21/09/2022: AND THEY ARE BACK!!! JUST AS HORNY AS EVER!!! AND NOW ENGAGED?????? Hello??? Jordan I Need

28/09/22: i’m so excited to see where this fic is gonna go!!! the summary was so bittersweet and i’m a sucker for these stories so <3 this first chapter set up the universe really well and i NEED MORE ALREADY. here are my favorite parts:

“Now, is that anyway to be talking to your husband?”

“Bradley!” You shrieked, hiding your burning face in your hands as Mrs. Miller’s words rang in your ears. “You promised you wouldn’t tease me about that.” 

The boy simply shrugged, popping a raspberry between the ghost of a smile on his lips.” THE TEASING!!! BUT THE SUMMARY SAID UNREQUIRED LOVE SO I’M HURTING ALREADY THIS WAS SO CUTE!!!

“Nothing else could be real but the two of you sitting on the sandy beach, gazing at the night sky and eating fresh raspberries as he poked fun at you in his soft, steady voice.” nothing else could be real but the two of you!!!!!!!!! beautiful!!!!!!! MY FAVORITE LINE!!!

“I always knew you were a smart boy,” she praised him, teasingly. “And smart enough to stay out of trouble, I hope.” smart? yes. enough to stay out of trouble? absolutely not.

“Those two will be halfway to the courthouse by the time Pete finishes flipping that burger.” 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

“Mrs. Petunia shook her head. “High school is far too young—”

“Thank you—”

“—for Bradley to get a proper engagement ring. You be patient young lady or he’ll propose to you with a plastic ring from the arcade!” love interruptions like this truly. i love cliches.

“You just remember, when you’re surrounded by all those college girls,” Mrs. Dempsey told him sternly before he left to swap out with Maverick at the grill, “that you’ve got a perfect, little duck waiting for you back home.” OH THE FORESHADOWING I SEE IT ALREADY!!!

“For a moment, you thought you felt Bradley stiffen, but it passed so quickly you felt you could have imagined it. And then Bradley — your Bradley who bathed his tongue in raspberries and his skin in moonlight — let out a quiet chuckle.” i am already saaaaaaaaaad!!!

i love mrs. dampsey already and the kettle story was so cute!!!

“and Mrs. Dempsey liked to joke that the noisy kettle was actually Mr. Dempsey messing with you when he felt you were too in your head. Neither of you could imagine making tea with anything else.” i cried.

“Maggie Lawson was a single mother of two who had cried literal tears of relief when you walked into her flower shop with the “help wanted” sign at 17. You were sure there were many times you could have left — the flower business wasn’t exactly booming — but you never did. Not when you were 17, not when you graduated high school, and not now. You loved the flowers too much. You loved Maggie too much. You were perfectly content with working there your whole life.

Even if your high school self didn’t agree.” i love how you described that duck really likes her job it wasn’t what she envisioned doing forever when she was younger!!!

“How do you—” He hesitated for a moment. “How do you say ‘I’m so sorry I spilled iced coffee on your favorite shoes, I promise it was an accident. Now would you please forgive me already?’, but in flowers?” I’M SO CURIOUS TO FIND OUT IF/WHICH ONE OF THE PILOTS WAS THIS THAT SPOKE TO HER!!! THIS WAS ADORABLE!!!

“Duck?” SCREAMING!!!

AND ALL OF THEM JUST STANDING THERE CRAMPED INTO THE SHOP SJHCJSHD WHAT IS GOING ON? YOU GOT ME HOOKED!!!

“But your eyes stayed fixed on the man you hadn’t seen since you still knew how to win plastic rings at the arcade.” did she really get an arcade ring? i’m also super excited for more flashbacks 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️

amazing introduction to this story and i can’t wait for more!!!

If It Looks Like a Duck and Quacks Like a Duck

summary - Weirdly, being in unrequited love with your childhood best friend wasn’t really a huge problem for you. Though you suppose it’s a lot easier to deal with when he’s halfway across the country and not, you know, living exactly one block away from your childhood home for the foreseeable future. And for a man who hasn’t spoken to you in nearly three years, he sure seems happy to see you.

warnings - language, brief allusions to death

word count - 3.0k

afterglow masterlist

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“she couldn't pinpoint the exact moment but one day, everything about you seemed loud” SUCH A BEAUTIFUL AND ROMANTIC WAY TO DESCRIBE FALLING IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE, MY HEARTTTTTTTTTTT

“she didn't want to jump into conclusions. you wanted to rip your hair out at her obliviousness.” so cute!!!!!!! kept in on my toes for the ending!!!

"hazel... you don't understand-" "make me." BUTTERFLIES IN MY STOMACH!!!

i also laughed so hard, baby hazel was a menace planning to steal reader’s thing and pulling her hair shxhshchshchshkkkk

THIS WAS SO SO CUTE!

hi hi hi :) could u maybe write a thing abt like reader and hazel being childhood friends who slowly start to fall for each other but don’t say anything for a long time and then maybe they get into an argument of some kind and confess their feelings??

idk if you’ve done something like that but it just crossed my mind!

sour grapes – hazel callahan

— your scent is still unripe and green.

childhood friends to lovers. fluff. yearning. kind of long!

hazel could still remember the first time she became your friend. it was back in kindergarten. you had just moved into town and you were the new kid. but to her, you were known as the kid with the mcdonald's strawberry shortcake keychain where her hat slides to the side to reveal a lip balm.

little hazel was collecting all four characters— she had around 3 orange blossoms, 2 ginger snaps, and at least 5 angel cakes —but she couldn't get her hands on the strawberry shortcake one because it's always out. so when she saw your strawberry shortcake dangling from your backpack, she came up with a plan that she spent two days devising; she'll steal your keychain in exchange for one of her angel cakes.

of course her plan didn't work. it was snack time when she found herself in front of your backpack, smiling at the sight of strawberry shortcake. she was about to take the keychain off after applying the balm on her lips rather messily when she heard a loud gasp behind her. hazel quickly turned around to see you already stomping towards your teacher. "miss sandy!"

panicking, hazel ran after you and pulled on your hair to try to stop you. it did stop you, but it also made you start crying. a concerned miss sandy marched towards where you were standing. "hey guys, what's happening here?" she crouched down to your eye level while rubbing your back to calm you down, her pretty pink floral dress creasing. "what's wrong sweetie?"

"hazel was trying to steal my strawberry shortcake and she pulled my hair," you pointed at her as tears came out of your eyes and snot came out of your nose. you were sobbing so hard that miss sandy didn't understand a single word you said, but deduced that it had something to do with your keychain. you had gotten it on your birthday. you liked strawberry shortcake but you weren't much of a big fan, you only liked her strawberry scent on her head. but nonetheless, it was a birthday present and you cherished it with all your heart.

when you saw hazel's bag with an angel cake keychain, you were elighted because you both have a lip balm keychain from mcdonald's. you wanted to become her friend but you were too shy to approach her that's why you planned on sharing your grapes with her that day. which is why your heart sank when you saw her hands about to take strawberry shortcake off your bag that has your grapes in it.

"i didn't mean to!" hazel started crying as well, her mouth and cheeks glistening under the light because of the lip balm. she was embarrassed that you caught her in the act and was nervous that you would hate her for eternity after this incident. after your mothers were called to school by miss sandy to discuss what happened and after hazel got scolded by her mother, the both of you found yourself sitting across each other in mcdonald's with your moms. mrs. callahan lightly nudged hazel to apologize, which hazel hesitantly did. "i'm sorry," she looked down at her lap, kicking her little feet as you stare at her.

"honey, what will you say?" your mom cooed, nodding towards hazel's direction. you didn't want to forgive her for what she did. that keychain was still yours and you're stingy when it comes to things that belongs to you. but then you felt bad because you wanted to be her friend and you'd gladly share your lip balm with her if only she had asked you in the first place.

she noticed that you took a pink item out of your mother's bag. it was the strawberry shortcake lip balm keychain. "let's share," you grinned as you hand her the keychain. hazel looked at you with wide eyes, her blue eyes shining in excitement. the two of you played in the playplace after that.

from then on, you and hazel were inseparable. every trip, every dinner, your family and hazel's family were together. the both of you would also have sleepovers at each other's place. most of the time, you preferred to stay over at hazel's. you would spend hours on playing tekken or grand theft auto or bratz on her playstation before getting scolded by mrs. callahan for staying up late.

as years went on, your friendship grew closer and closer until it doesn't feel like friendship anymore. hazel was the first one to have this epiphany back in ninth grade. she couldn't pinpoint the exact moment but one day, everything about you seemed loud; in a good way. you were radiating like sunbeams in the sky, blinding hazel by your beauty and your presence. since then, she keeps forgetting that you've been friends for years. who could blame her. you always took her breath away every time you'd smile.

confused at this newfound feeling, hazel decided to keep this feeling all to herself. after all, it would probably go away soon enough.

she thought it would go away. she really hoped it would. but it never did. there have been multiple instances where she was so close to confessing, but the fear of getting hurt by your rejection and the fear of your friendship ending would always stop her from doing so.

you realized that you were falling for hazel during the year the fight club was created. you were inseparable up until this point in your lives as she became more busy and involved with the club as one of its founding members. when she invited you to join, you rejected her invitation, joking that you don't want to ruin your beautiful face. she somehow took this joke very seriously and distanced you from the club, eventually distancing herself in the process. this, of course, hurted you but it didn't come as a surprise. hazel seemed to be walking on eggshells around you. at first, you thought nothing of it. you became concerned when it continued after that. you found it weird as she had never acted that way before but you brushed it off, assuming it was nothing.

it was lonely without her and it would be a lie to say that you weren't jealous of her club. she's your best friend since kindergarten, why is she spending more time with them than you? they don't know her like you do. from your point of view, it seemed like she was too engrossed in the club that she forgot that you existed. but from her point of view, she was suffering from not hanging out with you despite preoccupying herself with the club to get you out of her mind, that same feeling still lingering in her chest.

you took care of hazel when she got beaten up by tucker. mrs. callahan— who's now different in your eyes after learning that she was sleeping with jeff —was glad that her "daughters" were hanging out again, recalling that time you poured alcohol on the cut on hazel's knee. unlike before, you were more gentle at cleaning the multiple cuts on her swollen face.

the sight ultimately broke you. you could still hear her head making contact with the gymasium floor, making you wince every time you remembered it. you wanted to run towards her, shield her from the big white guy— seriously, why the fuck is he not expelled yet? this school is a joke, you thought. but he was tucker and he was caged for a reason, and you don't know a thing or two about self defense. all you could do was watch in fear.

on the second night of your so-called "shift", you sat at the corner of her bed after putting away the ice pack and the antiseptics to see if she's in any discomfort while sleeping. she looked peaceful in her slumber despite her swollen eyelids painted in disgusting red, black and blue hues. you just wished that the healing process would speed up so that you could see her bright eyes again. your eyes travelled down to her parted lips, finding yourself staring at it for a long amount of time. you were aware of hazel's unbroken routine of always applying lip balm which obviously started back when you were little but this was the first time that you noticed how soft they looked. you wondered what her lips would feel like on your—

you were snapped out of your daydream when hazel stirred in her sleep, making you abruptly but gently standing up from her bed to avoid interrupting her rest. what was that about? you don't just randomly daydream about kissing your friend, especially when they're in a horrible state. cringing internally, you laid down on the sleeping bag on the floor, shutting your eyes so you could quickly fall asleep and forget about your thoughts. this is normal right? right?

you were in denial the whole time you were at hers, attempting to be your usual self around her. but because of your recent thoughts, you found yourself unintentionally hesitant and self conscious with your actions. you were pretty sure that her fight club friends— minus pj and josie —found you weird for checking on her band-aids every minute and for acting like a mom the whole time they were over. but they were nice and you despised yourself for not liking them in the first place.

hazel was thankful that you stayed by her side and took care of her no matter how distant she became. she wasn't proud of what she did and apologized to you after the fight club left her house, leaving the both of you alone in the living room. "it's not a big deal," you wearily smiled. she hoped that you weren't tired of her.

you and hazel hung out like you used to. playing games until early in the morning, talking shit about the people you hated in school, cooking in the middle of the night. she even invited you to watch the football game against huntington with her. it's been awhile since the both of you went out together. this made you happy. maybe the previous thoughts that you had were only because you missed your dear friend. it was nothing.

you thought it was nothing. but when you saw pj and hazel making out in front of you, you felt like you were going to puke. you hurriedly left the bleachers and ran all the way home. your heart was clenching in your chest and you couldn't help the tears from streaming down your face. why did it hurt so much? why did you have to see it? you wished that you never met her in the first place. that you didn't become friends. if you did, maybe this wouldn't have happened. you stopped running as your legs made contact with the ground, heaving as you did so.

during the following weeks, you were now avoiding hazel. you shut down all of her attempts trying to talk to you, wanting to ask you about your whereabouts that night after they knocked out all of the football players. hazel was beyond frustrated that you were ignoring her calls and messages. she tried ambushing you in the classes that you both shared and didn't share together, but you had somehow left the classroom without her noticing.

after the fourth week, hazel finally got you cornered at your house. screw your mom for being so fond of her. your house lacks female solidarity.

"why have you been ignoring me?" hazel spoke after glaring at you intensely that you're pretty sure if she was a deadly laser right now, your skeleton will be left behind. you looked away from her eyes and stared at your pillows. you were both standing in the middle of the room, your arms crossed over your chests.

you shook her head and muttered, "you wouldn't understand." you don't want to let her know that you like her more than a friend. you don't want to get in between her and pj's relationship. you don't want to be that kind of girl.

hazel huffed and rolled her eyes, her hands now resting on her hips and her tongue pressing against the insides of her cheeks. "oh i'd love to understand why you decided to ignore me out of fucking nowhere."

your brows furrowed as you stepped a little closer. "that's ironic," you chuckled at her. "like you didn't ignore me when you started your little fight club."

her eyes widened a little bit. hazel was thrown off at what you said, the knot in her stomach getting tighter. "no, i—"

"wow..." you breathed out, shaking your head in disbelief. "so it's only okay when you do it?"

"you didn't talk to me!" she stepped closer.

"you didn't talk to me either!" you stepped closer. hazel could see that your eyes were filled with rage. bottled up emotions from when she was ignoring you started to peek through. "if you were going to ignore me for pj, you could've just fucking told me! you could've been honest!"

she cocked her head to the side. "pj? what does pj have to do with this?"

you stepped back and paced the room, one hand on your hips and the other on your forehead. hazel was confused when you brought up pj. sure, they kissed, but it was for a distraction. the whole time she was kissing her, you were on her mind. but of course, you don't know that.

"you didn't have to hide your girlfriend, hazel."

huh? hazel thought. "what girlfriend?"

now you were confused. "pj? i mean... you guys made out in front of the entire school—"

"that was for a distraction!" hazel then started pacing around the room while you stopped and watched her.

"distraction for what?!"

"huntington was about to kill jeff by spraying pineapple across the field during the game," hazel explained while you try to search for any lies in her eyes and words. "my bomb didn't work so we needed another distraction to stall the game— wait, shouldn't you know this? weren't you at the game?"

you swallowed and wiped your hands on your shorts, trying to calm yourself down and not cringe at what you're about to say next. "i left... when you and pj... y'know..."

hazel took a step closer to where you were. "why'd you leave?"

"because..." you stuttered, looking at anywhere but in front of you, words stuck in your throat as she took another step closer. "you wouldn't want to know."

"tell me," her voice dropped into a whisper, now only inches away from you, blue eyes piercing into yours. "why'd you leave?"

you took a deep breath and pursed your lips, mentally cursing yourself and everyone in the world. "i couldn't stand watching you kiss pj."

"why?" she took one step closer.

"because i like you." closer.

"of course you do," she chuckled and walked once more until her face is centimeters away from yours. "it'd be weird for our friendship if you don't."

she didn't want to jump into conclusions. you wanted to rip your hair out at her obliviousness. you could feel her breath on your face. her eyes glancing at your lips. the both of you wanted to let each other know about your feelings, your sweet intentions. but you were afraid that it'll be sour, bitter. that your emotions are still unripe.

"hazel... you don't understand—"

"make me."

with that, you closed the space that was in between you both, connecting your lips to her soft ones. it felt right. it wasn't sour. the kiss was gentle and sweet, much like a strawberry shortcake lip balm.

AAAAAA ive been writing this one for awhile i hope u liked it!! ;v;

29/12/22: TOP GUN BOXER AU IS SOMETING I DID NOT KNOW I NEEDED IN MY LIFE AND NOW HOW HAVE I BEEN LIVING WITHOUT IT? I DON’T KNOW!!! i think boxing would be such a good outlet for rooster’s frustrations so this is very perfect and i can’t wait to see more!!! i also saw you’re including jake and bob in this universe together and i can’t wait to read their parts!!! my favorite parts are below, your writing is spectacular!!!

r“Bradley can still feel each punch in his fists and the pain that erupts like fireworks on his skin from where the textured leather of Billy’s gloves made a direct hit. It had been a good fight.” absolutely love this description!!!

“Thought you were gonna put Hayes in a goddamn coma last week.” Adler snorts in agreement.

“I’ll try harder next time.” pls why is he so unserious sjhfhehdjdh

the way you’re setting the scenes for us and introducing this universe!!! perfection!!! the atmosphere is on point!!! it’s like a movie!!!

“That catches Bradley’s attention, his eyes drifting down to the wet shirt plastered against your bra. He rips his gaze to the floor before he can get too caught up in your cleavage, shaking off any inappropriate thoughts quickly. Adler would beat him to a pulp.” ok FIRST i love how he just instantly kind of shakes it off he WAS gonna look but then decides not to, he is a GENTLEMAN!!! and SECOND i love the line “would beat him to a pulp”, it’s perfect. probably my favorite out of this part!!! so well written!!!

“You look at the large gray sweatshirt in your hands, before timidly peeking at him through your lashes. “Are you sure? What if you get cold?” SHE’S A SWEETHEART!!!

“You hold the zipper between your fingers, before a thought comes to you suddenly and you pause to look at him again. “You can’t peek.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Bradley deadpans and closes his eyes.” already loving this dynamic 🥺🥲🥹

“Bradley’s lips quirk up only slightly at your sincerity. “Keep it, toots.” AND HERE HE ISSSSSSSS!!! yes he beats people up for a living but he IS a gentleman ❤️

“The two hardly spoke now — not after Bradley bulked up during the off season and moved up a weight class — and Maverick was set on keeping it that way, given that Bradley almost killed Isaac the last time they fought. He wasn’t sorry about it then and, looking at the motherfucker who’s groveling in front of his friend, he isn’t sorry about it now.” i support rooster’s rights but also his wrongs!!! and i also love how you placed maverick in this story!!!

“Bradley holds his hands up in mock surrender, directing his next words towards Isaac as he steps closer to him, “I just wanted to see how the fake teeth were coming in. They look good, Golovkin.” PLS WJHFHEHDHDHHD THE MOCKERY

“Fuck it, Bradley will apologize later.” the way you go back to the line about penny not liking blood on her floors with this i love ittttt and it builds the scene so well, i could visualize everything in my head!!!

“Aw,” Bradley pouts condescendingly as Isaac spits out thick blood onto the gravel. “And you just got new teeth too. I’m sorry, buddy.” WHY IS HE LIKE THIS I CAN’T-

“You son of a bitch!” Adler seethes, bunching up Bradley’s collar in his fists. “What the fuck did you do to my daughter?!” at first i thought her dad was gonna freak out because of the hoodie BUT IT GETS BETTER YOU MADE IT BETTER

“Adler’s body tenses at the way your voice wavers. “What did you do, Rooster?” this took a turn i wasn’t expecting at all the tone shift was so good!!! i can’t wait to read the rest!!!

Staking a Claim

summary - Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw was ruthless, a stone cold killer both in and outside of the ring — with the belts and trophies to prove it. When a miscalculation results in a target being put on the back of his trainer’s daughter, Bradley finds himself facing responsibility he never signed up for. You’re a whole new challenge. And Bradley doesn’t think you’re one he can fight his way out of.

warnings - DARK THEMES, boxer au, violence, threats of violence, language, mentions of drinking, brief mention of pain killers, harassment, stalking, blood, men talking badly about women, no use of y/n, does Bradley have a pain kink? the world may never know

this series is 18+, minors please do not interact

word count - 3.4k

monsters in the dark masterlist

Continuar lendo

21/08/2022: NEW COMFORT FIC JUST DROPPED!!!! this was adorable, my heart just grew 3 sizes and i feel all warm and fuzzy!!!!! the song you chose fits their situation so well and it’s beautiful!!!!! and the whole idea is so rooster!!!! it was perfect. here are some of my favorite parts!!!!!

“You watched him sitting at the bar with Maverick, occasionally he gave you a smile if he caught you watching, to which he was met with a cold shoulder. Even looking at him made you want to scream.” i love this!!!!! it doesn’t matter that she’s a little mad with him, bradley continues to be kind 🥺 love the contract between their reactions.

“I have an idea… Your dad and I used to do this with the ladies all the time.” maverick showing rooster how its done!!!! this scene is one of my favorites from the original movie and i loved that you adapted it to your own story <3

“He is in the same room as you but he feels unreachable. Even if you did talk to him, at this point you wouldn’t know what to say. Everytime you look at him the frustration bubbles back up to the surface. Even thinking about the whole situation has again buried down the longing within you.” BUT HE FEELS UNREACHABLE!!!!!! ☹️☹️☹️☹️ he’s right there, but his job is so hard and none of them can’t do anything about it!!!! it’s understandable for her to feel this way!!!!

and then bradley starts singing and phoenix and maverick don’t let get away!!!! so cute!!!!

“The longing within you has now broken through all the anger. So desperately you wanted to let yourself feel it, but if you did and something happened to Bradley on this deployment you’d never recover. So for now it was easier to pretend that you felt nothing at all.” of course it’s easier to shut your feelings out but at what cost!!!??? 🥺

“You scoff at the reminder of Bradley's departure, the thought striking fear inside of you. Unable to leave your position, you decide to turn your back to Bradley, when a hand gently grabs your wrist, catching you off guard, spinning you to be face to chest with Rooster. He towers over you, a smile plastered on his smug little face, proud of his little display with Maverick. You try to pull away but he keeps his grasp held steady. Your tongue pushes on the inside of your cheek, and you click your tongue with another roll of your eyes, letting out a large sigh, as you finally give up trying to pull away.” this moment 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 it’s so very rooster!!!!

“Baby, don't you know I love you so?

Can't you feel it when we touch?..” and this part playing just as he reaches for her to hold her in place!!! i’m in love!!!!

“The warmth of his body feels like home. The smell of him filling your lungs, your heart lurching in your chest. A small squeal slips out, followed by a giggle. A smile grows on Bradley’s face knowing he is wearing you down. You try to squirm free but his hold is firm enough to keep you tightly pressed to him without it hurting, the tension in your body slowly starting to release within his arms.” yeah, she can’t resist him.

"Alright, alright! You win…" 🥺🥺🥺🥺

“You lean into his callous hand, your skin burning under his touch. Your eyes are locked with his, tracing over every feature of his face, trying to soak it in while you can.” babies 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

again: this was beautiful!!!

Save The Last Dance For Me

Bradley Bradshaw x F!Reader

Warnings: None that I can think of. No descriptions of appearance but she/her pronouns are used.

Summary: Bradley attempts to wear you down as you give him the cold shoulder

A/N: This fic is based off the song Save the Last Dance For Me. After watching Top Gun (1986) and longing to have someone serenade me in a bar this self indulgent fic was born. So enjoy!

Masterlist

“I just can’t look at him!” You say before angrily taking your shot on the pool table. The pool stick pounding into the cue ball, clattering the rest all around the table. Bradley had told you yesterday that he was being sent on a two month classified deployment, meaning you would not be allowed to relocate with him for the duration of the mission. 

“You know he didn’t have a choice right? They are called orders for a reason.” Hangman butts in from his seat at the nearby table. Throwing peanuts in his mouth, somehow managing to chew them in a condescending manner. 

“I didn’t ask for your input.” You snap back. He puts his hands up in the air in surrender after receiving a glare from you that could kill. What he was saying wasn’t wrong, but you were too upset to think rationally about it, and needed someone to blame. Unfortunately that fell onto Rooster.

You watched him sitting at the bar with Maverick, occasionally he gave you a smile if he caught you watching, to which he was met with a cold shoulder. Even looking at him made you want to scream.

“She’s not taking it well I see…” Maverick said, taking a sip of his drink. Rooster chuckled before nodding his head in response as he took a drink of his own beer. 

“Not at all… She hasn’t said a word to me since yesterday morning when I told her. I wish I didn’t have to go, but there is nothing I can do. At this point I don’t know how to get her to talk to me again.” 

“I have an idea… Your dad and I used to do this with the ladies all the time.” 

You watched as Maverick and Bradley talked trying to make out what was being said. You could see Maverick gesturing towards you, and conspiring with Penny. The two of them are planning something. You didn’t care to find out what it was though.

You continued your game with Phoenix, joking around with the rest of the boys to distract yourself from the subtle ache in your chest forming the longer you go not talking to Bradley. He is in the same room as you but he feels unreachable. Even if you did talk to him, at this point you wouldn’t know what to say. Everytime you look at him the frustration bubbles back up to the surface. Even thinking about the whole situation has again buried down the longing within you.

Just as you start to line up your final shot, the jukebox cuts out and you hear the tapping on a microphone over the bar speakers. You try and see what is going on but the packed room makes it impossible to see who currently has the microphone. Music slowly starts to flood the room as you hear a familiar voice start to sing alone to the tune.

"Is that Bradshaw?" Phoenix perks up, setting her pool stick down.

"I hope not…" You grumble, already recognizing the voice growing closer. The crowd parts, revealing the answer to your suspicions. Bradley making his way towards you, microphone held up to his lips as he continues to sing. His aviators hang from the neck of his shirt, tugging it down to show off a peak of his chest and collar bones. His hair is a pile of messy curls, lacking the gel he has to use day to day when on duty. 

You can smile every smile for the man

Who held your hand 'neath the pale moonlight…

You try to turn away to walk away from Bradley but you're met with Phoenix grabbing your shoulders to turn you back to face him as he keeps closing the gap between you two. She wears the smile of a traitor as she moves to stand next to you, blocking the path of escape.

But don't forget who's taking you home

And in whose arms you're gonna be

So darlin', save the last dance for me…

You roll your eyes at Bradley's attempt at breaking you, that slowly is working, and attempt yet again to walk away. This time heading the opposite direction of phoenix. Maverick breaks through the crowd, stepping right in front of you stopping you in your pathway.

Oh, I know that the music's fine..

"Seriously! You're in on this too!?" You try to raise your voice over the music, but it's no use. You cross your arms in protest as Maverick slowly backs you up to where you started. You loved this song, and Bradley knew it. He would put it on before he left for every mission as his promise to come home to you. The longing within you has now broken through all the anger. So desperately you wanted to let yourself feel it, but if you did and something happened to Bradley on this deployment you’d never recover. So for now it was easier to pretend that you felt nothing at all.

Laugh and sing but while you're apart

Don't give your heart to anyone…

You scoff at the reminder of Bradley's departure, the thought striking fear inside of you. Unable to leave your position, you decide to turn your back to Bradley, when a hand gently grabs your wrist, catching you off guard, spinning you to be face to chest with Rooster. He towers over you, a smile plastered on his smug little face, proud of his little display with Maverick. You try to pull away but he keeps his grasp held steady. Your tongue pushes on the inside of your cheek, and you click your tongue with another roll of your eyes, letting out a large sigh, as you finally give up trying to pull away.

Baby, don't you know I love you so?

Can't you feel it when we touch?..

He places your hand up on top of his shoulder, then pulls you in by your waist to close the gap on the last syllable of the lyric. The warmth of his body feels like home. The smell of him filling your lungs, your heart lurching in your chest. A small squeal slips out, followed by a giggle. A smile grows on Bradley’s face knowing he is wearing you down. You try to squirm free but his hold is firm enough to keep you tightly pressed to him without it hurting, the tension in your body slowly starting to release within his arms.  

I will never, never let you go

I love you, oh, so much…

You softly hit his chest with your free hand in defeat of escape, your palm lingering flat over his heart after impact. Your other arm moves to curl around the back of his neck, your fingers tangled up in the hair at the nape of his neck, circling along his scalp. Bradley’s hips are pressed against your body and sway the two of you side to side.

His voice has you in a trance. The softness of the melody mixed with the slightest rasp from his vocal cords gives you involuntary butterflies. No matter how mad you were at Bradley, you knew inside it wasn't his fault he was being deployed, you just hated the lack of say you had in the situation. At this point the rest of the squad, even the usually quiet Bob, and most of the bar patrons have all joined in the serenade.

'Cause don't forget who's taking you home

And in whose arms you're gonna be

So darlin', save the last dance for him!

"Alright, alright! You win…"

The bar erupts in cheers. Rooster hands his mic over to Maverick, who gives you a wink, and cups the side of your cheek. You lean into his callous hand, your skin burning under his touch. Your eyes are locked with his, tracing over every feature of his face, trying to soak it in while you can.

"Kiss him already!" Penny yells behind the bar. "Disrespect the Navy or you buy a round!" She threatens.

You let out a laugh before standing on your toes to meet Bradley halfway. His lips meet yours and the bar yet again fills with cheers. The volume of the bar almost drowning out the softest, most innocent moan of contentment Bradley lets slip into your mouth. The taste of beer lingers on his tongue, his kiss becoming deeper before he finally pulls away. 

“I love you, honey.” Rooster whispers in your ear, kissing your cheek. His breath warm on your ear, sending a spark through your body. You interlock your fingers with his as you both make your way back to the tables with the rest of the squad, each of them taking turns poking fun at you for caving in to his cheesy display.  

Flight Crew!

@someplace-darker

@nelleicrain

@murrdxcks

@sobachka-korol

02/09/2022: technically, i read this on the 28th but have not been able to go back to normal until now. okay. MAY??????? not you breaking my heart again????????? i’m so excited to see where you’re gonna take this story. i already love them so much. the way you write bradley just does things to my heart that are unexplainable!!!!! plus your attention to details just makes everything so much better. anyways. THIS WAS BEAUTIFUL AS ALWAYS YOU NEVER DISAPPOINTS. YOU SHOULD BE OUT THERE SELLING NOVELS I AM SO VERY SERIOUS. HERE ARE MY FAVORITE PARTS (i literally just highlighted the entire thing):

“Inside the bar, everything is like it always is. The chatter of the customers, the drawl of the music, the smell of beer, and the Ocean Breeze scented cleaner you use to wipe the floors. Far below it, the scent of the real ocean breeze drifting in through the opened windows. It seems wrong for the Hard Deck to be unchanged, unaltered, untouched when your own life has gone so completely off the rails.” you really know how to set the atmosphere for us readers.

“Allergies,” you lie. “I’ve got two on tap here, which one did you guys have? The German or the…”

“You don’t have allergies,” Bradley points out. You’d made it a point not to look at him, but now your gaze snaps in his direction. He stands with his eyes narrowed, with his hands on the polished wood of the bar top. Concern flutters across his face.” OH HE LIKES HER SO MUCH!!!!!!!!! I ALREADY KNOW IT!!!!!!!!!!!! THE FACT THAT HE REMEMBERED HER ALLERGIES 😭🥺🤲 you got me giggling and kicking my feet.

“There’s something about Bradley Bradshaw. You like to think of it as a gravitational pull. Something with force, something that makes people look at him. Something that grounds them, too, though, gives them a tether.” HE REALLY DOES!!! NO WONDER HE GENERATED 1.4 BILLION DOLLARS WORLDWIDE (AND COUNTING)!!!

“Bradley Bradshaw makes for a good North Star.” not me sobbing already… and the fact that you bring this back at the end… favorite detail!!!!!!

“He places a large hand on the countertop, palm down, and you should be looking busy, but all you can do is stare as his fingers starfish across the wood.” starfish across the wood!!! aaaaaa may, the imagery <3

“You do look up then. Bradley has brown eyes, round and big and deep. There’s something about them that makes you want to trust him, trust his words, trust the sincerity. It almost makes you start crying again.” so tender 🥺🥺🥺🥲🥲🥲

“Under any other circumstances, you would have laughed. But your stomach is coiled up in knots so tight you wonder if they’ll ever untangle again. Like the earphones you fish from the bottom of a purse.” :((((((((

“You’re never going back from this, you realize suddenly. No matter what happens from here on out, there’s never going to be another moment where this hasn’t happened. Where you weren’t pregnant, where you didn’t mess it all up. The plan, the dream, the life.” you didn’t mess it up you’re going to be okay. i need someone to reassure her.

“And you’d been stupid enough to hope. Hope for more, hope for better, hope for something.” to live for the hope of it all???????? reader is august… AND YOU POSTED THIS ON AUGUST. MAY!

AND HELLO MOJITO MENTION!!!!

“That’s not true. You’d like him to hug you. You’d like him to tell you it’s going to be okay, even if that might be a lie. You’d like him to be nice to you.” SHUT UP SHUT UP AND THEN AT THE END BRADLEY DOES EXACTLY THIS!!!!!!!! HUGS HER AND COMFORTS HER!!!!!!!!! IS NICE TO HER!!!!!! MAYYYYYY THE PARALLELS!!!!!!

“It’s the most terrifying thought of your life. You’ve never experienced something so wonderful. Even as the fear eats away at you, even as your stomach churns and your head spins, some part of you feels illuminated with light.” getting major waitress vibes!!!!!!!! normally the protagonist would automatically view the pregnancy as something bad especially in her situation but she feels ILLUMINATED WITH LIGHT !!!! beautiful !!!!!!

“And then he does what men do best: He leaves. Walks away from you and the baby growing inside of you. Walks away from the mess he made, the dream he shattered, without a care or a thought. Without looking back.” he’s such a piece of shit and i love how you phrased this.

“Twenty minutes later, Bradley Bradshaw finds you in the exact same position.” YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!

“It’s like somebody’s cut your chest open. Scooped you clean like taking a spoon to a tub of ice cream. Behind your ribcage, you feel hollow in a way that aches down to your bones. That spiderwebs through your veins.” she needs to rest :(

“Only this Virgin Mary wears Hawaiian shirts, apparently. It almost makes you laugh.” this whole virgin mary comparison was so funny ajdhhsfhhsyh

“What happened?” Bradley asks, something hard to his voice. But when he goes to touch the side of your face, carefully as if you’re injured, as if you’re made of porcelain that’ll break at the slightest jostle, his brown eyes show nothing but genuine concern.

It makes you cry harder.” SHE STARTS CRYING AGAIN BECAUSE BRADLEY IS JUST BEING SO KIND !!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAA !!!!!!!! I UNDERSTAND !!!!!!!! AND YOU CASUALLY MENTIONING THERE WAS SOMETHING HARD TO HIS VOICE I JUST KNOW HE WAS READY TO BEAT WHOEVER MADE HER CRY !!!!!!

“But he doesn’t push. Doesn’t try to get you to explain it, doesn’t ask again. He just sits there with you, elbows on his thighs, and lets you cry.” my most beloved man <3

“Bradley looks at you, then pulls his knees up, lets his arms dangle between them. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says, and his voice is very gentle. “But if you want to… I can listen.” giving her space and being patient so she feels comfortable if and when she opens up 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

“This is the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. He has the kind of face that makes you want to tell him things. Makes you want to spill your secrets to him, pour them into his space. He’s steady, reliable, calm. It would be so easy to trust him.

That’s dangerous.” FAVORITE DESCRIPTION OF BRADLEY EVER??????????????

“You just want to pretend you don’t have to do it alone. Just for a moment.” just for a moment!!!!!!!!!!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO IT ALONE HE’S GONNA HELP YOU AND YOU’RE GONNA FALL IN LOVE AND IT’S GOING TO BE BEAUTIFUL!!!!

“Bradley’s eyes are very brown. A soft shade of brown, like milk chocolate. When you look at him, you feel warm all over.” BUT NOW I SEE DAYLIGHTTTTTTTTTT

“One moment - and in it the rest of your life.” 😭

“After half an eternity, Bradley says, “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.” STOP. THE FACT THAT HE PICKS UP ON *THIS* DETAIL?????? OH HE’S BEEN OBSESSED WITH HER FOREVER RIGHT?????? JEHCHEGCHSGXSHHXYSD I LOVE THISSSSSSS.

“Beside you, Bradley shifts his weight. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m really putting my foot in it today, aren’t I?” beloved 😔😔😔😔😔😔😔❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 he’s doing his best!!!

“There’s always been something traditional about Bradley Bradshaw, like he’s one of those men written by women people rave about all over TikTok. If he takes a girl out on a date, he probably holds open car doors and pulls out chairs for her, hands her his jacket if she gets cold.

Distantly, you wonder what that would be like.” DISTANTLY… SURE MAY… I KNOW WHERE THIS IS GOING WE ALL KNOW…

“Yeah,” Bradley says, completely sincere. “Your body, your choice.” FEMINIST KING 👑

“It’s endearing in a strange way because there’s nothing performative about it. It’s just bumbling and awkward and peculiarly genuine.” the way you write bradley is also so genuine!!!!! all the little details about him just MAKE SENSEN and makes him so real. of course he would be one of these men that really cares about women’s rights and know a couple of things but not brag about it. i love him.

“Bradley’s got a nice laugh, one that starts in his belly and seems to end at the back of his throat, punches out into the air from back there.” SEE!!!!!! THIS IS WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!!!!!! HOW ARE YOU SO GOOD AT MAKING HIM REAL????? THIS IS EXACTLY HIS LAUGH!!!!!!

“But when you glance up at him from beneath lowered lashes, stomach tight with anticipation, Bradley doesn’t look judgmental at all. Instead, his face is wide open, his eyes clear, the corners of his lips still curled upward with the remnants of his smile.

Luke laughed at you, but Bradley is looking at you with something like admiration, and it takes your breath away.” TAKE MY BREATH AWAY REFERENCE PERFECTLY PUT I LOVE THIS!!! MAY YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS!!!

“No,” he says. “I think you’re really, really brave.”

And then you’re crying again.” I AM INDEED CRYING AGAIN.

“And Bradley is so nice. So goddamn kind even though he doesn’t know you, not really, even though this isn’t even his problem. Sits there on the floor of the Hard Deck with you at half past one am on a Sunday night, and doesn’t complain, doesn’t sigh. He just listens.” ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

“You don’t feel brave. You feel terrified, you feel overwhelmed, you feel… you feel… you feel like the whole world has toppled over. You feel like Atlas crashing down, buried beneath the weight of his burden. You feel tiny. Inadequate. You feel scared, scared, scared.” LIKE ATLAS CRASHING DOWN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HELL YEAH THE MYTHOLOGICAL REFERENCES!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Suddenly, you think of that tiny, unborn child inside of you. Abandoned before it ever came into the world.” :(((((((((((((

“Instead, Bradley takes a deep breath and says, “Marry me.” EVERYBODY CHEERED!!!!! i would also like to know how his brain goes DIRECTLY to this solution jahdhshdhshfjshdhd <3

“Bradley pushes on, “It wouldn’t be permanent. We could get a divorce quickie in a year or two, just stay together long enough for you to get settled with the baby and everything. Plus, you’d get free healthcare.” He glances at you, and the blank expression on your face must light a panic in him. Now his words come faster. “I wouldn’t expect anything from you, of course I wouldn’t. It would just be… keeping up appearances. Just for a while….” and he just keeps talking ahdhshfhshdhshdhshdhdhd because he’s so nervous he’s overstepped but he just wants to help and make this make sense <3

“But I could babysit, and then you could go back to work. I really wouldn’t mind. I’m good with kids, you know?” AND HE COULD BABYSIT- HE’S GOOD WITH KIDS?????? OH BRADLEY. SWEET BRADLEY. BRADLEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.

“For a second, just a second, you let yourself imagine it: Imagine saying yes to this mad, insane, incredible proposal. Imagine marrying Bradley, someone soft and warm and responsible, someone completely opposite to Luke. Imagine him in a tux and you in a white dress, imagine his mustache tickling against your cheek as he leans in to kiss you. You imagine one of the quaint little houses you grew up in, but one that would belong to you, at least for a while. You imagine a toddler running through it, imagine Bradley bending down to scoop them into his arms. You imagine a life without this aching, shifting loneliness. You imagine a life with Bradley.” THE WAY YOU FOLLOW UP “A LIFE WITHOUT THIS ACHING, SHIFTING LONELINESS” WITH “A LIFE WITH BRADLEY” IMPLYING THAT BECAUSE OF HIM SHE’S NEVER GONNA FEEL ALONE AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!! YES!!!!!!!!!!

“When you do marry, when you walk down that aisle, you want it to be for love. And people can call you delusional, naive, whatever. You don’t care. You just know you want the big thing, the real thing, True Love, capital t, capital l. You want the hurricane of romance, the monsoon of love. You want to fly into it.” i relate. this is very real. and i loved how you described it as a hurricane.

“And he means it. Bradley carries his heart on his sleeve, you’ve learned this much. He tries to hide it, but he’s no good at it. Eventually, his emotions always get the better of him, burst forth like fountains. It’s part of his charm.” JUST A VERY PERFECT PARAGRAPH.

“You pretend like you’re not still reeling from his proposal, like it’s not suddenly become impossible to do so much as look at him without your heart flopping around like a fish finding its sad end on dry land.” WITHOUT YOUR HEART FLOPPING AROUND LIKE A FISH FINDING ITS SAD END ON DRY LAND??????? HOW DO YOU COME UP WITH THESE??????????? PERFECT.

“I know,” he interrupts you, a smile spreading on his face. “But I’ll feel better knowing you got home safe.” CHIVALRY WILL NEVER BE DEAD AS LONG AS WE HAVE BRADLEY BRADSHAW!!!

“That makes your insides clench in a way they shouldn’t. Your chest feels tight, and you look away just in case you start crying again.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺😔😔😔😔😔

“It ends quicker than expected because time always goes the fastest when you want it to go slow. Then you’re thanking him, saying goodbye, both of you pretending he didn’t just propose some strange, fake marriage to you behind a bar counter not even thirty minutes ago.” time really does go fastest when you want it to go slow!!!!!

“It’s like being five again, trying to get somebody to look at the picture you drew. It’s like being ten again and being overlooked. It’s like being fifteen again, still vying for the attention you’ll never really get.” STOP HURTING ME??????? WHAT IS THIS????? ENOUGH.

“So, like a child, like you’re five again, like you’re ten again, like you’re fifteen again, you say, “I’m getting married.” and then you bring the “you’re five, fen, fifteen” motif again <33333333333333333 PERFECT.

“It might be the worst thing you’ve done in your life: Dragging poor, kind Bradley Bradshaw into the mess you’ve made of your life. Nevermind that he offered. It doesn’t matter.” DANCING WITH OUR HANDS TIED STARTS PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND!!!! I’M A MESS BUT I’M THE MESS THAT YOU WANTED!!!!!!!! SORRY FOR THE TAYLOR SWIFT CONNECTIONS I AM AWARE THAT I AM ILL.

“The loneliness is everywhere, then. In your chest, in your bed, in your veins. Crawling like a shadow that swallows you whole.” this description??????????? yes.

“You lead him out the back. Out of the corner of your eyes, you spot the exact corner you huddled in a few days back, agonizing over the positive pregnancy test, the decline of your life, the decay of your dreams. Don’t look, you tell yourself, and then do it anyway.” sometimes idk what to comment next to the quotes so i just write nonsense but i just really feel the need to highlight them because i loved how you wrote it.

“When you look up at him, there’s something strange on his face. Something that looks less like surprise and more like awe.

His eyes are so brown, and your heart beats so fast, and you’re dizzy like you just got off a rollercoaster. ” LIKE AWE?????????? AND IF FEELS LIKE YOU JUST GOT OFF A ROLLERCOASTER????? I LOVE ROMANCEEEEEEEEE

“An opportunity. That sounds like business, sounds like a transaction, sounds rational and level-headed and reasonable, and you latch onto the idea. Maybe if you try to take the emotion out of the equation, it’ll be easier.” oh we’re gonna *suffer* with this one aren’t we????? i can already tell she’s gonna try denying her feelings really hard…

“Bradley hesitates, and for a second, you think he’s going to say something. But then he just shrugs, nods, says, “That’s fine. Yeah. Whatever you want.” WHATEVER SJDHSJCSJDHEJDHSJD OK SURE BRADLEY. SURE. stupid boy he’s not fooling anyone <3

“As you look at him, here in this pastel lighting, here on the verge of something monumental, there’s something so reassuring about him. Something so steady and reliable and constant. Something that makes you think, with him, maybe it could be okay, no matter how insane the whole idea is. An opportunity. An investment that just might pay off.

North star, you remind yourself. Bradley Bradshaw is the North Star.” NORTH STAR ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 I AM OBSESSED WITH THIS!!!!!!!!!

“Then he says, “Can I hug you?” I AM BAWLING MY EYES OUT. WHY IS HE SO KIND?

“When Bradley pulls you into his arms, when he holds you against his chest loosely, carefully, giving you room to pull away at any moment, the whole thing almost bowls you over. It’s the first time anybody’s hugged you since you found out you’re pregnant, since your entire world came crashing down, and you can’t help yourself. It’s a visceral reaction. You cling to him, wrap your arms around his neck, press your face into his shoulder and your chest against his and squeeze your eyes shut, and stay there for longer than you planned to, longer than you should. Let him hold you tight enough that for a moment, for a while, it almost feels like you’re whole again. Like you’re not alone.” beautiful. so so so so beautiful.

“You could get addicted to it, could get greedy and selfish and never-satisfied. Could eat it raw.” I LOVE THIS PART I LOVE HOW YOU WROTE IT THANK YOU FOR WRITING IT? WOW. POETRY.

“Bradley smells like sunscreen and sandalwood. You try to commit that scent to memory, try to ingrain it into your brain and your body. Something to remember the next time the loneliness sets in.” stop 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

“Finally, he pulls away, and his smile is gentle. You feel every inch of separation like an ache in your bones, like an echo, like a reverberation.” HUG HIM AGAIN!!!!!!

“I don’t even have a ring for you,” Bradley says, a frown etching itself into his forehead. “I’m sorry.” WHY IS HE THE SWEETEST MAN ON THE PLANET? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS???????

“I think you should have something, though. I want to give you something,” he interrupts you. “I just don’t know….” i’m so in love it’s ridiculous at this point.

“Bradley reaches into his wifebeater and pulls his dog tags from beneath the fabric. Before you know what’s happening, he’s tugging the thin silver chain down over your head, moving your hair out of the way carefully. It settles against the skin of your neck, warmed by his body heat.

You stare down at the metal dangling over your dress, the letters of his name etched into it. Bradley Bradshaw.

Your heart seizes.” SHUT UP SHUT UP MY JAW DROPPED TO THE FLOOR. THE DOG TAGS!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!!!!

“He never had a mustache. He was never a stranger. Your dreams were never this: Rushed and fake and no ring at all. You, pregnant with somebody else’s baby, and Bradley, marrying you to get assigned to a base of his choosing. None of it real. No True Love, no capital t, no capital l. Not even lowercase. Nothing but madness and guilt and business between you.

And still you want it, want it so bad it swells inside you, pushes against your ribcage with enough pressure to crack bones - you want to be wanted.” THIS WHOLE PARAGRAPH IS SO BEAUTIFUL I THINK IT SETS THEIR STORY UP PERFECTLY. what we might expect from now on. because nothing is going according to her plan but it’s all goinf to be okay and perfect regardless. also the “you want to be wanted” line feels like it was extracted from the depths of my heart.

“Friends. This man you barely know. This man who is doing something unfathomable for you.” BECAUSE HE LIKESSSSSSSSS YOU!!!!!!!

“And then later, in the bar, as Bradley’s friends discuss some new Star Wars show you haven’t seen, as they order round after round of beer you can’t drink, as the sky goes from pastels to blues to blacks, you’ll pretend you don’t see Natasha staring at the dog tags around your neck, pretend you don’t wish you could hold Bradley’s hand, pretend you don’t feel like you’re falling apart, like you’re capsizing where you sit, like you're kicking water miles and miles and miles below the surface.” star wars name drop ☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️☺️. also: this paragraph, like the entirely of this chapter, was beautiful. VERY SAD AND ANGSTY BUT BEAUTIFUL.

“Beneath the table, you put a hand on your stomach, fingers spreading out, close your eyes, and let the current drag you under.” i am 100% not mentally stable enough to survive this story i know it in my bones.

MAY!!!!!!!!!!! i’m already looking forward to the emotional turmoil these babies are going to go through!!!!!! I’M SO EXCITED!!!!

baby, let's play house. rooster (part 1)

pairing ; bradley bradshaw x female!reader

synopsis ; marriage of convenience. you got yourself in trouble. bradley has a bit of a savior complex. together, you come up with what could potentially be the worst idea in the longstanding and illustrious history of bad ideas.

wc ; 12.5k

warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; angst; explicit language; explicit sexual content in later parts; pregnancy; mentions of infidelity; mentions of vomit; mentions of Tom Cruise; unhealthy family dynamics; one mention of suic*de but it's not a plot point; age gap

note: uhm... i blacked out. idk either. part 2 should be out eventually, which of course means that i haven't even started writing it yet. there will probably be several mistakes in here regarding the navy, etc. so i'm sorry about that i'm just dumb :-(

sol. sunderlust. crab. bestie... i love you forever, what would i ever do without you?

When you’re fourteen, sitting on a floral couch in one of the nondescript, army-commissioned houses you’ve been moving to every few months since you were old enough to remember, your mother turns on Cocktail with Tom Cruise, and you decide that, once you’re grown up, you’re going to be a bartender. You’re going to do just what Tom does - get a job in some dive, work your way up, learn the bottle slinging and the shot pouring and the flirting, and then you’re going to franchise the whole thing and take it national. It’s going to be just like TGI Fridays, except your drinks will actually be good instead of whatever watered-down punch they serve.

Of course, you’re fourteen, and you don’t even know what alcohol tastes like yet. Years later, you’re going to take a shot of Tequila at a bar, you’re going to splutter and cough and think you might choke, and it’ll leave you wondering if maybe you’ve made a mistake. But for now, you’ve got a dream, and you’ve got a plan, and not a smidge of doubt that you’ll make it all come true.

You’re going to do just as Tom Cruise does - minus the best friend’s suicide from the movie and the real-life Scientology thing and all that. But you’re going to be successful. You know it.

So this, then. This is not part of your plan at all.

Behind you, there’s a bang, and then the back door is ripped open. The buttery light of the bar spills in a rectangle across the beaten path, but it doesn’t reach your little corner. You hear the muffled thud of footsteps, a curse, followed by a shout of your name.

“Yeah?” you call back, hope you don’t sound like you’re balancing on the edge of a mental breakdown. Hope you don’t sound like you feel.

“Your shift’s about to start. I really need you in there cutting up some limes, please,” Jerry, your co-worker, says. Thank God he doesn’t walk over to investigate just what you’re doing huddled in the sand behind the bar.

“Okay,” you answer, voice a little wobbly, “I’ll be in in a sec.”

You wait until you hear the door shut behind Jerry, then you unfold yourself, get your shaky legs underneath your weight. You feel like somebody hit you over the head with one of those huge hammers they use to knock down walls. The nausea is back, too, something queasy and watery that shifts through your stomach.

Inside the bar, everything is like it always is. The chatter of the customers, the drawl of the music, the smell of beer, and the Ocean Breeze scented cleaner you use to wipe the floors. Far below it, the scent of the real ocean breeze drifting in through the opened windows. It seems wrong for the Hard Deck to be unchanged, unaltered, untouched when your own life has gone so completely off the rails.

You sneak in a quick, discreet bathroom break to swipe at the mascara smudged beneath your eyes, to dab at it with some damp toilet paper, to hope nobody will notice the obvious signs of tears still clinging to you. To stare at your reflection in the mirror for a moment, try not to think about that stupid test you buried at the bottom of the trashcan. You can taste your heartbeat in your mouth.

You don’t look any different - same nose, same hair, same eyes - but something has irrevocably shifted inside of you.

Behind the counter, you cut up the limes you promised Jerry. The scent clings to your fingers, the juice settles in the calluses. The steady sound as the knife meets the cutting board and the familiar motion of your hands help to ground you a little.

“Could we get a refill?”

You lift your head and then immediately lower it again, shoulders going up, turning to the side in an attempt to hide your face. If there are two people you don’t want to see tonight, then…

“Oh my god.” Natasha’s face pushes into your line of vision, her eyebrows crinkled, her mouth pursed. “Have you been crying?”

Waving her words of concern away with one hand, you grab for their empty glasses with the other.

“Allergies,” you lie. “I’ve got two on tap here, which one did you guys have? The German or the…”

“You don’t have allergies,” Bradley points out. You’d made it a point not to look at him, but now your gaze snaps in his direction. He stands with his eyes narrowed, with his hands on the polished wood of the bar top. Concern flutters across his face.

There’s something about Bradley Bradshaw. You like to think of it as a gravitational pull. Something with force, something that makes people look at him. Something that grounds them, too, though, gives them a tether. 

Ever since he first walked into this bar a little over a year ago, it’s like he’s become a fixture in your life, even if you only see him once or twice a week, even if it’s just a quick exchange of words over a countertop. Bradley Bradshaw makes for a good North Star.

He shrugs, and there’s something almost sheepish to it. “It was part of your list of reasons why you’re better than Hangman last month.”

You pause, still holding the glasses, and stare at him. He looks right back. 

“That’s beside the point,” Natasha pipes up. She’s balancing both her elbows on the bartop, pulling herself closer. “Why were you crying?”

That sort of shifts reality back into focus. What are you supposed to say? I let a guy who isn’t even really my boyfriend but also not really not my boyfriend knock me up, and now I have no idea what the fuck to do? To two people who are little more than glorified acquaintances?

You shrug and decide they look like they’d enjoy the new craft beer Penny got on tap. It has notes of vanilla and apple, and you’re not much of a beer person, but even you like it. Or at least you used to.

“It’s nothing,” you say, drawing the first glass. It ends up perfect - amber liquid topped with just the right amount of foam, the little bobbles popping as you push it across the counter toward Natasha. Your life might be a mess, but at least you still know how to draw a damn good glass of beer from the tap. “Don’t worry about it.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow, but then she lets it go. “You know I’ll beat a guy up for you, right?”

You don’t doubt it. If there’s anybody in this bar you wouldn’t want to cross, it’s Natasha, and not just because of whatever training the Navy put her through. You’re convinced she came into the world knowing how to take a guy out.

“Yeah,” you agree and are surprised to find you mean it. Realistically, you’re not particularly close to any of the pilots. You chit-chat sometimes, have had a few drunken conversations after everybody else has filtered out of the Hard Deck while wiping down tables or collecting shot glasses, but that’s not really enough to support a true friendship. Still. If you asked, you have no doubt Natasha would go to bat for you. “It’s okay, though. I’m fine. I’ll put this on your tab, yeah?”

She looks like she wants to say something else, but then decides to let it go. Sighs, “Okay.”

As Natasha pushes off the bar to rejoin her group of friends toward the back of the bar, Bradley takes a step closer instead. You make it a point not to look at him, but the yellow and white of his Hawaiian shirt flashes in your periphery despite your best efforts.

He places a large hand on the countertop, palm down, and you should be looking busy, but all you can do is stare as his fingers starfish across the wood.

“You can talk to me, yeah?” he asks, and his voice is soft enough that it almost disappears in the din of this Saturday night. “Whatever it is.”

You do look up then. Bradley has brown eyes, round and big and deep. There’s something about them that makes you want to trust him, trust his words, trust the sincerity. It almost makes you start crying again.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

Then somebody’s shouting an order at you, and you’re pushing a coaster under a sweating Cuba Libre, you’re pouring a Tequila shot, you’re looking for the maraschino cherries, you’re passing out salt shakers, and you don’t notice as he disappears and you don’t think about anything for a short, blissful, beautiful time.

+

Two months ago, you met Luke halfway through the door of a bar you’d seen on Instagram, something with low lights and neon signs and booths cushioned in lush, ruby velvet. They had this signature cocktail there, something with rum and gold foil and a lot of smoke that drifted up in sweet-smelling plumes.

Luke was charming and laughed a lot, and when he put his hand on your waist, when he looked at you, your heart skipped a beat or two. And still, the first thing you told Penny about at work the next day was the cocktail and not the guy.

You’re almost entirely sure you’re not in love with him, but you’re excited about the idea that maybe someday you could be. Luke is a nice guy. He works in finance somewhere in San Diego, takes you to expensive seafront restaurants, and once or twice, he even bought you expensive lingerie. Luke likes the same movies as you do, likes putting on Jazz music when you go down on him in his car, and that always manages to make you feel strangely sophisticated even with a dick in your mouth. He’s older, and he has a real, grown-up job, completely unlike you with your singles soaked in beer.

He’s a stead-fast, reliable guy. If you have to be in this situation with anyone, you figure it’s better to be in it with him than some twenty-something surfer dude who couldn’t even find the word responsible in a dictionary.

The anxiety has been gnawing at you since last night, has been chipping away your composure and your calm. Has reduced you into a jittery, terrified, chafing shell of your former self. All day you were fumbling - burning your hand on the heated water kettle in the morning, almost running a red light, cutting your finger deep enough it didn’t stop bleeding for a whole five minutes.

Earlier today, you took a last, desperate stand. Propelled by the sort of hope that exists against all better judgment, you went on a CVS run and returned with three more pregnancy tests. You left them back at your tiny apartment, right on the counter where you put them out in the first place, those three tiny, horrible, life-altering plus signs laughing right in your face.

And that was it then. Your fate decided. Your luck run out.

Since you were fourteen, sitting on that floral couch, the course of your life had seemed so clear to you. You’d been so sure of where you wanted to go, so sure of how to get there. And yeah, okay, maybe you used to think you’d get there sooner, but that’s never deterred you before. Slow and steady wins the race, that’s what you used to think.

Now, ten years later, everything is muddled. You can’t see an inch ahead in the fog of all this.

To add insult to injury, those tests were fucking expensive. The next time you check your bank account, you might start crying.

So you spent a good fifteen minutes curled up on your bathroom tiles, staring at your shower curtain, blinking away tears you never shed. You spent a good fifteen minutes trying to figure it out, trying to untangle it, trying to make sense of how you could fuck up so completely. 

And then you finally picked yourself up, massaged the grid pattern of the tiles off your cheek, and shot Luke a text asking if he was free tonight.

He drops by at the end of your shift.

“Hi, babe.” Luke grins as he slides into one of the bar stools. “You good?”

You nod, then pause. “Not really?”

You’re wiping down the bartop, dumping an ashtray you collected from the smoking zone outside into the trash. The Hard Deck is empty now, even the last stragglers filed out. Bob selected a song on the jukebox before he left, something slow and decidedly country. Your hands shake when you go to wet the rag again.

Luke frowns and leans across the bar to look at you closely. “What happened?”

“I have to tell you something,” you say and run the tap. The water hits the chrome of the sink with a splatter.

Luke raises an eyebrow, grins. “Illicit confession?”

Under any other circumstances, you would have laughed. But your stomach is coiled up in knots so tight you wonder if they’ll ever untangle again. Like the earphones you fish from the bottom of a purse.

You just so manage a half-hearted chuckle, a sad, pathetic little sound that has Luke’s eyebrow climbing even higher.

He pushes a brown paper bag across the counter. “I brought your favorite take-out… Would that cheer you up?”

Almost immediately, your stomach growls in answer. You’ve been so hungry the past few days that you can’t even manage to be embarrassed. “Mexican?” you ask, something like excitement in your voice for the first time in over 24 hours.

“Ah...” Luke bites his lower lip. “No, uhm… I got something from that one place we went to. The fusion kitchen?”

“Oh…” The excitement dampens immediately, and you force a smile. “Yeah, cool. Thanks.”

“Sorry… you did say you liked it when we went.”

He’s right. You did say that.

Luke likes experimental food, things like that cocktail with the gold foil. Things that look much better than they end up tasting. He takes pictures of them and posts them on his Instagram, and he always makes sure not to get your hand in, your purse, your foot. He doesn’t even follow you back, and you want to not care about trivial things like social media so very badly that you never ask him about it.

He looks genuinely apologetic, though, so you resolve to forgive him. You smile and say, “I did! This is great. Thanks, Luke.”

His satisfied smile puts you at ease.

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

It’s a bit like a bucket of ice water. The ease slips away as quickly as it came. You start wiping almost furiously at a stain on the bartop, then give up. Stare at your fingers gone wrinkly with the sudsy water. 

You open your mouth, and then you say, “I’m pregnant.”

It’s not what you meant to say. You meant to ease into this, make it sound… less final, somehow. As if that’s at all possible. As if that isn’t exactly what it is. Final.

You’re never going back from this, you realize suddenly. No matter what happens from here on out, there’s never going to be another moment where this hasn’t happened. Where you weren’t pregnant, where you didn’t mess it all up. The plan, the dream, the life.

Tears aren’t enough anymore. You’re going to run headfirst into the ocean and scream until the saltwater fills your lungs.

Luke laughs. You stare at him.

It takes a moment, but slowly he realizes that you’re not joking. That this is serious. The smile slides sideways off his face.

“Oh,” he says, and you can’t look at him anymore. So you let your eyes wander, down towards the lapels of his white dress shirt. He’s still wearing his suit and tie, and the realization that he’s come straight from the office touches you more than it should. At the same time, guilt settles in your stomach. You’re doing this to him, you’re altering his life, you…

The rational part of yourself scoffs, takes over the reins. It takes two to tango, you remind yourself. This is as much his fault as it is yours.

But that doesn’t get rid of the bitter taste in your mouth.

“Why…” Luke pauses. “Why are you telling me this?”

When you look up at his face again, his expression is carefully blank.

“Uh…”

“Shouldn’t you be telling the father?”

You blink. The cogs of your mind turn slowly like somebody slapped gum between them. “I am,” you say, wondering what the hell he’s on about.

“I’m not the father,” Luke says, very matter-of-factly. “You don’t need to lie about it.” 

“I’m not lying.” You’re too stunned to even be insulted by the insinuation.

“It’s alright.” He shrugs his shoulders, his expensive suit in the tacky, glossy fabric catching the light. “It’s not like we’re exclusive. I don’t mind if you slept with somebody else.”

“Not exclusive,” you repeat lamely. Maybe that part shouldn’t catch you as off guard as it does. You’ve never discussed it with him in as many words, never sat down to have the whole boyfriend/girlfriend talk, but you’ve been seeing each other semi-regularly for two months now, and you’d just sort of assumed…

“Sure.” Luke nods. “Don’t blame this one on me, then.”

Oh. Your heart clenches, and suddenly it feels like you can’t breathe.

“I didn’t sleep with anybody else,” you say, but your voice sounds far away.

Luke shrugs. “Well, it can’t be mine.”

You don’t even know what to say to this. You’re in desperate, burning need of a shot, and the realization that you can’t have one zaps through you like a pain.

“We always used a condom,” Luke is saying, and his words drift to you through a fog, through a mist, through a thicket of fear and anxiety and ice-cold panic. “I made damn sure of that.”

“It’s not….” You clear your throat. “They’re only like… 98 percent safe. Condoms, I mean.”

“What, so you’re saying we’re those two percent?”

He looks like he’s about to start laughing again, and suddenly you barely recognize him. You’ve always known that Luke wasn’t the love of your life, but that was fine. Love hadn’t been part of the plan anyway, that was for later, much later, after you’d gone international and gotten rich off Mojitos and Pina Coladas and the occasional Old Fashioned. But Luke had been… well, he’d been nice. Always. He’d been someone to laugh with, had been long walks on the beach, and quick tumbles in his backseat. He’d been fun and nice and…

And you’d been stupid enough to hope. Hope for more, hope for better, hope for something.

“I can’t have a baby with you,” he says. His voice rings with finality.

What are you supposed to say to that? With those three positive pregnancy tests back home on your bathroom counter. With the knowledge that you haven’t slept with anyone else.

“Well,” you whisper, and the words come out softer than you want them to, “you are.”

Luke is very quiet for a moment. He’s looking right at you, the blue eyes you used to think were open, inviting, now slitted and probing. Like a snake. 

“Jesus,” he says finally, draws back to run his fingers through his hair, a gesture of exasperation. His voice has lost some of its calm. “What do you want from me?”

You wonder if you look as dazed as you feel. “I don’t… I don’t want anything from you.”

That’s not true. You’d like him to hug you. You’d like him to tell you it’s going to be okay, even if that might be a lie. You’d like him to be nice to you.

Instead, Luke, who looks increasingly distressed, jerks his head and says, “If it’s a family you’re after… I can’t give you that.”

Everything has happened so quickly - the toppling of your plans, the chaos of your life. You haven’t really had time to think about how you want him to react. Not like this, though.

“Why not?” you ask and regret the question the moment it’s out of your mouth. You sound like a child - lost, confused.

Luke sighs. He rakes a palm over his face and shakes his head. When he finally looks at you again, there’s something almost guilty on his face. You can’t tear your eyes away, can’t help but feel your stomach plummeting down down down toward the ground. It’s like standing on the ledge of a skyscraper, feeling what the fall might be like even with both feet firmly planted.

“I can’t give you that,” he says, “because I already have a family.”

Beneath you, the ground seems to quiver.

“What?”

Luke pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, then reaches into his pocket and produces a shiny, golden wedding band. When he slips it back onto its original place on his finger, you watch the patch of pale skin, several shades lighter than the rest, disappear.

Your breath gets stuck somewhere in your chest.

“You’re… married?”

“Going on five years,” he says, and you think he sounds sad, but maybe that’s just your hope getting the better of you again.

You don’t know what to say. For a moment, you just stand there with the rag still in your hand, listening to the sad, sad voice of some wanna-be cowboy drawling from the speakers. Hear the phantom thud of the cues hitting pool balls. Turn your head to where the pilots were having fun earlier, back when things weren’t all jumbled up.

The whole world moves far, far away from you. Like something you watch on TV screens, something intangible, something fake. It’s not something that happens to people like you. It’s not something that happens to real people.

“It’s… you didn’t tell me that,” you say, and it’s like your voice echoes through a long, long tunnel, bounces off the walls like a tennis ball. “I didn’t know.”

And then you think back on it. Think of whispered phone calls in the dead of night, think of erratic work schedules, think of his insistence to come here instead of going to San Diego. Think of how little you know of his life, how firmly he kept you locked out of it.

Suddenly you’re not so sure if you didn’t know or if you just didn’t want to know. If you closed your eyes to what was right in front of you.

Guilt and anger and confusion flash through you in rapid succession. You feel sick to your stomach.

“I’ll give you money,” Luke says. It’s a peculiar thing - you see his mouth move before the words ever reach your ears, like a movie that’s gone out of sync with the audio.

“Money,” you repeat, very slowly. Or maybe not slowly at all. You just feel like you got stuck in molasses, like the whole world has been dipped in something sticky.

“Well. You’re getting rid of it.”

It’s not a question. He says it like it’s a fact, like it’s something that’s already been decided. Like it’s something you don’t get a say in.

You stiffen, fingers sinking into the wet rag. Soapy water drips over the lacquered wood of the bartop. 

“No,” you say. “No, I’m not.”

About five minutes ago, you hadn’t even made your mind up about it yet. Hadn’t decided whether to keep it or not. Had still been weighing the pros and cons in your mind, turning them over like a Rosetta Stone that might help you decipher the encrypted, tangled mess of your thoughts.  

And now that he’s said it, now that the option is right there in the open, suddenly you know that’s not the way you want it to happen.

“What,” Luke says, “you wanna have it?”

“Yes,” you answer, and you know it’s the truth.

Maybe it’s stupid. You’re twenty-four. You’re broke. You pick up shifts at a bar to pour tequila shots for other people. You live off the guys you flirt with long enough they decide you’re worth a tip. All those plans of grandeur, of franchises and cocktails and Park Avenue apartments, are dead-ends. You’ve been walking a cul-de-sac your whole life.

And still… something about it feels right to you. 

You’ve been thinking about the whole thing in theory - the theoretical truth of that test, the theoretical reaction of Luke, the theoretical existence of that baby, the theoretical impact on your life. But it’s not a theory. It’s real.

There’s a baby growing in you.

It’s the most terrifying thought of your life. You’ve never experienced something so wonderful. Even as the fear eats away at you, even as your stomach churns and your head spins, some part of you feels illuminated with light.

Luke laughs. “Babe… no offense, but that’s a horrible idea.”

You clench your teeth and grit out, “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

He shrugs. “Well, you’re gonna get it. You really think you could raise a kid?”

“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, and wonder where all this calm is coming from. “But I want to try.”

Luke stares at you as if you’re growing a spare set of ears right in front of him. Then he laughs again, shakes his head. You can’t see what’s so funny about any of this. 

“Babe,” he says, “this isn’t some new Cocktail recipe. This is an actual child you’re talking about.”

If you weren’t so goddamn tired, it would make you angry. Set fire to you like a fuse. But you’re drained, empty, hollow. You want to go home, want to curl up in bed, want to cry. You want to go back two weeks in time, back when you were still just a failing waitress with a big dream. Back before the responsibility of it all hunched you over.

“I’m doing it,” you say, and hope he understands the decision is final. Hope your voice is firm.

Luke exhales. A muscle in his jaw twitches as he grinds his teeth, as he turns half away from you.

Finally, after an eternity, he says, “I can’t be involved in this.”

For your part, you understand that decision is final too.

You nod, grab onto the bartop to keep yourself from toppling over. The ground beneath you is a gaping, beckoning abyss. It’s going to swallow you whole.

“Fine,” you whisper. “I’ll do it alone then.”

For a moment, Luke looks almost surprised. As if he was sure you’d fold eventually, see reason. Listen to him.

You wonder if that’s how it’s been before - him pushing and you giving in. Rearranging your life to fit his schedule, his plans, his wants. Shrinking yourself to make room for him. And you didn’t even notice.

You straighten your spine.

“For what it’s worth,” Luke says as he slides off his chair, “I’m sorry.”

And then he does what men do best: He leaves. Walks away from you and the baby growing inside of you. Walks away from the mess he made, the dream he shattered, without a care or a thought. Without looking back.

You watch his retreating form, watch the set of his shoulders, the spring in his step, watch as he bounds down the steps onto the gravel of the parking lot, watch as the shadows eventually blot out the sight of him.

Good riddance, you want to say, but you can’t even form words.

With your heart torn to shreds, with your fear clawing a bloody path up your throat, you sink down onto the floor, press a hand to your mouth, and you sob.

+

Twenty minutes later, Bradley Bradshaw finds you in the exact same position.

You know it’s been twenty minutes because you’re staring at the digital clock of the dishwasher, counting down the wash cycle. The neon red of the numbers blurs through the veil of your tears.

It’s like somebody’s cut your chest open. Scooped you clean like taking a spoon to a tub of ice cream. Behind your ribcage, you feel hollow in a way that aches down to your bones. That spiderwebs through your veins.

Bradley pauses in the doorway, silhouetted by the outdoor lighting you still haven’t turned off. Like this, with your vision blurred, he looks like a drawing of the Virgin Mary on one of those cheap, tacky candles. Descending on a flurry of clouds and light and doves. Only this Virgin Mary wears Hawaiian shirts, apparently. It almost makes you laugh.

He casts his eyes over the room, a slight furrow dipping between his brows. It takes you a moment to understand he hasn’t seen you yet, not with how you’re crouching by the crates of Corona.

Part of you wants to hide, wants to crawl under the jutting canopy of the bar. Wants to pretend you’re not here, fold yourself into a tiny pocket square of a person until he leaves again.

“Hello?” Bradley asks, genuine confusion laced with the word, and you know you can’t do that.

“Hi,” you call back, and your voice sounds tiny. Miserable. You push up on your knees to preserve a bit of your dignity. The room goes spinning in a whirlwind, and you catch yourself with both hands on the wood, lifting up to peek at him over the edge of the bar. “I’m down here.”

For a moment, Bradley just stares at you. He takes in the scene, the smeared mascara, the swollen eyes, the fresh tears leaving tracks down your cheeks like you’re drawing rivers on a map.

Then he snaps into action. He’s crossing the room before you can even really come to terms with the fact that he’s here in the first place, pushing through the hip-high swinging door that separates the oval space hugged by the bar from the rest of the room and falling to his knees by your side.

“What happened?” Bradley asks, something hard to his voice. But when he goes to touch the side of your face, carefully as if you’re injured, as if you’re made of porcelain that’ll break at the slightest jostle, his brown eyes show nothing but genuine concern.

It makes you cry harder.

“Nothing,” you say, which is a ridiculous lie, all things considered. You’re crouching on the floor of your workplace, over an hour after your shift has ended, crying your eyes out. Clearly, there’s something wrong. “I’m fine.”

Bradley sits cross-legged on the hardwood floors, his knee close enough to graze against yours. He looks decidedly out of his depth, almost uncomfortable. Helpless. His mustache quivers as he opens his mouth, then closes it again.

But he doesn’t push. Doesn’t try to get you to explain it, doesn’t ask again. He just sits there with you, elbows on his thighs, and lets you cry. 

It’s nice not to be alone. To have somebody with you, even if he doesn’t know you. Even if he has no idea what it is that has you on the brink of a complete crisis.

You do your best not to think about it. Not about the baby, not about the guy who just dumped you. Not about gold foil and Instagram posts and wedding bands. Not about how he’s made you a homewrecker, and you didn’t even know.

Maybe this is karma. The universe punishing you for your sins. Something like that.

Maybe it’s just really, really bad luck.

“What are you doing here?” you ask when you’ve finally calmed yourself enough the sobbing has subsided to sniffles.

Bradley jerks his head noncommittally. “I forgot my wallet.”

“Oh.” You try to get up, but your legs won’t cooperate. “I’ll help you look.”

He shakes his head, pulls you back onto the floor by the elbow. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll look for it later. What happened?”

There’s something about his tone that tells you this time he won’t let you get away with a half-assed lie. Which doesn’t stop you from trying.

“Just… rough day.”

Bradley looks at you, then pulls his knees up, lets his arms dangle between them. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says, and his voice is very gentle. “But if you want to… I can listen.”

This is the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. He has the kind of face that makes you want to tell him things. Makes you want to spill your secrets to him, pour them into his space. He’s steady, reliable, calm. It would be so easy to trust him.

That’s dangerous.

But you’re so tired, and you’re so broken, and you’re so terribly, horribly lonely. With Luke gone, with your parents out of the picture, with nobody to help and no one to hold you, the loneliness is like an ache, like a stain, like something that festers and spreads and unfurls inside of you.

You just want to pretend you don’t have to do it alone. Just for a moment.

So you say, “I think I did something stupid.”

Bradley’s eyes are very brown. A soft shade of brown, like milk chocolate. When you look at him, you feel warm all over.

“Alright,” he says, and there isn’t an ounce of judgment in it. It’s just a gentle, careful nudge for you to continue.

“I…” You exhale shakily, look down to the floor, twist the bracelet around your wrist. It’s so much harder to form the words the second time around. “I’m pregnant.”

Saying it to Bradley, who is practically a stranger, saying it to someone outside of whatever little bubble, whatever vacuum two people playing at love built around themselves, makes it real in a way it wasn’t before.

You’re pregnant. In a few months, your belly is going to grow to the size of a watermelon. You’re going to get ultrasounds and wear maternity clothes and buy a crib. You’re going to hold a baby in your arms, a baby that will become a toddler, will become a child, will become a teenager, will become an adult. They’re never going to leave again.

I’m pregnant.

One moment - and in it the rest of your life.

It’s a skyscraper, it’s a monument, it’s a mountain. It dwarves you. How can you ever be enough for the path that lies ahead?

The panic jumps you. It rattles you. Suddenly you’re panting, you’re shaking, you can’t think, your head spinning circles around the enormity of it all.

“Oh,” Bradley says. He sounds like he expected you to say just about anything except that. “Congratulations.”

You stare at him, and he backtracks.

“Unless you don’t want me to congratulate you? Sorry, I shouldn’t just….”

“No,” you stop him, your voice a tiny, trembling thing. “It’s okay. Thank you.”

You wonder what it might be like if you were older, if you were married, if you weren’t such a fuck-up. Would people beam at you, hug you, shake your hand? Would they share the joy they must assume you feel?

Neither one of you says anything for a while. Through the opened windows, the sound of the ocean drifts in, of the waves crashing against the shore. The chrome of the fridge you’re leaning against is cold even through the layers of your shirt. You count the wooden tiles on the floor.

After half an eternity, Bradley says, “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

It’s like a knife to the heart, it slices right through you, stabs you between the ribs. And you’re not even angry, don’t even feel betrayed… it just hurts. The kind of pain that stays with you. The kind of pain that leaves phantom traces even after the wounds have healed.

“I don’t,” you say finally.

Beside you, Bradley shifts his weight. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m really putting my foot in it today, aren’t I?”

It’s almost enough to make you laugh. “It’s okay,” you say, even though it isn’t. This whole thing isn’t okay. “I’ll be fine.”

Without hesitating, Bradley says, “I know you will be.”

There’s such conviction in his voice that it baffles you. You stare at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“He’s… have you told him, though? Or are you guys not in contact?”

Still trying to recover, you shrug. “Yeah,” you whisper, drawing your shoulders almost all the way up to your ears, “I told him.”

You can tell he wants to ask more, but he gives you a second before his next question. “And you… you guys are gonna try co-parenting? Or is he… are you going to get married?”

That makes you frown. You say, “What is this, the 1950s?”

“I just think….” Bradley clears his throat. “I just think if you get a girl pregnant, you should step up. Take responsibility.”

Of course he’d think that. You’re not even surprised.

There’s always been something traditional about Bradley Bradshaw, like he’s one of those men written by women people rave about all over TikTok. If he takes a girl out on a date, he probably holds open car doors and pulls out chairs for her, hands her his jacket if she gets cold.

Distantly, you wonder what that would be like.

“I don’t want somebody to marry me out of responsibility,” you say. “I can take care of myself.”

Bradley scrambles. “I know that!” he says quickly, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him shift his weight forward, elbows resting on his thighs. “Of course, I know that. I just thought… I just thought you shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

It’s such a simple thing to say, but it almost bowls you over. You turn your head to the side, press your face into your shirt sleeve and dig your fingernails deep into the skin of your shins.

Bradley watches you, eyes intent, and then he probes carefully, “Are you… are you going to keep it?”

You sink your teeth into your lower lip, blink against the sudden dampness. Keep your face turned away from him. The shame of it all, of the situation you’re in, of him seeing you like this, overwhelms you. Your vision blurs.

“I think…” You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I always used to think if I ever got in this situation, I’d just get an abortion but now… I don’t… I just don’t think it’s the right thing for me.”

Slowly, he nods. “You want to have the baby,” he says, and it’s not really a question, but you answer anyway.

“Yes. I mean… I don’t know, it’s just… I want this. I don’t know why or how, but I… it feels like I have to do this.”

“Yeah,” Bradley says, completely sincere. “Your body, your choice.”

Now you do snort. “What, are we at a rally?”

“I follow a few Instagram accounts,” he admits. His voice has gone almost sheepish. “Abortion rights should be everybody’s concern. Nobody’s free until everybody’s free.”

It’s endearing in a strange way because there’s nothing performative about it. It’s just bumbling and awkward and peculiarly genuine.

“You sound like you spend too much time on Twitter,” you say softly, and it makes him laugh. Bradley’s got a nice laugh, one that starts in his belly and seems to end at the back of his throat, punches out into the air from back there.

After things have gone quiet again, the anxiety sets back in. Or maybe it’s been there all along, chomping at the bit, and you just didn’t notice.

“You must think I’m crazy,” you say finally, a self-deprecating chuckle loosening from your throat.

But when you glance up at him from beneath lowered lashes, stomach tight with anticipation, Bradley doesn’t look judgmental at all. Instead, his face is wide open, his eyes clear, the corners of his lips still curled upward with the remnants of his smile.

Luke laughed at you, but Bradley is looking at you with something like admiration, and it takes your breath away.

“No,” he says. “I think you’re really, really brave.”

And then you’re crying again.

You’re surprised there are any tears left in you after your earlier session, but they burst forth now, in a sudden eruption of all the fear and all the pain. And Bradley is so nice. So goddamn kind even though he doesn’t know you, not really, even though this isn’t even his problem. Sits there on the floor of the Hard Deck with you at half past one am on a Sunday night, and doesn’t complain, doesn’t sigh. He just listens.

You don’t feel brave. You feel terrified, you feel overwhelmed, you feel… you feel… you feel like the whole world has toppled over. You feel like Atlas crashing down, buried beneath the weight of his burden. You feel tiny. Inadequate. You feel scared, scared, scared.

“I don’t know what to do,” you confess, choke it out between sobs. Wonder why you’re telling him this. When you don’t know him.

Funny how it is so much easier at times to be honest with strangers than it is to be honest with the people we love the most.

“I’m so… I’m so scared, Bradley.”

He moves as if to touch you, then seems to think better of it and slumps back into himself. The expression on his face is unreadable, his eyebrows furrowed, his jaw clenched.

“He’s not gonna… the father isn’t going to help you out?”

It makes you realize you never really answered his earlier question. And you don’t know why, can’t explain it rationally, but for some reason, this, too, makes embarrassment well up at the back of your throat. 

What is Bradley going to think? The poor, little, stupid girl who got herself knocked up by a guy who won’t even stay? Is that what everybody’s going to think now? Is that all you’ll be?

It’s a life sentence, this whole thing.

You shrug, pause. Shake your head. “No,” you say finally. “He’s not going to be involved.”

You know it’s true. Luke won’t come back, not now, not in ten years, not in twenty. There was something final about that exchange, something permanent. Something that can’t be undone.

Suddenly, you think of that tiny, unborn child inside of you. Abandoned before it ever came into the world.

It’s just you and me now, baby, you think to yourself, and it goes through you like a current, sweeps you under like a wave. We’re all alone. All we have is each other.

“What about your parents? Your dad’s in the Navy, too, right?”

If you could, you’d run away. Fold yourself to invisibility. Slip into the pockets between moments and become something other, something that exists out of sight.

You think of your parents. Floral couches and polished hardwood floors. Tom Cruise on the television as your mother scrubbed every part of the house like she was getting rid of an illness, wiping away a disease, perpetually finding another stain or another cobweb or another wrinkle to smooth over. Think of your father, rigid and strict and absent. Always on some mission, always thinking of a greater good that definitely didn’t involve you, always looking through you even as he looked at you. You don’t know if you have a single memory of him smiling.

You haven’t spoken to them once since you gave up a perfectly fine full-ride scholarship to college.

“My parents,” you say, and as the words spill from you, you realize they’re the truth, “would probably kill me if they found out I got pregnant out of wedlock. Maybe if I were married, they’d give me back my trust fund or something, but… No, I don’t think they’d help me out.”

A muscle in Bradley’s jaw jumps, then he’s looking away. Turning to the side so you’re knee to knee again. You stare at his profile, at the curl of his ears, the cut of his jaw. The jagged edges of his scars blur through the fog of your tears.

“So, how are you… do you have a plan?”

You had one. You had Mojitos and Daiquiris and Cosmopolitans. You had a slew of business classes at a community college. You had a dream and a set of tools to achieve it, and when you close your eyes, you can almost see it right there in front of you.

But now it’s been swept up in a hurricane. Swallowed by a tsunami.

“No,” you admit, and your voice trembles. “I have no idea what to do.”

Bradley’s jaw moves as he chews on his lower lip. He swallows, and his throat unudlates with it, and then he’s shifting, shuffling forward a bit.

“I…” He clears his throat. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looks nervous. “I may have an idea.”

“An idea?” you repeat slowly.

You think he’s going to tell you about some friend who’s looking to hire someone, looking to rent out a very cheap apartment, works at a doctor’s office and is going to treat you for free. Something like that, maybe.

Instead, Bradley takes a deep breath and says, “Marry me.”

It takes a while for the words to register. At first, you think you’ve misheard, then you wonder if maybe the romantic parts of your mind cooked that up. If he even said it at all.

But Bradley is looking at you expectantly, the only indicator of nerves the slightest glimmer in his brown eyes.

And you can’t help yourself. You laugh, even through your tears. It’s a sound that rips from you unconsciously, unstoppably, because surely he’s joking. It’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard.

“Good one,” you say, and wonder just how big of a mess you look like. You wipe at your cheeks, your nose with your sleeves and sniffle once, twice.

Bradley’s lips twitch into the pathetic half of a smile, then he’s serious again, avoiding your eyes.

And that, finally, is when you realize that he isn’t joking at all.

“I…” You pause, mind whirring, head spinning. “What?”

“It’s just….” Bradley shrugs, then explains, “It’s only a suggestion. But you said your family might consider supporting you again if you were married. It might be an option.”

You don’t know what to say. You feel like you’re in a low-budget Hallmark movie.

Bradley pushes on, “It wouldn’t be permanent. We could get a divorce quickie in a year or two, just stay together long enough for you to get settled with the baby and everything. Plus, you’d get free healthcare.” He glances at you, and the blank expression on your face must light a panic in him. Now his words come faster. “I wouldn’t expect anything from you, of course I wouldn’t. It would just be… keeping up appearances. Just for a while….”

Finally, he trails off. The silence stretches between you like a palpable thing, thick and dense like summer heat.

When you were twelve, sitting in the back of the car as your parents argued up front, the woods of Washington flying past in rapid ribbons of black and blue and green, the moon a disk of silver in the sky, a deer ran out into the road. You remember the screeching of the tires as your dad did what you’re not supposed to and brought the car to a sudden, abrupt stillstand. You remember the wide eyes of the animal, the muscles locked in its state of catatonic horror. You remember the flanks rising and falling quickly beneath the matted fur.

For a second, you feel like that deer. Frozen. Caught completely off guard. Vulnerable.

Then you think you might be a little overdramatic. 

You say, “What the fuck, Bradley?”

Part of you expects him to backtrack immediately, laugh, and tell you that he was joking after all. But Bradley stands his ground, even as he still won’t look right at you.

“I probably wouldn’t even be home much anyway. I leave for work all the time,” he says, brows drawn into a straight line above his eyes as he stares intently at his thumb rubbing circles into the skin of his arm. “But I could babysit, and then you could go back to work. I really wouldn’t mind. I’m good with kids, you know?”

You’re not entertaining the whole thing, not really, but you can’t help yourself. Your curiosity takes the upper hand.

“Why would you… why would you ever offer this? You barely know me.”

Bradley seems to think about it for a long moment, his face unreadbale. Then finally, he says, “There’d be something in it for me, too, you know? I’ve been meaning to get assigned to North Island permanently, do a relocation. But those spots tend to go to the guys with family, so…” He shrugs, but the gesture seems forced. “I could help you out, you could help me out. Win-win.”

“That’s all?” you ask, and you don’t know why there’s something like disappointment in your voice.

Bradley looks like he wants to say something else, and for a moment his face is vulnerable. But then it shutters again, and he nods. “That’s all.”

For a second, just a second, you let yourself imagine it: Imagine saying yes to this mad, insane, incredible proposal. Imagine marrying Bradley, someone soft and warm and responsible, someone completely opposite to Luke. Imagine him in a tux and you in a white dress, imagine his mustache tickling against your cheek as he leans in to kiss you. You imagine one of the quaint little houses you grew up in, but one that would belong to you, at least for a while. You imagine a toddler running through it, imagine Bradley bending down to scoop them into his arms. You imagine a life without this aching, shifting loneliness. You imagine a life with Bradley.

When you finally shake your head, when you let go of that ghost, it feels like it takes a piece of you with it.

“No,” you say softly, and it breaks you open in ways you can’t describe. “I can’t let you do that, Bradley.”

It’s just too insane. Too far out there. It wouldn’t be fair to him, when you’d be getting so much more out of that arrangement.

And besides. I don’t want someone to marry me out of responsibility. That’s what you told Bradley earlier, and you meant it.

When you do marry, when you walk down that aisle, you want it to be for love. And people can call you delusional, naive, whatever. You don’t care. You just know you want the big thing, the real thing, True Love, capital t, capital l. You want the hurricane of romance, the monsoon of love. You want to fly into it.

Bradley’s quiet for a moment. Then he says, “Okay. But if you… change your mind, yeah? I’ll be here.”

And he means it. Bradley carries his heart on his sleeve, you’ve learned this much. He tries to hide it, but he’s no good at it. Eventually, his emotions always get the better of him, burst forth like fountains. It’s part of his charm.

“What,” you say, “right here on the Hard Deck’s floors?”

It’s a sad attempt at a joke, but Bradley is nice enough to laugh anyway. “Sure thing. You guys have the cleanest floors in all of North Island, did you know that?”

You hum. “Sure. I’m the one who cleans them.”

Finally, you get up off the floor, unfold yourself from the bundle of misery you’ve crumbled into. Your legs ache, your back hurts, your chest still feels hollow. All the crying has left a dull pain pulsating behind your left brow.

The two of you look for Bradley’s wallet together, finally find it over by the pool table. You pretend like you’re not still reeling from his proposal, like it’s not suddenly become impossible to do so much as look at him without your heart flopping around like a fish finding its sad end on dry land.

“Can I give you a ride home?” Bradley asks as he watches you lock up. The Hard Deck has an old lock that gets jammed whenever the slightest bit of dampness creeps into the air. You have to hang onto the doorknob with all your weight while simultaneously turning the key to get it to lock.

“I drove here,” you say, casting your eyes about for the tiny tin can you call your car. You can’t even remember where you parked earlier.

“You okay to drive?” Bradley asks.

You glance at him. With the lights off, the parking lot is almost covered in a thick blanket of darkness. The headlights of a few passing cars winding their path along the coastal highway illuminate patches of gravel now and then. Moonlight spills silver and dim across his shoulders, like fingers caressing him. He looks concerned, examining the state of you.

The truth is that you’re tired. Bone tired. Dead tired. So tired you could probably go to sleep where you stand if you put your mind to it. But you don’t want to bother Bradley anymore, have already stolen enough of his time.

So you’re about to decline, but it seems you hesitated too long.

“I’ll take you home,” Bradley says decidedly, “and you can come get your car tomorrow, okay? I don’t think you should be driving like this.”

“You don’t have to do that, you….”

“I know,” he interrupts you, a smile spreading on his face. “But I’ll feel better knowing you got home safe.”

That makes your insides clench in a way they shouldn’t. Your chest feels tight, and you look away just in case you start crying again.

Is it too soon in your pregnancy to start blaming raging hormones?

Wordlessly, you let Bradley lead you across the parking lot toward his monstrosity of a car. His hand hovers at the small of your back, incredibly close yet never touching. He’s big behind you, bulking, and you try not to think about it. When he opens the door for you and waits until you’re buckled in to close it, you feel like your head’s going to explode.

The ride home is quiet, as is the town around you on this Sunday night. An old Killers song plays on the radio, and you think of deer stepping out into streets, then press your eyes closed and will the thought away.

In Bradley’s car, with the windows rolled down, with the Californian night breeze whipping your hair into your eyes and clearing the fog from your head, for a short, blissful while, nothing seems real. It’s one of those liminal moments, a not-time, when reality feels like a dream and even the sharpest knives don’t cut deep enough to hurt.

It ends quicker than expected because time always goes the fastest when you want it to go slow. Then you’re thanking him, saying goodbye, both of you pretending he didn’t just propose some strange, fake marriage to you behind a bar counter not even thirty minutes ago.

Bradley waits until you’re inside the building before he starts the engine again. You hear the roar of it as you climb the stairs up to the second floor.

In your bedroom, you don’t even bother getting undressed. You just slip under the covers, pull them up over your head, bury in the sticky, stale air beneath them, close your eyes, and fall asleep within seconds.

+

The first time you told your parents about your bartending dreams, your father yelled at you for forty-five minutes. He hurled words at you that hurt, that left scars, that made you wonder and kept you second-guessing yourself for years, that stayed with you. Your mother didn’t say anything.

Somehow, that was worse.

You call her on the landline at five pm on a Tuesday, just before your dad gets back home, and she answers after the third ring. You’re so sure she’s going to acknowledge the four-year gap in contact, the crumbling of the relationship, the fall-out of screaming and crying, and your dad kicking you out of the house.

What you get, instead, is a ten-minute spiel about who brought what to last week’s church potluck and which laundry detergent your father’s contact allergies don’t act up with.

You’re sitting cross-legged on your bed, your digital alarm clock counting down the time in radioactive green. Outside, you hear the sounds of jets roaring through the sky. In your tiny kitchen unit, the faucet is leaking.

Finally, five minutes into a lecture on the advantages of pre-chopped garlic, you interrupt, “Mom?”

You wonder if she hears the shift in your voice, the slight tremble of it. Something makes her go very quiet on the other end of the line, no sound but her breath.

Drip-drip-drip goes your faucet.

When she doesn’t acknowledge you, you push on, your heart beating a staccato rhythm against your ribcage, “I might… I think I might need some help.”

She doesn’t answer for so long you think you might have lost connection. Then you hear shuffling, imagine her walking through her empty house the way she sometimes does - like a phantom, like a specter.

“With what?” she asks after an eternity.

It’s all you can do to keep yourself from hyperventilating. Years of pain and fear clog up your chest, settle like goosebumps on your skin. You close your eyes and let your head drop back against your pillow.

“I’m pregnant,” you say.

And then you can feel it through the phone, like something physical. What you’ve always known deep down. The disapproval and the disappointment, and the complete lack of understanding.

You’ve never been who your parents wanted you to be, and they’ve always punished you for it like it was a crime.

When your mother says your name, it’s so plain. That she can’t understand what you’re doing, with your cocktails and your late nights. That she doesn’t see why you’d ever choose something like that over a real education and a real job. That she cannot fathom how it could come to this now - you, broke, young, alone, pregnant.

It’s like being five again, trying to get somebody to look at the picture you drew. It’s like being ten again and being overlooked. It’s like being fifteen again, still vying for the attention you’ll never really get.

Your mother is a stubborn woman, set in her ways. She knows what she wants from people, more specifically, what she wants for them. And you’re no exception. Nobody’s ever asked her a question whose answer she couldn’t find in the bible.

More than wanting you to go to college, wanting you to work in an office, your mother has always wanted you to get married. To fit yourself into the picture-perfect stencil of white picket fence and smiling husband she cut herself. For you to let some guy put a ring on you, put a kid in you, buy you a house and a porch swing and a family van.

It’s pathetic, but it doesn’t matter how much time passes. How much older you get. At the end of the day, you still want her approval, just once, even if you have to lie to get it.

So, like a child, like you’re five again, like you’re ten again, like you’re fifteen again, you say, “I’m getting married.”

“Oh?” your mother asks, and there’s so much hope in the one word it hits you like a ton of bricks.

“Yeah,” you confirm, and then the lies just burst out of you, and you hate yourself, hate yourself so much it’s like bile on your tongue, “yeah, we’ve been engaged for a while, and now with the baby and all… It’s been long overdue.”

Your mother almost sounds excited. Sure, she’d probably prefer for you to have been married before getting knocked up, but all of this must still seem better than the last plan you presented to her four years ago. “What’s his name? What’s he do?”

You squeeze your eyes closed. If your mother knew you at all, if you hadn’t spent the past few years not speaking, you’d like to think she would have heard the shame in your voice when you say, “Bradley. He’s a Naval aviator.”

It might be the worst thing you’ve done in your life: Dragging poor, kind Bradley Bradshaw into the mess you’ve made of your life. Nevermind that he offered. It doesn’t matter.

Your mother starts babbling, the way she only does when she’s actually pleased about something. She’s talking about how happy your dad will be that you’re getting married to a fellow army guy, but you barely hear it. Now that you’ve gotten the approval, it doesn’t feel at all like you thought it would. 

It just hurts. 

For a while, you just let her keep talking as you blink away the tears, as you stare at your bedroom wall, as your mind spins and spins and spins in circles. Then you promise to send her an invite, say your goodbyes, and hang up.

It’s like you’re numb all over. You stay on your bed for another five minutes, and then another, and you feel just as empty as you did after your last conversation with Luke.

What has your life become? How could it crumble as quickly as it did, going from okay to horrible in less than a week?

Even when you weren’t speaking to your parents, you never felt this distant from them, this far removed. A chasm you’ll never be able to breach. An ocean you’re never going to bridge. The only way you’ve ever gotten your mother to be happy with a decision you’ve made is when you lied to her.

The loneliness is everywhere, then. In your chest, in your bed, in your veins. Crawling like a shadow that swallows you whole.

And then the panic sets in, ice cold in your veins, and with it comes the guilt. Your stomach rolls with it. 

What have I done? you wonder. What have I done to myself, to Bradley? How will I ever get out of this?

You scramble. Blindly reach for a dress to slip into, for a pair of flip-flops, for your car keys. It’s a miracle you don’t crash on your way to the Hard Deck. Your heart works itself up into a frenzy, and the guilt gnaws at you, slashes at you, paws at you. All these emotions are tearing you apart.

In the back, Bradley and Bob are playing Pacman on one of the retro machines. They’re pretty loud, too, and from what you gather in your mad dash through your workplace, Bradley seems to be disproportionally competitive about the whole thing.

Figures. Nobody gets into Top Gun without a cutthroat streak and a mean penchant for ambition.

“Bradley,” you say, and when he looks up, his eyes sparkling, the smile slides right off his face. “Can I talk to you?”

He seems stunned for a second, then nods and deposits his beer on a nearby table. “Sure thing.”

You lead him out the back. Out of the corner of your eyes, you spot the exact corner you huddled in a few days back, agonizing over the positive pregnancy test, the decline of your life, the decay of your dreams. Don’t look, you tell yourself, and then do it anyway.

The sun hasn’t set yet, but twilight is descending on the world rapidly. Everything is washed into soft pastels, the sand and the last surfers shaking salt water from their hair. Bradley’s shirt and the honey gold of his skin.

You can’t look at him. It’s a shame that grows in the pit of your stomach, that settles there, heavy like a stone. How can you do this to him? 

You’ve never felt worse about yourself, and still… The fear is too big. 

Since you decided to give up on the scholarship, since you walked out of your parents house four years ago, you’ve been on your own. You’ve been footing your own bills and renting your own apartment and paying for insurance on your car. You were alone the time you got a cold so bad you couldn’t get out of bed for two days. You were alone when your tire popped on the highway and you almost hit another car. You were alone when you got rejection after rejection from the big San Diego bars, the ones that end up featured on TV and in magazines.

And that was fine. You’re strong, you know you are. Any issue that came your way, you managed to figure out eventually. You’ve been doing fine without any help.

But this, here, now. This… You just can’t do it on your own. Not when it’s about a baby. Your baby.

So you take a deep breath and ask, “Is the offer still on the table?”

Bradley exhales. You watch as he takes a step closer to you, as his shoes move in the field of your vision, grains of sand crunching beneath the soles. When he speaks, a cadence of insecurity has snuck into his voice, “The marriage?”

You nod because you can’t say it. Your mouth just won’t form the words.

“If…” Bradley clears his throat. “If you want it… yeah.”

When you look up at him, there’s something strange on his face. Something that looks less like surprise and more like awe.

His eyes are so brown, and your heart beats so fast, and you’re dizzy like you just got off a rollercoaster. 

“I…” You pause to collect your thoughts, and then you rush it all out at once, scared that if you don’t say it now, you never will. “If I were to say yes, like, hypothetically… I’d need to know that you’re not just doing it for me. That there’s something in it for you, too, so….”

He’s nodding before you’ve finished. “I told you. I wanna stay here. I’m sick of getting sent around the country all the time, so… It’s good. It’s an opportunity.”

An opportunity. That sounds like business, sounds like a transaction, sounds rational and level-headed and reasonable, and you latch onto the idea. Maybe if you try to take the emotion out of the equation, it’ll be easier.

Bradley seems relaxed about the whole thing, much more relaxed than he should be given the absurdity of the situation, but you feel like you need to make things clear anyway, if only to put yourself at ease. That’s what people do before singing contracts, right? Put all the cards out on the table?

So you go on, “And I wouldn’t, like… Like you’d still get to do anything you want. I wouldn’t expect you to help with the baby or anything. And you could keep dating, of course, you could, I won’t mind. I promise. It’d just be for show, right?”

Bradley hesitates, and for a second, you think he’s going to say something. But then he just shrugs, nods, says, “That’s fine. Yeah. Whatever you want.”

For a moment, you both just look at each other. 

“This is insane,” you say because it is, and you don’t know what else to say.

And Bradley just chuckles and agrees smoothly, “Yeah, it’s nuts, isn’t it?”

As you look at him, here in this pastel lighting, here on the verge of something monumental, there’s something so reassuring about him. Something so steady and reliable and constant. Something that makes you think, with him, maybe it could be okay, no matter how insane the whole idea is. An opportunity. An investment that just might pay off.

North star, you remind yourself. Bradley Bradshaw is the North Star.

At the very least, you won’t be alone.

“So is that….” Bradley shifts, scratches the back of his neck. “You saying yes, then?”

There’s a lump in your throat like you’ve swallowed a pebble. It almost chokes you.

“Yeah,” you agree finally, and can’t believe you’re saying this, doing this, can’t believe you’re this mad and this selfish and this desperate. “I guess I am.”

It’s awkward after that. You both just stand there, you with your arms around your own ribcage, Bradley with his thumbs hooked into his belt loops. Space and silence stretches far and gaping and glaring between you.

Then he says, “Can I hug you?”

That’s sort of the last thing you expected him to say.

You blink at him. “Uhm… sure?”

When Bradley pulls you into his arms, when he holds you against his chest loosely, carefully, giving you room to pull away at any moment, the whole thing almost bowls you over. It’s the first time anybody’s hugged you since you found out you’re pregnant, since your entire world came crashing down, and you can’t help yourself. It’s a visceral reaction. You cling to him, wrap your arms around his neck, press your face into his shoulder and your chest against his and squeeze your eyes shut, and stay there for longer than you planned to, longer than you should. Let him hold you tight enough that for a moment, for a while, it almost feels like you’re whole again. Like you’re not alone.

For the first time in a week, for the first time since that positive test, things feel real. You feel real. Only with his hands on you. The thoughts that have been echoing through your head constantly, loud enough to drown out everything else, quiet.

You could get addicted to it, could get greedy and selfish and never-satisfied. Could eat it raw.

Bradley smells like sunscreen and sandalwood. You try to commit that scent to memory, try to ingrain it into your brain and your body. Something to remember the next time the loneliness sets in.

Finally, he pulls away, and his smile is gentle. You feel every inch of separation like an ache in your bones, like an echo, like a reverberation.

You can’t cry again. You’ve been doing it so much recently that you just won’t allow it again. If you’re going to do this, if you’re going to be a mother and a wife, in whatever capacity, you’ll have to be strong. No matter how hard that will be.

“I don’t even have a ring for you,” Bradley says, a frown etching itself into his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” You’re shaking your head quickly, vehemently. “No, Bradley, that’s fine, you don’t need to….”

“I think you should have something, though. I want to give you something,” he interrupts you. “I just don’t know….”

And then he seems to think of something. The epiphany is practically written all over his face, and for a moment, he looks so much younger. Rosy cheeks and all.

Bradley reaches into his wifebeater and pulls his dog tags from beneath the fabric. Before you know what’s happening, he’s tugging the thin silver chain down over your head, moving your hair out of the way carefully. It settles against the skin of your neck, warmed by his body heat.

You stare down at the metal dangling over your dress, the letters of his name etched into it. Bradley Bradshaw. 

Your heart seizes.

When you were younger, much younger, you used to dream of this. You used to imagine what being proposed to would feel like, what it would be like. A fancy restaurant, an expensive glass of champagne, and a diamond ring at the bottom of the flute. Something flashy, something extravagant, something beautiful. The man in your fantasy was faceless at first, and then he looked like Robert Pattinson, and then he looked like your first crush, and then he went back to being faceless again.

He never had a mustache. He was never a stranger. Your dreams were never this: Rushed and fake and no ring at all. You, pregnant with somebody else’s baby, and Bradley, marrying you to get assigned to a base of his choosing. None of it real. No True Love, no capital t, no capital l. Not even lowercase. Nothing but madness and guilt and business between you.

And still you want it, want it so bad it swells inside you, pushes against your ribcage with enough pressure to crack bones - you want to be wanted.

You wonder what Bradley dreamed of. Not you, probably. So much younger than him, so naive, so gullible, falling for married men and getting yourself into situations you can’t climb out of yourself. Making him do this when he deserves better, more, deserves something true and real.

It makes you sick to your stomach. It makes you want to cry. It makes you want to ask Bradley to hug you again, so you can forget, just for another second, just for another moment.

Instead, you say, voice barely a whisper, “Thank you.”

Bradley shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says, and he sounds so genuine you have to avert your eyes. “We’re friends, right?”

Friends. This man you barely know. This man who is doing something unfathomable for you.

“Yeah,” you agree softly. “Friends.”

And then later, in the bar, as Bradley’s friends discuss some new Star Wars show you haven’t seen, as they order round after round of beer you can’t drink, as the sky goes from pastels to blues to blacks, you’ll pretend you don’t see Natasha staring at the dog tags around your neck, pretend you don’t wish you could hold Bradley’s hand, pretend you don’t feel like you’re falling apart, like you’re capsizing where you sit, like you're kicking water miles and miles and miles below the surface.

Beneath the table, you put a hand on your stomach, fingers spreading out, close your eyes, and let the current drag you under.

part 2 coming - soon

*shakes fictional character* where is the rest of your information I want to know more about you

14/08/2022: OKAY!!! HERE WE GO!!! i read this one a couple of days ago and can’t stop thinking about it. this bradley has crawled inside of my brain and refuses to leave (and honestly, i don’t want him to!!!)

jordan, this is the first fic of yours i had the pleasure of reading and it blew me away?????!!!!!!! i read the sneak peak and just kept coming back to your profile to see if you had posted the full thing and then you did!!!! and i was so ready to dive into this!!! so now that i’ve (tried to) collected myself enough to try and write something of a coherent and worthy enough review, here it is! spoiler alert: it’s just me screaming over your beautiful writing :)

the description really had me hooked from the beginning, we love a smart, bratty girl!!!! i love her personality so much just as much as i love bradley’s and for you to be able to make her just as real and multidimensional… REAL TALENT!!! she’s opinionated and stands her ground and is funny and so smart!!! i just love her and think she’s such a good fit for rooster.

“Plus, he liked smart girls. There was something about them. It didn’t hurt that the ones he had come across were always a little prissy, a little spoiled - a little uptight.

A little bratty.” of course bradley rooster bradshaw has a thing for bratty girls. of fucking course.

“Over the last two weeks, you had been texting frequently, starting off the day with your Wordle scores and a fun fact. It was cheesy and a little nerdy, but you were a big trivia fan - and San Diego County Barstool Trivia Champion - and Bradley had wanted to impress you. It was important that he impressed you.” in love with both of them playing wordle together and separating little fun facts for each other???? bradley thinking it was important that he impressed her!!! he’s a whore but he’s such a romantic and kind of can’t help it??!!! he really likes her and wants to prove himself even with little things like this 🥺

“You were both on drink number two and the awkwardness of your earlier outburst hasn’t quite dissipated yet. The sexual tension on the other hand? If Bradley had thought it was high earlier, it was stratospheric now.” love this!!!!! LET’S GO STRATOSPHERIC!!!!

“If you’re gonna be a brat about it, at least get my title right, sweetheart,” he snapped, the first time all night. He shoved his knee in between your legs, widening the space between your thighs just slightly. “It’s Lieutenant.” no this whole ranking thing is making me go a little insane… just a little… of course he was gonna take the chance to correct her!!!

“Bradley hooked his foot around your barstool and dragged it even closer to him. You let out a squeak and had to brace yourself by holding onto his shoulders.” AND I HAVE PASSED AWAY. JUST LIKE THAT. ABSOLUTELY NO WORDS. HOW DARE YOU DO THIS?????? WHAT IS THIS?????

“And that was when he knew. Knew as well as the sun was going to rise tomorrow morning that you were going to fuck that night.” please stop i can’t functionnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn THIS IS SOOOSIDHSHHDHSD

“What the fuck did you say to her?” Phoenix hissed in Bradley’s ear, snapping him out of his daydream.

He startled and then gestured wildly. “It was going fine for a while and then I told her I was in the Navy and she started going on about defense budgets and misappropriating government property and Uncle Sam sucking my dick - I don’t know, Phoenix!” PHOENIX MY BFF LOVE OF MY LIFE, LOVE HER LITTLE CAMEO!!!! and bradley’s answer 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 the way he’s just so dumbfounded by their interaction so far!!! he’s so stupid!!! i am in love with him!!! this was so in character!!! you nailed it!!!

“Fuck. He wanted you - desperately. And worse than that, he liked you. Liked how smart you were, liked your sense of humor, liked you. And some part of him felt bad for setting you up.” AND WORSE THAN THAT HE LIKED YOU!!!!! YEAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! I LOVE IT WHEN WRITERS EMPHASIZE THIS LITTLE THING!!!!!! because liking someone means so much!!!! and him realizing he did kind of unintentionally hid what he does for a living from her because, let’s be honestly, it normally should’ve come up sooner than it did. anyways, i like that he understands!!!

“You let him take you by your elbow and guide - read drag - you towards the exit, barely stopping to allow you to grab your clutch off the bar top. Knowing Hangman and Phoenix were no doubt watching the entire series of events unfold, Bradley threw his middle finger up over his shoulder, and then let the door close firmly behind his back.” HOT!!!! THE MIDDLE FINGER!!! DRAGGING HER AWAY!!!!!! THIS IS DOING IT FOR ME!!!!

“No, I’m gonna take you home and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk straight in the morning, that sound good, sweetheart?” You nodded dumbly. “And for the record, it’s not a truck, it’s a Bronco.” STOP i just know he has the time of his life when he gets to correct her on anything!!!! like he finally has some advantage shhfhshcjshdhdhd AND HIS MOUTH IS SO FILTHY I LOVE HIM I CAN’T HELP IT.

“Fuck. Imagine if you weren’t so blissed out getting finger fucked and you could talk back at him? This time he let out a groan.” ABSOLUTELY NO WORDS. I NO LONGER EXIST. AGAIN WITH THE ADVANTAGE!!!!! AND THE FACT THAT HE’S DOING THIS TO HER YOU KNOW!!!! IT’S ALL HIM!!!! ROOSTER’S EFFECT!!!!! I CAN SEE HIS EGO INFLATING LIKE A BALLOON!!!!

“Shh, shh, that’s a good girl, yeah? Such a good girl for me.” NOT A GOOD GIRL DROP. INSANE INSANE INSANEEEEEEEEEEE.

“A few moments later, the Bronco practically rolled into his driveway on two wheels. Thankfully, Bradley had left the porch light on so the house wasn’t entirely dark. You looked at the house critically and he desperately wanted you to like it.

It was important to him that you liked it.” NO BECAUSE HE WAS ALREADY UNCONSCIOUSLY THINKING ABOUT THE FUTURE OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP!!! HE NEEDS HER TO LIKE THE HOUSE!!!!! HE’S SUCH A ROMANTIC I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL!!!!!! i love this change in the narrative in between their heated moments so much. it adds so much depth because it’s slowly becoming so much more than just lust. i feel it’s always been a little morr than just lust with them? ❤️‍🩹

AND THEN HE CARRIES HER FROM THE CAR TO THE HOUSE!!!!!! EVER THE GENTLEMAN!!!! I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!!

“In turn, you smacked his back. “And you would know all about that - making demands. Hostage negotiations, CIA blacksites - mmmhh!” she’s ridiculous i love her and this made me laugh!!!

“Navy’s good for one thing, I guess,” you muttered against Bradley’s neck while your hands ran over his body.” SPEAK YOUR TRUTH!!!

“When he eventually pulled away, your eyes met, and he rested his forehead against yours.” favorite little detail 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 tenderness in the middle of so much frantic want!!!!

“Fuck me, Bradley - please?”

You said his name. Not lieutenant or asshole or some other slightly condescending moniker. You said Bradley. As in you wanted him - the guy who had originally asked you out. The one you had tried so hard to impress all those days and nights spent texting.

And who was he to say no to that?” was he getting a little insecure? MY BABYYYYYYY I GO BALLISTIC WHEN HE GETS EMOTIONAL!!!!

“Please,” you whimpered sometime later. It was a simple, one word response, but it proved to be his undoing.” i forgot the name of this kink but rooster definitely has it!!!!! anyways IT PROVED TO BE HIS UNDOING????? DUDE I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH.

AND PAUSE- NOT HER TRYING TO TALK ABOUT CO2 EMISSIONS WHILE RIDING HIM HOW IS HER BRAIN STILL FUNCTIONING LIKE THAT??? in the next line of dialogue i know she doesn’t remember the amount or whatever but the fact that she even tried to bring it up shdgshchhshdhdhd silly!!!

“The absolutely blissed out expression on your face made him groan. “God, look at you now, all cock dumb for me. What happened to that smart girl from before?” GODDDDDDDDDDD.

AND THEN HE LISTS THE PRESIDENTS I CAN’T-

“Good boy,” you just managed to get out before Bradley really felt himself losing control.” IT WASN’T ENOUGH FOR YOU TO THROW THAT GOOD GIRL IN MY FACE YOU HAD TO BRING A GOOD BOY DROP INTO THIS AND EXPECT MY BRAIN TO STILL BE ABLE TO ABSORB ANYTHING AFTER? how???? and the fact that he likes it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ugh!!!!!!

“Gotta wait a couple more dates before we start talking about kids, sweetheart.” THE WAY MY STOMACH STARTED CARTWHEELING OVER HERE LIKE IT’S THE FUCKING OLYMPICS MY GOD. FAVORITE FUCKING PIECE OF DIALOGUE I DON’T EVEN KNOW ANYTHING ANYMORE.

“You both laid there, side by side, chests rising and falling heavily. Fuck. Neither of you knew what to say - if there even was something to say. It had never been like that with anyone else - ever.” IT’S NOT LIKE THIS WITH OTHER PEOPLE!!!! between all the banter and teasing they just really like each other so much!!!!! yeah!!!!

“So, how do we really feel about the stache?” You brought your finger up to his mouth and dragged it across his mustache and then to his lips.” skchjsjdjdjdjdjd i love her!!! and this is my second favorite detail. but absolutely do not mess with the mustache.

“You’ll change your mind after riding my face.” WHORE!!!

“He kissed your nose. “You know us military guys, ready with a moment’s notice.” You yawned. “Or maybe not…” i think i take it back, this might be my favorite detail. the fact that he notices the yawn and probably of course notices that she’s getting tired and sleepy so no round 2 for them at that moment but maybe later 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 rooster my beloved!!!! (the bar is very low i am aware).

“He so rarely allowed himself that time during the week - the ability to ‘just do’ and not over think everything. To do whatever he wanted. But that Saturday morning was different.

Because that Saturday you were there.” HELL YEAH BECAUSE THAT SATURDAY YOU WERE THERE AND IT CHANGES EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!!!

“Morning,” he rasped as he opened his eyes. You were staring at him, looking like a deer in headlights. “How’d you sleep?” like a deer in headlights! i love this comparison, it made me visualize the scene perfectly!!!

AND YOU HAD TO GIVE US A SCARE I REALLY THOUGHT SHE WAS GONNA LEAVE FOR GOOD I WAS STARTING TO GET SO SAD. very mean of you.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” He tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t hide his smile or the relief he had felt.” ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 babies!!!! it was all for fun and giggles, a little humor in the morning!!!

“You know, I’ve been thinking…”

“Smart girl.” FUCKING KILL ME.

“You ignored him. “You already fly in that death trap plane and can handle all the g-force so the astronaut training programs shouldn’t be - don’t look at me like that, all surprised I know what g-force is, I’m not an idiot.” i can see him just staring at her in awe while talking about this!! i can see it!!!! he’s so amused!!!!

“He wasn’t about to give up on this just yet.” *JUST INSERT SO MANY HEART EMOJIS* one of my favorite lines!!!!!

“He pulled his lips away from yours. “- Wait, wait - it’s not okay for me to exploit foreign nations, but it’s okay for me to potentially colonize space?”

You straddled his waist, barely moving your lips away from his neck as you gave a reply. “Shh, shh, we can work out the details later…” no because i’ve been watching for all mankind on apple tv+ for the past month and that’s exactly the plot of the show (and there are so many elements in it that connect to the top gun universe) like, bradley’s right on this one sjdhjshdjdjdsjjdjd this made me laugh!!! and it was a perfect ending for the part 1 of their story!!!! i love their relationship so much!!! i love the way you write!!!!!!

and even when we’re wrong in every way, we come out the other side okay [part ½]

Summary: in which lieutenant bradshaw has a thing for smart girls - and maybe ones who hate his guts on principle. a lie by omission is still a lie after all and bradley never exactly told you what he did for work…

OR you take on the us military industrial complex one hinge date at a time…well sort of

Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral (m receiving), vaginal fingering, p in v, and slight dom/sub and praise and rank kink elements), idk basically she’s a bit of a brat? and he likes it? it’s kind of filthy, but it’s supposed to be kind of funny and a little silly?

A/N: thanks to everyone who liked the sneak peek and provided such positive feedback! but i really have to give a shout out to my buddy sol (desertsagecelestial) for being the absolute best sounding board with this fic! definitely check out her wip, it’s amazinggggg. anyway, enjoy! (9.9k) Part 1.5

Continuar lendo

30/09/22: IT IS FRIDAY AND I’M GOING TO BINGE READ THIS!!! prologue was perfect, so much tension, (i read a couple of chapters already and i’ll work my way through reblogging with highlights, but i already know this bradley is a dickkkkkkkkk and i can’t help but KNOW i’m gonna fall for him and i’m already waiting for his redemption arc!!! i know you’ll do it justice!!! i loved the whole college setting, the halloween party, BRADLEY AND JAKE BEING KIND OF ROOMATES I LOVE IT BRING IN ALL THE DRAMA!!! you’re so creative!!! OK TIME FOR MY FAVORITE PARTS:

can i just say i love that you start with this “It’s just that Bradley’s determined to do it right this time around.” and it sounds SO SWEET and SO BRADLEY and then everything goes off the rails after and he’s a dick and i just loved you breaking all expectations.

“He would already be there if his Mom hadn’t gotten sick when she did. He doesn’t want to think about that tonight.” he’s just emotionally unavailable we can fix him 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 we wil fix him!!!

“Bradley’s brows furrow slightly as he looks back down at you again. You stare at him, willing something in that stupid beefy brain to figure out what you’re trying to do. He looks back at the frat boy. It clicks.” a sprinkle of fake dating i’ll take it. thank you. AND I ALSO LOVED HOW WE GET INTRODUCED TO HER!!!

“You look up at him, the red plastic fireman’s hat dangling a little too loosely off of your head.” love this description!!!

“He’s handsome. You haven’t seen him around before. Reddish-blondish-brownish hair. Cute moustache. You love facial hair. Even cuter red blush to his cheeks. Freckles on his nose.” reddish-blondish-brownish is the most accurate description of bradley’s hair i’ve read to date akhcjsjdjsjd it changes so much with the lighting like??? anyways. you are correct.

“Because before you did, you were a ten. Now… I’m thinking somewhere along the lines of a four.” He answers. You turn your gaze towards him and he’s smiling. You lift your cup and bump it against his.” ooooooh a little degrading a little flirtingggggg

“You’re cute for a longhorns fan.” He leans against the island and wets his lips with his tongue. You smile at him. “You always come with the leather shorts?”

“You wish.” You answer.” YOU’RE SO SO GOOD AT WRITING DIALOGUE I CAN’T EMPHASIZE IT ENOUGH!!!

“I will suck your dick right now if you can prove to me that you have a Paul O’Neill signed baseball.” WELL-

“He drops the ball onto his desk and reaches for his belt, shrugging his shoulders as he tugs at the leather dramatically, “Well, I sure hope that your head game is better than your negotiating skills.” he’s such a little shit!!!

“Fuck. Bradley’s frozen in the hallway, having a crisis of faith, wondering how the hell he is going to live with the fact that he fucked Jake’s girlfriend. In his defence, Jake hasn’t mentioned a girl in months. Fuck. Bradley really hopes Jake doesn’t —” this whole part was too funny, bradley going through all possible scenarios shchhshxhshdhd

“Your lip quirks slightly. Sure, he’s shy now — he certainly wasn’t when he had you folded into his mattress at 3am.” i just know that flashbacks are going to KILL ME.

“Have you met my baby sister?” Jake asks.” AND THERE IT IS!!!!!!!!!!!

“This is Bradley, he’s our running back.” Jake explains. You nod politely. You tell him it’s nice to meet him. Bradley burns red.” love this!!! favorite line!!!

and i loved it when you switched from describing bradley being uncomfortable in this scene to her being uncomfortable as well shxhsjhchshhdhss you switch their povs with so much ease!!!

“It’s mutual. Neither of you plan on speaking ever again.” BUT YOU WILLLLLLLLL!!!

so so so good as always. you never disappoint.

My Future in You | Prologue |Bradley Bradshaw x Seresin ! Reader

Synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be out of the academy by now. Instead, he’s retaking his senior year of college and praying to god that he gets into flight school. Mav’s gone, his mom’s gone. He’s mad at the world. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

Warnings: allusions to sex (fear not, there will be flashbacks in later chapters), eventual accidental pregnancy, angst, drama etc etc, enemies to lovers if you wanna call it that, no major warnings in this chapter

…

“Smile, dude, you’re bumming me out.” Jake elbows Bradley playfully. Bradley turns his head and plasters a forced grin onto his face, then leans back against the wall behind him. He brings the red cup to his mouth and drinks.

“It’s Halloween — the sluttiest night of the year, stop crying about your midterm and enjoy it!” Jake pats Bradley’s shoulder and heads for the living room. Bradley purses his lips as he looks around him.

He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek. Jake, for once, is right. A C-minus probably isn’t worth sulking over. It’s just that Bradley’s determined to do it right this time around. If he does, then this time next year he’ll be in flight school and things will be back on track.

He would already be there if his Mom hadn’t gotten sick when she did. He doesn’t want to think about that tonight.

He looks down at the brown liquid in his cup and swishes it around, deciding that the plastic looks empty enough again for a refill. Bradley turns and heads for the kitchen, brushing past a sea of horny co-eds as he does.

He steps into the kitchen with his head down, grabbing a bottle of jack from the centre of the kitchen island. He pours it, mixes it with coke.

“Here he is.” A hand wraps around his forearm. Bradley looks up, brows raised, confused. You loop your arms around his arm, press your body into his side. Bradley looks down at the barely dressed firefighter hanging off of his arm, then up at the person you’re looking at, a lanky guy from another frat with a pissed off look on his face. “This is my Adam. Hi, baby.” You breathe out, squeezing your arms around his and then smiling up at him.

Bradley’s brows furrow slightly as he looks back down at you again. You stare at him, willing something in that stupid beefy brain to figure out what you’re trying to do. He looks back at the frat boy. It clicks.

“Oh.” He says out loud. “Yeah. I’m… Adam.”

Not one of you is impressed with his less than Oscar-worthy performance. Bradley smiles at the frat boy. He looks back at you.

“This guy bothering you?” He asks bluntly. Absolutely no regard for the picture you’re trying to paint of letting this guy down gently. You look up at him, the red plastic fireman’s hat dangling a little too loosely off of your head.

He’s handsome. You haven’t seen him around before. Reddish-blondish-brownish hair. Cute moustache. You love facial hair. Even cuter red blush to his cheeks. Freckles on his nose.

“No, we were just talking.” The other guy puts his hands up defensively. Bradley tilts his head at him. “I didn’t realise she had a boyfriend. Sorry, man.”

Even though you had told him you had a boyfriend eight times and had even made up a fake name and backstory for the imaginary individual.

You pull yourself closer to Adam, who studies anthropology, is left handed and drives a 2006 Toyota Corolla, then grin at the frat boy sweetly. Bradley watches him leave the kitchen. Once he’s gone, Bradley’s chin turns and he looks down at you. You realise you’re still curled around his arm, resting your cheek against his bicep. It feels strong. Warm. He smells nice.

You withdraw quickly.

“Sorry.” You giggle sheepishly. His eyes aren’t on your face anymore. His lips quirk as he looks you up and down.

“‘S alright,” He answers, lifting his drink and taking a sip. You stand back and watch the way he checks you out so unashamedly. You smile. “Wouldn’t leave you alone?” He nods his head in the direction that little asshole just scuttled off in.

“Yeah, he’s been bugging me for like an hour.” You explain. You hold your hand out towards the stranger in an eagles jersey and tell him your name.

This time he smiles. He takes your hand and shakes it loosely. “Bradley.”

“Who are supposed to be?” You ask. He’s just wearing jeans and a green jersey. He smiles around his cup and turns around. Your eyes linger on the way his shoulders stand out, the way the fabric grows looser around the bottom of his toned back. He points to the name on the back of the jersey with his free hand.

“Nick Foles.”

You scoff. “Man, that is scary.”

Bradley scrunches his nose as you turn and grab vodka from the island. You grab a new cup, nodding your head to the music as you go. The stupid plastic fireman’s hat wobbles on your head as you move.

“Oh really? — Who’s your team?”

“Longhorns, through and through.”

Bradley visibly grimaces. He shakes his head as he takes a long gulp. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”

“Why’s that?” You challenge him, mixing pineapple juice with your triple measure of vodka.

“Because before you did, you were a ten. Now… I’m thinking somewhere along the lines of a four.” He answers. You turn your gaze towards him and he’s smiling. You lift your cup and bump it against his.

“You know what? — I agree,” You tell him sweetly. Bradley’s just thinking about how diplomatic of an answer that was, how level-headed and sweet you must be, when you continue. “We’re both fours.”

Bradley scrunches his face up, “I’m a four?”

You turn your body fully towards him. You look him up and down. Shrug your shoulders. “On a good day, I can’t see why you wouldn’t be.”

He smiles at you.

“You’re cute for a longhorns fan.” He leans against the island and wets his lips with his tongue. You smile at him. “You always come with the leather shorts?”

“You wish.” You answer.

He takes a drink, then nods his head as he looks unashamedly at the fishnets that disappear under the black leather. “I do.”

You bite your cheek. He watches you drink from the cup.

“What’s your major?”

You lean into him. Tell him that you don’t go to school here, you’re just here with some friends visiting your big brother. He studies political science. He’s a senior.

You are too, but you have to mention that you’re graduating two years early. He teases you for being a know it all. He’s easy enough to get along with. Even easier to look at.

“No you don’t.” You scoff at him. You tilt your head and the fireman’s hat wobbles. “You’re just trying to get me upstairs.”

Maybe. Rooster grins, pleased that you’re playing along. But he really does have the ball. He opens his mouth to tell you the story. All about how his Uncle Mav took him to a game on his seventh birthday and made sure they left with a signed ball. He closes it again.

He shakes his head, not wanting to think of Mav. He’s having a good time, he can’t let that asshole ruin it.

“Seriously, I have a signed Paul O’Neill baseball. It’s in my room.” He nods his head, pouring himself another jack and coke. “I’d offer to show you, but I don’t know if I can trust a longhorn.”

You smile at him sweetly and tilt your head to the side, offering him a wink, “You shouldn’t.”

He sticks his hand out, “I’m sold. Come on. This way.” He takes your hand in his without waiting for you to extend it to him.

You giggle as he pulls you from the kitchen.

You take a sip of your drink and set it on his nightstand. You silently judge his bedsheets. He could’ve come up with something a little more original than navy blue.

“I’m not an interior decorator.” He reminds you.

“Thank god, I don’t think you’d be very successful.” You answer back. He chuckles softly as he crosses the room to you. You lift your chin, lips hinting at a smile.

He tilts back the plastic fireman’s hat, then lowers his head and kisses your mouth. You relax against his chest, grabbing at his hips as he grabs at the back of your neck.

“Mm, what about the baseball?” You remind him. He furrows his brows as he pulls back to look at you, he’s halfway to smiling.

“You really want to see it?” He asks.

“I will suck your dick right now if you can prove to me that you have a Paul O’Neill signed baseball.” You’re certain he’s lying. Bradley raises his eyebrows. He chuckles as he lets you go and turns around.

You watch him pull open his closet. He pulls a box down from the top and opens it. He’s standing a little bit away but you can see the box is filled with childhood trinkets and sports memorabilia.

He turns back towards you and presents the baseball in and open palm. He watches as you read the signature and look up at him silently. Your mouth twitches as you try not to laugh.

He drops the ball onto his desk and reaches for his belt, shrugging his shoulders as he tugs at the leather dramatically, “Well, I sure hope that your head game is better than your negotiating skills.”

You laugh as you grab a fistful of his jersey and pull him forward into you. He tucks an arm around you as you fall into soft navy sheets, his knee slides between yours, his hand cupping your jaw as he works his lips against yours.

The next morning he slips out of bed early and goes for a run like he always does. Showers next. Doesn’t spend much time thinking about the girl that he left in his bed. Not until he comes back downstairs in the late morning in search of something edible that isn’t last night’s pizza.

He scrunches his face as he rounds the bottom of the stairs. He looks down the hall into the kitchen. You’re in the kitchen, in a new outfit and tidying up last night’s mess. Did you bring an overnight bag to a frat party?

Bradley hesitates at the end of the hall. He considers how to politely tell you to stop cleaning and leave. This hasn’t ever been a problem before. When girls wake up and he’s gone, they usually take the hint and leave. He should ask-

Jake.

Jake swings an arm around your shoulder and hugs you tight to his chest. He’s in sweatpants and a hoodie, his hair isn’t done. He grins as he hugs you. This isn’t how Jake treats girls he hooks up with - he likes to impress them by always looking immaculate and keep them interested with gentle teasing. Bradley’s eyes widen.

Jake must really like you.

Fuck. Bradley’s frozen in the hallway, having a crisis of faith, wondering how the hell he is going to live with the fact that he fucked Jake’s girlfriend. In his defence, Jake hasn’t mentioned a girl in months. Fuck. Bradley really hopes Jake doesn’t —

“Love you.” Jake grins, he messes with your hair as he turns to admire the job you’ve done cleaning up the kitchen this far. Bradley winces. He wonders how quickly he would be able to move out. This is going to make the team dynamic really awkward. Jake still has no idea that Bradley’s even watching. “You’re too good.”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too…” You answer back. Your back is to Bradley. You have no idea that he’s there.

Jake looks up and clocks Bradley standing at the bottom of the stairs through the kitchen doorway. He clasps his hand down onto your shoulder and gives a nod of acknowledgement to his teammate.

“Bradshaw!” Jake smiles, he has no idea. You turn, your eyes meet Bradley’s. He’s wearing a baseball cap to hide the fact that his curls dried weird this morning, and a plain black t-shirt. He smiles sheepishly at you.

Your lip quirks slightly. Sure, he’s shy now — he certainly wasn’t when he had you folded into his mattress at 3am.

“Have you met my baby sister?” Jake asks.

Bradley looks between you and Jake. Fuck, that’s so much worse. Jake’s in an especially good mood this morning. He grins proudly as he tucks his arm around your shoulder. You smile softly. Bradley looks between the two of you again.

He wants to bang his head against the wall.

How the fuck did he not notice that before? - That’s the exact same, smug smile. And you’re a longhorns fan - nobody likes the longhorns but Jake. This is bad. He fights his body’s natural impulse to slap a hand over his mouth.

Bradley realises that he’s still frozen, panicking, stood silent, still at the bottom of the stairs. He wonders if his movements look as robotic as they feel as he heads towards the kitchen. He forces himself to smile politely as he shakes his head. He hopes he isn’t red.

“I don’t think I have.” Bradley answers.

“This is Bradley, he’s our running back.” Jake explains. You nod politely. You tell him it’s nice to meet him. Bradley burns red.

You listen to Jake and Bradley’s small talk as Jake helps you clean the kitchen. Bradley remains firmly on the other side of the counter, like the possibility of coming into contact with you is terrifying. Which, it is.

Bradley knows that Jake likes to hold grudges.

“Alright, I should probably drive you home.” Jake decides finally. You let out a breath of relief and nod gratefully. You can’t stand being in this kitchen a second longer.

It’s bad enough that he snuck out this morning without saying a word. It’s even worse that he’s practically trembling now, worried about what your big brother would think. Lame.

“Nice to meet you, Bradley.”

Bradley smiles for Jake’s sake, his knuckles whitening around the counter as you pass by him.

“Sure — you too.”

It’s mutual. Neither of you plan on speaking ever again.

…

Tag List:

@thedroneranger

@chaoticweirdogeek

@alanadetigy

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@oldnatgwenaccount

@khaylin27

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@mizzzpink

@mak-32

@cherrycola27

16/08/2022: WELCOME BACK TO ME SCREAMING!!!! as a avid romcom enthusiast, this was absolutely everything my little heart needed. so well written, i loved all the character dynamics and i’m not even gonna start talking about the fake dating trope in this, with ROOSTER OF ALL PEOPLE!!!! it’s perfect!!!!! this is the second time i read this fic (preparation for part 2 which i just saw you posted!!!!!! aaaaaaaaa!!!) and it was just as enjoyable as it was the first time around. i’m smiling like an idiot.

"Why, in God's name, are you pushing Rooster?" you had to ask.” BECAUSE OF COURSE!!!!!!!! THANK YOU PHOENIX KEEP PUSHING ROOSTE WE KNOW WHAT’S UP!!!

“Payback looked up at you and gave you a 'wtf' face. "What's he got that I don't?" he called across the bar as Natasha pushed him back on his barstool.” love this little glimpse into her friendship with payback!!!!!!!! he’s hilarious i love him <3

"I got it," Rooster turned back to Penny, raised your glass to her with a quiet 'please?' and got off his stool, gently holding your side and guiding you onto it.” hello why is this causing butterflies in my stomach? the way he instantly noticed she wanted another drink? and then GETTING ODF HIS STOOL SO SHE CAN TAKE HIS SEAT? bye.

“But in the end, he was just a nice guy, a really lovely guy. Friendly, funny when you least expected it, reserved and loyal to a fault but you'd known him so long to consider him anything else.” me when i lie!!!!!

"I hope you don't need a new suit," you told him dismally. "I don't want you having to spend anything -”

“Fake girlfriend," he cut you off, teasingly. "If I need a new suit, which I likely will, it's okay," he reassured you.” THE WAY HE’S INTERRUPTING HER AND IMMEDIATELY CALLING HER “FAKE GIRLFRIEND” THIS IS ADORABLE AND SO VERY ROOSTER AND I’M IN LOVE WITH HIM.

“Bradley 🐓: Just give me time to workout real quick, shower and change. I did all the other beautifying yesterday. I'll knock your friend's socks off, I promise. Maybe even yours.” MAYBE EVEN YOURS!!!!!! THE IMPLICATIONS OF THIS!!!!! HE’S SUCH A FLIRT!!!! I KNOW HE LIKES HER!!!!!! KILL ME NOW!!!!!

"Excuse me, gentleman, I caught the eye of a really cute bridesmaid before - " you heard a familiar rasp say behind you and you stiffened. He'd finally made it. Turning to that voice you'd know anywhere, you gave him a gentle smile. "Think I've found her," he’s ridiculous!!!!!!!

"You look like a Disney prince," you said before you realised it was supposed to be a thought. His eyes shone with humour as he took his seat beside you, resting an arm on the back of your chair.” i love that this line catches him a little off guard!!!

and he just keeps saying how beautiful she looks 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

“He laughed, smoothing his moustache. "Oh yeah, she's definitely keen. Up for a rumble for my honour?"

"Honour?" you repeated. "I think we all know those days are behind you.” i love their banter!!! and the fact that they are childhood friends SOON TO BE LOVERS MAKES THIS 1000x BETTER!!! ❤️‍🩹

"You're mad, this is tears from the gods," you told him as he cupped your cheek affectionately and wandered over to the bar.” i will not be addressing the cupping of the cheek in order to preserve what little i have left of my mental health BUT i wil say i agree with reader: champagne is tears from the gods! i love this definition.

"Good Lord, he scrubs up pretty good, huh? Shame he's not wearing his whites," your sister said, waddling over to the table you were standing at, helping herself to the free stool you helped her get on. "But I guess he'd show up the bride." THE SISTER IS HILARIOUS. LOVED HER IN THIS AND SHE IS RIGHT.

"He'd probably still look really good in a potato sack," she teased, adjusting her posture, her expanding belly not enjoying the far-too-expensive pregnancy dress she'd been forced to buy, coming up to the end of her second pregnancy. "But really, nothing is rumbling? No carnal need to just rip his clothes off and see what happens? Sometimes, cute friends can turn into cute lovers." OLDER SISTER WISDOW RIGHT HERE. CUTE FRIENDS CAN INDEED TURN INTO CUTE LOVERS!!!!! LISTEN TO YOUR SISTER!!!!!!

“Just take the night as it comes. And if anyone asks how I am in the sack, I expect you give them an 11/10, okay?” i hate him jdjsjdhwhfgshydhshd

“Whatcha doing?" your sister's husband asked, as she took a few photos of yourself and Rooster dancing to the wedding song on her phone.

"On their first wedding anniversary, I'm going to present this photo to them and say I was right. And I will be gleeful," she said in false maniacy.” her sister is like the best character in this, she’s stealing the show. pls tell me we’re gonna see the comeback of this photo she took in part 2!!!!

“Which one do you think will ruin it though?"

A name long-cursed in your family rolled off your sister's tongue, "The Navy.” not my smile instantly fading away from my face ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ but this was a very thoughtful detail to add!!!

“you kind of drowned the rest out, your fingers absently slipping under his jacket and tracing the curves and ridges of his hard-earned, extremely well-worked abdominals underneath. Rooster made a pained face, trying to wriggle away, his hand catching yours and laying it flat against him.” OH SHE’S STARTING TO RESPOND TO THE TOUCHED OKAY YES GET COMFORTABLE WITH EACH OTHER ENJOY THIS!!!!

“Hmm?" you looked up as he bent down to whisper how ticklish he was. "Oh," you said, bashfully taking your hand away as he clutched it again, keeping it there. Your hand was pressed into his rock-hard stomach and did your tummy... flippity-fucking-flop?” ROOSTER IS TICKLISH 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 and funny how my tummy also flippity-fucking-flopped!!! this whole interaction was so sweet!!!

“Clearly we were both crazy. So, we got super drunk, and I kissed her. Luckily," he raised a hand as your friends laughed, utterly charmed by him. "Luckily for me, she didn't slap me. She actually kissed me back. Would have broken my heart if she rejected me," he was so fucking smooth, you chewed back the laughter that threatened to spill from your lips as the bride just stared at Rooster with heart eyes, another unassuming fan of Rooster Bradshaw. "I'm wild about you," he whispered, nuzzling into your neck and you gently cupped his strong jaw, thumb padding against the wiry skin of a scar.” WOULD HAVE BROKEN HIS HEART IF SHE DIDN’T?????????????? HE’S WILD ABOUT HER????????? SHUT UP!!!!!! AND ALL OF THIS STILL UNDER THE FAKE DATING SPELL OF IT ALL!!!!

“So, tell me," she whispered, ushering you closer. "The sex?"

Poor Rooster was too distracted to hear, but his moment was coming. "An eleven," you replied, you massaged his sides still well-hidden under the jacket, and if Rooster wasn't paying attention before... he surely was now. "Twelve on really good nights."

His smile almost ripped his face in half.” THE WAY I WASN’T EXPECTING YOU TO MAKE THIS CALL BACK BUT I’M SO HAPPY YOU DID IT’S LIKE MY FAVORITE PART IN THIS SHDGSHHDHSHDHSHDSGGSSH GIVING ROOSTER’S EGO A LITTLE TREAT!!!

i had so much fun reading this and can’t wait to dive into part 2 as soon as possibleeeeeeeeee. let’s get this happy ending worthy of a romcom montage!!!!!

The Boyfriend Experience - Part 1 / 2

This isn’t really like my usual stuff - I just could not get the idea of the fake relationship out of my head. Seemed perfect to add this stud as the “fake boyfriend”. I really hope you guys like it. Please enjoy (I hope) and let me know what you think. With every comment you leave, an angel gets its wings. OR whatever.  

5.6k words of Rooster being your super pretend boyfriend! A few swears, but it’s the Navy, goddammit! The fluffiness should make up for it. 

“I don’t see why you just don’t take Rooster,” Natasha muttered, nodding in his direction next to Payback at the bar, both animated, arms describing manoeuvres like excited little boys. “You guys are friends, he likes food, he obviously likes beer. Probably likes ‘em if they’re free too,” she shrugged as if it was the simplest thing going around.

“Why would Rooster be remotely bothered to be my plus one to a wedding where he doesn’t know anyone?”

“You’d be there, you said your sister and her husband are going too. There are three people he knows,” she said simply. “He’s single and an easy lay. Could be the perfect twofer for you.”

Continuar lendo

18/08/22: HI!!! ME AGAIN!!! THIS TIME TO SCREAM ABOUT JAKE SERESIN!!!! may, i swear to god, how do you do this???????????? there is no oxygen left in in lungs. you outdo yourself again and again. the way you write jake makes me feels like i’m on a roller coaster. you understand him as a character so well (the day i have the capacity to make a full review of all parts of bad habit is coming soon and i know it’s gonna break me because you dissected him on that one, BEAUTIFULLY BY THE WAY!!!) this cowboy au has ruined me forever and i owe you my life for every story you put out for us to read.

“You flip the hat again and put it on. It’s big enough that it goes slipping down a few inches, almost covering your eyes.

Something on Jake’s face goes taut, his gaze darkens, the fist on the bartop clenches once then relaxes.” my brain is buzzing already. the way you set a scene. the way you describe everything!!!!!!! AND OH- OH- HE’S JUST AS AFFECTED BY THEIR INTERACTION!!!!! WHORE ❤️

“He’s silhouetted by the lights of the bar, bordered by the people crowding behind him to order, but you can’t see anything past the green in his eyes. He’s pushed so close he’s almost between your legs, your thighs like open brackets around the shape of him. The hand at the brim of the hat wanders down your back slowly before settling on the backrest of your stool. It’s not even a touch, just the allusion to it, but your heart goes pitter-patter in your chest.” yeah. you write poetry!!!!! this is poetry!!!!! and the use of “pitter-patter” was very on theme i loved it.

“You don’t know what to say to that - your cheeks feel kind of warm, and your brain is buzzing like a beehive.” exactly the same way i feel when i read your work coincidentally!!!

“You’re a cute one, huh?” he says, voice only a little mocking. He leans into your space, crooked grin so close to you that you can see the stubble forming along his cheeks and jaw, a golden dusting of hair against the sun-kissed skin. For a breathless, head-spinning moment, you think about how it would feel pressed to the inside of your thighs, raspy and tickling and just the right side of painful.

He rights the hat, pushes it higher up on your forehead, and then his hand travels to the back of your neck, stays there. His thumb brushes from the brim of the hat to the knob of your spine, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You let out a shuddering breath, legs clenching.” JESUS CHRIST. HIS HAND TRAVELS TO THE BACK OF YOUR NECK!!!!! STAYS THERE!!!!!! HIS THUMB!!!!!! I JUST DIED!!!!!!

“He laughs, the sound a little heavier than it was before, and says, “You ever dreamed about any of those, too?”

It’s crude, it’s forward, it’s an innuendo so thinly-veiled it’s pretty much translucent. It should make you balk.” JAKE SERESINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN. I HATE HIM. I HATE YOU FOR WRITING HIM LIKE THIS. HOW DARE YOU?

“Anything I could make come true?” he asks.” 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 STOP.

“It’s an offer as much as it is an out. If you pull back now, you’re pretty sure he’d leave you alone. Jake is forward, confident, sure, but he doesn’t seem like the pushy type. For some insane reason, you feel safe with him.” yes to everything here. beautiful. he’s a prince. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

“It starts as a tingle, as pins and needles, and when you look down, you find Jake’s hand on your thigh, just above the knee. Fingers splayed wide, radiating heat. As your heart rate kicks up a notch, you squirm in your seat.” IT STARTS AS A TINGLE!!!!! AS PINS AND NEEDLES!!!! IMAGERY 11110/10 AS ALWAYS. AND THE HIS FINGERS AGAINS PLS DO NOT DO THIS TO ME. favorite lineeeeeee!!!

“See, there’s this rule, sugar,” he says and leans even closer. For a second, you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he just goes on, “You steal the hat, you ride the cowboy.” there is absolutely no rule he is lying to his teeth but i’ll allow this.

“Your brain implodes.” YEAH. NO SHIT.

“Part of you wants to say no. Let Jake take you home or to a bathroom stall or to the back of his pick-up. Make good on that rule you’re not sure he didn’t just make up. Give into the insistent thrumming of want in the pit of your stomach.” YEARNINGGGGGGGGG. their interactions feel so magnetic because of the way you describe them. very insane of you.

“So you clear your throat, slide off the barstool, and right into his arms. For a second, you’re chest to chest, stomach to stomach, then you’re stepping away, wondering distantly just how flustered you look and taking the hat off.” CHEST TO CHEST!!!! STOMACH TO STOMACH!!!!! I LOVE THIS!!!!!!!

“He waves back silently, then casts another long, lingering look at you that makes your heart miss a beat or two.” PLEASE GUYS GO TO THE BATHROOM STALL THERE IS STILL TIMEEEEEEEEE

incredible and showstopping as always. i’m fearing for my life because of part 2. you’re the best ever.

dime store cowboy . hangman

PART TWO

pairing ; cowboy!jake seresin x female!reader

synopsis ; jake teaches you about the cowboy hat rule.

wc ; 2k

warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; explicit language, non-explicit sexual content (it's just flirting)

note: YEEHAW PARDNERS.......... i'm so obsessed with this i'm gonna cry, thank you forever to the anon who requested this. also what if this becomes a series what then WHAT THEN. sorta modified the title from that one kacey musgraves song lol.

sol. sunderlust. you already know what i'm gonna say thank you for being my bestie :(

The whole thing is Carrie Underwood’s fault. You’ll go to your grave swearing it.

It’s just that you’re three strawberry margaritas deep, the lights in the bar are all dimmed, all neon, all flickering, and Jake is leaning into your space like he’s trying to smell your perfume, smiles at you like he’s completely charmed, and then somebody starts playing Before He Cheats on the jukebox and your brain just sorta like. Short-circuits.

The song always gives you an unwarranted burst of confidence, makes you feel like you, too, could vandalize a cheater’s car in a flurry of righteous wrath, so it’s not that difficult to reach up, lifting half out of the bar stool, face suddenly just an inch from his, and steal his hat. The fabric is surprisingly soft beneath your fingers.

At first, Jake looks surprised, his mouth twitching in amusement.

“What you trying to do with that, sugar?” he asks.

And the thing is this. You’re new in town and decidedly more urban (cosmopolitan, you’d like to say, but really, who are we kidding here?) than the rest of the crowd. It’s all a bit strange, all unfamiliar, but when your co-workers invited you out for a Friday night of drinks at the local bar, you were beyond grateful. It was supposed to be a nice little get-together among people who would hopefully become friends. You didn’t expect a guy who looks like he could be Mr. August in a calendar dedicated to half-naked hot cowboys doing various types of manual labor to walk up to you and start flirting like his life depends on it.

At least you think he’s flirting…? You’re not that well-versed in this whole thing.

You shrug, hope you look more confident than you feel.

“When I was little,” you say, turning the hat over and peeking at the inside, where a label proudly states Property of J. Seresin. You let a finger run over it, tracing the shape of his name. “I used to dream about being a cowgirl.”

You flip the hat again and put it on. It’s big enough that it goes slipping down a few inches, almost covering your eyes.

Something on Jake’s face goes taut, his gaze darkens, the fist on the bartop clenches once then relaxes.

“Did you, now?” he asks, his voice suddenly lower, and he takes a step closer. His hip knocks against your knee where you’re angled toward him, every point of your body unconsciously straining closer during the conversation. He tips the hat back an inch or two from your forehead, clearing your vision, and looks down at you, searches your face for something. “Looking good.”

He’s silhouetted by the lights of the bar, bordered by the people crowding behind him to order, but you can’t see anything past the green in his eyes. He’s pushed so close he’s almost between your legs, your thighs like open brackets around the shape of him. The hand at the brim of the hat wanders down your back slowly before settling on the backrest of your stool. It’s not even a touch, just the allusion to it, but your heart goes pitter-patter in your chest.

“Do I?” you ask, breath hitching, legs bouncing with the nerves of it all.

You just don’t do this sort of stuff. Flirting with people, letting strangers chat you up in bars, going along with the quips and the banter and the coy touches… you’re so out of your element. And even Carrie Underwood and her misplaced pep talks have deserted you now. She just threw the match, and then she hightailed it out of here. Traitor.

Jake nods. “You’re real pretty, sugar,” he says. “I especially like the hat with that dress.”

You glance down at yourself and grin. The dress is decidedly too much for a joint where everybody else seems to show up in denim or flannel. You’re just glad you skipped heels in favor of sneakers to dress the whole thing down - you would have stood out like a sore thumb in the sea of cowboy boots.

“This isn’t really… saloon appropriate, is it?”

He laughs, and the sound of it warms your chest. “Not exactly,” he agrees. “But I like it. It suits you.”

“How so?”

Jake lifts a shoulder in a shrug, something unreadable playing about his mouth. “Makes it look like you’re not from here.”

You frown and ask, “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Sugar,” Jake chuckles, and the sound of that stupid, ridiculous pet name sends a shiver down your back, “that’s just about the highest compliment I could ever give a girl.”

You don’t know what to say to that - your cheeks feel kind of warm, and your brain is buzzing like a beehive. 

“I can’t really… see in this thing,” you mumble, tugging at the brim that keeps slipping. Suddenly a little frail.

Jake laughs again, and you decide that you don’t just like the sound - you love it. 

“You’re a cute one, huh?” he says, voice only a little mocking. He leans into your space, crooked grin so close to you that you can see the stubble forming along his cheeks and jaw, a golden dusting of hair against the sun-kissed skin. For a breathless, head-spinning moment, you think about how it would feel pressed to the inside of your thighs, raspy and tickling and just the right side of painful.

He rights the hat, pushes it higher up on your forehead, and then his hand travels to the back of your neck, stays there. His thumb brushes from the brim of the hat to the knob of your spine, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You let out a shuddering breath, legs clenching.

“So you dreamed about being a cowgirl, yeah?” he asks, withdrawing his hand and taking a swig of his beer.

You blink a few times until your vision goes from blurred to focused. Then you clear your throat. “Yeah, like… in elementary school, I think.”

“What’s your opinion on cowboys, then?”

You shrug, turn your upper body sideways to finger the stem of your cocktail glass. “I suppose they have their uses.”

He laughs, the sound a little heavier than it was before, and says, “You ever dreamed about any of those, too?”

It’s crude, it’s forward, it’s an innuendo so thinly-veiled it’s pretty much translucent. It should make you balk.

But there’s something about the night. The music, the drinks, the boy. The heat of the summer outside and the thrill of a new town and a new dress and a new life. It all makes you feel a little bit dangerous, a little bit sexy, a little bit loose. Maybe just for one night, you can pretend to be someone else. Let your hair down.

“Maybe,” you say, hoping it comes off mysterious instead of guarded, closed-off, disinterested. You turn to take a sip of your margarita, and then, in a move so bold not even Carrie Underwood and her car-wrecking could claim it, you lick the salt off the rim of the glass.

When you glance up at him again, his pupils are blown so wide there’s barely any green left visible. He’s looking right at your mouth.

“Anything I could make come true?” he asks.

It’s an offer as much as it is an out. If you pull back now, you’re pretty sure he’d leave you alone. Jake is forward, confident, sure, but he doesn’t seem like the pushy type. For some insane reason, you feel safe with him.

“Depends,” you say. Your voice has gone so quiet you’re surprised he can hear you over the din of the bar. The song has changed, but you don’t recognize the tune. You can’t focus on anything except the man right in front of you anyway.

He doesn’t ask what it depends on, and you’re glad because you don’t have an answer for him. You’re playing this whole thing by ear, and apparently, your hearing is impaired.

It starts as a tingle, as pins and needles, and when you look down, you find Jake’s hand on your thigh, just above the knee. Fingers splayed wide, radiating heat. As your heart rate kicks up a notch, you squirm in your seat.

Jake raises his free hand and tips two fingers to the brim gently. “You know what this means, pretty girl?”

His thumb traces a path up the inside of your thigh, leaves goosebumps in its wake. Suddenly, your mouth is drier than the Sahara desert.

“What?” you ask stupidly. You feel like there’s an entirely separate conversation happening here, one you aren’t really following.

He smirks, but his eyes don’t move from your face. “It’s not really something good girls do.”

You’re distracted by the tuft of hair protruding from the unbuttoned collar of his flannel, the same color as his beard. You wonder if it stretches all the way down beneath the obnoxiously large belt buckle.

Your voice has gone airy. “Why not?”

He hums, fingers traveling just a little higher up on your thigh, almost creeping beneath the fabric of your dress now. You hope you’re not sticky with sweat. It’s so hot in here. But then his fingernails scrape over your skin, the softest of touches, and that thought dissipates along with any other.

“See, there’s this rule, sugar,” he says and leans even closer. For a second, you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he just goes on, “You steal the hat, you ride the cowboy.”

Your brain implodes. If you tried to get up right now, you’re pretty sure you’d keel right over.

“Does that really exist?” you ask, voice barely more than a whisper. He’s so close that you can smell his aftershave, can count the freckles scattered on his nose. So close if you just lean in an inch, half an inch, just a bit…

Somebody says your name, and you almost topple backward off the bar stool in your attempt to put distance between him and you.

Your co-worker stands a step behind you, eyebrow raised and a disapproving look on her face.

“I’m heading home now. You still need that ride?”

Part of you wants to say no. Let Jake take you home or to a bathroom stall or to the back of his pick-up. Make good on that rule you’re not sure he didn’t just make up. Give into the insistent thrumming of want in the pit of your stomach.

But there’s a rational part of you left, too, one that hasn’t drowned in margaritas or the green of Jake’s eyes yet. One that remembers who you really are, truly, beneath the thin veneer of tonight’s pretense.

So you clear your throat, slide off the barstool, and right into his arms. For a second, you’re chest to chest, stomach to stomach, then you’re stepping away, wondering distantly just how flustered you look and taking the hat off.

“Thanks for letting me borrow this,” you say sheepishly and hand it back to him.

Jake smirks, something in his eyes twinkling.

“Always happy to make a lady’s dreams come true,” he says, popping the hat back on. “Anytime, Ma’am.”

You grope around for your purse blindly, a lump in your throat that makes it impossible to speak. That and the fact that you have no idea how to answer that.

“Seresin.” Your co-worker nods at him.

He waves back silently, then casts another long, lingering look at you that makes your heart miss a beat or two.

“I’ll see you around?” you ask, voice trembling like a leaf in a thunderstorm.

The corner of Jake’s mouth lifts in a grin. 

“You can count on it,” he says and tips his hat at you. “I believe you may owe me a ride.”