#spookweek

There were only a handful of times that Rooster made the drive up to your college apartment. Well, maybe a little over a handful. Work commitments and senior year deadlines kept you apart a lot of the time, and with your apartment up there being a shared space and his apartment back home being fifteen minutes from your father’s place — it wasn’t an easy operation to organise.

Maybe the stars had just aligned for this particular weekend.

Your roommates were gone, back visiting their own families for a while, and he had a whole six days of leave, four of which were all yours. He had arrived on the Friday, mid-afternoon, leaning against the hood of his car in a tight-fitting flannel and blue jeans as you had gotten out of your last class for the day.

Your third official date had consisted of mini golf and dinner and a walk across campus, pointing out the sights and telling him the stories of your four years there.

Although this was far from the first time that the two of you were sleeping together, there was still something strangely intimate about taking him home to your apartment. Something that always made you a little bashful.

It would have been easy enough to just go right to bed once he had gotten you home, it had been a month since he had seen you last and god knows that he’d missed you enough to have contemplated this night for a long time.

Long enough to have decided that he wanted to make the most of your time together.

The idea had started out as a joke, lounging across the couch and in the middle of your first real deep and prying conversation. You had made a throwaway comment about wishing this was more private, wanting a place within the four walls of your room that was just for the two of you and your new secrets.

It hadn’t ever been part of the plan for him to take you seriously, but he had seen the big smile on your face when he had pretended to begin the little project. The giggle that spilled from your lips as he started to rearrange furniture to make it work.

“Just so you know,” He had explained, tossing a thick and fuzzy blanket onto the floor for the base of his fort, amusement sparking in the warm brown of his eyes. “I don’t half ass things.”

“Oh no?” You had checked, beaming as you leaned back on your palms across your bedspread. “You’re not going to half ass your pillow fort?”

He had smiled at you with a look in his eyes that told you he was referring to much deeper things than pillow forts, but he had answered with a chuckle anyway. “Our pillow fort.”

In the months following, you would grow to learn that really, he doesn’t half ass anything when it comes to you.

Even then, when his work is meticulous and the pillows have been rearranged for the hundredth time — for structural integrity’s sake — you can’t help but lay back, stare at the blanket sky above your heads, and smile. He really had done a pretty fantastic job.

He’s got one arm under your head, draped around your shoulder as he cuddles you against his side, and the other resting on his stomach. Unashamed both in the way he admires his handiwork, and the way that you look in his arms.

Already decided, then and there, that this is much more than a fling.

Getting Rhett Abbott to tag along places wasn’t the hard part — he loved to come along, and not just to act as your personal guard dog. He has fun when he’s with you. He likes the way you make him feel. He feels most like himself when you’re grinning back at him.

Until now.

“Quit, c’mon, you’re makin’ me look stupid.” He grumbles, twisting and pulling back from you.

It’s hard not to smile because, really, he does look pretty silly.

His hair is swept back from his forehead with a stretchy cloth headband and then tied back in a small ponytail at the back of his head, but that would’ve been over and done by now if he just—

“Stop squirming!” You’re straddling his thighs, face creased with frustration all of a sudden instead of the concentration that had been there moments ago. “You’re going to mess up your face paint!”

Grabbing at his jaw, you turn his head and force him to look at you, narrowing your eyes somewhat sternly. At once, all of the discontent on his face fades away. The smallest of smiles creeps onto his lips, his blue eyes going soft.

He can’t take you seriously when you’re trying to look all mean like that.

“Come on, you don’t want to ruin all my hard work, do you?”

Of course not, but that’s a low blow. He huffs, settling into a spot where he might be able to sit still against the foot of his bed. His hands find your hips, skimming back down to your thighs to feel across the fishnets that cover them.

His silent compliance is enough of an agreeement.

He purses his lips as you get right back to work, patting and smudging at his face with a soft makeup sponge.

Halloween parties haven’t ever been his thing, but you had been so excited to bring it up — there wasn’t a chance in hell that he was turning you down. You had insisted on a costume, and those ideas had been more quickly rejected.

Ultimately, you had convinced him to settle on some vaguely skeleton-like outfits. He hadn’t been anticipating that to come along with quite so much paint.

But, skimming his fingers along those netted tights, he can finds a couple things about tonight that he’s pretty enthusiastically on board with.

His gaze flickers back up to your face, already decorated with the skeleton makeup that you’re doing your best to recreate on him. A couple of seconds pass and his eyes are still stuck on you, unmoving.

You feel hot all of a sudden, like his staring is burning at your cheeks.

Your focus drops and your hand stills against his cheek. You take your bottom lip between your teeth and finally look him in the eye. His mouth twists, curving up into a soft smirk, knowing that you’re feeling flustered all of a sudden.

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. 

“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.

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.

handing out candy with firefighter bradley

bonfire night (at the frat house) with MFIY bradley

having a halloween party with Jake and Apollo 🌶️

getting lost in the woods with Rhett Abbott 🎃

cuddling under a blanket and lazy days in with Jake 🍂

summoning a demon with Jake 🎃🍂

comforting the scaredy cat amongst them with dbf!Jake & mechanic!bradley 🍂🌶️

‘wearing a flannel shirt’ with Bradley Bradshaw 🌶️🍂

going to a carnival / fair with Rhett Abbott🍂

Log cabin + sharing blankets + cuddling under blankets with Jake Seresin 🌶️🍂

‘stop squirming, you’re going to ruin your face paint!’ with Rhett Abbott🍂

bear hugs with Tyler Owens 🌶️🍂

thunderstorms and pillow forts with Bradley & Bambi🍂

pillow forts with Sub Rosa Rooster and Lil Kazansky 🍂

"you're like the toughest person i know! am i really supposed to believe that a horror film is enough to have you cowering into my lap?" with Bradley Bradshaw 🍂

cozy bonfire with Rhett Abbott 🍂

Get lost in the woods at night with Tyler Owens 🎃🍂

Carving pumpkins with dilf Bradley

Decorating for Halloween with ff Bradley

Thunderstorms + cold hands with sugar daddy Jake 🌶️

Exploring an abandoned hospital with Aeterna Jake and Bradley 🌶️🍂

“i love you, i swear i do, but we're not wearing matching costumes." with dilf Bradley 🌶️🍂

scary movie marathon + flannel shirts with bradley 🌶️🍂

Questions!

some of your OCs fears and phobias with Aeterna Jake and Bradley