#the rooster stache

[bradshawsbaby]

I’ll be forever mourning the Rooster Stache™️

[roosterbruiser]

VOULEZ-VOUS FINALE

Spans from December, 1978--December, 1992

Los Angeles, CA

She opens a bank account. Her bruise plays a big role in this chapter. 

Another house party with just the gang. Cherry and Hangman are pretty much high the whole time. Everyone does a little bit of coke besides Rooster. She reads everyone’s palms.

Jake plays the tape of him and Cherry for everyone and Rooster gets pissy about it. And he tries to say it’s because he never watches his own stuff so he doesn’t understand why Jake does. And Cherry has to be like…relax, man. I fuck everyone. 

Rooster sulks outside, smoking a cigar. And Cherry finally goes outside and sits on his lap and asks him what’s going on. He’s too afraid to admit that he’s in love with her. So he just says that he likes the way things have been and he doesn’t want things to change. She assures him they won’t. 

And like she can sense that he needs it, she fucks him that night. Stays with him. Except there’s a moment where he tries to slow her down, holding her hips, helping her rock. And she lets him for a second--it feels good. It feels really, really good. But then she’s awash with something that feels too big and she takes over again and goes fast.

Rooster tells her that he sleeps very deeply when she sleeps with him. It feels like he’s saying that he loves her. 

Los Angeles, CA May 29th, 1979

Jake’s guilty but unwilling to talk about things. They haven’t told anybody about what happened. They have a little get-together and watch some of the films Cherry has made and Rooster privately broods. She babies him--sits on his lap while he smokes a cigar. And then they have sex that night. It’s the first time they actually make love. 

How come she can be sweet with Jake and not make it sexual but she can’t do that with Rooster?

Her and Rooster are like achingly close to being a couple. She’s spending all her time with him, they seem to have found some sort of domestic bliss together. She’s getting more money and he helps her open a bank account. 

He is close to telling her that he loves her. But something that keeps happening is everytime they have an intimate moment together, she tries to get sexual with him. And he doesn’t know how to tell her now so he does it. 

It comes to a head when Hangman is over one night. Her and Rooster go to bed and he is just holding her, kissing her, about to say he loves her. And she tries to initiate sex. And he lets it get to her sitting naked on top of him before he stops her. They have a small warble because she feels rejected and he doesn’t know how to explain to her that she doesn’t always have to fuck him. 

So she gets out of bed and fucks Hangman. Then she sleeps in her own room. 

Los Angeles, CA June 9th, 1979

Things are a bit stilted between her and Rooster now. She’s back on her bullshit with Jake, doing coke all the time and partying. It’s like what happened to her meant nothing. It didn’t touch her deeply enough for anything to change, especially since her and Rooster are in such a weird spot right now. And Rooter is too worried about something happening to Cherry, so he’s been accompanying them. 

Cherry is feeling things for Rooster and it scares her. She is starting to get special treatment from people because they’ve seen her films. A few people ask for autographs.

Somewhere in here, Phoenix paints a portrait of Cherry.

One night at the disco, a woman approaches Rooster and she’s kind of all over him. But he’s just watching Cherry. And when Cherry comes back to the table, he says he’s ready to go and she says she wants to keep partying. The woman wants to fuck Rooster--Cherry can tell. She sees Rooster pushing her off and tells Rooster that he should just take her home.

They get into a spat about it and he ends up leaving with the woman and fucking her at home. But he can’t finish. He doesn’t know why. He lets her stay the night, but he doesn’t sleep in the bed. Really, he doesn’t sleep at all. He just paces. 

Los Angeles, CA June 23rd, 1979

Cherry films a scene with Bob--nurse and patient. Then after, her and Bob go to the pier and she takes a walk with him. They get to know each other a little bit and he tells her what he knows about Rooster and Jake. They get to know each other. They both grew up on farms so they talk about it. They don’t fuck again. They have a friendship that translates off-screen and on. People like watching them fuck. But they never do it outside. 

When she goes home, Rooster is making dinner. Things have been a bit odd between them. But she’s just overwhelmed. So she goes into the kitchen and just holds him from behind. And he melts in her touch. But then she starts kissing his neck and grabbing his cock and he just gives in because he knows that’s the only way he’s gonna feel her love. They fuck that night, but he tenderly kisses what remains of her bruise. She never takes the necklace off. 

Cape Cod, MA July 1st-3rd, 1979

Phoenix has a vacation home on Cape Cod, so they all go to the house. It’s huge and beautiful and they’re all happy together. Cherry rooms with Rooster and it really excited him. 

They kind of act like a couple for a little while there. She’s taking bumps with Jake but everyone’s taking bumps. 

They have a few good days of just shopping and sun tanning and swimming and fucking. Maybe they play spin the bottle or seven minutes in heaven. Cherry ends up fucking everyone in the group during seven minutes in heaven. 

When her and Jake are swimming together one night, she notices a scar on the back of his leg that she’s never seen before. He says it’s a piece of Gentry’s skull--embedded there forever because it was too deep. They couldn’t get it out. 

For once, at the end of the night, Cherry is too tired to have sex. She asks Rooster if it’s okay if they just sleep. He says of course it is. He’s thrilled. He feels like this means something big. 

Cape Cod, MA July 4th, 1979

They drink all day. Cherry takes a few bumps with Jake. They go out boating. It’s a good time. Everyone is beautiful, everything is beautiful. 

They stay out on the water and watch the fireworks. She sits on Rooster’s lap all night. 

When they get home, everyone is tired. They all go to bed. Her and Rooster go to bed too and they make love. Like they actually make love for the first time--she lets him. And it’s so intense and she doesn’t know what to do and she’s scared. 

And he is so happy after. She can see that it pleased him so endlessly. And that terrifies her. 

He tells her that he loves her. She pretends like she’s asleep. He falls for it. 

Los Angeles, CA July 13th, 1979 

Films a swingers scene with Rooster, Phoenix, and Hangman. She’s starting to get recognized on the street now wherever she goes. People from out of town are the only ones brave enough to ask for a picture together and she never says no.

Rooster is waiting for the perfect moment to tell her that he is in love with her. He wants to get it right. He wants to leave the business and take her with him. He has enough money for the both of them to live off of handsomely forever. 

So then the four of them hang out at Phoenix’s place. Rooster sees the portrait of Cherry that she painted and says he wants to buy it. It’s the first piece of art he’s ever bought from Phoenix. 

Jake tries to outbid Rooster. They have a weirdly tense squabble over it before Cherry intervenes and outbids both of them. She buys the portrait herself. 

Later on, when her and Rooster go home, he turns on a record and asks her to dance with him. She’s confused because he never wants to dance. But then it’s a slow record and they slow dance and it feels good. She is in love with him maybe. But she’s having so much fun just fucking around, just being by herself, just doing whatever. 

And then he says he wants to tell her something. And she asks him to make her cum first. He does--twice. And then he tells her that he’s in love with her. She is terrified but she knows that she loves him too. She feels powerless against it. So she says she loves him too. 

Los Angeles, CA July 17th, 1979

Her and Rooster decide that they’re going to try monogamy. She’s scared, but she loves him. What else is there to do? The deal is that they only fuck other people for work. That’s it. Nothing outside of that. 

They announce it to their friends while they’re all on the beach together. Everyone is happy for them. Honestly, it’s a good day. Jake isn’t an asshole--he doesn’t think it’s gonna last, but he doesn’t say that. He’s still touchy with her, which is okay for now. 

That night, she takes a bath with Rooster. They tell each other about their childhoods. 

Los Angeles, CA August 11th, 1979

She films a cuckold scene with Rooster and Bob. 

Fucking other men on set isn’t helping. She wants to keep fucking other people. But she loves Rooster--she’s devoted to him. And it isn’t that he isn’t fulfilling her, it’s just that she’s a genuine nymphomaniac. 

Cute moments with her and Rooster--maybe them swimming. Maybe them shopping. You know. Cute stuff. You can do it!

Monterey, CA August 17th-August 20th, 1979

Rooster takes Cherry on a road trip. They go up the coast and stay in a little cottage on the water. It’s nice. It’s just them. He loves that it feels so domestic. She just loves him. She’s insatiable, though. She always wants it--she always wants to be fucked. 

Cherry wants to be with him but she’s afraid it won’t be enough. She’s trying so hard for it to be enough. For him. For Rooster. He tells her about his mom getting sick. 

Los Angeles, CA September 1979

Films a domination scene with Rooster.

Cherry and Rooster are in love. But she wants to be fucked all the time. 

There’s a scene where she tries to initiate sex and he doesn’t want to have sex. So she’s just frustrated. She has to touch herself and it just isn’t the same. 

She grabs a drink with Jake and they end up going back to his house. They do too much coke and end up sleeping together. They both feel terrible about it. 

She tells Rooster as soon as she gets home. And he forgives her and Jake immediately--I mean, it’s like handing a lighter to a pyromaniac. He gets it. He says that she can sleep with whoever she wants, as long as she comes home and is in bed with him every night. 

Los Angeles, CA October, 1979 

Films a Western thing with the full cast. 

She fucks someone else one night and then comes home. Her and Rooster eat dinner. They got to bed. He initiates sex and in the heat of the moment, while he’s being rough with her, he tells her that he’s fucking someone else’s cum into her. He calls her a whore. 

They stop. They’re both upset. They agree that it isn’t working. He asks her, as a last ditch effort, to quit porn and just be with him. She says no. They hold each other. In the morning, they agree to only fuck on set. 

Los Angeles, CA November, 1979

Summer camp with the full cast. When her and Rooster fuck, it’s very much them longing for each other. It’s heartbreaking, really. They kiss a lot. He still makes her cum. She misses him so much. Just a long hug after the shoot. 

She starts getting super into doing coke with Jake again. They’re hanging out all the time together. She’s still living with Rooster. But they’re achingly just friends--which is very hard for them. 

She’s kind of in a tailspin. She fucks everyone. She misses Rooster. 

Los Angeles, CA Late November, 1979

Her and Jake are hanging out, doing coke one night. They are talking and they start arguing. He says she doesn’t know the difference between sex and love. And they’re both high and they really get into it but then all of the sudden, he starts seizing. 

She rides with him in the ambulance. The paramedics recognize her and one of them asks for her autograph. Rooster meets her at the hospital. He and Cherry comfort each other. She’s very distraught. Jake is okay--they get to go in and see him after a few hours. They stay in the hospital with him for a while. 

When Rooster goes home to get him and Cherry some clothes, Jake tells her that he has something that he only wants to tell Cherry and she can’t tell anyone. She agrees. It’s very soft. She’s stroking his hair, they’re both crying. He said he met God and he licked his wounds. It was Gentry.

Los Angeles, CA December, 1979 

Cherry is still reeling from seeing Jake overdose. She asks Dennis if she can push the shoot back. He says no. Rooster and him get into it. 

Cherry shows up on set and Rooster and Dennis are arguing. Rooster tells Cherry that this is his last scene--ever. He’s leaving the business after this. This means several things: Cherry knows everyone will start to leave after him, they won’t fuck anymore, and she will miss him severely. 

It’s a make-me-a-star scene. Very sad.

Dennis insults Rooster and Cherry decks Dennis in the face. She busts his lip open good and wide.

Los Angeles, CA Late December, 1979

It’s just her and Rooster over Christmas. It’s her first one away from her folks. She signs another contract with Goldman Homevideos. Dennis forgives her--so he can keep making money from her.

The prologue ties in here. It is Dennis. He drugged her. 

She goes into Rooster’s room. He throws Dennis out. He cleans her up. It’s all very tender. She says she wishes that she could be what he wants her to be. He says that isn’t the issue here--the issue is that she can’t give herself to him fully. They hold each other. She still has the gold chain. She says that she thinks they’re soulmates. He says he’s always known it.

Los Angeles, CA November, 1980

It’s Cherry’s 23rd birthday. She celebrates with the whole crew. It’s a good party. 

Afterwards, Rooster gives her another gift. It’s when they’re alone together. He gives her two thick, fat gold rings. One has a C engraved on it and the other has an A engraved on it. He says that the next time Dennis acts up, she can scar him up real good. So that everyone knows he fucked with Cherry Arsan. 

Rooster finished Emmanuelle. He reads some out loud to her as they nurse their final cocktails of the night. They just go to sleep there on the couch together. They don’t have sex. 

Cape Cod, MA July, 1981 

They’re all at Phoenix’s house for the 4th again. Rooster, Payback, and Phoenix aren’t in the industry anymore. That leaves Cherry, Hangman, Coyote, and Fanboy. 

They swim and eat and all just love each other. It’s a good time. Cherry and Hangman aren’t officially a couple, but they may as well be. Cherry lives with him now and they’re fuck buddies, even though they fuck other people. 

But monogamy isn’t a thing. So she sleeps in Rooster’s bed because she misses him. And he misses her, too. They end up having sex and afterwards, Rooster is upset. He wants her. So he tells her that they can’t have sex again. It makes him miserable. 

Los Angeles, CA April, 1982

Phoenix is getting married. Everyone attends the wedding. They dance--except Rooster, who just watches. But when a slow song comes on, her and Rooster dance together. They dance to the song Something On Your Mind by Karen Dalton. 

He asks her if she ever wants to get married. They talk about it. She doesn’t know what she wants. She says that if she ever does get married, she hopes it’s him. But she doesn’t feel ready. He says he’ll wait for her. 

Only Hangman and Cherry are in the industry still.  

Los Angeles, CA December, 1983

It’s Christmas. It’s just Rooster and Cherry. 

Hangman is starting to spend Christmas with Gentry’s family. 

They’ve been doing this for a few years now. They reminisce all the years they’ve known each other and the way things have changed. She gets him very expensive cigars and a new gold chain since she still wears his. It’s very nice. He gets her a pair of shoes--nice, leather Mary Janes. And a pair of bell-bottoms. 

They don’t have sex, but she sleeps in his bed. He says it’s the only time he sleeps through the night. She kisses his forehead. 

Los Angeles, CA

June, 1984

It’s Rooster’s birthday now. They all celebrate with a big party at Rooster’s house. It takes place after, as she’s helping clean the place. Hangman quit the business. Cherry is getting her own place. 

On the off-hand, Cherry asks Rooster to grab her purse. He sees that there’s a gun in it. She says the world isn’t what it used to be. He begs her to leave and just be with him. Just love him. Isn’t he enough? It’s sad. 

This is when she also breaks the news to Rooster. Her and Hangman, during a coked up excursion in Las Vegas, got married. And when they came down, they decided they were gonna give things a go. Maybe not entirely monogamous, but devoted to each other. Rooster asks her if she regrets it. She says she doesn’t know yet, but she likes how warm he is in bed. Rooster is heartbroken, but also wise. He knows what they have isn’t going to last. They love each other the way an addict loves their next fix. There’s no longevity. What he and her have? That’s forever. He knows. He knows it. 

Los Angeles, CA October, 1985

Cherry is on the cover of Playboy in September. Her mother sends her a letter. She lets Rooster read it. It’s very, very sad. She’s upset about it. 

Rooster asks if she wants to go dancing to cheer her up. Bell Bottoms closed. So they just go for a swim. He skinny dips, just to cheer her up. She does, too. They almost have sex. Almost. But they stop in time. 

Her and Jake aren’t doing very well in their marriage. Their relationship is tumultuous and immature. They fight over everything…their next fix, their marriage, their cars, their jobs. They’ve lost their friendship.  

Los Angeles, CA January 1987

Cherry’s parents both die in a car accident. She finds out that they were in an immense amount of debt when they died, but they never asked her for help. She thinks that is sad and funny. Cherry would’ve given them money if she knew, but she didn’t. Her, Hangman, and Rooster go home to help with the house. She sees old people she’s fucked. Everyone ogles at her because they recognize her. The women give her hateful looks.

Her brother is terrible to her. Her parents left her nothing in their will--just what was in her childhood bedroom. She sees it--the way she left it when she was 21. Nothing is touched. They basically just boarded it up. 

It’s melancholy. 

Her, Rooster, and Hangman all squeeze into her childhood bed and sleep there together. It’s the worst sleep of her life. Between her husband and her soulmate. 

Los Angeles, CA February 1988

Rooster introduces Cherry to his fiance. Her name is Samantha. She’s an accountant. Samantha is older. Like maybe close to forty. She’s beautiful. They all have dinner together. Samantha very obviously doesn’t like Cherry, but she’s very cordial towards her. Cherry is becoming very insecure as she ages. She liked being the pretty young thing on the scene, liked that everyone was always calling her a baby. But she’s not so super young anymore. 

Jake, Cherry, and Bradley all go to dinner together to meet Samantha. Samantha and Bradley haven’t been together for very long. Cherry just got back from Italy and she’s talking a lot about herself. But she’s also coming to terms with the fact that she has an expiration date and it’s approaching. She’s struggling. Maybe she even talks about getting plastic surgery (which Samantha is super against). 

She kind of fishes for compliments, very vain, always checking her makeup. Samantha is a very forward-thinking woman who can hold her own. But she has very rigid standards of what she considers feminist and what she doesn’t. 

Samantha doesn’t like Cherry. Cherry is kind of being a bit off-putting and being touchy with Rooster and Jake. 

They get into a discussion about porn.

Samantha says Rooster regrets doing porn. And Cherry is asking him but he’s on the spot. He talks about how it was predatory and how Dennis used them, but her whole perspective is like sure, maybe it was predatory, but look at the fucking house we’re sitting in. Look at the fucking gold chain you’re wearing. Look at the fucking steak we’re eating right now, with the perfect marble. And Jake and Rooster say that Cherry got the worst of it and she’s like yeah, I did. But what do I have to complain about when I’m sitting here in a Chanel dress, wearing a string of saltwater pearls? 

So then Samantha brings up how when her and Rooster have kids, and if they have sons, they don’t want them to watch porn. Porn has such a negative effect on youth and it makes men violent. Cherry takes that as a personal offense. She says she doesn’t make men violent by having violent sex on camera--she has to have violent sex on camera because that’s what men want. 

Her and Hangman hang around after dinner, when Samantha goes home. Her and Rooster don’t live together yet. They all talk about the years that have passed and how times have changed.

They talk about children. What they all want in life. And Cherry and Hangman tell Rooster that they’re getting a divorce--a very amicable one. As soon as they decided to divorce, they became friends again. They tell Rooster, while laughing, about the last fight that they had. Cherry called Jake a cokehead loser who couldn’t get over his dead gay boyfriend. Jake called Cherry an orphaned sell-out with too-big tits. Rooster doesn’t think any of this is funny. 

Los Angeles, CA November-December, 1988

Cherry has an ectopic pregnancy. She has one egg drop and it ends up detaching in the wrong spot. She was a whole conversation with Rooster about it. Rooster comes to her in the hospital and won’t leave until she finishes eating. She’s very obviously struggling, even if she’s trying to still be fun and flirty and sexy. He asks whose it was. She says maybe Jake’s, but it’s anyone’s guess. 

He leaves but waits outside the door. He hears Cherry sobbing. When he walks back in, she’s curled into herself and facing away from him. He just crawls into bed behind her and holds her tight. 

The next month, Rooster invites Cherry over for dinner. Samantha is there. Samantha and Rooster are looking into fertility treatment because they want to start a family. And Cherry tries to talk to Samantha about it, but Samantha implies that her issues are different from Cherry’s and that she’s always known she was gonna have a hard time conceiving. 

So first of all, Cherry asks Rooster if he wants kids. And he says that maybe he does. And she says you’ve never told me that. And Samantha is like why would he? And Cherry says that they were together. And Samantha has hit the ceiling at this point. So she’s like yeah, he told me about it. You couldn’t stop fucking other men. 

Rooster stands up for Cherry. And Cherry and Rooster have an argument. Cherry is trying to be everybody’s baby and Rooster is upset by all this. She’s smoking a cigarette in his house and he tells her to take it outside. And she’s surprised bc he always bends the rules for her. And she won’t let Samantha take that. 

But then he says that they’re engaged. She isn’t the woman in his life. 

She leaves before she starts crying. 

Los Angeles, CA July 1989

It’s the night before the wedding. Cherry quit the industry a few months ago. Everyone’s at the hotel. It’s late. She’s sitting at the hotel bar by herself, nursing a glass of wine. Rooster ends up coming down. They talk all night. It’s a lot of reflection--all her time in the industry, what she learned about love and sex. What she learned about men and herself. And he just loves her so much. 

Cherry does not intend to ruin the wedding. She just tells Rooster that she wishes their timing had been better. She wishes she had been ready. She wishes she was his age. He tells her it’s too late for that now. That he is a good man with good intentions and there is a woman upstairs who he said he would marry. Cherry, very sadly and sweetly, says she knows he is a man of his word. She tells him that he is going to make a perfect husband and a perfect father. She squeezes his hand. 

She goes upstairs to her hotel room and feels immense grief, but relief as well. The back and forth is finally ending. There is no more will-they-won’t-they with them. He’s moving on. She is heartbroken, but genuinely very happy for him. 

There’s a knock on the door. It’s Rooster and he’s holding his suitcase. He tells her that she’s always had horrible timing. She says she’s been late to everything in her life. He leaves with Cherry.

Sonoma, CA December 1992

Cherry is 35 and Rooster is 45. They own a vineyard in Sonoma. They’re preparing things for Christmas with everyone. They make love before the fireplace. They’re lovingly getting their home ready for all their friends. They’ve got a couple dogs and some horses. Life is good--sweet. 

A few of them have kids, most everyone is married. Cherry and Rooster got married a few months after the wedding was called off. They’re happy. They’re really, really happy. They look through photo albums while they’re getting things out. All the photos Rooster took of her over the years--some of them are devastatingly sexy. But others are sexy in a quieter way--like a picture he took without her knowing, one where she’s sitting at the end of her bed and rolling lace stockings up her legs. Another where she’s sucking her finger in the reflection of the mirror to get the lipstick off her teeth. And some of the pictures aren’t sexy at all--they’re just beautiful. Cherry on their honeymoon in Maine, bundled up in a sweater with a scarf in her hair waving in the wind. Cherry behind the wheel of Rooster’s cherry-red car, grinning sweetly with her big sunglasses on. Cherry first-thing in the morning, hair messy and toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. It’s the way he’s always seen her, which is not the way most men of the world see her: as a person. As herself. As something to be loved and not just fucked.

Fin.                           

[roosterforme]

if tg3 happens be prepared to see some domestic bradley shit bc we know he'll be married or have a kid of his own in the 3rd one. they wouldn't have family be such a big topic in the last one if they werent planning on him having his own besides mav....also the return of the bradleystache?! keleigh better let him keep it this time

Don't worry, nonny. We already wrote it.

@mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls

[roosterforme]

BRRRRR

Gif Request Meme

@agreatandhonorablesoldier​ asked: Bradley + Body Parts

[nero4te]

Will. Not. Recover. From.This...Ever

[mebuposts]

yummy yummy yum yum yummmmmm

[bradshawsbaby]

I miss the stache so much 🥲

[roosterforme]

Forever bewitched by the stache.

Miles Teller as Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw in Top Gun: Maverick (2022)

[roosterbruiser]

“murmuring sweet things into their ears” with cherry and rooster 🥹🥹

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩

When you sleep, you're very quiet.

The kind of quiet that is made up of noiseless fluttering lashes and soft swallows and tiny sighs and satin sheets gliding across your skin like warm margarine on the smooth surface of brioche. You're smaller, too--smaller than you usually are. Knees drawn to your chest like a fetus, hands tucked under your pillow as if in prayer, cheek pressed against the bed with the slight weight of your dreams.

More than quiet, though--you're still.

You're finally fucking still. You're not bopping around the corner, ducking out of the room at a precise and crucial moment when Rooster is finally distracted enough to peel his vision from you, to take a bump with Jake. You're not stripping naked, pressing yourself up against the glass sliding doors and lewdly kissing the glass with your mouth open and tongue out while Rooster tries to make a business call. You're not flipping through his records while he reclines on the sofa with a drink and a cigar, insisting that he modernize his collection. You're not loudly singing How Deep Is Your Love while drinking your seventh Harvey Wallbanger, slinky nightgown slipping off your shoulders and bare toes digging into the rug in the living room.

Right now, you're very quiet and very still. You fell asleep as soon as he shifted the Thunderbird into gear, at first against your window with your lipstick staining the glass. But then Rooster leaned over, hooked his hand around the delicate column of your throat, and pulled you until your cheek was against his thigh and your body was stretched out across the leather seats.

And that's where you've been ever since--sleeping on his lap.

The two of you were out at dinner almost all night with the usual crowd--licking your fingers clean of the salt that covered the calamari, crunching the sugary ice from your Harvey Wallbanger's, laughing at everything and nothing, dancing to a few songs with Jake while everyone watched on.

Rooster knew you were tired--you usually are after your fifth or sixth drink, especially if you're not taking bumps every half hour. He noticed, too, that you had been seated for closer to two hours. That's almost a record for you at this point.

"Gonna knock out, Cherry-baby?" He asked you quietly, moving your hair from your ear, pressing a delicate kiss to the curve of your jaw.

With your elbows resting on the table and your disposition sunny--but your eyes heavy and your smile loose--you'd just softly shaken your head at him.

"Right," he said, all disbelief and sarcasm. He took a sip of his drink. "No sleep for the wicked, right?"

You stuck your tongue out at him and he leaned over quick, pressing his mouth against yours, welcoming your sugar-coated tongue.

"You're nasty," you whispered to him, obviously delighted.

"You make me nasty," Rooster whispered back.

Now Rooster is just driving around. Really, he could've been home a little bit over half an hour ago. But you're sleeping so soundly, so silently, so still that he can't bring himself to make the turn into the neighborhood. He just keeps making turns, chewing on a cigar as he listens to the radio on low.

He can feel every precious breath falling from your lips, all soft and delicate and warm. He's stroking your hair with one hand while he steers with the other, his own eyes growing heavy.

He glances at the clock--it's almost two.

He's just about to turn around, to finally start back home, when you turn your face suddenly. He looks down at you, brows raised in surprised, and you're blinking up at him with your eyes shining and bleary.

"Roo?" You whisper, slurring.

"Yeah, baby?" He responds, cupping your cheek.

"I love you so much," you whisper. "I just...I don't know what I'd do without you, daddy. I think I was lost before, you know?"

And then you're turning your cheek again, lulled by the movement of the car and Rooster's scent and the radio softly playing. You're warm all over from this love, from him, from the protection you feel.

Rooster's shocked for a moment--too stunned to speak. His heart is beating so hard, so fast, that he thinks it might fall out of his chest and into your hair. Squaring his jaw, he holds your hair.

"I'd do anything for you," Rooster whispers to you, though he knows you're sleeping again. A passing streetlight makes your face glow gold. "You saved me, baby. You saved me."

Rooster digs you all the time--in every state, in every way, in every fashion. But right now, right this second, it's the most he's ever loved you.

This feeling, that overwhelming affection that chokes him and coaxes him and makes him feel like his skin is being lit on fire from the inside out, swells up in him at least twice a week. And even thought it happens so often, he knows that it is true every time.

You snuggle further into him, deaf to his words.

"I love you," he finishes. "I really, really love you, Cherry-baby."

☿ 𝐚/𝐧: this is NOT a chapter obviously!! this is just a little oneshot that takes place sometime between chapter six-eleven. you can decide when!! it felt so good to get back into writing them!!

☿ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬

@thedroneranger

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[roosterforme]

The "Stache! Stache! Stache!" reminded of a line from Ted Lasso where Sassy is talking about Ted and she goes "I just wanna grab him by the ears and ride his mustache like a jetski." And it made me cackle when applied to Bradley. But like, yeah. Absolutely.

ABSOLUTELY. RIDE IT LIKE A JET SKI. My husband tried to grow a Rooster stache for me, but he looked exactly like Ted Lasso.

[sometimesanalice]

“well,  i do feel a little better now that you’re here”

Bradley and SG please 👉🏼👈🏼 love your work Alexa ☺️☺️

Charlie, you gem! Thank you for always being so lovely and supportive! I hope you enjoy this one! 🥰

There You Are

Summary: It's the first time you're seeing Bradley in over 2 years. A lot of things have changed for you since the night he'd called you before that mission, but if there was one thing you knew you could count on, it was that he'd always be there for you.

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 1.5K

It had been nine days of radio silence.

Nine days since Bradley had called you in the night before he left for whatever classified mission the Navy had ordered him back to Top Gun for.

Nine days of wondering and hoping for the best. Trying to convince yourself that no news was good news.

Nine days of not tasting any of the meals you'd forced down as you waited. Not that you had much of an appetite anyways.

Nine days of tossing and turning in the bed you slept alone in, as you worked on untangling your life from your now ex boyfriend. The two of you agreeing to share the apartment like roommates until you found out about the promotion you were up for.

The one that might take you to San Diego. To the sunshine and ocean. To new opportunities. To your best friend.

You had pretty much dropped everything the moment you saw Bradley's name flash across the screen of your phone. The relief that washed over you at the sound of his voice- at his Hey, kid- nearly sent you to the floor.

While it had been another few days before you were able to get on a plane- he'd told you there were still some debriefs and paperwork that still needed to be done before him and his team could take leave- but you'd started packing your suitcase the moment the call ended.

You were antsy the entire six hour flight from Boston. You'd apologized more than once for nudging your neighbor's arm as you shifted and squirmed in your uncomfortable seat.

Hearing that final ding of the seatbelt off sign was music to your ears.

You'd called him the moment you stepped off the plane and Bradley picked up on the first ring.

"This feels familiar, doesn't it?" he rasps over the phone. You know he's thinking about the Spring Break you'd went to visit him at UVA. He'd picked you up at the airport then, just like he was doing now. "When is it my turn to be picked up at the airport, kid?"

Of course they'd dropped you off at the furthest gate in Terminal 1. You let out a huff and then set about threading your way through the throng of people standing between you and your best friend.

"Please, when's the last time you flew commercial?" you tease. "And it's not all of us can just waltz onto a Naval Base anytime we want."

"Hey, no one's stopping you from joining up. I'll even write you a letter of recommendation."

You weave around a stroller.

"Hmm, pass. But thank you for the generous offer."

And then past a couple holding hands.

He chuckles. "Guess that means I get to keep my title as designated chauffeur, huh?"

"Lucky you," you sing.

If you weren't on a mission, you'd consider stopping at the coffee shop that you're briskly gliding past for a quick cappuccino. But you had other priorities.

"Such a smart ass." You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

You speed up your steps, the glimmer of the exit now in sight. "Why don't you say that to my face, Bradshaw."

"I'm trying to, but you're taking forever," he grouses, famously the more impatient one of the two of you. "I'm to the left of Arrivals gate, by the way."

You smile to yourself. Knowing him, he has probably been there for at least an hour keeping tabs on you with some flight tracker app he'd downloaded on his phone.

"It's a good thing you told me, I'm not sure if I'd recognize you with that bold fashion statement you're sporting on your face now."

Bradley scoffs indignantly. "You haven't even been here thirty minutes and you're already dunking on the 'stache, kid? It looks better in person, give it a chance."

You pull over just to the right of the Terminal exit, tucked next to a potted ficus, taking a moment to scan through the crowd of people waiting for their own travelers. He's not hard for you to find, standing head and shoulders above everyone else in the area.

Whole and healthy and here in front of you.

It's been a little over two years since you've last seen Bradley in person, he'd been stationed in Japan before his return to Top Gun. It was still hard to believe that the lanky boy you'd grown up with had become the well-built man standing across the way from you.

During his time in the Navy, he'd truly come into himself. The easy confidence in his posture was well earned and looked good on him. But you had to stop yourself from laughing and giving yourself away when you see him impatiently tapping his toes. Because no matter how much some things change, there are some things that will always be the same.

"I don't know about that," you muse, still taking him in because there was a moment there when you weren't sure you'd ever get to see him again. "I can see it from here and I'm still on the fence about it."

You see him look around, confused for a moment, head swiveling trying to spot you. You don't keep him waiting long, stepping out from your hiding spot and into view.

You mouth hi and give him a little wave.

"Hey, there you are." There's no missing the wide grin on his face. "You going to stand all the way over there or are you going to come see the mustache up close and personal?"

You laugh and shake your head making your way to him. "I guess I might as well considering I did fly all the way across the country to see it."

"And me, I hope."

"And you," you confirm.

You end the call, tucking your phone into your bag as you close the gap between him and you.

Those whiskey brown eyes are one you've known your whole life. His curls looked like they've seen some sun, as did the rest of him. And the soft smile he had directed at you looked like contentment.

What stops you in your tracks are the fresh cuts that mark his face, new scars to be mixed in with the ones you already knew so well. They're shade of bright pink that's impossible to miss.

"Oh my god, Bradley."

He doesn't say a word as you gently take his face in your hands, tilting his head this way and that, inspecting him for yourself. He just gazes at you, reading every emotion as they run across your face, as you try to hunt for any clues to an answer about what happened that you know you'll never get.

"I'm fine, I promise," he murmurs.

"It doesn't look fine," you press.

He grasps you wrists with his warm hands and coaxes yours down between the two of you.

Too close. Whatever it was was too damn close. The evidence is right there on his neck and behind his ear, and you hate it.

Bradley squeezes your hands reassuringly. "I'll have you know passed the concussion protocol with flying colors." He tries to play it off as a joke, but the dark circles under his eyes and the weariness you see around the corners of his eyes tells a different story.

"Does it still hurt?" you ask, trying not to let your voice wobble.

"Well, I do feel a little better now that you’re here.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. "You're so-"

Ridiculous. Frustrating. Important to me.

You don't get to finish you sentence because Bradley is tugging you into his broad chest. The arms that wrap around you are fuller now, but his hug is as just a familiar as it's always been.

Yours thread themselves around his waist instinctively, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

He holds you close, holds you tight. Bradley's always been the type to really hold on tight because he knows what it's like to have to let things go.

People come and go. There's the sound of departure and arrival announcements on the speakers overhead. Some people are saying their goodbyes, and some- like the two of you- are saying hello.

All of it happens around you and Bradley. As you hold him and he holds you. Both of you all too aware that this moment hadn't been a given.

"Thank you for not standing me up," you whisper, throat thick.

"I wouldn’t dream of it, kid," he says, taking your chin between his thumb and index finger, and gives it a little wiggle.

You blow out a breath, not wanting a raincloud of what-ifs to damper your golden afternoon.

"Hi," you say again.

"I'm happy to see you," he replies, earnestly. You just nod your head because the feeling is so, so mutual. "You just gained three hours, you up for a little adventuring?"

"I’m all yours, Bradshaw."

It didn't matter to you what you did for the four days you were in town, just that you got to spend it with him.

"Good." He drapes a heavy arm over shoulder and reaches for your suitcase. "Because I'm pretty sure I owe you a milkshake."

You let him steer you towards the exit, to where you assume the short term parking garage is located, and ask, "Can I drive the Bronco?"

Bradley pauses. "We'll see."

You grin because it's not a no.

The California sun hits you in full force as you step out the automatic doors. You reach up and tug out the sunglasses that had been haphazardly tucked into the pocket of his silly Hawaiian shirt- that you were definitely going to tease him about later- and slip them on your face.

Bradley smiles over at you.

"I think California is going to suit you, kid."

And for the first time, here with him, you think it might too.

[feralforfrank]

hey ☺️

the only thing on my mind is rooster shaving his mustache for whatever reason and gf reader is upset ! silly little blurb i luv ur writing muah

bradley bradshaw x fem!reader

ANON!!! ILY THANK YOU FOR READING MY STUFF <3333333 much love to you, MWAH! hope you enjoy this one!

You're shocked, heartbroken, in shambles, you name it. The grocery bag almost slips from your fingers when you hear the horrid sound of the electric razor from the bathroom. You place the bags on the counter before practically running inside.

You want to douse your eyes with gasoline when you see the damage. Bradley had been mentioning here and there that he wanted to shave his moustache just to see how he'd look without it. You'd forbade such talk inside the house, and he chuckled before dropping the subject.

But what seemed to be your biggest fear was becoming your new reality. With your keys clutched in one hand, the other holding on for dear life at the door frame, you watch your dear boyfriend shave the last of his moustache over the sink.

He hasn't noticed you yet. Music is playing from his phone, but you can't bring yourself to recognise the tune. This situation is way too tragic. When the buzzing sound stops emanating from the vile machine, Bradley finally turns around, having heard your panting.

"Babe, this isn't what it looks like." He speaks with hesitation and guilt.

"What did you do?" Your every word is punctuated.

Bradley opens his mouth but closes it, and you shake your head expectantly. "Well?"

"I-I was trimming it, and Din here," he looks at your cat, laying on the floor as if he's the criminal here, "came between my legs and scared me, and I moved my hand, and I shaved more than I should. It didn't look good anymore."

You scoff, pushing yourself off the doorway and turning to walk to your bedroom. Not once did you believe Bradley.

"Babe? Baby, c'mon!"

"I am not talking to you, hairless cat."

You hear him chuckle. "Hey, it's not that bad!" Bradley follows you into the bedroom.

"Never said it was." You shrug, taking your shirt off.

He's behind you in seconds, kissing your neck, his hands encircling your waist and pulling you closer. "You called me a hairless cat."

"Don't have a problem with cats. I own one." You pause, looking up. "Now, I got another one! Hm! Look at that!"

"Hey!" Bradley blows a breath where your jawline meets your ear, causing you to shiver.

You spend a few seconds like this, his hands around you, your back pressed against his smooth shirtless chest, face buried in your neck. Feels weird without the stache.

"So, you don't like it?" You realise you've spoken aloud when he questions you.

You shake your head. "I think you look attractive either way." You turn to Bradley, never escaping his grasp. 

"I'm only joking. You look like a baby. It's adorable!"

Bradley looks offended. "Well, in that case, I am letting it grow and never shaving it ever again."

You grab the back of his head, kissing where he used to have perfectly trimmed hair. The spot is soft and smooth as a baby's butt.

You can't help but smile. 

[luveline]

jade!! i have a rooster request (ty if you do it, love u if u dont! ur my queen). i feel like rooster doesn't uh, relax a lot? so maybe making him chill out with a face mask or something? love u!

tysm for requesting, love u ♡ fem!reader

Bradley sits back against the headboard of his bed, listening to your quiet movements in the bathroom with that 'I'm so lucky' feeling coursing rampant through his veins. 

The bed is made —though the corners aren't as neat as Bradley would tuck them— the windows open, a box fan breezing the smell of a triple wick candle his way. Vanilla, coconut, and almond. 

He's trying to think of ways to pay you back for it while you're gone. You don't like accepting repayment for anything, not dinner, not stamps for your copious letters, nothing. He might tuck a twenty into your purse. Better yet, he might ask you to get married, have a portion of his wages wired to your account whenever he fancies. 

That way, you might miss him less. And he'd be much less stressed, if tonight is anything to go by; not because of your cleaning, which he is grateful for, but because your presence feels like a balm for bad nerves. You turn the corner into the bedroom with a muted blue pot in hand and his pulse genuinely slows. 

"Bradley," you say, opening your mouth to propose something. 

"Y/N," he says, putting his hands out to receive you, pulling you over his extended leg to sit across from him. You fold your legs underneath you, taller than him for once.

"Did you wash up when you got home?" 

"Clean as a whistle," he says, eyeing the pot with curiosity, and your dainty vest top with something else. "Want me to prove it?" 

"Do you want to do this with me?" you ask, placing the pot in your palm to show him the dark writing spanning the side.

"Clay Mask." He raises his eyebrows. "For my face?" 

"Yeah. It has chamomile and lavender, so the smell might be a bit cloying for you, but it's…" You tap the lid and shimmy closer, the sheets crinkling under your knees. This close, he can see the triangles of your lashes. The urge to brush them up rises. "Don't entertain me, okay? If you don't want to do it and this will actually make you more stressed, don't say yes. But if you're okay with it I think we could really chill." 

"I'm not half as stressed out as you think I am." 

"Well, half of your stress is triple a normal person's." 

Bradley puts his arms behind his head and tries to give his muscles a subtle flex. You know him too well, rolling your eyes fondly as his biceps dance. 

"It'll definitely relax me if you put it on me," he flirts. 

Your smile is impossible to hide. "You can close your eyes, yeah?" You shuffle closer still as he complies, the gentle hum of sound complimented by the quiet in and out of your breath and the shushing of of your plaid pants rubbing against his as you lean into his space. "It'll be cold," you warn. 

Bradley smiles. "Just lay it on me, sweetness." 

You unscrew your pot. After a moment, he senses your hand, and then cold spreads against his cheek in a soft lump. You smooth it down flat over the planes of his face, melting his heart with the care you show his scars. They were healed years before you met and still you worry you'll hurt him as your fingertip glides over his chin. The smell is heady but with a little hint of sweetness to tide it over.  

It could smell of chicken shit and he'd stick it out just to feel you touching him like this. 

"Do you ever wonder what your top lip looks like?" you ask as you paint the skin either side of it. 

"Nope. You like the stache, babe, you know you do." 

You sit back on your heels. Bradley opens his eyes, his skin cold and sticky. 

"How do you feel?" you ask. 

"Better already." And it has nothing to do with the face mask. He couldn't care less about how corny it is, but you've really made him feel better with your touch alone. 

"Will you do mine?" you ask. 

"You kidding? C'mere." 

He's halfway through painting your face when he starts to feel stiff around his mouth. "What's happening?" he asks, batting down his alarm. 

"It dries solid," you murmur, trying not to move too much under his touch. "Gotta wash it off." 

The mess of clay and water that runs down his arms as he does is enough to put his stress levels back where they were, but your soft laughter from beside him makes up for it. "Looking fresh, Bradshaw." 

He gets clay on his lips trying to kiss you. 

[roosterforme]

When will it stop??? When will it STOP?!?!

tom cruise and miles teller on the set of top gun: maverick

[bradshawsbaby]

This picture keeps popping up on Pinterest and I just think it’s the cutest. Bradley Bradshaw would definitely be kissing you like this all the time 😘

[roosterbruiser]

𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐙-𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐔𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟐.𝟖𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒, 𝐂𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝟐𝟗𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟗

Rooster knocks very softly on your bedroom door. 

He’s been super into knocking lately--overly courteous and deferential of you and your space and your private time. If you had it your way--he’d just barge in. And, of course, if he had it his way--your door would always be open.

“Enough with the knocking,” you call to him from your closet, grinning to yourself as you tie the skimpy crochet bikini around your neck. The yarn is pilled and worn--very soft on your skin. “There’s no sock on the door, is there?” 

“Wouldn’t I be on the other side of the door then?” Rooster asks as he turns the handle and opens the door. A gust of crisp air conditioned air breezes past Bradley and floats on down the hallway. You can’t seem to cool down these days, especially now that the sun is higher and brighter in the sky. 

“Would you like to be?” You retort. 

He can hear the grin on your face. 

He looks for you--doesn’t find you in the mess of sheets on your bed or the pile of discarded clothing before your dresser or tangled up in the half-drawn velvet curtains.

“Babygirl, if I ever say no--why don’t you go ahead and take your pretty little ass down to the Sunset Strip, buy a gun, and shoot me down,” Rooster says. 

Your laughter booms off the walls--nearly vibrates the framed photos Rooster meticulously placed around the room. 

“Aye-aye, captain,” you tell him. 

Then you step out of the closet and into his gaze, biting your lip cheerfully. You’re half a second away from running and jumping on him--peppering his face with glossy kisses and combing your fingers through his waxed hair--but the sudden dismay on his face as he registers you makes your feet heavy. 

“What?” You ask instantly, hands on your hips. 

Rooster frowns softly at your outfit--you’re wearing Daisy-Dukes and a tiny crochet top. If you were just lounging around the pool, then fine. But today is not the kind of day where you’ll drown yourself in Harvey Wallbanger’s and watch the sun go down in the cherry-red pool. Today is the kind of day where Rooster takes you to open up your very first bank account. 

“You can’t wear those threads, babygirl,” Rooster says softly. 

“Why not?” You ask, a slight whine dripping from your tone as you jut your hip out. “I wear this, like, everyday!” 

“Today isn’t everyday,” Rooster points out. “You’ve gotta look the part.” 

“What part?” You ask, nose screwing up in dismay. 

Rooster, a fond smile tugging on his lips, starts forward towards your closet. He kisses the top of your head, lips against your warm hair, and shakes his head when you whine again. 

“The part of bank account owner,” he tells you. “The part of someone who’s financially responsible.”

“Daddy, this ain’t no part in no porno,” you say, pivoting to watch him as he begins to search through your closet for an outfit for you. “This is the real deal!” 

“Don’t lecture the professor,” he warns distantly, voice totally void of any actual authority. “He might flunk you.”

“What’s with all the coded-gab? You’re giving me a complex,” you say, leaning up against your dresser. The corner digs into your bare arm as you watch Rooster flit through a few halter tops and bikini tops. “It’s too early for a complex.” 

“It’s ten,” Rooster says, brow perched. “And who hangs up their bikini tops?” 

“People who have a wardrobe made of mostly bikini tops,” you say with a waggle of your brows. “Lucky you.”

Rooster grins--he can’t help it. 

“Go ahead and sit down,” Rooster says, glancing at you. “This is gonna take me a good, fat minute.”  

You’re leaning against your dresser, watching him like a school girl watches her mother pick her picture day outfit. You’re a vision with heated skin: all legs and arms and hollowed cheeks and bare feet. He’d take you like this, naked-faced and unkempt, over made up any day. But bankers wouldn’t. 

Rooster’s biting a grin of his own, trying to find something presentable for all the snot-nosed bankers you’re going to encounter today. He always feels uncomfortable in professional settings--like banks, like real estate offices, like doctor’s offices. He has his own private saying about people that work at these places: when people’s collars are stiff,  their morals are stiffer. 

This is to say that if just one person knew what Rooster was--a stallion, a porn star, a fruit--then he knows undoubtedly that he would be turned away. And the same goes for you--maybe even moreso. You’re much more recognizable these days than Rooster is, shooting off into stardom suddenly and immediately. Earning your way into Heaven last month broke records Rooster’s never even touched before. 

Rooster learned the hard way during his second year in the business that people aren’t alway such coolheads about his career, your career. He’d walked into three banks wearing his Angel Fly canary bell-bottoms and a straw hat with a long peacock feather stuck in it, gold jewelry dotting his fingers and neck and ears. He felt good about himself--partly because he was high out of his mind and partly because it was every piece of expensive clothing he owned at the time. 

His logic, though flawed and spurred in the midst of a coke-filled mid-morning, felt sound. Look good, feel good, be treated good. Grammar be damned.

He wasn't able to open a bank account that day or any other day that week at any of the nearest banks. This is why he insisted that he wear one of his best corduroy suits today--a rust colored thing that he gets tailored whenever he feels like he’s gained or lost a few pounds. It always fits right--snug and handsome.

The two of you stare at each other--Rooster in his courroy slacks and nice brown loafers and you unbrushed and unwashed--before you break the tension by blowing a raspberry at him and meandering over to your bed.  

Sunlight warms the bedding, filters in through curtains. You sink into the unmade velvet sheets and take a deep breath in as you stare at the beams on the ceiling. The bed, unsurprisingly, smells like you. Like sex, like the Givenchy perfume you wear everyday now. The bottle appeared on your bedside table a few days after the incident, when you were still coming out of the fog. Scribbled on a little piece of blue crepe paper was Jake’s unmistakably messy penmanship: you know I love you, right?

“How’d you sleep?” Rooster asks, sucking on the back of his teeth. 

You’d fallen asleep on the sofa last night after a few drinks, your head on Rooster’s thigh and your lips parted slightly. He’d groggily carried you into your bedroom early this morning, back stiff from unexpectedly sleeping out in  the living room, too. 

“Like a baby,” you sigh, yawning. “Say, did someone carry me to bed last night or am I imagining it?”

“Hmm,” Rooster says, taking out a blouse and slinging it over his arm carefully. “Can’t recall.” 

“Thanks, daddy,” you say, smiling sweetly. “Don’t you just take the best care of me?”

His throat is tight. He almost can’t stand it when you’re so sweet--it makes him want to fall to his knees at your feet and kiss your thighs and hold onto your legs tight. And now that you’ve misplaced your ring, that gaudy ruby thing with your angel powder stash inside, you’re sweeter than you were before. 

In the month since the incident, you haven’t brought the ax down on him very much at all--only a few times here and there when Jake pressed his fingers to your gums while lounging beside the pool or after dinner or in the conversation pit. He’s been basking in your sweetness, submerged in your candied words, washing it out with hot water from between his fingers like dissolving honey. 

“Anything for you,” Rooster says softly. 

He thinks that the notes of his voice are dissolved in polyester and silk and taffeta--hopes that you can feel the remnants of his words when you slip into a slinky dress or little shirt. 

You hear him from where you are sprawled across the bed, lazily fingering the corner of the comforter as hangers squeak across the metal bar in the closet. 

And although you hear everything he says, and you can sometimes look at his voice and know precisely what he’s thinking, there are still so many words unuttered between the two of you. 

He demanded answers about a few things: the last thing you remembered, if you could pin-point who you were around when someone slipped you something, why you were doing acid without him there to keep you safe, what you and Jake were thinking when you separated at the disco. And you answered everything you could for him, wringing your hands together, feeling like a dog left out in the rain overnight. 

You, though--you didn’t demand answers. You didn’t want to know what happened while you were out, floating among midnight flowers. You saw the proof everywhere around the house once you were able to stand on your own two feet again: the dried vomit in the entryway, the heap of your tattered clothing in the bathroom, your smeared makeup staining the couch, the skid marks from Jake peeling into the driveway. 

They didn’t take you to the hospital and Rooster told you why with his tail between his legs, with the sweetest earnestness in his gaze. You didn’t want to know how they knew that you valued your career over your longevity, your health. But you chalked it up to both of them loving you deeply--knowing that you’d rather die in the City of Angels at twenty-one than be sent back home to Nebraska on a thin liquid diet with a newly-formed bad nose candy habit. 

There were things Rooster didn’t ask, too. He didn’t ask you why you were suddenly so upset on set, didn’t ask what Jake said to you to set you off. He didn’t ask you why you didn’t just stay home with him and Phoenix. He didn’t ask you if you loved him the way he loved you because everything suddenly felt so fragile--a delicate wall made up of dried daisy petals. Entirely collapsable by the slightest gust of wind. 

There were some things Rooster didn’t offer either--like just where exactly your ring went after he set it on the entryway table, even after he saw Jake toying with it absently a few days later at lunch. He figured Jake would’ve already used up its contents by then, anyway--and he wasn’t heartbroken at the thought of it not being with you anymore. He didn’t offer up anything else about his ma, about what happened to her, about his fear of losing you. He wept when he begged you to stay--and then the next morning, he brought you a glass of orange juice in bed and hasn’t said a word about his mother since. 

All of these things sit between the two of you, growing heavier on the vine as they ripen with time. It is a most intricate dance--delicate movements, stealthy footfalls, measured breaths. But the one thing that prevails through all the perfumed air is your mutual unwillingness to not be near each other at all times. There is a thick piece of rope that tethers you to Bradley now, one that cannot be burned or severed or worn away. There is only so much give before it grows taut, though. 

For now--that’s just fine with the both of you. 

“Here,” Rooster says as he emerges from the closet. “Try this on.” 

It’s a mustard-colored blouse with a big, oversized pink bow sitting on the throat and a pair of lapis-blue slacks. They’re both things Bradley has bought you since coming to Los Angeles, things that were sitting at the foot of your bed still wrapped in brown paper or things that were laid flat on your bedding with the stem of a rose sitting pretty on top.

“Bows doing it for you these days?” You ask quietly as you take the clothing from his hands and set it on the end of the bed. “‘Cause I can do bows, baby. Believe me you.” 

“I bet you can do just about anything,” he tells you. “Cherry Arsan.” 

The thin, braided straps of your tip fall as he utters your name. You’re still sitting on the bed, looking up at him, when your nipples harden from the sudden shock of the cool air. He’s looking down, his thick brow crinkled, his jaw suddenly flexed like he’s biting down hard. 

It isn’t your breasts he’s looking at--it’s the bruise he left behind, the one he pelted into your tissue and bone with the boniest part of his knuckles to make sure you were still alive. With time, it’s faded--it is the color of newly-rotting fruit. Soon, it will be gone. You will not have to plot on foundation and powder and concealer before filming. 

But Rooster won’t soon forget what it felt like to watch your shoulders snap up at his touch, what it felt like when your weak breaths puffed onto his fingers as you laid motionless on his bed. 

Before you register his sudden nearness as he walks towards you, he’s delicately rubbing his fingers along the blemish. His expression is sober, serious as he traces the jagged outline and bites down on nothing. You see the way his eyes linger there when you’re naked, when it’s on display in a low cut top--even if you’ve covered it with makeup, he’s always willing it to melt off. He’s searching for a shadow, a hint, anything. You know it’s how he’s repenting for not being there with you. For you. 

You’ve thought, often, that he must’ve been Catholic in another life because of the way he punishes himself with pain. It is a deep, deep guilt that he must have to inspire such masochism.

“Is it sore?” He asks softly. His throat is dry when he swallows. “Like, does it hurt? Still?”

The sun pours in through the windows, assaults the thick curtains and the sheets and your legs and your naked chest--but you suddenly feel like you can’t get warm enough if you tried. 

“Not anymore. You know that,” you tell him, trying to sound okay with the way that he punishes himself--though you aren’t okay with it and you don’t sound like it. “Now it’s swell.”

“Is it?” He asks, gaze flickering up to meet yours.

There he is, willing himself more suffering. 

You will not feed the beast. 

“Yes,” you whisper. And what you really mean is stop. “Believe me.”

“I do,” he says. But what he’s really saying is I can’t. I don’t know how. His voice is thin, fractured. “I always have. You’re my number one lady.”

“Way to sound convincing,” you say quietly. You stroke his left brow, try and count all the individual and precious hairs that grow there. You want to know him so thoroughly that you know immediately when one has been plucked. “I’m groovy. I’m always groovy.” 

He says nothing for a long moment, every part of him softening under your touch except for his grievous expression. 

“Grooviest lady on this side of the one-oh-one,” he whispers. 

Moving your fingers up slowly, you gently touch the gel in his hair. He doesn’t mind if you mess it up, always grins at his reflection afterwards, but you’re trying to be a good girl. You’re trying to be what he wants you to be. 

The way you see it, the way you’ve seen it since the incident--girls like Phoenix don’t go out on the town and get slipped something after taking a dab with their pseudo-dealer at the disco. They stay in with Rooster and drink wine and talk about films. You always want him to soften beneath your fingertips. So, you have to be what he wants.

“Can we stay in tonight?” You whisper to him. 

He glances up at you through his lashes, bent at the hips and holding your thigh with his free hand. Your irises are stained with the color of deceit, a very rare and precious shade that Rooster is only just becoming accustomed to. 

He knows you--knows that you’d much rather go out than stay in. But here you are, bruised from his love, looking at him like you really mean it. He doesn’t have the heart to fight back, to let you down. 

“Yeah,” he answers you. 

“Slammin’,” you whisper back. A tentative smile tugs on your lips. “Wanna listen to Joni on the way into town?” 

“More than anything,” Rooster whispers. 

And before you can pinch his cheek, before you can look away from him and his broad shoulders and his gelled hair and handsome suit, he moves. His head falls, his lips pucker, his grip on your thigh tightens--he is kissing the bruise with a gentleness that you’ve scarcely known in your two decades on this planet. 

The floor falls out from under you as his lips linger, as his saliva dampens the place where your pulse thumps. You can’t breathe--can’t move. All you can do is sit still and be good beneath his mouth.

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: SORRY THIS TOOK ME 6 MONTHS!!! AND TO MAKE A LONG ASS STORY SHORT, I LEFT MY LAPTOP CHARGER AT MY MOTHERS HOUSE AND I LITERALLY DONT HAVE TIME TO GO GET IT!!!! SO SHORT CHAPTER FOR NOW!!!! LOTS MORE TO COME!!!!

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

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