s warm up first.” Fred tugs your scarf again and successfully gains your full attention. He pulls you into the Three Broomsticks, greeted immediately by a wave of warmth. He’s still pulling on your scarf so you swiftly ask for two hot butterbeers and allow him to lead you to a table at the far end of the room.
“Am I your pet? Leading me around like that.” You sit down opposite him, motioning to his hand still holding onto the end of the long material.
He hums for a moment, and doesn't look to have any intention of letting go. “More like restraining you from going into ‘prefect’ mode.”
"Hey! Some people need disciplining," you pout.
"You sound like a Professor..." he narrows his eyes at you, lacking the skills to stop smiling so big. "You're not Professor Snape using Polyjuice potion, are you? Trying to figure out my secrets for passing your class, huh?"
Slowly, meticulously you straighten your back and fold your hands over the table, and void any emotion on your face. Your voice is low and slow and articulating every syllable as you speak. "What a ri-di-cu-lous suggestion. However... while we are on the topic, you didn't... copy off me, did you?"
Fred is so bad at suppressing his smirk. "Bloody Norah, you found me out! You're so smart, Profess— I mean... your highness."
The clink of glass hitting your table interrupts yours and Fred's thoughts. Madam Rosmerta's standing over you and when you meet her gaze she winks. "Good to see you with company this time around, Y/N."
Your face squishes into the fabric that Fred's still holding onto as you feel heat rise in your cheeks. Desperate to eliminate the fact that she basically just called you a loner in front of him, you fish into your pocket and pull out some coins, placing them onto the woman's open palm. "Thank you, Madam Rosmerta."
"Pleasure, dears. Enjoy.” Another wink is sent your way and she’s off to tend the rest of her pub.
As you bring the hot beverage to your mouth, you peek through your eyelashes. Fred has removed one glove and is now using that bare hand hold onto his drink, allowing the warmth to transfer into his already warm skin.
"Thank you," he says.
Your brows press together, "what for?"
"For paying."
"Well... thank you too."
He raises an eyebrow as he takes a good sip of the butterbeer, waiting for you to elaborate.
"For inviting me," you say shyly, fingers sliding across the surface of the mug.
"Awh, that's nothing," he chuckles, gently swaying your scarf.
"It's not 'nothing'. I didn't get a wink of sleep last night because I was so excited to come with you."
The ginger-haired boy presses his lips together tightly and then leans his face closer to you. "Wait, really?!"
How many times has it been now that you've felt your face heat up around Fred? You could play so coy and confident before, but now you felt like any other girl-with-a-crush in your year. "As a matter of fact, yes." You raise your chin and attempt to sit up straighter. "I know it may seem that I only agreed to come because of a compromise, but... I really did — do — appreciate you considering me."
"I don't think we'll need to stop by Honeydukes, your highness. You're so sweet, that my teeth already ache."
"You're so...!" You smack his arm.
But he's grinning like a fool, pulling at your scarf. "I'm so what?"
"I'm gonna take points off Gryffindor, just because you asked."
He guffaws, "what is this abuse of power?"
You take a swig of butterbeer and shrug, head high and smirk on display. "I like to call them perks."
"See?" You feel on your neck as he gives a tug-tug. "This is why you need to be kept on a lead."
Before you can retort, you notice he's pointing at his upper-lip and quietly chuckling. It sets off your heart.
"Brilliant moustache you got there," he says.
"Oh... thank you." How embarrassing. You really thought he was suggesting something else for a moment there. You glance around the room to make sure no one's watching before you slide a tongue over the sweet foam above your lip. "Is it gone?"
"Just..." at first there's a second of hesitation, but then he pulls you in over the table and meets you half-way, un-gloved hand coming up to cup your face. Why is he always so warm? Why is it that one of the most notorious rule-breakers of the school is taking your fancy? And so easily at that.
It feels like an hour passes when his thumb smooths over the left corner of your mouth and you hold in a breath, fingers clenched around your mug. You simply cannot help the urge to look at his own lips; pretty, pink and gently parted, calm breaths passing through.
His movements pause all of a sudden, so you glance at his eyes, but he's already looking at you. Completely under your spell, completely forgetting how to move, and completely forgetting that you're in public. You seem to have forgotten the same, still not pulling away from his touch. He catches your eyes dip to his lips again and he swallows thickly.
Then he's moving away and sitting back down, clearing his throat. "There, now you're good."
"Thanks," you wipe a finger over for extra measure and then look out the window, clearing your throat and straightening your back.
"You know how you mentioned that part of the deal was that we'd do anything I want to do?" He inquires, finishing his drink with a last swig.
"Yeah. A deal is a deal," you answer, finally turning back to him, surprised to see a confident smile carved into his features.
"Perfect. There's something I want to show you, but first I have a really good idea to help you unwind and forget about your prefect-ness."
"That doesn't sound good," you tease, chugging the last bit of your own butterbeer.
He's smirking now, "you won't be saying that when you see what we'll be doing."
»»————- ⌁ ————-««
You're both crouched behind a boulder that oversees the Shrieking Shack in the distance. The perfect spot to spy on anyone who visits the lookout point. The perfect spot to snog outside of school walls. And it also happens to be the perfect spot to stock up on snowballs and wait for one particular person to fall into your trap.
"I hate to admit, but you were right, Sir Weasley. Again," you mutter, rubbing your gloved hands together.
"The more you hang out with me, the more you'll find out just how right I always am." He peeks over the boulder for a moment and then his hand shoots up in alarm, speaking in barely a whisper, "he's here."
He is. You can hear your Quidditch captain now and a few of his buddies, chatting and laughing. Someone puts on a voice, and it makes the group howl, but makes your stomach churn. The closer they get to the lookout, the clearer their words sound and the more you're looking forward to breaking the rules.
"—thinks she's all that, just 'cause she's a prefect. Like, bitch, I'm older than you!"
Their laughter is equal to that of nails on a chalkboard. Pelting them with some snowballs might not be fulfilling enough.
"Nah, it's 'cause she's got Snape behind her, hah. Thinks she can say and do whatever she wants."
Fred is hearing all of this. You feel like screaming, and perhaps hexing the hell out of all of them. They need a proper disciplining.
"Yeah, that's probably what's happening!" The group laugh again, and the next thing they say is the last straw. "She only got prefect because she's fucking him."
The bottom of your vision is blurry, but you tell Fred you're ready and he only nods. You both raise your wands, and he counts to three.
One snowball hits the back of the captain's head and to your satisfaction he lands on his face. You and Fred are enjoying the scene a little too much that it isn't until one of the idiots shout your name, do you realise you've blown your cover.
"Shoot!"
"Quick! We need to unleash all we've got!" Fred takes your free hand and guides you up to stand beside him. "One, two, THREE!"
Adrenaline shoots through your veins, as together you swish your wands and the rest of your snow pile is sent into the air. One more flick of the wands, and the balls fly with the speed of a snitch. Straight toward their faces. Exclamations, grunts, yells echo through the woods and open winter air. They swipe at their faces and eyes, blinded by your attack. The captain's still trying to recover from the first hit, from head to toe the entire front half of him is covered in white.
You let out a laugh, and suddenly Fred takes your hand again and you're sprinting away from the crime scene.
"HEY!" The Quidditch captain shouts after you, pure rage in his tone.
But you couldn't care less, because that grin on the Weasley's face is too contagious as you run by him, gloved hand in gloved hand.
He peeks over his shoulder to meet your gaze, only resulting in a skip of his heart and a flip of his stomach. Losing that Quidditch match was absolutely worth it, and Fred had to remind himself to thank George later for taking the blow.
You share breathless laughter as the shouts increase in amount, but decrease in volume. You're both much too fast for them and manage to get back to the village where you could hide within the crowds.
Your feet slow to a walk, and you both check if any of the idiots followed. Fred spots two pass by a tree and squeezes your hand to gain your attention.
"In here," he jerks his head, and pulls you into a small alley between two buildings.
Finally having a moment to catch your breath, you realise that it isn't really an alley, and more like a small gap. The space is so narrow in fact that your body is essentially pressed up against his. Back against wall. Heaving chest against heaving chest. Feet and legs side-by-side each other as though woven.
You don't care to look to your left where those jerks could be looking for you. You simply can't. You can't because all you can see are Fred's parted lips again, and he's looking down at yours. After which, your gazes meet and you don't think you've ever felt so hot in the middle of winter before.
"You're so beautiful," he breathes. No grin, no smirk, no teasing, just facts.
"And you're..." Your eyes dip again.
His hand slides out of yours, and then you feel weight by your hips and he's squeezing against the material of your pants and sweater.
You crane your neck, and he dips his head, as those gloved hands of his pull you into him.
Your own hunger has your fingers smooth over his chest and grip the collar of his hoody, desperately tugging for him to come closer and closer, tension in the air building with each breath.
"And I'm... what?" He purrs.
Something stirs in the bottom of your abdomen as the scent of butterbeer fills your senses, just millimetres away now. And then he captures your lips. And it's like heaven, because his hands can't help but slide up under your sweater and hold you by the skin of your waist.
At first the kiss is gentle, hesitant, but then you open your mouth a little wider and Fred takes this as a clear invitation. He smooths a tongue over yours, the taste of the sweet foamy drink still lingering on your lips.
His bold action elicits a hum from you, and his grip only tightens, craving more and more of you and your pretty sounds. You go until you can't breathe, mouths parting reluctantly but eyes still closed.
Fred presses his forehead against yours, your noses brushing in a feather-like touch. His thumbs caress your sides as he whispers, "you never answered my question."
"You wanna know what you are, right?” You murmur, hands sliding down over his collarbone and resting on his chest.
“Yeah. You’ve said it twice now and never finished your sentence.”
“Okay,” you lean in, lips feathering over his. “You’re…”
Good Godric you’re addicting. He pushes his head forward to meet you, but you pull back with the most attractive breathy laugh he's ever heard. Your lips stay brushing against his, but you won't give him any more than that and he loves it.
"You're..." you say again on his mouth, and he hangs on every single one of your words. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me at Hogwarts."
He watches your eyes for a moment, and leans into you once more, hands climbing up to lay flat against your back, your sweater pooling by his wrists. And you share the softest kiss ever, full of adoration, full of care, full of absolute affection.
"You saying that, you being here right now... feels like I've just won the Quidditch cup," he says when you part.
"I really mean it, Fred." You wrap your arms around his middle and squeeze him there, cheek squishing into his chest. "You've heard how people talk about me, but you don't seem to care about any of that stuff."
He returns your gesture, his own cheek landing on the top of your head. "You're right. I don't care about it, because I've seen how much you care for the school and care for keeping things in order. A little too much, but to each their own."
"Oi."
"I have to tease, I have to. Still, joking aside, if anyone says that kind of shit about you and you hear about it, find me and tell me. Me and Georgie have your back."
"Just don't get caught," you smirk.
"You won't take points away if you catch us, will you?"
You pull away from the cuddle and send him that beautifully, intimidating smile of yours. "Not if you promise to keep losing your Quidditch games."
"Low blow, your highness!" He laughs and then you're running away, giggling like a fool.
You manage to slip through the crowds and head toward the woods by the Shrieking Shack lookout, your giggles only getting louder and more frequent when you see Fred bounding closer and closer to you. Your cadence slows when the ground starts to feel icy under your boots, and sooner than you think, you feel arms wrap around your stomach and you squeal.
Fred's laugh vibrates against your back, and after a few pants of breath he speaks into your ear. "There's still something I wanted to show you."
"Oh?" You spin around in his hold. "That's right. What is it then?"
"Surprise. Follow me." He's hasty in his movements, as he takes your hand, running further into the woods. Then he rounds the corner of a large tree trunk, his fingers slip out of yours as he twists around to face you and then he's pulling you by your hips, grin on display.
Your heart flips when your back meets with the rough surface of the tree, bodies pressing into one another and then his mouth is hovering over yours. There's hunger in his eyes, yet he's waiting for your next move.
"Wow. 'I have something to show you'. That was so corny," you tease in a whisper.
He chuckles, feeling your lips just barely touch his, "but you loved it."
"I did. You're right again, Sir Weasley."
"Always am, your highness."
He squeezes your hips. You lift your chin and you kiss for a third time that day.
The orchard is a wild, thousand-flower, crumpled-gate, fall-down-fence sort of place, where things grow that you’ve never asked for, that you’d never expect. The summer of ’96, the story of something flowery he thought he might have smelled at the Burrow. (Harry/Ginny, HBP)
notes: oops i tripped and fell and wrote 15,000 words on how harry potter fell in love with ginny weasley and didn't notice, the summer of '96
always wanted to write this! only took me seventeen years to get the courage to give it a go. also comes with a playlist because summer songs banish january blues
It was everywhere that summer, looking back. The truth.
He thinks he knows, now, what it felt like. Straggled grass brushing bare calves, heat under palms skimming the staircase bannister. The rap of knuckles on a new, old door.
The truth slipped in quietly. No fanfare, no fuss. Maybe if it hadn’t, he’d have known. Instead, the truth nudged itself towards him, all small, knowing smiles. Kind eyes, amused. It didn’t so much whisper in his ear as it did lightly hum: muffled, soft, but sure, totally certain.
It was there, wasn’t it, all along: strewn across that wild orchard of hard breaths and harder quaffle passes, nestled among cushions between worn sofa whispers and drooping eyelids, bubbling away in the politics of dining table chatter and clatter. Right there, in the sodding butter dish, after all.
Would he have known what to do with it, though? The truth. He imagines it, like the keen sting of a surprise ball tossed last-minute, caught hard in unready fingertips. He wouldn’t have dropped it though, he thinks.
He’d have caught it, wouldn’t he? He’d have kept it. Clung on. When it’s thrown your way - when it matters - you don’t fumble. You take it as it comes. You run with it. You soar.
It twinged, the truth, that summer. It throbbed. It lightly itched.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
A/N: Have I begun to write for yet another character? Yes. I seriously don’t know if this is even good, but oh well it’s getting posted. Enjoy!
Tag lists are open and feedback is always welcome!!
Summary: Baking cookies doesn’t go as planned, but your boyfriend Obi Wan is there to help.
Word Count: 840
Pairing: Modern!Obi Wan x Reader
Warnings: one curse word
Song: You Send Me - Sam Cooke
“Shit!” you shouted as smoke began to spread through the kitchen. Cookies you tried to bake were now roasting in the oven and sending your small apartment up in smoke.
You opened the window trying to air out the space before you pulled the now dark and crispy charcoal pieces out of the oven. After spending an hour in the kitchen trying to pull these off you were exhausted and the sight of the failed work made you want to nearly burst into tears. The sound of the front door opening and closing made you wince slightly.
