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notroosterbradshaw · 2 years

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The Boyfriend Experience - Part 2 /2

7k words of Rooster being your super wonderful, pretend plus one! A few swears, but it’s the Navy, goddammit! The fluffiness should make up for it.

The Boyfriend Experience 1 / 2

“Thank God you didn’t catch the bouquet,” Rooster rolled his eyes as you wandered back, bored. "Could you look any less interested?" he bit back a smile.

“I could, yes," you told him, patting his cheek with a gentle thwack as he chuckled.

”Well, you made sure I didn't have a run there to fake propose in front of all these witnesses. Left my fake engagement ring in my dresser drawer back at base,” he snapped his fingers. "Fuck."

"You'd have really ruined this wedding if you proposed. Even you must know the lack of decorum of proposing at someone else's wedding. You probably wouldn't need to go to those extremes," you laughed quietly.

He nodded and grinned. "I'd guarantee you a life of no more wedding BS though."

"You're probably right. How long you been sitting on that?”

"Just came to me," he admitted. "But you can't tell me it's not an amazing idea to get everyone off your ass."

"Thank you for not going to those lengths," you said as his head fell back and he kept giggling. Yes, Rooster was a giggler after a few drinks. And it was adorable.

Looking back at you, he said, "I guess we're almost done though. Since I have this," Rooster grinned widely, flinging the bride’s baby blue garter at your face. You flicked it right back and he caught it easily. He'd mortified you that he'd made such a spectacle to get his mitts on it earlier in the evening - he literally speared a dude to get to the front and leapt over the Best Man to catch it. "My Little League coach would be so proud today."

"You're the worst," you reached for his whiskey as he looked on proudly.

"You disappointed us as a couple and missed the bouquet to boot but I forgive you because you've graduated to a very sexy drink. That's my girl," he raised his eyebrow, waiting patiently for your sip, which you did gladly.

"You're such a dick," you could only respond, handing the glass back as he chuckled, putting the garter back in his breast pocket, patting it safely.

"Taken you 30 years to figure it out - that's more on you than me though," he teased.

"Last song of the night, friends," the MC of the band announced as Rooster offered you his hand. "Your bride and groom are ready to kick into matrimonial bliss part of the night and we all have to head home at some point!"

"You're not getting out of this. It's our last dance as fake lovers," he said, giving you the creepiest bedroom eyes, or you supposed, that you’d ever seen. How had he managed to bed so many women if that was his game, you'd never know (you assumed it was probably a lot less effort than batting his lashes, to be completely honest), and you shook your head with a smile. He stood to his full height and offered you his calloused palm. You naturally accepted, lacing your fingers through his. You loved the warmth his hands gave yours.

"Can you never say 'lovers' again?" you asked, spirited, as he spun you under his arm, leading you to the dancefloor, laughing loudly.

"Never," he promised as the song began. The band started Elvis' "I'm All Shook Up", most people in the room made their way to the dancefloor and Rooster praised the gods. You liked the song but loved the joy it clearly stirred in Rooster more. You adored how much he loved music, though he admitted he was never taught piano, guitar, or even drums but was pretty good at each of them, or he liked to think so. He played by ear and enjoyed experimenting with sounds. You'd romanticised Rooster playing at home in the quiet, just for himself, tinkering with keys, strumming strings. It made you kind of weak to think of him creatively like that. He was certainly full of surprises and you were yearning to know more.

He was unlike anyone you knew - you'd learned so much tonight and appreciated the human he was more than just the talented pilot most assumed of him, you thought maybe he appreciated people thought he was fairly one-dimensional, he liked his space and privacy. "New one to learn for the bar?" you offered as he pondered the question.

"Shit, maybe," he contemplated with a nod and he pulled you close. While not an incredibly slow song, Rooster actually moved quite well. Yet another thing you had learned about him tonight and he pulled your back to his chest, keeping you pressed to him, his hands spreading across your belly, keeping a respectful amount of space between your bodies. He took your hand and spun you back to him, facing the other again and he smiled slow, a smile you'd certainly never seen before but enjoyed thoroughly as his hands moved to the back of your ribs, dragging you closer to him.

He loosened a hand and put your arms around his neck, the height difference between you bringing your body crushed against him and it felt kind of... perfect.

"Thank you for tonight," you said, just between the two of you. He smiled faintly, his hands caressing your back. Once he'd found access to skin, his hand kept a close touch all night and your back felt cold without it.

"It's really me that should be thanking you," he admitted, lips dangerously close to your ear and you'd deny it, but it shook you to the core. Looking at him, your feet stopped moving and the world may have stopped too. Here he was, right in front of you, just like he always had been... but he was completely new to you now. "I haven't had a night like this in a really long time," he continued earnestly. "Almost felt like a real date."

You had lost the ability to talk, because thinking about it later, you'd realise, this was the first of many nights like this. But it wouldn't pretend anymore. He would be yours, and you would be his right back. And the pretence would be gone; traded for romance that didn't need to be held back, touches on skin that meant something because it was their skin you'd touched so many times before, still able to draw the same spark as it had tonight.

Rooster's lips met your forehead, leaving a lingering kiss against your skin and you held him just a little bit tighter. "I got you, kid," he told you softly but wasn't quite sure why he added, "You're safe with me."

And you may have believed him.

"Do you two want a lift?" Annie asked as the festivities started to come to a close. The bride and groom had left, guests were starting to organise themselves to do the same, the band was packing up and the music was over for the generic 'get the fuck out of our venue now' muzak. After your last duties for the evening to help Sarah's parents collect the gifts and load their car, you went back to the table to collect your belongings, thankful it was all finally over... as well as the evening.

It was a long day, and saying you were exhausted, physically, mentally... emotionally, was an understatement. Things were a bit muddled to you now and you were feeling a little unhinged at the growing flutters in your tummy while so close to Rooster. He was currently holding your bouquet and your clutch like it was absolutely no big thing.

"Rooster, I don't think you should drive. I can get you both back. I'm the designated driver for another three weeks and one day," she looked at her belly, accusingly. "Unless you'd like to come sooner, please?"

"Shit," he muttered. He had probably had one or two drinks too many, he realised. Palming his keys in his pants pocket, he replied he would just walk back to base. Wasn't at all far, he had his credentials. Fresh air would sober him up anyway.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, absolutely. Thank you though. I'm sure your little sister will get me back safely," he joked entirely for Annie's benefit. But your feet, your poor feet were shredded. You gave yourself kudos, you'd done the right thing and kept your heels on the duration of the day, but all you could imagine was peeling them off and preparing for the onslaught of blisters and discomfort as soon as humanly possible.

"Okay," she grinned. "Take care, Rooster," she hugged him and he hugged her back, trying to avoid her baby bump politely. "So good to see you."

"You too, Annie," he replied fondly. "I had a great night."

"Don't be a stranger when you're in town. Let's do this again soon. Come over for dinner, bring her," she nodded to you.

"I might," Rooster gave her a shy smile and Annie hugged him again. "I'm thinking of moving back so you may be seeing a bit more of me anyway," he said and your ears pricked up, this was brand new information and your palms may have clammed up a little.

"You should, everyone would be so happy you're home," she told him.

"Definitely thinking about it," he promised.

"Good, Please get my sister home safely?" she warned him.

"Of course, she's precious cargo," he smiled as Annie kissed you and waddled over to Arron, her extremely drunk hubby.

"I could have gone with that lift," you told him as you watched them leave. Your poor feet.

"Nah, you're okay," he said. "Let's go for a walk."

"Rooster," you protested. "I might cry."

Rooster pouted. "Then I'll piggyback you," he broke into a smile as a few of the single bridesmaids said goodnight to you both. "Come with me. Got an idea," he urged, nodding towards the door, not waiting for you and taking off in his strides in that direction. Moving as quick and gracefully as the heels would allow, you caught him at the door where he took your hand and you followed him to the beach. It was pitch black minus the moon's reflection on the water, nearing midnight when he stopped at the edge of the grass to sand and watched him unbutton his jacket to sit. You did the same. "Feet, please?" he asked quietly.

Confused, you weren't sure why you offered him your left foot, but his fingers made haste unbuckling the silver heel you had been wearing for hours and hours.

"Gentle," he told himself as he pulled the off, and held his palm out for your other foot that you gratefully offered, the relief almost instantaneous. Putting your heels together, he lightly pressed into the arches of your feet, your ankles, your calves, the pain worth it for a few moments, looking at you with a gentle frown to make sure he wasn't hurting you, but it was definitely worth it. "Okay?" you nodded as he slipped off his jacket and left it in a pile with your shoes, purse and bouquet. He unlaced his loafers, took his socks with them and cuffed his slacks up to his lower calf although there was little give to them. "Shit," he muttered, pulling at the wrong piece of his bowtie and knotting it tighter.

"Here, Roost," you said softly, sitting up to kneel, he watched you in keen interest as your fingers worked to loosen the tie. Knowing he'd made it worse before it unravelled under your touch, you smiled as he happily unbuttoned the first few holes on his shirt, showing a little of his strong, golden chest and a light smattering of dark hair.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "Up," he got up slowly, finding the buttons on the cuffs of his shirt and rolling both to his muscular forearms. He smiled, offering his hand. He pulled you up, your sore feet sending you careening into him softly. He nodded towards the water and followed you through the sand.

The night was cool, but in the height of summer, not unbearable by any stretch of the imagination. Stopping right before the waves, you looked back at him.

"I promise you, those feet will feel a million bucks in about 15 seconds," and he hitched you into his arms, taking you out to his knees, lowering you amid squeals of cold and a now damp skirt around your thighs. He didn't give you space, he stood behind you, his hands resting on your belly, chin on your hair. You felt him sigh behind you.

"Dammit, Rooster," you cursed him although grinning in the madness, trying not to shiver as the waves splashed around you. It was a little chillier in the water than you would have liked, but Rooster was close and he was almost radiator hot. "It's f-f-freezing," you chattered.

"It's the ocean at midnight," he said in your ear. "What were you expecting?" he posed a good question. "But your feet don't hurt now, do they?"

"Actually, I can't feel them... because they're numb," you replied, your toes thumbing in the sand beneath you, it grounded you and felt so familiar. You loved it, craved it. The grains felt good and if you squinted, you could almost avoid the slight needling of your feet as they started to relax and unwind.

"You're the water," he murmured to you quietly, his voice lower than the ocean's bustle around you. "I know I'm the clouds. But you're the ocean. You need it. I've always known that about you. I see you some mornings down here, in the waves if I run late. I never see a crease or concern on your features, you're just one with the water. It's pretty sexy, actually."

You wished he'd stop talking because as he adjusted his hold on you, leaving one hand on your hip, the other arm wrapping around your shoulders, you only reaffirmed how good you fit against him. "I love that," you admitted, taking his hand and he sighed again. He was right, though cold, this was your happy place. This is where you desired to be, in the water and the freedom and terror that came with it, how it could make you teeter so easily and push you out of your comfort zone. And he knew all about it.

Above you, Rooster smiled to himself. He was starting to really enjoy holding you close, learning the curves of your body, how you could find the perfect place to find calm in his arms. "Hey?"

"Hmm?"

"I had a really good time tonight. It... didn't feel forced or contrived. Why haven't you and I done this before?"

Because we didn't see each other this way before Natasha threw us together, you wanted to say. We can laugh, we can play and have fun, team against anyone and not think anything of it... but tonight has categorically changed our friendship because I can't go back to just being your friend, Rooster. I think it would be easier to lose you than find out you didn't want to be with me this way again.

You stayed silent, you had just tortured yourself with your inner monologue as it was. "You are absolutely shaking," Rooster said, softly, maybe now regretting his idea and his fat fucking mouth just a little. "I think it's time to get you out of the water."

"I'm okay," you lied as he rubbed your arms where he could see the goose pimples rise. He couldn't stop the shuddering even in his stranglehold.

"Out you get, kid."

You nodded thankfully. The adrenaline coursing through your veins was not enough to keep you warm and only caused you to tremble more. "Sorry," you said as he released you from his clutches and moved before he could say anything else.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Rooster sighed, watching you make your way to the beach. He knew he'd scared you. You knew he was opening his heart to you, and just like Natasha joked about your commitment fear, maybe it wasn't too far off the mark and that made him sad for all that you had missed and what you could miss out on. He began to follow you as you sat back near all the gear you'd removed, closing in on yourself. Rooster ran the last little while up the beach and retrieved his jacket, putting it over your shoulders. "You okay, kid? You're blue."

"Can't stop shaking," you could only reply and he swore he heard your teeth chatter. "But I'm okay."

"Come on, let's get you home," he tossed all the gear except the flowers into his jacket and tucked it under his arm then offered you his hand to help you up. He used a little more force, driving you into him and he wrapped you into his arms - he was very good at bringing you close and he knew, not once had you fought it. "I didn't want to scare you before. I'm sorry I was so forward."

You gave a little shrug. "Don't worry about it, Rooster. I'm just a big girl with big problems," you said simply.

"Do you think you know... why you don't want to get close to me?" he asked, almost not wanting to know the answer.

You looked up at him and he knew the kicker was coming. "You have I have very different daddy issues," you told him. "When my dad left, I thought he'd come back. For years I thought I could try and make him want us again... but my sister and I weren't enough and if he could leave us, who he was supposed to love so fucking easily, it doesn't give you much confidence as an adult. He picked another family over us, I have other siblings I don't even know. The shit sticks."

Holy shit, Rooster thought, his knuckles rubbing against your back. He paused and held you tightly. He didn't know that... hell, he did but certainly not to that deep an extent and maybe your issues were a little more deeply rooted than Natasha had alluded to. He certainly couldn't blame you for that.

"You mean something to me, and ruining anything with you would destroy me," you continued. "I appreciate our friendship and that comfort that brings me."

He nodded. It felt like a kiss-off, that was for sure. "I wasn't asking for the rest of our lives," he said quietly.

"I know," you pulled back, needing to be completely out of his reach. "But I just don't know what to tell you right now."

"And that is the end of our first fake date," Rooster said, hating to admit he was kind of relieved as you got back to your apartment. He followed you to the front door and wanted you to feel as safe as you could in his presence because you hadn't said it... but everything had changed, and he knew it too. He didn't expect the night to go like this, but he knew, like you... things couldn't be the same again now.

You gave him a gentle smile and his heart fluttered, he'd always loved your smile, but shit... it was his now. He left your heels neatly at the stoop. "I hope today wasn't a total bust for you. Now you know how good I am at ruining good things," you poked fun at yourself. "It's a wicked character trait."

He sighed, dropping his eyes. "Why would you think that being honest with me would ruin anything?" he had to ask, putting his hands in his pockets. "Don't you think I appreciate that more?"

"I dunno," you leaned back against the door as he looked back at you, chewing your lip and God, he wanted to be the one chewing that lip. Vulnerability to most people could be seen as a red flag but to him? You were telling him things that you'd never told anyone, and that was almost sacred and it would always mean more. He knew you trusted him, but made him uneasy that it wasn't with your heart. "Do you?"

He rolled his eyes, a faint grin on his face. "Yes. I do appreciate that more. I've learned more about you tonight than I have in the last 30 years, which is kind of awesome... and terrifying."

"Terrifying?" you repeated, a little disappointed as he stepped closer.

"If you think for one second that you scaring me is a bad thing, you are kidding yourself," of this he was certain. He wasn't scared to be out of his comfort zone with you.

You finally smiled and shook your head gently. "I had a wonderful time tonight. Thank you, Rooster. I owe you, big time."

"Don't be crazy. I drank top-shelf booze, ate more cake than I have eaten for years, and I got to spend my night with you. We'll call it even."

"Well, thank you. It really meant a lot. And it won't happen again, there are no weddings or other OTT celebrations in the foreseeable future."

"That's a shame," he laughed quietly.

There was a slight beat before your rationality kicked in. "Well, I should go in," you told him, pushing back off the door and reaching for your keys in your clutch. "I'm sure you've got an early morning."

"Class," he acknowledged.

You nodded. There would always be something. "Goodnight, Rooster," you said as you unlocked the door and took a step in before pausing. Rationality be damned. "Unless you wanna come in?" you called softly in the dead quiet of the night. You could see his brain working a million miles a moment.

This wasn't something you and Rooster did, you didn't hang out together this way, it was always in a group, always someone else to play the distraction. "Yeah, I really do," he admitted, standing before you. The air around you had changed and you swore it wasn't just you that noticed it. For the first time tonight, his nervousness was evident and he put his palm on your cool cheek. Licking his lips, he admitted, "I really wanna come in," he said quietly, resting his forehead against yours.

His eyes searched yours as you pushed the door open and your hand found his. He followed willingly, quietly kicking the front door closed as you led him down the small hallway to your living room. Low lit from the lamp you'd left on for your late arrival, Rooster was interested to check out your place. Quaint, but it was quintessentially you. Linen in neutral and blue, a stash of books on the coffee table. A home. "Do you want a drink?" you asked.

Erring on the side of caution, he responded 'water'. He was starting to cut it fine of being in a proper state for the following morning and while he could take his liquor, the last thing he wanted was a hangover in an F-18. You came back to him with a cool glass and he gave you a small smile of thanks. He tossed his suit jacket on the end of the couch, finally happy to be rid of the silly thing.

"Do you mind if I get changed? This dress is clogged with sand, it's wet and damp."

"Course not. Go make yourself comfy," he said with a small smile as he watched you walk away before he preoccupied himself with the endless photos on your wall. A tasteful aesthetic of beautiful white frames with a mix of colour and black and white photos stored in them, he felt the love and consideration you'd put into the curation of images. And holy shit, if it wasn't you on his Mom's hip. You were crying and she was trying to appease you in any way she could. He took the photo from the wall and you wandered back a few minutes later, hair down, oversized Lakers t-shirt and you saw what he stared at.

"Mom said I had just been told I couldn't get an ice cream from the ice cream truck," you filled him in. Rooster actually laughed.

"That's the cutest fucking thing I ever heard."

"And Carole was trying to tell me she could get me ice cream from your place even though my mom was saying no, but I didn't want it anyway because it didn't come from the ice cream man. Naturally."

"That's amazing. This is about the last photo I would have ever expected to have seen, you know?"

"You can have it if you want. I mean, I'm a screaming three-year-old, but your mom looks absolutely beautiful."

"Always," he said softly and put the photo back carefully on the wall. "You keep it, it gives me something to see when I am here."

You shrugged easily and took a seat on the couch. He took a hint and went to join you, taking a cool sip of water to regulate. This was just not how he saw the night going. Sure, he was a man, he had eyes in perfect working order. He wouldn't lie and say he hadn't memorised every curve of your body, your smile and that absolutely devastating self-deprecating wit but there were plenty of other distractions in his wake. But here you were, right before him. And you, at that moment, were perfect but he didn't know what you wanted from him and it ate him alive.

"What time is class tomorrow?"

"Eight," he replied.

You gently reached for his hand, avoiding his eyes and tracing over the callouses and his lifelines. "I'm sorry about before," you said finally. "I am really good at finding ways to make a night nosedive."

He shook his head, laying an arm against the length of the couch in hopes you'd shift just a little closer again. "No, fuck no. Please don't apologise."

"You know more about me tonight than most people know in a lifetime. I'm really not the sharing kind."

"That... I knew," he with a smile. "I kind of figured we were a bit alike that way anyway. But it gives me a little bit of hope. I'll weasel my way in," he said confidently. "You'll regret opening yourself up to me," he teased as you laughed heartily.

"Using my trauma against me," you fist-pumped and he was so relieved you could see the funny side to it as he scooted a little closer since you didn't. "Awesome."

"I promise I never would do that," he said sincerely. "I have enough baggage to take everyone in this damn town out."

"That's true," you agreed. "What a mess we are."

"You're not a mess. You have your reasons, just like I do," he let go of your hand and reached into his shirt, pulling out his dog tags. "These have been driving me mad all night. Think they're imprinted into my chest..."

"Can I see?" you asked as he shrugged and slipped it over his head, gently putting it over yours and letting the tags jangle across your heart. You picked it up and looked at the imprints of his name. "Bradley N. Bradshaw," you spoke. "What do you think your parents were thinking when they gave you more or less the same first and last names?"

He laughed loudly. "Bradley was my mom's dad's name," he explained. "And it was the 80's. I guess they thought it just sounded cool. They didn't think of what it might be like for me at 34."

You grinned, tracing the bumps of his ID. "I forgot what these felt like. Dad's, Grandpa's. Having them in my hands like they were a toy, and what they really stand for."

Rooster didn't speak. He understood what you meant without having to go into it.

"Roost?"

He hummed in reply.

"Have you thought about settling down?"

"I've thought about it," he shrugged simply. "I haven't really found anyone who I want to settle down with. Last thing I want is something that doesn't last. I want to feel like my parents did - I can hardly remember it... but the way Mom spoke about Dad after he died? That's something to strive for, you know? I know she was sick... but she really died of a broken heart in the end," he said quietly.

Holy shit... you thought.

"When I find the one, I'll know," he added, taking your hand back into his and this time, he avoided your gaze as he drew circles around the pads of your palm. "I'm sure of it." He was sure of it.

"And here I was thinking you loved being a bachelor and the notoriety of the Navy," you said, and he appreciated the teasing as he laughed, scratching his neck.

"I mean, yeah. There are some benefits to not settling," lifting his gaze back to you, he pondered again. "I'm not really that guy that falls quickly."

You nodded, you knew what that felt like and you knew he was growing weary of sharing hour, so you decided to make things more interesting. "I've asked Natasha this and was not remotely surprised with her response. But I'll ask you too because I know you wouldn't lie to me... What's the greater thrill: flying... or fucking, Rooster?"

Rooster chuckled quietly. "That is going directly for the jugular," you saw his lips move, but sounds didn't follow through. "I love flying," he looked up. "My fate is sealed, but the right person? Jesus, fucking the right person could make you wanna give it all up, you know?"

"No, I don't," you pressed, your brain trying to decipher his answer. "That's why I asked."

He smiled, a small tint of red creeping up to his cheeks. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"I think I like making you squirm," you said simply as dropped his eyes, coy all of a sudden.

"Oh, I get it now," he thought about it. "If it was life and death, I would, I can't believe I'm saying this... but I'd fly."

"Oh, my God," your jaw may have hit the floor. It just was not the response you were expecting but told you a lot about Rooster's priorities.

"As I said, if it was the right person..." he tried to over-correct himself as you bit back your grin, covering your mouth with your joined hands.

"I'm speechless," you continued to needle him.

"Okay, if this is the little game we want to play - " he announced, smacking the top of your hand.

Oh, fuck.

"My turn, then," he said straightening up and you panicked, and he grinned because he could see you were clearly panicking. "Why haven't you really settled? You could have found the guy that it could have all worked with. You're smart, fucking hilarious, beautiful. Now don't get me wrong... but for most guys, that's all they need. We're not overly complex creatures."

"Honestly?"

His hand that was in yours clamped down and was trapped in his strong grasp. "Honestly."

"I don't think I'm ever going to find what I'm looking for. I haven't found someone that can keep my attention for long enough."

He stayed silent, he wasn't convinced.

You grunted and continued. "I date. A lot. I am just not broadcasting how average these dudes are I'm dating. Why do I want to spend my time with someone with who I don't spark with?"

"Do you really have a problem with commitment?" he asked pointedly.

"No, I have a problem with assholes," you replied smartly. "You haven't settled down, do you have a problem with a commitment?" you threw back.

He rubbed his moustache and he considered his answer. "No, I'm content with not being ready to settle down yet."

"So, yeah. You kind of have a problem with commitment," you laughed as he nudged you.

"I realise I'm in my prime," he shrugged, giving his ego receiving a nice self-stroking. You didn't mind Rooster talking himself up, it was incredibly sexy, truth be told. He was generally pretty modest about all that kind of stuff and kept his business to himself but really, he wasn't completely unlike his friends and co-workers. He knew he good a good-looking dude, his voice could turn you inside out (you figured), he could command a presence fairly easily, and women were putty in his hands. It wasn't a lot of effort on his behalf.

Grinning widely, you snuck closer to him, sitting on your knees and he watched his hands fall to his thighs as you released yourself from his grasp. God, you loved making him writhe and he dared you to ask what you were thinking. "I'm not stupid, Rooster. I know you get a handful of numbers when we go out."

"How many of those girls do you think I call?" he asked, thoughtfully. He knew you were getting off on this, taking the focus off you and pinning it on him. He didn't mind, he knew you were enjoying this little game of cat and mouse, and you weren't really offended by any of his questions, so he couldn't be either.

"You tell me," you whispered.

He adjusted his posture and he took your chin in his palm, his thumb imprinting on your chin. God, you were right there, so close... desperate to be kissed. "I like the chase," his voice low. "But the chase isn't all that much a challenge much anymore," he admitted and his wrist started beeping. 4am. He needed to go. He silenced it. "Saved by the bell," he announced. "That's my alarm."

"And just when we were getting to the juicy bits," you sighed as he kept your gaze, a small smile on his face.

"We can continue this if you like. At a more respectable hour."

"No thank you," you said quickly and he chuckled quietly.

"I'm not surprised by that."

You smiled shyly. "Sorry."

"Fuck, you're so beautiful, do you know that?" he couldn't stop himself from saying. It just had to be said and put out there. Great, now it was done, he reasoned. You didn't break his gaze, you were daring him to make a move. He licked his lips and had to laugh. He'd already made the move. If you wanted him, he decided... the ball was in your court. Come and claim me, he wished.

"Roost?" you said again.

He raised an eyebrow in reply.

"Stay."

"No," he said, sitting forward. Fight for me.

You got to your feet and pushed him back against the couch, a small grunt bristling as you stepped between his wide legs. He reached for your hamstrings, his hands massaging against your bare skin as he raised his eyes to you. It was powerful and intimate and he didn't know if he trusted himself to be touching you like this.

"If you've got something to say... this would be the time to say it," his voice thick with desire, daring you.

"Stay," you repeated, your fingers coiling into his sun-kissed ringlets, giving them a gentle tug as he slowly licked his lips.

"Gonna need more than that," he told you, pulling you flush against him, helping you straddle him, his arms in a vice grip around you.

"Stay for me."

He bristled a laugh as you reached for a button on his shirt, dainty fingers making light work of the straining material over his chest. "Think I'm gonna just fuck you after all this?" he removed your hands, placing them back in your lap where he silently prayed you'd keep them because his strength was waning and if you tried really hard, you'd have him exactly where you wanted him. "You really wanna make this about a quick fuck and I just up and leave?" he shook his head. "I think you know by now I want a little more than that."

"What do you want, Rooster?" you asked, your fingers tracing his scars, finding one on his jaw you were particularly fond of and tracing it, feeling him tremor beneath you. "Tell me," you said reaching for the hem of your shirt and he knew he was going for martyrdom as he held your shirt down, whispering a curse. "You don't want me?" you asked, easing back just a little, shocked and a little more than embarrassed.

"More than anything. Can't you fuckin' see that?" he took your face in his palms and he could see your resolve crumble, breaking him as your eyes shone with tears. "That's why we gotta wait."

Your gaze dropped, you hadn't felt rejected like this in a long time. You didn't feel sexy, you didn't feel desired and you absolutely did not feel like he wanted you regardless of the apparent sincerity of his words.

"Listen to me," his voice raspy from alcohol and exhaustion. "Tonight, before tonight," he confided. "I've thought about taking you in every position my mind could imagine. But every one of them was crude and in my mind, pure fantasy. Why do you think I didn't even think about saying no to any of this tonight? All these years and all we have to show for us is a cheap fuck? I got a little more respect for you than that, baby girl. I wanna turn you inside out," he whispered against your skin. "Why do you think I never made a move before? If you give me the green light, I will absolutely pray to you."

You had forgotten how to breathe and he kept your eyes locked to his.

"I want to worship you," he told you, repeating your name like a mantra. "Don't you get it?"

The blood was pumping so loud in your ears that you were finding it hard to focus. You were drawn out of your stupor as his alarm started buzzing on his wrist again. He was getting later.

"I gotta go," he murmured, his face so close. "Just think about it, okay?" he said quietly, kissing your temple.

"That will be the problem," you confided as he hummed.

"I hope so," he helped detangle yourself from him, letting you stand although your legs were absolutely jelly. He smiled at you finally, thoroughly wretched, and all due to him. "So many things I want to do to you," he breathed. "But now, I gotta go." He'd been short on time before, but nothing as bad as this made him feel.

"I'm not asking you to stay again," you threatened pathetically, and he heard the lies as clearly as you did.

He nodded. But he couldn't and he knew he didn't have to explain his duty... because of anyone who knew him, you understood this most. "See me out?" he asked.

"Okay," you murmured, following him by the hand down the hallway. You unlocked the door, and he pushed it closed again, leaving his palm and weight against it. You raised a surprised eyebrow.

"I just can't - " he closed his eyes, dropping everything he was holding and grasping your face tenderly between his calloused palms. "Please think about this."

"And if I fuck it up?" you asked, scared as reality started to kick in.

"What if I do?" he challenged. "Do we not owe it to ourselves to find out?"

You nodded, almost pained, pressing your hands to his chest because you needed the last few touches before he left you. "Yes, we do," and with that, his lips were on yours. Soft, unobtrusive, it felt like you'd been kissing him your whole life. Familiar and right, you didn't realise how long you'd been waiting for this. He was such a good kisser, and there was no going back now. The words were out there... his kiss had tainted you.

His hands left your face, tangling into your hair, it felt incredible. He smiled against your lips and lightly pulled back. "You only needed to say yes," he told you, holding your face, his warm hazel eyes dancing and he kissed you again, a little rougher this time, his large hands tangling into your hair, tugging at strands as they moved to your back, dangerously close to your ass. "I'm holding back so bad right now, because the second I give in, I will stay."

"Can't you call in?" you asked hopefully, reaching for his lips again, your hands drifting to his hips and his head fell back with a quiet sigh. He pleaded for your hands anywhere further north.

"If I don't front up today... every single person we know will know exactly where I am... and why," he said, voice laced in mirth.

You told him softly, "I will make it worth your while."

He groaned loudly, his body already ready and willing, pressed unyielding against you. "I believe you," he breathed. "The idea of being with you will be all I'll be able to think about today. God damn," he hissed, his alarm going off again. "Can I see you later?"

"I think that's a good idea."

He gave a small smile, pushing some hair from your eyes. "Good morning, fake girlfriend," he kissed you gently again, let go of you to collect his gear at your feet and forced himself into opening the door, stepping over the threshold purposefully. He leaned back and kissed you once more. "I'll call you later," he breathed, trying to gather some resolve.

"Tonight?"

He nodded. "Tonight."

"Okay. Good morning, fake boyfriend." But now... there was nothing fake about it.

"Oh, before I forget," Rooster pointed at you. You raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe, the adrenaline of the evening waning as he started to wander away. "What are you doing the last Saturday of next month?"

You outwardly shrugged. At this point you didn't know how today would even pan out as he wandered back to you, lips painfully close to yours, his arms slipping around your waist again and you didn't want him to let go. "I dunno. Why?"

"I got a wedding invite through the week," he smiled kindly and you bit back a laugh. "Thought maybe you'd like to go with me..."

"Think you can keep this fake dating thing going until then?" you asked, caressing his cheek.

"I'm pretty confident we may not be fake dating then..." he said quietly, kissing you just one more time.

"Ballsy of you to assume."

He nodded. "Yep," his eyebrow quirked.

"Do you have to wear your dress uniform?"

"Yes," he sighed, recalling your first conversation.

"Damn. This suit is really good," you playfully teased him, knowing his dress uniform would likely bring you to your knees. White or blue, you didn't care. It would be utter carnage.

"I don't even think a dry cleaner would bring this back to its original glory," he admitted with a chuckle.

"Shame."

"Jesus Christ, I want to stay. Please tell me to leave," his eyes fluttered closed.

You smiled as he took a wide step back. "You'd better go."

He nodded, thankful for your push. "I'll see you later," he said and forcibly turned away, his feet taking him away from you and when he was out of your view, you felt the weight of his dog tags on your chest.

"Oh, shit."

masterlist.

A/N: Want to learn more about these crazy kids? Here we go!

The Relationship Experience - prologue

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bradshawsbitch · 1 year

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little wallflower | bradley bradshaw x hearing impaired!reader

disclaimer: hello all. i wrote this for all of my lovelies who have loss of hearing, or have any type of hearing impairment, or am hearing and want to read a cute little fic. i myself am hearing, and i took a bit of inspiration from me being bradley, seeing as i work with a wonderful person who's deaf, and they are SO helpful and encouraging in my journey to get better at signing. if there are any inaccuracies, i apologise profusely - i tried my best to research what i could. seeing as i'm not american, i am learning ssl, and hope that I got the american signs right. please tell me what you think?<3

warnings: ignorance about hearing disabilities (nothing malicious at all, just good ol' norm thinking), bob being the mvp and a sweetheart, cursing. no use of y/n.

word count: 2.5K.

description: Bradley had seen you sitting on your own many times, and was bewildered as to why no one was talking to you.

◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇─◇◇─◇──◇

Bradley had noticed you a few times, often sitting by yourself nursing a beverage. Sometimes you were looking at your phone, and other times you were just observing the surroundings, smiling softly at the people who milled around. Bradley had never really seen you interact with anyone at all, except for ordering beverages from Penny, and then you always showed her your phone - something that puzzled Rooster a little. Perhaps you wanted to see if she had a particular drink that wasn’t too easy to get ahold of? Either way, he was enthralled by you. The way your soft smile lit up your face, and the way you seemed to be a little bit of a wallflower intrigued him. He also found himself wondering why you were always sitting alone. He’d only seen you once with another person, a friend who was gesticulating as you laughed - it was a very pretty sound, he decided, before he was ripped away by Payback to play pool.

Bradley always walked into the Hard Deck thinking that this would be the night he’d go over and talk to you - ask what you were drinking, where you were from, if you’d like to go out with him… but every time he chickened out, afraid that such a pretty person wouldn’t want a ruddy naval aviator who smelled of jet fuel and couldn’t stay in one place for too long. He kept his distance for a few weeks, stealing longing glances whenever he could.

One day, as he was sipping his beer slowly, Phoenix approached him with a roll of her eyes “When are you gonna make a move, Rooster? You’ve been staring for weeks,” she inquired, raising a brow at her friend.

“Make a move? Rooster?” Hangman smirked, letting his sentence hang in the air to rattle Rooster a little “who are we talking about?” Jake continued, his eyes scanning the filled bar. Natasha nodded her head towards you, and Hangman followed her gaze.

“Oh them? Don’t bother Rooster, they completely ignored me the other day. Wouldn’t even respond to my question,” this had Bob scoffing out an uncharacteristic laugh, that sounded somewhat like he was telling Jake that he was being an idiot. Hangman furrowed his brows, looking at Bobs’ smiling face “what’s with him?” He muttered as the WSO went up to get another bottle of water.

Rooster simply shrugged, watching you make your way over to the bar, near where Bob was stood.

“C’mon Roos, go talk to them!” Phoenix gave him a gentle push in your direction, and Bradley could feel butterflies thrash around his midsection as he cleared his throat before approaching you. You seemed to be deep in thought, waiting for Penny to help Bob with his order.

Standing next to you, Rooster looked down and smiled at you, before saying hi. You didn’t seem to notice at all, and Bradley suddenly wondered if perhaps Jake was right - you completely ignored him. Now, Rooster thought of himself as well raised - he didn’t want to touch you without your consent, but he also didn’t want to give up, even though being ignored was a pretty big sign you weren’t exactly interested.

He had to, though - he had to hear you say you weren’t interested before he gave up. So he reached out gingerly, only hesitating for a second before softly tapping your shoulder. You jumped as if you hadn’t noticed him standing there at all, and as you turned to look at him, your eyes had turned wide with surprise.

“Hi, I’m so sorry. I’m Rooster— I mean, my name’s Bradley, but uh I’m called Rooster by— uh… I was just wondering if I could buy you a drink?” He was rambling. Since when didn’t he know how to speak to a beautiful person? He could hear Bob barely containing his laughter behind him, and he had to fight the sudden urge to throw an elbow back to shut him up. You blinked, opening and closing your mouth a couple of times, with a pained expression. Damn. He’d blown it. He sighed and nodded slowly “I get it, sorry to have bothered you,” he felt dejected as he turned to leave, but stopped as he felt your hand on his wrist, and heard a sound that resembled “No”. It was soft, and little too quiet to actually make it audible in the loud, boisterous environment you were in.

He turned back, looking at you quizzically as you lifted a finger into the air - signalling him to wait as you tapped away on your phone. A frustrated noise left your throat as you scrambled to find the notes app you’d installed on your phone.

“They can’t hear you,” Bob spoke up from behind Rooster, coming to stand beside his pilot friend. Bradley looked at him, bewildered - what did that mean? Bob quickly waved a hand in front of your face, and Rooster slapped his arm - what the fuck was he doing? That was rude as hell. Bob only shook his head and laughed at Bradley’s exasperated look.

As you looked up, Bob smiled at you before signing with his hands swiftly. Rooster took in how your facial expression went from relieved to elated, smiling as you replied with your hands.

“Do you want me to translate what my idiot friend said?” Bob spoke softly as he signed, making that beautiful laugh fall from your lips again. Oh my god, Rooster thought, both he and Hangman were fucking idiots. You couldn’t hear them. He almost groaned at his ignorance.

He thought of himself as a man that was very ‘with it’. He considered himself a feminist, he thought everyone should be treated the same and that no person held any particular advantage over any other - he felt that people could believe in what they wanted and say what they wished as long as it didn’t hurt or put others at risk. But he had actually never really ransacked himself about his knowledge about hearing disabilities, which he felt slightly ashamed over now.

He watched you nod with a big grin, and he had to trust that Bob translated what he said (favourably, he hoped, perhaps Bob would take pity on him and wouldn’t translate into ASL how he’d fumbled it all). He watched you furrow your brow as Bob signed something that Bradley could only guess was “Rooster”, tapping his forehead twice with his thumb, his middle finger and pointer finger forming a V. He couldn’t be sure, but it made sense in his mind.

You locked eyes with him and his heart stuttered a bit as you smiled, repeated the sign Bob had made to his forehead and softly spoke “Rooster?” And then pointed right at him.

“They’re asking if you’re called Rooster” Bob smiled, he didn’t doubt that Bradley had surely understood, but Bob could tell that Rooster felt a little frozen under your gaze - and he figured he’d help kickstart this conversation by breaking Bradley’s little trance.

“Oh, yeah! I’m Rooster. Or Bradley.” He looked at you and then Bob before hesitantly trying to copy the sign they had made. You laughed and moved closer, adjusting his hand so it was at the correct angle before nodding at him with a big smile. Oh god, those butterflies came back with a vengeance having you standing so close to him.

“How do you sign ‘thanks’?” Rooster almost panicked, looking at Bob - was he being rude by asking Bob instead of you? Bob just smiled and put his fingertips, his palm open but not spread, to his chin before sliding it outwards ‘thank you’ he said softly. Rooster repeated the sign to your smiling face, and he felt as if he could stare at the way your eyes twinkled happily forever. It made his heart clench.

“I’m sorry that I assumed you could hear me,” Bradley said and watched as Bob made a fist, circling it in the middle of his chest before signing something else that was too fast for Bradley to differentiate. You just smiled at him and shook your head, Bradley took that to mean “don’t worry about it”, your facial expressions were so vivid and beautiful to him.

You signed rapidly to Bob for a few moments, holding your phone out briefly before you stopped. Bob smiled and turned to Rooster “They say they’re pretty good at reading lips, and that you two can use the notes app or texts if they can’t understand. You’re on your own now, pal” Bob smiled, patting Bradley’s shoulder.

“Bob, thank you so much. I had no idea you knew how to sign!” Bradley sighed, really feeling surges of gratitude to the WSO. Bob smiled before replying that his parents couldn’t hear, and he learned to sign and talk at the same time.

“That’s fascinating,” Rooster replied with a smile as you signed something to Bob that made him laugh. “What did they say?” Bradley asked eagerly, and Bob shook his head. “They said they appreciated me translating, but that they had a hard time with my accent” Bob smiled at Roosters bewildered face.

“I’ll educate you later. Have fun, man!” He simply said before retreating to the pool table. You took a hold of his hand gingerly, and Bradley felt his heartbeat pick up slightly at the feeling of your warm skin against his.

Making your way to the table you’d occupied earlier, he sat down opposite you. He felt a little out of his depth at first, talking whilst your eyes flickered between his lips and his eyes - but as he got more used to you taking a moment to write down a reply, or speaking shorter sentences in response, he felt as he would with any other person. He just wished he could sign as efficiently as Bob did, it would make everything so much easier for you. He wanted to learn how to sign so you wouldn’t have to concentrate so much on reading his lips. Why hadn’t he learned from the jump? It seemed silly now that not everyone was taught sign language in school.

You spent the night in that booth, laughing and getting to know each other, finding that you had quite a lot in common. Bradley thought you were just the sweetest, and he tried his best to not offend you or ask stupid questions - though sometimes they slipped out anyways. Like when he asked what type of music you listened to. He could kick himself. He actually apologized profusely before he saw you shake your head before typing on your phone.

“I hear a little bit. They call my impairment ‘severe’, but I can still hear some loud noises, and I love music that has a lot of bass in it - I love the thrum of the melody it gives” you smiled kindly at him, and he smiled back, grateful that you didn’t seem to mind explaining the most obvious things to him.

“It’s okay to ask about, you know? I don’t mind if there’s anything else you’re curious about,” you’d typed in after a beat, showing him the screen. He read the words quickly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, speaking slowly he asked how it was that you spoke - could you hear yourself? He felt stupid asking, but your voice was so sweet and soft, he was puzzled as to how one could form words without hearing them.

You smiled, typing away on your phone. You’d apparently lost your hearing after having learnt to talk, which made it easier to maintain the feeling of speaking certain sentences and words. You explained you preferred sign language, just because you couldn’t tell if your volume was too loud or too quiet, which explained why you’d spoken so softly, not wanting to seem like you were shouting.

Bradley smiled, mesmerized about your abilities, and he told you so as well. He could tell you were blushing at his compliment and that made him smile all the wider. Suddenly you took hold of his hand and held it to your throat before typing a quick “I can tell somewhat from how the vibrations feel in my throat when I speak - but it’s hard to tell what volume it’s at” and then you said “Rooster” out loud with that sweet voice Bradley had already come to love, even if it didn’t sound like everyone else. Perhaps that’s why he liked it so much. He could feel the vibrations that thrummed in your vocal chords, and he smiled. He’d never thought about any of these things.

You lifted your hand, raising a brow as if to ask a question, and he nodded - you placed your hand on his Adam’s apple. He laughed before saying that he thought you were beautiful. You smiled, looked down and blushed again before clearing your throat and slowly saying “You have a nice voice,”

Bradley beamed at the compliment “Yeah?” You nodded before typing “I can tell” with a little wink. God, he was a goner.

All too soon, Penny announced last round - and he made sure to swap numbers with you. You emptied your drink and typed out “I had a great time tonight. I’ll text you?” You smiled uncertainly, and he typed back “So did I. Please do text me so I know you’ve gotten home safe?” You grinned and nodded before wrapping your arms around his neck in a parting hug, waving goodbye sweetly before making your way out of the Hard Deck.

“Wow,” Rooster let out a breath as he made his way back to his friends who were slow to make it to the front door. Making eye contact with Hangman, Bradley groaned and said “Hangman, we’re fucking idiots,”

“I don’t even want to talk about it,” Hangman replied with a similar type of “fuck I’m dumb” groan. Bob was silently laughing behind them “That was absolutely golden,” he sniggered, throwing his arms around their shoulders and shaking them “Just two dumb pilots, huh?” He and Phoenix laughed.

“Jesus,” Rooster shook his head. “Bob. This was 'Rooster', right?” He signed and Bob nodded, laughing again “and 'thank you'” he repeated what Bob had showed him earlier. The WSO smiled and nodded at his friends eagerness.

“Can you help teach me sign language, Bob? I’d love to be able to talk to them better” Bradley sighed, wishing he could learn it all right this second. Bob smiled, he could tell this meant a lot to his friend, so therefore he said

“Of course, Brad. We’ll start with the alphabet tomorrow"

#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster x reader #rooster x oc #rooster x you #tgm fic #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #my writing

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 1 year

Text

Rooster Master List

Back to Main Master List

The Forgotten Nest (and AU Series) Master List

Multi-Part Stories

Endings and Beginnings Part 2 - Fem!Reader (Wife!Reader)

CW: Pregnancy, Labor and Delivery (Part 2)

Summary: It's Maverick's retirement party but Rooster's far more concerned about you, his pregnant wife, than anything else.

COMPLETED

The Ironies of Life Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 - Fem!OC (Naomi)

CW: (Unplanned) Pregnancy, Exes, Angst, Mentions of Vomit

Summary: A few weeks after breaking up with her long-term boyfriend because he wouldn't commit to marriage and kids, Naomi finds out that she's pregnant with his baby.

COMPLETED

One Captain's Daughter Part 2 Part 3 - Fem!OC (Amara Mitchell-Blackwood)

CW: Forbidden Relationship, Exes to Lovers

Summary: Amara Blackwood-Mitchell arrives in Miramar for her next assignment. And she can't stop running into familiar faces along the way.

DISCONTINUED

The Benjamin Effect Part 2 - Fem!OC (Kate Benjamin-Mitchell)

CW: Daddy Issues, (Very Much Adult) Age Gap Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, Childhood Rivals to Lovers

Summary: With Maverick and Penny's wedding drawing closer, Rooster is called upon to convince Maverick and Penny's first daughter, Kate, to come around to the idea. Of course, Rooster and Kate have their own history to work through and Kate is definitely not going to make it easy for him.

PART 3 COMING SOON

The Boss [*] Part 2 [*] - Fem!Reader

CW: Bodyguard AU; Power Imbalance; Implied Age Gap (Still VERY MUCH Legal); Stabbing; Death Threats; Referenced Nudity/Showers; Light Angst; Reader is a Bit of a Brat

Summary: You and your bodyguard, Rooster, are at odds when he tries to keep you locked in the safe house.

COMPLETED

If You Met Me First Part 2 - Warrant Officer!Fem!Reader (Echo)

CW: 'In Love with Someone Already in a Relationship' Trope; Bar Fight; Not Healthy Relationship Dynamics; Jealousy

Summary: Rooster confessed to Echo that he was in love with her before the mission. One minor problem: she has a boyfriend.

COMPLETED

The Love of a Princess Part 2 - Simpson!OC (Princess Alexandra)

CW: Royal AU; Set in 1920s/1930s; Bodyguard AU; Implied Very Much Legal Age Gap; Sexism; Angst; War and Politics; Eventual Non-Descript and/or Implied Sexual Content

Summary: When Princess Alexandra is sent to the countryside to allow her father, King Beau, to deal with pressing state issues, she views it as a banishment. But with Lieutenant Bradshaw of the Royal Navy accompanying her, perhaps she can finally find the freedom she's been searching for her whole life.

DISCONTINUED

Three Generations Universe (Dad!Brad)

Dad! and Husband!Rooster. Wife!Reader is not name nor is she physically described. OC!Bradshaw son is named Kai with the 'callsign' Duckie. Limited physical description (i.e. 'he has his dad's smile') but nothing that would indicate race/ethnicity

CW: (Referenced) Biological Child (Kai), I don't think there's anything major, but this will be updated as extra segments are uploaded

COMPLETED SERIES

Three Generations

Summary: Rooster is married. Maverick found out when the paperwork got filed with the Navy, but he doesn’t have a chance to ask Rooster about it until after the mission

A Day with Duckie

Summary: Maverick takes Kai to the zoo for the day and finds out why Rooster was so insistent upon needing a babysitter.

One Shots

Wedding Day - Fem!Reader

CW: Mentions of Pregnancy

Summary: It's Bradley's wedding day and he can't wait to see his wife.

First Word - Fem!Reader (Wife!Reader)

Summary: You and Rooster make a bet about your daughter's first word.

First Time Father - Gen Fic

CW: Hospital Visits, Light Angst

Summary: It's Rooster's first time alone with his baby daughter. But when she comes down with a fever under his watch, Rooster seriously doubts his abilities as a father.

Don't Go to Bed Angry - Fem!Reader (Wife!Reader)

CW: Arguments; Martial Strife; Storming Off; Some Angst

Summary: You and Rooster have an argument and he storms off.

Grand-Mav and Baby Chick - Gen Fic

CW: Parental Stress; Implied IceMav

Summary: Rooster needs a babysitter for his son last minute. Maverick volunteers.

Lost in History - Kazansky!OC (Delilah)

CW: Cheating/Infidelity (Does Not Actually Occur, But is Discussed); Fighting (Verbal and Briefly Physical); Angst; Serious Misunderstandings (You'll See); Anger/Rage; Crying

Summary: Rooster finds his girlfriend and Hangman having dinner one night in Hangman's house. He reacts accordingly.

Bumping Beach Bikini - Wife!Reader

CW: Pregnancy

Summary: Rooster admires the view of his pregnant wife on the beach.

Honey, I'm Home - Wife!Reader

CW: Kids; Talk of Pregnancy but Not Actually

Summary: Rooster comes home from work and takes care of his family.

Merry Ex-Mas - Naval Officer!Reader

CW: Cheating/Infidelity (Not Between Reader and Rooster); Implied Sexual Content/Suggestive Content

Summary: After surprising your boyfriend doesn’t go as planned, you spend Christmas with Rooster.

What if I Never Get Over You? - Naval Aviator!Reader (Callsign: Nova)

CW: Exes To Lovers; Jealousy; Somewhat Toxic Relationships; Implied Sexual Content

Summary: Rooster and Nova broke up a few months ago. With the Dagger Squad party looming, can they prove that they're over each other?

Target Acquired - Female!Reader

Summary: Amelia gets her first period while Rooster is left in charge of her. He is forced to ask for help from the first woman he sees, which just so happens to be you.

Life's Too Short - GN!Reader

CW: Toxic Work Environment; Angst

Summary: Your life has been completely taken over by your toxic job. Rooster gives you the support you need to leave it behind.

#tgm masterlist #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #top gun masterlist #tgm #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #top gun #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw #rooster top gun #rooster bradshaw #rooster #k’s masterlist

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bradshawssugarbaby · 1 month

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Take One For the Team - Bradley Bradshaw x OFC

here's a little sneak peek at a baseball au i've been toying with for literally months! coming soon:

Bradley Bradshaw is the hot-tempered starting pitcher for the Los Angeles Stars. Known as much for his remarkable talent as one of the greatest players on the mound as he is for his notoriously fiery temper, he's just been traded from Philadelphia as a last-ditch effort to salvage his career and reputation.

Emily Parker is a freshly graduated PR rep, brought on by the team after a successful internship the year prior. Tasked with keeping Bradley's volatile behavior in check, Emily finds herself grappling with resentment towards babysitting a player a decade her senior. Her main objective is clear - keep Bradley out of trouble for the season, no matter the cost.

As Bradley and Emily clash over his reckless antics and her strict guidance, they find themselves embroiled in a heated entanglement that threatens to unravel both their careers. Amidst the pressures of professional sports and the relentless scrutiny of the media, they must navigate the delicate balance between loyalty to the team and following their hearts.

one.

to be added to my taglist, please click here!

tagging anyone who might be interested: @mamachasesmayhem @blue-aconite @floydsmuse @nouis-bum @pinkdaisies9285 @shanimallina87 @senawashere @avengersfan25 @dizzybee03 @bellaireland1981 @onceupona-happilyeverafter-love ⚾️

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callsignspark · 7 days

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change your ticket home

a top gun maverick AU

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Sherrie McHone (fem!OC)

summary: After a successful business trip on the West Coast, two Wells Corporation engineers have problems getting back home. Thank god for Bradley Bradshaw, a man who is determined to make their hours waiting in the terminal as enjoyable as possible. And if he and his pretty travel companion (and colleague) get closer along the way? Well that’s just a bonus.

warnings: difficulties of being a woman in a male-dominated field, minor misogyny from coworkers, yearning, pining, Bradley being an absolute sweetheart, it's vaguely alluded to but Sherrie is named after the Steve Perry song, American Airlines bashing bc this fic is based on a real and horrible experience I had a few years ago. and yes, the title is from the one direction song.

word count: 9.8k | masterlist

note: happy saturday! this has been in the works for almost a year and I'm so thrilled to finally be sharing it! this is dedicated to @gretagerwigsmuse, who gave so many wonderful ideas and has continually been a cheerleader for this fic. happy birthday!

Friday, July 15, 2016 | 06:36 AM PST | San Diego, CA

“If I fake a heart attack, we can get out of this meeting, right?”

She looks over at Bradley sprawled in the uncomfortable café chair in his navy suit, his arm slung over the back of her chair. He’s down to just his crisp, white button-up, jacket, and tie abandoned within the first ten minutes of the call.

“Suck it up, we’re almost done.” She rolls her eyes. “And Martin knows you’re a supremely healthy thirty-two-year-old, so no, I don’t think that will work.”

“Sherrie…” His whine is cut off by her hand covering his mouth as she unmutes her microphone and mentally praises his decision to sit so close to her. Not having to pull out both laptops was just an additional perk on top of her ability to silence him.

“That’s correct, Sean. We got them to agree to a small batch trail run for the connectors. We’ll be working together on running them through environmental testing before committing to a full contract.”

“And why are they agreeing to that? Because frankly, it makes no sense to me why they would want to do that.”

Bradley straightens up, his eyes narrowing at the Teams box showing the older man’s initials. “Well, Sean, as Sherrie explained before. Harris hasn’t produced connectors like this before, and they’re interested in the test results, specifically the shock data. So they agreed to take on half the burden so they can use the information for their own use. If this works how we think it will, this will be a huge boost for their business, even if the patent is shared.”

She looks at him, half admonishment and half appreciation, always a little bit amazed when he had her back, no matter how many times he had done it. “The contracts team is drawing up the final agreements and negotiating with their team next week, so best case scenario is we have reports with usable data by the end of the summer. Worst case, it’ll drift into the middle of Q1.”

“That’s great work you guys did out there, thank you. Alright, I think that covers everything we had to talk about today. McHone, Bradshaw - have a safe flight back, and everyone have a good weekend!” Martin ends the call before anyone can add anything.

Bradley laughs. “God, he’s just as sick of Sean as I am. I can’t wait until he retires.”

“He’s not that bad; you’re just grumpy because you had to dress up for the staff meeting, and then Martin said cameras off today.”

“I am upset about that! I will be logging yet another suggestion that we should have casual Fridays and casual travel policy. But I’m more upset because he talks down to you all the time! Like you haven’t been carrying this department on your back since we started ten years ago!”

“Carrying is an exaggeration, Bradley.” She looks up from where she’s putting her laptop away. “I think you have time to change into something comfy before we board.”

“American Airlines Flight 2307 from San Diego to Charlotte, Boarding Group A can now board.”

“Or not.” She giggles as he groans, reaching over to pull her other air pod out of his ear. “Come on, it’s a long flight; you can sleep on the plane. Just be thankful you’re not wearing an underwire bra and heels.”

“I don’t know how you do that.” He mutters, shooing her away when she tries to pick up her carry-on, throwing it over his shoulder alongside his own.

“I don’t either. I’m going to get a massage when we get back to Boston.”

“Ohhh, a massage sounds nice.” He subtly sticks his elbow out for her grab, which she gratefully does, letting his tall frame guide her to their gate. “You know you didn’t have to wear heels, right?”

“You should shut up while I’m still thankful you yelled at Sean for me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sherrie leans her head on his arm as they wait in the priority boarding line, one of the perks of traveling on the company’s dime. Normally, she would worry about being more professional while carrying her work bag that had the Wells Corporation logo embroidered on it, but she can’t bring herself to care. Yesterday’s meetings ran late, and the following client dinner had kept them out until almost midnight. After packing, going to bed late, and having to get up at 3:30AM to get to the airport, she was exhausted.

She takes her bag before they scan their tickets, not fighting when he grabs it again on their walk down the jet bridge.

“Where are you sitting again?”

“I’m in 16C.” She snorts at Bradley’s pout. “What? You knew we weren’t going to be sitting together.”

“But I’m going to be bored all the way back in 21D by myself.”

“Bud, you’re going to fall asleep in the first 30 minutes like you always do, and then I would be stuck for the next four hours with you leaning and drooling on me.”

Bradley whips his head around, “That is a baseless accusation. I do not drool!”

“You 100% definitely do drool, I’ve seen it.” Her smirk widens when his attempt to fight back is cut off by the flight attendants greeting them.

He ushers Sherrie on first, politely nodding to the flight crew before following her down the aisle, ducking down to whisper. “I do not drool.”

“You absolutely do drool. You also snore.”

She can feel eyes on them as they shuffle down the aisle, making eye contact with an older woman who raises her eyebrows in appreciation at the hunk of a man behind her.

This happens everywhere they go.

Bradley is such a gentleman, always opening doors and carrying her bags, that people never believe the two are just friends and coworkers. She’s had complete strangers fight with her when she says there’s nothing between them. Unable to accept that it’s just platonic.

As much as she wishes it could be more.

After years of learning all the little details of each other, she knows they would be good together. Their decade-long friendship allowing her to thoroughly analyze how well their personalities would mesh. They share the same beliefs and have the same interests; they even have overlapping friend groups. They’re made for each other.

On paper.

In reality, it will never happen.

She won’t let it.

“Is this good here?” Bradley’s question interrupts her weekly internal spiral; his big brown eyes blink at her over his shoulder as he puts her bag into the overhead compartment.

“That’s fine. Can you grab my water bottle out of the side pocket?

“Here ya go, ma’am. I’ll meet you by the water foundation when we land, okay?”

She nods, smiling as he hustles back to his seat to avoid a family almost flattening him in their haste to get to their assigned seats.

Her seat neighbors haven’t arrived yet, so Sherrie sits down without bothering to buckle, tucking her work bag under the row in front of her after pulling out her plane kit. Her pencil case from college that she’s repurposed to hold her headphones, phone charger, gum, hand sanitizer, and a few other small necessities.

Her phone buzzes as she’s storing her water bottle and the little bag away in the pocket of the seat in front of her.

Bradley is woken up by his seat neighbor hitting his arm as he reaches to grab a drink, nodding at the guy’s apologetic face before trying to get comfortable again. Alan talked way too much at dinner last night, and it was a struggle to stay awake during the project manager’s third round of gushing over how brilliant and profitable Sherrie’s proposal would be for both companies.

“Sir? This is for you, do you want it?” The muffled question is accompanied by someone shaking his shoulder. He peels open his eyes to see the flight attendant holding out two packets of Biscoff cookies.

His face must be confused enough for the short woman to take pity on him. “Your friend up there said these are your favorite and asked me to give hers to you.”

His heart warms up, taking the treats and saying thank you. He enjoys the cookies, washing them down with the ginger ale he also got, thinking about how well Sherrie knows him. He forces himself to wait for them to finish snack service before he gets up to use the restroom.

“Thank you.” Bradley revels in the way Sherrie jumps when he pops her headphone out, purposefully brushing his lips against her ear. “Hmmm, you were right, your seatmate is cute.”

She glares up at him, a smile threatening to break through. “Isn’t he? He fell asleep five minutes after take off, just like you.”

“Yet, another baseless accusation!”

“I heard you snoring.”

“You shouldn’t lie in front of small children.”

“His mom said he’s seven months old; I don’t think we have to be concerned about teaching him to lie while he’s still in a car seat.”

“Probably shouldn’t chance it, though. Say I don’t snore.”

“You just said I shouldn’t lie. Should probably go to the bathroom before you start holding up traffic.” She puts her headphone back in, wiggling her fingers at him before going back to reading on her phone.

It gives him the strangest sense of déjà vu.

Tuesday, March 25, 2005 | 10:43 AM EST | Charlottesville, VA

“…and he said you had already-” Bradley cuts himself off, realizing she can’t hear him. He chuckles; he should have known better than to just walk up and start talking.

He doesn’t know Sherrie McHone very well. They had taken all the freshman intro to engineering requirements together, and this year their classes had split into their chosen disciplines. His mechanical, hers electrical. But he knows her well enough to know that she can pretty much only be found without her headphones during class.

He remembers the first time they spoke last semester after he accidentally walked right into her. He had told Danny it’s because she’s so much shorter than him, but it’s really because he wasn't paying attention.

Sherrie had only taken one earpiece out to make sure he was okay before continuing onto her class, seamlessly weaving between upperclassmen as she shoved her headphone back in.

“Sherrie?” No response.

He lets out a tiny huff and checks his watch. Normally, he wouldn’t care that she’s clueless to his existence even as he’s right beside her, but he’s got a class soon, and he’s still two buildings away. So he does the only thing he can.

He pops her headphones out and steps back for fear of getting smacked.

Her head whips up, narrowing in on him freakishly fast. “What the fuck, Bradshaw?”

He’s surprised to learn that she knows his name.

“Sorry, Sherrie! I’ve been trying to talk to you for like five minutes, and you somehow haven’t noticed, but I’ve got class in 15 minutes, so I needed to get your attention.”

“Oh…” Her green eyes widen in surprise, the apples of her cheeks turning a light pink. “Sorry about that. What did you need? Wait. How did you find me?”

A fair question.

“Khondker told me where you sit.” He partially fibs.

All semester he had been watching her disappear after EE221, the one class they shared. It had taken him a while, but he was pretty sure he had found her secret study nook in the electrical engineering wing of the building. Their TA had only confirmed Bradley’s theory of where he could find his fellow sophomore.

“I don’t understand this last section we’ve been learning, and Khondker said you had already finished the homework and could help me. So could you?”

“He didn’t help you?” Sherrie raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

“He tried.” Bradley scratches the back of his head, remembering how frustrated the patient man had been after his third attempt at explaining. “I just really don’t understand circuit loops. And he thought having a classmate explain it to me would make it stick. That or he was just so sick of me, he’s pawning me off.”

He watches her think, her pencil rapidly tapping against her notebook, making him nervous.

“I don’t want to be rude, but if you don’t understand current loops, I’m not sure how much help I can be. I understand the material, but I’m not a miracle worker.”

Her bluntness makes him smile. “I’m not expecting miracles, just help with the homework. If you have time.”

“Okay, just as long as you don’t get your hopes up too much.” She grabs a bright pink notebook and opens it up. “So, I’m usually free-”

“I don't want to interrupt, but I do have to get to class, so could we figure out a time later today?”

“Sure, I’ll be here until my class at four. Feel free to sit down if I’m not here; it just means I’m grabbing food.” He nods, backing away. “Wait! Bradley! Go down this hall and out the side door. You’ll be like halfway there already.”

“Awesome, thanks!” He starts to jog down the hallway, looking back to see her putting her headphones back in. Waving back when she smiles and wiggles her fingers at him before going back to her homework.

Friday, July 15, 2016 | 3:16 PM EST | Charlotte, NC

“Our flight got delayed, and I’m hungry.”

Sherrie jumps, not expecting Bradley to get that close to her face three seconds after she exited the bathroom.

“Okay, I could eat. Where do you wan-”

“Auntie Anne’s.”

He’s walking away before she can even process what he said. She allows herself one second to appreciate the way he looks, walking through the concourse - navy slacks fitting his legs perfectly and all their bags thrown over his broad shoulders - before she’s clicking along after him.

“Bradshaw!” He freezes and turns, almost taking a lanky teenager out with her backpack. “Oh my god, Bradley! Be careful! You almost took that kid’s head off.”

His smile is sheepish as she shuffles them over to the wall. “I did not do that on purpose.”

She giggles and takes her backpack from his shoulder. “Yeah, I kinda figured. But you should have seen his face. His life flashed before his eyes. All sixteen years.”

“I can carry that Sherrie.”

“That’s okay, I got it. No! Bradley!”

He ignores her, smiling at her frustrated little stomp when he hands over her tan, cross-body purse out of her work bag. “You just carry that and make sure I don’t take out any toddlers or old ladies.”

“How am I supposed to do that if I’m ahead of you?” She snarks as he steers them toward the food stands.

“You’re smart; I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Bradley laughs when she mocks him under her breath. “I can hear you, smartass.”

“You were meant to, Bradley.”

His heart flutters at the teasing wink she sends over her shoulder. It’s been twelve years since they became friends, and he still feels like that 20-year-old kid who was nervous to talk to the pretty red-headed girl he had a crush on.

He can feel eyes on them as her heels catch people’s attention, and he finds himself glaring at men who are shamelessly staring. Her shoes aren’t loud as they click along on the tile floor, but it’s hard to ignore the beautiful woman striding along in business casual.

It happens everywhere they go.

Sherrie has always been beautiful and painfully unaware of her effect on men. It never matters where they are - at work, the rare baseball game he forces her to attend, happy hour with their friends from school - she always catches attention. It doesn’t bother him because she never reciprocates, and he’s always the one to give her a ride back to her apartment.

Even if he wishes it was their apartment they were going to.

He’s watched her change over the last decade, seen her grow as a person. He’s risen through the ranks with her professionally, the two of them matching each other step for step with each promotion and raise. He’s publicly assured her that her hair still looks good as it’s deepened color with age, now less red and more auburn. He’s privately appreciated the way her body has changed, softer and curvier than when they were kids. Her wide hips are a frequent star in his daydreams.

It's the only place where they’ll ever be in a relationship.

He knows they’d be perfect together. Old friends who know each other so well they don’t even have to talk to communicate sometimes. Whose attitudes fit together like puzzle pieces, perfectly in sync with each other. He knows it won’t happen. Can’t happen.

“Grab us a table, and I’ll get the food.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t fight her about paying, knowing this will be covered under their per diem. “Don’t forget my-”

“You’re frozen lemonade, I know!”

Bradley rolls his eyes at the hand that waves over her shoulder, settling their bags at a table and keeping an eye on Sherrie while sending an update to Mav.

His thumbs hover over the keyboard. He wants to tell his uncle the whole situation - that he’s not afraid to flirt with Sherrie.

“Everything okay?”

Bradley looks up to find her eyebrows furrowed as she sets a tray down.

“All good. Just sending my family an update that we’re delayed.”

She nods, sitting in the chair across from him. “Here’s your mini pretzel dogs, with mustard and a frozen lemonade. This is my pretzel nuggets, cheese sauce, and Diet Coke. Oh! And I got us these cinnamon sugar pretzels to share!”

“Thank you for remembering the mustard.”

“Bradley, when have I ever forgotten the mustard? Here, take some napkins.”

He shoves an entire mini pretzel dog in his mouth in lieu of answering her question, which they both know the answer to. Never. She has never forgotten his love for pretzels with mustard.

They eat in comfortable silence, the way only two friends can, occasionally dunking into each other's sauces as they scroll through their phones.

“Hey, how is your da- oh Bradley! You got mustard on your shirt!” His head snaps down to his shirt, groaning when he sees the yellow blob on his white button-up.

“Fuck! This is new, too!”

Sherrie dives into her bag, muttering about a stain stick, a triumphant noise escaping when she comes up successful. Scooting closer to him, she’s hit with a wave of nostalgia as she helps him clean his shirt.

Friday, April 6, 2007 | 10:12 PM EST | Charlottesville, VA

“You should’ve been gone, knowing how I made you feel!”

Sherrie’s head pops up from the lab reports she’s grading.

“And I should've been gone, after all your words of steel!”

She knows that voice.

“Oh, I must've been a dreamer! And I must've been someone else!”

She knows that voice very well.

“And we should've been over!”

She rushes for the front door, hoping and praying that the idiot she’s become close friends with this year isn’t actually outside her townhouse.

“Oh! Sherrie, our love holds on! Holds on!”

She whips the door open and, sure enough, drunkenly singing to her neighbor's house is Bradley Bradshaw.

“Bradley!” She hisses at him, ignoring the flutters in her stomach when he points his big, goofy grin towards her and not the tulips the soccer girls next door planted in front of their bay window. “What are you doing? It’s 10 PM!”

“You didn’t come.”

“First man to ever care about that.” She mutters, snorting at her joke.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing. What are you doing here?”

His puppy dog eyes are vicious, and she has the urge to slap her hand over her eyes so she doesn’t succumb to their power. “You didn’t come to the party!”

Sherrie sighs, she thought he might be disappointed she didn’t come to the annual Sigma Chi Easter Bash, but she never thought he would actually notice her absence. Or that it would result in a drunken serenade.

“Bradley, I told you I had a lot of grading and might not make it tonight.” She gently reminds him, stifling a laugh when he trips over his own feet while standing still. “You okay?”

“I have to pee. Can I come in?”

She’s pretty sure he’s just making excuses but lets him in any way; she doesn’t need to deal with him getting a public indecency charge on top of everything else. “Shoes off, Bradshaw. Bathroom is right here; I’ll be in the dining room.”

“Yes, ma’am!” He sloppily salutes her, losing his balance and thunking against the wall, one shoe still on.

Sherrie just blinks at him before returning to her spot at the dining room table, holding in the laugh threatening to escape. She settles in her chair, focusing on the mediocre reports her students had turned in.

“I washed my hands!” Bradley’s abrupt entrance startles her. “Can we have a snack? I’m hungry?

She watches in amusement as he shuffles to her fridge, riffling through the shelves before opening the freezer and gasping.

“I love pretzels. Can we make these? Please?”

The box of pretzels belongs to her roommate, but she’s not strong enough to deny Bradley’s big brown eyes two times in a row so she makes a mental note to buy Amna a new box the next time she goes to the store. “Yeah, we can. But no touching the oven when you’re drunk. Go sit down.”

“I’m not drunk!” He argues even as he follows her directions, plopping himself at the table and nosily leafing through her done pile. “Wow, lots of red here.”

“Bradley! Don’t look at those!”

“Why not?”

“Would you want some random student looking through your homework?”

His rebuttal gets cut off by the oven beeping, announcing it’s up to temp. After she pops the tray in the oven, she turns and catches him appreciating the pj shorts riding up her shapely legs.

“What?” Her head cocks in confusion.

“Nothin'… cute shorts.”

“Thank you.” He watches in fascination as she snips at him even while her cheeks turn pink. “It’s almost like I was dressed for comfort and not planning on being interrupted.”

“But you’re glad I’m here, right?”

“I’ve had worse company on a Friday night.” She nudges him out of her chair. “While those are baking, go find something to watch, and I’m going to finish grading this report.”

“Such a responsible TA.”

Pride fills his chest as Sherrie snorts at his joke and goes back to work. They’ve officially been friends since last year, but he still tries his hardest to make her laugh. She's always so busy and stressed, and she does the cutest little snort-laugh when he catches her off guard.

He puts on a random movie, just grabbing a VHS case with the Disney logo on the side, before plopping on the couch. “Is there a reason you have so many kids movies?”

“Those are Jayla’s, she collects them.” Sherrie answers, never looking up from the table. “What did you choose?”

“It’s a surprise!”

“You don’t remember, huh?”

“Nope! I’ll be quiet now.”

She hums a thank you in his direction, and Bradley keeps his promise, watching her work and staying quiet until the timer goes off. His chin hooked on the back of the couch; he follows her movement through the kitchen as she pulls the pretzels out and transfers them to a plate.

“Can I have mustard, please?”

“Sure can.” Sherrie smiles at his dopey smile as she makes her way to the couch. “Here, take these, then we can eat.”

He gulps down the painkillers she drops in his hand, chugging the rest of the apple juice after they’re gone, smiling when she absentmindedly praises him for listening. He shoves a bite of pretzel in his mouth and mashes the play button, and is pleasantly surprised to find A Bug’s Life was the mystery choice.

“I love this movie,” he garbles through a pretzel. “I love how Flick wins over the princess just by getting a chance to show off his true self.”

“That was shockingly wise for the drunk man sprawled on my couch.”

Bradley thanks her, already a bit more sober but not enough to pick up on her teasing. “So, why didn’t you come? Grading really couldn’t wait?”

“It probably could have, but I’m not a partier, Bradley. You know that.” She dips a piece of pretzel in the mustard. “Besides, I really didn’t think you would notice I wasn’t there, Mr. Popular.”

“You’re the only person I invited; of course, I noticed when you didn’t show up.”

“Really? No one else? Why?”

“I know it’s almost finals, but I wanted to hang out without any books in front of us; that’s all we do lately. Study. Plus, you’ve been extra stressed about something that you don’t want to talk about, and I just wanted you to relax since you won’t talk to me about whatever is bothering you.”

“That’s sweet of you, Bradley. It’s not that I don’t want to tell you; it’s just that my family has been…” She waves a hand through the air, a deep sigh escaping. “It’s complicated. I’m trying not to think about it too much.”

“Well, I’m here if you do want to talk.”

“Thanks bud. How about you? How’re your parents?” She takes one last chunk before nudging the plate in his direction and settling back into the corner.

“Mom is good; she’s close to being considered cancer-free. I think we’re gonna throw a party when she gets there.”

“That’s awesome, Bradley! I’m glad she’s doing so well. How’s your dad?”

“Mav isn’t my dad.”

A record scratch plays in Sherrie’s head as she freezes. She knows she’s heard Bradley talk about his dad, and she’d seen photos of his parents the one time she had visited his frat house last year. He had specifically pointed the photo out, telling her it was his parents. She had even been next to him when he was on the phone when he said “dad” to the person on the other end.

“My dad died when I was three. Mav is- was his best friend. I call him dad sometimes because he’s the closest thing I’ve got.”

Sherrie feels her heart break as Bradley sniffles and sadly shoves a mustard-covered pretzel in his mouth, unshed tears clumping his eyelashes. She’s never seen her friend like this before; she’s experienced many other emotions - frustration, joy, confusion - but the pain creasing his brow is new.

Comforting crying people has never been her forte, but instinctively - almost like they moved without her permission - Sherrie’s fingers run over his hair. Gently stroking the sun-streaked waves as a few tears escape down his cheeks and she scoots closer, letting her body press into his side and hoping the proximity helps.

“I’m sorry for crying on you.” He quietly apologizes after a few minutes of tears.

“S’okay. Family can be hard sometimes.”

“Complicated.”

“That too.” She hums, not moving as he swipes at his eyes and leans against her more, his head resting on her shoulder in a slouched position that can’t be comfortable.

“I love Mav; he’s my dad in all the ways it matters. It just sucks that my actual dad won’t be here for graduation. Like, I know he’s missed so much of my life already, but something about him missing college graduation is worse than everything else. It’s just so unfair; I barely remember him, but I just- I just miss him so much, Sherrie.”

Her heart cracks in half at the whispered confession. She can’t even imagine the pain of losing a parent at such a young age. The inability to remember one of the people responsible for giving you life, all memories fuzzy and most built from second-hand recollections of those who can remember. So she says the one thing she would want to hear.

“Tell me about him.”

Sherrie knows she said the right thing when his red-rimmed eyes brighten, and he immediately launches into a beloved story detailing his father’s love of pranks. She listens dutifully — laughing at the right moments and asking questions when Bradley gets carried away, forgetting that she doesn’t know all the people in his story — and feels her heart warm more and more. She’s always liked Bradley, probably more than she should, but it’s hard not to like him. He’s considerate, smart, and funny, not to mention handsome.

Thankfully, before she gets lost in thoughts of broad shoulders and strong jawlines, a big glob of mustard drops on Bradley’s t-shirt, abruptly cutting him off. The two stare in silence at the yellow condiment sitting on the black cotton shirt, somehow surprised at its appearance, before breaking down into giggles.

“C’mon Bradshaw,” Sherrie grabs his hand, pulling him off the couch. “I have a Tide pen we can use on that mess.”

Bradley follows her up the stairs and into the bathroom, teasing Sherrie about the way her tongue pokes out when she focuses. She takes the gentle taunts, grateful he’s focusing on that and not on her pink cheeks or the way her eyes keep darting to his toned stomach. She’s not sure it was completely necessary for him to strip his shirt off, but she won’t be complaining.

“Well,” A few minutes later, she interrupts his rambling story about a slip and slide. Or she thinks that’s what it’s about; she missed the first part. “I think this is as good as I can get it.”

“That’s okay; it’s not like it’s new or anything. Thanks, Sherrie.”

She steadfastly ignores the pounding heart in her chest as miles of golden skin gets covered back up, trying to not feel too disappointed by its disappearance.

Friday, July 15, 2016 | 3:56 PM EST | Charlotte, NC

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” Bradley complains a bit too loudly, ears going hot when several pairs of eyes curiously dart toward him, but his focus doesn’t stay on that for very long when he catches the face Sherrie makes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”

He squints suspiciously as she avoids eye contact. He usually takes her at her word and doesn’t push, but the frown pulling down the corners of her pink lips sets off bells in his head. “Sherrie, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Bradley. I’m fine.”

He grumbles at her lack of response but settles again in the spot they had claimed after finishing their snack. The gate was still packed, but they had found a prime location with outlets; the only downside was having to sit on the floor, something that is getting harder the older they get.

Bradley scans the area, trying to scout out some open chairs for them to grab, while Sherrie goes back to the movie they’ve been watching on his phone. His eyes drop away from the chairs in surprise when she scoots closer and leans on his shoulder. It’s not uncommon for them to sit close like this at home in Boston, sides pressed together, but she makes a point to be professional when they’re on travel.

“Hey,” he gently nudges her side, concern rising when she doesn’t lift her head, choosing to tilt her neck back, looking up at him with tired eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Panic grips his chest when tears start forming, clouding her green eyes. “Sherrie?! What’s wrong?”

“We were supposed to be halfway home by now, and I’m so uncomfortable. I’m sorry, Bradley, I’m just so tired.” She whimpers, hiding against his bicep.

It hits him like a glass of cold water. Of course, she’s uncomfortable. She’s been walking around in heels and her pantsuit since 4AM California time after getting maybe three hours of sleep. His suit and shoes are comfortable and easily wearable for twelve-plus hours, not to mention the jacket and tie that were ditched sometime after the mustard incident.

“Oh, Sherrie, it’s okay. Let’s go change, yeah? Then we’ll find a quieter place so you can close your eyes and maybe get some sleep.”

“But the policy…”

Bradley resists the urge to roll his eyes at her insistence on rule-following. “In the nicest way possible, Sher, fuck the policy. You’re uncomfortable, and I care about that way more than I could ever care about a stupid, archaic policy.”

He stands, unplugging their phones and gathering their bags on his shoulder before turning to his best friend, who is still on the floor. “C’mon, we’re putting comfy clothes on.”

“But Bradley-”

“No arguing.” He interrupts, helping her off the ground and directing them back towards the restrooms. “We’re not going to sit in our suits for god knows how much longer.”

“But Bradley, I don’t have anything to change into. We had such a packed schedule I didn’t bother to bring normal clothes.” He ignores the thumping of his heart when her hand grabs his forearm, warm fingers slipping under the edge of the rolled-up sleeve as she tugs to slow his pace. At that information, he slides them out of the flow of traffic and over to the wall, Bradley pressing her against one of the columns lining the concourse atrium.

“You don’t have any regular clothes? What about your pajamas?”

“I have a pair of leggings because I was going to do a training run in the gym last night, but that’s it. I can’t wear my pjs because… well, they’re not appropriate for public.”

“Your leggings are clean, though, right?” He asks, ignoring the thoughts of what non-public appropriate pajamas might look like.

“Well, yeah, dinner went so late I barely had time to sleep before we had to be up. I guess I could buy a shirt at one of the SmartShop- what are you doing?”

Bradley peers up from his knees, where he had started digging in his bag. “I’m grabbing one of my shirts for you. Would you prefer a t-shirt or a sweatshirt? Actually, you’re definitely gonna get cold, sweatshirt for you.”

He pulls the worn, gray crew neck out, shaking it out before handing it over.

“You still have this?” The disbelief in her voice makes him laugh.

“Of course, I still have that! Relay was always my favorite event of the year. And that year was my favorite one.”

As the philanthropy chair of Sigma Chi, part of his job was to sign the brothers up for volunteer events and fundraisers. With his mom’s diagnosis, he ensured their schedule included the campus’ annual Relay for Life event, pouring as many resources as he could into the fundraiser that directly helped advance cancer research.

“Wait, but why was junior year your favorite?” She asks, brushing her fingers over the cracked, screen-printed logo.

“Because that’s the reason we became friends, Sher.”

Surprised green eyes meet sincere brown eyes, a thousand words said in the silence of their stares, both remembering the lead-up to that day in April so many years ago.

Bradley’s eyes widen in panic as everyone at the gate starts moving as a herd. They had finally found seats to relax in after changing, the group of passengers waiting with them shrinking as time went on. And now, with only ten minutes until boarding, their gate has changed again.

“Sherrie, wake up!” He feels bad shaking the snoozing woman off, but they have to move with the group to make it to the new part of Terminal A in time for their flight. “C’mon, honey, they changed the gate again — we gotta go!”

“What are you- again?! Shit!” She wipes the bleariness from her eyes, slinging her bags over her shoulder and grabbing the hand he holds out.

The two coworkers, along with fifty of their fellow passengers who have stuck this out, speed walk down the first branch of the terminal. The entire group picking up the pace when turning the corner towards the second branch where the new gate lives. By the time they hit the second branch, everyone is practically running — time ticking down to boarding — no one wanting to miss this flight.

As if the blob of Flight 1121 passengers racing toward the end of the terminal didn’t garner attention from other gates, the entire terminal is staring by the time they reach gate A28, and several people start yelling in frustration.

“This is unbelievable!” An older gentleman’s unhappiness is interrupted by three simultaneous updates pinging everyone’s phones.

Bradley’s head drops back in disbelief, wrapping his arm around Sherrie when her head thunks against his chest. He doesn’t even get a chance to comfort her before the gate agents are making announcements about getting people on other flights, providing hotel rooms, and the vouchers that will be shared.

“Again, we apologize, but if you have flexible travel plans, we ask that you please go to the end of the line so those with time constraints can be taken care of first. Thank you for your cooperation, folks!”

“Well, that’s us, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Sherrie blows air out of her lips, a mischievous smile taking over her face. “Hey, at least this means extra per diem money.”

Bradley laughs as they move to the back of the squiggly line that’s forming, letting her take the bags so he can step away to call to update their supervisor and then his pet sitter. It only takes a few rings for his boss to pick up. “Bradshaw! What’s up? You okay?”

“Hey Martin, all good. Just wanted to let you know that our flight has gotten supremely delayed. We won’t be home until tomorrow morning sometime.”

“Jesus, do you guys need anything?”

“Nah, we’re good. The airline is putting us up in a hotel for the night and giving vouchers for a bunch of stuff. Just called to let you know and for a heads up on the expense report.”

“Well, that is the most important part!” Martin’s honking laugh makes Bradley chuckle as he glances to check on Sherrie’s progress in line. “How’s Sherrie? She good?”

“Yeah, she’s good. She’s holding our spot in line for getting new tickets and stuff.” And it looks like she’s made friends already, he silently adds, smiling at her interacting with the elderly couple in front of her.

“Good. Alright then, I’ll see you on Monday, but let me know if you guys need anything. And hey! If you two end up in the same hotel room — remember what I said on your first day!”

The line goes dead, and so does Bradley’s smile, his stomach churning like it does every time he remembers his first day at the Wells Corporation.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007 | 11:15 AM EST | Boston, MA

“Will you calm down?”

“I can’t, Bradley. What if no one likes me? What if I fuck up?!” She hisses, working to appear calm as they wait for their supervisor to show up, but failing.

“First of all, we’re starting together, so you have at least one person that likes you. And you’re great, everyone will like you. Second, there will be mistakes, but we just graduated — they’re not going to let us do anything alone because we don’t know anything yet.”

Sherrie nods, tucking her hands under her legs and trying to breathe. Bradley’s words are encouraging, but he doesn’t know how difficult her internship was last summer. The older engineers she shadowed treated her like a glorified coffee girl and secretary. Even when she had pointed out a mistake they all had missed, there was no change — just the addition of making her type their reports to see if she could catch something the non-engineer tech writers would miss.

This is a brand new company, but misogyny wasn’t unique to Waite Green Construction. Every woman has to work twice as hard to prove her worth and intellect, no matter her age or experience. She’s just hoping her onboarding mentor will be the only other woman in the department; it would be the perfect way to gain a professional mentor once she’s out of the probation period.

“Good morning, kids! How was orientation?” Mr. Teresi walks into the conference room.

Bradley shakes his hand first, “It was good, sir. Nice to see you again.”

“Good to hear! Learn lots of new things.”

“Yes, I think we can be considered experts on trade secrets now.” Sherrie jokes, focusing on making sure her handshake is firm but not too firm.

“Wonderful. So, I’m guessing you two have been introduced, but just in case you haven’t. Bradley, this is Sherrie McHone; she’s an electrical engineer. And Sherrie, this is Bradley Bradshaw, a mechanical engineer.”

“We actually went to school together, sir.”

“We’re friends,” Bradley adds, the two of them exchanging small smiles.

“Oh, great! Well, that makes things easier getting started. Now let’s go over my plan for the two of you, and then we’ll get lunch, my treat for your first day.”

Their supervisor talks for half an hour, going over things they’ll need to be trained in and their first assignments. By the time he’s done, several notebook pages have been filled and highlighted with things that need to be looked up.

“Alright!” The older engineer claps, rubbing his hands together. “I’m sure your brains are overloaded with information, so go drop your things at your desks, and we’ll head to lunch.”

The recent graduates gather their notes and head for the door, quietly talking about a training they’ll be attending next week when he stops them. “One more thing, guys. They never mention it during R&D orientation, but I feel it’s necessary to mention it to new people. Here at Wells, there isn’t a fraternization policy among non-management coworkers or between any employees in different divisions. But we are a fairly small department, so keep in mind who you interact with and what impacts that may have at work.”

Sherrie feels the blood drain from her already pale face as her brand new supervisor stares at her the entire time he speaks, ignoring Bradley completely. She’s going to be sick. Less than four hours into the first professional role of her career, and it’s already happening.

This is the moment it starts, she thinks, her heart pounding in her throat as she robotically nods. It’s never the men that get these warnings. It’s always the women. Always us. Always me.

“I don’t care about that. But there are some people who will, even though they shouldn’t. And I want you guys to have the best experience here you possibly can. You’re both extremely bright, and I’m excited about your futures. I don’t want you to get bogged down by the opinions of others. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” They answer in unison before filing out of the conference room.

“Sherrie, don’t worry about that. He’s just-”

“Trust me, Bradley. I know exactly what he was saying. I’m going to use the restroom, and then I’ll meet you guys at the elevator.”

“Sherrie…”

But she ignores her friend, shrugging her purse over her shoulder and keeping her face neutral as she heads for the single-stall ladies’ room. Fighting to hold the tears back until she’s inside for fear of being perceived as emotional. A quality no woman can afford to have in a professional setting.

Friday, July 15, 2016 | 8:05 PM EST | Charlotte, NC

“Hey, everything? Martin says hi.”

“We’re good! This is Mr. and Mrs. Ludden; they’re going to visit their newest granddaughter. How’re Sophie and Louis?” Bradley smiles at the excited way she introduces them, putting a steadying hand on her back when she bounces up on her toes.

“Oh, congrats! They’re good; Marie can watch’em one more day, problem.”

“Good, we’ll have to get her a thank you present for the short notice.”

“You didn’t tell us you guys had kids!”

Bradley and Sherrie freeze in place, eyes widening in surprise at the older woman’s words.

“Oh- uh- we-” Sherrie giggles awkwardly. “Sophie and Louis are our cats; we don’t have kids.”

“I’m so sorry!” Mrs. Ludden gasps, hand covering her mouth in shock while her husband groans her name.

“Louise, how many times do we have to do this before you stop making assumptions?”

“It’s okay, innocent mistake,” Bradley assures them.

“Well, they’re such a cute couple. I just thought they would have adorable children, too!”

“Actually… we’re not…”

“Oh, lord. Let me guess. You’re not dating. You’re just friends.”

“Coworkers too, but we were friends first.” Sherrie suppresses a laugh when the older gentleman rubs a hand over his eyes in exasperation.

“Don’t even start, Clayton!”

“I wasn’t going to, dear.”

Bradley can’t help the laugh that escapes at the comfortable ribbing they give each other; it reminds him of his friendship with Sherrie. The easy way they tease, never going too far.

“Would you two like to join us after we get rebooked?” Bradley asks. “We’re going to use our food vouchers tonight to grab dinner before we head to whatever hotel they put us up in.”

The four adults move through the line, chatting about small things and comparing pictures of grandkids and cats. It’s a nice way to spend the time, especially when they get to share judging looks when a woman throws a tantrum and yells at the gate agent. But soon enough, they’re walking back to the main concourse and deciding what food to get.

“No, stop. You just sit here with the bags, and I’ll grab the food.” Bradley gently pushes Sherrie back into her chair, rolling his eyes as he talks over her protests. “I know. You want mac and cheese, Diet Coke, and whatever pulled pork flavor looks best.”

“He’s sweet,” Louise says, watching the two men make their way over to the BBQ place.

“He’s annoying.” Which makes her companion laugh. “Yes, he’s very sweet. I’m lucky to be such good friends with him.”

“Can I ask why the two of you aren’t together? He even knows what food to bring you.”

“It’s just never been like that between us. We’ve always just been friends. And he’s annoyingly smart, so he always remembers what I order.” Sherrie half smiles, pushing down the pain in her chest at the harmless curiosity, watching Bradley laugh at something Clayton says as she remembers the first time he remembered one of her favorites.

Saturday, March 4, 2006 | 1:34 PM EST | Charlottesville, VA

“Thanks for meeting me on a Saturday, Bradshaw. It’s just such a busy semester.”

“No problem. You know you can call me Bradley, right?”

“Oh, sorry. Do you not like being called Bradshaw?” Sherrie blinks when a bottle of Diet Coke and a small bag of Skittles is set on the table in front of her. “What’s this?”

“Your favorite snack.”

“Right… but why?”

“Because you have that about 50% of the time when we meet up to work on this project. Now, I finished transcribing the interview with Commander Buck last night. Did you want to- Sherrie?”

She shifts her focus from the food to the boy across from her in the study nook they’ve claimed as theirs for the semester. “Why do you remember my favorite snack?”

“Because we’re friends?” Brown eyes look into hers, equally confused.

“We’re friends?”

“I hope so; otherwise, this is gonna get awkward when you hug me in a minute.”

“Why am I going to hug you?!”

Bradley laughs at her flabbergasted expression, but it doesn’t hurt her feelings like it does when other people laugh at her. Something about the tone of the laugh makes it feel like he’s laughing at her, but rather with her, and she just doesn’t know the joke yet.

“Because as team captain, I am happy to announce to the Relay Chair that Sigma Chi has officially raised $5,000 thanks to your idea.”

“Bradley, that’s incredible!” She doesn’t feel silly when she bounces around the table to hug his neck, rocking them back and forth in excitement.

“Well, if you think that’s good - let me show you what we’re anticipating to raise this month…”

Friday, July 15, 2016 | 10:12 PM EST | Charlotte, NC

“I just don’t understand how we’re having such bad luck!”

Sherrie rolls her eyes as he unlocks the door. “Bradley, breathe. You’re being very dramatic right now.”

“How is “we’re out of rooms” a legitimate reason for the hotel to give? Not that I mind sharing with you, but like how is that possible? The airline specifically works with them to book rooms for things like this! And the airline! That gate agent who wanted to book us to fly into Hartford and then drive the rest of the way to Boston! That's insane!”

“I don’t know, the Bradley flying into Bradley joke was pretty funny.” She mutters, clicking the lights on as she checks the cleanliness of the room.

“It wasn’t.” Bradley pouts, flopping onto the bed closest to the door. “Do you want to shower first?”

“No, go ahead, but I’m going to wash my face first so I can do a face mask. I’m so dry from the airport air.” He listens to the sounds of water running and the quiet humming as she carefully applies the drenched sheet to her skin. “All yours!”

“Thanks, Sher. I won’t be long.”

He showers quickly but takes extra time cleaning his teeth, his mouth feeling gross after the long travel day. When he comes out, he’s surprised at how cozy the room feels. With only one lamp on, the air conditioning set low to keep the fan running, and an old movie on the TV, it almost feels like they could be at home in his living room. They silently move around each other, Sherrie heading to the bathroom with a pile of things while Bradley organizes his things for the morning, wanting to get as much rest as possible before their early alarm.

He scrolls through emails and texts while he waits for her to shower, turning the television off since he knows there’s a small chance of either of them making it five minutes after they kill the lights. He's updating Mav on tomorrow’s travel plans when Sherrie comes out of the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a towel. Bradley sees her packing things out of the corner of his eye, not fully paying attention until he plugs his phone in.

“That’s what you wear to bed?”

“Bradley!” He laughs at how she jumps, her hands coming down to cover her shorts.

“What? They’re cute! Very pink.”

Her face goes as pink as the pajama set she’s wearing. “Stop making fun of me!”

“I’m not! You know, I love strawberries.” He can’t help the way his eyes roam up and down her body, admiring from the spaghetti straps on her smooth shoulders to the scalloped edge of her shorts. “I see why you didn’t want to change into those at the airport.”

“Oh my god…” She huffs, climbing into her own queen bed and stuffing herself under the sheets. “You set an alarm, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. Want me to turn the light off?”

“Please. God, this day cannot be over soon enough.”

He chuckles and turns the lamp off, listening to her shuffle around in the sheets as she gets comfortable. It’s quiet for a few minutes, and he can hear her breathing leveling out, but he can’t keep quiet; the conversation at the airport running through his mind.

“Sher?” It takes a second, but she quietly hums in response. “We have to talk about it again.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Sherrie-”

“No, Bradley. We talked about this two weeks ago. Nothing has changed since then.”

“Yes, things have changed since then. You interviewed for that principal engineer position. Which if you get-”

“I’m not going to get it. They’re going to pick Trevor.”

“They’re going to pick you. You’re the best person for the job!”

“That’s not how it works, and you know it.”

He’s silent, the crushing weight on his chest feeling heavier when he hears her sniffle.

“Oh, Sherrie…” He slips out of his bed and into hers, wrapping the woman he loves in his arms. He lets her cry, knowing she’s frustrated and exhausted, only speaking up again when she’s calmed down. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“No, I’m sorry, Bradley. It’s not fair that we’ve been dancing around this for so many years, and I keep saying no. You deserve someone who isn’t afraid to be with you. Not a coward like me.”

“You’re not a coward; you’re one of the bravest people I know, Sherrie Anne McHone. I know how critical people are of women, in this field especially. And I love you, so I don’t mind waiting until we’re in a position that you’re confident won’t jeopardize your career. So, we’ll wait to hear about the job, and once you hear that you’ve gotten it, I’m treating you to the nicest dinner in Boston.”

“Bradley, we don’t know-”

“I know we don’t know. But think about how it would be if it does. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

“But what about-”

“Doesn’t matter, honey.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.” Sherrie mumbles, cuddling further into his side, making it clear that he wasn’t allowed to leave.

“I know, but it doesn’t matter, whatever it is — we’ll figure it out.”

Saturday, July 16, 2016 | 10:32 AM EST | Somewhere over Virginia

“She’ll take a ginger ale; thank you so much.” Bradley balances his apple juice, the two packets of Biscoff cookies, and the bubbling soda he got for Sherrie. The smiling flight attendant moves past their row as he turns to his row companion.

They’re finally on their way home after waking up to more delay announcements. The additional time meant there was time to get coffee and some fruit from the hotel before their taxi back to the airport arrived, and the Luddens had even stopped to chat for a second at the gate, excited that they had gotten bumped up to first class since the flight was nearly empty.

All things considered, it had been a good morning even though Sherrie was insisting on working during the flight. Bradley is sure it’s an attempt to ignore their talk from last night, not wanting to dwell on the emotional moment when things are still so up in the air.

He looks over at the woman he’s known since he was eighteen, overwhelmed for a moment by how little things have changed since the first time he ever noticed her. Bradley fondly watches as she furiously types, hunched over her laptop with headphones, playing what he knows is eighties hair bands.

Her nose wrinkles in frustration, and suddenly it’s 2003 again, and he’s trying to get the attention of the red-haired girl whose table has the only empty chair left, something he desperately needs since this book can’t leave the library. He’s unable to get her attention and resorts to knocking on the table, heart skipping a beat when the prettiest green eyes he’s ever seen blink up at him. Bradley gestures at the empty chair, silently asking if he can sit, and is grateful when she nods because her smile is making his knees wobble. For the next hour, he tries to take notes for his paper, but he keeps getting distracted by the beautiful girl across from him. Bradley isn’t sure if he’s upset or happy when she packs up her stuff and leaves, giving him a little wave when she notices him watching her.

That had been thirteen years ago, and her intense focus still distracts him, but he’s not afraid to interrupt her this time. Fingers rub her arm that is covered in his sweatshirt again, but this time, he knows it smells like her shampoo instead of his cologne. Her smile still sends his heart skipping when she looks up at him, her pretty eyes widening in joy when she catches sight of the red snack packaging and the plastic cup holding her second favorite soda.

“Thank you!” She whispers, leaning across the empty middle seat in their row to kiss his cheek. “Oh, and we should go out to lunch when we get back! I want to try that new noodle place that opened in Southie.”

He just smiles when she immediately gets back to work; cheek puffed out from the cookie she stuffed in her mouth.

Maybe she’s not avoiding our talk from last night.

Thursday, August 11, 2017 | 2:15 PM EST | Boston, MA

“You got a minute?” Bradley knocks on the edge of her cubicle. It may be a different floor of their building, but all of the office space is the same dated stuff from decades ago.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“First of all…” He ducks down and presses a swift kiss to her plush mouth, still trying to make up for all those years he couldn’t. “And don’t say anything because I already checked before I did because I wanted to kiss my girl.”

He chuckles at the pink spots that shine on her cheeks. It’s been a year since Sherrie snagged the promotion, and they officially became an item, but she still turns a little red whenever he says something sweet.

“Second, you are all packed, right?”

“Yes, why?”

“I was gonna swing by the apartment and get our bags so we can head straight to the airport after work.”

“You took the afternoon off? Why?”

Bradley was expecting this question and smoothly fibs. “I worked the hours out with Martin for this week so I could run a few last-minute errands. Do you want me to grab snacks?”

“Okay, Mr. Secrets. When you’re at home, could you water the ivy? I forgot this morning, and I don’t want it to die while we’re gone.”

“Of course! Need me to do anything else?”

Sherrie hums, staring at the ceiling as she thinks. “One more kiss?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bradley happily complies with her request.

“Okay, now you have to go. I have to finish prepping for this meeting where I get to yell at Sean.”

“That’s my girl. I’ll pick you up later. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Have fun with your mysterious errands.” Sherrie teases, and Bradley smirks back, knowing how much she would be freaking out if he knew what he would be doing while she professionally reamed out their least favorite colleague.

“Thanks, honey. Text me if you think of something.” Sherrie waves over her shoulder, already zoned back into her work.

Bradley doesn’t dare look at his buzzing phone until he’s safely on the elevator, pleased to see confirmation texts from their hotel and the airline. Would it be cheesy to quietly propose in the airport that was a catalyst in their relationship? Maybe, but he knew Sherrie would love it. He’s just hoping the TSA didn’t call out the ring that would be hiding in his carry-on.

#deltasupremacy I also want to give a special thanks to @sometimesanalice, who gave so much encouragement through the texts despite having no idea what I was writing - you're the best! tagged some friends and most those who interacted with the original announcement post for this fic all those months ago!

tagging: @gretagerwigsmuse @sometimesanalice @laracrofted @theharddeck @hangmanbrainrot @hangmanssunnies @thesewordsareallihavetogive @princessphilly @katieshook02 @atarmychick007 @kmc1989 @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @misfitpeach @luckyladycreator2 @scarlettwidow19 @mini-bee-bee @midnightstarqueen @shamelessghostwagonwobbler

divider credit

#top gun maverick fic #top gun fic #bradley bradshaw fic #rooster fic #top gun maverick au #top gun maverick imagine #top gun au #top gun imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster imagine #elle writes

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bobluvbot · 2 years

Text

bonk!

pairing: bradley rooster bradshaw x f!reader

summary: in which fate uses a karaoke machine to lead the way for romance because you and Bradley are just too dumb and dense for it.

wc: 9k+ (sorry)

warnings: best friend!rooster, age difference, reader has a lot of insecurities like with body image (briefly mentioned, like one line only!) and self worth issues. implied sex so 18+ only! kinda beta’d. I *tried* to keep the angst at a minimum (i write angst but i am changing ok) but a LOT of pent up frustration. Still VERY fluffy though <3

A/N: Yeahhhhhhh. This started off as a single fluffy scenario with my beloved Rooster, but it kinda took a life of its own. Nonetheless, hope you enjoy!

Reader’s call sign is Indigo!

If there was someone to blame for all this mess, it should be Mav. More often than not, it’s always Maverick’s fault.

He brought up the idea first during one of those after hours of the Hard Deck.

If nothing much has been going on back in base, you and Rooster, sometimes the rest of the Dagger squad would stay behind to help him and Penny clean and get everything straight for the next day. You would do it so often that Penny, who was adamant in shooing you guys away claiming that she could handle it, gave up trying and now checks if you’re cleaning thoroughly.

“Pen,” he’d said in passing, leaning against the mop he was using. “You know what’d make this place better?”

“Are you saying it isn’t already?”

Mav stutters, now realizing how his words could’ve sounded differently than he originally intended, much to you and Rooster’s amusement as you listened in to the conversation. “No- I- you know I didn’t mean it like that, honey.”

“I know,” Penny laughs. “I’m kidding. What were you saying, hun?”

“We should bring in a karaoke machine.”

In retrospect, it was a good idea. Not everyone who’d drunkenly belt out lyrics to a song could hit the right notes without the background music, the jukebox has not been updated to have all the hit music the younger crowd wants to hear, and not everyone could remember the piano chords of their favorite song. And as much as it would please the public demand, the highly acclaimed Rooster Bradshaw and his Great Balls of Fire could not commit to a nightly residency at the Hard Deck due to his demanding day job of being a fighter pilot. Welcoming the machine seemed like a harmless decision, and placing it outside seemed to complete the often deserted outdoor seating area.

And for a while it did what was expected. It brought in an interesting crowd to the bar. The nights you were there, you had witnessed a group of stressed college kids out back, screaming their lungs out through Evanescence’s discography. Another time, a small group were hunkered down by the machine, seemingly on guard as their drunk friend sobbed through Adele’s Someone Like You and Roxette’s It Must’ve Been Love. You had been tempted to hop on in a session when a group of friends decided to have a 2012 night, from Justin Bieber and Taylor Swift to One Direction and Little Mix. It brought out a lot of emotions from the patrons of the bar and soon enough it became a regular fixture at the Hard Deck, that Penny had to whip out a reservation list just for the outside seating to keep people from fighting over the time limit each group has before the next can have their go. It somehow made the place even more chaotic, especially during weekends, but added more income so no one was complaining.

It became a problem when you and the rest of the Top Gun instructors gave in to the hype and had a go for yourselves. It started out as innocent, drunk fun. You and the instructors around your age were sick of hearing the oldies and their outdated playlists from the jukebox (Don’t let Rooster know about this) as they played pool, so you went outside and dared each other to grab the mic and pick a song that you used to cry to during your first heartbreak with the promise of a crumpled 20$ bill someone dug out from their pocket. From Lips to an Angel to The Reason to Perfect, your friends each gave their all for the sad bill. Determined to stand out, you decide on Taylor’s Teardrops on My Guitar as your magnum opus for the night. It was a perfect fit, and your friends groaned woefully as the nostalgia hits them. In your drunken haze, you wondered for a bit why you’ve avoided listening or singing this song for so long, but as the song continued, you figure out why.

—

It was 2007, the summer before college, and you had just gotten your dream iPod in pink as a gift from your grandparents for getting into Columbia. You already had a list of all the albums and singles you were going to download on the back of your physics notebook, and the first off that list would be Taylor Swift’s albums. It was nice that you were the same age, you could relate to each song if you tried hard enough, but your lack of non-fictional boyfriends and romantic conquests were a huge setback back then. You were halfway through your second listen when your grandmother asks you if you can bring the casserole she just finished making next door, and because you didn’t have the heart to say no after getting your iPod, you agreed and made your way to your neighbor’s house.

They seemed to have someone over, judging by the number of bikes strewn across the lawn and an inconspicuous blue Bronco parked in their driveway that you didn’t recognize. More reasons to drop off and go, you’d thought, so you rang their doorbell while you thought of a good excuse to speed off. No one responded despite the commotion you could barely make out from the inside, so with an exasperated sigh, you reached out to press the bell again.

You remembered freezing, with your outstretched hand retreating back to the handles of the pan as you made contact with the one who answered the door. He didn’t have blue eyes like Drew did from the music video, nor was he called Drew for that matter, but god, you found yourself breathless and in constant awe like Taylor when you realized who it was.

He broke out in a grin, greeting you with that wretched nickname he and his cousins gave you when you were young. Bradley Bradshaw— the boy that taught you how to hang upside down from the monkey bars at the park because your friends (his cousins) thought you were too heavy to do so, the boy you got so attached to every summer when he came to stay next door because he included you whenever the cousins played Pokemon cards or Super Mario on the playstation and would let you off easy and debt free whenever you played monopoly, the boy who shared your love for aviation and would drag you along with their family trips to the flight museums nearby, and it would take years more for you to realize but he was also the same boy you looked for in the sea of faces at school, in hopes to find someone remotely close to who he was, which just left you terribly single— was back, visiting from college. He was still breathtakingly beautiful, and the crazy beating of your heart as he dragged you by the hand inside to see the family should be the telltale sign that you were going to be ruined before you escaped to college.

Catching up after dinner, you learned there was a girl. There was always someone— he was interested in, confessing their feelings, seeing, crying over him. You should’ve gotten used to it at this point. Bradley was a light that everyone was just naturally drawn to. Maybe you could chalk up the blame to the angsty fanfic you’ve read earlier that day or to the sad Taylor Swift songs you decided to dwell on before you brought the casserole, but goddamn it stung. It hurt when it shouldn’t be hurting in the first place. Bradley was one of your childhood friends, the kind big brother you always wanted to have. You’re sure that if he was around more, he would’ve helped you scare away your bullies or have even posed as your date to prom so you wouldn’t feel as left out as you did. It was in between your third or fourth bite of the cherry pie Bradley’s aunt had given you for dessert when you realized you saw him in a different light now, and it didn’t take long for you to see that he didn’t.

Later that night, you found yourself clutching your teal guitar, Love Story’s chords long forgotten, blasting Teardrops on My Guitar on your alarm clock speaker at 10pm, with only the moonlight and your pink wallpaper witnessing your tear-stricken face.

–

“Oh my god, is Indigo crying?”

“She is, fuck. Hurry, we gotta record this!”

Before your friend could point the camera flash on your face, you kick his shin before whipping out your middle finger, turning away from them to hastily wipe the tears that betrayed you on your sweater.

Despite the waterworks, you were determined to finish the last line of the song perfectly, because this is the last time you’ll be singing this for the next thirty or so years.

“Drew looks at me,” you start, and the doors swing open to welcome an amused Rooster and the rest of the gang into your group outside.

Locking eyes with you, you sing, “I fake a smile so he won’t see,” smiling.

Yeah, at least the sting lessened to a quiet twinge now.

—

The oldies have infiltrated the karaoke machine once they saw how much fun you guys had that night. Soon after, they’d come in early and just play one round of pool before Fanboy drags you and Payback outside quickly, reserving the machine before the bar’s crowd comes in. People would think this is unfair because you were allowed in earlier and would have the advantage to hoard the machine all to yourselves, but they didn’t want to risk disrespecting you guys and buying a round for the entire bar so they kept quiet.

It wasn’t long till Rooster had migrated his trademark song from the piano to the karaoke machine, deeming that it was hard to remember the chords when he’s had a few drinks. You’d still have your turn singing throwback songs with the gang, but once Bradley gets a hold of the mic, you might as well head home because it’s either he sings five songs in a row or a five minute song (there’s no in between). It gets especially worse when he’s got alcohol in his system, the mans will hog the mic for himself. You once got into a fight because of it and it only ended when Hangman snatched it from both of your hands and used it for his own song, much to both your chagrin.

—

“No, absolutely not.”

Those were the last words you register before your phone gets snatched from your hands. Mere seconds ago, you were on Amazon, comparing prices of those bluetooth karaoke microphones that had built in speakers and had just added the highest rated one on your cart.

You’ve grown attached to the bar’s karaoke machine and would look forward to it after a long day dealing with your new array of Top Gun students. You found that belting out Fall Out Boy relieves more tension from your back than your regular chiropractic appointments so you’re determined to still have your karaoke session one way or another. But apparently, your best friend had other ideas.

“I’m relaxing, Bradshaw, but I won’t hesitate to kick your nuts if you don’t give back my phone.”

“Let me just—,” he mutters, tapping on your device that seems suspiciously like removing something from your cart.

You immediately spring into action and he raises his arms above your reach in response. Damn him and his height. You resort to climbing up his limbs, and when that didn’t work, you gave a mean pinch his side. This seemed to do the trick as he hissed, folding over in pain, and you take the opportunity to grab your phone back.

God, you were glad you were on your break and none of your superiors or students were around to witness two of their instructors tackle each other outside one of the hangars.

“I can’t believe you’d betray Penny like this, Y/N.”

“What the hell are you on about?” You ask, shooting him a mean glare while wiping his fingerprints off from your screen on your suit.

“You getting your own karaoke mic means you won’t go to the Hard Deck anymore to sing and that’s just incredibly selfish and I can’t allow that.”

“Well,” you start, “I wouldn’t be getting one in the first place if someone here plays fair and doesn’t hog the mic for himself.”

He scoffs. “You talking to yourself?”

You gasp, appalled. “How dare you. That was one time! It’s not my fault All Too Well’s ten minutes!”

“Uh huh,” he gloats. “I’m just gonna pretend we didn’t listen to the album together and I totally didn’t see that there was a five minute version you could’ve sung.”

This prompts a teasing smile from your lips. “Oh, so you were paying attention to the album. I thought you hated it because it was cheesy teen music.” You say, using air quotes while mocking how he had complained when you took out his Temptations cd from the Bronco’s stereo and replaced it with your new Red album the moment you got it from the mail.

“I had little to no choice on the matter, Y/N. You chose the longest car ride to play that album on repeat,” he responds exasperatedly, rolling his eyes.

You smirk at the memory. You both were off that day and you persuaded Bradley to drive from base to downtown Los Angeles for this dumpling restaurant you saw on Yelp that offered an AYCE for their opening day. It wasn’t easy to get him off his couch during his offs (understandable), but you bribed him with the promise of a full gas tank and a car wash. He did sulk for a bit, but you knew he couldn’t resist free things (or you whining for that matter).

“Don’t distract me from the real issue here. Just don’t get that mic, Y/N. Fighting over that karaoke machine at the Hard Deck makes it more fun.” He says a matter-of-factly.

“Fun because no one has the balls to snatch the mic from you.” You grumble, checking your watch and seeing your break time was almost up. “Whatever,” you say in passing while wiping off some sandwich crumbs that stuck to your suit. “I’ll just order it when you’re not around,” you sneer, sticking your tongue out at Rooster as you start to walk back to the main building where your classes are held.

He catches up to you quick, a smirk on his lips. Does this man ever run out of comebacks? “You’re forgetting the fact that that’s my Prime account you’re using.”

You halt, appalled, your eyes following his figure as he ignores you and continues his walk. “I pay for my half, you ass! That’s our account!”

He doesn’t say anything as he looks back at you, only a knowing expression on his face. You know there’s no escape from this. Because when you’d try to order it later, he’ll just cancel it on his end when he gets notified of the purchase. Frustrating. “I hate you.”

He hums in response, and you try to suppress the tingly feeling you’d always get when he does that. “Still up for dinner later?” He asks when you reach his side.

You feel the weight of disappointment and dismay from your ancestors as you mutter a yes to the man before you separate ways. Doesn’t matter how much Bradley Bradshaw riles you up every chance he gets, you’d always say yes to him.

—

“Just let me take you to lunch, please.”

You had tried your best to keep a respectable distance from your superior but it got increasingly hard as Rooster grabbed your arm and situated himself in front of you, his bulky figure blocking your way. Getting caught was one thing, but having all the feelings for this man you’ve kept in a box stowed away in some hidden part of your head unravel because of how close he is to you right now was another issue you’re not ready to face.

In fact, mere days ago, the thought of him hadn’t even crossed your mind. Renewed determination and excitement coursed through your veins as you started your advanced flight training. You worked your ass off to get to this point, and it’s only a matter of time before you get your wings. That alone kept your head above water. You might’ve taken the long route with your engineering degree, but it surely did wonders as you sped through most of your earlier classes in training. Soon enough you’ll be doing what you’ve always dreamed of as a kid. And nothing will stand in your way to fly.

Well, you didn’t account for having Bradley Bradshaw temporarily stand-in as your flight instructor for a week, so that’s oversight on your part.

You had looked around, relieved to see the hallway was deserted, before you hissed, “You’re too close! If anyone sees us, they’re gonna assume the worst and I’ll be dead.”

“Let them.” You glared at him and he took it back immediately. “Okay, fine.” He had said, taking one step away from you. “Lunch, with me,” he repeated again, as if you hadn’t been listening to him ask for the past few minutes. “I’ll let you order anything you want off the menu. On me.”

He knew your affinity for free stuff, and you never wanted to pluck that knowledge off his head than right now. You sighed, resigning. “You’ll leave me alone after?”

“I–,” he’d stuttered, caught off guard. “C’mon, Y/N, don’t do me like this. I haven’t seen you in so long. We gotta catch up.”

“It’s just,” you said quietly, avoiding his gaze. “It’s different now, Bradley. You’re my instructor and I’m one of your students—”

“Only for a week,” he interrupted, and you gave him a scowl. “Sorry, go on.”

Sighing, you continued, “Don’t get me wrong, I wanna go with you. It’s just that people might get the wrong idea when they see us outside and I’m this close to graduating and I don’t want anything to hold me back, you know?”

He noticed your anxious expression and he’d ran a hand through the length of your arm to comfort you. “I understand, you know I do.” Despite the thick material of your flight suit, his touch left a trail of goosebumps on your skin. The effect he had on you is daunting.

He paused to think for a second. “Hey, what about this. Let’s change out of these uniforms and then I’ll wait for you outside base. We’ll blend in perfectly. That sound good?”

A small smile had creeped into your face as you nodded gingerly. God, you missed him so much.

“I got you, don’t worry. Plus I already told some of my colleagues that you’re a family friend so they leave us alone.”

He probably meant that in a sweet, genuine way, but it still stung. You went through so many changes during the years you spent apart. You worked hard on your appearance and became more confident in the way you deliver yourself, something that you weren’t before. You’d never admit it but in some small part of you, you wished Bradley saw you like the girls he’d go crazy over.

You mustered up a tight smile for him. “Okay, See you in a bit.” You say before walking away.

A single thought remains in your mind: Still not good enough.

—

Lunch went surprisingly easy despite of what had happened earlier.

You’ve imagined this moment with Rooster so many times while you were away for college. Like what would your first meeting as adults would be, if you would ever cross paths again.

Would you have a meet-cute like the movies where you bump into each other unexpectedly, or where you’d trip and he’d catch you, literally sweeping you off your feet? And would it be a new beginning for both of you, finally seeing each other after years of being apart?

Would love just come naturally, fate tired from seeing you both struggle to see it?

Even if this isn’t as grandiose as what you’ve dreamed of, you and Bradley munching through breakfast for lunch and early dinner at Denny’s while catching up seemed like how things should be.

Just his mere presence made everything better (for your heart) and worse (also, for your heart) at the same time.

You didn’t tell him that running thousands of miles away from home didn’t do shit because all you’ve ever searched for was him and anything remotely similar to how he’s made you feel, nor how you’d always check next door first to see if that blue Bronco’s parked in the driveway again when you’d come home for breaks. Instead you told him good (boring) things about college, because those were the safest. It didn’t warrant any additional questions, questions that could prod at your already flaking defense and one wrong step could have him see how much you’re pathetically struggling to keep it up.

He in turn, tells you stories from college to his current naval career, and you listen. Or you try to, as you hyperfocus on how he looked; how this clean cut hair made him look more serious, far from the mop of curls he sported throughout high school and college to how his lips still looked plump and pretty, and you get reminded of how much you liked to sneak looks at them whenever he speaks from that one summer.

This is probably the closest you could be with him so you take advantage of it, marking the features you loved from the old Bradley that remained the same from the new ones you’d get to know from afar.

You manage to catch the important things: how attached he’s been to the California sun ever since he got stationed there and how he’ll take you there to visit once you graduate because he’s that sure that you’ll love it as much as he does, how he’s thinking of growing a mustache, and that he didn’t even consider taking up this job but he’s now happy he did.

He made a point that you know how proud he is of you for following your childhood dream like he did. He swore he’ll take care of you, making up for all those years he hadn’t been around.

You’d hate it later that night because you knew better, but after years of just bottling up all the feelings you felt for him, maybe today was the day you could indulge in the affection he gives you.

Even if it’s ill placed. After all, it would just be today.

Until you realized he meant what he said.

It got hard to remain level-headed in the mist, especially when he became the first person you’d want to call just to tell him about both exciting and frustrating things you got to do from training because you knew he’d understand perfectly, or when he had shown up late to your graduation because he drove for an hour to get you a big bouquet of peonies (your favorite), or when he took you to San Diego and introduced you to his friends who all welcomed you with fondness, finally giving you a sense of belonging and community in this stage of your life.

It was arduous to keep up when even after getting assigned to bases across the country, you’d randomly find packages of random food items that you’ve been craving mentioned in passing through facetimes and texts, or when he would have time to visit, you’d suddenly find that broken bedroom doorknob you’ve been ignoring fixed, the change oil light from your car finally turned off, and you’d always get dropped off in front of Target’s entrance while he finds parking in a busy lot.

Punishing to bear in mind when it’s been custom to have each other pick one up after deployment, when he trusts you enough to park his beloved Bronco at your place and even take it out for eventual maintenance checks, and when you’d lean on his chest when it gets too crowded and his arms find its way around you, tucking you in, and at once there’d be comfort in chaos.

This still isn’t what you hoped to be with Bradley; but you were given something greater, far more than that silly little crush you’ve ever daydreamed about, and suddenly, something you’ve been certain of ever since that day you handed him that casserole wasn’t as clear now. Risking all this for a confession of years of love and adoration didn’t seem worth it anymore.

Perhaps, this was okay. This was how things should be.

—

So you didn’t quite understand why you were fuming, and all that filled your head was hurt, hurt, hurt.

The scene unfolded like a usual Saturday night for everyone: Tipsy Rooster throws his hand across your shoulders, making you sway with him to the opening rhythm of Great Balls of Fire (his third song in a row), leaning close to your ear where his mustache tickles your skin and unsheaths a million goosebumps at its wake, to say that he promises, like pretty promises, to let you sing the last verse and chorus with him as a peace offering for hogging the mic yet again. And you believe him.

Not because the few drinks you’ve had impeded your better judgement, but because it wasn’t like Rooster to break promises. Neither a wash of alcohol nor adrenaline could waver that man’s conviction to a promise.

You relent, plopping yourself beside a warm Phoenix, who was busy playing an intense card game with Bob, Fanboy, and some other pilots. Through the windows, you could spot Hangman’s animated head bob along as he charms two women by the pool table while Coyote and Fritz played beside him. It had been a busy week for all of you back at base, so everyone was just out and about, eager to be distracted from the events at work.

You had felt yourself get dizzy after taking two swigs off your nth beer, so you closed your eyes for a bit, leaning your weight on Nat’s back as you listen to your best friend croon his heart out and have his karaoke moment. Music had always calmed Rooster down, and as much as you’d love to have your overdue turn to sing, you’re always willing to wait for him (even if you’ll never admit it out loud).

So when he finished the second chorus and the piano solo kicked in, you had willed yourself to come back to consciousness. It had been a while since you sang this song, and you’ve never shared a duet with Rooster before because both of you would just be too busy fighting for the mic. You might not have the best singing voice when tipsy but you’re singing with your best friend, and it was okay to be embarrassing with him.

But you never hear your name called, and you open your eyes just in time to witness everything. The door leading to the outdoor area opened and out it spat a woman you remember seeing in passing inside when you went to get a refill from Penny. She was beautiful and of course, she had eyes only for Rooster. Considering the recognition in her face as she saw him plus the sure steps he made towards her, you knew they have had history.

You couldn’t hear what they were saying but she was laughing, obviously sending the fuck me gaze in Rooster’s way, and you could tell he was chuckling too by the careen in his shoulders.

The piano solo gave you an insulting background music as you watched tensed up. Knowing this song by heart, you count the seconds and notes while staring at the two of them.

‘Anytime now, Roos will bid her goodbye and he would call me next to him and we would finish this song together,’ you thought, assuring yourself. ‘He promised.’

Except when the solo ended, he pulled her close, put his arm on her shoulders, handed her the mic, and they sang together.

He didn’t even bother looking back at you. It was as if you weren’t there in the first place.

You should really lay off on alcohol. Something about it makes you act childish and irrational.

Because here you were, a grown woman, an Ivy League and Top Gun graduate, trusted to fly big expensive planes through challenging and stressful situations, yet all you wanted to do was to throw things and wail right then and there because you didn’t know how to quiet the pounding in your chest or to silence the reverberating words in your head: hurt, and in a smaller voice, that should’ve been me.

Despite the open around you, it felt like the air was getting punched out from your lungs, and you just had to get out. Standing abruptly, you forgot the drink perched on your lap and it spills, the cold liquid soaking through denim. Wanting to slip away unnoticed was far gone because your clumsiness just managed to attract unwanted attention from Nat and the rest.

A chorus of startled and worried questions erupt at your wake, but they get swept up in the night breeze as you squeeze past them, muttering something sounding like an apology while your feet takes you down the patio steps and into the sand of the beach, your boots sinking on the sand with your laden steps.

It seemed like the faster you run, your feet get heavier and harder to drag off the sand, making your dash to the parking lot achingly slower. The world was mute, the once noisy bar with all its music and chatter, even the relentless crashing of waves to shore were absent. The biting November wind clings to your frame and to the wet trails left on your cheeks. You didn’t even notice you were crying, but you just hope they didn’t spill when you were squeezing past your friends. They didn’t have to see how pathetic you really were behind your collected front.

But here now, by the unlit back wall of the bar where no wandering eyes could see you, maybe you could let some tears flow to keep the dam from overflowing again. You have always prided yourself in being able to keeping your emotions in check. With a job like yours you couldn’t guarantee a day or two where nothing unexpected occurs, no one gets hurt, or no one treats you unfairly, so you had to learn how to let your work be work, and not let it bleed through your personal life. Same as with Bradley. Your longing for him was met in this friendship and had let yourself get used to that. You knew to turn away when he spots someone that sparks his interest in the bar, you learned to tune him out when he raved about this person he met, you had a set of answers to give when he asks you advice on what to wear for a date or what gift to give.

Because your needs were being met. You have a best friend, a confidant, a partner in him. You have made a joke of yourself, your feelings to keep the man you loved close. You could sleep at night before. You were okay before. You could pretend this didn’t happen tomorrow like before, so why doesn’t it work now?

You cry for the wasted years of devoting yourself to someone who wouldn’t even bat an eye for you when occupied with others that haven’t, or wouldn’t even attempt to do things you’ve done for Bradley, to make him happy, to keep that fucking smile on his face, to keep that light in his eyes burning bright.

You cry for all the times you have rejected or ignored people that expressed interest in getting to know you because you were too enamored and convinced that no one could make up for what he was in your life. And you’re not wrong. No one could make you insecure like he does whenever you act or dress like what he says he seeks for in a partner but he’d still look the other way. No one could be as dense as he is. No one could make you cry about a fifteen year old song like he does and make you feel like your teen self isn’t as different as you were now.

You wonder if you could’ve just given the guy who pursued you for a month with clear intentions and a kind heart a chance, a date, a night to prove himself to you, would you still be crying uncontrollably with your hand muffling your sobs, the rough wood patchwork on a dark corner of the bar the only thing keeping you from curling up into a ball as the years of regret catch up to you on a Saturday night?

Almost the entirety of your life devoted should be enough. It was time to quit Bradley Bradshaw.

Only it had to wait until sunrise to start. Because upon reaching the parking lot, you were smacked with a terrible realization: you rode with him to the Hard Deck.

You had sobered up from tears a little bit, but you feel another sob threatening to bubble out of your throat. Why were you so stupid?

You want to kick the Bronco’s wheels out of frustration but the baby didn’t do anything to deserve it (also because you had paid to get the car washed earlier that day). It was just an innocent bystander to your stupidity and unconditional love to its owner, so you drop down and hug your knees tight, shielding your face from the lights of the lot.

Maybe if you could sleep like this, you’d wake up back to this morning and this will all be a simple nightmare. And the exhaustion from the week and your sadness and anger were all too convincing for you to try it out, if it weren’t for the voice calling out your name in worry, the footsteps quickly coming towards you, and the strong arms that wrap around your frame, willing you to speak.

“Y/N, hey,” Bradley says softly, hand rubbing circles on your back. “Let’s get you somewhere warm, m’kay?”

Managing to muster up some strength, you push him away, or at least a sorry attempt to. Your palms were no match against his hard chest, and they just slide down hopelessly to your sides.

Grumbling, you say, “I can do it myself.”

“Okay, careful.” His voice remained soft, devoid of any annoyance or exasperation. This annoys you more. You wanted nothing but to hate this man to the guts but he makes it hard by being like this, like he actually cares.

You refuse to meet his eyes but you know they’re on you, watching as you hoist yourself up using the concrete as leverage. He had his hand outstretched to catch you if you stumble, and for a second you were tempted to grab it, but you resort to the side of the Bronco to keep your balance and the hand retreats.

Training your eyes to the ground, to anywhere except his stupid face, you explain, “I just need my bag,” gesturing at the lump on the passenger seat of the car. “So I can just catch an uber home.”

“No, I’ll drive you home,” he quickly refuses, fishing out his car keys from his back pocket. You wanted to lunge and steal it from him, but that’s just going to cause unnecessary contact with him. It’s best to avoid touching anything of him because you don’t know what it’ll do to the wall you’ve hastily built against him.

“Don’t bother. Last thing I want is to ruin your chances in getting laid tonight.”

Your words earn a quick eyebrow furrow from him and a miniscule wave of satisfaction runs through you. And you figure it out: if you can’t be happy tonight, no one near you can be.

A desire to cause a cascade of anger through him continues to consume you but he stops there. Face still laced with concern, he shakes his head and sighs, “Alright, let’s get you home.”

You watch him as he opens your door and waits for you to climb in while you remained standing where you were.

“Y/N.” He says it with a tonality he almost exclusively uses at work, when he has to put his instructor hat on or when he has someone to reprimand. “Please don’t make me carry you inside.”

You want to say he wouldn’t dare, but you knew he could easily do it. And even if you scream bloody murder, people knew you two always bicker like this so no one would think anything’s amiss. So you glare at him before noisily climbing up his car and shutting the door on his face. Whether it may be through words or actions, you were adamant to express your frustration to him, to this car, to this entire situation.

You could tell by the slump in his shoulders as he walked to the driver’s seat that he was bothered by how you’re acting but you can’t bring yourself to care. You just want to leave him troubled as you are, with his heart wrung tightly he couldn’t breathe.

The next words come out after a while of driving quietly through dark, empty streets. He was letting you calm down but your mind was far from it. You occupy yourself by counting the streets left to cross before you reach your apartment from the passenger window, wanting nothing but to get the fuck out of there and sleep.

“Y/N,” he starts. “What happened back there? Did anyone cause you trouble? Tell me what they look like so I can tell Penny and Mav about it tomorrow.”

You were thankful you had your hands tucked in, arms crossed over your chest, because you were certain if it had been anywhere else he could easily reach over and touch, he would.

When he was answered with silence, he tries again. “Were you hurt, Y/N? What did they do to you? Please tell me.”

“God, shut up. You’re making my head throb even more.”

“I will when you answer me. Even Phoenix doesn’t know what’s up with you back there. She says you just got up and left.”

“Maybe it’s just that.”

“I know you enough to know that it isn’t. Something happened that made you this upset.”

“Why do you care so much, Rooster? Dealing with you is suffocating.”

His mouth gapes incredulously, and if the car was stopped in a light he would’ve stared at you in disbelief. “Wha–,” he stutters. “Y/N, come on. Don’t be like this.”

“Like what, Rooster? Like a bitch?” You snort. “I already told you earlier I just needed my fucking bag. I didn’t ask for you to come drive me home. I’m only here because you insisted.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I–,” “I don’t want you to go home alone and upset. I hate seeing my best friend like this and not being able to help. I’m sorry.” There it was again, best friend. An affectionate word, even an achievement to have for others, but you never had a word that triggers so much hate in you as much as that. It sends your temper bubbling higher.

You scoff.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. If you’re mad at me, at whatever I did, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not letting you buy the bluetooth microphone. I’ll get you a new one personally as soon as we get home.”

Now you really laugh, insulted, like salt being thrown haphazardly on your fresh scars. You should’ve cut this man off ages ago. “All this, and the best you can think of is that I’m fucking upset over a microphone. God, I’m really seeing everything tonight, am I?”

“Then help me out, Y/N! I’ve been sitting here going through tonight and yesterday night and the last week, wracking my brain for anything I’ve said or did that made you this upset with me.” He breathes, trying his best to calm himself down.

In a leveled tone he begs, “Please tell me what I can do to make this right.”

“You actually saying that unprovoked just proves everything I’ve realized tonight about you, Roos. I just feel stupid now trying to convince myself that you weren’t dense and selfish when it’s really all about you, isn’t it? You only get bothered when someone lashes out on you. Then you self reflect. You only care about your feelings, about your happiness. You don’t give a shit about anyone else!”

“What? You know that’s not true, Y/N.”

“Knowing you forever says the opposite, Rooster. You have the world in your hands and God forbid anyone upset you and ruin your night—”

“God, Y/N, I’m sorry that I can’t read what’s on your mind! If you can just tell me what the hell I did that got you this pissed so I can apologize for it, instead of saying cryptic and hurtful shit that I know you don’t mean then we’d have a better conversation, don’t you think?”

“Wow, so now you’re telling me the things I mean and don’t mean. You sure you can’t read my mind, Roos?”

“I know you’d never say those things to me because you know who I am. You think I’m shallow? Okay. That I’m narcissistic, fine. But saying I don’t give a shit about anyone, about you,” he pauses. “You know better than that, Y/N. I know you do after everything we’ve gone through—”

“So now you want to compare the shit we did, shit we sacrificed for each other during this fucking friendship? Alright, I’m down. Go ahead.”

“What— no! Fuck, Y/N, please. I know what you’re doing, you’re trying to hurt me, making me feel the way I made you feel.” He pleads, his voice getting hoarse from all the screaming. “Just please tell me what you want me to do to fix this. Please.”

“I want nothing to do with you.” It came off so easy from your tongue it’s hard to believe you held this back for years.

It surprised him too, so much so that he gave up trying to make you admit you didn’t mean it. The certainty in your voice scares him enough to believe as soon as he heard it. “Why?”

“Because I fucking hate you.”

You see shock, anger, and sadness and all sorts of emotions you can’t catch because of the tears blocking your vision flit on his face quickly. With a morose expression, he shakes his head in disbelief, blinking some tears away, willing them not to fall. You knew he’s trying to think you didn’t mean it.

But now with tears falling freely, you know you finally do. “Because you make me become someone that I’m not and I hate it. You make me jealous, you make me spiteful of the girls that come near you, you make me hateful and bitter that I can’t make you smile like you do with people who barely know you. And I know that’s so petty and immature and I know better than that but you just make me stupid and irrational.

You make me dependent on you for things that I can do myself. I can drive myself home I can do my own groceries I can take care of myself when I’m sick but now that you’ve weaseled yourself in my life these things aren’t the same without you. I hate that I got attached to this fucking car that eats up gas so fucking quick. I hate seeing your stupid Hawaiian shirts you always forget to iron. I hate your stupid fucking mustache and how long you take to fucking shape them.

I fucking hate how I get so weak when I’m with you that I get all the feelings I know I should’ve given up on ages ago and I know, I have fucking known for years that you’ll never feel the same way I do and yet here I am. I hate that I can’t quit you after all these years I’m still here and I love you and I can’t do anything about it.”

You also hate that unlike the confession scenes in movies have the heroine crying but still look beautiful, you had tears and snot dripping on your shirt and jeans and you only found out when you tasted some while sputtering and spewing out all the words that haunted you for years on Bradley.

Finally everything was on the table. You’ve crossed the point of no return and instead of feeling relief you felt spent, exhausted, and widely aware that you don’t have strength to face your best friend anymore. In fact, you’re sure you just lost yours.

Tears have blinded you to what you were facing and you could barely breathe from the snot build up in your nostrils, so you pull up your sweater to wipe and sneeze into until—

BONK!

A searing pain erupts from a specific point on your forehead and you clutch it while curses flow from your mouth, tearing up again because it fucking hurt and it made your headache ten times worse. Bradley must’ve hit you with something and you’re mad but you also understand why he’d do that.

But as you blink some tears away you see him cradling his forehead as well, groaning and cursing in pain, mirroring your actions.

What the hell just happened? Did he just headbutt you?

Turns out you’ve thought that one out loud. “I didn’t, you dumbass. You keep on fucking moving.”

He grabs your face, encasing it with his big hands forcing you to look at him. You stare at each other for a second and after everything you’ve exchanged in this car you want it to last until it couldn’t, because you knew this would be the last time you’d have Bradley this close. Even if his beautiful features are marred with pain and frustration and other emotions you couldn’t name.

He groans, pulls on the sleeve of his thermal shirt and wipes the snot and tears off of your nose and mouth haphazardly.

And then he leans in for a kiss.

There was a blink, a split second of silence, before the chorus of voices erupt in your head: your five year old self disgusted that you’re kissing that snotty Bradshaw kid; a ten year old you guilty and scared that Ms. Carole will get mad at you for not asking permission to kiss her son; thirteen, appalled that you were basically making out with someone that’s clearly not Emmett Richmond from Legally Blonde; seventeen year old you screeching, screaming ‘FUCKING FINALLY!’ and immediately searching for a Taylor Swift song to accompany this moment; and a twenty six year old Y/N more confused than ever that you’d still end up here, living your adolescent fantasy instead of finding someone new and better.

Yet amidst the chaos, you find yourself mute. In the moment, yes, you were hopeless against Bradley’s lips, yours following his lead like a teenager on her first kiss because you haven’t had (or probably refused to get) enough practice to do this thing properly, but you found it graceless, like trying to walk in shoes that were one size too big— not quite right. Like you couldn’t give yourself fully to the moment because something hefty still lingers in the air, left unsaid.

So against your past selves’ wishes, you pull away. Looking down, you refuse to look at him, afraid that his eyes will confirm your worst fear. “Please,” you whisper nervously. “Please don’t kiss me because you feel bad. That’s… that’s mean.”

An exasperated sigh escapes Bradley and two fingers tilt your chin to face him properly. There wasn’t any trace of guilt nor contempt on his flushed face. Just pure exasperation for all the things you’ve done tonight but you can’t let yourself be so sure. No falling for anything without full certainty and a vocal confirmation. You had enough of your fair share.

“God, you’re the smartest girl I know but you’re also incredibly dumb. I kissed you to shut you up and let you know I do feel the same thing because I know if I just say it you won’t listen because you’re too fucking stubborn.” He huffs.

Locking eyes with you, he quirks an eyebrow waiting if you have another protest to make. If you weren’t in this situation, you would’ve laughed at the ridiculous irked face he’s making. Maybe he is telling the truth, you tell yourself. Maybe this time, it’ll be right.

Deeming your silence and waiting, parted lips as an answer, he says sulkily, “Now, can I continue this without getting interrupted?”

You hit his arm as you nod. Your lips meet again, the kiss deeper this time around judging by the arm that now encircles you, attempting to pull you closer to him but failing miserably.

“Fuck this shit,” he grumbles.

“Language, Bradshaw, damn,” you chuckle, watching him slide off his seatbelt, putting the car on park and the hand brake on.

“My right foot fell asleep because I was stepping on the breaks this whole damn time.”

Now you really laugh. What a giant dork.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves you off as he reaches towards you and slides off your seatbelt. “Wonder whose great idea it is to confess feelings in the middle of a goddamn street.”

You didn’t get the chance to reply in between hysterics because he swiftly carries and maneuvers you around so you were straddling him, surprised at how comfortable it was. You never had him this close before and you sober up quickly into a mesmerized silence, just admiring how beautiful he looked this close, how the streetlight outside lands square on his face and you could see the speckles of green in his brown eyes, and how all of this is yours. God, saying that feels so foreign but right.

He lets your soft fingertips graze the contours of his face, from his lips to the tip of his nose before one finally settling lost in his curls and the other on the nape of his neck. You don’t know this yet, but he also had dreamed of this moment longer than he could remember.

Suddenly you get hit with a familiar wave of the longing in your pit for Bradley, only this time you can act up on it. So you did, crashing your lips onto his.

Like the other things you’ve imagined with him, this was certainly never in consideration. You’d imagine a spacious park, branches of a leaning tree lined with soft fairy lights that made both of you glow as he leans in, lips melding into yours perfectly as soft music crooned in the background. Instead you get a steamy Bronco two streets away from your apartment, and probably more odd locations in your place. Not that you’re complaining though.

—

You were going through some papers that needed to be graded on one of your students’ desk after class when you feel the presence of three amused pilots approaching you.

Even if you didn’t look up, you know by their steps that it was Fanboy, who took a seat in front of you, Phoenix, that sat next to you, and a snickering Hangman who opted to stand beside you, looming over your hunched figure.

“What did my kids do now?” You say, not bothering to greet them. Even if the students you had also took classes with some of them, you were adamant in calling them your children because despite of how much they annoyed you sometimes, you’ve gotten close to this batch and they to you. Some of the instructors would even ask you to sit them down and discuss about the mistakes they made in their other classes so you could work with them to do it better. Not without them holding you responsible when they act out (sometimes. It can’t be helped) of course.

“Oh nothing. They’re great, actually,” Nat replies. “We just wanted to see the beautiful face of our great Indigo today.”

Mickey pipes up. “Yeah, we didn’t even get to see you at lunch today.”

Moving onto the next paper, you say, “I was busy. But didn’t you guys visit my class earlier?” It was just Hangman and Fanboy casually walking across the back of the room, claiming to grab something very important (a random HDMI cord). They scooted out fast but not before getting a good look at your confused face. You thought you had something stuck to your teeth but you didn’t have your phone with you so you just tried to clean them with your tongue.

“Yeah. We did.”

“Uhuh. Need another cord?”

“No, we just need you to look at us, darlin’.”

You almost didn’t, half expecting Hangman to have a plate of whipped cream ready to smack your face, but food isn’t allowed beyond the cafeteria so you reluctantly raise your head to meet the expectant and scandalous looks on your friends’ faces.

No face smashing occurred, only a mesh of hollers, high fives, and nods of agreement.

“What am I missing?”

“Oh, nothing. We’re just happy you had fun last night with Rooster.”

“Took you guys too fucking long,” Mickey drawls, clutching his head in exaggeration. Phoenix joins him in agreement, grinning at you proudly like she’s your mom and you just got a medal for being a top student in class.

A sweat starts to break out of your forehead. You and Bradley didn’t tell anyone that you were together last night, hell, you didn’t even had time to discuss what you guys were now. The last thing you want is for people to make assumptions and you can’t tell them otherwise because you don’t know where you stand. ‘We just fucked all night in every hard surface you could think of, no big deal.’ won’t be an acceptable answer, especially when this reaches Maverick and Penny.

“Wha—,” you stutter. “I wasn’t with Rooster last night! Stop making up bullshit, Bagman.”

Jake just gives you that god awful smirk and nod combo that tells you he knows you’re full of shit right now.

You turn to Nat, desperate for your friend to back you up. ‘’Nat, I wasn’t with him last night I swear.”

She makes her way to your lap and hugs you sideways. You know you could always count on your wingman. “Oh, my sweet Indy,” she coos. “No need to explain. The same bruise you and Rooster have on your foreheads tell us everything we wanna know.”

#rooster #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster x oc #rooster imagine #rooster fluff #bradley bradshaw fluff #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #miles teller #it’s maverick’s fault

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 9 months

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Sweet Home Alabama Masterlist

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OC (Linley Mitchell/Linley Floyd), Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x OC (Linley Mitchell/Linley Floyd)

Status: In-Progress

Last Updated: 01/27/2024

A/N: This story does not start explicit but does get there. Minors do not interact. This story is 18+. This story is for @cherrycola27, and @thedroneranger because their unending love for the movie is what prompted me to create this AU. This will hold mostly true to the movie, but I'm going to update parts of it which I've never really liked. I hope you all love it!

Cross-posted on AO3 and Wattpad!

Themes: angst, love, smut, attraction

Summary: Linley Floyd left Pigeon Creek, Alabama and all she was, including the name she was born with, in the rear view mirror seven years ago when she moved to New York. When her boyfriend and she's sure, the love of her life, proposes, she finds herself right back in the place where everything began, Pigeon Creek, Alabama. She has to face down some old demons, and fix some broken relationships to get a divorce from her husband, all so she can marry the man she truly loves. What happens in Pigeon Creek after that proves that sometimes, home is where the heart is, even when you don't know it.

Characters

Jake Seresin

Linley Floyd a.k.a Linley Mitchell

Bobby Ray Floyd

Natasha Trace

Penny Benjamin (nee Seresin)

Amelia Benjamin

Pete Mitchell

Bradley Bradshaw

Carole Bradshaw

Mickey Garcia

Reuben Fitch

Beau Simpson

Lightning Never Strikes the Same Place Twice

Welcome to New York

Country Roads, Take Me Home

Home (Not So) Sweet Home

Love Conquers All (Supposedly)

The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Decisions

This Is The End (Of What Used to Be)

Trouble's More Than A Word (It's A State Of Being)

Catfish and Dog Cemeteries

Roosters and Reenactment Day

Non-Sibi Sed Patriae

A Clean Slate

A Lawyer's Lament and Deep South Glass

Shot through the Heart, But You're to Blame (You Give Love A Bad Name)

Sweet Home Alabama

Epilogue - Home is Where the Heart Is

My Taglist for this fic is Open!

Want to be added to the Taglist for this fic? Leave a comment on this masterlist or drop me a message in my inbox!

PLEASE INCLUDE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO. I DO NOT ACCEPT TAG-LIST REQUESTS FROM BLANK OR AGELESS BLOGS. THIS IS AS MUCH FOR MY SAFETY AND LEGALITY ON THE INTERNET AS WELL AS YOURS.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine #sweet home alabama #a top gun au #star's sweet home alabama top gun au #jake hangman seresin x oc #hangman x oc #jake seresin x oc #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc

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the-authoress-writes · 2 months

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Coming Soon…

Safe and Sound

A Bradley Bradshaw x Seresin OC Story

After leaving her violent and abusive husband, Anastasia Seresin has known nothing but fear for months.

Always looking over her shoulder, wondering if he’s found her and their son, Luke, again.

With nowhere left to go, she turns to her younger twin brother, Jake, hoping that finally, she’ll have fled far enough.

But when she meets Bradley Bradshaw, her world is turned upside down, and she’s left wondering…

Will she have the courage to love again, and to let herself be loved?

Taglist

@valmare

@callsign-skydancer

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@tadomikiku

@malindacath

@aviatorobsessed

@lynnevanss

@djs8891

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

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sarahsmi13s · 6 months

Text

|| Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw Masterlist ||

i DO NOT consent to copies or translations of my work!

hello my little cassettes! here is where you can find all of the stories that feature bradley 'rooster' bradshaw!

general taglist

series

-> 'Duckie' Universe (bradley bradshaw x twin sister!reader) -- ongoing

-> 'Bring Her Home, Bradshaw' Universe (bradley bradshaw x mitchell!reader) -- resident evil 4!AU -- ongoing (slow updates)

angst

-> Didn't Like Me That Much (ex!bradley bradshaw x reader)

smut -- 18+ MDNI

sorry... none yet 😅

fluff

-> Picture Perfect Tattoos (bradley bradshaw x tattoo artist!reader)

-> Footloose (bradley bradshaw x pilot!reader)

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blue-aconite · 10 months

Text

let me drown || chapter III - bradley’s summer part III

Summary: People aren't always what they seem.

Warnings: Allusions to smut, jealousy, swearing, angst, cheating, drinking

Word Count: 6.3k

Pairings: Bradley Bradshaw x OC

Authors Note: It’s here. Enjoy. Minors DNI. Each chapter will be labelled with warnings individually.

Thank you to my amazing beta @writercole, this fic wouldn’t be what it is without you. I love you.

Virginia, Oceana Naval Air Station, Summer 2018

Bradley slammed on the brakes a bit harder than necessary, knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel too tight. Thea was quiet in the passenger seat, playing with the hem of her jean shorts as he sat in silence in the driveway.

Dinner had been tense, to say the least. Bradley’s mood had only gotten worse as Athena continued to pester them. At first she had taken an interest in Thea, asking her all sorts of questions. It was innocent enough but Bradley knew there was nothing innocent about his WSO. He had kept quiet though, hand resting on Thea’s knee as she answered Athena’s rapid questions.

Bob and Hangman had seemed oblivious to the tension at first, eager to catch up since they last saw each other. Bradley hated how well they seemed to get along. Like Hangman and Bob were actual friends. It felt wrong. Hangman wasn’t a friendly guy and Bob should know that. Especially if they spent months together on a carrier. He couldn’t exactly put his thumb on why it bothered him so much, but it did.

Hangman and Bob eventually ran out of things to talk about and turned their attention to Thea. To his dismay, his girlfriend and Hangman got along like two peas in a pod. Bradley hated it. He hated how Hangman made her laugh, trading life stories like they’ve known each other for more than an hour. And he hated the way Hangman looked at her. He shouldn’t be looking at her at all. Thea was taken. She was Bradley’s girlfriend and Hangman had the audacity to flirt with her when Bradley was sitting right next to them.

Bob hadn’t interfered, smiling and sharing anecdotes from his and Hangman’s time together. Bradley hated that too. Nobody had seemed to care that Bradley wasn’t really a part of the conversation. Nobody except Athena. She spared him the occasional glance, something vicious dancing across her features each time he caught her watching.

When Athena then veered into more intimate details of his and Thea’s relationship, Bradley slammed a fist on the table and told her to stay out of it. His outburst startled the occupants of the table, as well as several other patrons of the restaurant. He had excused himself to the bathroom for a chance to calm down. He hoped that Athena would keep her mouth shut while he was gone.

There had been a tentative knock on the door, Thea was hovering outside the door, worry etched onto her face. He stepped out of the bathroom, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Are you okay?” She asked as he closed the bathroom door behind him, not bothering to answer her as he tugged her into his arms, burying his face in her hair. “Bradley, please, what’s wrong?”

“Can we just go home?” He had asked instead of answering Thea’s questions. He wanted to go home, wrap Thea up in his arms and never let go. She sweetly told him to head for the car while she said goodbye, never the one to push.

The drive home had been quiet, Bradley’s anger still rushing through him. Thea shifted uncomfortably the entire way, opening and closing her mouth several times but never saying anything.

She exited the car and Bradley wondered for a split second if he should go back to base but Thea called out his name, stopping in the doorway. “Are you sleeping in the car tonight or what?”

He followed her into the bedroom and they got ready for bed in silence. At least she wanted him here. Thea was already in bed when he exited the bathroom, phone pressed to her ear.

“Yeah okay. Tell them sorry for cutting dinner short. ‘Kay, I will. I love you, goodnight.” The term of endearment threw him for a loop until he realised she was probably talking to Bob. He got under the covers, desperately wishing he could just pull her into his arms.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Thea kept her eyes trained on the ceiling, fingers fidgeting on top of the duvet. Bradley doesn’t know exactly what’s going on so he settled for the one thing he did know.

“I didn’t like the way he looked at you.” It’s childish and he knows it but it’s also true.

Thea frowned, turning onto her side to study his face. “What do you mean?” Bradley isn’t going to insult her by asking how she could have missed the obvious.

“Hangman. He looked at you.” Bradley’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, taking a deep breath. He could see Thea’s hand moving in the corner of his eye and when she made contact with his naked skin, he sucked in another breath.

“Babe, we were talking. Of course he was looking at me. Would have been quite rude not to.” She poked his side, trying to lighten the mood.

“He didn’t need to look at you like that,” He whispered.

Thea inched closer. “Like what Brad?” Her lips pressed against his bicep, ghosting over his skin.

“Like he wanted you.”

Thea barked out a laugh, coughing when she realised he was serious and didn't find the whole thing amusing. “Oh honey. He was being polite. That’s all. And even if he did look at me like that, it doesn’t matter. All I want is you.” Thea crawled on top of him, kissing his nose when she settled on his chest. When he didn’t answer, she continued to press kisses to his face, tongue darting out to trace his bottom lip.

Flipping them over was easy and Thea gasped his name when he pressed her into the mattress. He lets his hands roam, enjoying the way she shuddered when his fingers traced along the waistband of her underwear. Her touch faltered as his hand skimmed over her shirt clad stomach, their foreheads pressed together.

“Please.” He whispered against the hollow of her throat, lips finding her skin. He pulled back to look into her eyes, repeating his plea. It’s a cheap shot but he could try. She hesitated and Brad decided to throw caution to the wind as he pressed his hips closer.

“Thea. Please, I want you. Say you want me too. Say you’re mine.” He begged. Tell me you belong to me. Tell me you don’t want anyone else. Tell me I am the only one. Tell me you don’t want him.

“I love you, Thea.” He tried again, leaning back slightly. An uncomfortable tightness grew in his chest, very much unlike the tightness of his boxers. Her silence sent him into a downward spiral of doubt and insecurities, hands reaching inside his chest and squeezing his heart.

“Brad. Bradley. Look at me.” As if she could sense his panic, Thea reached up to frame his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks. “Promise me this isn’t because of what happened tonight. Promise me what you’re saying is how you really feel.”

“Of course it’s real.” It’s also so Athena would leave him alone but Thea didn’t need to know that. She didn’t need to know about the bet. But he did love her, so much he thinks there’s no room for him to feel anything else than this overwhelming need to constantly be with her.

“I love you, too, Bradley.” He didn't need to hear more, reaching down to press their lips together. Thea reached blindly for the light, the room descending into darkness as he slowly pulled the shirt over her head.

“I’m yours Bradley. I want you.”

“Nice of you to skip out on the bill, dickhead.” Was Athena’s way of joining the conversation he and Bob currently was involved in. The bar was packed with people, nothing new for a Friday night but Bradley had hoped to avoid Athena tonight. Even if he had made good on the bet, Bradley had hoped a single text would suffice and then everything could go back to normal.

He was nursing his fourth beer when his backseater joined him and Thea’s brother at the bar.

“I said I was sorry. And we did pay you back.” Bradley muttered, rolling his eyes. Athena waved down the bartender, asking for a beer, eyeing Bradley up and down.

Bob smiled politely when she joined them, munching on a few peanuts. “Isn’t Hangman here? We were talking about going to the golf course before dinner ended.” He angled the cup of peanuts towards her, a silent offer.

“No, he’s meeting someone tonight I think.” There it was again, the white hot jealousy igniting within him every time they mentioned Seresin. Everything about the man infuriated Bradley. His friendship with Bob, the very obvious way he looked at Thea.

“Well, I’ll see him tomorrow. You up for some golf Rooster?” Bob’s invitation was genuine but Bradley could think of a hundred other things to do before meeting Hangman again. He swallowed a mouthful of beer before answering.

“Sorry, but I’ve got some solo simulations to run.” There was no need to mention that he’d never played a single game of golf in his life, except on Wii. He detested the sport, there wasn’t anything remotely fun about it.

Bob smiled brightly, so like Thea’s smile. “Yeah, Thea mentioned that earlier when we spoke. Sorry man, totally forgot.”

Bob downed the last of his water before bidding them goodnight, citing that he and Seresin planned to meet up early the next day.

Athena pounced the moment he was gone, turning towards Bradley with a wicked glint in her eye. “So? Tomorrow’s the deadline, Bradshaw. Sealed the deal yet? If not, we could always call Jake. He’d be down to fuck her in a second, she’s all he’s talked about since dinner.” As always, she pushed the right buttons and Bradley forced himself to let go of his bottle before he broke it.

“Fuck him. I saw the way he was looking at her. She’s mine. Tell him to back to fuck off,” Bradley paused, letting out a heavy breath. “I did it. So you can back off now.”

“Nice. Honestly, I didn't think you had it in you chicken. I’m proud. Next round’s on me.” Athena smacked his arm, looking way too pleased. Bradley had a feeling she wasn’t going to behave any different. Before he could say something, Orca and Spot showed up, nodding their hellos.

“What is this I hear about you buying Simons? What did we miss?”

“Bet Bradshaw here free drinks forever if he fucked lil Floyd within three weeks.” Bradley choked on his beer, patting his own chest to get rid of the fluid in his throat. He turned to Athena, anger coursing through his veins. What the fuck was she doing?

“Hey look at that, big man Bradshaw. Good for you. Was she any good? She looks like she’s good.” Orca nudged his side, filthy smile in place, his blue eyes shining with interest. Bradley had every intention of walking away from the conversation but Athena clucked quietly under her breath, making crude gestures with her hands.

Spot grimaced, looking around the packed bar. “Tone it down man. What if Floyd hears? Don’t think he would appreciate listening to how Bradshaw railed his little sister.” He ended his sentence with a laugh, proudly accepting the high five from both Athena and Orca.

“Come on Rooster, share. She’s a pretty thing, isn’t she? She’s like a damn princess, all happy and shit.” Athena mocked, waving down the bartender for another round. Bradley sighed audibly, taking another gulp of his beer.

Orca and Spot laughed in tandem, making kissy faces at him. “Bradshaw, don’t go all shy on us now.”

“Maybe she was terrible. Fuck chicken, is that it? It was bad, wasn’t it? Fuck, I knew I should have let Hangman loose. You should have seen them at dinner. There were fumes coming out of this one's ears.” Athena patted Bradley on the arm. All three of them were laughing now, trading insults.

Bradley wasn’t drunk but he had consumed enough beers to have his judgement clouded. And when Athena once again mentioned Hangman, and his very obvious attraction to Bradley’s girlfriend, he had enough.

“Fuck you, Athena. Hangman isn’t coming anywhere near my girl, ever. And for your information, I fucked her until she cried. So shut the fuck up.”

Orca thumped him on the back, hooting wildly. “Hell yeah Rooster. Good man!” For a split second, pride filled Bradley and he joined in the laughter, reaching for another beer.

“Guess I misjudged you then, Bradshaw. As promised, I’ll back off.”

“Damn right you will,” he spat. “And no mention of any of this to anyone else, you understand? Any of you. I will make sure you’re all grounded.”

“Grounded for what?” Bob asked as he appeared over Bradley’s shoulder.

All eyes turned to Bradshaw as he squeezed his eyes shut for a second before turning to his girlfriend’s brother. “Nothing.”

There was a look on Bob’s face that said he knew more than he was letting on but Bradshaw was too impaired to begin to interpret it correctly. “Mhmm,” Bob hummed as he turned to the rest of the group. “I’m gonna head out. Behave, don’t make me come back to pick up any of you drunks.”

The group bid goodbye to the WSO and turned back to Bradshaw, the looks on their faces begging for details. Unfortunately for him, he was just drunk enough to give them what they wanted.

When Bradley woke the next morning, Thea’s side of the bed was empty and his head was killing him. Rolling over slowly, he spotted a glass of water and Advil on the nightstand, a note laying next to them.

Babe,

Golfing with Bob this morning, didn’t want to wake you. You came back pretty late last night. Drink plenty of water, there’s food in the fridge.

I love you, Thea

Guilt coursed through him as he remembered last night and how he had bragged about their sex life with the rest of his squadron. It was a private matter and he felt threatened enough by Athena to spill details that weren't his to share. Bile rose in the back of his throat and he threw off the covers before sprinting to the bathroom, emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

He heaved until there was nothing left, disgust and shame mixing with the hangover, filling his entire body. How could he have felt even a tiny bit proud last night as he shared the most intimate details of his and Thea’s relationship? How could he once again let Athena influence him? Each time he tried to step away, Athena was there, shoving another drink in his hand, mocking him quietly, out of earshot of the others.

Part of him had wanted to tell her how Thea was a thousand times better than Athena could ever hope to be, how he had never had what he and Thea shared while Athena and he fooled around. The other part wanted her to leave him alone, as promised.

Bradley sat back against the bathtub, head in his hands. He only had himself to blame for this. If he was lucky enough, his squad would keep their mouths shut and word would never get back to Bob about last night. He’d rather avoid a fist to the face. And either way, Bob was playing golf with Hangman today, so he wouldn’t be around the guys anyway.

Bradley frowned, swallowing thickly as he sluggishly moved back to the bedroom, reaching for Thea’s note. ‘Golfing with Bob this morning’ stared back at him, the nauseous pit in his stomach making itself known again.

If Thea was off with Bob this morning, it also meant she was hanging out with Hangman. Bradley crumpled the note in his hand, trying to calm his anger bubbling to the surface.

After Bradley had explicitly told Thea that Hangman wanted her, looked at her, even though she was with Bradley, she had gone off to spend the day with him. Without telling Bradley about it. She had deliberately kept it from him. Before he had left for the bar last night, he asked about her plans and Thea had just told him she was going to stay at home and catch up on chores.

Now she was off, meeting the one man Bradley had warned her off from. How could she? Maybe it had been her plan all along. Maybe Bob wasn’t even there, maybe it was just an excuse so she could meet Seresin alone.

Thea had told Bradley she loved him four nights prior but if she could lie about this, who knew if what she had told him that night was true? He was spiralling, mind going over every possible scenario. How Hangman probably had his hands on what was his right this second, how Thea had lied to him.

The ping of his phone interrupted his train of thought, alerting him to a new message. Scrambling, he pushed off the floor only to see Athena’s name flashing across the screen. It’s a picture attached in the text message and Bradley felt like vomiting again. In the picture, clearly taken from a distance, Thea is laughing, head thrown back and her hand on Hangman’s arm, matching smile on his face. Bob is there too but Bradley can’t tear his eyes from how she’s touching him.

Another message pops up beneath the picture. ‘Lookin’ cosy, don’t they?’ appears first and the three dots indicate that Athena is still typing. Fury fills his veins as she sends another picture, this time of Hangman and Thea getting into the same car, Hangman’s hand on her wrist.

Bradley threw the phone across the room, watching the screen crack as it hit the wall. His heart pounded against his ribcage, blood rushing to his head as he tried to control his breathing.

Somewhere he could hear the front door opening, Thea calling his name. Was she checking to see if the condo was empty? Was Hangman waiting in the car? Did she bring him here, thinking Bradley had already gone back to base.

“Brad?” He looked up to see Thea hovering in the doorway, concern written all over her face. “Babe, you look awful. Have you eaten?” She moved towards him but stopped short when Bradley stumbled to his feet, fire burning in his veins.

“Is he here?” He spat, nostrils flaring as he stared her down. He wouldn’t let her lie to him anymore.

Thea looked genuinely confused. “Is who here? Bob dropped me off but he couldn’t stay. Didn’t you see my note?”

“Oh I saw plenty!” Bradley laughed harshly. He moved then, bending down to grab his phone. The screen was cracked in three places but it miraculously still worked. He punched in the code, Thea’s birthday, opening his messages. The picture of her and Hangman getting into a car together lit up the screen.

“This! I saw this. What the fuck is going on? Why were you with him?” He showed the phone in her face, the pictures that Athena sent him on the display. Bradley watched her face closely as she studied the phone, brows furrowing.

“Babe, I told you. Bob invited me for a round of golf and Jake was there too. Apparently they’ve played together before and me and Bob always used to play back home. Bobby said he invited you too. He said you declined.”

Bradley snorted. “Yeah, and you obviously found that particular opportunity very good. A whole fucking day, alone with him!” Tired of being cooped up in the bedroom, he shoved past Thea and headed for the kitchen.

“An opportunity? Brad, that doesn’t even make sense. And Bob was there too? I don’t understand why you hate Jake so much. He’s been nothing but kind.” Her footsteps alerted him that he was being followed.

Bradley spun on his heel, making Thea smack right into him. “HE HAD HIS HANDS ON YOU!” The force of his voice made Thea take a step back, eyes wide. Bradley watched as confusion crossed her face, mouth opening and closing. She was stalling for time. To come up with yet another lie.

Brad swore, jaw clenching. “I saw you two. You let him touch you. You’re mine and you let him touch you!”

Thea blinked, lower lip quivering. “Babe, what are you talking about?” He fumbled for the phone again, showing her the other photo Athena sent.

“Brad.. where did you even get this? Look, he was joking about something, okay? I don’t understand why you’re so upset. We played and then we had lunch. Bobby drove me home afterwards.”

She’s lying. If she had sounded guilty, Bradley might have had believed her but all she did was sound confused. Probably to throw him off.

“Stop, just stop! Just admit you clearly came along just so you could see him. Tell me, did you plan this? When I went to the bathroom during dinner maybe, hm? Did you plan to meet up with him, and then let me fuck you the same night? You feel good now, when you’ve had us both?” He couldn’t stop, not now. Bradley needed to know the truth. The tears on Thea’s face might have hurt less if he wasn’t so angry, so filled with disgust and jealousy.

“Had you both? Bradley, there’s nothing between Jake and me. I love you. There isn’t anyone else.” She cried. Her tears did nothing to stop him.

“STOP LYING TO ME! JUST ADMIT YOU FUCKED HIM!” Bradley slammed his hand down on the counter, rattling the items on there. Thea shied away instantly, backing up until her body hit the wall. Bradley didn’t care, continuing his rant. “Was he good? Better than me? ANSWER!”

Thea pressed closer against the wall, sobs catching in her throat. “Please stop. Brad, please.” When he stayed quiet, Thea took a deep breath and straightened up.

“Look at me Bradley. Look at me. I don’t understand why you would think there’s anything between Jake and me. I’m with you. Okay? I’m right here. I love you. So please, just stop, just -“.

“SHUT UP!” Bradley grabbed the nearest item, hurling it towards the wall. He realised his mistake a moment too late as the glass crashed into the wall, Thea’s hand flying up to cover her mouth. The fear in her eyes was evident and Bradley immediately backtracked. He tried to apologise, moving towards her at the same time.

“Don’t.” Thea held out a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

Bradley’s hands shook as he tried to reach for her but she moved away, further from him. “I said don’t.”

He tried to say her name but Thea only shook her head, tears still streaming down her face. “I think you should go. You need to cool down.”

Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper but Bradley heard her. The anger was still burning and he scoffed, reaching for his keys. “Sure. I’ll go. Don’t forget to text Seresin that I’m gone so he can swoop in.”

He turned on his heels, collecting his phone and jacket on his way out. Thea moved, asking him to stop it and just calm down. But he knows he’ll do something he’s going to regret, so Bradley opts for slamming the door behind him, rattling the windows.

He pulled out of the driveway, knuckles white as he tried to control his breathing. He arrived at Parlor Bar before his mind caught up and for a moment he sat in silence in the car. He should go back, get on his knees and apologise. Wrap her up in his arms and never let go. But Seresin’s hand on her stays in the front of his mind and with that, Bradley made up his mind. He needed a drink.

“Well, if it ain’t Bradshaw. What’s got you down?” Athena mocked as she joined him at the bar. Bradley is already 5 beers in and not interested in entertaining her. Thea’s betrayal still stings and he downed the rest of his beer, signalling the bartender for another. Athena ordered a beer as well, leaning back in her seat. He didn’t answer her so his WSO made her own conclusions. “Aw, did you and the princess have a fight?”

Bradley swivelled around on his stool, beer spilling from the glass. “Fuck off. Leave me alone. This is all your fault.”

Athena snorted, taking a sip of her beer. “I fail to see how it is. I delivered on my end. You fucked lil Floyd, and I backed off. If there’s a problem in paradise, I’m pretty sure it’s your fault, Rooster.”

“You did this. You forced me into accepting the bet.” Rooster argued, anger bubbling over. The bartender backed away after sliding an Old Fashioned in front of him and Bradley swept it down with one gulp.

"FORCED you?" Athena scoffed, a mirthless laugh following. "Bradshaw I didn't force you to do anything. Everything you did was on your own. Did I taunt you? Yeah. But you're a fucking Navy pilot, jackass. You should be above that. Guess they were wrong about you too."

Bradley stood suddenly, the stool rocking on its legs before clattering to the floor. "You fucking bitch. You can't handle the attention not being on you for three seconds and I'm the one who should be above it?"

Athena chuckled again, a mischief flashing in her eyes before she bit her lip and closed the distance between them. "You think I'm jealous of her? You think I’m jealous of your unicorn princess? You think I didn't have attention? Bradley, I've even had your attention this whole time."

"You fucking liar," Bradley spat. The room was spinning slightly, the amounts of alcohol he’s downed in rapid succession making itself known.

"Maybe," she smirked as her hands settled on his hips before one hand skimmed his waistline and down his zipper. "Or maybe you're trying to lie to yourself."

Bradley hadn't even realised his cock had hardened in his pants while he was fuming at his coworker. Neediness overtook him at that point, fueled by the alcohol coursing through his veins, nearly enough to have him seeing double. Flashes of Hangman touching Thea in his mind, touching his girlfriend, was enough. He crashed his lips to Athena’s and pressed his length further into her hand. "Your room. Now. Fucking whore."

Waking up hungover two days in a row hadn’t been Bradley’s plans for the weekend, yet he awoke feeling like he’d been trampled by a herd of elephants, throat drier than the Sahara Desert. Trying desperately to fight the nausea, Bradley rolled out of bed while shielding his eyes from the bright life, trying to navigate his way to the bathroom.

His head was pounding and he didn't remember how he even got home. After the fight, he hadn’t believed Thea would even let him inside the house, nevermind back into her bed. Regret flowed through his body and the pit in his stomach grew. A movement from the corner of his eyes caught his attention and he thanked every God there was for Thea letting him back inside.

He stumbled into the dresser, cursing as his foot caught on the bottom of it. There shouldn’t be a dresser there, Thea had hers by the entrance, not the door to the bathroom. Bradley stopped in his endeavour to reach the bathroom and rubbed his eyes, looking around the room.

A flash of panic went through him as Bradley realised this was not Thea’s bedroom. The silhouette of the body buried beneath the blankets moved, only to reveal the last person Bradley wanted to see. Athena.

His heartbeat accelerated, bile rising in his throat as he spotted his clothes strewn across the room, Athena’s naked body among the sheets. Pieces of the night before flashed before his eyes.

“No no no,” Bradley whispered, something foul and ugly building within him, “Fuck!”

He reached down to collect his clothes, trying to escape before she woke but the nausea wouldn't let him. Bradley sank to the floor, back against the wall as he tried to desperately stop the tears. His phone is buzzed in the pocket of the jeans, the cracked screen lightning up with Thea’s name. The bile returned again and Bradley scrambled to his feet and rushed into the bathroom before emptying his stomach over the toilet. After heaving what alcohol was left in his system, Bradley struggled to his feet, hands grasped at the sink.

What the fuck was he going to do?

“Good morning sunshine. You look like you’ve had better days.” Athena appeared in the doorway. He felt sick as he looked at her. More memories of last night popped up, his hands on her body, her mouth on his skin. He coughed violently, his throat still dry despite emptying the contents of his stomach moments before.

His face twisted. “What time is it?”

“Closer to lunch. Thanks for last night by the way. Nice to know the unicorn princess hadn’t turned you into a saint.” Bradley couldn’t stop the tears from falling when she mentioned Thea.

His heartbreak turned into anger when Athena laughed. “Oh, does the prince need a tissue, hm?”

“Fuck you.” He fumed, turning on shaking legs to look at her. Athena grinned, tongue darting out to wet her lips.

“You already did, if you don’t remember. I honestly thought it would prove to be a challenge to get you into bed, but you went oh so easily. Now, tell me. Who is better? Me or your little girlfriend?”

Bradley bit back his response as her words reached him. Get into bed?

“You planned this.”

Athena scoffed, leaning against the doorframe. “I wouldn’t say that it was a plan. You’ve always been so easy to manipulate, Bradshaw. I just had to press the right buttons. I did think you would change after meeting her but it seems like you’re just the same,” she pauses for a second, taking in his reaction, “honestly, I just wanted to see if I could.”

Bradley opened his mouth but words failed him. Athena took two steps, invading his personal space but his feet refused to move, frozen to the spot.

She patted his cheek. “Thank you for your service, Lieutenant. You can see yourself out.”

He had hoped Thea wouldn’t be home when he finally made his way over to her place, but luck wasn’t on his side.

“Brad, oh good, you’re back. Listen, I feel awful about what happened. I need you to know that nothing is going on between Jake and me. Okay? I’m with you and I love you. There’s no one else. He’s just a friend. And he didn’t do anything remotely close to flirting with me. Bob was there the entire time, you can ask him. Just.. please, I don’t want us to fight.”

Thea kept rambling and he felt sick to his stomach. “Thea, babe.. I am so sorry.”

She paused for a moment. “Thank you. I understand that you were angry but your words really hurt me. I don’t understand why you don’t trust me.” The sadness in her voice brought a wave of anguish. Bradley knew he needed to tell her, but how could he when she was trying to fix his mess?

“I do trust you.” Is the only thing he can say. He does trust her. His own insecurities are at fault here, his own stupidity and inability to deal with his emotions.

“Okay, good. Uh, you kind of stink. Sorry. Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll make some food and we can talk more.” Thea is already moving around the kitchen, pulling out various ingredients from the pantry.

“I’m so sorry.” He says again, not knowing what else to say.

“And I forgive you babe. I just want this to be over, okay?” Thea mixed the eggs into the pancake batter, eyes trained on the stove.

Bradley swallowed thickly. “I made a mistake.”

Thea slowed her movements. “What do you mean?”

Bradley bit his bottom lip, sniffling quietly.

“After you told me to get out yesterday, I went for a drink. At Parlor Bar. You told me to calm down, so I went for a beer. I thought it would help.”

Thea pushed the batter to the side. “Okay. Like I said, I can smell it on you. It’s fine Brad.”

“No it’s not. It’s everything but fine!” Bradley wailed, rising to his full height. His heart plummeted to his stomach as Thea’s face fell.

“What’s going on?”

Bradley hiccuped, wiping away the tears with the back of his hand. “Athena showed up. At the bar. She figured out that we fought. Uh, I had a lot to drink. I was still angry, and jealous. God, I was so jealous. He’s everything I’m not, you know? And seeing you two together just bugged me, I-”

“Bradley.” His name falling from her lips stopped him in his tracks. It’s cold and harsh.

Thea choked up, hurt painted across her face. “What did you do?”

“I’m so sorry.”

She’s quiet for a long time, long enough to make him fidget uncomfortably.

“Did you sleep with her? Did you fuck her?” In the short time they’ve been together, Bradley has never heard her speak like this. He keeps quiet, his eyes trained on the floor.

“Answer the fucking question, Bradley! Did you sleep with her?” Thea’s voice shook, the trembling of her voice breaking his heart in the process.

“Yes.”

Thea laughed, the betrayal swimming in her eyes. “So after you accused me of sleeping with Jake, after you asked me if I felt good about something I hadn’t even done, you decided that the best course of action was to fuck your ex?”

Bradley leapt from his place against the kitchen counter. “I was wrong, okay?” He paused, swallowing hard. “Sweetheart, listen, it didn’t mean anything. She didn’t mean anything. It was a mistake. I was drunk, and I was angry and -” He fumbled for the right words, trying to fix the mess he had created.

“I TRUSTED YOU! I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING BRADLEY! One fight and you run back into her arms?” Thea dipped her head back as she sniffled and tried to stop the tears. His heart broke as she cried, taking a step back as he approached.

“Sweetheart…-” Bradley tried to reach for Thea but she pushed him away.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare touch me after you’ve been with her.” Her hands trembled, with anger or betrayal, Bradley didn’t know. All he knew was that she slipped further from him with each second. He had to make amends.

“Did it mean so little to you?” Thea whispered. “Did I?”

“No. You’re everything. I love you.” Bradley didn’t know what else to say at this point. At first, he thought that maybe she would forgive him but after her reaction, he knew that it’s over.

Thea laughed through her tears. They’re standing on opposite sides of the kitchen but the distance between them feels bigger. “If that was true, you wouldn’t have slept with her. You don’t do this to someone you love.”

Bradley’s chin meets his chest, head hanging low. “I’m sorry. If I could take it back, I would.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry. It won’t fix this.”

“What can I do? Please, tell me what to do.” He pleaded, trying to round the island but stayed back as she shied away from him. “Please.”

She huffed at his words. “You can’t do anything, Brad. It’s already done.”

“Thena, honey, please…-”

She looked up, hands balling into fists by her sides. The hurt in Thea’s eyes slowly burned into anger, her mouth twisting in disbelief and fury. “What did you just call me?” Fuck.

“Babe..-”

“We’re done.” Thea spat, face twisted in pain. There was an odd calmness in her voice and Bradley hated it. He wished she would scream at him. It would have felt better.

“You know, I’ve given you every part of myself. All of me. I trusted you. And in return, you’ve broken all those parts,” Thea whispered. Bradley cried, wishing desperately that he could turn back the time.

“Get out. This,” she pointed back and forth between them, “Is over.”

Bradley looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were red and puffy. He looked as hollow as he felt. His image mocked him, a cruel smile twisted on his face.

His fist made contact with the glass before he could think about it. Blood mixed with glass crashed to the floor but it was only a dull ache compared to agony in his heart. It was overwhelming and he needed to feel something, anything else. With a swipe of his arm, he shoved the objects in his desk to the ground. He watched as they broke but it didn’t make him feel any better.

All he could think of was Thea’s face. The tears on her face, her anger and the betrayal he had committed. The damage was done, there was nothing he could do to fix this.

Bradley’s hands shook as he reached for his phone. He knocked over the bottle of Jack that sat on his nightstand but paid it little attention.

With trembling fingers he punched in a number he hadn’t called in years. As he waited, he both wished for the person on the other end to pick up and not pick up. He didn’t even know if this was the right number anymore.

“Hello? Captain Mitchell speaking.”

Bradley let out a sob. He’d almost forgotten what Pete sounded like. He swallowed hard before answering.

“It’s me. It’s Bradley. I’ve fucked up, I need your help.”

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#bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #fe writes #fic: let me drown #oc: thea floyd #top gun maverick fic #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw

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thatlovinfeelin · 7 months

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Flightless Bird | twenty | Bradley Rooster Bradshaw

Synopsis: Josephine Wilson Miller is alone for the first time in her life. She got married after her first year of college and became a housewife, but that life is gone now. So she runs to San Diego, to her childhood best friend Jake, where she meets the man who could very well be her salvation.

series warnings: unplanned pregnancy, just pregnancy in general, talks of infertility. past mental and emotional abuse. anxiety. talks of women's reproductive systems (idk)

Jose’s heart was in your throat as she watched Bradley get dressed the following morning. She wasn’t ready for him to leave yet. She wanted more time, she needed more. But he had to go, she knew that. She just wished he could stay longer.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he sighed, putting his hands on his hips.

“I can’t help it,” She mumbled.

He stood there for a second before climbing onto the bed. He reached for her, kissing her gently. He didn’t want to go either, but he had a job to do, for a little while longer at least. Soon enough he would be back here, if all went according to plan. He wanted to be back here with her, and her little girl. He wanted to live across the street again and be more than just some random man at an air show.

“I don’t want to go either,” he admitted, “But I have to, baby.”

“I know,” She pouted, “Just wish I could keep you here for a little while longer.”

He smiled, “I wish I could keep you right here, like this.”

“Only because I’m naked,” You laughed, pulling the blanket up higher, “I need to get dressed too. Jake will be back with Wren before too long.”

“I can’t wait to meet her someday,” He said almost dreamily.

She smiled and stroked Bradley’s cheek, the one with all of the scars. There was once a time when she wanted to kiss every one of those scars and make him feel as loved as he was. She did that last night as they tangled in the sheets.

“You’re going to love her,” Jose told him, “She’s amazing.”

“Just like her mom, I’m sure.”

A blush rose on Jose’s cheeks. She wasn’t used to being complimented in the way that Bradley always seemed to make her believe it. It’d been years since she’d heard him, and now she wasn’t sure how she was going to let him walk out of her door again. The last time he swore he’d never be back, what if this turned into a one time deal and she never saw him again?

How would she be able to breathe without him again? She didn’t like being dependent on people, but she felt like she needed Bradley in her life to feel complete. Like he was some sort of missing piece that she didn’t know she needed until he was gone again.

“It feels complete when you’re here,” She mumbled, chasing his lips again.

“I know, baby, I know,” He seemed to agree, “It just feels right being here with you. I don’t know how I’m going to leave you again.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to let you go,” She replied, “If I didn’t have Wren…”

“But you do, and I’m so glad that you do, sweetheart,” He shushed her gently, “She’s your world. And maybe one day she can be a very big part of mine.”

“I’d like nothing more.”

He grinned, the smile stretching across his whole face. They were locked into an embrace, clutching onto one another as if the other would disappear. Maybe he would…just disappear into the skies. Or maybe he would come back to them and they could be a little family again. Maybe she could have the life she wanted with Bradley and everything would turn out okay.

His phone rang from her dresser, causing him to groan. He let go and stretched over, reaching for the device. His shoulders sank when he read the message on it.

“I have to go, like right now,” He sighed, “I wish we had more time.”

“We will,” Jose swore, “We’ll have all the time in the world.”

He nodded and bent down to kiss her again. When they pulled apart, she reached for her robe again, tying it around her waist before following him through the house. It felt strange to be doing this after all this time. Yet it also felt right somehow. If they were leaving things like this, this would be the right way to do it.

“I’ll come back to you,” He promised, dropping his forehead to rest against hers, “I’ll come back to both of you.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” She tried to joke, “Fly safe.”

“I always do.”

“I love you, Bradley.”

He kissed her softly, his mustache tickling her lips, “I love you so much Jose.”

“Come back to me,” She begged him, “Come back home.”

“I will, my love. I promise.”

With that he was climbing into his rental car and driving away, taking Jose’s heart with him. She had her hand over her heart, trying to feel the steady beating of it, hoping it would help ground her. But it did little to help.

But she knew that Wren would be home soon, and that would give her purpose. Wren was her whole life. Her everything. Her life wouldn’t have nearly as much purpose without having Florence. She couldn’t imagine life without her.

So when she heard Jake pulling into the driveway she couldn’t help but smile and run towards the front door to hug her daughter. Wren came bursting through the door, yelling for her mother. Jose dropped to her knees and held her arms wide open.

“Were you good for Uncle Jake and Auntie Nat?”

“Yes ma’am!” Wren cheered, “We had twea pwarty”

“A tea party? That sounds like fun.”

“It was honestly,” Jake said from behind you, “Get kiddo, why don’t you take your bag in your room. Your mama and I need to talk for a minute.”

“Otay!”

Jose stood and turned around, crossing her arms out of habit, “What’s up?”

“Phoe told me something last night and I need you to not be mad,” He said carefully, “I wouldn’t be able to handle it if you were mad at us.”

“Jake, what’s up? What’s wrong?”

He looked nervous, so nervous. He picked at his hands and wouldn’t make eye contact with her, he was even chewing on his lips. Jose hadn’t seen him like this in years. It was making her worried, something had to be wrong. Maybe something happened with Wren overnight?

“You’re scaring me, Jake,” Jose took a step forward and put a hand on his arm.

“She’s pregnant,” Jake blurted out, “Fuck, she’s pregnant.”

“I know.”

“Are you mad? God please don’t be mad. I can’t handle this if you’re mad at me,” He rambled on, “I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do. I don’t know how to be a dad, I’m barely a good uncle. How do I be a father?”

“Jake,” Jose said softly, “Calm down. It’s okay.”

“You aren’t mad?” He questioned.

Jose’s heart nearly broke. He looked so wounded, so scared. So Jose reached out and hugged him tightly. As tightly as she could, he slowly started to relax in her arms. She thought back to how she was when she first moved out here, and how Jake comforted her.

“I’m not mad, Jakey,” She whispered, “How could I be mad about this?”

“Because you always wanted more kids,” He said, as if that was the only reason that mattered, “We weren’t even trying.”

“Jake, you’re going to be a dad, how could I be mad about that? You’re going to be an amazing father.”

“I don’t know how to be a good dad,” he stated, “Mine is shit.”

“Yeah, he is, which is why you’re going to be amazing,” She replied, “And you’re an amazing Uncle, which is an even better reason as to why you’re going to be amazing.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you told me the same thing when I was pregnant with Wren,” She replied honestly, “You told me I would be so much better than my mother, because I’d never want my kid to go through the same things that I did.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he admitted.

“No parent ever does,” She shrugged in response, “We just have to hope we don’t screw our kids up too badly and do our best.”

“Seems like there should be more to it,” He groaned.

“I’ll loan you both some of the parenting books I read while I was pregnant, but for the most part it’s trial and error.”

“I don’t do well with that.”

Jose could hear Wren playing in the other room, talking to her teddy bear that Jake bought her before she was even born. Yes, she always wanted more children, but she was beyond happy to have Wren. She wouldn’t trade her for a minivan full of kids.

“Are you happy about this?” Jose asked Jake.

He stopped for a moment before a smile broke out across his face, “I’m over the fucking moon. I can’t wait to see Nat as a mom, I know she’s going to be amazing.”

“No doubt the primal part of you can’t wait to see her really pregnant,” Jose joked.

“That too. Fuck, we did that, you know? Like we’ve created this whole new life.”

“I know, it’s crazy to think about,” Jose agreed, “I remember how stunned I was when Wren started moving and I could feel her. It became real all of the sudden.”

“I’m gonna have a kid,” He said, a stunned smile on his face.

“Yeah, Jake, you are.”

Wren picked that time to come running back out with a piece of paper in her hands. She ran to Jake and tugged on the leg of his jeans. He smiled down at her before bending down so he was on eye level. That was one thing he always did, he got on eye level with her so he was never talking down to her. It always made Jose smile, no matter what was going on.

“What’s up, munchkin?” He questioned, combing through her wild hair.

“I dwew you somfing,” She held up her paper, with colorful squiggles all over it.

“What’s this? Huh? You wanna tell me about it?” He asked her, gently grabbing the paper from her.

“You fwying!” She cheered, pointing to the top of the page, “And Mawma and me and Auntie Nat watching!”

“That’s amazing, Kiddo! Can I put this in my locker at work so I can look at it before I fly everyday?” He asked, to which she nodded quickly.

“Show everyone?” She asked.

“Yeah Munchkin, I’ll show them all! Gotta show off something my favorite girl made,” He leaned forward and kissed the top of her head, “I love you, Wrennie.”

“I wuvs you!”

She placed a big wet kiss on Jake’s cheek and smiled as big as she could before turning around and running off again. Jose’s heart was warm from watching the two of them interact. She couldn’t help but wonder how Bradley would be around her, would she like him? Would he like her?

“I saw Bradshaw driving away,” Jake mentioned slowly, “You wanna talk about that?”

“Do you want to hear about it?” Jose raised an eyebrow.

“Based off of the freshly fucked look you have, I don’t think so,” Jake gagged, “Are you two a thing again?”

“Yeah…I think we are.”

“Good, it’s about damn time y’all sorted it out.”

Jake was right, it was about damn time.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster top gun #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun #top gun maverick #rooster bradshaw fanfiction #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw imagines #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #Bradley rooster Bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction

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notroosterbradshaw · 2 years

Text

The Boyfriend Experience - Part 1 / 2

5.6k words of Rooster being your super pretend boyfriend! A few swears, but it’s the Navy, goddammit! The fluffiness should make up for it.

"I don't see why you just don't take Rooster," Natasha muttered, nodding in his direction next to Payback at the bar, both animated, arms describing manoeuvres like excited little boys. "You guys are friends, he likes food, he obviously likes beer. Probably likes 'em if they're free too," she shrugged as if it was the simplest thing going around.

"Why would Rooster be remotely bothered to be my plus one to a wedding where he doesn't know anyone?"

"You'd be there, you said your sister and her husband are going too. There are three people he knows," she said simply. "He's single and an easy lay. Could be the perfect twofer for you."

"Natasha," you chastised her. "I don't want to sleep with Rooster."

"You've got two eyes," she hinted. "Everyone wants to sleep with Rooster."

"Then you sleep with him," you winked.

"Don't let Hangman hear your jokes," she snickered. "I cannot imagine the carry-on if he does," she looked over your shoulder to him at the darts. Bullseye, each and every time.

"Okay, okay. But look, I've known Rooster since I was a toddler, trust me. Not everyone wants to sleep with Rooster."

"If he knew you were the exception, he'd probably want to remedy that," she smiled as you rolled your eyes, sipping your drink.

"This wedding has just rolled around too quickly. I thought I'd find a way to get a date by now."

"Why did you accept a plus one then?"

"I think I answered a little too flippantly when asked if I needed one..." you admitted with a shrug. "Christa asked in one of those obnoxious, curious teasing voices, 'Are you going to bring a plus one?'"

"I hate those bitches."

"Yeah," you dipped your finger into the froth of your drink and put it to your mouth thoughtfully. "I'm tragic," you announced with a flourish.

"You're not tragic," Natasha said. "We just need to get you back in the game."

"Ew."

"Rooster is still an option."

"Why, in God's name, are you pushing Rooster?" you had to ask.

"He's a nice guy, you could do worse."

Looking across the bar, you asked, "Mickey still dating that girl?"

"Mickey, really?" she asked surprised.

"His smile is perfect. I mean, perfect."

"His dad is a dentist," she told you knowingly.

"There you go," you cracked a smile. "Option?"

"Nope, he is still dating her."

"Shit."

"Look, I'll go ask Rooster. Worst he can say is no..." before you could hiss at her to quit it, she was ducking and weaving through bodies towards him. You watched from your vantage point at the pool table and sighed dismally.

"Exactly. He can say no," you muttered to yourself, your gaze glued to your drink. Looking up and watching this car crash unfold would be brutal. You could not remember a time you'd ever been more embarrassed.

Natasha squeezed in between her friends as she began to state your case. You peeked a look at Rooster, his eyebrow piqued in interest as he tried to follow her explanation. Eventually, his gaze peered over at you, biting back a very humoured grin. Giving her his attention back, he pulled his beer bottle to his lips and nodded with a nonchalant shrug. Okay, that wasn't a terrible result but also you had no idea what she threw on the table and you were almost scared of the stipulations Rooster may've agreed to.

Payback looked up at you and gave you a 'wtf' face. "What's he got that I don't?" he called across the bar as Natasha pushed him back on his barstool.

"This wasn't my idea," you defended yourself. "Natasha Trace a lunatic."

"Certified crazy," Rooster raised his beer to you.

"That's Lt. Certified Crazy, thank you," she said. "And I got you a date. Get off my ass!"

"I'm sorry, Rooster," you said apologetically as he motioned you over with a wave of his bottle. He certainly didn't appear too perturbed. Grabbing your purse and glass, you made your way to him.

"Me too," Payback mumbled. "We'd be so hot."

"Maybe next time?" you said apologetically.

"I bet you say that to all the boys," he said, faux sadness on his handsome features as he brightened and toasted you. No hard feelings, thank goodness.

"She actually doesn't," Natasha spoke up. "That's why she is in this mess. You literally don't say yes to any dudes."

"You can trash me after I leave," you reminded her thoughtfully, finishing your drink. Dammit.

"I got it," Rooster turned back to Penny, raised your glass to her with a quiet 'please?' and got off his stool, gently holding your side and guiding you onto it. She nodded back to him, while the bar was fairly quiet tonight, she was still serving others. "How did you get yourself in this pickle anyway?" Rooster had to ask. "This is the kind of thing that only happens in rom-coms," he still seemed to be getting off as "fake boyfriend" in your waking nightmare as a bridesmaid for an old high school friend. You honestly hadn't expected to be asked, you'd all gone your separate ways since then, but apparently, your friend had thought the friendship was still strong enough to count you as one of her eight bridesmaids. You weren't sure you had eight girlfriends to even consider something so ludicrous.

"Oh, it's way more embarrassing than it sounds," you admitted.

"I've heard this part already," Natasha announced. "Payback, feel like getting duped twice tonight?" she asked, heading over to the pool table. He shrugged and followed her willingly.

"Look, this is a lot. You don't have to do this if you don't want to," you told Rooster. "Regardless of what Natasha may've threatened you with."

"She didn't have to threaten me," he said and eased his lean frame back against the bar. "It's cool. I'm in town. I don't have to wear my dress whites though, do I?" he asked, a little begrudgingly.

"Oh, God no!" you exclaimed. "It's formal."

"I have a suit," he reassured you, his lips quirking. "Been a while since I wore it though. I was probably in high school," he reckoned, considering it.

"You were a little smaller then," you gently reminded him.

He nodded and hummed. "Thank you for noticing," he joked as you rolled your eyes, laughing, and he adjusted the collar of his silky Hawaiian shirt, ego placated for a moment. His shirts were so him, but gee, they were hideous. You always knew when the girls were talking about him because there would always be a hint in the description of his outfit. It happened a lot. The local girls loved Rooster, and from his reputation, he loved them just as much.

But in the end, he was just a nice guy, a really lovely guy. Friendly, funny when you least expected it, reserved and loyal to a fault but you'd known him so long to consider him anything else. A few years older, when you were kids, you were lumped together with the other juniors. He lost his dad so young (he'd admitted once or twice he didn't have many memories of him anymore) and his mother moved them away, closer to her family for the support of losing Goose and to help to raise Bradley away from the influence of the Navy. He came back to the Island when he was about 18 after his mother had passed. Base was home, but he'd flit in and out of Grandpa's house occasionally. Viper always had a soft spot for Bradley, and always kept a protective eye on him, especially after his fallout with Maverick.

Rooster, while his career progression was slow compared to those his age, was always earmarked to be one of the best.

His rapid progression through the ranks wasn't a huge surprise to anyone. He wanted to make anyone who stood in his way regret their actions, especially Mav, and show them that he was ready, willing and able to be the 1%. But the resentment for how his career was delayed when Mav pulled his papers to the Naval Academy, and remember a night with Rooster in tears as your grandpa tried to appease him and his rage for Mav's actions, had stayed.

"I hope you don't need a new suit," you told him dismally. "I don't want you having to spend anything - "

"Fake girlfriend," he cut you off, teasingly. "If I need a new suit, which I likely will, it's okay," he reassured you. "And it's probably about time, can't rely on the Navy to dress me for the rest of my life," he passed you the drink Penny had made you. "What's that?"

"Sloe Gin Fizz."

"Oh, you're one of those fancy girls," he nodded with a squint. "My imaginary bank account is gonna take a hit, isn't it?" You smiled as he smiled too, finally cracking and relaxing. "You're nervous," he noted.

"What gave it away?" you offered him a sip and he happily tried it. Licking the sweetness off his moustache, he gave you a 50/50 response.

"Don't be nervous. We've known each other far too long to be nervous around each other."

"It's not that, I just kind of wish I didn't accept a plus one and then wouldn't have had to go the stupid lengths to cover my ass."

"Let's just treat it as a bit of fun," Rooster suggested. "If it blows, we come back here and get drunk with people we like."

"Thanks, Roost."

He raised his glass to you. "You're welcome. So... am I allowed to get any phone numbers?"

Caught off guard, the plan was starting to unravel quickly as you noticed Rooster catch the eye of a pretty blonde near the jukebox. "Umm, yeah. Of course!"

He laughed and shook his head. "I'm kidding. I'll be the perfect fake date. No one's gonna know."

Those words would come to haunt you.

At Wedding Central the next weekend, you absent-mindedly played with your phone while chaos ensued around you. You had nothing to be concerned over, your hair and make-up were done, your dress was steamed, and you wouldn't change until everyone else was ready. Rooster had texted a moment ago and you were considering how to respond. ‘I'll see you at the reception - it's still cool I can miss the wedding, right? I won't be later than 7pm. I have to get to the gym, my body is crippled after training today.’

Your heart sank, you'd been fielding questions about him all day, you depended on him to be there tonight. 'Of course'. You texted back diplomatically. You were being ditched for lactic acid build-up, but knew it could be worse if he didn't try and work it off before have arrived... if he arrived at all.

Bradley 🐓: Just give me time to workout real quick, shower and change. I did all the other beautifying yesterday. I'll knock your friend's socks off, I promise. Maybe even yours.

You: It's all good, Rooster. I'll see you when I see you.

Bradley 🐓: I can try and escape earlier?

You: Don't be silly. It's all a bit mad here, hair, make-up, not enough champagne 🥂

Bradley 🐓: Try and have fun! Talk me up, play the game. I'll see you tonight.

"Are you sure he's still coming?" one of the bridesmaids asked as you had just been seated at the reception table. You traced the nameplate reading 'Bradley' and kind of wanted the earth to swallow you whole. It was a little after seven and entrees were starting to be served. It was a fair question, Rooster didn't owe you anything and he could ditch you at any time.

"Excuse me, gentleman, I caught the eye of a really cute bridesmaid before - " you heard a familiar rasp say behind you and you stiffened. He'd finally made it. Turning to that voice you'd know anywhere, you gave him a gentle smile. "Think I've found her," he added, patting the chest of some random dude and striding towards you, walking like he was on a runway. He looked incredible, so different from his usual jeans and shirt, so different from any flight suit. He moved towards you in a dark blue crushed velvet suit jacket, a darker shade of slim leg slacks, a black bow tie and dress shoes. His hair was slicked back, neater than usual, maybe even shorter. "Well, you look beautiful," he smiled fondly and leaned down to kiss you lightly on the corner of your mouth, surprising you. He murmured against your ear and only quiet enough for you to hear, "I know that was a lot, I'm sorry if I took it too far. I'm late, but I'm here now," he paused. "I'm not gonna let you down, okay?"

He gently cupped your chin, his thumb grazing your cheek. That kiss, you were finding it hard to shake off... "You look like a Disney prince," you said before you realised it was supposed to be a thought. His eyes shone with humour as he took his seat beside you, resting an arm on the back of your chair.

He creased into an easy laugh. "Not the look I was going for, not with this god awful mug, but I'll happily take it. Do I have to catch up, have you had a few drinks?" he teased.

"A champagne before the ceremony. Just foot in mouth right now," you touched the material on his lapel and smiled. Soft, so unlike Rooster. If he was anyone else's date tonight, you'd hardly have recognised him. "You look very handsome, Rooster."

"Thank you," he shrugged, a little anxious himself. "Your dress is no way as miserable as you described," his eyes pleasantly drifted over you, he wasn't trying to make you nervous or under his gaze, but to him, you looked spectacular. "You look amazing. Bet you've been fending off dudes all day."

You scoffed, shaking your head as he chuckled quietly. Hearing your name and being dragged out of your little bubble, you looked up as one of the other bridesmaids, single she'd repeatedly broadcasted, nodded towards Rooster. "Are you going to introduce us?"

Rooster introduced himself to some of the other bridesmaids and their partners, his knuckles grazing your back as he made small talk for a while, winning them all over instantly... just like you knew he would.

"It's nice out here," Rooster said a while later. You had just finished dinner and were wandering outside for some fresh air, enjoying the warm breeze under the stars at a small cocktail table among other couples. Little fairy lights dotted the area and tea lights adorned the table and bar. "You relaxing a little now?" He asked as a waiter stopped past with champagne. He nabbed two. He handed you one and gave you a gentle cheer. "You're doing great. You look really beautiful," he admitted again. It wasn't a secret you'd always been a little easy on the eyes. Rooster was always a little perplexed you'd never found the right person and settle down. He knew you'd had boyfriends on and off but Natasha had made a passing comment about you being a bit of a commitmentphobic, and he'd be lying to think it hadn't stuck with him.

You smiled. "You mean in this dress that me and seven of my closest friends in high school who I haven't spoken to since we went to college are all wearing in varying styles?"

"Well, you're wearing it well," he corrected himself, a small smile gracing his lips.

"Are you doing okay?"

"I'm okay," he said. "Look, I'm sorry about the kiss before. I thought it would be fun to grandstand and get everyone off your back for a while. Probably should have been a bit more considerate, not cool on my behalf."

"It worked," you laughed, sipping your champagne. "It's fine, really."

"Fine?" he replied, a little surprised. "Shit, that's disappointing."

Panicking, you added, "No, really. It was great. I bet you're a great kisser, Rooster."

He smiled and again, you knew he was goading you. "For the record, I've had no complaints," he raised his pointed finger. "That I'm aware of."

You gave him a wide grin. "I'm sure you haven't. You're absolutely loving this, aren't you?"

He laughed boldly now, easing back in his chair. "Well, yeah. But I'm on your side, I promise. Gotta make it believable. I think we're doing okay to now?"

"I think so. Think Michelle is into you?"

"Who's Michelle?" he squinted, trying to recollect.

"The brunette who was salivating over you as soon as you came to the table."

He laughed, smoothing his moustache. "Oh yeah, she's definitely keen. Up for a rumble for my honour?"

"Honour?" you repeated. "I think we all know those days are behind you."

"Ouch," he smiled, touching your knee. "We've discussed this, I'm here for you and only you. Michelle isn't my type anyway."

"What's wrong with her?" you challenged.

"Well, I'm here with you and she's making no secret that she's into me. What kind of girl does that?"

"One that probably doesn't see me as a threat," you figured with a shrug. He sighed, pursing his lips together.

"You're full of it, you're the hottest girl in there, whether you see it or not. And besides, I only have eyes for you, kid," he sat forward and took your hand, squeezing it tenderly. "You and me, okay?"

"Okay," you told him, his pep talk giving you some warmth.

Sipping his champagne, he asked, "Wanna know something?"

"What's that?"

"I am not a champagne guy," he made a face, putting the glass on the table, away from him as you giggled quietly. "Do you mind if I go and get a whiskey?"

"You're mad, this is tears from the gods," you told him as he cupped your cheek affectionately and wandered over to the bar. He stood tall against the other guys he was near, and that suit? Gee, it was well worth whatever he spent on it. He looked so sophisticated. Not to get you wrong, you always thought he was the coolest guy going around but he simply didn't give a shit about what he wore, if his Hawaiian shirts were any indication. He didn't care what anyone thought about it. He knew his career was cut-throat and the more you thought about it, you had to realise that Rooster was simply a survivalist. He'd gone through some real pain in his life. He had said that he didn't remember a lot of his dad before he died, but Carole raised her boy well.

"Good Lord, he scrubs up pretty good, huh? Shame he's not wearing his whites," your sister said, waddling over to the table you were standing at, helping herself to the free stool you helped her get on. "But I guess he'd show up the bride."

"He didn't want to wear them. I'm just glad I'm not completely desperate and dateless tonight. He could have worn a potato sack for all I care," you admitted, your gaze still on him as he made small talk with the bartender.

"He'd probably still look really good in a potato sack," she teased, adjusting her posture, her expanding belly not enjoying the far-too-expensive pregnancy dress she'd been forced to buy, coming up to the end of her second pregnancy. "But really, nothing is rumbling? No carnal need to just rip his clothes off and see what happens? Sometimes, cute friends can turn into cute lovers."

"Worry about your current situation," you pointed at her belly.

"Eyes work perfectly fine though. Rooster has grown up very, very well."

"Gee, your hormones are doing a number on you," you told her, biting back a grin. "You're married and pregnant," you reminded her, a little concerned for her husband.

"You'll remember this night one day and be like, 'gee, my older, wiser sister was right, I did want to climb him like a tree'."

"Climb who like a tree?" Rooster asked her, joining you both again, his hand skimming your lower back, leaving its place on your lower back where it had rested comfortably most of the evening. "I'm keen to know myself."

You laughed quietly, your sister a little lost for words at her poor timing. "Yeah, who again?"

Swallowing, she announced, "Look, I'm just going to put it out there. You're both single, you're both cute. This shouldn't be a fake date. This could really be a nice first date."

"I am so sorry, Rooster. She hit her head a lot as a child. And I know this... because I was the one who was pushing her," you told him, absolutely mortified but they both laughed. She finally walked away, satisfied with the chaos she had constructed.

"I mean, Annie's not wrong. We are cute," he figured. "I'm single - I'm sure I could do a lot worse than to date someone I enjoy as much as you."

Groaning, you hated the open mocking. It was all such a joke how pathetic you were.

"I'm just kidding," he whispered. "I know she's just trying to rile you up, don't worry about her. We're here and having a great time, let's just leave it at that. No need for any extra pressure," he raised his glass of whiskey to you. "Just take the night as it comes. And if anyone asks how I am in the sack, I expect you give them an 11/10, okay?"

You raised your glass and told him to fuck himself.

"Fair," he admitted. "Just relax. We're doing great if I say so myself. Stay close; I got you."

If there was one thing you were grateful for that evening, it was the happy couple who had decided on a sweetheart table that sat them together and the bridal party sat with their partners or friends, whomever it seemed to be. You were able to stay close to Rooster for most of the night, especially during the formalities.

"And for the first dance," the MC announced after the speeches and cutting of the cake, "We'd like to introduce our newly betrothed to the dancefloor."

"Come on, come dance with me," your groomsman said, not looking at Rooster as he offered you his hand. You kind of had no choice, the first dance was for the couple and the wedding party usually joined them toward the end, it would be embarrassing for all if you ducked out. You gave Rooster a small 'sorry' which he didn't show the least amount of displeasure to.

"Hold on," he took your other hand and carefully kissed your knuckles. You gave him a small smile, hoping he didn't notice the heat that was blistering through your skin. Gee, Rooster was good. Tonight would surely get everyone off your back, even if for a little while. "Take care of her, buddy," Rooster play-threatened with a wink as the guy gave a 'yeah, whatever' in response. Roster's eyes squared up on the back of the guy as he led you to the dancefloor. Would fucking hate to lay you out, he thought, watching as you were guided into your partner's arms. Sitting forward, Rooster sucked his teeth. He didn't think he liked that guy all that much.

But credit where credit was due, your partner was a good dancer. Respectful as you swayed together to Megan Trainer's ‘Like I'm Gonna Lose You’.

After waiting what he assumed was a reasonable amount of time, Rooster stood to his full height, buttoning his suit jacket and moving with purpose to the dancefloor. He could sense you weren't uncomfortable in the arms of the groomsman you paired with, but he noted other couples were splitting for others and he took his chance. Sweeping in, he stood a considerate distance away. "May I cut in?" he asked as your partner stopped and looked up at him - now, it wasn't to say Rooster was intimidating, but he was certainly asserting himself. "I'd like to have this dance with my girl," he said, the questions over.

"Oh, uhh, sure," your groomsman said, a little perplexed, gently dropping your hand and Rooster stepped in with a smile, silently asking for your hand in his. He brought it to his heart and you'd bet you could feel it pounding under the deep blue crushed velvet of his jacket. He put his other hand on your hip, his thumb finding the right place against the cut out of the dress that he was able to feel your skin as he pulled you flush against him. His body was hard and strong, just as you expected. You smiled up at him as his thumb grazed your skin, telling you he knew, and he was there.

Resting his chin against your hair, he carefully swayed you to the quiet beat of the rhythm. There wasn't much left of the song but he didn't miss a single note as the melody changed and some dance tune commenced.

"Whatcha doing?" your sister's husband asked, as she took a few photos of yourself and Rooster dancing to the wedding song on her phone.

"On their first wedding anniversary, I'm going to present this photo to them and say I was right. And I will be gleeful," she said in false maniacy.

"They look like an actual couple," he admitted. "He's good for her. He could protect her, love her."

"They'd be good for each other. Rooster needs someone he can be himself with. No bravado, no pretences, someone to make a life, maybe a family, with. And she won't take any of his shit."

"Definitely not," he laughed, as the song ended and they watch you and Rooster look at each other with gentle smiles. "Fake dating, my left nut."

Your sister nodded. "Didn't think it could possibly work out this well, but they're just perfect for each other."

"Which one do you think will ruin it though?"

A name long-cursed in your family rolled off your sister's tongue, "The Navy."

"Lt. Bradley Bradshaw, ma'am," he introduced himself, offering his hand to the newly wedded couple later that evening. "Congratulations."

"Oh, you're in the Arm - "

"I'm a Naval Aviator," he corrected her with a smile, but he didn't want to correct her on military ranks tonight.

"Bradley, this is Sarah, who I went to high school with, and her new husband, David," you introduced them.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't make it to the wedding earlier today," he tugged you close to him again, his fingers drawing undescribable shapes on your bare shoulder and you placed your hand on his tummy. He looked down at you with an easy smile. It was the first time you had reciprocated any affection and he'd certainly noticed. "But what a wonderful reception. Everyone seems to be having a great time."

"Oh, thank you," she said. "We're so happy you could come. We are looking forward to seeing more of you, Bradley."

"Me, too," he said, softly.

"So you fly today?" David asked Rooster excitedly.

"Yeah, man," he nodded. "Most days," he replied.

"How many G's you pull?"

Looking up at Rooster, you saw the quirk of his lip. You had watched this once or twice before and it was always kind of hilarious. Dear Rooster had a fanboy... the guys who were kind of obsessed with local pilots and would chat their ears off, desperate to hear all about the firepower mainly to the detriment of the cornered pilot. "Today?" he sipped his whiskey, coolly.

"Sure..." you kind of drowned the rest out, your fingers absently slipping under his jacket and tracing the curves and ridges of his hard-earned, extremely well-worked abdominals underneath. Rooster made a pained face, trying to wriggle away, his hand catching yours and laying it flat against him.

"Hey, sweet girl?" Rooster finally got your attention, eyes dancing with mirth and a small smile on his face. Your friends watched the scene with keen interest, they wanted to see you interact.

"Hmm?" you looked up as he bent down to whisper how ticklish he was. "Oh," you said, bashfully taking your hand away as he clutched it again, keeping it there. Your hand was pressed into his rock-hard stomach and did your tummy... flippity-fucking-flop?

"It's okay," he slid his fingers between yours, interlocking them tight against him. "Your friends just asked how long we've been dating. I said we've known each other for a long time. My old man was in the Navy. You probably know her grandfather was an admiral, so we kind of had always known each other," Rooster said, squeezing your hand. "Always had a little crush on the Admiral's granddaughter. Everyone did! I'm just the lucky one who she gave the time of day."

You shrugged, your cheeks burning, the well-versed plan you'd texted back and forth about the last week coming well into fruition, it was exactly the situation you'd both been waiting for. "Everyone always joked how cute a couple we could be. We just never saw each other like that."

Rooster looked deeply into your eyes. "Clearly we were both crazy. So, we got super drunk, and I kissed her. Luckily," he raised a hand as your friends laughed, utterly charmed by him. "Luckily for me, she didn't slap me. She actually kissed me back. Would have broken my heart if she rejected me," he was so fucking smooth, you chewed back the laughter that threatened to spill from your lips as the bride just stared at Rooster with heart eyes, another unassuming fan of Rooster Bradshaw. "I'm wild about you," he whispered, nuzzling into your neck and you gently cupped his strong jaw, thumb padding against the wiry skin of a scar. While you'd always noticed them, you'd never felt them under your touch. For a moment, you might have believed it as he kissed your jaw, modest but not uncalled for in the moment.

"You two look so happy," your friends told you sincerely.

"We're so glad to have met you, Lieutenant," David said. "Thank you for coming, thank you for bringing him!" he said to you.

No one ever addressed Rooster like that outside of official duties and he almost wanted to grant at ease. But he'd by lying that he didn't feel a bit like a movie star when he replied, "Please," he held out his palm. "Call me Rooster."

"Awesome, Rooster," the couple chatted to Rooster a while longer before Sarah sidled up to you with that glare of someone ready to start digging for dirt. You gave a weak smile, maybe, kind of relaxing in Rooster's arms. You let go of his hands and gently wrapped your arms around his waist and he adjusted his posture to cater to you.

"He's super hot," she said as you looked up at him, the arm that wasn't dipping into the cut on the back of your dress flailing wildly as he graphically discussed a dogfight at training with some 'Texan dick' (of course he's talking about Hangman). So animated and vivid, he never really spoke about his job to you and frankly, you didn't want to ask. But you were just entranced watching him speak so passionately. "So, tell me," she whispered, ushering you closer. "The sex?"

Poor Rooster was too distracted to hear, but his moment was coming. "An eleven," you replied, you massaged his sides still well-hidden under the jacket, and if Rooster wasn't paying attention before... he surely was now. "Twelve on really good nights."

His smile almost ripped his face in half.

"Oh, my God!" Sarah exclaimed. "I can only imagine. His body is crazy like he just pressed weights before he got here."

And it dawned on you - yes, he needed to rip lactic acid after being in a jet all day, cool. But had he worked out to ensure his jacket strained over his biceps? That his straight leg slacks were tight over his thighs? Also, yes. You couldn't help it and snuggled into his chest as he paused to look down at you with a gentle smile and wrapped his other arm around you, his thumb caressing the tendrils at the base of your neck.

It was very believable on all fronts.

"Rooster is very giving," was all you said, pretending to zip your lips, he pressed you just a little closer.

"I'm so damn happy for you. Make sure you keep an eye out when I throw the bouquet, I'll be aiming for you!"

"Please don't," you said before Rooster nudged you to be polite. Nothing had got past him. "There are so many other eligible people here, so desperate to catch it!" you corrected yourself as he nodded, encouraging and congratulating your tact.

"It's early days, I don't think we're ready to get married yet," he teased. "But I'd marry her tomorrow if she wanted me to."

"That is just the sweetest thing," she said. "Ugh, you guys are definitely next!"

So sweet, such bullshit, you looked up at him as he pouted back down, his facade cracking under the pressure of wanting to laugh so fucking hard. It was like selling candy to a baby.

The Boyfriend Experience 2 / 2

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heygerald · 5 months

Text

HEART MECHANICS - PART 9/9

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x OFC

Matty faces a lot of things. Including herself, her dad, her issues, her friends, and, oh yeah, the pilot who left her without saying goodbye.

Now's the time to be an adult, to face things head on, and to accept the fact that she's not always right. Actually, she's rarely right. And a rule against who she can and can't have feelings for?

Well, that's actually total fucking bullshit. Who knew?

Read the story here: part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / ...

Two sandwiches and a large cup of water later and Matty found that Frank was probably onto something about her hunger. She felt considerably better after eating, and the pounding behind her eyes seemed to dissipate with each sip of water that she swallowed. Her hands were less shaky now that she hadn’t had a cigarette since dinner the night before, and after she had washed up she found that the damage from Nick's mishap had been nothing other than a small bump on the knuckle.

It was totally possible that she had overreacted a bit.

Or, you know, a lot.

She tended to do that when sleep deprived, hungry, and in a pissy fucking mood.

Ouch. Being her friend must totally fucking suck.

“You want to tell me why Frank just dropped you at the end of my driveway?” Rick asked over the game of checkers that they were playing. Chess had always been Hollywood’s favorite; he bragged about how the other pilots were awful when it came to any sort of game involving mental capacity, and while he had played his fair share of pool, darts, and volleyball as a younger cadet, since she was around, Hollywood had settled into a more skillful sort of sport. One that she sucked at. Hence why they were currently playing checkers, rather than chess. “Not that I’m not happy you’re here, kid, but you never come to visit just to visit.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Christmas doesn’t count.”

Matty paused, thinking, before she jumped one of his red checkers. “I’ve been busy.”

“Sure.”

“I have.”

He raised a palm as if surrendering, but she knew that he didn’t believe that bullshit of an excuse. Not that she blamed him. It was a bullshit of an excuse. Rick may have spent her early years traveling, but for the last decade he and her mother had been settled down not two hours from the base. His work trips were far and few inbetween. Yet, she was more likely to travel to Ice’s than to his. When they did spend time together it was at some backyard celebration with a whole group of people; never just the two of them.

She had never sat down to wonder why that was, and now that the dilemma was being plated right under her nose, Matty found she didn’t like the options presented. She moved on with a sniff.

“I yelled at Nick,” she admitted when he hopped two of her pieces. He piqued a brow, not saying anything, and she relaxed onto her chair with a sigh. “And Booms, and George, and… pretty much everyone else too.”

“That’s nothing new.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks,” she deadpanned.

Rick shrugged as he finished the last sip of his coffee. The house was unusually calm for that time of afternoon, and even the dogs seemed to be slumbering peacefully in the corner. It was odd to step into. Growing up, she felt like home was always chaotic and rambunctious. It was her mother nagging, and her father sneaking off to drink in the garage, and her sisters always picking fights with each other about anything and everything.

Well, maybe it was a little bit of her picking fights with her sisters, and her purposely doing things wrong so that her mother would end up having to do them right, and—oh yeah—there was a handful of times that she had gotten into her father’s booze cabinet when he wasn’t home.

Huh. Maybe the ratio of calm in the house was directly related to her presence in the house.

What a fucking drag.

“What were you yelling about?” he dragged her from the self-spiraling.

“Nothing important.”

“Ah,” he nodded, understanding, and she both hated and loved the fact that her father had no qualms with her tendency to be a bitch. To, well, everyone. All the time. Her mother had never gotten used to the quick barbs, and her sisters got riled up anytime she said anything snarky. Then again, Tabitha was just as much of a bitch as she was. Rick may have wanted daughters, but sometimes Matty wondered if they were more than he had asked for. At least Rosie was quiet natured and easy to get along with. “Why?”

“I just told you,” she shrugged, moving her pieces at random now. “It’s nothing important. Nick squished my fingers today, which totally fucking hurt, so that was probably a reasonable enough reaction. But, you know, it’s been other stuff which doesn’t actually matter. Booms being too loud, Claire coming in late, Frank drinking the last of the coffee.”

“That’s not what I asked, kiddo.”

“Sure it is,” she rolled her eyes with a vague hand wave. “You asked why, I just told you. Bing, bang, boom. Let’s move on. You think Mom will cook steaks for dinner?”

“Matty,” he clipped.

A warning and a plea all in one.

God, she hated when he did that.

“Dad.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“You’re avoiding the game,” she shot back, gesturing to the half empty board. Just to disprove her point he moved one of his pieces, and just to avoid his question, she moved one just as quickly. It was a totally illegal move, but Rick didn’t seem to care. “Come on, seriously? Have you and Frank started secretly listening to Oprah or something? We don’t have to get into this.”

“He dropped you on my driveway.”

“A total dick move, by the way. I don’t have anything with me. If you weren’t here I could have been kidnapped or chased by a rapid dog or something. He does know that women are very vulnerable members of the population, doesn’t he?”

“I’ve seen you scare off rabid dogs before. I don’t think that’s an issue.”

“Okay, well, what about—like—the weather? Could have frozen to death.”

“It’s eighty degrees out,” he deadpanned.

“Heat stroke, then.”

“Matilda—”

“Oh, Jesus!” she groaned, throwing herself out of her chair with a frustrated cry. Rick didn’t use her full name often, but when he did, it was because she was so far up shit’s creek that a motor engine wouldn’t even be of any help. A ridiculous notion that she was somehow in trouble with her father for her behavior at work when she was a fully functioning grown ass woman. She didn’t need his approval or his advice about her personal life. “Dad, I’m so not doing this with you.”

“Too fucking bad, kid. Now, sit down. We’re doing this.”

“Sit down? Seriously? You’re not my principle and I’m not in trouble and I am more than able to walk out that front door and—”

“Matilda.”

Matty folded right back into her chair without a single word. There was a huff, though. Actually, there were quite a few huffs that seemed loud enough to rouse the dogs. They glanced at her with weary eyes as if they hadn’t known her for their entire lives. Dodger, a Bernese as big as she was, even left the room.

Coward.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t know.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

Rick sighed. It had been a while since they had sat through one of these interventions, and she wondered if her dad had forgotten how much work fathering a daughter could be. There was a creak as he moved towards the bar cart on the other side of the room. There was some clinking as Rick poured himself a fifth of scotch—she really hoped that her mother didn’t come home any time soon, she would be pissed to find that Matty had Rick drinking this early in the day—and he took a long sip before asking, “is this about Ice?”

Her godfather’s name had her drawing up short with a bristle. “No,” she snapped, and when he cast her a disbelieving look in response, she took time to tamper down some of her attitude. She repeated herself in a calmer tone. “It’s not. I promise. It’s… it’s stupid.”

“So you do know what’s wrong.”

Matty rolled her eyes. People always thought that she got her attitude from her nowhere; suspected that it had just been endowed by the luck of the draw. In reality, she had gotten her silver tongue and sharp wit from Hollywood himself. She hated how much she was like him in moments like this. It made it hard to get anything done.

“What does it matter?” she pouted, drawing her feet up beneath her, the checkers completely forgotten. She was losing, anyway. Rick drifted through the room slowly, surveying the picture frames that dotted the walls as Matty started fiddling with a small model plane that had been sitting on the table. “It’s not a big deal, alright. I’ll apologize to everyone, buy them some beer, and all will be forgotten. We’ll move on—as we always do when I’m a bitch.”

“You can’t ignore the root of the problem. That’s how you end up in the emergency room with stomach pains that end up being appendicitis.”

“I was fourteen,” she whined. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

“Are you ever going to learn from it?”

She mimicked him. Not her best moment, but certainly not the worst. Rick just responded with a baleful glare and a deep sigh as he finally returned to his seat. “Are you pregnant?” he asked, and Matty actually choked on her own saliva at the question.

“What? No! Why would you even ask that! Christ, Dad! Is that why you didn't offer me anything to drink?”

He held up his palms. “Hey, it’s not exactly a question I want the answer to any time soon. I just had to ask,” he defended. Then, after a moment, muttered, “thank god for that.”

“Um, excuse me?”

“Look, I love you, but I do not intend on being a grandfather anytime soon. God knows raising you three was enough of a challenge. And your sister is still in college. I’d like to have a few good years of peace before the thought of changing more diapers comes into the equation.”

“I’ll make sure to let my gyno know that I need to stay on the pill for a few more years,” she deadpanned. He winced at the word gyno, and she rolled her eyes. Honestly, how could he have three daughters and still get uncomfortable about feminine issues? “I’m not pregnant so you can calm down, Dad. I think I’d need a boyfriend first and fuck knows how that’s going.”

His gaze sharpened. “Ah.”

Matty paused in her fiddling. “What?”

“This is about the kid, then.”

“No—no this is not about the kid. I—why does everyone keep saying that?” she asked in a huff, throwing her hands up so quickly that she nearly knocked over a lamp. Matty managed to fix it as it wobbled back and forth on the table, thankfully, but when she turned back towards her she almost wished she had just for a reason to leave the room.

“Did he… do something?”

“You mean did he make me a ruined woman? No, Dad, this isn’t the fourteenth century.”

Rick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why do you have to make every conversation so goddamn difficult, Matilda?”

“For comedic purposes, obviously,” she snarked. He didn’t seem amused, and, for once, Matty didn’t feel all that proud of being a sarcastic bitch. Maybe that’s why she decided to give up the act with a sigh. Or maybe it’s because, after so many accusations, she actually did want to talk to someone about it. “He got sent out on a mission.”

“The one with Mav?”

“Yeah.”

“You knew he would.”

“Well yeah, but it's—you know—dangerous.”

“And you knew that the mission was dangerous.”

“Yes, but—”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“What do you mean what’s the problem? He got sent out last minute on a very dangerous mission that he could almost certainly die on! How is that not a problem?” she asked. “He wasn’t supposed to leave until this weekend. We were gonna spend more time together and then, out of the blue, he shipped out at the crack of dawn without so much as a warning. Not a text, not a call, not even a courtesy email. I had to find out about it from Boomer for chrissake! I’ll never live that down.”

Her raised tone seemed to startle Skiff from the nap he had fallen back into. The lab gave her a disgruntled look, stood from his bed, stretched, and went in the same direction that Dodger had gone.

“It’s the job,” was all her father said.

No shit it was the job. She knew that. She had seen that all her life with her father; he would pack up and ship out with barely any notice. He had missed important life events; birthdays, holidays, school recitals all because it was his duty to go. Ice had too. And Mav. It was just what they did, it was what they signed up for.

“I know that,” she clarified with a glare. “Obviously, it’s the job. Whatever.”

Whatever.

It clearly wasn’t whatever, and they both knew it.

“I guess I was just not expecting it, you know. To—to, like, feel so… sad, or whatever,” she huffed, waving her hands around again. Her finger throbbed a little when she smacked it onto the lamp—again—and this time Matty let the light fixture wobble back and forth without saving it. It was ugly anyway. “I mean, not sad. It’s not like this is the forties and he’s going to war. He’s coming back. If things go well, anyway. Which, then of course, what if things don’t go well and what if he… I—I don’t know what I’m saying. You get the idea. Or, maybe you don’t, whatever, it’s just so stupid that we’re even talking about this right now.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“Everything about this is stupid. Why am I being all pouty and miserable when I’m not the one that got sent out? Why haven’t I pooped in two days? Is this some weird reverse pregnancy sympathy? Can that happen?”

Rick rolled his eyes. “I think you’re just worried about him.”

She blew a raspberry, returning her attention to the model plan. She never understood why her father had the patience to sit around and glue tiny little pieces of metal together when he could, quite literally, go to the base and fly the real thing. “Worried, schmorried. Maybe Booms is right and I’m about to start my period. Sync ups are totally real, you know.”

He grimaced. She smirked. Then he said something that wiped the smirk off her face. “Well, now you know how your mom felt every time I was deployed. A little bit crazy, a little bit overwhelmed. Not to mention she had three little hellions to look after all on her own.”

She bristled at the implication that she had anything in common with her mother. Matty didn’t hate her mom by a long shot; she loved the woman. But they were too different to ever get along well, to ever be as close as some mothers and daughters were. To think that they ever had something in common was disgruntling.

And, just maybe, true.

Still, she argued. “It’s totally different. You and mom were married, in love, all over each other blah blah blah. Bradley’s just some guy I know. Barely know, if you really think about it. We’re just, you know… friends.”

“Sure.”

“We are.”

“Friends don’t look at each like you two did at the bar,” he said. There was no inflection in his voice, no room to argue. Rick just said it like he saw it. “He’s gone, and you’re worried about him, and you’re taking it out on everyone else. But you can’t do that, kid. Frank, Boom, George? They’re your friends too. And if they don’t know what you’re upset about, they’re going to take your behavior pretty fucking personal. Not to say they shouldn’t—we both know you can be mean when you try to be. But they sure as hell don’t deserve it.”

She waived in her seat. “I… I know. I didn’t mean to yell at them.”

“Hell, what does meaning matter when you still do it?” he chuckled with a sip of beer. She was starting to wish that he would offer her one as well, but Rick held firm. Just as well, she figured the last thing she needed right now was alcohol. “You really like him, huh?”

“No,” she said, so quickly he barely got the question out.

“You sure?”

“How can I be sure?” she spat with an annoyed eye roll. “We went on one date and, like I said, we’ve only known each other for barely over a month. That’s not even one percent of my life—probably. Isn’t there some sort of rule about this whole thing?”

Her dad laughed again while scooting closer to the checkerboard, studying it. “Don’t think love is one of those things that has rules,” he told her. When she remained resolutely silent he added, “when I first met your mom, I was head over heels in moments. She, on the other hand, wasn’t quite so taken with me. Took months to get her on a date, actually. Ice and Sarah? They were all over each other the moment they locked eyes. Tabitha and Chase knew each other for six years before they started dating.”

Matty scrunched up her nose. “Chase? Who the hell is Chase?”

“Her boyfriend.”

“What? Since when does Tabitha have a boyfriend?” she cried. There was something so unsettling about the idea of her sister dating someone when Matty couldn’t even commit to a brita. I mean, who wants to change the filter every month? That was totally unreasonable.

“The point is,” he continued, ignoring her protests, “there are no rules when it comes to forming connections with people. Sometimes you meet someone who understands you the second you meet.”

“He didn’t even know my last name until three weeks ago,” she deadpanned.

“And yet he stuck around to find out, and then stuck around even after finding out. That's the kind of person you want to keep around; not the ones that find it easy to know you, but the ones that take the time to learn about you,” he added with another sip of his beer before reaching forward to hop three of her pieces in a single go. “Why are you being so hard on him? Is it because you don’t like him, or is it because you’re so goddamn stubborn that you don’t want to admit that you finally found someone you do like, and he just so happens to be a pilot?”

Her scowl was instant. “I’m not sure I like this supportive side of you. Too much smugness can kill you, you know?”

Rich grinned. “If that’s not the pot calling the kettle black, I’m not sure I know what is. Now,” he waved at her across the board. “You want to tell me what you did to scare Frank off? I was hoping he would have stuck around for a beer.”

Matty tossed a plait of blonde hair over her shoulder with a grimace. “Ugh. You two are so gross. Just have an affair and run off together or something, you’re driving the rest of us crazy with all the suspense.”

Rick shook his head with a laugh as Matty finally turned her full attention to the game.

Yeah. She was definitely losing.

---

Matty stuck around at her parent’s house for the entire weekend. It was the longest she had stayed with them alone since she was a teenager, and though it felt a little weird, it was also exactly what she needed to get her head on straight. Frank returned to pick her up Sunday at five on the dot. She was pretty sure that he had planned that so he could be invited in for dinner (much to her mother’s chagrin), but she found she couldn’t complain about it. It was nice seeing her father and her best friend get along so well, even if it meant most of their ribbing was about her.

They left shortly after eating in far better moods than they arrived, and though they didn’t talk much on the return drive home, Matty didn’t mind. After a week of being run down by every single emotion she could think of, singing to the radio with Frank was a good way to decompress. Besides, she really did need to work on knowing not to talk shit.

“I’m still mad at you, you know,” she said anyway when they were ten minutes from her house. Afterall, she could always work on her attitude tomorrow. Frank arched a brow at her sideways, and she continued, “you literally abandoned me at my parent’s house. Not cool, Frankie. Not cool.”

He grunted. “I thought you were gonna bite my head off.”

“That’s what you’re supposed to do when kidnapped. The police say you should use everything to your advantage. That includes my sharp, pointy teeth,” she said matter-of-factly, peeling her lips back to clack her jaw together like a shark.

Despite his unamused stare, Matty caught the tail-end of a smile curving his lips. “Bitch.”

“Dick.”

“Asshole.”

“Bastard.”

He pulled into her driveway with a smile that she returned. The truck was in park for only a moment before Matty flung herself at him. He froze—as if worried she was actually going to bite him—only to relax when she full-heartedly clung to him. “Thank you,” she muttered. Her voice was muffled by the fabric of his shirt as well as the radio. Still, he heard her. “I’m sorry for being awful.”

Frank patted her back. “You’re always awful.”

“And yet you’re still my friend.”

“Yeah, well,” he joked when she pulled back an inch. “I’m waitin’ to hear back from a couple other blondes around the area, so you’re a good place holder.”

Matty’s smile turned into a glare. “Ugh,” she groaned, detangling herself from him with as many sharp knees and elbows as she could manage. She didn’t bother climbing back into the passenger’s seat but instead popped open his door and clambered out that way. There was a grunt when she managed to knee him in between the legs, and that left her feeling better about the situation. By the time that Matty swung the door shut, she was all sickly sweet smiles again. “I love you.”

Frank responded by giving her the finger.

She cackled as he peeled down the street.

---

The week passed quicker than the previous. There were a lot of repairs to get done in a very short amount of time, so even if she had wanted to stew on unresolved feelings, she didn’t get a chance.

When she did have the time, the first moment to relax after five long days of work, she found herself striding across an over-crowded parking lot at the Hard Deck. Apologizing to the others hadn’t been as easy of a win as it had been to Frank. While George and Nick were able to soothe their ruffled feathers with a simple apology, Boomer hadn’t been so forgiving. It hadn’t mattered how sincere she was or how many times she brought donuts in for the crew—donuts that Eggs seemed to scarf down despite the fact that he had been on vacation the previous week and hadn’t even been there during her tyrannical parade—Booms still didn’t want to talk to her. It had taken her promising to buy the entire crew drinks at the bar for him to soften, and even then, he still seemed a bit upset. Eggs and Claire promised to cool him off before their evening out, however, and while she trusted them, Matty found herself a little bit worried that the evening wouldn’t go as smoothly as she wanted it too.

Hence why she was showing up to the bar thirty minutes early.

Or, well, okay, if you were going to be technical about it, Matty didn’t show up early as much as she did show up on time, but for her, that was early. Practically unheard of, actually. She couldn’t remember the last time she had gotten to one of their group outings just as it was starting. It was definitely her fault. Either she would forget to do her laundry ahead of time or she spent too long in the shower or she—on two separate occasions—would have had to spend twenty minutes searching for her phone only to find that it had been in her back pocket the whole time. But today she had prepared for all possible situations. That included not even taking her phone inside her house. Instead, it had been stuffed inside her glove compartment since lunch.

“No fuckin’ way,” Frank’s voice drawled from the parking lot. She turned to find him and Boomer exiting his truck with mutual looks of disbelief. “Did someone die?”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “I’m not always late.”

“You were late at your own birth,” he deadpanned. Matty rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue. Her mom had told the story of how she carried Matty for a week and a half past her due date before she finally decided to show up. Typical. “You look nice.”

Her tongue darted back into her mouth at the compliment, and she did a half-hearted spin in the parking lot with a laugh. She had paired a jean skirt with the new sparkly black top that Claire had gotten her for her birthday. Paired with some dangly earrings, a blow-out, and her favorite pink eyeshadow, Matty had to admit that she looked good.

“And you showered for once. Ooh-la-la. Who are you boys trying to impress?”

Frank muttered something unsavory under his breath, but Boomer’s response was more or less lacking. Matty’s smile dropped into a frown, and she quickly caught Frank’s eye. He didn’t say anything else; just knew what she was asking.

“I’ll find the others.”

Boomer went to move after him, but was held up when Matty grabbed him gently by the elbow. “Booms, please, can we talk?” she asked. Implored, really. It was actually so close to begging for her that if he had said no she likely would have cursed him out. But he didn’t say no, and together they formed a small huddle at the bottom of the stairs. “I was a total bitch, I was totally out of line, and I never should have yelled at you this week.”

He grunted. “You dumped my coffee out.”

“Trust me, no one understands how sinful that was better than I do,” she said. “I’ll buy you coffee all this week.”

“You kept referring to Hobart as hob-shart.”

She bit her lip to keep from laughing at that. Even when she was a bitch, at least a funny one. “That was wrong of me.”

“You said—” he started, pausing, then clearing his throat when his voice pitched to a girly decibel. “You said that Hugh Jackman is an awful actor.”

“Only because I’m jealous! He’s so good looking, with nice pearly whites,” she cried. “We both know that he deserves an Oscar for his performance as Wolverine in the x-men movies.”

Boomer sniffed. “And for the Greatest Showman.”

“The Greatest—? Yes, no, definitely,” she quickly corrected herself. “You like musicals. Of course you like musicals. That was an amazing film, and he deserved international accolades for it.” What she was saying seemed to wear down Boomer’s grouchiness, and slowly the tension in his shoulders receded. “Now, how about I buy a round of drinks? We could hustle some pilots at darts. That always makes you feel better.”

His head teetered back and forth a moment before, finally, she earned herself a smile. “Yeah, alright. Hustling some pilots would make me feel better.”

“See!” Matty exclaimed before planting a glossy kiss onto his cheek. That had him grinning properly, and he tossed an arm over her shoulder as they started towards the front door. “I bet we can round up some real losers. Wounding some pride always makes me feel better.”

“I could definitely think of a few fellas that would pony up some money.”

“Too bad Hangman isn’t here. I would love to make him buy me another blowjob shot.”

Whatever she said seemed to amuse Boomer greatly, and she shot him a winning smile as they stepped into the bar. She was surprised to find that it was packed wall to wall already. For it only being seven, that was practically unheard of.

“Jesus, what’s all the fuss about?” she wondered as Boomer steered her towards the bar.

“What’s it ever about?” he joked. She thought about that, and before he even gave the answer, she already knew what it was. “Pilots.”

“Fucking pilots.” Matty rolled her eyes with an over exaggerated raspberry. “We can definitely find some suckers to hustle tonight then. What do you want to drink?”

“Your choice.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, why not?” he shrugged. There was something sly and unsettling about his grin, and Matty narrowed her eyes at him when he dropped his arm off her shoulder. He spotted Frank at a table towards the back. Claire and Eggs were already there, and, if she had to guess, Nick and George wouldn’t be far behind. “I’ll be with the others. Try not to get too distracted before you deliver the coldies, yeah?”

He disappeared before she could give a response. “Why would I get distracted?” she asked no one in particular. Of course, there was no one to answer that question, and so Matty let it go with a shrug. Australians—she would never really understand them. Something else she didn’t understand was how packed the place was. It took more than a few elbows to get to the bar, and even then, it took five minutes before Penny arrived.

At least she had a smile on.

“Service with a smile usually counts for more when I’m not waiting forever, you know,” Matty jibed. “I think I can feel the dementia settling in as we speak.'

Penny laughed, completely unbothered by the attitude. “I’m just happy you didn’t come across the counter yourself.”

“Wow, you’re in a good mood,” Matty said. “Haven’t seen you smile that big since you won that thirty pound turkey in the Thanksgiving raffle last year. Should I be worried about going bankrupt tonight?”

Penny tossed a dish towel over her shoulder with a fond eye roll. “Funny as always, Mats,” she drawled. But, if the smile that stretched back onto her face was anything to go by, she clearly wasn’t that bothered by the jab. “What can I get you?”

“Seven beers.”

An odd look appeared in Penny’s eye, but she began lining up some glasses anyway. “Crew night?”

“Uh, duh, Pen. It is Friday.”

“Well, sure,” the woman said with a huff when the glasses clinked together. Matty pointed to the tap closest to her, and inched a little bit closer across the bar to hear better. “But I thought you would be joining in with everyone else tonight, too. Not just the crew, anyway. Unless you still really do have problems with the pilots.”

Matty furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”

Penny laughed as if Matty had made a joke, but when she caught the confused look on her face, she slowly let go of the tap handle. “I thought you would have heard.”

“Heard what?”

“They’re… back.”

“Back?” Matty echoed, shaking some hair over her shoulder, uncomprehendingly. “Who’s back?”

Penny didn’t give her an answer other than to glance around the crowded bar. Matty followed her line of sight slowly, looking for the gag to whatever joke this was, but that line of thinking went out the back door when she started picking up on some of the faces in the crowd. Faces that were smiling, laughing, and having the time of their lives as if they had just gotten back from a successful mission.

She didn’t know what to say, so she settled on the classic.

“Son of a bitch.”

Penny’s grin faltered at the reaction. “I’ll get some shot glasses,” she said, as if not knowing what else to say, and Matty didn’t try to stop her as she disappeared around the other side of the bar. Shots sounded pretty good right now.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed when Penny returned with two shot glasses and a bottle of something brown. She poured them quickly, not bothering to keep the bar top dry, and when she moved them towards Matty the blonde downed them both in succession without blinking.

“Fuck,” she hissed, wiping her mouth, completely forgetting about the lip gloss. “That burns.”

Penny held up the bottle with a smirk. Bourbon.

“Ew, Jesus, I thought that was tequila.”

“Oh no,” she wagged a finger at Matty, before returning to her earlier job of filling up the beer glasses. “I know you and tequila, Matty, and you do not need tequila right now. Last thing I need is for you to start some trouble in my bar.”

“I—I’m not going to start any trouble!”

“You have that look.”

“Look? What look!”

Penny set down a full glass of beer only to pick up another one. But the look she gave Matty was telling; a lot like a nun shaming a rambunctious toddler. “Like you’re going to do something stupid, but you don’t know what. I don’t need that tonight. No ma’am.”

“Uh—ugh!” she tossed her hair, huffing like a bull. It was an absurd idea that all Matty did was cause trouble at the bar; worse even that tequila and her didn’t mix well. Matty happened to love herself on tequila. It made her fun, fearless, and—well, okay, maybe a little bit more likely to punch someone—but that was just a quirk. “Just give me a shot of tequila. Please?”

Penny arched a brow, arms crossed. “Just one?”

Someone pressed up behind her, an elbow stretching smoothly onto the bar top, and Matty was just about to mentally prepare herself to ruin some poor pilot’s night, when the cadence of a warm voice spoke over the music to say, “actually, make it two.”

Penny’s eyes sparkled as she disappeared to the other side of the bar. Matty watched her go, frozen almost. A ridiculous notion that some guy hitting on her at the bar could have her freeze up—she was Matty Neven, afterall, and she didn’t just let some handsome pilots smooth talk their way into her pants—and with that particular mindset she tossed some hair over her should with a shrewd glare.

“I don’t let pilots buy me drinks,” she told him.

His lips curved into a smile, and she took a moment to give him a good look over. He was dressed a lot like the first night that they had met. A cotton button down that was open just enough that she could make out the hard lines of his collarbones, snug dark jeans that fit in all the right areas, and a pair of boots. Not military issued, but nice ones. The type that would bend very little if she tried to stomp on his toes, and that would hurt a whole lot if they kicked her in the shins. Around his neck dangled some familiar dog tags, and next to them was a pair of Ray Ban aviators that were probably sold out of the store from how many other pilots had the same ones. His hair was gelled just enough to let some loose curls dangle onto his forehead, and although his cheek was marred with a few healing cuts, he looked good.

Really good.

And—hell—if that wasn’t the problem.

“What do you have against pilots?” he asked.

Matty popped a hip as she sank her elbow onto the bar. They were facing each other now, and even though she was a tall girl, she still had to tilt her head back to meet his stare-down fully. She doubted the sparkly lip gloss helped her to look intimidating.

She hoped the sharp tone of her voice would be enough. “Well, they’re annoying—”

“Ouch.”

“Egotistical, selfish—”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Big-headed, stupid, and more often than not, they’re liars.”

He hummed, taking in her insults with nothing more than the melodramatic furrow of his brow, and Matty felt her glare waver slightly. She stuck her nose out further with the simple remind that—hello—he was a pilot for fuck’s sake.

“That’s harsh,” he noted. He leant further onto the bar so that they were only an inch apart, and her breath hitched against her will. “And how do you know that I’m a pilot?”

“Please,” she scoffed before snagging his dog tags with a chipped nail. “The only people that wear aviators anymore are fifty years old who want to feel young again and pilots. Not to mention the fact that I know everyone in this bar.”

He tsk-ed, but it didn’t stop the smile that was slowly inching across his mouth. It drove her up a wall. Not because she wanted to kiss that stupid perfect little mouth but, because—well—she couldn’t really think of a reason at the moment, but Matty was sure that one existed.

“You know everyone here? You must be a big deal or something to be that popular.”

She nodded, coming back into herself a little bit, and let his dog tags go with a shake of the head. Tendrils of hair went cascading over her shoulders. She tried to draw some confidence from that. She was an independent bitch boss of a woman who didn’t need anything from anyone.

Particularly not a pilot.

“Yeah. Actually, yes I am,” she started, crossing one arm over the other. Then, when that felt a little too weird she untucked her arms so that she could start waving them around wildly as if to prove her point. She almost smacked someone walking by in the head in doing so, but didn’t let that stop her. If some idiot with glasses got smacked in the head it was his fault for wandering too close. “I am a big fucking deal and I have plenty of men that throw themselves at me every single night. Case and point the fact that I’m a ten out of ten, eleven if we’re being honest, and all these other losers have been giving me eyes since I walked in here—which is crazy, really, if you think about it, because the only guy that I actually want to have attention from decided to just leave without saying goodbye. Not a text or a call or anything!”

“What an asshole,” he drawled.

“A total asshole! And now, even worse, I got all dressed up and am standing here looking like this and he still won’t just take the fucking hint and—”

Bradley kissed her before she could say anything else.

Thank god for that, too, because she wasn’t sure she had anything else to say, and her self-control seemed to be at an all time low, but Matty would be damned if she had given in first.

He kissed her like his life depended on it, like it was the only thing that he had wanted to do since he met her all those weeks ago in this exact same bar, on a Friday night just like this, packed like sardines by all the other pilots that she couldn’t really stand. Her arms swung around the back of his neck just as his clutched her waist. At first, he held her gently—almost like he was afraid she wasn’t real—but after a moment she felt his entire body relax, and his hands became firmer as they shifted to the base of her spine. It was a kiss just like after their date; warm, explosive, radioactive in the best ways possible that had her toes tingling and all the thoughts evaporating from her head. But it was also better than that. There was no holding back, no unspoken words.

Just him and her.

“Seriously, get a fucking room.”

Oh, and Hangman.

They pulled apart with heaving chests to find that their show had earned themselves quite the audience. Hangman was at the forefront, a beer in each hand, and while her first instinct was to break his delicate little nose that she always thought looked a bit too much like it had been bought with daddy’s money, Bradley surprised her by just laughing.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist just because I beat you to the girl,” he said.

Hangman scowled. But then his mouth did this weird thing and it actually turned up into a smile. Not a smirk, but a real, god-honest smile. “Yeah, well, it’s the only time you’ll ever actually beat me at something, Bradshaw, so you better savor it.”

“Um, excuse me,” Matty chirped, drawing his eyes. “Hi? Fuck off, won’t you?”

The group of pilots crowed in laughter at her barb, but Hangman didn’t take it all that personally. Rather, Mav was there shooing them all away before he could mange any sort of retaliation. “Alright, alright,” he said, waving the group off towards the pool tables. “That’s enough. Let’s give the kids some privacy, huh?”

“At least use protection!” Hangman jeered over the crowd as he was shoved away.

Mav smacked him over the back of the head just as they disappeared into the sea of people.

And suddenly, just like that, it was her and Bradley.

Bradley, who was staring at her with stars in her eyes. “Hi,” he said.

Matty responded by promptly punching him in the chest. “You dick!”

“Hey,” he threw up his hands, laughing, when she just continued to swat at him. He caught her by the wrists, and when she tried to smack him a third time, he pointed out, “you kissed me.”

“I’m not upset about the kiss!” she exclaimed. Her hair went in every direction when she tossed her head at him, but rather than frighten him, the show only seemed to amuse him more. She supposed her pink eyeshadow was no less attractive to him as it had been the first time they met under these circumstances. Kismet, bismet. This was total bullshit. “You didn’t tell me you were leaving. Ass!”

“I know.”

"You promised that you wouldn't leave me behind. Remember that? The whole 'sitting out on a surfboard and bearing my soul to you' thing that we did? That wasn't a hallucination!"

Bradley sobered up beneath her barrage, and she was happy to note that he actually looked guilty in front of her. Granted, it was skewed a bit by his overall handsomeness. Still. "I promised I wouldn't leave and forget about you, Mats. And I didn't. I know I should have said something about leaving, but... our date went so well and I felt like I couldn't find a good time to bring it up and then..."

"Then?"

"I didn't want to, you know, be together our last night just because I was leaving."

"Be together?" she echoed, not quite catching on at first. When she did, her entire brain seemed to blank out. She hadn't thought about it like that. "Oh. You mean—"

"Yeah," he grimaced. "I wanted it to end like it did. With a kiss and a promise that I could take you back out on a second date. Not with me sneaking out first thing in the morning. Not that I would have! But, I just... didn't think I would go if you asked me to stay," he admitted with a long breath. His shoulders sank as if that truth physically deflated him.

She tried not to feel so bad for being so mad at him. Failed, then tried again by shoving a finger into his chest. "Well, you didn’t tell me you came back!”

“I know."

“And you could have been so totally hurt.”

“I know.”

“And—and—and I missed you!” she tacted on thoughtlessly. Albeit, not all that tactfully. Her voice pitched a decibel higher that had her sounding more like a crying cat than a scornful woman. Yet, upon hearing the revelation, Bradley’s features softened, and when her lip started to tremble he moved closer. Through sniffles, she said, “don’t touch me, I’m still mad at you.”

He ignored the warning to tilt her chin up so that she was looking at him. “I missed you too.”

“Like—a lot.”

“A lot, a lot. You have no idea how much,” he muttered, softly brushing some hair off of her face. She wondered briefly about what her dad had said; about how the people willing to stick around to understand you were better than those who did immediately. But—what if those people were one in the same thing? “I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was back. I stopped by the motor pool but you were already gone. Boomer said you’d be here tonight.”

She floundered. “He didn’t say anything about it.”

“I got the idea that he was a little pissed at you,” Bradley mused.

When he arched his brow she shrank beneath his gaze. The stories of her behavior over the past week were not something she was going to share with him. Ever, if that was an option. Instead, she evaded the unspoken question to ask, “why didn't you call?”

He sucked his lip between his teeth. "I did, actually. You probably have, like, a hundred missed calls and thirty voicemails from me at this point. You weren't answering your phone."

"My—oh," embarrassment welled up her throat until her entire face was bright red. "I left it in my glovebox because I kept losing it and I didn't want to be late tonight because Boomer was—it's a long story."

He didn't say anything. Just smiled softly while gently pulling her closer to him. At this distance, she could see the damage done to his face.

“Your face is all cut up,” she pointed out, softly brushing over the skin. He winced, and Matty immediately retracted her arm.

“It’s… a long story.”

They shared rueful, knowing smiles. "And everyone else?"

“Good. Better than good, actually. Hangman got another kill, so we know he won’t shut up about that. Not to mention that Mav finally got his head straight about Penny—said that the whole mission made him realize what was actually important and not. Think he might actually do something stupid like propose. And, you know, I got that kiss. Not a bad way to come back.”

She flushed. The scowl that came next was ruined a little by the pink dotting her cheeks. “Just… don’t do that again.”

“Kiss you?”

She punched him; softly this time. “Leave without telling me, dick.”

Bradley smiled.

"I told you, babe, you're unforgettable. I wouldn't dream of it." he said, and, when the compliment did lighten her mood, the air between them stopped feeling so tense and started feeling a whole lot more electric. Bradley fucking grinned. “Does this mean I can finally start buying you drinks?”

Matty huffed, inching closer, just as he swooped down to steal her breath. All thoughts of love and life and worry and fear vanished. And—yeah, in that moment, she felt like she finally did understand her mom a little bit better. It sucked having this big inevitable thing in life that would take away the person you cared about, but it was also worth it if every time they came back felt like this. Like nothing had changed, like no time had passed.

Like your heart would need a tune-up at the mechanics from how hard it was pumping.

This kiss ended sooner than the first, but her lungs ached just as much. “Can I take you out on another date?”

“I think you’d be better off taking me home,” she muttered. His chest rumbled with laughter, and while she did mean it, when Bradley tried to drag her away from the bar, she tugged him right back with a smirk. “Later. I think right now you need to buy me a drink.”

He fixed her with a handsome smile, before conceding.

“And don’t cheap out on the liquor, Bradshaw,” she snarked,

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Neven,” he quipped back with a small hand at her waist.

By the time they came out of their little bubble to tune back into what was happening at the bar, they found Penny had reappeared with two shots of tequila, as well as her platter of beers. Mav was chatting with her with a conniving sparkle to his eyes that Matty really didn’t like, but she didn’t get the chance to ask about it before there was a burst of yelling from the pool table.

Penny sighed. “Will you do something about that?”

“About what?”

“Boomer is hustling the pilots again,” she said. The brunette didn’t seem all that put out by it, though. Her tone was more so that of reluctant acceptance. “The last thing we need is him and Hangman to go at it over a couple of bucks. Those two have the biggest egos I’ve ever seen in this bar. The only thing worse is that I think they’re actually becoming friends.”

Matty and Bradley shared a look.

“Maybe we can stick around for—you know—just one game of pool,” he hedged.

“Well, it is pretty early,” she agreed. “And we definitely can’t have those two becoming friends.”

“No, of course not. They would suck all the air out of the room. Obviously, we can’t have that.”

There was a moment of silence as they sized one another up, before Matty and Bradley downed their shots of tequila in unison. She snagged two beers off of the tray, and before Mav could stop them, she said, “take the rest to the crew in the corner, won’t ya, Mav? We’ve got to hustle some losers at pool.”

Maverick popped his mouth open to protest, but they didn’t stick around to hear it.

“Well, well, well, what ‘ave we here?” Boomer cried when he saw her approach. He didn’t hesitate to take one of the beers out of her hand, and Hangman narrowed his eyes at her shrewdly. “Finally come to help me teach blondie ‘ere how to lose with dignity?”

“Actually, Booms,” Matty grinned. “We thought we would teach you two how to lose with dignity.”

The boys straightened, sizing up how serious she was.

“Well?” Bradley arched a brow. His tone was just as devious as hers, and, really, she thought that maybe Penny was onto something about the lot of them being nothing but trouble. “You want to play or what?”

“Oh,” Hangman drawled. “It’s so on.”

The sound of the cue ball cracking somehow felt louder than the jukebox, but unlike the first time that the mechanics had been introduced to the pilots, Matty found that there was a whole lot more laughter than anything else. The others joined as the hours ticked by; a never-ending loop of pool, darts, cards, and then pool again that went until they were kicked out by Penny in the early morning hours. She didn’t remember a lot of it. The amount of alcohol they consumed was probably death-defying if she were being honest, but she did remember one thing.

She let a pilot buy her drinks.

And, fuck, did that feel good.

***taglist (we're finally done!) @callsignbarb @coyotesamachado @shanimallina87 @luckyladycreator2 @olivethenerd16 @the-winter-marvel33 @hiddleless @momc95 @alanadetigy @obsessedasusual @voidisms000

#top gun maverick #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick fanfic #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #rooster x oc #heart mechanics #rooster fanfic

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 1 year

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The Ironies of Life - Rooster

Pairing: Rooster/ Fem!OC (Naomi)

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: (Unplanned) Pregnancy; Exes; Emotional Angst; Brief Vomiting; Rooster Being a bit of a Dick; Named Female OC (Naomi), but No Physical Descriptions

This work, all of my other works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only.

Naomi is referenced as being a woman and she was previously an officer in the Navy. But otherwise there is no description of her physical features or her surname, so fill in as you wish.

Summary: A few weeks after breaking up with her long-term boyfriend because he wouldn't commit to marriage and kids, Naomi finds out that she's pregnant with his baby.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Master List

Naomi had several big plans for her thirties.

Being alone, pregnant with her ex-boyfriend’s baby, and with her head in a toilet was not on the list. And neither was being blocked by her ex-boyfriend, Lieutenant Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, on every single possible messaging service, so that she couldn’t actually get in contact with him.

Yeah, that was nowhere on the list of her plans.

And the stupidest part about the whole situation was that she was the one who broke up with him. If she’d just waited a month longer, maybe she’d still have Bradley beside her, holding back her hair right now. But that wasn’t exactly a guarantee either.

After all, the whole reason behind her decision to break up with her boyfriend of six years was because he refused to commit to a future that included marriage and kids. They had a fight about it. And then another fight. And another. And then another. And then Naomi ended things because they just didn’t want the same things in life and Bradley was never going to end it.

So, she broke up with him. And she was clearly doing so well with her post-break up life.

Naomi spat what was left in her mouth before slowly lowering herself to sit on her bathroom floor. She rested her weight against the tub and pressed a cool towel to her head to try and control her nausea. After she was sure that she wouldn’t throw up again, Naomi flushed the toilet, slowly got to her feet, and made her way out of her bathroom.

Sitting on her bed, Naomi pulled out her phone and tried to call Bradley again. But apparently, she was still blocked. Sighing, Naomi tossed her phone onto her bed and held her head in her hands to try and compose herself. She let out a calming breath and laid down. Resting a hand on her abdomen, Naomi took another deep breath.

“Looks like it’s still just you and me, Little Bean,” she murmured tiredly.

She was on the verge of entering her second trimester and her baby bump was just starting to form. Any kind of loose shirt that she wore still hid it, but she knew that she would quickly reach a point in her pregnancy where baggy clothing wouldn’t do the trick anymore.

She wouldn’t be able to hide a baby forever. And Naomi just hoped that Bradley would talk to her soon, before he learned about her pregnancy through someone else.

But part of her kicked herself for being so focused on telling Bradley.

He very clearly didn't want children and he very clearly hated her after she broke up with him. And it wasn't like she expected him to want to get back together and raise a baby that he never wanted in the first place. Naomi accepted that Bradley didn't want to be a dad and that forcing someone to be a parent who didn't want to be one was wrong and it would only create more problems in the future.

So, why was she so hellbent on finding him to tell him the news?

She wasn't entirely sure to be quite honest.

She just felt like after spending six years of their together, she owed him the truth. She owed him an in-person heads up. And maybe she just needed some closure too. Maybe she just needed to hear him say it one last time and then she could move on with this next stage of her life. Maybe she just needed confirmation for herself and for her Little Bean, who would inevitably ask about their father one day.

But regardless, she needed to find Rooster. And she was quickly running out of time with that project.

~~~~~

Naomi tried to not stare at the happy couple that left the obstetric office holding hands and absolutely giddy about the ultrasound they carried with them. And she really tried to not picture Bradley sitting beside her in the office. It would only make sure sick and anxious and doctors offices already made her nervous enough.

Another two months had passed and she was still nowhere closer to getting in touch with Bradley. Last she heard, he was out somewhere in the Atlantic, but he must have marked her email address as spam or otherwise blocked her because he hadn’t responded to any of her messages.

It was still just her and the Little Bean, who wasn’t so little anymore.

“Naomi?” one of the medical assistants called, standing in the doorway.

Naomi quickly gathered her things and followed the medical assistant back into an exam room. After a few minutes and some screening questions, Naomi was staring at the photo of her baby wiggling around on the ultrasound screen.

“Measurements are all normal and right on track,” the obstetrician stated, typing in notes as she moved the ultrasound wand around. “And the baby’s heartbeat is strong and normal. You have a healthy baby on your hands.” The obstetrician turned back to Naomi and smiled kindly. “Did you want to know what the baby’s gender is?”

“No, that’s alright,” Naomi replied quietly, forcing a smile. “I can wait a few more months.”

Her brain rationalized that it wouldn’t be a crime to find out without Bradley there—he hadn’t responded to any of her messages, including a handwritten letter—but Naomi still wanted to wait.

The obstetrician took some final measurements and sent Naomi out with two freshly printed ultrasound photos in hand. Naomi made her next appointment and headed out of the office. Just as she reached her car, her phone buzzed in her pocket. Pulling it out, Naomi glanced down to see a text message from one of her old friends from her time in the Navy.

I know that you’ve been asking around about Rooster. I just thought that I should give you a heads up that he was at the Hard Deck in Miramar last night.

Her friend sent a photo along with the text and Naomi’s breath caught in her throat when she recognized that particular Hawaiian shirt and matching mustache.

What was he doing in Miramar? He was supposed to be out in the Atlantic for two more months.

Naomi quickly shot her friend a text back, thanking her for the tip, before climbing into her car. She managed to get out of work on the earlier side and rushed back to her apartment. Stepping inside, Naomi didn’t break her confident stride until she was sitting in front of her computer.

She didn’t know how long Bradley would be in Miramar for, but it was the closest thing that she had to a lead in months. And she wasn’t going to waste that opportunity.

~~~~~

“Do you mind grabbing some pretzels?” Phoenix asked Bob, staring down at her list. “The spears, not the normal ones.”

The Dagger Squad decided to have a beach day after the mission and divided up the work. Phoenix, Bob, Payback, and Fanboy took the job of buying the snacks and non-alcoholic drinks. Fanboy and Payback were probably still debating whether red or green grapes were better and Phoenix wanted to speed up the process.

“Yeah, sure. We want chips or anything else in that aisle?” Bob asked, causing Phoenix to shrug.

“Probably. Fanboy would know better than me, but I know that Harvard really wanted the pretzel spears for whatever reason.”

“I’ll see what they have.”

“I’ll be there in a second,” Phoenix promised, earning a nod from Bob.

He walked down the aisle and started looking for the pretzel spears. Bob glanced over at the noticeably pregnant woman struggling to reach something up on one of the top shelves, and well, he couldn’t not offer to help her. He was Bob Floyd, after all.

“Do you need some help?” Bob offered to the woman. She took a step back from the shelf and shot him a small smile.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” she replied sheepishly.

“Just the blue bag?”

“Yeah, just that one.”

Bob reached up and grabbed the bag on the top shelf before holding it out to the woman. She took it with a thankful smile and placed it into her small cart.

“Thank you so much for the help.”

“Of course,” Bob replied with a polite nod. “Do you need help with anything else?”

“No, I should be all set. Thank you again.”

“Not a problem.”

Naomi nodded back to Bob before heading towards the checkout counters. She stopped at the grocery store to grab a few quick snacks before starting her search for Bradley. The Little Bean was very hungry and needy these days and she wanted to be prepared.

But as Naomi walked down the aisle, Phoenix turned into the exact same aisle. The two women stopped in their respective tracks, staring at each other incredulously.

Naomi really shouldn’t have been surprised. Phoenix was in the photo of Bradley that she’d received from her friend, so, of course, Phoenix would be in Miramar too. But Naomi wasn’t planning on running into Phoenix in the middle of a random grocery store. And Phoenix, meanwhile, was focused on Naomi’s very noticeably baby bump.

“Fuck,” Phoenix whispered out, blinking rapidly.

It all made sense now. Naomi’s sudden disappearance from social media. All of her random and quite honestly incessant attempts to reconnect with Rooster over the last few months.

Fucking hell, Phoenix told Rooster to call Naomi back.

“Phoenix,” Naomi greeted the pilot, clearly nervous and unprepared for the interaction. “How are you doing?”

“I’m alright,” Phoenix replied, still shocked.

“You guys know each other?” Bob asked curiously, walking over with a bag of pretzel spears.

“We do,” Phoenix told her WSO before turning back to Naomi. “Does Rooster know that you’re here?”

“No, I tried to call him, but I’m pretty sure that he still has me blocked,” Naomi stated quietly, shifting her weight on her feet.

“Probably,” Phoenix agreed, just as quietly.

“I actually came to town because I needed to talk to him,” Naomi continued as her heart started to beat out of her chest. “About . . .”

Naomi gestured to her baby bump, which was already out and prominent enough that she couldn’t hide it from Phoenix even if she wanted to try.

Bob dropped his bag of pretzels.

~~~~~

Rooster was setting up a beach umbrella when his phone began to ring in his back pocket. Straightening up, Rooster checked his phone to see that Phoenix was calling him.

“Hey! You need help carrying stuff down to the beach?”

“No, I'm not at the beach,” Phoenix explained, eerily soft. “But the guys should be there soon.”

“Why did they ditch you?” Rooster asked, suddenly concerned.

“I sent them ahead. Something came up.”

“What? Are you okay?”

“When was the last time that you talked to Naomi?” Phoenix questioned Rooster, getting straight to the point.

Rooster’s blood went cold at the mention of his ex-girlfriend. The woman who quite literally shattered his heart in his chest when she broke up with him five or so months ago. And maybe he wasn’t over it yet. But watching a six-year relationship implode overnight was a rather jarring experience and Rooster felt that he was entitled to be a little petty about it.

“Nat, why the fuck are you talking about Naomi?”

“When was the last time that you talked with her?” Phoenix insisted, ignoring Rooster’s squawk.

“When she broke up with me,” he deadpanned, starting to pace around. He ignored the curious and concerned glances from the other Daggers. “There? You happy, Nat? Now why are you bringing up my ex all of a sudden?”

There was a brief pause, but then Phoenix’s voice cut through the line with her usual crisp confidence.

“She’s in Miramar, Rooster. And she needs to talk to you.”

“Why is she in Miramar?” Rooster asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Because she needs to talk to you.”

“She could have called or texted me.”

“Don’t you still have her blocked?” Phoenix questioned, a bit of annoyance seeping into her tone.

“Well . . . you know what I mean, Nat,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why is she here? Did you talk to her?”

“I’m with her right now.”

“What!? Right now?”

“Yes, Rooster. We’re at a coffee shop a few blocks from the beach.” Phoenix paused, most likely weighing her options before adding, “You really need to talk to her, Rooster. And I’m not fucking around. Don’t make me drag your ass down here.”

“She made it clear that she didn’t see a future with me, Nat. Why do I want to deal with that again? Why should I deal with that again?”

“I know that she broke your heart. I know that you felt completely blindsided and betrayed and every other negative emotion when she broke up with you.” Phoenix trailed off, and Rooster could picture her stern expression clearly. “But you need to talk to her. Now.”

“Why?”

“It shouldn’t come from me,” Phoenix stated seriously. “Look, I can give her my phone and you two can chat. But you need to talk to her, Rooster. And I’m not fucking around. And I know that you'll regret it if you don't talk to her now.”

Rooster sighed, rubbing his face tiredly with clear aggravation.

“Fine. Put her on.”

“Thank you,” Phoenix sighed, sounding relieved.

“Bradley?” Naomi’s voice broke through a moment later.

“Yes?” Rooster snipped, failing at hiding his annoyance.

“How are you?” she began softly.

“Fine. Why are you in Miramar?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“We shouldn’t have this conversation over the phone,” Naomi stated, standing her ground on that part. “I have some news to share with you and I . . . I need to do it in person.”

“Why?”

“You’ll understand when you get here.”

Rooster let out an annoyed curse under his breath and rubbed his face, clearly aggravated. He stared up at the sky for a second before finally responding to her.

“Fine. Where are you?”

“The Green Café,” Naomi replied, sounding relieved. “It’s about four or five blocks from the beach.”

“Okay.”

Rooster hung up the phone and tucked it into his back pocket. Grabbing his bag, Rooster ignored everyone’s curious gazes and turned for the parking lot.

“What’s got your panties all in a twist?” Hangman called after Rooster.

Ignoring Hangman, Rooster flipped him off as he trudged through the sand. He walked up the steps to the boardwalk and spotted Bob with Payback and Fanboy pulling into the parking lot in Phoenix’s car. Rooster ignored their looks, which seemed to be shocked and nervous more than anything else, and headed straight for his car.

The drive to the Green Café was simple and Rooster quickly parked before heading over to the outdoor seating. Phoenix and Naomi were chatting at one of the tables and Phoenix quickly spotted him. Rooster shot Phoenix an annoyed look before turning to Naomi.

But when Naomi turned around, Rooster literally froze in place. His breath left his body and his keys clattered down onto the sidewalk as his eyes focused on the very noticeable baby bump that Naomi was now sporting.

That wasn’t there the last time that he saw her.

“I’m going to give the two of you some privacy,” Phoenix announced, which did little to quell Rooster’s shock. “Have fun.”

Phoenix walked around the table and over to Rooster. She quickly bent down to snatch up his keys and kept walking towards where he parked the Bronco. And Rooster was still too stunned at the fact that Naomi was sitting right there in front of him and pregnant to grab his keys back.

Naomi offered Rooster a small, awkward smile. Her hands trembled with nerves as she smoothed her hands over her bump.

“Hi, Bradley.”

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw #rooster fanfic #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #rooster x oc #bradley bradshaw x oc #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #rooster top gun #top gun fanfiction #tgm fanfiction #tgm

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bradshawssugarbaby · 1 month

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Take One For The Team (One) - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

A/N: we did it! part one! I'll be posting links to the parts on my Take One For The Team masterlist. pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x OC! Emily Parker warnings/content: mentions of smut/allusions to sex, swearing, Bradley throwing punches, anger issues. word count: 2k. taglist: @mamachasesmayhem, @floydsmuse, @avengersfan25, @whatislovevavy, @nerdgirljen, @dizzybee03, @mrsevans90, @djs8891, @averyhotchner, @bellaireland1981, @katfanfic, @dckweed, @kmc1989

The scorching California sun beat down on the sprawling expanse of the Los Angeles Stars' baseball stadium, casting long shadows across the meticulously groomed field. Amongst the buzz of anticipation, Bradley Bradshaw, the newly acquired star pitcher, stepped onto the hallowed ground of the pitcher's mound. His arrival, however, was not without its shadows of doubt and whispers of controversy.

Just months prior, in the heart of Philadelphia, Bradley had been embroiled in a notorious incident that had shattered his reputation. A game-ending brawl erupted after a heated exchange with an opposing batter, ending in a display of unbridled fury that left both dugouts emptied and headlines ablaze. It was a moment of weakness that cost Bradley not only his composure but his place in Philadelphia.

Not that it was entirely Bradley’s fault, of course.

Just hours before game time, he’d walked in on his considerably younger girlfriend, Brittney, and the opposing team’s star hitter, Jordan Kazansky in a compromising position behind the dugout. How else was Bradley supposed to react when he came out smirking at him with a devious grin, knowing exactly what he’d done?

Bradley knew that Brittney was nothing more than a cleat chaser, purely out for the money and her fifteen seconds of fame that would come with dating a professional athlete, and Kazansky had just signed a new deal that promised him an obscene amount to start, and gradual increases each following year.

It shouldn’t have come as a shock to see her getting fucked by another man, especially not one who was younger, paid better, and had a baseball dynasty behind him. And yet, despite all this, seeing her with Jordan Kazansky was enough to make his blood boil.

When Jordan was at bat, Bradley had already managed to strike out two of his teammates, leaving Jordan as New York’s last hope to get a player on base that inning. Bradley lobbed him two relatively easy pitches so far, and the tally sat at two balls, no strikes. A third lazily tossed pitch made it so that the next one could be an easy walk to first base without Kazansky needing to make contact with the ball. Bradley, now feeling a little overly confident about luring his rival into a false sense of security, lined up for the next pitch. Instead of the half-assed, half-hearted throws he’d been sending to the plate, this time, Bradley wound up and threw a fastball that easily clocked in at 95 miles per hour. If aimed differently, this pitch could have set Kazansky up with a home run, however, Bradley, whose temper was rising every second that he spent having to stare at the opposing player, aimed the ball squarely at Kazansky’s outer thigh.

Jordan Kazansky dropped to the ground in a matter of seconds, clutching at the spot where the ball made contact. Bradley took his glove off and threw it to the ground, storming over to where Kazansky was now kneeling in the dirt.

“That’s for fucking my girlfriend,” He spat, shaking his head as he loomed over Kazansky.

Bradley grinned down at the injured player by his feet, raising his eyebrow as Kazansky refused to retaliate. Bradley was seeing red, beyond any reasonable amount of anger, and as the umpire began to attempt to diffuse the situation unfolding, Bradley’s aggression worsened. Now, as other players began to emerge from the dugouts, arguing and brawling with one another, Kazansky stood up right, squaring off with Bradley. Bradley couldn’t help but laugh - at 6 ft 4 and weighing in at about 210lbs, he wasn’t small by any stretch of the imagination, and compared to Kazansky’s 5 ft 10in, 175lbs frame, he practically engulfed the player in his shadow. As Kazansky tried and failed to land a right hook to Bradley’s jaw, Bradley returned the punch with one of his own, making contact with Kazansky’s face.

Now, faced with a game ejection, a fine, and a disciplinary hearing, Bradley knew one thing was for certain - his career was fucked. At his early thirties, most players his age are facing retirement, and on the higher end of 32, at any point the season he’s playing could be his last. He knew it better than anyone - the threat of a forced retirement hanging over him like a guillotine, waiting to end his career. Sure, plenty of players end up doing sports commentary when they leave, but Bradley wasn’t a commentator. In fact, Bradley barely spoke when forced to take part in press conferences, and when he did speak, he read whatever the team’s reps had handed to him. The truth was, he didn’t give a shit about anything outside of the field.

Bradley’s one saving grace after this incident? Pete Mitchell, the general manager of the Los Angeles Stars, a relatively new team that was entering its third season in the league. Pete had begun as Bradley’s coach when Bradley was a rookie, and was one of the few members of the team personnel at the time who believed in his skill and ability, rather than fearing whatever outlashing might occur if someone made a bad call against him.

When Philadelphia put Bradley up for trade following the Kazansky incident, as the press dubbed it, Pete snatched his contract up faster than the ink could dry. Bradley, grateful for the last-chance effort from Pete, resolved to try his hardest to pull his shit together and play the game. That was, until Pete gave Bradley an ultimatum.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Bradley huffed, shaking his head.

“The league says you do. The team owners say you do. And, most importantly, I say you do. Besides, she’s not a babysitter. She’s not here to make you lunch and wipe your ass, Bradley. She’s here to help you boost your image. Fix that reputation you’ve earned yourself. Maybe even get you traded to a team that can afford to pay you more for your last seasons.”

“I don’t need her help, Pete. I’m fully capable.”

“It’s not up for discussion, Bradley. The team owners have decided you do this with Emily’s help, or you don’t play. And I don’t know about you, but something tells me after you knocked Kazansky out, there’s not a lot of teams interested in adding you to the roster at the moment.”

Bradley sighed and looked out the window of Pete’s office, staring down at the baseball diamond below. He shook his head before darting his eyes back to Pete, giving him a look of pure defeat.

“Fine. When do I meet her?”

“There’ll be a team meeting to introduce her at around 2 o’clock, ahead of tomorrow’s big game.”

“Great, fantastic, wonderful, can’t fucking wait,” Bradley quipped, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Bradley,” Pete sighed as he put a hand out, gesturing to Bradley to keep himself calm, “listen, she’s just here to help you make sure you don’t throw what’s left of your career away.”

Pitch after pitch, Bradley was in the zone, laser-focused on his performance in today’s game to distract himself from his first encounter with Emily earlier that afternoon.

She stood tall, her blonde hair cascading into a messy ponytail, wisps framing her face in a way that suggested effortless beauty. Her green eyes scanned the team with a confidence that Bradley sensed was a façade, a shield to protect her vulnerability.

As she began introducing herself, each mention of the team felt like a veiled criticism directed at him. Bradley couldn't help but scoff and roll his eyes, recognizing the subtle digs concealed within her words. He felt under attack with each thinly veiled criticism of his behaviour, his jaw clenching in frustration as he listened to her talk. With a silent challenge in his gaze, Bradley contemplated how he could make her job a living hell if he so chose.

Watching from the management box in the stadium, stood Emily, in her tailored khaki pants and her pale blue blouse, nervously biting at her fingernails as she watched Bradley’s game play. This afternoon’s introduction to the team she’d be overseeing could have gone better - in fact, there wasn’t many ways in which it could have gone worse.

Despite her outward appearance of confidence when she entered the locker room, Emily couldn't shake the nerves that fluttered in her stomach as she stood amidst the buzzing energy of the stadium. Assigned to handle Bradley Bradshaw's notorious temper, she had expected their first encounter to be tense, but the reality surpassed even her apprehensions. Each eye roll and scoff from Bradley felt like a personal affront, a reminder of the uphill battle she faced in gaining his cooperation. Yet, beneath her frustration simmered a determination born from years of hard work and perseverance.

Emily hadn't landed the position of PR rep for the Los Angeles Stars by chance. Graduating top of her class with a degree in communications, she had diligently climbed the ranks through internships and assistant positions, her eyes always fixed on her ultimate goal. When the opportunity to join the Stars' organization arose after a successful internship there the previous summer, Emily seized it with unwavering confidence, although she had no idea exactly what the position would involve.

She’d entered into her initial meeting with Pete and the rest of the team’s management with her head held high, feeling excited about her new role with the team. She’d been a baseball fan her entire life, and Pete Mitchell was at one time, one of the greats. The team’s roster was phenomenal, filled with rookies and a few veteran players with strong, solid careers. The task of making the team appear well managed was one that practically did itself for her. That was, until that morning, when the team’s newest trade acquisition was finalized.

“Bradley Bradshaw? The guy who drilled someone in the leg over, quote unquote, “fucking his girlfriend”?” She asked incredulously, blinking in disbelief.

“That’d be the one. Listen, we need a good pitcher. He’s one of the best. And we can afford him. He needs us as much as we need him. Your job, is to make sure he keeps his nose clean and doesn’t explode and throw a bat at someone for looking at him the wrong way.”

“Which will now be exponentially harder given his recent scandal. I mean, everyone in the league is commenting on it. On the subway in this morning I heard four different people discussing the Kazansky incident as if it’s the next Watergate scandal.”

“Exactly,” Pete nodded, pointing to Emily with his pen casually, “And you’re one of the best at what you do. Your resume was the most impressive out of all the ones we received. I’m confident you can handle this.”

Emily nodded once, trying not to audibly groan at the prospect of having to babysit a 30-something year old grown man who couldn’t keep his temper tantrums under control.

That night, she’d resorted to watching videos of Bradley in press junkets on the internet, trying to make notes of key points to work on. His uninterested answers, his unwillingness to maintain eye contact, his scowling glances and nonchalant posture, suggesting that he’d rather be anywhere but there. A couple videos, dating back to when Bradley’s career was just taking off, showed a different side to him - a gentler man who genuinely just enjoyed playing baseball and wanted to be there.

As she watched Bradley's imposing figure on the mound, Emily couldn't help but wonder what had led him to this point. Rumors of his temper tantrums and locker room clashes had preceded him, painting a portrait of a man both fiercely talented and dangerously unpredictable. Emily knew that her success in taming Bradley's fiery spirit would not only define her career but also shape the trajectory of the team's season. She knew she had her work cut out for her when it came to Bradley - he was hard-headed, stubborn, volatile, and explosive - every public relations team’s worst nightmare.

Emily, however, had a plan.

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