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omg you’re taking requests!!! you are one of my most favorite authors, this is so special, thank you!!
I am requesting ‘bear hug’ + Tyler Owens + cozy/sexy hahaha
Hope you’re doing good ♥️
ahh thank you so much, this is suchhhh a sweet ask 🫶
Homecoming | Tyler Owens
Synopsis: Tyler getting back from work trips almost always gets heated.
Warnings: reader is briefly lifted off of their feet, heavily implied sexual themes
…
There’s a special kind of way that Tyler likes to greet you. This has developed from the time that you met him, when he would wrap his arms around you with a gentle squeeze and release. Then, as friends, he would wrap both arms around your waist and hug you close, resting his head on top of yours, kind of burying your face against his chest.
Now that you’re much more than friends, the hugs are different too.
Especially with him being away for so long. Throwing himself into danger with you at the forefront of his mind, thinking solely of coming home to you.
He has been in southern Kansas for a week now, dealing with the sudden extreme weather. You’ve been worried sick, watching all the news broadcasts, searching for his face. Not even a text from him. Nothing on their channel, nothing from a single member of his crew.
And then, as the sky above your home is turning orange from blue, headed for a lilac sunset, you hear the familiar rumble of a RAM engine.
Just like always, you go rushing out onto the porch as he’s racing up the steps. Just as quickly as you get to see the smile on his face, you’re being wrapped up in his strong arms and lifted against him.
He buries his face into your neck and squeezes you so tightly that it’s a little hard to breathe, but you’re huffing out breathless laughter once he loosens up.
Once you’re back on your feet, that loose grip becomes firm once again as he drags you closer once more, groaning softly as he takes in your familiar smell. “God, I missed you.”
You’re usually the first one to kiss him, and this is no exception. Brushing the tip of your nose along the column of his neck, kissing at his jaw, humming in eager agreement. “So show me.”
He pretends not to know what drives you so crazy about these kinds of greetings. Acting like maybe it’s the distance that gets you so riled up. Knowing really, that just the feeling of being inescapably wrapped up in his arms is what gets your head spinning.
You’re kissing at his throat and shoulders, pushing at the fabric of his t-shirt as he walks you inside the farmhouse all of these work trips funded. Pinned against him once more right as you get through the front door.
Tyler’s brawny hands leave your hips for a moment, trusting you to behave for him. They slide up to the softness of your stomach, squeezing at your skin, tugging you closer against him, sandwiching you between him and the wall.
His weight anchors you there, his mouth wandering and his hands following that lead. They stretch across your ass and squeeze at your thighs, bundling as close to him as you can get.
Those greetings are almost always hot and heavy, clothes discarded in hallways and photo frames knocked off of walls.
There’s just something about the rush of the way he holds you tight that never gets old.
Even afterwards, once all the adrenaline dies down and you’re ready to just revel in the feeling of him being home, and all yours — you just can’t help but crawling close to him once again.
Laying yourself across his chest, your sigh is soft and contented as he wraps those big arms around you once more.
countdown to spooky week (week 1/3)
2 0 1 4
Cut them Loose | dilf!bradley x nanny reader
spookweek masterlist
prompt: carving pumpkins
warnings: flirting, hints of a relationship between employer and employee. Bradley being a worried dad. He has three children of varied ages in this universe. Wc: 0.89k
…
“Giving them weapons seems… counter-intuitive.” He mutters, almost to himself as he pops open the trunk of his relatively sensible truck. These days his vintage Bronco is barely practical and almost strictly recreational — and his weekends are filled with things like Halloween parties at 1pm and pumpkin carving.
“They’re safety knives!” You prod him, scooping up two pumpkins and turning on your heel to head for the house.
You’re the one who talked him into this; he’s half sure you could talk him into just about anything.
The kids really wanted to carve their own pumpkins this year, and Bradley’s new resolve is to let them be more independent and do things themselves — at your recommendation. It’s just… hard to start.
Especially when starting with knives, of any kind.
He’s got three larger than average pumpkins, fresh from the patch, bundled under his arms. His kids are filled with cotton candy and hot chocolate, practically vibrating with sugar-fuelled energy. But, as he walks into the kitchen, he finds them grinning ear to ear with you.
The tension headache ebbs away from his temples, a reminder of exactly why he hired you. It’s almost relaxing to watch you do your thing. Working your magic on not just the kids.
You’ve got the youngest hooked under one arm, your load of pumpkins now settled onto the kitchen island along with the other two kids, fiddling with the kitchen speaker. You’re cute when you’re concentrating.
As the music comes through the speakers, your hips start to sway like moved by the sound itself. The little girl in your arm breaks into amused giggles, beaming up at you with enthralled eyes.
“Daddy, daddy, what are you going to carve?” Bradley’s eldest daughter asks, pushing herself up onto her knees. Right as he’s about to worry about her falling from the countertop, there you are, standing behind her and putting one hand on her back to keep her steady.
“A scary face!” His son answers with equal enthusiasm, banging at the countertop with the cutting tool. Bradley winces, watching it flail dangerously close to his kid’s face.
Again, there you are, gently plucking the tool from his hand and ruffling his curls.
“I’m not sure your daddy has the skill to pull off a whole scary face all by himself.” You challenge, making the kids coo in awe. They giggle and eagerly look to their father for his comeback.
“It’s a competition then,” He answers, eyes on you. His lips twitch, almost a smile. “We’ve got our three impartial—“ He shoots the kids a playfully stern look. “Judges, and the loser does laundry for a week.”
Lips curling into a devious smile, you reach across the counter and present your hand. He shakes it, squeezing at your knuckles with a firm flex of his fingers. “Deal.”
Sometimes a man like Bradley needs a distraction. It’s just because he cares so much, and with such beautiful, wonderful children — he’s got a lot to lose, and he’d go to the ends of the earth to keep each one of them safe. But, so would you, so it’s okay for him to relax every now and again.
His toddler becomes a de facto member of his carving ‘team’, but that’s okay, you tell him that he’s gonna need all the help he can get. He likes the way you smile at him as you say it.
The other two kids get an even split of your attention, eager encouragement from you and gentle warnings from their dad.
Bradley peeks across to see you whispering something to his son moments before the grinning six-year old is wiping pumpkin guts all along his arm.
Two can play at that game.
It’s his eldest daughter who drops a big scoop of her pumpkin’s innards right back into yours, slowing your progress so that her father takes the lead in your little ‘competition’. Watching the two of them smile the same smile and bark out the same laugh is almost worth the set back.
He spends the afternoon with his family, which has come to include you, carving designs and listening to the radio over their laughter.
Bradley, at his son’s request, carves a menacing smile. His daughter carves a spooky cat. His son carves an attempt at matching his. And you carve a bright, big smiling face.
He takes a moment to sit out on his front porch and admire them all that night, while you’re putting the kids to bed. As he had hoped, it doesn’t take you long to join him.
Fuzzy socks on your feet and armed with a blanket, you settle down beside him on the porch swing and cover the two of you, then wordlessly settle your head against his broad shoulder.
“No incidents.” You say softly, with a smile, tracing your fingers along the length of his forearm.
There’s no hiding the way you feel for him, but he isn’t ready to take that leap. You don’t mind waiting.
He chuckles and nods, thinking of his wild children. “Sometimes I forget that they aren’t… babies anymore, I guess.”
You reach across and give his hand a gentle squeeze, “It’s okay to worry about them. I do too.”
He nods once more, quiet this time, enjoying the feeling of you curled close to his side — ignoring the thought in the back of his mind that he’s crossing too many boundaries with you.
“So, trick-or-treating,” You prompt him suddenly, and he can hear the shit-eating grin on your face. “I was thinking that we could all wear matching—“
“Nope—“
…
Trick or Treat! | Firefighter Bradley
spookweek masterlist | firefighter bradley masterlist
Prompt: handing out candy | joining firefighter!bradley at the station to hand out candy to the neighbourhood kids!
warnings: pet names babe / baby, no use of y/n. .word count: 0.7k
Your heels clack along the walkway, past the clumsily carved, flickering Jack-o’-Lanterns. Ghosts with jagged edges and wide smiling faces with wonky eyes, all courtesy of the gang at Station 86.
Your lips twist, almost a smile, finding the precise attempt at a mustache’d face along the left row. Just then, you hear your name from across the lot. The classic red doors of Station 86 are pulled wide open, and Bradley is hustling his way towards you from the back.
“Baby, you made it!” His arms are loaded up with those giant bags of Halloween candy, the largest you can get. As his mouth stretches into a grin, you can see that there’s something different about his usual smile.
He drops the Halloween candy, still bagged up, onto the large fold-out table where two of his buddies sit and continues his path toward you.
“Are those fangs?” You wrinkle your nose, taking in the usual things you find most enjoyable — those fitted pants and the blue of his tight t-shirt against his tanned skin, the red of his suspenders straining against his thick shoulders — and the oversized plastic fangs in his mouth.
He beams, nodding his head as he reaches for you. “What, you don’t like them?”
Next comes the dive forwards, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist and securing you to him as he gnashes the stupid silicone fangs against your neck playfully.
Just as his wandering hand creeps towards your ass, he catches a glance at his next round of trick-or-treaters rushing along the sidewalk toward the station.
“Thanks for coming, babe. Here,” He presses a soft kiss to your cheek and ushers you towards the fold-out table, acknowledging his colleagues. “We’ve got it from here, guys.”
He had told you it would be fine if you had wanted to head home after work. His shift finishes at nine, and then he’s all yours for four days — starting tonight with a scary movie marathon. But, for now you’re happy to share him with the rest of the neighborhood.
Superheroes, ghosts and witches bounce along the walkway with grins on their faces, calling out your boyfriend’s name. With the class field trips to the station, and the station’s regular trips to the school, Bradley has plenty of pint-sized admirers.
Up in front of the mob are two first graders, sprinting ahead while their mothers chat behind.
“Not you two again!” Bradley mocks disgust, wrinkling his face in abject disapproval as two girls, one wrapped in toilet paper and the other wearing a bedsheet with eye holes in, rush him, plastic buckets for candy in hand. They giggle through their costumes as they come to a halt in front of him, looking up at the towering man. Their class had visited the day before yesterday, and the siren had frightened the two of them so bad that Bradley had broken out the Halloween candy a little early. “What do we have here? — A ghost and a…?”
“I’m a mummy!” She declares excitedly, waving her bucket at him.
“You’re a what?” He paints on his best look of fear and takes a dramatic step backwards, earning himself another round of giggles from the two girls. “What brings you all the way out here, little Mummy?”
“Candy!” Her friend answers for her, which they both find equally hilarious.
Bradley settles to his knees, keeping up the dramatics as more children crowd around him. He’s a natural, having them bursting into fits of laughter as he hands out chocolates and lollipops and other small bags of sugar-coated goodies.
You’ve been down to the station plenty of times, and been involved in plenty of events with them. This has always been more than a job to him, and you know he’s proud of what he does — you’re proud too.
But, even after all this time, there’s something about the fact that all of the neighborhood kids not only know his name, but clearly adore him so much, has you grinning as you help him pass out treats.
He catches you, draping a heavy arm around your shoulders during a rare break between herds of kids. Turning his face towards yours, he kisses the top of your head softly.
“Really, thanks for coming — I love having you here.” He murmurs, squeezing softly at your shoulder. “We’re about finished. You have a movie in mind for us to start with once we’re home?”
Just something scary, you think, already looking forward to the comfort of hiding your face in his chest and pretending that you can’t hear his heart beating just as fast as yours.
…
Can you do a cozy blurb with rhett abbott
-ˏˋ. actions / scenarios ˊˎ-
⋆ going to a carnival / fair
the fair | Rhett Abbott
warnings: none!
Rhett is actually the one to first suggest a trip to the county fair. It’s half to do with the slight guilt he feels about not being able to take you out more — money’s tight sometimes, and he’s often just so exhausted from work. But, the other half of his desire to take you out comes from the nostalgia of those places.
He’s holding back a grin like a little kid, his fingers laced through yours as he leads the way across the green-grass field. Ahead of you are stretches of neon string lights and whirling fairground rides, sounds of cheering and laughing.
Maybe it’s the noise that he likes best. It’s always so quiet out at the ranch, silence for miles and miles. It makes you learn to listen, learn to jump and get tense at the slightest sound.
There’s no chance of that way out here. The sounds all blend together, a happy kind of hum that makes him feel just a little more peaceful.
All of that combined with you, who seems to live to get under his skin in the best way, and still somehow manages to make him feel more settled than anyone in the world ever has.
Crisp leaves under your feet, the chill of the Wyoming winter creeping in through the end of autumn catching at your knuckles. One of Rhett’s old Carhartt jackets sits around your shoulders, a proud proclamation to the entirety of Wabang of exactly who you’re here with.
He’s leading the way confidently, brunette curls tucked under one of his trucker caps, boots crunching across the grass and brush. Wabang County Fair hosts an array of vendors every year, a lot of them local.
Homemade hard ciders from the Marsh family farm. Chilli from the pastor and his wife. Fresh, buttered popcorn sold by the elementary school teacher who had expelled Rhett as a kid.
She greets him with wide, cautious eyes and a stern hello. He grins as you giggle into his side.
He tells you their stories with an arm around your shoulder and his lips brushing at your earlobe. The chill in the air has you cuddling closer, but you’re far from looking for an excuse to do that.
You’ve got one eye on the spinning ferris wheel, too, watching the little pods glowing like stars in the darkening sky. Each one filled with smiling families or budding couples, whispering friends.
You bet that Rhett knows their stories too, and you know that he likes being the one not on the receiving end of the gossip for once.
After a scenic tour of each of the booths on the ground, Rhett catches sight of that spark in your eye as you look up at the moving ride. Squeezing you closer to him, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek as he turns and heads for it, with you in tow.
He’s got every intention of behaving on that ferris wheel, too. Sitting on the bench opposite you and taking in the view. You can see for miles up there, right across the stretching mountain ranges to the north. Grass and greenery for miles, the last of it before the season gets real grey and cold.
The ground below looks even more technicolour from way up here, glowing below you, abuzz with excited patrons.
Rhett’s got every intention of being a perfect gentleman on this date. Hell, he’s even planning on walking you to your door later and bidding you goodbye with a kiss on the cheek.
It’s just that right as your carriage reaches the very peak of the wheel, the whole thing comes to an abrupt stop. He can see the cold nipping at your skin, the slight shiver that wracks your body — the air’s just a little bit colder up here.
“It’s warmer over here, you know.” He tells you with a tip of his chin, his knees spreading just an inch further apart as his back settles against the bench behind him.
The beaten path | Rhett Abbott
spookweek masterlist
Prompt: getting lost in the woods | sent out to the old barn with Rhett one evening, the two of you aren’t alone in the woods.
Warnings: themes of horror and violence. being stalked by something. supernatural stuff. impersonation. It’s a bit of a spooky one! wc: 1.7k
”He’s such a jackass,” Rhett kicks through dirt and leaves, shaking his head and biting out his words through gritted teeth. “Too fuckin’ old to do it himself, and god forbid Perry gets off of his damn ass.”
The flashlight shines off into the darkening woods up ahead. He squints into the shadows, twisting his neck to check back the way he had come. After the storm that had been tearing through Wabang the past two days, it’s a wonder that the ranch held up as well as it had.
All that’s out is the generator. And the part for that generator is way out by the old barn, and the road is blocked by all the tree fall, so he’s the idiot who has to head out there on foot.
Your fingers curl around his bicep, tugging him back until you can loop your arm through his and hug yourself to his side. Stuck on the ranch for two days yourself, you’re glad to get out of that house for a while — and to have him to yourself, too.
He had warned you not to come.
You had been all bundled up in his bed already, warm and half naked between his sheets, eyelids drooping.
But, you had insisted on coming with him. Now, frost nips at your nose and your cheeks, the Wyoming winter creeping in before the leaves have even finished falling. Rhett feels you turn your cheek toward his shoulder, slowing his pace to keep you with him.
He shoots a glance towards the sky, catching the last glimpses of amber and orange as the sun disappears behind the Tetons. Can’t go another night without power, not when Amy’s already sick. She has a cold and the road will be clear enough for them to go to the pharmacy in the morning but no, this expedition had been urgent anyway.
“Is it much further?” You ask him, bundled in an old Carhartt from their hallway closet and a pair of his thermal socks, already thinking of how good it’s going to feel to tear it all off and slip under his flannel sheets again tonight.
One glance backward and the truck seems so small, so far away at the end of the dirt path.
He stops to take a quick look around. He knows these woods like the back of his hand. It’s a mile and a half the long way around, but it could be longer if the path is messed up.
You’d be there and back in fifteen minutes if you cut through the trees.
He knows better. If it was just him, he’d take the long way around, risk the fallen trees and the hour-long walk that should have only taken twenty minutes. But, he can feel the way you’re trembling against him.
“Nah. Not much further. This way.” He mumbles, turning his head and kissing your temple softly. He unwraps you from his arm and drapes it around your shoulders, hugging you close as he steps off of the path and turns his light toward the trees.
It’s marshy and darker again, where the woods are denser and the ground is wetter, more uneven. Your boots slip in the mud every other step, and your breath comes out in clouds in front of you.
A city girl by Wabang’s standards, Rhett knows that you haven’t ever found this property to be particularly welcoming. Hell, it isn’t.
Its harsh winters are designed to kill. The air gets cold enough to make it feel like your lungs are screaming when you suck in a deep breath. The ground freezes solid, the grass disappearing and leaving the living with nothing. It’s like even the soil goes back when the trees become bare.
Draped against him, it’s not the autumn chill that has you shivering.
One more glance backwards and the truck isn’t visible anymore, just trees for as far as your eyes can see.
Turning forward again, the scene up ahead is darker already. Gnarled trees, twisting and looming, the sunlight has faded and the last glimpses of it have disappeared from the canopy above.
You swallow. Your shadow lurks on the chilled ground, looming taller than usual. Wet leaves stick to your boots, mud caking your soles. Each twig that snaps echoes through the silent landscape, each of your jagged breaths sounding amplified through the cold air.
The wind wails through the trees with a low moan, mist passing through the gaps in the dark.
There’s a comfort in knowing that Rhett knows this land. A solace in the way he perseveres through the harsh environment, seemingly unfazed. He works in the dark all the time, and he’s been lost in these woods more than once.
That’s why he knows when to stop.
Dead in his tracks, the flashlight stuck on the path up ahead, his breath caught in his throat. His fingers gripping onto your shoulder so tightly that it feels like he’s made of stone.
Your head whips towards him, eyes searching over his face. His jaw is set and his gaze is fixed, his entire body rigid.
“Rhett?” You whisper.
“Go back to the truck.” He breathes, his voice even quieter than your whisper, “Don’t turn around, I’ll meet you there.”
Your face wrinkles, turning to look into the trees, trying to see what he’s looking at. “What? — Don’t mess—“
“I said I’ll meet you at the truck.”
An icy sensation crawls up your spine as he turns his head to look at you. His blue eyes struck with a dead kind of fear, a type of resignation.
Your heartbeat thuds in your chest, your boots slipping in the wet ground as you stumble a few steps back. It’s silent for miles. Too silent — no birds, no more wind, nothing but the sound of your breathing.
He turns his head once more and it’s like you’re alone.
If he’s fucking with you, you’d never forgive him. It’s even worse, because you know that he’d never be able to fake that look in his eye. You’ve never seen him so afraid.
Your instincts scream at you to run. All of the alarm bells in your head are ringing at once, and it’s like Rhett can tell.
“Go slow. Quiet.” He whispers.
One foot falls back, and another. You stumble back the way you had come until your back hits a tree. You take one more look at your boyfriend, staring off into the trees ahead, and swallow the rising, swelling lump in your throat.
The wet ground shleps under your trembling feet, threatening to swallow your boots with each wobbling step. Your hands drag across jagged back, feeling your way through the trees.
Finally, you turn on your heel and head back for the path. It was right behind you. You couldn’t have strayed that far. You walk, and walk, and walk until you’re practically jogging.
Your eyes grow glassy with burning tears, your nose stinging from the harsh cold, your palms damp with sweat. Your head whips to the left, and then to the right as your body spins in a clumsy circle. The path couldn’t have been this far away.
Maybe you had gone the wrong way. The darkness swallows any remaining light as it glimpses through the gaps in the trees — every direction looks the same. Gnarled, twisting shadowed figures for as long as you can see.
Your mouth falls open, your voice catching in your throat, his name falling silent on your tongue. Something tells you that you don’t want to go making a whole lot of noise right now.
Even so, a sob threatens to wrack its way through your throat. You clamp a hand over your own mouth, shuddering back a sniffle as you force yourself forwards.
Walking, and walking and walking. Darkness around you pulsing like something living, deafening silence filling the air — like there’s nothing really living around here at all. The leaves caking your boots feels like they’re weighing you down, the wet mud pulling you in further with each footfall.
Hot tears spill along your freezing cheeks. Your breath comes in shallow gasps, muffled by your palm.
The silence is broken as the wind tears through the trees with a whistling howl. Your steps grow heavier, fighting against the wet mud. You sprint until your legs burn, your chest heaving, choking on your tears.
Finally, there’s a glow in the distance. Headlights. Rhett. You gasp out, struggling for breath, rushing for the treeline. Breaking out into the light, your body trembles.
He’s standing by the driver’s side door. Illuminated just by the beams, his figure sunless and hard to see. His shadow stretches out far beyond the hood.
His back is to you. He’s facing the Abbott house, three miles back the way you had come.
You wipe your streaming nose, catching the tears on your jaw, sniffling hard. “… Rhett? — Rhett, what the fuck was—“
Your voice stops as instantly as Rhett’s footsteps had. It’s like a kick to the chest.
Rhett’s head turns. Real slow, like the hand of a clock, ticking, ticking — ticking until he has turned enough to be watching you over his shoulder. Peering at you through the driver’s side window, and then the windshield of his old truck.
His eyes are dark and hollow. He doesn’t have the flashlight anymore. There’s something different about him, but maybe that’s just the dark.
The words are caught in your throat and you can’t manage to say anything further.
He moves swiftly, stepping out from beside the door, putting both hands onto the hood of the truck. He steps into the shadow cast by the headlights, darkness falling over his face.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” His voice comes out softly, familiar, almost amused.
Barely visible, an indistinct form, creeping out from around the hood. Inching towards you.
Long, slender fingers curling across the headlight and casting shadows over your face. Shadowy legs that follow. He steps into the beam of the headlights once more.
A bent neck, and yellow, lifeless eyes. A wide-stretching smile.
It braces on its legs, dull, hollow eyes growing wide with a sudden excitement, unblinking. Its tight lips peel back across its face, baring sharp, bloodied teeth.
You had taken a wrong turn after all.
May I please request a spooky story with Jake and the prompt "summoning a demon"? Whether or not Jake is said demon is completely up to you 😉
Vee!! Was so excited to write this for you and I hope it didn’t disappoint! 🧡
In the shadows | Jake Seresin
spookweek masterlist
synopsis: Jake’s crush on a friend from work gets him into trouble
warnings: spooky! Darkness, ghostly themes, old house and slight discrepancies in the way roofs work!
Jake rolls his shoulders back and exhales, straightening up his flashlight. This is why he doesn’t offer to help people. Pulling the handkerchief back up over his nose, he ventures further into the dusty attic.
Light pours in from the window at the far side, making the darkness that surrounds the rest
He had practically made a point of picking on his squadron’s newbie’s, just a little bit. Making sure that they could handle themselves, you know? But not you. You had seen right through him from day one, and you’d quickly become more than just a friend from work.
He has met your parents, for Christ’s sake. He doesn’t even meet the parents of girls that he dates half of the time.
And, he has enough respect for you to keep his feelings for you to himself.
Even when you ask him to do things like check out the draught coming from the boarded up crawlspace in the creepy fucking house you had just inherited.
“Everything okay?” You call from your spot in the master bedroom, arms folded over your chest and your neck craned to peer into the darkened space above your head.
When you had moved in three days ago, this panel right above the closet in what would become your bedroom had been boarded up; heavy, worn, ugly planks of wood right over a sealed hatch. You would have left it alone, but there was a terrible draught coming from up there.
It wasn’t exactly a professional job. Your Aunt J had always been crazy according to your mother, and you know that she would have much rather just nailed the stupid thing shut rather than paying someone with experience to come and fix the problem.
Probably an issue with the insulation in the attic. This house is old and tall, sturdy and settled into the ground where it stands. Jake knows a thing or two about construction, given that he comes from a family of contractors, and he has always been more than willing to help with your latest whims.
He squints across the attic, trying to make out whether that’s a grandfather clock under a dust sheet in the corner or something tall and leering, right out of his childhood nightmares.
It’s too late to bother cursing you for making him do this, and there’s no real point either way — he’d be here whether you forced, bribed or wished it of him.
“Yeah, come here for a sec — watch your step.” Jake calls back to you, heading for the glimpse of light streaming from the far wall, where light spills through boards in the roof. He hears you faintly ascending the ladder, shoes against metal rungs.
He feels eyes on his back and doesn’t bother turning to look. He shines his flashlight towards the weathered ceiling, where insulation is gapped and missing. There’s a straight view up to the sky from where he’s standing, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that this whole roof is going to need replacing.
“This isn’t going to be cheap work,” He huffs softly, pulling the handkerchief down from his nose and letting it hang around his neck. This time he hears your footsteps crossing the rickety floorboards, the thick dust softening the sound, the old house groaning softly at the intrusion. “Careful, those boards are—“
He turns his head and the words fail, falling dead on his tongue.
There’s no one up here.
He’s all by himself, and the loft seems darker now that he’s standing in the light. The shadows make it impossible to find the covered up furnishings he had seen when he’d first come up. The space seems longer.
Had he really strayed so far from that ladder?
“Are you talking to yourself up here?” This time it’s you. Your shoes on the rungs, your hands on the floorboards as you hoist yourself through the loft hatch, your footfall making that same dullened sound on the dusty boards as you step towards him.
“I thoug—” He stops and shakes his head. “I thought I heard you come up. Look, I couldn’t know unless I took a look at the other side — but this looks rotted through. I think the whole thing’s gonna need replacing.”
You’re looking around the space, wandering away from Jake with wonder, skimming your fingers across discolored dust sheets. “Fuck, really?”
He continues his amateur survey, reaching up to touch at the beams above his head. The wood is damp, and cold. It’s going to be a nightmare if the entire place is like this. A few minutes pass, maybe more. He can hear you screwing around behind him, becoming acquainted with this new space.
Finally, he turns around with furrowed brows. “What are you messing with back there?”
You’re kneeling on the floor, facing that chilling, covered-up grandfather clock. With your back to him, Jake can’t make out what you’ve got in your hands, and you don’t make an effort to show him. “A book.”
His lips twitch, the flashlight falling to his side as he turns towards you. Feeling more himself, a slyness creeps up on him as he, in turn, creeps up on you. “Is it a scary kind of book?”
He’s just teasing.
There’s a tremble to your voice as you answer him, you spine straight and your forearms prickling with a stiff chill. “Jake…”
He slows, cautious as he comes to stand beside you. One hand settles on your shoulder, his features creasing with concern. You turn your head, slow, like the hand of a ticking clock, and look up at him. Eyes stricken with fear, your face gaunt.
“I think something really bad happened in this house.” Your words are almost a whimper, barely audible.
Behind him, there’s a soft rustle and quiet flutter, like the sound of fabric falling. The sound of a dust-sheet falling. The old house’s terrifying quiet is shattered with a sudden tick.
Your eyes are stuck on him. Darkness sits in your peripherals.
Tick, tick, tick. The hands creep around with resounding rumbles. The book in your hands feels warm, and then hot and then scalding — burning at your skin.
That’s when Jake hears it again, the sound of dullened footsteps across the thick, dust-coated floorboards. Heavier this time, thudding. Coming from those pitch-black shadows in the far side of the attic.
Bonfire | MFIY (Frat Boy) Bradley
Spookweek masterlist | My Future in You masterlist
*This is set within the universe of my fic My Future in You, but can be read as a standalone (and should be tbh as it doesn’t fit the canon of that fic).
Synopsis: Keeping your pregnancy and your hookups a secret proves to be a little difficult when a tipsy Bradley finds you at his frat house’s annual autumn bonfire.
Warnings: fratboy!bradley, accidental pregnancy, pregnant!reader, seresin!reader, alcohol/bradley being drunk and affectionate, no use of y/n, flirting. WC: 0.8k
“Hey, you made it!” Red cup in hand, equally red cheeks to match, he starts toward you with mud and leaves under his Nikes and a beaming smile on his face. He smiles like that when he’s inebriated.
That’s what you’re allowed to call it — since he ‘doesn’t get drunk’.
Just as quickly as he lifts his arms, they’re thrown around you, heavy in his fleece lined denim jacket. His cold cheek bristles yours as he pushes his one hand under your unzipped coat, his fingers skirting your waist, his lips grazing your neck.
Peering around the verge of his thick, denim-padded shoulder, you catch a glimpse of your big brother deep in conversation with a few of his buddies, talking wildly with his hands, the glow of the bonfire casting amber shadows across his face.
As he pulls back, Bradley’s free hand skims across the developing roundness of your stomach. Under the thick covers of your thermal layer and college branded hoodie, he can’t really feel anything, but his fingers linger there anyway. Sprawled across your belly, protective and affectionate in one touch.
“I missed you.” He murmurs, flickering shadows casting flecks of gold across the brown in his eyes. His lips twitch, boyish and sweet as he almost smiles, flexing his fingers where they sit. “Both of you.”
As much as the smile does its best to take over your face, you wrinkle your mouth and try to twist away from him. “Don’t be stupid.”
His lips part in mock offence, dark eyes glinting with mischief as he lets you go.
“What? — I can’t be excited to see the mother of my child?”
“Weird time to start, is all.” You hit back, physically too, jabbing at his arm as you try to pass him by.
He almost sighs, hearing your boots crunch against the leaves below you and knowing that you’re about to ditch him for another night of hiding behind your friends. He wants to talk. He wants to hold you.
“Wait! — Do you… want a drink?”
You spin to face him as he does the same, glancing down at your stomach. Even he isn’t that dumb.
“No, like cocoa or something? I think we have some.”
It’s becoming a more frequent thing for your open palm to find its way to your stomach, sitting there protectively. You raise your brows at him as your fingers rests against your growing bump. “You’re going to make me a hot chocolate?”
He breaks into a smile, almost giddy as he lifts his cup and shrugs his shoulders, gulping back a quick sip. “If you want one.”
You almost tell him no; you almost do the sensible thing and turn around to find your friends, and start to enjoy this evening while ignoring him like you’re supposed to.
But, it’s a rare occasion for him to offer to make himself useful. Pressing your tongue to the inside of your cheek, you think on his offer while he swishes around the drops of beer left in his cup.
“Fine. Lead the way.”
The kitchen in this place is almost always a mess, and today is no exception. An island littered with drinks and mixers, counters filled with used red solo cups. You follow him cautiously, tugging your jacket closer to your body.
He searches through the cabinets, clumsily letting doors slam as he goes until he finds what he’s looking for. “Ah, here — do you want marshmallows?”
“I want the whole works.” As he peers back to find you leaning against the wall with your arms folded and a shit-eating grin on your face, a strange feeling plucks at his heartstrings, something like butterflies in his stomach.
He smiles back, almost sheepish now, as he thinks to the long future ahead. “Noted.”
There’s something different about tonight. You don’t know what it is, and really, neither does he. He doesn’t know why tonight specifically is the night that he feels so differently, but he does know that the smile on your face as he passes you a steaming mug makes his chest feel tight.
Your lips stretch into a smile, all surprise and amusement, staring down at the mix of marshmallows and whipped cream — and M&M’s, because he didn’t have chocolate powder to dust, but had insisted on adding.
“This looks…” You shake your head softly, at a loss for words as you glance up at him. He smiles, cheeks pink. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
Neither one of you is in any hurry to step back out into the cold, but you can’t hide in the kitchen all night. He follows behind you as you step out into the backyard, one hand on the small of your back as you go.
You’re not expecting for him to reach for your free hand, but he does. He guides you over to two camping chairs and all but demands that you sit with him. For the first time in a couple of months, he really talks to you.
He listens to you.
Amber flames casting flickering shadows over your face, your hands warm from the mug between them, your eyes solely on him.
He’s glad that he begged your friends to convince you to come.
