#rooster flicking his eyes up and down… i know what you are

[diadotcom]

when u and ur bestie (rival) are gay lovers

[rootedinrevisions]

The Rough Side of Hangman's Girl

SUMMARY: You’ve always been the quiet one, the kind of girl who prefers soft laughter to loud crowds, and gentle touches over wild passions. But Jake “Hangman” Seresin has a way of drawing out the side of you no one else gets to see. When he steps into your world, he doesn’t just turn your life upside down—he pushes you beyond every boundary you thought you had. Now, with his intense gaze and unyielding hold, you find yourself craving every rough touch, every whispered command.

A/N: Thank you to the person who send me the DM about this request! This one was so fun to write! I really hope you like it and I did your request justice.

Also the way Glen/Jake is biting his lip in this GIF does something to me so I had to include it!

PROMPT: "Don't be gentle with me-I like it when you're rough."

WARNINGS: Unprotected sex, P in V sex, spanking.

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

The door shut softly behind you, and you barely had a second to breathe before Jake had you pressed against the wall. His hands were braced on either side of your head, his body so close you could feel the heat radiating from him, grounding you and sending your pulse racing all at once. His mouth met yours, warm and teasing, before his lips trailed down to your neck, peppering kisses along your skin with unhurried confidence.

His lips skimmed over a sensitive spot just beneath your ear, and you felt the heat bloom across your cheeks.

A quiet hum escaped you, and you felt Jake’s lips curve into a smirk against your skin. “Jake…” you whispered, the request barely audible, but he heard it. “Bite me.”

He froze for a second, pulling back just enough to catch your eye, his eyebrows raising in surprise. That trademark smirk spread across his face as he took you in, a low chuckle escaping him.

“Didn’t know you had that in you, sweetheart,” he drawled, the endearment roughened by a hint of mischief. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Your eyes met his, emboldened by his reaction. “Don’t be gentle with me,” you murmured, your voice soft but steady. “I like it when you’re…rough.”

Jake’s gaze darkened, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip as he considered your words, his smile turning wicked. “My sweet girl has a dirty side, hmm?” He teased, pressing closer. His voice dropped to a murmur as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “Well, I can give you exactly what you want.”

His hands moved to your waist, fingers pressing firmly as he lifted you slightly, pressing you tighter against the wall.

He leaned in, his lips grazing yours as his voice softened to a rough whisper. “But remember you asked for this.”

Jake’s hands gripped your waist firmly as he lifted you, carrying you down the hallway to your bedroom, his stride confident and purposeful. You wrapped your arms around his neck, heart pounding with anticipation as you looked up at him. There was a smoldering intensity in his eyes you hadn’t seen before–something darker, an edge to his usual smirk that made your pulse race even faster.

He pushed open the door with his shoulder, guiding you in and setting you down just beside the bed. His fingers were immediately at your waist, slipping under the fabric of your top, pulling it up over your head in one swift motion. There was no hesitation in his movements, no teasing pace–he was stripping away every article of clothing with a sense of urgency, his touch rougher than usual, more intense.

“Turn around for me,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding as he pressed a hand against your back, guiding you to face away from him.

You felt a thrill shoot through you as you did what he asked, your breath hitching when his hands moved to the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down with a rough pull, taking everything with them until you were bare under his gaze.

“Get on the bed,” he said, voice gruffer than usual.

His hand rested on your lower back, urging you forward until you were positioned on all fours. The air was thick with anticipation, and just as you settled, you felt his fingers thread into your hair, tugging firmly as he leaned over you, his breath warm against your ear. 

“Head down,” he murmured, the quiet dominance in his tone making you shiver. His grip tightened as he pushed your head down to the comforter, his other hand settling on your hip, holding you firmly in place. “And keep that pretty little ass up for me tonight,” he added, his voice laced with a roughened edge that made warmth spread through you instantly.

The weight of his hand, the way he held you down, his voice steady and unyielding–it was already too much, and you pressed your thighs together instinctively, unable to hide the effect he was having on you.

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured, catching the subtle movement. “We’ve only just started.”

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, seeking some relief from the tension that was building faster than you could contain. Jake’s amused chuckle resonated in the quiet, his tone edged with a kind of pride and surprise.

Without hesitation, he placed a knee on the bed, leaning in. His hand rested on your hip as he pushed your legs apart again, his knee pressing gently yet firmly, guiding you until you were as exposed and vulnerable as he wanted.

“Keep them like that,” he ordered, his voice low and rough, sending a thrill down your spine .”Or there’ll be consequences. Understood?”

A breathless nod was all you could manage, your face turned into the comforter, heat spreading over your skin. But before you could prepare yourself, you felt the sharp, sudden sting of his hand landing across you, and a gasp escaped your lips, followed by an involuntary moan that hung in the air. Your cheeks flushed deeper, the thrill mingling with a hint of a surprise that you couldn’t hide.

“Oh, now that’s something, isn’t it?” Jake murmured, his tone dripping with amusement as he ran his hand over the spot where his hand had landed, lingering to savor the reaction he’d pulled from you. “My sweet girl likes being spanked, hmm?”

The words made your breath hitch, and just as you felt your body start to melt into his touch, another sharp smack landed, this time harder. Another moan escaped, unbidden, and you felt his fingers spread possessively over your skin, his touch heavy with control and satisfaction.

He leaned in close, his voice a rough whisper as his hand stayed firmly in place. “Keep that up, and I’ll give you exactly what you’re begging for,” he teased, the promise in his voice making you shiver as you instinctively pressed back into his hand, craving more of the intensity he was unraveling in you.

“Look at you,” he murmured, almost to himself, his voice a low, raspy drawl. “Didn’t think my sweet girl who blushed when I kissed her would be into this…but you’re loving it, aren’t you?”

He traced his hand slowly down the curve of your back, a trail of goosebumps left in its wake as he took his time, letting every inch of his touch ignite something deeper. As his fingers reached your thighs, you couldn’t stop yourself from pressing them together again, the ache building so intensely that you couldn’t help it.

But Jake was quick, his hand gripping the inside of your thigh, pushing your legs apart once more.

“Oh no, darlin’,” he whispered, the authority in his voice like nothing you’d heard from him before. “You keep those pretty legs open for me, or we’re gonna have a problem.”

You swallowed hard, nodding, breathless, and his lips brushed against your neck, warm and teasing, before he took hold of your hip, his fingers pressing into your skin with a possessive grip. You could feel the firmness of his body behind you, every inch of him taut and ready, the anticipation was overwhelming.

One hand was still on your hip, he let his other hand drift lower, fingers trailing through your folds, which had you quivering, aching for more. His thumb pressed down on your clit, testing you and the faintest pressure was enough to send a jolt through you.

“You’re already so worked up,” he murmured with a satisfied chuckle, his tone full of dark promise. “Practically dripping, and I haven’t even gotten inside you yet.”

And then, he took it a step further–he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you back against him, his movements more unrestrained, less careful than usual, his body pressed firmly into yours. His hand slid up to your shoulder, gripping it just tight enough to hold you in place as he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. 

“Hope you’re ready for this, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice rough with both desire and restraining. “Cause I’m not holding back this time.”

With that, he guided his tip against your folds, taking his time as he ran it up and down, letting the anticipation build until you could barely take it anymore. His touch was rough and demanding, and you were more than ready, practically melting into him as he finally, slowly, pushed himself inside you, savoring every reaction, every gasp, as he showed you exactly what you’d been craving.

Jake’s grip tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin with a roughness he’d never shown before like he couldn’t help himself. Every thrust was harder than the last, his movements quick and relentless, sending a wave of pleasure through you that left you gasping, clinging to the sheets for support. His rhythm had lost its usual restraint, each motion fueled by something you’d never felt from him before. And it left you breathless, lost in sensation.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his hand came down on you again, a swift, sharp smack that sent a shockwave of heat through you. A moan escaped before you could stop it, louder than before, your body instinctively arching into his touch. 

The sound seemed to fuel him, and he chuckled, low and rough, clearly reveling in how unabashedly you were responding. “God, I love how loud you’re being for me,” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Didn’t know my sweet girl could get so worked up.”

His hand slid along your skin before coming down again with another smack, drawing another moan from you, your voice catching as you felt the sharp warmth spread over your skin.

With each sound you made, he seemed to grow more unrestrained, his hands gripping you together, his pace unrelenting as he moved, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, as though he wanted to pull every last gasp and moan from you.

The pressure of his hands on your hips was almost overwhelming, holding you so firmly that you knew you’d feel his touch lingering on you long after that night.

“You’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you?” he murmured, his voice dark and teasing, his breath hot against your skin as he leaned closer, his movements never slowing. “Making me think you were all innocent. But here you are, moaning like you were made for this.”

The combination of his words and his movements left you teetering on the edge, your body completely in sync with his rhythm, every rough touch and commanding word pulling you further under his spell. And as he kept moving, kept pushing you closer and closer, you couldn’t hold back, couldn’t stop yourself fro giving in completely to the way he was taking you apart, thrust by thrust, with no intention of stopping until he’d made you his in every possible way.

Jake could feel you tightening around him, each thrust pulling you closer to the edge. Your body was trembling beneath him, and the way you were clenching told him you were almost there. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He needed to push you over the edge, needed to hear you scream his name.

“Get up on your elbows,” he commanded, his voice harsh but laced with desire. You obeyed without hesitation, your body responding instantly to his words. The new angle was almost too much–his hands gripped your shoulders, pulling you back into him, and suddenly the depth of his thrusts was hitting you in all the right ways. You gasped, your head falling back, and your back arched as his cock slammed into you with an intensity that left you breathless.

“Oh, fuck,” Jake cursed under his breath, his hands moving to your hips to help guide you, pulling you back into him with each stroke. He loved how you felt around him, how responsive you were, how loud you were–everything about this moment sent him spiraling. “God, you’re so fucking loud. I love it. Don’t stop…don’t stop making those noises for me.”

You could barely hold onto the sheets, the overwhelming pleasure radiating through your body, the new angle pushing him right to that spot inside of you that made your entire body seize. His words, his voice, everything about the way he was fucking you–faster, harder–was enough to send you crashing toward the edge.

“Let go for me, baby,” Jake growled, his voice rough with hunger. “I want to hear you scream my name.”

That did it. A shock of pleasure surged through you, your body spasming as you cried out his name, the wave of ecstasy washing over you, pulling you under completely. You felt him jerk inside of you, his breath ragged as he pushed you through it, holding you tight as your body quivered with aftershocks. You moaned his name again, your voice breathless, as the final release hit you both at the same time.

Jake’s grip on your hips tightened as you both finished, your bodies trembling, chest heaving as you collapsed together onto the comforter. 

Neither of you could catch your breath at first, the room heavy with the sound of your labored breathing. His hand brushed a strand of hair from your face as he pulled you closer, the warmth of his body a grounding force after the intense release.

“That was…goddamn,” Jake murmured, his voice rough, but there was a softness behind it now, a gentleness as he ran his hand over your back. “You okay?”

You nodded, still catching your breath, unable to form words just yet. He smiled, his lips brushing over your forehead as you both laid there, tangled up in each other, feeling the afterglow of everything that had just happened.

“Good,” he whispered, holding you a little tighter, feeling the contentment between you both settle in. “I’m not done with you yet.”

[spdrvyn]

thoughts about miguel before i go to bed because i have a sudden creative burst and i need to release it otherwise i'm going to implode, i just love him so much, you guys, it's actually painful

miguel tends to stare a lot. not in a creepy way that has you wanting to put a lock on your face, but the way that he does it just makes you melt. there's nothing more than pure adoration that he has for you, it makes you question a times what exactly is so special that gives his gaze the power to melt you into a puddle.

he usually stops though when you notice. when you ask him about it, he dismisses your claim with a flick of his wrist and a "ah, it's nothing" even though you know damn well that it's something. sometimes, when you two don't say anything, just staring into each other's eyes, you're rewarded with a sweet kiss.

miguel's also big (not just in that way because i know what you're thinking, you whore), it's rubbed into your face basically wherever you go at home. taking off your shoes and leaving at the door only to look down and see a giant's footwear right next to them, getting a stain on your shirt due to a messy outing for dinner and having to wear his gargantuan jacket to cover it has your head reeling.

adding onto that, he is also touchy in the very subtle way that gets you all hot and bothered. barely a few minutes into your morning routine as usual, you can feel the hard contour of miguel's bare stomach press up behind you. his toned arm enters your vision as he reaches for something in one of the high cabinets, morning voice straight into your ear mumbling a small "lo siento" before he walks away and leaves you so dumbfounded.

he'll put a hand on your waist to gently move you aside if you're blocking the way, more unneeded, quiet apologies slip from his mouth and you get so frustrated that you have to resist the urge to just pull him in and kiss the smarts way from him. whenever you two are resting on the couch, rewatching yours or his favorite movie for the hundreth time and you pipe up with a question on what to order for dinner, where he always answers "whatever you want" with a peck to your cheek, where you always end up steaming hot from such a small gesture, all because of him.

remember what i said about mornings? well, miguel is always a treat in the morning. it's every so often that you two wake up at the same time, he wakes up excruciatingly early, while you are normal. though on days where he doesn't have to be up the same time the rooster crows, you are in for a sight.

you just never expected your life with him to be like this. meeting him first as a large, hunkered down, and emotionally constipated man to being so delicate and warm in the more intimate slices of normalcy that you have the privilege of sharing with him.

every line, every detail about him with you just feels so much softer. eyelashes fluttering as he wakes up, lips puffed out from snoring, and natural curls frayed from shifting in his sleep. beautiful. just beautiful.

don't even get me started on his morning voice. for someone that could command a whole battalion if he wanted to, he sounded so gentle. small rasps and utterances of good morning and i love you that squeeze your heart so tight that it could burst.

sometimes he's too lazy to dress up properly when he gets home from a long day of work, he'll slip on a pair of sweatpants and call it a night. you don't mind though, he's even clingier in the morning. immediately moving towards you when he notices that you've drifted a little too far from him for his liking during your sleep, the skin on skin causes you to shiver every time.

he always knows how to make you feel safe, protected, and loved.

[bussyslayer333]

‘cause you’re so smooth

summary: phoenix invites the boys to her salsa class, big mistake.

pairing: bob floyd x fem!reader

word count: 3k+

warnings: swearing, alcohol mentions, suggestive nature lols, me not knowing anything about salsa

my return to writing with a fic i teased over a year ago!! i hope you all enjoy

ps requests r open :p

“Nix, if you think I want to spend my Sunday evening learning to salsa dance with a bunch of soccer moms then I think your concussion hasn’t healed properly.” Jake sasses in response to Nat’s invitation.

“Yeah, I’m sorry Nat but Sunday is my chill out day, when else am I gonna beat Fitch’s ass on cod?” Fanboy reasons.

Natasha knew it was a stretch asking the boys to join her salsa dancing class, but she thought it was important for them to get out more. At the moment, seemingly all they did was trudge from work to the Hard Deck over and over again.

She sighs, “it would be good for you guys to get out more, y’know?”

“I’ll go, Nat,” Bob smiles, nodding to her from where he is perched on a stool behind her.

“Thank you, Bob.” Nat nods back to him, “the rest of you can suck it.”

“Hey!” Bradley yells as he appears back from the bar, beers in tow, “what did we say about using that type of language?”

“Shut up Dadley,” Nat rolls her eyes as Bradley flicks his tongue out before handing her a beer.

“As much as I’d truly love to attend that class ‘Nix, I’m already a salsa pro and I wouldn’t want you to feel embarrassed about your skills,” Bradley declares, before taking an obnoxious sip of his beer.

“Yeah fuckin’ right, and my dad is prima ballerina,” Jake snorts.

“Let’s not discredit Papa Seresin, I saw him tear Boogie Wonderland up at your sister’s wedding.” Coyote nods.

“Yeah and even that shit was better than what Rooster could pull off,” Jake decides.

Bradley only shrugs at the jibe, a lazy smirk plastered onto his face, which serves only to piss Jake off more.

“Dance off?” Fanboy proposes, standing to head to the jukebox.

“No?” Jake frowns.

Fanboy drops back to his seat with a sigh, “was worth a shot.”

Nat shakes her head with a snort and brings the conversation back to the matter at hand.

“Look it’s fine, I’m just saying I think you guys would enjoy it!” She reasons.

“I’m sure it’ll be fun!” Bob adds happily.

Nat can only sigh at the lack of response.

Bob is already waiting outside the community centre when Nat arrives, looking down and nervously picking at a thread on the bottom of his gym shorts.

“You ready?” Nat questions, trying to alleviate his nerves.

When Bob looks up his brows unfurl and he lets a small smile sip onto his face.

“Yeah, sure, let’s do this!” He pumps his fist a little awkwardly.

Nat can only chuckle in response as she makes her way to the room at the left of the reception where the class is held. You’re stood by the door chatting with one of the older women in your class when Nat comes into your view.

“Natasha! How’s my best student?” You tease, stepping towards her.

“I’m great, thanks!” Nat blushes before gesturing to Bob, “I hope you don’t mind, I brought a friend.”

Bob sucks in a breath as you finally lock eyes with him. Shit. You were beautiful and those leggings were doing you an undoubted amount of favours.

Sadly, Bob had an incredibly annoying habit he was unable to shake. It was known as “embarrassing himself in front of beautiful women” and that seemed to strike him just as you stuck your manicured hand out to shake his own.

The breath that Bob had sucked in caught in his throat which was drying up increasingly as he took you in, leading to an unprecedented coughing fit doubling him over. What seemed to make it worse was your shocked gasp and immediate move to lean over him and pay his back gently. Bob tried not to focus on your cleavage directly next to his face and instead on regulating his breathing. It was proving difficult, especially when he could hear Nat cackling at his misfortune from behind him.

Once almost fully back to normal, you squeeze his bicep and chuckle,

“I don’t think I’ve ever quite literally taken someone’s breath away!” You giggle, voice oh so sweet.

Bob can’t even let himself feel embarrassed with the way your soft hand feels on his arm.

“I’m so sorry about that,” he cringes.

“Don’t worry about it,” you smile reassuringly.

Nat is growing seemingly agitated by Bob’s lingering near the door so she steers him forwards away from you.

“Best get set up!” She announces, dragging him into the room.

The classroom is spacious, a high ceiling and large windows on the left wall. The wall facing the door is covered in mirrors that amplify the light in the area.

Before Bob can speak up again, two men who look to be in their late 40s rush over towards Natasha. They’re the complete opposite of one another, the first who reaches for Natasha is tanned and has dark curling hair with flecks of grey throughout.

“Natasha! Darling it is so great to see you!” He exclaims with a slight accent, holding her hand in his.

The other has embraced the grey in his hair, he’s relatively pale but has clearly kept his physique, he nods towards Bob with a glint of something in his eye, “I thought he wasn’t your type?”

Nat snorts, clueing Bob in finally on what the two men were hinting at.

“My best friend, boys don’t worry,” she teases.

“Thank God, I’ve been trying to set you up with my niece for how long now?” The dark haired man smiles.

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m always busy at the moment,” she shrugs apologetically before turning back to Bob, “Bob this is Marco and Luke.”

They both shake his hand and size him up as they do so, the grey haired one (Luke) declares.

“He’s cute, Nat, where have you been hiding him?” He prods.

Bob exhales at the approval and watches as Nat breaks out into laughter. “Away from you!”

Marco and Luke break into laughter alongside Nat and Bob can’t help himself but join. Just as they’re all catching their breath, Bob jumps out of his skin again as he feels his hand on his shoulder.

“Boys, we’re being welcoming to our newcomer aren’t we?” You hum.

Your hip is touching Bob’s and the soft skin of your hand on his shoulder has him malfunctioning, luckily he isn’t forced into replying (or choking) this time.

“Of course we are beautiful, what do you think of us?” Marco gasps in faux shock.

“I think that I know what you two are like,” you roll your eyes before making your way to the front of the room.

You send Bob a sly wink before finally beginning, “It’s so great to see you all again!”

Everyone in the room blurts out greetings at you as you begin, “We’ll continue on from last week,” you strut over to the stereo in the corner and a latin pop track floats out into the room and Bob vaguely recognises the tune.

Marco and Luke are quick to start fluidly moving around the floor space and Bob notices that others in the room are doing the same. You make your way quickly over to him and place your hand on the small of his back, straightening his posture.

“I don’t expect you to get it immediately,” you smile into his ear, “we’ll start off with some basics and turn variations.”

Bob hopes you can’t see the nervous perspiration already forming on the back of his neck and nods a little too eagerly at your words. He looks back to Nat for some encouragement but she’s already dancing and chatting with a group of women next to the tall windows.

“I don’t bite,” You giggle, shocking Bob who looks back to see you holding your hand out for him to grab onto.

“Sorry, I’m not the best dancer-” Bob’s self depreciation is swiftly disrupted by you placing his hand on your waist and the other in your own.

“All the more for me to work with,” you smile, and Bob feels himself smiling back.

Although a tad clunky, Bob manages not to step on your toes and has some surprisingly fluid hip movement which intrigues you ever so slightly.

By the last ten minutes of the class, Bob is twirling Marco around as Luke and Nat chat to you about technique.

“What were you nervous about?” Marco probes Bob, “you’re a natural!”

Bob can only chuckle shyly in response and he glances over at your frame. Marco seems to notice Bob’s longing glances and slowly stops their dance.

“Go for it.”

“What?” Bob splutters.

“She’s been making googoo eyes at you the whole time mister, don’t pretend you haven’t noticed.”

Bob reels for a moment at Marcos admission before straightening up. “You think?”

Marco rolls his eyes. “I know.”

Before Bob can reach you you’re already strutting back towards the stereo to lower the volume of the music and gather everyone’s attention.

“Thank you so much everyone! You’ve all been brilliant today and I can’t wait to see you next week!” You beam at everyone.

People begin to gather to chat and start to disperse and you begin to gather your own belongings, stopping to make conversation with others as you do so. Luke and Nat join Bob and Marco with sly smirks on their faces.

“So…” Nat begins, “You’ll be coming back next week I presume?”

Bob flushes at Nat’s knowing look. “Yeah,” he looks to you, “definitely.”

Bob didn’t mean to let it slip. Like seriously, his lips were so sealed. Air tight.

“But HOW hot are we talking?” Mickey slurs over the nth shot he’d done with Bob at the Hard Deck’s happy hour.

So maybe not air tight.

It was Thursday evening and the rest of the daggers had politely declined drinks with Fanboy, but Bob (the ever dutiful friend) had accepted, hoping to be in and out within the hour. But alas, here they were.

“Fuckin’ smoking,” Bob mimes an explosion with his hands as Mickey nods enthusiastically to his answer.

“I choked on air when I saw her and almost popped a boner during a Justin Timberlake song,” Bob continues to ramble, once given the chance to talk about you he clearly wasn’t going to stop.

“And when is this class?” Mickey slumps closer to Bob, tequila breath hot on his neck.

“Ummmm, Sunday evening at 6 I think?” Bob nods, remembering the details Nat had sent him in a text the week previous.

“Good to know,” Mickey hums, reaching his hand forward to signal for another round, knocking someone’s drink over in the process. “Oops.”

Bob is quick to drag Mickey away from the bar top after that, realising they’d probably overdone it a tad for a weekday evening.

As the cool sea breeze hits Bob’s flushed face whilst him and Mickey wait outside the Hard Deck for their uber, he can’t help but let his mind drift to you, what you were potentially up to, do you teach other classes during the week? Do you dance professionally? God, you definitely could, the way your hips moved-

Bob shook his head, as if to get the image of you stuck in his mind out. He looked to Mickey hanging off of his arm, he was looking to the ground and shaking as if to stave off the imminent vomit that was about to leave his mouth any second now.

“Let’s get you home man,” Bob pats Mickey on the head, dragging him towards their Uber pulling up.

“Hey, Bob!” Nat yells across the parking lot, catching the back of her friend’s tall frame leant against a pillar near the front of the community center.

When Bob turns around, Nat notices two people next to him who she was not expecting to see.

“Fitch? Fanboy?” Nat cocks her head to the side. “I thought you guys were too busy to come?”

Nat’s accusatory eyes meet Bob’s sheepish expression as he awkwardly clears his throat.

“We heard the teacher was hot as fuck.” Payback shrugs.

Fanboy giggles next to him in excitement, “I’ve been practicing-”

“Bob I swear-” Natasha begins, finger pointing right into Bob’s chest.

“Sup, biatches!” Jake yells, alerting everyone of his and Javy’s presence. “Who’s ready to get their salsa on?”

Nat spins around on her heel, eyes shooting daggers into Jake and Javy.

“Bob, I’m going to kill you.” She states, eerily calm.

“Oh come on Phe! You wanted us here just last week!” Jake exclaims, walking round to slap Bob on the shoulder and greet Payback and Fanboy behind him.

“Yeah! When I wanted you guys to get out and do something productive! Not fuck my lovely salsa teacher, who by the way, was not socialised by wolves! So will absolutely not be charmed by any of you fools!”

With that, Nat turns and walks into the community center, leaving the boys to sprint in after her.

“At least this can’t get any worse,” Nat mutters to herself, pulling the door to your studio open.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Nat stills in the doorway, the rest of the boys behind her peeking their heads in.

“What now?” Bob asks guiltily.

Nat opens the door fully and allows the men behind her to file into the studio, where her fellow classmates are stood in a semi circle whooping and hollering at you dancing in the middle with none other than Bradley Bradshaw.

“Fucking Bradshaw,” Jake scoffs, pushing his way ahead whilst checking himself out in the full length mirrors that line the opposite wall of the room.

“Chicken never told us he could dance!” Jake yells over the latin music filling the room, successfully interrupting your dance with Bradley.

Bradley’s head whips to the side at the sound of that familiar ear grating voice. He gives you an apologetic look as he walks over to begin squabbling with a man you presume he knows. The commotion between the boys alerts you to the presence of Natasha and Bob as well as three other unfamiliar men. When Bradley had introduced himself with a smirk and a drawling voice as a friend of Natasha’s you had to wonder whether all of her colleagues were so handsome and by the looks of it, they were.

Nat is quick to walk over to you with an apologetic smile. “I want to apologise in advance for the next hour. They are insufferable.”

You look behind her to where the gaggle of men she calls her close friends are stood, you can see Marco and Luke itching to get their claws in and you have to giggle. This should be interesting.

After instructing the rest of your class to continue practicing the routine you had been working on, you figure it was only fair to come and personally consult your newest joiners.

As the boys (and Nat) notice you wandering towards them, they all begin to elbow each other like school boys giggling amongst themselves. Bob and Nat can only keep their embarrassment internal for so long.

When you come to a stop in front of them, the man you’ve come to learn as Jake smiles dazzlingly and stretches his arms above his head,

“God it is hot in here!” He begins to reach for the bottom of his shirt, aiming to impress you with his toned stomach.

“The A/C is on full blast dumbass.” Nat swats at the back of Jake’s head, causing him to drop his shirt again and rub at his temple. “Ow!”

Snickers fall from Javy and Mickey, who quickly straighten themselves up when they see you casting your eyes over them.

“As I said to Bob last week, with all my new starters I’ll begin with some basics for you guys and then we can ease into a routine,” you smile, heading towards Bradley and Nat.

“Since you two already have some experience you can help me teach!”

Bradley preens under your praise, already assuming the role of teacher’s pet, whilst Nat looks mildly irritated at having to teach her imbecilic friends how to dance.

“Alright guys! let’s partner up!” you shout at them, giggling as they all rush towards you, you note how Bob lingers back behind his more extroverted friends and grin.

“I should clarify, I meant with each other.” You shoo them backwards and watch as they couple up.

Mickey and Reuben clap each other on the back and Javy and Jake nod at one another leaving Bob, stood on his own. You saunter towards him and grab at arm, dragging him to the front with you.

“Looks like you’re with me,” you tease.

“Uh, who do you want me to partner up with?” Bradley scratches at his head obliviously.

You cock your head to the side with a confused laugh.

“I hate you so much right now,” Nat spews, gripping Bradley’s arm and pulling him into position with her.

“Oh, yeah. Right, sorry Nat.” Bradley chuckles.

Your lessons continues with explaining how someone will have to take the lead and the other will follow, and you wander around positioning their hands and postures correctly.

“Javy, you are like a brother to me, but your hands are too fucking low right now.” Jake grits through this teeth.

“Right! Ha, sorry man,” Javy’s hands shoots back up towards the middle of Jake’s back.

Bob is still apprehensive when he places his hands on your waist, but you’re quick to affirm him in his position. Leaning towards him you whisper, “don’t worry you’re still my favourite.”

A smile graces his face at that and he relaxes in your grip.

“Right guys! We’re gonna start with some turns and variations now!”

You quickly learn that trying to wrangle these men is proving difficult, as Payback almost spins Fanboy into a wall after zoning out stating at how your hips moved.

“I’m good bro, don’t worry,” Mickey is quick to readjust himself, hoping the room stops spinning soon.

You can’t help but laugh when Javy attempts to dip Jake to the floor in a move he thought would impress you, but it seems he forgot to account for how tall and heavy Jake is, as he goes toppling down with him.

“Fuck dude! You’re heavy!” Javy groans, rubbing his knee. Jake clearly didn’t take kindly to his words as he shoves back at Javy childishly.

“Boys! Come on get up!” You snap, trying to sound stern but still fighting off giggles.

Jake and Javy are quick to get back on their feet, but you catch them in your peripheral poking and pinching each other when they think you aren’t looking.

Even Bradley who was so light on his feet when he was showing you his moves earlier, is clearly distracted, constantly stepping on Nat’s feet as they practice variations.

“If you step on my toe one more time, Rooster I swear to God, you will not see daylight again,” Nat threatens.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! She’s just so…” Bradley trails off as he watches you dance slowly with Bob, stopping every now and then to correct him kindly or answer questions from others in your class.

“I know! And you guys are scaring her off by acting crazy.” Nat sighs, moving back as she senses Bradley’s feet heading for her toes again.

“I mean I wouldn’t say crazy…” Bradley scratches the back of his neck.

“Well I walked in to see you spinning her around like you’re a pro on dancing with the stars so maybe you should reevaluate.”

“You think I’m that good?” Bradley smirks to himself.

“Oh shut up,” Nat rolls her eyes and looks back to the rest of her friends around the room.

Payback and Fanboy were continually stumbling around in circles as they each try to catch your eye, pissing off everyone else in the room as they bumped and knocked into others. She caught Marco and Luke’s judgy eyes flicking back and forth between her and her friends and groaned.

Jake and Javy looked either one wrong move away from fucking or fighting, Nat couldn’t really tell.

God this was embarrassing.

Luckily, your voice rings out across the room, interrupting her moping.

“Thank you guys for today! And Thank you to my newcomers!” you gesture to the group of men stumbling over each other and stifle a laugh.

“I’ll see you all next week!”

Your regular attenders start filing out slowly, some coming over to chat and collect their things. You can see Nat trying to drag her friends away out they seem intent on lingering long enough to catch some time alone with you.

“You guys might as well go, she clearly wants me.” Jake shrugs, pulling the front of his shirt up to wipe his face.

Mickey is quick to dispute, “Are you kidding me? I twirled like a ballerina, I’m so in.”

Nat is moments away from body slamming her friends who she once loved when it goes silent around her. She figures you finally made you way over.

“Hey guys, thanks so much for joining today! I’m really sorry I’ve got to get going but um- ”

You pause and sense eyes on you.

“Bob, I was just wondering if I could get your number?” you smile, walking towards him and squeezing his arm. “You know, to talk about how we can improve your technique,” your reasoning clear as day even with your coverup

“Yeah! Yes, of course I mean,” Bob composes himself, taking your phone with shaking hands and typing in his number.

“Great,” you wink, retrieving your phone, “I’ll text you.”

You end with that, sauntering past the group and waving goodbye to Nat with a knowing look.

Everyone seems stunned by your words, but mostly Bob who blinks slowly, seemingly still in shock by your acknowledgement.

Nat finally breaks into laughter, doubling over at the confused faces of her other friends.

“Man!” She shouts through her giggles, “you just cannot make that shit up!”

The grumbles around her don’t even phase her as she goes to pick up her bag and head for the door, a group of downtrodden looking men following her and Bob with a newfound pep in his step.

“By the way Rooster, how come you actually are so good?” Nat asks as they make their way into the parking lot.

Bradley stills, silent as he contemplates answering.

“If I tell you, you have to promise to not go searching for anything.” He looks around at his friends.

Following their nods he continues, “I used to compete professionally, when I was like 13, my mom forced me to.” Bradley cringes at the memory of his tween self in sparkly shirts his mom always hand picked out for him in the most hideous colours.

Bradley looks back up to see Jake grinning mischievously at his phone, and his stomach drops.

“Is this you?” Jake smirks, turning his phone around to show everyone an old video on youtube titled.

SALSA NATIONALS 1999 - BRADSHAW / DONNA SUMMER HOT STUFF

Bob suddenly felt as though his coughing fit over you wasn’t the most embarrassing thing he had to witness anymore.

a/n: it is great to be back gang xx i’ve missed writing and ofc i had to bring back the bob agenda!! it’s what i stand for :) i’m thinking mayhaps a part 2 where i explore the dynamic between sexy salsa teacher and bob bc atm this was just a chance for me to make fun of the daggers 😣

i hope you enjoyed reading and tysm!!

pls reblog, comment or drop me an ask and tell me what you thought!! feedback means sm to me considering i’m a lil rusty

anyways thank u again for reading!!!!

- honey xoxo

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 6

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You’re new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: mentions of physical abuse. probably cursing, but idk. insecurity and vulnerability. I'm sure there are typos.

Words: 2825

The One I Want Masterlist

Jake’s eyebrows pinch in confusion at the shifting expression on your face, then he follows your line of sight over his shoulder. Though he’s still yards away from you, you hear the soft ‘damn it’ that leaves his mouth. He’s out of his seat in the next half-second, Rooster quickly joining him. 

“How is she here?” Jake asks as you ease behind him. 

“I have no idea,” Bradley says.

Sifting his hand through his hair, Jake curses again as if the woman making her way toward the group is a ticking bomb they’re running out of time to dismantle. “Can you and Millie take her back to the apartment?”

“Your girl?”

“Yes. I don’t know what Brit will say, but I don’t want it directed at her. When Brit realizes she’s my roommate—”

Rooster nods. “Enough said.”

“Thank you.” Jake whips around and his head jerks back in surprise—his mouth parts. A new shade appears to travel up his neck to his cheeks, but the pinkish hue could easily be mistaken for the fiery glow of the bonfire reflecting off his skin. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Just a minute,” you say. “Who is she?”

Nat and Bob pull up on either side of you and you notice how all sets of eyes are glued to the woman who is still too far away to identify properly. Though, despite her distance and that you’d asked Jake for confirmation, she’s no mystery to you. She’s undoubtedly the woman from the gift shop. What you don’t understand is the intensity of everyone's reactions. 

Nat crosses her arms and with a frown, says, “Jake, how does she know you’re here?”

It’s a question that goes unanswered, but you suspect it’s not one that has an answer. They’re all shocked; no one pilot more or less confused than another. 

Ignoring both your question and Nat’s, Jake places his hands on your forearms to regain your attention. “Rooster and Millie are going to take you back to our place, alright?”

“Jake, why—”

“I just need to deal with this,” he interrupts, a barely detectable plea hidden within his tone. “I’ll get rid of her and then I’ll be home.”

Your breath catches at his wording. Get rid of her. You suddenly don’t care about the irritation swirling around the group or the stress on Jake’s face. Time slows. You’re shot back to a life you’ve been trying to forget. A life that had you so often discarded you'd learned to rid people of yourself before they could do it for you. 

“Does she deserve to be gotten rid of, Jake?” you ask, just above a whisper, for him and only him.

He flinches as if you slapped him, but he doesn't release you, and a bulge briefly forms in his throat before, bit by bit, the hurt infects the features of his face. He looks down to where his fingers are wrapped around your arms and squeezes, so light and gentle that were you not sensitive in the moment--hyperaware of every movement and sound--you wouldn't have felt it.

His hands slide down to your fingers, the pads of his fingertips resting under yours, his thumb grazing along the nail of your index finger. When his eyes flick up to yours, he says, “I’ll explain later."

The woman is close enough now that you can see the harsh scrutiny in her gaze as she looks you up and down. It morphs into a glare when she notices Jake’s hands on you, and she picks up in speed.

“If we’re going, it needs to be now,” Rooster says. “Baby,” he calls out for Millie, “We gotta go.”

She leaps up and rushes over to take his hand. The smile she directs at you is forced. “I was gettin’ tired anyway.”

—

Rooster and Millie drop you off with matching tense faces that look misplaced on both of them; appearing so odd you can’t help but stare hard at the crease in Rooster’s brow reflecting back at you in the rearview mirror. Despite only getting to know these people tonight, you suspect the mood filling this car is uncommon, especially when these two are within a foot and a half of one another while their hands are clasped and resting on the center armrest. 

“Jake will be back soon,” Rooster says as you exit the vehicle.

Then Millie adds a syrupy sweet, “I loved meetin’ you. If you ever wanna get together, let me know. I could use another friend in this town.”

Momentarily, you forget Jake in favor of the redhead smiling at you through the rolled-down passenger window. You could use another friend, too. Someone who isn’t so perfectly formed from the outside world's perspective. Someone who might be able to understand you. 

“I’d like that,” you reply. 

Rooster waits until you’re through the door of the building before peeling out of the lot and back down the street. 

When you make it into the apartment, you’re not entirely sure what to do. Everything you could do to distract yourself, whether it be cleaning or reading or watching TV, you won’t be able to put any heart into. They’d be useless distractions. You opt instead to take a seat on the couch and wait. But then the waiting grows boring, so you start to think. 

Get rid of her. Get rid of her. Get rid of her. 

There’s a layer of bitterness coating the roof of your mouth that you can’t swallow.

You just started settling into the idea that Jake could be different—good. His heart isn’t something he appeared to hide from you and the more time you spend around him, the more honest you’ve sensed him to be. Your resistance has yet to deter or turn him sour. Regardless of how you act, he still smiles at you every morning. He still makes you coffee and picks you up from work and wants you to spend time with his friends. He tries to integrate you into his life, but now you’re not sure for what purpose if this is how he views women. Disposable. 

You can feel it begin to crush you from all sides as you imagine the day Jake will look at you differently. The way he looked at her. 

Jake is worn down when he enters the apartment and finds you on the living room couch, your spine locked pin-straight. His eyes have lost their light, there is potentially a new fine wrinkle across his forehead, and his lips are pulled so tight they almost disappear. He’s so altered from the happy man of an hour ago. In fairness, you are as well. 

When he sees you, Jake smiles softly, weakly. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “You alright?” he asks.

You hadn’t considered a plan for addressing the event Jake didn’t allow you to witness, so it is your unprocessed emotions from the last hour that have you ignoring his question in favor of fueling what next comes out of your mouth. “She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she?”

Jake’s brow pinches as he crosses his arms. There’s no anger behind it; almost disappointment that you’ve reached such a conclusion. “What makes you say that?”

“I saw the mug in the trash. She got it at the gift shop where I work. A shirt, too, that matches.” 

The strain of his shoulders releases and his head falls back a bit, like that knowledge was the very last thing he needed you to have. “Fuck,” he groans, straightening his neck. “Of all the goddamn shops in this town…” His head shakes, then his eyes lock onto yours. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Was your girlfriend.”

“Not that either. She’s just…She lived here. Before you.”

Your hands tighten into fists that lightly press into the couch cushions. “Did you kick her out?”

“Not exactly,” he says. “She was month-to-month, and the month was up.”

“That doesn’t explain the mug, or the shirt.”    

Your words are spewing so fast, every held in question breaking out, and you don’t dare stop yourself. You need to know if you’re correct. You need the explanation he promised you to confirm your suspicions. You need it. 

“You were sleeping with her, right?” You ask, though you’re already positive that’s what birthed the issues between him and that woman. “You slept with her and now she has feelings for you so you won’t let her stay here anymore…Right?”

The hurtful look that you’d caused at the beach reforms on his face, and it’s a deep stab into your chest, a mix of frustration and regret. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Sounds simple to me,” you snap. “Is this what you do? You sleep with women until it’s no longer convenient for you?”

“No! God, no. It’s not like this is my thing. She lived here and we got involved for three months. That was it,” he explains in a rush. “It wasn’t ever going to be anything more than sex, not to me, and when she realized that, she lost her shit, Ok? Broke things. Threw things. Hit me. I couldn’t let her stay here forever. I’m not some heartless dick, it just got out of hand.”

When he’s done, his chest is rising and falling like a man just off a five-mile run. He swallows hard, dragging a hand down his face in the silence that follows. 

It’s not a silence you know how to break. It’s a silence that demands you feel the full force of that stab wound in your chest, now shoved deep enough into your body to slice you right down the middle. Frustration is gone, easily overpowered by regret.

In a matter of ten seconds, Jake flipped over everything you had prematurely decided about the story between him and the woman. When you saw how she looked at you tonight and heard what Jake said, you thought you identified with her, that you’ve felt what she feels, that only you could see a swirling well of pain under her layer of anger. But as Jake stands before you, exhausted and desperate for you to understand, you realize you never considered that it’s with him you identify. Maybe it’s why pushing him away is much harder than anyone from your past. Maybe it’s why you want to believe he is good and genuine and kind. And maybe it’s why you’re realizing with each passing day that if you leave this town, you might not get away without also leaving a bit of yourself behind. Over the past months, you have—by subconscious mind or soul—connected with Jake Seresin through the pain you didn’t even know he’d faced. 

Jake steps around one of the chairs opposite the couch and his body falls into it like a ragdoll. 

“Does–” you begin, testing your voice. It’s meeker than you would like. “Does your team know what she did? Is that why they were so bothered when she showed up tonight? Everyone went into hyper-defense mode.”

He sits up, more at ease now that you’ve let go of your accusations. “They know she gave me trouble. They don’t know she would smack me or break my shit whenever I refused to treat her like my girlfriend.”

“Why?”

“If I told them while it was going on, they would’ve been pissed that I was letting her stay for a couple more weeks. They would’ve shown up at my door with a net to toss over her and drag her out,” he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. His hands clasp and one thumb runs back and forth over the other. “And I don’t tell them now because, even though it's over, the lecture would last days.”

“With everything she was doing, didn’t you want her out as soon as possible?”

“Of course I did, but she didn’t have anywhere to go yet,” he says. “Eventually, I found her a place and paid for six months in advance. She’s got about three more months before she has to take over the lease.”

As he speaks, a dash of hypocrisy weasels its way into your system. A defensiveness that you’ve never used to protect yourself instantly latches on to Jake. 

You want him to tell his friends about what he’s been through, though you refuse to toss him the measliest crumbs from your own story. You want to explain to him that he shouldn’t have sacrificed himself in his effort to remove that woman from his life, while also ignoring the fact that self-sacrifice is the only option you’ve ever chosen. You want him to tell you everything he’s ever felt so he can remove the boulder from his back, as long as he doesn’t request the same of you. But you know Jake doesn’t work that way. With a given inch, he goes for a mile, and you can’t risk that. 

“Does she bother you often?” you ask. 

“There are days when she shows up out of nowhere, not unlike tonight, either pissed off all over again about everything that went down,” he nudges his head in the direction of the trash can, “or sickeningly sweet and asking to come back with gifts in hand.”

From that alone, you know Jake Seresin is stronger than you. He stands firm in one place despite the chaos that sporadically comes and goes from his life. He stakes his claim, choosing to remove the problem rather than consider that he is the problem and must be the one removed. But you can see, no matter how strong, it takes its toll on him.  

What comes over you next, you’re not quick enough to stop. You stand and find a new seat on the glass coffee table across from him, not fighting the closeness that gives your knees no choice but to be tucked between his. When your touch lands atop his clasped hands, they immediately untangle and, much like your legs, your hand becomes encased. Were you with anyone else, you’d feel trapped, one step away from prisoner. But here, now, with Jake, your body isn’t pulling away. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Though his head is lowered, he nods and you catch a hint of his half-hearted smile. Then he flips his hand so your palm is face-down on his, and with his other hand traces the edges of your fingers, from thumb to pinky and back. You try to ignore the zips and tingles that shoot up your arm from his soft motions. You fail. 

“Jake, why do you even bother with a roommate? I know you can afford this place on your own.”

“I don’t like to be alone,” he says, still lazily running his touch up and down the curves of your fingers.

“How come?”

That finger ceases its gentle tracing and he looks up. He’s suddenly much closer. Less inches remain between your nose and his, your eyes and his, your lips and his. “How about this…” His breath holds a heat that brushes your cheeks. “I tell you something; you tell me something.”

When you instinctively lean back a few inches, you swear he moves forward, like a magnet chasing after its partner. Your hand starts to slip and his palm shifts so his fingers can curl up through the spaces between yours.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Something about you.”

His eyes hold yours, that increasingly intoxicating shade of mossy green unwavering. His touch seems to extend past the warmth of his grasp, now flowing through you from head to toe. 

“What do you want?” you let out an awkward chuckle to distract yourself, and hopefully Jake as well, from the heat flushing your cheeks. “My favorite color?”

“Your favorite color is green,” he says. “I want to know something more than that, if you’re willing to share it.”

You search for any meaning behind what he says other than the one you know he’s after. He doesn’t just want something more, he wants something that means more. Something deeper that will put a crack in your shell. Something that will bring you closer to him.

To your surprise, it’s not a thought you immediately banish. Giving him more would, in theory, aid the budding connection you're not sure you want to break. But what you have to give might very well break that connection anyway. It could bring him a clarity you’d rather he not have as to why you are the way you are. If your story is too much for him to accept without altering how he sees you, you will pack up and leave solely for the escape, to avoid witnessing the rapid change of his treatment of you. And whatever he has to share in exchange couldn’t possibly have you viewing him as negatively as he might view you. 

“It’s a fair trade, don’t you think?” he says, “So, what do you say?”

---

A/N: Sorry if your favorite color isn’t green. I just picked one.

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @emma8895eb @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @entertainmentgal8 @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things @turtle-in-a-tornado @have-a-nice-day-k @inkandarsenic @kidd3ath @townmoondaltwistle

[callsign-venus]

For the Love of Love | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader | Part II

Part I | Series Masterlist

Summary: You immediately have doubts. As the morning goes on, they only get stronger. Good thing Bradley can be normal about this. Right?

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: fake dating, fake dating Bradley Bradshaw in particular, completely implied age gap

a/n: Thank all y'all for the response to the first part :) I was so nervous to post it, but everyone has been so kind and encouraging! Also, I've created a taglist for this series -- please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future updates! Ok, ok, let's get this show on the road (literally, we're on the way to Tahoe lol), enjoy x

It was 6:15 am. Streetlights washed your walls a bright, sterile white. You paced in front of your door. Next to it, your pink luggage set waited for you dutifully. Bradley was supposed to pick you up 15 minutes ago. He hadn’t responded to any of your texts. Or your calls.

Were you dumb for thinking he really wanted to join you – and your entire family – in Tahoe? Was he drunker than he let on last night, or maybe he forgot entirely? You hoped not, you’d already bought him the seat next to you on the plane. You really didn’t want to explain to your parents why they were paying for two plane seats when only you arrived at the cabin.

You checked your phone. 6:17. Soon, you’d have to drive by yourself. Maybe he’d catch you at the airport.

Just as you made for your keys, there was a sharp knock at your door. You undid the deadbolt and flung it open. Bradley stood in the sickly yellow light of the hallway, looking better than you wanted him to in just gray sweats and a black hoodie.

“Good morning!” He was surprisingly chirpy for how early it was.

“You’re late. Why didn’t you answer my texts?”

“What texts?”

“The texts I sent you?” You grabbed all three pieces of your luggage and struggled through the door frame.

“My phone died.” He was tapping his phone screen like he was just realizing that it wasn’t turning on. He gave up, pocketed the phone, and lifted the two biggest suitcases out of your hands. “Jesus, how long are we going to be gone? It’s like you packed your whole closet.”

“Three days. But I have to be prepared.” You locked up your apartment and started down the stairs, your suitcase clanking down each step. Your neighbors were probably thrilled.

Bradley followed behind you, lifting your other suitcases as if they weighed nothing.

“So you’re just going to travel with a dead phone?” You asked when you finally made it to the lobby.

He shrugged. “Is your phone charged?”

“Of course.”

“Works good enough for me.”

He reached over your head to hold open the front door as you dragged your suitcase into the brisk early morning. His Bronco shone like adventure. You and Bradley loaded your luggage, and he opened the door for you to get into the passenger seat.

“Coffees?” You asked as he slid into the driver’s seat and started the car.

He glanced down at the twin iced coffees lined up in the cupholders between you. “I thought it'd help us get through the early morning. I didn’t know what you liked though, so I just got you my drink.”

You stabbed a straw through the plastic lid of the coffee and took a sip. It was shockingly sweet. You coughed a little.

“You like it?” Bradley smiled, keeping his eyes on the road. “I’ve perfected my order. Caramel and white mocha and cinnamon sprinkle on top.”

You take another sip. Without the sweetness taking you by surprise, it was much better. “It’s good. I would have pegged you for a hot black coffee guy, though.”

“I’m full of surprises.” He merged on the freeway.

The sound of the road passing under the Bronco filled the silence of the car.

“So…” Bradley tapped his thumb against the Bronco’s wheel, the echoes of some song you didn’t know. “What’s your family like?”

You watched lights flick on in the windows of the buildings you passed. People getting ready for their typical days. You pressed down a shock of panic. This was absurd. But Bradley seemed committed, and if it was going to work, you had to set him up for success. That meant warning him about your family.

“Well, my Grandma Sybil and Grandpa Thomas have been married for sixty years. Obviously.” Nervous laughter bubbled from your lips before you could stop it. “They’re Grandma and Grandpa. I grew up going to their house and stuffing myself on her cookies and falling asleep on his lap. But Grandma Sybil can be… stern.”

He stopped tapping his thumb to snag his coffee and take a sip. “Like, how so?”

“She’s just a little rough around the edges. She had a tough life before meeting my grandfather, and though she softened to him, I don’t think she softened much to the rest of the world. Just, don’t take it personally if she doesn’t warm up to you right away. Or at all.”

“Noted.” You heard him swallow.

You picked at a seam in your pants. “And their oldest daughter is my Aunt Marnie. She’s married to Uncle Jim. They run a crystal shop just outside of Vegas. They might try to push moonstone or onyx on you. Just smile and accept it.”

“Ok. Marnie and Jim. Crystals.” He committed the names to memory.

“Their daughter Sabrine just got married.”

“You went to the wedding, I remember.”

You flushed, grateful that the sun hadn’t quite risen yet and the hotness of your cheeks dissipated in the darkened car. He had remembered. You didn’t think any detail of your life was important enough for him to care to remember – and it really was just one week that you were gone – but maybe your life had bled into the Daggers’ more than you thought.

As the airport came into view, you told him about Sabrine and how she would bring her new husband Matt. She was already seven months pregnant. Grandma Sybil was less than pleased, but Grandpa Thomas either didn’t care or hadn't worked out the math.

“And what do your aunt and uncle think?” Bradley asked.

“I think they’re just happy that she’s happy. They sound excited to be grandparents. But Auntie Marnie did complain that the wedding was tacky.”

Bradley snorted. “Was it?”

“It was sweet,” you said. “It was in his mom’s backyard. The colors were red and black, but it was sweet.”

An airplane roared overhead, glinting in the sun that was just sharpening over the horizon.

Bradley pulled into the airport’s parking garage. He had only packed himself a duffle bag, so he was able to carry all of your luggage plus his own. In exchange, you carried both coffees and locked the Bronco. You slipped Bradley’s keys into his pocket as he instructed, your fingers warming where they grazed the fabric of his sweats.

The airport was fizzing with the whispers of early morning travelers. You rubbed your eyes as you stepped under the fluorescent lights, taking stock of just how many others were yawning and lining up at the baggage counter under those same lights. Why was the airport so busy before 7am?

As if he could read your mind (or maybe he just saw you tense up at the sight of so many people), Bradley said, “It’s ok. We still have time.”

His reassurance drove you to action. You traded his coffee for your bags and shuffled into line for the check in counter. From the standstill line, you watched Bradley as he wandered around the walkway, taking sips of his coffee, staring up at the ceiling, and generally being a 6’1” hazard to the travelers rushing to get to the TSA line. You rolled your suitcases across the green gray carpets the check in counter line eked forward, nearly running into the old man in front of you as you kept your gaze on Bradley. Why was even his boredom endearing?

Just before you got to the front of the line, he stopped and stared up at the ceiling, causing a woman who was looking at her phone to crash into him. You giggled as you watched him apologize, and saw, in real time, as the woman went from indignant to flustered as she realized how hot he was. She tried to strike up a conversation, but he caught your gaze from across the room. Her eyes followed his, and when it hit you, she was quick to disappear into the airport crowd.

Your face grew hot. You mouthed sorry to him as the woman at the counter was calling you forward. You were a little sorry; she was very pretty. But some part of you delighted in being perceived as his girlfriend, even if it was easier to convince a stranger than your family.

“Ma’am, next guest.” The stern voice of the woman at the counter shook you from your thoughts.

Once your bags were checked, you caught up with Bradley. The two of you rounded the corner only to stop short when you saw the enormous security line.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you groaned.

“We’ll be fine. It’s only 7:15.” Bradley nudged your shoulder with his. “Plus, it gives us time to get our story straight.”

“Our story?” You asked as you both stepped into line.

“Yeah. Like, how did we meet?”

You didn’t skip a beat. “Nat introduced us.”

“That was quick.” He raised his eyebrows.

“Well, let’s try to stick with reality as much as possible. And my family loves Nat, her stamp of approval will go down great.” You really hoped no one could hear you two. But the steady murmur of overlapping early-morning conversation seemed to drown out your weird topic of conversation.

“Well, how long have we been dating?”

That you had to think about. “Well, it can’t be too short, otherwise it would be weird that I’m bringing you.”

“It’s already weird.” He laughed.

“They don’t need to know that,” you said. “How long do you think we could pass for? 2 months? 6?”

“Aren’t they going to ask why you’ve never talked about me or brought me around?”

“Good point. We’ll say 4, and I’ll just tell them I wanted to be sure before I told them about you.”

“You think we could convince them we’ve been dating for four months?”

You shrugged, but your stomach somersaulted. “We can try.”

“Like this?” He grabbed your hand and laced his fingers between yours.

Your hand tensed. Your stomach did a whole gymnastics routine. You were holding hands with Bradley Bradshaw in the airport. You looked around, sure that any TSA agent in your vicinity could sense your anxiety and pull you for secondary screening.

“Relax.” He patted your hand with his free one. “We’re not going to get far like this.”

You forced your fingers to meld with his. The iced coffee and your nerves were a terrible mix for your empty stomach.

“Better.” He kept hold of your hand as you shuffled up the line. Then he grinned.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“You know those couples in lines at amusement parks?” A lopsided smile brightened his face. “When they’re waiting in line?”

“The ones that are really into PDA?”

“Exactly.” He dropped your hand, slid up behind you, and wrapped his arms across your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder. “All we need to do is follow their lead.”

You did everything in your power to stay upright and keep your breathing steady with his chin pressing into your skin. He kept hold of you as the line moved up. You clenched your hands, your nails digging crescents into your palms. There was no way he couldn’t hear your racing heart and your ragged breathing.

“And there’s this move.”

As the line slouched to a stop, he spun you around, still keeping hold of your waist, but now you were face to face. You looked up at him, tried to form a sentence, but found yourself completely dumb. He leaned his forehead against yours. Surely he could feel the warmth of your face, see the confused longing in your eyes. He smiled at you for just a second before he broke away from you and threw his head back laughing, drawing glares from your fellow sleep-deprived travelers.

You were practically mute through the rest of security. Bradley seemed to have fun grabbing your hand, draping an arm around your shoulders, and messing with your hair. You wondered if he knew the effect he was having on you or if he was earnestly trying to practice for your family. Maybe he was just trying to rile you up. 

“You were great.” He patted the top of your head, causing your heart to shrivel a bit. “We’ll have them all wrapped around our fingers.”

You cleared your throat and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Once you were through security, you broke up to scrounge some breakfast. Well, that’s what you let Bradley think anyway. You tried to beat down the butterflies in your stomach as you wove between slow-walking travelers toting huge suitcases and knots of families with waddling toddlers, straight to the bathroom.

The stall offered you just enough privacy to freak out. You felt your face, your waist, flexed your hands right in front of your eyes. It took you months to not freak out about the platonic arm draped around your shoulders, his quick hugs goodbye at the Hard Deck. How on Earth were you going to be normal about this?

He complimented you on a job well done, but in truth, he did all the work. You didn’t reach out for him once in the security line. Would your family even believe you liked him? After that performance, the idea that they could possibly think that you were in love seemed laughable.

The weekend stretched long ahead of you. You were beginning to realize how stupid it was for you to begin such a ruse that you’d have to keep up for three days. You wondered if Bradley would react poorly to being sent home after already getting through security.

You hurriedly texted Nat – who knew very well how you felt about her coworker, almost to the point where she might have purposefully orchestrated your trip. It was a bit of a text wall, detailing the TSA line and your dread about the weekend. If she wasn’t already working, she would probably be asleep for three more hours, so you pocketed your phone after hitting send.

The sound of a flushing toilet reminded you that, yes, you were having a small crisis in a public bathroom. That thought was so sad that you took a deep breath, set your shoulders, and walked out of the stall to face the world.

From a little store, you picked up a berry parfait for breakfast and a bottled orange juice, since the TSA confiscated your half-empty iced coffee.

You found Gate 4. People were falling asleep upright in the airport seats, blankets and pillows abound. It smelled like the Jack in the Box across the way. You found two empty seats by the window and kicked up your feet to reserve one for Bradley.

He found you ten minutes later, carrying a bag stuffed with two bagels – one sausage and egg breakfast sandwich and one cinnamon raisin with strawberry cream cheese, he explained. You nodded as you dropped your feet and scraped the rest of your yogurt out of your cup.

“So your cousin Sabrine is pregnant and your grandma isn’t happy,” he said around a big bite of bagel, egg, and sausage. “What else?”

“Well, my grandparents’ youngest child is Auntie Elaine. She lives in Alaska with her husband. They breed sled dogs.”

Bradley paused right before another bite. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Some of their dogs run the Iditarod, and I think one was part of the winning team a few years back. They have twins a little older than me. Nora and her wife Madison, they’re… really cool. Last I heard, they were climbing K2. And there’s Nora’s twin brother Owen. He has a girlfriend named Addison, which I think is funny. Madison and Addison. The twins don’t think it’s as funny as I do.”

Bradley laughed. The bagel sandwich was gone, and he traded the leftover wad of greasy wrapping paper for the cinnamon raisin bagel. “And what’s the deal with Owen and Addison?”

“They’re pretty chill.” You thought about it for a minute. “Owen used to punch drywall, but he’s calmed down.”

Bradley stared at you, waiting for you to laugh.

The gate agent called you to board before you could explain. Though you didn’t think any explanation would be helpful.

The plane ride was nice and short. You slept through most of the hour and a half. You were mortified to wake up on Bradley’s shoulder as the plane jolted in the harsh turbulence that shrouded the Reno airport. 

You sat bolt upright, fully awake. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He patted your thigh assuredly. “It’s good practice.”

You didn’t have time to freak out at his touch because the plane rocked again. You’d experienced this turbulence countless times, something about the mountains and the desert air made the plane bounce around like a toy in the hands of an overexcited toddler. Still, as the plane jerked down, it planted a pit in your stomach that made your hands clammy.

When the plane dipped again, you clutched the armrest. You didn’t want to look at Bradley, who probably thought your overreaction was silly. He’d experienced g-forces upwards of 8Gs countless times. It was bad enough flying next to Nat, who you knew would never judge you, but next to Bradley, you felt like a little kid scared of the dark.

“Hey,” he gingerly pried your hand off the armrest and held it with a softness you didn’t expect from him, “look at me.”

You tore your eyes away from the flight tracker on the display in front of you, worried you’d see judgment in his dark eyes. But his expression was everything soft.

He smiled when you met his gaze. “We’re going to be fine. Trust me, I’ve flown a plane or two.”

You laughed despite the plane suddenly banking upward.

He squeezed your hand as the plane leveled. “So here’s the deal: you keep looking at me. You can only panic if I start panicking. Deal?”

You nodded. “Deal.”

He held your hand and your eyes until the plane kissed the blessed tarmac. By then, the pit in your stomach had been flooded with a mushy feeling you simply did not have time to drain because the seatbelt sign dinged off, and you had a rental car to secure.

Getting out of the airport went as smoothly as possible. Within 20 minutes of deboarding, you and all your luggage was crammed into a rental Prius. Bradley’s nose crinkled when he first saw it, but he folded himself into the passenger seat without complaint.

You fiddled with the radio until you got it to play a throwback ‘70s station, then peeled out of the airport. Soon, the dusty city of Reno and its casinos were in the rearview, and the Sierra Nevadas loomed large on the horizon. When the road lifted off the desert floor and began winding through the foothills, childhood excitement drummed through your veins. As the car screamed along the highway, desert scrub blurred into pine trees that jutted straight up toward the endless blue sky. Patches of snow bloomed in their shade.

“Wow,” Bradley said as the trees grew thicker like a tightly stitched blanket over the mountains. Snow carpeted the ground. Little cabins shone through the forest and snow like jewels.

“Wait until we get around this mountain.” You couldn’t keep the smile off your face. You carefully made a sharp turn, the mountainside steep and unwelcoming. But as the car straightened out, the trees yawned apart, and you caught Bradley gawking at the lake out of the corner of your eye.

Nestled between snow-draped mountains, it shone like a sapphire in the late morning sun.

You’d spent several summers splashing in its frigid waters with your cousins until your skin was so covered in goosebumps that Grandma Sybil threatened to pluck you for Christmas dinner. The same lake was the backdrop to hundreds upon hundreds of ski runs and one trip down the mountain with ski patrol. Your arm still ached to think about that late February day, even all these years later.

“It’s beautiful,” Bradley said, and you agreed wholeheartedly.

Your phone’s navigation system stated that there was only 20 minutes until you reached your grandparent’s cabin. You sucked in a breath between your teeth and cracked a window, hoping the cold, piny air would help settle your stomach. It didn’t. But you still had to finish giving Bradley the family rundown.

“My parents are Sean and Catherine,” you said. “My dad might try to intimidate you, but don’t worry, he’s a softie.”

“Ok.”

You couldn’t be sure he was paying attention, as his face was all but pressed against the window, soaking in the spectacular views. Even if you wanted to be mad, you really couldn’t blame him.

You stepped on the breaks as the road started dipping down a little. “My mom will be the most problematic. I swear sometimes she can read my mind. Whatever we do, it’ll be hard to convince her.”

“We’re going to be there in 18 minutes. Next time, a little more heads up please?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Your grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Just tell her that you take me to Vino in La Jolla and buy me flowers.”

“Is that what your ideal man would do?”

Would it be so bad if you just drove off the road? The steep mountainside looked more inviting by the second.

“Shut up.” You froze your gaze to the winding road. “I have a brother, his name is Tommy.”

“I know,” he said. “I think I’ve met him once – when he was in San Diego for spring break?”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” you said. “Well, he and his girlfriend Georgia are high school sweethearts. They’re the perfect couple, and it makes me sick.”

Bradley chuckled. “Noted.”

“So first goal: be believable.”

He laid his hand on your thigh. “Done.”

“Good.” His hand was burning hot. The car swerved ever so slightly as you lost focus on the road for a moment. “Second goal: be a better couple than Tommy and Georgia.”

“Let’s not try to overshoot this. We’ve only been dating for 4 months.”

You laughed in spite of yourself. When you eventually found your real partner, and everyone gathered in Tahoe again for Tommy and Georgia’s wedding, or a wintery ski trip, or whatever comes next for your family, you’ll come clean. You’ll cling to your partner and tell everyone all about your good friend Bradley Bradshaw and how the two of you never really dated. Your grandparents’ anniversary will be a hazy memory, but everyone will remember the tall, good-looking naval aviator and his (totally out of season) Hawaiian shirts and giant mustache. There would be shock, but eventually it would be an inside joke for years to come. You just had to get through this weekend.

Too soon, you were pulling into the cabin’s long, steep driveway. The cabin itself jutted off of the mountainside, its tapered roof giving it a harsh look, though you swore when you were little it just made it look cozy and inviting. Its windows were like glassy eyes following the Prius.

You put the car in park and turned to Bradley.

“Ready?” You asked.

“Ready, babe.”

Before you could fully register the fact that he called you babe, the cabin’s front door slammed open, and your family bursted out to greet you and the mysterious man you’d arrived with.

The knot in your stomach tightened like a noose.

Read Part III here!

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[ythankucaptainmccoy]

The Cowgirl and The Aviator Ch4

Next installment will they kiss who knows read to find out. @smoothdogsgirl

The morning rays hitting your face woke you, and when you took in a deep breath it smelled like Jake. Then you woke up with a start remembering that you in fact were in Jake’s apartment. You looked around noticing you were in a bed and not on the couch where you remembered falling asleep. You got up and walked into the living area seeing Jake sprawled out on the couch still asleep. Gentleman indeed you thought to yourself as you opened the fridge. 

You grabbed the new carton of eggs, thick sliced hickory smoked bacon and some potatoes to make hash browns. As you cooked you turned on the small radio on the counter and turned it low enough not to wake Jake. As Alan Jackson played through the speaker you sang along as you bopped from the oven back to the fridge to put the rest of the eggs away. The station continued to play different country songs as breakfast was almost done. 

When Tennessee Whiskey started to play you swayed back and forth singing along. You hadn’t heard Jake get up as he watched you sway while making food. You happened to see him out of the corner of your eye and couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips. His hair was sticking up at odd angles and he looked ridiculous, but also so domestic looking that it had you thinking about waking him up every morning.

“What’s so funny?”, he asked, coming to take the spatula out of your hand. He then laid it on the counter and took both of your hands in his as he started to sway like you had earlier. Both of you smiled at each other as you both continued to dance. Then he let go of one of your hands to twirl you and the feeling in this moment just felt so right. He took hold of your hand once more as the song came to an end and he dipped you back as you laughed. 

When he pulled you back up you gestured to the stove as he let you go. He disappeared down the hall most likely to the bathroom as you finished up making two plates. He rounded the corner as you poured the orange juice into each glass then placed it back in the fridge as well. “Ya’ know I could get used to this. Rooster should bring women home more often”, he joked. “Well if this one holds steady, which I highly doubt it, it may happen more often”, you implied.

You watched as Jake took a bite of bacon and groaned. That groan had you rubbing your thighs together. “This is delicious. I'm seriously thinking about having you move in with me rather than Rooster”, he laughed. “I bet Rooster would have something to say about that”, you respond with a laugh. “Yeah well he should have been more considerate of you last night”, Jake grouched. “Well to be fair it is his apartment I’m just crashing there for now”, you explain.

Jake let it go as you both continued to eat, and you liked being around him. He made you feel good about yourself. “Tell you what. If the date on Saturday goes well. Any time Rooster brings a woman home I’ll crash here”, you say. “Sounds like a plan darlin”, he smiles. You loved when he called you that and there was something about the way he smiled that you loved. Jake was already mentally going through places he could take you out on a date, but all of them seemed dull compared to how he felt about you. 

You got up to take care of the dishes, but Jake beat you to it. “No, you already made breakfast. What kind of man would I be if I made you do the dishes”, he said. You smiled and flicked water at him and the fake shocked look that crossed his face had you laughing again. “I’m gonna head back and see if I can shower and get ready for the day”, you tell Jake. “You start work tomorrow right?”, he asks. “Yeah I’ll see you after you get done with training?”, you inquire. “Yeah I’ll see you tomorrow”, he replies. 

You got back to Bradley’s apartment and didn’t see any evidence that anyone was awake. You went straight to the guest room then it dawned on you Jake also had a guest room, but let you have his bed and he slept on the couch. You shook your head with a smile as you grabbed a change of clothes, put your dead phone on the charger and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. When you got out and changed you realized you needed to do laundry. 

You grabbed a basket and got your clothes together to take down to the laundry room. When you got there the heat was staggering in there, but you would just have to endure. You put them in and walked across the street to the small shops. One grabbed your attention right away and you quickly walked in. The smell of books hit your nose as you started going through the different isles. 

You end up buying a couple of books for something to do on days you were bored. When you get back to the laundry room you have about fifteen minutes left on the wash cycle so you start one of the books you had bought. When the buzz sounds you place all of your clothes into a dryer and press start. The book is actually pretty good as you continue reading not realizing someone had walked in. “So where did you go last night?”, Bradley asked.

When you looked up from your book he stood there putting his clothes into a washer. “I stayed at Jake’s”, you respond. “I can’t believe you would stay with a guy you hardly know”, he gruffs. “Well I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t brought a fuckbuddy home”, you explain. “We were in my room and you had a guest room”, he argues. “Okay but I didn’t want to hear any of that while I was trying to sleep”, you sigh. 

“So you slept with him”, Bradley accuses. “For your information I didn’t. He was a gentleman and gave me his bed while he slept on the couch. Not that it would be any of your business anyway”, you seethed. “I’m telling you if you date him he is only going to hurt you later. He is a womanizer (Y/N). I have seen him take women home from the bar dozens of times”, he huffs. “Like I said before, if I make a mistake it’s mine to make. I’m going on a date with him on Saturday and I swear if you try to scare him off I’ll put my foot up your ass”, you reply.

“Just be careful”, Bradley sighs. “I will”, you say. “Sorry for what I said about sleeping with him”, he apologizes. “Apology accepted”, you conceded. When the dryer buzzes you take all your clothes and start folding them putting them in the basket when Jake walks in with a basket of his clothes. Bradley stiffens as Jake smiles at you and winks. You give Bradley another glare to make him stay quiet. You say goodbye as you go back to the apartment.

“So what is your plan with (Y/N)”, Bradley grills. “I plan on taking her on a date and hope for more dates after that”, Jake replies. Both men sizing each other up as they wait on their laundry. “Did you sleep with her last night and don’t fucking lie to me”, Bradley growled. “No Bradshaw I didn’t. I let her have my bed while I slept on the couch. Not that it’s any of your business”, Jake replies. “I know you think I’m some kind of skirt chaser and yeah I’ve had my fair share, but I do like (Y/N) and I intend to treat her with respect”, Jake admits. 

When you enter the apartment you decide to go ahead and clean up. Vacuuming took longer than you expected when Bradley comes in and gets ready to head out. “I’m going to meet with Mav, I'll be back later”, he said. You nodded as he headed back out the door, and continued to clean moving into the kitchen. You decide to go to the beach and swim for a while, and then lay out in the sun. 

When four thirty rolled around you made your way back towards the apartment and shower again. You're sitting on the couch when a text rolls in on your phone. It’s from Jake asking if you like chinese take out and you reply with a thumbs up emoji. It was such a random text, but you wondered if he was trying to figure out date ideas for Saturday. A few minutes later another text rolls in and you open it expecting it to be Jake. 

Unknown number and when you open it the text reads ‘YOU THINK YOU’RE SO FUCKING CLEVER! OF COURSE YOU WOULD CALL THE POLICE, BUT I AM GOING TO FIND YOU BITCH AND WHEN I DO YOU’LL BE SORRY FOR LEAVING!’. You snapshot it to keep records if you ever take it to the police. At least your brother and his family are safe now. “Bring it on fucker I’m not scared of you anymore”, you say out loud to no one. A knock on the door has you looking through the peephole.

Jake stands there holding bags in his hand and when you open the door he looks sheepish. “I picked you up some food so you didn’t have to cook tonight”, he says. “Come on Bradley’s out for a while and I was watching some reruns”, you explain. You sit down on the couch and pull the coffee table closer to you all as he sets everything down on it. “What are you watching?”, he asks. “I’m watching M.A.S.H.”, you respond. You both grab what you want and share different things from the little to go boxes. 

At some point you both end up lounging on the couch with you under his arm watching The Lost Boys. “I’m not going to lie if I was to go back in time Kiefer Sutherland would be my hollywood crush”, you say. “Okay, who is the best batman of all time?”, Jake asks. “That's easy Michael Keaton and he was also amazing as Beetlejuice”, you answer. Jake seems placated by your answer as you continue to watch the movie. 

It isn’t too much longer when Jake admits it’s getting late and that he has to go. You walk with him to the door and close it behind him after your good night. Once in bed you started reading your book and must have fallen asleep. When you woke you heard noises coming from the kitchen and looked at the clock. It was way too early and you knew it had to be Braddley getting ready to go to training for the day.

You went back to sleep and didn’t wake again until your alarm rang to get ready for the day. Your shift didn’t start until 1PM and ended at 9PM so you had a little time to kill. You decided to go to the local grocery store to buy some food items that you were going to make dinner with. When you made it back home you made your dinner so you wouldn’t have to make it when you got back home and put it in the fridge. 

You left the apartment and were thirty minutes early for your shift. When you went in Penny was happy to see you as she explained that they had needed a waitress for so long. When the first wave of people came in you went to their tables and waited on them. Everything was going smoothly even though this was the first time you had ever waited tables. By five the bar was starting to get crowded as the bartenders worked to keep up with drinks.

You felt like you were running from table to table to keep up with the influx of people when someone reached out and grabbed your arm. “Hey sweets, how about a date after you get off?”, a gruff man asked. “No thanks I’m super busy and don’t have time”, you politely replied. “Oh come on just one date I’ll make sure you feel real good”, he insisted. “Like hell, Now I done told ya’ I’m busy. Don’t make me ring that bell at the bar”, you hissed. 

The man let you go calling you a bitch under his breath, but he got the message. Penny had been watching the interaction and knew that she made a great choice in hiring you. “Hiya Penny how’s (Y/N) doing her first day on the job?”, Maverick asked as he sat down. “She is doing great. She is handling the rowdy guys and has even threatened some of them with ringing the bell”, Penny responded. “Told you she could take care of herself”, Mav sighed.

You had just waited on another table when you spotted the dagger squad come in. You waved at them as they waved back and headed for their usual spot. Jake watched as you took the table's order and headed back to the kitchen to give the order to the cook. When you came back out Jake two fingers saluted you and you smiled back at him. He seemed to be enjoying watching you work as a man got mouthy with you. 

You walked behind the bar and rang the bell, and Jake started making his way over with Coyote to deal with him as the patrons chanted overboard. “What do ya’ think darlin’?”, Jake asked. “Overboard soldier, that's an order”, you said. “Yes ma’am”, he replied, and you noticed his pupils dilated slightly. You would have to remember that for possible future use.  Watching him in his khaki uniform was like looking at art as him and Coyote tossed the man out. 

An hour later and you took your break to grab some food and sit with the squad. They were discussing their next mission, and you watched as they took bets on who would be picked as mission leader. Jake seemed upset when they all bet that it would be Rooster. You finished eating and then looked for a place to sit and had the perfect idea. You walked right up to Jake and sat down on his lap. “Relax soldier I just needed a place to sit”, you explain as he tenses under you. 

His eyes become hooded as he watches you talk with Nat about the mission, but not anything classified. He thinks he has this under control until you shift on his lap and he can feel your heat radiating from your jeans. He feels his blood start rushing south as he tries to will it away, but it doesn’t seem to help. He is totally screwed when you turn your head to smile that tantalizing smile at him. “At ease soldier”, you whisper. You can feel him twitch under you and you let out a small laugh. 

“I think we should take things slow”, he says. “I can do that”, you reply. A few minutes later and you have to get back to your shift. When you get up you notice Jake adjusts himself under the table and you smirk at how easy it was to rile him up, but if he wanted slow you could do slow. You also couldn’t wait to see where he was going to take you on your date. The mission was in two weeks so if the first date went well you were going to set up more before he had to leave.

The rest of the night goes smoothly and the dagger squad leaves except one. Jake sits at the bar waiting until your shift ends. He is talking with Maverick about something, but quickly stops talking when you clock out. Jake stands and comes over to you and explains he wanted to walk you to your truck. “I’m sorry if I overstepped earlier by sitting in your lap”, you apologize. “It’s alright darlin’ I didn’t mind”, he responds.

“Thanks for walking me to my truck”, you tell him. You turn to open your truck door as he turns to walk to his truck. “Wait”, you say. He turns right as you lean up on your toes and place a quick kiss to his cheek. By the time Jake registers what happened you’re in your truck and backing out of your spot. You can’t believe you just did that. What was happening to you? You had never done anything that bold before, and you haven’t even had a first date. 

The rest of the week is mostly the same except the dagger squad only shows up a couple more days. Nat and Bob give you their number if you ever need it, and you have to admit Bob reminded you of your brother before he became resentful of you. When Friday rolls around at the Hard Deck Nat pulls you away from the others asking what you're going to wear on your date. “I was just going to wear my usual”, you reply. “You are not going to wear Jeans and a t-shirt for your date even if it’s with Bagman”, she sighs frustratedly.

She insists that she is showing up to take you shopping in the morning. When you get home you shower and head to bed. Nat is at your door at eight in the morning and she hands you a coffee. You thank her and head off to go shopping at one of the local consignment shops. You are at a total loss as dresses aren’t your thing so you let Nat go crazy. She searches for what feels like hours as she brings a whole bunch of them for you to try on.

None of the dresses feel right, but Nat doesn’t give up as she continues searching. When she comes back with a vintage floral dress you try it on and step out of the dressing room.”Holy shit that is totally the dress you need to wear”, she beams. “I don’t know do you think Jake will like it?”, you question. “If a man doesn’t like that then they are dead sexually”, she laughs. You end up buying the dress then realize you don’t have any shoes. Nat takes it upon herself to help you in that department too. 

You refuse heels much to her dismay and so she goes and finds some cute beige lace flats that go perfect with the dress. She treats you to lunch as she asks if you know where Jake is taking you. You tell her he didn’t tell you and she smiles as if she knows more than she is letting on. “I’m sure you’ll love it”, she responds. When Nat drops you off you thank her and tell her you will let her know how the date goes. You then take time to relax until you have to get ready. 

“Are you going to be coming back tonight?”, Bradley asks. “I don’t know, but if your fuckbuddy is coming over I can crash at Jake’s”, you explain. You can see him warring with himself as he is trying to decide. “You know what, I'm sure Jake wouldn’t mind. I'll just ask to stay at his place if the date goes well. If not I can text Nat real quick as a backup plan”, you explain. He accepts that answer and that’s all the reassurance you need.

You go and get your sundress and flats on then apply a little lip gloss that Nat bought and slipped in your dress bag. When you exit Bradley is at the kitchen counter texting. “Hey Bradley, how do I look?”, you ask. “Holy shit you look great! I don’t think I have ever seen you wear a dress. Jake better not fuck this up or I’ll shoot him out of the sky myself”, he says. With that there is a knock on the door and you go to answer it. Jake stands there with a sunflower and lilac bouquet and you smile as he takes you in.

“You look gorgeous”, he breathes. “Thanks you look handsome”, you smile. Bradley makes a gagging noise behind you as you turn and flip him off. Jake offers you his hand as you make your way to his truck. He opens the passenger door for you and when he drives off you make small talk. You notice the picnic basket in the back seat and something large rolled up in the back floorboard. “So where are we going?”, you ask. “You’ll see when we get there”, he replies. 

He ends up driving up to a spot overlooking the beach and backs into a spot. “Here, take the basket of food and I’ll be down in a few minutes. I have to get the other stuff out of the truck”, he tells you. You do as he says and after taking off your shoes find a beautiful spot. Within fifteen minutes he comes down the stairs and over to the spot you picked, but you noticed he is carrying an inflatable pool and a small plastic bin. 

He puts the pool down and tells you to wait after he takes the picnic basket and sets it in the pool. He then walks to the water's edge and scoops some seawater into the bin. He brings it back and sets it right outside the pool. This way we can wash the sand off before getting in. “Jake this is amazing”, you say. “Thanks, should we eat now or later?”, he questions. “We can eat later if that’s okay with you”, you say.

You both walk down the beach and when you hear the roar of an engine you look to the sky as a jet flies over. Jake loves the way you light up and get excited about the jet. “Holy shit and you fly those. I bet it feels so liberating being able to fly”, you sigh. “Yeah it is”, Jake says, but he is taking in your every expression as the jet flies out of sight. You start walking ahead of him and stop to look out at the ocean. The light is hitting you just right and he quickly pulls out his phone and snaps a picture. 

When you turn towards him he catches up to you. You both talk about how he joined the Navy and what you studied in college. An hour later and your stomach growls so you both start walking back to the pool. When you get back you both wash your feet off and dig into the picnic basket. There was cheese, sandwiches and wine with two glasses. You teared up a little and Jake leaned forward to cup your face and wipe the tears with his thumbs. “What’s wrong darlin’?”, he asked worriedly. 

“It’s just no one has ever done anything like this for me before”, you smile. “Well you’re worth all this and more”, he responds. You had already made up your mind that if he wanted more dates you would say yes. You both ate and drank as the sun continued to lower. About thirty minutes to sunset he was leaning back on the side of the pool with an arm behind his head. You slid over snuggling into his side as he wrapped an arm around you.

The sunset was beautiful and you watched it until the sun completely disappeared making the sky turn different colors. You stayed like that for a while and you were almost asleep when he said something about taking you home. You sat up as he did as well, but put his hand behind your head and slowly pulled you towards him. You leaned in as he looked down to your lips as if asking for permission. You nodded and he took the opportunity to kiss you. It was slow and sensual until you both had to pull away for air. More kisses followed as you slowly straddled him and sat in his lap.

The kisses started heating up as his hands skimmed down your sides to hold your hips. “Darlin I want to be a gentleman but you make it hard”, he said between more kisses. He finally pulled away as you smiled at him. “How about I get you home”, he says. You nod and help pack everything up and take it back to the truck. He asks about a second date after you both are back in the truck which you agree to. A text message comes through and you realize it’s Bradley saying he had company. 

“Hey Jake”, you say. “Yeah sweetheart?”, he asks. “Roo has ‘company’ and I was wondering if I could crash at your place again”, you say sheepishly. “Absolutely”, he replies. When you make it back to the apartment complex you help him get everything put away and he lends you clothes to sleep in. You go take a shower then let him shower while you change into the clothes he gave you. 

Once you've changed and wait until you hear him leave the bathroom you go to the living room where he is lounging on the couch in nothing but gray sweatpants. “I feel bad about you sleeping on the couch. Come sleep in the bed please. I promise I’ll stay on my side and we can take this slow”, you pout. He hesitates until you grab his hand and tug. He rolls his eyes but follows you to the bedroom where you both get under the covers.

Jake watches as your breathing slows and you look completely relaxed. He hasn’t felt like this ever and it’s foreign to him but he likes it. He made up his mind he would much rather have this type of connection with you than any one night stand he has ever had. Your small snores lull him to sleep a few minutes later.

[bradshawshawaiianshirt]

Stuck on the Past | Part 8

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Ex-girlfriend!Reader

Summary: You never thought you'd see Bradley Bradshaw again, especially the way things ended between the two of you. So what happens when he's suddenly back for a special mission and is determined to win you back too?

Warnings: Angst (ish), adult language, drinking

Length: 1.8k

Stuck on the Past masterlist

"We need to talk."

Bradley stood in front of you, his heart pounding and slightly breathless from jogging up the stairs to your door. As soon as he'd docked, he'd sped towards your apartment, probably running a few red lights along the way. He knew he probably looked tired and he was still in his flight suit, but you were the only thing on his mind. He didn't have time to waste. He didn't know what he was going to say or do, he just knew he had to see you and the right words would find him. Hopefully.

When he pulled up outside your building, his first thought was that you wouldn't buzz him in, so he couldn't believe his luck when April opened the the main entrance at the same time he'd been walking towards it.

She saw him immediately and had held the door open tentatively, almost guarding the building, looking him up and down, before sighing, "Great timing, she's upstairs." He nodded quickly and moved to walk in, but she stopped him, her voice stern, "Don't fuck it up this time, Bradshaw."

"I wont." he said quickly, as he held her stare. Eventually, April nodded, and stood aside to let him in. "Thank you." he said, before jogging in the direction of your door.

Once he was stood outside, he wasted no time in knocking. But when you answered almost instantly, he realised he still hadn't thought of what he was going to say, so he settled on, "We need to talk."

Your breath caught in your throat as you saw him, "Bradley?"

"I'm here." he huffed, "Can I come in? Please?"

You bit your lip nervously and nodded, cautiously letting him inside. He walked into your living room and frowned as he saw the boxes scattered across the floor. His eyes flicked from box to box as you said, "Ignore all the boxes, I'm-"

"Are you moving?" he quickly turned to face you.

You nodded, unable to meet his eyes, "It's a long story-"

"But you didn't write the article?" Bradley took a few steps towards you, his head spinning as he hoped you were just moving to a new place somewhere close by.

You shook your head, "No. I didn't write it." You watched as Bradley glanced at all the boxes again, "I got another job... In Washington. My flight leaves tomorrow."

His eyes met yours once again. He paused, before shaking his head, "No. You're not leaving."

You frowned, "Bradley, I'm sorry about what happened but-"

"No." he said, taking another step towards you, "You're not leaving. You can't." he paused, "I almost died out there. I almost died so I can't... I won't waste anymore time on- on running, running from us, from... being happy." he ran a hand through his hair, "You make me happy. That's the bottom line. I want that for the rest of my life and I know you do too."

"Bradley..." you sighed.

"I've been in love with you since the minute I saw you," he continued, "and you know what? Through all the deployments and moving, that's the only constant thing in my life. Whether we're together or we're not, it doesn't matter because I love you." he rambled, "When I first saw you, at the Hard Deck, I couldn't believe my luck. It's like I was being given another chance to do things right. I thought... it was like, fate or something."

You felt a lump in your throat as he continued, "And when- when I found out about the article, I was upset, you know, I was pissed." he huffed, "But I was more angry with myself. I was angry because I screwed us up, you were right, okay? I ran." he stepped forward and gently placed his hand on your cheek, "But I'm not that person anymore, I'm not scared anymore, I want you. All of you. I want cheesy movies and late night talking, I want you to beat me at pool every single time we play." he chuckled, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, "I love you. I always have and sweetheart, that's just the way it's always going to be. So you're not leaving. You can't."

Bradley let out a tense breath and watched you closely as he waited for you to say something. He didn't think he'd been that honest with anyone in years, but there was no way in hell he could lose you a second time.

Your eyes drifted from his and towards the floor, "Bradley.." you sighed and finally met his eyes, "You were the love of my life and I... I think about you all the time, but-"

"No," he muttered, "No buts, please-"

You shook your head and took a step back from him, "You and I... We don't work. We might have worked for a little while back then, but that was years ago. Things are different now, I'm different and I can't-" you took a breath, holding back the tears that were threatening to spill, "I can't put myself through loving you again. Not when it's bound to end the same way."

"Sweetheart-"

"I think you should leave." you crossed your arms, wanting to look strong, clam and collected, when really all you wanted was to run to him and tell him everything was fine. You knew, however, that you couldn't, that you needed a fresh start, that it was the rational thing to do.

Bradley said nothing. The most he could do was give you a small and curt nod, before quietly leaving your apartment.

That was when you let the tears come.

It was the next morning, while waiting to board your flight, that he called you. You'd spent all night second guessing your decision, going to call him and then switching your phone off, you'd practically forced yourself through the airport. It was times like these when you wished you had some sort of angel or something to tell you what to do, whether you should make the smart decision or the reckless one. You watched as he called, deciding ultimately not to pick up, since it was almost boarding time anyways, but you couldn't resist listening to the voicemail he'd left you.

You found a quiet corner of the airport and pressed play.

Hey, uh, I was just going to call to say that I hope you have a safe flight.

There was a pause.

Okay, no, I know that's what I should be saying but-

You heard him groan.

If by some miracle you listen to this before you get on the plane, could you just do one thing for me? Switch off your brain for a second. You've always been smart, way smarter than me, but I need you to just.. not be, just for a minute.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you carried on listening.

I want you to listen to your heart for a sec. I know it sounds cheesy sweetheart, but I need you to think about how you feel. If you don't love me, go ahead and get on that plane, and I promise you, I will never bother you again. But if you do...

You heard him sigh.

I'm gonna be waiting for you tonight at the Hard Deck. If you don't come by 11... then I'll know, and I'll try to move on, even though my heart is and will always be yours. Goodbye sweetheart.

The line cut off and you stared at your phone screen for what felt like forever, until a voice echoed through the airport.

"Flight 731 to Washington is now boarding. All passengers on flight 731 to Washington, your flight is now boarding."

-

Bradley sat at the bar of the Hard Deck and checked his watch for the eighth time, 10.46. He sighed and glanced around the bar again, feeling stupid, because for all he knew, you hadn't even got the voicemail and had maybe even already landed in Washington.

He tapped his fingers against the bar top, quickly turning when he felt a hand on his shoulder, but sighing when it was only Mav. He sat down on the stool next to him, clearing his throat, "You okay?"

Although the two men had spoken a bit about their past and were on their way to mending things, it was still slightly awkward between them. Bradley shrugged a little and took a sip of his beer, "I'm, uh, I'm waiting for someone, who I'm not sure is even gonna show up." he grunted.

Mav grinned a little, "Is this 'someone' a girl, by any chance?" Bradley nodded as he continued, "Well, I've never had the best luck with women," he chuckled, "but you want my advice? Trust the universe."

Bradley snorted, "Never took you for a spiritual guy, Mav."

Mav grinned and shrugged, patting Bradley's back as he stood, "I'm not, but in my experience, the universe always has a plan." He began to walk away but paused, "Why don't you help me fix up a plane I've been working on this weekend? Keep ya busy."

Bradley slowly began to nod, "Sure, we can do that."

Maverick smiled, giving him another pat before walking away. Bradley noticed Penny hadn't been around the bar in a while, and it dawned on him that Mav may have been there waiting for someone to show up too.

He shook his head and chugged the rest of his beer, checking his watch again, 10.59. He sighed, standing up and leaving the bar, strolling towards his bronco, ready to head home and sleep off his sadness. When he looked up to see his car in the distance, he noticed something.

Someone was leaning against the passenger door.

His footsteps quickened and once he was a few steps away he let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

There you were, effortlessly beautiful in jeans and white t-shirt, hair down and moving with the breeze, and your eyes were on him. Exactly the way Bradley knew it should be.

As he got closer he grinned, "You're late."

You smiled and took a few steps towards him, "Shut up and kiss me Bradley."

You could deny it all you wanted but realistically, you knew. As soon as you saw him at your doorstep, hell, from the night you'd seen him at the Hard Deck, he had you. So, even if it wasn't the smart thing to do, or maybe it was, you didn't care. Bradley reached forward and grabbed your waist, his lips quickly finding yours as your hands made their way up to his hair. The kiss was gentle yet passionate, full of words that neither of you had the guts to say over the years you'd been apart. It was right then, as he kissed you against the backdrop of the sea, that you knew you'd done the right thing.

It almost felt like you were both young again, because nothing had changed. Not really.

When you both pulled away for air, he rested his forehead against yours. Of course there were conversations you both needed to have with each other, things to work out, but for now that could wait.

"I love you. So much." Bradley muttered against your lips.

You knew any important conversations didn't matter, because you'd both chosen each other and right now, that was enough.

"I love you too, Bradley."

---

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I might do an epilogue for these two but I'm not sure yet - let me know if its something you'd wanna read!

[lulunothulu]

“A Bullseye to the Heart” (Ch. 4)

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Latina Reader

Blurb: Jake drives you to his house, and you're surprised by his gentlemanly-ness. You end your first night at his home (kinda) embarrassing yourself.

Contents: the fluffiest fluff, just Jake and Reader being flirty and kinda fighting, bad writing lol

Word Count: 1,330

I'm sorry this one is short, I'll make it up to you guys in the next chapter!

Chapter 4

Jake drove you to his house in silence, your words echoed in his mind.

“Don’t fall for me and don’t deny you aren’t because I feel it. Trust me, you don’t want to be with me.”

All he could think of was how hard and fast he was falling for you. He didn’t mean to, he’d never fallen for someone. Sure there have been a few women he could’ve fallen for but they never felt right. From the moment you walked up to the group with those eyes, he knew he was a lost cause. From the time he held you in his arms, stopping you from getting close to Nick and the commotion he knew. Not only was he instantly struck by you, but you were the first woman to intrigue him in such a way that he had to research you; to see what made you upset, what made you happy.

Every time he glances over at you, you’d quickly turn your head away from him and look out the window of his truck. Jake smiles to himself, the knowledge that you keep looking over at him makes his chest fill with pride. 

When he finally pulls into his driveway in his gated community, you send Phoenix and Rooster a text that you’ve made it before undoing your seat belt and moving to hop out of Jake’s car. 

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

“Getting out of the car,” you respond.

“I’ll get the door,” he says, quickly climbing out of the truck and jogging to your side. When he opens the door, he flashes you a cheeky grin and extends his hand toward you. “My lady.”

“I am not your lady,” you spit but take his hand anyway because why not?

Instant flickers of lust run through your fingertips and up your arm, sending them down your spine. You flick your eyes toward Jake to see him already staring down at you, green eyes searching your own in longing. 

You pull away and clear your throat before saying, “I’ll just grab my bag.”

“No need,” Jake drawls, opening the back door and tossing your bag over his shoulder with expert precision. “I’ve got it too.”

“Didn’t think you’d be such a gentleman,” you half tease. 

“Sweetheart, I was raised to treat women with respect. My man-whore ways won’t change that.”

“So you’re a man-whore?” you ask.

Jake’s cheeks turn a light shade of red before he shakes his head with a smile on his lips. “You’re too smart for your own good.”

Gesturing to follow him, Jake adds, “Come on, let’s get you to bed. You must be emotionally exhausted.”

You hated to admit it, but you were exhausted. You reluctantly follow him toward the house and smile up at the Texas flag hanging outside. “You must be a very proud Texan.”

Jake flashes you a cocky grin over his shoulder before drawling, “Of course I am. I’m Texas born and raised.”

“So your family is still there?”

“Yes, why are you asking so many questions?” he asks, opening the front door and allowing you in first. 

“Just trying to get to know the person I’ll be living with for a bit,” you shrug. As you look around, you can’t help but notice how bare the walls in the house are. Nothing but white paint and an occasional window. “That’s a lot of white walls.”

“I like my house to be simple,” he shrugs. “Plus I probably won’t be here too long so I don’t want to deal with having to paint and fill holes.”

He walks you to the kitchen before putting your bag on the island. “So this is the kitchen. Over that way,” he points to the room on your left, “is the living room and dinning room. Our rooms are over on this side, they both have their own bathroom so you won’t have to share with me.”

You look over his shoulder where he was pointing and nod your head. 

“I know you left your car at Hard deck, so I’m having Coyote and Bob bring it tomorrow morning before we have to head in for PT,” he tells you, grabbing a glass of water and filling it with water from the fridge. He takes a sip, watching as you look around the kitchen and then land on the fridge behind him. “If you’re hungry, you can help yourself to anything. There’s no cow milk but there is almond milk.”

“Are you lactose intolerant?” you ask, biting down a smirk. 

“I am,” Jake smiles. He sets his glass down before grabbing your bag again and walking toward the rooms. “Follow me, I’ll show you where you’re staying.”

You follow him into the hall and notice there’s actually three bedrooms. 

“Door on your left is my room and you’re right across from me,” he says. “The door at the end of the hall is an office.”

Office, that makes sense.

“Um, thank you,” you mutter. You make a move to grab your bag from his hands but he instead walks into your room and sets it down on the queen bed. There’s a night stand by the bed and a drawer across from the bed. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says. “Holler if you need anything.”

Before he leaves the room, you grab his hand, surprising not only yourself, but Jake as well. “Thank you, Jake. I really do appreciate what you’re doing for me.”

Jake shrugs before smiling down at you and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’d do it for anyone.”

Later that night, you’re tossing and turning. You’ve been up for hours and have been trying to fall sleep. Every time you’d feel yourself fall asleep, you’d start thinking of Nick finding you at Jake’s house and then get paranoid. Then, when you finally did fall asleep, you were riddled with memories of when you were missing. 

The dream was always the same. The man who took you standing over your bloodied body and smiling from ear to ear, a bloodied knife in his hand. Then, it would cut to you hanging from your hands being whipped and finally, when you were left for dead in the patch of grass.

You look at the time on your phone and read, 4:33 AM. So instead of just staying in bed, you get up and begin to walk into the kitchen to get a glass of milk. 

Maybe some warm milk would help.

You walk into the kitchen begin warming the milk when you start to look through the cupboards for some Nesquik. 

“Surely this guy has to have some coco powder,” you whisper to yourself. 

Opening the pantry in the corner of the kitchen, you find a huge tub of chocolate powder and almost laugh at the absurdity. 

It was almost the size of a box of cereal. 

The microwave goes off, making you turn in time to see Jake standing in the doorway with a little smirk on his face. 

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

“Making myself chocolate milk,” you say, hugging the tub close to your chest. “Why are you up so early?”

“Bob and Coyote came to drop off your car,” he tells you. “And I have PT.”

When you step out into the, now lit, kitchen, you see he’s wearing the navy blue PT shorts and jacket. He looked really good in them, which was weird because every always looks dorky. But for some reason, Jake looked good.

“Well, I’ll probably see you in an hour or so,” he says, looking you up and down. He’s halfway out the kitchen when he calls out, “Nice pjs, you should wear that out!”

You look down and nearly slap your forehead. 

You were wearing nothing but a pair of bright pink panties and an oversized Star Wars shirt that may or may not have been see-through. 

What a great first day of living with Jake.

Next part here!!

tags: @lonelysoul50 @akilatwt @russopalette @emma8895eb @djs8891

[simpforrooster]

get a room.

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x F!Reader

summary: rooster talks you into a beach day, then wants to take advantage of you in your swimsuit.

t/w: mentions of public smut, nothing graphic, simp!rooster, cursing

a/n: y’all there ain’t much plot to this one. Just Roos simping over reader.

“If you interrupt my reading one more time, this book will become a weapon.”

Your boyfriend talked you into joining him and his friends at the beach. You put up as much of a fight as you could, but he wore you down. Now you’re lounging in your beach chair, spf 100 on your face, reading under an umbrella to the sound of something called dog-fight football.

Rooster has been vying for your attention for the past thirty minutes.

“Baby, I didn’t bring you out here in that pretty little swimsuit to hide under that umbrella,” he whines, stalking toward you. Rooster’s eyes are covered by his dad’s Ray Bans, and you’re momentarily distracted by just how good he looks.

This distraction costs you. Before you know it, Rooster’s arms wrap around your waist. He tosses you over his shoulder, effortless thanks to all the work outs the Navy has him do. A squeal manages to escape your mouth as Rooster heads straight for the ocean.

Kicking your legs does nothing but make a delicious laugh fall from Rooster’s lips. Rooster wades out into the water waiting until he’s deep enough to toss you in.

“Bradley!” you scold popping up from under the water. His hands are back on you in an instant, pulling your body against his. Bradley places a kiss on your collar bone creating goosebumps along your arms.

“Mmm, baby girl, I am obsessed with you,” he murmurs against your skin. The way his lips move on your body sends a surge of pleasure through your spine. Rooster runs a line of sloooow, deliberate kisses along your jaw.

“Stop teasing me, Lieutenant,” you say, your arms locking around Rooster’s neck. His lip quirks up at his rank.

Rooster’s hands slide down your back and stop under your ass, inviting your legs to wrap around his waist. He walks the two of you a little deeper in the water.

“This is why I invited you to the beach,” Rooster says against your lips. Kissing Rooster always feels like if you don’t do it again soon, you’ll wither away.

“We could have made out at home,” you quip. Leaning down, you pepper kisses along his collarbone. A delicious groan comes from his expert lips. “And we probably should have. You know what kissing me like this leads to.”

Rooster let’s a hand drop from your waist, coming under your chin to guide your lips back to his. His sweet kisses have turned more urgent. More passionate. He deepens the kiss a little more than what’s appropriate for public.

“I do know what this leads to,” he says. To prove his point, he adjusts his hips so you can feel just what kissing you like this does. “If we go a little further out, no one will be none the wiser.”

“Roos!” You squeal. Tightening your arms around his neck, you give him a kiss on his cheek. “We absolutely cannot.”

As if knowing where Rooster’s mind was headed, Hangman calls out from the beach, “Fucking get a room, man!”

Rooster's head falls into the crook of your neck and he groans. “Hangman, always the cockblock.”

You roll your eyes at your dejected boyfriend. “It’s cute you thought I was going to let you take me out here.”

That mustached lip flicks up. “Oh, I don’t know. I can be pretty persuasive.” To further prove his point, he gives you another long, slow kiss.

Then he dunks you into the ocean.

“BRADLEY!”

masterlist.

[mynameismckenziemae]

Unbroken

Part 12

(previous part here, next part here)

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x You

Summary: Bradley’s reaction to your big news is better than you could’ve imagined.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Adult language and themes, pregnancy talk, mentions of vomiting/morning sickness.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“I’m pregnant.”

Bradley’s brow furrows in confusion before morphing into a look of pure, unrestrained joy.

Which causes the sob you were choking down to escape.

“Oh Em,” he whispers, voice thick with his own tears as he wraps you in his arms. “Shhh. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t planning this. Birth control pills don’t work if you throw up shortly after taking them, which is so fucking obvious now. I’m so stupid. I didn’t mean for this to happen. Please believe me,” you plead into his shoulder, gripping the tear-stained khaki. Panic tightens its grip on your lungs and your fingertips and lips start to go numb again as you struggle to breathe. “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”

“Hey, look at me,” he says, pulling you back to look at him. Your heart pinches at his tears that mirror yours. “Breathe, honey. You’re not stupid, I never thought of that either. I know you didn’t mean for this to happen, I didn’t either but I can’t stay I’m mad about it. I’m really fucking excited actually.”

“You are?” You ask, lip trembling.

“I am,” he nods, smiling through his tears. “We talked about wanting kids. That hasn’t changed, right?”

You shake your head. “No, but it’s so soon. We’ve only been together 5 months.”

“And I’ve known you’re the one for 4,” he replies. He hesitates before getting up and walking to the closet he now shares with you. He flips through his shirts until he finds his old UVA hoodie, reaching into the front pocket and pulling something out before hiding it behind his back.

You give him a quizzical look as he walks back around to stand in front of you.

“It’s the only shirt of mine I knew you wouldn’t steal,” he shrugs before getting down on one knee.

“What are you-“ you start to ask as your heart pounds in your chest but he interrupts you.

“This isn’t how I wanted to do this but I need you to know how serious I am when I say I’m not going anywhere,” he says, pulling the ring box from behind his back and opening it to reveal the most beautiful engagement ring. “I picked this out two weeks after I moved here, Em. I knew then that you were the one I wanna spend the rest of my life with. You can ask Charlie if you don’t believe me-I asked her to come with to make sure you’d like it before I bought it. This isn’t how I wanted to do this, but I need you to know I’m in this for the long haul, no matter what.”

Tears of a different kind blur your vision as his eyes flick to your not-yet-changed belly, tentatively placing his big hand there before he meets your eyes again.

“I love you,” he murmurs, rubbing your stomach, “both of you. Will you marry me?”

“Ye-“ you start but an intrusive thought interrupts your answer. “But what-what if I lose this baby too? What if I’m not able to carry a baby to full term and we never have one of our own? What if-“

“It doesn’t matter,” he stops your rambling gently. “My love for you won’t change if we don’t have kids or if we have ten. I love you for you, not for how many babies you’ll give me.”

The excitement in his expression begins to fall at your hesitation; your overwhelmed brain still trying to process everything. “I-uh…maybe this wasn’t a good idea to spring this on you. You can take some time to think about it, and we don’t have to get married any time soon, or at all. I-“

“Yes,” you blurt out when everything he’s said catches up to you. “I-I…yes!” you repeat, and a laugh bubbles up, “I want to marry you.”

Bradley laughs too as wraps his arms around you in a hug. His shoulders soon begin to shake and he sniffs as he squeezes you tighter and yet it’s the first time you feel you can breathe all day.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

The sun is lower in the sky when you wake up again, this time on Bradley’s chest. Your chest flutters as the afternoon sun catches the new rock on your finger.

“Whatcha doing?” You ask with a yawn.

“Just reading up on what to expect at the ultrasound tomorrow,” he responds, tilting his phone so you can see. “Kinda looks like a tadpole,” he laughs. “We might be able to see the heartbeat, depending on how far along you are exactly. It’s about the size of a pea right now. Do you think it’s a boy or a girl? It said Mom’s intuition is right 51% of the time.”

“You’re gonna be such a good daddy,” you whisper, smiling as he kisses the top of your head. “I don’t feel one way or the other yet. I just hope he or she is healthy.”

“Me too,” he murmurs. “We’ll get through it together if he or she isn’t, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree as you take a deep breath.

You’re physically and emotionally drained and your eyes close again but the buzzing of your phone won’t stop.

“You might want to check that,” Bradley murmurs as his fingers thread through your hair. “It’s been going off pretty steadily since you fell asleep. I’m guessing it’s Charlie.”

“You’re right,” you reply, sighing as you see the several missed calls and unopened texts.

Charlie: Please tell me you’re okay. Jake’s freaking out but doesn’t want to bother you or Bradley. He knows I know something, Emma.

Emma: Sorry, I fell asleep again after I told Bradley everything. Everything’s okay…good even. I feel better about things now.

Your stomach flips as your eye catches your ring.

Emma: Can you guys come over?

Charlie: Yes. Can we pick something up for dinner? What sounds good?

Bradley laughs when your stomach growls.

Emma: A burger and chocolate shake from Ray’s sounds good at the moment. I can’t promise it won’t change before you get here.

Charlie: You got it. See you soon.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Ever-observant Charlie zeroes in on your ring finger the moment you take the bag of food from her.

“Oh my God!” She shrieks, dropping the bag and wrapping you in a hug. “He did such a good job picking it out. Do you love it? I told him you’d love it.”

“Yes,” you say, sniffing as a fresh round of tears prickle behind your eyes.

“What do you love?” Jake asks as he picks up the discarded food.

“My…engagement ring,” you reply, holding it out for him to look at.

“Holy shit!” His eyes widen as he looks at it then at Bradley, the food bag again dropped to the floor. “This is what you had to rush out early for? You couldn’t wait ‘til 4?”

Bradley looks at you and scratches the back of his neck as he answers. “Uh, well…not exactly.”

“And you knew about this and didn’t tell me?” Jake asks Charlie with a scoff.

“Bradley asked me to go with him before he bought the ring to make sure Em would like it,” Charlie answers, crossing her arms as she turns to look at him. “I didn’t tell because you’re horrible at keeping secrets and couldn’t tell a lie to save your life, Jake.”

“Yes I…but-“ he sputters, offended, as he looks between the three of you.

“It’s true,” you shrug, “I’m the same way.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he sighs, hugging you next. “Congratulations, Em.”

“Thanks,” you sniff.

“Seriously though,” he says as he releases you to clap Bradley on the back, “What was the rush? You couldn’t have waited another 3 hours?”

“That’s not why I rushed out-“ Bradley starts but you interrupt.

“Jake, I’m pregnant.”

“What?” Jake asks, his head snapping to look at you. “Really?”

You nod with a small smile.

“On purpose? Ow!” He asks, rubbing his head where Charlie smacked him.

Charlie sighs, shaking her head.

“No, not on purpose,” you reply softly. “It was shortly after we had that stomach bug. Birth control isn’t effective if you throw it back up.”

“Well, yeah. That does make sense-ouch! Damn it, Charlie,” he mutters, rubbing his butt where she must’ve given him a wicked pinch. “Why did Charlie find out before me? Again?”

“She found out before Bradley too,” you answer, continuing when Jake gives you a questioning look. “I fainted at the doctor’s office after I found out this morning. They asked if they should call anyone and my sister was the first person that came to mind.”

Charlie gives you a watery smile.

“Holy shit,” Jake says again, running a hand through his hair as the news finally sinks in. “I’m gonna be an uncle!”

“The best uncle,” you say, smiling at the way he beams.

“You know you didn’t have to propose though, right? Shotgun weddings are a thing of the past-Charlie, I swear to God-,” Jake starts, stopping to step to the side so he’s not within arms reach of her when he sees her get ready to whack him again.

“Do you hear-“ Charlie starts to argue with him but this time Bradley interrupts.

“I didn’t propose because I thought I had to,” he explains, coming up behind you to place his hands over your stomach. “I found the ring back in September, and had Charlie give me the okay before I bought it a few weeks later, then I got your dad’s blessing at Thanksgiving.”

“That’s why you were so nervous that day,” you murmur, remembering how uncharacteristically tense he was.

He nods, kissing your forehead before turning back to Jake. “I just hadn’t asked yet because I wanted it to be perfect.”

Bradley looks down at you while he continues. “I was so scared when you didn’t answer my calls or text back. The relief I felt when I saw your truck in the drive when I got home was ripped away when I saw how upset you were. It broke my fucking heart,” he pauses to clear his throat as his voice has grown thick with tears, “when I realized you thought I was going to leave you. I just needed you to know how much I love you and that I’ll always be here.”

You’re too choked up to do anything but nod before he kisses you softly.

“I’m really happy for you guys,” Jake says, wiping a tear of his own before he pulls Bradley in for a hug.

“I am too,” Charlie adds, squeezing your hand.

“Thanks,” you reply, squeezing hers back. “Are you doing okay? With all this?” You ask, gesturing to your stomach.

“I might be a little jealous,” she admits teasingly, “but it’s okay, our time will come.”

“It will,” you reply, squeezing her hand back.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Jake and Charlie leave shortly after dinner with promises to send pictures after the ultrasound.

While Bradley looks for a movie to turn on, you text Noah and Gav to let them know you’ll stop in the clinic to fill them in after your appointment.

Not long after you fall asleep with your head in Bradley’s lap just as the opening credits roll.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

You’re rudely awoken again by a wave of nausea that lingers, even after your stomach is empty.

“Didn’t you say the doctor gave you medication for the nausea?” Bradley asks as he rubs soap between his hands in the shower.

“Yeah. I’m supposed to take it before bed but I fell asleep before I could last night. I’m just so tired-oh that feels amazing,” you moan as he washes your back, kneading the knots in your shoulders.

His cock twitches in interest against your ass.

“Sorry,” he whispers as he takes a step back, but his hands still work your tense muscles. “Just ignore it.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you sigh in frustration as your body fights between nausea and arousal. “I don’t wanna ignore it though. I want to be able to fuck you without yawning or having to stop to hurl,” your lip begins to tremble. “Great! Now I’m gonna fucking cry again. I hate these fucking hormones!”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, and you can hear he’s trying not to laugh. “I’ll make sure you take the medicine before you fall asleep tonight, hopefully, that’ll help with some of the nausea and then maybe can get a full night’s sleep too.”

“Okay,” you nod with a pitiful sniffle before turning your head for a kiss.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“See that flickering?” The ultrasound tech asks, pointing at the screen. “That’s the heartbeat.”

“Wow,” Bradley replies in awe, squeezing your hand.

“Everything looks okay then? Normal?” You ask anxiously.

“Everything looks good,” she confirms with a reassuring smile. “Your little one is measuring just shy of 7 weeks.”

You sigh in relief and let some of the excitement trickle in that you’ve been holding back.

Everything looks good.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.���.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

A/N: Another surprise 🙂 poor Emma is a hormonal mess (much like I was 😂).

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I love hearing what you think in comments/reblogs!

Tagging (please let me know if you want to be added/removed!):

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[rootedinrevisions]

In the Wings: Part 4

SUMMARY: When Glen casually invites you to a cast movie night, you don’t think much of it—until you arrive and end up squeezed between him and Miles on a crowded couch. As the film plays, you and Glen share light banter, a bowl of popcorn, and a few fleeting touches that seem more meaningful than expected.

OTHER PARTS: PART 1 I PART 2 I PART 3

WARNINGS: None. Just Fluff in this one!

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

It's late in the day, and the sun starting to sink toward the horizon, casting a golden glow through the small window of the hair and makeup trailer. The rest of the team has already left for the day, and you’re tidying up your station, organizing brushes and makeup palettes in a quiet routine that helps wind down the day. 

The door creaks open behind you, and when you glance up in the mirror, there’s Glen—fresh from the set, his hair tousled from the wind, a smile lighting up his face.

“Hey,” he greets you, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Got a minute?”

You turn around, meeting his gaze with a small, tired smile. “Yeah, what’s up? Need a touch-up?” You ask as you point to his windblown hair.

Glen chuckles, shaking his head as he steps into the trailer, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Nope, not this time. Just finished for the day. But I was actually wondering if you’re free tonight.”

You raise an eyebrow, not sure where this is going but curious. “Free for what?”

“Some of the cast are having a little movie night back at the hotel. Nothing fancy, just hanging out, and watching something that’ll probably end up being a bad action flick. You should come. You know, if you’re up for it.” He grins, his eyes bright with an invitation that feels more personal than just a casual ask. His tone is casual, but there’s something in the way he says “You should come” that makes your heart skip a beat.

You hesitate for a second, caught off guard by the idea of spending time with Glen outside of work. “I don’t know…” you start, glancing at the mess still left to clean up, trying to come up with an excuse, but Glen shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about all this,” he gestures around the trailer. “You’ve been working hard all day. The trailer will survive without you for one night.”

You laugh softly, feeling a little less resistant as he steps closer, his easy charm working its magic. "You make it sound like I'm over here saving lives with these brushes."

"You kinda are," he says with a playful grin. "I mean, you make me look like a functioning human being every day, so yeah, I think that's pretty heroic."

You roll your eyes but can't help the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Seriously, it’ll be fun. And besides," he adds, dropping his voice a little, "I wouldn't mind having someone to keep me company.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, a flicker of something deeper beneath the surface. You glance up at him, meeting his gaze, and realize he's serious. It’s not just about the movie night. It's about spending time with you, beyond the set, beyond the trailer.

Your heart flutters just a bit, and before you can think twice, you find yourself nodding. "Okay, I'll come," you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

Glen’s smile widens, a look of genuine excitement crossing his face. “Awesome. I’ll see you there, then.” As he heads out, he throws you one last smile over his shoulder. 

The trailer feels quieter after he leaves, but your mind is buzzing with the idea of the night ahead. The small exchange feels more significant than it should, and suddenly, the thought of seeing him again later has you feeling a lot more excited than you'd expected.

Later that night, you find yourself in the hotel suite where everyone’s gathered for the movie night. The lights are low, a couple of people already sprawled out on couches or grabbing snacks from the small kitchen area. You spot Glen almost immediately. He’s standing by the counter, a beer in hand, talking to one of the other actors, but when he sees you come in, his expression brightens.

“Hey, you made it!” Glen says, his voice cutting through the casual murmur of the room. He crosses over to you in a few quick strides, and you feel that familiar warmth in his presence as he reaches you.

“Yeah, I figured I could use a break after today,” you reply, giving him a playful look.

He chuckles, then gestures toward the kitchen. “You want something to drink? I think we’ve got everything covered—beer, wine, maybe some soda and water if you’re feeling responsible.”

“Surprise me,” you say with a grin, just as you had earlier.

Glen nods, making his way back toward the drinks, and you take a moment to glance around the room. Some of the other cast members wave, but your focus keeps drifting back to Glen. He returns with a cold bottle in hand, holding it out to you with a smile that feels a little more personal than usual.

The two of you chat casually with the others for the next half hour, but even amidst the group, you can’t help but notice how often Glen finds a way to talk just to you—asking how your day went, throwing in small jokes that only you two seem to get. There’s an ease to the conversation, a rhythm that feels natural but also charged with something just beneath the surface.

At one point, your eyes meet across the room while you’re both talking to different people. It’s brief, but there’s a spark in that glance, a silent acknowledgment that you’re both aware of the growing connection. You quickly look away, your heart racing just a little faster than before.

As the movie night starts winding down and everyone begins settling in for the film, you glance around the room, trying to decide where to sit. The couches are quickly filling up, and most of the chairs have already been claimed. It looks like your only option might be the floor, and you’re about to resign yourself to it when you hear a voice pipe up from across the room.

“Hey, there’s a spot right here,” Miles calls out, grinning as he gestures to the couch where he’s sitting beside Glen. “Between us.”

You hesitate, looking between the two of them. Glen’s eyes meet yours from where he’s seated, his lips twitching into a small, inviting smile.

The spot between them is definitely tight, but you start making your way over, feeling the playful pressure of the room’s eyes on you. When you reach the couch, you glance at the narrow space, then at Miles, giving him a look as if to say seriously, this is your idea of a seat?

Miles just shrugs, feigning innocence. “You might have to squeeze in a little. Don’t worry, Glen doesn’t bite.” Glen shoots him a mock glare but then catches your eye again, motioning for you to sit down. 

He shifts closer to the arm of the couch, giving you a little more room, and moves his arm to rest casually on the back of the couch. “Come on, we’ll make it work.”

You exhale a quiet laugh and slide in beside him. It’s still a snug fit, but the atmosphere feels relaxed enough, and you settle into the space, aware of Glen’s arm resting comfortably behind you.

As the movie starts, Glen leans over slightly, offering you some popcorn from the bowl he’s holding on his lap. “Want some?” he asks, his voice low, not wanting to interrupt the film.

You glance at him, surprised. You’ve heard him talk about how seriously he takes his popcorn on set, and he’s never been one to share. According to him, he likes to have his own bowl to himself.

Before you can reach for a handful, someone else across the room chimes in with a teasing tone. “Wait, Glen’s sharing his popcorn? What is this, a special occasion?”

A round of soft chuckles follows, and you catch Glen rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. “It’s no big deal,” he mutters, brushing off the tease, but you can’t help the small giggle that escapes you.

You take a small handful, your fingers brushing against his briefly as you do. It’s a quick moment, but you feel the warmth of his hand and find yourself hyper-aware of his presence beside you. A few minutes later, you both reach for the bowl at the same time, and your hands meet again, lingering just a second longer before you both pull back with a soft, shared smile.

As the movie plays on, you start to get more absorbed in the story. There’s a particularly intense scene on-screen, the tension mounting, and suddenly, without warning, there’s a jump scare. You gasp, startled, your body instinctively shifting toward Glen, leaning in closer without realizing it.

Beside you, Glen chuckles softly, his voice low in your ear. “You okay there?” he teases, his tone light.

Before you can respond, you feel his hand slide from the back of the couch down to your shoulder, resting there gently. It’s a small gesture, not overly flirty, but the warmth of his hand lingers, grounding you after the sudden scare. The touch is brief but comforting, and though it’s casual, you take note of it, feeling the subtle shift in your connection.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply with a soft laugh, brushing it off even though your heart is still racing a bit—not just from the movie, but from the growing awareness of Glen’s presence beside you.

The movie continues, but your mind keeps drifting back to the way his hand rested on your shoulder, and how easy it felt to be next to him, even in the small, unspoken moments. The chemistry between you two is undeniable, and though nothing overt has been said or done, it’s becoming harder to ignore the quiet pull drawing you closer.

[notroosterbradshaw]

Hi can i request number 12 from the prompts list with Rooster please? Thanks

12. Mapping out your lover’s features while they sleep in your arms, smoothing your thumbs down their cheeks, throat, collarbones, chin and nose.

"You do this every time," Rooster sighed, rubbing his honey-coloured eyes. "'Bradley, baby'," he mocked in your over-exaggerated tone as you scoffed. "‘Put on a movie, I wanna snuggle’. Five minutes later, you're out across my chest," he accused as you rolled your eyes, unable to hold back laughter. He had known you long enough... was hard to deny him.

"What am I supposed to do? I cuddle in and you're so warm and smell so good and I just doze off. Sue me," you huffed, inflating his ego at the same time (usually didn��t take a lot), opening the wine and pouring you both a glass. "I don't know why you just don't take it as a compliment and move along, Bradshaw."

He laughed. "Because you put some shitty romcom on and I'm trapped under you until you wake with three minutes left of the movie and pretend you were awake the whole time."

You could only make a face. He was 100% right. No argument was going to help you now.

"I dunno why I'm even asking you this, but humour me, baby: what you wanna watch?" he asked with dread, finding the remote and flicking through movies that were on your watch list. He had picked the last movie (Reservoir Dogs, thanks for asking), so he didn't have a leg to stand on. May as well toss it out there and admit he knew a romcom was in his immediate future if the list he clicked through dismally had anything to do with it.

"It's Flashback Friday, let's watch a classic," You danced around the couch, excitedly and put the wine on the coffee table with the charcuterie board Bradley would eat 93% of himself.

"Shortlist," he insisted.

"Fair," you agreed as he plonked on the couch, and you sat beside him. "Point Break, you'll be hot for Keanu. Will put you in the mood. Point, Bradshaw," he goaded as you tried to get the remote off him. He pushed you back gently. He bopped your nose. "Absolutely not. I'm controlling the remote, thank you."

"Point Break," you contemplated thoughtfully. A twofer really... Keanu, Patrick Swayze -

"Nah, too easy. You don't get to lull me into a false sense of security like that. Keep going," Bradley rolled his eyes.

"Breakfast Club?"

"Not a dealbreaker," Rooster admitted. "Back to the Future?"

"God, you are such an 80's kid," you rolled your eyes.

"Wasn't just my decade, babe," he hissed back as you squinted at him, a man with a death wish. "But of course, you're the latter end. May as well be 90's," he rushed, as you laughed. "You're not getting older, you're just getting sexier," he overcorrected, hoping he'd bridged the gap with his loose lips, his nose from your earlobe to your jaw, leaving a wet, warm kiss against your pulse. He was the dirtiest player in the game and he laughed against your skin, as you enraged him a moment later, dragging your nails into his scalp, giving him a bit of pleasure in return. "God, you're so full of shit…” you somehow managed to get out.

He laughed and shrugged. "Yeah, you’re hating every minute,” he reckoned.

"But it's a short list," you pretended to growl as he kissed your pout. “What about Stand by Me?" you tried, his lips still mashed against yours and you fell into his soft kiss, God, his lips were magical, you loved kissing Bradley Bradshaw. His soft lips, the caress of his tongue -

"Baby, are you actually considering me and what I would like to watch?" he asked, almost touched, he pulled back, a smug look of satisfaction laced all over his face.

"Footloose?"

Apparently not. "Veto."

"Oh, Dirty Dancing!" the tone in your voice telling him that this was your decision, but he couldn't resist, because he kind of loved it when you argued and got all cross and cute... and sometimes if he riled you up just the right amount, a little frisky too.

"VE-TO."

"Bradley Bradshaw, how dare you!" you exclaimed as he broke into a grin and put his hands in the air.

"I give, baby," he admitted. "Just love you all wound up and - "

"Yeah, yeah," you said bashfully. He chuckled, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple and he raised his arm to put it across your shoulder to nuzzle in under, pressing play on the flick. The Ronettes 'Be My Baby' started in the background with a noir 1960s underground dancing dirty montage (if you will), flitting across the screen.

"Credit where it's due, this soundtrack is fuckin’ awesome. They just don't make them like they used to."

"Movie soundtracks?" you tucked yourself into his ribs as he adjusted to bend to you. He'd be kidding himself; this was the best part of watching a movie as you curled yourself around him. Maybe the movie would be forgotten and some sexy making out would take over, he wondered.

"Yep," he nodded, plopping a kiss in your hair.

"Yeah, 80's definitely had that going for them. Best 80's soundtrack?" you asked, quickfire.

He frowned while pondering. "Good question... anything John Hughes," he said obviously.

"Flashdance."

"Lost Boys."

"'Purple rain, purple rain'," you sang as Rooster chuckled. You had already missed a good chunk of the movie although you continued to lower yourself until your cheek was resting against his powerful quad and eyes trying in vain to stay open as the movie played on, both of you really not giving it too much of your attention, his large palm sliding under your tee and tracing the back of your ribs, along the bone and the seams of your bra.

Bradley was a human furnace, he was divine to creep up next to, so you did just that only encouraging him. It didn’t surprise him that you’d dozed off.

Fuck. And the remote was just out of his reach to turn off the movie. He lived for times like this. He’d be able to watch the game.  Any goddamn game would have been just perfect. He didn’t care if his teams weren’t playing. Baseball, football, basketball. Oh, were the Lakers playing tonight?

Slumbering partner, booze and the inability to reach the remote. He struggled to reach but it was just out of his grasp. “Shit,” he muttered as you wrapped your soft palm around his knee and he sighed, taking you in. A rare beauty, he knew, momentarily caught up that you were his. He must have done something right in a previous life to have you walk into this life. His fingertip tenderly traced your eyebrow and the slope of your nose as you mumbled in your sleep and he hesitated, pulling his hand back.

You adjusted your posture to rest your cheek on his thigh, your face towards his tummy and he chuckled quietly. “You’re not that asleep…”

“Little bit asleep,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around his waist, cool fingers drifting against the golden soft skin of his lower back.

“Bed?” he murmured, his thumb drifting across your soft lips as you shook your head, eyes still closed. A moment later, you yawned, but clearly weren’t interested in being roused so he kept playing with your features, his hands sinking into your hair and he bit back a grin as you almost mewled like a kitten. He didn’t say anything but was surprised at how much of a sucker for his touch you were. You only encouraged him, by cuddling in further and he reached down to press a kiss into your forehead, against the scar on your eyebrow. You hated it, but he loved it. The mar of perfection against your sweet features would always be his favourite. It matched his.

He felt your breathing change against him and knew you’d fallen asleep again, deeper and he knew you were out. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple, the smell of your 45-step hair care routine wafting into his nostrils and feeling a little dizzy himself, warmed. Luckiest bastard he knew as he spied the small remote you never used and his eyes widened, excitedly. Within reach, he swiped it and turned down the volume of the film.

Within a few moments and the apps changed, the Lakers were on his screen. He pushed the remote into the side of the couch so he wouldn’t lose it, took his wine in his free hand and made himself comfy. May as well make the most of his Friday night…

SEND ME A PROMPT, I’LL WRITE YOU A DRABBLE.

A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x

[compacflt]

For the requests/open inbox, this may not be the lane you're looking for, but you made a throw a way mention in a response to the ask about Ice's enforcement of DADT that Bradley and Ice probably got into it at one point about Ice being totally okay with DADT as a policy (which I love your read on Ice being like, 'yeah, nobody should ask and nobody should tell. what's the problem here?') I would love to see that argument go down. Or honestly, just any Ice and Bradley interaction after the reconciliation that suits your fancy. I find that dynamic in your world super interesting. Bradley sees him as a father, Ice sees him as the person whose father I killed. I love the drama.

Five times Ice was so obviously Rooster’s dad + one time he explicitly wasn’t.

[Carole. 1994.]

He’s such a nervous man. Usually that’s not the word people associate with him. Nervous? Never! But he is. Carole Bradshaw’s more a religious woman than a spiritual one. She’s never put any stock into “chockras” or “ouras” or whatever the other girls her age were fooling around with in the late sixties and early seventies. But she does believe that you can understand a person just by looking at him or her, and when she looks at Tom Kazansky, she sees a little anxious creature, shivering in the cold, like one of those tiny spindly dogs who always needs a sweater. Maybe it’s her southern maternal instincts, something primal and animalistic inside her, I need to take care of you—and when he nudges her with a nervous shivering shoulder and whispers, “Can I bum a smoke?” —she reaches down to take his hand and says, “I only have one left. We’ll have to share.”

She knows she makes him nervous. His ears are red, and so’s the back of his neck. It’s early on a Saturday morning, and the church is crowded, and he’s self-conscious about the fact that she’s holding his hand. Good. It’s so rare she gets to make a man nervous anymore. She waves to Bradley, proud in his little striped button-down and his little blue bow-tie, where he’s lined-up with all the other aspiring pianists against the stage along the far wall, under the bare postmodern crucifix. The recital isn’t going to start for another five, ten minutes, and it’s organized by age, so Bradley’s somewhere in the middle. If Tom Kazansky needs a smoke, Carole Bradshaw will bum him a smoke.

They exit out the side door, and the low murmuring of the other proud parents in the church fades to the quiet of the alley. Birds chirping nearby. The sound of a latecoming car on gravel somewhere far away. Her cigarette and the flick of his lighter, her eyes on his mouth and his puff of smoke—it’s lit. He takes a drag, closes his eyes, then passes it to her. “Sorry to make you share,” she says, and she’s watching the red flush creep up the side of his throat with a silent pleasure. When she takes her own pull, she looks down to see that the filter’s gone the sweet red-pink of her old lipstick. Kind of like a kiss, sharing a cigarette.

“That’s okay,” he says. Nervous spindly little dog. “Uh, what’s he playing?”

“Beethoven. ‘Für Elise.’” Then, before he can think to judge, she goes on quickly: “It’s more complicated than you’d think. Goes up and down and all over the place.”

“It’s a good song,” Tom Kazansky says, “though I don’t know too much about piano.” He pauses. “I’m learning a little German, though. I think it’s E-leez-ah. She must’ve been an alright girl if Beethoven wrote a song for her.”

Carole Bradshaw doesn’t know what to say to that. So she says this instead: “Thank you for coming. It made Bradley—well, over the moon, I guess.”

Tom Kazansky smiles shyly. “Sorry Maverick couldn’t come. I know he wanted to.”

Of course he brings up Pete Mitchell. Drags her back into reality. “He’s in Washington again, isn’t he?”

“Correct.” He reaches out for the cigarette; she gives it to him. “TOPGUN’s biggest advocate. I keep telling him he should go into politics. I just talked to him yesterday—he told me he went to the Natural History Smithsonian on Wednesday—he bought Bradley a dinosaur picture book, I think. Does Bradley like dinosaurs?”

Carole Bradshaw shrugs. What nine-year-old boy doesn’t like dinosaurs, but… “He’s more into sea life these days. Whales, sharks, fish.”

“Some fish used to be dinosaurs, they think,” says Tom Kazansky, clearly just trying to fill the silence. Ears red, lips red. Smoke out of his mouth like a fire-breathing dragon.

Carole Bradshaw doesn’t know how much dinosaur history she actually believes. So she says, “It’s still really nice of you to come. You know, Bradley—Bradley thinks of you and Maverick as his—well, his fathers, I s’pose. So it’s nice for you to be here.”

She watches his reaction—just nervousness. Straight anxiety. He doesn’t meet her eyes, like she’s just kicked him in the ribs. He does not want to be Bradley’s father. 

She says, “You don’t have to sign any papers, Tom. You don’t have to put a kid seat in your car. I’m just saying. Don’t worry about it.”

He says, “I can hear the kids starting inside—we should probably go back in.”

So Carole Bradshaw drops the cigarette butt to the ground and steps on it with the bottom of her flat. They go inside, and wait for a kindergartener to finish an overly simple “Canon in D” to take their seats again. She takes his hand. He lets her. After another half-hour, Bradley sits down on the bench in front of the hand-me-down Steinway and busts out “Für Elise” without a single missed note. It still shocks her, sometimes, to watch him play—it still shocks her, sometimes, that she is the mother of all that talent. And now maybe Tom Kazansky is the father of all that talent. How did that happen?

At the end of the recital, Tom Kazansky lets go of her hand. She knew he would. Knew his fatherhood is only temporary. But he lets go of her hand to accept Bradley’s great-big hug in the parking lot: “Gosling, that was so good.” Bradley’s proud smile is missing a few teeth. It makes Tom Kazansky laugh.

And after he drops them off at home, and peels away with a wave and a smile, Carole Bradshaw lights another cigarette from the half-full pack she’d brought with her to the recital and brings Bradley out to the backyard so he can play and she can watch him. But before she lets him go, she looks down at him and says flatly, “If kids at school ask you about Uncle Tom and Uncle Pete—you need to tell them they’re just friends.”

And in his eyes, she can see the confusion of a little boy who hadn’t been aware that Tom Kazansky and Pete Mitchell were anything other than just friends—the confusion of a little boy learning about duplicity for the first time in his life. 

“Okay,” he says, so she lets him go.

—

[Maverick. 1998.]

“Don’t go easy on him,” Maverick hollers breathlessly over his shoulder, fishing around in the ice chest in the sand for two cans of Coors; “He just joined the J.R.O.T.C.; don’t go easy on him; he’s tougher than all your squadrons combined; beat him into the dirt…”

“Thanks, Uncle Mav,” shouts Bradley from across the volleyball court, where he’s getting initiated into one of the volleyball teams of younger fighter pilots. 

Maverick flashes him a thumbs-up and finds his T-shirt on the first bleacher bench, pulls it on with one hand, and then hops up the rest of the benches to sit with Ice, who’s got his CVN-65 ballcap on and a book open in his lap and is offering informal career advice to one of the other lieutenants: “Yeah, so, in my opinion, it’s all down to what you think you can stomach… If you want me to look over your C.V., I can totally do that—I think I’m free Monday at around thirteen-hundred, if you want to stop in to talk. Not a problem. Not a problem. Alright. See you later.” He watches the lieutenant go, then lolls his head over to look at Maverick, who’s tossing an ice-cold can of Coors up and down. “Hey. Good game. —Coors, Mav? This is an insult.” But he takes the offered can anyway, looking out onto the court, where Bradley—fourteen and just entering his beanpole phase of evolution—is currently spiking the ball. “Cool.” It’s a nice summer Saturday, a casual opportunity for the officers of Miramar to socialize with their families (Ice is wearing a golf shirt and jeans), and by now pretty much everyone knows that Maverick Mitchell’s raising his friend’s kid and that he and Captain Kazansky are good friends, so this is pretty nice. Not much to hide.

“C’mon,” Maverick says, popping open his own can, “you and I were having a scintillating conversation, a few minutes ago.” He’s hunting around for the sunscreen so the tops of his feet don’t burn to ashes in the sun.

“Scintillating. That’s a big word for you. Wow.”

“You’re rubbing off on me, Sir Reads-a-lot—”

“See, that’s funny,” Ice interjects, “because I seem to recall, before you so-rudely interrupted me to go play volleyball with the kids, I was telling you that it’s really not that interesting. It’s actually, Maverick, quite boring.”

“Well, I’m intrigued now. Go on. Finish it off, I wanna know.”

Ice slaps his book shut and gives the long tired sigh of a man who is very self-conscious about the fact that he’s about to turn forty. He pops the tab on his can of Coors and huffs in exasperation when it foams all over his hand. “I mean it, my family history’s really not that interesting. Typical eastern-European immigrant shitshow. U.S. officials change one letter in our last name and everyone loses their goddamn minds… Actually, that story might be apocryphal, I keep forgetting which former Soviet Socialist Republic I’m actually from, I just can’t remember, all the borders got redrawn so many times, one of ‘em…”

Maverick smiles and pulls his TOPGUN ballcap back down onto his head, tugs the brim down low over his eyes so he can tip his head back and not go blind from the summer sunshine. He’d thought Ice would be reluctant to share his family history, but it turns out that most people are just afraid to ask him, and he’s actually pretty eager to talk, if you just ask. Maybe over-eager. He’s rambling. Maverick cuts him off: “Yeah, you do have a left curve to you, don’t you. Genetic.”

The dirty joke strikes Ice dumb for a second, but then he forges ahead, wisely choosing not to engage. He keeps going, oblivious to the fact that Maverick’s not really listening… “Anyway, my grandfather was Jewish, but he died literally the second he stepped foot in America, so it doesn’t count…my grandmother was Orthodox, crazy story how they ended up together; actually, that story’s probably apocryphal, too…she’s the one who raised me, pretty much. I told you that. She brought my dad out to Southern California when he was a little kid, but I don’t know if you’ve noticed, So-Cal’s not exactly the Mecca of Orthodox churches or anything, so he wasn’t very religious at all… My mom was from Milwaukee, I think. Or maybe Minneappolis. Some kinda Protestant. Forget which kind. The preachy kind. But then she died and I didn’t have to go to church anymore, so I didn’t.”

“You just never believed?” Maverick mumbles, half-joking.

“Nah. I mean, I always had too many questions no one wanted to answer. For instance: okay, say you’re bad. Say you commit sin…”

“I’ve never sinned, sir. You’re talking hypothetically.”

“Right. Me, neither. Hypothetically speaking. So you go to Hell. Well, the devil’s there, too, ‘cause he’s a sinner, too. But why’s he want to punish you? What does he get out of it? You’re both in the same boat!”

“Probably a sexual thing,” says Maverick, watching the purple-green imprints of the sun dance around behind his eyelids. “He probably gets off on it. The devil, I mean.”

Ice laughs and laughs. “Sure. Try saying that in front of my mom and see if you survived. I learned pretty early on that they don’t want you to be too curious. So I kept all my questions to myself.” He’s also joking, not taking this super seriously, but that’s a pretty in-character answer. “What about you, Mav?”

“If I’ve told you my family’s history once, I’ve told you a thousand times…” That’s a joke. Maverick’s the one who doesn’t like talking about his family history. Ice hasn’t heard any of it, and for good reason. Maybe someday he’ll tell him about it. “Later. But, remember, I used to be Southern Baptist? Jesus, I was serious into that shit, Ice.”

Ice snorts. “Yeah, right. You.”

“Not joking. I had about eighty girlfriends between fourteen and eighteen, but that’s the most pious I’ve ever been. Lotsa loopholes to make my relationships biblical. Was thinking about being a youth pastor. —I’m not joking. It was my whole personality, for a while. Most of my childhood, anyway.”

Ice is still laughing in disbelief. “Oh, yeah? And then what happened?”

Maverick smiles. “…Got hooked on sinning.” 

“…Yeah,” Ice replies, and Maverick can hear the nervous smirk in his voice, “I guess I’d know a little something about that.”

And normally that would be the end of the conversation. But Maverick’s feeling a little sun-drunk, a little giddy, and he’ll never, ever, ever grow out of instigating stupid arguments with Ice just for the fun of it. From beneath the brim of his ballcap he mutters, “…You think Carole’s brainwashing her kid?”

Ice huffs a laugh, and says through a lazy yawn, “I’m not militant in my atheism, no.” But he, also, will never, ever, ever grow out of instigating stupid arguments with Maverick just for the fun of it, and his curiosity’s clearly been piqued. He stews in it for a second before he snaps, “Do you think Carole’s brainwashing her kid?”

“I’m just saying she has him readin’ outta the Bible, like, five times a day. She sends him to church camp. Does something to a kid.” He has no dog in this fight, but this is fun.

“And what did it do to you?” Ice says, reaching down to shove his shoulder good-naturedly. “Weren’t you just telling me not five seconds ago how you used to be the perfect model of Christian charity?” Maverick mumbles a retort sleepily; Ice pushes on through it: “Bradley’s a human being. Either he grows out of it like you did, or he doesn’t, in which case, whatever, land of the free. That’s the First Amendment. You swore an oath to the Constitution. Maybe you should read it.”

“I’ve read it. I’m not Congress, shithead. How’s it go, you want me to cite it to you directly, ‘Congress shall make no law…’ actually, I don’t know what comes after that. Got me there.”

“Don’t call me shithead, dipshit. And whatever. Good thing he’s Carole’s kid and not yours, then. He’s got a mom who wants him to go to church. It’s up to him if he wants to listen to her or not. That’s growing up.”

Maverick tips up the brim of his ballcap to look at him, sprawled out in the bleachers very unprofessionally for the CO of this entire volleyball court, and snaps back, “Well, he’s a little bit my kid. The same way he’s a little bit your kid.” 

Ice just flicks his sunglasses down onto his nose and purses his lips and neither confirms nor denies this allegation. 

They watch the game together for a while, Ice’s toes pressed against Maverick’s lower back discreetly, trying to work their way under Maverick’s T-shirt. Until one of the young pilots approaches a few minutes later: “Sir!” / “What’s that kid’s call sign again?” Ice mumbles to Maverick, prodding him with his foot. / “Hooker.” / “No shit.” / “Sir!” says Hooker again. / “Which one of us, kid?” says Maverick. / “Captain Kazansky, sir. We’ve got a spot opening up. Wanna play?”

Maverick looks up at Ice expectantly. Ice sighs and harrumphs and waffles for a minute— “I’m too old for this shit.”

“Sir,” says Maverick, “it’s not a competition, but if it were, I’d be winning.” 

Lighting the fire of competition under Ice like that is always a good strategy. He rolls his eyes, but immediately stands and tugs off his shirt and rolls up the cuffs of his jeans; “I’ll only play if I can play with the kid.” 

So Maverick watches the teams get scrambled again with a smile, and sits up to watch Ice join Bradley in the sand. Bradley’s only just now taller than Ice, and Ice clearly isn’t used to having to reach up to curl an arm around his shoulders to strategize, his eyes narrowed like an eagle’s, staring down the competition. Maverick can read his lips from across the pitch: Alright, kid, I’ve been watching for a while, and I think I know these guys’ strengths and weaknesses…okay, here’s what we’re gonna do… And the game begins when Bradley spikes the ball.

Ice won’t always be this fun, this down-to-earth, this human. The admiralty and the guilt and the grief of the years to come will strip it all away from him, bring him back to the cold, remove him from his own humanity. And maybe, even if it isn’t conscious, Maverick can recognize that, right now, watching Ice dive into the sand with a laugh: this summer sunshine is only temporary. It’s gonna have to end at some point. So he doesn’t take it for granted. He keeps his eyes open and watches and tries to commit it to memory.

And after the game, Ice and Bradley come over so Ice can finish his beer and put his shirt and his baseball cap back on, and Maverick can make fun of them for losing. And: “What were you guys talking about for so long before the game?” Bradley asks Maverick with a grin.

“Whether or not your mom’s brainwashing you,” Maverick says.

“Oh!” Bradley says mildly. “…No, I don’t think so!”

“Oh, that’s a great start,” Ice laughs. “You would’ve made a great Soviet. No, I don’t think I’m getting brainwashed. Hey, by the way, Gosling, if you want a beer, Maverick and I won’t tell anyone.”

“Aw, really?” whispers Bradley. “Thanks, Uncle Ice!” And he races down the bleachers towards the ice chest in the sand.

Maverick watches Ice watch him go, fingers still pinching the brim of his CVN-65 ballcap, clearly worrying about something the way Ice always is. 

Then he looks down at Maverick, stares openly for a minute, and says, “You don’t think we’re teaching him to rebel too much, do you?”

—

[Bradley. 2000.]

“Kiddo! You’re here early!” It was Uncle Ice, walking through his own front door, catching a glimpse of Bradley watching the Astros-Nats game on the TV. He was still in uniform, but smiling wide, and he set his bag down near the couch and leaned over to ruffle Bradley’s hair goodnaturedly.

“Practice ended early today.”

“Oh, okay. Cool. Maverick should be home soon, still at work—your mom’ll be here in about an hour—she told me to put the chicken breasts in the oven, but you know me, every time I use this oven I set off the fire alarm, so you oughta help me with that…”

“And,” Bradley said, watching Uncle Ice wash his hands in the kitchen sink, “I got here early because I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh, sure!” chirped Uncle Ice. Then he paused, sensing a trap. “What about?”

“Advice,” Bradley mumbled. He took a deep breath, and stood to follow Uncle Ice into the kitchen “I was just—I was just curious. If you had any advice for me joining the Navy. You know, with me being gay, and all. How do I—I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. It’s kinda been weighing on me. Do you have any advice?”

Uncle Ice was still drying his hands off on a kitchen towel. Rubbing them red and raw. And when he raised his head to speak, there was something dull and startled in his eyes: “I don’t, um—no, I don’t—I don’t know anything about that. —You should ask Uncle Maverick about that.”

“I did,” Bradley said desperately, because he had. Yes, he’d gone to Uncle Mav first. “He—he told me to talk to you.”

“…Oh,” said Uncle Ice, now standing in front of a shelf to return one of his books to it. This surprised him. Maybe hurt him a little. “No. I—I, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“But—”

“And there are probably better people to ask than me or Maverick. I—I don’t know—that’s not really my…I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

Uncle Ice swallowed, put the book back on the shelf, then clasped his hands together and set them on the shelf, too, as if leaning over his captain’s desk to chastise someone. He blinked for a long moment. Clearly shifting gears. Becoming someone else so easily. Why couldn’t Bradley do that? “But I can tell you this,” he said, and his voice had gone grave and dim, “and I know you and I don’t always see eye-to-eye on politics—but I can tell you this, professionally, because I respect you, and I care about you, a lot—you’re going to have to keep it a secret.”

Dismayed, Bradley said, “Why?”

“Why’s a funny question to ask about something like this,” said Uncle Ice curtly. He shrugged. “Why? Because it’s the law. That’s why.”

Bradley swung his bat at the hornets’ nest. This was always dangerous with Uncle Ice. “It shouldn’t be a law. Don’t you think?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. It’s the law. And we get paid to enforce the law, internationally speaking. And the military doesn’t work if personnel refuse to follow the rules in broad daylight. So.” He trailed his fingertip along the spines of all his precious books, then eventually found a different one, started flipping through it absentmindedly. “And even if it weren’t the law, it’d still get enforced extrajudicially. You know what that means?” He did that, when he was intentionally being cruel; used big words that Bradley didn’t know to make himself sound smarter. “It means outside the law. The way people talk to you. The way people respect you or don’t respect you. And this business, the one you want to go into, is all about respect. Being a pilot is kind of like being a knight: you have to be noble, you have to be honorable, you have to respect your service and your adversaries and yourself. And because I respect you, and because I care about you a lot, I’m just telling you the truth—you’re going to have to keep it a secret.”

Bradley blinked. There was something crushing and overwhelming about the truth—maybe the fact that it was the truth, maybe the fact that he hated the fact that it was the truth. It made sense. But it also meant his future was unspeakably bleak. He tried to speak over the lump in his throat when he said, “Yeah. That’s what Maverick told me, too.” And what he’d wanted to hear from Uncle Ice was that Uncle Mav was telling a lie. 

Something went soft and slightly wounded in Uncle Ice’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” Uncle Ice said gently. “I wish I could give you better advice than that. But that’s all I know. I don’t know any more than that.”

“Don’t you want to know more than that?”

“No.”

And thus did the generational gap widen into a chasm. 

—

[February 2003.]

Dear SN Bradshaw, / Please call/email/write me back when you get a chance. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[August 2003.]

Dear AN Bradshaw, / I hope you’re doing all right. I hope at some point you and I can get in touch to talk. Please let me know if there is some other address I should be sending my letters to. I am not sure if they are finding you. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[May 2004.]

Dear AN Bradshaw, / I wanted to congratulate you on your acceptance to college. Yours is a very good AE program & you should feel very proud. Please let me know if there’s anything you might need as you prepare to start your first year. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[August 2010.]

Dear LT Bradshaw, / I wanted to let you know that I’ll be at NAS Oceana for a conference from December 6-9. I understand that’s your neck of the woods—would you be interested in having dinner with me on either that Tuesday or Wednesday night? I would love to hear how you’ve been doing. You can reach my secretary at the number below. / Love Uncle Iceman.

…

[October 2014.]

Dear LT Bradshaw, / We Maverick and I want to wish you a Happy Birthday 30th Birthday. We heard you are deployed out in the Atlantic now—we hope you will be able to enjoy the enclosed gift card when you make it back to terra firma. Our updated personal cell numbers are below. / HAPPY BIRTHDAY! FROM UNCLE MAVERICK & Uncle Iceman.

…

“Haven’t heard back from the kid yet.”

“…You think we ever will?”

The longest silence.

—

[Pacific Air Type Commander Beau Simpson. 2016.]

You could see it in the way they held themselves. An utmost similarity. Aristocratic propriety. Maybe a little sense of entitlement: look how hard we’ve worked to be here. All three of them had it. More accurately: Captain Mitchell and Admiral Kazansky both had it, and had passed it down to their son.

“Captain Mitchell.” Everyone was watching. The sun had only just set; the sky was melting from horizon-red through orange and yellow and teal up to midnight black above them.

“It’s an honor, sir,” said Captain Mitchell, accepting Admiral Kazansky’s handshake. God, you’d never know it by looking at them. Half the people here on this Roosevelt flight deck knew about them, but they were so convincing that more people weren’t sure. TYCOM Simpson glanced at Rear Admiral Bates, who glanced back in confusion—I thought they were…? They were, TYCOM Simpson signaled, just abnormally good at keeping it a secret.

“Honor’s all mine, Captain,” said Admiral Kazansky, and he passed by without a second glance.

And when he made it down the line of aviators to Lieutenant Bradshaw—you could see it. The similarity in the way they held themselves. Straight and rigid and unyielding. Cold and dismissive beyond belief, even to each other. Admiral Kazansky held out a hand. Lieutenant Bradshaw took it, but refused to make eye contact. Quiet rebellion under the radar: Admiral Kazansky had taught him well. 

TYCOM Simpson glanced at Captain Mitchell, to gauge his reaction. And for once, he and Captain Mitchell were clearly thinking the exact same thing.

Like father, like son.

You could see it in their stubborn determination. How far they were willing to go. How hard they were willing to push. How long they were willing to hold their own hands to the fire, if it meant the familiar painful comfort of staying warm. “Ice-cold, huh?” TYCOM Simpson asked him the next morning, trying to pin down their strategy, trying to secure a guarantee that their family would do what their country asked of them, even if that meant death. Even if that meant the ultimate sacrifice.

“Only when I have to be,” replied Admiral Kazansky, which meant always, and—soon thereafter, he ordered Lieutenant Bradshaw to his death.

But also, Lieutenant Bradshaw went willingly, too.

“Dagger One is hit.”

“Dagger Two is hit.”

Loss is supposed to hit a man in stages. Isn’t that the truth? —Not so for Admiral Kazansky, whom grief obviously swallowed whole in just an instant. He did not break, or bend under its weight. Just stood there staring at the E-2D AWACS screen with wide wounded eyes—not disbelieving eyes. They were gone. Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradshaw were gone. He was in no denial whatsoever. He had leapt straight to acceptance.

“Sir,” said TYCOM Simpson hesitantly, and he reached out to touch him—the stars on his shoulder—guide him back to reality—what must it be like, to lose a son?—to willingly forfeit your family?—

But before he could make contact, Admiral Kazansky drew a breath, moved away, and closed his eyes for just a second. Perfectly composed, even with the waters of grief closing over his head, even with three dozen observers in this C2 room all scrutinizing him for his response. Perfectly composed. How did he do it? How could he manage? How was he possibly still this proud?

“Vice Admiral Simpson,” he said calmly, “I relinquish my command to you, until you deem me necessary to return to my post.”

“Sir,” said Rear Admiral Bates, darting panicked, sympathetic eyes to TYCOM Simpson, but it was too late—Admiral Kazansky was already leaving the room. Head held high and steady. 

Some confusing weeks later, after Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradshaw returned from the dead, TYCOM Simpson and Rear Admiral Bates would casually debrief the mission together in the lobby bar of the Waldorf-Astoria in Washington, D.C. No hard liquor, just beers. Just barely enough alcohol to give them an excuse to philosophize. “You think pride is a sin or a virtue?” TYCOM Simpson found himself asking, tracing the rim of his gilt-edged Stella Artois glass with a finger, after having recounted the above testimony.

“Neither,” said Rear Admiral Bates. “Gotta be a vice.”

“A vice.”

“Yeah. Good men die because of pride, bad men die because of pride…we send our sons to battle because of pride…wars are fought and won and lost because of pride… every war in human history, when you boil it down, begins when someone says, ‘You’re wrong and I’m right, and I’m proud of my own righteousness, proud enough to kill, proud enough to die, proud enough to send my sons to die…’”

“Oh, okay. That’s the root of all human conflict, then, according to you, Warlock. Okay.”

Rear Admiral Bates smiled and laughed at himself, too. Pride, he mouthed. Then shook his head. “We’re a proud species. It’s our vice.”

TYCOM Simpson was thinking about the two proudest men he knew, Admiral Kazansky and Lieutenant Bradshaw, and wondered what it was, exactly, that had driven a wedge between them, you’re wrong and I’m right and I’m proud enough of my own righteousness to send you to your death/inflict my death upon you… And then he remembered the warnings he’d previously received about Lieutenant Bradshaw and Lieutenant Seresin and their open relationship, and then he remembered Admiral Kazansky coldly shaking Captain Mitchell’s hand… and he wondered if the wedge between them was exactly that: the matter of pride.

—

[Tom. 2018.]

“Merry Christmas and a happy new year, and all that,” says Pete, raising his glass and reaching over the dining table to clink rims with Tom and then Bradley. “A good year! A really good year! —Sorry your guy couldn’t be here, Rooster. We’ll call him tonight before you go. Tell him we miss him.”

“Where is he again?” Tom asks.

“Washington,” Bradley says with a smile. “Big conference at the Pentagon. I’ll see him next week.”

“You know,” Pete says with a sly grin directed at Tom, “I’ve never actually heard the story of how you two got together.” 

“Oh,” Bradley says, shrugging as he tears open a dinner roll, “not that interesting. Pretty much what you’d expect. Inter-squadron competition-turned-sexual tension. Not exactly within regs, but we did meet each other before D.A.D.T. got repealed, so it wasn’t like we’d’ve ever been within regs, either…” (All the while, Tom’s smirking over the rim of his wine glass at Pete, No, Mav, I’m not gonna tell him I had them reassigned to the same boat…) “We broke up when I got sent to TOPGUN. But we figured it out eventually.”

“Glad you did. Sorry he couldn’t be here.”

Bradley hesitates, then says, “You know what I just realized? I never heard how you two got together…! You’ve never told me that story!”

Tom glances over at Pete, do you want to take this or shall I, and when Pete motions all yours, he sighs and says, “Uh, we don’t really know. We’ve just been telling people nineteen-eighty-six because it’s easy. But in a much more real sense…” He thinks about it, then shrugs. “Whatever. If you really want to know. In nineteen-ninety-three, right after I came back to San Diego to take command at Miramar, he and I had a drunken one-night stand. By accident. Which then turned into twenty-five years of accidental one-night stands. So.”

“Oh, c’mon. You guys bought a house together.”

“Yeah, that,” says Pete, “that was, uh, to facilitate the accidental one-night stands. Make it more convenient for everyone.”

“Cut out the middle-man,” Tom supplies, then shrugs again at the look on Bradley’s face. “That’s our story, kid. It’s not super romantic. We weren’t thinking about it that way. We didn’t know how.”

Pete raises the wine bottle to refill Tom’s glass—though it’s still halfway full—and then raises his eyebrows when he “notices” the bottle’s empty. Changes the subject as he stands: “Okay, what’s everyone feeling? Red, white, what’s next?”

“Red,” Tom says absently. “Anything big, I guess—first cab you see…” But then he thinks about it, and he amends his order before Pete leaves earshot: “Actually—we’ve got that petite sirah we gotta drink—two-thousand-four. Israeli. Might be somewhere in the back, sorry. But now’s a good occasion, I think, to bust it out for the holidays. No reason to save it.”

“Israeli sirah two-thousand-four,” Pete repeats, “okay. I got that.” 

Then he steps outside, leaving Tom and Bradley alone. It’s not awkward—they’ve worked really hard over the last two years to make it not-awkward, after the mission—but human beings are human beings. Prideful, stubborn creatures. There will always be a little guilt between the two of them, and a little blame.

“I have to be honest,” Tom says after a moment, interested in being honest for Bradley’s sake, “sorry we don’t have a better story to give you, about us. It is a little hard to talk about.”

“Why?”

“Well—we don’t know the words we’re supposed to use, for one. It’s your generation who sets the standard for that kind of thing. You young people. We’re a little out-of-date. And…well. I guess we’re just jealous of you. It’s hard to talk about.”

“Jealous?” Bradley repeats quizzically. “Why?”

Tom leans back in his chair and really thinks through what he wants to say. This is one of those impromptu speeches you never really intend to make, but are probably still important to get off your chest. “Maverick and I,” he starts carefully, “will never stop feeling guilty about what we did to you. Ever. You need to know that.” And when Bradley scoffs and huffs and tries to interrupt, he goes on, “Not just pulling your papers from the Academy. It goes back further than that. We will always feel like we deprived you of your father. The merits of that feeling are debatable, sure, but it’s a fact of life. A fact of our lives, anyway. And it’s dictated so much of how we live, and how we’ve lived, over the past thirty years. Part of the reason I came back to Miramar in nineteen-ninety-three was to be with you and your mom. Because I felt I owed you that, in return for what I’d taken.”

“You didn’t kill him,” Bradley says. “Or, at least, I never blamed you for killing him. You or Maverick both. You guys were my dads. You didn’t take anything from me. —Excepting the obvious, the Academy, but that was mostly my mom, I guess, so, whatever.”

“I’m just telling you what our lives have been like since the day I met you. Why we did what we did.”

“Okay. But I still don’t understand why you’re jealous.”

Tom smiles, a little faintly. “Because the other part of the reason I came back to Miramar in nineteen-ninety-three was to be with Maverick,” he says, “and I’m jealous of you because I didn’t recognize that at the time. —Everyone hopes, when they have kids—because, look, I’m not your dad, but you are my kid, really—everyone hopes they can bring their kid into a better world than the one they had when they were a kid, and we did. But no one prepares you for how jealous you get when your kid grows up in a better world than you did. I’m not sure people your age understand how hard it was for us when we were your age.”

“I do.”

“Sure, but I don’t think you do. I—I didn’t…” He sighs. “I never meant to fall in love with Mitchell. He never meant to fall in love with me. There certainly were men in relationships in the Navy back then who could make it work—we weren’t those guys. We looked down on those guys. Most people did. And when you were an officer, your job security and your paycheck relied on your subordinates’ respect for you. If we’d rocked the boat, traded away our respect for our relationship, well, we’d have each other, but we’d be out of a job. And then, if we’d been fired—what did we kill all those people for? For nothing! What a waste of all the lives we took! It wouldn’t have been honorable. Would’ve disrespected the Navy, our careers, the men we killed. So we didn’t talk about our relationship. You know that. Didn’t talk about who we were, or what we were doing, or why, because we were afraid of losing our own honor. Didn’t talk about it until the day you two died and came back from the dead. That’s what it took. Maverick still hates talking about some of that stuff, all the labels, all the words—that’s why I sent him to get a bottle at the back of the fridge, he might be out there a while…”

“Cunning,” Bradley says softly, but leaves the space open after he speaks.

Tom looks away. “Maybe this is getting too deep into the weeds. I’m just trying to tell you what it’s been like for us. Not sure how much of this you want to hear.”

“All of it. —All of it.”

Tom clears his throat. “…Well, Maverick keeps trying to convince me that we never wasted any time. And I know there is some truth to that—we didn’t start out liking each other at all—even if we’d been as brave as people your age are nowadays, even if we’d been open with each other about that kind of stuff, we still probably wouldn’t have ended up together. I mean, we really didn’t like each other. Especially right after your dad died, and especially after you left, in two-thousand-two. So maybe it was better for us in the long run that we didn’t talk about it. But I look back on the thirty years I’ve spent with him, and…it still all feels like a waste to me.” Maybe he really is too deep into the weeds. But he just wants Bradley to understand. “Look, Mitchell is, beyond any possible shadow of a doubt, the love of my life. Always has been and always will be. Right? —I just wish I’d known that at the time. I’m jealous of you because you’re exactly the age I was when I came back to Miramar to be with you and your mom and Maverick, and you’re already married, and you won’t ever have to sacrifice any of your honor for your marriage. You’re one of the most respected men in the Navy.”

“So are you, Ice, and you’re also married to another man.”

“I’ll remind you, though it hurts a little, that I’m almost exactly a quarter-century older than you, and you and I got married within a week of each other. I had to wait for times to change.” He holds Bradley’s gaze for a moment, then finishes the last of his dinner and sets his fork down on his plate. “So, if you were ever wondering why Mav and I are a little bitter around you and Jake, well, it’s because we are.”

“Oh,” says Bradley. “See, I always thought it was just because you and Maverick are both notoriously bitter people.”

“We are,” Tom admits through a laugh. Then he continues, “But—you should also know how proud of you we both are. How proud of you we’ve both always been. We’re not very brave men—well, we are, of course, but maybe not in the way that matters. It’s pretty gratifying to have a kid who’s braver than you are. Every parent’s dream, whether we want to admit it or not. You’re brave enough for all of us.”

It’s at this moment that Pete opens the garage door and sticks his head inside and hollers, “Ice, I can’t find it. What about a merlot? Can we do a merlot?”

“No, baby, the sirah,” Tom answers without turning his head. “It’s on the second shelf, you might—have to rearrange some of the bottles—we have too much wine. We need to drink more, me and you.”

“Not a problem,” says Pete, and he shuts the door again.

“It’s on the third shelf,” Tom tells Bradley in an aside. “He’ll find it eventually. He would’ve tried to change the subject six times by now. —The previous Secretary of the Army—he actually just got married this week, I think; I need to send a card—also gay. He and his partner invited Maverick and me out to dinner the last time we were in D.C. Most uncomfortable I’ve ever seen Mav in my whole life. Asking us questions like, ‘How did you guys get together…?’ ‘Was it easier for you guys because you were in the Navy…?’ ‘When did you…know…?’” When Bradley laughs, Tom does, too. It’s really nice, it turns out, to joke about this stuff with someone who understands. “We just made our answers up out of thin air. I was uncomfortable too, admittedly. That’s what I’m saying. Mav and I never learned the vocabulary to answer questions like that.”

Bradley starts taking their plates to the sink. What a good kid. “You know,” he says from the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder when Tom joins him at the counter, “it’s so funny you bitch that you and Mav don’t have a romantic love story, or whatever. When I was a kid, you and him were literally the pinnacle of romance.”

“Oh, really.”

“Yeah. There’s something romantic about the secret, too. When Jake and I made our relationship official—the first time—I begged him to keep it a secret just for a little while. You know; it was sexy, for a few minutes! Something only he and I knew!”

“And you immediately discovered how awful it is, I’m sure,” Tom says noncommittally. “I’m jealous of you that you learned that lesson young. —Yeah, real romantic. Maverick and I could’ve ended each other’s careers fourteen thousand times over. Real romantic.”

“And trusted each other not to,” Bradley points out—

—which makes Tom reconsider. 

Yeah, okay, maybe it’s a little romantic. The way Grimm’s fairytales, once you wipe away all the blood, are just a little romantic. “I’m of the opinion that the only thing getting old is good for is looking back on your life through rose-colored glasses. Sure. Historical revisionism it is. It was a little romantic.”

“What’s a little romantic?” says Pete, stepping into the kitchen and triumphantly brandishing his 2004 petite sirah; “Have I missed something funny? —It was on the third shelf, by the way. Could’ve told me that before I went and reorganized the whole fridge.”

Tom graciously accepts the half-annoyed kiss to the cheek, and answers, “Nothing you would’ve laughed at, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, one of those conversations,” says Pete, hunting around in the drawer for the corkscrew. “If you were planning on continuing, I can go out and rearrange the wine bottles by region instead of by year—” and scoffs when Tom kisses him back to reassure him, conversation’s over.

“Did you know,” Bradley says, “your husband is now openly calling you the love of his life?”

“Oh, yeah,” says Pete with a smile, popping the cork from the bottleneck, “he tells me that all the time. Nothing new.” Tops up their glasses, then deftly changes the subject: “Oh, gosh. I never asked. This is the big news. How are you and Hangman enjoying SOUTHCOM?”

“Oh, God,” says Bradley, rolling his eyes. “Let me tell you…”

“I think we did good,” Pete says later that night—they’re alone now, so he’s fine talking—as he tugs loose the tucked sheets to clamber into bed, and when Tom moves to turn off the light he adds, “No, you can keep reading.”

Tom sets his book down onto his chest and pulls his glasses off anyway. “Well, you and I are known for doing ‘good,’” he muses after a second. “We’re pretty universally renowned for being good at stuff. But, regarding what in particular? —Raising our kid?”

“Yeah. We did good.”

Actually, they didn’t do very well at all. But of course that’s not what Pete means. Pete means: it’s shocking and stunningly fortunate that they did as poorly as they did and still somehow ended up with such a good kid. Tom’s looking up at the ceiling and feeling very small. “How did that happen? Genuinely, how did that happen? I did always build getting married into my plan for my life—but I never thought far enough ahead to consider having kids. And now you and I have a kid who’s in his thirties. How’d that happen? I remember when he could barely walk!”

Pete yawns and rolls over onto his side and closes his eyes. “You and I have a kid who earned a Medal of Honor.”

“I know exactly how that happened” —and doesn’t like to think about it too much. “I suppose we’re just a family of overachievers. A lot of failing upwards, you and me. Somehow we failed our way upwards into a very happy lifelong relationship, a superstar kid…a few dozen medals each, ourselves…”

“That’s life,” says Pete sleepily.

“That is not most people’s lives. You’re aware that our lives look nothing like the average person’s life, right? You understand that?”

“That’s our life.”

Tom considers this. Yeah, it is their life. Wild how that happens. 

He smiles at the singular word life, sets his book on the nightstand, presses a kiss to Pete’s bare shoulder, and turns off the light.

[bimobuddy]

Cheering up a Clown (Helluva)

Helluva Boss tk fic

Asmodeus x Fizzaroli

CW - Suggestive joke, but no actual NSFW content takes place.

Takes place after S2-E6 (spoilers)

Summary: Fizz is upset about his friendship situation with Blitzø, Ozzie decides to cheer him up

Fizz looked down at his metallic hands and sighed a little. His right arm a slightly lighter shade than his left, having been just recently replaced after the kidnapping incident.

He had spent fifteen years angry at his best friend, not talking to him, and the thing that brought them back together was a hostage situation. He knew logically what happened to him was a genuine accident, but getting over fifteen years of anger and sadness was easier said than done. And that bothered him.

"Deep in thought, are we?"

Fizz turned to look up at Ozzie, changed into his robe for the evening. "Hey, there's my Big C-" "You're making a rooster pun to avoid talking about it, Fizzy." Darn, he knew him well. Ozzie sat on the large bed next to his tiny partner. "If you want to talk, Fizz, I'm here to listen." He said with the most love and compassion Fizz had ever heard from anyone in Hell. And the fact that it was directed at him made Fizz want to open up.

"Blitzø and I made up during that hostage situation.. I wouldn't have escaped if not for him, and I realized the whole.. blowing up incident.. it was a genuine accident on his end," He looked up at Oz, who was listening, nodding every once in a while, "I also learned he tried to visit me multiple times, but the staff at the circus told him I didn't want to see him, and they never told me he came to see me.. They lied to us, Ozzie, to keep us from talking." He felt tears start to sting his eyes, both from anger at the situation, and sadness that he had lost fifteen years with someone he had considered his best friend.

Upon seeing the tears, Asmodeus was quick to scoop up his little clown partner and hold him in one arm, using the other to wipe his tears away. "Fizzy, dear, it's going to be alright. I can't tell you that the pain will just go away, but remember we don't die of old age, you have an eternity to rebuild this relationship with him, if that's what you want." Fizz looked up at him and nodded. Ozzie continued, "I also can't say I know how you feel, but I can imagine it's probably very frustrating, upsetting, and difficult to fully process right now. Right?" Fizz nodded again.

Oz sighed, "My poor little froggy, I hate seeing you so hurt," He gently pressed their foreheads together. With Fizz having robotic limbs, this was how they cuddled or showed affection, as his head was the most sensitive part of him now. He continued, "Everything will work out, alright? It will take time and effort, and I'll support you every step of the way, but it will work out."

Fizz managed a smile and nuzzled his forehead again, his tail flicking a little. Ozzie smiled right back and held him closer. "Hey, there's my happy little Jester, where'd ya go?" He joked, causing Fizz to giggle. It was quiet and soft, since he had just been crying. It was a start, but not enough for Ozzie.

He started to pepper kisses over Fizz's forehead and face, while a gentle hand skittered up his side. "Smile, Fizzy~" Fizzaroli arched his back and leaned away out of instinct, rough giggles bubbling from his chest. "Ohohozziihihie!" He giggled, turning his head to hide his face in his lover's fluff. Oz simply followed him, tickling side to side over his tummy, how he knew Fizz liked it, even if he'd never admit it. He paid attention to his little gremlin.

Fizz arched and squirmed and curled up, but never truly made an effort to get away or ask him to stop. He'd let out half hearted 'nooo's and 'please' but never did he communicate that he wanted it to stop yet. "Ohohozzie, nohoho!" He squealed as Ozzie pinched at his lower sides, just above his hips, which made him curl up, and giggle much harder, gently swatting at his hands.

Ozzie brought Fizz up higher and nuzzled into his tummy, something he knew drove Fizz up the wall. Fizz immediately started to push against the rooster's head, kicking his legs out (careful not to actually hit Oz), while he giggled so hard, his sides would ache later. His tail went wild, waving from side to side. "Ohohoz, nohohoho, ihit tihihihickles!" Oz chuckled into Fizz' tummy, which only made it worse. "It tickles? Well that is kind of the point, Fizzy." Fizz shook his head, causing the bells on his hat to jingle. "Ihihit tihickles bahahad!" "And yet you haven't told me to-" "Stohop!"

Instantly, Ozzie stopped, and held Fizz close. He gave him enough time and space to breathe, and once he knew he was fine, Oz pressed their heads together again. "Feeling better?" He asked. Fizz let out another giggle, "Yeah.. I am." he said, stretching his arms around the bigger demon.

"Good, that's all that matters to me right now." Ozzie replied, laying down with Fizz on his chest. The former clown was quick to fall asleep, tired and feeling loved, and Oz was close behind.

[foreverrandomwritings]

🍨Bowl of ice cream: rooster and peach

Just Peachy

Summary: Bradley visits you at work and stumbles upon you in a peach sized predicament.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x afab!Reader

Warnings:Super fluffy, brief mention of frisky business, one curse word, that's all?

Word count: 1105

Masterlist Taste of Twenty-Five Masterlist

The sweet smell of peach was the first thing Bradley noticed when he walked into the little bakery. He stood by the door scanning the shop as he tucked his aviators into his old academy shirt that was a bit too small on him but made his biceps look devine so he refused to part with it. He took in a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes briefly the smell of all the different sweets overtaking his senses. 

“She’s in the back you weirdo.” The brass voice of your younger sister flew his way. His eyes snapped open glancing in the eighteen year olds direction. He felt the smirk coming upon his lips as he sauntered around the customers that were milling about the store. He lifted the counter top and slipped through the opening before speaking to her.

“You’re mighty bold today I see.” He and your sister had a nice back and forth relationship. The closest thing to a sibling bond he’s ever had. She had been working in your bakery for a couple months now, needing some money and a part time job while in college. 

“You were scaring off all the customers standing by the door with your creepy pornstache.” She kept her voice low and gestured towards the door of the shop with the hand that wasn’t writing on a small chalkboard sign. He glanced at the words briefly, noticing something about peaches but not really focusing on what it said. 

“Hey, you said the stache looked just fine.” He held a hand over his heart and she rolled her eyes dramatically. The dramatic eye roll was one of the things you both had in common. 

“Get out of here, I’m sick of looking at your face.” He scoffed but did as she said, turning around and finding his way into the kitchen. He spotted your form quickly, huddled over a cutting board, knife in hand. He was quiet as he snuck up behind you, his arms wrapping around your middle as he pressed himself into your back. 

“How are you doing today, hot stuff?” His nose was buried in your neck before you could respond. You giggled lightly at the feeling of his mustache tickling your neck. 

“I am just peachy.” You giggled at your own joke as you looked down at the peach in your hand. He peered over your shoulder and let out a small laugh as well. 

“Not that I’m not happy to see you but I thought you were working late today.” You had set down the knife and the peach in your hand. You grabbed the towel tucked into your apron and wiped your hands off quickly. Bradley stepped back a foot letting you turn around. You leaned your back against the counter and gave him a sweet smile. 

“I did work late, it's already seven.” His eyes flicked to the clock hanging on the wall across the room. Your eyes got wide in return quickly flipping your wrist over to check the time on your watch. The bakery didn’t close for another hour and a half but you were still surprised at the time. 

“Oh my. I didn’t even realize it was getting so late. I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with all these peaches for hours.” You gestured around the room and that’s when Bradley noticed the insane amount of peaches crowding the space. 

“This is an awful lot of peaches babe.” He held his lips together tightly trying to hold in a laugh at the bewildered look on your face. 

“I’ve already made like ten peach pies, a couple dozen muffins, two cakes and a dozen scones.” You threw your hands up in emphasis, eyes widening every so slightly.

“Is there a reason you have so many peaches?” He was genuinely curious, typically when you had a big order of anything you’d let him know. He however hadn’t heard of any big orders involving peaches from you recently. 

“If someone hadn’t distracted me while I was ordering produce last week I wouldn’t have ordered this many.” Your eyes narrowed at him, cheeks heating at the memory of last week, shifting on your feet. 

“You weren’t complaining last week.” He had a cheshire grin on his lips now. You had been in the office when he came in last week. Clad in his flight suit and a black t-shirt that hugged him in all the right ways. Things had gotten a little heated and had left you distracted while you were putting in your orders for the week. So instead of the twenty peaches you wanted to order for a few muffins and scones you had planned to bake you had received two hundred peaches. 

“Since you’re the one that put me into this mess you are gonna help me out of it.” It was your turn to have a large smile on your face. His eyebrows shoot up at the mischievous look in your eye. 

“Go wash your hands and grab an apron. You're gonna help me cut up some of these to freeze.” He groaned loudly as the words left your mouth. He didn’t actually mind helping however, it reminded him of all the times he would help his mom and grandmother in the kitchen growing up.

“Can I at least have a kiss first?” He puckered his lips at you and you looked as though you were contemplating whether or not you were gonna kiss him. He was about to complain before you stood on your tiptoes to land a quick kiss upon his lips. 

“Now get to work.” He gave a mock salute and made his way to grab an apron hung up by the sink. He tied it quickly before washing his hands and coming to stand beside you again. 

“How’d I get lucky enough to get such a take charge girlfriend?” The question was rhetorical and you both knew it but that didn’t stop you from answering him as you passed him his own cutting board, knife and bowl, the carton of peaches sat between you. 

“You have a really nice ass is all.” You shrugged at him nonchalantly giggling at the way his nose scrunched up. 

“Good to know that’s all you needed.” He looked at you however and instead of the smell of peaches taking over his senses it was the way you were looking at him. Your eyes held so much love and adoration it was all consuming. There would never be a day that he wouldn’t remind you just how lucky he was to call you his. 

A/N:This has taken forever to write and I am so sorry. I am hoping to get to the rest very soon. Thank you all for reading, likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

Tags(open): @wkndwlff @sylviebell @kmc1989 @eternallyvenus @loving-and-dreaming