2022 - Blog Posts

FKA twigs - oh my love

In love with this vibe 💝🫧🏩

If Julieta Madrigal can heal anything, then why does Mirabel and Agustín use glasses?

As It Was by Harry Styles

Bizarre red light and the city of modernity

Milan, Italy 2022

12.10.22

12.10.22

I decided to put together a list of questions to be answered throughout the month of February because honestly I haven't felt motivated enough to make new posts and this seems like a great opportunity. So! if you'd like to, feel free to join in on the challenge!!

Info / Rules!

The challenge will last the whole month of February and contains 28 questions, one for each day.

Please reblog this post if you plan to do the challenge!

When you post, tag it as '#february productivity challenge' so I can track, see and reblog the posts and studyblrs participating :)

You don't have to post daily so don't pressure yourself too much on it. You can always do catch-up posts!

If you have any questions feel free to hop into my inbox!

Prompts!

Day 1: What’s your favourite podcast?

Day 2: What are you reading right now?

Day 3: What's your nighttime routine like?

Day 4: What would you describe your study method as?

Day 5: What's the most recent thing you've dreamt?

Day6: What are your current top 5 songs?

Day 7: What was your favourite band 5 years ago?

Day 8: Is there someone you recently got acquainted with? How did you meet them?

Day 9: Have you been anywhere recently for the first time? How was the experience?

Day 10: What's your daily, weekly and monthly planning method? How detailed are you with it?

Day 11: What’s a piece of random trivia that you know?

Day 12: What’s your favourite family tradition?

Day 13: Do you like video games? What's a game you've wanted to play for a while? What's the last game you've played?

Day 14: What's a youtube channel you really like?

Day 15: When you hang out with friends, what do you usually prefer to do?

Day 16: What's something you would like to make if you had the time and/or skill?

Day 17: What’s your favourite place you’ve ever visited?

Day 18: What’s the best advice you’ve received and consciously try to follow?

Day 19: What's your go-to take out?

Day 20: If you made a youtube channel, what would it be about?

Day 21: What's something you've wanted to take a deep dive into but haven't got the time to yet?

Day 22: What are your favourite colour combinations?

Day 23: What's a gift you'd give to someone if you don't know them all too well?

Day 24: What's your favourite beverage?

Day 25: What does your ideal breakfast look like?

Day 26: What's the cosiest place in your mind right now?

Day 27: If you did a room revamp, what all would you change? What's an aesthetic you would like to incorporate in it?

Day 28: What's your favourite stationery that you own?

Hope you enjoy it and have a good month!

"...there is literally no way to put [life as a system] into words... that shared depth of our shared soul. the immense hope in it all.

it's so strange. sacred in a way. something given to me by god. in those moments, i... faith becomes conviction. that trust is solid. i don't just "believe" that there is life after death and hope after everything, I know that there is. there is something about headspace that all but confirms that there is "more to life than this life." that what we see is not all there is. in here, what i see, what i hear, what i feel... the absolute love between us all, that's what i bring into church, and lay on the altar, and sob for joy about. that is the heart of every prayer and song i offer. this is what leads me to God, more than anything else, because this is how he teaches me of himself. of unconditional compassion. of mercy and justice. of what it's like for someone to live and die for you and what it's like to want to do the same thing in a heartbeat. joyfully so. kissing the cross.

this innerworld is blessed. it really is. even the wars, even the struggles were seen and known by god. of course they were. we all know we could never have become who we are now, could never have become as tender-hearted as we are now, if we had not bled and wept and fought together for so long. we learned so much. we lost so much. we gained so much."

(121622)

I slay so hard sometimes ✭

10/01/2022: HOW DARE YOU??? i read this in the morning, went to the dentist, had lunch, went to work, came back home and the entire day was just a BLUR because all that i could think about was THIS!!! 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 favorite parts are below the cut, you are a menace!!! (ily)

“you’d never once had the desire to call a partner that before in bed - ever. but with bradley it just fit.” your characterization is always on point, it always makes sense and i love you for it, jordan!!! i personally don’t always like when people overuse daddy (it just doesn’t do it for me) BUT AGAIN, with bradley it just fits it works you are always correct and i have died from this!!!

“but something you probably should have brought up at another time. like when all seven and a half inches of your fiancé’s dick wasn’t inside you.” STOPPPPP

“please,” you said into his neck, but bradley grabbed your chin so you were looking into his eyes.” GRABBED HER CHINNNNNNNNNNN

“‘atta girl…” DO NOT DO THIS TO ME THIS IS TOO MUCH

“‘s all you, kid. come on,” he groaned.” i have died.

“daddy, huh?” he said after a moment.

you sighed and pulled back to look at him, knowing you were in for some teasing, but still more than willing to give it just as good.

“don’t get used to it, bubs.”

(but he would. and he did.)” BUT HE WOULD AND HE DID 🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡 their banter will forever be unmatched!!! best people ever!!!

Jordan!! Share the thoughts!!!! We all are having the same ones!!! Especially since we talked about spanking!!! I seriously need to get laid or find the charger to my vibrator I’m going insane™

the aforementioned spanking will have to wait until later because i can’t quite think of how to incorporate it into their storyline yet (what can i say he’s a Giver in the next two things i’m gonna post), but here’s some good old fashioned daddy shit and cockwarming to hopefully wet your whistle (why did i say it like that?)

OR the first time you call bradley daddy (18+)

the first time it happened was an accident.

well, maybe not an accident, per se. you had thought it plenty of times since you’d been dating bradley and even more since you’d gotten engaged.

but you’d never said it. or at least not to him.

daddy. daddy. daddy.

you’d never once had the desire to call a partner that before in bed - ever. but with bradley it just fit.

and so one night, you had been a little tired from the edible you’d taken earlier (obviously bradley had to refrain) and buzzed from the champagne you were convinced you needed, and your inhibitions had been lowered - drastically. but the ironic thing was, you hadn’t been doing anything out of the ordinary. it wasn’t a scene or anything like that.

no. you were just sitting on his lap, chest to chest, as you warmed his cock after going another round earlier in the evening.

and again, you were a little tired from the edible and the champagne and your head was resting on his shoulder at the perfect angle for you to press little kisses across his cheeks and neck. so when you’d kissed the pretty little scar on his shoulder, he’d shuddered and shifted and you had let out a pitiful whimper. god, you felt so good. he always made you feel so good.

“feel so full, daddy.” you sounded wanton - you barely even recognized your own voice - you sounded tired, young, bratty.

daddy. daddy. daddy.

and then bradley tensed.

and then bradley dug his fingers into your hips.

and then bradley slightly pulled you off his cock.

and then bradley settled you back on his cock, deeper this time.

and then bradley groaned.

and then bradley said: “what was that again, sweetheart?”

you whimpered and couldn’t help but clench your pussy around his cock. embarrassed, you burrowed your face into his neck, knowing even on the cloud you were floating on that you had said something wrong. well, maybe not wrong. but something you probably should have brought up at another time. like when all seven and a half inches of your fiancé’s dick wasn’t inside you.

“daddy…” you whispered, except it came out needier than you would have liked.

bradley groaned and you could feel his cock twitch inside you. “you want more of daddy’s cock?”

“please,” you said into his neck, but bradley grabbed your chin so you were looking into his eyes.

he slipped his thumb into your mouth and you sucked on the tip. his fingers were still sticky from when they’d been inside you a few minutes ago and you felt warm at the thought of tasting yourself.

“you’re gonna have to work for it then…”

you nodded, eagerly. anything. you’d do anything for bradley - for daddy.

daddy. daddy. daddy.

bradley slapped your ass with his other hand and you moaned around his thumb. the action shot a hot wave of arousal straight to your throbbing core. god, you hadn’t even started moving and you already felt so full.

“come on, be a good girl and bounce on daddy’s cock.”

he was loving this, you could tell. if not from his physical reaction then from the cocky tone of his voice and the pleased smile on his face. but a breathier, sluttier voice at the back of your mind kept drowning the rational voice out and could only focus on one word.

daddy. daddy. daddy.

daddy wanted you to bounce on his cock. daddy wanted you to work for it. daddy wanted you to be a good girl.

you started off with slow, languid thrusts of your hips, gradually becoming deeper knowing that was the way bradley liked it - the way daddy liked it. his thumb slipped out of your mouth and then he drifted his hand down your body to play with your breasts. they were desperate for some attention and you jutted them out towards him. they were full and heavy and so sensitive and you let out a whimper as he pinched a nipple.

“‘atta girl…”

the obscene sound of the two of you fucked up against each other filled the room. you were so wet and turned on it was almost pathetic. granted, you still had bradley’s cum inside you from when you had fucked earlier. but god - it was so delicious. you could cum from the sound alone.

daddy. daddy. daddy.

as if reading your thoughts, bradley glanced down to where the two of you were connected and clicked his tongue. “fuck, ain’t that pretty?”

you nodded multiple times in quick succession. god, you were so close. so fucking close.

“harder, daddy, please.”

his hands snaked down to your hips and settled the two of you in a bruising pace and you swore you saw stars again for the second time that night. knowing you were close, bradley brought his hand down to where the two of you were connected and rubbed your clit. his middle and index finger played with the nub and you felt a pull in your stomach.

you arched your back and let out a moan, which he swallowed with his mouth. you both let out desperate gasps and grunts against each other’s mouths as you tried to see who would come first.

“‘s all you, kid. come on,” he groaned.

with a final cry, you came and bradley spent himself inside you soon after. you collapsed against his chest, utterly spent from the multiple times you had already cum that evening. god, you were so overstimulated. your entire body was wrought and warm and yet you still wanted to be closer to bradley. you peppered kisses along his jawline in between catching your breath.

“daddy, huh?” he said after a moment.

you sighed and pulled back to look at him, knowing you were in for some teasing, but still more than willing to give it just as good.

“don’t get used to it, bubs.”

(but he would. and he did.)

30/12/22: HOLY SHIT BOXER BOB!!! this is one of the best first chapters i've ever read, everything was do engaging and you gave us enough to want more i need to know how their date went i need to know more about bob and mickey’s relationship and the boxing and maverick and how the stories are all going to connect. i need it ALL. just so good. i think you really nailed his personality, or at least the little bit you showed of him in this chapter. all of bob’s lines were so on character but with an EDGE!!! something a little different, but that FITS!!! anyways i’m so excited for the future parts, you’re incredibly talented!!!

“Bob Floyd liked to think he was a good person.” such an engaging opening line!!!

“But there’s an unrelenting pressure that comes with being a good person. A weight that couldn’t be lifted as he exhausted himself with the idea of what exactly it means to be inherently good.” this is getting so good already!!!

“He gives up his seat on public transportation and has reusable shopping bags so he doesn’t have to use the plastic ones at the grocery store.” of course he does ❤️

“Bob Floyd was a good person. Bob Floyd was a good person until, suddenly, he wasn’t. And it could all be traced back to the first time he ever stepped foot into Sugar Plum Bakery.” the name of the bakery in contrast with the whole atmosphere you’ve created for this is so interesting.

“Hi!” You pop up suddenly, smiling brightly. There’s a smudge of flour on your cheek, stipples of it all over your apron, and Bob's almost certain there’s some in your hair too. “What can I getcha?” and i adore her already.

“You bite your lip, eyes squinting as you appear to be sizing him up. It reminds Bob of his opponents in the ring — though their eyes aren’t nearly as pretty as yours — and it almost makes him laugh.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

“Bob’s eyebrows raise slightly in agreement. “Today’s special, huh? Then I should probably get one of those, shouldn’t I?”

“It’d be sacrilegious not to,” you tease back, a smile growing on your lips.” love this piece of dialogue!!!

AND THE 20% TIP FOR A 5 SECOND CONVERSATION AND AN APPLE TART HE IS THE SWEETEST

“You hand the box to him with that bright smile and — just like every romantic comedy Bob has ever watched with his mom — his heart stutters when your fingers brush.” AND HE WATHES ROMCOMS????? 😭😭😭😭😭❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

“Oh?” You turn back to the croissants, pleased with their golden brown color as you move to transfer them to a different tray to bring up front.  “And what would you call him?” i also adored this description and her attention to detail in the croissant!!!

“Don’t think it was a cupcake he was hopin’ for,” she looks at you knowingly and you feel slightly flustered at her implication.

He wanted to see you?” i am a puddle on the floor!!!!

“Ball cap guy sticks out like a sore thumb against the few customers in Sugar Plum, a head taller than everyone else even as his head is tilted down to look at his phone.” 😭

AND THEN HE GENUINELY PAYS ATTENTION TO HER RAMBLING ABOUT SWEET PEAS

“That’ll be—”

“What time do you get off?” He blurts suddenly.” I LOVE THIS TROPE!!! IS IT A TROPE??? SPEAKING OVER EACH OTHER IDK BUT I LOVE IT

“You ever think about fighting, Bob?” oh… maverick is RECRUITING???

“Maybe if Bob had done that to the landlord, he’d stop making his mom cry. Maybe if Bob had done that to those preppy college boys, Mickey wouldn’t have to shrug it off with a “People tip pretty good at Charlotte’s anyway”. Maybe if he’d never taken it, and taken it, and taken it, and actually stopped to wonder if maybe he didn’t have to, they wouldn’t have had to take it either.” LOVE THIS LINE

“How much would you pay me?” smart boy!!!

“Because if Adler could come out of it all a good man, Bob could cling to that hope for himself a little longer.” BOB 😭🥺

Do Unto Otters

summary - You should have known to question when Bob suddenly appeared in your bakery and made his place in your life — but, in your defense, his smile was so charming! Five dates in and he’s already swept you off your feet completely with his thoughtful nature and kind heart. But the question still remains: what do you actually know about him? And why does he always come back to you covered in bruises?

warnings - DARK THEMES, boxer au, violence, language, Bob is 6′5″ because I said so, I roasted Mav in this a bit my bad, mentions of violence, “Bob” is kind of a stupid boxer name so I changed it, no use of y/n

this series is 18+, minors please do not interact

word count - 3.5k

please take this as my thank you for 1.5k! I am so so honored that you guys think my stuff is worth reading, it means the world to me. anyway enjoy! - bugs

sweeter than sugar masterlist

Continuar lendo

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

28/12/22: JORDAN, YOU MADE ME CRYYYYYY WITH THIS ONE!!! GOD!!! i read it on christmas but have only been able to highlight my favorite parts now, it’s so long i basically just copy and paste the whole thing i’m SORRY but every line you write is BEAUTIFUL and i can’t help myself. it was such an angsty and cozy read for the end of my christmas night. just very perfect in every sense. smart alecks emotions are so real and palpable, you really take us there with her!!! and sweet bradley, no words for him. he deserves all the happiness in the world and i hope the navy never takes him away again during christmas. joe biden you will pay for your crimes.

“and the food that you and Bradley - but mainly Bradley - had spent all morning and last night preparing was laid out on festive serving dishes, complete with seasonally appropriate plates and napkins, perfectly folded in their napkin rings.” AH YES BRADLEY COOKING. MY FAVORITE LITERARY GENRE.

“and you’d somehow wrangled a recipe for the cookies Bradley’s mom used to make from Sarah Kazansky and hadn't even burnt them.” this little detail made me 🥹

"Because they weren’t going to be spending the holiday on a drafty aircraft carrier in the middle of the Pacific far from home like Bradley was.” oh 😭 way to break my heart.

“You absentmindedly fixed the bow on your wrap dress. Your long sleeved, silk wrap dress - that also did plenty to hide any unwanted lines or bumps around your stomach. And your arms.” smart aleck beloved :(

"You hadn’t been this self conscious at the gala back in October" THIS GALA KEEPS HAUNTING ME I CAN’T WAIT TO READ IT!!!

and then she starts spiraling again question if bradley loves her or not :(

“Bradley loved you, Bradley proved how much he loved you every single day, Bradley catered to your every whim about this party with the biggest smile on his face.”

“Bradley loved you, Bradley loved you. He loved you. He - was wrapping his arms around your waist.” i love the way you make him ground her to reality again by wrapping his arms around her.

“Maybe you could buy him some new clothes while he was gone? By now, you knew what he liked and didn’t like - right down to the colors and fabric types. He needed some new undershirts - and socks. You nuzzled your face into his chest. He felt so warm and soft and smelled so good. You had to buy a travel sized bottle of his cologne before he left.” the intimacy of knowing each other so well that you can buy each other clothes. ALSO THE TRACEL SIZED BOTTLE OF HIS COLOGNE STOP ITS SICKENING SWEET

“Well,” Bradley started, “to be fair, you did do like all the work for this party, think it’s valid to be a little tired, sweetheart.” 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

“A good tired, huh?” His thumbs were making the most soothing circles on your hips.

“Like a heart full tired? A changing for dinner after a spending a day at the beach tired - no, wait. A post gala eating french fries in bed and watching Moonstruck tired?” An after you fucked me so hard I could barely remember my own name tired.” THE WAY YOU THROW IN LINES LIKE THIS SO SEAMLESSLY I CAN’T YOU’RE TOO GOOD AT THIS

“He wouldn’t be with you again until March.” STOP I’M GOING TO CRY

“Three months was a long time. Six pay cycles, at least twelve trips to the grocery, four off-sites, the entirety of Q1, five nail appointments, twenty four pilates classes, and if he knocked you up that very night, it could be the entirety of a first trimester of pregnancy. Not that you wanted to be pregnant - at least not for a while. Like quite a while. It was just a way to compare time. You didn’t want to be pregnant.” a perfect paragraph!!! it reveals so much about how anxious she feels about him being deployed. AND THE PREGNANT PART AT THE END I SEE YOU JORDAN

“And then he’d come home to you. To you and your life together.” 🥺🫶

“I’m gonna miss you, too.  Never really had someone to miss before on one of these - not like this.” I AM GOING TO K/LL MYSELF!!!!!! FAVORITE LINE!!!!!!

“Sorry…” You felt warm all over at getting caught. Normally, you and Bradley weren’t big on PDA, but you’d been needy lately - both of you had been.” BELOVEDS!!!

“Since moving back to California, Bradley had taken up surfing again and relished his weekend mornings out in the chilly Pacific.” i also adore this common agreement that bradley absolutely does surf. i saw a fanart of this months ago and i’ve never been the same.

“Who knows, maybe you would have been at Bradley and Max’s holiday party if you hadn’t met him in April.” pls i adore this

“You couldn’t imagine how long it took him to learn this if he was already off book. Did you mention his fingers? His hands? God, they were beautiful. Strong and long and corded - was that the right word? You recalled it from those regency romance novels you had hidden on your Kindle. God, you loved him so much. So fucking much. You’d never loved a person this much before - oh, you were going to miss him so much.” MY HEARTTTT

“Thanks, I just wanted to do something nice for Bradley.”

“Pretty sure you could’ve gotten a pizza and he would’ve been happy.” YEAH ❤️‍🩹

“Pete cut you off with a look. “Come on, by now you know it’s your house as much as Bradley’s…” i’m reading this a second time and oh the foreshadowing i love it

“You had never felt this way before Bradley, like another person was home.

And you wanted to be home all the time.” AND YOU WANTED TO BE HOME ALL THE TIME!!!!!!! GOD!!!!!! OK MAYBE THIS IS MY FAVORITE LINE!!!!!

“Back when you had first met him, you had imagined that gaining Pete’s approval was how you would have felt had Bradley’s parents been alive to give it to you. You thought about them often - more often than you’d ever let Bradley think - and especially as of late. Would they have liked you? Would they have gotten along with your parents? From what you’d been told, they would have made amazing grandparents. Maybe Bradley would even have had more siblings? Maybe, maybe, maybe.” 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Max held up two fingers. “I’ll be on my best behavior, Scout’s honor.”

“It’s three fingers, dumbass.” this was hilarious. comedy gold.

“You got it, rocketman.” THIS NICKNAME IS SO CUTE FOR HIM AND THERE’S THE WHOLE ELTON JOHN THING I AM UNWELL

“I really can’t stay…baby, it’s cold outside…I’ve got to go ‘way…baby, it’s cold outside…”

Oh god.” OH GOD INDEED. JUST SO VERY PERFECT.

“But it was just about the perfect duet, in that it was a crowd pleaser, a little slutty, and campy as hell. And as it so happened, you had been feeling a little slutty with all the champagne you had drunk throughout the evening. Plus, with Bradley on the keys and no one else sober enough to make fun of your less than stellar singing skills, you had been a glutton for attention. You had used your champagne coupe as a microphone and had only spilled a couple drops - at first.” WE ARE ALL ALLOWED TO BE A LITTLE SLUTTY SOMETIMES AND IT’S OKAY

“Come on, Bradshaw. How’s she been this year? Naughty or nice?” 😮‍💨

“Somehow, the two of you wound up laying on the floor at the edge of the Christmas tree. The soft lights made Bradley’s brown eyes appear like pools of chocolate and you flushed. He groaned as you rolled your hips against his lap, already feeling the bulge forming in his jeans. Shit - were you going to fuck underneath the Christmas tree? Like properly fuck on the floor underneath the Christmas tree.” GOOD FOR THEM!!!

"You slid your finger underneath the flap of the box and popped the lid open. But then there was the tissue paper. Goddamnit, Bradley! Why was he so good at wrapping presents! You glanced up at him only to see that he was blushing. Properly blushing. Like pink neck, pink cheeks - hell, even the tips of his ears were pink - blushing." THE WAY YOU DESCRIBE WHEN HE BLUSHES!!!! THE PINK EARS ❤️❤️‍🩹🥹😭🫶🥲

"He surged forward to kiss you and you temporarily forgot all your previous worries because Bradley wanted to move in with you. He wanted to share furniture and go grocery shopping for food that would go in the same fridge. He wanted to wake up beside you every single morning and come home to you every single evening and go to sleep beside you every single night. He wanted everything. And that’s what you wanted to give him." HE WANTED EVERYTHINGGGGGGG

“You kissed his cheek. “I’m excited and I’m gonna make you the best dinner you’ve ever had when you come home to me, alright?” WHEN YOU COME HOME TO ME!!!!!!!!

“Bradley was one of those people that opened presents like they were going to save the wrapping paper, which meant he did it slowly and purposefully. This normally didn’t bother you, but you were already a little on edge from earlier and had to sit on your hands to stop you from ripping the paper off yourself.” ok i adore and live for little details like this, a glimpse into his personality that we don’t get unless you write it and it fits him so well!!! just perfect, jordan!!!

“Harkening back to your first date, you had gotten him a Saturn V Rocket ornament to add to the tree, giving your rocketman something to aspire to.” we are NOT giving up on the bradley astronaut agenda anytime soon and i love that

“But when Bradley took your hand and threaded your fingers together and started drawing circles across your palm, the tears came. And came and came and didn’t stop. You rubbed at your eyes with your free hand and repositioned yourself to lay beside him.” stop this actually made me cry, i was sobbing during christmas night because of her breakdown

“Your ridiculously handsome, thirty-six year old, naval aviator boyfriend was giggling on the floor of your house because your were tickling his sides. If only you could show this version of Bradley to the Navy - maybe then they wouldn’t take him away from you at Christmas. Stupid US Military Industrial Complex. Fucking Lockheed Martin.” 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 THIS ONE BROKE MEEEEEE

“Also, are you still upset that I got you two presents? Because if you are, can I just make you come once tonight? Level the field.” STOP

“He pulled back slightly. “What happened to fucking on the living room floor?” he teased.

“Don’t want to fuck up your old man back anymore - Bradley!” you cried out as he smacked your ass.” they are everything to me!!!

“Bradley groaned. “Such a needy fucking thing, bucking against my fingers like that, huh?” You whined. “But I’m gonna fuck you nice and slow, yeah. Make sure you savor it.” 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

“No, you didn’t think so either. But you didn’t want to prolong this. You needed to be close to him and to know he was real and good and yours. At least for tonight.” REAL AND GOOD AND YOURS!!!!

“Home. Home. Home. Bradley wouldn’t just be coming back to San Diego in three months: he would be coming home - to you. And to this great, big, beautiful house he wanted to share with you. And to the life he wanted to share with you." SO MANY FAVORITE LINES I MEAN HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO PICK JUST ONE?

“I’m gonna miss you so much, bubs.” You cupped his cheek tenderly, like he would disappear at any moment. A nagging little voice at the back of your mind said that he would, in fact, do just that - on Monday morning. But that night he was yours.” PLS AS IF I HAVEN’T CRIED ENOUGH-

“Your home was in San Diego with your friends and your job. Your home was with your boyfriend, snuggled up on the couch watching TV, perusing the aisles of the farmer’s market, watching him surf, and cooking dinner together. Your home was with Bradley.” 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

not the it’s a wonderful life comparisons are you trying to kill us????

“He just made you lighter and made things lighter. He fit.” HE FITTTTTTTTTTTT I CAN NO LONGER DO THIS-

AND THEY EMAIL EACH OTHER????? JORDANNNNNNNNNNN

this was perfect. as always. no words. thank you for this beautiful christmas gift ❤️🥲

(christmas) baby please come home

summary: in which lieutenant commander bradshaw and his girlfriend throw a christmas party, complete with a christmas tree, copious amounts of champagne, blended friend groups, and the true meaning of the word home

OR what do you do when your boyfriend gets deployed over christmas and he get you two christmas presents?

pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader 11.8k

warnings: 18+, explicit language, explicit sexual content

part of @notroosterbradshaw ‘s hello december challenge

masterlist and playlist

It was obvious that you knew how to throw a party. 

Furthermore, it was obvious that none of your and Bradley’s friends - baring Max, but only because he had professional help - would ever be able to pull off a party of the same caliber as your Christmas party. 

Subconsciously, you wanted your friends to be jealous of you and impressed with how well you and Bradley had pulled things off. It was, admittedly, such a vain and shallow thought - no, desire to want to be the best at this. At throwing parties.

The Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack was currently echoing throughout the downstairs on the Sonos, the twinkling jazz giving off a whimsical, yet sophisticated vibe, the Christmas tree looked stunning in the living room where it was covered in nearly three thousand white lights and countless ornaments, and the food that you and Bradley - but mainly Bradley - had spent all morning and last night preparing was laid out on festive serving dishes, complete with seasonally appropriate plates and napkins, perfectly folded in their napkin rings. 

You had scoured San Diego county for the most gorgeous garland possible to serve as the centerpiece on the dining room table, the berries and pine cones in it perfectly matching the plates and napkins and serving dishes. You had vacuumed the hardwood floor twice and washed it once before everyone came over and knew you would do so again once everyone left, if only so you could casually say it’s fine, you can keep your shoes on, we’re washing the floor tomorrow anyway. The candles weren’t overpowering, there was soft lighting all throughout the house, and you’d somehow wrangled a recipe for the cookies Bradley’s mom used to make from Sarah Kazansky and hadn't even burnt them.  

Because you wanted people to talk about it - the party. And to say did you see their bathroom? It was so clean, there weren’t any water spots on the faucet. The beef tenderloin appetizers were delicious, they had to have gotten the meat someplace special? No, definitely not Vons, maybe some local butcher in La Jolla? Aren’t they such a sweet couple? Such a good pair.

Because it had to be perfect. 

All of it.

Because this was Bradley’s Christmas. His only Christmas that year. Nothing could go amiss. And you wanted everyone to be jealous of it, so much so that tonight would be equal to if not better than how they celebrated the actual holiday with their own families - in their own homes - on Christmas Day. 

Because they weren’t going to be spending the holiday on a drafty aircraft carrier in the middle of the Pacific far from home like Bradley was. 

And Bradley deserved the entire world and all the happiness he could possibly have. The way his face had lit up when you’d first suggested the party after he’d gotten his orders at the beginning of November would stick with you for months. You’d told him that everything would be perfect, that you would pack enough Christmas spirit and love and gifts and food into one evening that it would take the sting out of being away from home - being away from you - at Christmas. Even if for just one night.

The guests had all arrived, some promptly and some not-so-promptly, with you and Bradley greeting them all, telling them to help themselves to all the food and drinks they wanted. Apparently, Max had a surprise for later that you prayed was not him putting on a Santa suit. But the conversation and drinks were flowing with ease, despite the blending of your two friend groups for the first time. 

It was a good party. 

Except right now, it was your turn to be the jealous one.

You watched, enviously, as one of your work friends leaned against the kitchen island with a glass of prosecco in her hand, while the other gripped Jake Seresin’s bicep. The jealousy wasn’t because of Jake or any attention he may have been giving her, mind you. 

(Because no, no - while you may no longer have had an intense hatred for Bradley’s nemesis cum friend, you still didn’t actively seek out his presence and you definitely didn’t want his attention - not for anything other than a great party as he left your - no, Bradley’s house later that night.)

No - you were jealous of her dress. Her gorgeous, deep garnet, midi-length, sleeveless dress. That looked absolutely stunning on her, though a touch too fancy for a Christmas party in South Park. She looked gorgeous, beautiful - statuesque. 

You absentmindedly fixed the bow on your wrap dress. Your long sleeved, silk wrap dress - that also did plenty to hide any unwanted lines or bumps around your stomach. And your arms. 

Weeks ago, back when the party was but a pipe dream, you’d been eyeing this absolutely adorable, sleeveless, mini-dress for the event. Like your friend’s dress, it probably erred on the side of slightly too fancy for a house party, but it had been so pretty and so perfect. It had sat in your cart online for at least two weeks - you just wanted to see if it would go on sale before you finally pulled the trigger. 

Until Thanksgiving. 

When you saw how unflattering your arms looked in the black cashmere tank you’d brought for dinner to your parents’ house. You thanked your past self for having the forethought to pack a cardigan, which didn’t come off until hours later after all your aunts and uncles and cousins had left and you were snuggled up in Bradley’s arms. 

Maybe you should try the HIIT classes on your Peloton instead of all those beginner rides you were still doing with Cody? Or get arm weights? The girls who worked out in the front two rows of your pilates class swore by them. They barely needed any input from the instructor - they just knew how to move their bodies that way. Or maybe you could ask your parents for a higher Class Pass subscription for Christmas? It would give you something to focus on while Bradley was gone. 

You hadn’t been this self conscious at the gala back in October and that dress was far more daring than anything you’d ever worn before; practically open back, with a risqué slit and a deep v neckline, to say nothing of what you had worn just for Bradley later that night. 

So, why now? Why tonight when you were supposed to be enjoying this time with your boyfriend and all your friends before the holidays? Why tonight, when everything else was going so right, were you being bogged down by this insecurity in your own home - no, no, it was Bradley’s home, not yours.

Was it because he was leaving? And you didn’t want one of his last images of you for three months to be your arms in a too tight dress? Because that was so shallow and silly and ridiculous. 

But what if it was true? Bradley was so pretty and handsome and charming and sweet, what if there was someone else on that boat that also thought he was pretty and handsome and charming and sweet? And you’d seen all the other aviators and naval personnel at that gala, they were stunning. What if Bradley thought that too - no, no, no. You weren’t going to focus on that for one of your last nights with him. 

Bradley loved you, Bradley proved how much he loved you every single day, Bradley catered to your every whim about this party with the biggest smile on his face. 

Bradley loved you. 

You were just being ridiculous and shallow and over dramatic and spiraling before he left. Bradley loved you, Bradley loved you. He loved you. He - was wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“How’s it going?” His voice rumbled in your ear and you leaned back against him. 

God, he was so strong and soft and warm and smelled so pretty all the time. You were going to miss him so much. You felt him fiddle with the bow tying your burgundy dress together and ducked your head. 

“Good, just came to get a drink.” Which you had been doing - about three minutes ago. “And wanted to make sure everyone in here was all set.”

Bradley hummed and swayed you back and forth in his arms. “Look at you, hostess with the mostess - or however that goes. You want me to make you another drink?”

You nodded. “Please.”

You both had decided to set up the bar in the kitchen, while keeping the food in the dining room and the dessert in the sitting room for later. Hours ago, before you had even hopped in the shower, the bar had been painstakingly set up and organized. Now, it needed some work. You cursed yourself for not checking on it earlier in the evening - you couldn’t believe your guests had been serving themselves from this all night. 

The glasses were no longer in neat rows, organized by type, the bowl with the limes was running dangerously low, and the caps to the liquor bottles and the champagne corks were scattered across the table. Without a second thought, you started organizing everything before Bradley could even get you a fresh glass. 

You could tell he wanted to say something, but - at least for that moment - he just rubbed your back and then poured you another glass of champagne, making sure to put the bottle back properly. Meanwhile, you scooped up the stray corks and foil and other bottle caps and threw them in the garbage underneath the sink. You had enough time, maybe you could pop those dirty wine glasses in the empty dishwasher? Wait - there was a puddle of condensation underneath an open bottle of champagne. You frowned. Clearly, someone hadn’t put it back in the bucket. Who would do that? Didn’t they know to put it back exactly where -  

“- You good?” 

Bradley’s voice was so soft and reassuring and you couldn’t believe you’d soon be going without hearing it for months. Unable to wait another second, you wrapped your arms around him in a hug, which he eagerly returned and you nuzzled his chest. Bradley’s shirt for the party was an exceptionally soft flannel in a solid navy color that you’d found on sale. He hated buying himself clothes, even more so spending a lot of money on them, but he always liked whatever you picked out for him. 

Maybe you could buy him some new clothes while he was gone? By now, you knew what he liked and didn’t like - right down to the colors and fabric types. He needed some new undershirts - and socks. You nuzzled your face into his chest. He felt so warm and soft and smelled so good. You had to buy a travel sized bottle of his cologne before he left. 

“You sure you’re okay, kid?” he asked again. 

“Just a little overwhelmed - and kinda tired.” You pulled your head back to look at him, but the two of you still kept your arms around the other. 

“Well,” Bradley started, “to be fair, you did do like all the work for this party, think it’s valid to be a little tired, sweetheart.”

“What? No?” You were offended on his behalf. “Bubs, you made all the food and -”

“- Yeah, but you helped with the food and did all the work getting the house ready.”

You cocked your head, considering this. “I mean, I did. Didn’t I?” Bradley chuckled. “Okay, fine - I’m tired. But it’s a good tired, I think?”

“A good tired, huh?” His thumbs were making the most soothing circles on your hips.

“Like a heart full tired? A changing for dinner after a spending a day at the beach tired - no, wait. A post gala eating french fries in bed and watching Moonstruck tired?” An after you fucked me so hard I could barely remember my own name tired. 

“You should’ve just led with that last one.” He kissed your temple and ran his hands up and down the silk fabric covering your arms. “Would’ve known exactly what you were talking about then.”

You lightly shoved his chest and then pulled him back in for a hug. “I’m also gonna miss you a lot…”

That was the crux of it. You were going to miss him so much you thought your heart was going to burst. And enjoying all the Christmas festivities tonight - on the second Saturday in December - made it all the more apparent that Bradley wasn’t going to be with you over the holidays. He wouldn’t be with you again until March. 

You two had gotten through plenty of training missions, short diplomatic visits, and off-sites - on your end - over the last eight months. But this was Bradley’s first, real deployment. 

God, if only Emily Simpson could see you now. You and Bradley had both been so cocky, so confident back in October at the gala about how effortlessly you handled the time spent apart. But you hadn’t been staring down a three month long deployment back then. 

Three months was a long time. Six pay cycles, at least twelve trips to the grocery, four off-sites, the entirety of Q1, five nail appointments, twenty four pilates classes, and if he knocked you up that very night, it could be the entirety of a first trimester of pregnancy. Not that you wanted to be pregnant - at least not for a while. Like quite a while. It was just a way to compare time. You didn’t want to be pregnant. 

Three months, three months, three months. 

And then he’d come home to you. To you and your life together.

That’s why the party had to be perfect. Because it would remind Bradley of home and all he had to look forward to when he came back in three months. 

“I’m gonna miss you, too.  Never really had someone to miss before on one of these - not like this.” 

And then he kissed you - quick, little butterfly kisses that soon turned bolder and more daring, especially considering there were five or so other people milling about the kitchen. Bradley’s tongue licked your bottom lip, eventually coaxing your mouth open. He tasted like the old fashioned you saw him drinking earlier. You slid your arms up his chest to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer and fiddled with the ends of his soft hair. 

The sounds of the party disappeared around you - you could no longer hear Frank Sinatra singing Jingle Bells, Jake and Georgie talking in the corner, or Javy getting drinks for him and his girlfriend to your right.

All you could focus on was Bradley. And how warm and soft and strong he felt in your arms and how -

“- Fuck’s sake, Bradshaw. Do you want us to leave or…”

You turned around to face Jake and Georgie, the latter of whom looked beyond embarrassed, and leaned back against Bradley’s chest. Shit - you’d forgotten you had an audience, especially Jake and Javy.

“Sorry…” You felt warm all over at getting caught. Normally, you and Bradley weren’t big on PDA, but you’d been needy lately - both of you had been. 

Further down to your right, Javy just chuckled. “Give ‘em a break. You’d be the same if you could hold someone down long enough.” Bradley laughed, while Jake turned beat red.

While him and Javy started chirping at each other, Bradley took your hand and led you out of the kitchen, past all the guests congregating in the dining room and over towards the sitting room. 

“Here, I know what’ll cheer you up.”

There were only a couple people in this part of the house - Caroline and Max, Bob and Callie, and Natasha and Rory, the latter of whom had gone with her to the gala back in October. They were a relatively quiet crowd and looked to be captivated by a story Max was telling. But then again, people were always captivated by Max. 

“…so I say to Garoppolo, ‘you really wanna get the shit beaten out of you for the second time this week?’ Because a guy who folds in front of the fucking Broncos’ defensive line is not one I think can handle being humiliated like this on - aww, if it isn’t Bradley-Boy and our lovely hostess. Come here and give me a kiss, sweetheart.” You chuckled and started over towards Max. “No, not you, darling. I meant Bradley-Boy.” 

With giggles and jeers, everyone turned towards Bradley, who was definitely blushing. But ever the dutiful host, he trudged over towards Max and planted a sloppy kiss on his forehead. 

You had met Max over a year ago via your best friend from college, Caroline. Bradley, on the other hand, had met Max in late March at Mission Beach, right before the two of you had started going out. 

Since moving back to California, Bradley had taken up surfing again and relished his weekend mornings out in the chilly Pacific. It had taken a couple weeks for the guys to realize they were both regulars and get past the initial head nod greeting, but after that they got on like a house on fire. Despite Max being a typical nepotism baby, VC-firm-bro type and Bradley the outgoing, naval man, they were each other’s best friend.

And to be perfectly honest, you thought they may have been a little in love with each other.

Who knows, maybe you would have been at Bradley and Max’s holiday party if you hadn’t met him in April.

“All good now, peaches?” Bradley teased and then turned to everyone else in their little group. “Just so you know, the story ends with Jimmy G challenging Maxi-Pad to a closest to the pin contest and Max shanking his tee shot.”

You laughed and wrapped your free arm back around Bradley’s waist. “Was this how you planned to cheer me up?”

“Oh, god. What’d you do now, Rooster?” Natasha teased. 

“Can I call you ‘Rooster?’” Max asked, much to Caroline’s delight.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Bradley said and then turned towards Natasha. “And nothing, just trying to do everything so can to make sure my girl has a lovely evening.” Everyone let out various sighs and swoons, except Nat and Max, who feigned gagging. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

He grabbed your free hand again and brought you over to the upright piano in the corner, next to where Callie and Bob were lounging on the loveseat. You desperately hoped Bradley was going to play for you - maybe even some Christmas carols. He had such a natural talent for it, even beyond his usual Hard Deck repertoire of that damn Jerry Lee Lewis song. He could play Debussy, Ravel, Schumann - anything, really. You figured he’d start off with Jingle Bells or something like that, but he surprised you with something new.

Bradley’s fingers twinkled out the opening notes to Linus and Lucy and you, and the others in the sitting room, couldn’t help but laugh. He had been right - this did cheer you up. You had always loved the Peanuts. 

Growing up, you’d gone to the Charles Schulz Museum in Santa Rosa too many times to count. It became your favorite place during your parents’ divorce and you always begged your dad to take you whenever you were having a bad day. But then, when the divorce had been finalized and you, your dad and brother eventually moved down to Berkeley, you didn’t get the opportunity to go as often. But your love for the cartoon characters never died and you had the sneaking suspicion that Bradley had learned the song for you - this was the first time you’d ever heard him play it.

You took a hearty sip of your champagne and leaned your arms on the top of the piano, eventually resting your cheek against your fist. Your cheeks hurt from the massive smile stretching across your face as you looked fondly at Bradley. He was concentrating so hard, his tongue was peeking out of his mouth. And his long, graceful fingers were flying across the keys. 

You couldn’t imagine how long it took him to learn this if he was already off book. Did you mention his fingers? His hands? God, they were beautiful. Strong and long and corded - was that the right word? You recalled it from those regency romance novels you had hidden on your Kindle. God, you loved him so much. So fucking much. You’d never loved a person this much before - oh, you were going to miss him so much.

“You two are just like Lucy and Schroeder,” Callie cooed, snapping you out of your thoughts and causing Bradley to fumble a couple of notes. He also was blushing, which was sweet. 

A couple more people filtered into the sitting room, drawn in by the music, and soon people were throwing out requests for Bradley to play while others chatted in the background. He took Pete’s suggestion of Jingle Bells and soon played a jazzy version of the song. 

While Bradley played, the older man came up to you to chat. Penny couldn’t make it to the party, which was admittedly a bit of a disappointment, but she was hoping to stop by later once things wound down a bit at the Hard Deck. 

“Hell of a party, kid.” He toasted you with his beer. 

“Thanks, I just wanted to do something nice for Bradley.”

“Pretty sure you could’ve gotten a pizza and he would’ve been happy.”

You considered that. “True, but that hardly sounds fun - plus, this way I could get a new outfit.”

Pete smiled and you both glanced over towards the piano for a moment as Bradley got Natasha and Bob to sing along with him. It was nice seeing them all carefree and happy and just lighter. Bradley glanced over his shoulder at you and winked. 

“It’s nice seeing him like this,” Pete said. “Hell, last Christmas it was like pulling teeth to get the kid over to Penny’s for Christmas Eve and to see him get a tree and have people over at his place is just - it makes me really happy. Sorry if that’s corny or -”

“- No,” you reassured him, “well, maybe a little. But corny is good sometimes. Especially around the holidays.”

“You guys gonna do gifts tomorrow or…”

You shook your head. “Nah, we’re gonna do them tonight after everyone leaves.”

Pete took a sip of his beer and nodded. “The kid wouldn’t stop talking about your gift, I swear he told everyone on base.”

You felt yourself heat up and glanced over at Bradley again. “Really?” Pete nodded. “I’m nervous now, we promised we were only doing one present, so I hope he likes mine...”

“He will,” Pete sounded certain. “You think you guys will do this at your place every year? Maybe start a new tradition?”

That was a lovely thought. Celebrating Christmas with Bradley for the next x amount of years. Plus, doing this before Christmas would give everyone the opportunity to get together before the actual holidays. 

“Oh, I’d love to,” you gushed, “but it’s Bradley’s call. It’s his house - what?”

Pete cut you off with a look. “Come on, by now you know it’s your house as much as Bradley’s…”

Oh, gosh. You hoped so - one day, at least. The two of you barely spent a night apart, baring whenever one of you was away for work. You barely considered your apartment your home anymore. Instead, it was on the couch in Bradley’s living room, watching TV. Or cooking breakfast together on the weekends and watching Sunday Morning at the kitchen table. Laying beside him in bed at night, his big arms wrapped around you, as you whispered how much you loved each other. You had never felt this way before Bradley, like another person was home. 

And you wanted to be home all the time. 

You could feel the heat creep up your neck, the warmth only amplified by Bradley’s soothing voice singing Let It Snow. 

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Pete apologized, “I just wanted you to know that I can see how much you guys care about each other. And he’s my kid - at the end of the day, I just want him to be happy.” He laid a reassuring hand on your shoulder and you ducked your head before nodding.

Back when you had first met him, you had imagined that gaining Pete’s approval was how you would have felt had Bradley’s parents been alive to give it to you. You thought about them often - more often than you’d ever let Bradley think - and especially as of late. Would they have liked you? Would they have gotten along with your parents? From what you’d been told, they would have made amazing grandparents. Maybe Bradley would even have had more siblings? Maybe, maybe, maybe.

“He makes me really happy, too,” you whispered. Pete pulled you in for a hug and then the two of you just watched Bradley playing for a few moments while the party continued around you two. 

“I’m gonna get another beer, you want anything?” Pete asked. 

You just shook your head. “Nah, I’m good for now, but thanks again for coming. It means a lot to both of us.”

“Wouldn’t miss it, just make sure the kid doesn’t drink too much. He always gets a little chatty…” And then Pete set off towards the kitchen, leaving you alone, but only for a moment until you heard Max’s voice in the hallway.

“Caro, darling, will you help me with something outside…” You crept over towards him, curious to see what he was up to and why he needed Caro’s help.

Caroline didn’t even look up from her phone. “I’m not giving you a handjob, darling.”

“Oh, please don’t,” you drawled, alerting them both to your presence, “Mr. Harrington already thinks we’re delinquents, can’t have him thinking we associate with them, too,” you said referring to your - no, Bradley’s neighbor. 

Mr. Harrington hadn’t exactly called you and Bradley delinquents - rather, he had called you a fresh young lady after you had unknowingly flipped him off at an intersection in another neighborhood, only to find out that he was the crotchety old man that lived next door to Bradley. He had been waiting for you in the driveway when you’d gotten home a few minutes later, demanding to talk to Bradley about you. But the old man hadn’t stood a chance with you and Bradley had just stood on the porch with a proud smile on his face as you gave him a piece of your mind. Since then, he’d just pass silent judgment whenever he saw you outside.

Max held up two fingers. “I’ll be on my best behavior, Scout’s honor.”

“It’s three fingers, dumbass.”

He breezed past you and started towards the door, gesturing for Caroline to follow him. “Good thing I was never a Boy Scout then…”

“Please, Max. Just tell me if you’re going to -”

“- Secrets, secrets are only fun unless you don’t share with anyone -”

“- That’s not even how it goes!” 

Max shrugged and grabbed Caroline’s hand, pulling her close to his side. “It’ll be fun, we promise! Plus, maybe Max won’t even come back to the party…”

Oh, he was definitely doing the Santa thing. But at this point, maybe it would be fun and memorable? And maybe you were just drunk enough to let it happen. 

“Fine, fine. As long as Max doesn’t come back to the party, you can do whatever you have planned -” 

Max cut you off with a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, love. Now, Caro! Your assistance, please!”

You waved them off towards the front door and made your way back to the sitting room where Bradley was taking requests for his next song. 

His eyes were scanning the room for whom you realized was you and a great, big smile spread across his face. “Nah, I got one already. Just needed my girl in here for this.” You chuckled and walked over towards the piano. “Figured we had to end on a high note, plus I heard a rumor Santa’s coming…”

There were hoots and hollers throughout the room, which didn’t let up even as Bradley played the first notes of the song he apparently needed you for assistance. 

“I’ll sing the first few lines, but then you gotta take over, alright, sweetheart?”

You sat next to him on the narrow bench and giggled, not quite knowing what he had up his sleeve, but more than ready to go along for the ride. “You got it, rocketman.”

Bradley pecked you on the lips and then turned to the room as he played. 

“I really can’t stay…baby, it’s cold outside…I’ve got to go ‘way…baby, it’s cold outside…”

Oh god. 

---------------

Hours later, after all your guests had left, fuller and far drunker than they’d been when they’d arrived, you and Bradley were tidying up the living room. The dishwasher was rumbling in the kitchen, the first of many loads you’d have to do tonight and tomorrow, but it was drowned out by the music still playing on the Sonos, while the extra food had been put away in the fridge.

From your spot across the room where you were fluffing the couch cushions, you glanced over towards Bradley. He sat, leaning against the chaise lounge, and idly sipped from a bottle of champagne that he kept putting down on the floor - though on a coaster, mind you. His hair was perfectly tousled and messy and he had a pleased smile on his face as he stared at the Christmas tree in front of him. His right hand was absentmindedly running up and down his thigh, just begging for you to ride it.

You joined him on the floor and he wordlessly passed the bottle of champagne to you before throwing his arm around your shoulders. 

“You did good, kid,” he said suddenly. 

A smile lit up your face. “Really?” Brady chuckled at your earnestness. “You’re not just saying that because this is like the first halfway decent party you’ve ever -”

“- Hey! I’ve been to plenty of decent parties! But I think - I think that this might be the best one yet.”

As a reward for his sweetness, you gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You think everyone got along? I only overheard one argument between Caro and Jake.” And it had been over the latest cryptocurrency scandal of all things. 

“Yeah, but to be fair, I think trauma bonding over your singing really brought everyone together.”

You were not as bad as Bradley had said - at the very least, you could carry a tune. Granted, you wouldn’t be on the Voice anytime soon, but if you were an SNL cast member and needed to sing for a sketch, you might be okay. And no one really focused on the actual singing during Baby It’s Cold Outside - it wasn’t exactly the paragon of Christmas songs or social norms. 

But it was just about the perfect duet, in that it was a crowd pleaser, a little slutty, and campy as hell. And as it so happened, you had been feeling a little slutty with all the champagne you had drunk throughout the evening. Plus, with Bradley on the keys and no one else sober enough to make fun of your less than stellar singing skills, you had been a glutton for attention. You had used your champagne coupe as a microphone and had only spilled a couple drops - at first.

“- But baby, it's cold outside -”

“ - This welcome has been -”

“ - How lucky that you dropped in -”

“ - So nice and warm -”

“ - Look out the window at that storm -”

“ - My sister will be suspicious -”

“ - Gosh, your lips look delicious -” Bradley kissed your proffered hand and you shimmied around the piano bench, eventually draping yourself over his shoulders while he continued playing.

Would you regret it in the morning? Probably. Did the song have a weird history? Yes. But it was your goddamn Christmas party! And you had wanted to have fun and fawn over your boyfriend. It had also been a good distraction from what you had correctly assumed was Max planning to crash the party as Santa with a sleigh full of presents for everyone. But Max was richer than Croesus; he could afford it.

“Come on, Bradshaw. How’s she been this year? Naughty or nice?”

You shot Bradley a glance, curious as to what his answer would be. But he just smiled wryly and toasted Max with his drink before taking a sip.

You closed the distance between the two of you and whispered in his ear, “Clever boy…”

He grabbed your ass, thankfully out of sight of your guests. “My smart girl…”

“Is that what you want me to be tonight?”

Frankly, you had been shocked Bradley hadn’t kicked everyone out then and there. 

But now you were cozy and tired in all the best ways and had Bradley to yourself for the rest of the evening. You burrowed your face into his chest and pressed a couple kisses to the column of his neck, suddenly desperate to touch him. It seemed Bradley was of the same mindset and carefully settled you on his lap. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling you closer and you shifted your attention to his lips. 

Somehow, the two of you wound up laying on the floor at the edge of the Christmas tree. The soft lights made Bradley’s brown eyes appear like pools of chocolate and you flushed. He groaned as you rolled your hips against his lap, already feeling the bulge forming in his jeans. Shit - were you going to fuck underneath the Christmas tree? Like properly fuck on the floor underneath the Christmas tree.

You started grinding against him, desperate to be closer, and then kissed along his neck in the hopes of leaving a reminder of this night for him. You peered up at the Christmas tree, lost in the beauty of the moment, when you suddenly noticed something. 

The presents.

The presents under the tree.

The three presents under the tree. 

Except…

There were only supposed to be two presents under the tree. One from each of you. You had been very clear about that right after Thanksgiving. Had even set a price limit.

Fuck. Oh, no. No, no, no. You pulled back and Bradley chased your lips with his own.

“Bubs! We said one present each!” 

He shrugged underneath you and kept rubbing his hands in soothing circles on your hips. “It’s nothing - well, it’s not nothing. But it’s just something I’ve been thinking about for a while and I figured this would be a good time.”

“But - but I only got you one!” 

Oh god - oh god. You ruined it. You ruined Bradley’s Christmas. You knew you should’ve gotten him that Otis Redding vinyl, too. But a Theragun? What had you been thinking? That was such a dumb gift. So impersonal, so boring, so basic. It was on three different gift guides from the Strategist for fuck’s sake. You figured it would be good for his back while he was deployed, you knew it had been giving him a lot of trouble lately. But now that Bradley had given you two gifts? In two separate boxes? 

You didn’t think the ornament you’d gotten him counted as a separate gift. Tacking it onto the box was just something your family had always done.

Clearly noticing the panic on your face, Bradley sat up slightly. “Hey, hey. It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s -”

“- I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to ruin everything. I knew I should’ve had a back up present for you-”

He said your name firmly and you looked up at him. “- You didn’t ruin anything, alright? Hey, why don’t you open it first and then we can talk about it, okay?”

“Okay…”

You reached out for the present like it was going to explode, barely even taking notice of how nicely it had been wrapped. (Granted, you were still you, so you did actually notice, but probably would have fawned over the quaint wrapping paper and grosgrain ribbon a bit more had you not already been wigging out.) Next to you, Bradley bit his lip as he watched you peel through the paper. Why was he so nervous? He always gave you the best presents.

At first, there was nothing but a small gift box. It wasn’t terribly heavy. And it definitely wasn’t jewelry. Mainly because any of the jewelry you actually would have liked was definitely not within the spending limit, which Bradley knew. But also, it just didn’t feel like jewelry. It couldn’t have been an ornament, he wouldn’t have been this nervous.

So, what the fuck was it?

You slid your finger underneath the flap of the box and popped the lid open. But then there was the tissue paper. Goddamnit, Bradley! Why was he so good at wrapping presents! You glanced up at him only to see that he was blushing. Properly blushing. Like pink neck, pink cheeks - hell, even the tips of his ears were pink - blushing. 

Unable to take the suspense a moment longer, you dove into the tissue paper to find -

“- A key?” Your fingers gently picked up the offending object, only belatedly noticing that the key fob matched your favorite work tote bag. 

Bradley nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been wanting to ask you to move in with me for ages, it’s just we had so much time until it would become an issue, but then I got deployed and I know your lease will just about be up by the time I get back in the spring. So, I figured now would be a good time to ask if you wanted to move in with me? But if you think it’s too soon, I can totally wait. However long it takes for you to be comfortable with it is fine with me - I just want to have my life with you.”

“Bubs…” your voice was thick. “I uhh -”

“- I always want to come home to you - if you’ll have me?”

Oh god, oh god, oh god. You let out a disbelieving laugh. You would have Bradley Bradshaw in any way you could get him. He was your home.

You wiped away a wayward tear. “Bradley, this is - this is so unbelievably perfect. Yes, yes, I will move with you.”

He surged forward to kiss you and you temporarily forgot all your previous worries because Bradley wanted to move in with you. He wanted to share furniture and go grocery shopping for food that would go in the same fridge. He wanted to wake up beside you every single morning and come home to you every single evening and go to sleep beside you every single night. He wanted everything. And that’s what you wanted to give him.

“God, I love you so much.”

You never got tired of hearing him say that. “I love you, too. Sorry I made such a big deal about the presents…”

“No, I’m sorry. I should’ve just put it in with the other gift, I get how it could have thrown you off.”

He was being nice and not pushing it for the moment, which you really appreciated. “Say, why don’t you open your gift from me and then I’ll open your other one?”

You crawled over towards the other two presents under the tree and gave the one that said to; rocketman to Bradley, while you took the other one with your name on it. It was decently sized and relatively light. The thing with Bradley that always made you nervous was that he gave the best presents.

For your birthday, he had not only organized a trip for the two of you out to Catalina Island, but he had also learned how to fucking sail Penny’s boat, so he could be the one to take you there himself. He had been so excited and had looked so cute in his white linen pants and navy blue button down and you swore you had never been more attracted to him. 

And then, for your six month anniversary, he had somehow gotten you two into Addison out in Carmel Valley for dinner and then followed that up with a trip to the drive-in to see a special showing of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Though to be fair, neither of you had paid as much attention to the movie as you had been too busy necking each other in the backseat of the Bronco.

In short, he was a prince among men. Well, except when he wasn’t. But that wasn’t often. So, you were excited, but wary to open his gift, knowing nothing could possibly top the house key.

You tore through the wrapping paper to find another box similar to the one from earlier, except this one was heavier. Beneath the tissue paper laid a thick white envelope and an apron in a Liberty pattern. Your smile grew as you opened the envelope and saw that Bradley had gifted you cooking lessons for the next three months.

“Bubs.” You nudged his shoulder. “This is perfect, thank you. The apron is super cute, too.”

Bradley chuckled. “Now you can stop wearing mine and hopefully stop burning risotto -”

“- It was one time!” 

“Yeah and you almost burned down your apartment.” You made a face and he made one right back before turning serious. “But I thought it would be nice, something for you to do while I’m gone.”

You kissed his cheek. “I’m excited and I’m gonna make you the best dinner you’ve ever had when you come home to me, alright?”

“It’s a date.” 

“Perfect, now open yours!” You pushed the present towards him. 

Bradley was one of those people that opened presents like they were going to save the wrapping paper, which meant he did it slowly and purposefully. This normally didn’t bother you, but you were already a little on edge from earlier and had to sit on your hands to stop you from ripping the paper off yourself.

First, he took off the little ornament you had affixed to the package. Harkening back to your first date, you had gotten him a Saturn V Rocket ornament to add to the tree, giving your rocketman something to aspire to.

He shook his head. “I’ll get there one day, sweetheart…” he said fondly. “Now let’s see what we have here.”

The nerves settled in your stomach again and you barely let him unwrap the present before you jumped on him with an explanation.

“Wait, is this one of those -”

“ - It’s a Theragun. I know I make fun of you for having a sore back and being old a lot, but I thought this could help when you’re deployed and I’m not around to tend to your every need,” you teased.

Bradley conceded a nod. “You do give good back massages…” You preened. “But I get these ads on my Instagram all the time, so this is perfect, thank you.”

“I figured it wasn’t something you’d buy for yourself and it’ll come in hand -”

“- I bet it’s a wicked strong vibrator - owww!”

“Bradley!” You giggled. Holy shit, you hadn’t even thought of that. There were like five different speeds on that thing and six different attachments. Fuck. “In that case, maybe I should keep it…”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He slid the box behind his back and you crawled over to steal it away from him.

But before you could wrap your arms around him, Bradley pulled you into his lap and eventually the Theragun was pushed away and the two of you were sprawled out on the floor making out like a bunch of horny teenagers again.

Goddamn - you really were gonna fuck underneath the Christmas tree, weren’t you? Now that would be the perfect memory for Bradley to take with him. Festive and fun and spontaneous.

His hands felt sinful as they crept up your thighs. It was like he was mapping out the slowest route to his destination, especially as they cupped your ass and ground your body against his. Suddenly, you let out a hiss as your elbow hit the hardwood floor, but quickly reassured Bradley that you were okay once he stopped to check in with you.

He whispered your name. “I need you so badly.”

“- Fuck, me too. Want you to take me right here -”

“- Owww,” Bradley let out a groan against your lips.

You immediately pulled back, concern lacing your features. “Shit, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just - I don’t think we should do this on the floor?”

“But it’s very spur of the moment?” You glanced around the living room, past the Christmas tree and the wrapping paper from your respective presents. “What about the couch?”

“We just got it dry-cleaned - again.”

You sat further back on his lap and Bradley propped himself up on his elbows. Your wrap dress draped prettily over your bare thighs. “We can put a towel down?”

“Isn’t it upstairs?”

You made a face. “I could go get it? Or we could break out a new one?”

“Then I might as well come upstairs with you -”

“- But I want it to be spontaneous!”

He rolled his hips and you sighed. “We can be spontaneous upstairs…”

“Yeah, but…” You could feel the tears starting to form and your throat closing up.

Bradley tried to get in your line of sight after you ducked your head. “Hey, what is it? It’s alright.”

You sniffled. “I just want you to have some good memories before you leave and be spontaneous - especially since during the party I was pretty stressed and uptight -” The last word came out bitterly, but Bradley didn’t let you finish your sentence. 

“- Hey, none of that, alright? I knew you were a little stressed, but just chalked it up to the party. What’s really going on, sweetheart?”

You wanted to tell him. That you were going to miss him and wanted him to be able to think of the two of you doing all these fun and exciting and wonderful things before he left. That you didn’t want him to think of you crying and puffy eyed and sad. That you didn’t want him to think of you having sex in your bed, like any other night, but how you couldn’t even make it upstairs because you needed each other so much, so desperately and had to make due with the living room floor. 

Just say you were tired. Just say you were tired. 

But when Bradley took your hand and threaded your fingers together and started drawing circles across your palm, the tears came. And came and came and didn’t stop. You rubbed at your eyes with your free hand and repositioned yourself to lay beside him. 

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, come here.” Bradley wrapped his arm around your shoulders and let you rest your head on his chest. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, honey.” 

Once the tears slightly abated, you took in a deep breath to ground yourself. “I wanted everything to be perfect for you since you’re not going to be home for Christmas and all this stuff went wrong -”

“- Sweetheart, baby, no, no. It didn’t go wrong, everything went really really right.”

“Really?” you whispered.

Bradley chuckled. “Yeah, best Christmas I’ve had since - fuck, I can’t remember when. Come here.” He wrapped his arms around you.

“I know it was dumb to be worried about it - and to let myself get upset over it - but I think I was just so focused on the party and the presents and making everything perfect because I don’t want to think too much about you leaving.” You sniffled. “And I feel like that makes me seem childish or like I can’t handle this - your job, I mean. But I’m really just going to miss you, so fucking much. And I’ve never felt like this before.”

The look in Bradley’s eyes after you unloaded all that made you feel ten times lighter and you regretted not saying anything earlier. 

“Sweetheart…” He tucked your hair behind your ear. “It’s definitely not dumb to be worried about stuff like that and I know you can handle all of this - I’m not worried in that respect. I just want you to know how much I appreciated every single thing you’ve done for me these last couple weeks trying to make sure I had a good Christmas. And I know it’s cliche to say, but it’s the goddamn truth - I don’t care what we do for Christmas as long as I get to spend it at home with you, alright?”

Your heart soared and you felt the tears forming again at his words. I don’t care what we do for Christmas as long as I get to spend it at home with you. Because in the end, that was all that really mattered. You just kept your reply simple. “Alright, rocketman.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You kissed him again. “I love you so much, bubs.”

“Even though I’m old and don’t think we should fuck on the living room floor?” 

You chuckled at his attempt to bring some levity into an otherwise heavy conversation. “Yes, Bradley. I love you even though you wouldn’t let me fuck you on the living room floor…”

This time, Bradley pulled you closer, so your body was spread out on top of him and kissed you, licking your bottom lip before opening your mouth up to him. His hands snuck underneath the skirt of your silk dress, skirting the edge of your panties. You sighed. His hands were calloused and a little rough, but they still touched you like you were the most precious thing in the world. 

“Hold up, I never said I wouldn’t let you, I just said I don’t think - hey!” Bradley tried to fend off your tickle attack, but could only get a few words out between his giggles. “Stop, you know I’m old!”

Your ridiculously handsome, thirty-six year old, naval aviator boyfriend was giggling on the floor of your house because your were tickling his sides. If only you could show this version of Bradley to the Navy - maybe then they wouldn’t take him away from you at Christmas. Stupid US Military Industrial Complex. Fucking Lockheed Martin. 

“Also, are you still upset that I got you two presents? Because if you are, can I just make you come once tonight? Level the field.”

You giggled. “Shut up.” Your kiss cut off any reply he had been about to give and you licked his bottom lip, coaxing open his mouth. 

“Uh, uh, uh.” You paused and tilted your head slightly to look Bradley in the eye. “Now, what did Santa ask earlier, huh? You been naughty or nice this year?”

There were two ways in which this could play out - with two different, though ultimately satisfying results. One would play out relatively quickly - and the other would ensure you were occupied all night. 

“Nice?” 

Bradley clicked his tongue. “Don’t know about that…”

“Why not? Haven’t I been good?” You pouted, completely exaggerated, which Bradley picked up on in an instant.

“Good girls don’t typically have to ask if they’ve been good…”

“Maybe I don’t want to be good tonight…”

Bradley sucked in a breath as you snuck your hand underneath his shirt and teased the waistband of his jeans. His skin was hot to the touch beneath your fingers as you unbuttoned his shirt. You leaned forward to press little butterfly kisses to his neck and gradually made your way down past the little tufts of hair on his chest. 

“Please touch me, sweetheart. Please.” 

There was a carnal need inside you to mark his skin. To give him proof of your love and need for him, so that he could look at the marks in the mirror until they faded. A kiss across his neck, a soft bite on his shoulder, another on his bicep by his tattoo. You’re mine. Mine, mine, mine. And I want everyone to know. 

“God, Bradley. You’re so beautiful,” you whispered against his skin. “So beautiful and all mine.”

Bradley let out a whine as your teeth grazed against the sensitive flesh on his neck. “Fuck, I love you.”

His hands inched up your thighs, getting closer to the throbbing heat between your legs. Maybe it was the festive spirit, the fact that Bradley had asked you to move in with him, or that he was shipping out in 28 hours for three months, but you were pathetically wet already. Desperate and needy and as naughty as he had joked earlier. 

“I can feel the heat pouring off you, sweetheart.” 

“Can we go - ahhh - can we go upstairs, please?”

He pulled back slightly. “What happened to fucking on the living room floor?” he teased. 

“Don’t want to fuck up your old man back anymore - Bradley!” you cried out as he smacked your ass. 

“Old man, huh?” His smile was sinful and you were putty in his hands.

You widened your eyes, trying to appear contrite. “Sorry, sir. It won’t happen - Bradley!” He cut you off again, but this time because he was tickling your sides and your giggles made it impossible to speak. “Ta-take me upstairs, bubs - please. Don’t - don’t want you to hold back.”

“Now how could I refuse that?”

Gradually, the two of you made your way upstairs to the bedroom, though with a couple of breaks in between for Bradley to press you up against the walls and on the staircase. You’d have bruises tomorrow, you were sure. But you wanted them to last - to be something to remember this night by for the weeks and months to come. 

You landed heavily on the bed, bouncing slightly, and peered up at Bradley. His bare chest was rising and falling steadily with each breath he took as he looked you over, like he was trying to memorize you. 

Without breaking eye contact, you rose to your knees and pulled at the pretty little bow tying your wrap dress. Hours ago, you’d felt self conscious about your body in front of everyone else, but at that moment you felt like the most beautiful girl in the world. Bradley’s eyes widened as he took in the way you slowly pushed the silk dress off your shoulders, leaving you only in your burgundy bra and panties. It wasn’t exactly a matching set, but the colors matched and that was enough for the two of you that night. 

“God, you’re gorgeous.”

Bradley lunged forward, causing you to fall back against the pillows and you wrapped your legs around his hips with a gleeful cry, which he promptly cut off with his lips. 

After spending ample time just kissing you and running his hands up and down your body, Bradley lavished attention on your breasts, licking and biting and sucking on them like a man possessed. Your nipples were peaked to attention, thanks to the slight chill in the bedroom and his thorough ministrations. With one hand, he paid special attention to the skin just below your nipple, rubbing his middle finger along the tender flesh while thumbing at the raised bud. Meanwhile, his other hand kept trekking downward towards your clit. 

“Oh god!” you cried out against his lips as he slid his fingers inside you and crooked them just right. 

“So fucking wet, sweetheart.”

Fuck. You could feel yourself clenching around him, desperate for something more. You were needy for him that night. Needy to have your boyfriend all to yourself. To give yourself to him completely. Your orgasm was well and truly building up inside you, but you wanted to come on his cock first. There would be plenty more opportunities that night to come apart in other ways. 

You’d work him all through the night if you had to just to get your fix before he left. The thought made you desperate. 

“Bu-bubs, please. I need more - need your cock inside me.” You pulled him closer, grazing your thighs against his throbbing cock. 

Bradley groaned. “Such a needy fucking thing, bucking against my fingers like that, huh?” You whined. “But I’m gonna fuck you nice and slow, yeah. Make sure you savor it.”

It sounded fucking sinful the way your cunt was sucking in Bradley’s fingers. He’d begun scissoring them inside you so as to not have to remove them just yet. 

More. More. More. You chanted the words mindlessly in your head. Mine. Mine. Mine. 

Finally, he pulled out his fingers and shamelessly dried them off on your breasts. “You ready?” You nodded frantically. “Don’t think either of us is gonna last long.”

No, you didn’t think so either. But you didn’t want to prolong this. You needed to be close to him and to know he was real and good and yours. At least for tonight. 

Knowing each other as you did, you raised your hips slightly, letting Bradley to slip inside you. You both moaned, you loving the stretch and him loving the tight warmth. You wrapped your arm around his neck, bringing his lips closer to yours, but not daring to lean in those final few centimeters to touch, and instead just breathed against each other. 

“Fuck,” you rasped against his lips, “I love you.”

“Love you so much.” He snapped his hips against yours and you cried out. “Gonna miss you.”

You ducked your head to swipe your lips across the scar on his neck. “Can’t wait for you to come home to me.”

Home. Home. Home. Bradley wouldn’t just be coming back to San Diego in three months: he would be coming home - to you. And to this great, big, beautiful house he wanted to share with you. And to the life he wanted to share with you. 

He groaned your name. “I’ve wanted this for so long. Can’t believe it’s happening.”

Tears pricked your eyes and you bridged the gap to kiss him. “Bubs, I’m so close, please.”

“Tell me how to get you there? I wanna wait for you.” 

If he kept saying things like that, you wouldn’t be too far behind. Without breaking eye contact, you brought Bradley’s hand down to your clit and he played with the sensitive nub. You keened against his hand, which was coupled with a particularly deep thrust of his cock. You felt that coil in your belly finally unraveling.

“‘M close, feels so good. Again…”

He repeated the action again and again, telling you how gorgeous you were as you took his cock and how much he loved you and needed you and you felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Because for tonight you were.

With a strangled cry of his name, you came and true to his word, Bradley followed shortly after. Fuck. He felt so good. He made you feel so good, so full, so loved. 

“Good girl, such a good girl for me.” He peppered kisses up and down your neck and across your cheeks, before settling on your lips. The two of you sat there like that for a few moments, trying to even out your breathing and be as close together as possible. 

But eventually Bradley had to pull out and you whimpered at the loss. He settled you back against the pillows and then started cleaning you up with the towel in his nightstand. Before he got to your still leaking cunt, he scooped up some of your cum with his fingers and brought it to your lips. 

“Open.” You did so without a second thought and cleaned off his fingers, getting high off the taste of the two of you mixed together. “Good girl.”

Then you let yourself get settled underneath the covers. You could go to the bathroom in a few minutes because right now you wanted to be with Bradley. Your bodies were both hot and sticky underneath the white sheets, but you couldn’t think of anywhere else you wanted to be than in his arms. 

“I’m gonna miss you so much, bubs.” You cupped his cheek tenderly, like he would disappear at any moment. A nagging little voice at the back of your mind said that he would, in fact, do just that - on Monday morning. But that night he was yours. 

Bradley nuzzled your hand, eventually pressing a kiss to your palm. “It’s not too long, just three months.”

“Three months without you.” Kiss. “Without your singing.” Kiss. “Your cooking.” Kiss. “Your smile and your silly little mustache.” Kiss. Kiss. “Three months without you, rocketman.” 

Your eyes were swimming with tears, but they were properly dripping down Bradley’s cheeks. 

“But we still have tonight.”

You still had tonight. And you’d be in each other’s arms till the morning light. 

---------------

Two weeks later, as you sat in your childhood bedroom on Christmas Eve, you were at once hit with a startling realization: it wasn’t your home anymore. It hadn’t been in years, really. Not since you’d officially moved out after college. But that fact had never been so apparent until you were waiting for the Facetime call to connect to Bradley. 

Your home was in San Diego with your friends and your job. Your home was with your boyfriend, snuggled up on the couch watching TV, perusing the aisles of the farmer’s market, watching him surf, and cooking dinner together. Your home was with Bradley. 

And you just wanted to be home - you just wanted Bradley. 

You had put on a brave face during Christmas Eve celebrations with your family - at least with your extended family. You had sung carols at church, helped Mary and your dad prep and lay out all the traditional Christmas Eve dishes, organized the Yankee Swap with your brother and Lauren, and had a few too many cocktails with your cousins. But as the last of your grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins had left and your dad had turned on NBC for the end of It’s a Wonderful Life, you had lost it. 

Properly, honestly, well and truly lost it. As in fat tears streaming down your face, snot clogging your nose, remnants of your mascara rimmed around your eyes lost it.

Goddamn Harry Bailey got to come home in time for Christmas! Harry got to toast to his “big brother George: the richest man in town.” Granted, George had basically just tried to kill himself, so the comparison wasn’t perfect - but still! Congressional Medal of Honor winner, Navy pilot Harry Bailey got to be home for Christmas! Why couldn’t Bradley? Fucking Navy. Fucking stupid US Military Industrial Complex. Fucking Lockheed Martin. 

At the sight of your tears, Mary had just opened up her blanket and let you burrow against her side as she rubbed your back like she used to when you were a kid, while your dad had gotten you a cup of Sleepytime Tea. Eventually, once you had calmed down enough and they had said all the right words to soothe your heartache, you had kissed your dad and Mary goodnight  - Mary had hugged you a bit tighter than usual - and they both had told you to give Bradley their best during your Facetime call. 

They liked Bradley - a lot, actually. Of course, they’d given him a tough time when they first talked on the phone all those months ago, but by the time Bradley officially met them at Thanksgiving, it was like he’d known them for years. He just fit. 

He loved to talk to Mary about her history classes at Berkeley and how her students were doing. He had the same sense of humor as your dad and also loved the Patriots despite their recent offensive coordinator troubles. 

He just made you lighter and made things lighter. He fit. 

And you could only hope that one year he’d be able to come up to Berkeley with you to celebrate for the holidays instead of being all alone on an aircraft carrier somewhere in the Pacific. Fucking Navy. Fucking stupid US Military Industrial Complex. Fucking Lockheed Martin.

Shit! The call was finally connecting. You felt tears in your eyes as you finally got to see your beautiful boy again. Though the picture was a little grainy, Bradley was sitting in what looked like one of the quiet rooms in your office, clad in his green flight suit. And he had the most wonderful smile on his face at the sight of you.

“Hey, sweetheart. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, bubs,” you said, hoping your voice didn’t come out as thickly over Facetime as it did in your room.

For what felt like the longest time, but was probably only a few seconds, you stared at each other, just drinking in the other’s face. Bradley already looked tired. This was your first Facetime since he’d left two weeks ago. Normally, you talked over email - which was actually kind of fun. 

Early on in your relationship during a one week special detachment, you had unironically sent him a pretty formal email to check in:

Bradley,

Hope you’re settling in well. Let me know when it would be a good time to connect via FaceTime. I can put some time on my calendar whenever you’re free. I’m heading to an off-site in Raleigh on Thursday, so I’ll be on East Coast time. 

Miss you and stay safe,

x

It had even been from your PwC email address, which he never let you forget. But soon quasi-formal emails became your thing. They probably set off a bunch of red flags to the censor team and you had never sent one from your work email again, but it was fun. You’d even thought of a couple code words and phrases to use.

“You have a good night? How’s your dad and Mary? Tell them thanks again for the package.”

Your parents had had the idea to send everything they normally would have put in Bradley’s Christmas stocking to him on the carrier. He had emailed the three of you a picture of the package, received in perfect condition, on his bunk yesterday. You two had decided that he would open it while you were on your FaceTime call. It wasn’t anything particularly special, except for two small gifts you’d snuck in before bringing it to the post office, but you were excited and could tell Bradley was too.

You held your breath as he parsed through the Dr.Jart sheet masks, Churchill cigars, various Christmas themed candies, new electric toothbrush heads, and scratch cards until he got to the bottom of the stack where your two special presents were hidden.

“Now, what’s this?” He shot you a teasing glance as he opened the envelope. 

You remained tight lipped, just glad it hadn’t been opened by Naval mail security. Bradley slid the object out of the envelope and you could see his eyes widen, even over Facetime, as he realized what it was before he promptly turned it over and glanced around even though there was no one else in the room with him. 

“Shit - how’d you - how’d you take this?” He leaned back in his chair and stared at it, clearly a little in awe.

You felt your cheeks heating up. “Well, I know you have a couple on your phone, but figured an old fashioned one might be nice too - especially if you’re in a tech blackout or whatever it’s called. But do you really like it - seriously, you don’t have -”

“- No, I love it. You’re not getting this back from me.” You giggled. “But you gotta tell me how you managed to get the Polaroid in the shower with you and still get the soapy titties in the picture?”

“Can’t tell you everything, now can I?”

(Caroline had taken them for you. It truly had been a bonding experience and was honestly not half as sexy as Bradley was probably thinking. But you just smiled - more than content to keep that a secret from him.) 

“Well, it is very much appreciated. So, thank you, I love it, seriously.”

You tried to peer into the box from halfway across the world. “There should be one more thing in there from me - and you don’t have to use it, but I know something similar always makes me feel like you’re right next to me…”

Bradley gingerly unwrapped the final tissue paper package only to reveal a travel sized bottle of your perfume. You giggled, watching him spritz his wrist and breathe in the scent.

“Fuck…I’ve missed that.” 

You rested your cheek against your fist and just watched him. For a minute, it felt like he was right in front of you. It made you want to do something terribly cliche like hold your palm up against the screen and imagine you could feel the heat from his hand as he did the same thing back.

But instead Bradley just smiled at you and asked you all about your Christmas Eve activities.

So, you told him about sneaking outside to smoke with your cousins, drinking too much champagne, eating too much food made from your grandma’s recipes from the old country, getting an actually good gift in the Yankee Swap, and crying over Harry Bailey. And he just listened and smiled and asked questions at all the right parts and kept telling you how much he would have loved to do all that beside you next year. 

And then with your remaining five minutes of calltime, Bradley told you all the goings on aboard the ship and how he and Callie and Javy were doing and about the fancy dinner and breakfast planned for tomorrow.

But then the dreaded countdown clock on the side of the screen popped up, signaling you had thirty seconds left. By then, both of you had tears in your eyes as you tried to say goodbye until your next call.

“So, we’ll talk in two weeks, okay? Should be just after New Year’s, but keep emailing me. I love reading them when I get the chance.”

You wiped a stray tear from your eye. “Of course, I’ll give you a full Christmas morning breakdown.”

Bradley chuckled, but seemed to glance at the countdown clock and sobered up. “I love you, I love you so much and I’m so happy I get to come home to you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too. Merry Christmas, bubs. Please come home.”

-----------

a/n: sorry it took me so fucking long to write again, but a girl can only be so self indulgent! merry christmas, this taglist is shit sorry!

Taglist: @sunderlust @seasonsbloom @ticklish-leafy-plant @lass-that-is-gone @katcoquette @daniellef89x @double-j @bradshawswife @hufflepuffprincesse @cloudycluster @sithbelova @mavencalorers @fav-rooster-fics @thebeautifullydamnedone @unordinare @callsignvalley @pricklepearbloom @browneyedboys @cherrycola27 @whatblogisthis216 @agentofkrypton @lcahwriter @kyliesalvatore @noellreadfiction @coyotesamachado @heartsofminds @jocsrecs @notroosterbradshaw @roosterforme @iblogtopassthetime @karateperson @nessrin @frenchtoastix @piceous21 @princessphilly @spideyngwen @mrsjobarnes @calmpunker @softspiderling @feralforfrank @fivsecondsflat @sexualparkour @greenorangevioletgrass @sexygaypalpatine @moonyscardigans @carousallie @liveholland @supernaturaldawning @melancholyy-hill @currentlybradshaw @summ3rlotus @seesaw-jk @roostereads @milestomaverick @some-lovely-day​ @steadfastconviction​ ​​@sometimesanalice @jupitercomet @rae-gar-targaryen @oncasette @whisperofsong @call-sign-jinx @howdysebby

i’ll do a proper reblog as soon as i finish work but HOLY SHIT HOW I’VE MISSED THEM 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 euro trip never fails to make my stomach do backflips!!! rafe and dream girl just have unforgettable chemistry, and the way you WRITE THEM??? RI I SWEAR IT MAKES MY HEART ACHE BECAUSE IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL!!! the name rafael has truly never been the same since euro trip!!! and your take on how to lose a guy in 10 days for THEM??? AND RAFE DOESN’T FALTER EVER. (EXCEPT FOR WHEN SHE SAID YES-I DIED) HE RINGS THE DOORBELL, HE GIVES HER MOM THE FLOWERS, HE WANTS TO LISTEN TO HER MUSIC, HE WILL TAKE HER TO EAT ANYWHERE SHE WANTS, HE COMPLIMENTS HER ALL THE TIME BECAUSE IT’S JUST SECOND NATURE TO HIM BY NOW. “Not to mention, you look like a bunch of inappropriate words in that dress,” he adds, teasing a wink. “Shit I definitely couldn’t say in front of your mom.” STOP, THIS IS SUCH A RAFAEL THING TO SAY I ADORE HIM I ADORE THEM I ADORE YOU, RI. pls truly never stop writing, you’re the best of the best.

How (not) to lose a guy in 10 days 1 date

a/n: warning unedited!!!!! just in such a silly goofy mood tonight

“Here’s an idea,” Topper whispers, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. “Say yes.”

You make a face. “Serious suggestions only, please.”

“Does it look like I’m trying to be funny?” He scoffs, folding his arms behind his head.

There’s a pause as he pushes back into his seat, rough fingers intertwining in tandem with your stomach. “Just hear me out.”

You aren’t sure you want to. The only thing worse than having a crush on your best friend is having him set you up with someone else.

Especially when said someone else is the one guy at Kildare Academy that you love to hate. You frown warningly. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Topper rolls his eyes, untangling his held hands so he can lean forward again. Though you’ve managed to secure a highly coveted, private study room within the Academy library, he appears to be under the impression that the football team may be listening at the door for gossip.

All things considered, this isn’t too high a leap. (Rafe Cameron’s been appointed the captain this year, and Topper swears locker room talk’s never been sweeter.)

“Relax,” Topper mutters, lowering his voice further. “Here’s what you do — you say yes, and then be the worst date ever.”

A beat. The frown on your face may acquiesce by a margin, but the knots in your gut hear the words say yes and tighten. “Be the worst date ever?”

“Yeah,” Topper nods in affirmation, beginning to list things off. “Make him wait, don’t offer to pay, be super fussy, only talk about yourself… that kind of shit.”

“Oh,” you say, brow furrowing thoughtfully, “Right.”

As much as you’d hate to admit it, his idea does make logical sense. Everything about Rafe Cameron, from the stupid, tongue-in-cheek comments he makes to the blasé way he appears to treat other women, gives you this funny, heart lurching feeling that this thing he has for you is about winning. Not about having, let alone loving; Rafe Cameron is in this for the chase, so what happens when this game of look-but-don’t-touch becomes too easy for his taste?

So, okay, maybe Topper’s onto something. He’s been on enough first dates to have a reputable number of red flags in his repertoire, and maybe they just might work against Rafe.

He allows you a contemplative pause before continuing. “Just… basically, just be the exact opposite of the person he expects you to be.”

“And who’s the person he expects me to be?” you ask, raising your eyebrows.

“This perfect fucking dream girl who gets Taylor Swift songs written about her,” Topper replies, not missing a beat. It’s as though he’s reciting something he’s heard verbatim, and the thought of this has your poor heartstrings all muddled.

“Don’t even,” you mutter awkwardly, feeling your cheeks warm. There’s something about the term dream girl that singes your pulse like a shockwave; makes you feel this terrifying mess of unnameable emotions.

Complimented, for example. More pleased than the armour of austerity your skin reflects when you’re around him.

“Not to mention,” Topper continues, not acknowledging your embarrassment. You know that it’s probably subtle enough for him to be blind to it, but a tiny part of you can’t help but think that Rafe would’ve noticed.

Rafe always notices. “If I’m the reason he gets a date with you, I’ll be fucking in.”

You crinkle your nose in disgust. “What’s so great about being in with Rafe Cameron?”

“Dude.” Topper sends you a look. “Are we even going to the same school?”

“He’s a total tool,” you argue, folding your arms across your chest.

“A total tool that everyone worships,” Topper corrects, crossing his own in tandem. “And if he worships me, that means everyone’ll worship me.”

You scoff incredulously, clearly unconvinced. “There’s no way Rafael’s approval has that much social currency.”

Topper raises his eyebrows, cocking his head to one side. “You know that the fact that you’re his girl is the only reason guys don’t try anything with you, right?”

“I’m not his girl,” you mutter weakly, far weaker than you’re hoping to sound. The dream girl heat roars back through your cheeks until you’re sure that you have a temperature.

Love-sick, or something. You add, “Guys don’t trying anything with me because they aren’t interested.”

“Are you kidding?” Topper asks, sounding mildly exasperated. “You’re totally hot. You have to know that.”

You balk. There’s a pause as your wide eyes move over his features, searching for more than just platonic nonchalance. “I — what?”

“We’re getting off topic,” Topper dismisses easily, not even half as flustered as you are by the turn in conversation. “Say yes. That’s all I’m saying. Say yes, and then make him regret ever asking.”

—

Rafe’s leaning against the locker door adjacent to yours when you turn the corner.

With his arms folded across his chest the way they are—rolled sleeves of his uniform shirt and all—there’s a devastating amount of bicep on display. And he’s grinning. He has too many button undone. If you squint, you can find the sun-bleached locks of hair on his head that are ashen blonde.

You always end up taking in far more details than you can handle. But where your inventory of his appearance is something of a transaction, his of you is like being in an art museum.

His grin widens as you near, blue eyes falling over your pretty features. “Missed you today, sweetheart.”

“I saw you fourth period, Rafael,” you say, frowning bemusedly.

Rafe nods faux-sombrely. “I know right?”

You roll your eyes, reaching forward to jiggle your locker door open. There’s a formidable amount of Rafe dominating your peripheral vision, and everything from his body heat to the spice in his cologne is distracting.

“Is there anything you need?” you ask, sending him a wayward glance.

“Oh.” His grin grows in all its handsome, boyish glory. “Not really. Just admiring the scenery.”

The sun shines over the neat library of textbooks tucked within your locker. As you retrieve the ones you need for the weekend, the glossy covers cast a glow over your still-there frown.

“You’re not,” you mutter. “You’re staring.”

“Exactly.”

“At me.”

Rafe shuffles forward a touch so his biceps hit the locker hinge. He’s so close now that the gleaming hardcover illuminates the smatter of freckles on his nose. “Admiring the scenery,” Rafe agrees.

You falter.

Like… you? You’re the scenery?

More pause as you attempt to steel yourself, something terrifying and messy wreaking havoc in your chest.

You’re definitely overcompensating when you scoff and say, “You’re so full of it, you know that?”

“What’s it?” Rafe asks, edging your locker door closed with his bicep. Closer now, close enough for the closeness to make his brain short-circuit. “Feelings for you?”

You balk, the tips of your ears warming. “Not exactly what I meant.”

“Love for you?” Rafe supplies unhelpfully.

“Rafe,” you chastise, frowning.

“Y/n,” Rafe teases, bumping your shoulder with his playfully. “C’mon. I just wanted to come by and say hi.”

“Right.” You slot the textbooks into your tote bag and turn around, beginning to walk away from him. “Hi.”

“Hey — wait,” he adds quickly, pushing off the adjacent locker to fall into your step. “You doing anything fun this weekend?”

“Oh, um,” remember what Topper said, “not really.”

“Yeah?” Rafe grins confidently, messing with his sweater-mussed hair. “Now you are.”

You slow to a halt, eyeing him warily. The inch of space between you halves as you angle your figure toward his, and you think you’re able to catch the tiniest specks of green in his irises. Buttery yellow too, especially where the sun shines over them. It’s kind of pretty. You blink. “And what exactly is it that I’m doing?”

“Going to that Japanese place that just opened up downtown,” Rafe answers easily. “With me. Tomorrow night.”

“Oh,” you say, nodding once. “Okay.”

Rafe’s turn to balk. The confidence in his gaze falters as his eyes widen, lips parting slightly as he looks over your features. “Uh… okay?”

“Okay,” you repeat, turning away from him to continue walking. “What time r’you picking me up?”

“I — shit, really?” Rafe asks, stumbling forward in surprise.

You nod again, hiding the amused smile that’s threatening to grace your features. You’d never dare admit it out loud, but it’s kind of cute seeing him all flustered. It does something soft and messy to your chest; reminds you that he’s only human.

That maybe something about his feelings for you are genuine. You say, “Unless you don’t want to?”

“No, yeah, shit, I do,” he hurries, shaking his head in an attempt to regain his composure. “I’m not dreaming, yeah? This is for real?”

“This is for real,” you affirm. Something heavy and cloying settles in your gut as you say it.

It’s almost for real, your guilty brain placates. It’s not stringing him along if this thing he has for you is about the chase.

Rafe steps into your path from his spot on your left, ducking his head an inch to look over your features. There’s something sweet about the way his blue eyes cascade over the planes of your face, falling from your pretty eyelashes to the cheeks below them, the kiss of your lips. He’s looking for something. The cement-like something in your stomach thickens.

“No way,” he murmurs, almost absentmindedly. He lifts his hand to caress your jaw, rough thumb swiping over your soft skin. “Okay, yeah. You’re definitely real.”

“Of course I am,” you say weakly, caught off guard by his closeness.

His thumb stills, but doesn’t drop. “Gotta make sure.”

You swallow slightly. “Why?”

“Because you said yes.” Rafe shakes his head, like he still doesn’t believe it. “There’s no version of this where you ever say yes.”

—

“That’s fucking perfect,” Topper says.

“Nah, shit’s overkill,” Kelce disagrees. “The outfit’s still gotta look first date believable.”

You frown at your reflection in the full length mirror, toying with the fraying hem of your shorts. “A dress?”

“Not a nice one, though,” Topper says, furrowing his brow thoughtfully. “How about that black one you wore religiously in junior year? The linen’s gotta be fucking faded by now.”

“Bro — yes,” Kelce nods. “That’s perfect. D’you still have it?”

You direct your camera toward your wardrobe, shuffling through the array of dresses on wooden hangers. Pushed against a dim wall with one of the straps hanging off, the midi in question hides behind newer dresses. As you attempt to tug it free, the sound of crunching tires coasts through your open window.

You freeze. There’s a beat, hidden within the depths of your walk-in, where Topper and Kelce see more white than iris as your eyes widen. You stumble back into daylight just as Rafe’s pick-up slows to a halt, his blaring ignition fading into the wind chimes hanging above your porch.

“Shit,” you curse, throwing your phone onto your bed screen down. “Guys. He’s totally here. Shit.”

“Dude,” Topper and Kelce placate in unison, speaking to your white ceiling. “Relax.”

“You know what you have to do,” Topper adds. “And it starts with making him wait.”

You grimace, pulling the linen dress on hastily. “What if he rings the doorbell?”

“He won’t,” Topper assures, shaking his head. “Dude. The worst he’s gonna do is like… honk, or some shit. He’ll probably just flick you a text that he’s here and chill in his car until —”

Ding.

The grimace on your features goes from pained to something a little anxious. Forget butterflies—gentle creatures, as if anything about your feelings isn’t all chaos—there’s a beehive that’s wreaking havoc in your stomach. The heart that’s meant to be in your ribcage is all melted.

This date isn’t for real. Why the fuck are you so nervous?

“— uh,” there’s a tentative edge to his voice, now, “who was that?”

You bring your phone back to eye-level, half checking yourself out and half glaring at Topper Thornton. “Who the fuck do you think it was, genius?”

Another ding. Kelce wolf whistles. “No fucking way he got out of his car.”

You frown. “Why?”

“Bro,” Kelce chides, sending you a look. “Guys don’t do that shit. I mean… fuck, I knew he had a thing for you, but no way he’s down bad enough to pick you up at your door on the first date. What if your fucking dad opens it? What if your mom invites him in? Gotta hand it to him… shit’s brave, even for a straight guy with a public Taylor Swift obsession.”

“Rafael has a Taylor Swift obsession?” you ask slowly, frowning less now. The revelation moves through you like a shock of electricity; quick and surprising until you’re feeling a little weak in the knees.

Pliable, almost. Like you and him and a common interest has this not-for-real date looking more and more like something genuine.

“Yeah?” He says it like it’s common knowledge. “How the fuck did you not know that already?”

You’re formulating an indignant response to his question when the sound of the front door opening cuts you off. And then, “Oh, hi Mrs Y/l/n, is Y/n in?” before your mother’s “Rafe!” has you well and truly hanging up.

You race down the stairs with sandals held by the straps just before she has a chance to ask why he’s here.

“Rafael,” you greet quickly, hopping down the last few steps whilst simultaneously slipping them on. “Hi.”

There’s no way that the two minutes he stood on your front porch counts as the “making him wait” from Topper’s first date disaster handbook, but at least the tired linen of your midi is far more casual than his crisp blue button-up.

Except, he totally still looks like his brain’s short circuiting as he stands there and stares. He holds a modest-looking bouquet of sunflowers to his chest, its lovely ochre glow speckling light in his irises like freckles. And there’s this look on his face, this genuine, reverential look as he takes you in; it has you breaking eye-contact before you expose yourself, makes your insides feel like a big, goopy mess.

A pause before Rafe’s shaking his head. You’re almost envious of how quickly he’s able to regain his composure. “Pinch me,” he says, grinning handsomely.

Your stomach flips. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to expose strong forearms, and his hair’s a little damp where it flops over his forehead. You wonder whether he showered right before he drove over here. And then, your mind strays to cool water cascading down his chiseled abdomen. Your brain’s short circuiting now. You blink.

“You shouldn’t have got me flowers,” you say lamely.

“I know right?” Rafe agrees. “Should’ve got you something bigger. A ring.”

Your mother gasps, her wide-eyes panning to you with a quickness.

“Mom, he’s kidding,” you assure hastily, and then you pause, brow furrowing a little. “I think.”

“I’m not,” Rafe supplies.

“Yes, you are,” you say sternly, sending him a look. “Keep the flowers, Rafael.”

Rafe pouts jokingly, turning to your mother and offering them to her, instead. “For you, Mrs Y/l/n?”

“Well that’s very gentlemanly of you,” your mother says, raising her eyebrows at you. She accepts them just as you begin walking toward the front door, keenly avoiding eye contact.

“Yeah, because Rafael’s known for how well he treats women,” you mutter grimly, pushing Rafe over the threshold and away from an inevitable interrogation. “Bye mom.”

“Home by 9, Rafe!” your mother calls after you, sunflowers at her hip.

Rafe, thoroughly enjoying your soft hands pressed into his back, turns his head and send her a reassuring wave. “You got it!”

Once you’re at his pick-up truck, he’s quick to break free in order to open the door for you.

And though the you part of your brain wants to argue against the action, Topper’s voice in your head—oh, and don’t forget, act like it’s your prerogative to be treated like a total princess—has you accepting it without question.

“That’s cute,” is all you say, sidling into the front seat like you own it.

Rafe has a hand on the hood of his car, the other resting over the passenger’s side window. His eyes move over your figure with that same, heart-squeezing reverence distilled within them, his tongue pressed to his cheek as he leans in to grin at you.

“Me opening the door for you?” Rafe asks.

You nod. “Bare minimum, but cute.”

“Fuck.” Rafe stumbles back, doing that infatuated, clutching-his-chest move that reminds you of Matthew McConaughey. “You knowing your self worth makes you hotter, somehow. As if that’s fucking possible.”

You don’t want to believe him, but rolling your eye’s is definitely overcompensation. “Right.”

“Not to mention, you look like a bunch of inappropriate words in that dress,” he adds, teasing a wink. “Shit I definitely couldn’t say in front of your mom.”

You frown down at the faded linen, smoothing out the creases puckering at your waistline. “It’s super old.”

“It’s super hot,” Rafe corrects.

“Rafael,” you reproach, frowning. “Do you want to go on this date or not?”

“Yeah—fuck, sorry, you’re crazy beautiful, okay?” he backtracks, raising his arms in surrender. And there’s that devastating grin on his face, again, ever-present as he jogs around the hood of his car. (Clumsily, of course, with his eyes on you from side-view mirror to side-view mirror. You aren’t sure whether this makes you want to murder him, or kiss that annoying smile right off his features.)

“Like, making me say stupid shit beautiful,” he adds. “Launch a thousand ships beautiful. Shakespeare beautiful. Taylor Swift beautiful.”

The bees in your stomach travel to your pulse, rendering it a hopeless, scrambling mess. “Speaking of,” you say, deciding not to address any of his compliments. “Can I connect to Bluetooth?”

“For sure,” Rafe says agreeably, getting into his seat and reaching forward. With forearm extended and large fingers fiddling with the stereo, there’s more of him in your periphery than there was a second ago. A lot more of him—from that heady cologne to the signet ring shaped sunspot on your shoulder.

Once he’s scrolled through the settings and found the pairing option, he turns to you expectantly. The sunlight streaming through the window behind him makes his hair look all pale and fluffy.

“Because I’m not interested in listening to your music,” you hedge.

“Fair enough.”

“Or knowing what’s in any of your playlists,” you add, growing a little exasperated. Is there nothing in this world capable of causing this guy perturbation?

“Bit of Frank Ocean,” Rafe says then, as if you’d asked him a question as opposed to dismissed him. “Taylor Swift, too—I know you’ve always liked her stuff.”

You falter, lips parting in surprise. “Really?”

“Of course.” Rafe’s smile is softer, now. The kind that says isn’t it obvious? without being overtly indignant. “They’re in most of them.”

“Oh,” you say weakly, taking pause in an attempt to regather your composure. This feels like stuffing an un-rolled sleeping bag back into its cover without folding it. “Doesn’t matter. Still don’t wanna listen.”

“Neither,” Rafe agrees. “I’d much rather listen to your music.”

Unbelievable. You try not to grimace as you say, “It’ll be the same as yours, though, apparently.”

“I know,” Rafe says matter-of-factly. “I have a whole playlist dedicated to you.”

The way he shrugs makes this revelation feel like common knowledge. Like the fact that Rafe fucking Cameron has expertly created the modern version of a mixtape for you is a given. Your pulse crackles alive, again.

“No you don’t,” you say quietly.

Rafe grins sheepishly, sliding his phone out of his front pocket. “I thought you knew. The whole football team’s heard it, your boys included.”

“No,” you repeat, eyes widening in disbelief. “I was sure they made that up.”

“Easy to make,” Rafe explains. “Difficult to make up.”

Easy to make? The idea that associating you with the sonnet-like lyrics Taylor Swift thinks up has your poor heart a mess. You say, “We’re not listening to it.”

“Good.” Rafe buckles in and switches on his ignition. “Yours’ll be better.”

“You don’t know that,” you defend, folding your arms across your chest.

“Yeah I do.”

“How so?”

“Sweetheart,” Rafe says, almost absentmindedly, placing his arm behind your headrest as he reverses. “Because everything about you is better than everything about me.”

—

You wait until the food that you ordered is on the table to say it.

“I don’t even like Japanese.”

And it physically pains you to do so.

As a matter of fact, everything about guileless Rafe and his immunity to Topper approved icks is proving far too painful for your guilt-ridden heart to handle.

Because nothing—nothing—you say or do affects him. The fact that you’re wearing an old dress to a new establishment, the fact that you’re acting as though you deserve the princess treatment regardless. (Rafe seems to be under the impression that you do. He’s been nothing but a gentleman since your front porch rendezvous.)

The fact that you haven’t said thank you, haven’t asked about him, haven’t acted in any way interested. The fact that you’re being totally fussy about dinner. If Rafe was a normal guy, he’d have run for a hills by now.

Except that he isn’t one. Within his chest cavity, there’s a locket with your photo in it instead of a beating heart.

He says, “No biggie. We can go somewhere else?”

“I — huh?” you balk, taken aback. “You’re kidding, right? What about all of this food?”

“What about it?” Rafe shrugs. “I’ll tell the waiter to pack it up. Or keep it for himself, whatever. What d’you feel like eating instead?”

Shit. He’s totally unfazed. There’s something about his nonchalance that makes your heart do a funny little flip. “Nothing,” you answer, trying to buy time.

“Nothing?” Rafe echoes, brow furrowing with concern. “You have to eat, dream girl.”

“Not hungry anymore,” you lie.

“We’ll wait till you are, then,” Rafe decides, reaching forward to give your hand a quick squeeze. “I’m easy either way.”

“But,” you falter, the heat of his palm jolting through you like electricity, “aren’t you hungry?”

“It’s really hard to focus on anything other than how pretty you look right now,” Rafe says honestly, grinning.

You groan, sliding your hand out from under his all sweet and nervous. “Rafael.”

“Y/n,” Rafe teases, his tone full of mirth. “Okay. Before we got here, you were telling me about that movie you watch every year.”

“10 things I hate about you?” you ask, smiling despite yourself. “No way you actually care about that.”

Rafe doesn’t miss a beat. “I care about you.”

A pause. Your eyes skate over his features with a slowness that makes them soften. “How?”

“How?” Rafe echoes, frowning bemusedly.

“You barely know me, Rafael,” you say quietly, timidly. The fight in you long gone, you’re beginning to accept that this thing is for real.

It’s terrifying.

You can deny it, avoid it, throw ick’s at it in an attempt to stall it, but you’re finally beginning to realise that the one thing that you can’t do is run from it forever.

“That’s not how it feels,” Rafe murmurs. He has this way of sounding sure of himself even when he’s speaking softly.

“You’re enjoying this date, huh?” you ask after a beat.

“So much,” Rafe says, still hushed, “that I won’t rest until you enjoy it, too.”

The thaw in your heart freezes. Something about the sureness of his words — the I won’t rest followed by steely determination, makes this feel like a competition, all over again.

Like this thing is about him winning.

You can’t let yourself enjoy this.

And so, after much deliberation, the pair of you decide on an Italian place for dinner. Except—pasta totally makes you bloated, so burger replace fetuccine alfredo. You hate burgers. Rafe suggests pad thai and curry for dinner. The cycle repeats until you’re sick of it and he isn’t; when he drops you home at 9pm, it’s with a stomach full of takeaways and a overwhelming feeling in your ribcage.

He almost kisses you on your porch steps. He almost gets another date. Almost, almost, almost… and when you’re calling Topper and Kelce to debrief them on the details, the sentence “He isn’t that bad, really,” almost slips out of your mouth and threatens to expose its success.

27/11/22: super quick adorable read!!! domestic bradley bradshaw will always be my favorite he’s so malewife it hurts me it pains me. he was born to be a husband!!! this was so cute and i could picture everything and i saw the little note where it said you haven’t written in 5 years, well, i for one am VERY HAPPY you decided to start again and share this with us!!! my favorite parts are below 💞

“Rooster hummed, looking up at you, small smile on his face. He’s been wearing that smile since he returned from his short detachment, happy to be in your presence again.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🤲🤲🤲 so precious!!!

“Rooster’s cheeks grew hot, and he was up off the couch to follow you out to your car, pinching your behind as you two went.” the little teasing because he likes to eat healthy 😭

“Rooster, who had the basket in his free hand, hummed in content as your thumb slowly rubbed his hand. “So why the sudden desire for cookies?” my favorite part!!! i could picture this so well!!! the basket in one hand and holding HER hand in the other!!!

and the way he was worried about her trying to reach the high shelfs by herself when he was gone 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“I’m really happy you’re home.” You admitted, having missed these late nights of domesticity and simple pleasures.” ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

hi pals! top gun: maverick has once again stolen my heart, but this time i need an outlet, so here i am! a more formal post will come sometime soon(ish) with who i’ll write for/what i’ll write, but for now, i leave you this <3

w/c: 

summary: late-night grocery shopping with rooster, female!reader

warnings: none

Continuar lendo

college and my internship have been simultaneously kicking my ass!!! i just wanna lay down!!!

08/10/22: FEMINISM AND DIGNITY LEAVING MY BODY AS SOON AS I STARTED READING THIS BECAUSE THIS BRADLEY IS AN ASSHOLE AND I’VE ALREADY FALLEN IN LOVE WITH HIM. this was an amazing first chapter, i loved their relationship, LOOOOOVE the complicated twisted history and the atmosphere you’re creating with the team. i predict a lot of angst a lot of pain and so many more emotions. i bet it isn’t titled CHAOS for no reason… i had to highlight my favorite parts and scream about them because i can never help myself, they’re under the cut!!!

“Your own heart slipping a beat or what felt like several when you saw Bradley Bradshaw at the piano. Of. Fucking. Course. Turning your head slightly to the left, you saw the blue Bronco that held too many memories to count.” oh the FLASHBACKS that must be going through her head I NEED THEM.

“Bradley Bradshaw, the love of your life, your best friend, ex best friend you should say. Your ex boyfriend, too many times to count on both hands so it seemed. The on again off again bullshit you fell for each and every time still haunted you. Left you with way too many issues ranging from your ability to trust others, let people in and not the mention as a consequence of your toxic habits with Rooster—you didn’t really have the ability to play well with others.” the toxicity levels are HIGH but i love the drama i’m eating this up. their past relationship being one of the reasons she doesn’t trust people to say or play along. AND KNOWING HER FATHER HAS CANCER… THE ABANDONMENT ISSUES… you’re gonna make us suffer, arent’t you?

“The necklace he’d gifted you in your teenage years still hung around your rear view mirror though.” OH!!!!!!! 🥺

“Two halves of the small heart. Broken by distance. By time. By stupid arguments and inflated egos.” BROKEN BY DISTANCE BY TIME BY STUPID ARGUMENTS AND INFLATED EGOS!!!!!! BEAUTIFUL!!!!!! one of my favorites lines!!!!! it reminded me of sad beautiful tragic by taylor swift 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲

“Ah, spoken like a true Kazansky—“ Pete chuckled.” SO SHE’S A KAZANSKYYYYYYYY loved this little plot twist!!!

and i love her callsign!!! can’t wait to learn more about why she got it!!!

“No clue.” Penny played coy. Of course she knew. Penny knew everything that was ever going on in Miramar. In Fightertown. Everyone knew that. “However, I have heard from a pretty strong source that Y/n Kazansky is floating about somewhere.” Coughing, you choked on your own gasp of air.” of course penny knows everything!!!

“Who wants to know beautiful?” Hangman replied with a cocky smirk. “Im Jake, Jake Seresin.” Giving Jake your hand to shake, he pulled it up to his lips as he dipped his head, his lips softly connecting with the back of your hand. From across the bar Phoenix had seen the encounter occurring—snickering to Bob as he racked up the next round of pool.

“Poor girl.” Phoenix scoffed as she nudged Bob’s shoulder. Bobs eyes grew a little wider, which some would say wasn’t possible. But he recognised his old front seater by the curve of your smile.” actually: poor jake ajxhsjhxshdhshd

“He’d spotted you with a questioning brow. He could and always would be able to pick you out in a crowd.” 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 so many feelingssssss!!!

“Deciding the coast was clear, you exited slowly, sighing in relief as you walked back towards the direction of the bar. You felt your cap being yanked from your head gently as you slowly turned around. Shock plastered on your face—Rooster stood staring you down, placing your cap on his head childishly with a mischievous smirk.” THIS WAS ADORABLE!!!

“You chose to lie, omit the truth. You knew the second Bradley Bradshaw knew Pete Mitchell was going to be his teacher? He’d be out. Throw in the towel and not live up to his full potential. A little white lie never hurt no one.” they care about each other so much 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲 the fact that she knows he’d leave if he already knee about maverick… so she keeps it quiet… so he doesn’t throw this opportunity away… yeah…

“Rooster smirked as he ducked. Forcing you forward over his shoulder as he stood. Carrying you through the bar. “Guess we’ll go with old reliable huh? A pain in my ass.” AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I HATE HIM

“Oh you sly little minx—“ Hangman stood across from you on the other side of the pool table. Staring you down as he felt like a grade A fool.

“No hard feelings there, Hangman?” You replied.” cute. love this little banter.

“We grew up together—“ You spoke at the same time Rooster did, only he didn’t say the same thing.

“We dated for a while—“ Rooster let the cat out of the bag. You let a small but audible fuck escape as you shook your head. What the hell man? Not cool at all.” I LOVE WHEN THIS HAPPENSJDHJSHDHDHDHDHDHDHDH FAVORITE PART!!!!!!

“Oh shit, the Commissioner's daughter Rooster.” Hangman smirked as he took his shot, sinking the red ball he was going for. “Didn’t think you had it in you.” RIGHT?🥵

“Jesus not you too?” Flyboys eyes bugged as Bob shook his head in absolute denial.

“What? No! No—we flew together for a while in Lemoore. I was her WOS.” Bob explained. “She’s the only pilot that’s ever made me question my career choices.” Rooster couldn’t have agreed more. You sent Bob a soft smile—surely you’d have time to catch up with him later. You made a mental note to grab some fresh ginger at the local store the next time you did your groceries. For Bob.” poor fanboy reading the room wrong for a second sjdhhshdhshshs + i absolutely already adore that she’s close to bob!!!

“You let everyone know as Rooster's hand fell to the small of your back gently as he whispered in your ear. The concept of personal space not registering with him.” ROOSTER’S LOVE LANGUAGE BEING PHYSICAL TOUCH IN EVERY SINGLE FANFICTION IS THE BEST THING TO EVER HAPPEN ACTUALLY. EVERYONE JUST ACCIDENTALLY COLLECTIVELY ACCEPTED THIS AND IT IS NOW CANON <3

“I’ll walk you out.” Roosters breath fanned over your neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It felt somewhat surreal to have him so close, to have him so willingly in your presence without recoiling into himself. Something was off, you were waiting for the other foot to drop. The “lets get back together boot” that always fucking dropped.” FEELING THINGS!!!

“I said I’ll walk you out.” Rooster repeated, only this time his voice was a little deeper. More serious. You looked at him as he kept his eyes on you, hungry, like he’d been starved for days.” LIKE HE’D BEEN STARVED FOR DAYS OH GOD HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN SINCE THEY LAST SAW EACH OTHER?????

“I missed you.” Rooster admitted. “I do miss you.” He corrected himself. “You don't call, you don't text–”

“Why would I do either of those things Bradshaw, the last time we saw each other you told me to go to hell.” You reminded Rooster. The memory made him cringe physically. “Yeah, exactly.” OH HE LIKES HER SO SO MUCH THIS IS RIDICULOUS PLEASE COMMUNICATE NORMALLY 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“You chuckled as Rooster leaned in a little more, his lips ghosting yours as Hangman and Phoenix stood at the window watching the encounter go down. “dont –”

“Dont what?” Rooster smirked as he softly placed his lips on yours. One of his hands moving from its place on the driver's side door to your cheeks, gently caressing your flushed cheek. He could feel the heat in his fingertips. “Oh you mean don't do that?” ASSHOLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE (I LOVE HIM) (I LOVE THIS SCENE) (HE’S SUCH A LITTLE SHIT)

“Say it again.” It came out more of a command than anything else as you rid yourself of your hoodie. Rooster doing the same thing as the Hawaiian shirt he loved so dearly fell discarded to the floor of your Bronco.

“Please—please baby I want you back.” God, it did things to you when Rooster begged. Littering your neck with dark marks as he did so. Bucking into you with need and lust. But just as you expected it. The other boot.” YEP. IT INDEED DID THINGS TO YOU WHEN ROOSTER BEGGED.

“It never works out because you never give me a chance–” Rooster hissed, pulling back as you sat up.

“It never works out because once you have me you forget I even exist!” You retaliated, grabbing your hoodie as you pulled it over your head. “God lets not forget that it has been you, every single time that has broken it off!” You spat, holding back tears. “And it's always you who comes crawling back with some poor excuse as to why you broke it off in the god damn first place.” my heart 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔 the fact that he leaves EVERY TIME AND COMES BACK???? AND THEN HE SAYS THIS ABOUT NEVER GIVING HIM A CHANCE THERE’S SO MUCH THE NEED TO TALK ABOUT TO UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER!!!

“I know–” Pausing as you kept your eyes locked into the distance. Not looking at anything in particular, but just something, anything, anyone but Bradley. “And it's okay.” You’re entire world shattering around you.

“How is that okay?” Rooster questioned as his fingers laced with yours.” AND IT’S OKAY YOU’RE ENTIRE WORLD SHATTERING AROUND YOU?????????? this BROKEEEEEEEEEEE me. and then bradley questions it because of course it’s not okayyyyyyyy.

“I just don't think I can do the distance anymore.” It probably wasn't the best way he could have put it. What Rooster really meant to say was he missed you too much when you were gone, it hurt. He thought perhaps it would hurt a little less if he knew you weren't his.” SEE!!!!!!! THE MISCOMMUNICATION!!! HE DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO ARTICULATE HIS FEELINGS SO HE PUSHES HER AWAY BUT THEN THE SECOND THEY’RE APART OF COURSE HE’S GONNA REGRET IT AND COME CRAWLING BACK!!! AAAAAAAAA!!!

“Thank you for breaking me to the point where I learned to finally value myself, It took a lot.” OUCH!!!!!!! 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

“I love you, I do, but–”

“Well figure out a way to stop because you will be the last person I allow back into my life!” You hissed, Rooster felt you venom sink into his heart.” I LOVE YOU???! WELL FIGURE OUT A WAY TO STOP?????? KILL ME NOW PLEASE?????? ONE OF MY FAVORITE LINES!!!!!!

“And for your information, Bradshaw, I have given you chance after chance after chance and all you do every time is prove to me you can't change even if your life depended on it.” Rooster took notice of the necklace that hung around your rear view mirror. He had the same one around his. His heart felt like it had exploded into a million pieces inside his chest. He never wanted to hurt you, never meant to.” HE NOTICED THE NECKLACE I’M GOING TO DIE. AND HIS HEART BREAKING!!!!

“You still have it.” Was he ignoring you or something? You felt the rage in the pit of your stomach bubbling over as you sighed in frustration.

“What? Still have what–?” You caught Rooster's gaze looking at your rear view mirror. Following it as you both stared at the old necklace for far too long in shared silence. “Yeah well, Teenage Bradley can't be blamed for the dick his adult self turned into now can he?” you smirked.” YOU STILL HAVE IT SJHCHSHHCHSHCHHSHXHSHDHDHCHDHDHSHCHDHDHDJDJFHCHDHHFHDHFHFHD MY STOMACH IS GOING ACROBATICS OVER HERE. also: her response <3 yeah, teenage bradley can’t be blamed <3

“Teenage Bradley would have had an aneurysm over the chance to get you in the backseat of his car, let alone ruin the moment because his ego can't let him have a decent win every now and again.” Roosted admitted as he leaned against your doorway, the door to the driver's side of your car still flung open.” THE PLAYFULLNESS IN THEIR DIALOGUE THE SCENE HERE THEIR BODY LANGUAGE EVERYTHING IS SO PERFECT!!!

i loved this so so much and i can’t wait to see where this story is gonna go!!!

Chaos // Bradshaw Bradshaw

Chapter One: Toxic Tango

Summary: You thought for sure the biggest problem you were going to have to face was returning to TopGun—but then there was Bradley fucking Bradshaw.

Warnings: ex best friend, ex boyfriend. Bradley Bradshaw x reader. (Use of Y/n) steamy moment (not smut)

Word Count: 5.3k

Author Note: Okay so we’re gonna steam ahead with this one and update it in chapter form as a mini series. Also we’re gonna use Y/n because I actually can’t stick to a name I like. If you would like to be added to the tag list let me know. xx Leah.

You didn’t know what made you cringe more, the sound Pete Mitchell made when he hit the sand of the Hard Decks entrance way, or the sound he made when he stood up. Both of the drawn out groans told a tale as old as time itself—he was getting old. Not as fly on his feet as he was back in the day, he would deny it till his deathbed. But the clock never stopped ticking. Watching from your dad’s old Bronco, you turned the ignition off and wound up the windows. Stalking over to where Pete stood looking into the Hard Deck.

Continuar lendo

04/10/22: CUTEST PROLOGUE FOR THE CUTEST COUPLE AROUND!!! aaaaaaaaa i’m so happy we’re gonna get to see them in an actual relationship this time!!! IT’S TIME FOR THE REAL DEAL!!! they deserve to be so happy together, i’m over the moon. i know this prologue is super short but i still NEED to highlight my favorite parts so that’s what below the cut!!! 💞

“His velvet jacket draped over his shoulder with just as much swagger as he had when he approached you last night at the wedding – watching him walk was going to be a problem, you realised. Did he always walk so sexy?”

“Was this your ploy? To get me back here…” he bit back a smile as he was in front of you again. You shook your head, a shy smile unable to be held back.” your rooster has such a way with words i’m already turning into jelly!!!!!!!!

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare be sorry,” he reassured you, swallowing hard. “Gee, they look good on you,” his voice dropped and his hands pressed into your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as you inhaled sharply.” THE DIALOGUE TONE CHANGE IN THIS I’M OBSESSED!!!

“Curiosity killed the cat,” his lip quirked, lowered his face to yours and you slipped his dog tags over his head, but didn’t let go of the chain. His warm hazel eyes caught yours.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 i can visualize the scene so perfectly!!!

“he made a face, his palms sliding to your ribcage, lightly tracing the bones under the pads of his long fingers. “Last guess. Better make it a good one,” he warned softly, his tired rasp just… just doing things. Bad, naughty things to your already overstimulated brain. Gee, if this was a dream you did not want to wake up.” PHYSICAL TOUCH ROOSTER YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS AND LOVED BY ME IT’S JUST SOMETHING SO PERSONAL AND IT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE IN EVERY INTERPRETATION OF HIS CHARACTER THE WHOLE PART ABOUT HIS PALM SLIDING TO YOUR RIBCAGE AND TRACING??????? INSANE. BEAUTIFUL. AND HIS VOICEEEEEEE!!!! “just… just doing things.” YEAH!!!!!!!!! I GET IT!!!!!! SO VALID, SO REAL!!!

“Nathan…” your voice trailed off and watched his face direct you towards another no and you quickly added, “iel?” reader trying to fix it last minute!!! CUTE!!!

AND OF COURSE FROM THE MOMENT I SAW THE LETTER N IN THE MIDDLE I KNEW IT WAS GOING TO BE NICHOLAS BECAUSE OF GOOSE AND STILL I GASPED WHEN BRADLEY SAID IT AJHDJSHDHSHS ANYWAYS!!!

“Nicholas,” you said again, burning into your brain so you’d never forget it.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥲🥲🥲

AND THEN THE WHOLE NICHOLAS WAS DAD’S NAME PART 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲

“And there you have it. I’m all outta mystery,” he blinked, licking his lips. You were desperate to have him kiss you again. You gave each other bashful grins and fell into a slightly weird silence. He was so fucking handsome, how had you been so blind that this man was in front of you? Looking this fine, smelling this good… and wanting you just as badly.” AND WANTING YOU JUST AS BADLY!!!!!!!!!!!! THIS IS MY FAVORITE LINE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“That part was the hardest part to grasp.” BELOVEDS I REALLY AM GETTING EMOTIONAL!!!

The Relationship Experience - prologue

read this first - the boyfriend experience

Tugging at the chain around your neck, rationality setting in, you texted Rooster furiously fast. “Bradley N. Bradshaw… your dog tags are right here where you left them,” you said as you typed, hopefully getting his attention before he got too far away, or at least seeing your text before he reported. 

Fuck, he texted back simply. That wasn’t good, you realised.

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

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

“Don’t laugh at me.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MISS SEASONSBLOOM I MISSED YOU!!!

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

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

♡ pairing ; rooster x reader

♡ wc ; 600

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not great at this, am I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@itsmytimetoodream

@oldnatgwenaccount

@khaylin27

@bloodforbiod

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@mizzzpink

@mak-32

@cherrycola27

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

Continuar lendo

22/09/22: i’m going absolutely insane over this!!! EXASPERATED SLEEPY FRIENDS TO LOVERS INDEED!!! this was genuinely so fun to read, your writing flows so easily, you’re so talented AND THE WAY YOU WRITE JAKE IS SO-!!!!!! ANYWAYS!!!! MY FAVORITE PARTS ARE BELOW THE CUT!!!

“Urges that increase tenfold when you open it to see Jake Seresin, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly in an old Navy shirt that looks way too soft for your sleep addled brain to deal with right now.” what an image!!!

“You narrow your eyes. “What if I have someone here?”

He smirks and you kind of want to slap him.” this part already shows so much of their dynamic i love it so much.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he drawls, letting you feel the heat of his body as he passes by you, just a touch too close for comfort.” JUST A TOUCH TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT!!! I JUST KNOW HE DID IT ON PURPOSE LITTLE SHITTTTTTTT

“You should be preparing yourself for whatever he’s about to say that’s sure to make you lose your footing. But he looks like a goddamn sleepwear model like this, mellow and soft and cuddly, eyes drooping a little from tiredness and the whiskey he was sipping on all night, clothes begging to have someone’s hands fisted in them and…okay. Stopping that train of thought right the fuck now.” droopy eyes and floppy hair. i see it all. i want him. also love how she gets lost in thought ajxhsjhxhshdhshd

“Nothing but danger lies down that road with a girl like you and a guy like Hangman.” 🥲🥲🥲

“Message received, Hangman. We both know I’m not your type.” THAT’S NOT IT AT ALLLLLLLLL :(

“It’s one hundred degrees in this room,” Hangman defends himself. “I can’t sleep in pants, I’ll die.” why is he so ridiculous and dramatic i can’t ajxhsjxhshdhhsdh

“Relax, sugar. Just trying to keep you warm, since you’re always so cold. Been told I’m like a furnace.”

By who? You want to snap at him, but instead you swallow the words and lean into his chest. He really is warm.” love love love how she’s already thinking about an answer to throw at him but decides against it because HE REALLY IS A WARM 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

"I know," you whisper, not trusting yourself to say much else without divulging all the thoughts about him you've buried deep under your comforter at home.” AAAAAAAAAAAAA SCREAMING ALREADY

“You squint, still kind of wondering if he can feel your pulse racing.” i love this quote <3

“Well, he definitely wanted to.” You’d love to imagine there’s a hint of bitterness in his tone, but you know that’s just wishful thinking.” NO IT’S NOT!!!!!! HE PAID ATTENTION!!!!! HE LIKES YOU!!!!

“Part of you wants to roll your eyes and scoff at him, as if Casanova Jake Seresin has any idea what that feels like, but he’s rubbing small, comforting circles in between your shoulder blades and it’s short-circuiting your brain. You find yourself running your fingers up his spine instead, playing with the soft threads of his t-shirt like you’ve wanted to since the moment you saw him at your door tonight.” absolutely losing it they’re so touchy with each other and COMFORTABLE WHILE DOING IT AND THEY REALLY THINK THEY’RE JUST GOOD FRIENDS??? GOOD PALS??? HELLO??? also the way you wrote this ❤️❤️❤️❤️

“You take your hand back like it’s been burned, cheeks suddenly hot as you realize you’d gotten carried away. “I’m sorry, I just—I didn’t think about what I was doing. Got distracted.” NOW MY BRAIN IS STARTING TO SHORT-CIRCUIT!!!

“He pulls your fingers back to his stomach, and you can’t help but immediately brush them over his happy trail.” STOP I’M GOING TO CRY AND THROW UP HE PUT THE FINGERS BACKSJCHSHCSHCHDHCHDHHFHSHDDH STOPPPPPPP

“I’m not like this, you want to say. I’m not like you.

He exhales audibly, looking down at you, at the cherry blooming on your cheeks, at where your dainty fingers pluck at his shirt. His hand clenches once in the pillow above your head, knuckles practically white, before releasing.

“I know, sweets, was only joking. Fuck, I get that you’re a good girl,” he breathes, strained like he’s barely holding it together. “S’why I always want to ruin you.” i’m not like you meaning jake is a slut i mean she’s not wrong there. BUT ALSO: THE WAY AND THE CONTEXT IN WHICH HE SAYS GOOD GIRL I HAVE JUST PASSED AWAYYYYYYYYYY

“How many nights you've spent biting back his name, too embarrassed to let your lips form the syllables of someone who you were certain didn’t want you.” this line hit so hard. she really had set in stone in her mind that he didn’t have feelings for her oh GOD HOW LONG HAVE THEY BEEN PINING FOR EACH OTHER I’M GOING TO CRY!!!

“All you can manage is a nod, eyes starting to glaze over as he fills every inch of your vision.” OKAYSJCHSUCYYSYCHSHXHSHD

“And suddenly his words are hot in your ear. “What do you want, sweetheart? Want me to ruin you? Tell you about all the times I’ve thought about taking you apart?” TELL YOU ABOUT ALL THE TIMES I’VE THOUGHT ABOUT TAKING YOU APART I CAN’T DO THIS HOW DARE YOU I HAVE NO WORDS.

“His hand stops at your neck, just briefly, thumb rubbing on your pulse point. And it turns every last bit of you in you to sweet, sticky, melting caramel. Your breath hitches, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, holding back a whimper.” 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 i’m going through it right now 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

“He’s not even doing anything, not really, but your mind immediately latches onto what he could be.” EXACTLY!!! OH MY GOD!!!

“Thought you were so fucking innocent,” he grunts, running his thumb from your pulse point to your jaw and back again. You bring your hands to his, pulling him closer, silently asking him to press down.” CAN HE PLEASE STOPSJDJSCHSHDHDH

“But Jake’s head drops next to his hand at the crook of your neck, and he makes a strangled noise, the moan reverberating through your skin. 

“Jesus,” he mutters against you. “Trying to kill me, sugar?” slut ❤️

“Your fingers are still grasping his hand, the one still around your neck, tightly, like you’re scared he’ll pull it away, leave you to drift without his grip to ground you, to remind you this moment is real. It’s actually happening.” feeling so many emotions right now this is so beautiful!!! getting her grounded!!!!!! there’s so much trust here at the same time that she really doesn’t believe it’s actually happening (which would make her a little insecure) but it’s jake ❤️❤️❤️❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹🤒🤒🤒🤒

“He lifts his head up to latch his mouth onto yours again and it’s heavier, so much more desperate than before. You whine into him as he slides his hands down your body, pushing up your shirt and you want to laugh at the absurdity of it, that you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your entire life and you’re both still fully clothed.” THEY’VE WANTED EACH OTHER FOR SO LONG HAVEN’T THEY AAAAAAAAA

“Warmth blooms in your chest at the realization he might’ve imagined this even half as much as you have. You’re sure you’re smiling like an idiot.” YESSSSSSS NEW FAVORITE PEOPLE EVER WHY AM I EMOTIONAL 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

“You don’t notice you’re on the verge of a sob until he brushes your hair back from your sweaty forehead. “Just a little more, sweetheart, you can take it.” no words. no words. i refuse.

“Jake practically preens. “Where’d my feisty little brat go? That all it takes to shut you up, sugar?” STOPPPPPPPSHCXHSHXSHHXHS

“You’re not sure you’re still functioning. You’re not sure you’ll ever move again. You’re pretty sure you’ll ever have a coherent thought again.” YEAH.

“Sweetheart?” He asks when you’ve been silent for minutes, or maybe hours, who knows.

You look up at him, blinking slowly, eyelids made of lead, vision unfocused.

Jake grins, and it's almost boyish. It's annoyingly cute. “That good?” god he’s SO COCKY AND IT’S LIKE YOU SAID IN THE BEGINNING OF COURSE HE’S COCKY FOR A REASON NO ONE IS THIS CONFIDENT WITHOUT REASON TO BACK IT UP. I HATE HIM. THIS PART IS PERFECT. EVERYTHING ABOUT IT.

“As it stands, you’re too dazed to actually do either. You nod, silently burrowing your face into his neck. He chuckles again, and you decide maybe you don’t hate that teasing sound that much, maybe you’ll spend your days trying to elicit it from him as often as possible. You’re still thinking about it when he peels himself off you to clean you both up.” MAYBE YOU’LL SPEND YOUR DAYS TRYING TO ELICIT IT FROM HIM AS OFTEN AS POSSIBLE I LOVEEEEEEEEEEEEE THEM!!!

“When he settles back down, he pulls you in tight, curls around you in a way that should be uncomfortable, like he’d crawl inside your skin if he could.” ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

“Jake is still glued to you when you wake up in the morning, and your heart clenches too affectionately to be irritated by the fact that you can’t really move. Or breathe.” this is all so sweet and endearing my heart is getting arrhythmia.

“You don’t think he’s that much of an asshole, you’re pretty sure the bravado is all a front. That he wouldn’t do something like this, knowing how you operate, without any intention of moving forward, but the anxiety still thrums incessantly beneath your ribcage.” HE REALLY WOULDN’T BECAUSE HE LIKES HER SO MUCH ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️😡☹️☹️🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 but she still can’t help feeling a little insecure but that’s okay!!! all will be resolved!!!

“Guess that fifty bucks I gave Phoenix to find somewhere else to stay was a steal,” he mumbles, fingers dancing across your bare skin.” AND THERE IT ISSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!

this was so good!!!!! friends to lovers with hangman hits so differently!!! and combining that with the way you write, the way you set the scene??? perfection. AND YOUR SMUT??????????????? WILL BE NEEDING SEVERAL WEEKS TO RECOVER!!!!!

have you considered maybe writing a part 2 about them or a little prequel? so we see more of their dynamic? 🥺🥺🥺🥺 sorry i’ve fallen in love, they’re just adorable and i can’t wait to read more of your work!!!

do not disturb

pairing- jake 'hangman' seresin x female!reader (no use of y/n)

synopsis-

“It’s one hundred degrees in this room,” Hangman defends himself. “I can’t sleep in pants, I’ll die.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, considering just sleeping in the hallway yourself and ending this torture. “Is your penchant for drama genetic? Are your sisters like this too?”

warnings- 18+ only minors DNI, what's a plot never met her, explicit protected piv sex, lil corruption/innocence kink, choking (pls look up the correct way before doing it), hangman's dirty mouth, size kink (if jake doesn't have a big dick I'm staging a revolt), brat tamer hangman if you squint, inexperienced ish reader (tried but I'm a hoe so idk if I managed it), no kink negotiation here (talk to your partners first irl), safewords not explicitly stated but I promise this is consensual af, excessive pet names, exasperated sleepy friends to lovers

length- 4k this was supposed to be like 1k I don't know blame hangman

an- this is just smut w lil fluff sprinkles. i'm a hangman girl (read: I'm obsessed with glen powell) so I felt some type of way about being mean to him in tailspin & that's why this now exists. also idfk what this even is sorry! hope it's not terrible ok ily bye

GIF by when-in-doubt-eat-pizza

Technically, it’s the middle of the night. 

That’s why you’re burying homicidal urges when you hear knocking on your hotel room door. 

Urges that increase tenfold when you open it to see Jake Seresin, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly in an old Navy shirt that looks way too soft for your sleep addled brain to deal with right now. 

“Hangman,” you greet drily. “Why the fuck.”

Rubbing sleep from your eyes, you’re not unhappy to see him, per se, but it’s well past acceptable social hours. He’ll have to forgive your less than enthusiastic welcome. Part of you thinks you might still be sleeping.

He at least has the decency to look sheepish for waking you up. Well, about as sheepish as Hangman is capable of looking. “Coyote said he was bringing someone back to our room. Can I crash with you tonight? Everyone else is either hooking up or dead asleep.”

Fucking weddings. 

You narrow your eyes. “What if I have someone here?”

He smirks and you kind of want to slap him. 

A testament to your willpower, you sigh instead, briefly wondering if it’s really that bad to force him to sleep in the hallway, before opening the door and stepping to the side. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he drawls, letting you feel the heat of his body as he passes by you, just a touch too close for comfort.

“Cool pjs.” He smirks again, raking his eyes up and down your colorful matching shorts and shirt set. 

“Bite me.”

Hangman smiles good-naturedly causing you to idly wonder if anything has ever bothered him in his entire life. 

“You’re real cute when you’re tired,” he says instead of being offended and now you’re debating if you actually should slap him, or maybe yourself for the way his compliment brings heat to your cheeks. 

“Where’s Phoenix? Thought you were sharing a room with her this weekend.”

Your stomach drops as you consider that Phoenix might be why he came to crash in your room, and you try not to make a face at its betrayal. 

“She’s probably in your room with Coyote,” you deadpan to cover up your discomfort, and then relish in the way his mouth drops open in surprise. “Christ, aren’t you supposed to be smart, Hangman? I’m kidding, she met someone at the reception.”

You know you’re being a little more abrasive with him than normal, but you can’t quite help the jabs that come out when you’re feeling uneasy. 

And Hangman does nothing, if not make you very, very uneasy. Especially like this, with his blonde hair soft and flopping all over his forehead, that old t-shirt clearly having been shrunk in the wash over the years straining across his chest, riding up a little high above his sweatpants. 

The gears are clearly turning in his head, no doubt forming something witty to gain back the slight upper hand you’ve gained in this verbal sparring. 

You should be preparing yourself for whatever he’s about to say that’s sure to make you lose your footing. But he looks like a goddamn sleepwear model like this, mellow and soft and cuddly, eyes drooping a little from tiredness and the whiskey he was sipping on all night, clothes begging to have someone’s hands fisted in them and…okay. Stopping that train of thought right the fuck now.

Nothing but danger lies down that road with a girl like you and a guy like Hangman.

You’re contemplating if you could get away with taking a cold shower when he finally looks around your room, its distinct lack of two beds apparently killing whatever comeback he had on the tip of his tongue. 

“I can sleep on the floor.” He’s rubbing the back of his neck again and his uncharacteristic awkwardness is starting to make your skin itch. 

Message received, Hangman. We both know I’m not your type.

You’ve seen the girls he usually goes home with. Even if every single one of them wasn’t annoyingly beautiful, you already know where you stand with him. For all intents and purposes, you’re just another one of the guys. Sure, you don’t take a different conquest home every other night like the rest of them, but you banter and compete with them like buddies. 

And since you and Hangman are just buddies, you roll your eyes for appearances. “Just get in the bed, Seresin. It’s huge, I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor.”

He shrugs, like he’s giving himself credit for his half-assed offer and goes to pull his sweatpants off. You give him a withering look of disbelief, studiously avoiding looking at the way his boxers stretch over his muscular thighs. 

“It’s one hundred degrees in this room,” Hangman defends himself. “I can’t sleep in pants, I’ll die.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, considering just sleeping in the hallway yourself and ending this torture. “Is your penchant for drama genetic? Are your sisters like this too?”

He just gives you a dazzling smile in response, and you spin away from him before everything inside you melts. 

Turning the thermostat down, you shoot an evident you’re welcome stare in his direction, but his sweatpants remain in their place on the floor. He’s laid out on the bed, all tanned skin and muscle, arms crossed behind his head in a way that’s surely meant to draw your attention straight to his biceps. 

Deep breath, you tell yourself. You can do this, just lay down on the other side and don’t be weird. 

You get in and pull the covers tight, hoping the shiver that runs through you as the air conditioning kicks on isn’t noticeable. 

“And I’m dramatic,” Jake huffs, getting under the blanket and rolling closer to you. You tense, merely out of reflex and a frown creases his eyebrows almost imperceptibly before he gets comfortable on his side, pulls you into his arms. “Relax, sugar. Just trying to keep you warm, since you’re always so cold. Been told I’m like a furnace.”

By who?  You want to snap at him, but instead you swallow the words and lean into his chest. He really is warm. 

“Would never do anything you don’t want me to,” he mumbles, but there’s a trace of a chuckle in his voice that feels like he’s making fun of you.

Mocking aside, that's definitely true.

You'd never expect him to do any of the things you want him to, either. There's a reason your apprehension stems from you crossing some sort of invisible line with him in your bed and not vice versa.

"I know," you whisper, not trusting yourself to say much else without divulging all the thoughts about him you've buried deep under your comforter at home.

“How come you didn’t ask anyone else to come up and keep you warm?” Jake teases, after a few moments of silence where you were busy focusing on the whirr of the air conditioner and trying to ignore your pounding heart. 

You squint, still kind of wondering if he can feel your pulse racing. 

“The curly haired guy, from the wedding,” he supplies helpfully to answer your confused expression.

Oh. You’re surprised Jake noticed you talking to him at all. “It’s not like I wanted to sleep with him. We were just chatting.” 

“Well, he definitely wanted to.” You’d love to imagine there’s a hint of bitterness in his tone, but you know that’s just wishful thinking.

“That’s not really my thing,” you say quietly, as if he doesn’t already know. He knew enough to know you wouldn’t have anyone up here with you, after all.

It’s so much easier, laying here in the dark, not having to meet his beautiful green eyes, to be honest. All your jabs having melted into smooth, silky edges at the warmth of his body.

There’s a playful lilt to Jake’s voice again. “Sex?”

You smack him lightly on the chest. “One-night stands. I can never get comfortable enough with a stranger to have a good time, things are just better for me when it’s more involved.”

When there’s feelings, you don’t say, because you’re pretty sure he can put two and two together without you having to spell it out.

You still kind of wish you hadn’t said anything, are kicking yourself for admitting that out loud when he cuts through the anxiety of your internal monologue.

“Nothing wrong with knowing what you want, darlin’.”

“It sucks sometimes,” you admit. “It can be a little lonely.”

“Better than being with the wrong person if it’s just going to make you feel bad.”

Part of you wants to roll your eyes and scoff at him, as if Casanova Jake Seresin has any idea what that feels like, but he’s rubbing small, comforting circles in between your shoulder blades and it’s short-circuiting your brain. You find yourself running your fingers up his spine instead, playing with the soft threads of his t-shirt like you’ve wanted to since the moment you saw him at your door tonight.

“Feels nice,” he comments, pulling you in closer.

Spurred on by his praise you keep going, wandering down his back to where his shirt rides up. You look down and see that little strip of blonde hair that disappears into the waistband of his boxers, slung low enough that you can see that stupid Adonis belt on his abs. Your hand moves to the front of him of its own accord, tracing the ridges there, brushing dangerously close to the strip of elastic at the top.

Jake’s arm pops up so he can support his head with his hand, looking down at you imploringly. “What’re you playing at, sugar?”

You take your hand back like it’s been burned, cheeks suddenly hot as you realize you’d gotten carried away. “I’m sorry, I just—I didn’t think about what I was doing. Got distracted.”

He’s definitely smirking, you can practically feel it in the air above you, but you’re sure as hell not going to look up and see that self-important grin for yourself.

He pulls your fingers back to his stomach, and you can’t help but immediately brush them over his happy trail. The dusting of blonde hair surprises you a little, having expected Hangman to be too vain to leave any hair around that might distract from his physique.

You’re silently wondering if he has any hair on his chest when he catches a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. You see his green eyes darkened, studying your face for something. You’re not entirely sure what.

Apparently finding what they’re looking for his expression softens, the hand supporting his head going to brush hair away from your face and you break eye contact, feeling small under his undivided attention. His fingers hover for a second, like he wants to do something more, but go to rest on your pillow instead.

“Thought that I had you pegged wrong all along for a second there, using lines to get in my pants. That’s not really my thing,” he mimics, smile twitching at the edges of his lips.

“Oh, I’m—Jake, I’m not—” you stutter, certain you must be bright red now. Your fingers are playing with the hem of his t-shirt, nervous and fidgety energy working to get released.

I’m not like this, you want to say. I’m not like you.

He exhales audibly, looking down at you, at the cherry blooming on your cheeks, at where your dainty fingers pluck at his shirt. His hand clenches once in the pillow above your head, knuckles practically white, before releasing.

“I know, sweets, was only joking. Fuck, I get that you’re a good girl,” he breathes, strained like he’s barely holding it together. “S’why I always want to ruin you.”

What.

Everything inside your mind shuts off.

All you can hear is the humming of the air conditioner, the slow intake of air into his lungs. Something inside you clenches.

You’re fairly certain a sound that closely resembles a whimper breaks from your throat, but you can’t know for sure, since all thoughts have been erased from your brain.

You hear him suck in a sharp breath, breathing in and out evenly for a couple seconds, regaining control, before he speaks again. “Sorry, sweetheart. Shouldn’t have said that. I won’t, told you I’d never do anything you don’t want.”

You already know that. That’s not the problem. The problem is how many nights you’ve already spent wishing his fingers were on you instead of your own. How many nights you've spent biting back his name, too embarrassed to let your lips form the syllables of someone who you were certain didn’t want you.

Now, though, those walls of certainty seem to be crumbling at every edge. 

“What if I want you to?” You ask quietly, barely above a whisper. It almost gets stuck in your throat, but you force your lips to form those words and let them leave your lungs.

Jake’s entire body goes tense.

But then he rolls over, putting you on your back and caging you in with his arms.

“You mean that?” He’s looking at you intensely, so intensely you might be frightened if you weren’t distracted by the weight of him on top of you, by every single scorching point of contact between you. 

All you can manage is a nod, eyes starting to glaze over as he fills every inch of your vision.

He chuckles. “Guess that’s a yes.”

Jake ducks his head to kiss you, it’s sweet, sweeter than you ever would’ve expected from him. Sweeter than you thought it would be when you were hiding beneath the sheets in your bed, with your fingers on your clit, choking back his name. 

But then he slides his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss as he tangles a hand in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you moan straight into his mouth. His lips move down to ghost over your neck, across your jaw. 

And suddenly his words are hot in your ear. “What do you want, sweetheart? Want me to ruin you? Tell you about all the times I’ve thought about taking you apart?”

Your thighs clench together, heat blooming in your stomach and you notice, all at once, how wet you really are, slick pooling between your thighs under the wispy material of your sleep shorts. 

You open your mouth to say yes, desperately trying to find your voice, to find your familiar jabs so you can go toe to toe with him like normal, but all that comes out is a squeak. 

His hand stops at your neck, just briefly, thumb rubbing on your pulse point. And it turns every last bit of you in you to sweet, sticky, melting caramel. Your breath hitches, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, holding back a whimper.

He’s not even doing anything, not really, but your mind immediately latches onto what he could be.

Jake’s eyes go wide for just a second before something wicked glints in the thin ring of green left.

“Thought you were so fucking innocent,” he grunts, running his thumb from your pulse point to your jaw and back again. You bring your hands to his, pulling him closer, silently asking him to press down.

You open your mouth to respond, but you don’t know how to explain. You may not do this kind of thing a lot, but you know what you like. Your imagination has certainly run wild enough times.

But any words that might’ve been readying themselves to leave your lips wither into nothing the moment he squeezes your neck.

“Jake,” you gasp, words breathy underneath the fingers around your throat. “Jake, I…”

“Hmm, what’s that, sweetheart?” His hand relents a little so you can answer, but you immediately wish he’d tighten his hold again.

“Yes, Jake,” you whine. “I want you to ruin me.”

And you don’t know what’s come over you, if you were even an ounce more present in your own body you’d probably be embarrassed.

But Jake’s head drops next to his hand at the crook of your neck, and he makes a strangled noise, the moan reverberating through your skin. 

“Jesus,” he mutters against you. “Trying to kill me, sugar?”

You don’t have an answer for that because you’re not trying to do anything, you just want more.

Your fingers are still grasping his hand, the one still around your neck, tightly, like you’re scared he’ll pull it away, leave you to drift without his grip to ground you, to remind you this moment is real. It’s actually happening. 

He lifts his head up to latch his mouth onto yours again and it’s heavier, so much more desperate than before. You whine into him as he slides his hands down your body, pushing up your shirt and you want to laugh at the absurdity of it, that you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your entire life and you’re both still fully clothed. 

He peels your shirt up and over your head, letting out another obscene groan at the sight of your bare chest. 

“Fucking perfect,” he murmurs. 

You fist your hands in his shirt in answer, tugging upwards, figuring fair is fair. You’re trying hard not to blush, not to show how his approval makes you light and fuzzy. He grins and sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt up and over his head, ruffling his floppy hair in the process. 

Lips parting unconsciously, your tongue flicks out to wet them. You knew he was built, but it’s overwhelming, really, to have all that tan skin on display just inches from your face. You get to run your hands up the length of his entire chest now though, leaning up so your fingers can dance through the tuft of blonde hair near the top.

Jake pushes you down on your back, firm, into the pillows. Smiling deviously when you pout and immediately clench your fingers in the sheets beside you, when your thighs press together, seeking some sort of relief to the ache between them. The seam of your shorts presses just right against your center, and you let your head fall back with a soft moan. 

Something akin to dangerous flashes in Jake’s eyes, as he hooks his fingers in your shorts, pulling down in one swift motion and tossing them off the bed before you can gain any more pleasure from the thin material. He pushes your legs apart and groans at the sight of you, glistening wet for him. “God, sweetheart, look at you.”

Just when you think you might die if he doesn’t put his hands on you, if he doesn’t touch you, if he just keeps looking at you like that, like he wants to devour you; he swipes a finger up your slit, tip pressing lightly, teasingly against your bundle of nerves. It’s too much, but not enough all at the same time. He slides a finger in, curling it exactly right on the first try and you can’t help but keen, throwing your head back into the pillows.  

He sucks in a sharp breath at your reaction, eyelids going heavy as he presses rough figure eights on your clit. “Want to get my mouth on you, get my tongue inside that gorgeous pussy, but I can’t wait, darlin’, been thinking about this for too long.” 

Warmth blooms in your chest at the realization he might’ve imagined this even half as much as you have. You’re sure you’re smiling like an idiot. 

Reaching down to the pocket of his sweatpants, he pulls a condom out of his wallet, and you want to tease him, presumptuous much? But any semblance of thought goes out the window when he pulls his boxers down, hard cock slapping against his stomach. Your mouth is suddenly, immediately sandpaper dry. 

Fuck.

Of course he’s huge. No one with an ego as colossal as his doesn’t have a reason, or several to back it up.

You don’t even hear yourself saying it out loud, don’t even realize the curses forming on your tongue, until he grins, eyebrow raised, chest puffed out in pride. “Think you can handle me, sweetheart?”

It takes you a few moments to answer, to figure out that you should answer, since you’re transfixed on him, on the strong fingers rolling the condom onto his length. If you had any sense of self-preservation at all you might be genuinely worried about his question, about not being able to walk tomorrow. 

Hopefully you don’t sound as winded as you feel when you tell him to shut the fuck up. 

Before you can bother with any stupid survival instincts, you’re pulling him down on top of you, wrapping your legs around his waist, savoring the grunt it draws from him as his tip reaches your folds.

“Love it when you’re mouthy, darlin’, nice little challenge for me,” he promises, before pushing himself inside of you. 

He goes slow, tortuously slow, and you screw your eyes shut tight as your walls flutter trying to adjust to him. You don’t notice you’re on the verge of a sob until he brushes your hair back from your sweaty forehead. “Just a little more, sweetheart, you can take it.”

The stretch of him seems to go on forever, just on this side of agonizing, but way too good for you to care about the pain, too good to be real and you can barely focus on anything else. Can barely hear Jake’s molten honey voice repeating a slew of continuous praises in your ear, can barely register the weight of his body covering every inch of you. 

Any moment now you’ll wake up in your bed at home, covered in sweat, grinding into your bed, achingly alone. You’re almost certain of it.  

But then you feel his lips on yours again, hand holding your cheek, gentle, affectionate as he bottoms out. When he finally moves, the heavy, slick pull of him in and out of you reminds you that you’re here. 

You don’t even recognize yourself, mewling, long string of unintelligible noises tumbling from your lips. 

Jake practically preens. “Where’d my feisty little brat go? That all it takes to shut you up, sugar?”

You can only hope those were rhetorical questions because he’s hiking your legs over his shoulders, picking up the pace, new angle hitting that spot deep inside you again and again, and you can’t form a single thought, let alone words. 

Jake’s fingers find your center again and press against your clit in heavy, decisive circles, winding that coil in you tighter and tighter. 

“So close,” you whimper, fingers tearing at the bedsheets.

He smirks. 

“Did I say you could come, sweetheart?”

Your jaw drops in surprise, eyes rolling back and ears ringing, mind engulfed in the heat burning in your belly. 

He’s still grinning smugly as one of those large hands comes back to your neck. 

You whine, high-pitched and breathless, eyes fluttering closed, gripping the hand around your neck as he applies pressure, desperate for something to hold onto, and you think you’re trying to form words, some of them may even be making it out of your mouth, something along the lines of please please please, let me come, Jake, I can’t, JakeJakeJakeJake…

“So pretty all fucked out like this, stretched around my cock.” His gaze is fixed on where he’s plunging in and out of you, tone almost reverent. “It’s okay, sweetheart, come for me, wanna feel you, want…”

You don’t hear the rest because you’re focused on where his fingers dig into the sides of your neck, tipping over the edge, string of lights inside of you tangled and blowing a fuse. Everything bursts all at once and you’re clutching Jake’s arms so hard you’re positive you’re leaving marks, but it doesn’t matter, you don’t care because you’re in a free fall, toes curling in bliss. 

When you come to, you’re just barely aware of his pace growing erratic, hand on your throat loosening as it goes to brush your sweaty hair back from your forehead. His thrusts are getting shallower, mouth spewing a litany of jumbled praises so tight, so wet, so perfect baby, when suddenly he’s arching over you, hands tight on your hips as he empties into the condom. 

You’re not sure you’re still functioning. You’re not sure you’ll ever move again. You’re pretty sure you’ll ever have a coherent thought again.

Distantly you can hear his heavy breathing, feel his weight on top of you but you don’t fully register it. 

“Sweetheart?” He asks when you’ve been silent for minutes, or maybe hours, who knows. 

You look up at him, blinking slowly, eyelids made of lead, vision unfocused.

Jake grins, and it's almost boyish. It's annoyingly cute. “That good?” 

That cuts through the haze enough that you kind of want to slap him, for the arrogance littering those three little words. Or yourself, for helping his ego grow any bigger. 

As it stands, you’re too dazed to actually do either. You nod, silently burrowing your face into his neck. He chuckles again, and you decide maybe you don’t hate that teasing sound that much, maybe you’ll spend your days trying to elicit it from him as often as possible. You’re still thinking about it when he peels himself off you to clean you both up. 

When he settles back down, he pulls you in tight, curls around you in a way that should be uncomfortable, like he’d crawl inside your skin if he could. 

Jake is still glued to you when you wake up in the morning, and your heart clenches too affectionately to be irritated by the fact that you can’t really move. Or breathe. 

But you take one look at the smirk on his face, the mischievous glimmer that seems to linger even in his sleep and the butterflies in your stomach turn to stone.

You don’t think he’s that much of an asshole, you’re pretty sure the bravado is all a front. That he wouldn’t do something like this, knowing how you operate, without any intention of moving forward, but the anxiety still thrums incessantly beneath your ribcage.

You’re lost inside your own head, fighting the panic rising in your chest when he yawns, rubbing his eyes before tucking himself back into your side, impossibly closer.  

“Guess that fifty bucks I gave Phoenix to find somewhere else to stay was a steal,” he mumbles, fingers dancing across your bare skin. 

It’s his turn to pat himself on the back as your mouth drops open in shock. 

Jake grins, eyes sparkling as he presses a kiss into your hair. “Good luck getting rid of me now.”

21/09/2022: AND THEY ARE BACK!!! JUST AS HORNY AS EVER!!! AND NOW ENGAGED?????? hello??? jordan i need to know every single detail about this!!! 😭😭😭🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲 the song choice that inspired this was genius, as always your writing is everything that is good in this world. here are my favorite parts:

“Bradley groaned. “- I kinda need you - like need you?” i do like my man a little pathetic and that’s okay ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

“It was quiet on your side of the line and Bradley briefly thought the call had dropped until he heard you humming Afternoon Delight.

He scoffed. “Very funny…”

“My motto’s always been when it’s right it’s right. Why wait until the middle of a cold dark night…” this was actually hilarious.

“Even if he was only in the building to have a quickie with his fiancée.” FIANCÉEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE HE ALREADY PROPOSED IN THIS JORDAN I NEED TO KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS PROPOSAL YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND-

“You must be Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw?” Bradley nodded. “She said the commander part was important.”

Fucking brat.” bratty smart aleck you will always be famous and loved!!! i love how she gets under his skin even through OTHER PEOPLE!!!

“You snuck your hands underneath his black t-shirt. He sucked in a breath as the cool metal of your engagement ring glided across his abs and he gripped your thighs tightly in response.” engagement ring ✨✨✨✨ details ✨✨✨✨✨

“You were a dream. And you were sitting right in front of him.” tell me why i’m getting teary over smut?

“The same hands that had just been throttling the clutch of his plane as he cruised above the Mojave Desert less than an hour ago.” love this comparison.

“You get this wet talking about supply chain management?” STOPSJCHSHCHSHDHD WHY IS HE LIKE THISSSDHHSXHHSS

“You know, at first I thought I wouldn’t last long when I finally saw you, but now it seems like you’re the one who’s not gonna last, huh, sweetheart?” i think writing dirty talk might be one of life’s hardest puzzles because what works for someone might not work for someone else, and it has to fit the characters and yet you thrive every time!!!!!!!!!

“But - but you called - me…”

“Hmmm, but they don’t know that.” You keened.” LIKE????????? MY BRAIN IS SHORT CIRCUITING??!!!!!

“I just wanted to - to take care of you -”

“- Seems like I’m the one taking care of you right now…” 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 BASTARD!!!!!!!!!!!

“You arched your back at his words, always loving whenever he called you smart. But you both also loved whenever he rendered you stupid. - whenever he fucked you stupid.” duality ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🤞🤞🤞🤞🤞

“God, he couldn't believe he was fucking the smartest, most capable girl in the world right now. Such a fucking pretty picture you painted.” oh he’s so in love with her!!!!

“After that, you just kept babbling - about what Bradley wasn’t able to follow. But you still managed to sound smart and that was all he cared about.” ABOUT WHAT BRADLEY WASN’T ABLE TO FOLLOWJDJSHCJSJFJDJDJDJD BYE

“Thrust. Cry. Grunt. Clench.” TO ME, THIS IS POETRY!!!

“Your body slumped against the glass window before Bradley pulled you against his chest, knowing you needed to be held close right now.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“You always needed to be close to him after sex and he was always there to take care of you. Whether it was telling you how good of a job you had done or petting your hair and cleaning you up - Bradley always wanted to take care of you. You were his girl, just like he was your Bradley.” ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒 he always wanted to take care of her!!!!! and he always did!!!!!!!!

poor receptionist definitely heard them skchsjhcjschsdjsjjd aaaaaaaa this was DELIGHTFUL!!! i’ll take anything and everything related to bradley and smart aleck at any time of any day.

skyrockets in flight, afternoon delight

Summary: in which lieutenant commander bradshaw has a little too much adrenaline pumping through his veins after a test flight at work and needs to ask his girl for a favor...

OR office sex - just office sex, in your fancy, glass office - and bradley in his flight suit

Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader 3.6k

Warnings: 18+, explicit language, explicit sexual content (p in v, vaginal fingering, public sex(ish) they fuck against a glass window, and as always with these two slight dom/sub and praise and rank kink elements). this entire fic is an hr nightmare

gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight, gonna grab some afternoon delight

“Pick up, pick up, pick up. Come on, sweetheart, pick up.” 

Bradley drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and tapped his left foot on the truck-bed as he sat in some mid-afternoon San Diego traffic. The dial tone had only been droning on for - he glanced at his phone - thirteen seconds, but fuck - everything seemed like an age when he was rocking what felt like the worst semi of his life. 

Because how the fuck did this still happen to him? Wasn’t getting keyed up on adrenaline something that they beat out of cadets in flight school? Bradley sure as hell thought it was -

Your voice suddenly filled the car. “- Hey, bubs.”

“Hey - err hi." Bradley cleared his throat. "Are you uhh - you busy?” 

“I just finished my meetings for the day - what’s wrong?” you asked without any further preamble. 

Fuck, he didn’t want you to be worried. You two normally texted during the day, sure. But a call was a little out of the ordinary. “N-nothing uhh like that. Can I swing by your office? Just kinda need -”

“- You’re scaring me -”

Bradley groaned. “- I kinda need you - like need you? I did this run at work just now and it got me a little keyed up? And fuck - I haven’t felt like this since flight school and I ran through all my soapy titty pics in my office, but nothing’s working and I can’t shake the adrenaline or whatever the -”

“- Fuck.” He could picture you moving around on your desk chair, that skirt you had on this morning riding up your thighs as you subtly rubbed them together, your legs bare but topped off with a pair of heels. “Bradley -”

God it was a miracle he was able to stay in the passing lane. He slipped one hand off the steering wheel to adjust himself. “- I need to fuck you - like now.”

It was quiet on your side of the line and Bradley briefly thought the call had dropped until he heard you humming Afternoon Delight. 

He scoffed. “Very funny…”

“My motto’s always been when it’s right it’s right. Why wait until the middle of a cold dark night…” 

On his end of the line, Bradley groaned. It was a mix of exasperation and longing. He could picture you perfectly, sitting in your office, spinning around on your desk chair with a coy smile on your face. It was a fantasy of his that he had long wanted to play out. 

And now was his chance. 

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes and I want you on your desk waiting for me.” And then he hung up before you could say anything in response. 

-------

Sure enough, Bradley pulled up to your office some ten minutes later - if he had pushed the speed limit a little too much on the last stretch of I-5 to Del Mar then he was just lucky he hadn’t been pulled over. After having dropped you off for work a couple times when your car had been in the shop or you had forgotten something, Bradley knew where to park, but he hadn’t exactly been inside your office before. And he didn’t necessarily think it was the best first impression to be sporting a semi when he met some of your coworkers for the first time. 

So, he quickly glanced around his car, desperate for something to carry to hide his problem until he found a folder of paperwork in the back seat. That could work - he’d say he needed you to sign something and that it had to be notarized by the end of the day - hence the late afternoon drive out to Del Mar. 

As he approached the front doors, his phone buzzed. You’ll have to check in with Margie at the front desk once you get upstairs - I told her you were…coming 

Bradley rolled his eyes. Funny girl. He nodded towards the security guard at the main entrance and was thankful he was wearing his flight suit - it simultaneously created more and fewer questions, but it did give him some legitimacy. 

Even if he was only in the building to have a quickie with his fiancée. 

The elevator ride to the top floor passed quickly and before Bradley knew it, he was approaching the frosted glass doors to your company’s office. He made sure the folder he grabbed out of the car was still covering his crotch area as he walked up to Margie at the front desk.

“You must be Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw?” Bradley nodded. “She said the commander part was important.”

Fucking brat. 

“And you’re Margie?” The older woman simpered and Bradley wouldn’t have minded chatting her up for the next few minutes - if only because he knew it would piss you off - but he really really needed you. He flashed his license, confirming his identity, and Margie printed him off a visitor’s pass. “Just got to drop these forms off for my girl to sign, could you point me in the direction of her office?”

Margie wheeled around her desk, clearly intent on showing him the way herself, but Bradley practically jumped back once she got closer. “I can go myself, just need to be uhh - pointed in the general direction?”

“Oh - of course, just down the hall, take a right, and she’s the fourth door on the left. Pretty sure she’s the only one on her team in the office today. It’s normally pretty quiet on Fridays.”

Thank fucking god. With a final nod towards Margie, Bradley headed down the hallway. The offices were all relatively dark the further he got into the bowels of the building. From your chatting about it, Bradley knew your fourth floor office consisted of floor to ceiling glass windows that looked out onto the street in the back right corner of the building - as opposed to the CAVA and Shake Shack in the front. He took a right and then counted one, two, three, four doors on the left until he saw your name prominently affixed to the wall with your job title underneath it. He groaned. 

His fucking smart girl. 

He knocked on the door and barely waited for your soft come in before pushing the frosted glass door open. And there you were, perched on the edge of your glass desk, just like he had requested. Your plaid, grey skirt was sitting sinfully high on your thighs and your black, heeled Mary Janes made your legs appear even longer than normal. You looked like every one of his fantasies come to life. 

“Jesus, that was fast - did you fly the -”

Bradley crossed the room in two strides, before he pulled you against him. God, you felt as good as he had imagined - better even. You gasped against his lips and twined your arms around his neck, appearing as desperate for him as he was for you.  

He pulled your black silk blouse out of the waistband of your skirt and grabbed your right leg to hike around his waist. His hand - that wasn’t cupping your breast through your bra - slid up your thigh and towards that sweet spot between your legs. And fuck him - you weren’t wearing any underwear. He groaned your name. 

“You do that for me?” You nodded. “I need you so much, you have no idea, sweetheart. Nothing worked, I tried everything, but nothing -”

“- Bra-Bradley,” you said between sighs as he peppered you with kisses, “the door - lock the door…”

Loathe as he was to do it, he quickly pulled away from you to lock the door. When he turned around, you had sat back on the edge of your desk, legs spread open invitingly. 

“God, look at you…” 

You glanced down at his crotch. “And look at you, poor thing,” you said with only the slightest hint of condescension. The folder he had brought into your office was gone - he didn’t really know where, probably somewhere on the floor - so the evidence of his desire, of his need for you was obvious. “Come here.”

Bradley didn’t need to be told twice. You fiddled with the zipper on his flight suit and slowly dragged it down his body until it rested on his hips, where just the hint of his black boxer briefs was visible. 

You snuck your hands underneath his black t-shirt. He sucked in a breath as the cool metal of your engagement ring glided across his abs and he gripped your thighs tightly in response. Your hands slid lower and started palming his cock over his flight suit. The satisfaction was instantaneous and he sighed. Why did your hands always feel so much better than his own? 

“God, Bradley - you’re so wrecked, bubs…” You slipped your hand between the flap on his boxer briefs, pulling his cock out, and he bucked it into your hand. “You want me to suck you off?”

He shook his head tightly. “No, wanna be inside you. S’only thing that’ll help.”

With shaky fingers, Bradley started unbuttoning your black silk blouse, eventually discarding it on your desk. He moaned once he saw your pert breasts peeking out from the cups of your black lace bra. It was one of his favorites and he knew it had a matching pair of underwear that was probably neatly folded away in your tote bag. 

“So gorgeous, needed this…” he babbled, mouthing at your breasts over the black lace. 

Because there was nothing like having the real thing in front of him. The real breasts, the real body, the real you. That was always so goddamn responsive towards him and could talk back and soothe his aching cock with your hands and press both the sweetest and sloppiest kisses across his skin.

You were a dream. And you were sitting right in front of him. 

Bradley snuck his hand behind your back to unclasp your bra and you jutted your breasts out at the action. Your nipples hardened and he palmed them, loving how soft and smooth they felt in his rough and calloused hands. The same hands that had just been throttling the clutch of his plane as he cruised above the Mojave Desert less than an hour ago. 

You grabbed the back of his neck and played with the ends of his hair, pulling him towards you for a kiss and slightly sliding off the edge of your desk in the process. Meanwhile, Bradley repositioned his hands so they were now trailing up your thighs, getting closer and closer to your cunt with every passing second. He could already feel the heat pouring off you and the slick coating the silk lining of your skirt. Maybe once you took care of him, you’d let him have a taste? But for now, his fingers started coaxing your wet folds. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re soaking.” You whined and buried your face in his neck, placing butterfly kisses there. “You get this wet talking about supply chain management?”   

“Kept thinking about you - trying to get off on your own - knowing you had to come all - ohhh - the way here for me to take - take care of you.”

Bradley groaned as he felt you clenching around his fingers. Your own hands were feebly grasping his arms, desperate for any sort of support. 

“Almost wish there were more people in the office today.” 

As he spoke, your lips trailed down his jawline, across his cheeks and neck, before they reached his ear. Your teeth nipped on the lobe and Bradley moaned. 

“They’d see me come in - looking ready to take you on the conference table. Then they’d hear all your pretty little gasps and moans and cries from down the hall, wondering how they’d look you in the eye next time you gave a presentation or bent over to pick something up, knowing they heard you getting fucked against your desk all afternoon like a dirty little slut, cause we both know you can't keep quiet.”

You whimpered. “Ple-please, Bradley. Please.”

“You know, at first I thought I wouldn’t last long when I finally saw you, but now it seems like you’re the one who’s not gonna last, huh, sweetheart?”

You let out a cry as he crooked his fingers just-so. “Bubs -”

“- Shh, shh. You gotta be quiet, sweetheart. Don’t want everyone to hear how much of a needy little thing you are? How you had to call me to come up here to take care of you?”

“But - but you called - me…”

“Hmmm, but they don’t know that.” You keened. Whether it was at the thought of your coworkers finding out how much of a slut you were or how Bradley’s fingers felt as he scissored them in your sopping cunt, he didn’t really care. 

“I just wanted to - to take care of you -”

“- Seems like I’m the one taking care of you right now…” 

“What made you - made you like this, bubs?” You rolled your hips. “Some risky flight man - maneuver? The thought of - mmmm - beating Lieutenant - Com-commander Seresin at something - ”

Fucking brat.  

Bradley growled at the mention of his quasi-nemesis and pulled his fingers back. How dare you get Hangman’s rank right when you always fucked up Bradley’s?

“- Fucking brat -” he stated his previous thoughts. You whimpered.

“- And how much better you are than him?” you continued and the fingers were back. You clenched around them and he bit back a smirk. “How much - ohhh - how much smarter - fa-aster and how much bigger you - Bra-Bradley…”

He couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to have you - all of you - now. Have the one name you were saying be his - not Lieutenant Commander Seresin, but Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw. 

“Think you’re ready, sweetheart?”

You nodded feverishly. “Yes, yes. Need you -”

He briefly held your wrists to stop you pawing at him. “- Need who?”

“Need you - need my Bradley.” Any other time, the response would’ve made him smile, but today it wasn’t quite the answer he was looking for from you. He rubbed the tip of his cock along your entrance, teasingly, and you whimpered. “Fine, fine - need Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw to fuck me.”

His rank was said with an undercurrent of sass, but he could deal with that later when you were home. 

“Good girl.” He cupped your cheek. “Now was that so hard?”

You glanced up at him with a pout. “Please, just fuck me.” 

That did it. Bradley grabbed the backs of your thighs and pulled you even closer, kissing you for all you were worth. Your feet didn’t even touch the floor, they just swung back and forth. 

“Hmm, but there’s much shit on your desk for me to fuck you there. Would hate to mess anything up for my smart girl...” 

You arched your back at his words, always loving whenever he called you smart. But you both also loved whenever he rendered you stupid. - whenever he fucked you stupid.

“Someplace else then?” Bradley glanced around the office, ignoring the two chairs in front of your desk and the bookcases along the inner wall, before landing on the southward facing windows.

You followed his gaze and sighed. “God, can you imagine the mess? You’d have to come inside me, but I’d get to walk around the rest of the afternoon with a present.”

A present.

His cum - dripping down your thighs, dripping onto your desk chair as you talked to your boss or John from emerging markets and even as you said goodbye to Margie. He growled.

“Who’s in that office? The one next door?” He nodded towards the identical glass building to his right. 

“It’s just Deloitte, but it’s Friday so none of them are working anyway.” 

Bradley assumed that was a Big Four joke. “Then I guess they’ll miss it…” He set you down on your already unsteady feet and pulled the two of you over towards the window. You let out a gasp once your back hit the glass and Bradley invaded your space. 

“How do you want me?” You whispered, watching his hands rove up and down your bare arms and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Turn around.” He didn’t give you a chance to do it yourself, he just grabbed your hips and pressed you against the glass wall. Bradley took it as a good sign - he supposed - that he couldn’t see into the office across the way - meant they couldn’t see the two of you either.

You hissed once you made contact with the glass. “It’s cold, bubs.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll warm right up.” His lips trailed up and down your neck until he found your pulse point and sucked. You whined. There’d be a mark there later, but it had all weekend to disappear.

Or not. 

Without much grace, let alone any mind to the dry cleaning, Bradley bunched your skirt up past your hips, baring your ass to him and your sopping wet cunt to whomever may happen to be looking at the fourth floor, back corner office from the outside at half past three on a Friday. 

He widened your stance with his feet and then dragged his right hand across your still wet folds. You whined and rubbed your ass against his crotch. “Want your cock inside me, need to feel you - please…”

And who was he to refuse when you had offered so willingly. “That’s my girl.” 

Bradley pumped himself a couple times before he slid right into you. You both gasped at the sensation and it felt like the coil of frustration that had been Bradley's constant companion for the past hour or so was lessening. 

“God, you feel so good - just what mhmm - what I needed,” he breathed against your ear. His hands gripped your hips tightly underneath your skirt as he thrusted into you from behind. “Why don’t you touch yourself for me, hmmm?”

You leaned your head back against his shoulder, allowing him to nibble at your neck. “Where?”

Without even breaking his stride, Bradley grabbed your right hand and brought it to your clit. You gasped at the action and he coaxed your fingers to play with the little nub. Eventually, he removed his hand from yours, trusting you to do the work on your own. “Good girl.”

Now content, he brought his hand back to your hip. Your little whimpers and moans were the perfect compliment to his deep groans and pants. Plus, the thought of your breasts pressed against the glass was so fucking hot. He couldn’t believe you had agreed to this.

“Why don’t you try and tell me - what you were working on before I called? You know I always love to hear how good my girl’s being at work.”

You braced your left forearm against the glass window. “Oh? Uhhh supply chains…”

“What about ‘em? ‘M just a pilot, what do I know?”

God, he couldn't believe he was fucking the smartest, most capable girl in the world right now. Such a fucking pretty picture you painted.

“Working on a paper on ‘em. And how - how they need to be redesigned - ohhhh - to fo-cus on digitization - harder, bubs plea - ahhh.” You had to stop for a moment. “But supp-liers are worried about - oh, oh, oh dadd - please, plea -”

Bradley kept his rigorous pace, knowing he was getting close. Honestly, it didn’t take much; he was already way too keyed up. Meanwhile, you had been too preoccupied with stringing together a coherent sentence to continue playing with yourself. 

“- About suppliers not being up to the technological challenges of digitization,” you finally shouted in one breath. 

After that, you just kept babbling - about what Bradley wasn’t able to follow. But you still managed to sound smart and that was all he cared about.

“- Cloud networking -”

Thrust. Cry. Grunt. Clench.

“ - IOT -”

Thrust. Cry. Grunt. Keen.

“- Upskilling staff -”

Thrust. Cry. Grunt. Clench.

"- ESG factors - "

Thrust. Cry. Grunt. Keen.

Eventually, you just stopped talking and the only sounds coming from you were pitiful whimpers. 

"What's ESG?" You just shook your head. "Come on, what's it mean?" Bradley bottomed out inside you with a particularly deep thrust.

"Environmentalsocialandgovernance," you cried out in one breath.

"There's my good girl..." Eventually, you just stopped talking and the only sounds coming from you were pitiful whimpers. 

“You good, sweetheart?” You hummed. “Smart girl, good girl.” Bradley snaked his right hand down to your neglected clit and played with you until you cried out. “Ready to come for me?”

You whined and Bradley felt it - felt it all the way to his core. You practically vibrated with need, with want. “‘S too much, please I - I can’t.”

“Wanna come at the same time as you…” 

Bradley loved simultaneous orgasms - knowing he had taken care of you as well as you had taken care of him? There was nothing hotter.

“Just gotta tell me, sweetheart.” He sunk his teeth into your shoulder. “Cause all I wanna feel is your pussy milking my cock…”

By now - after almost two and a half years together - he knew instinctively when you were ready to cum and with one final, deep thrust, his orgasm crashed through him and he spent himself inside you, painting your pussy with his cum, hoping it would spur you along. 

“Oh, oh, oh, fuck - fuck -” You finally came with a cry that was definitely heard in reception. “You fill me so good, dadd - oh, Bradley.”

His cocked twitched one final time, the last streams of his cum filling you up. And he knew that when he pulled out of you, it would drip down your thighs. God, you were so perfect - everything he ever wanted. “I know, I know, such a good girl for me. Always such a good girl for me.”

Your body slumped against the glass window before Bradley pulled you against his chest, knowing you needed to be held close right now. 

The two of you just stood there for a moment, panting for so long that your breathing was finally in sync. He helped you turn around to face each other and you burrowed your face in his neck. You always needed to be close to him after sex and he was always there to take care of you. Whether it was telling you how good of a job you had done or petting your hair and cleaning you up - Bradley always wanted to take care of you. You were his girl, just like he was your Bradley. 

“So,” he said after a moment, “think you can sneak out a little early today?”

-------

a/n: well, that was fun? i guess? shout the fuck out to whoever this anon was that got me on this journey??

small taglist: @sunderlust @fivsecondsflat @notroosterbradshaw @seasonsbloom @cloudycluster @whisperofsong @howdysebby @softspiderling @roosterforme @rae-gar-targaryen

20/09/22: again: i read this the day it was posted but college has been kicking my ass so it took me a little longer to reblog with highlights!!! anyways!!! 9.8k words… jordan, you’re too good to us!!! i fall in love with bradley and smart aleck every time you post something new. i think they’re both very complex characters that sometimes have a hard time saying what they feel. so it was beautiful seeing both of them talk it through and be okay with each other again. HERE ARE MY FAVORITE PARTS!!!

“He liked that he could come home from a really long or hard day at work and you would both just talk about your days in the simplest terms and work through your shit together while eating dinner and then watching TV. Because work was work, no matter what field you worked in - coworkers were still assholes, your bosses still gave you shit, and deadlines still loomed.”

“Because Bradley knew that you adored him. He knew you loved him, obviously - he was pretty sure he had had a perpetual smile on his face for two days after you had told him, all nervous and sweet and endearing one morning. But more to the point, he knew that you adored him - figurative warts and all.” of course she adores him. of course. of course.

“You had taught him that he was more than his rank or his callsign or his military ID number or - hell - even his last name - he was just Bradley. And for so long he hadn’t been living as Bradley. He’d gone through the motions, sure. But he hadn’t really let himself just be until he had met you.” AND FOR SO LONG HE HADN’T BEEN LIVING AS BRADLEY??????? BUT HE HADN’T REALLY LET HIMSELF JUST BE UNTIL HE HAD MET YOU???????????? 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

“And he knew he would have to confront it sometime (maybe, eventually, like when you got married or something - maybe), but he didn’t think it would happen so soon.” HE’S THINKING ABOUT MARRIAGEEEEEEEE!!!

“It wasn’t even ten yet, but Bradley didn’t push it. He knew he had fucked up and you deserved to have some space to think things over.” giving her space even tho it hurts!!! beloved!!!

“You paused to give him a kiss, which was far too brief for his liking, and dashed out of the kitchen. Once he was sure you were gone, he leaned his elbows on the kitchen island and then hung his head in his hands. God, he fucked up. He really fucked up.” the kiss being to brief for his liking!!! i love that you mention this!!!

“He had made you feel less than.” ANGST TERRITORY!!

“The two of you didn’t fight often - was this a fight? He had really just fucked up, you hadn’t done anything. And even when the two of you did fight, it was normally over trivial stuff like not cleaning the stove correctly (which Bradley did not do) or sometimes not telling the other what time either of you would be home or when Bradley had offered to watch Fanboy’s dog for the weekend even though you were terrified of any dog over thirty pounds.” bradley being The Cook but not knowing how to clean a stove correctly. why am i even more in love? also, smart aleck being terrified of FANBOY’S DOG? jadgjwhxsjcghw i love everything about this because i just KNOW bradley would like big dogs and if they ever started talking about adopting that would just be so entertaining. WHAT DOG WOULD THEY HAVE????

“Sure, it was nice to be getting an award for saving Maverick last November during the uranium enrichment plant mission - but that wasn’t why Bradley had done it. That was never why Bradley would do anything.

He did it because it was the right thing.” HE DID IT BECAUSE IT WAS THE RIGHT THING!!!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

“And right now, as much as it hurt him, it was the right thing to give you some space.” beloved.

“Fuck - did your voice sound thicker than normal? Were you crying? God, he really hoped you weren’t crying. Shit, now he was going to start crying.” not my stomach turning in knots 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️

“He loved you. He loved you so much.

And you loved him. You loved him so much.” YEAH!!! THIS PARALLEL!!!

“Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed your pajama shorts and t-shirt neatly folded on top of the toilet tank. Before he even realized what he was doing, he hung them both up on the hooks next to your fluffy white towel, knowing you hated dripping water on the floor when you got out of the shower. He figured it was the least he could do; just something so you knew he was there.” PIJAMA PEACE OFFERING YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS TO ME!!! such a sweet gesture!!!

“Bradley noticed with a sinking heart, and even in the darkness, that your eyes were puffy, only confirming his suspicion that he had heard you crying in the shower. He felt like the world’s biggest asshole.” the puffy eyes :((((((((((

“They were serving grilled cheese on that thick bread Bradley liked so much and tomato soup and he had been looking forward to it after leaving his lunch in the refrigerator at home.” idk why but i love this little info.

“(However, you had texted him your Wordle score - 2/6. He still couldn’t figure out how you managed that with twang, but he figured that meant all hope wasn’t lost between the two of you.)” 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 bradley and smart aleck being in their respective emotional trenches, yet they still play wordle together 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 stupid people in love 😭😭😭😭😭😭

“His stomach dropped. Small. You had felt small. Bradley had made you feel small.” MY STOMACH ALSO DROPPED THIS LINE REALLY HURT.

“She adores you and I know she respects you. He knew that stuff too - obviously - but sometimes it was nice to hear it from someone else. That someone else could tell how much you and Bradley meant to each other and loved each other even without seeing some of your most private and intimate moments - whether changing the sheets on Saturday mornings to preparing the next day’s lunch after dinner every night.” BUT SOMETIMES IT WAS NICE TO HEAR IT FROM SOMEONE ELSE!!! i love this paragraph so much.

“Little stuff like that. Stuff that made a relationship - that made a life together.” A LIFE TOGETHERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. jordan, i need to know how he proposed.

“But the groveling should be at a maximum - hey, have you thought about going down on her until your old man knees crack - oww!” PHOENIX MY BFF!!! ALWAYS SO RIGHT!!!

“He noticed you didn’t close the final distance to where he was still standing on the front porch. And he also noticed you didn’t have your overnight bag in your hands. His heart dropped - god, he fucked this up so badly.” HE NOTICED THE OVERNIGHT BAG MISSING ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹🤞🤞🤞🤞🤞🤞🤞🤞

“You gave him a hesitant smile, clasping your hands together at your stomach. You looked pretty in your work clothes. But you always looked pretty.” BUT YOU ALWAYS LOOKED PRETTY!!!!!!!!! FAVORITE LINE!!!!!!!!!

“God, you were so wrong? How could you be so wrong? Fuck. You thought he was embarrassed of you? Clearly, you’d given this some thought, he had to have done it before. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” yes i’m crying. the response she gave was heartbreaking, saying she was gonna wait home with champagne to celebrate LATER? NO 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔 HE WANTS YOU THERE YOU’RE GONNA BE THERE!!!

“You’re my Bradley.” 😭

“He smiled and pulled you in for a hug. You wrapped your arms around his stomach in response, squeezing him tight. “And I love you and I want you to share all parts of yourself with me, alright? I’m a big girl, I can handle it - even though sometimes I still think you should just be an astronaut,” your voice came out slightly muffled against his chest.” YES THE TENDERNESS AND THE HUMOR THEY’RE BACK I LOVE THEM SO MUCH.

“So,” he said your first and last name, “will you go to this slightly pretentious Navy gala with me and whisper snarky comments in my ear all night and dance with me until our feet hurt?” oh i BET there will be plenty of snarky comments being whispered.

“You tucked your hair behind your ears. “Oh, err - I actually just left it in the car…didn’t want to seem too eager if you didn’t actually want me to stay over…” THIS GOT ME BY SURPRISE 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“Silly girl,” was all Bradley said before he unlocked your car and got your leather overnight bag and work tote out of the passenger seat.” SILLY GIRL!!!!!!!!!! ❤️‍🩹

AND HE GOT HER FLOWERS!!!

“Normally, Bradley got you flowers just because. Just because he got out of work early that day or just because you looked particularly pretty the day before or just because you had made him laugh. Which is all to say, he got you flowers quite frequently. And he always kept track of when to get the next ones by slipping one stem out of the bouquet and keeping it in his office on base; if the flower in his office died, then it was time to get you some new ones.” getting her flowers just because <3 yes that’s bradley bradshaw.

“But the flowers sitting on his kitchen island - a gorgeous arrangement of white tulips and pink peonies - were most definitely apology flowers. Because Bradley had been an asshole and had made you cry and doubt him and feel less than. And he had made a promise to you after your first date that he would try his damn hardest to never make you feel less than ever again.” BEAUTIFUL!!!!!!!!

“Bradley hadn’t gone back for Mav because he wanted the praise or an award or anything like that. He had done it because he loved him - plain and simple. He loved his godfather and couldn’t bear the thought that he had sacrificed his life for Bradley just as they were getting towards an understanding again. Because though he had originally said otherwise, there would be someone to mourn Maverick if he burned in - Bradley.” OF COURSE HE WOULD MOURN MAVERICK I THINK ABOUT THAT DAMN LIVE EVERY DAY IT’S SO SAD AND THE BIGGEST LIE AND HE SAID TO MAVERICK’S FACE AND I KNOW IT MUST HAVE HURT BOTH OF THEM SO MUCH ANYWAYS I’M GLAD THEY’RE OKAY AND I LOVE THAT YOU BROUGHT THIS UP.

“The fact that Bradley had been projecting when he had originally said that to Mav was something he had only brought up with his therapist - and it would remain that way.” ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

“That’s all I ask, bubs.”

He gave you a quick kiss on the lips. “Back to bubs, am I?” BANTERRRRRRR TEASINGGGGGGG

“It was so simple and stupid and probably didn’t even stand for anything, but he loved it. Loved hearing it fall from your lips, whether as you teased or taunted him or as you mumbled it against his skin in bed at night.” <3

“But sweetheart,” he leaned his elbows on the island and gave you a hammy smile, “you’re my sugar mo -” thank god she didn’t let him finish!!!

“Can I come in with you?” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“Your hair’s gotten lighter in the sun,” you said mildly, before lathering some shampoo through it. Your fingers kneaded at his scalp and he let out a sigh.” i really loved this part since the sneak peak you posted.

“He could feel you styling his hair into some sort of half-assed mohawk. “Do I want to know how ridiculous I look?” You giggled. “Think I’ll take that as a no. Just wait till I get my hands on you, missy.” MY ABSOLUTE BELOVEDS!!!

“You cupped his cheek, gliding your thumb over the scar he hated so much, and then leaned forward to kiss it briefly.” GLIDING THE THUMB OVER THE SCAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THEN KISSING IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ROMANCE!!!!!!!!!!

“I did not force you, I only said I would not shower at your place if these were my only -”

“- But you knew the prospect of limited sex at my house would make me cave, hence you forced my hand to buy this thirty dollar shampoo and the conditioner.” he’s ridiculous he’s horny i love him.

“- Shhhh, s’alright.” He started you off slow, at a lighter speed, just enough to rile you up and keep you wanting more. Once he got comfortable with maneuvering the showerhead, coupled with holding you against him, he really started to have some fun.” SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Bradley loved hearing you babble. He loved when you talked smart to him and sassed him. But he really liked when you babbled incoherently. Because to have you - the smartest, wittiest, most capable girl he knew - be unable to form any words because you were so lost in him was the hottest thing in the world.” 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

“Shh, shhh, good girl, that’s my good girl,” Bradley muttered, this time pressing butterfly kisses to your neck and shoulder. “Such a good girl for me.” FEELING VERY ILL AT THE MOMENT. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?

“You good, sweetheart?”

You nodded, still a little dazed after your orgasm. Bradley always found it endearing that you always got a little sleepy after you had an orgasm or two. Well, maybe not endearing - he took it as an ego boost even though it was a bit primal of him - but it was always good to know how well he took care of you.” YES. YES TO THIS ENTIRE PART. SO WELL WRITTEN.

i love how they switch from horny to silly.

“You know it’s lieutenant commander…”

“Doesn’t roll off the tongue quite as nicely.”

Fucking brat.” AAAAAAAAAAA JUST KILL ME.

“It was nice to just have time together - especially after such an emotionally and physically exhausting week - and to go to bed early and wake up late, wrapped in each other’s arms, and plan out the day.” you guys deserve some peace 😭🥰

“Because there was something so inherently satisfying in the domesticity of running errands with someone and combining your routine with theirs.” yessssssssss this is so beautiful and domestic and it’s all people needs in this world.

“Bradley put down the paring knife and wiped his strawberry stained hands on his apron. He said your name and you glanced up at him a moment later.” SHUT UP ALREADY WITH THE APRON AMD STRAWBERRY CUTTING. FAVORITE STUPID SCENE AND STUPID DETAIL I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS.

“He started rocking you back and forth in his arms. God, how could you not see that you were all he wanted? That you were perfect for him?” THROWING UP BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE.

“Then we’ll just do that,” you said simply. “I’ve never danced with you before anyway.”

He exaggerated a gasp and you smiled. “Do our kitchen dance parties mean nothing to you?” he’s ridiculous ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

“Ella Fitzgerald, good choice.” He spun you out and got a giggle from you. “You’re too smooth, lieutenant.” god i really am not tour strongest soldier.

“Once the chorus hit, he dipped you for good measure and - god - the smile on your face made him feel about ten feet tall. The two of you eventually settled down from your more ambitious dance moves to just swaying in each other’s arms.” THE SMILE ON YOUR FACE MADE HIM FEEL ABOUT TEN FEET TALLLLLLLLLLLLLLL. KILL ME.

“Bradley never got tired of hearing you say that. I love you. He’d heard it and said it before, but it never had carried as much weight as when he had heard it from you for the first time. I love you.

And Bradley knew that you were going to be the only person he ever said it to again.” HOW DO YOU COME UP WITH THESE?????? INSANE.

i can’t wait for part 2.2!!! i’m gonna be so sad when it’s over because i could read about them forever!!! jordan, once again, you’re one of the best there is. share your secrets!!!!!!!!!! ❤️

and even when we’re wrong in every way, we come out the other side okay (part 2.1)

Summary: in which lieutenant bradshaw is getting honored with an award and behaved like an absolute idiot when he didn’t initially ask his girlfriend to be his date even though she’s the best goddamn thing to ever happen to him

OR you take on the pacific fleet’s awards gala

Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader 9.8k

Warnings: 18+, explicit language, explicit sexual content (p in v, vaginal fingering and slight dom/sub and praise and rank kink elements), and shower sex and soapy titties

[Part 1] [Part 1.5] [Part 2.1] [Part 2.2]

A/N: this was really fucking long, so i split it up. the final final part will be posted soon! but i just want to thank everyone so so so much for all the absolutely amazing support i’ve gotten on this entire series including my little bradley and smart aleck drabbles and the respective lore about the two of them. i have so many people to thank for reaching out and leaving the absolute sweetest comments and replies and messages, but i’d be remiss if i didn’t call out sol, may, cass, ava, giza, and kylie for all their help and encouragement and listening to me complain via dms these past few weeks! so without further adieu…

and all these situations we go through, we come out the other side brand new

Bradley couldn’t believe it had almost been six months since the two of you had gotten together. Nearly six months of dinner dates, movie nights, cooking at each other’s places, beach trips, hikes (begrudgingly on your part), and even a couple jaunts down to Tijuana just for Caesar salads - all to say nothing about the sex.

Continuar lendo

16/09/22: my brain is all tingly i can’t believe this fic actually exists??????? i adore everything about it?????? literally a dream scenario come true that i didn’t even know i wanted/needed?????? i read this a while ago and have been shamelessly rereading it and now i just wanted to highlight my favorite parts because everything is just so perfect, the characters, the atmosphere, THEIR CHEMISTRYYYYYYYYYYYY. MY NEW FAVORITE ROOSTER HE’S RIDICULOUS IN THIS AND I LOVE HIM!!!

“Or we could just watch paint dry.” He mumbles, a testament to how boring of a game he feels that trivial pursuit is.” he’s so stupid see how i’m falling in love with him already?

i love how you star describing their friendship as purely platonic in the beginning and then as the story unfolds you let slip that she’s thought about him before and so has he. so much yearning.

“You wish you invented it. Maybe it’s the fact that you haven’t had sex in a while, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re sitting on a faux fur rug, in front of a log fire, snow outside and a gorgeous man behind you — but the sound of that groan hits you right between your legs.” or maybe it’s because you like him!!!!!!!

“There had been a few intimate feelings towards Rooster when you had first met him. He’s an attractive guy. It had almost happened. But it hadn’t. There had been this tension in the beginning.” THIS TENSION I SEE IT I FEEL IT!!!

“You’re a very affectionate pair. You had to tone it down last time Rooster had gotten a girlfriend. You understood why she was mad, you would be too. It was a shame she didn’t stick around long — you liked her.” STOP THIS PARAGRAPH IS RIDICULOUS IT’S INSANE AND I LOVE IT.

“After he smacked your head, Rooster brushes his fingers over the top of your hair, brushing it back off of your shoulders. You feel no urge to shrug his off as he trails his fingers along your shoulders. He toys with your hair, curling a loose strand around his finger and unwinding it.” i’m a sucker for physical touch this is doing unspeakable things to me.

“Can I see your tits?” I CANTJAHDHHSHD

“He looks so cozy. Somehow perpetually tanned, cheeks flushed slightly from the warmth of the fire, his hood resting around his shoulders and his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. He smiles softly at you.” 🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒

“Are you serious?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him in disbelief. He nods his head, tucking an arm behind it like he’s settling in to watch his favourite movie. He smiles at you, then nods again for you to go ahead.” THE WAY I CAN CLEARLY VISUALIZE HIM JUST LAYING BACK I HATE HIM

“You’re half tempted to tell him no. The other half of you wants to see if he finds you as attractive as you find him.

Just for the validation.” JUST FOR THE VALIDATION!!!!!! I FELT THIS!!!!!! OKAY!!!!!

“His lips part slightly as you lift the sweatshirt up and expose your chest to him. He stays there, propped up on his elbows, that stupid bag of probably thawed out peas still on his knee as he just stares at you. His lips quirk, ever so slightly, like he’s going to smile.” I DON’T KNOW WHY BUT THIS LAST LINE MADE MY BRAIN TWITCH A LITTLE IT’S KIND OF PERFECT IDK!!!

“I think I already crossed that line.” He nods downward. You follow his line of sight to his half-hard cock straining against his grey sweatpants. Damn grey sweatpants. The sluttiest of men’s clothes. You’ve heard that Rooster is well endowed, and you’ve always been curious. You aren’t disappointed by what’s in front of you now.” i am going insane i am throwing up. also: grey sweatpants are indeed the sluttiest of men’s clothes. hilarious and very correct.

“You want him to touch you. In fact, you can’t think of anything else right now worse than denying him. Than denying yourself this.” YES YES YES!!!

“His eyes flicker up to yours as he shifts slightly more upright. It’s then that you realise he’s going to kiss you. Alarm bells. Every brain cell you have is screaming that once those stupid, perfect, pouty lips touch yours — there is no more friendship.” THERE IS NO MORE FRIENDSHIPPPPPPPPPP!!!! AAAAAAAAAA!!!! FEELING ARE LEAKING!!!!!

“You can hear that he wants no part in continuing this game. But if you stop playing now then there’s nothing to do but sit here and think about how badly you want him to fuck you. So many almosts. You can’t take another one.” SO MANY ALMOSTS!!!!! YOU CAN’T TAKE ANOTHER ONE!!!!!!!!!!!! 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

you are absolutely crushing it at the rooster friends to lovers agenda. so so good.

“He rolls a five, then watches as you move his piece. You grab the question card. He trails the pad of his thumb from your jaw to the collar of your sweater. You’ve never played a game of Trivial Pursuit with this much sexual tension before.” FROM YOUR JAW TO THE COLLAR OF YOUR SWEATERRRJDDHCHSHXHSJCHSHCHSHD GOODBYE

“You want him so fucking bad that’s is almost pathetic right now.” *sighs* yeah.

“He reaches out and slides his fingers around the base of your neck. He squeezes softly and strokes his thumb affectionately against the skin of your neck. He guides you back until you’re turned to face him.” SHAKING CRYING THROWING UP I’M ABOUT TO PASS OUT!!!!!!!

“You let out a soft breath now that you’re staring at him. He can tell that you’re doubting this. That you’re starting to overthinking it. That the clock is ticking down quickly before this becomes just another almost.” !!!!!!!!!!!!!! DO SOMETHING YOU IDIOTS!!!!!!!!!

“The realisation strikes that he isn’t wearing underwear for the exact same reason you don’t have a bra on — you refuse to be subjected to such discomfort on a day of promised laziness. He’s made for you.” SOULMATES 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“Aren’t you…” You pull back, breathing hard. It’s like he can’t stand not having his mouth on you. His lips are on your throat the moment they leave your mouth. “Aren’t you kind of incapacitated from the waist down right now?” this is so hot and funny ajxhhshcehchgwgds

“You grind desperately onto him as he sucks a faint purple mark into your skin — just a light one that’ll fade within a couple of hours. Just enough that when he pulls back, he can admire the teeth marks on your skin.” i’m no longer just passing out i’m also passing away.

“Your mind goes blank. Through your clothes. He found it through your fucking clothes.” IT TOOK ME A COUPLE OF SECONDS TO GET IT AND THEN MY JAW DROPPED TO THE FLOOR AND I GASPED!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Fuck, I need to see what I’ve been fucking missing.” He breathes out, tugging at your hips.” STOPSJDHHSHCHSHGATXGSGDYDG

“You stand up to rid yourself of your leggings and socks, embarrassed suddenly that you’re in a skimpy thong in front of your best friend and he’s laying there with one arm tucked behind his head, just smiling.” CUTE!!!!!!!!

“I’m just really excited that I’m winning.” Bradley jokes breathily, nodding towards the game. You have to giggle. His fingers curl around your wrist as he tugs you back down to him again. You lay on top of him this time, your knee resting between his.” HE’S ABSOLUTELY INSUFFERABLE I’M IN LOVE WITH HIM!!!!!!

“Rooster, maybe we should wait until you can move again.”

“Already waited eight years.” He grabs you and kisses you again before you have time to process what he has said. The knowledge that he has wanted you just as badly as you have wanted him creeps into your heart and makes itself at home there.” I WAS WAITING FOR THIS CONFESSIONNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!! EIGHT YEARS!!!!!!!!!!!!

“I can take care of you,” He promises, nudging his nose against the crook of your neck. “Whether I can move or not. I’ve got you.” I CAN TAKE CARE OF YOU I’VE GOT YOU WJDGSGGGWGXHHWDHSGDHSHDSHHDS HE’S SO????????!!!!!$&/&,!/@27):/&

“You slide a hand up into his hair, humming softly as you tug at his curls. You’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.” 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

“There’s an urgency to this now. You’re in the living room of the lodge, about fifteen feet from the front door. It’s been a couple of hours, everyone will be back soon.” urgency!!!! i love it!!!!!

“That feels good, huh?” Like he already knows that it does. Because it does. All you can do is breathe, soft whimpers spilling from your lips as he works his fingers into you. It feels better than good. You wish you had the words.” I’M GOING TO NEED YOU TO STOP WRITING THINGS LIKE THIS. FOR MY WEALTH.

“Rooster. I’m so close.”

Music to his ears. Truly. He grabs the back of your neck with his free hand and pulls you close, eyes locked on yours as he works his fingers into you with his other hand.” MUSIC TO HIS EARS YOU’RE INSANE FOR THIS!!!!!! INSANE!!!!!! JAIL!!!!

“Look at you,” Rooster coos, half-teasing. You don’t have the words to bite back, breathing hard as you try to steady yourself in your post-climax haze. “Christ, you’re so good. So good.” ENOUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

“Bradley pushes himself up onto his elbows and lifts his chin, lustfully hooded eyes looking up at you as he grabs the back of your neck and guides your mouth to his. He kisses you softly, caressing his tongue against yours. His other hand strokes at your hip.” I CAN’T TAKE THIS LITTLE DETAIL THAT HE GRABS HER BY THE NECK ALL THE TIME I’M 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

“Rooster groans, lip between his teeth. He doesn’t feel sorry for himself anymore. Fucking up his leg is worth it. He’d sit through this pain six times a week if it meant he got to experience this as a result.” LOSER I LOVE HIM.

AND THEN A GOOD GIRL DROP????? I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE!!!!!!!!

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You aren’t sure, and you’re glad he can’t see your face because you know he’ll never stop teasing if he knows that your eyes just rolled back in your head. His name pools off your tongue like liquid gold.” AAAAAAAAAAAAAA

“Earth shattering. It’s the only way to describe it.” EARTH SHATTERING!!!!!!!

“His hands are all over you, not able to focus on any one thing — not able to touch enough of you at once as he comes.” 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲

“Onomatopoeia.” You say against his throat. You press your lips tiredly to his salty skin.

“Huh?” He clears his throat then swallows, his voice hoarse from moaning your name.

“Onomatopoeia. Literary term for a word describing a sound.” You breathe. He chuckles, his laughter rumbling in his chest and vibrating through you.

“Fuck off.” He scoffs, pushing at your face until you’re barely resting against his shoulder anymore. You smile as you push yourself up, shooting him a playful wink.” STOP THIS IS MY FAVORITE PART!!!!!!! ONOMATOPOEIA!!!!!!!!!

their dynamic is everything!!!!!

“Phoenix would kill us if she knew we fucked on her mother-in-law’s couch.” You whisper, as if it’s suddenly important to keep quiet. Rooster nods his head in agreement as you push yourself up and step into your panties.” yes she would.

“You grab your shirt and hoodie in your hands and sprint for the bathroom, leaving poor, injured Rooster to fend for himself.” I’M CRYING LAUGHING SHE JUST LEFT HIM THERE

“Rooster stares at the ceiling. He can’t believe you ditched him in his hour of need, with his pants literally around his ankles.” loser ❤️‍🩹

“Where’s your nurse?” Coyote teases, following right behind Jake. Bradley is reminded of your betrayal.” COYOTE MY BFF WITH THE TEASING!!! THANK YOU!!!

“Your eyes meet his. Rooster smiles softly, it’s a sweet enough look. But something in those pretty, brown eyes says you’re going to get it once I can walk again.” AND THEN YOU END IT LIKE THISSSSSSSJSHCHSHCHSHHXHSDH

the brainrot is so real. i’ve been thinking about this story nonstop since i read it. i told you i would eventually reblog with my highlights, i’m sorry it took me so long :( if there’s ever going to be a part 2 so we see her GET IT ONCE HE CAN WALK AGAIN PLEASE LET ME KNOW I WOULD READ A WHOLE BOOK ABOUT THESE 2 YOUR WRITING IS FANTASTIC!!!

Pursuit | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (18+)

Synopsis: Two days into a group ski trip and Rooster has torn his ACL and is stuck on the couch, feeling sorry for himself. Someone has to stay back and take care of him — lucky you. Rooster hates trivial pursuit, and takes this as his opportunity to turn your friendship into something more.

Warnings: pwp, pinv, unprotected sex (make good decisions)

…

“You must think I’m an idiot.” Bradley mumbles as you fiddle through the board games under the book shelf. You glance back at him over your shoulder, and laugh. For his sake, you shake your head.

There are times in your friendship, more often than not, where it’s appropriate to make fun of him. This isn’t one of these times. Rooster’s feeling pretty sorry for himself right now, and he doesn’t need any salt on his wounds.

He does look pretty ridiculous, though. He’s stretched out along the sofa, a bag of frozen peas on his knee and a compression bandage under that. Wearing sweatpants that are a size too big to allow for the swelling, and a sweater that’s a size too big because that’s how he likes his sweaters to fit.

It’s day two of your week long trip to the mountains with your closest friends. This was what you had been most excited about when Phoenix had told you she was marrying Dani. Dani’s family had an incredible lodge up in the Rockies.

For Phoenix’s birthday this year, she invited you and your closest friends up to the lodge. Everyone else is out on the mountain right now. You’re sitting in the living room with Rooster, trying to find something that’ll make the time pass.

Yesterday, on the first day of the trip, Rooster was being Rooster and Hangman was being Hangman. Rooster — who had never been snowboarding in his life before this week — wanted to keep up with Hangman, who has spent a month in Aspen each winter since he was six.

Now, he’s on strict bed-rest (well, couch rest) and will be for the next two days. Feeling sorry for himself with a pulled hamstring and a torn ACL. Considering that he can’t move from the couch without support, someone had to stay back and take care of him. Today, it’s you.

“Could’ve happened to anyone.” You soothe. Anyone that tried to go down a red slope on their first day on a board. Bradley tucks one arm behind his head as he watches you rummage through the variety of old board games.

It’s snowing pretty hard outside and has been since you arrived. Kind of foggy too. Not exactly ideal conditions for someone who has spent maybe thirty days of his entire life in the snow to learn how to board. Especially not when he’s surrounded by already fairly proficient boarders.

“Oh — Trivial Pursuit!” You gasp, tugging the box out from under the monopoly and dusting it off. Rooster groans and leans his head back against the arm rest.

“Or we could just watch paint dry.” He mumbles, a testament to how boring of a game he feels that trivial pursuit is.

“Shut up. I love this game,” You push yourself up and walk over to the couch, setting the box down on the coffee table. You sit down on the floor with your back to the edge of the couch. “And it’s your fault we’re stuck in here so it’s only fair that I pick the game.”

“Yay.” Bradley says dryly.

You lift the lid off of the box and set it to the side.

“Could we at least get drunk while we play?”

You muse with the idea for a moment and shrug. That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. You take the box and press it into his hands, “Fine. You set up. I’ll make us some drinks.”

Rooster has to grit his teeth as he pushes himself somewhat upright and cranes his torso forward to set the game up on the coffee table.

You have to take a moment to watch in amusement as he struggles to set the game up. You love that idiot. He’s been one of your best friends for going on eight years now. You’ve been on a couple trips together, countless missions — you’ve become great friends. Which is why you don’t mind caring for him while he’s in pain.

He helped you out when you dislocated your shoulder at Hangman’s pool party that one time. It’s only fair.

You pad dutifully to the kitchen, ready to embrace the carer role to its fullest extent. Maybe a good nurse wouldn’t have topped the hot chocolates up with a little too much Baileys — but you know Rooster, he’d prefer it this way.

“This is incredible.” Rooster groans as he settles back comfortably against the coach and warms his hands around the mug. It’s already plenty warm in the living room with the fire that Bob got going before everyone headed out about an hour ago.

You settle down onto the floor, pleased to find that Rooster has actually set the game up correctly.

“The person who invented this combo deserves the best head.” He adds, letting out another groan of pleasure as he takes another sip.

You wish you invented it. Maybe it’s the fact that you haven’t had sex in a while, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re sitting on a faux fur rug, in front of a log fire, snow outside and a gorgeous man behind you — but the sound of that groan hits you right between your legs.

Your eyes widen slightly.

There had been a few intimate feelings towards Rooster when you had first met him. He’s an attractive guy. It had almost happened. But it hadn’t. There had been this tension in the beginning.

There were so many almosts. So many almosts that you had just given up. Clearly the universe was giving you a sign that it wasn’t supposed to happen. You had stopped trying to make it, and fallen platonically head over heels for Bradley Bradshaw.

You had been comfortable as just friends for a long time now. But shit, does that guy sound pretty when he moans. You scold yourself for things like this regularly. You shouldn’t think that your best friend sounds pretty moaning.

“Alright. I’m going first.” You decide, feeling the need to quickly change the subject.

“Aren’t we supposed to roll to decid-“

“It was my idea, I’m going first.” You insist.

“I’m injured — I should go first.”

You end up going first. You smirk as you shake the dice in your hand. He swats playfully at the back of your head.

This is how you have always showed affection. Gentle bullying. You’re a very affectionate pair. You had to tone it down last time Rooster had gotten a girlfriend. You understood why she was mad, you would be too. It was a shame she didn’t stick around long — you liked her.

Since then, you had been a bit less open with touching each other. Especially around others. People thought your playfulness was sometimes flirting. Of course, it wasn’t. You didn’t let yourself do that anymore.

After he smacked your head, Rooster brushes his fingers over the top of your hair, brushing it back off of your shoulders. You feel no urge to shrug his off as he trails his fingers along your shoulders. He toys with your hair, curling a loose strand around his finger and unwinding it.

“You have to ask me the purple question.” You pass him back a question card without looking at it. There’s a disappointment that fills you as his hand leaves your hair. He sighs softly and lifts the card.

He chuckles the moment he reads it. “How many movies did Sean Connery play James Bond in?” He asks. Bradley knows for a fact that you don’t know the answer to this question because you’ve consistently refused to watch any of the James Bond movies with him for as long as he’s known you.

“Mm… seven?”

“Lucky guess.” Bradley mumbles. He hits the back of your head again. ‘Accidentally’, as he’s passing the card back to you.

You turn and bite his leg. You’ve always had a very playful friendship. You bite his shoulders, his hands — whatever’s in your way or within your reach when the necessity strikes. Now, it’s his thigh.

He flinches, then stills. It’s only once you’re pressing your teeth into his thigh, looking up at him, that you realise how compromising of a position you’re in.

He’s wearing grey sweatpants. Your eyes flicker down and you know exactly where his dick is under the material. Luckily, it’s resting against the other thigh. His lip has quirked when you look back up at him.

You withdraw quickly. Turning and taking a large gulp of your hot chocolate before picking up the dice again. You got your question correct, you get to keep rolling. You make an eight question winning streak. Rooster finishes his hot chocolate before it’s even his first turn.

“Could I have another one?” He asks you, resting his empty mug on your shoulder like he’s going to leave it there to fall on you. You sigh, dramatically, as you push yourself to your feet. You finish off yours and nod, heading for the kitchen once more.

“Fine. But if you need to pee then I’m not holding it.” You answer back.

“My leg is fucked, my hands work just fine. You just like thinking about my dick in your hands.” He calls to you. You’re glad you’re in the kitchen where he can’t see the way that unnerves you. You bite your cheek and go about making each of you another drink.

Rooster has to lean forward to roll the dice on the table. He really can’t move much. Any movement on his knee still really hurts.

“Thanks, honey.” He smiles sweetly and purses his lips like he’s going to blow you a kiss as you hand him a drink that’s almost as much liqueur as it is hot chocolate. Just the way he likes it.

“No problem, princess.” You answer back, settling back in on the floor and grabbing a question card as you sip at your own.

One of Rooster’s primary issues with Trivial Pursuit, is the length of time it takes. He makes a ten question correct streak before it’s your turn again. Two hours and three more drinks later, Rooster is tired of questions.

He’s barely lifting his head as you tell him what to do. Roll. Ask me the blue question. Answer the red question. Roll again.

He’s staring at the wooden beams above his head. The architecture really is beautiful in this place. So is the mountain, and there’s a great view of it from the living room but he still would rather be out there, rather than stuck in here like an idiot.

He drums his fingers on his stomach and looks towards the book case. His eyes scan over the other board games over there. Looking for something else. Anything better than this. Nothing that he can stand to spend another three hours doing.

He’s bored.

“Okay, ask me purple.” You hand him another question card. He sighs softly as he takes it. Even reading the question takes too much effort at this point. He looks at you. You’re facing the board, your back to him as you wait to get another question correct.

Rooster looks towards the fireplace, watching the flames crackle and rise. Then he looks towards you again. A thought crosses his mind and he squashes it instantly, then hesitates. No harm in asking.

“Can I see your tits?”

You turn, dice still in hand, and blink at him. He’s looking back at you like he had just asked you how your day was going. Like that was the most normal thing in the world to ask his best friend of eight years.

“It would make me feel a lot better.” He adds. Your lip quirks slightly at the fact that he’s playing the sick card. You aren’t sure how boobs cure knee pain, but you know that at this point in your friendship, questioning Rooster’s strange brain is pointless.

He looks so cozy. Somehow perpetually tanned, cheeks flushed slightly from the warmth of the fire, his hood resting around his shoulders and his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. He smiles softly at you.

“Are you serious?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him in disbelief. He nods his head, tucking an arm behind it like he’s settling in to watch his favourite movie. He smiles at you, then nods again for you to go ahead.

“You’re such a teenager.” You scoff. Humour is the only way you know how to handle this. You still aren’t quite sure if he’s fucking with you.

“Please? — I’m bored, I need something to help me refocus.” Rooster smiles. Fuck, he’s so pretty. You shift slightly, half turning to face him and resting your elbow on the couch cushion. You scrunch your brows at him, trying to suss him out.

You’ve known him for long enough now to know that he’s serious.

You debate it. Debate just nut-tapping him and calling him a pervert. But it really is just your boobs. He’s seen you in a bikini a hundred times. Seen you in some pretty risky clothes when you’ve gone out drinking together. You know he knows what your boobs look like — what difference does it make for him to have also seen your nipple?

He’s watching you expectantly.

“Just for a second.” You agree.

“Seriously?” He wasn’t expecting you to say yes. Honestly you were expecting to try to hit him in the nuts. He pushes himself up onto his elbows. You’re half tempted to tell him no. The other half of you wants to see if he finds you as attractive as you find him.

Just for the validation.

You shrug your shoulders at him, twisting yourself up onto your knees. You grab the bottom of your sweatshirt, watching his eyebrows lift in anticipation.

There’s a split second where you hesitate. Sure, he’s your best friend. But after this, he’ll just be you best friend who has seen your tits. You think about it as he stares expectantly at you, still pushed up onto his elbows. Lots of your girl best friends have seen your tits — it makes sense that he would too. Fuck it.

You lift your sweatshirt and the loose fitting t-shirt that you’re still wearing under it. You’ve forgone a bra, considering that the plan was just to sit beside Rooster all day and make sure he didn’t die of boredom.

His lips part slightly as you lift the sweatshirt up and expose your chest to him. He stays there, propped up on his elbows, that stupid bag of probably thawed out peas still on his knee as he just stares at you. His lips quirk, ever so slightly, like he’s going to smile.

Every time you get drunk, you’re possessed by this overwhelming urge to tell Rooster what gorgeous eyes he has. It’s not your fault that he looks like the prettiest thing in the entire world when he’s blinking at your with those big brown eyes. You watch those pretty eyes now.

Men amaze you. He’s truly so mesmerised by what’s before him. You give him a while to just stare. Maybe twenty seconds. It certainly feels like longer. Then your cheeks are starting to redden. You scrunch your nose, feeling suddenly anxious by his lack of reaction.

“Say something, you freak.” You demand. Yet, you don’t drop your sweatshirt back down. Rooster’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. He swallows and lifts his eyes to finally look at your face.

“Can I touch them?” His voice is low, serious. His gaze flickers back down for a moment before he reminds himself to be respectful and looks back to your face.

You purse your lips.

“Mm… don’t you think that would be crossing a line?” You ask gently. This is not only your best friend, but also your wingman. You have to go to work with him after all of this.

“I think I already crossed that line.” He nods downward. You follow his line of sight to his half-hard cock straining against his grey sweatpants. Damn grey sweatpants. The sluttiest of men’s clothes. You’ve heard that Rooster is well endowed, and you’ve always been curious. You aren’t disappointed by what’s in front of you now.

You want him to touch you. In fact, you can’t think of anything else right now worse than denying him. Than denying yourself this.

“Just for a second.” You agree once more. You can’t pretend you don’t want him to touch you. He scoots over to make room for you to sit on the edge of the couch cushion. Your ass is half hanging off of it when you sit.

“You could just… it would be easier.” Rooster gestures for you to straddle him. You take one more look at the bulge in his sweatpants.

“I think that would be too far.” Truthfully, you don’t think you have the necessary self-restraint to be sitting on his dick and not take this far enough to ruin your friendship.

Rooster nods. You lift your sweatshirt once more. He lets out a soft breath. This time you notice his Adam’s apple rise and fall in his throat.

He reaches out tenderly, hand cupping your left breast. He squeezes softly, swipes his thumb delicately over your nipple, then brings his other hand up to cup your other breast.

He groans softly, just like he did when he first tasted his hot chocolate, kneading your breasts in his hands. Bradley’s lips quirk up into a soft smile, content for the first time all day.

His eyes flicker up to yours as he shifts slightly more upright. It’s then that you realise he’s going to kiss you. Alarm bells. Every brain cell you have is screaming that once those stupid, perfect, pouty lips touch yours — there is no more friendship.

In the interest of preserving the relationship with the best friend that you’ve ever had, you drop your sweatshirt and move away from him to sit on the floor again. Bradley adjusts himself against his sweatpants. You don’t see him frown.

“It’s your turn to ask me a question.” You announce, handing him a card without looking at him. He takes the card and settles back against the couch with a soft sigh, then clears his throat.

You can hear that he wants no part in continuing this game. But if you stop playing now then there’s nothing to do but sit here and think about how badly you want him to fuck you. So many almosts. You can’t take another one.

“Red. Okay. Uh… how many years did it take Michelangelo to paint the Sistine Chapel?” In Rooster’s defence, you can hear him trying to hide his bored he is for your sake. Still, you don’t turn to face him.

“Six.”

“Four.” He corrects you. He tosses the card back onto the coffee table and gently strokes your hair back off of your shoulder. You hand him the dice without meeting his gaze.

He sighs softly, toying with the dice for a moment. He shifts a little. Adjusts his half-hard cock. Looks down at the board. Thinks about how much longer this is going to take.

He rolls a five, then watches as you move his piece. You grab the question card. He trails the pad of his thumb from your jaw to the collar of your sweater. You’ve never played a game of Trivial Pursuit with this much sexual tension before.

“W-What is the literary term for a word describing a sound?”

“I truly couldn’t care less if I tried.” Rooster admits. After all, honesty is the best policy. You can’t turn to look at him. You don’t have the restraint. You want him so fucking bad that’s is almost pathetic right now.

So, you sit and wait patiently for him to just spit out the fucking word onomatopoeia. Just answer the question, Rooster.

He reaches out and slides his fingers around the base of your neck. He squeezes softly and strokes his thumb affectionately against the skin of your neck. He guides you back until you’re turned to face him.

He looks at you, his eyes hungry with lust, the intensity in those pretty, brown eyes sending shivers up your spine.

You let out a soft breath now that you’re staring at him. He can tell that you’re doubting this. That you’re starting to overthinking it. That the clock is ticking down quickly before this becomes just another almost.

He leans quickly forwards and captures your mouth in a kiss. Before you have a chance to freak out. You melt against him. Again, he groans, this time into your mouth. The sound vibrates through you and propels you into his arms.

You push up and swing one leg over his hips, straddling him without breaking the kiss. You take extra care to settle in delicately against him, not wanting to worsen his injury. He slips his tongue into your mouth, holding you against him with his hand on the back of your neck.

From here, you can feel just how hard he is. Rock hard and pressing into you. You grind down ever so slightly, feeling the tip of his cock graze you. The realisation strikes that he isn’t wearing underwear for the exact same reason you don’t have a bra on — you refuse to be subjected to such discomfort on a day of promised laziness. He’s made for you.

“Aren’t you…” You pull back, breathing hard. It’s like he can’t stand not having his mouth on you. His lips are on your throat the moment they leave your mouth. “Aren’t you kind of incapacitated from the waist down right now?”

“Don’t worry about it.” His hands are already slipping under your sweater, pushing it up your torso. You lift your arms up obediently and let him strip you of your hoodie and t-shirt. “Fuck me, you’re perfect.”

You can’t pretend that that compliment didn’t go straight to your head. Your ego is inflated and you’re suddenly feeling much more confident about this encounter.

He lifts his head and kisses your shoulder, both hands sliding up your torso and grabbing at your tits. Rooster groans, peppering soft kisses along your skin. You’ve always wondered what that stupid moustache would feel like against your skin. The answer is that it’s actually surprisingly pleasant. It tickles just enough to make you shiver but not enough to be irritating.

Rooster wraps his lip around your nipple, pinching the other between his fingers, making you gasp softly. His tongue flicks over the sensitive bud, pulling away, grazing his teeth just lightly over the tender flesh. He watches your head roll back. He groans more urgently this time, squeezing your tits in his hands as he turns his attention to the other nipple.

The line has been well and truly crossed already. There’s no way you can look him in his stupid, beautiful eyes again and pretend that he didn’t have you soaking through your panties with just his mouth on your tits.

You grind down against his cock, moaning softly at the friction. Your thin pair of leggings and his sweatpants don’t separate much. You can feel exactly how rock hard he is. You grind desperately onto him as he sucks a faint purple mark into your skin — just a light one that’ll fade within a couple of hours. Just enough that when he pulls back, he can admire the teeth marks on your skin.

His hands find your hips as he guides you, he presses his good leg down and uses the leverage to drive his cock up against your core. He pauses, holding you still, rocking the tip of his cock against your clit through your clothes. Your mind goes blank. Through your clothes. He found it through your fucking clothes.

You’re rocking your hips, grinding desperately against him through your clothes. He groans, taking just a moment to rake his eyes over your shirtless body, skimming his fingertips along your side.

“Fuck, I need to see what I’ve been fucking missing.” He breathes out, tugging at your hips. He slaps your ass, lifting his head and kissing you hard. You moan into his mouth. Your fingers slide down his chest, pushing under the hoodie, sliding it up his chest. He has to sit slightly, grabbing a fistful of fabric from behind his head and tugging it off.

It’s more than warm enough. The fire and your body heat is more than making up for the snow outside.

You stand up to rid yourself of your leggings and socks, embarrassed suddenly that you’re in a skimpy thong in front of your best friend and he’s laying there with one arm tucked behind his head, just smiling.

He shifts his hips slightly to get comfy. Your eyes fall down to the straining bulge in his sweats. Your lips part slightly. He brushes his palm over his cock, adjusting it slightly to ease his discomfort.

“I’m just really excited that I’m winning.” Bradley jokes breathily, nodding towards the game. You have to giggle. His fingers curl around your wrist as he tugs you back down to him again. You lay on top of him this time, your knee resting between his.

His hand grabs at the back of your neck as he guides your mouth against his, his tongue curling into yours. He pushes his hips against yours.

You’re both shifting, the couch is a little too small for both of you to fit comfortably. Your foot knocks his leg just slightly. He gasps, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He takes a moment, then let’s out a strained breath.

“Oh shit — I’m sorry.” You gasp, sitting up quickly to make sure he’s okay. He grabs the bag of peas digging into his side and tosses it across the room. You look down at his bandaged knee, brows scrunching. “Rooster, maybe we should wait until you can move again.”

“Already waited eight years.” He grabs you and kisses you again before you have time to process what he has said. The knowledge that he has wanted you just as badly as you have wanted him creeps into your heart and makes itself at home there.

Your ego really can’t take much more of this, you’re going to be insufferable if he continues with all of this flattery. But equally, you don’t want him to stop.

“I can take care of you,” He promises, nudging his nose against the crook of your neck. “Whether I can move or not. I’ve got you.”

You can’t resist. Your hand wraps around his cock over the soft jersey material, palming over his length as his tongue caresses yours. His hand slides between your bodies and nudges your panties to the side.

“You’re fucking soaked.” He murmurs. You roll your hips against his fingers.

“You’re fucking huge.” You reply. He smiles against your lips. He pushes harder against your hand, trailing his fingertips between your folds. You slide a hand up into his hair, humming softly as you tug at his curls. You’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.

He grabs your leg and adjusts your position to give him easier access to your pussy, slipping a finger into you. You hmm softly, tugging at his curls again. He groans into your mouth. His ring finger slides into you alongside his middle. He curls them both into you.

You feel his cock twitch in your palm as your walls clench around his fingers. There’s an urgency to this now. You’re in the living room of the lodge, about fifteen feet from the front door. It’s been a couple of hours, everyone will be back soon.

“That feels good, huh?” Like he already knows that it does. Because it does. All you can do is breathe, soft whimpers spilling from your lips as he works his fingers into you. It feels better than good. You wish you had the words.

Your fingers curl around his wrist, rocking yourself down onto his fingers. Excitement pools in your stomach as you fall forward slightly, bracing yourself onto his shoulder.

All Rooster can think about is that one time he was so drunk that you tried to do the nice thing and let him sleep in your bed. The plan was for you to take the couch. But then he had been so heavy, and so uncooperative — literally dead weight — that you had just left him curled up on the floor in your room.

He’d woken up the next morning while you were in the shower. The soft moans spilling from behind the bathroom door. The two of you had been completely alone in your place. He’d thought of those sweet sounds of you touching yourself constantly since then.

You sound even better now that he’s touching you. He groans softly against your lips, he’s enjoying this just as much as you are.

“Ah… fuck.” You sigh contentedly, swallowing hard. “Rooster. I’m so close.”

Music to his ears. Truly. He grabs the back of your neck with his free hand and pulls you close, eyes locked on yours as he works his fingers into you with his other hand.

If this is him injured, you’re mad at yourself for denying yourself all of him for all this time. You don’t have much time to be mad at yourself.

Your head lulls back, muscles tensing, fingers curling around his shoulder tightly. You’re whimpering, moaning, fucking yourself on his fingers.

“Look at you,” Rooster coos, half-teasing. You don’t have the words to bite back, breathing hard as you try to steady yourself in your post-climax haze. “Christ, you’re so good. So good.”

You can’t wait any longer. The moment your world stops spinning, you push at the waistband of his sweats. He obliges, pulling his fingers from you and pushing the sweats down to his shins. You can see the discomfort on his face. The pain he’s trying not to let you see.

“Rooster…” You frown.

He shakes his head, “I’m fine. Seriously. Doesn’t even hurt.” Actually, his leg is throbbing because it hurts so bad. But, his cock is throbbing too and he knows which one he’s more likely to listen to. You wish you had the strength to argue with him.

You shimmy out of your panties and lean down to kiss him. Your hands held his shoulders as his own squeezed softly at your ass, then grabbed his cock in one hand. He lined himself up with you as you dripped in wetness. His eyes meet yours as you rocked yourself against his tip.

Rooster shivers, even with the heat from the fire. He grabs your thighs with both hands, raking his nails against your skin. A muscle in his jaw ticks.

“So, you don’t want me to make you feel all better?” You tease. Voice soft and feigning concern. You even bat your lashes and squeeze your tits together for him. Then, you sink your hips down slightly, letting his tip nose at your entrance before you lift away again.

Rooster swallows. He manages to nod his head as his hands find your hips. Those pretty brown eyes look up at you, expectant and eager. His hands squeeze around your hips. Your grind yourself along his length, just letting him feel how worked up he’s got you.

“Fuck, of course I do.” Rooster rushes out, his hands finding your hips, giving the skin a firm squeeze. He ruts his cock against you, grinding it against your clit.

You slowly sink down on him, taking in his tip. A soft squeak slips your lips. He squeezes softly at your thighs again. His eyes shut, preventing himself from grabbing your hips and forcing you down to take him in all at once.

Bradley pushes himself up onto his elbows and lifts his chin, lustfully hooded eyes looking up at you as he grabs the back of your neck and guides your mouth to his. He kisses you softly, caressing his tongue against yours. His other hand strokes at your hip.

“You alright?” He whispers against your lips. You have to grab his shoulder tighter, worried for a moment that the sound of his voice alone might send you over the edge. You’re still, just hovering there, with him just barely inside of you.

“Mhm.” You breathe back, resting your chest against his as you sink the rest of the way onto his length. Rooster grabs your hips with both hands and pulls you tight against him, driving himself as deep as he possibly can.

You hit his shoulder, then grab his chin. His brows furrow slightly, confused as you lean in and look him in the eye.

“Hey. Let me.” You demand. He loosens his grip on your hips, smirking softly as he nods for you to do exactly that.

You lift yourself just slightly, rocking back down once again, finding a soft rhythm. Sinking up and down on his length. More full than you’ve ever felt. Head lulled back.

The pain of him stretching you out soon fades. Rooster feels it when it happens. Feels you relax, your walls fluttering around his cock. Each bounce filling you with strong surges of pleasure. You pick up speed, your bodies sloppily colliding.

Sounds of your breathless pleasure filling the empty lodge. Maybe even the forest outside. You couldn’t care less at this moment in time.

You arch your back, grabbing onto his thigh for support as you fuck yourself on him. He squeezes softly at your hips, sliding his hands down to your ass instead. Trying to take a backseat and give you full control.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He groans, throwing his head back against the cushioned arm of the couch. Rooster’s brows knot together, his eyes fluttering shut. Your palms rest against his chest, unashamedly checking him out while he isn’t looking.

You set the pace, taking care of him exactly like you promised to. Fucking your self on his cock, moaning his name like a pornstar. Rooster groans, lip between his teeth. He doesn’t feel sorry for himself anymore. Fucking up his leg is worth it. He’d sit through this pain six times a week if it meant he got to experience this as a result.

His cock twitches, you feel him squeeze your hips tight and slow your pace. He whimpers softly, lifting his head and taking your nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue expertly against the sensitive bud.

His hands grip hard at your ass, pulling you towards him as he squeezes your cheeks between his fingers. He growls lowly, shifting his hips, changing the angle. Letting his cock hit your g-spot each time you come down on him.

Your desperate moans fill the air, mixed with each of his soft grunts. The sounds of your pleasure make him twitch inside you. There’s nothing he loves more than knowing how good he makes you feel.

“‘M not gonna last. You feel so fucking good.” He pants, fingers pressing so hard into your hips that forensics might be able to take a fingerprint sample from your skin later.

“I’m almost there,” You pant, leaning down to kiss his jaw. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He smacks your ass, half-playfully, guiding your hips as you ride him. He presses his heel into the couch and drives his hips up into you as you’re coming back down on him. Just once.

You cry out, then gasp in. He took his lip between his teeth, grabbing both of your hips, guiding you as you bounced on his cock, his eyes on your face as your brow furrowed in pleasure. His eyes glance down to your tits, watching contentedly as they bounce.

“You’re so beautiful,” He groans out, breathing hard. “Look so fucking pretty when you’re all full like this.”

“Yeah?” You breathe out, lifting your hips until his tip is the only thing filling you, then sinking down until he’s nestled fully inside of you, grinding your hips down against him.

“Fuck. Yeah.” Rooster grabs your hips. “Wanna fuck you. Gonna take it like a good girl for me?” You crash your lips hard against his, nodding feverishly.

His hands slide down to your ass, his palm connecting hard with your right cheek, then squeezing at the soft skin with both hands. He presses his heel into the couch for leverage, mouth falling down to kiss at your chest as he fucks into you from below.

You grab onto his shoulders. You take him perfectly, your walls squeezing around his cock as he pounds into you. You fall against his chest, moaning desperately into the crook of his neck as his cock drives into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You aren’t sure, and you’re glad he can’t see your face because you know he’ll never stop teasing if he knows that your eyes just rolled back in your head. His name pools off your tongue like liquid gold.

His hands squeeze at your ass, smacking at your cheek, groaning breathlessly.

“I’m gonna — I’m-“ You can’t manage real words right now. He grabs a handful of your hair and tugs as his other arm tucks around your waist and keeps you steady as he pounds into you.

Earth shattering. It’s the only way to describe it. His soft groans in your ear as he fucks you through potentially the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. Toes curling, eyes shutting, voice faltering. You’re glad you fell against his chest before, because you know you would have outright collapsed if you hadn’t already.

You’re clenching around him, kissing lazily at his neck and whimpering as your sensitive pussy contracts around him.

In a loud groan, you felt him begin to spill into you. You mewled over him, your legs shaking as he kept his speed, his cock sending spurts of hot liquid into you. You whimper as his cock pulses inside of you.

His hands are all over you, not able to focus on any one thing — not able to touch enough of you at once as he comes. Your name spills desperately from his lips as he gives one last, deep spill into you. His thrusts falter, slowing until they stop all together.

He holds you there, against his chest, his cock still in you, until you’ve both caught your breaths. He kisses your temple softly.

“Onomatopoeia.” You say against his throat. You press your lips tiredly to his salty skin.

“Huh?” He clears his throat then swallows, his voice hoarse from moaning your name.

“Onomatopoeia. Literary term for a word describing a sound.” You breathe. He chuckles, his laughter rumbling in his chest and vibrating through you.

“Fuck off.” He scoffs, pushing at your face until you’re barely resting against his shoulder anymore. You smile as you push yourself up, shooting him a playful wink.

You both groan softly as you lift your hips and let him slip out of you. Both of you look down at the cum that drips onto his pelvis as you lift off of him.

“Phoenix would kill us if she knew we fucked on her mother-in-law’s couch.” You whisper, as if it’s suddenly important to keep quiet. Rooster nods his head in agreement as you push yourself up and step into your panties.

“Could you grab me some tissue?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right-“ Your leggings are halfway up your legs, your top half still completely bare when you’re silenced by the sound of a car door slamming. Your eyes go wide.

You grab your shirt and hoodie in your hands and sprint for the bathroom, leaving poor, injured Rooster to fend for himself.

“Wait — where the fuck are you- dammit.” He struggles back into his sweats and rushes his hoodie back over his head. The door to the downstairs bathroom locks behind you. You can’t face your closest friends right now.

Luckily, there’s plenty of gear to get out of the car. They take a good couple of minutes. Rooster stares at the ceiling. He can’t believe you ditched him in his hour of need, with his pants literally around his ankles.

That reminds him, he fixes the compression bandage on top of his sweats that had gotten all messed up during the rush.

“Bradshaw, how’s the knee?” Hangman calls as he swings through the front door, carrying two boards over his shoulder. Rooster pushes himself up on his elbows and peers towards the door over the back of the couch.

“I’m — Yeah. It’s the same.” He calls back.

“Where’s your nurse?” Coyote teases, following right behind Jake. Bradley is reminded of your betrayal.

“Peeing, I think.” Rooster answers. Phoenix and Dani head in. Then Bob and Payback. Then Fanboy, who’s not carrying anything. Mickey walks around and shrugs his coat off, tossing it onto the arm chair.

He looks at Rooster and scrunches his brows, then looks towards the fireplace. “You want me to put that fire out? — You look kinda warm.” Fanboy offers. The sweat beading on Rooster’s forehead gives him away, but Mickey doesn’t suspect anything.

Rooster presses the back of his palm to his forehead, wiping away the sweat that had gathered. He nods his head gratefully. The door to the bathroom unlocks and you step back out, dressed, composed.

Your eyes meet his. Rooster smiles softly, it’s a sweet enough look. But something in those pretty, brown eyes says you’re going to get it once I can walk again.

…

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04/09/2022: i love smart aleck and bradley so so much, every time you write these little blurbs about them my heart grows 3 sizes. I MISS THEM!!! my favorite parts are below the cut ☺️☺️☺️

ps: i’m still laughing at the warning “they fuck but it’s tender and kinda sappy shdhshchhshdhss <3

“would you have told me?” you whispered. “if i didn’t have to pick you up today, would you have told me what happened?”

“no.” bradley didn’t even look at you.” god, i love this concept. you already started with a banger for me. of course he would’ve just gone home and not said a word about the accident. emotionally unavailable beloved!!! and the little repetition of them saying “no” after!!! it hits!!!

“bradley nodded and wordlessly took your hand. he looked so small and young and sad sitting next to you. you brought his hand up to your mouth and kissed it, trying to put all of your love into the simple action.” i am so single it’s getting painful. also: favorite detail!!!!!!!!

“you’re not gonna stay?” he whispered.

“i wasn’t sure if you wanted me to?” you asked in an equally quiet voice. he nodded. “i don’t have any of my stuff with me...”

“we can pull something together, plus it’s friday and i - i don’t want to be alone - i want you - want you to stay.” at this stage in relationship it really feels like stepping on eggs, doesn’t it? but they already like each other so much and after the accident of course he was going to want her to stay 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 this made my heart flutter, i can hear him saying it!!!

“but bradley had asked. and you’d do just about anything bradley asked.” ❤️‍🩹

“you liked it. you liked the house. you liked the coziness it exuded. because you liked bradley. you really liked bradley.” BECAUSE OF HIM!!!!!!!!

“and then he gave you a kiss on the forehead and headed upstairs.” forehead kiss!!!!!! second favorite detail!!!!!! physical touch you will always be famous (especially with bradley)!!!!!!!!! ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

“it’s nothing fancy,” you tried to brush his words off, “i just added some stuff to the sauce you already had and made a salad. you’re the cook.”

he chuckled. “only to impress you - i’m serious, any time you come over for dinner i spend like three days before thinking of what to make. penny actually just gave me a couple cookbooks.” absolutely in love with the hc that bradley KNOWS how to cook. and now you mention he PLANS their dinners 3 DAYS IN ADVANCE??? HE’S READING COOKBOOKS????

the repetition of the you like him so much is killing me. i know what you’re doing, jordan. i know where this is going.

“and then when you finally saw bradley sitting on an exam table with his flight suit tied around his waist, it was like you could breathe again.” !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“you frowned, suddenly, snapped out of your reverie. “how did they know to call me?”

bradley’s cheeks colored and he was looking anywhere but at you. he cleared his throat and eventually looked up. “you’re on my list.” HE WASN’T GONNA TELL HER BUT HAS HER NUMBER ON HIS EMERGENCY LIST??????? JUST IN CASE???????? BRADLEY 😭😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺

“you got up from the table and wrapped your arms around him. he felt like home and you couldn’t help but burrow your face into his neck.” and he feels like home if the shoe fits walk in it everywhere you go ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗

“sweetheart,” he bounced you slightly on his lap, “you know i’m crazy about you, too.” i’m smiling like an idiot.

“and all you kept thinking was bradley bradley bradley.” love this line.

“let me take you upstairs...” he mumbled against your neck, his lips peppering you with kisses and his teeth leaving marks you’d find tomorrow.

“you don’t wanna - do this on the kitchen table?” you pulled back, but didn’t get off his thigh. it impressed you how he was able to support your weight.

bradley squeezed your hips and chuckled. “i’m kinda fond of it - don’t want have to buy a new one after it breaks.” i love their banter!!!!!!! he wants to be a gentleman and take her to bed and of course smart aleck needs to tease him a little!!!! AND THEN HE JUST CASUALLY MENTIONS IT COULD BREAK. AAAAAAAAAAA

AND THEN HE FOLDS THE DRESS?????? ENOUGH!!!!!!!

will not be highlighting the entire smut (as much as i want to) because of the little dignity i still have left but you nail it every time. it’s just perfect and so very them.

“bradley chuckled. “well if you’re gonna beg me...” STOP!!!!!!

“and you loved him. you loved him so much.” THIS LAST LINEEEEEEEEEEEEE. YES.

jordan <333

I can’t decide which scenario would be hotter…. Bradley and smart Alleck fucking before a dangerous mission or Bradley and smart alleck fucking after Bradley almost dies on a mission and thought he would never see her again. (angst is so hot to me??)

oh SHIT - for the latter scenario, i feel like it would be super interesting if it was smart aleck that was the one really effected by it and they’re both kind of like woah since it’s early in their relationship and they haven’t said i love you yet even though they've said everything but it? and it’s her that’s like “fuck you could’ve died and i would’ve never seen you again?” 

i’m envisioning if she has to pick bradley up after he was in medical for observation after the incident and someone (probably mav or phoenix) tells her what actually happened because we all know bradley wouldn’t say anything? and she’s like super quiet on the way back to his place and is the one driving:

warnings - light smut (is that a thing? they fuck but it’s tender? and kinda sappy? but there’s angst in the beginning. anyway sorry for making you wait so long for this)

“would you have told me?” you whispered. “if i didn’t have to pick you up today, would you have told me what happened?”

“no.” bradley didn’t even look at you.

“no?”

“no.”

you scoffed and your hands tightened on the steering wheel. “you don’t think i should know that my - that my boyfriend’s plane crashed into a fucking mountain? that i almost lost - that i might never have seen you again without getting to -” you cut yourself off, not believing you’d almost let the words slip out. 

it was too early.

though bradley finally turned to look at you, he didn’t say anything. you shook your head and then focused back on the road. the rest of the drive, though it was mercifully quick, passed back in silence.

you pulled into his driveway and put the car in park, but didn’t turn it off.

“you have to tell me stuff like that, bradley - and it can be after or before the fact, i don’t care. but if this is going to keep working, you’re going to have to tell me stuff like this.”

he sighed, but it was more weary than exasperated. “i don’t want you to needlessly worry about me -”

“- that’s bullshit. i worry about you every time you go to work - i’d have to be an idiot not to. but i think i worry more when you don’t tell me anything? i’d rather know something than nothing and have to work around your moods like a fucking minefield. there’s two people in this relationship and that means we shoulder the burden together, alright?”

bradley nodded and wordlessly took your hand. he looked so small and young and sad sitting next to you. you brought his hand up to your mouth and kissed it, trying to put all of your love into the simple action. 

“alright.”

“call me later, okay?” you said eventually, loathing having to let him go, but knowing you hadn’t been invited to spend the night - or even inside. you never wanted to overstep or assume. it had barely been three months - hell, he hadn’t even seen you without makeup on yet, to say nothing of inviting yourself over.

when he didn’t respond, you unlocked the doors with a resounding click, but bradley didn’t move. 

“you’re not gonna stay?” he whispered.

“i wasn’t sure if you wanted me to?” you asked in an equally quiet voice. he nodded. “i don’t have any of my stuff with me...”

“we can pull something together, plus it’s friday and i - i don’t want to be alone - i want you - want you to stay.”

you knew you could scrounge together some basic toiletries from your work bag, but didn’t have any clothes in your car besides that morning’s pilates gear. 

but bradley had asked. and you’d do just about anything bradley asked.

“okay.” you turned off the car and the two of you made your way into his house.

you hadn’t been there since sunday morning before the two of you had headed off to torrey pines for the afternoon. but, as usual, bradley’s house was neat and clean and smelled faintly of his tom ford cologne and the stir-fry he’d told you he’d made for dinner last night. 

there was something comforting about his house and the furniture he’d put together - none of it quite matched, not exactly, but it all worked regardless. you liked his worn, brown leather couch and the wide armed oak wood chairs that he’d had shipped from Virginia and that his PS4 was neatly tucked away in his TV cabinet. you liked his massive dinning room table that was just begging to host a dinner party and the kitchen island stocked with practically every kitchen gadget known to man. you liked the white, high thread count sheets he had on his bed and the way he stopped tossing his not-quite-dirty-but-not-quite-clean clothes on the leather chair in his room because you said it looked messy. 

you liked it. you liked the house. you liked the coziness it exuded. because you liked bradley. you really liked bradley.

and today you had almost lost him.

“want me to make you something to eat?” he was looking around the kitchen, but it didn’t seem like he was really focusing on anything. “i can make it while you shower?”

he turned towards you, almost startled. “yeah, that would be good? thanks.”

“cool, just uhh - just holler if you need anything.” and then he gave you a kiss on the forehead and headed upstairs.

while bradley was in the shower, you fished around in his well-stocked refrigerator looking for something to make for dinner. you smiled fondly thinking about how he had way more food - and good food at that - in his fridge than you did in yours. eventually, you decided on some pasta with a side salad.

there were plenty of veggies readily available for you to doctor up the sauce and you had just finished adding the last bit of seasoning to it when bradley came back downstairs.

his hair was still slightly damp and he had thrown on a pair of gym shorts along with a grey UVA crewneck sweatshirt. you felt terribly overdressed in your work clothes.

he came up beside you and peered into the pot. “smells really good.”

“it’s nothing fancy,” you tried to brush his words off, “i just added some stuff to the sauce you already had and made a salad. you’re the cook.”

he chuckled. “only to impress you - i’m serious, any time you come over for dinner i spend like three days before thinking of what to make. penny actually just gave me a couple cookbooks.”

if it was even possible, your heart melted even more. 

you liked him. you liked him so much. 

“really?" he shrugged and ducked his head. “feel like i gotta up my game.”

you strained the pasta and poured the sauce over it and then brought all your plates over to the breakfast nook in the corner. the two of you sat in companionable silence, just letting the events of the afternoon catch up with you. 

it was crazy to think just three hours ago you’d been sitting in your weekly team meeting when your phone lit up with a call from an 858 number. something instinctual had told you to answer it and as soon as the voice on the other end had said we’re calling to inform you that lieutenant commander bradshaw has been in an accident you swept up your laptop and grabbed your tote bag and were out of the building in three minutes. 

the next fifty minutes spent in traffic on I-5 were hell, especially since the number that had called you was only an outgoing number and you hadn’t known what would await you at the med center off base. and then when you finally saw bradley sitting on an exam table with his flight suit tied around his waist, it was like you could breathe again

you liked him. you liked him so much.

pete and natasha had met you in the hallway, telling you there had been an issue with bradley’s engine - the plane had been unsalvageable and he had known to bail out, but the canopy had gotten stuck and he had to eject later than advised, hence the hard landing into a mountainside in the mojave desert. miraculously, he only had a couple scratches and an ice pack on his shoulder. 

he had been lucky. this time.

you frowned, suddenly, snapped out of your reverie. “how did they know to call me?”

bradley’s cheeks colored and he was looking anywhere but at you. he cleared his throat and eventually looked up. “you’re on my list.”

“your list?”

“you know,” he cleared his throat again, “if something happens to me.” your eyes swam with sudden tears, but bradley kept rambling. “i mean, it’s just you - and mav, i mean pete, but he’s normally with me, but yeah. i thought you’d want to know if -”

you got up from the table and wrapped your arms around him. he felt like home and you couldn’t help but burrow your face into his neck. “- bradley -”

he rubbed his hands up and down your back, bunching up your dress. “- which sounds stupid because i literally just told you i don’t want to worry you, but i also want you to know if something bad really does happen to me and i don’t - i don’t walk away with just a sore shoulder.” you squeezed him even tighter, completely ignoring what he’d just said about the sore shoulder.

you liked him. you liked him so much.

“i just didn’t like that you ultimately had to worry for nothing - and i know you said you always worry, so next time something like this happens, i’ll tell you -” you pulled back to glare at him “- not that i’m planning on doing that, but stuff happens.”

bradley sat you on his lap, both your dinners temporarily forgotten. “i know - god, i know.” you cupped his cheek, rubbing your thumb along the scars there. “i just - i guess i didn’t realize how close i was to losing you, not when i - i mean i -”

the words caught in your throat for a moment, but bradley’s hopeful expression spurred you on. “- i like you, bradley - a lot. like a lot a lot. and i guess just knowing something could’ve happened to you when we’re just really getting into this scared me and i probably was a little snappier than necessary, so i’m sorry, i was just scared.”

“sweetheart,” he bounced you slightly on his lap, “you know i’m crazy about you, too.”

and just like that, you couldn’t wait another moment and brought your lips to his, kissing him like it was for the last time. without taking a breath, you straddled yourself across his thigh, sliding yourself in between bradley and the table. his hands slid up your thighs, pushing up your checkered crepe dress so your underwear brushed against his bare leg. 

as his hands snaked underneath your dress, you started grinding yourself on his thigh - wanting to be even closer to him. your back arched, inviting his touch, and you sighed as his fingers kneaded your breasts over your bra. his gorgeous, still damp hair was mussed and fluffy from how your own hands were running through it and he sighed against your mouth.

and all you kept thinking was bradley bradley bradley. 

you liked him. you liked him so much. 

“let me take you upstairs...” he mumbled against your neck, his lips peppering you with kisses and his teeth leaving marks you’d find tomorrow.

“you don’t wanna - do this on the kitchen table?” you pulled back, but didn’t get off his thigh. it impressed you how he was able to support your weight.

bradley squeezed your hips and chuckled. “i’m kinda fond of it - don’t want have to buy a new one after it breaks.”

you giggled. “what about the dishes and -”

“- later, later,” he kissed you twice, “gotta make sure my girl’s taken care of first. make sure she knows how much i care about her.”

the two of you dashed upstairs like a pair of teenagers, bumping into the doorframe once you got to bradley’s room. it reminded you of your first time with him after that fateful first date. you pulled at the back of your dress, trying to pull down the zipper, but bradley beat you to it - carefully sliding the zipper down your back and then folding your dress and carefully laying it on the chair in the corner. 

you moaned. the man had merely folded your dress instead of letting it puddle on the floor and your pussy was practically clenching on air. 

your stupid boy. your stupid sweet, kind, thoughtful boy. 

you liked him. you liked him so much.

the two of you finished getting undressed and laid down on the bed, bradley on top of you, clearly trying to be mindful of his sore shoulder.

his hand slid between your bodies and played with your clit before he slipped two fingers inside you. you whimpered, desperate for him. “that’s my girl, could feel you dripping on my thigh downstairs.”

normally, you would have savored his touch, gotten lost in the foreplay. but tonight you just wanted him - wanted bradley. 

“bubs, i don’t - i just need you inside me...”

he groaned your name. “you’re so - fuck.” he rubbed his cock along your slit, but didn’t put it inside yet. “you’re so wet for me. you want me to lick that pretty pussy of yours? or do you want me to fuck you?” 

you nodded, nuzzling into his neck and pressing butterfly kisses to his shoulder. suddenly, he pinched your clit and you cried out. “gotta use your words - don’t wanna have to ask again...”

“i want you to fuck me,” you whined. “please fuck me.”

bradley chuckled. “well if you’re gonna beg me...” without letting another moment go to waste, he slipped inside you. 

every time bradley fucked you it felt like the first time. and to know that today you were almost robbed of that chance to do this again - to be with him like it was the first time - made you pull him closer, not wanting there to be an inch - a centimeter - separating the two of you. proving to him and proving to yourself that he was there - he was alive and beautiful and good and yours. 

“i can’t believe you’re mine,” bradley whispered against your neck, unknowingly repeating your thoughts.

and you loved him. you loved him so much.

-----------

a/n - that was fun!

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

27/08/2022: MY HEART WILL NEVER FULLY RECOVER FOR THIS!!! i don’t have the words to truly describe what reading this felt like. all i know is that i felt EVERYTHING. so well written, so heart clenching, so sweet and bittersweet at the same time. sol, you have bewitched me body and soul!!! here are my favorite parts of this beautiful story and my stupid commentary because i just can’t help myself:

“This is not a date.” WINNER FOR BEST OPENING LINE.

“You pull out the giant legal notepad you stole from your dad’s study and your favorite ten color shuttle pen, then push down the lever for dark blue ink - for your more serious projects.” i fell in love with her right here!!!

“It’s weird - you’re not used to people being interested in what you have to say.

It’s nice.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“- You want to be friends so I’ll cheer on you at games and tutor you for free?” you interrupt, narrowing your gaze.

But despite your tone being riddled with annoyance, despite the glare you’re now sending his way, Jake sends you an easy smile, serving himself another slice. “Nah, you just seem pretty cool.” THIS WAS SO SWEET????? one would expect high school jake to be just as much an asshole as he is but then you go and make him a sweetheart?????? <3

“Suddenly, Jake’s laughter flows into your ear. “‘Never back down’?” he quotes through a wheeze, and you hold back a smile, this time letting yourself feel the butterflies that come alive in your stomach at the sound of his voice.” the way i’m in love with them already. of course he was gonna teaser her.

“Jake visibly relaxes, almost looking grateful. The foot tapping stops, and he pulls his hand away from his mouth to sling an arm around the booth and send you a signature Jake Seresin smirk.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“- I swear, I’ll break your nose again with one later - ”

“With your aim? Please,” he scoffs, a goofy smile breaking the moment he makes eye contact with you.” I LOVE THE WAY THEY INTERACT!!!!!! BELOVEDS!!!!!!!

“You’ve really gotta stop biting your nails, Jake,” you tease, hoping it’ll relieve some of the tensions that somehow returned, and he rolls his eyes. “If you want to keep your mouth occupied -”

“- You offering? I tell you, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it -”

“Shut up,” you snipe, feeling the heat rush into your cheeks at the suggestion. You shake off your embarrassment.” YOU OFFERTING???? AND THEN HE DARES SAY HE’S THOUGHT ABOUT IT. STOP.

“How about toothpicks?” SHUT UPPPPPPPPPPPPPP FAVORITE DETAIL BECAUSE I ALREADY KNOW WHERE THIS IS GOING!!!!!!!!

“Oh, the ladies are gonna love that,” he laughs, smiling so big now that his eyes crinkle and it feels like someone’s opened a window in this dim restaurant, pushed the sun higher in the sky and bathed your whole body in sunlight.” DAYLIGHT BY TAYLOR SWIFT STARS PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND!!!!! YEP!!!!!!!

“Thanks for putting up with me for two years,” he tells you seriously. And you shake your head with a smile, can sense the emotions well up in your eyes, feel your heart beating faster.” they’re the sweetest ever!!!!!

“- You should’ve seen him during basic - had all these things pinned up on his wall, always reading your letters at breakfast with a puppy dog face. Honestly thought you were his sweetheart or something- Ow!” BOY OBSESSED!!!!!! AND HE DOESN’T EVEN REALIZE IT!!!!!!!

“Yeah, Hangman. Which is stupid, because he honestly sucks at the game -” 

“- I don’t,” Jake hotly defends, sits up in his seat and crooks an accusatory finger in your direction. “You’re the one that does weird ass long words. No one’s gonna guess - what was it? Gerrymandering?” yes. she does long ass words and jake does short ones.

“Hey sweetheart,” you hear Jake say and your heart skips a beat, a smile forming at the familiar name as you press send on your message. Your surging warmth is immediately extinguished as you look up from your phone and see that Jake’s not speaking to you at all, not even looking your way. Instead, he’s shifted his entire body to face a gorgeous woman who’s stopped by your booth and is currently looking at him with a sweet smile.” IF YOU COULD SEE THE SMILE FADING FROM MY FACE!!!!!! IF YOU ONLY COULD SEE ME DEFLATING!!!!! this was cruellllllllllll.

“There’s just the tiniest whisper of anxiety that wonders if there’s something wrong with you for rarely engaging in hookup culture, for not feeling comfortable enough to have meaningless flings. The one time you took a step out of your comfort zone and hooked up with a stranger, your walk of shame felt like a daze - inside, you were empty, despondent. A part of you envies Imani and the mysterious Priya for being able to cast aside their emotions so easily, fall into bed with a stranger, step out the next morning without feeling like they’re missing a part of themself.” ouch. felt this one really deep in my soul. the way you put this feeling into words… yeah.

“And now, your feelings just sit with you, tethering you to the impossible dream of knowing Jake as so much more.” SOBBING.

“All this to say, you can’t be angry with Jake or any of these women. It’s not a crime for him to want to sleep around. You just wish you had the courage to tell him it’s not entirely victimless.” IT’S NOT ENTIRELY VICTIMLESS!!!!!!!!!! BREAK MY HEART!!!!!!

“There’s quite a few girls back home who’d be shattered to hear this,” you tease instead, ignoring the way your stomach is dropping low, the way your appetizer is slowly creeping up your esophagus.” i love how you wrote this it’s breaking my heart but i love it.

“You’ll always be my number one girl, though.” and then he says this??????????? BUT SHE REALLY LIKES HIM AND HE DOESN’T KNOW AND IT HURTS-

THEIR 10TH ANNIVERSARY I’M CRYING YOU GUYS ARE PRATICALLY MARRIED AT THIS POINT FOR CELEBRATING STUPID “FRIENDSHIP” ANNIVERSARIES THIS IS RIDICULOUS SOMEONE PLEASE TELL THEM THEY ARE IN LOVE.

“The moment you stepped outside of your building to meet him, he’d rushed to lift you in a giant bear hug, like no time apart had even passed. And the whole night, the two of you chat about anything and everything- he fills you in on his assignment and about something he’s gunning for called Top Gun, and you tell him about an upcoming project covering creative renewal in Beirut - you both nod along as best as you can while the other speaks.” i love the little detail about both of them nodding along as best as they can!!!! for encouragement!!!! they love each other and they wanna listen to what the other has to say!!!!!

“The wine you had with dinner has loosened up your movements - typically, you have to move through the city streets with big strides and purpose - like you’ve got somewhere to be and you’re already ten minutes late. But with Jake, there’s no timetable, no place you have to hurry to reach. Right now, the only thing on your agenda is to stand next to Jake in the middle of the sidewalk outside of this fancy restaurant and appreciate the moments you have with him.” this reminded me of one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite books: “For a few moments, we just smile at each other. It’s the least awkward extended eye contact of my life. It feels like we’ve both signed on for the same activity, and this is it: existing, at each other.” it’s from book lovers by emily henry. i just love the idea of EXISTING with someone and that being enough. this whole paragraph has my heart!!!!!

“We can just take the F train back to my place. If you’re okay walking?” you reply fuzzily, looking up at him with a messy grin. Jake’s sweet expression catches you off guard - hazel green eyes locked on you, his sweet smile etching a dimple deeper into his cheek, like Michaelangelo himself carved it. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you become all too aware of the feeling of his hand squeezing your hip, the warmth of his forearm around your lower back, the way his chest is just barely brushing your shoulder and yet still manages to heat you up from head to toe.” LIKE MICHAELANGELO HIMSELF CARVED IT SHUT UP!!!!!! i can visualize this entire scene playing out in my head. it’s beautiful.

”But he doesn’t know that it’s not the three glasses of wine you had at dinner that’s intoxicated you this much, that’s made your mind feel lighter than air and your heart ten times fuller. It’s all Jake - Jake - who’s looking at you like you’re the only thing on his mind, the only person in the world, the only one who matters.” IT’S ALL JAKE!!!!!!!

“This time, you’re completely mesmerized by the way the streetlights hit the flecks of green in his eyes, the way his pupils look slightly dilated, the way his gaze darts down for a split second to your lips and right back up to meet your heated look. If you weren’t drunk you’d fall right into the moment, lean right in and press your mouth to his like you’ve always wanted to, let his perfectly brilliant teeth clash with yours. Maybe see for yourself if you can taste cinnamon on his tongue.

But you are incredibly drunk right now, and that’s no way to kiss him for the first time. So you pull your head back ever so slightly. “I think I just need to walk off the alcohol for a bit,” you shoot him a sloppy grin, still managing to lose yourself in those fucking beautiful eyes.” THE TENSIONNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!

“Can you carry me on your back? Please?” STOOOOOOOOOOOP 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“I think you might be the love of my life,” you murmur sleepily.

Silence. Jake doesn’t stop walking, doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t even say it back. So maybe you were too quiet, or perhaps you completely imagined saying it at all.

Because it’s unlike Jake to let you have the last word.” HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME??????? SHE CONFESSES!!!!!! AND HE DOESN’T SAY ANYTHING BACK!!!! BECAUSE IT’S UNLIKE DAKE TO LET YOU HAVE THE LAST WORD????? I GASPED!!!!

“At this point, it feels like this anniversary is all that’s tethering him to you.” i’m suffering.

“Maybe if we’re both still single by the time we’re forty, we get hitched,” you muse, only half joking.” AND THEN HE DOESN’T PLAY ALONG?!!!!!! I AM IN SO MUCH PAIN RIGHT NOW.

“The extra bubbly you’ve consumed pushes you to question him, to finally figure out why he’s so resistant to letting himself be loved.” 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

“He grits out your name warningly, arching a brow and gripping his glass tight. You run the risk of it shattering if you keep pushing. But that’s the least of your worries; right now, you’re blind with hurt. How can he just dismiss you like it’s nothing? How can he close himself off so easily?” a perfect paragraph.

“We do our separate things, sweetheart. We call a couple times a year and meet up on the same weekend to do the same dinner and yeah, that’s nice. It’s great. But that doesn’t mean you know me as well as you think you do. Quit grilling me - I’m not just a sad story for you to write about.” pain.

“Another part of you wants to storm off and leave him behind, but you’re not sure if you want to face the reality that he might not follow, might not chase after you with apologies and promises to soothe the burn from his words.” THE FACT THAT HE MIGHT NOT FOLLOW??????? THAT HE WOULDN’T CHASE HER?????? I’M VOMITING!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

“It feels an awful lot like using thimbles to catch roof leaks.” i love this comparison.

“You can’t say things like that, Jake,” you tell him, your voice surprisingly steady, rock solid. “You’re my best friend, and you can’t speak to me that way.” SHE IS RIGHT!!!!

“- That’s fine!” you gesticulate dramatically, too overwhelmed with frustration to let your hands remain still. “But you don’t have to be an ass about it! You don’t have to minimize our friendship like this! God, Jake, what has it been? Twelve years? Twelve years of loving you, supporting you, celebrating anniversaries -” You cut yourself off, realizing what just bubbled forth from of your mouth.” TWELVE YEARS OF LOVING YOU!!!!!!!!!!! YEAH!!!!!!!

“I love you, Jake,” you say. Like you’re stating a fact, common knowledge for everyone and their mother. The sky is blue, the world isn’t flat, and you’re in love with Jake Seresin.” one of my favorite lines!!!!!!!! the sky is blue!!!!!! the world isn’t flat!!!!!!! and you’re in love with jake seresin!!!!!!!!

“Jake looks up, his face contorted into a look of pain, eyes void of its usual light. Inhales sharply. “I know.” THIS CAUGHT ME SO OFF GUARD I KNOW HE HEARD HER THAT NIGHT IN NEW YORK BUT I THOUGHT MAYBE HE WOULD’VE BRUSHED IT OFF BECAUSE SHE WAS DRUNK. THIS IS HURTING ME.

“Oh.” You shrink back, and the realization he’s held onto this for two years hits you like a truck. Jake is silent, hands now shoved into his pockets as he awaits your next few words. “And... you have nothing else to say to that?” stopstopstop i’m gonna cry.

“We wouldn’t work.” YOU DON’T KNOW THAT. STOP SELF-SABOTAGING!!!!!!

“His words make you freeze and your anxiety screams out ‘I told you so!’ in a manner that echoes thunderously throughout your brain. This unrequited love is something you’ve always expected, always prepared yourself for, yet you never gave it much further thought to safeguard your heart.” oh her insecurities coming back to bite her!!!!!!!! 😔

“but is it fair for you to be mad at him? For not loving you the way you desperately want him to?” I HATE THAT WE CAN’T BE FULLY MAD AT HIM BECAUSE THIS IS TRUE AND I LOVE THAT YOU PUT THE QUESTION IN HERE BUT I AM SO SAD!!!!!!!!

“I believe you stipulated that I had to dance to at least one song,” Jake holds out a hand, looking at you almost hopefully. As if the last few minutes hadn’t completely shattered your heart and sent the pieces flying away with the wind.” and then she refuses the dance!!!! oh my heart!!!!! i feel like the normal direction of a scene like this would be for her to dance with him “one last time” but you take us by surprise and it becames even more heartbreaking!!!!!!!!!!!

“Internally, your heart is deflating, sending slight tremors throughout your body. But you can’t have Jake know that, can’t have him feel even worse about this, won’t have him feeling an ounce of guilt for something so out of his control.” another one of my favorite lines!!!!!!!!!

“and you feel like you might have kicked a pebble that’s about to precipitate an avalanche.” oh.

“They’re not Jake.” 😫😫😫😫😫😫😫

“It’s not the fact that they gave you spearmint kisses when you’ve always craved cinnamon.” NOT THIS LITTLE DETAIL I AM CRYING PLEASE STOP.

“Actually, no. I don’t think I can move forward as just friends,” you rush out, and admittedly, it feels like you’re ripping off a bandaid but the sting feels more like an ache.” i feel like i’ve been run over by a truck.

“You’re also drunk, and dialing a number you know by heart.” HERE WE GOOOOOOOO.

“Even though a part of me wanted you to change your mind and chose me over not having me. Does that make any sense?” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“Even if we’re different people - I would’ve loved getting to know every version of you.” PROBABLY ONE OF THE MOST ROMANTIC LINES I’VE EVER READ!??!!!!!

“So rest assured, I’ll be okay without you, Seresin. In case you were worried. But no matter what, this day will always remain special to me. You’ll always be special to me.”  AND NOW I’M CRYING BECAUSE IF YOU DIDN’T WRITE IT IT MEANS HE DIDN’T CALL HER THAT DAY.

“That’s all. You settle for keeping him in your footnotes, for cherishing the memory of who he used to be.” so much pain. depression.

“Hey, darlin’,” you hear Jake’s easy tone flow through the speakers, and despite all the growth you’ve endured, despite all the lessons you’ve etched into your heart, your brain turns to mush.” yeah, there’s no resisting when it’s the love of your life. 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“How’s San Diego?” - “Can you buzz me up?” you both speak at the same time, and his answer makes you freeze, makes time suspend for a few seconds as if you’re floating outside of your own body.” THE WAY MY STOMACH DROPPED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I GASPED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HAVING VISCERAL REACTIONS OVER HERE!!!!!!!!! ROMCOM EXCELLENCE!!!!!!!!!!!!! FAVORITE SCENE!!!!!!!!!

“He snorts on the other end. “S’not like the Queen of England is coming. It’s just me.”

“Somehow, I think that’s worse,” you muse, leaning against your hallway wall and hovering your finger over the button to let him in. If hearing his voice has put you this much on edge, you can’t imagine what it’ll do to you if you see him in person.” i love them. i love them. i love them.

“You pause for a moment, absorb his words and feel a twinge of hurt upon the realization that you weren’t kept in the loop, that you never even knew you stood a chance at losing him. Before the emotions can rattle you too much and send you spiraling with anxious thoughts and what ifs, he explains further..” the way he just decides to drop this bomb on their laps… jaaaaaaake…

“It’s a mix of sadness and anger and disappointment and you try your best to hold off on the tornado, but it rips your soul to shreds the more you realize the gravity of the situation. “You’re fucking kidding me,” you grit out, pressing your lips together to barricade the sobs. Your hands are tightly wrapped around a throw pillow, squeezing and kneading out your frustration on it. You can barely stand to look at him.  “Took you a near death experience to call me? You think I haven’t already put myself through the fucking wringer after feeling so guilty for cutting you off just because you were too scared to love me? And you almost died?” I’M ONCE AGAIN SAYING: I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS PARAGRAPH!!!!!!!!! I FEEL THE FRUSTRATION WITH HER!!!!!!!!! SO MUCH ANGST!!!!!!

“Few months back. And I’m sorry for not calling you. I wanted to as soon as I got back, but I wanted to say all this face to face. And it took some time for me to figure out my shit, but I’m here now, if you’ll hear me out?” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

“After all these years, I think you know me better than I know myself.” YEP!!! ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

“You halt, feel a wave of déjà vu. The words on the tip of your tongue sound eerily familiar to something that’s replayed in your mind for the past two years, and a couple puzzle pieces start to fit together. “Is this why you were spouting all of this bullshit at the wedding? About us changing?” OH JAKE HAS ALWAYS BEEN JUST AS INSECURE AS SHE WAS MY HEART IS BREAKING!!!!!!! IT’S ALL BECAUSE OF HIS TRAUMA!!!!!!! BABY!!!!!!!

“Briefly, you wonder when his nervous tics changed in the past few years, when did he switch from bouncing his legs under tables to wearing a path into carpets?

People change indeed. In more ways than one.” i love that she noticed!!! i love that you tell is that she noticed it!!!

“- I’ve kept up,” Jake interrupts. You stop in your tracks, tilt your head to the side as you process this. “I wanted to read them.” STOPSTOPSTOPSJFJSJDSHFDHHDDHDH OF COURSE HE’S KEPT UP!!!!!! BELOVED!!!!!!!! HE LOVES HER SO MUCH!!!!!!

“And I think I’m starting to understand what you meant in your voicemail about the... conglomeration stuff. Loving every version of me. Because I really feel the same way about you.” JAKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

“It’s ambiguous, a little mysterious, his words a little stilted and broken, and you replay his words over and over to try and dig up the meaning behind them. But he’s taking another step towards you - if you reach out, you can certainly reach up and run your finger across the small bump in his nose from that football all those years ago. Hold his cheek in your hand like you've always wanted to.” BEAUTIFUL.

“I don’t know when it happened,” he’s saying, and it makes your heart thud a million miles a minute, makes you want to pinch yourself. “I can’t remember it for the life of me. But I think about the moment I realized it - when you said it to me four years ago. And I regret not saying anything back every fucking day.” SCREAMING AND CRYING AND THROWING UP AND PASSING OUT AND THERE ARE FIREWORKS GOING OFF

“Your heart stumbles, crushes up against the front of your ribcage as it tries to peek out at the man you’ve loved since you were seventeen.” OKAY!!!!!!! *THIS* IS MY FAVORITE LINE!!!!!!!!!!!!! HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!!

“Jake tastes like cinnamon, just as you’ve always suspected. Aside from that, nothing about the way you love Jake is predictable. Nothing is ever steady, nothing is ever expected. Every moment with him brings forth a new set of revelations that drives you crazy, tears you to pieces. And somehow, it’s all incredibly worth it, worth the brief heartbreak, worth the years of hoping and waiting for him to join you. Because in the end, he made it. In this moment, it feels like everything is just right.” treacherous vibes <333333333 their happy ending!!!!!!!!!!!! my heart is pure jelly!!!!!!

i went through so many emotions while reading this!!!! right where you left me is one of the most heartbreaking songs in the world to me and then you write something so beautiful inspired by it, and you go and break my heart and patch it all together!!!! i’ll be thinking about story for a long time. JAKE AND PULITZER I LOVE YOU!!!!

you left me no choice but to stay here forever (right where you left me)

masterlist

pairing: jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader (hotshot journalist!reader) 

synopsis: you and jake have been best friends for years and eventually he becomes the love of your life - which makes it that much harder to cope when he starts pulling away with no explanation

wc: 14k (yoo I think I actually may'd)

warnings: angst with a happy ending, explicit language, pining, supposedly unrequited love, kinda sad feels, reader wearing heels.

A shoutout to gretagerwigsmuse and @seasonsbloom - I wouldn't have gotten through this fic period, let alone begun writing in the first place without them. Please check out their writing, send them a sweet message or two <3

AGE SIXTEEN (pages turn and stick to each other)

This is not a date. 

On a crisp Wednesday in October - well, as crisp as it can get in Texas - you find yourself sitting across from your high school’s running back in a greasy booth at your town’s renowned pizza parlor. And even though he’s objectively the hottest guy in your grade - not to mention the fact that he’s kind, well-liked amongst your peers, almost too charming for his own good - there’s no way you would ever go on a date with Jake Seresin. 

For that matter, you’re not even friends. The only reason he’s even here is because you managed to pique his interest with the promise of a free meal in exchange for an interview for the school newspaper. So even though he held the door open for you and let you choose the side of the booth to sit in and even insisted on getting your favorite pizza toppings, you’re not going to let it distract you from doing your job.  

You had been invited to join the school newspaper team in August, but you had yet to write a story featured in the paper. By some stroke of luck, Newsteam President Joe thought you were ready to handle your own solo project: a profile on one of your school’s football players. And while you aren’t exactly thrilled to interview Westwood High School’s star running back you’re determined to deliver a moving, heart wrenching piece about #25 and the trials and tribulations of high school football that’ll have Joe reaching for tissues.  

No one needs to know that you’ve never even been to a football game in your life. 

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” you tell Jake briskly after your waitress walks away after passing you your drinks. You pull out the giant legal notepad you stole from your dad’s study and your favorite ten color shuttle pen, then push down the lever for dark blue ink - for your more serious projects. 

The boy in front of you nods once, stretching both arms out on either side of him to rest on the back of the booth, eyes darting around. “Sure.” 

“So...” you start, then trail off, eyes scanning the list of questions you’d meticulously drafted the night before. You decide to start from the very beginning: “What can you remember about the first time you played with a football?” you ask, and Jake shrugs his shoulders. 

“Blood,” he says simply, and you wrinkle your nose. 

“What? Blood?” 

“Yeah. I was six. My dad was trying to teach me how to catch the ball, and ma kept telling him to use the foam ones but he said they didn’t spiral as well. Ended up pelting a pigskin at me and clocked me right on the nose. I can still feel a bump here,” you briefly look up from rapidly transcribing to watch him idly rub the bridge of his nose with his index finger. 

You nod, scrawling down the details, mentally planning out how you could possibly fit this into an article and thinking of potential titles. Child gets pelted with a football and vows revenge. Becomes Westlake’s Star RB. Pathetic. 

“So you’ve been playing since you were six?” you try to establish a timeline. “Ten years?” 

“No. I joined a youth league when I was nine,” Jake corrects. He doesn’t elaborate. 

You sigh, tapping your pen on your legal pad idly, then another question catches your eye. “What do you enjoy most about football?” you flip over to a clean page and smooth it out, not missing the flash of incredulity on Jake’s face. 

“You kidding? No offense, but these questions suck,” he snickers, and your shoulders sag as you flip back to scan your messy notes. “Do you even want to be doing this little interview?” 

“Do you?” you throw back, angrily, nervously clicking your pen as you try and figure out how you’re going to salvage this meeting, reaching into the crevices of your mind to craft a less sucky, more thought-provoking question. 

The one thing you know about conducting an interview is asking the right question, one that will unleash your subject to go off on their own path and tell their story the way they want to. This way, you find that you get the most details, the most honest perspective. And so far, all you had from Jake was a stupid story about a childhood injury doesn’t lend itself to writing a tear-jerking profile. 

Jake’s smirk doesn’t waver and after a few moments of silence, he relents. “I was promised free pizza. What’s in it for you?” 

You sigh and rest your head back against the worn pleather of the booth seat, squeeze your eyes shut, tighten your grip on your pen as you deliberate his question. “Will you answer my questions if I tell you?” 

“If they’re better questions, yeah.” 

You shoot him a quick glare, then let out a resigned sigh and click your pen, setting it down on top of your scribbled notes. “First off, I hate football. Never even seen a game.” 

“Seriously?” Jake says and folds his arms together to lean in closer over the sticky tabletop. “We live in Texas. You’ve never even watched a game on TV?” 

You shrug ambivalently. “No, it never really caught my interest. I mean, what’s there to watch? Someone screams out a bunch of numbers and then you all just charge at each other to wrestle for five seconds while a stupidly shaped ball gets tossed around? And don’t even get me started on your weird scoring system-” 

“- It makes sense if you actually commit to watching it!” Jake defends hotly, crossing his arms over his chest and looking like he’s trying his hardest to fight a pout. “Why’d they even put you on this article? Doesn’t seem like you give a damn about writing football.” 

“I don’t,” you agree, sitting up straight and daring to look him straight in the eye. At this point, you don’t care how little you know about the stupid sport - you just want Jake to answer your questions so that you can go home and cobble together something, anything to show Joe that you can handle writing your own opinion pieces. “But Joe said if I write a great profile, he’ll print my story about the cafeteria workers.” 

Jake pauses, mentally chews your words. “Seems like he set you up, then, darling,” - your surprise at the sweet name is overtaken by the harsh reality check - “Seeing as he asked you to interview me when you’ve never even been to a game.” 

A wave of clarity washes over you. You didn’t think about it that way - that Joe might have intentionally put you on this project just to watch you struggle, so he could easily shut down your other ideas. You deflate, shrinking into yourself, and your solemn expression suddenly has Jake shaking his head and trying to backpedal.

“Look - hey. I’m sorry. I’m sure... Maybe he’s just testing you to see if you can write things out of your element. Isn’t that the mark of a good newspaper... writer?” 

It kind of makes sense, but the first reason hurts more, resonates with you, and opens the door for self-doubt to stride right in. With how hard you had to fight tooth and nail to even be offered a spot on the school news team, it’s easy to imagine they didn’t want to make things easy for you. Suddenly, you find yourself questioning your writing ability, wondering if you’re really cut out for this. You shrug. “Yeah, maybe.” 

Jake purses his lips, drumming his fingers again on the tabletop. “What’s the story with the cafeteria workers?” 

At this, you perk up slightly, straightening your back and halting your anxious pen tapping. “There’s just been lots of wages being cut, some layoffs early this year and now they’re being asked to work overtime and the supervisors keep changing the schedule around and giving them such a hard time for wanting to take time off. I think they let someone go because they wouldn’t come in when they had the flu. Can you believe that? Someone was literally sick and didn’t go to work in a kitchen where they could easily infect the whole school. And Sandra - you know Sandra the cashier? She told me they’re all planning to walk out in two weeks, which I think is really admirable - but honestly, I think they need someone to talk about their complaints y’know? Let their voices be heard?” 

You stop, finally realizing that you’d been rambling for the better half of a minute about a topic the star running back probably couldn’t care less about. But to your surprise, he’s listening intently, nodding encouragingly, looking contemplative. It’s weird - you’re not used to people being interested in what you have to say. 

It’s nice. 

“Sounds like you’re a lot more keyed up about this story than stupid football,” he finally says with a half smile, and you push down the warm feeling it ignites. 

“Yeah,” you clear your throat and shift uncomfortably, bashfully. “It’s just... It’s what I want to do. Write about real people and real events. Give the silenced a voice. Which I know, it sounds kind of cheesy and idealistic and quixotic - but I don’t care. I just want to make a difference. Maybe win a Pulitzer Prize, I don’t know.”

His eyebrows furrow - maybe he doesn’t know what a Pulitzer is - but he nods thoughtfully. “I mean... Don’t really know what quixotic means, but I don’t think you’re being cheesy. Speaking of cheese, though...” his eyes flit over your shoulder.  

Your waitress interrupts, setting down a large pizza with the toppings of Jake’s choice. He eagerly loads two slices onto his plate and continues his train of thought: “Tell you what: how about I give you a hand with the article? I’ll tell you what you need to know about football, at least.” 

“You’d do that for me?” you ask, and you’re honestly shocked he didn’t just brush off your whole rant about your hopes and dreams, amazed that he’s even offered to help. 

He shrugs and swallows the huge bite he’d taken. “‘Course - but in exchange, you’ll have to go to our games. You know, all my friends come to support me.” 

You first open your mouth to object to having to watch football - then close it, sending him an incredulous look. “We’re friends?” you ask dumbly. 

He shifts, looks the tiniest bit bashful, busies himself with the straw in his drink. “I mean... I’d like to be. Who knows, maybe you’ll be famous one day or you could help me with my English essays - ”

“- You want to be friends so I’ll cheer on you at games and tutor you for free?” you interrupt, narrowing your gaze.

But despite your tone being riddled with annoyance, despite the glare you’re now sending his way, Jake sends you an easy smile, serving himself another slice. “Nah, you just seem pretty cool.” 

-- 

By another stroke of luck, you manage to pump out a puff piece about Jake Seresin - something along the lines of how the first time #25 threw a football was the moment he resolved to never back down after the first hit, to wipe the sweat and blood from his face and keep pushing forward. Joe is more than impressed with the quality of your work - almost surprised, you annoyedly observe - and agrees to run the profile for the following week’s issue, just in time for Westlake’s playoff game. 

On Monday evening, you’re reviewing your interview notes with Sandra the Cashier at your kitchen table when suddenly, the landline rings. “Hello?” you answer, anticipating it to be one of your parents’ friends calling to gossip. The line is silent for a few moments, and you clear your throat to try again. “Anyone there?” 

Suddenly, Jake’s laughter flows into your ear. “‘Never back down’?” he quotes through a wheeze, and you hold back a smile, this time letting yourself feel the butterflies that come alive in your stomach at the sound of his voice. 

“You didn’t give me much to work with for your story!” you tell him with a small giggle. “So I managed to pull this together, and I’d say it’s a heart clencher - a tear jerker, even. Joe’s happy, at least.” 

“He gonna let you write that other thing?” 

“About the cafeteria workers? Working on it right now, actually,” you tell him, twirling the phone coil around your finger idly. 

“Well darling,” Jake says and you feel your heart skip a beat at the sweet name, at the sound of mirth filling his voice, at the memory of his smiling eye crinkles that involuntarily flashes in your mind. “I’ll hold onto this profile, hang it in my gym locker. But let me know when they print that union thing. I’d like to hold onto a future Pyoo-litzer Prize winner’s first ever real story.”

“Pulitzer,” you correct him, and despite your writing hand hurting terribly from all the notes you’ve been scribbling and the slight twinge of a headache from your eyes straining, your heart feels full as ever as you chat with Jake - your new friend -  into the late hours of the night.  

AGE EIGHTEEN (wages earned and lessons learned)

Almost two years later, you find yourself seated across from Jake at your town’s fanciest Italian restaurant. It’s been a while since your waiter has checked in to take your meal orders, but his absence easily slips your mind as the two of you gossip while munching on garlicky breadsticks that are way chewier than you’d like.

After a lull in the conversation, you take a deep breath. “How’s your mom doing?” you carefully ask, taking a sip of your coke to avoid tacking on more words, to fight the urge to add more useless attempts at hopeful sentiments.

Jake shrugs, unbothered, nonchalant. “She’s holding up.” 

You wait for him to elaborate, but he just drums his fingers on top of the white tablecloth impatiently, turning his head to glance behind him at the swinging door to the kitchen. “Have you... spoken to your dad?” you probe, and while Jake doesn’t react harshly like you expect, his hand momentarily freezes. 

“No,” he finally says. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk to him.” 

“Right,” you pause. “Do you think you ever will?”  

Jake heaves out a sigh and turns back to face you, idly chewing at a hangnail. Your fingers twitch and you hold yourself back from reaching out to pull his hand away from his mouth. “There’s not much to say, really. They were married, and now they’re not.”

You nod slowly, taking another sip of your drink, briefly lamenting the fact that it’s now just melted ice with a dash of soda. “How are your sisters?” 

Again, he shrugs. “Fine. I’m driving them around a whole lot. Kinsey won’t come out of her room, but that’s no different than usual. They won’t talk to him either.” 

He’s silent, doesn’t seem to want to say much else, instead tries to play off his nervousness by taking another large gulp of his drink and shifting his eyes to watch the Cowboys game playing on the tiny TV behind the bar. But you can tell he’s gotten himself worked up by the way you can feel his foot tapping impatiently under the table, the way he presses his finger harder into his teeth, by virtue of knowing Jake so well. 

So you change the subject. “Are we doing this every year now, then? A friendship anniversary?” you ask. 

Jake visibly relaxes, almost looking grateful. The foot tapping stops, and he pulls his hand away from his mouth to sling an arm around the booth and send you a signature Jake Seresin smirk. “Of course - gotta celebrate the day you learned about football - ” 

“- I swear, I’ll break your nose again with one later - ” 

“With your aim? Please,” he scoffs, a goofy smile breaking the moment he makes eye contact with you. 

You roll your eyes. “Plan B is always my fists. Anyway, how do you think we’ll even keep up every year while I’m at school and you’re at the Academy?” 

“I’ll visit you at Columbia - and before you say it, shut up. You’re getting in, Miss Pulitzer. As for the Academy... Depends on whether I even apply.”

“Why wouldn’t you apply?” you ask, even though you’re sure you know the answer, ready to pour out words of affirmation, tell him that there’s no way they’d turn him down. 

“Not sure if I’d get in,” - bingo, but he follows up with something that stuns you - “And I think I might want to stick around here for a bit. Take care of the family for a bit.” 

You’re not sure what to say to that, exactly. Because you were prepared to jump into a supportive best friend mode: reassure him that he’s a shoo-in, remind him of his accomplishments, deliver your long-winded ramble of uplifting words that’ll make your mouth feel like you’re chewing cotton by the end of it. But that’s not what Jake needs right now. 

“I don’t think your Ma would want you to do that, Jake,” you say quietly. “She wouldn’t want you to abandon your dreams just to take care of her.” 

He stretches his arms back, rolls his neck out hard enough so that his joins sound like crackling rice krispies in the silence. “She’d never ask me to. But I don’t want her to have a hard time, make her shoulder the burden.” 

“Knowing her, she wouldn’t want to unload anything onto you, Jake,” you tell him firmly, sitting up straight in an attempt to look more certain, strong. “You’ve wanted this for such a long time. Don’t let your dad ruin this for you - I know a part of you wants to stick it to him or something. But fuck that, Jake. If you put your dreams on hold, you’ll regret it. You have to do this for yourself.” 

“Yeah... I guess,” he trails off, still sounding uncertain, but a little less subdued. His hand lifts up and he’s again gnawing at the raw skin on his fingers.

“You’ve really gotta stop biting your nails, Jake,” you tease, hoping it’ll relieve some of the tensions that somehow returned, and he rolls his eyes. “If you want to keep your mouth occupied -” 

“- You offering? I tell you, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it -” 

“Shut up,” you snipe, feeling the heat rush into your cheeks at the suggestion. You shake off your embarrassment. “How ‘bout chewing gum?” 

“Hate gum,” Jake pouts. “Makes my jaw hurt.” 

“You’re such a baby. Lollipops?” 

“Charles would hate me,” he replies, and you internally roll your eyes at him calling his dentist by his first name. His sincere dedication to exceptional dental health and maintaining his teeth was sure to win him the best smile Senior superlative. “If your next suggestion is smoking -”

“- It’s not!” you glare. “How about toothpicks?” 

“You want me to roll a sharp piece of wood in my mouth? Sounds delightful,” he drawls sarcastically, and you scoff, turning your eyes to look up at the ceiling. 

“Better than sticking your fingers in your mouth all the damn time. What are you, two?” 

“I’m a ten, thank you very much.” 

“You’re insufferable,” you groan out, fighting back the urge to smile. “You won’t stay a ten if you rip your fingers apart though, Jake. You should give it a try. They have flavored toothpicks, too.” 

He ponders this with narrowed eyes, pulls his hand away from his mouth to lay it flat on top of the table to examine his cuticles carefully. “Think they have cinnamon?” 

“Probably. Would keep your mouth fresh too.” 

“Oh, the ladies are gonna love that,” he laughs, smiling so big now that his eyes crinkle  and it feels like someone’s opened a window in this dim restaurant, pushed the sun higher in the sky and bathed your whole body in sunlight. You laugh along with him, rest your elbows on the table to prop your head up and just look at him, appreciate him as a boy who offered to help you within the first hour of knowing you, a man who’s willing to give up his aspirations to care for the people he loves. Your best friend who stopped giving you butterflies a long time ago and now brings you a feeling of comfort, of warmth. Of home. 

Suddenly, Jake reaches across the table, palm facing up. You eye it carefully, slowly sliding your hand into his. “You good?” 

“Thanks for putting up with me for two years,” he tells you seriously. And you shake your head with a smile, can sense the emotions well up in your eyes, feel your heart beating faster. 

“Of course,” you breathe out. “Thanks for always supporting me.” 

“Always,” he parrots back. “Anything for a future Pew-litzer Winner.” 

You huff out a wet laugh, and the two of you just sit there across from each other, smiling like idiots until finally, with your vision slightly blurred and your hand still squeezing his across the table, you glance around for your waitress who has yet to make an appearance. “You wanna just... go get some pizza?” 

“God, yes,” Jake agrees, immediately moving to stand up. “Think we can find some toothpicks on the way?” 

AGE TWENTY-THREE (she’s still 23, inside her fantasy, how it was supposed to be)

The October after you graduate from Columbia and Jake’s graduated from the Academy, you visit him in Pensacola in a bar that’s packed to the brim with patrons in Navy-issued khakis. You find yourself in a booth across from Jake, snacking on greasy bar eats and nursing some shitty beers. 

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me to your date, Hangman?” a dark-skinned, intimidatingly handsome man in uniform leans against your table and looks down at you with a grin that could rival a hyena’s. You glance over at Jake, who rolls his eyes. 

“Coyote,” Jake says admonishingly, flips a toothpick between his teeth, but goes on to introduce you. “This is my best friend from back home.”

You wave awkwardly, pondering where his callsign may have come from - unless that was his birth name, in which you’d love to have a quick interview with his parents. Coyote raises his eyebrows and slides into the booth next to Jake, subsequently pushing him closer to the wall and rests both elbows on the table. “So you’re Jake’s friend? With all the articles?” 

You whip your head to look at Jake, who’s bearing a sheepish grin with his cheeks getting slightly pinker. His hand raises up to rub the back of his neck. “It’s nothing -” 

“- You should’ve seen him during basic - had all these things pinned up on his wall, always reading your letters at breakfast with a puppy dog face. Honestly thought you were his sweetheart or something- Ow!” 

Coyote’s rubbing his side where Jake elbowed him harshly, cheeks still red and teeth furiously gnashing down on the toothpick. Underneath the table, you can feel Jake’s leg start bouncing, and you shift your foot forward to lightly brush his, tap the side of his tenderly. He halts his movements. 

“He’s just a great friend,” you clarify, beaming at Jake, who seems slightly less tense with his jaw unclenched. “Anyways, is Coyote your callsign?” your curiosity gets the better of you, and you figure it might be a good chance to get the spotlight off Jake. 

“Sure is. Name’s Javy,” he smirks at you, then jerks a hand over at Jake. “Has he told you his sign?” 

“Yeah, Hangman. Which is stupid, because he honestly sucks at the game -” 

“- I don’t,” Jake hotly defends, sits up in his seat and crooks an accusatory finger in your direction. “You’re the one that does weird ass long words. No one’s gonna guess - what was it? Gerrymandering?” 

Coyote attempts to stifle a laugh, but you let a giggle bubble right out of you. “I like to use it as a learning opportunity.” 

“Here’s a word for you: buzzkill.” Jake retorts, and you scoff, holding back a smile, about to snark back when you feel your phone vibrate from your purse. 

“One second,” you pull out your Blackberry, glancing over the email from your coworker at The Washington Times and tapping out a brief response. 

“Hey sweetheart,” you hear Jake say and your heart skips a beat, a smile forming at the familiar name as you press send on your message. Your surging warmth is immediately extinguished as you look up from your phone and see that Jake’s not speaking to you at all, not even looking your way. Instead, he’s shifted his entire body to face a gorgeous woman who’s stopped by your booth and is currently looking at him with a sweet smile.

“Still on for Friday night?” she asks, and you envy how cool she sounds saying it, like there’s no doubt in her mind that Jake will say yes, against your better wishes. 

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it,” he replies easily, the dimple on his cheek popping out, deflating you further.

She flashes a quick smile at you as well - no malice or threat in it whatsoever - and you wonder if it’s that obvious that you and Jake are friends, that you’re not on a date even though you’d both been seated in this booth for the better half of an hour. 

Maybe she thinks you’re just here with Javy, who’s been watching the whole interaction with a smirk, eyes laser focused on you trying your hardest to keep your expression neutral. “You’re going out with Imani? What happened to Priya?” Coyote asks after the girl walks away, his pointed look at you unwavering.  

Jake shrugs. “She knew I didn't want anything serious. So does Imani. It’s just drinks and dinner and you know... whatever comes next.” 

They both share a chuckle and your heart clenches painfully. You’re no prude - you’re all in support of people having casual sex, and you’re glad Jake is forthcoming with these girls.  He’s not breaking their hearts, and they seem content to just have one night with him and be done with it. 

There’s just the tiniest whisper of anxiety that wonders if there’s something wrong with you for rarely engaging in hookup culture, for not feeling comfortable enough to have meaningless flings. The one time you took a step out of your comfort zone and hooked up with a stranger, your walk of shame felt like a daze - inside, you were empty, despondent. A part of you envies Imani and the mysterious Priya for being able to cast aside their emotions so easily, fall into bed with a stranger, step out the next morning without feeling like they’re missing a part of themself.

The little green monster in you also flares up at the realization that they’ll know Jake in a more intimate way than you ever will - in a way that you’ve only dreamt about a handful of times. Give or take. You’re not sure when you started seeing him in a different light, as more than a friend, more like the person you’d want to get old with and celebrate milestones besides the anniversary of you becoming friends - but it happened slowly, suddenly, then all at once. And now, your feelings just sit with you, tethering you to the impossible dream of knowing Jake as so much more. 

All this to say, you can’t be angry with Jake or any of these women. It’s not a crime for him to want to sleep around. You just wish you had the courage to tell him it’s not entirely victimless. 

“There’s quite a few girls back home who’d be shattered to hear this,” you tease instead, ignoring the way your stomach is dropping low, the way your appetizer is slowly creeping up your esophagus. 

Jake rolls his eyes. “Always been a heartbreaker, darlin’, it’s an occupational hazard.” he tells you and you agree mentally, idly picking at the basket of cold fries on the table. “You’ll always be my number one girl, though.” 

Ah, and the dream lives on. 

AGE TWENTY-SIX (time went on for everybody else, she won't know it)

“Happy tenth anniversary to a spectacular, intelligent, absolutely phenomenal woman,” Jake toasts, grinning across from you at Malatesta Trattoria in West Village. Jake had insisted on treating you in celebration of your new job at The New York Times - did the research and made reservations all on his own, took time off and everything. 

“Happy friendship anniversary to a guy who still forgets to pack his toothbrush,” you snicker, and laugh even harder when his look of pride quickly turns into a mock glare. 

It’s been a full year since you physically saw him at your last anniversary dinner - Jake had been away on a longer assignment in Lemoore, and you’d been busy churning out inflammatory political op-eds for The Washington Times and applying to jobs in the Big Apple. The two of you called pretty regularly, but this was officially the longest the two of you had gone without seeing each other. 

You thought it’d feel awkward, like you’d have to fumble to find your footing with him the same way you have to figure out how to balance when you put on roller skates, but it’s easy. The moment you stepped outside of your building to meet him, he’d rushed to lift you in a giant bear hug, like no time apart had even passed. And the whole night, the two of you chat about anything and everything- he fills you in on his assignment and about something he’s gunning for called Top Gun, and you tell him about an upcoming project covering creative renewal in Beirut - you both nod along as best as you can while the other speaks. 

After your plates are empty and cleared out and you both have determined that you’re too full for dessert (although, the ice cream calling your name at your apartment might have you singing a different tune later), you both stand up to exit the restaurant. 

The wine you had with dinner has loosened up your movements - typically, you have to move through the city streets with big strides and purpose - like you’ve got somewhere to be and you’re already ten minutes late. But with Jake, there’s no timetable, no place you have to hurry to reach. Right now, the only thing on your agenda is to stand next to Jake in the middle of the sidewalk outside of this fancy restaurant and appreciate the moments you have with him. 

And figure out how the hell you’re getting home. 

“You wanna call a cab?” Jake asks you with an arm wrapped around your waist to steady your swaying form, and you balk at the thought of having to pay a hefty fee just to sit still in a car and try to keep your spinning head from making you throw up. God, your tolerance has become abysmal. 

“We can just take the F train back to my place. If you’re okay walking?” you reply fuzzily, looking up at him with a messy grin. Jake’s sweet expression catches you off guard - hazel green eyes locked on you, his sweet smile etching a dimple deeper into his cheek, like Michaelangelo himself carved it. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you become all too aware of the feeling of his hand squeezing your hip, the warmth of his forearm around your lower back, the way his chest is just barely brushing your shoulder and yet still manages to heat you up from head to toe. 

And you know he’s only trying to keep you upright, probably just trying to gauge your level of drunkenness and assess whether you’re good to make the thirty minute walk plus subway ride to your home. But he doesn’t know that it’s not the three glasses of wine you had at dinner that’s intoxicated you this much, that’s made your mind feel lighter than air and your heart ten times fuller. It’s all Jake - Jake - who’s looking at you like you’re the only thing on his mind, the only person in the world, the only one who matters.

“Are you fine with that?” he asks, and the softness written in his features reminds you of all the times you’ve looked at Jake and found a new favorite thing to fall in love with. 

The very first time you looked at him - really looked at him - you fixated on the way his dimple poked out while you regaled him with a story about how you exacted revenge on your friend’s two-timing ex by pouring your entire yogurt cup on top of his head. The way he threw his head back with his eyes squinted shut and hands clapping together made you feel more enamored with him than ever, had you scraping the back of your mind for more stupid jokes to make him laugh that hard. 

Another time, you remember looking right at his nose and thinking about how much you wanted to plant a sweet kiss on the tip, found yourself wondering how it would feel pressed against your neck as you both drifted off for the night, and how the sound of his soft breathing beside you would be the most comforting, reassuring sound to fall asleep to. 

This time, you’re completely mesmerized by the way the streetlights hit the flecks of green in his eyes, the way his pupils look slightly dilated, the way his gaze darts down for a split second to your lips and right back up to meet your heated look. If you weren’t drunk you’d fall right into the moment, lean right in and press your mouth to his like you’ve always wanted to, let his perfectly brilliant teeth clash with yours. Maybe see for yourself if you can taste cinnamon on his tongue. 

But you are incredibly drunk right now, and that’s no way to kiss him for the first time. So you pull your head back ever so slightly. “I think I just need to walk off the alcohol for a bit,” you shoot him a sloppy grin, still managing to lose yourself in those fucking beautiful eyes. 

Jake’s talking, murmuring something low in your ear. “You sure? Those shoes look like they hurt.” 

You look down at your heels - and yeah, they’re fucking painful. These past few minutes of Jake’s inebriating presence has given you the briefest reprieve from the sharp pains shooting up your calves. You’re desperate to take them off - but you can’t recall when your last tetanus shot was. And even if you were up-to-date, no one could convince you that it’s safe to walk barefoot in the streets of New York. “No, I’ll make it. Need to walk off the wine.” 

“You wanna wear my shoes?” Jake offers and you scoff. 

“You wanna walk barefoot? What, do you think they sanitize and mop the sidewalks every night?” 

“I’m wearing socks!” he defends and you roll your eyes. 

“Still gross. Besides, you know what they say about guys with big feet?” 

Jake’s eyebrows furrow, looks momentarily stunned as his eyes dart to his shoes, then return to your face. “Big dick?” 

“Big shoes,” you deadpan. “And if I take one step in your big clown shoes, I’m faceplanting right on the sidewalk. You want that to happen? ” 

“Clown shoes?” he repeats to himself quietly with an amused smile, then shakes his head, finally relenting. “Fine. But if you get tired, I’m not carrying you.” 

“I’ll make it,” you insist. 

--

“Jake?” you say thirty minutes later after traversing up the subway stairs, stopping for a moment to bend down and massage your ankles. Jake stops, shifts the paper bag with leftovers from one hand to the other and places his free hand on your back. He looks down at you with concern. 

“Yeah?” 

You pause for a moment, wondering if he’d turn you down, deliberating if you even feel comfortable asking him for a piggyback ride for the five minute walk back to your apartment. But the aching toe cramp that you’re trying and failing to stretch out drowns out your insecurities, silences your fear that he wouldn’t be able to manage. You remind yourself that he’s been bragging about his new squat record for weeks now, anyway. “Can you carry me on your back? Please?” 

A sigh. Then, “Sure darlin’. Hop on.” 

You wordlessly reach to take the leftovers from him and he turns away from you, couches down low enough to let you clamber onto him. With an arm secured under each leg, he extends to his full height and lifts you up onto his back. 

“Alright?” he rumbles, and you nod wordlessly, wrap your arms around his neck and hook your chin over his shoulder. Your eyes flutter shut, and you breathe in his familiar cologne, some Tom Ford scent you’d gifted him a few Christmases ago. It grounds you, keeps your head from spinning even more as you relish the feeling of your ankles not supporting your whole body weight. 

You feel the alcohol hit for a second wave, completely demolishing your self-control, unleashing your thoughts to race limitlessly, to see no bounds. At this point, your head is close to mush, your limbs feel like they weigh twice as much, and you think you’ll never let yourself drink rosé again. But you’re certain of one thing. “I think you might be the love of my life,” you murmur sleepily. 

Silence. Jake doesn’t stop walking, doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t even say it back. So maybe you were too quiet, or perhaps you completely imagined saying it at all. 

Because it’s unlike Jake to let you have the last word. 

AGE TWENTY-EIGHT (I'm sure that you’ve got a wife out there, kids and Christmas, but I'm unaware)

“Have you ever thought about this?” Jake asks you, leaning back against his chair as he  watches the happy couple swaying in the middle of the dance floor to an Ed Sheeran song - not your personal choice, but the rest of the onlookers seem to be incredibly moved by it. This year, your friendship anniversary coincides with your old roommate’s wedding, and after much pleading (and the promise of an open bar), Jake agreed to fly out to be your plus-one. 

It surprised you how much you had to beg for him to come. At first, he had been hesitant, imploring you to attend the wedding instead of meeting him for your usual dinner. You didn’t hesitate to dismiss  that idea - it’s been twelve years of celebrating, and there’s no way you’re stopping now. Not when it already feels like Jake’s been pulling back for the past year or so: calling less often, answering texts hours after you sent them, sometimes not even replying to your articles with anything aside from a little thumbs-up emoji. 

At this point, it feels like this anniversary is all that’s tethering him to you. 

“Have I ever thought about my wedding?” you ponder. “Yeah, sometimes. Don’t think I’d ever spring for something as big as this, but -” 

“- No, no,” he interrupts, “you wouldn’t want to make a big fuss of it all, not a crazy big party and definitely not a five hundred person guest list. ‘Course I know that about you.” Jake smiles and shifts forward, leaning in close; you can just barely smell the sandalwood and vanilla musk of his cologne. He seems relaxed, finally looks content to be here - though you’re sure that’s all thanks to the top-shelf whiskey he’s imbibing. “I meant marriage, commitment, settling down. You think you’d ever want to do that?” 

You purse your lips, gaze still locked on the newly wedded couple, appreciating the matching expressions of adoration written on their faces as they twirl around their guests. “Of course. Just haven’t found the right person who’s ready to do that with me.” 

He scoffs. “What, like you’re struggling to find someone? You know, from the minute I walked into this banquet hall with you, I’ve counted maybe five death glares from interested parties.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure you did,” you snort, tilting your glass up vertically to catch the last few drops of champagne.

“Sweetheart, I’d never lie to you. In fact, I think the redhead over by the bar is still sending daggers my way. And she’s hot, so I’m kind of turned on by it,” Jake adds seriously, and you roll your eyes. “Come on! I thought you were going to give Tinder a shot earlier this year?” 

You snort again, this time feeling a little more jaded. “I did give it a shot. And all I found was guys holding up fish and finance bros asking for my snap. I don’t even have a Snapchat, Jake. What happened to just getting people’s numbers and having a normal conversation?” 

“It’s a new era, all this online dating stuff,” he replies, crossing one ankle over his knee and interlacing his hands over his abdomen. “But I see your point, maybe Tinder isn’t the best place to find your forever partner.”

“Don’t know why I even bothered,” you remark and look over at him, momentarily allowing yourself to appreciate the way his tux fits over him. “Maybe if we’re both still single by the time we’re forty, we get hitched,” you muse, only half joking. 

He chokes on his whiskey, coughing loudly with the liquor singing his throat. “Yeah, right!” Jake finally manages out with a laugh and teary eyes, and it feels like someone’s poured a bucket of ice water on you, wakes you up from the lighthearted banter you lost yourself in. 

“Okay,” you narrow your eyes, heart dropping at the rejection. “Don’t sound too eager. I’m not down on one knee here or anything.” 

“Sorry,” he apologizes but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He swirls around the remaining amber sea in his drink, slightly mesmerized by the mini whirlpool. “You know me though. Never settling down.” 

You know you should take the sign to drop the conversation, but his quick refusal and blasé tone rubs you the wrong way. “Why? Because of your parents?” you hedge, leaning in to get a better look at his face, which has slightly hardened in the dim glow of the bulb lights strung across the venue. The extra bubbly you’ve consumed pushes you to question him, to finally figure out why he’s so resistant to letting himself be loved. “I know you’re scared you’ll end up making the same mistakes as your dad, but you know you’re not like him. Not in any way.”

He grits out your name warningly, arching a brow and gripping his glass tight. You run the risk of it shattering if you keep pushing. But that’s the least of your worries; right now, you’re blind with hurt. How can he just dismiss you like it’s nothing? How can he close himself off so easily? 

“Typical Jake Seresin, you know?” you cut him off hotly, trying with all your might to keep your voice even through the haze of champagne. “Always so ready to let your daddy issues ruin your chances at happiness.” 

He glares at you, knocks back the rest of his drink without even grimacing, doesn’t meet your gaze. Crunches the ice bitterly. “Get off your high horse, sweetheart,” he finally says roughly. “Stop pretending like you know me.” 

You scoff, still not backing down. “You think after over ten years of friendship, I don’t know you at all?” 

Another shrug. His leg starts bouncing incessantly. “People change, darlin’. You certainly have.” 

You draw back, feeling like he just slapped you in the face. “What d’you mean by that?” you ask a little quieter, with a slight waver, still audible over Ed Sheeran’s ballad. Where’s he going with this? 

He groans again, turns to look at you, but you don’t quite recognize the expression on his face. It’s menacing, hardened, darker than the amber liquid in his cup. “We do our separate things, sweetheart. We call a couple times a year and meet up on the same weekend to do the same dinner and yeah, that’s nice. It’s great. But that doesn’t mean you know me as well as you think you do. Quit grilling me - I’m not just a sad story for you to write about.”

His words punch you in the gut, sock you in the ear, send blood coursing angrily through your veins. Part of you wants to tell him off, unleash your fury, make a scene in the middle of this reception hall. Another part of you wants to storm off and leave him behind, but you’re not sure if you want to face the reality that he might not follow, might not chase after you with apologies and promises to soothe the burn from his words. 

Slightly misty-eyed, you fight to reel your emotions back in, not wanting to draw attention to the two of you or make Jake feel like you’re guilting him. It feels an awful lot like using thimbles to catch roof leaks. Your strength comes back to you in slow, even waves: your heart returns to its normal pattern, your chest no longer heaves for air. 

“You can’t say things like that, Jake,” you tell him, your voice surprisingly steady, rock solid. “You’re my best friend, and you can’t speak to me that way.”

His jaw ticks, his expression remains unchanged. “Sure, right. Sorry.” 

The easy dismissal brings your anger back in a rush, yet gives you time to think about your next words carefully. “You’re such an ass, Jake,” you bite out, and maintain decorum, calmly push your chair back to stand up, send him a glare with all the furiosity you can muster before making a bee-line for the exit without looking back to see if he’s following suit. 

You dodge fellow wedding attendees, snatching champagne from a waiter with a platter before knocking it back and setting the empty flute back down and continuing to make your way to the exit. Over Ed Sheeran’s second ballad, you can hear Jake quietly calling out your name, his footsteps right behind you. 

As you burst through the doors, into the crisp outside air, you teeter for a few steps in your heels before leaning against a pillar, trying to contain your emotions, lest you say something silly or embarrassing or humiliating. 

“Would you just wait? Would you let me talk?” Jake’s hot on your heels as he steps over the threshold. 

“You’ve said plenty,” you throw back. 

“Come on, darlin’, I didn’t mean it like that,” Jake says behind you, closer now. 

“I think you made it very clear,” you grind out, turning on your heel and looking him straight in the eye. “You can’t smooth-talk your way out of this, Seresin. That might work on everyone else, but it’s not doing jack shit on me!” 

He throws his hands up in the air, shakes his head. You eye how his fingers are twitching, how he’s chewing the inside of his cheek. “What do you want me to say? I’m just saying we’re not the same people we used to be -”

“- That’s fine!” you gesticulate dramatically, too overwhelmed with frustration to let your hands remain still. “But you don’t have to be an ass about it! You don’t have to minimize our friendship like this! God, Jake, what has it been? Twelve years? Twelve years of loving you, supporting you, celebrating anniversaries -” You cut yourself off, realizing what just bubbled forth from of your mouth. 

Jake’s expression stays ablaze, but his spine stiffens, hands twitch twice before he clenches them, digging his nails into his palms harshly. You meet his heavy gaze, mouth slightly agape, mind running a million miles a second until it starts to decelerate, slows down gradually, then stops on one thought, one single thought alone. 

“I love you, Jake,” you say. Like you’re stating a fact, common knowledge for everyone and their mother. The sky is blue, the world isn’t flat, and you’re in love with Jake Seresin. 

He inhales, shaking his head, and looking down at the ground. 

You falter, furrow your eyebrows, wonder if maybe he didn’t hear you. “I love you, Jake,” you repeat, this time a little louder, taking a step forward, closer to him. “I’m in love with you.” 

Jake looks up, his face contorted into a look of pain, eyes void of its usual light. Inhales sharply. “I know.” 

You falter. “You know?“ the words feel like marbles rolling out; you can almost hear the tiny plinks as they hit the ground. 

“Yeah.” 

”…How long?” 

He swallows. “Since New York.” 

You’re transported back in that moment, a montage of scenes from your tenth anniversary flashing through your mind like you’re in a cinema. You remember the night’s end in a haze: his warm body next to yours as you stumbled to the subway, you gripping onto his arm tightly with every lurch of the train, Jake carrying you on your back and you saying -

“Oh.” You shrink back, and the realization he’s held onto this for two years hits you like a truck. Jake is silent, hands now shoved into his pockets as he awaits your next few words. “And... you have nothing else to say to that?” 

Jake lets out a pained groan. “Listen, darlin’, don’t get me wrong. I... care about you so damn much, but I can’t feel for you the way you want me to. We wouldn’t work.”

His words make you freeze and your anxiety screams out ‘I told you so!’ in a manner that echoes thunderously throughout your brain. This unrequited love is something you’ve always expected, always prepared yourself for, yet you never gave it much further thought to safeguard your heart. 

You’re rapidly accelerating through the stages of grief - next, your anger comes back to you. First, in small rivulets that trickle down your spine - then as a rush of agony that feels an awful lot like the crash at the bottom of a waterfall. Your eyes burn with the tears you refuse to let fall, your palms already stinging from how hard you’ve dug your manicure into them - but is it fair for you to be mad at him? For not loving you the way you desperately want him to? 

For the longest time, a small, tiny part of you hoped Jake would come around, decide to knock on your door, knock you back with a signature bear hug. That he’ll swear to be there always, love you the way you love him. 

After tonight, you reflect, it seems like that might never happen. And quickly, you surmise that you’d rather have one part of him than nothing at all. So as you finally reach the stage of acceptance, you vow to treasure every moment of friendship with Jake Seresin. 

“I understand,” you tell him, feeling like you’re miles away. “It’s okay.” 

“You sure?” His eyes still rake over you with concern. 

“Positive.” You do your best to plaster on the most reassuring smile you can. 

“Sweetheart -” 

“- Can we just talk about this later?” you interrupt, feeling defeated and embarrassed all rolled into one. There most certainly is more to the conversation - but all you want to do is prolong it for longer, preserve the fantasy in your mind that you can Jake are alright, that the past few minutes never happened. 

He closes his mouth, nods, pushes his hands deeper into his pockets. 

From inside, the music suddenly changes - still a slow ballad, but this time it’s Al Green, Let’s Stay Together. “I believe you stipulated that I had to dance to at least one song,” Jake holds out a hand, looking at you almost hopefully. As if the last few minutes hadn’t completely shattered your heart and sent the pieces flying away with the wind. 

“Ah,” you say, feeling a wave of exhaustion overcome you. “You go on ahead. Think I just need some more air.” 

Internally, your heart is deflating, sending slight tremors throughout your body. But you can’t have Jake know that, can’t have him feel even worse about this, won’t have him feeling an ounce of guilt for something so out of his control. 

Despite your best efforts to hold it all in, a small tear escapes and slides down your cheek as soon as Jake’s back turns, and you feel like you might have kicked a pebble that’s about to precipitate an avalanche.

--- 

Jake calls you up a few days after, initially sounding like he just wants to check in until his tone takes on a more somber note, and your heart drops to your stomach. “Listen, I know we had a little bit of a heated... discussion at the wedding. And I just need you to know I really, really, appreciate you. And I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want, but I just want to make sure we can still stay friends.” 

“Yeah, of course -” you stop yourself from readily agreeing, pause to reevaluate how you really want to take this moving forward. 

Jake is the love of your life. That much is certain. And you’re not sure how willing you are to push aside your feelings, pretend your confession never even happened, just to go on with the guise that you guys are simply friends. Just friends. Holding off on love in hopes that he’ll come around. 

If you’re being completely truthful, a part of you does feel empty without a person by your side, without a companion to walk through life with, without a partner to share all the moments of joy and despair and everything in between with. You’ve tried dating throughout the years - agreed to so many blind dates, worked up the courage to ask guys at the bar out. And somehow, you always run into the same problem. 

They’re not Jake. 

And it’s not like they’re not as funny as him, or as charismatic or charming or sweet as him. It’s not the fact that they gave you spearmint kisses when you’ve always craved cinnamon. It’s the harsh truth that no matter what, they always feel threatened by your passion for your job and your drive to succeed. Always find problems with you jetting across the world for different projects, and patronize you for saying you wanted to make a difference with your stories. 

One Tinder date even mocked you for aspiring to win a Pulitzer - you’d promptly excused yourself to the bathroom and never came back, instead ending your night with a long phone call from Jake, who was six hours ahead at the time but more than happy to console you. 

Jake’s always encouraged you, from the very first day at the pizza parlor to now. And the more guys you took a chance on dating, the less hopeful you felt about finding a future with someone as kind, as wonderful, as unwaveringly supportive as Jake. 

Maybe it’s time to let go of the pipe dream. 

“Actually, no. I don’t think I can move forward as just friends,” you rush out, and admittedly, it feels like you’re ripping off a bandaid but the sting feels more like an ache. “And don’t get me wrong - your friendship means the world to me. Even if you think we’re different people now. But it feels like nothing’s changed for me, Jake. I think for years, I’ve been holding onto the hope that you’ll come around and feel the same way. But after this past weekend... I think I need some space. Just so I can get over you, if you’re not changing your mind anytime soon.”  

Jake’s silent on the other end of the line - the only indication that he hasn’t dropped off is the sounds of cars rushing on the other side. A part of you hopes he’ll take the bait you cast with your final sentence, that at the very least, he’ll consider reconsidering. You don’t think you’ll get that lucky. 

“If that’s what you want.” 

“It’s not,” you quickly reassure him while blinking away tears, feeling numb. “And I don’t want to be cliche and tell you it’s what I need, Jake - because believe me, sometimes it feels like I need you like I need a Pilot G2 pen or the sun. But I can’t live like this. I can’t settle for just having part of you because that’ll be agonizing for me.”

Silence on the other end. “I hope you understand,” you quietly add. 

“I do, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” his voice is void of emotion. You try not to think too hard about it, try to transport yourself back to a better moment when he was right there in front of you with every feeling written on his tanned, chiseled face. 

Deep inhale. “Bye, Jake.”

AGE TWENTY-NINE (I cause no harm, mind my business, if our love died young, I can’t bear witness)

These gentrified tapas places are a menace to society. You shift uncomfortably on the cold, sad metal excuse for a barstool. This restaurant is noisy - glasses clinking together, patrongs cheers-ing to various occasions, champagne bottles popping open. Yet, the sound of the entrance dinging open is the only thing that makes you perk up, has you involuntarily glancing up hopefully in an attempt to manifest a familiar handsome pilot walking across the threshold to join you on your anniversary. But to your disappointment, it’s only a bunch of drunk bankers stumbling out. 

In the past year, you’ve found a number of ways to distract yourself from the pain of not having your best friend. As per Dr. Richard’s advice from your first therapy session, you tried your hardest to find comfort in solitude: catching films in the theater alone, wandering through new art exhibitions by your lonesome; you even attended a wine tasting in Brooklyn and ended up passing the time with a group of ladies who encompassed very similar energy to the Sex and the City Quartet (and you ended up getting some solid reassuring advice after you lamented your complicated friendship - Samantha’s carbon copy was all too ready to shit on Jake by the end of your tale).  

All in all, you’re content to be scoping out this restaurant solo, trying their featured cocktails and appetizers and people watching. You’re trying your best to convince yourself that you’re okay being where you are right now. The only thought that puts a damper on your night, sets your pride back a little is the realization that this might be the first October thirteenth you’ve spent alone in thirteen years. It shakes to your core, makes you flag down a bartender for a whiskey neat, but you calm down, take a deep breath, and let it out. 

Jake’s a different man, not the boy who sat in front of you in your beloved pizza shop with a crinkly-eyed smile, telling you “you’re just a cool person.” 

In the same way, you’re most certainly a different girl than the one who sat in front of him with a ten-color shuttle pen and bright eyes, one who was just grateful he’d seen a companion in you to begin with. 

You’re a strong, self-assured, career-driven woman now. You’ve been featured on a variety of articles ranging from the devastating 2016 US Presidential Election, to a Buzzfeed Guest Feature on what your favorite ink color said about you, to discussing culture and conflict in the Middle East. While Jake’s support from the very beginning was part of what motivated you, what spurred you on, you are the one who did all the hard work. You are powerful, driven, intelligent, sophisticated. 

You’re also drunk, and dialing a number you know by heart. 

“The number you have dialed is not available. Please leave a message or...”

After the beep, you steel yourself. “Hey, Jake,” you clear your throat, gripping your phone tightly in your palm and taking a deep breath. “I, uh... Just wanted to wish you a happy anniversary. Think it’s the first one I’ve spent without you in a while.” 

You pause, look around at the tapas bar as you try to gather your thoughts, wistfully eye the empty barstool next to you. 

“I know I said I needed some time before. And I’m glad you honored that - truly, from the bottom of my heart. Even though a part of me wanted you to change your mind and chose me over not having me. Does that make any sense?” 

Your eyes catch on the bartender who’s cleaning glasses with a towel a few feet away from you, catch him shaking his head slightly. 

“Do you mind?”you snap, and he at least has the decency to look a little embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping. Quickly, he flashes you an apologetic smile before comically pretending to hear a patron calling out their order and dashing across the bar. 

You snort, shaking your head. “Sorry. Some asshole was just... Never mind. You would’ve hated this place, Jake. I mean, aside from nosy people, it’s got overpriced drinks with Edison lights hanging from the ceiling. And there’s no jukebox - they’re just playing top 40s hits over and over again. Like, this is the third time I’m hearing Shape of You and I got here less than an hour ago.” 

Again, you pause, feeling embarrassed at your incessant rambling. Debate whether to blab about what’s been plaguing your mind since you woke up this morning. “Sometimes I wish I never said anything and that we could’ve just stayed friends. I just don’t think that would’ve been fair to me - because I meant what I said, Jake. I’m in love with you. Even if we’re different people - I would’ve loved getting to know every version of you.” 

It feels like a breakthrough, saying the words out loud, realizing that things truly are going to be more different than they used to be. And for the first time, you don’t feel like you’re perpetually mourning a friendship, you don’t feel waves of anxiety that try to convince you that you conflated your friendship to mean more. You can breathe easily.

“I think I’ve realized that the person I am today is all a conglomeration, a constellation of every interaction I’ve had with other people. And for the most part, I am who I am because of our friendship, because of your presence in my life. So a part of me is finding it hard to let go of that and move on without you being so ingrained in me. But I’m trying. I’m going to therapy, at least,” you smile optimistically, wiping away the first tear you’ve let yourself shed today. 

“So rest assured, I’ll be okay without you, Seresin. In case you were worried. But no matter what, this day will always remain special to me. You’ll always be special to me.” 

AGE THIRTY (and it’s been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong, I’m right where you left me)

You don’t realize it’s the day of your anniversary until you catch a glimpse of the date on your phone, realize why you felt like you were missing something the entire day. At first, it sends a wave of anxiety over you, makes your stomach swoop like you missed the last step on the staircase. 

But as best as you can, you remind yourself that taking on this special day alone is part of your healing process, that sometimes we create our own heartbreak through expectation, and that it’s just a matter of managing your hopes, assuaging your guilt, honoring your friendship by yourself for the second year in a row. 

It’s taken time, but you’ve made your peace with the fact that Jake won’t be playing as active a role in your future as you’d hoped. Maybe you two can just be the type of friends who send each other Christmas cards and call on your birthdays. Years later, maybe you’ll finally settle down and find someone who will support you just as well as Jake did, who will treat you kindly and see you as more than a friend to hold hands with from time to time and look at your lips sometimes and give you piggyback rides when you’re too drunk. If you have kids, maybe you’ll have Jake over to meet your family, oblige him to regale them with tales of your friendship, send gift cards for their birthdays and talk about his time in the Navy - if they’re interested in hearing about Uncle Jake’s career path. 

That’s all. You settle for keeping him in your footnotes, for cherishing the memory of who he used to be. 

Even if you’ll always be in love with Jake, that doesn’t mean you have to wither away waiting for him. 

-- 

In the middle of catching up on some editing and shooting out some emails from the comfort of your plush couch, your phone rings with a familiar name proudly displayed at the top. Immediately, you narrow your eyes, wondering if he’s remembered or if it’s some weird fluke that he’s calling you on today of all days.

“Hello?” you answer cautiously. 

“Hey, darlin’,” you hear Jake’s easy tone flow through the speakers, and despite all the growth you’ve endured, despite all the lessons you’ve etched into your heart, your brain turns to mush. 

“Hi Jake,” you force out, feeling as nervous as you did that day you interviewed him at the pizza place. At times like this, you wish you had your old landline from back in the day so you could coil the cord around your fingers idly, distract your nerves momentarily from the fact that this is the first time you’ve heard his voice in two years. “How’ve you been?” 

“I’m alright,” His voice is stilted, slightly muffled. Sounds just as easy as you remembered it, “Just... Remembered what today was.” 

“It’s Saturday.” The quip rolls off your tongue before you can think any better of it - and you cringe inwardly at how rude you must have sounded. “I’m sorry, that was...” 

But Jake’s chuckling on the other end, a delightfully warm sound, one that pulls a surge of pride from deep within your chest. “Yeah. You're not wrong.” 

And just as quickly, it fades into the awkward silence - the kind you never used to have with Jake. Mentally, you flow through all the happenings in this past year, think about where his Ma told you he’d been last. 

“How’s San Diego?” - “Can you buzz me up?” you both speak at the same time, and his answer makes you freeze, makes time suspend for a few seconds as if you’re floating outside of your own body. 

“I’m outside your building, I think. Unless your Ma sent me the wrong address, which admittedly, I’d deserve but - " 

“- You’re in New York?” you ask, still in shock, finally feeling in control of your muscles and limbs and words. Hurriedly, you scramble off your couch and swipe up your empty tea mug, then rush to your kitchen to deposit it unceremoniously into your sink. 

You hear the sound of a car horn beeping on the street echoing both in real time and on the line, further sending your heart into a frenzy. “Yeah - you do live off 65th, right? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to just pop in like this - ”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you breathe out, making your way to your front door with your phone still sandwiched between your ear and your hand. “I just... Wasn’t expecting company.” 

He snorts on the other end. “S’not like the Queen of England is coming. It’s just me.” 

“Somehow, I think that’s worse,” you muse, leaning against your hallway wall and hovering your finger over the button to let him in. If hearing his voice has put you this much on edge, you can’t imagine what it’ll do to you if you see him in person. 

“Maybe so,” Jake agrees, and you can practically hear the forlorn smile in his voice. “Mind letting me up, though? Just wanted to talk. In person.” 

The reality of the situation crashes down on you - that Jake’s practically been AWOL for the past few years, that your friendship has felt one-sided and exhausting to try and keep up with, that you spent your last anniversary alone and sobbing into your cellphone So a part of you wants to turn him down, hustle him out of your safe space - but your heart pounds rapidly with its demands for answers, your brain implores you to hear him out. 

Without a second thought, you push the button and hear the resounding buzz on Jake’s side, followed by a “See you soon, sweetheart.” The line clicks. 

Mind going a million miles a second, you turn to glance at your reflection in the hall mirror that you’ve procrastinated hanging up for months now. You level a determined look at yourself, brush some crumbs off your sweatshirt and smooth some flyaways before pushing your shoulders back, standing up tall and proud in an attempt to exude confidence. 

Three heavy knocks sounding out at the door immediately makes your look turn panicked, sending you stumbling over your feet as you reach to grab the doorknob and pull it open to reveal Jake Seresin standing in your narrow apartment hallway. 

Not even five seconds have passed and you’re already annoyed with him. He’s still mind numbingly handsome: tall as ever, blonde hair still infuriatingly shiny and soft, green eyes catching the dim evening light, glimmering back at you like gemstones. It makes your stomach swoop, brings the butterflies fluttering back into your chest from where you’d banished them.

Asshole. 

“Hey,” he greets, quirks up a corner of his mouth into a half smile that would normally have you swooning if you weren’t already frozen. 

“Hi, Jake,” you manage out, eyes raking over his figure just to convince your mind that he’s really there, actually standing just a few feet in front of you. Shaking away the doubts, you step to the side, gesture for him to enter your apartment. 

It’s not the sound of his footsteps that convince you, nor is it the brief brush of his arm as he sidles into  your narrow apartment hallway or the unreal sight of how he fills up the space and how his shoulders stretch from wall to wall. It’s the familiar heavy scent that hits you - tobacco and vanilla - which makes your cheeks flush, your heart skips a beat. 

He’s really here. 

Gathering your wits, you follow him into your cramped living room, grateful that you’d done some vacuuming and tidying up that morning in an effort to banish all the anxieties and ruminations that come with this special day. “Feel free to sit anywhere,” you find your voice, snatch up an oversized throw to make some room on the couch. 

He nods, turns around to assess your space thoughtfully before settling himself into the cushions.“I got your voicemail,” he tells you. “From last year.” 

Oh. It suddenly feels bitter, leaves a sour taste in your mouth. “You didn’t call back?” you hedge, immediately going on the defense. Instead of sitting down next to him, you elect to slide into the armchair furthest away from him, an attempt to shield yourself from him. An attempt to avoid making the same mistake twice. 

“I was going away on assignment the next morning,” Jake explains quietly, patiently. He meets your disbelieving look with somber eyes. It only slightly alleviates the pressure building in your chest. “And... honestly, I didn’t want to worry you. It was one of those missions. The kind I wasn’t sure I would come back from - like, where they’re telling us to call home and lay down all the cards.” 

You pause for a moment, absorb his words and feel a twinge of hurt upon the realization that you weren’t kept in the loop, that you never even knew you stood a chance at losing him. Before the emotions can rattle you too much and send you spiraling with anxious thoughts and what ifs, he explains further.. 

“I thought I would spare you the details, spare you from having to prepare to lose me. I was okay with that decision up until the moment one of my engines failed and my jet was going down - and the one thing that flashed through my mind was that I wouldn’t get to talk to you again, or see you, or how when you win your Pulitzer you wouldn’t be able to call me to tell me the news or how I wouldn’t be able to hang up the print of your winning piece next to your union one,” his voice is shaking slightly, and you know if you even attempted to reply your words would quiver just as much. In this moment, you’re trembling with your hands folded over your eyes to hide the tears brimming. 

It’s a mix of sadness and anger and disappointment and you try your best to hold off on the tornado, but it rips your soul to shreds the more you realize the gravity of the situation. “You’re fucking kidding me,” you grit out, pressing your lips together to barricade the sobs. Your hands are tightly wrapped around a throw pillow, squeezing and kneading out your frustration on it. You can barely stand to look at him.  “Took you a near death experience to call me? You think I haven’t already put myself through the fucking wringer after feeling so guilty for cutting you off just because you were too scared to love me? And you almost died?” 

“I’m sorry,” Jake repeats, at least sounding sincerely apologetic. 

“I appreciate that, Jake,” you reply bitterly, then defeatedly toss the pillow to the side. “When did you even get back?” 

His jaw tenses slightly and he sighs, and you immediately feel triumphant for successfully frustrating him, as petty as it sounds. “Few months back. And I’m sorry for not calling you. I wanted to as soon as I got back, but I wanted to say all this face to face. And it took some time for me to figure out my shit, but I’m here now, if you’ll hear me out?” 

All you can do is nod, purse your lips and let him say his piece - there’s no pressure to forgive him or fall into his arms. 

“I think you were right,” Jake continues seriously. You dig your nails into your palms anxiously. Under any other circumstance, you would have loved hearing those words from anyone else. Not now. Not Jake. “You were right to call me out when you said I was letting the fear of becoming my dad hold me back from chasing what I want.” 

As your anger slightly dissipates, you think back to that moment - about how those were just a few of the words you wish you could snatch up out of your past and make them disappear. Your breath hitches. “I was a bit harsh - "

“- But you were right,” he interrupts. “And I think that’s another reason why I shut down, because you know me so well. After all these years, I think you know me better than I know myself.” 

You nod, not sure what exactly to say to that. It’s not like you can explain to him that you were so incredibly taken by him, that you held onto his every word and agonized over interaction in hopes of really getting to know your best friend. 

Jake goes on: “And you have to know that my dad broke Ma’s heart like it was nothing. Married for twenty years, dated for five years, friends for another ten years. Even after you add all that up, it’s still not enough to keep them together. He still went for the first temp who waltzed into his office, still fucked with both of them for months on end. If my parents couldn’t keep it together, how could anyone else?” 

You’re stunned, frozen in shock before you manage to gather your strength, pick up your thoughts and hurl them right back at him. Screw this defeatist attitude he’s picked up. “You have to understand that’s the nature of some relationships, Jake. Sometimes they’re not meant to last forever, sometimes people change - "

You halt, feel a wave of déjà vu. The words on the tip of your tongue sound eerily familiar to something that’s replayed in your mind for the past two years, and a couple puzzle pieces start to fit together. “Is this why you were spouting all of this bullshit at the wedding? About us changing?”

Suddenly, he launches up from the couch, walks two steps across the room and pivots on his heel to walk the two steps back in an attempt to furiously pace. He groans out exasperatedly, rakes a hand through his stupid perfect blond hair. “I mean... Yeah. It made sense at the time,” he admits. Briefly, you wonder when his nervous tics changed in the past few years, when did he switch from bouncing his legs under tables to wearing a path into carpets? 

People change indeed. In more ways than one. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you tell him matter-of-factly, and there’s no sugar-coating your words anymore. He makes a sound, as if he’s about to feign offense, but you power through. “People change all the fucking time, Jake. How the hell are we supposed to grow and become better versions of ourselves if we stay stagnant? Where’s the fucking story in that?” 

You huff out a laugh, don’t even wait for him to reply before continuing on a rant. He’s stopped pacing now, is looking at you, but you’ve sprung up to your full height to look at him straight on, deliver your words as firmly as you can. 

“People change, Jake, especially when they’re in relationships - it’s a matter of adapting, supporting them and loving your partner through it. And like, let’s be clear: I’ve changed a lot, too. Physically and emotionally - but I’m okay with it because I realize it’s made me become someone my sixteen year old self would be stoked to meet. And not just because I live in the city or because I have, like, 2 Montblanc pens - but because I’m working on these stories and they fly me out wherever to interview people, and I know I haven’t sent my stuff to you in a while, didn’t think you’d still want to read it - ” 

“- I’ve kept up,” Jake interrupts. You stop in your tracks, tilt your head to the side as you process this. “I wanted to read them.” 

“You have?” you ask dubiously, doubtfully. Hopefully. 

“‘Course,” he affirms, sends you a reassuring smile and stands up straighter, takes a step forward. “I mean, not while I was overseas, I read up when I got back. I really liked that one about the Obamas’ portraits. Thought that was pretty cool. But the one about the grassroots movements for peace in Afghanistan got me thinking. Like, obviously I was assigned there for a while, but didn’t really consider other things happening there - Actually, I had some questions for you, but we can talk about it later...” 

“Oh. Sure.” You’re slightly shocked at the confession, at the small vision that flashes through your mind of Jake typing your name into Google and catching up on your stories, determinedly following your career even during the most unstable moment in your friendship. It sparks hope in you, sends a wave of hope crashing down on you forcefully. “Wow. I didn’t think you… That means the world to me, Jake.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, excitement reverting back to a somber contemplative expression. “I understand what you’re saying about change,” he says hesitantly, rocks back on his heels. “And I think I’m starting to understand what you meant in your voicemail about the... conglomeration stuff. Loving every version of me. Because I really feel the same way about you.” 

It’s ambiguous, a little mysterious, his words a little stilted and broken, and you replay his words over and over to try and dig up the meaning behind them. But he’s taking another step towards you - if you reach out, you can certainly reach up and run your finger across the small bump in his nose from that football all those years ago. Hold his cheek in your hand like you've always wanted to.

“I don’t know when it happened,” he’s saying, and it makes your heart thud a million miles a minute, makes you want to pinch yourself. “I can’t remember it for the life of me. But I think about the moment I realized it - when you said it to me four years ago. And I regret not saying anything back every fucking day.” 

Your heart stumbles, crushes up against the front of your ribcage as it tries to peek out at the man you’ve loved since you were seventeen. “Oh, Jake,” your response rolls out along with two tears down your cheeks.“ It’s okay - “

The scent of vanilla tobacco hits you first, then his chest as he pulls you into a giant bear hug that envelops you in a warmth that could put both the sun and Texas bonfires to shame. Your face is pressed into his jacket and he’s talking, saying something that you don’t really register until you tilt your head up and dig your chin into his firm chest. 

“I’m in love with you, sweetheart,” the words burst forth. His hand’s resting gently on the small of your back - the warmth of his palm radiates comforting heat through your body that only multiplies as he pulls you into him. You stabilize your hands on his shoulders, crane your neck to look up at him and map out every part of his face - from the small lines in his forehead to the slope of his nose to the slight redness in his cheeks. “It’s okay if it’s too late, if you’ve moved on. I just don’t want to lose you again, don’t want to risk not talking to you, can’t - ”

“Of course I’m in love with you, stupid man,” the words come to you as easily as breathing does. The smile that spreads across his face brings back your favorite eye crinkles, carves a dimple into the corner of his mouth, makes it feel like you’re bathing in sunlight. And Jake wastes no time, doesn’t even hesitate before he’s breathing out a question and you're nodding tearfully and then he's cupping both of your cheeks gently and surging forward to press his lips to yours.

--

Jake tastes like cinnamon, just as you’ve always suspected. Aside from that, nothing about the way you love Jake is predictable. Nothing is ever steady, nothing is ever expected. Every moment with him brings forth a new set of revelations that drives you crazy, tears you to pieces. And somehow, it’s all incredibly worth it, worth the brief heartbreak, worth the years of hoping and waiting for him to join you. Because in the end, he made it. In this moment, it feels like everything is just right.

YOU HAD ME AT “BRADLEY GOES AS TED LASSO FOR HIS FIRST HALLOWEEN” HOLY SHIT DID YOU CRAWL INSIDE MY BRAIN????? ABSOLUTELY SHUT UP!!!!!! THE MUSTACHE!!!!!!! jordannnnnnnnnnnnnnnn i’ll never be over this. amazing, perfect, incredible, showstopping, i can keep going…

bradley being a boy’s dad!!!!!!! and a coach!!!!!!!!!!!! stop it!!!!!!!!!!!! AND JEALOUS!!!!!!!! and of course he gets handsy 😭😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

bradley and smart aleck are my beloveds and i got a littleeeeee teeeenyyyy bit emotional about knowing they’re gonna have kids together one day!!! also: the mav mention <3

rooster jealousy fic 🥵🥵🥵

I want all of them

this probably isn’t what you imagined BUT it takes place in an eventual universe where bradley and smart aleck have kids. and yes in my dreams bradley goes as ted lasso for his first halloween with smart aleck and it kinda evolves into peewee soccer coach bradley bradshaw when they have kids since his girl digs it so much (it’s the fucking mustache i stg) - enjoy???

ask prompt

"Did you see that? You saw that, right?"

Bradley sputtered, frantically pointing across the soccer field to where you were chatting with Max's dad, Zach.

Fucking Zach. Bradley hated Zach. And his stupid crisp button downs and his smarmy face and his shiny loafers and his ridiculous fucking Shelby Cobra that was in no way safe for a child to ride in, unlike Bradley's family-friendly Land Rover. Plus, his son, Max, was a biter.

But more importantly, Bradley hated the way Zach got so close to you to talk about emerging markets or stock options or some shit like that. Fucking prick.

Beside him, Gil frowned. "See what? Mommy?"

"Yes, mommy," he sassed the five year old, not taking his eyes off you from behind his aviators. Wait, was he - no, he did not just put his hand on -

"- TWEEEEEEEEEET," Bradley blew the whistle hanging around his neck, causing his small battalion of five year olds to immediately freeze where they were aimlessly running on the field. If it also caused Zach to retreat his hand from where it was about to touch your arm then that was just a happy coincidence.

"Alright," Coach Bradshaw clapped his hands together a couple times, rounding up the troops, "good job today everyone - especially you, Maddie S, that flower crown looks dynamite on you, wanna see that energy on Saturday for our game against the Yellow Frogs, alright?"

Maddie S preened under the praise, while the rest of the kids nodded seriously. "We gotta keep that defense tight - that means no getting distracted by Jacob R, okay Emily? Yeah, heard about you at nap time the other day, little grabby for kindergarten, I think? That being said, I think Mrs. Armstrong brought orange slices and apple juice if you all want to head over for your snack - "

They dispersed without another word, except Gil, who was drawing what Bradley thought was a - dinosaur? a dog? he didn't really know - on his play whiteboard. He hazarded a glance across the field to see that you still were talking to Zach. God, your ass looked fucking perfect in your work skirt. How the hell you weren't sinking into the grass with those heels of yours?

"Hey, buddy?" Gil looked up. "Why don't we pack up all this stuff and go get mommy? Think she's talking to Max's dad..."

Gil made a face. “I don’t like Max -”

“- Well, I don’t like his dad,” Bradley muttered, hoping Gil didn’t hear, but the little boy giggled. 

The two Bradshaw men made quick work of picking up all the cones and practice pinnies and tossing them into a mesh bag along with the five or so soccer balls. Gil tried to carry the bag, but ended up dragging it, so Bradley picked it and Gil up and made his way across the field to you. The kid was too old to be picked up, but it made getting over to you quicker - Gil had short legs.

While Bradley and Gil had been cleaning up, Emily K’s dad, Adam, had joined Zach’s little tete-a-tete with you. Of course, none of them had their kids with them. Fucking typical. Emily was probably aimlessly walking around with orange juice dripping on her cleats. Bradley scowled as he approached the group, while Zach tossed him a quick wave. 

“Hey, Brad.” Bradley fucking hated being called Brad. 

“Hmmm, hi.”

You turned around at the sound of his voice and a huge smile lit up your face once you saw Bradley and Gil. 

“Mommy!" Gil squirmed in Bradley’s arms until he put him down, wanting to be let go.

“Hey, little man!” You ran your hands through Gil’s hair as he latched onto your legs in a hug. Suddenly, Bradley was jealous of his five year old and he gave you a longer than probably appropriate for six o’clock on a Tuesday kiss.

“Did you see me? I scored a goal!” Gil exclaimed, dancing on the spot.

You shot a quick glance over towards Bradley to double check. He nodded slightly, knowing you hadn’t seen that part of practice - and not because Zach and Adam had been monopolizing your time.

“Of course, I did! Amazing, as always, did daddy teach you that?” Gil giggled and then burrowed his face in the hem of your skirt when he realized there were two other men standing there.

Bradley took a step back towards you, resting his hand on the small of your back. You leaned into him and gave him a quick smile. “Zach was just talking about setting up a playdate with Gil next week - and then Adam thought maybe Emily could come over, too?”

Absolutely fucking not. The ink on Zach’s divorce papers was barely dry and Adam was - well, Adam wasn’t too bad and he probably had just wanted to see if Emily could have a playdate with Gil. They were in the same class, after all. And she wasn’t a biter. Even if she was a little handsy.

Bradley clicked his tongue. “You know, I think G-man’s a little booked up next week? We got a birthday party and then we’re gonna see Papa at the base.”

Gil looked up at him and his entire face lit up even though they were doing nothing of the sort - well, at least not yet. Clearly, when Bradley called Mav later, he would understand and extend the invite.

“Ahhh bummer. We were just exchanging numbers,” Zach nodded towards you, “so, maybe we can do something the week after?”

“Yeah, of course,” you said politely, “maybe next - ahh - week?”

Zach and Adam frowned at your sudden exclamation, but what they hadn’t seen was Bradley slide his hand underneath the waistband of your skirt and lace panties and dig his fingers into the top of your ass. Or the way he started drawing little circles with the pads of his fingers and dragged his nail down your spine. You swallowed.

He could see the goosebumps rising on your arms. Thankfully, your backs were both to the field and not the mass of parents and five year olds eating oranges.

“We uhh, we can work out the details on - Satur-day?” you stuttered out as Bradley dug his fingers into a rather sensitive knot on your back. 

“Sure, that’s fine...guess we’ll see you two around then?”

Bradley smiled at the two men for the first time since the conversation had started, but his good mood was more attributed to your slightly heaving chest, which he had perfect view of thanks to his height advantage. “Have a good night.”

With a brief glance back at the three of you, the two men set off to find their children - which they should have been keeping an eye on in the first place. Bradley retracted his hand.

You bit your lip and glanced up at him. “So, Coach Bradshaw, you gonna make me stay after practice for some one-on-one training? Promise I’ll try harder..."

“Nah, I got you booked for a private session later.” He leaned forward and kissed you, wrapping his arms around your waist, while you clasped yours around his neck. God, you smelled so pretty - he’d take you on the goddamn soccer field right now if there weren’t about twenty parents and five year olds around them.

Bradley only came back to himself and pulled away when he felt a slight tug on his joggers. He looked down at Gil. 

“Daddy? Can we get ice cream since I scored a goal? Please?”

A wicked smile crept across your face. “Yeah, daddy, can we get ice cream?”

Bradley threw back his head and groaned. God, you were fucking killing him tonight. He shot Gil an amused look. “If you can carry this bag,” he nodded towards the mesh bag at his feet, “all the way to the car, then we can get ice cream.”

Gil considered this and then grabbed the bag with his little hands. “Okay, I can do it! I can do it!”

The two of you laughed watching him slowly drag the bag across the grass and towards the parking lot. Bradley threw his arm around your shoulders pulling you close. 

“So, Zach’s dad, huh?”

“Hmmm.”

“What do you mean hmmmm! I could see him making eyes at you from all the way across the field -”

“- He was not!” you protested.

Bradley snorted. “And you just happened to wear that tight little skirt to come to practice, huh?”

“Noticed that, did you - Gil, wait until your father and I catch up before going into the parking lot!” You glanced back up at Bradley. “I like when you get jealous, bubs, it’s cute -”

“- Cute!” He scoffed. “Hardly -”

“- Well, I suppose that’s not true, you were practically groping my ass on the field - isn’t that a Title IX violation or something?”

Bradley groaned. “Sweetheart, at least wait till we get home to start the dirty talk.”

“I make no promises - coach.” You winked and then walked ahead to meet Gil, shaking your hips with every step. “I’ll take Gil to Dairy Queen and we can meet you at home?”

Bradley stopped by his car. “You want ice cream, too?”

You turned around and scrunched your nose. “Not really, I actually have other plans in mind for dessert tonight...” Bradley groaned. “See you at home, daddy.”

thanks for reading x