HELLO OCTOBER!!! - Blog Posts

03/10/22: MAY WRITING FOR ROOSTER EVERYBODY CHEERED I CHEERED I CRIED I LAUGHED I GOT SHOT HAD EPIPHANIES!!!!! sweet may, i will never get tired of saying how much i absolutely ADORE your writing. it’s so special, i don’t know exactly WHAT IT IS ABOUT IT, but there’s something here or a combination of factors idk i just adore it i would read your grocery list!!!!!! anyways this was adorable and i had to highlight my favorite parts because 😭❤️‍🩹

“You can’t help it - you laugh. It’s a sound that punches from somewhere deep inside of you, that comes with a certain amount of relief. That echoes through the darkness of your hotel room, bounces off the ceiling and back into the shadows.” bounces off the ceiling and BACK INTO THE SHADOWS. HELLO??? POETRY???

“Don’t laugh at me.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“By all means, Bradley could be a star in an 80s porno, what with the mustache and those Hawaii shirts. And the embarrassing dirty talk.” stop i love him!!!

“What you hadn't exactly planned on, though, is that your boyfriend, apparently, is really, really bad at phone sex.” STOP IT’S HIS FIRST TIME HE’S TRYING 😭😭😭😭 POOR ROOSTER

“You’re really good at dirty talk in person.”

He’s quiet for so long you think maybe he’s hung up. When you draw the phone away to glance at the screen, you miss half his sentence.

“... easier when you’re there,” he’s saying by the time you got the phone back up to your ear, and you can hear the note of uncertainty in his voice. It’s endearing, but then you’re totally whipped for him, so that doesn't say much. “Like this, I just get self-conscious. I don’t know.” EASIER WHEN YOU’RE THERE BECAUSE THEY TRUST EACH OTHER SO MUCH ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 (not me absolutely making up headcanons about a BLURB- anywaysssssss)

“Bradley,” you say, and hope your words are as sincere over the phone as they would be in person, “I think you’re the hottest person alive, you know? You’ve sort of ruined me. I get wet when I see an airplane now sometimes. I don’t think there’s anything to be self-conscious about. Just act like I’m right there with you, okay?” NOT HER GETTING TURNED ON BY AIRPLANES SKJCJSJXHHDDHDHDHDDH also: comforting him!!!!!!!! i think you’re the hottest person alive 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲 they’re so cute!!!!

“Another moment of silence, and then he hums an okay, and his voice has reached just that pitch that makes you think the phone should be vibrating. And like. That’ll do it. You shove your hands back into your panties, where you’re still swollen and wet and aching to be touched.” HIS VOICE GOING DOWN AND IT’S ENOUGH TO GET THE BACK ON TRACK I LOVE THIS.

MISS SEASONSBLOOM I MISSED YOU!!!

romeo - "i want you to kiss every inch of my body." with rooster?

your blurbs are always so incredible! congratulations on 1.5k!! 🫶🏻✨ hopefully i’m not too late, i’m awful at time zones as well 😅

♡ pairing ; rooster x reader

♡ wc ; 600

♡ warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; explicit language; phone sex; this is really sort of silly

♡ note ; anon I’m sorry, i read that dialogue prompt and it sort of made me laugh??? so then this was born, I apologize.

“I want you to kiss every inch of my body.”

You can’t help it - you laugh. It’s a sound that punches from somewhere deep inside of you, that comes with a certain amount of relief. That echoes through the darkness of your hotel room, bounces off the ceiling and back into the shadows.

Tinny, distorted by the miles and miles between you, Rooster’s voice says, “Don’t laugh at me.”

The comment does what it does most often: It makes you laugh harder.

“I’m sorry,” you say, breathless, giggles cascading in an unsteady stream. “You just… you sound like an 80s porn star, Bradley.”

Bradley harrumphs and you hear sheets shifting, imagine him rolling around on the mattress. “Honey, I don’t think you’ve ever even seen an 80s porno.”

“You don’t know about my porn consumption,” you say, immediately, and then you start laughing again.

By all means, Bradley could be a star in an 80s porno, what with the mustache and those Hawaii shirts. And the embarrassing dirty talk.

“I’m not great at this, am I?”

That stifles your humor. He sounds… not exactly hurt, but a little insecure, maybe. Your heart drops and you back-pedal straight away.

“It’s okay, Bradley,” you rush to say. “We’ve never done this, and I think it’s awkward anyway. This just works better over text, you know?”

It’s true. When Bradley’s gone, most of your correspondence happens via emails or scheduled video calls in computer rooms he shares with other aviators. Which means that most of your sexual endevours during his absence are restricted to your right hand or a vibrator and the wide-ranging expanse of your fantasy.

Now that it’s you gone for a change, though, you gone and Bradley all alone in your bed at home, you’d really wanted to try. See how this thing might play out. What you hadn't exactly planned on, though, is that your boyfriend, apparently, is really, really bad at phone sex.

“It’s funny,” you tell him, shoving your phone between shoulder and chin as you roll over onto your stomach and fold your arms beneath the pillow. The throbbing between your legs has receded to a dull intensity somewhere at the back of your mind, like the tides licking lazily at the shore. “You’re really good at dirty talk in person.”

He’s quiet for so long you think maybe he’s hung up. When you draw the phone away to glance at the screen, you miss half his sentence.

“... easier when you’re there,” he’s saying by the time you got the phone back up to your ear, and you can hear the note of uncertainty in his voice. It’s endearing, but then you’re totally whipped for him, so that doesn't say much. “Like this, I just get self-conscious. I don’t know.”

“Bradley,” you say, and hope your words are as sincere over the phone as they would be in person, “I think you’re the hottest person alive, you know? You’ve sort of ruined me. I get wet when I see an airplane now sometimes. I don’t think there’s anything to be self-conscious about. Just act like I’m right there with you, okay?”

Another moment of silence, and then he hums an okay, and his voice has reached just that pitch that makes you think the phone should be vibrating. And like. That’ll do it. You shove your hands back into your panties, where you’re still swollen and wet and aching to be touched.

And still, you can’t help yourself. You just have to. Biting the insides of your cheek to keep the grin out of your voice, you drawl, “Now. Let’s get back to it, stud.”

“Now who’s the one stuck in an 80s porno?”