Bradley Bradshaw X Reader - Tumblr Posts - Page 2

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw work

better than any other man

summary: you accidentally tell the group that no man has ever made you come. bradley is determined to fix this. 18+

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BOOST!!!!!

this man is finer than fine

We need more fanfiction of the following characters/celebs:

Dean Winchester x reader from Supernatural

Charles Xavier x reader from X-Men

Erik Lehnsherr x reader from X-Men

Robbie Turner x reader from Atonement

Beau Arlen x reader from Big Sky

Soldier boy x reader from The Boys

Wolverine x reader from X-Men

James McAvoy x reader

Hugh Jackman x (daughter) reader

Michael Fassbender x reader

Tony Stark x reader, preferably daughter!reader from Marvel-movies

Clint Barton x reader from Marvel-movies

Avengers x reader, any Avenger at all really.

Gellert Grindelwald (Johnny Depp) x reader from Fantastic Beasts

Albus Dumbledore (Jude Law) x reader from Fantastic Beasts

Jack Dawson x reader, Titanic

Legolas x reader from Hobbit-movies and Lord of the Rings-movies

Aragorn x reader from Lord of the Rings-movies

Eomer x reader from Lord of the Rings-movies

Faramir x reader from Lord of the Rings-movies

Castiel x reader from Supernatural

LOTR/Hobbit characters x reader

Charlie Hudson x reader from Hudson & Rex

Lord Asriel x reader from His Dark Materials

Nick Ryan x reader from McLeod's daughters

Richard O'Connell x reader from The Mummy movies

Wade Wilson/Deadpool x reader from Deadpool-movies

Richard Castle x reader from Castle

Drover (Hugh Jackman) x reader from Australia

Ronan Keating x reader

Christian x reader from Moulin Rouge

Aidan Turner x reader and his characters x reader

James Bond (Daniel Craig) x reader

Bucky Barnes x reader

Steve Rogers x reader

Obi-Wan Kenobi x reader from Star Wars prequels and Obi-Wan Kenobi-series

Ewan McGregor x reader

Anakin Skywalker x reader from Star Wars prequels

Hayden Christensen x reader

Owen Grady x reader from Jurassic World

Bucky Barnes x reader from Marvel-movies

Sirius Black x reader from Harry Potter- movies

Cedric Diggory x reader from Harry Potter- movies

Draco Malfoy x reader from Harry Potter-movies

Indiana Jones x reader from Indiana Jones- movies

Cillian Murphy x reader

Tommy Shelby x reader from Peaky Blinders

Harry Goodman x daughter reader from Pokemon Detective Pikachu

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x (daughter) reader from Top Gun/Top Gun: Maverick

Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x (daughter) reader from Top Gun/ Top Gun: Maverick

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader from Top Gun: Maverick

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader from Top Gun: Maverick

Robin Hood/Robin of Loxley (Taron Egerton) x reader from Robin Hood

Rafe McCawley x reader from Pearl Harbor

Daniel "Danny" Walker x reader from Pearl Harbor

Eggsy Unwin x reader from the Kingsman-movies

I'll add here more as I remember more characters/celebs. I prefer character x female reader. The ones in bold need more fanfiction.

This is beautiful and wonderful and everything I’ve hoped for since I read the first part!!! It’s just so perfect!!!! 😭🥹🥹 💕

Leave a Light On {vol. ii}

Summary: Of all the sounds you would have expected to hear in the hazy, quiet small hours of the morning, the gentle rasp of Bradley’s voice wasn’t one that you ever could have anticipated. After three months away, he is finally home.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 10k

Warnings: lots of pining and yearning (Minors DNI)

(read vol. i here)

“Can you play it from the beginning this time, sweetheart?"

That voice. His voice.

You’d been running your fingertips over the smooth keys of his piano, just about to settle them back into the starting position of the part of the song that had tripped you up in the first place. One breath away from launching into that tricky portion yet again, when you were nearly startled out of your skin. Surprise and shock shooting up your spine, the pencil in your hand sent flying.

Of all the sounds you would have expected to hear in the hazy, quiet small hours of the morning, the gentle rasp of Bradley’s voice wasn’t one that you ever could have anticipated.

Your pulse is pounding wildly, in your chest, in your throat, in your ears, as you swiftly spin around towards his front door.

And there leaning against the wooden doorframe of his house, wearing his green flight suit with a canvas seabag still clutched in hand, is Bradley.

Healthy, whole, and here.

“Bradley!” You’re up and off his creaky piano bench in less than half a heartbeat.

You had wanted to be the one to surprise him, but here he was surprising you. His arms wide and welcoming.

If his body was any less solid you might have knocked him over in the way you collide as you throw yourself at him. His bag hitting the floor with a thud as he drops it to hold you properly for the first time in three months.

I’ve missed you.I’ve missed you.I’ve missed you. your heart taps out against your ribcage.

I’m here.I’m home.I’m yours. you feel his beat in reply.

He has you so tightly pressed against his chest, holding you so close within the safe cocoon of his sturdy arms. Your face is buried in the side of his neck, breathing him in. He doesn’t smell like the sandalwood scent you’re used to, but rather some sharp astringent smell from whatever taxpayer funded soap they provided on the carrier. But underneath that, there’s something that’s just so Bradley.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he says almost incredulously into your hair, his arms tightening around your waist. “I thought about you all the time. I missed you so much.”

Still in too much shock to speak, still too overwhelmed by him, you just rapidly nod your head in agreement and burrow yourself closer into his warmth. Your fingers combing through the fine hairs at the base of his head in that soothing way that you know makes him sigh. Smiling to yourself when you get the reaction you were hoping for, when his exhale ghosts down the side of your face as you hold each other.

Your perfect Bradley. Your Golden Boy.

You’ve thought about your reunion with him so many times over the last few months.

Visions of you picking him up, waiting for him by the Bronco wearing that sundress that drives him wild. Of him surprising you at work after some meeting that could have been an email, standing head and shoulders above the gray drab cubicle walls of your office. Of him lingering outside the door of your apartment with a bouquet of your favorite flowers, just like he had after that comically bad third date, but this time without the bug bites littering his thick forearms.

And even though your hair is probably a mess and you’re in an oversize threadbare shirt and wearing slippers that had seen better days, this is better than anything you’d imagined. Because this wasn’t some delicate daydream spun together in your mind to keep ache of missing him at bay.

In the early hours of the morning, it’s not a lyrical vibrato and swell of strings that serves as the soundtrack to his homecoming like it would be in the movies. It’s the percussion of the drip from the kitchen faucet, the low hum and rattle of his refrigerator, the melody of your mingled breathing. These were the sounds of the score to your reunion with Bradley, a domestic symphony.

The quiet, steady ticking of the clock mounted on his wall is the only acknowledgement of time passing as the two of you stay wrapped up in each other. The only indication that this moment isn’t suspended in time like the way it feels it is. A sign that while the sky is still inky and dark outside his living room window, that soon enough the birds will be chirping and the sun will be rising. And for the first time in a long time you will not be waking up in a bed alone.

Because he is here, he is here.

“Your heart is still beating so fast,” Rooster whispers lowly. His thumb is skimming the side of your throat as he cradles the back of your head with his big, warm hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, sweetheart.”

You place a gentle kiss to longest scar that decorates the skin of his throat before pulling away to get a good look at him. He’s wearing the softest smile for you as you take his face between your hands. His hair looks a shade darker than his usual sunkissed bronze and his skin a bit paler than it was before he’d left. And your heart squeezes in sympathy as you note the deep, dark purple circles beneath his eyes and the weariness he carries around the edges of him.

The little lamp with its soft glow was the only source of light in the room, but his exhaustion clear as day.

You could feel the worry creeping up on you, making your eyebrows pull together with unease, “Is everyone-”

“Everyone’s fine, baby,” he hushes you reassuringly. His family in San Diego had become yours as well. You care about them all. “Everyone’s home. Safe and sound.” The relief you feel drifts over you like a gentle breeze.

“I’m so happy to see you,” you say as you pull his face to yours. “I missed you too, Bradley. So much.”

His lips are a little dry, a little chapped, but the way he kisses you still takes your breath away.

You can taste the burnt coffee he must have had after landing, the perpetually scalded kind from base that’s terrible regardless of who makes it. He’s told you about how he always waits to cool just enough so he can throw it back in one go, not wanting to draw it out. You’ve never had it yourself, but you don’t mind the bitterness when it’s off his tongue.

There is nothing hurried or desperate about the way you reconnect with one another, nothing like how you imagined it might be after being apart for so long. Not the hungry mouths or frenzied touches you’d thought about late at night while looking at the pictures and videos on your phone that he had so generously left for you, with only your own hands and imagination to keep you company.

It’s easy to lose yourself in him, making up for lost time and lost kisses. Normally his attentions set your pulse racing, but the longer he kisses you the steadier the beating in your chest becomes as he pulls soft sighs from you. He kisses you slow and deep, like he is savoring the slide of your lips against his. His hands smoothing up and down your back and along your waist, as if he is luxuriating in the feel of your body under his warm palms.

“Bradley,” you breathe contentedly.

“I’m here,” he says.

The simple statement has your mouth breaking out in a wide grin, you can feel the matching one he’s wearing against your lips as he pulls away.

“You’re back.”

“I know,” he says teasingly, running his finger down the bridge of your nose.

You huff a laugh, “No, you’re back early.”

“Mhm,” he hums happily, “And you were playing something really pretty on my piano.” He drops a sweet, lingering kiss on your lips again. “And here I thought”- a kiss on your right cheek- “you said you couldn’t”- a kiss on the left one- “play anymore,” he murmurs as he kisses your forehead. The coarse hair of his mustache feeling rougher than you remember against your skin after so many days without it. “You’ve been holding out on me, sweetheart.”

Your hands slides down from around his neck to rest on his chest. “I’ve been taking lessons,” you tell him. Feeling a bit shy now as you glance up at him from beneath your eyelashes.

“Yeah?” He pulls his head back to look at you, there’s surprise there in his eyes but also pride, “For how long? When did you start?”

If Bradley hadn’t been gazing at you with such genuine affection in those brown eyes of his, you might have been much more nervous to admit just how long you’ve been keeping this secret from him. Even so, you still feel like you’re holding your breath as you reply, “Since you got back from that first deployment.”

You can tell he’s trying to school his features, but his eyebrow still jumps up a bit as he does the math. And as he blinks at you, you can’t help but feel like for all your good intentions that you’ve let him down.

Six months was a long time to keep something like that to yourself.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to tell him, it had been on the tip of your tongue on more than one occasion. He was the only person you’d been wanting to tell, but waiting for the right time had turned into a three-month deployment.

There’s already an apology about to work its way out of your mouth when he cups your cheeks in his hands, “Why didn’t you tell me? You could have been practicing here the whole time. That piano is basically fifty percent yours anyways, since you were the one who found it.”

“I just- It needed to be mine, just for a little bit,” you say quietly, hoping he understands. Your fingertip anxiously traces around the edges of the patch that rests over his heart. “And I wanted to surprise you. But, then…” You nod your head to the green seabag forgotten on the floor.

The kiss he presses to your lips makes your knees weak with its softness. With its acceptance. With its understanding. 

“Well, consider me surprised. You play so lovely,” he says with a gentle smile to put you at ease. And you feel instantly lighter, the pressure that had been building in your chest now just a memory. “I swear, that’s the best thing I’ve heard in months. What were you using to practice with before? The piano at the Hard Deck?”

That he was so invested in this because it was something that mattered to you soothed that tender part of your heart.

His enthusiasm made you want to tell him more, to tell him everything, “I bought an electric keyboard for my place.”

“Wait, really? Where?” he asks, looking adorably confused. You can see him trying to search his memory, as if he’d somehow missed a big rectangular black and white thing pressed against a wall in your tiny apartment. “I swear I’ve never seen one there. That’s something I definitely would have noticed.”

“I would hide it under my bed whenever you were coming over.” Saying it out loud makes you feel a bit sheepish about the lengths you took to keep it a secret until you were ready.

“Under the bed, she says,” Rooster repeats with a shake of his head, clearly amused.

“Well, we’re usually busy on top of it, so it seemed like a good place to keep it hidden,” you say with a little shrug, biting back the smile at the memory of the one time he’d shown up unannounced catching you off guard. And how flustered you been trying to shove it under your mattress as he recovered from the blowjob you’d given him on the couch as an attempt to keep him from going into your bedroom before you could put it away, but also because he really had such a nice cock.

He throws his head back to laugh, the deep sound of it fills the living room. Hearing it for the first time since he’s been away makes your smile grow wider until your cheeks hurt. You love that sound. You love being the one to make him laugh.

But something still tugs at you, something you need to know, something you need to hear.

“Bradley- You’re not…” you trail off.

Mad. Disappointed. Or worse, hurt.

“No. No, I’m not,” he says earnestly, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone softly. “I mean, yeah, I wish I’d known sooner. But only because I would have loved to be the one turning the pages for you and supporting you. I know what this means to you.” He pauses for a moment, that thumb still caressing the curve of your face, “But will you do me a favor?”

ofcourseofcourseofcourse

“Anything.”

That soft smile of his gets bigger and brighter, “Will you play a song for me, sweetheart?”

Some winged thing inside of you takes flight at the sweet sincerity laced between the syllables and the consonants his question.

He’s asked you to play for him so many times. And it had always hurt to deny him what should have been such an easy yes to such a simple request.

But now it didn’t have to be some lonesome dream. Because you’re there and he’s here and it’s all you’ve been wanting.

“Yes, Bradley,” you beam, “I can play something for you.”

You take his hand and pull him further inside the house from where you had been standing in the open doorway. He kicks his duffle bag out of the way, so that he can close the door behind him, shutting out the rest of the world.

It’s just you and him. Together.

In the comfort of his cozy living room, the light from the lamp on top of his piano wrapping you both up in its warm, golden glow.

His piano is no longer daunting the way it used to be. Instead, it welcomes you as you approach it with him in tow. Familiar and friendly.

He lets go of your hand and crouches down next to you. When he stands back up, he shows you the pencil in his hand that he’d picked up for you before tucking it behind your ear, back to where it had been earlier. And you’re dying to know just how long he had been standing in that doorway listening with you completely oblivious to his presence.

You watch with your heart in your throat as he straightens out the previously askewed bench and motions for you to take a seat, dropping a kiss to your cheek.

The creak of the bench not cold and mocking as you sit down, but rather a cheery acknowledgement of your return and of the hours you’ve spent there sitting and practicing together.

You close the open booklet in front of you, to clear up space on the shelf to swap it out for the other sheet music to the song you were planning to play for him, the one you had wanted to welcome him back with. Just as you’re reaching for it, Rooster stops you with a gentle touch to your wrist.

“Wait.” He’s looking down at you with his head tilted and a slight pinch of confusion between his eyebrows, “Why are you putting that one away?”

The song you’d been playing when he’d arrived wasn’t as rehearsed as the other one you’d been reaching for. It wasn’t something you’d ever meant for anyone else to hear, that is other than your piano instructor as she helped to guide you through the tricky parts.

“Oh, um, that one’s not ready,” you falter over the words just a bit as you try to hedge the question. “I have a different piece I wanted to play for you.”

You hold up the sheet music to him and his eyes soften when he sees the title of the song you purchased and practiced with only him in mind. It was polished, it was ready.

You’d had three months to get it ready for him, and you’d made sure to play it through at least once a day. You had wanted it to be perfect, he’d waited so long. He deserved the best and you wanted to be the one to give it to him.

He holds your gaze for a few moments. There’s a questioning look in his eyes, but he must find whatever answer he was looking for written on your face. Because instead of asking you the question seemed to be on the tip of his tongue, he just clears his throat with a little shake of his head.

“You learned this just for me?” he asks, his voice thick and raspy.

And when you bob your head yes, there’s a brief moment where it almost looks like he is struggling with himself. His eyes bouncing from you to the sheet music in his hands to the piano.

“I can’t wait to hear this. Truly, sweetheart. It’s just- the other one is the first thing I’ve ever heard you play...”

It’s not even a real question, but there’s a gentle request ripping in the wake of the way he trails off. There’s no pressure behind the ask that’s not an ask.

But still, there are butterflies fluttering around in your stomach now.

“Ok, Bradley. If that’s what you want to hear, then I’ll play that one for you.” You would do anything this man asked of you, you would do anything for him.

“Yeah?” The grin on his face could power the whole city when you nod your agreement.  

He takes a few long strides around you as you work on reopening and flattening out the sheet music to the song he asked you to play for him. Out of the corner of your eye you see him grab and turn the wooden spindle framed arm chair, bringing it closer and situating it in just the right spot next to the piano.

“Look,” he says gesturing to it, pleased with himself as he settles into the chair, “A front row seat.” He is close enough that his knees are hugging either side of the piano bench.

The genuine excitement in his voice makes your heart stutter and skip a beat.

That the anticipation of fingers on keys and hammers striking strings is better to him than any jackpot or trophy could ever be. He makes you feel like this moment is his lucky lottery ticket. That this is his winning championship game.

You.

You seated at his piano bench with sheet music stretched across it and hands that can make music again.

And you would learn all every song ever composed just as long as he keeps looking at you like the way he is now, eyes bright and with a boyish grin on his face.

“Will you turn the pages for me?” you ask him, even though you already know what is answer will be.

“I would be happy to,” he says with satisfaction. And you know he means it.

You’re nervous now seated on the bench with a different song waiting to be played with the black and white keys under your fingers. As you feeling the warmth of Bradley’s presence next to you and the intensity of his gaze on you.

And with shaky fingers, you begin.

All Bradley had craved when he was on that carrier was for some silence.

Just for a moment where he could hear the sound of his own breathing, where his thoughts weren’t overwhelmed by all the other commotion.

And the closer he got to his house, seated in the back seat of the white Prius that had picked him up from base, the more he wished he was headed somewhere else. To someone else.

It had been three months of endless noise.

Three months of the relentless humming and buzzing and rattling and shaking of the USS Theodore Roosevelt. Of planes taking off for night hops and the explosions of jet fuel and machines banging on deck and the clang of metal on metal.

Three months of endless voices. In his ear from over the radio. Bouncing off the walls of the dull gray passageways. Layered and loud on top of the clatter of forks and spoons on plates and bowls in the mess hall.

Three months of sharing a room with Payback, who was considerate and tidy, but snored louder than anyone he’s ever bunked with. In such tight quarters it was hard to get a moment to himself, let alone a sliver of some peace and quiet.

With over a decade of service under his belt, Rooster would have thought it was something he’d get used to. And while it got more bearable over time, it never seems to get any better.

Sleep ‘til you’re hungry. Eat ‘til you’re tired.

That was the motto most of them lived by when they were aboard the ship.

His schedule shifting depending on the day, at the will of whatever commanding officer was in charge. Lunch became breakfast, the leftovers from previous dinner service that they ate during Midrats gave him just enough energy to make it to dawn. He often had stretches where he’d go days without seeing the sun, it was just another reminder that his time didn’t belong to him. There were moments when it felt like he wasn’t even his own person, but he’d known what he was signing up for when he inked his name on those papers.

Those first few weeks on a carrier were always the worst, when sleep would escape him just when he needed it the most.

He was either doing the midnight hops or being woken up by them. Trying to sneak in naps whenever he had more than twenty minutes of free time. More often than not he’d be right on the precipice of falling asleep when his alarm would go off and he’d have to rush off to the Ready Room for tactics trainings or the flight deck for practicing inflight refueling and aerial combat maneuvers.

Bradley loved flying.

He loved that moment when he climbs in the cockpit of his F/A-18 and everything just clicks into place. When the edges of the world around him sharpen, when the contrast is increased and the clarity heightened. That feeling of surety that washes over him every time from knowing that his actions matter, that what he does matters, that he mattered.

It was the way he could honor the man who made him and to solidify his bond with the one who raised him.

He understands his place in the world the best when he is thirty thousand feet in the air.

In the past, it had been easy to put his head down and get through his deployments because his career gave him purpose. His temporary discomforts and the high-stakes risks he took were worth it for the sake of the greater good.

But things were different for him now because he had you. You were always on his mind.

The two of you have been together for a little less than a year, but it feels like he’s known you forever. You make him feel seen and understood in a way that he’s never experienced before.

Bradley knew how lucky he was to have you, he’d almost blown it one too many times for his comfort in the early days of your relationship. His anxiety nearly derailing one of the best things that’s ever happened to him.

But luckily for him, you wanted him.

Even with all his flaws and scars and baggage.

And for you, he wanted to be a man worth waiting for.

That first deployment was harder than he could have ever anticipated. Not only because he’d never had anyone to miss before, but also because he’d never had to carry the weight that came from knowing someone else was missing him just as much in return.

The way he felt as he held you and danced with you in his living room, with that record you’d found spinning in the background, was a moment he wasn’t ever going to forget. It had felt just as special then as it does now. It’s the memory he replays in his mind over and over again on the nights he can’t sleep.

He’d ordered the sheet music to “Make Love to Me” during those final few hours he had left with you the night before he was due to leave. The screen brightness on his phone turned down all the way so that he didn’t wake you up as you slept soundly, soft and naked, next to him in his bed.

The anticipation getting home to you and learning it for you was the only thing that helped to get him through those six weeks when he felt like the walls were closing in on him from the way he missed and wanted you. 

And once he was back, in between the hours he spent at work and the hours he spent tangled in bed with you, he’d go to the Hard Deck before it opened to use Penny’s old upright to practice. Thinking about how nice it would be to have one that he had a place to call his own. Then flipping off Hangman every chance he got when he’d groan about having to hear the song again.

Rooster had been able to bribe his team with the promise of free beer for a month in exchange for their participation when the song was finally ready for you. He’d known that their over the top antics would make you laugh. And the smile on your face when he’d serenaded you with it for the first time had been worth every penny of the hefty credit card bill he’d received the next month.

It was just as hard this time.

It had taken him a while to realize what exactly that feeling was that had settled heavy on his chest.

Homesick.

He’d never known he could be homesick for a person until he met you.

Time seemed to move faster when the two of you were together. And when he was away from you, the hours and days felt long.

It was harder to let the little things roll off his back because he couldn’t look forward to seeing your smile after a long day when he was thousands of miles away. He couldn’t decompress the way he was used to, the burn he worked up at the weight bench in the gym wasn’t nearly as effective as sitting at the bench in front of his piano. Even if his biceps were reaping the benefits.  

On more than one occasion, he’d caught himself absentmindedly tapping out unheard tunes on the sides of his thighs.

Bradley hadn’t realized how much tension he was carrying in his shoulders until he’d felt it release at the sound of your laugh on one of the rare instances he’d been able to call you over the satellite phone on board.

“Have you been wearing the sunscreen I sent with you, Golden Boy?” you’d asked him.

“I promised you I would, didn’t I?” he’d replied, even as he rubbed at his sternum in discomfort at the not quite lie. When the reality was he didn’t need it when he was on such good terms with the moon. But he didn’t tell you that, didn’t want you to worry about him more than he already knew you were.

“That’s good. Because Lobster Boy just doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.” He could hear the smile in your tone, could feel it as it traveled over the electrical currents.

All the sounds and noise that seemed to follow him around, all the thoughts that circled and spiraled in his head, they faded when he got to listen to your sweet voice. As you told him how much you missed him and how proud you were of him and how much you loved him. Everything he’d never had before. The one thing he’d never let himself hope for.

Someone who cared. Someone who loved him. Someone who was waiting for him.

It was the first time in weeks that things had felt quieter. That he could finally breathe a little easier.

Until they’d told Bradley and his team that the mission they had spent the better part of two and a half months preparing for was getting moved up. And then the sound of the pounding of his heart was drown out by the ringing in his ears.

And on the night, during those pivotal moments where the minutes stretched on like hours, they’d flown it as damn near perfect as could be.

The feeling of sweat dripping down his back as his team had made their way back to the carrier an uncomfortable, but welcomed, reminder that he’d made it. That they’d all made it. That he would be headed back to you soon.

They did the fly-off two days before the carrier was due to dock back at base. Unlike usual, there wasn’t a fanfare of family and friends ready to greet them at the hanger. Normally, their return was a big event. Their formations immaculate as ever as they showed off for all of the important people in their lives before landing.

With all his other deployments, it was the moment that Bradley did is best to avoid thinking about, as he tried and failed to ignore the dread that would settle deep in the pit of his stomach.

Knowing that he’d have to watch as members of his squadron were met with a cheerful homecoming of handmade signs and smiles and laughter and hugs. Watching their tearful and happy reunions, watching as some of his teammates met the newest members of their families for the very first time. All while he’d gather his things and shake the occasional hand, only leave alone.

With this one, it was something he’d been looking forward to for the first time in his career. The idea of you being there to greet him, that big beautiful smile on your face just for him. Of getting to hold you in his arms for the first time in months in the bright golden California sunshine.

But he didn’t mind missing out since it meant he could be home early. He’d trade all the hoopla and hubbub for any extra minute he could have with you.

After all, there was always next time.

Because there would be a next time.

They’d gotten in sometime after midnight, the flashing lights on the runway guiding them in. The diet of stale coffee and adrenaline that he’d been living off of for the last few days finally catching up with him as he worked his way through the final check list of things needing to be done. The brief wrap-up that Cyclone wanted to have ended up going longer than originally planned.

And the longer he had sat there, the more the bone-deep weariness had set in.

His boots felt heavy on his feet as they’d all shuffled out the door to collect the rest of their belongings to head out. Everyone eager to get back to their own homes, back to their own beds. And for the lucky ones, back to the people in those homes and in those beds, who would be excited to see them.

Reuben had offered to give him a ride. He’d snuck a call to his wife the moment they’d gotten service to let her know he was coming home, and she had been there in the parking lot waiting for him. But Payback’s classy condo was on the other side of town from his own Craftsman bungalow, and Rooster wasn’t going to have his now former roommate drive out of his way when he had an app on his phone that could drop him off without inconveniencing anyone else.

So he’d bluffed and said that you were on you way, and then lingered in the break room with another cup of terrible coffee for an additional twenty minutes until everyone cleared out before ordering his ride.

He had been so close to putting in your address for the drop off when he’d booked the Lyft. He really wanted to see you, he’d missed you so much over the last three months. But had decided against it at the last minute, when he realized just how late it was. Thinking that maybe he could surprise you at work and take you out for lunch after some much-needed sleep, when he wasn’t so dead on his feet.

He wanted to be at his best for you.

But the longer he sits in the back of the white Prius, with his knees crushed against the back of the seat in front of him, sipping on the little eight-ounce water bottle the man had blindly tossed in his direction when he’d climbed in, the more he was realizing just how big of a mistake it was to give the driver his own address instead of yours.

The roads were mostly empty, only a few cars here and there.

It was sometime when night met astronomical twilight. The sun hovering somewhere between twelve to eighteen degrees from the horizon. Some stars visible in the night sky even with all the light pollution from the city.

Too late for the people from the bars to still be out and too early for the stirrings of the early commuters who had a long journey into work ahead of them.

Bradley had spent months wishing for the quiet. And he finally had it.

It was silent in the car.

His driver has his AirPods in- which he knows is illegal in California, but he wasn’t going to press it when the roads were this deserted- and the man hadn’t bothered to turn the radio on, so he was left on his own with his worn and well-used duffle bag, an empty water bottle that looked comically small in his hand, and his thoughts.

That quiet he had been so eager for wasn’t the peaceful kind he had hoped for. It is a lonely kind of quiet. It was one that pointedly reminded him that no one would be waiting for him at the end of his destination, when he finally reached that dot at the end of the purple road on his app.

The white static in his ears gets louder with every passing mile. As he watches the minutes tick down until the end of his ride. Where he would get out, and the driver would move on with his night, and he would still be on his own.

He was so tired of coming back from deployments to an empty space. Just like it had been at the barracks. Just like it had been at the minimally furnished apartments he’d rented before he’d been relocated.

This felt too close to those hollow, lonely homecomings of his past.

And while he liked his house, with its wooden shingles and original windows and warm charm, it was just building with four walls and a roof. The rooms held his things, but they didn’t hold anyone.

His dark, empty, quiet house.

It wasn’t a home if he was there alone.

He’d be so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he’d missed the fact that the driver had turned up his street. He’d missed the tree lined suburban blocks leading up to his small Craftsman, until the car slowed down and came to a stop in front of it.

Bradley can feel the guy’s eyes on him in the rearview mirror as he waits for him to grab his things and get out. That homesick feeling in his chest that he’d carried with him for the last ninety days, now back in tenfold. The weight of it keeps him sitting where he is.

He is so much closer to where he wanted to be when he was out in the middle of the ocean, but still too far from who he needed to be with.

As he is opening his mouth to give the driver the address to your apartment, his eyes catch on a light that’s been left on in his house.

That gentle, warm glow of the small lamp above his piano illuminating his living room against the shadows. The curtains still pushed to either side, so he can see in from the outside. Where he can see his piano and a figure curved over it.

And then he’s out of the car and standing on the cracked sidewalk with his bag in hand and taillights rounding a corner before he can fully even process it.

He almost doesn’t want to believe his eyes, the dried out and tired things that they are. Not trusting that in his sleep deprived state that they aren’t playing tricks on him, conjuring the one person he wanted to see the most.

It’s not until he hears the faint sound of his piano calling for him to come closer that it hits him in the chest with as much force as it does when he’s pulling G’s.

That his favorite daydream was now his reality.

His pretty girlfriend, the one who said she couldn’t play, was the one who was sitting at his piano making the music that was welcoming him home.

But as his feet carried him up the walkway, up the stairs, and across his porch to the front door, the music had only gotten louder and clearer. Fishing out the key from his pocket, he slips it into the lock as quietly as possible, opening the door ever… so… slowly… and with more patience than he knew he had in him.

He is too captivated by the curve and shape of you sitting there to try and figure out what that familiar tune is that you’re playing. There’s a cup of tea resting on top of the piano, sitting on one of the coasters you’d got for him when you realized he didn’t have any. You look so soft and perfect wearing a t-shirt of his that he thought he’d lost, a pencil adorably tucked behind your ear.

The picture in front of him is easily the best thing he has seen in months.

Bradley loves that piano. You were the one to find it for him.

It’s his favorite thing that he owns, because when he looks at his piano he thinks of you and the fact you were thinking of him.

It was always something he’d meant to find the time to research, to look into. He knew he wanted one, but he’d never taken the initiative to actually shop around for one.

It had been a dream of his for years, but he’d never had the opportunity to even consider it until after the Uranium Mission when they’d all been permanently relocated to San Diego. And even after he’d bought his house, it was something that sat in the corner of his mind rather than in the corner of his living room.

Instead of putting roots down, he felt like he was waiting for the rug to get pulled out from underneath him. Yet again.

Until one night at the Hard Deck, after he’d played a few of the crowd-pleasing tunes he kept in his back pocket, you’d passed him your phone to show him something. It had been picture of a gorgeous mahogany console piano, just the right size for where he’d been imagining one would go in his house.

“You’ve been telling me you want one of your own for ages, so I set up a few alerts just see what was out there,” you’d told him a bit shyly, almost like you weren’t sure if you were overstepping. “That one just came up, it looks like it’s in really great shape. And that price is better than what I’ve been seeing from some of the other ones I’ve looked at. So I sent the seller an email- just in case- and they replied. They’re not too far away, you’d just need to move it yourself. But you’ve got first dibs on it if you want it.”

 His eyes had bounced back and forth between pictures and your beautiful face, “You did that for me?”

“It seemed like something that would make you happy,” you’d replied simply.

He can still remember the way his heart had pressed against the ribs in his chest.

“This is- It’s perfect. Thank you for finding this. Will you ask them if they want a deposit?” he’d asked, watching as that tentative, hopeful smile on your face grew bigger and brighter.  “I don’t want to lose it. This is the one for me.”

He’d been sure of it. He was still sure of it.

A couple hours later and standing in front of Penny’s jukebox, he had still been buzzing from the find. The seller had taken down the listing, the deposit had been sent, the pick-up time was set, and he’d even managed to rope Jake into helping him move it in exchange for a bottle of whiskey. And you, you were the reason for it all.

He didn’t mean to play the song, didn’t even remember selecting it.

One minute he was looking through the catalogue of songs and the next you were in his arms as he twirled and spun you around on the scuffed wooden floors of the Hard Deck. He knew you weren’t the most confident of dancers, but loved that you trusted him to lead you in a slow easy rhythm.

Enjoying the feel of you in his arms, his lips pressed against your ear as he whispered anything and everything that came to his mind, the words all honey-dipped, as the song played on in the background.

“My girl likes sweet nothings?” he had murmured teasingly at the way he’d felt another shiver dance its way down your spine.

“They’re not nothings, Bradley. They’re sweet somethings,” you’d murmured back, settling your head on his shoulder. “It’s never nothing with you.”

He took your hand and placed it on his heart and he leaned back in. Whispering more sweet somethings into the shell of your ear. He didn’t stop until the song ended, but he could have gone on for hours.

Later that night, Mav had slid up to him at the bar as he was cashing out for the night. He was having a hard time focusing on the conversation the older man was trying to have with him because his eyes kept searching out you from across the room.

And you kept catching him looking.

“You going to marry that girl?” Mav had asked him with a knowing look in his eyes.

He knew the meaning of the song Bradley had selected better than anyone else. Pete been there the night his parents had gotten married, watching on from the sidelines as they’d had their first dance to the crooning voice of Sam Cooke.

“I sure hope so,” he’d answered.

He’d been feeling it for a while, but that was the night he knew.

Now he feds Penny’s jukebox his quarters and plays that song on purpose at least once a week.

For how tired he had been in the back of the Lyft, he feels like he could stand here and watch you for hours.

You’re humming to yourself as you play. Shaking your head when your finger hits a wrong key, slowing down to repeat it, before continuing on. Nodding along when you get through a portion, like you must have practiced that part in particular and were proud of yourself to get it right.

It’s the best thing he’s ever heard. Even when your fingers slip up and play a string of wrong notes.

“Fuck me, F Sharp not F,” you huff.

And he has to bite his lip to keep from chuckling and giving himself away.

Stopping this time to pull the pencil from out behind your ear, you bend forward making some circles on the sheet music in front of you for the spot that had tripped you up. Grumbling some other expletives lowly under your breath as you work.

His studious sweetheart.

Bradley is hit was with a tidal wave of affection so fierce that he knows he can’t stay quiet anymore.

You’ve made your marks and are setting your hands back on the keys about to start over again when he decides to ask you a question in-person for the first time in three months, “Can you play it from the beginning this time, sweetheart?"

“Bradley!”

He loves the way you say his name. He loves the sound of your voice. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you.

It’s almost an out of body experience to have you in his arms.

To kiss you. To taste the hint of chamomile on your tongue. To feel your heart beating against his chest. To tease you. To touch the soft skin of your face with his fingertips. To talk to you. To listen to you as you tell him about when you started taking lessons.

Because he still can’t believe you’re here, it still feels too good to be true.

He doesn’t feel the gravity settle back into his bones until you say you’ll play him a song.

Feeling oddly anxious when he notices you closing the booklet that was in front of you, in favor of putting it way and reaching for something else. But then you smile up at him as you show him the sheet music for song you told him you’ve been practicing.

There’s a look in your eyes that tells him you know exactly why he feeds Penny’s jukebox his quarters and plays “You Send Me” when he wants to dance with you. He knows in his gut that Mav must have told you, probably an intentionally unintentional slip of the tongue.

And god, he really fights the urge to ask. He doesn’t want to hurt your feelings or for you to think he’s taking this moment for granted or that he’s ungrateful for the work you’ve put into learning that song just for him.

A song that meant something to him.

But he is so desperate to hear you play the other one, the one that welcomed him home, the one that’s the first song he’s ever heard you play. It’s already so special to him in a way that he can’t put words too.

When you agree, Bradley’s chest swells with warmth and he can’t hold back his excitement. He pulls up a chair next to you as close as he can get without getting in your way.

And he swears he falls in love with you all over again when you ask him to turn the pages for you.

He hasn’t proposed yet, but if he is lucky enough to look in your eyes as he vows to spend forever with you, he knows he is going promise to turn your pages for the rest of your lives together. That is, if you’ll have him when the time comes.

His eyes catch the way you squeeze and flex your hand, the faintest hint of trembling in your fingers before you set them on the ivory key. The only thing giving away your nerves. Then after a deep breath, you’re playing for him.

And he gets to hear your song, from the beginning, for the very first time.

It starts of soft and melodic, almost like a lullaby. The timbre of the lower notes would sound almost melancholy if it weren’t for the uplifting lyrical, melody of the treble clef. The juxtaposition makes his heart ache and soar at the same time. He knows this song, even if he’s still having a hard time placing it, the title just out of reach.

When you had first told him that you’d forgotten how to play, he’d felt so guilty for all the times he’d tried to get you to play something for him. Kicking himself when he offered to help, not knowing even if you wanted to play anymore. He didn’t want to ever be the one causing you pain.

He knows better than anyone the bittersweet and complicated relationship that you have with the instrument. So the meaning of this gesture isn’t lost on him in the slightest.

He can feel every ounce of love and effort that has gone into this. And all because you wanted to wanted to share this part of yourself with him? Because you loved him?

Bradley wants to absorb every detail of this moment, wants to carry it with him always. The sound of the rich and round notes from the keys your fingers are gliding over. Your sweet face as you read the sheet music in front of you.

He only glances away every now and then to keep track on where you were in the song, so that he can fulfill his duties and turn the page when you’re ready.

You surprise him when you start singing along quietly. And he can’t help but lean in.

He’s always liked the sound of your pretty voice. He loves when he’s able to catch you singing in the shower, when he’ll linger in the doorway and listen. You’ll sing along with him in the car when the winds are whipping from the highway or when you’re tipsy. But it’s rare that he gets to hear you so sing so freely.

It’s not until he hears the words that it clicks for him, that he finally recognizes the song. It’s one he’s heard hundreds of times before, but never like this. There’s a sense of sincerity in it that feels new to him, but that seems entirely perfect for the piece. It’s like he’s hearing the song and understanding the depth of the lyrics for the very first time.

And the more you play, the more overwhelmed he’s getting. The lump in his throat growing in size with every passing measure. The pressure building behind his eyes isn’t from the lack of sleep, but something else entirely. The words you’re singing to him landing and making a place at home in his heart.

You’re approaching the chorus again. He knows where the song is building to. And he wants to meet you where you’re at, wants to show you he hears you. The one thing he’s always liked about the original is that it’s a duet. It’s a conversation.

Rooster realizes now that it was never the quiet he had wanted. It wasn’t the lonely sound of silence. All he wanted and all he needed was you.

Licking his lips, he waits for the right moment and then joins in with a low whistle.

Your head whips towards him and the brilliant smile on your face looks and feels like home.

This.

This is what you had wanted.

His harmonizing whistle was something you didn’t know you’d been hoping for until he joined in.

A part of him, a part of you. Something to be shared.

As you’d gotten yourself situated, smoothing out those pages in front of you, you’d felt your nerves trying to get the best of you.

Thinking about Bradley’s pretty brown eyes on you as you played versus actually having his steady gaze pinned on you were two very different things.

You’ve always had a hard time being the center of attention.

At your birthday, he had so flawlessly distracted everyone from that moment you always dreaded so much, sparing you from having everyone sing and watch on as the candles on the cake were blown out. Because he knew you and cared enough to want you to have the best time. It was the first birthday you’ve had where you were entirely out of your head for the whole evening.

However, he did play it for you himself on the piano much later that night when it was just the two of you, as you ate leftover cake wrapped up in his sheet.

And even those times when he’s serenaded you during crowded nights out at the Hard Deck, it was fine because while his eyes were on you, everyone else was busy looking at him.

But in his small living room, there wasn’t anything to distract him with or for you to hide behind.

The rapid sixteenth notes had been turned into more manageable eight notes with the help of piano teacher. Her tidy markings simplifying and streamlining the music to make it easier for you to learn. Done in pencil, she’d pointed out to you when she returned the sheet music back to you the next week after you’d given it to her, so that you could easily erase it when you were ready to tackle the more difficult portions.

Even so, there had been a brief moment where all the notes seemed to bleed into each other on the page.

It was as if the words of a book had been scrambled and rearranged just as you were getting to the best part. Just as you were about to find out who did it, just as they were about to kiss, just as the heist was about to be pulled off.

Your shaky fingers landing on the edges of a couple of the keys rather than in the middle of one.

But Bradley didn’t care that you’d fumbled over the opening. From the corner of your eye, you’d been able to see the way he was looking at you. It was like you’d hung the moon and the stars just for him.

He wasn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve, because his feelings were always worn so openly on his face.

All those butterflies that had been swarming in your stomach took their flight, and a gentle warm wave of contentment filled you up instead.

You didn’t need the perfect notes when this was the perfect moment. It felt real, it felt right.

The urge had snuck up on you without warning. You hadn’t meant to start singing along, but once the first few words had come out of your mouth you were committed.

And then he’d leaned in.

He was already so close, you could just barely feel his knee brushing against the outside of your thigh from the way his legs were bracketing the piano bench. But there he was trying to get closer still.

Only you would know how many hours you’d spent behind your little electric keyboard and in Mrs. McMullen’s cozy music room and at Bradley’s house seated on his creaky piano bench.

Only you would know after he’d left, you’d driven right back to his house, the smell of his fancy coffee and sandalwood scent still lingering in the air. That you had pulled out the music to “Make Love to Me”, thinking that trying to play it for yourself on his piano would make you feel better, only to end up missing him more than ever when he hadn’t even been gone for an hour yet.

Only you would know many times you’ve tried, and made mistakes, only to try again.  Once more, once again.

But in that moment, you didn’t want him to hear all the hours of lessons or all the hours of practice.

You wanted him to hear your heart.

And when he turned the page of your music for you, you couldn’t help but smile.

You wanted this song to speak to him like it had spoke to you the first time you’d heard it. The way it still speaks to you. How it made you think of him, every time you played it and every time you heard it.

You hoped he could feel it through the keys beneath your fingers and the pedal under your foot.

When Bradley joins in, quietly at first before getting a little louder after you grin at him, you know it’s his way of telling you that he does.

And it is everything.

He follows the lead of your fingers as they glide over the keys. The ebb and flow of his whistle, coming in and tapering out. Your melody strong on its own, but made better with his counterpoint.

For him, you were up for it all. Those quiet periods were just beats of rest that dotted the staff of your life with him. There were so many more notes in his song to look forward to.

Because he was worth the wait.

Those combinations and arrangements of notes that had once been fed your yearning were now fueled by your joy.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, it dawns on you that this was the first time that you weren’t playing the piano not to mask the loud or to cover the quiet. You weren’t playing because with a self-imposed pressure to make something perfect. You weren’t playing as a way to try and ease the longing that had taken up residency in your chest ever since you’d dropped him off at base nearly one hundred days ago.

You were playing because he made you happy and it made you happy to finally be able to off this little piece of your heart to him. He knew you in every other sense, but all you had wanted was for him to know you in this way too. 

You were playing because it made you happy.

The rhythm of your left hand sure and steady like a heartbeat, while those soaring winged notes of your right sounded like the way you felt when he was near. When he was here with you, when he was home with you.

It feels like time isn’t being marked by the ticking second hand of a clock, but rather by the passing of beats housed within measures. Dictated by tempo of your own choosing.

You let yourself float in the moment, in the music. Of the feeling of the keys under your hands, of reading the notes on the page. No longer a random series of dots scattered along five lines on a page. Their language unlocked to you once again. Of the pride you can feel radiating off the man who loves you as you are. The one who made you want to try. The one who helped you find this part of yourself again.

Those two parallel lines that mark the end of the song inch closer as he turns the final page for you. And you find yourself playing just a bit slower. Trying to draw out every note and chord, soaking up the way they filled every nook and corner of his living room with their sound.

It’s inevitable when you come up on those few closing measures. All good things come to an end, but it doesn’t mean there won’t be more good things to come. You can have this whenever you want. You have all you need.

You and Bradley and a piano.

Your fingers hold down the keys of those final notes, pulling out every last bit of sound that can be let from them. The sound waves bending and spreading, their energy passing through his home until they can’t be heard any more.

Holding on. Holding it. Before finally, letting go.

And when you turn to Bradley, his arms are already open and waiting for you.

His piano bench announces its displeasure you’ve stopped playing for the moment when it groans and creaks as you get up in favor of tucking yourself into the comfort of his lap.

He wastes no time pulling you into him and wrapping you up. Encouraging you to nestle your head into his shoulder. Pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting his cheek on the top of your head. His hand slipping under the hem of your t-shirt to run soothingly up and down your spine as you breathe him in.

You’re feeling exposed to him in a way you’ve never felt before. It was your turn to put all your cards on the table. But you know you’re safe with him, your heart is safe with him. Just as his is with you.

Neither of you say anything as the weight of the moment relaxes into something softer. As you felt the essence of the notes you’d been playing settle around the two of you from how they’d been silently lingering in the air.

It’s quiet, but there is peace to be found in it.

Bradley is the one to pull away to take your face between his large hands. His brown eyes brimming with warmth.

“I love you so damn much,” he murmurs before leaning in to kiss you. Delicately, softly, tenderly. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too,” you say running your fingers through his curls. Your heart swells as he leans into your touch, letting his eyes flutter close in contentment. Your Golden Boy. “I’m so happy you’re home.”

“There’s no place I’d rather be than here. My home is with you,” he sighs, sleepy and satisfied. But the sincerity in his statement wraps itself around your heart.

“Bradley.”

“Mmhm,” he hums, his eyes still closed.

“Let’s go to bed,” you say softly as you gaze at him. Even half asleep, he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. And he’s yours. “It’s still too early for even roosters to be up.”

He huffs a little chuckle, cracking one eye open to squint at you. The side of his mouth pulling up on one side in amusement.

You move to climb off of him, but he hooks his hand underneath your thighs. Waiting for you to thread your arms around his neck before he stands up with you in his arms as he starts walking towards his bedroom.

Looking over his shoulder, you notice that little light above his piano is on.

The sky outside Bradley’s window is beginning to lighten now, the dark of night has given way to a dusky navy. There is the gentlest tease of wispy pink and purple cotton candy clouds, a sign that a sure to be stunning sunrise that’s on its way.

And you already know, it’s going to be a good day.

Thank you for reading, friends! This soft little piano fic has been living with me since January and I'm so thrilled that it's out now! I loved getting to share this one with you!

And a sincere thank you to @gretagerwigsmuse, @callsignspark, and @laracrofted for the support, and for letting me send endless snippets and the feedback! I appreciate you so much!

I purposefully left out the song that Bradley's Sweetheart plays, just in case anyone wanted to imagine their perfect song. But if you’re curious, here’s the one that I had in mind when I was writing this: Home (slowed) by Edith Whiskers 🤍

You can read some of my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

I loved this so much!!! I’m so excited for part 2!💕

Wildest Dreams

Summary: Never in your wildest dreams would you have expected to be waiting at a Naval hanger for a man you’d met two months ago during Fleet Week. Let alone one you’d only known for less than twenty-four hours. (Even if it had been the best sex of your life.)

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 6k

Warning: fluff, smut, and the return of the summer dress whites (minors dni)

(author's note: this was written as part of @laracrofted's 1989(TV) challenge. It is a prequel to Hey, Sailor, but can be read on its own!)

This has the potential to be the best idea you’ve ever had or the worst.

Although based on the way you kind of want to shimmy out of your too tight skin, you’re starting to think it might be the worst.

You are out of place and out of sorts. There are kids giggling and running around with homemade posters covered in bright neon bubble letters and you aren’t even wearing a bra.

Oh god, what were you thinking?

Never in your wildest dreams would you have expected to be waiting for a man you’d only met two months ago during Fleet Week. Let alone one that you had known for less than twenty-four hours and had sex with within the first two hours of meeting. But you couldn’t think about that too much without your face heating up.

And waiting at Naval Air Station North Island, no less.

Oh, this was a very bad idea.

The happy chatter of excited friends and family of the deployed squadron members, who are due to return within the hour, is bouncing off of the cavernous curved walls of the hanger you’re standing in. Bursts of delighted laughter rippling throughout the space.

And with each passing minute the thumping of your heart pounds a little harder against the walls of your chest. Whether it’s anticipation or apprehension you couldn’t say.

Under normal circumstances the energy would be infectious, the atmosphere around you is bubbly and light, but all it does is make you feel like it is glaringly obvious that you don’t fit in here with the rest of the clusters of families.

That is if your nice yet slightly-too-revealing-to-be-family-friendly dress didn’t already give you away.

The only perk of it at the moment was that the breeze against the bare skin of your exposed back was keeping you from breaking out in an anxious full body sweat in the summer heat.

In your defense, you’d picked this dress out for a reason and had chosen it with a purpose in mind. Even if you were second guessing every decision that has led you here.

Over the last two months, you had changed your mind more frequently than the wind changed direction.

He’d been brought into your life on a high tide of champagne bubbles that had swiftly taken him right back out, leaving a wake of nothing but champagne problems.

Every time you thought about recycling the packet of papers that had taunted you and tempted you in equal parts, you were reminded of the warm brown eyes of the person who had given it to you. And it never failed to set your heart a flutter the same way had when he’d given it to you with that soft, cautiously hopeful smile.

You have the registration form that had gotten you through the heavily secured gate clutched tightly in your hand as if you’re waiting for some uniformed security official to come up to question you then escort you off the base.

Although now it’s so crumbled and creased that you don’t know if they’d even be able to read it.

Worst of all, you had no way to distract your busy mind from all your buzzing thoughts.

They’d taken your phone at the gate, a security measure they’d told you as you watched them tag it with your name and put in a slim cubby for you to collect when you left.

Which might be sooner than you thought, because the longer you stand there waiting and shifting on your feet the more you were fighting the urge to backpedal. To spin on your strappy sandaled feet and hightail it back to your car and drive the legally posted limit only until you made it past those intimidating chain link gates before flooring it, getting as far away from this cheery, happy hanger as quickly as possible.

And yet for whatever reason, your antsy feet and tapping toes stay planted on shiny finish of the industrial cement of the hanger.

This is crazy.

You’d thought it as you slipped on and tied the flimsy straps of your pink ruffled sundress and collected all of your things. Pausing to double check that you had your Driver’s License, Passport, and Social Security card in your purse for the fourth time that day.

This is ridiculous.

You’d thought it as you’d drove along the highway to the Naval base that you had only been to only once a couple of months ago. The sun beaming down on your car with hardly a cloud in the sky. A perfect golden California day, even if your mind was in a hazy fog.

This is foolish.

You’d definitely thought that on loop, like a broken record in your mind, as you’d waited in the long line of cars all done up in window paints and streamers packed with grinning, eager faces all queued up for the same reason.

When you had finally made it to the front of the line, your heart had been pounding away beating a mile a minute. Your palms sweating as you handed over the three-page packet and identification cards to the security working the gates.

The Use of Deadly Force Authorized sign was a stark contrast with the smiles of the officials who greeted you.

You were positive you looked as shifty as you felt. But it seemed the only person who thought you looked like a red flag was you. Because they’d barely given you a second glace as they’d waved you through after checking your paperwork. You had almost blurted out Are you sure?, but managed to keep it together as you waited for the red arms of the barrier gate to lift.

That final hurdle officially out of your hands because you were finally there and soon he’d be here.

During one white wine fueled late night evening on your couch you’d allowed yourself to indulge in those tempting taunting what-ifs.

What-if you went.

What-if you waited.

What-if you met him there.

And in your casual research somewhere between the third and fourth glass of Sauvignon Blanc, before you had scrolled back three years on the base’s official Instagram page and googled the sure-to-be redacted version of the visitor’s map of the base, you’d read that sometimes they’d direct visitors to park in a lot on the edge of the base to be shuttled to the designated homecoming hanger.

Thankfully, there would be no shuttles operating on military efficient timetables for you. Since you’d been directed to a parking lot that sat across from a large hanger decorated with waving and winking banners of bold red, white, and blues.

You couldn’t help release a little sigh of relief knowing that you’d be able to make an easy escape if you needed to.

Because if this was going to take you down, if the sun was going to set on your gleaming gilded what-ifs, at least you could leave with your head held high. Even if your tail would be between your legs.

Just in case, you had built it up in your head.

Just in case, he changed his mind.

Because this was crazy, this was ridiculous, this was foolish. But you didn’t want those memories from two months ago to follow you around like a ghost of what could have been.

You wanted to see what it could be. What you hoped it might become.

You’ve thought about that night a lot.

Flashes of sturdy white twill and toned muscles and a low, raspy voice had kept you up more nights than you were willing to acknowledge. You’d lost time thinking about warm hands and a rich laugh and lips that left hot trails along your body that you still felt like a ley line under your skin.

After the mark beneath your ear had faded, the only proof it all hadn’t been some gold rush dream was the flimsy piece of paper currently grasped in your hand like a lifeline.

Before that night you’d never understood the draw of Fleet Week. It seemed like the type of mess you’d purposely avoided. Nights that left you either with a good story to tell over brunch or in mascara coated tears crumpled like a piece of paper on the ground.

But now, you didn’t think you’d ever be able to think of it without thinking of it and him with only the rosiest of memories.

Your mind wanders as you remember the way he’d made you felt. Of being around him, of tangled up with him. You’re too busy thinking about heated smiles and pretty scars that the sound sneaks up on you.

It starts out as a low rumble that swiftly builds into a roar that shakes you out of that shimmering lavender haze. Cheers break out in the crowd as people flood out of the hanger and onto the tarmac to get a better view.

Looking around you, there are kids pressing their hands to their ears as the squeal and shout in delight. Their faces turning up to the skies as they enthusiastically wave at the aircrafts flying towards the base with perfect precision.

You get as close to the edge of the hanger as you dare. Toeing the line between cracked industrial cement and sundrenched asphalt, still unsure your place in all of this. Not quite ready to fully give yourself up to the swift current of honey hued possibility.

There are at least a dozen jets approaching in sharp triangular and diamond shaped formations.  Clusters of four flying in flawless alignment with one another, their shiny bodies stand out in relief against the cloudless blue skies. It’s a gravity defying ballet as the individual groups merge together in impeccable unison to form one large unit.

Your jaw drops open in awe and your heart soars into your throat at the stunningly impressive sight.

They speed impossibly fast overhead and within seconds all that remains are the contrails of their coming and the knowledge that soon they’ll have their feet back on the ground with the rest of you.

The low, thick whomp whomp whomp of large helicopter propellers approaching behind them in the distance like an echo as more and more of the deployed squadron arrive for their homecoming.

You almost can’t hear it over the steady drumbeat of your heartbeat in your ears.

Because he’s back. He’s here.

After two months of wondering and waiting, you’re about to find out.

It’s all happening now.

“It’s her last fling before the ring! Cheers, bitches!”

You didn’t know whether you were impressed or one enthusiastic woo! away from losing it at the amount of puns Amanda, the maid of honor, had been able to come up with for the evening.

To no one’s surprise, tequila shots and champagne were a dangerous combo.

When the bride-to-be had said she wanted to keep things local and have a staycation type girl’s weekend for her bachelorette party, you and your bank account had been thrilled. It wasn’t until you all had left for the hotel all gussied up in your sparkling hot pink finest to head out for dinner that you noticed all the white uniforms dotting the sidewalks and seated out on some of the outdoor terraces.

It was Fleet Week.

You’ve lived in San Diego for almost five years now. And while running into someone in the Navy was commonplace, in both the grocery store and on the dating apps you’d redownloaded a few months ago, Fleet Week was something that you’d always purposely avoided. Opting to stay home and out of the fray.

However, you were coming off of a break up with a man who had slowly sucked all the color from your world. And this weekend was just the thing you needed to let go, to be unabashedly uninhibited, to reclaim your shimmer.

Your shiny pink dress is three inches shorter and your heels two inches taller than anything you’d ever worn before. There had been a brief moment when you’d felt self-conscious stepping into the lobby of the hotel, aware of just how much skin was on display with short hem and the low dip of the back of your dress, until your best friend had given you the loudest wolf-whistle known to mankind sending you into a fit of giggles.

And instead of shying away from the eyes that had been drawn to you in that moment, you sparkled.

You didn’t quite feel like your old self yet, but you were on your way. You liked this version of yourself so much better than the shell of a girl you’d been before. You liked the one who could be bold and brave and bejeweled.

The upscale bar is packed and it’s just the kind of lively atmosphere where tonight’s bad decisions could become tomorrow’s good stories.

It felt less like a club and more like a large stylish living room, with its cozy clusters of oversized chairs and couches. Pockets of the room were cast in a soft lavender light, while the rest was awash in a golden glow from the massive modern chandelier that ran the length of the room. Gleaming brass accents were offset with the warm tones of the wooden paneling that lined the walls. It was soft, lush, and inviting.

The music was good and there was even a small dancefloor, but it wasn’t so loud that you couldn’t enjoy having a conversation with someone without shouting. The bar looked more like a library than a place to get your drinks with its black leather tufted base and dark wooden built-ins displaying shiny bottles like a prized book collection. And the cocktails were stellar.

It was obvious why so many people had ended up here tonight, both civilians and Naval personnel on leave.

“Oh, hello there,” you hear your best friend practically purr, pulling you from your internal debate about another ordering another shot of tequila.

You look over to see her staring at the door where two tall officers have just entered with a devious gleam in her eyes.

The one on the left was just her type, a pretty boy with the kind of megawatt smile that would have orthodontists dying to get a closer look. He looked the cocky kind of confident now, but you knew if your friend made her move she’d have him wrapped around her finger before the bartenders even announce last call.

The man next to him was the taller one of the two and sporting a mustache that might have looked ridiculous on anyone else, but for whatever reason it suited him very well. Especially when it was paired with that easy grin he was currently wearing as he laughed along with something his friend was saying. Even from across the room you could tell he’d be even more attractive up close.

Their tans and the definition of their arms were offset by the crisp whites of their short-sleeved uniforms. And looking at them you could finally understand the appeal of Fleet Week.

Men like that could easily make a girl lose her mind amongst other things.

You had no doubt in your mind that these two in particular would be a hot commodity tonight. There were already quite a few heads turned in their direction to watch as they made their way towards the bar. Appreciative eyes glinting as they take in just how well they both filled out their uniforms.

Another loud woo! from your group of friends pulls your attention back to them in time to see another bottle of champagne, complete with a bright sparkler, being delivered to the table you had all chipped in for the evening.

At this rate, someone was either going to end up on top of a table or on the confetti covered floor.

You chance another look back over your shoulder towards the two men who’d just saddled up to the bar and are met with a pair of mischievous eyes already trained on you.

An electric touch races up along your spine. 

You’re still a safe distance far enough away to where you can allow yourself to take him in, fighting the urge to hastily look away and pretend it was an accident that your eyes connected when you had definitely been trying to sneak another peek at them- at him in particular. You see his smile pull to the left and his cheek tick up as you hold his gaze.

He’s less than subtle in the way he lets his eyes drag over the exposed skin of your back and down the line of your legs before letting them settle back on your face. When you shoot him a pointed raise of your eyebrow, that smirk on his face just grows even wider.

It makes your stomach swoop, and even worse, it makes your own lips turn up in an amused smile in response.

An unabashed flirt.

There’s no doubt in your mind he knows exactly what he is doing. You’re sure he has practiced this kind of silent conversation many times. That over the years he has polished his technique to a shiny, smooth finish.

You know nothing good can come from a man in a uniform, but a man in uniform during Fleet Week is a different kind of trouble altogether.

And one who looks like that? Big and broad, with confidence rolling off of him in waves?

No, nothing good could come from it.

Taking one more sweep of his face you turn away from him and opt to sip on some cold water instead.

Your best friend is still making eyes with the man with the dimples, so you start up a conversation with one of the other bridesmaids you don’t know as well as some of the others. She was a sweetheart, but you could tell this wasn’t her usual scene so it felt like you were doing a lot of the heavy lifting for the conversation.

It also didn’t help that you were trying and failing to ignore the way it had felt when he looked at you, like sparks dancing across your skin that you could still feel like a phantom touch.

You’re struggling to come up with a new topic of conversation when cloud of white sequins and rhinestones and tulle bulldozes into you.

“Come get a drink with us,” the bride-to-be declares as she hooks her arm with yours and starts tugging you towards the bar.

You see that your best friend is already a couple steps ahead of the two of you and heading in the same direction to the bar, purpose in every step she takes.

“You need a break from free champagne?” you ask with a grin.

“I want something pink!” she sings.

You laugh at her dedication to the theme, “Ok, let’s get you something pink.”

“Yes, let’s,” she agrees.

As you get closer to the bar, you ignore the pull in your stomach and the gaze of the broad man who lingers in your peripheral vision. It had been heady from a distance you had no clue how you’d fair with it directed at you up close.

You’re not surprised in the least when your best friend passes by the open space at the bar and flounces right up to the officer with the dimples. And you’re even less surprised when she takes the shot that was held loosely in his hand and tosses it back in one go, before running her thumb along the bottom of her lip and giving him a sharp, feline grin. The now shot-less man rises up to the occasion and gives her a matching one of his own, the interest gleaming in his eyes.

However, you are very much shocked when your soon-to-be-wed friend all but shoves you towards the man with the mustache.

Your hands dart out to catch yourself on the bar, but one ends up on his thick forearm instead as he reaches out to steady you. His other hand is braced low on your hip, big and warm. Glancing down you can see that his pinky is very near the hem of your short dress.

You toss her a withering glare over your shoulder, but she’s already bobbling back towards the group very clearly pleased with herself.

As you turn to look up at him, all words escape you and your breath gets caught in your throat.

He’s handsome as hell.

And up close, that uniform has the potential to be even more life ruining than it was from a distance.

It is almost obscene the way it clings to the bulk of him. The sleeves of his shirt were stretched out around his biceps and pulled taut across his chest. His pants look almost molded to his thighs and long legs. It’s almost dizzying just how good-looking he is in it.

And you’re absolutely mortified.

“Hey, Sailor,” you say weakly at an attempt to diffuse the awkwardness of how you’ve come to be pressed against his hard body.

He throws his head back and laughs. It’s low and lush, rich and raspy. And god, do you like the sound of it.

But there’s still a rush anxious energy that courses through you, unsure if he’s laughing at you or the situation you’ve both been literally thrust into. You’re tempted to step back out of his reach, but his fingers tighten the gentlest bit where his hand still sits on your hip keeping you in place.

There’s amusement dancing behind his brown eyes and that smile of his up close is even more devastating. And you can’t help but shoot him a sheepish smile in return.

“That’s one way to make an entrance,” he grins.

“I am so sorry about that,” you say gesturing to the gaggle of giggling girls watching on from the corner of the room. You get your feet righted underneath you and take a half-step back.

And this time he lets you, his pinky grazing the skin of your upper thigh as he does.

“I’m not,” he says, leaning against the shiny black and white marble slab of the bar top, “I was hoping you’d come over here.”

You refuse to let yourself get flushed, but the heat races to your cheeks all the same.

Instead you pivot.

“I feel like I should warn you, she’s going to eat your friend alive,” you say, gesturing to your best friend who is looking every inch the menace you know her to be.

He glances over towards where his friend and yours are talking. His friend’s shot has been replaced and they’re both wearing a pair of dueling smiles. Their conversation too quiet to hear, but you know that tone of hers and what it means.

The good kind or the bad kind it was too early in the evening to say.

You allow yourself a brief moment to admire his profile, your eyes tracing over his cheekbones and jaw, noticing a few scars that dot his sunkissed skin.

He lets out a low chuckle and looks back towards you, “Good. Hangman has been a pain in my ass for years. Serves him right. It’ll be good for his ego.”

“Hangman?” you ask, eyebrows pinching together.

“Oh, right. That’s Jake,” he clarifies, nodding over to his friend, “Hangman is his callsign. Bagman if he’s pissing me off, which is often enough. We’re both Naval aviators.”

Well, that explained the aura of self-assuredness that radiated from the two of them from the very moment you’d seen them.

The uniform was bad enough on its own, but a pilot?

Trouble was definitely too small a word for this man, he’d need a different category created for him altogether.

“Can’t say I’m too mad at him right now though. I wanted to go somewhere more lowkey, but he said ‘pretty girls like pretty places’,” he gives you a slow smile as his eyes drift over you, “Turns out he was right. But don’t tell him that I said that, he’ll be insufferable.”

And then he has the audacity to wink at you.

You absolutely will not be getting tangled up with a pilot. But you were definitely up for a little fun, and decide there is no harm in indulging in some friendly banter.

“So are you going to tell me your callsign or do I have to guess?” you tease.

“It’s Rooster.”

You swallow down the quip that comes to your mind first, and ask instead, “Do you come with a first name, Rooster? Or did the Navy claim that too?”

He has Bradshaw emblazoned on the nametag on his chest, but you’re so curious to find out the answer. You’ve never been so interested collecting breadcrumb pieces of someone before, there’s something in the way he’s looking at you that makes you want to know more.

“I’m Bradley,” he grins wider, holding out his hand to you.

You look from him to his big hand and then back to him again, debating on how much you want to give him in return. He lifts a playful eyebrow his hand still outstretched as he waits for your move.

So you put your hand in his and give him your name.

Rooster repeats it back as if he’s testing out the way the syllables and consonants of your name feel in his mouth. And if he’s slow to let go of your hand, you let it slide without a comment.

“Well, since it’s Fleet Week and all, Bradley Rooster Bradshaw, I think would be pretty unpatriotic for me to not buy you a drink as an apology for my friends and for subjecting you that poorly executed line.”

His features take on a very contemplative look as he lets out a low, quiet hmm.

“I don’t know about that,” he deliberates.

“About the drink?” you ask, fully prepared to make a hasty retreat before you make yourself look any more ridiculous than you already did.

“No, about the line. I think it was pretty effective,” Rooster says whiskey smooth.

“Really? That’s all it took, huh?” you laugh, “You must have been stuck on that ship for a while.”

Flagging down the bartender, you order a couple shots of chilled tequila.

You see Bradley reach into his shirt pocket, pulling out a few loose bills to pay. There’s definitely nowhere for a wallet to go in those pants. Sliding in front of him, letting yourself graze up against him just the slightest bit, you tell the bartender to put the shots on your group’s open tab. You can see them still spying on you, so it was the least they could do for a free show.

You spin towards him and rest your elbows on the bartop behind you with a grin. He just smirks and shakes his head at you with a look that you’d almost want to call fond if you’d actually known him for longer than ten minutes.

“So, how long were you deployed? Are you headed back to wherever home is after this weekend is over?” you ask.

“I’m actually stationed here permanently in San Diego,” Bradley says, pausing for a moment before continuing, “But I am headed out for a two-month deployment tomorrow.”

He’s looking at you closely, as if he is trying to gauge your reaction to him showing you his cards so early. Here today, but gone tomorrow.

This open honesty from him makes him even more attractive in your eyes. He’s the type of man who could so easily wreck your plans if you gave him the chance to. And for a split second, you can almost see the end before anything can even begin.

“Well, it’s nice of the city to give you such a nice send-off then,” you say lightly, ignoring the twinge in your stomach.

Thankfully, the bartender returns with the chilled shots, you thank him and then hand Bradley one of the shot glasses cheers-ing him with your own, “To Uncle Sam’s overly inflated defense budget.”

He snorts and watches as you raise the glass to your lips. Feeling bold under the warmth of his gaze, your tongue darts out as you lick the smoked salt off the rim before swallowing down the shot, not breaking eye contact with him once.

You’re beyond delighted when notice the tips of his ears are a little pink as he throws back his own. The heaviness from earlier shifting into a more exciting kind of tension as your gazes bounce off of each other.

Bradley leans a bit into your space as he sets his empty glass on the bartop, “Can I let you in on a secret?”

“Only if it’s a juicy one,” you counter, more than happy to take the bait.

“It wasn’t just the line. Your little tiara thing is doing it for me too,” he says reaching out and adjusting the rhinestone Bridesmaid headband that you’d completely forgotten you were wearing. His thumb skimming over your temple as he withdraws his hand.

You could handle an unabashed flirt, but a charming unabashed flirt whose smile was setting off a flurry of butterflies in your chest was not on the agenda for tonight.

“Do you want to swap, Rooster?” you tease nodding your head towards the white and shiny black-rimmed hat that is sitting snugly on top of his head.

“Nah, I don’t think I could pull it off as well as you do.” He shoots you another wink, one that has your toes curling in your pretty-but-too-tall heels. “Plus, mine is technically government property. They don’t let just anyone wear it, not without earning it.”

You don’t miss the way his eyes dip down to your lips.

The shot of tequila makes you brave enough to contemplate asking just exactly one would have to do to earn a turn wearing his hat, but the two of you are startled out of bubble you had found yourselves in at the sound of a sharp slap.

You peer curiously around Bradley to see Hangman looking equal parts shell-shocked and starry eyed after your best friend as she struts away from him with a swing in her hips, her hair bouncing with each step.

“I should-” your own eyes betray you by slipping down to his parted lips when you look back at him, “I should go check on her.”

“You don’t have to go just because Bagman is an idiot. Let me get you a drink and return the favor. Please,” he says, his big brown eyes asking you to stay.

“No, I really should. Thanks for indulging my friends and for the company, Bradley. Enjoy the rest of Fleet Week.” Before you can overthink it, you lean in a press a kiss to his cheek. Giving him one more smile, one that doesn’t feel as bright as you’d like it to be, you turn and leave.

You hustle to catch up with your friend as she makes her way back to your bedazzled group, “Hey, are you ok? What the hell did he say?”

She waves off your concern with a Cheshire cat grin, “Oh, that man is about to be so obsessed with me.”

Over the next hour it is impossible to keep your eyes from straying back to him. You try to lose yourself to the music on the small dancefloor and in the raunchy girl talk. Every time you dared to take a peek at him, you’d been surprised to see him already looking at you instead of chatting up some other girl.

At one point, he’d even been bold enough to pat the space next to him as an open invitation. You’d simply smiled and shook your head at him, laughing to yourself when he dramatically clutched at his heart in response.

It’s not until a very large bottle of Dom Perignon Brut Rosé is delivered your table, a cheer going up as the bottle service girl discloses who had it sent over, that you’re made to reevaluate your plans for the evening.

The two men are still at the bar, but you don’t miss the satisfied smirk of on your best friend’s face as she helps herself to some of the pink bubbly.

Instead of a glass, you’re offered a threat.

“We all know what she’s doing, but if I see you at brunch tomorrow I’m kicking you out of the wedding,” the bride-to-be cheerfully trills, albeit tipsily, as she presses your clutch into your hand and shoos you away. Officially dismissed from your bridesmaid duties for the remainder of the weekend.

You take the long way around the edge of the room to the bar, giving yourself a minute to debate the pros and cons of what you were planning to do. But as the crowd parts and you see him, still planted in the same place you’d left him, all the bullet-pointed items on your mental list dissolve like sugar in an Old Fashioned at the sight of his warm whiskey brown eyes.

This time it’s no accident in the way you slide up to him.

“Well, Rooster, you’ve got my attention.”

“Good. I like your attention,” he says with an all too pleased grin. “I was worried I was going to have to come join in you over there. The last bachelorette party we ran into kept wanting me to give the bride a lap dance. It looked pretty dire there for me for a moment. You bridesmaids are an intimidating bunch.”

He doesn’t strike you as someone who would shy away from the attention.

“Feral, drunk, horny women aren’t your thing? Or are you just anti lap dance?” you ask with a cheeky tilt of your head.

“Feral and horny women for sure. And I am very pro lap dance, I’ll have you know. I’m just picky about who I give them too. For example, if you were to ask nicely, I’d be more than happy to demonstrate,” he offers, his cheek ticking up on one side.

He made you feel an exhilarating kind of reckless. And if you were only going to get one night with him, you were going to make the most of it.

“That’s a very expensive bottle of champagne that just got delivered to us.”

“Well, it’s Fleet Week after all.”

“We established that earlier tonight,” you note jokingly.

“So we did,” Bradley acknowledges with a dip of his chin. “And in the spirit of Fleet Week, it seemed like a good gesture to further advance and cultivate better civilian and military relations.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” you laugh.

“Ok, funny girl. Tell me then, what do you think Fleet Week is about?” he asks, settling in and leaning his elbow on the bartop.

You don’t even hesitate.

“Getting free drinks and getting laid.”

“Ok, ok. You’ve got me there,” he chuckles. “Can’t say that hasn’t been part of the draw for me in the past.”

“So you admit you’re doing it wrong,” you can’t help but tease him as you throw a thumb over your shoulder towards the $500 bottle of champagne that’s bubbling away in glasses.

“In my defense, Hangman and I went dutch on it,” Rooster says as he puts his hands up in surrender. “Plus, if you remember, I already had a very pretty girl buy me a drink tonight.” His eyes drag over you pointedly, then lets them linger at your mouth again.

“Only the one?” you ask peering up at him.

“The only one I wanted.”

“And how many others have offered?” you ask, stepping even closer. You can feel the heat rolling off of him in waves even in the well airconditioned room.

He weighs his words before answering, “A few.”

A moment passes between the two of you as crystal-clear clarity settles around you.

The old you would have dropped it, but this version of you, the one you liked being around him was ready to press further.

“So the free drinks have been covered,” you say, fingertips tracing up along the veins of his forearm, “And what about getting laid?”

“I’d be more than happy with a phone number and a date lined up for sixty-two days from now,” Rooster says resting a hand low on your back, his thumb skimming along your bare skin. “But if you wanted, I wouldn’t mind showing you just how invested I am in furthering those civilian-military relations.”

The desire in his eyes makes any lingering doubts in your mind evaporate like a marine layer.

“Is that so, Sailor? How civically inclined of you.”

“Lieutenant Commander, actually,” he says with pride as he straightens up to his full height, his chest looking impossibly broader as he does.

“Lieutenant Commander Bradley Rooster Bradshaw?” you hum, “Now that’s quite a mouthful.”

The low rumble that escapes his chest makes goosebumps erupt across your body.

“You’re trouble,” he murmurs, pulling you closer as he brings his other hand to the curve of your hip.

“Oh please. You handle multimillion-dollar aircrafts for a living, I’m sure you could handle little ol’ me,” you say with a wink.

It’s a challenge, it’s a dare.

“Yeah, I bet I could too,” he rasps, looking at your lips.

He shouldn’t be so easy to like, shouldn’t have you wanting moremoremore when you’ve known him less than two hours.

You bring your hands to his chest, your fingers toying with the little button near the hollow of his throat, “So, you’re shipping out tomorrow…”

You feel as he stiffens slightly under your palms, but his gaze remains steady on you, “Yeah, tomorrow evening. It’s not the greatest of timing, I know.”

“Well then, I guess if there’s a clock we’re working against, we should probably get this show on the road,” you say nodding towards the door.

You watch as the remorse in his eyes is replaced with a mischievous glint. The solemn press of his lips transforming into a slow, knowing smirk.

And you know he’s game.

“You gonna take me home with you, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you muse with faux contemplation, looking at him from under your mascara coated lashes, “Do I get a tax break if I do?”

“I’d be more than happy to google it in the cab. And if you do, I’ll even fill out the form for you.”

You see a flash of a grin before he pulls you in for a kiss.

His warm hand and callous fingers glide up your back pressing you against his chest as his lips meet yours. In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. Electricity racing from where you’re connected to every nerve ending in your body.

You pull away from him all too soon, smiling to yourself when he chases after your lips.

“I have one condition,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Name it,” Bradley says, dropping another lingering kiss to your lips.

“Maybe two,” you concede.

“Name them,” he chuckles lightly.

“You wear a condom.”

“Of course, that’s a given. What else?” He leans back just enough to adjust your sparkly headband from the way it had tilted back on your head.

“And my last request is… that I get to try on your hat.”

“We can definitely make that happen. Anything you want, baby.”

“Well then, if that’s the case, I’m also pretty set on getting to have your cock in my mouth.”

“Jesus Christ.” His hands tighten on your hips, and his brown eyes turn molten.

“I think I’m looking forward to finding out if you’re an officer or a gentleman.”

“I’m definitely both,” Rooster says giving you an all too confident look that promises he has the skill to back up his words, “At least until these dress whites come off.”

You hear another woo! ring out that you know has nothing to do with another delivery of expensive champagne as he takes you by the hand and leads you out of the jewelry box bar.

There are already a few cabs lined up at the rank outside of the hotel. He holds the door open for you, and you slide in giving the driver your address. You’re not sure how Bradley manages to squeeze the bulk of him into the backseat along with you, but you don’t mind the way his thigh presses against yours or the way he rests his heavy hand on your knee or the way his thumb makes maddeningly light circles there.

He laughs when you hold up your phone to him at the flurry of all capitalized and emoji riddled text messages in the group chat that had been created for the evening. And when the driver pulls up to your apartment building, when you try to pull out your credit card, he passes the man a wad of twenties. Way more than the ride cost with a keep the change as he hustles you out of the car.

“Lead the way, baby,” Rooster croons in your ear, his voice low.

And in that moment, you decide you really like Fleet Week.

Who could resist a man in summer whites? Especially when that man is Bradley Bradshaw! Part 2 coming soon!

Thank you for reading!

If you missed Hey, Sailor you can catch it HERE!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

𝓓𝓪𝔂 15 - A Bit Late For Work || Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: In most cases, it's you who makes Bradley late to work, except when his mission is to make you feel relaxed following a stressful day.

Warnings: smut (oral - f receiving)

Word count: 1510

Author: Rouge

A/N: the prompt for today is: Oral Sex

You threw your car keys on the kitchen table and sighed loudly as you opened the refrigerator.

Bradley raised an eyebrow at you as he lowered the newspaper, tipping his glasses in the process.

You had no idea why he wore them. And yet, that small glint off the end when he was staring down at you from between his legs, ah. You shook off the thought, retrieved a water bottle, and sat at the table next to your boyfriend. The idea was nice, but you knew Rooster had work soon, and while you were normally very willing to make him late, you couldn't work up your usual libido.

Bradley could tell something was bothering his lover, and he tilted his head as you sat next to him. He set the paper down, removing his glasses as well, and placing them in his shirt pocket. "Would you like to talk about it?"

You shook your head. "Not particularly," you shrugged, taking a swig from the bottle. "You usually feel better when you do," he pointed out.

It was a valid point he made. Nevertheless, you decided it wasn't worth mentioning how much you wanted to change career paths again. All the time you bragged about not being completely satisfied with what you were doing but felt that it was too late to change anything. Even so, you didn't want to go to university any more, and felt like dropping your engineering studies. Your new goal was to become an artist. You were proficient at it too, about as good as you were at university, but pursuing it seemed like a dead dream.

Bradshaw watched you turn your head over. He waited for you to collect your thoughts, and eventually, once you had, he watched you sigh and shrug once more.

"Same thoughts as always, I'm tired of everything."

"You're doing a rather great job with your studies," Bradley pointed out.

You shot him a glare. "Sorry, sorry. I know."

You groaned, cocking your eyebrow.

“It’s about a lifestyle, my bad,” he corrected himself, sending you a soft grin.

"Close enough," you mumbled. But he wasn't wrong this time either. You sighed again, took another swig of water, and then put your forehead down on the table. "Maybe I'm just tired of it, I don't know. I don't feel sick of it though, I love learning and making friends. Maybe I just need a break?"

In response to your words, Bradley slowly rose and walked over to stand behind you. When he reached down, he gently pulled you by your shoulders until you were sitting up straight. He worked at the knots that had inevitably formed there by rubbing his fingers gingerly into the flesh of yours. "You think too much," he remarked with a low chuckle, being a little rougher about the massage. But you could handle it. In fact, Rooster knew just how much his little baby girl could truly handle.

The thought went straight to his groin, and he suddenly had an idea.

As you leaned into his touch, you teased, "Maybe you think too little." 

While you didn't expect the massage to last much longer, you were grateful that Rooster remembered little gestures of kindness so often, especially after the self-doubt you had been dealing with. 

When you suddenly felt his lips on your neck, you let out a quiet moan. You grinned a bit at the warmth of his mouth, but you weren't about to complain. If he had something a little more involved than the massage in mind, you weren't going to stop him obviously.

As his fingers slipped from over your shirt to under it, he stretched the collar just a bit so he was gripping mostly flesh. Like warming oil, his touch bit pleasantly into your shoulders and throughout your body. When you felt Rooster's hand reach down to your breast, you sighed and tensed slightly. He paused there for a moment, and when you leaned into his touch, he reached further down, cupping your entire breast in his hand. Your breath caught in Bradley's ears, and he grinned wider. The beast that resided within his heart loved being able to please you like this. 

Putting one hand on your breast, he slipped his fingers under the lacy fabric of your bra and squeezed your nipple sharply. In response to your breath catching again, he stopped massaging your shoulder with his left hand. In addition, he squeezed your soft nipple and traced his hand down your shoulder blade. Your nipple was squeezed again, causing you to moan, and then he rubbed your shoulder blade with his fingers. The two sensations made a louder moan fall from your lips, and you gripped the chair you were sitting in tightly to keep steady. As his voice filled with hellish lust, Rooster commanded, "Touch yourself." His eyes had changed to all-black; the influence you had on him was indescribable.

The fact that you listened nearly without hesitation made Bradley harder than he thought possible. But he was content to please you this time. After all, you needed the stress relief. He watched through his darkened eyes as your right hand reached between your legs, rubbing lightly before undoing your pants, and pushing them down. Then you reached into your lacy white panties and began moving your hand to the same rhythm Bradley was squeezing your nipple and rubbing your shoulders.

You let out a louder moan as all three sensations collided in the pit of your stomach. Rooster began to move faster, and so did you, until you began to feel your orgasm build. You tensed then, letting out several sharp moans as you came, back arched.

After a few moments, you relaxed, sinking into the chair. You were about to say something, but Rooster was suddenly in front of you, hands on either side of the chair. You  felt a shiver of anticipation roll down your spine when you looked into his darkened eyes, and then he was kissing you deeply. You wrapped your arms around him, but the kiss was cut short as Bradley moved to grab your thighs and pull you to him. You giggled a bit, then moaned when you felt his lips clasp onto your nipple.             

After a few seconds of teasing, Rooster trailed his lips languidly down your body, and then all the way down between your legs. He grinned as he touched your wet panties and pressed his fingers against your pussy, causing you to moan lightly again. "Take these off,” he demanded within a dark voice of his.

You did as you were told, quickly slipping off the lacy panties.

Shortly after, he wrapped your legs around his shoulders. In one swift movement, Bradley's tongue was pressed against you, causing you to cry out in pleasure as you gripped the chair. He grinned against your wetness and moved the tip of his tongue in little circles across your clit. You were already shivering, and soon as he kissed and licked and began sucking on your clit, he reached under his chin, and easily slipped two fingers into your needy pussy. Having his fingers strangle you properly, your pussy immediately engulfed his digits in its juice, causing you to moan in a low tone. To make your head spin, Rooster pressed his whole tongue to your clit and slowly moved it up and down, eventually reaching your entrance as he briefly spat on the fingers he pulled halfway out of your pussy, just to make them wetter than before. Soon, his digits returned to your pussy, and he curled them deep inside of you, massaging your very sensitive spot.

"Fuck!" You cried, pushing into him as he slowly began to pump his fingers. You moaned again, reaching one hand up to grip onto his hair as you felt another orgasm about to overtake your body. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" You cut yourself off and rolled your head back as a loud moan fell from your chest. Your legs tightened around his head as your orgasm hit, your legs shaking, your chest heaving.

Bradley held on for the ride, grinning wickedly as you came right into his mouth. He moaned too, rock hard and lustful, but satisfied in your pleasure. He leaned up after allowing you a few moments to breathe.

You sighed contentedly into the kiss, and then Rooster was pulling away, grin wide, eyes back to the normal color you were so fond of. He looked so wicked with the expression his face held though. 

You smiled all the same before looking at the clock on the wall. "You're going to be late, Rooster."

"Fuck," Bradshaw hissed, then laughed, running around to collect his things before heading out. Then he turned, as if recalling something, and was surprised to see you standing in the doorway waiting for him. After you tapped your lips briefly with your index finger, he smiled and kissed you again. "Right."

As your boyfriend ran out, you yelled, "Don't forget your meeting with Mitchell today!"

A Perfect Snowman || Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x fem!reader

Masterlist ❄

Summary: Bradley visits you in Boston. A winter attack surprises you both, so you decide to build a snowman together

Warnings: none

Word count: 1231

Authors: Bear & Cass

A/N: today’s prompt: Building a Snowman

The first day of winter was a paradise, with snowflakes the size of feathers falling from a grey cloud. From your porch to the road and beyond, it quickly turned into a completely white desert. Bradley started clearing a path that day, cheerfully holding a snow shovel in his hand. Unfortunately, a few days later his newly formed road had been banked up above hip level, and the infantile thrill of excitement that had accompanied those first flakes had been replaced with a calm resolve and a sense of responsibility appropriate for adults. "Baby! I'll have to shovel!" As he was putting on his jacket downstairs, he spoke louder to make sure you could hear him in the restroom on the floor. Bradly started regretting traveling to Boston to spend Christmas with you for the first time in a while.

"Wait!" You yelled loudly, then ran down the stairs. Looking at him with joy, you grabbed your jacket and said, "I can help."

"No, you stay home, it's cold outside."

"It's winter, so the cold is to be expected," you commented, pulling on your shoes before tying them up firmly.

"I said something, Y/N, so don't fuck with me."

Crossing your arms over your chest, you pouted, "You got bossy recently. My assistance will not be provided to you, don't worry."

"So why are you going out with me?"

"For some fresh air," you shrugged, wrapping your thick scarf around your neck tightly. "I love smells and atmosphere of Christmas... But it's too much for me."

"You've always been the one who has been obstinate in our relationship," Rooster grumbled while rolling his eyes. Being the gentleman he was, he opened the door and moved aside to allow you to enter the outside area first. “After you.”

As you walked through the door, you bowed slightly, thanking him. As soon as you saw all the snow around you, you instantly jumped with excitement.

Bradley watched you with his eyebrow slightly lifted. "Y/N, you behave like a puppy seeing snow for the first time."

You smiled at him and went your own way. "I almost feel like it!" 

"What are you doing?!'

Jumping into the snow with a loud giggle, you yelled, "I'm being the playful one!" Soon, you flopped into the fluffy snow to make a snow angel.

Bradley watched your lighthearted actions, but he quickly turned his attention to shoveling your driveway.

"Sweetie! Could you help me get up right now!" You asked, waving your hands in the air as you were unable to get up on your own.

"Am I resembling a crane? I don't believe so," Bradley responded with a sneer, yet he walked over to you and quickly raised you up with one strong pull.

With an eyeroll, you grabbed his jacket collar. "Why are you so grumpy today, Bradley? What's up with you?"

"I understand why you're so excited about all the snow, but you don't even try to help me with shoveling, even though you are well aware of how much time I lost doing it the last time."

"Baby? I just offered you help, and you told me not to fuck with you when you say no," you replied. "If I were you, I wouldn't do it. There's a chance it'll snow tonight. Let's build a snowman instead!"

Bradly put the shovel down after giving your proposition some thought. "Then let's do it then."

After squeaking joyfully and kissing his cheek, you moved away to find a perfect place for the snowman. Once you found the perfect spot, you created a snowball and started rolling it around, creating a base.

Bradley imitated your actions by first creating a tiny snowball, placing it on the snow, and then beginning to roll it about while observing how the snowball doubled its size.

As you watched him, you giggled, "My ball will be a base! I already know how we'll dress him up!"

"Do I need to be afraid? He posed the query while rolling the ball around, making it bigger and bigger.

"There's no need to be afraid. You'll love it, I think," you shrugged, continuing to work on the base until it met your standards. Then you helped him with the middle ball.

Bradly placed the center ball on the base with a bit of your assistance, then made another snowball to roll it through snow in the attempt to form the head for the snowman.

It wasn't long before the ready head was placed on top of the snowman. With pure excitement you run home, saying, "Okay! Now wait... I'm going to grab the stuff!"

Bradley, waiting for you to return, started shoveling the driveway at least a little bit.

Looking at him from the porch, you yelled, "I'm hiding the shovel from you!" You walked up to the snowman. "Leave it now, Bradley."

Bradley sighed and set the shovel down before coming up to you. "What exactly do we have here?"

"Just stuff," you summed it up before you began working.

The snowman was first given aviator sunglasses, a smug smile with a toothpick, and then a pilot-like jacket was wrapped around the snowy figure.

As soon as you were finished, you looked proudly at the final result, then glared at Bradley. "The snowman looks familiar, right? Who is he?" You chuckled softly.

The snowman now looked just like Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, and Rooster was unable to contain his laughter. "Have you seen my phone? I must snap a picture and send it to him."

"I grabbed it while I was at home," you smiled, pulling his phone out of your pocket but not giving it to him. "As a result of your stubbornness today, you have to pay for it."

"I need to pay? For my phone? Is this enough?" He asked, leaning forward to kiss your cheek.

A hum escaped your lips. "It's not enough."

Bradly kissed your lips after that remark.

"I think that's enough, sir," you giggled as you handed him his phone. "Quickly! I want to see his reaction."

Bradly first snapped a picture of the snowman by itself, and then he posed with you next to it. He hid the phone in his jacket pocket after sending images to Maverick.

"Do you think he will like me still? Or should I never show up near him again?" You asked with a raised eyebrow.

Bradley gently reprimanded, "You know well enough you're his favorite pupil and even if you'd kick his ass, he'd forgive you instantly. Of course, he'll claim that I made you build this snowman. He has no idea, though, that we should have added a massive dick to the top of the snowman's head if we had really meant to create him."

"No, no. Our snowman would get a massive dick if we try to build our beloved Hangman," you joked.

"Oh. My. God. Yes. I'll admit it -  you're fucking right," Bradley readily agreed with what you said, and after giving it some thought, he raised an eyebrow at you. "Are you having the same thought? Let's build a snowman resembling Hangman, let's add a dick on top. I'll be happy to send him a pic," he said and a mischievous grin spread across his lips.

As you rubbed your hands together, you were already giggling uncontrollably. "We have to do this! To work!"

Your homie just saw Top Gun Maverick and whoowee I loved the plot🥰

The plot:

REQUEST ARE OPEN

“Hey, it’s Bradley”

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw/Gn Reader

TW: Cursing, like a lot of cursing

A/N: it’s my first time actually posting my writing on here so pls be nice! Also, feel free to mention anything we need to fix grammatically. Proofreader and coauthor is @lunamoon1744

“Hey, uh, it's Ro-Bradley. It's Bradley. Fuck it’s probably late where you’re at. Sorry, I just, fuck, look, I’m sorry. So fucking sorry. I loved you, love you, still love you and I know this is a shitty way to go about it but there’s a mission and I don’t know whether I'm going to make it back, but I was back at Top Gun for a few weeks, and God, all I could think about was us, you, and how much I love you and how much I fucked you over and I’m sorry. God I'm so fucking sorry an’ I’m not asking you to forgive me but I can't die without apologizing, without letting you know that leaving you was the worst decision of my life and if I could go back I’d-, fuck I’m running out of time, I just, I love you so fucking much and I, I gotta go, fuck, I’m sorry, I love you.”

Bradley Bradshaw. Rooster. God, you loved him, and he had broken your heart. It’d been a few years since the breakup, and honestly you're surprised he still knows your number. Lord knows you had to look back into your contacts to figure out whether he called you through his phone, or someone else's. It was probably the ship's phone, seeing as you still had his cell number in your contacts.

It probably doesn't matter by now. If he went on the mission right after he called you, that would have been 15 hours, 48 minutes, and approximately 56 seconds ago. You begin pacing back and forth across the house. If he was going to die, he’d already be dead, and if he was going to live, he’d already be back on the carrier. Plus, there was no guarantee he was even going back to Top Gun, he could be going straight to his next assignment. You stop dead in your tracks. He could be dead.

Then again, that was the problem wasn't it? It didn't really matter, you would go to the ends of the Earth if he had asked you to, if he had so much as implied that he needed or wanted you to. Maybe that's why you had already finished packing, bag already by the door, heart already knowing what your head was trying to figure out.

Leaning over the kitchen island, you pull out your laptop and start looking for any possible flights to anywhere even remotely close to San Diego and Top Gun. A few hours that pass over your nerves like shitty tap dancers, about 50 tabs, and a coffee or three later you finally come across a flight. It's expensive, significantly more than you would ever pay normally, and through an airline you've never used before. It's also leaving in an hour from an airport 49 minutes away. Taking a deep breath, you say fuck it and start typing your credit card numbers in, because you are tired and desperate and you just need to be there in case he did come back.

God, you hope he's alive.

It was a seven and a half hour flight and a two hour drive, having booked the first flight you found to anywhere close by. You had a bit of a drive to get to Top Gun, but you honestly can’t remember much of your trip. How can you? For all you know, you're doing all of this for a funeral that you're not even sure you would be invited to.

You're not completely sure how you ended up in front of the Hard Deck. Well, that's a lie. You know damn well why you stopped here before trying to find a hotel. It's an aviator's bar. It's where the aviators go after work. You’d been here with him the first time around. When you were dating. When you thought you were going to marry him.

It's stupid, and emotional, and childish to stop. It’s been a little less than two days since he made the phone call, and if he is alive he'd still be on the ship, or in a hospital somewhere. That didn't stop you from walking in, from looking around, from ordering a drink, from sitting down and waiting on some distant hope that he'd pop through the door. You haven't actually figured out what you're going to do when you see him again. But fuck if that didn't mean you still wanted to see him.

It was another three days of watching and waiting, of sitting at the bar with Penny, of wondering whether or not the last actual conversation you will ever have with the love of your life was when you broke up, when he told you he never loved you.

It's your fifth day in San Diego, when you see his Bronco in the Hard Deck parking lot. You know that fucking car anywhere and you know for a fact that if it was here then Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw was alive. Which means he could have damn well called you and informed you of such!

Taking a deep breath, as to not preemptively jump to conclusions, and to not kill the first person that looks at you wrong, you hurry up and force your way through the Hard Deck’s doors, making a scan for tall, brunette, and mustached.

It's not hard to find him. He is standing by a handful of other pilots and Penny. She's under who you assume is the pilot named Pete’s arm, looking very amused by your entrance. Bradshaw, on the other hand, is laughing lazily with his friends, like you hadn't thought he might be dead for the better part of the week.

“BRADLEY FUCKING BRADSHAW!”

The sound of pool balls clinking stops almost immediately, and you hear whispers arising from some of the pilots scattered around the bar. The man of the week looks in your direction, and while his eyes light up, his face falls as you start marching across the floor towards him. “...y/n?”

You feel multiple eyes on you as you stomp across the bar, and out of the corner of your eye you can also see a few heads turn. “What in the ever loving fuck is wrong with you? The fuck was that phone call?” You come to a stop right in front of him, jabbing your finger into his chest. “Have you been landing too hard it’s starting to fuck with your head?” there's a snort on your right, coming from some Ken-doll-looking motherfucker. “Because that shit-”

“Y/n?”

“Is not okay! At all! You don't call someone, and tell them you love them, and that your sorry, and then just fucking disappear! Honestly! Give me one good fucking reason I shouldn't hit you upside your head, I swear to god-”

He interrupts you by pulling you into a tight hug and holding you against him, and you use every ounce of self control to not hug him back. He leans slightly back, looking into your eyes, and opening his mouth to speak.

“You came?” …you came? YOU CAME? What in the ever loving fuck did he think you were going to do after he called, go to brunch and have some fucking mimosas? Chill at the beach? Not lose your absolute goddamn mind?

“OF COURSE I FUCKING CAME!” You struggle in his arms before giving up and grabbing his shoulders in order to pull him down a bit so your eye level. “We may not have left on the best of terms, but I still fucking love you! Honestly, you could have called me at any point and I would have shown up because that's what you do when you love someone! And maybe that wouldn’t be my best discission but, fuck, I've never had a doubt that you would-”

“You still love me?” Maybe it was the way he said it, sounding like he was going to cry, or the way he looked like he was in complete shock over the fact that you still love him, even though he’s the one who walked away, but it makes your anger fade from the loud and explosive kind to the tired and worried one.

“Jesus fucking son of a fuck I swear to-” deep breaths, homicide is illegal and there’s witnesses, lots of witnesses, because almost everyone in the bar has turned to stare, nosey fucks. “-Yes. I love you, I loved you when we were dating, I loved you when we broke up, and I love you now, but, if you say one. More. Stupid. Fucking. Thing. I'm going to drown you in the ocean-” and it's true. You do love him. But it's also true that if he doesn't stop interrupting you, you are going to try and throw him in the ocean. It wouldn't work, you've tried it before, but it would make you feel better.

He smiles like a dumbass, eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree. He puts his hand on your cheek, leaning down and pressing your foreheads together. “I love you too.”

“Yeah, I’m aware, but I swear to god if you interupt me one more fucking time-” which, he of course decides to do by kissing you. Which, not to say that you are complaining, but it's hard to stay mad when he's kissing you like it's all he's ever thought about. Putting both of your hands on his chest, you lightly push him away. “-we’re not in a movie. Kissing me’s not gonna get me to shut up-”

“What if I kiss you multiple times?” And isn't that a tempting offer? But, as much as you love him, that phone call was the worst possible way of getting in contact with you again.

You narrow your eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching ever so slightly up. “You can kiss me everyday for the rest of our lives, but it’s still not gonna stop me from thinking you're an idiot and calling you on it.”

“Promise?”

You can't help but to shake your head and smile. “Goddammit Bradley, I'm trying to be mad at you, you inconsiderate asshole. Yes, yes I promise, for as long as your dumbass wants to keep me-”

“Forever then.” And there it was, that stupid fucking smile that you loved. The one that made you stop yelling, at least for the moment, because he was alive, and he loved you, and he wasn't going to walk away this time. Sighing as you lean into him, the exhaustion of the week finally starts to catch up with you, but at least you know that he's safe.

Hangman’s First Rodeo

MASTERLIST PINNED

Warnings: NONE

WC: 2.1k

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I put my car in park and let out a long sigh. After a quick check in the rear view mirror, I wonder if I made the right decision wearing no makeup and letting my hair be wild and free. Bradley heard from someone in administration that I got asked to arrive earlier than expected to the North Shore, so he extended an invite to the Hard Deck. When he texted me, I immediately felt bad seeing how often he had reached out just to be left on read. It was nothing personal, he has been one of my closest friends for a decade, I just needed space. I finally decided it was time to stop stewing in my thoughts and take the key out of the ignition.

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The bar is crowded with patrons in khakis. Loud music and chatter fill the room. I scan the room and find Bradley, he motions me over to the back of the bar where there are pool tables and dart boards. He immediately wraps me in a hug, “Rodeo! It’s been too damn long.” I smile up at him, “I know Rooster, I know.” He starts pointing out people in the group and listing names, “This is Bob, that’s Phoenix, Coyote is over there, there’s Yale, and where is .. oh there.. that’s Bagman.” The blonde turns around with a smirk, “It’s Hangman, Bradshaw. And who is this?” Bradley stiffens, “This is Rodeo.” The blonde looks me up and down with the same little smirk, then turns back to his game of darts. I stand near the pool table and watch as Bradley starts a game with Phoenix. Since I regularly work with aviators, making small talk was easy. Once the blonde wins the game of darts, he walks over and stands beside me. He smells like jet fuel and sandalwood. I look at his arms, toned and tan. I tell myself to calm down. I am here for work, nothing else. “Bradshaw here didn’t get you a drink?” I turn to him, “I am fine, but thanks.” His eyes narrow slightly and he smiles, “I am not hitting on you, darling. But I am about to go get another beer from Miss Penny up there.” I chuckle and stare right back into his bright green eyes, “Well I am happy we cleared that up, darling. You aren’t my type and I don’t drink.” I do a very large and obviously fake smile. Hangman furrows his brow and walks away, looking flustered. Bradley walks over and is giggling uncontrollably, “What did you do to Bagman?” I shrug, “I just told him he wasn’t my type and that I don’t drink.” Bradley put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side, “Man, I missed you. He annoys the shit out of all of us and somehow you put him in his place within 30 minutes of meeting him.” The rest of the group laughs and chimes in, agreeing with Bradley.

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The night continues on with countless games of pool and darts. We all end up outside, some sitting in the sand and some with their feet in the water. Bradley plops down next to me and bumps me with his shoulder, “Dude, I missed you. You gonna tell me why they moved you here?” I stare at the waves crashing on the sand, “You too, Roo. I am not even completely sure. Thought you had something to do with it because it was Mav who called me.” Rooster raised his brows, “He didn’t say anything to me.” I shrug again, staring at the group of aviators standing by the ocean. Bradley can see the concern on my face and pats my back, “Hey, don’t worry. They’re good. Well, except Bagman.” He chuckles and I hear a familiar voice shout, “Senior Chief Rodeo? Now why is Rooster keeping you all to himself?” I turn and see Maverick walking down from the Hard Deck, smiling big as can be. “Mav!” I run and give him a big squeeze. What I didn’t notice was the group walking back from the water, or that they heard him yell to me. As they reach Bradley, Pheonix asks, “Senior Chief Petty Officer? How the hell old is she?” Rooster faces her, “She is not old. She just works her ass off.” I walk back to the group with Mav, wondering why they are all looking at me. Hangman breaks the silence, “So Senior Chief Rodeo, can you clue me in on your skincare routine? I coulda sworn you were the same age as all of us.” I roll my eyes, “Y’all’s age? No way. I’m 28, what are you .. 40?” I take a moment to watch their eyes bug out, and then start walking back inside with Mav and Bradley. Bradley slaps my back, “You haven’t changed a bit. Still an absolute asshole. Love it.” We pay our tabs and head back to get some sleep. I lay in bed, staring at the blank walls of my little bungalow, wondering what the morning will bring.

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Once I jumped out of my truck on base, I could feel eyes on me. The group from last night were all chatting by the hangar, in their flight suits and aviators. I was in civies and a Longhorn baseball cap. Bradley parked beside me and jumps out, “You are so damn lucky. I swear y’all are never in uniform.” I chuckle, “I know, but hey y’all don’t look too bad in your onesies.” He sighs and throws his bag over his shoulder, “10 bucks they shit themselves when Mav tells them your job.” I put my hand out to shake on it, “Deal. It’s nothing special. I am pretty curious to know why I am here anyways.”

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The aviators are all seated when Mav and I walk into the hangar. Mav claps his hands, “Okay ladies and gents, I’d like to introduce you to my friend. This is Senior Chief Petty Officer y/l/n, callsign Rodeo.” There’s a few “Good morning”s and “Hello”s in response. I wave. Mav continues, “As you know, we have had quite a few missions recently with the SEAL teams. As you also know, we have some areas where we need to green up when it comes to working with the SEALs. So, Coronado was nice enough to lend us Rodeo for a bit. As we go through this training session, she will be your point of reference.” I scan the room and shake my head at the shocked look on everyone’s face. Hangman clears his throat and smirks, “So .. she is some kind of liaison? Works with the SEAL teams?” Mav narrows his eyes, “No, she IS a SEAL and she will be helping us learn how to work better with them.” I meet Bradley’s eyes and pull out a $10 bill. Walking over to his seat, I set it on the table in front of him. I turn back around, “C’mon y’all. I am just a female SEAL, I don’t have three heads or snakes for hair.” There is scattered laughter and Mav clears his throat, “Okay people, get to work. Rodeo will be in the hangar or my office if you need her.” The pilots disperse and I follow Mav to start looking over training procedures and past mission optics.

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The first couple of weeks were exhausting. Work was extremely busy and when I was home, I was unpacking. The bungalow was coming together nicely. It is right by the beach, so I can take daily strolls down by the water. I open up another box and my phone dings.

Bradley: Y/N! No excuses. Bonfire. My house.

Less than ten seconds later it dings again.

Bradley: I am serious. You can literally walk here. No excuses.

I sigh and write back.

Y/N: Okay, but only for a bit. I still have a lot of shit to build.

I walk into my bedroom and do a once over in the mirror. Jean shorts, white tank top, and a baseball cap. I grab a hoodie just in case and head down the street.

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I hear music playing and smell smoke as I get close to Bradley’s house. I open up the back gate to the whole squad in the backyard. Hangman smirks, “Well howdy Rodeo. Fancy seeing you here.” Bradley runs up and wraps you in a hug, “You actually came! What do you need help building?” The squad all starts chiming in before you can respond. “Oh I can help!” “Where do you live?” “Did you walk here?” I wait for the chatter to die down, “I’m right up the street. Only have a few of the bigger things left. Bookcase, bed frame, that kinda stuff.” Bradley throws his arm around your shoulders, “I’ll come over tomorrow and get it all built.” I look up at him, “No! It’s the weekend! You should relax. I’ll get it all done eventually.” The rest of them start offering to come help and before you know it, everyone is planning on coming to your house. The house that is littered with boxes. I cringe and think about all of the tidying I need to do before they arrive. I head inside and grab a coke from Bradley’s fridge. The floor creaks and I whip around to see Hangman. “Sorry darling, didn’t mean to scare ya.” “What do you want, Hangman?” “Well I was just thinking that maybe we got off on the wrong foot. Thought maybe we could start over.” You laughed, “And what had you thinking that?” He shrugged, “I was a total jerk. You can ask around, I am THE unit asshole. But I honestly didn’t mean to be disrespectful. Wasn’t raised that way.” You look up at him, “How were you raised?” He smiles real wide, “In Texas. Yes sir and yes ma’am. Two sisters that dragged me around and told me what to do. You from Texas? Or just a Longhorn fan?” He asks while motioning towards your baseball cap. “From Texas. No college for me, though. Enlisted, boot camp, prep, BUDs. Nothing too exciting.” Hangman chuckled and shook his head, “Yeah, totally, nothing too exciting at all. How long have you been in?” “10 years. How about you?” “Got in right after college, 16 years ago. Remember? I am old.” He winks and I feel heat in my cheeks. He steps a little bit closer, “So are you and Bradshaw.. you know?” I laugh so hard that I snort. The back door opens up and Bradley looks between us, raising his brow. I finally stop laughing, “No. We met at my first duty station. He is the annoying older brother I never asked for.” Bradley rolls his eyes, “Hangman, leave Rodeo alone.” I walk towards Bradley and playfully nudge him with my elbow, “It’s fine. We are just getting to know each other.” Bradley shakes his head, “I know. That’s exactly what I am worried about.” I laugh and follow Bradley back to the bonfire. Hangman comes out a few minutes later and I say my goodbyes to the group. I am met with groans and “No please stay”s. Hangman clears his throat, “Let me walk you back, it’s getting pretty late.” Pheonix whispers something to Bob and they both crack up. Bradley turns, “Bagman, I think she will be just fine.” I nod my head, “Yeah I think I can handle myself, but thank you.” Hangman shakes his head and stands up, “Darling we already talked about this, I am a southern man. Can’t let you walk back all by yourself. Even though you are a big, bad SEAL.” He smiles and opens the gate, motioning for me to walk ahead. Bradley is noticeably angry and I smile at him, “It’s okay, I’ll see y’all tomorrow.”

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Hangman follows me until we reach the front porch. He scans the little bungalow, “Cute place. I’ll see you tomorrow .. wait I just realized I only know your callsign.” I chuckle, “Same. Unless your mother named you Hangman.” He laughs and puts out his hand, “Jake Seresin.” I shake his hand, “Y/n Y/l/n.” I grab my keys and unlock the front door, “Well, thank you for walking me back Jake. See you tomorrow?” He smiles so wide you can see every one of his perfectly straight teeth, “Yes ma’am. You sure will.” He turns and starts back up the street. I walk inside and shut the door, leaning my head against it for a second. I shake my head in attempts to get rid of the thoughts of him. His smell. His annoyingly perfect smile. I text Bradley to let him know I got back safe and head to bed.

Hangman’s First Rodeo part 2

MASTERLIST PINNED

Warnings: Fluff; angst

WC: 2.3k

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After a night of tossing and turning, I roll out of bed at 05:00. I throw on some running shorts and a sports bra. The rhythm of my feet hitting the sand calms me down. After a few miles I am completely drenched, so I decide to jump in the water. I swim against the current, focusing on my breath. “Y/N! Fancy seeing you here!” I swim back to shore to see none other than Jake Seresin standing there. As I walk up, I notice him looking me up and down. Suddenly, I feel self conscious and wish I had picked a matching outfit. “Howdy Hangman, out for a run?” He raises his eyebrow, “Yes, and my friends call me Jake.” I smirk, “Oh so we are friends now?” He nods, “I’d very much like us to be.” “Well Jake, I am usually not friends with dinosaurs but for you I will make an exception.” He laughs, “So you SEALs really do love the water, huh?” I shrug, “It’s quiet in there. Helps me turn off my brain.” I check my watch and gasp, “Oh I need to get back. Y’all are heading over soon and I need to try to make the house look presentable.” He chuckles, “Don’t worry about that darling. We aren’t gonna judge ya.” I wave and start running back to the bungalow, “See ya soon Jake!” He yells back, “See ya, darling!” My cheeks are red and it’s not from the workout.

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There’s a knock on the door right as I finish wiping down the kitchen counter. In a half hour I had showered, picked up some, and turned on the radio. I open the door up to the whole squad, “Come on in y’all. Want some coffee?” There’s a chorus of “Yes”s and I turn on the pot. Everyone splits up and starts working. Pheonix and Bob are in the living room tackling the bookshelf. Payback and Yale head out back and start putting together the patio furniture. Bradley and Jake are in my room and reading the instructions for the bed frame. I pour everyone coffee and head into my room. Bradley motions to the mattress on the floor, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were sleeping on the floor. Would’ve come over and done this weeks ago.” I shrug, “I’ve slept on much worse.” They both laugh. Phoenix yells from the living room, “We gotta get something on these walls. Your house is worse than Rooster’s.” I chuckle, “Not really the decor type, but thank you.” Looking around my room, I see what she means. Blank walls. Basic furniture. Plain comforter on the bed. No decorative pillows. No cute blankets. Bradley drops some screws and opens up the closet door to find the ones that bounced under. Gear starts spilling out, “Shit, I’m sorry!” I run over and start shoving it back in. He finds the screws and throws them to Jake. Just like that, the bed frame is finished. They put the mattress on top as I push my body weight against the door, finally getting it to shut. Bradley and Jake head to start building the next thing, while I go out back to add a screen to my back door. Figured it would be nice to let the ocean breeze in.

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I walk into the kitchen to see most of the squad chatting and drinking more coffee. The furniture is all built and I turn to them, “Thank y’all. Seriously. This would’ve taken me forever.” Bob pats my shoulder, “Hey, we are a team Rodeo. Always here to help.” I smile and notice that Jake is missing from the group. Walking down the hallway, I notice the office door is open. I walk in to see Jake rummaging through the only open box. “Hangman. What the hell are you doing?” He looks up with wide eyes, “I came in here to see if there was anything else to put together. This box was open. I didn’t mean to-“ I feel anger bubbling up inside of me, “You didn’t mean to what? Completely invade my privacy?” He shakes his head, “No, I really didn’t mean to. Y/n, this is so many awards. And medals. Why would they send you here?” The anger spills over, “It is one of your damn business, Hangman. Get out! Now!” He looks up at you like a wounded puppy, “Y/n, I-“ “I don’t want to hear it. Get out!” He walks away sheepishly and I hear whispers in the kitchen. I walk out once I hear the front door shut. The rest of the team is standing there, looking confused and concerned. Bradley walks up and pulls my head into his chest, “You okay?” I take a deep breath, “Yeah. He was going through my teams stuff. I should’ve never even opened that damn box.” Phoenix clears her throat, “I am sorry, Rodeo. He is an asshole. We will leave you be, but please let us know if you need anything else.” She smiles and the team hums in agreement. I smile back, “Thank y’all. See y’all later.” Bradley stays beside you while they file out. Once we are alone he asks, “Are you wanting to talk about it? I understand if you don’t.” I shake my head, “I really am fine, Bradley. I think they just sent me here for a moment to breathe. They couldn’t force me to take leave, but they could force me to come up here for a detachment.” He sighs and rubs his face, “I get it, okay? More than most people. But y/n, you have to have a life outside of the job. You will burn yourself out.” I shrug, “I’ll be okay, Roo. I promise.” He looks unsure but pulls me in for a hug, “I’ll get out of your hair, but come to the bar tonight. Live a little.” I smile, “We’ll see. Have a good day, Roo.” And just like that, the bungalow is empty and quiet.

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The sun is setting so I shut all the blinds and turn on a few lamps. Bradley has been texting me for the last two hours, asking when I am getting to the Hard Deck. I switch my phone to airplane mode and head into my office. Grabbing a deployment journal from the box, I sit down and start flicking through the pages. A knock on the door startles me. I jump up and check the clock, 22:00, I must have fallen asleep reading. I crack open the door to see Hangman standing there, looking down at his feet. “What do you want, Hangman?” He looks up, “Well for starters, I’d like you to call me Jake again.” I sigh and open up the door, motioning for him to come in. Grabbing the teapot, I start boiling some water. “Tea?” He sits down on the couch, “Sure, thanks.” An awkward silence fills the room. Once the tea is done, I hand him a mug. He smiles up at me and I join him on the couch. “Y/n, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have gone in there. I shouldn’t have looked through your stuff. I wish I could take it back.” I take a deep breath, “I am sorry, too. Shouldn’t have yelled at you. It’s just.. I don’t talk to anyone about that stuff.” He furrows his brow, “Never?” You shake your head, “Never.” He runs his hands through his hair, “I knew I shouldn’t have looked. Then you didn’t come out tonight and I felt horrible. Bradshaw was yelling at me, telling me how much I upset you.” I roll my eyes, “Roo is just protective of me. I was upset, but it is okay. Come here.” I grab his hand and walk back towards the office. He looks confused and I try to ignore what felt like electricity when we touched. I start pulling things out of the box and placing them around the room. Jake stands there like he is frozen, “You don’t have to do this. Not for me.” I shrug, “I want to.”

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Jake watches intently as I point out what the different piles are, “These are my journals, kept one for every deployment. Those are medals and awards. Right there are all the group photos. And those, those are my mementos. First shell casing, first pair of flippers, that kind of stuff.” He looks around as if he is in a museum. “Y/n, how the hell have you done this much in 10 years?” I shrug, “No family. Never really take leave. The job has always been it for me.” He looks at me with sad eyes, “Your parents?” “Long gone. Had me when they were older. Left me the ranch, but I only go a couple weeks out of the year. The ranch hand takes care of everything for me.” He shakes his head and sighs, “I am sorry, that must be lonely.” “It’s not bad. Honestly, I am used to it. The teams are my family. They’re all I need.” He raises his brow, “You sure about that? No boyfriends in the picture?” I chuckle and pick up one of the photos, “Only one. Years ago, right after I joined. He was with another team. Thought it would be great because he would understand the lifestyle. He left me for a fitness model. Said he needed someone who was around more.” I shrug and laugh, but Jake just looks sad. He sighs, “I am sorry. Same kinda thing happens to me. Pretty much every woman has told me they can’t handle the stress of my job. But you deserve so much better. He didn’t deserve you.” He leans in, just a touch but I notice it. I am hoping he doesn’t notice the heat that I feel rising in cheeks, or the way my heart is racing. His eyes flicker down to my lips and he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. *BANG BANG BANG* “Y/N! Please? Your phone is going straight to voicemail! Are you okay?” I curse Bradley and walk to the front door.

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“What, Bradley?” He stumbles forward and I catch him, walking him over to the couch. He is drunk and rambling, “You weren’t answering. It went straight to voicemail. And you are always so alone. And you scared me and I-“ His eyes got wide and his face got red, “BAGMAN?!?!” I turn to see Jake standing at the entrance of the hallway. Bradley tries to stand up but is too drunk, “What the hell are you doing here? Y/n why is he here?” I fold my arms over my chest, “Jake came to apologize, Roo. We were having some tea and chatting.” Bradley’s eyes narrow, “So it’s Jake now, huh?” Jake walks towards the couch, “Oh c’mon Bradshaw. Grow the hell up.” Bradley glares at Jake, “No Bagman, actually how about you stay the hell away from Y/n! She is my friend! Leave her alone!” I clear my throat, “Shut up! Both of you, stop! Bradley, I am an adult and can choose my own friends. Jake, you don’t need to fight my battles for me. Now both of you, listen up. Bradley, your ass is staying on that couch. Go to sleep. I will take you to get your Bronco in the morning. Jake, you are sleeping in the guest room-“ They both try to cut me off and I put my hands up, “You will stay here because you are drunk and you will stay here I do not want to deal with this lightweight. End of discussion.” Bradley looks defeated and Jake smirks at me. Feeling flustered, yet again, I head back to my room and get ready for bed.

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I wake up hyperventilating and covered in a cold sweat. The clock on my phone says it is only 02:00. Sighing, I get up to grab some water. In the hallway, I run right into a shirtless Hangman. “Oh my gosh sorry!” I cringe looking down at myself, only in a large t-shirt and underwear. He follows me to the kitchen, “You okay? I heard you in there.” I shrug, “Sorry, nightmares.” He puts his hand on top of mine, “I get that. Want to talk about it?” I shake your head, “I am okay, but thank you. I am used to them.” I peek into the living room and see Bradley fast asleep. Jake throws his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his side. The heat radiating off of him feels amazing. The scent of sandalwood fills my noise. I lean into him, not listening to the voice in my head telling me this is a horrible idea. I look up at him and he furrows his brow, “What’s wrong?” I nuzzle back into him, “Nothing. That’s the problem.” He pulls my face up to look at him, “What do you mean?” “I mean, I barely know you. Then, all of the sudden, I want to show you these things I have always kept hidden. I see you after a nightmare and you calm me down. I just don’t understand it.” His green eyes stay glued to mine and he does one of his big grins, “Maybe that’s the point darling. Some things just happen. It’s not for us to understand why or how.” He pulls me close to his chest and kisses the top of my head before heading back into the guest room. I stand there for a moment, completely frozen in what just happened. Leaving a glass of water beside Bradley, I head back into my room and try to go back to sleep. My nightmare is no longer what’s keeping me awake. All I can think about is how badly I want him to hold me in his arms again.

🌸cherryblossomcowgirl🌸

masterlist

Hangman’s First Rodeo

Part 1:

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Hangman’s First Rodeo

Warnings: NONE WC: 2.1k . . I put my car in park and let out a long sigh. After a quick check in the rear view mirror, I wonder if I mad

Part 2:

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Hangman’s First Rodeo part 2

Warnings: Fluff; angst WC: 2.3k . . After a night of tossing and turning, I roll out of bed at 05:00. I throw on some running shorts and

Part 3:

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Hamgman’s First Rodeo Part 3

Masterlist Pinned Warnings: Angst; Fluff; Injury; Traumatic Memory; Harassment; Bar fight WC: 2.1k . . The clock says 07:00 and I am sh

Hamgman’s First Rodeo Part 3

Masterlist Pinned

Warnings: Angst; Fluff; Injury; Traumatic Memory; Harassment; Bar fight

WC: 2.1k

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The clock says 07:00 and I am shocked. Waking up all throughout the night had become so normal to me. Tiptoeing into the kitchen, I start a pot of coffee. Jake comes down the hall, “G’morning darling.” I smile, “Goodmorning Jake.” He pours himself a cup of coffee and sits next to me. Bradley stirs on the couch and moans. He stands up and walks into the kitchen, “Morning Y/N. Bagman.” I sigh, “C’mon Roo. He helped me deal with you last night.” Bradley winces, “I may have had too much to drink.” I chuckle, “Oh honey, there is no doubt about that.” He runs his hands through his hair, “Mind if I shower?” “Go right ahead. Towels are under the sink.” Jake clears his throat, “I can drive you down to your Bronco after, if you’d like.” Bradley mumbles as he walks down the hall, “I’ll walk but thanks.” I look at Jake and roll my eyes. Jake smirks and takes a sip of his coffee, “How did you sleep last night? After the nightmare?” I meet his gaze, “Great, actually. I am sorry that I woke you up. But really, thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” He rests his hand on top of mine, “You didn’t wake me up, darling. Seeing you calmed me down.” I smile and rest my head on his shoulder, “Yeah, me too.” We stay like that for a moment, until Bradley clears his throat. “I’m gonna go. I’ll see you at work. Sorry about last night.” I wave, “Bye, Roo. No worries.” Jake just nods in his direction. Bradley walks out of the door, hanging his head.

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We both finish our coffee and Jake breaks the silence, “Do you want me to head home? I don’t want to mess up your routine.” I shrug, “I don’t really want you to leave.” He smirks, “Is it bad that I was hoping you’d say that?” I giggle and feel my phone start buzzing. I sent it to voicemail and Jake looks at me, “You can take that if you need.” It starts ringing again and I shake my head, “It’s okay. Don’t really want to talk to them.” He raises his brow, “Wanna talk about it?” I take his hand, “Why not? Already breaking all of my rules anyway.” He follows me into the office and I cut into another box. “Y/n, you know you don’t have to tell me anything that you don’t want to.” I smile, “I know. There’s just something about you. I want you to know.” He smiles so big. I start pulling things out of the box, files, photos, and a glass jar with two shell casings. His smile fades and his brow furrows, “What happened?” I take a deep breath, “4 months ago I was on a mission with the team. We had split into groups of 2, just like we have a million times. My partner, the person trying to call me, was ahead of me. Our comms started flickering in and out. Instead of pulling back and staying side by side, he decided to push forward and hope they’d resolve. Mine went down completely, but he didn’t know that. He was on a walkover about a story above me when he saw movement. They moved too fast and before he could yell to me, I was hit twice. The rest of the team immediately rallied and got me out, but it was our fault. We should’ve pulled back when comms were spotty. Now we know it was the target interfering with them.” Jake’s eyes are almost, watery? He seems upset. Finally he breaks the silence, “Where did they hit?” I look down at my feet, “Abdomen. Left side.” His eyes widen as I start to lift up my sleep shirt, “Y/n, only if you’re comfortable. Okay?” I nod my head and show him. He scans the scars. They are still a dark color, I have just been hoping they’d fade with time. I adjust so he can see my back, “Doctors said I was lucky. They went right through me. Woulda done a whole lot more damage if they stayed inside.” Now I notice that his eyes are definitely watery and he just keeps shaking his head. I take his hand and place it over the scars, “I am okay. Really. I’ve deployed since. I still love the damn job. I think they just sent me here for a change of pace. It has been a long 10 years.” He looks up at me and speaks in a low voice, “Y/n.. I am never going to let anyone hurt you ever again. I almost lost you before I ever even had you.” Tears sting my eyes as he stares at me. He kisses me for the first time, and it is soft and warm. He lays his head in my lap and I play with his hair. I smile and try to stay calm so he doesn’t notice the uncontrollable butterflies I feel. A comfortable silence surrounds us.

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A few weeks of work and quiet moments with Jake pass quickly. We haven’t spoken about this thing between us. Ever since that emotional night with Jake, there has been this unspoken understanding. Most days after work, he ends up on my front porch. I cook, we chat, he cleans the dishes (even though I always tell him not to), and we fall into this extremely comforting routine. He hasn’t stayed over since the night with drunk Bradley. Bradley has kept me at arms length and has barely texted. It’s upsetting to me that he would be this childish about Jake, but I am trying to give him space.

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One night after Jake heads home, there is a knock at my door. I open it to see Bradley, running his hands through his hair. He looks at me and smiles, “Hey Rodeo. I was just on a walk and was thinking maybe you’d wanna join?” “Sure, Roo.” I slide on a pair of flip flops and follow him down to the shore. We make some small talk about work. I take of my flip flops and put my feet in the water. Bradley stands beside me and sighs, “Y/n, I am sorry. The last few weeks I have been a complete asshole.” I put my hand on his shoulder, “It’s okay, Roo.” He shakes his head, “No it isn’t. We have been friends for 10 years. I shouldn’t have let Bagman come in between us. We have just always been at each other’s throats. He is completely different around you. I can’t believe it, but he is.” Bradley pulls me into a hug and sigh, “Thank you, Roo. You had me scared there. I can’t lose you.” He squeezed me tighter, “You won’t. I promise.” He walks me back home and I head to bed.

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The sun is blazing down as I stand outside the hangar. We just got back from testing comms and I am exhausted. Exhausted and covered in sweat. Everyone is checking their planes. Jake is talking to his WSO and I can’t stop staring at him in his aviators. His flight suit is tied around his hips, displaying the fitted shirt underneath. I hear Mav, “Yes sir, she is right over there.” I turn around and feel the blood drain out of my face. Tall, dark hair, blue eyes, my old partner. “Rodeo! Had to drive up here for some paperwork, thought I’d check in since you haven’t been answering.” I take a deep breath, “Hey Playboy, all is good here.” He moves closer to me and his scent washes over me, taking me back to that mission. My heart starts racing and my scars start hurting. He places his hand on my shoulder and meets my eyes, “How are you healing?” I see Jake out of the corner of my eye and he can see the panic on my face. I put on a fake smile, “I am okay. How is the team?” “Not the same without you. When are you gonna leave this place and come back with us? You belong with us.” Jake’s hand lands on Playboy’s shoulder, “Well I can tell you right now, bud, no one here is going to let her go easy. Hangman, and you are?” “Playboy. Rodeo’s partner form the teams.” Jake smiles, “How nice. It has been great meeting you, but you should probably get going. Let the lady finish her work.” Playboy raises his brow, “Interesting Rodeo, I didn’t think aviators were your type.” I roll my eyes, “Playboy, shut up.” He looks at me, “This guy? Seriously? They send you up here to work and you find a booty call? Can’t believe they call me Playboy.” Jake’s face hardens, “I’ll say it one more time, you should probably get going.” Playboy scoffs, “Yeah. Fine. You guys should keep her. A real SEAL would never be okay just sitting around. You never deserved that title, Rodeo.” He turns around and starts walking towards his car. The anger boils over and I scream, “Oh I didn’t deserve that title! Coming from the guy that couldn’t sweep a fucking room and got me shot TWICE! You are a DISGRACE, Playboy. Everyone knows it! And I already heard you aren’t reupping! Everyone should be thanking their fucking LUCKY STARS!” He turns around with rage in his eyes, but one look at Jake and he gets in his car. I turn around and see the whole squad standing behind me. The embarrassment hit, “I’m sorry .. I didn’t mean .. I .. I ..” Bradley walks up and wraps me in a hug, “Screw that guy. Y/n, I am so happy that you are okay.” Phoenix speaks up, “You have helped us so much, Rodeo. We are lucky to have you here.” The group hums in agreement. “Thank y’all, I am going to head home.”

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Jake shows up on my doorstep with a smile that tells me he wants something. “Listen, I know today was rough. Let’s go out. Everyone is already there. You can take your mind off of everything for a bit.” I smile, “Okay.. It really isn’t fair because you know that I can’t say no to you.” He chuckles and I follow him to his truck. When we get there, we join the squad in their usual spot. Jake was right, this was getting my mind off of Playboy. I never had issues with anyone else on the team. Part of me wondered if everyone knew we didn’t get along, so they’d pair us together to try and force it. I tell myself to stop thinking about that and enjoy the night. Bradley has unplugged the jukebox and is banging away on the old piano. My arm is around his shoulder and I sing along with him. The song ends and we stand there, giggling. Then I hear an all too familiar voice, “Wait a minute.. I thought you liked blondie boy over there.. Aviator Ken Doll! So who is this? You must really be getting around up here, huh Rodeo?” I turn around and meet Playboy’s icy eyes, “Get the hell away from me!” He steps closer, “What? I am just saying, back when you were with the teams you always acted like you were too good for me. Now I guess anyone is good enough?” I can see Bradley fuming out of the corner of my eye. A fist connects to Playboy’s jaw. I turn to see Jake, who is jumping on him in a rage. Jake gets right in his face and practically growls, “You don’t talk about MY girl like that!” The squad pulls him off and Bradley starts to carry Playboy out because Penny is ringing the bell aggressively. Bradley comes back in and we all head down to the water. Phoenix giggles as she walks by me, “He called you his girl. That’s cute. He has never said that about anyone before.” I blush. No one ever stands up for me. Usually, they figure that I can handle things myself. Jake runs up beside me and grabs my hand, “I’m sorry. Was that too much?” “The punching him in the face or calling me your girl part?” He shrugs, “Both?” I shake my head, “No Jake, it wasn’t. These last couple of months with you have been completely new to me. The time we spend together means the world to me, I hope you know that.” He stops walking and spins me around, into his chest. I giggle as he pulls me in for a kiss. Gentle and curious, making the butterflies rise in my stomach.