Summary: Bradley meets his future wife one night at The Hard Deck.
Inspiration: Such a Night- Elvis Presley
Warnings: Alcohol mentions, tooth-rotting fluff
A/N: I haven’t written for Bradley outside of the roommates AU before but I rewatched the movie and was possessed by the idea of falling immediately head over heels for him…started writing it, had a breakdown, bon appétit
There was only a little relief from the bustling crowds in making it up to the bar of the Hard Deck, half of Fightertown having seemingly decided it was the place to be that Friday night. That had certainly been your colleague’s hopes for the notoriously naval bar when she had planned the date and time of her leaving night out- or to use her own words, “I’m not leaving Fightertown without bagging a sailor first”.
She knew what she wanted, you would give her that.
The bartender was busy on the other side of the bar so you made yourself as comfortable as you could to stake out your spot, leaning your elbows on the polished wood. You hadn’t taken any notice of the person you had ended up beside until the bartender focussed her ever-shifting attention on him and his voice- surprisingly and deliciously deep- cut through the general chaos of the bar like a hot knife through butter.
“Another round for everyone, thanks, Penny.” He glanced to his left and caught your own interested glance, brought on by his voice, and a slow, easy grin lifted his lips beneath a dark moustache that should not have looked as good as it did. “Hi there.”
You didn’t have it in you- or perhaps you had too many pink gins in you- to be embarrassed at being caught.
“Hi.”
You were shameless as you got a good look at him.
Nicely styled brown hair that had the look of having been lightened by the sun. Dark eyes that promised trouble in the best way. That immaculate moustache that wouldn’t have looked good on anyone else, you were certain, and the full pink lips beneath that looked oh-so-kissable. Tanned skin with a couple of silvery scars. Broad shoulders and biceps that looked all the better for being clad in a cream and sage-green Hawaiian shirt which- again- would not have looked anywhere near good on anyone else, especially without the tight white tank top and sinfully well-fitting jeans that completed his outfit.
He looked good…and he was looking right back at you.
If the lazy grin on those gorgeous lips was anything to go by, he liked what he saw.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” he commented, turning fully to face you, leaning one elbow on the bar.
You willed yourself not to look at his bicep again and maintain eye contact.
“Mm, I haven’t been before. One of the girls I work with wanted to have her leaving night at a Navy bar.”
He nodded in understanding, something like amusement in his eyes.
“And how’s that going?”
You turned away from him to face the room at large, nodding towards the group you had left near the jukebox.
“See that woman over there?”
He stepped closer, slightly behind you, to follow your gaze.
“The one wearing the sailor’s hat?” he asked.
You bit your lip at the feeling of his chest almost pressed to your back and his lips close to your ear- it had certainly been a move on his part, and a smooth one at that- and nodded in confirmation.
“She’s the one beside her, wearing the sailor.”
He let out a surprised burst of laughter and you turned back to face him again with a grin, both of you now closer together and neither of you seeming to mind at all.
“Looks like she won’t mind waiting a little longer for that next round.”
Your grin widened.
“It’s like you read my mind. So, who are you here with?”
He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by a shout of:
“Rooster! We getting that round or what?”
You raised your eyebrows, surprised, when he turned in the direction of the speaker and lifted a hand in acknowledgment.
“Rooster?” you repeated in confusion. He didn’t look like a rooster.
He groaned.
“Bradley,” he corrected you, turning to collect the tray of drinks that neither of you had noticed appearing on the bar beside you. “And I will be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
He waited for your nod to confirm that you wouldn’t leave before disappearing into the crowd with the tray, and it made your heart beat faster than any man you’d just met should have been able to cause. There was something so alluring about him, a pull in your belly that told you that you were meant to meet him that night.
Blaming the pink gin for that fairytale-esque feeling, you quickly ordered another whilst you waited on him returning.
On the other side of the room, a group of naval aviators was left thoroughly confused by their friend unceremoniously depositing their next round of drinks on their table with the announcement that he would see them later- that he was busy talking to his future wife- before disappearing back to the bar.
He returned to his spot in the stool beside you- the one that you had not-so-subtly saved for him with your bag- just as the bartender slid your fresh drink over to you.
“Put it on my tab, Penny, and another for me please.” He turned back to you and grinned. “I missed you.”
You rolled your eyes fondly. It was ridiculous; he was ridiculous. Still, you clinked your glass against his beer bottle and let him rest his foot on the base of your stool to keep it steady for you.
“Alright, Bradley. Explain Rooster.”
The conversation flowed as easily as the drinks from there on. He told you about his job as a naval aviator without being boastful- even if his chest did swell a little with pride when you admitted to being impressed. He listened avidly when you told him about your job, shaking his head when you downplayed it as not being as exciting as his own and asking genuinely interested questions.
And then there were the touches.
Flirtatious and respectful, things you hadn’t seen simultaneously in a man in…you weren’t sure ever. His hand on your waist to steady you when another patron bumped into you, that same hand never leaving the spot, its thumb stroking softly without roaming. It was addictive.
Had anyone asked you, you would have said that you and Bradley were the only two people in the bar long before the bartender cleared her throat pointedly to inform you both with a knowing grin that that was in fact true.
Your eyes widened in surprise as you pulled your phone from your bag to see that it was after 1am, the time displayed above a stack of texts from your girlfriends- each of them saying something along the lines of “get it, girl!!”.
“Can I walk you out?” Bradley asked, offering you his hand to help you down from your stool.
You missed his touch almost as soon as your hand left his, but once again he seemed to read your mind as his hand found the small of your back on the way out of the bar.
The coastal chill in the night air was pleasantly cool on your cheeks, warmed by the gin and the company.
“This was a much better night than I was expecting,” you told him, and he grinned.
“Yeah? Me too.”
You weren’t quite sure where to go next, but he had that covered too.
“Can I take you out for breakfast tomorrow? Well, today,” he clarified with a self-deprecating chuckle, “I really wanna see you again.”
You bit your lip to restrain the Cheshire Cat grin that threatened to take over your face.
“I’d like that. Shall we say ten? I’m not much of a morning person.”
“I’m liking you a lot so far this morning.”
There was no holding your grin back after that. Unable to resist, you leaned in to close the gap for a kiss, eyes fluttering closed in anticipation.
To your surprise, he leaned back out of your reach.
For a second, your stomach swooped unpleasantly, worried that somehow after everything you had read the moment wrong, but then that damned grin was back on his face.
“Uh-uh. I don’t kiss on the first date.”
You laughed in disbelief- and more than a little relief.
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly serious. And our second date isn’t for another-” He pulled back to look at his watch. “-nine hours. You’ll just have to wait, gorgeous.”
He raised his hand to flag down a passing taxi for you, and even that was attractive.
“Text me when you’re home safe, yeah?” he asked, the genuine care in his voice just making you want him more as the taxi drew up beside you both.
“And you,” you told him.
He grinned.
“I’m a big boy, honey. I’ll be just fine.”
The poor taxi driver was going to get a hell of a show if he kept talking like that. You were surprised your legs didn’t give out as you slipped under Bradley’s arm into the back of the taxi, noticing the way he held the door open until he had seen you fasten your seatbelt.
“I’ll see you soon,” he told you with a wink before closing the door.
As the taxi peeled away from the kerb, you let your head fall back against the headrest and a smile spread across your lips. You were vaguely aware of the taxi driver asking if you had had a good night, and your thoughts were immediately consumed by twinkling dark eyes and kissable lips and that stupid moustache. The driver was certainly only making small talk but you couldn’t help the giddy sigh that fell from your lips.
Bradley Bradshaw (secretly) dating Jake Seresin’s childhood best friend
Series teaser!!
When you first move to town, he immediately invites you to a night at the Hard Deck with the Dagger Squad.
At first, you were reluctant, but you decided it was better than sitting in your empty house.
Bradley flirts with you heavily, but shortly after Jake declares you off limits.
That doesn’t stop Rooster from charming you; the following weeks are filled with Bradley being a silent gentleman and tiny quips.
After 2 months, you and Bradley begin secretly dating.
It was more for your peace than anything else. If everyone knew about you two, then it would be endless teasing, and Jake would rain hell on everyone for at least a few weeks.
Bradley is sweet, sickeningly so.
He doesn’t rush you; he likes the slow pace that was set.
He takes you to breakfast on the weekends and enjoys staying in for movie nights.
When he’s too busy to take you on a real date, you will go run errands together. Whether it be grocery shopping, getting car maintenance, or picking up medication from the pharmacy. He just likes to spend time with you.
The rest of the Dagger squad adores you as well.
Micky and Reuban relentlessly send you Instagram reels
Javy bets against you in darts and always finds a way to lose.
You and Bob share book recommendations
You and Nat have a monthly girls' night filled with wine and gossip, during which your secret relationship is revealed.
She promises to not tell anyone, but you pull a Hamilton and ruin your reputation before anyone else can.
To say Jake was pissed off when he found out was an understatement. He stormed out of the house and sped over to Rooster’s
You stood in between them as Jake yelled, you were the only reason it didn’t get physical.
Bradley was calm; he knew this would happen one day, especially if he planned on marrying you.
There was no group Hard Deck night that week. Instead, you, Nat, and Bob had your own girls' night to relieve stress. You baked and watched Jeopardy into the early morning.
Eventually, the bar nights return after Jake gives Bradley the shovel talk.
When you get married 3 years later, Natasha is the best man, and Jake is the maid of honor.
masterlist. Rooster x reader. 18+. Strictly NSFW. That is the warning. Please don’t read if you’re underage. follow @notroosterbradshaw-library and turn on notifications if you don’t want to miss anything. i don’t have a taglist x
key: 🌶️ smut 18+ nsfw || 🥰 fluff || 🗯️ angst
[archive. no longer writes for tg:m]
The Boyfriend Experience masterlist 🌶️ 🥰 🗯️ Phoenix concocts the perfect Plus 1 for an old friend’s wedding.
It’s Only My Heart (Save Yourself) 🗯️ Everyone loves a wedding but is it really Rooster’s Big (Terrible, Awful) Day.
The 1% 🌶️ 🥰 Rooster is a king in the sky and your bedroom.
The Best First(s) 🌶️ 🥰 Rooster’s first real sleepover.
And You By My Side 🌶️ 🥰 🗯️ Your first real fight with Rooster.
Pomp 🥰 Rooster returns and is a little bold about it.
Girl Under You [g.u.y] 🌶️ 🥰 🗯️ But you’re not in love with him. It’s just the things he can do to your body, and the way he talks, or how he flits in and out of your life with no chance of any kind of commitment –
You Don’t Get to Taste the Honey Without the Sting of the Bee 🗯️ Rooster doesn’t get jealous, but you do. And it debilitates you how blasé he is about it.
warm blood 🥰 🗯️ a few drinks at everyone’s favourite bar. you’re home, it’s been a few very cold months at sea. but he warms you to your bones each time you see him. but it’s sadly just not meant to be.
My Father’s Eyes 🥰 🗯️ Bradley comes to terms with growing up without a father to guide him while quickly adapting to become one himself… to a child who wants nothing more than not to have him in her life
prologue [hiatus until Slow Dancing is complete]
That May Be All I Need 🌶️ 🥰 with Bradley, you’re easy… just like Sunday morning. Or those early stages of new relationships.
An Orphan’s Christmas 🌶️ 🥰🎄 You know you’ve made the right decision by choosing to stay on the Island with Rooster this Xmas.
Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home) 🌶️ 🥰 🎄Bradley’s home just before midnight. After 15+ Christmases together, it’s sometimes lovely to reminisce about life before the babies wake and the madness ensues.
Summary : There wasn’t anything in this world you feared more than the sight of blood. And when Jake gets hurt during a mission, despite everything, he’s the one who steps up to calm you down.
Pairing : Jake "Hangman" Seresin × Fem!Reader
Important info : Your call sign is Lightning ⚡️:)
Disclaimer : English is not my first language so apologies for any grammatical errors that might have escaped my proofreading, also I have zero knowledge of the military or the navy so sorry for any inaccuracies in that area ! Also, reader in this has a phobia of blood, which I do not have at all so the writing of it might be widely inaccurate, deepest apologies for that.
And more than that it was a true fear that you harbored for the liquid pumped by your heart, sending life flowing through your veins.
It had been that way ever since you were a kid. Just the sight of the tiniest speck of blood made your skin crawl. It wasn’t always easy, considering the thing you were so afraid of lived just beneath a thin layer of skin, so easily breakable that just a scrape could reveal a crimson red that would send you into an irrational and uncontrollable state of panic. But you had always managed. Turning your head away and squinting your eyes closed during medical check ups and blood drawings, always being careful of the parts of your body that could easily get scratched or scraped — especially your hands… just some little things you were extra careful about in order to live a normal life.
Not a lot of people actually understood your phobia, most thought it was stupid and downright ridiculous. And you partially agreed with them, but that was the thing with phobias, they weren’t meant to be reasoned. They were, by nature and definition, irrational. Besides, this was not something you could do anything about, so really you just let all the dumb jokes and question roll off you. You had to admit some questions were quite funny though. If you were feeling down, you’d remember that one time Mickey asked you if that meant that you were afraid of your own period blood and it would still make you laugh as hard as when you’d first heard it.
Some people were scared of clowns, others of spiders or snake, some were even deathly scared of the ocean and could not set a foot in it. Your fear was blood, and in some way you were grateful for your brain to have selected that phobia among the thousands that inhabited and plagued the human mind, at least this one kept you out of harm’s way most of the time, never would you be caught attempting something stupid just to receive validation, or prove yourself. That’s how you decided to see it.
And right now your blood was quickly flowing towards your legs, seemingly preparing to choose the ‘flight’ option over the fight. Except that there wasn’t anywhere for you to run in the cramped confine of your cockpit.
Your ears were ringing and you could feel your blood pumping in your ears, your heart jackhammering through them. The only thing your mind was able to register was the loud, incessant beeping of your jet, while an urgent, mechanical voice was urging you to pull up. You could faintly hear Maverick’s voice through the comms, screaming at you to eject but his instructions were wildly overridden by the adrenaline coursing in your veins. The mission had seemed pretty simple on paper. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing you couldn’t do with your eyes closed. And yet.
You wouldn’t even be able to explain how and when everything started going to shit. Oh well, maybe you could. It all had started when Maverick designated you as Jake’s wingman, that alone should have warned you about how this mission would end, up in flames. Quite literally.
A louder beeping overtook the first one, this second one was higher, almost screeching, so loud in fact you thought you felt you eardrums pop for a second. A quick check to your panel control showed you that you right engine was on fire. Jesus fucking Christ could this get any worse ?!
How could a mission on your own soil could go this wrong ? You guessed the very little time of preparation for it and having to cooperate with a squad from another base you knew nothing about certainly didn’t help. And a close fly by with another pilot and their wingman had sent both Jake and you into an unrecoverable flat spin.
“Y/N !” Maverick’s voice finally came through the panic fog clouding your brain, “there’s nothing you can do, eject, now !”
Cursing, you grabbed the handle situated in between your legs and pulled as hard as you could. You had never had to eject before, and you prayed you’d never have to do it again. For a split second after you pulled the trigger, you must had pulled something like fifteen G’s, your body flew out of your cockpit while your jet continued its supersonic descent towards the ground.
You were thankful your instincts kicked into gear to somehow try and maneuver the parachute, trying to secure you a safe landing on the ground. The loud sound of your jet splitting the air had you turning your head at the last second, just in time to catch sight of your precious, multi million dollar SuperHornet crashing into some nearby trees in a roaring and deafening sound. Your heart fell down at the pitt of your stomach and an uncomfortable and dreadful shiver shook you at the realization that this could’ve been you, had you not listened to what your wise instructor was yelling in your ears.
Landing was rough. Your legs couldn’t quite maintain you upright with the speed at which you hit the ground, the force of it sending you stumbling forward, even rolling in on yourself. Flopping miserably on your back, you were just thankful you didn’t break your legs or impaled yourself on some tree. You got up on shaky legs and hastily put your parachute away in its bag while trying to contact the base.
“Maverick…? Rooster…? Phoenix…?” You tried, without receiving any answer on the other end, you tapped the side of your helmet where the microphone and speakers were, “anyone ?”
No answer.
Shit, the comms must have gone to shit when you ejected or hit the ground. Well, at least you weren’t on foreign soil so there wasn’t any immediate danger you had to worry about. Looking around you caught yourself thinking that there were worse places to land in after an emergency and possibly deadly ejection. The grass was bright green where you had tumbled, trees were standing high and proud, guarding the borders of what looked like a valley that led to some hills. That was definitely a contrast compared to the sandy and arid grounds of San Diego, and it was a surprisingly welcome one, despite the situation.
You were turning on your beacon when the roaring sound of a jet’s engine made you jerk up. Immediately looking up, you spotted Jake’s jet, spinning at uncontrollable spin towards the high trees. Your heart stopped in your chest, surely he had already ejected and had safely landed somewhere near the end of the valley ? There was no possible way a pilot like him — no matter how much you hated admitting how good he was — still thought he had a chance of coming back from a spin like that—
But your lingering fear suddenly hit you full force in the chest when Jake’s engine sputtered on and off, the undeniable sign that Jake was still inside, trying to pull up his F/A-18.
Good god was he fucking dumb sometimes !
You watched, frozen and powerless as his jet continued its supersonic descent towards the trees. It was like time had stopped for a second, a suspended moment where the only thought flashing painfully in your mind was : Jake is going to die. This is it. After all the shit he’s pulled, his fucking ego is gonna take him out because mister thinks he’s just that good that he would be able to recover from an unrecoverable spin.
But before your thoughts could spiral anymore and your heart stop completely at the prospect of losing the one man you claimed you hated body and soul, you saw something fly out of the jet, mere seconds before the metal bird crashed though the trees. You inhaled sharply, a breath that felt like breaking through the water after being under for too long. And before you could think about it any longer, your feet were already carrying you towards where Jake’s parachute was falling.
Helmet in hand, and heavy gear slowing you down, you still sprinted as fast as you could through the trees, mindful of potential holes and roots. Jake hadn’t even been no where near close the altitude he should have been at to eject safely, he’d been alarmingly low and you feared that his parachute wouldn’t slow his fall enough. Damn him and his stupid fucking ego.
Calling out his name as you got near where he should have landed, the lack of response was making your skin prickle with anxiety and dread.
“Jake ?” You called out, voice growing more desperate than you’d ever admit it.
You stopped, intensely listening for any answer back when—
“Over here !”
His voice felt far away and…strangely strained. You desperately tried to ignore how your heart clenched, no matter how much you hated him and could not stand him, Jake was still one of your squad mate, it was normal to worry about him, right ?
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you resumed your dart in the direction of his voice, and after a full minute of sprint in your entire gear, your lungs were screaming, and a side stitch was beginning to puncture your left side. But you didn’t stop, continuing to run towards him.
And finally, when you felt like your legs were actually about to give out, you spotted Jake, sitting up against a tree, facing a clearing. Rushing one last time to get to him, Jake’s face seemed to illuminate when he spotted you.
“Took you long enough,” he said when you kneeled down next to him, “thought you were about to leave me here for a second.”
You glared at him, catching your breath, “keep up the attitude and I just might do that.”
His infamous smirk slowly pulled at his lips as his eyes took you in.
“You hurt ?”
“No, you ?”
Jake shook his head and you eyed the way his helmet was weirdly placed on his lap.
“Are your comms dead as well ?”
“Yep.”
“Did you activate your beacon ?”
He let out a laugh at that, “Jesus Lightning, do you think it’s my first day in the navy or something ?”
His arrogance rubbed you the wrong way, like it always did.
“It might as well be !” You snapped a little, “I mean what the fuck was that, Seresin ? Ejecting at low altitude could have gotten you fucking killed ! But let me guess, you thought that the great Hangman would be able to undo an unrecoverable spin ?!”
Jake watched your hissed rant with raised eyebrows, and despite yourself you noticed how strangely pale he looked.
“Careful,” he cooed, seeming all too satisfied by what he chose to be worry over him and not pure infuriation over a stupid and downright unprofessional behavior, “your soft spot for me is showing, but don’t worry I won’t tell the squad, I know how you like to keep your feelings secret.”
You scoffed, shaking your head, “I still don’t know how you haven’t got suspended for all the shit you pull,” you said, choosing to entirely disregard his take on how you allegedly felt for him.
“I’m too good,” he grinned, and your heart did something weird in your chest when you noticed his smile looked weirdly strained, forced. The pitt in your stomach felt like it was getting deeper, clawing away at your insides, a discomfort that only grew stronger the longer you stared at Jake, “they can’t afford to put their best pilot on the bench.”
Letting out an exasperated sigh, which Jake keened at, annoying you apparently being his second favorite thing behind flying, you began to get up.
“Let’s move in the middle of the clearing, so search and rescue will locate us better and it’ll be easier for them to land and come get us.”
“No.”
Dusting your flight suit once you were standing on your own two feet, you frowned down at Jake.
“The fuck you mean ‘no’ ?” You could feel yourself getting irrationally irritated, a familiar recurrence whenever you spent just more than a few minutes in Jake’s presence, you took a deep breath to try and swallow back the anger bubbling up in your throat, “I’m sick of your shit, Seresin. So stop being an asshole whose sole purpose is to disagree with me for a second and do what I say.”
“Come on, don’t be so mean Lightning.” He tried to joke, but the usual glint in his eyes was missing, he took in a labored breath, “besides moving is not gonna change a thing for search and rescue, don’t worry.”
Stopping for a moment, you got a good look at him. He was acting weird. He hadn’t so much as moved an inch ever since you had found him, he was just sitting there, his stupid helmet sitting on his lap covering a good chunk of his side with one of his hand seemingly under it.
“Why is your helmet on your lap ?”
“Why not ?”
You let out an incredulous laugh at that, “seriously, what is going on ? You’re being super weird it’s kinda starting to freak me out.”
Jake seemed to freeze, if only for a second.
“I’m not acting weird, you’re the one freaking out over nothing and asking weird ass questions. Just sit down and wait for search and rescue.”
But you stayed right where you were, towering over him — which didn’t happen often — and stared down at him, crossing your arms stubbornly.
“I—“ he started, before wincing almost imperceptibly, “I got a bruise, that’s all. Hurt myself when I landed.”
“And what, you’re telling that it’s the bruise making you act like that ?” You let out disbelieving scoff, “I mean are you hearing yourself ? You sound insane ! I don’t know about a bruise but you definitely hit your head when you landed, that’s why you’re saying weird shit.”
Jake didn’t answer, he just stared right ahead, past your standing frame, a far away look in his eyes. Worry began to seep into the hollowing hole in your stomach, maybe he had actually hit his head and he had commotion ? Or worse, what if he had brain damage or internal bleeding or something ? Just the thought made you shiver in horror. If he was truly hurt, it was best not to move him. You eyed him intensely, as if you could somehow get a look inside of his head to make sure he was okay.
You watched as he readjusted himself against the tree with a groan, the movement making his helmet roll right of his lap, revealing his second hand, very obviously pressing down hard on his side.
“Mmh, applying pressure on a bruise,” You mused, squinting your eyes at him in sarcastic fashion, “is this a new technique I haven’t heard about ? Did you attend a new medical seminar I wasn’t invited to ?”
“Will you just stop talking for two minutes, please ?” He asked, voice breathy.
“I mean, shit, honestly I never pictured you as a masochist, you were always more of a sadist type in my mind.“
That finally made him look back at you and you promptly ignored the slight and short lived feeling of relief it gave you. A grin made its way back on his lips, it was strained but it successfully illuminated his face, for a moment giving it the flair it usually held.
“Glad to know this is something you have clearly thought about,” he huffed out, “if you were so curious you should have just come to me my dear Lightning, you know I’d be more than happy to prove your theories.”
Seeing him joke and tease you like that eased your discomfort, and you turned around, pretending to look at your surroundings while you were hiding the small, incontrollable smile pulling at your lips.
“I mean this place seems pretty quiet, I guess we could give a go to outdoor sex if you’re open to it.” His smug voice said behind you.
“Okay shut up now.” You chuckled despite yourself, keeping your back to him to not give him the idea you were happy to see his quick wit was back.
Your eyes took in the forest that spread out in front of you, the cool wind coming from the clearing behind offering you some relief from the sweat clinging to your uniform. It honestly looked beautiful.
Just as you were about to turn back around, your eyes landed on a random piece of wood lying on the ground and—
You froze.
Whole body becoming rigid, the hair on your nape standing up, nervous system kicking in your flight or fight reflex for the second time in an alarmingly short time span.
The piece of wood was long and wide, chips coming off it, and the end of it was covered in a deep and thick crimson liquid.
No, no, no no no—
Your breath hitched in a pathetic choked up sound, one that held every bit of the terror paralyzing your body. Your stomach churned violently.
Behind you, Jake, alarmed by the sound coming from you, anxiously followed your line of sight, and he cursed under his breath when his eyes landed on the piece of wood.
“Lightning, look at me.”
But you couldn’t move. Your gaze was still fixed on the blood dripping from the piece of wood, staining the forest ground and painting it in that fateful color. Jake’s voice barely registered in your ears, it felt like a distant echo, drowned out by your own heart beating loudly and frenetically in your ears.
“Y/N.” His voice called out again, uncharacteristically gentle, and calm despite the situation, “look at me.”
And you don’t know why, but something in you instinctively listened to him this time. Slowly turning back around, your legs were shaky and threatening to give out at any time. When you were facing him again, your heart lurched, because your eyes didn’t immediately settled on his face, instead landing on the hand that was desperately applying pressure on his side. That same hand that was now stained in blood, the thick liquid coming through the gasps between his fingers. And now that you were looking, the fabric of his flight suit underneath his hand was ripped, letting you catch a glimpse of a deep hole into Jake’s flesh, one that was profusely leaking blood.
Funnily enough, your own blood drained from your face so fast it almost made you dizzy, and a horribly frightened sob left your lips. You didn’t remember your legs giving out but suddenly you were on your knees again, next to Jake.
“Don’t look at it, look at me.” Jake said again, his voice somehow breaking through the terror fog holding your brain hostage.
Your breath was coming out ragged as your eyes finally found his, bright green irises that held nothing but an eerily calmness in them.
“It’s okay, don’t look at it, just focus on me, everything will be alright.”
“What the fuck, Jake ?!” You exploded once it seemed your vocal chords were not entirely frozen by fear anymore, “what— “ you choked up on a sob and only then did you realize the ocean of tears dripping down your cheeks, “what happened ?! Oh my god—“ you felt a sudden wave of dizziness hit you as your eyes quickly darted back over to his wound, like despite the bone chilling fear you were still attracted to it like a magnet.
“It’s nothing, I told you I got hurt when I landed.”
“You told me it was a bruise !” The end of your sentence ended in a desperate cry, your hands were shaking on your lap, chest heaving furiously with each frenetic breath you took.
“It’s barely a scratch,” he assured, and the soothing tone in his voice did not have the intended effect, only drowning you further in panic.
How the fuck was he so calm right now ?
You could feel your chest contract, and suddenly it felt impossible to take a full breath, it felt as if your lungs were somehow too small, sheer panic was settling deep inside your bones with no apparent prospect of leaving.
“Lightning, don’t freak out, it’s gonna be okay, everything is fine.”
There were so many thoughts swirling in your head. The protocol for when someone got hurt during a mission, the knowledge that Jake was bleeding out in this fucking clearing while acting like everything was fine, the black dots obstructing your vision…
“Just take a deep breath for me, yeah ?” Jake’s calm voice reached your ears, “turn around if you want, you don’t have to be near me. You can even wait in the clearing for the helicopter.”
The fact that was he straight up proposing you abandon him so you didn’t have to endure the sight of him bleeding out broke your heart and only worsened your sobs.
“Y/N, it’s okay. You’re okay, everything is fine, I promise,” he soothed again, his voice never wavering no matter how much in pain he must’ve been in.
You took a deep breath that did little to calm you down, but it at least cleared your thoughts a little.
This wasn’t right. Jake wasn’t supposed to be the one reassuring you right now, he was fucking bleeding out for God’s sake ! You were a fighter pilot, amongst the best in this entire world. You had been trained for this and you’d be damned if a little blood was blocking you from doing your job and saving your squad mate.
“Move your hand,” you said in a shaky breath, definitely not as assertive as you had intended, your eyes fixed on him.
“What—?”
You didn’t give him the time to comprehend, instead blindly removing his hand from his side and putting both of yours, and pressing down, hard. He winced, letting out a pained groan and you ignored the pinch in your heart.
For the first time ever since you found him, he seemed to be the one panicking.
“No, hey, hey hey what are you doing ?”
“I’m helping you,” you supplied, with tears still raining down your cheeks, “this is the protocol. And besides you weren’t putting enough pressure on it.”
You squeezed your eyes closed as Jake’s blood started to push back against your hands, the warm liquid trying to spill through your hands as you desperately tried to keep it there. The sensation made you shiver in pure horror and disgust.
“Hey, Y/N, I don’t want you to freak out on me, yeah ?” His hand, the one that wasn’t stained in blood, hovered over your shoulder, unsure if he should touch you in your emotional state.
Your eyes remained closed, trying to focus on anything else rather than Jake literally bleeding out beneath the palm of your hands. The wind brushing your face and the sound the trees made swaying lightly because of it, birds chirping in the distance, the grain of Jake’s strained voice…
“Why didn’t say anything ?” You asked, your voice coming out as a shaky whisper.
When his answer didn’t come fast enough, your eyes snapped open, scared that he might have lost consciousness, but Jake was just staring at you, the faintest of smile pulling at his lips.
“Is that a serious question ?” He laughed a little, wincing when his chest shook a bit from the force of it, “no offense, Lightning, truly, but I don’t know if I would have been able to handle you fainting in my state.”
‘My state.’ You didn’t like that, didn’t like that one bit. His face was paler than you’d ever seen it, his natural Texan tan nowhere to be seen. His green eyes were missing their usual brightness and the underside were horribly dark and sunken.
You were about to say something, probably tell him to shut up, when blood suddenly came rushing out of his nose.
“Shit—“ he cursed before rapidly putting a hand over his nose, frantically wiping at the blood that just kept on coming out. “Don’t look, it’s okay.”
Your heart was beating so fast and hard against your rib cage it was borderline painful. This couldn’t be good.
“Y/N, please don’t look.” Jake’s voice sounded almost pleading now as he was desperately rubbing the blood away and keeping his hand in front of his nose, making him sound nasally.
Blood.
There was just so much of it. Never in your life had you seen so much of the dreadful crimson liquid, and you honestly didn’t know if you were more likely to throw up or faint at this point.
And lingering at the back of your mind, came another whisper of your mind, one that was progressively and terrifyingly becoming louder and louder, overtaking all your senses. There was a lot of blood, yes, and Jake was the one losing it.
Jake was bleeding out, alarmingly fast, out in the middle of nowhere while the only thing you could do to help him was just keep your hands on his gaping injury and prayed that search and rescue would hurry the fuck up.
“Look away, sweetheart, please.” He said again, tilting his head back lightly, as much as he could really, in an attempt to stop the blood from leaving his nose.
But not looking was not gonna change a thing anymore. Because somewhere along the lines, the fear had shifted. Blood still very much terrified you, no doubt, but right now you were covered in it, and yet, you weren’t dead, you hadn’t fainted and the world was still spinning.
And still, something was very, very wrong.
Jake’s nose bleed seemed to have calmed down, he finally put his hand away, which was bright red, and stared at you.
“You know, you are doing much better than I thought you would,” he praised, and given the situation it absolutely shouldn’t have made your stomach flip, “look at you, could it be that the great Lightning has finally conquered her fear ?” He grinned.
You didn’t know if you should be happy he was joking again or not. Your hands had begun shaking again where they were pressing against his bloody side, you still couldn’t bear to take a look at it but you knew by the way it was still profusely leaking blood against your hands, and by how big the piece of wood looked a few centimeters away from you that his injury must have been deep, way too deep.
Very unaware of your internal breakdown, Jake just kept on talking.
“I didn’t even know it was possible to overcome a phobia as deep as yours, but hey, I guess there’s no stopping you, huh ?”
“Stop talking,” you said, trying to hold in a fresh wave of sobs, unwanted images of him lying dead in your arms kept flashing through your mind.
What the actual fuck was search and rescue doing ? It wasn’t like you were on the other half of the fucking planet, you weren’t even on the other half of the country !
Jake didn’t pay any mind to your order.
“At least crashing was good for something in the end.”
Him saying that while literally bleeding out was physically tearing your heart apart.
“Shut up.” You said through clenched teeth.
“Hey I just thought about something, if I die out here you’ll become the best pilot in the squad, perhaps I should be worried this was your plan all along—“
“Shut up ! Shut up, shut up !” You snapped, eyes wide and staring straight at him with a mix of despair and fear, “stop fucking talking about dying ! It’s not funny, and for fuck’s sake stop wasting your breath saying useless shit, just shut up !”
Tears were freely raining down your cheeks now, and you didn’t know how it was possible you still had any left to cry.
Jake was stunned for a second by your outburst, he just stared at your for a moment before his expression broke into something undeniably soft and gentle, his features morphing into something you’d use to approach a frightened animal.
“Hey, hey, I’m sorry, that was a joke.”
You didn’t think you had ever heard Jake apologize in all the time you’d known him.
“Well it’s not funny !” Your bottom lip quivered, another pathetic sob threatening to break out.
“I know, I’m an idiot,” he said, “you’re right, that wasn’t funny.” His voice was low, acting like a soothing balm on your own open wound, the one ripping your heart apart at seeing him like that.
His hand that had been awkwardly hovering off and on above your shoulder finally made contact, squeezing you lightly. And his touch completely finished to break your heart. You burst out in a very inelegant sob, you couldn’t even see through the tears clouding your vision. It was the inevitable consequence of enduring all the events of the day, the mission going to shit, the ejection, the crash, the blood, Jake…
“I don’t want you to die,” you cried out, completely exhausted and at the end of your rope, “so stop saying that.”
“I’m not gonna die, sweetheart,” his thumb rubbed gentle back and forth on your clothed shoulder, occasionally squeezing it.
“But you’re b—“ a hiccup interrupted you, “you’re bleeding out !” The word alone burned on your tongue.
You heard the sound of a zipper opening, trying to blink the tears away you saw Jake open the top of his flight suit before his blood stained hand, the one that wasn’t on your shoulder, came down to take one of yours that was still pressing on his open wound.
“No, no, no Jake— you need pressure—“ you tried to say when he took your hand away, guiding it to his chest.
“It’s okay, honey,” he soothed, “just don’t look down, remember ?” he added when your eyes almost darted down to both of your bloodied hands.
Jake, while maintenant eye contact with you, his green eyes holding an almost tender glint, guided your hand up to his chest, right over his heart.
“You feel that ?” He asked, voice slightly hoarse due to the effort and the pain, but never ever losing its gentle edge.
And sure enough, underneath your palm, was the steady beat of Jake’s heart. A calm and rhythmic thump-thump that didn’t waiver and the rational part of your mind wondered how he could stay so calm under such circumstances, and it probably should have worried you a bit, but the irrational part of your brain, the one that had been running on fumes ever since you spotted the first speck of blood, seemed to finally quiet down a bit.
You let out a breath you didn’t even know you had been holding all this time.
“Yeah, that’s it, see ? I’m okay, it’ll be fine.” His hand was placed right on top of yours, his warmth seeping into your skin and radiating in your entire body.
Your fingers flexed a bit against his clothed chest, a sudden urge to feel more of him, make sure that his words were real, that he was truly gonna be fine, shook you. Jake gave you a reassuring smile and between the tears that still blurred your vision, you took the time to look at him. His blond hair was disheveled and darken by dirt, his jade green eyes held an immense tiredness to them but the tender glint in them, directed towards you, never ever left. There was some dried blood just underneath his nose, and a bit of it also on his lips, that still held that little reassuring smile. His whole face was livid, as pale as a ghost and the visual stripped him of his usual Hangman bravado. Objectively, he wasn’t looking good right now, he looked sick. But somehow, to you, he still did, looked good. There was something so vulnerable and tender about him right now, something that was slowly stitching back together the pieces of your heart Jake had himself, involuntarily, broken.
But being yourself, there was no way you’d be able to properly express the overwhelming whirlwind of emotion taking your body hostage, so instead—
“You look like shit,” you said, sniffling.
Jake let out a chuckle, the sound alone warming you from the inside out.
“Yeah, well, you don’t exactly look like you could run a marathon either, sweetheart.”
That made you laugh. You didn’t even want to think about what you must looked like right now, blotchy and red eyes from the tears, cheeks stained with the salty liquid, hair wild from the ejection… But you didn’t see any disgust or reject in his gaze. Only fondness.
Suddenly feeling bashful under his stare, you made a move to look down but before you could, Jake’s hand that was on your shoulder moved quickly, surprisingly so for someone that injured, catching your chin with two of his fingers, preventing you from looking down at the bloodied mess on which you still kept a firm pressure with your free hand. Instead, he made sure your gaze stayed right on him. This quiet gesture that so blatantly showed how much he cared about how you felt, which definitely felt ridiculous next to his predicament, just sent a sudden rush of affection run through you.
Not knowing what to do of this overwhelming urge, but nonetheless needing to express it, to get it out, to show him, your body acted on its own. Your hand still on his heart, you leaned in and gently placed your lips on his forehead, hoping the soft press would somehow convey every bit of what you were feeling. You stayed perhaps a bit too long for a conventional forehead kiss. Almost imperceptibly, you felt his heartbeat quicken under your hand, the realization making a warmth akin to the first summer rays spread out in your body. When you pulled back, there was a flash of something unreadable in Jake’s eyes.
“You’ll be okay,” you said with a tiny smile, lips wet from your tears and voice hoarse from your sobs.
And truly you said it more for yourself than him.
Jake reciprocated your smile and squeezed your hand, “you’re so brave, Y/N.” He said, full of admiration, and just a tiny bit choked up.
Before you could add anything, tell him how ridiculous it was for him to say that while he had to step up and be the rock for the both of you while he was on the verge of dying, the faint and distant sound of propellers could be heard coming from over the clearing. And just seconds later, the search and rescue helicopter came into view.
The biggest sigh of relief left your lips, you felt the tension slowly leave your body. You, not without regrets, retracted the hand that was on his chest to put it back on his wound, the added pressure made him groan.
“Sorry, sorry, I know,” you said, “it’s almost over, Jake, we’re almost out.”
He smiled at you, and you tried to ignore the ridiculousness of you trying to comfort him at the last minute, while he had spent the entire time trying to calm you down.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
The helicopter landed in the clearing, as close to you and Jake as possible, and seconds after six people from search and rescue came rushing towards you. They carefully hosted up Jake on a stretcher and up in the helicopter, all the while your hands never left him.
“Alright, Y/N, you can stop now, he’ll be fine, we’re gonna clean and bandage him up,” Martin, the main medic, told you just as the helicopter was taking off to the air.
But you hesitated. With the stress and emotion, the time you had spent out there in the clearing had felt like an eternity, and it felt scary to let go of him now, even though you knew it was to leave him in better hands. While deep in your thoughts, you didn’t register Jake asking for a cloth, it was only when you felt his hand land on top of yours that you got out of your anxious trance.
“Everything’s fine now, remember ?” He said gently as his eyes bore into yours, “they are gonna take good care of me, you can let go.”
His hands very gently took yours off his side, cleaning them with the cloth all the while keeping eye contact with you.
“But I don’t wanna leave you,” you said in a breath.
It was a strange feeling, to feel so open and raw emotionally, a state that had been forcefully provoked by the unfortunate events of the day.
“You’re not leaving me, you’ll stay by my side, right ?”
He let out a small, fond chuckle when you nodded almost solemnly.
“Nobody’s making you leave, baby.” He said, tossing the cloth away after wiping your hands clean of his blood.
“Jake ?” Martin grabbed both your attention, “we’re gonna put you under,” he explains, showing off an oxygen mask, “we’re gonna start patching you up while on the way to the base’s hospital.”
Jake nodded before looking at you.
“You gonna kiss me goodnight ?” He asked, his characteristic smirk making a return on his face.
Wordlessly, and perhaps a bit too happy by him prompting it, you leaned in, placing your lips in a delicate kiss on his forehead, one hand coming up to cup his face. You heard him let out a little breath as you pulled away and placed another lingering kiss on his cheek.
“Sleep tight.” You smiled as a tear rolled down your face, not out of fear or sadness but simply out of feeling too much in such a short amount of time, and you quickly wiped it away.
Martin put the mask on Jake’s face.
“Alright Lieutenant, take a few deep breaths for me.”
Doing as he was told, Jake was looking at you with furrowed brows.
“Hey, don’t cry,” he lazily protested, voice already slurred from the anesthesia kicking in.
“I’m not crying,” you assured, a genuine smile stretching your face, “it’s fine, go to sleep, Hangman.”
“I prefer when you call me ‘Jake’.” He whined.
Yeah, he’d be gone any minute now.
You chuckled, “sorry, Jake.”
“That’s better,” his eyes fluttered closed and opened again, clearly fighting the anesthesia, “and when I wake up you can find out.”
“Find out what ?”
“You know…” he trailed off, his eyes closing entirely now, “if— if I’m a masochist or not…”
You burst out laughing, and even in his dazed and near coma induced state, Jake smiled at the sound.
“We’ll see about that, cowboy,” you said when your laughter died down a bit.
And just like that, he was out.
Looking at him just a second longer, feeling your heart settle down at knowing he wouldn’t feel any pain and would be taken care of, you moved away from him, letting the team of medics do their job. Martin kneeled beside Jake and began to cut his flight suit open around his wound. Removing the fabric, about to reveal just how bad the injury was, he paused and turned to you.
“You’re not afraid of blood, are you ?”
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Author’s note : I have mixed feelings about this fic, the idea had been in my head for soooo long and I fear I failed the execution of it, but oh well, I hope it was still good for you !
I’m gonna repeat myself but I do not have a phobia of blood at all so if the way I wrote reader’s reaction seems unrealistic I’m really sorry, please do let me know if it’s so unrealistic that it stops being enjoyable to read, I’ll try to change it if that’s the case
Also if you’ve read my others fics Saltwater Monster and 8-pool meltdown you might notice a pattern, that I desperately need to be comforted by Jake, and those fics are my most popular ones so I’d say we’re all in this together !💞
Finally (god sorry I’m talking a lot) a huge thank you to @berrybigpossibilities who agreed to read the first part of the fic when I was feeling really down about it and gave me their opinion, it helped a lot to finish it so thank you again !🫶
Your relationship with Bradley is new. Really new. Like, 'haven't let him smell your morning breath yet' new. But when he gets a call telling him that his mom is dying, you find yourself driving him to San Diego in the middle of the night, preparing to meet his entire extended family during the worst period of their lives. Nick and Carole live AU.
Warnings: discussions of cancer, parental death, it's very sad but also quite sweet
This fic is for the @elixirfromthestars cinema challenge! I've taken inspiration mainly from About Time (2013) - but also Elizabethtown (2005). I think they both have such beautiful depictions of grief and love persevering, so I've tried to channel that a little! Songs that offered some inspiration: Hold My Hand by Lady Gaga, Orpheus by Sara Bareilles, Rainbow by Kacey Musgraves + 🍟 for realising they're in love!
Come by the fire // Lay down your head // My love I see you're growing tired // So set the bad day by the bed // And rest a while
You consider yourself an expert on looks. First looks, last looks, and all the ones in between. They made up a relationship. Stolen glances full of longing when the other isn’t looking, anger burning during a fight when you don’t recognise the person across from you.
Whoever said the eyes were a window into the soul had it right.
First looks were easy. Almost all of them were entirely inconsequential, not meant to be remembered. The very act of remembering the first moment you lock eyes with someone was special. A sign, that for better or worse, they were going to become an important part of your life.
Your first look with Bradley had been outside a church, when your friend Hannah had married Bob Floyd. You'd been fixing your heel, having twisted the strap as you got out of the car, and looked up to find his eyes locked on you. His lips had been parted ever so slightly, shoulders broad as he stands in a perfectly tailored suit. You'd known Bob was in the Navy - you just hadn't realised his friends would look like that.
Polite smiles and introductions are exchanged before you find yourself walking down the aisle, arm laced through his.
He was a retired pilot, you learned at the party afterwards. He'd retired and moved to Los Angeles with the intention of settling down and having kids, before his girlfriend had left him for her boss. He was an instructor now, teaching the next generation to fly.
“God, I'm so sorry, you definitely don't want to be hearing about this right now-”
“No, no don't worry, it's totally okay - my last boyfriend left me for his highschool sweetheart. So I guess neither of us are really good at this.”
You don't know why you're telling him that. It was something you were normally embarrassed about, instead opting to just shrug and go ‘it wasn't meant to be’. But something about Bradley made you think he'd understand.
"He's an idiot," Bradley replies.
"Maybe I'm a complete and utter nightmare. Maybe it was totally deserved."
"I find that hard to believe." He's leaning in, and the scent of his cologne fills your atmosphere.
You smile, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. "You don't even know me."
"I'm hoping that's going to change."
You'd danced and laughed, trading stories and swapping anecdotes as the night went on, totally oblivious to the knowing looks passed between Hannah and Bob. It was no mistake that the two of you had been paired up to walk together. Everything was working out exactly as they expected it to.
The night had ended out on the patio, his jacket draped over your shoulders and his lips on yours.
Most of the sex you'd had in your life wasn't as personal as that single kiss.
Last looks were trickier. Harder to predict and pin down. There were last looks you were grateful to get - ex-friends and boyfriends who’d long overstayed their welcome in your life. Others were more painful, and left you longing for a ‘what-if’ that was never meant to be. Some, much like firsts, went by totally unnoticed, with neither of you realising that this was the end.
It was a strange understanding, the knowledge shared between two people that they would never see the other again.
You hoped your last look with Bradley wouldn't come for decades.
It’s midnight when he gets the call. You’re curled into him, arm draped over his stomach, his nose nestled in your hair. Only in his late thirties has Bradley been able to admit that often he much prefers quiet nights in with wine and a book to bustling bars and crowds.
You're more than happy to oblige, finding yourself spending more nights than not in his arms. It felt right, and natural, even though you'd only been together for a few months. A couple of your friends were less convinced.
“You’re moving too fast-”
“You’ll be sick of him before the year’s out-”
But things were good. You didn't believe in following a set schedule just because other people thought they knew how your relationship should work. You were happy, and you assumed Bradley felt the same. He’d never given any indication otherwise, even being the one to initiate a lot of the evolution of the relationship.
You’re in that sweet spot of being near enough sleep to be totally and utterly relaxed, while also still being able to enjoy the feeling of Bradley pressed up against you.
The staying over had been a new development, within the last week, when he’d make the excellent point that if you stayed over instead of driving home, you’d be doing your part to save the planet. You'd lower your carbon emissions, his place was closer to your work, and he'd already cleared out some closet space for you. The logic was unflappable.
“Mav? What’s wrong?” His voice is raspy, and he sits up, duvet pooling at his waist. “No, you didn’t wake me, it’s okay.”
The voice on the other end of the line speaks for a couple of seconds, and Bradley’s shoulders tense. It’s bad news. The kind that often precedes last looks. Your heart sinks slightly.
“How is she now?” Bradley replies, glancing over at you.
“Yeah, I can come. No, it's okay, I'll come now - should be there in a couple of hours.” A second. “I will. See you soon.”
“What's wrong?” You sit up, hand resting on his forearm.
“My mom. The cancer's spread. She was in the hospital today, just got home. Dad didn't want to worry me… but Mav thinks I should go home. Be there. He thinks it'll be a few weeks now. If we're lucky.” His voice wavers ever so slightly, but does not break.
“Oh Bradley,” You whisper. “I'm so sorry.” You'd known his mom had cancer, but you hadn't realised how severe it was. How little time she had.
“I-I need to go to San Diego,” He says, getting to his feet unsteadily. His hands are shaking, and he’s three shades paler than usual. “I’ll leave a key for you. Stay as long as you want.”
“Baby, it’s a three hour drive. You can’t do that in this state,” You murmur softly, moving to your knees as you watch him start to throw clothes into a duffel bag. “Let me take you.”
“I can’t ask you to do that-” He begins, but you cut him off.
“You aren’t. I’m offering. Just focus on packing, I'll grab some food and get the car ready.”
You can tell he wants to protest, tell you to go back to bed, but the worry wins out, and he just nods. Wordlessly, you get dressed, and head out to the car. When Bradley emerges ten minutes later, his eyes are red-rimmed and puffy. You don’t know what to say, don’t know if there’s anything to say, so you just reach out, hand cupping his cheek gently. He lets out a shaky breath, eyes closing as he leans into your touch.
He’d known this would come eventually. He just hadn’t thought it would be so sudden. At her last check-up the doctors had said she was doing as well as could be expected. They thought she might have a couple of years left, if she continued on like the way she was going.
A couple of years was good. Bradley could make that work. Maybe settle down, give her a grandchild, and show her that he was happy. That it was okay for her to go. That he’d be alright without her.
He couldn’t do any of that in a few weeks.
The drive is made in near silence. Bradley stares out the window, wringing his hands together nervously as he occasionally offers commentary on the places you pass. The roads are desolate, and you’re turning onto Bradley’s parent’s road just before three.
You hadn’t thought this far ahead. Pulling up to your boyfriend’s childhood home in the middle of the night to see his dying mom wasn’t exactly how you imagined the first meeting going. The last thing they need right now is to meet a new girlfriend, a total stranger. Bradley potentially hasn’t even told them about you yet.
“I-I should probably get going-”
“You’re not staying?” His head snaps to yours, deep brown eyes furrowed as he frowns. “It's 3am, you can't drive back on no sleep.”
“I don’t want to impose,” You reply, twisting a ring round your finger. The last thing you want to do is make this about you. “Or add any stress, or anything. Your parents probably only want family around.”
“Honey, if my mom knew I let you drive me all the way here, and then let you turn around and head straight back in the middle of the night, she’d murder me before I even got my coat off.” Despite your nerves, despite everything, you let out a small laugh. “I’d really like you to stay. Please.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” Whatever’s waiting for him inside, he’d rather face it with you.
“I didn't bring anything.”
“We can make do. I’ll buy whatever you need. Are you okay for work?”
You wave him off. “I have time off I can use. Don't worry.”
He nods, and grabs his bag from the back as you get out. He laces his fingers through yours, and takes a look up at the house that had been his home for eighteen years. There’s a light on downstairs, someone’s still awake.
Squeezing your hand, he begins the walk up the path, knocking lightly. It takes a second before it swings open, before revealing who you assume is Bradley’s dad.
They look so alike it’s almost uncanny. The man standing before you is like looking at Bradley in twenty-five years. Hair slightly thinner, a few more wrinkles, they could almost be brothers.
“Bradley,” Nick murmurs, pulling him in for a tight hug. “You should’ve waited until the morning.”
“Wanted to be with you guys,” Bradley mumbles, before pulling back slightly. “How is she?”
“Alright, all things considered. It’s spread to her lymph nodes. There’s nothing more they can do, therapy-wise. She’s sleeping now. You can go up in the morning.” He finally registers your presence behind Bradley, and straightens up. “You must be the girlfriend.” His eyes are soft, and he reaches out to pull you in for your own hug.
You tell him your name, as Bradley ushers you both inside, shutting the door behind you. “I’m so sorry about your wife, Mr Bradshaw.”
“Please, call me Nick,” He insists. He leads you both inside to the living room, where another man sits.
“Mav,” Bradley greets, as he stands. He introduces you to his godfather, and the two of you take a seat.
“How was the drive?” Maverick asks you.
“It was fine - roads were quiet.” You fight off a yawn, turning your head to look out the window.
“You’re tired,” Bradley says, voice quiet. “We can go to bed.”
You shake your head. “I’m okay,” You insist. Seeing the unconvinced expression on his face, you smile. “Promise.”
Bradley returns to his conversation with Nick and Maverick, and you try your best to stay awake, offering comments occasionally. You learn that Maverick and his wife live next door, and that Carole’s family all live nearby. Bradley has two cousins, Grace and John, who he grew up with. Grace has a toddler named Sophia, while John is getting married next year. Soon, you find your head leaning against Bradley’s shoulder, and he just feels so warm, and your eyes are so heavy-
“Your girl’s exhausted, Bradley,” Nick says softly. “Get some sleep.”
“I’m fine,” You mumble, but you know you’re not fooling anyone. It’s almost four now. You considered two a late night.
“It might be a little tight, but you can stay in your old room,” Nick says, and Bradley nods as he guides you to your feet. Maverick says his goodbyes, before heading next door.
“You’ll wake me when she’s up?”
Nick nods. “Yeah, of course. Now, go before she passes out.” You send him a tired smile, and follow Bradley down the hall.
Bradley’s childhood bedroom is exactly what you would’ve expected from him. Covered head to toe in plane posters, with sporting trophies lining every surface.
Football, baseball, basketball, track, he was apparently good at everything.
“My god, you were a try-hard,” You murmur, gesturing at the pile of medals hanging from the back of the door.
“I liked to win,” He shrugs, dropping his bag by the wardrobe. “You want a shirt to sleep in?”
You nod, and he tosses you an old Top Gun one. He pulls on a pair of sweatpants, and you both crawl into bed.
He insists the bed’s a double, but with the way you’re lying chest to chest just to stay on, you’re not convinced. It doesn’t really matter. You could be sleeping on the world’s largest bed, and would still find a way to be as close to Bradley as possible.
Don't stop // Trying to find me here amidst the chaos // Though I know it's blinding // There's a way out // Say out loud // We will not give up on love now
The next morning you meet Maverick's wife Penny, and his stepdaughter Amelia. Bradley and Nick are up in the master bedroom catching up - it had been a while since Bradley had been home.
They’re up for about an hour, while you get to know the Mitchells, before Bradley appears in the living room. “She wants to meet you.”
“Are you- are you sure?”
“Very sure. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.” As if he can sense the nerves, he holds out a hand for you to take. He knows this must be weird for you. Going from meeting no one to his entire family in the span of twenty-four hours. But he’s glad you’re here. He has a feeling he’s going to be with you for a long time, and if now is the only time that he gets to be with you and his mom, he’ll take what he can get.
If you hadn’t known Carole Bradshaw was sick, you’re not sure you would’ve guessed. Yes, she looks tired, and yes, the bags under her eyes are probably bigger than usual, but her smile is wide and her eyes bright.
“You’re even prettier than he said you were.”
You’re positive this isn’t true. You’re wearing the jeans you had on yesterday, with one of Bradley’s shirts, and you must’ve gotten a maximum of five hours sleep last night. Pretty is not the word you’d use. Heat rises to your cheeks, as Bradley guides you to the chair beside her bed.
“It’s really lovely to meet you, Mrs Bradshaw-”
“Carole! Call me Carole, please.”
“Carole,” You repeat. You’re desperate for her to like you. The idea that you could be with Bradley for the rest of your life, and the only impression his mother has of you is when you’re running on little sleep with greasy hair is not appealing. “I really like your son.”
She laughs. “I really like him too. And he likes you. Wouldn’t shut up about you the last time he called.”
You glance at Bradley, who’s begun to look very embarrassed. “That’s an exaggeration-”
“It is not! He’s very enamoured with you, sweetheart.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“So, what do you do? He got so carried away on the phone, he didn’t tell me the basics. Just how pretty you were, and how he can't believe you'd go out with him-”
"Okay, mom, that's enough," Bradley interjects, as Carole grins.
"Just letting the girl know what she's in for!"
“I work in publishing.”
“You’re a reader?”
“As much as I can.”
“You’ll need to give me some recommendations then. I’ve been getting more reading done recently than the rest of my life combined.”
“I think I can do that.”
***
That afternoon, the extended family come round. You take it all in your stride, diligently answering questions and re-filling drinks. Sophia, his cousin’s daughter, takes a particular liking to you, opting to sit on your knee while the grownups chat.
“What do you think?” Bradley asks Nick, eyes trained on you as you crouch down to chat to little Sophia, smiling widely as she shows off her teddy bear.
“I like her more than you already,” Nick quips, throwing him a grin. Seeing Bradley’s obvious relief, he claps a hand on his son’s shoulder. “She’s great. Really. Way out of your league.”
Bradley snorts. “Believe me, I know.”
“Your mom likes her too. Spent more time talking about her to Mary this afternoon than anything else.”
“Yeah?”
Nick drops his voice to a near-whisper. “I know the circumstances aren’t ideal, but you bringing her here has really made your mother so happy. All she’s ever wanted was for you to find someone - and she won’t get to meet her grandkids, but I think meeting their mother will let her go with a bit of clarity.”
Bradley almost chokes on his drink. Sure, these might have been three of the best months of his life. But it was still far too early to even consider marriage and kids. The last thing he wanted to do was scare you off. Not when things had been going so well. “It’s only been three months-”
“So? Who cares if you met her yesterday, or ten years ago? She wouldn't have driven you a hundred and fifty miles in the middle of the night if she wasn't committed to this thing. Your mother and I were engaged by six months, married by eight.”
He looks back at you. In such a short space of time, you'd become his whole life. On the occasions you had to sleep at your own place, due to early meetings or that time you were dog-sitting, he felt your absence like a gaping hole in his chest. You were the last thing he thought about every night, and his first thought in the morning. “I really like her,” He admits finally.
Nick Bradshaw just smiles. “We can tell.”
Don't you turn like Orpheus // Just stay here // Hold me in the dark and when the day appears // We'll say // We did not give up on love today
You manage a couple of hours of downtime before trying to make yourself useful again. You weren’t the world’s best cook - you certainly weren’t better than Bradley, but you could make a mean lasagna. And you figure the last thing the Bradshaws needed to be thinking about right now was food. So, you enlist Penny, and send Maverick out to get the extra ingredients you need.
“We can just order in, it’s no big deal,” Bradley insists, watching as you and Penny bustle about the kitchen.
“That’ll cost an absolute fortune. We’ve got it covered, right Penny?”
Penny nods, and ushers Bradley towards the door. “We’ll be done in an hour. Set the table for us, will you?”
Spirits are cheerful, despite the overhang of dread. Cousins are playing, Bradley’s serving drinks, Carole and Penny are gossiping, and you’ve found yourself beside Nick. He’s easy to talk to, and is like Bradley in so many ways it’s almost scary. He’s already broken into the baby pictures, showing you various embarrassing Bradley phases over the years.
His cowboy phase at three. His emo phase at eleven. His surfer dude phase at sixteen.
“Later on, I may tell you about Bradley's many failings as a man and as a table tennis player. But, firstly I'd like to say the one big thing - that I've only loved three men in my life. My dad was a frosty prick so that only leaves dear Maverick, Elvis Presley- obviously - and that man there.”
Across the room, Bradley’s giving Sophia a piggy-back, while simultaneously juggling four empty glasses that need cleaned up.
“He’s a good guy,” You agree, eyes soft as you watch him. “I’m really lucky.”
“I’m glad you two found each other. He struggles to let people in sometimes.”
You’d never experienced that with Bradley. From the very first meeting, it felt like you both just understood each other, in a way you’d never felt before. You told him things at Bob’s wedding that it would take you months to work up to with other people. Upon seeing your confusion, Nick laughs softly.
“Good to see he isn’t like that with you.”
Eventually, Carole begins to get tired, and everyone starts to filter out, leaving just Nick, Bradley, and you. You try to start cleaning up, but Nick and Bradley manage to distract you with a game of Monopoly at Carole’s bedside. She dominates, getting hotels on Park Lane and Mayfair that bankrup the rest of you, before you and Bradley give her some peace to get some sleep.
When Bradley emerges from his shower, you aren’t in his room. Frowning, he combs the upstairs. Nothing. Then he hears humming from the kitchen. Inside, you’re tackling the mountain of plates from lunch earlier, having barely made a dent.
“Honey, you don’t have to do that,” Bradley says, and you jump at the disturbance.
“You scared me,” You breathe, before turning back to the dishes. “And it’s fine - I just want to help.”
“I can do it in the morning,” He insists, moving behind you to rest his chin on your shoulder and wrap his arms around your waist. “You already made dinner. It’s too much.”
“You shouldn’t have to worry about dishes, or washing, or cooking right now. Let me take care of you.”
“At least let me help.”
You think for a second, before conceding. “Fine. You can dry.”
It takes another hour, but the by the end, you’re giggling like children as you flick suds of soap at him, before trying to duck out of his arms as he tickles you mercilessly.
Upstairs, Carole and Nick smile to themselves when they hear the “Bradley don’t!” mere seconds before another fit of laughter erupts.
"He's going to be okay," Carole murmurs, resting her head on her husband's shoulder, eyes misty.
By the time you’re ready to go to bed, Bradley’s in need of another shower, hair sticking to his forehead as his shorts drip water onto the floor.
***
“I’ll be back tonight,” You promise, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “But I really need my laptop to work from home.”
Bradley understood. He did. You were already doing far too much, arranging your work so that you could stay in San Diego with him for the time being. And yet, the idea of you being gone for even a day created a pit at the very bottom of his stomach. “Drive safe, okay? And call me when you get home. And then call me again before you leave.”
“I will.” In normal circumstances you’d laugh at his over-protectiveness, but you know he’s just worried. It’s been a hard two weeks.
Carole has had a string of bad days - bad days that are slowly beginning to outnumber the good. It won’t be too long now. Carole knows this, you know it, Nick knows it. You’re not sure Bradley’s come to terms with it yet.
You’re sitting with her that night, while the guys make dinner. You’d been covering it, but Carole had insisted they stop letting you do all the work around the house. So you’re cross-legged on a chair beside her bed, looking at some more pictures from Bradley’s childhood.
“You know, he’s never brought a girl home before,” Carole tells you, as soon as the door clicks shut behind Bradley. He’d popped up with drinks. “Not even Taylor. They were together four years, and we met her once at a wedding.”
“It’s just because I drove him here,” You reason, but Carole shakes her head.
“It’s different with you.” She goes to speak again, before breaking off in a coughing fit. You grab the glass on her bedside, passing it over. “Thanks, sweetheart. And thank you for being here.”
“It’s no problem, really. I’d do anything for him.”
“I know. And I’m glad it’s you. I was so worried about leaving him. He’s always been sensitive. I think you’ll make it a little easier on him.”
You don't know what to say, voice catching in your throat. Instead, you reach out and take her hand.
***
“Please Nick, I'm not dead yet. Penny can come. It’ll be fine.” Carole rolls her eyes, and you know Nick isn't winning this one.
It was the latest argument. Nick and Carole had decided to renew their vows at the Hard Deck, just for closest friends and family. The guys had their suits, but you, Carole and Penny didn't have a dress. Carole wanted to go shopping, Nick thought it was a bad idea. The final compromise was going to one shop, and making Carole stay off her feet as much as possible.
You knew despite Carole's insistence that she was happy with whatever, that you didn’t want to make her walk far. So you set up shop in a local store, Carole and Penny each picking their own dress first.
You try a couple on, eventually landing on a pale yellow maxi dress, patterned with flowers. Just as you’re about to get changed back into your clothes, Carole appears in the dressing room.
“If this is weird and inappropriate, please tell me,” Carole insists, as she steps towards you with a dress bag. “But uh- I never got to have a daughter. Nick and I, we tried for a while to give Bradley a sibling, but it never worked out.” She clears her throat, voice thick as she continues. “And I always hoped that I’d be able to go dress-shopping with whoever Bradley chose to marry. I know that the two of you haven’t been together long, but-but…”
She trails off, and you nod, eyes shining. “I would really love to have you as a mother-in-law,” You whisper.
You step out of the dressing room, breath bated as you look in the mirror. The dress is gorgeous, hugging your curves in all the right places, the cut making you look taller than you are. You’ve never worn a wedding dress before. You're not sure if it's bad luck to wear one without being engaged, but this feels right. It's a moment you'll never get to share with Carole, even if you do marry Bradley one day.
She’s wiping her eyes before she even sees you. “Oh honey, you look stunning,” She breathes. "You'll make a beautiful bride someday."
The tears are streaming freely now, and you hug her tightly. "I wish I'd met him earlier."
"Me too," She whispers. "But it's okay. When it happens, it'll be wonderful. Because you both love each other, and that's all that matters."
I'll show you good // Restore your faith // I'll try and somehow make a meaning of the poison in this place // Convince you love, don't breathe it in // You were written in the stars that we are swimming in
The ceremony's beautiful. If you and Bradley can have half the relationship his parents share, you'll be doing a whole lot better than most people.
Maverick officiates, and Bradley is designated ring-bearer, despite his protests.
"Why can't Amelia do it? Or Sophia? The literal child?"
"It's funnier making you do it-"
“Time for pictures!” Penny announces, grabbing her camera from the counter. “Bradshaw family up first!”
You smile as Bradley fakes a dramatic sigh, pressing a kiss to your hairline as he passes. Nick and Bradley stand on either side of Carole, arms wrapped round her waist as they lean in. You zone out slightly, snapping back to reality when you hear Carole calling your name. “Wait! That’s not everyone!”
If you weren’t already close to tears, this'll do it. “Oh, no-” You begin, but she’s already cutting you off.
“You’ll be family soon enough, sweetheart,” She calls, gesturing forwards. You glance at Bradley, nod wanting to overstep, and get to your feet when he nods. You know the rule for partners - unless it’s serious, they don’t get in the family photos.
Bradley reaches out, looping his arm round you to pull you in tightly.
Penny takes pictures of every possible configuration of people. You and Bradley, Nick and Maverick, Carole and Sophia, before getting one of the bartenders to get a group shot.
Nick captures one single photo the whole night. You and Carole in the corner of one of the booths, eyes crinkled as you laugh together. He saves it for later. Figures it could make a good wedding present down the line.
***
“Listen, if what my mom said was too much, I totally get that,” Bradley murmurs into your ear as you sway gently in time to Bruce Springsteen’s I’m On Fire wafting from the jukebox. “She gets ahead of herself at the best of times, nevermind… nevermind now.”
Carole Bradshaw will never get to meet her grandchildren. If you and Bradley get married, she won’t be at the wedding. If, god forbid, you aren’t it for him, she’ll never know his wife. She won’t get to see him turn forty, or celebrate her fortieth wedding anniversary. It’s an awful finality that he can’t allow himself to think about too much.
“It wasn’t too much,” You reply, voice soft. “I love your family.”
“I love you.”
It slips out before he can even register what he's saying. Truthfully, he's known he loved you since you dropped everything to be with him here. But thinking and saying are very different things.
Your reply is instantaneous. “I love you too.” You don't need to think about it. Because you do. You love Bradley Bradshaw in a big and scary way.
You love how he spends his Saturdays giving free lessons to people who can't afford it, simply because he thinks everyone should have a chance to learn.
You love that when the anniversary of your grandma's death had come round last month, he'd turned up on your doorstep with flowers and chocolates before his shift, even though his work was at the opposite end of the city from your house.
You love the fact that he talks in his sleep - mostly about aircrafts and flying, a language you don't understand at all. Mumbling about F-18s and Mach numbers as his arms tighten around you.
You love that underneath the tough exterior, he’s the softest man you've ever met. That even though the idea terrifies him, you know he'll be a wonderful father one day.
You love him. You think that maybe you've loved him since the moment you saw him.
“You don't have to say it just because my mom's dying.”
“I'm not. I'd say it even if your dad was hideous and your mom hated me, and they were all massive Republicans. I love you.”
***
“They look like you guys,” Maverick muses, as you and Bradley move round the dance floor, totally engrossed in each other.
“I hope you mean that as a compliment,” Nick replies, raising an eyebrow as he takes his wife's hand.
“Of course it's a compliment,” Maverick scoffs. “You guys found your person younger than most, and still managed to make it work. Took me fifty years to get my act together.”
“Bradley’s nearly forty, he wasn’t far behind you,” Nick snorts, and Carole swats at him.
“That wasn’t his fault! He was ready to settle down, and Taylor pulled the rug out from under him.”
“It worked out for the best. He looks happier now than he ever did with Taylor.”
"You both better get absolutely hammered at their wedding for me."
"I think we can handle that," Maverick assures her, grinning. "The boys can do Great Balls of Fire in your honour."
"She'll be heading straight for a divorce if you do that," Carole laughs.
That was the last good day. It was like she'd said her goodbyes, made her peace with leaving. She knew that everyone would be okay, eventually. She's admitted to the hospital on Monday with chest pain, and dies on Thursday.
She goes holding Bradley's hand, while Nick sits on her other side. For all intents and purposes, it is a peaceful death.
It has no name // No guarantee // It's just the promise of a day // I know that some may never see // But that's enough // If the bottom drops out // I hope my love was someone else's solid ground
Nick Bradshaw stands alone at the entrance to the church, greeting every single guest by name. Even when they get well into the hundreds, he treats their grief with a delicacy you'd never expect from a new widower.
You don’t think you’d be able to harness that amount of grace if you were in his position. You stand with Bradley, hand clutched tightly in his. His eyes are fixed firmly on the coffin, only pulling them away to acknowledge the mourners who approach him.
It feels like the entire city of San Diego has come out to mourn Carole Bradshaw. The church is filled to the brim, with people spilling onto the street outside. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen such an outpouring of love for one person.
You manage to hold it together until the opening chords of Tom Petty’s I Won’t Back Down ring out. Bradley’s arm snakes round your waist, and a choked sob escapes as he buries his face in your hair.
“I know, baby, I’m sorry,” You cry, pulling him in tighter.
Nick knew his wife better than anybody in the world - she wouldn't have wanted everyone to be miserable. She wanted her funeral to be a celebration of life, not death.
So his eulogy is full of their best moments - from embarrassing to heartfelt. When she went into labour with Bradley while Nick was in the air, and Maverick had to be sent to get him down. Nick arrived at the hospital as Bradley was crowning. It had taken him a while to make it up to her for that one.
When she almost got them all arrested in Italy by driving on the wrong side of the road.
Their first wedding - when she'd been an hour late to her own reception because she overslept.
Her love for really awful karaoke. Her love for her family, friends, husband, son.
Carole Bradshaw lived a good life. And that was nothing to be sad about.
“How are you handling this so well?” Bradley asks his dad, as the three of you walk towards the car to head to the reception.
“I'm not - not really. I’m fucking furious, and so uninterested in a life without your mother. But I also know she'd punch me for even thinking that.”
For the first time in a long time, Bradley laughs. “She’d tell you to grow up and get on with it.”
“And so that’s what I’m going to do. I’m gonna mope for a couple of weeks, and then I’m getting a dog. And I’m gonna call it Goose.”
“You’re naming the dog after yourself?”
“Hey, your mother was the brains of the relationship, not me.”
***
“Can we- can we go for a drive?” Bradley asks the next day, and you nod.
“Of course.”
The drive doesn’t take long. A couple of miles up the coast, before he’s pulling into a lookout spot. It’s incredible, the view over the ocean. “My mom used to bring me here, to watch my dad fly,” Bradley murmurs, as he leads you over to the railing. He gestures out towards the island in the distance. “He was based there for a while. So was I, when I served.”
There aren’t any planes out today, but the sky is the bluest blue you’ve ever seen, not a cloud in sight. Bradley has to think that somehow, his mom is here, watching over you both.
“I think I've been asleep most of my life,” He admits.
“Me too.”
“I don't want that anymore. Being scared, of not taking any risks. I don't want to have any regrets."
"We've got time," You murmur. "We're still in our thirties. Basically teenagers. Your twenties are just a practice run, anyway. I've heard that being in your forties is where it's at."
"Yeah," He replies softly. "We've got time."
His mom's ring nearly burns a hole in his pocket.
“Not for today, not for tomorrow, but soon, okay?” She'd whispered, slipping it into his hand, smiling softly as her breathing grew laboured.
“Yeah, mom. Soon.”
a/n - thank you so much for reading!! I really love this one-shot, and I've never written Carole and Nick before. Thank you to Mel for hosting the challenge, I had a lot of fun taking inspiration from the movies!
A/N: I wanted to branch out the list of characters I'd write for and since Willard is a fave of mine (I have a soft spot for dumb pretty country boys oops), I figured I'd roll with it.
Inspired by I Bet You Think About Me and Betty by Taylor Swift;
“But now that we're done and it's over, I bet you couldn't believe when you realized I'm harder to forget than I was to leave”
“But if I just showed up at your party, - Would you tell me to go fuck myself, - I’m only 17, I don’t know anything.” “Will you kiss me on the porch in front of all your stupid friends?”
pairing: Willard Hewitt (Footloose 2011) x f!reader
content/warnings: swearing, angst, Willard being a dummy, some pining, fluffy ending.
word count: 3k
“Willard, you can’t just go around kissin’ other girls and then telling me you love me, that’s not how this works!”
“Well, maybe I dunno how any of this works, did’ya ever think that? Jeez, you’re puttin’ more rules on me than coach does for a football game, babe. Maybe I don’t wanna be in a relationship like this? I’m young, you know, I’m 19, I wanna be free and have fun while I still can. I’m gonna graduate soon and I wanna enjoy life before I get stuck workin’ a 9 to 5 somewhere. I know I’m not playin’ football when I get out, but I’m not plannin’ to be like everyone else back home and have a wife and kids and a dog before I turn 30.”
“Well then, maybe we should break up, Willard. Apparently according to you we were never anything to begin with, so it shouldn’t be too hard to call this off.”
“Yeah, maybe we should.”
Willard’s words were like venom, stinging you as you walked away, hot tears threatening to overflow your eyes and stream down your face. You headed off to your dorm, trying your damnest to not let Willard’s indifference towards you get under your skin. You were determined to not let some country boy from a small town in Georgia break your heart, you were better than that. Before you left, you spun around on your heel and looked at him.
Five years later, and you had long moved on from the cute Southern country boy who’d tried to break your heart. You’d completed your university degree in Education, worked your ass off, determined to be happy with or without your ex boyfriend. You and Willard never crossed paths again at university, and you were sure you’d never see him again. That was, until you had to return home for the weekend. Your younger sister had just turned 16, and your presence was requested, causing you to make the four and a half hour one way trip down to Athens to be there for her party. You’d moved to South Carolina after graduation, landing a job with a school district in Charleston where you were hired on as a first grade teacher. Once you arrived back home in Athens, the memories of Willard and your years at university all came flooding back. Complicating these, was when your tire blew on your car. You had to have it towed to the nearest mechanic.
When you hopped out of the tow truck, you lifted your sunglasses up from your eyes, resting them atop your head, squinting as you walked into the garage. A tall man with dark hair and a deep Southern accent with his back turned to you as he wiped his hands off called out to you. There was a sense of familiarity as he spoke, an uncomfortable feeling brewed in you as he turned around. You saw his face, and nothing about him had changed - the same hazel eyes, dark brown curls, the faint scars on his cheek and his chin now almost unnoticeable. His breath audibly hitched as he saw you.
“Well...hi,” Willard chuckled awkwardly as he saw you, taking a moment to register everything that had changed since you’d left him.
“Hi,” You responded coldly, your arms folded across your chest as you looked at him, “My tire blew, I just need one replaced. No I didn’t have a spare, just charge it to my credit card when you’re done, ok?”
“Well now, is that anyway to talk to your ex boyfriend?” Willard smirked playfully, that same godforsaken twinkle in his hazel eyes that always won you over before still clearly present.
“Ex for a reason, Willard.”
“Not a good one,” He admitted as he nodded his head slowly, “I-uh-I’ve been thinking.”
“After 5 years? Seems a little late.”
“Listen, darlin’, I was a stupid kid,” he began, nodding slowly, “I never wanted to hurt ya.”
“Well, you just did a damn good job of that without even trying, didn’t you?” You rebuffed his attempt to discuss further and handed him your credit card so he could put the tire repair on file with your card.
“I’m sorry, ok?” He said softly, his voice barely a whisper as he spoke.
“I’m not.”
“I probably deserve that, I’ll admit,” Willard sighs and shakes his head, “Let me make it up to ya, ok? Maybe I could take you for dinner some time? How long are ya here for? I can’t cook for shit still, but I remember you always loved going out to that place near the campus, I could take you there if ya’d like?”
“Thanks, but I have plans.”
“I haven’t even told you when it is yet.”
“Well I’m only home for a weekend. It’s my sister’s sweet 16.”
Willard’s face fell as he nodded slowly. He sighed softly and handed you your card back, furrowing his brow as he spoke.
“S’pose I can’t convince you then, can I?”
“What could you possibly say to fix it after five years, Willard?
He frowned again before gazing up at the clock on the wall. He nodded slowly and turned his attention back to you before speaking again.
“I’m off in 10 minutes, if you wait for me, I’ll explain everything. If you say my explanation and apology aren’t good enough, I’ll back off and you can pretend you never even met me. I’ll even fix that tire for free first before you go back home.”
You weighed your options as Willard looked at you hopefully, almost as if he was pleading you to agree. You sighed and shook your head before pointing a finger at him.
“Don’t disappoint me, ok?
“I’ll do my damnest not to, darlin’”
After 10 short minutes, you observed as Willard punched out his time card and trodded off to the change room to discard of his dirty, grease laden clothes. He smiled as he walked out to you, wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt, his beat up old baseball cap from when you’d first met him now adorning his head. He laughed softly before turning to you once again and grinning.
“I’m impressed you waited for me,” Willard explained.
As the two of you headed outside, you spotted his infamous beat up old pickup truck, looking as rough as ever parked outside. Willard grinned at you and laughed, “You used to love this truck, you know.”
“Yeah, when I was 19, I also loved country boys in cowboy hats who wiillingly broke my heart by kissing other girls while I thought we were dating exclusively,” You hissed at him.
If there was one thing you knew about Willard, it was that he didn’t give a single fuck if anyone didn’t like his truck. That truck was the only thing he loved more than his own mama, and Willard would spend every last dime he had to fix that awful thing just so he could continue cherishing it. He’d always been very set in his ways about everything. It was the reason why you’d split in the first place. He was so determined to “live freely” and “live his life” that he gave up anything he figured might have stopped him, including you.
“Listen, I’m sorry for what I did, yeah?”
“So you’ve said.”
“Just hear me out, ok? I was a stupid kid. I was 19, I didn’t know shit. I still don’t know shit at 24, but you know what I do know?”
“How to count past 10 without taking your shoes off?” You retorted dryly.
“Hey now, I’m trying to be serious!” Willard laughed softly, “I know now that you never would have stopped me from doing whatever I had my heart set on. You would have encouraged me to just be happy. I appreciate that. I was just too stupid to pick up on that. I’m sorry I broke your heart. I also learned that you were so much harder to forget than you were to leave. Watching you walk away and hearing you tell me to go fuck myself gave me quite the ego check. And, I really did think you were the sweetest lil’ Georgia peach I’d ever met.”
You rolled your eyes as you tried to maintain your icy exterior towards him. On the inside though, you could feel your heart melt ever so slightly as he called you a Georgia peach - that had always been his saying when he thought you did something cute. He’d pat your cheek with his big hand, calloused from a combination of playing football and his studying to be a mechanical engineer, and grin at you as his thick as molasses Southern accent gushed at you. “Well ain’t you just as sweet as a Georgia Peach?” he’d always say. Half the time you figured he said it purely to make you blush.
Willard took a step closer to you, his hazel eyes meeting with yours the way they had when you two had dated all those years ago. He sighed softly, almost happily as he saw you weren’t rejecting him this time around. His hand reached for yours slowly, his touch gentle and delicate, as if he was trying purposefully not to scare you away. He smiled softly as you allowed him to hold your hand, your lack of resistance giving him a glimmer of hope that you might have somehow found a way to forgive him. You would feel yourself wearing down against him, your cold, frozen exterior towards him melting away as he gently held your hand.
“Willard,” you frowned slightly as you looked down at his hand holding yours, trying to ignore the fact that your hand fit perfectly in his.
“Darlin’ I’m willing to do anything to prove to you that I’m not going to break your heart again if you give me the chance. I’ve spent the last five years realizing that those big dreams and aspirations I had in college weren’t going to come true without you. I never did make it out of college football, I never ended up travelling or leaving Georgia like I said I would, but, I mean, I do decently well for myself. When you left I realized you were what made me happy though - not travelling or football, or workin’ on cars. You. And when I didn’t have you to do all these things I’d dreamed of with, well, none of them seemed worth doin’ anymore.”
You sighed softly as he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. You looked up at him, meeting those gorgeous hazel eyes you’d always loved, tears welling up in your own as you gave an understanding nod of your head.
“Now, there’s my sweet lil’ Georgia peach,” he smirked as he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb.
A rush of memories and a sense of familiarity came rushing over you as he spoke, calling you by the pet name that always made you weak in the knees years ago. You shook your head quickly as you tried to shake the feeling of nostalgia that was overtaking you.
“I should get going.” Your voice was soft-spoken, partially feeling guilty as you spoke.
Willard swallowed hard and nodded his head, trying to not sound defeated. He gestured his hand outward, pointing towards the street, forcing a hearty laugh and a big smile as he spoke.
“Yeah, might not wanna be late, your mama’d be so mad. Bet your sister wouldn’t be none too pleased either tho, would she?”
“No, I don’t suppose they would be. My sister’s party is supposed to start in,” You frowned as you looked at your watch and shook your head, “!5 minutes. Christ, I better start walking.”
“Don’t be silly, I’ll just drive you over. Sure your mama doesn’t want you wanderin’ your way around town to get home.”
You opened your mouth to argue but quickly closed it again. You knew he had a fair point, and you’d never make it there in 15 minutes by walking. Smiling, Willard opened the door of his truck for you, gesturing to the front seat for you to hop inside. You jumped up into the seat and nodded slowly as Willard took your bag out of your temporarily non-functioning car for you, placing it in the back. He climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key over, the engine making its unique sputtering sound as it roared to life, the old engine sounding like it was clinging to life by a thread.
“You know, I could fix ‘er, but I just…I dunno, the sound is sort of nostalgic for me, ya know? It’s comforting,” He chuckled.
You rolled your eyes and laughed as he drove towards your parents house. You directed him along the way, but once he found himself in the familiar neighbourhoods he used to drive through to pick you up all those years ago, he didn’t need your navigation skills anymore. He smirked as he pulled up out front of your parents’ home, watching as you hopped out of the truck. He raised an eyebrow as the crowd of your family members that was congregating outside of your garage. Willard waved politely to them, recognizing a few of their faces from family functions he’d accompanied you to years ago. He parked his truck and hopped out, smiling as he looked over to you.
“I take it you never did tell your mama the truth about why we broke up, did ya?” He whispered to you as your mom waved to him from the garage.
“No, I didn’t want to her to go sharpen her pitchfork to come after you with,” You smirked at him and shrugged your shoulders, “You’re welcome.”
As you came up closer to your family, you felt Willard put his hand gently on your back. Turning to you, he smiled softly and whispered in your ear gently.
“Sorry, just trying to make it seem like we didn’t quite break up as badly as we did,” he nodded as he let out a soft chuckle.
You nodded slowly in agreement and smiled at your family members as Willard joined you. He laughed as your dad wrapped an arm Willard’s shoulders, pulling him in to talk for a moment, as he would have with an old friend. Willard gave you an apologetic smile as he shrugged, not realizing that your family would have missed his presence so much.
A few hours later, Willard was still hanging out at the party, unable to make a quick getaway as your family members wanted to hear about all the things he’d done over the last five years. In a way, you were glad they were so welcoming towards him once again, happy to see that he was still considered family by your loved ones. You couldn’t help but notice the butterflies you got every time you saw him smile or laugh while he spoke, like he was genuinely enjoying himself, it showed to you that what he had said earlier about missing you had been completely heartfelt.
As everyone started to head out, you met Willard on your parents front porch, smiling softly as he held your hand again under the warm glow of the porchlight beside the door. You could feel the gaze of your family members peering through the curtains at you, all secretly and silently hoping that one of you would give a sign that you were rekindling what you’d once had together.
“Thanks for letting me stick around, I missed seeing everyone, I missed how nice your folks are,” Willard nodded, smiling brightly at you, his cheeks turning pink as he spoke.
“I don’t think they would have given me the option to send you home without staying, to be fair.”
There was an awkward silence in the air between you two as Willard’s eyes met yours. He bit his lip softly and laughed, shaking his head, his dark brown curls becoming perfectly tossed, his discarded baseball cap shoved into his back pocket from when he sat down for dinner earlier.
“You know, I really wanna kiss you right ‘bout now.”
“Strangely enough, you’re kinda making me wanna kiss you right ‘bout now too,” you teased.
With that, Willard put his hands on your waist, pulling you in close for a kiss. His lips were soft, with a sense of hunger and passion added to the chemistry between you. You could tell just by how his lips met with yours that he’d been craving this for the last five years. That he’d wanted nothing more than to hold you close and kiss you under the porchlight like had so many times before. And if you were being honest, you’d craved it too all these years, as much as you hated to admit it.
“So, where does this leave us then?” You raised an eyebrow at him, “‘Suppose I can’t hate you anymore if I’m letting you kiss me like that, now can I?”
“Don’t suppose you can, sweetheart. Looks like you may have to agree to datin’ me again?”
“Is that so?”
“Now come on, my lil’ Georgia peach, don’t make me get on my knees and beg you to take me back in front of your folks. You know I will.”
You laughed softly and pressed your lips to his again, murmuring into the kiss as your lips touched.
You're dragged to one of the Sons parties by your date. Your date then leaves you alone for most of the night, before coming back over, drunk as a skunk, and trying to touch you.
Juice notices and intervenes.
The clubhouse is louder than you expected.
Music thumps through the walls, bass vibrating up through your boots as bodies press too close, laughter too sharp, too wild. The air smells like beer, sweat, leather, and something just a little dangerous. You already feel out of place—and your date isn’t helping.
He’d been all charm earlier. Easy smile, hand at the small of your back, promising a “fun night.” But the second you stepped into the chaos of the Sons of Anarchy clubhouse, he’d disappeared into it like he belonged there.
You? You got left behind.
So now you sit on the edge of a worn couch, nursing the same drink for far too long, watching strangers laugh like they’ve known each other forever. You check your phone. No messages. No sign of him.
“Great,” you mutter under your breath.
“Yeah, not exactly a beginner-friendly crowd.”
The voice startles you just enough to make you look up.
He’s leaning against the wall like he’s been there a while—easy posture, observant eyes that have definitely been watching more than just you. There’s something softer about him compared to the others. Less sharp edges. Less… threat.
“First time?” he asks.
You nod. “Is it that obvious?”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Little bit.”
There’s no judgment in it though—just warmth.
“I’m Juice,” he adds, offering a hand.
You take it. “Yeah, I know who you are.”
He grins slightly at that, like he’s used to it but still amused. Juice Ortiz doesn’t let go of your hand immediately—just long enough to feel grounding before he steps back.
“You here with someone?” he asks, glancing around like he already suspects the answer.
“Was,” you correct. “He vanished.”
Juice’s expression shifts—subtle, but there. A flicker of disapproval.
“Not a great move,” he says.
“Tell me about it.”
There’s an easy silence that settles between you, surprisingly comfortable despite everything. He stays nearby, not crowding you, just… present. Like he’s decided you shouldn’t be alone, even if he doesn’t say it outright.
You start to relax.
Until—
“Hey, there she is.”
Your stomach drops.
Your date stumbles back into view, hand clasped carelessly around a half-empty beer bottle. His steps are uneven, his smile sloppy, eyes glassy in that unmistakable way.
Juice straightens slightly beside you.
“Where’d you go?” your date slurs, stepping too close, hand immediately reaching for your waist like you’re something he owns. “Been lookin’ for you.”
“You left me,” you say, pulling back a little.
“Yeah, yeah, but I’m back now.” His grip tightens, fingers pressing into your side. “C’mon, don’t be like that.”
The smell of alcohol hits you hard. You try to shift away, but he follows, hand sliding lower—
“Hey.”
Juice’s voice cuts clean through the moment.
Not loud. Not aggressive.
But firm.
Your date pauses, blinking like he just noticed him. “What?”
Juice steps closer—not touching you, not yet—but placing himself just enough between you and the wandering hands.
“She’s not into it,” he says calmly.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” your date snaps, trying to reach around him again.
Juice’s expression hardens just a fraction.
“Yeah,” he replies, quieter now, “you are.”
There’s something in his tone—steady, unshaken—that makes your date hesitate. For a second, it looks like he might push it. Might turn it into something bigger.
Juice doesn’t move.
Doesn’t flinch.
Just watches him like he’s already decided how this is going to end.
“Man, whatever,” your date mutters eventually, throwing his hands up. “She’s being dramatic anyway.”
“Then it won’t be a problem if you give her space,” Juice replies.
Another beat.
Then your date scoffs and stumbles off again, muttering under his breath as he disappears back into the crowd.
Silence settles in his wake.
Your heart’s still racing.
Juice turns to you, the tension in his shoulders easing almost immediately. “You okay?”
You nod, even though your voice takes a second to catch up. “Yeah. Just… wow.”
He gives a small shrug. “Guy was outta line.”
“Yeah,” you say softly. “He was.”
For a moment, neither of you moves. Then Juice gestures toward the door.
“C’mon,” he says. “It’s quieter outside.”
You hesitate for half a second before nodding.
He doesn’t touch you as he leads the way—doesn’t rush, doesn’t assume—but he stays close enough that you don’t feel alone anymore.
Outside, the night air is cool, a sharp contrast to the heat inside. You take a deep breath, tension slowly leaving your body.
Juice leans against the railing beside you.
“You don’t have to stay,” he says after a moment. “I can get you a ride, if you want.”
You glance at him.
There’s no pressure in it. No expectation.
Just… genuine concern.
“I think I’d like that,” you admit.
He nods once. “Yeah. Okay.”
A pause.
Then, softer—
“Next time someone brings you to a place like this,” he adds, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, “they better not leave you alone.”
Your lips curve despite everything. “Next time?”
Juice glances at you, something warmer flickering in his expression.
One bed trope with Bradley Bradshaw is a need!! The reader is a little shy (very little) and Bradley is always loudly flirting with her too. It just makes sense. Maybe some misarrangements during a destination wedding for a dagger squad member makes this event happen.
no vacancy (b.b)
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Shy!Reader
Word count: 10.5k
CW: Slightly explicit content towards the end, MINORS DNI. Use of Y/N, a few swears.
A/N: Thank you so much for requesting! This one got away from me a bit, so I hope it's not too far off what you had in mind. I had the best time writing this one! The one-bed trope never gets old.
Javy Machado’s wedding was supposed to be a relaxing getaway for you.
He and his wife-to-be, Paisley, had chosen Cabo for their destination wedding, and you were more excited at the prospect of a getaway with your squad than the actual ceremony.
If that made you a bad friend, then so be it.
It was a miracle that you’d all been granted leave for the three-night extravaganza, and you intended to make the most of every second. Your suitcase was full of brand new bikinis with matching sunglasses for each, paperbacks you’d been meaning to read for months, and two cute outfits for each day in case you wanted to change in the evenings. Your wedding outfit was in a separate garment bag, slung over your forearm.
The resort Javy and Paisley had picked was, quite frankly, magical—funny since it was situated in a “Pueblo Mágico,” which translated to “magical town.” Located in Todos Santos on the Pacific coast of Baja California Sur, it had its own private beach with clear blue water and white sand. Plenty of art galleries and surf spots surrounded the area if you fancied any excursions, although you had every intention of spending most of your free time lounging by the pool or swimming in the ocean.
Penny and Maverick checked in first, then the rest of your squad. Everyone was paired off and given their room keys, leaving just you and Bradley. Jake shot you a cheeky wink as he followed Nat across the foyer, and your skin prickled as realisation dawned on you.
‘You two are booked into one of our ocean-view rooms on the third floor,’ the receptionist said with a warm smile. ‘I’m going to give you two key cards, but if you lose them, let me know, and I can make you another.’
Your eyes flicked to Bradley, who had a shit-eating grin on his pretty face.
‘We’re sharing a room?’ He asked.
The receptionist frowned and glanced between the two of you with a confused expression on her face.
‘You’re Mr Bradshaw? And Miss Y/LN?’ She queried. ‘I’ve got you two down to share, as the rest of the rooms are filled with other guests from the Machado wedding party.’
You groaned internally as Bradley’s smile widened. ‘No worries,’ he said, taking the keys.
No worries? Of course he’d say that. And of course you’d be the one stuck sharing with him. Javy probably thought he was hilarious, orchestrating this. You made a mental note to tell him exactly what you thought of that when you saw him at dinner tonight.
It was an ongoing thing: Bradley’s overbearing and loud attempts at flirting with you and your hurriedness in shutting him down. Objectively, you knew he was attractive. And despite his loudness, he was funny, kind, and reliable. Bradley Bradshaw was the kind of guy most women tripped over themselves to be with, and rightly so.
But you?
You’d always believed that you were too quiet for someone like him.
He didn’t seem to share this belief, and he flirted with you every chance he got. Sometimes you wondered if he was just doing it for the bit, but he hadn’t been with anyone else for as long as you’d known him. As far as you were aware, he’d never even taken anyone home after a night at The Hard Deck, and you knew with absolute certainty that he could’ve if he wanted to.
On the walk up to the room, Bradley hummed to himself, irritatingly joyful about this turn of events. You still hadn’t said a word, because what were you supposed to say? “I snore when I’m really tired, and I like to have the windows open instead of the AC. Also, please don’t touch my expensive shampoo?” Anything you thought of in your head sounded ridiculous and obsolete. While Bradley fiddled with the key card, you pulled your phone out of your pocket to text Phoenix if she knew about this.
Truthfully, you suspected that the whole squad knew. You wouldn’t have been surprised if Bradley had been the one to suggest it.
Bradley opened the door and stepped aside so you could go in first, ever the gentleman. The room was stunning. Huge, bifold windows that opened out onto a balcony with a table and chairs for morning coffees, a flat screen TV that you doubted you’d even turn on, ornate decorations and crisp white bed sheets…
On the double bed.
The one large, double bed.
Bradley appeared behind you, smelling of clean cotton and whatever aftershave he always wore that you found yourself searching for in the shops. But that was besides the point.
‘Shit.’
You could hear the smirk in his voice, and you just managed to refrain from smacking him around the head.
‘What are we going to do?’ You fretted, scanning the room for a couch or a pullout bed, of which there was neither.
Of course.
Bradley wheeled his suitcase further into the room and pushed his aviators up into his hair. He turned to look at you, trying to gauge your reaction to the situation.
‘I can sleep on the floor,’ he offered with a shrug. ‘Or I can see if Mav’s room is any bigger. Maybe he has a couch.’
You ran your fingers through your hair. ‘You can’t share with Mav and Penny. That’s ridiculous.’
Bradley set his backpack down on the bed with a sigh. ‘Then I’ll sleep on the floor.’
‘I find it hard to believe that there’s not a single other room left in this whole place,’ you grumbled, dumping your purse on the bed next to Bradley’s bag.
‘Paisley has five sisters,’ Bradley reasoned, ducking his head into the bathroom to investigate. ‘Coyote has four brothers. They’ve invited most of their friends and family, and our whole squad and all their partners are here. That doesn’t even account for the rest of the people Coyote’s invited from the navy.’
You kicked your suitcase over with a little more force than you’d intended and unzipped it in search of a bikini. Just because you were stuck sharing a room with Bradshaw didn’t mean you had to change the rest of your plans.
‘I can’t imagine wanting a big wedding like this,’ you ruminated.
‘You wanna get married someday?’ Bradley asked, sliding the balcony doors open.
‘If I find the right guy.’
‘Maybe you already have.’ He teased.
You gave him a flat look. ‘I think I’d know.’
‘See, you say that,’ he drawled. ‘But you seem to be painfully unaware of a lot of things.’
You gaped. ‘I am not.’ You flushed, indignant.
Bradley smirked. ‘Whatever you say, sweetheart.’
You set about unpacking some of your things while Bradley helped himself to drinks and snacks from the minibar.
It was strange to be alone with him in a setting like this. You couldn’t help but wonder if things might be easier between the two of you if he weren’t so damn forward all the time. Even after knowing him for the better part of a year, he always managed to catch you off guard with a flirtatious comment or a sultry stare. It wasn’t so bad at work or The Hard Deck, where you had common ground and the rest of your squad to act as a buffer, but you hadn’t spent a great deal of one-on-one time together.
Mostly because you avoided it.
If you weren’t alone with him, he couldn’t make you flustered. And if you weren’t flustered, you couldn’t make a fool of yourself.
Now, you kind of felt like you’d been thrown to the wolves, and you dreaded to think what was going to be left of you by the end of the weekend.
‘I’m going to the beach,’ you announced, grabbing your bag and a pair of sunglasses.
Bradley looked at you, chocolatey eyes wide and expecting in a way that made you want to run and jump into his strong arms. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but you didn’t give him the chance.
The sight of him was honestly just too much, and you didn’t trust yourself to be normal when he looked at you like that.
You should’ve known you’d find Bob at the beach with a tattered paperback in hand, glasses sliding down his nose. He was a lot like you in the sense that he wasn’t one for commotion—perhaps that’s why you connected so easily.
When he saw you approaching, his cheeks dimpled with a smile so wide, you couldn’t help but smile back.
‘Hey,’ he said, closing his book. ‘You okay?’
You dumped your beach bag in the sand and pulled another sun lounger over so you could sit beside him. ‘I was,’ you replied as you sat down. ‘Until I got stuck sharing a room with Rooster. Apparently, there are no other rooms left.’
Bob gave you a glib look. ‘You know Javy and Jake planned the whole thing,’ he told you. ‘They made sure there were no more rooms left.’
Indignation sparked in your chest. ‘I knew it! I fucking knew it!’
Bob chuckled. ‘I’m sorry, Y/N.’
You waved him off. ‘I should’ve expected it from those two,’ you said. ‘Who are you sharing with?’
Bob handed you a bottle of water, and you thanked him. ‘Fanboy,’ he sighed. ‘We’re the only two singles left in the group.’
You took a sip of your water—it was nice and cold and just what you needed in the heat of the Mexican sun.
‘You forgot Rooster and me,’ you corrected, pointing your bottle at him accusingly.
Bob gave you a sly grin, which was a rarity for him. ‘Come on, Y/N. You don’t have to pretend with me.’
‘I’m not pretending!’ You sputtered. ‘Nothing is going on between me and Rooster!’
Bob scoffed. ‘Yeah, right. And I suppose the sky isn’t blue, either.’
You lay back against your sun lounger and covered your face with your hands. Sure, Bradley flirted with you incessantly, and yes, maybe you did have a teeny tiny crush on him. But you’d always found it hard to believe that there was any real weight behind Bradley’s words. You told Bob all of this, and when you peeked between your fingers, he was looking at you like you were the biggest moron in existence.
‘Rooster is a lot of things, but he’s not the kind of guy who’d play around with someone’s heart like that. He probably just doesn’t wanna go in too heavy and scare you off.’
Deep down, you probably knew this, but you weren’t ready to face the music.
‘I’m not the right type of person for him, Bob,’ you said quietly. ‘He’s literally the human embodiment of sunshine.’
The pages of Bob’s book rustled as he leaned forward and patted your hand affectionately. ‘Don’t sell yourself short, Y/CS. You’re pretty special, too.’
You looked away, blushing. ‘Thanks, Bobby.’
‘Any time you need a reality check, I’m your guy,’ he joked. ‘But seriously, you should think about what I’ve said. Maybe this weekend is the perfect opportunity to find out if he means what he says.’
Your stomach quite literally clenched at the thought.
Bradley was good at talking, but what would it be like if he actually put his money where his mouth was? You could only imagine what being truly loved by him would feel like, how changed you’d be after basking in his impossibly bright rays.
Water lapped the shore gently as you and Bob fell into an easy beat of silence. You liked spending time with Bob; being in his company was as easy as breathing, and he never asked anything of you. Because of this, you were rarely shy. What you wouldn’t have given for it to be like that with Bradley.
‘What are you reading, anyway?’ You asked, desperate for a change of subject. It was hot enough outside as it was without thinking about Bradley.
‘East of Eden,’ Bob replied, flashing the cover of his book to you. ‘I’ve read it before, but not since high school.’
‘The classic debate of good vs evil,’ you remarked. ‘Just a bit of light reading on vacation, huh?’
Bob laughed. ‘I like to keep my brain fed.’
‘I know you do,’ you smiled. ‘That’s why I love talking to you so much.’
It was Bob’s turn to flush. He looked away and swallowed nervously.
‘What about you?’ He stammered. ‘What are you reading?’
You handed him the battered, well-read copy of one of your favourite books. It was part of a series, and you’d been rereading them for nostalgia purposes. He read the blurb and nodded approvingly.
‘Sounds pretty good, actually.’
A heavy hand landed on your shoulder, making you jump. Thoughts veering totally off track, your body’s reaction told you who it was without you needing to turn around.
‘What does?’ Bradley asked, stepping over the end of your sun lounger and perching on the edge.
‘Y/N’s book,’ Bob replied, shooting you a knowing smirk.
‘What is it?’ He asked, reaching for the book which Bob handed him.
‘Just an old favourite from when I was a teenager,’ you explained, keeping your eyes planted firmly on your lap so you wouldn’t oggle too much. ‘I’m rereading the whole series.’
‘Oh, cool,’ he replied, hand coming to rest on your shin. ‘I forgot my book.’
Your eyes flicked to his calloused hand on your leg. It was such a simple, casual act, but it drove you nuts nonetheless; it was an effort to stay focused on the conversation. ‘I didn’t know you could read.’ You said sweetly, hoping you didn’t sound too affected.
Bob choked on his water, and Bradley tipped his head back and laughed, a full-on belly laugh that made your chest tighten.
‘I’ll have you know, I like reading,’ he said, locking eyes with you. ‘Just have to be in the mood.’ His grip on your leg tightened, and warmth pooled in the bottom of your stomach.
‘That so?’
‘Uh-huh,’ he grinned, winking at you over his aviators. ‘I’m going for a swim.’
And with that, he was off like a shot towards the water, muscles expanding deliciously as he ran.
Bob was trying and failing to contain his laughter.
You read a few chapters of your book, stopping now and then to share lines you liked with Bob, who was doing the same. When Bradley came back dripping wet and somehow even more God-like than he’d been thirty minutes ago, you decided it might be a good idea to go for a swim as well, just to cool down. Being around him on base or at The Hard Deck was bad enough, but on a beach in Cabo in the blistering summer heat when he looked like that?
It was impossible to think straight, especially when he pulled a sun lounger so close to yours that the arms touched and took a long drink from your water bottle.
The worst part of it was that he did all this as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Almost like you were already a couple, which everyone else in your squad seemed to think you were.
Nat and Jake appeared with more drinks and a large platter of fresh fruit to share, which she promptly deposited in Bradley’s lap so she could lay her beach towel out. Jake took one look at Bradley, who was so close to you you might as well have been sharing a sun lounger, and smirked to himself like the cat who got the cream.
‘This looks cosy,’ he drawled, moving his toothpick from one corner of his mouth to another.
Bradley squinted up at him, unable to move without jostling the impressive tray of fruit. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something smart in response to Jake’s comment—something that would probably make you even more flustered—so you jumped up and grabbed hold of Nat’s arm.
‘Shall we go for a swim?’
Nat straightened, eyes flicking from you to Bradley as a knowing look spread across her face. You could feel Bradley’s gaze burning holes into your back, and you adjusted the straps of your white bikini self-consciously, suddenly hyperaware of the miles of skin you had on display.
‘Sure,’ she replied, brows raised. Then, once you were out of earshot of the rest of the group: ‘You’re acting weird.’
You threw your hands up. ‘I can’t help it! I feel like a caged animal!’ She laughed and you shot her a glare. ‘Glad to see my pain is funny to you, Trace.’
‘Oh come on,’ she nudged your ribs playfully. ‘You need to relax, stop taking it so seriously.’
You’d reached the shore. The cool, clear water lapping at your ankles was just the kind of grounding you needed.
‘I can’t help it,’ you whined. ‘There’s too much pressure on the situation. Bob told me that Jake and Javy were behind us sharing a room.’
Nat rolled her eyes. ‘You weren’t supposed to know that.’
‘You knew too?’ You exclaimed, shoving her lightly. ‘I can’t believe you! Dating Hangman is really rubbing off on you in the worst possible way.’
The two of you waded deeper until the swell reached your waists; then, you leaned back and let the tide claim you, your hair fanning out beneath the waves.
‘If it makes you feel any better,’ Nat said, pushing her dark hair out of her face. ‘Bradley didn’t know.’
You regarded your friend. Being the only two females in your squad meant that you were quite close, and you always knew when she was lying. You could tell by the set of her shoulders and the look in her eye that she was telling the truth about this.
‘I just don’t like being backed into a corner,’ you admitted, scrunching your toes in the sand. ‘He makes me nervous enough as it is.’
‘Y/N,’ Nat sighed. ‘Can I give you a piece of advice?’
‘I have a feeling you’re going to anyway, no matter what I say.’
She gave you a glib look. ‘Get out of your own head and just lean into it,’ she told you. ‘So what if Jake and Javy orchestrated the whole thing? At some point, something had to give. He looks at you like you hung the fucking moon in the sky.’
You couldn’t help but glance back at the beach. With the distance, you couldn’t be certain, but you were pretty sure that Bradley was still watching you over the top of his sunglasses.
‘Bob said pretty much the same thing,’ you relented.
‘Well, Bob’s a smart guy,’ Nat said, standing up. ‘If you’re not gonna listen to me, you should listen to him.’
You followed her back to shore, mulling over what she’d said. Did Bradley really look at you like you’d hung the moon? Most of the time, you were too flustered to properly read into it, but maybe your friends were right, and there really was more to his flirting than simply getting under your skin.
As you approached the guys, Bradley tracked you without shame, leaning back on his forearms like he didn’t have a care in the world. You almost lost your nerve when he sat up higher and pulled his sunglasses down further so he could see you better. For once, instead of shying away, you decided to be bold and add a little sway to your hips. His eyes immediately darkened as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip.
When you reached your sun lounger, you took your time drying off with your towel and brushing the sand from your legs before sitting down. Bradley’s attention never once left you.
‘You’re always looking at me like that,’ you said lowly, so only he could hear you.
‘Like what?’ He asked, smirking.
‘You know what.’
He reached up and ran his fingers through his curls and released a long breath. ‘Sorry. Can’t help it.’
His voice had dropped lower, and he seemed to be struggling to sit still. In the spirit of leaning into it like Nat had said, you allowed yourself a small moment of satisfaction in knowing you had an effect on him.
‘Don’t apologise,’ you told him.
His eyes darted to you, questioning, like he wasn’t sure whether he’d heard you correctly. The air seemed to shift around the two of you, and you were distantly aware that there was no turning back now.
‘I’m gonna go get some ice cream,’ you announced. ‘Want one?’
‘Sure,’ he sputtered, tracking you once again as you stood up. ‘Thanks.’
You flashed him your widest, prettiest smile and relished in the way his lips tugged upward beneath his moustache.
‘No problem, roomie.’
Bradley let you take the first shower when you got back to your room.
You took your time washing your hair twice, and then took extra care scrubbing the sand from every inch of your body.
You were stalling.
The Daggers had a reservation at a fancy restaurant a little way from the resort, but it wasn’t for another hour. That meant sixty whole minutes alone in a room with Bradley Bradshaw with nobody to act as a buffer and no ocean to disappear into.
Hence the twenty-minute-long shower.
The bathroom was just as beautiful as the rest of the suite, complete with a waterfall shower, his and hers sinks and light-up mirrors. You stepped out onto the fluffy mat in search of a towel, but all you could find was a couple of small hand towels.
An icy chill ran down your spine as you remembered the towels folded up at the foot of the bed.
Fuck.
Gingerly, you opened the bathroom door and poked your head out. Bradley was stretched out on the bed, flipping through your current read.
‘Can you pass me a towel?’ You squeaked. ‘There are none in here.’
Bradley’s head snapped up.
You watched the realisation that you were naked behind the door wash over him, and his eyes darkened just like they had on the beach. A sly grin tugged at his lips as he set your book down and swiped a towel from where they were folded into swans.
‘What’s the magic word, sweetheart?’ He teased, voice an octave lower than usual.
Your toes curled instinctively, grip tightening on the edge of the door
‘...Please.’
He came right up to the bathroom door, but didn’t hand the towel over right away—just stood there, a little too close, like he’d forgotten what he was supposed to be doing.
His eyes flicked over your face and settled on the water pooling in your collarbones. You thought you saw his breath hitch, though surely smug, confident Bradley Bradshaw wouldn’t be so affected by the sight of your naked shoulders.
You reached around the door and waved your hands impatiently, and he blinked as though startled.
‘Sorry,’ he murmured, biting back a grin as he handed you the towel. When his fingers brushed yours, your breath hitched, and you slammed the bathroom door shut suddenly and leaned against it.
He didn’t even have to try to get you worked up. Honestly, it was a little embarrassing.
After wrapping yourself in the fluffy towel, you bit the bullet and walked out into the bedroom. All your clothes were in your suitcase because—of course—you hadn’t thought to take them in the bathroom with you. You didn’t feel like asking Bradley to root through all your underwear to find you an outfit, thank you very much.
He didn’t move an inch as you sashayed across the room, just kept his eyes planted firmly on the wall in front of him, jaw set like it took effort to keep them there. After the way he’d stared at you at the beach earlier, you weren’t sure why he was bothering to be chaste now.
He swiped another towel from the foot of the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, all without fully turning around, like he was afraid to look at you.
Or maybe he was afraid that you’d look at him.
After taking a deep, steadying breath, you moisturised and put on your evening dress. It was a cute, baby yellow number that you’d picked out especially for this trip. Admittedly, you’d had Bradley in mind when you’d bought it, though you’d die before ever telling anyone this.
It was hot enough outside that you could leave your hair to air dry, so you grabbed a mini bottle of prosecco from the fridge and a glass and headed out onto the balcony. The view of the private beach was breathtaking and made you wish you could take vacations more often.
By the time you heard the bathroom door open, the sun had started to set, and you’d nearly finished your drink.
Bradley had taken longer than you in the shower, and that was saying something.
You blamed the bubbly for your inability to keep your eyes on the beautiful ocean view, and turned subtly in your seat.
Bradley had his back to you, a white towel hanging low on his waist. Up until now, you hadn’t given men’s backs much thought, but now you were reconsidering. The expanse of tanned skin pulled taught over impressive muscles had you wondering about other areas of his body.
Now who was shamelessly staring?
Practically drooling, you watched him dig through his suitcase for some clothes, mesmerised by his fluid movements—so mesmerised, in fact, you only just managed to turn back around before he dropped his towel to the floor.
‘Hey, Y/CS?’ He called.
Your stomach somersaulted. ‘Yeah?’ You squeaked.
‘This mirror on the wall by the door’s nice, huh?’ He replied, smirk audible in his voice.
Your brows furrowed as you tried to work out what he was talking about. What did a mirror have to do with anything?
Silence stretched out for a second.
Then it dawned on you.
He must have seen you ogling him in the reflection.
Heat crept up the back of your neck as you rubbed your temples, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole.
After a few minutes of quietly simmering with embarrassment, Bradley appeared on the balcony, dressed in black dress pants and a loose-fitting, white linen shirt. He’d combed his wet hair back, and his aviators were perched precariously on the tip of his nose. To top it all off, he smelled delicious.
‘Ready to go?’ He asked innocently.
You knocked the rest of your drink back and stood up. ‘Yep.’
He followed you across the room, and just as you opened the door, he placed a hand on your shoulder to stop you. Gently, he untucked your wet hair from beneath the back of your dress and tucked it over one shoulder so your back wouldn’t get wet. It wasn’t the feel of his fingers against the nape of your neck that startled you; it was the softness of the gesture. It affected you more than his loud, outward attempts at flirting.
You were frozen to the spot as he let his hand linger for a little longer than he should’ve before pulling away.
‘Thanks.’ You squeaked.
He was so close to you that you could feel his breath on the back of your neck as he said: ‘No problem, roomie.’
The restaurant was called Jazzamango, and it sold the most expensive pizza you’d ever had in your entire life. It had been Mav and Penny’s idea to come here, and they were paying for the whole thing. The Daggers were family, and you were grateful for the way Penny had taken you all under her wing—just because Mav had to, didn’t mean she did.
Naturally, you ended up sandwiched between Natasha and Bradley, because there had been no other seats left when you arrived. It was incredibly hard to focus on your $400 pizza when Bradley’s leg kept knocking into yours beneath the ornately decorated table. Every time it happened, you inched a little closer to Nat.
‘Wanna sit in my lap or something?’ she whisper-shouted after the fourth time it happened.
‘Sorry,’ you hissed. ‘Bradshaw’s all up in my personal space.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Well, you’re sharing a room with him for the next three nights, so you might wanna get used to it.’
You flashed your teeth at her. ‘Thank you for captioning my nightmare.’
‘You know, this whole playing hard to get thing is getting really boring to watch,’ she told you with a smirk. ‘I thought I told you to lean into it.’
His knee touched yours again, and this time you didn’t move away—you told yourself it was because you had nowhere else to go, but was it?
‘Relax,’ Bradley murmured, low enough that only you could hear. ‘You look like you’re about to bolt.’
‘Maybe I am.’ You shot back.
‘Don’t,’ he said simply, before going back to his conversation with Reuben and his girlfriend.
By the time desert came out, you were jumpy, exhausted and ready for bed. Which would’ve sounded inviting after a day of socialising, if not for the fact that you had to share with Bradley.
‘So,’ Nat said suddenly, cutting into her piece of cheesecake. ‘How’s the room?’
You almost choked on your drink, but Bradley didn’t even look up from his plate. ‘Great, actually.’ He said.
‘Is it?’ She asked.
‘Yeah,’ he said, finally glancing your way. ‘We’re getting along really well.’
You kicked him under the table. Hard. His leg didn’t move. In fact, it pressed closer.
You went completely still.
By now, you were sure this man was going to be the death of you, and you were sick of him always getting one up. Resolutely, you put your hand on the top of his thigh and squeezed, hoping nobody would notice. His fork clattered onto his half-empty plate as he glared at you, pupils blown completely black.
‘Yeah,’ you smiled at Nat. ‘We are.’
She couldn’t see your hand from this angle, but she could see the pained expression on Bradley’s face. Honestly, you were taken aback by your own boldness. You had no idea whether to move away or double down, and your pulse was going ohshitohshitohshit.
‘Weirdos.’ Nat huffed.
For the first time since you’d met him, Bradley Bradshaw didn’t have a comeback.
He ate the rest of his dessert in a stunned sort of silence, glancing at you now and then like he was making sure you were really there.
When you got back to the room, the energy between you and Bradley was loaded in a way it hadn’t been before.
You didn’t know if Bob and Nat’s words had gotten to you, if you’d had too much champagne or if the forced proximity to Bradley had finally broken down the last of your resolve—either way, you were seeing the situation from an entirely new angle.
It was hard to believe that all these months of teasing had purely been for fun when he’d looked at you like that when you’d grabbed his thigh. And this stunned silence he’d been trapped in since the restaurant? It was so unlike him that you could only assume you’d had a real effect on him.
Bradley went over to the minibar and grabbed two miniature bottles of Patròn.
‘Do we have to pay for these?’ He asked, waving the bottles at you.
‘I guess so,’ you replied, following him out to the balcony. ‘Unless the happy couple are footing the bill at the end.’
He handed you one of the bottles and uncapped his. ‘Guess we’ll find out,’ he smirked. ‘You ready?’
You scrunched your nose up. ‘We’re just gonna drink it straight?’
‘That’s the whole point of tequila,’ he reasoned.
Shooting straight tequila in a hotel room with Bradley Bradshaw? You said a silent prayer for your sanity before following Bradley’s lead and downing it, wincing at the harsh taste.
‘I don’t usually drink tequila,’ you sputtered.
‘Neither do I,’ he admitted, smiling sheepishly. ‘Doesn’t normally end well.’
‘That’s exactly what I was thinking,’ you laughed.
And that’s how you and Bradley ended up swapping stories about your worst drunken nights. By the end of it, you were clutching your sides, which ached from laughing so hard, and your jaw hurt from smiling so wide. He made you feel careless and present in the moment, as though nothing and nobody outside of it was more important. It was easier to laugh than to acknowledge what had changed.
Eventually, you cast a glance at the very inviting bed. Bradley watched you intently, like he was waiting to see what you’d say first.
The tequila had gone straight to your head. You leaned back in your seat and took a deep, steadying breath of ocean air.
‘You can’t sleep on the floor, Rooster. I wouldn’t be able to sleep.’
Bradley gave you a bemused grin. ‘You wouldn’t be able to sleep?’
‘No,’ you pouted. ‘Because I’d just be thinking about how uncomfortable you were all night.’
Fiddling with his empty bottle, Bradley smiled dazzlingly. ‘You would?’
Before you could stop the words flying out of your mouth, you asked: ‘Is it so hard to believe that I care about you?’
His admission was like a sharp stab in your chest. ‘Well, I do.’
He didn’t drop his gaze from you as he said: ‘That’s good to know.’
Suddenly, the quiet between you was too loud. You couldn’t sit still anymore, and you could feel your clothes sticking to your body.
‘I’m going to put my pyjamas on,’ you announced, getting up from your seat.
‘Need a hand?’ Bradley teased.
Your mouth dried out at the thought. ‘Nope,’ you squeaked, hurrying into the bathroom with your night things.
As you dressed, you wished you’d brought something a bit nicer than an old Harley Davidson t-shirt and skimpy sleep shorts, but you hadn’t been expecting anyone to see you after 10pm. What kind of psycho could sleep in lace, anyway?
After brushing your teeth and combing through your hair, you headed back into the bedroom where Bradley was perched on the edge of the bed scrolling on his phone. He was shirtless in a pair of grey sleep shorts, and your brain short-circuited at the thought of sharing a bed with him.
When you flopped down on top of the duvet, he turned to face you, propping his head up on his hands. God, he was handsome. Nobody had the right to be so perfect.
‘I sleep with the windows open,’ you told him, lips tugging upward. ‘No AC. And sometimes I snore if I’m really tired.’
Bradley laughed delightedly. ‘I sleep with the windows open too,’ he told you. ‘And I snore all the time.’
‘Now you’ve got me second-guessing letting you sleep in the bed with me,’ you joked.
Bradley laughed again, and something in your chest shifted. You found yourself trying to come up with ways to hear that laugh again.
He sat up and moved further up the bed, close enough to you that you could feel heat rolling off him.
‘You’re on my side, though,’ he said huskily.
‘That so?’ You asked, raising a brow.
‘Yup.’
Emboldened by the wicked glint in his eye, you straddled him so you could get to the other side of the bed. Instinctively, his hands flew to your hips, and even though the contact and proximity were short-lived, it still set an electric current buzzing beneath your skin. His little ‘oof’ had your pulse jumping into your throat.
Without giving him any time to respond, you reached over and snapped the bedside lamp on, plunging you into near total darkness. The only light came from the moon, which was almost full up in the sky, and a spattering of twinkling stars.
Bradley pulled the duvet back and nestled beneath it, and you followed suit. You could barely hear the ocean outside over the pounding of your own heart as you grabbed a few of the extra pillows (what bed needed this many?) and made a barrier between the two of you. You knew full well that it was childish, and you felt a bit like an idiot, but really, what other choice did you have?
‘You’re not serious,’ Bradley laughed, voice more unsteady than usual.
You couldn’t tell him that you didn’t trust yourself, or that you knew you’d never drift off to sleep if you could feel him lying beside you.
‘Night roomie.’ You said sweetly.
He scoffed, but you could hear the smile in his voice when he said: ‘Yeah. Goodnight.’
You woke up a few hours later completely disoriented.
It took you a moment to remember that you were away in Cabo, and not in your own bed in San Diego.
Slowly, you came to terms with your surroundings: the lovely, light breeze in through the balcony doors, the sound of the ocean gently lapping the shore, and someone snoring.
Your brain hadn’t quite caught up yet—it was still somewhere between sleep and waking.
And then it did, all at once.
The pillow barrier you’d built hastily before falling asleep had been kicked to the foot of the bed. In your sleep, you and Bradley seemed to have found your way into each other’s arms. Your face was pretty much buried in his chest, and both of his strong arms were wrapped around you. He smelled of sandalwood and sunscreen, and he was so incredibly warm.
You’d never been this close to him before. Not like this. Not where you could feel every single breath he took.
The heat you were becoming all too familiar with unfurled deep in your belly. It was desire mixed with nerves and anticipation, and it was slightly intoxicating; better than any expensive champagne.
You debated rolling away, probably should have rolled away. But you didn’t.
You couldn’t.
Bradley was so warm and inviting, and he wasn’t awake to make a sly remark and totally ruin the bliss. Tentatively, you draped your arm across his middle, hand hovering for a second before you let it settle against his back, fingertips tracing slow, absent lines like you were testing whether the moment was real. He shuddered in his sleep, and your breath caught, and not because he’d moved—because he’d felt it.
You bit back a pleased grin.
Just as you’d started to drift off again, his arms tightened around you, somehow pulling you even closer.
‘Y/N?’ He murmured.
You inhaled sharply. ‘Yeah?’
‘Are we cuddling?’
And damn if his raspy, sleepy voice wasn’t the sexiest thing you’d ever heard in your entire life.
‘I think so.’ You whispered.
Silence for a second, then a quiet, ‘Okay.’
His grip didn’t loosen; it just settled, like he’d decided something. And not two minutes later, he was snoring again.
Just like that.
You didn’t move, not even after he’d fallen asleep.
And that meant something you weren’t quite ready to face just yet.
Bradley didn’t think he’d ever been this close to losing his mind before.
Every little thing you did drove him insane—the way you got embarrassed and couldn’t hold eye contact when he flirted with you, the smell of your expensive shampoo, the sight of you in that fucking white bikini, water sliding down your stomach and legs.
And now, he could add your little snores and the way you clung to him like a koala in your sleep to the list.
He woke up to you still nestled against his chest, arms wrapped around his torso like you two did this sort of thing every night. It didn’t surprise him that you two fit together like puzzle pieces—he’d always known that you were meant for each other. What surprised him was that you hadn’t moved all night, even after waking up and finding yourself pressed against him. Most of the time, he had a hard time even having a serious conversation with you without you disappearing on him or retreating inward, so he was counting this as a step in the right direction.
Being careful not to wake you, he peeled your arm off him and crept to the bathroom, closing the door behind him softly. No matter what, he started every single day with an ice-cold shower, but today it was more necessary than usual. His skin smelled of your perfume, he finally knew what it felt like to hold you close, and after spending the better part of six hours pressed up against your gorgeous body, he was more than flustered.
He gripped the edge of the bathroom sink, suddenly all too aware of his own body, which had totally betrayed him.
He felt more than a little guilty for sorting out his morning problem with you sleeping ten feet away, but what other choice did he have? You cut and run from in The Hard Deck when he winked at you, so he couldn’t imagine what would happen if you woke up to his dick pressing against your stomach. Hell, you’d probably never be able to be in the same room as him again.
Bradley tried not to take it personally; he really did. He understood that you were shy and more reserved than the rest of your rowdy squad. But that was one of the things he loved most about you. He also knew that you didn’t believe that he genuinely liked you, that he wanted more with you than the sex he hinted at too often.
Maybe that was his own fault, but he just loved teasing you so damn much.
As he went through the motions of his morning routine, he thought about how incredible it had felt to wake up cuddling you. By the time he was done in the bathroom, he’d replayed the memory so many times he no longer fully believed that it had really happened. Had he dreamt your arms tightening around him, or the lazy circles you’d traced into his back?
The sight of you tucked up in the middle of the bed, hair splayed out across his pillow, was the only proof he had that any of it was real.
Bradley dressed quickly and grabbed his phone and key card. Breakfast would be starting any minute, and he thought you might like some time to yourself to get ready for the busy day ahead. Cocktails had been scheduled for the afternoon, followed by the rehearsal dinner, and he knew you well enough to know that you’d want some time to charge your social battery before all that.
Down in the restaurant, Natasha, Jake, Mickey and Bob were already seated at a table close to the window. Bradley grabbed himself a cup of black coffee and a plate of fresh fruit before joining them.
‘There he is!’ Jake said, smirking smarmily.
‘Fucking finally!’ Nat exclaimed. ‘I need details, now. Did it happen?’
Bradley stabbed a strawberry with his fork. ‘No.’
All four of his squad mates visibly deflated with disappointment. ‘What do you mean “no?”’ Nat demanded. ‘You shared a bed with her! She had like, four glasses of champagne!’
‘So?’ Bradley rolled his eyes. ‘What was I supposed to do, take advantage of her because she was drunk?’
Bob leaned forward in his seat. ‘Did anything happen? Anything at all?’
Bob Floyd wasn’t one for gossip, so if he was interested, then the situation must have been getting dire.
Bradley shrugged. ‘We had some tequila, chatted for a while, then we went to bed.’
‘Did you share the bed?’ Mickey asked, waggling his eyebrows.
‘Yeah,’ Bradley snorted. ‘With a fucking pillow shield between us.’
Jake’s eyes lit up, and Bradley immediately regretted saying anything. If you found out that he’d told anyone about what had gone on behind closed doors, you’d never talk to him again.
‘Come on, Rooster,’ Nat pleaded. ‘Just make a move already!’
‘I don’t know if she wants that! She’s so hot and cold, I never know whether I’m coming or going.’
‘But I bet you wish you were co—’
Natasha punched Jake’s arm, cutting him off abruptly. Bradley busied himself with his fruit, although it was difficult to focus with four pairs of eyes boring holes into the top of his head.
He huffed. ‘We cuddled.’
Chaos erupted. He only meant to give them something to shut them up, but now he was being bombarded with a whole slew of other questions, like “who initiated it?” and “did you get to second base?” Bradley banged his fork down onto the table.
‘Can you guys cut it the fuck out!’ He snapped. ‘It’s none of your business—and if you tell her I told you that, I’ll never speak to any of you again.’
Mickey snorted. ‘Yeah, cos it took you a whole fucking year to even get her in a room alone.’
Bradley picked up a grape and threw it at Mickey’s head.
‘Low blow, Fanboy,’ Nat growled.
Mickey threw his hands up. ‘But it’s true!’
‘Y/N’s different,’ Bob said quietly. ‘If you really wanna be with her, you have to show her that it’s not all just for show.’
Bradley blinked. He knew you and Bob talked a lot, probably because you were both quiet and relatively reserved. Judging by the look in the WSOs eyes, he knew more than he was letting on.
Nat nodded in agreement. ‘Bob’s right,’ she said. ‘Maybe slow down on the flirting and let her get comfortable.’
Bradley chewed on this. Out of everyone in your squad, Phoenix and Bob definitely knew you best. If he was going to take anyone’s advice, it would be theirs. Maybe all his shameless flirting was only harming his cause.
He could tone it back, let you come to him for a change. He just had to hope that you actually did, because he didn’t think he could survive another night in bed with you without kissing you.
Bradley couldn’t stop admiring the way your pretty, blue evening dress clung to your body in all the right places. You looked so stunning he couldn’t think straight, just kept going back to the previous night in his mind.
You sipped your cocktail, smiling slightly at something Penny was telling you.
It was the first time he’d seen you since this morning in the room. When you hadn’t come down for breakfast, he’d taken you up a croissant and some coffee, but you weren’t in the room. He’d checked the beach, the pool and the bar, but he hadn’t been able to find you anywhere. He didn’t even see you when he went back to the room to get ready for cocktails and the rehearsal dinner, which was disconcerting.
It wasn’t until he’d arrived at the garden that he saw you, leaning against the wall with an impressive-looking drink in hand, chatting with Penny. Either you hadn’t seen him come in, or you were ignoring him, because you hadn’t so much as glanced in his direction.
Javy clapped a hand on his back, startling Bradley from his reverie.
‘How’s it going?’ He asked, face split in a wide grin.
‘Good,’ Bradley replied. ‘What about you? Feeling the pre-wedding jitters yet?’
Javy shook his head. ‘Not in the slightest. When you know, you know. I’ve never been more sure of anything my whole life.’
Bradley’s eyes darted to you. ‘I get that, man.’
Javy followed Bradley’s line of sight and smiled sheepishly. ‘I hear mine and Jake’s plan isn’t exactly working.’
Bradley shrugged, hoping he didn’t look as dejected as he felt. ‘Bob and Phoenix think I’ve been coming on too strong, but I’m not sure if it’s that anymore. Maybe she just doesn’t like me back.’
‘Bullshit,’ Javy said. ‘You just need to take a different approach.’
‘Yeah, so I’ve heard.’
‘It’ll happen. Like I just said—when you know, you know.’
Bradley nodded, because he did know. He just wasn’t sure that you did.
You were halfway through your drink when you felt him beside you.
You kept your eyes trained on the couples dancing beneath the pergola, which was strung with twinkling, golden fairy lights. Bradley inched closer to you, resting his arm on the back of the stool you were sitting on. You wore a backless dress, and the feeling of his arm against your bare skin reminded you of last night.
‘You disappeared on me today,’ he said quietly.
You leaned back slightly until you were almost in the crook of his arm ‘Sorry.’
‘Everything okay?’
You didn’t even know where to start. ‘Yeah,’ you said. ‘Just wanted some peace and quiet.’
‘Charming,’ he said, voice teasing.
‘I didn’t mean—’ you sputtered, covering your face with your hands. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’
His chuckle reverberated through your body. When you removed your hands from your face, he leaned even closer to you. ‘It’s okay,’ he murmured, eyes darting to your lips. ‘I get it. You don’t have to hide from me, Y/N. I can go as slow as you want.’
You lost yourself in the depths of him, totally enamoured. It was as if the rest of the garden had faded away, and it was just you and Bradley left. A few more inches, and you could’ve kissed him. It would’ve been so easy if you could just forget about your insecurities and stop overthinking everything.
‘Why do you keep trying with me?’ You asked a little breathlessly.
He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, thumb lightly brushing your jaw, and your whole body trembled with a mix of nerves and anticipation.
‘Why wouldn’t I?’ He answered.
Your eyes fluttered closed. His breath fanned across your face as he exhaled, slowly closing the distance between the two of you. Your stomach flipped just as the tip of his nose bumped yours, and
‘Everyone, if you could please make your way to the dining area,’ somebody announced over the microphone. ‘Dinner will be served shortly.’
The spell was broken.
Around you, everyone scraped their stools back or set their empty glasses down on tables. Your body was a live wire, veins coursing with adrenaline that now had no place to go. Bradley pulled back, and your heart sank, and that was when you realised just how much you wanted him to kiss you.
He gazed at you longingly and held out his hand for you to hold, which you took. ‘Later,’ he breathed.
This time, when Bradley’s leg touched yours beneath the dinner table, you didn’t pull away.
That alone told you everything had changed.
Like last night, you’d spent most of dinner thinking about sharing a room with Bradley, but it was different tonight. You’d given yourself time to breathe instead of immediately talking yourself out of anything. You hadn’t let yourself go round in circles about the cuddling or what it meant, just let yourself accept that it had been nice. And that almost kiss? The way your body and heart had reacted told you everything you needed to know about how you truly felt about Bradley—something you’d always known, deep down, but had been too afraid to let yourself accept.
Part of you still found it hard to believe that Bradley truly liked you, but Bob and Nat’s words were starting to make a lot more sense to you now you’d seen he could give you more than obnoxiously flirty comments that set your skin on fire.
I can go as slow as you want.
Bradley was midway through a conversation with Mav when he filled your wine glass up for you, like taking care of you was something he didn’t even have to think about.
You tipped your head to the side, resting it on his shoulder for two seconds while you thanked him.
Nat, who was opposite you tonight, caught the whole thing and raised a brow.
You flushed scarlet, but didn’t pull away from Bradley, and she smirked knowingly. The two of you were good at having conversations with just facial expressions, and hers right now told you that you would be talking about this later, even if she had to tie you down to force information out of you.
When you finally looked away from her, your eyes caught on Bradley’s. He wasn’t listening to Maverick anymore; he was already looking at you. Not in that easy, teasing way you were used to—not like he was about to say something that would make your cheeks burn and your heart race for all the wrong reasons. This was quiet and steadier, like he was waiting.
Your breath hitched as something warm and certain settled low in your chest.
You didn’t look away this time, and neither did he.
After dinner, Javy and Paisley’s parents gave lovely speeches, and then, as he was basically an extra father for all intents and purposes, Mav gave one too. It made you a little emotional to see Mav standing so proudly as he recounted stories about Javy and his many achievements in the Dagger squad.
By the time all the plates were cleared and the speeches were finished, you could hardly keep your eyes open.
Bradley put a steadying hand on your shoulder. ‘Shall we go up to bed?’
You’d never experienced butterflies like the swarm that fluttered in your stomach at those words. Like going up to bed was something the two of you did—like it was normal. A world existed where those words actually meant something, and the two of you were right on the precipice of it.
‘Yeah,’ you said, taking his hand once again. ‘Let’s.’
He was grinning from ear to ear as you stood up and wrapped your hand around his bicep.
You threw a glance behind you at your squad, who were losing their collective shit. Maverick and Penny shared a knowing look that made you wonder just how many people were rooting for you and Bradley, and whether you were supposed to be flattered or embarrassed by it.
The room felt different.
When Bradley closed the door behind you, it felt smaller than it had before. You kicked your shoes off and sashayed over to the bed, all too aware of Bradley trailing behind you.
‘Want a drink?’ He asked, voice thick with tension.
You nodded, and he set about pouring two glasses of wine.
He crouched down by the fridge, and you stared at the muscles in his arms as he uncorked a bottle of white wine and poured two big glasses.
It was a stark contrast to how you were used to seeing him: climbing into a multi-million dollar fighter jet, body tense but relaxed at the same time in a way that came only from being in the military. He was a totally different guy in this setting, and you couldn’t decide which version you liked best.
Your brain was ticking again now, starting to spiral. What if this didn’t work out? What if it all went to hell in a handbasket and you couldn’t work together anymore? What if all your worst fears came true, and Bradley decided you weren’t right for him after all?
You snatched your pyjamas from beneath your pillow and clambered off the bed towards the bathroom.
‘Going to change.’ You muttered.
You pushed the door open and stepped in, but before you could close it, Bradley was there, hand around your wrist and a steady look on his face.
‘Don’t,’ he said, gently tugging you towards him. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘Do what?’ You asked hoarsely, laying your hands on his chest to steady yourself.
‘Run. You don’t get to look at me like that and then run.’
He was almost pleading, and you were struggling to catch a breath.
‘This whole time, I thought this was just you being…you,’ you admitted. ‘I never thought you actually—’
‘Liked you?’ He released a shaky laugh. ‘I honestly don’t know what else I can do to get you to believe me.’
He let go of your arm and ran his hands through his curls.
‘At the start, I thought you were just flirting with me as a joke,’ you admitted, cheeks flaming. ‘And then when you didn’t stop, I started to wonder why you’d even go for someone like me. I’m quiet and boring, and you’re like sunshine, Bradley,’ you took a breath, and he reached out like he was going to touch you before thinking better of it. ‘Then this weekend, Nat and Bob have been trying to convince me that you really do like me and to just relax, but I can’t because you’re you and I’m me and you just make me so fucking nervous and—’
Bradley’s lips crashed into yours as he pressed you up against the wall, caging you in with his arms. You’d been kissed before, but not like this—not like you were the very air somebody needed to survive. It was natural then, the way you put your hands on the back of Bradley’s neck—still warm from the heat of the day—and pulled him in closer, licking his bottom lip and deepening the kiss. He whimpered, like actually whimpered, when you began exploring his mouth, and your stomach clenched so hard it was almost painful.
When he eventually pulled away, he was panting hard, eyes blown so wide you lost yourself in them for a moment.
‘I can’t believe you’d think that,’ he breathed. ‘You—you’re everything,’ he swallowed thickly, cupping your face in his hands. ‘I’ve liked you since the day I met you, but every day that’s passed since then it’s only gotten stronger. And maybe I should’ve given you more than stupid comments, but I didn’t wanna risk fucking things up with you.’
You closed your eyes and rubbed your nose against his. ‘I’m sorry for pushing you away.’
He kissed you slow and gentle, like he had all the time in the world. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart.’
You laid your hands flat on his chest and pushed him towards the bed, collapsing on top of him in fits of giggles. He gazed up at you, well, like you’d hung the moon. Nat had been right about that, at least. With his eyes wide, curls a mess and his lips slightly parted he looked totally disarmed, like you’d rocked the very foundations he existed upon. His hands came to rest on your hips as you leaned down and kissed him again, his moustache tickling the tip of your lip.
If you were to be honest with yourself, it was a feeling you’d been imagining for a very long time, but a feeling you never felt like you were allowed to want.
You could feel the way your weight was affecting him by his short breaths, wandering hands and the impressive length pressing against the inside of your thigh. The idea of sleeping with him both terrified and excited you at the same time. What if you didn’t live up to his standards? What if it made him change his mind?
It would’ve been easy to go into a downward spiral, but every passionate kiss and hungry grab pushed the negative thoughts further and further away until there was only him.
Just Bradley.
If you’d known it was going to be this easy, you’d have leaned into it a long time ago.
You pulled back slightly, and he leaned forward, chasing your lips for another kiss.
‘If we do this,’ you panted. ‘I don’t want it to be because of tequila and a wedding.’
He softened, adjusting you so you lay beside him, facing him. He twirled a strand of your hair around his finger absentmindedly. ‘We’ll go at whatever pace you want,’ he rasped. ‘I’ve waited a year for you, and I would’ve waited five more if I had to.’
Your heart soared. ‘You’re lying.’
He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t lie about something like that, Y/N.’
And you believed him. ‘Thank you for being patient.’
He kissed you again and smiled against your lips. ‘Thanks for believing me.’
Bradley opened his arms so you could snuggle closer, tucking you beneath his chin and tangling his legs with yours. In a way, it was even better than the kiss. He made you feel safe and secure, and what more could you really ask for than that?
‘Big day tomorrow,’ he murmured, and you could hear how sleepy he was.
You ‘hmmed’ in agreement, and Bradley reached up and started combing through your hair with his fingers. Your eyes drifted closed, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before you fell asleep.
You didn’t miss the hopefulness in his tone when he asked: ‘That thing you said yesterday, about finding the right guy?’
‘Too soon to say,’ you replied, smiling against his chest. ‘But I’m pretty certain.’
The next morning, the two of you meandered down to the beach hand in hand. Javy and Paisley had chosen to have their ceremony on the sand, and you made Bradley stop so you could kick your heels off and walk barefoot. He had a massive, lottery-winning grin on his face that hadn’t disappeared all morning, and matched your own.
It had taken you longer than necessary to get ready because he’d kept interrupting you with kisses and hugs and compliments, and as a result, the two of you were the last to take your seats. The Dagger squad had a whole row to themselves, and Nat had saved you and Bradley the seats on the end.
All of them—including Penny and Maverick—had twisted around in their seats to get a look at the two of you walking down the aisle. All of them had variations of ecstatic and shit-eating grins on their faces. Nat and Jake were the worst of them all, and you knew that you were never going to hear the end of this. Jake would probably have “The Reason Bradley and Y/N Finally Got Together” carved into his tombstone.
‘Are those wedding bells I hear?’ Jake teased when the two of you sat down.
Bradley glanced around. ‘No, I think we’ve still got ten minutes till the ceremony starts.’
‘Not what I meant.’ Jake smirked.
Javy, who was standing at the altar looking very dapper in his tux, waved enthusiastically.
‘DID IT WORK?’ He yelled.
Everyone in the audience turned to look at you and Bradley. You’d never felt embarrassment like it, but Bradley squeezed your hand encouragingly, and it faded away.
He was good at that.
Jake stood up. ‘YEAH, IT WORKED! FINALLY!’
Javy cheered, and the rest of the Daggers followed suit. Nat and Bob were giving you smug, ‘I told you so’ looks that made you feel a bit like an idiot. You didn’t let yourself dwell on all the time you’d spent overthinking it.
Maybe it had taken a while, but you’d gotten here in the end. But you supposed everything happened exactly when it was supposed to—not a second before nor after.
Rooster and his teammates are frequent patrons at your aunt's bar, the Hard Deck, while they're training for a dangerous mission. When he asks you out on a date, the two of you jokingly agree to keep it friendly, never cross certain lines…but Rooster has other ideas.
"Do you ever sleep?"
You don't look up from the glass you're polishing, but your mouth twitches into a faint smile...the same way it always does when he shows up at the Hard Deck this early.
"We're not open for, like, another few hours," you tell Rooster, as if he doesn't know that already. You can hear him approaching the bar from behind, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor, making his way through the quiet, mostly-empty room.
You're not supposed to let people in before hours, technically. Especially not good-looking naval aviators who will inevitably distract you a little more than you'd like to admit, but...
"Then what are you doing here?" he asks.
You look up at him. He's taken off his aviators, his dark eyes watching you rather intently. His posture is casual, his tall frame leaning against the counter.
You set down the glass you've been polishing and reach for another one, returning your attention to your task. "Someone has to make sure everything's ready before we open."
He gives you a slow, easy smile. "Mind if I help?"
"Help?"
"Yeah." He looks around the bar as if trying to figure out where to start. "What do you need me to do?"
"Aren't you tired from training?"
"I'm fine," he says, not convincing you in the slightest. "Seriously. What do you need?"
You set down the glass. A small part of you can't resist the chance to keep him around longer.
"I'll feel bad if I make you work," it sounds like you're reasoning with yourself.
Rooster grins. "Then don't make me work. It's my idea."
"My aunt will kill me if she catches you in here, especially if you're working."
"She won't know."
Well...there are some heavy crates that need to be brought in from the storage room, bottles of alcohol that need to be placed on the shelves, tables that need to be wiped down...
The heavy ones. Oh, the heavy ones are tempting.
"You're a menace," you tell him, though it comes out sounding more like a compliment than an insult. It's hard to offend him anyway, you've found; he seems to take everything you say in stride, regardless of whether you mean it or not.
He smiles at you, unfazed. "Is that a yes?"
"What are you doing here so early anyway? You and your team don't usually show up until well after dark."
"Do I need a reason?"
"It's early. You can't be that bored already."
"Maybe I just wanted to see you."
Boy, is he good.
Not falling for it is a challenge every time. You wonder if Rooster knows that, if he gets a kick out of it the way Hangman does when he flirts with every pretty girl who crosses his path. The difference is, Hangman's flirting is playful, an intentional provocation that you can take as a compliment or blow off with a laugh.
Rooster's flirting is different. It's always delivered in that same deep, mellow voice of his, a warm baritone that reminds you of dark whiskey on a cold night, and he has a way of saying things that makes you think he might actually mean them.
"...you don't have to sweet-talk me," you tell him. "I already let you in."
He grins at you. "Who says I'm sweet-talking?"
You turn back to your task of polishing glasses so he won't see the smile you can't contain. That's it, you think. New rule: no more letting him in early. He's too distracting.
"Am I being kicked out?" Rooster asks, amused.
"Yes."
"Really?"
You try not to laugh. "No. But you really don't have to help."
He straightens up from the bar and stretches his arms, yawning. "Where's Penny? Did she leave you here to do all this by yourself?"
"Visiting her mother with Amelia. She'll be back later. I offered to cover while she's gone," maybe out of boredom or some desperation for human contact, but it sounded like a good idea at the time, you just didn't realize it would involve so much work. "The other waitresses will be here, um, soon, I guess, once it gets closer to opening time."
You don't want to admit you're a little intimidated by the responsibility. You've only been working at the Hard Deck for a few months now, having moved here from halfway across the country, and most of that time has been spent behind the bar or taking orders on your notepad, doing the tasks Penny asked you to do, and nothing more. Now that she's away for a few days, you're starting to feel a little overwhelmed with the amount of work that needs to be done.
"You look tired," Rooster observes.
"Thanks."
"I mean it in a good way."
"It doesn't sound good."
"You always look nice," he clarifies, to your mild embarrassment and surprise. "I just mean you seem like you could use some help."
You don't meet his gaze because, no, you're not going to be distracted by those brown eyes again, it's bad enough already. "I...okay. The delivery truck is supposed to arrive soon, so...there are a lot of crates that need to be brought inside. And some in the storage room that I need to bring here to the bar. Some of them are really heavy. I'm not even sure how Penny brings them in by herself."
"Let me take care of that for you."
Let me take care of that for you, says he, like it's no big deal.
"There are some boxes of liquor that need to be taken out of the storage room and brought in here, too," you continue, despite your better judgment, still watching him out of the corner of your eye.
He gives you another slow smile. "Okay. Where is this storage room?"
"There's a door behind the bar. To the right. I'll help you carry them."
"You don't have to."
"I'll show you where they are. And it's gonna be easier if there are two of us."
He looks at you with a knowing smile. "Is that why you want to come along? So you can make sure I don't get distracted and break anything?"
"Exactly."
"I think you're just making excuses to spend time with me."
Does he really have to keep looking at you like that?
"Rooster," you say, as firmly as you can manage.
"Yes?" It doesn't seem to bother him that you're trying to scold him. In fact, you think he's enjoying it.
You walk backwards behind the bar to lead him toward the storage room, pausing when you reach the door. You let out a sigh. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"
"Really?" He grins at you, putting his hands in his pockets. "I thought I was being very nice."
"Is that what you call it?"
"Yeah."
"Crates," you say, gesturing to the storage room and changing the subject before he can talk his way into any more compliments. "In there, by the wall. The smaller boxes on the shelves are for the bar. We'll bring them in after we move the big crates. The ones with the heavy bottles inside."
Rooster pauses. "'We'?"
"I can't let you carry all of those by yourself. They're heavy."
"That's cute. But I can handle it."
"No. Not by yourself."
He gives you a confident grin. "Watch me."
The moment he disappears into the storage room, you start to regret saying anything at all. You're not entirely sure what possessed you to let him help you with this; he must have gotten to your head. There are plenty of things you could be doing right now while he's out of sight, and yet...you decide to stand there in the doorway, watching him take inventory of the room, squinting in the dim light and trying to decide where to start.
It's not like you can just leave him to it. It would be too embarrassing if he hurt himself and you did nothing. The best way to keep an eye on him is to stay close by.
Right?
Rooster lets out a groan as he heaves one of the large crates up off the floor. "You weren't kidding," he mutters. "These are heavy."
"Let me—"
"I've got it."
He doesn't let you help him. He lifts the crate off the ground with another grunt, and you're distracted for a moment by the sight of his muscular arms flexing under the strain, the tight white t-shirt he's wearing pulled even tighter across his chest, the—
"Y/N?"
"Hm?" You look up quickly. "What?"
He grins at you. "Want to open the door for me?"
Fuck, you think, not for the first time that day, stepping out of the way to let him through.
You grab a smaller crate for yourself. It's not as heavy as the one Rooster is carrying, but you still strain a little under the weight of it, and Rooster still gives you a disapproving look when he notices.
"I told you," he says, slightly out of breath from his own effort, "you don't have to help."
"It's literally my job to help," you mutter. "Actually, it's my job to carry them all myself, so—"
"I got it."
"Yeah, but I can—"
"You can relax," he tells you, letting out a small groan as he heaves the crate up a little higher. "And go back to what you were doing."
It would be easier to protest if he didn't make it look so effortless. He carries the crate out of the storage room and sets it on the floor near the bar with a thud, barely breaking a sweat.
Your fingers dig into the rough edges of your own crate, which seems ten times heavier all of a sudden. You set it down next to his, more carefully than he did, glancing over at him to see if he noticed.
He looks down at the crate you just set on the floor, then over at you with barely concealed amusement. "Not bad," he says. "You could handle that all by yourself?"
"Shut up."
"No, really." He's not trying to hide his smile anymore. "Impressive."
The laugh you let out is entirely involuntary, equal parts embarrassed and amused. "Okay, fine, I get it," you say. "You're strong. You go get the rest of them while I finish wiping down the tables."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Thank you."
"Any time."
It's fine, you tell yourself as he heads back into the storage room. Rooster being in here won't distract you. It's fine. Everything is fine.
The delivery truck arrives shortly after Rooster has brought in the last of the crates to the bar, so you spend the next hour opening the boxes and sorting the bottles, filling the shelves behind the bar with whiskey and rum and vodka, gin and tequila and other liquors...and totally not stealing glances at Rooster as he carries the crates from the truck into the storage room.
You've found a rhythm by the time he returns from the truck for the final time, wiping your hands on your apron as you watch him approach the bar.
"I think that's all of them," he says, letting out a groan as he stretches his arms above his head.
The nerve, you think, resisting the urge to stare. The absolute nerve.
"Thank you."
He lowers his arms. "I never said it was for free."
"What?"
Rooster leans forward and props his elbows on the bar, the same cocky grin from earlier playing at his lips. "There's a price for my help."
"A price?" you ask, still polishing the same glass you've been working on since he arrived. "And what's that?"
"...a drink."
Well, that's easy.
"A drink? You want me to pay you a drink?"
"Ah, no, no," he says with a laugh, waving his hand like the idea is ridiculous. "I want you to let me buy you a drink."
Oh.
"Oh."
"And something to eat, too," he adds, and by the time you recover from the initial shock of what he's suggesting, he's already standing up straight again. "What time do you get off work?"
"No."
"No?" He looks at you in surprise.
"I can't," but you're only barely resisting.
"You can."
"Rooster."
He frowns. "What?"
"I..." Why is this so hard? "I can't go out with you. It's—I can't."
"Why not?"
You feel tempted. Boy, are you tempted. You're smiling even as you shake your head, trying to focus on polishing the glass in your hands. "Because I actually...like you."
Rooster pauses, his smile returning. "You can't go out with me because you like me?"
"This heart," you tap your fingers on your chest, smiling still, "is off limits, okay? No pilots allowed."
The tables are clean and the bar is stocked and organized, but you need to do something else, anything else, if only to avoid Rooster's gaze. You slip the cloth you've been using into your apron pocket and look around for another task. There must be something you missed. Anything.
Tables, yeah. You can wipe down the tables again.
"Okay," he says slowly, clearly not convinced, "so let me get this straight: You like me, therefore you're not allowed to go out with me?"
You nod. "Exactly."
"Are you kidding?"
You take the cloth out of your apron pocket again and glance around the bar, searching for any traces of dust on the tables or chairs that might need to be wiped down.
"Y/N?"
You've already gone over the tables once...
Rooster steps closer. "You know that makes no sense, right?"
You're not distracted by the sight of his hand sliding onto the countertop next to you. You're not distracted by the sudden proximity of him as he leans in closer. It's fine, it's not a problem, you can deal with this.
"So...you're saying you do want to go out with me," he says, sounding far too pleased with himself, "but you won't?"
He's so close. He smells good, like pine and leather. You glance over at him, realizing how little space there is between you now, and quickly look away.
"That's—I don't..."
"Because you like me."
"Shut up."
His gaze drops to your mouth. "Make me."
You swallow. Hard.
It takes a monumental amount of willpower to step away from him, to resist the temptation to touch him or get closer, but you manage. Barely. You make yourself focus on the task you've found for yourself, pretending that Rooster isn't standing behind you watching as you wipe down the tables a second time.
"I think we should go out," he says again, obviously not taking your silence for the no it's supposed to be. "There's a place downtown that I think you'd like."
You chuckle, which probably doesn't help matters, but...it's really hard to say no to him.
"Would I?"
He must have sensed weakness because he follows you around the bar as you continue your pointless cleaning. "Today is one of the last days we have off," he tells you. "Maverick has us in the air all day tomorrow, and most of the day after that. If we don't go out tonight, who knows when we'll have another chance...or how long it'll be before I see you again."
"Rooster..."
"Come on," he says, more gently this time. "One drink. Or maybe dinner. Nothing too fancy. I promise."
You pause and glance over at him. He really doesn't know when to quit. "But it's not a date."
"No. Totally not."
You don't like how much it sounds like he's laughing at you.
"Really?"
"Not even close," he says, like he's serious. "It's a totally not date between two friends."
He follows you, like a puppy, around the bar, until you pause again, thinking it over for what feels like the millionth time in the last few minutes. One drink, he said.
Not a date.
...just two friends hanging out.
No feelings involved.
You sigh, letting the cloth in your hand drop to the table, giving in to the inevitable. "Fine," you say, turning around to face him. "But it's not a date."
"No."
"Or a first date."
"Right."
"And it's just one drink."
"I swear."
"And we can't—we can't..." You can't help but notice the way he's looking at you, his brown eyes full of mischief, a hint of that playful smile on his lips again, and you're suddenly worried he might get the wrong idea about this whole thing. "No...you know."
His eyes linger on your mouth again before meeting your gaze with a sly smile. "No...what?"
"You know."
"I really don't."
"It's not a date."
He chuckles softly at your obvious distress, clearly enjoying this. "Okay, it's not a date."
"Exactly. So don't do anything you'd do if it was a date."
He steps closer, grinning, the space between you evaporating again. "And what is it," he asks in that deep voice of his, a low rumble that resonates somewhere in the pit of your stomach, "that you think I would do on a date?"
The table behind you feels like it's digging into your back.
"No kissing."
"Got it," he says, resting one hand on the table behind you, "no kissing."
"Or any other...date stuff."
"Like what?"
"Like..." You glance at his mouth.
Rooster smiles. "You want to make a list?"
You duck under his arm before he can do something that will get you in trouble. "I'll meet you after work," you tell him over your shoulder as you walk back toward the bar, desperate for some space before you lose your resolve altogether. "Just...stop talking. You're distracting me."
He turns and watches you, amused. "Okay. Pick you up at seven?"
You wonder if it's too late to back out of this, or if he's going to show up here at seven with that stupid smile of his and his ridiculous mustache and ruin everything anyway.
"You don't have to pick me up," you mutter, wiping your hands on your apron one more time, unable to hide your smile. "It's not a date, remember?"
The soft notes of the upright piano drifted through Bradley's living room like warm honey, slow and unhurried. You sat on the bench beside him, your shoulder brushing his every time he reached for a lower key. The house smelled like the cedar candle you'd bought him last Christmas and the faint salt of the ocean that always clung to his skin after a late flight.
It had been like this for years—easy, familiar, safe. Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw had been your person long before either of you put a name to it. Late-night drives after bad days, silent understanding when the world felt too loud, the way he always saved you the last cold beer without asking. Steady. Grounding. The kind of presence that made every storm feel temporary.
Tonight, the storm was only the rain tapping against the windows. You'd shown up after work with takeout and no expectations, same as always. He'd played whatever came to mind—old Eagles songs, a little Queen, then something softer he'd been working on for weeks. You never pressed him about the new melody. He'd tell you when it was ready. That was how things worked between you.
His fingers paused on the keys. The last chord hung in the air, unresolved.
"You okay?" you asked quietly, turning your head.
Bradley didn't answer right away. He stared at the piano like it might give him the words he was looking for. Then those dark eyes lifted to yours, and something in your chest tightened—gentle, inevitable.
"I've been thinking," he said, voice low and rough around the edges, the way it got when he was nervous but trying not to show it. "About how long we've been doing this."
"Doing what?" You smiled, trying to keep it light even as your pulse picked up.
"This." He gestured between you with a small movement of his hand, then let it fall back to the keys without playing them. "Sitting here. Existing in the same space, like it's the easiest thing in the world. Like I don't have to be anyone else."
You swallowed. "You never do. Not with me."
"I know." His gaze dropped to your mouth for half a second, then back up. "That's the problem."
Your breath caught. "Problem?"
Bradley shifted on the bench, turning fully toward you. His knee pressed against yours. The warmth of him bled through your jeans, solid and real. He smelled like sandalwood and home.
"I keep waiting for it to feel complicated," he admitted. "For the other shoe to drop. For you to realize I'm too much—too loud, too stubborn, too… me. But it never happens. You just stay. And every time you do, it gets harder to pretend I don't want more."
The rain filled the silence between his words.
You reached out slowly, like approaching something precious that might spook, and rested your hand over his on the piano bench. His fingers curled around yours immediately, warm and sure.
"I've been pretending too," you whispered. "Didn't want to ruin what we have. This… it already feels like home, Bradley. I didn't think I was allowed to want it to be more."
His thumb brushed across your knuckles, slow and reverent. "You're allowed. Hell, I've been in love with you for so long I don't remember what it felt like before."
The confession landed softly, without drama. No grand gestures. Just him, looking at you like you were the only safe place he'd ever found.
You leaned in first, and he quickly met you halfway.
The kiss was everything you'd both been holding back—gentle at first, almost careful, like he was afraid of rushing something sacred. Then you sighed against his mouth, and he deepened it, one big hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, thumb stroking just behind your ear. It wasn't desperate. It was certain. The kind of kiss that said, "We have time. We've always had time."
When you pulled apart, foreheads resting together, he let out a shaky breath that sounded suspiciously like relief.
"Stay tonight?" he murmured.
You smiled, eyes still closed. "I was already planning on it."
Bradley chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. He wrapped both arms around you and pulled you into his lap right there on the piano bench, your legs bracketing his hips. You tucked your face into the warm curve of his neck, breathing him in.
The piano sat quietly behind you, but the music didn't stop. It lived in the steady beat of his heart under your palm, in the way his fingers traced slow circles on your back, in the quiet certainty that tomorrow would still feel like home.
"I've got you," he whispered against your hair. "Always have."
And for the first time, you let yourself believe it completely.
protective!Nick Wagner x fem!reader. home invasion, brief angst, and fluff. 700+ words, requested.
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Nick is sulking behind you on the walkway to the front door as you laugh. He’d wrapped his fingers around your wrist and attempted to press you to the car door to kiss you, his face falling when you’d pushed against his chest and urged him to be patient. Now, as you near the front door and feel him inching closer to you, sure he’s pouting, you slow.
When Nick picked you up, knocking on the front door like a gentleman, you’d been running a few minutes behind. He came in while you finished getting ready, and he turned off the light in your kitchen before you walked out. That same light is on now.
“Change your mind?” Nick asks lowly, his warmth pressing against your back.
“Nick,” you murmur, stepping back until you collide with him.
His hands move to your hips, holding you in place while he drops his chin.
“Nick, I think someone’s in the house,” you add softly.
Nick straightens, moving one hand up to your waist before he leads you to stand behind him. He looks at your house, approaching the front step carefully. With one hand beneath his jacket, he spreads his other hand behind his back, silently instructing you to stay where you are.
“Be careful,” you call.
“I got it,” Nick promises before he uses your key – which you didn’t realize he took from your bag – to get inside.
He disappears into the shadows within your home. Rather than listening to him, you inch closer to the door. When you reach the door, you hold your breath and listen for movement. It’s silent inside, only the kitchen light illuminating your space.
Exhaling, you step over the threshold. Sudden, hurried footsteps cause you to turn. Before you can attempt to make out the shadow growing larger in your direction, the intruder collides with you, their hands sliding on the floor as they try to get up and out of the door.
“Up,” Nick demands lowly.
He doesn’t give the person on you a chance to comply, opting to grip their collar and haul them up just to slam them to the floor. The person groans, making the wise decision to not resist Nick’s direction as he handcuffs them.
“What were you thinking?” Nick asks. “I told you to stay outside!”
You sit up, rubbing your side. “I totally caught that guy, though,” you argue. “Did it look cool? It felt terrible.”
“It wouldn’t have felt like anything if you’d listened to me!” Nick slides forward on his knees, still looming over you as he cups your chin. He tips your face toward the light outside, then huffs and reaches over your head to turn the light on.
“Captain!” Detective Karadec calls, running up your walkway.
“He’s cuffed,” Nick says without looking away from you.
“Need EMS?” Karadec checks as he steps around you to take the intruder into custody.
“Yes,” Nick replies while you say, “No.”
“Nick, I’m fine,” you insist.
“You can’t do that,” Nick reminds you lowly. “It’s my job to take care of you and I can’t do that if you don’t do what I say. If he’d hurt you, or- or- or worse, it would be my fault.”
You swallow your argument, nodding as you lift one hand to hold Nick’s wrist. “I’m sorry,” you offer. “I was just trying to check on you.”
Nick exhales and presses his forehead to yours. “Don’t scare me like that again,” he pleads.
“I’ll try,” you promise.
Nick stands, then bends and picks you up. He takes you to the couch, ignoring the officers who enter your house.
“I’m glad you were here,” you whisper.
Kneeling in front of you, Nick rolls his eyes. “Me too. It terrifies me to think of what you might’ve done.”
“I obviously would’ve called you,” you scoff. “And when you answered I would’ve said, ‘Hi, handsome. What are you wearing? Oh, also, I think someone’s in the house.’”
“You’re not funny,” Nick chides, though his small smile says differently. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I am,” you assure him, leaning forward tow rap your arms around him. “Thank you.”
“You’re sure?” Nick asks for the third time.
“Absolutely positive,” Morgan answers for the third time. “There was nothing personal about the case, she wasn’t targeted because of you, nothing like that.”
“Thanks, Morgan.” He ends the call, then cups his hands beneath the faucet to rinse his face. When he returns to your side, Nick is in a much better mood than before. He might not tell you what changed, but he’ll always be here to protect you, not matter where you go.
Nick Wagner x reader blurb, fluff, 700+ words. from this ask!
To this day, every time Nick Wagner puts his tie on, he thinks of you. There was a time when you were close, closer than he thought he’d ever be with someone. You were both in love, but you were young and things change. You’d gone your separate ways, slowly lost touch, but that doesn’t mean you disappeared from Nick’s life or were erased from his memories. He remembers your hands on his chest, straightening his tie, the way you’d kiss his jaw and wish him luck before he left. He remembers all of you.
It’s been a while since he went undercover, but when Lieutenant Soto suggested he join Morgan, he jumped at the opportunity to do something more than bureaucratic meetings and paperwork.
“First time at an orchestra?” Morgan murmurs as they enter the extravagant theatre.
“No,” Nick answers softly, offering his arm to help her descend the stairs. “Contrary to what you may think, I have a life outside the station.”
“Sure, you do.”
Nick rolls his eyes as they reach their seats. He waits for Morgan to settle, then unbuttons his blazer and prepares to sit beside her. Looking past the edge of the mezzanine, Nick freezes. He’s dreamed of seeing you out somewhere, thought he smelled your perfume an aisle over in the drugstore, even tapped someone’s shoulder once thinking it was you. None of those experiences were anything like what he’s feeling now. You’re standing at the end of a row of seats on the floor, laughing with your hand on a man’s arm.
“Nick,” Morgan hisses, drawing his attention. “What are you doing?”
Nick looks at you once more, wishing he was here for the show and not to catch a murderer. Maybe then he could approach you, could do more than watch you from a distance. He made you laugh like that once, maybe he could do it again.
“Thought I saw something,” he grumbles as he sits. “Got eyes on the target?”
“Of course I do.”
After the show ends and the killer walks into the trap set by Karadec, Oz, and Daphne, Nick declines a ride home. He decides to walk for a while and clear his mind. The sidewalks around the theater are busy, so he pushes his hands into his pockets and moves with the crowds, thinking of you rather than where he’s going.
He doesn’t see someone move toward him until he bumps into them. Instinctively, he raises his hands to catch them.
“I’m so sorry,” Nick says, wrapping an arm around the person’s waist and catching their hand in his. When he looks down to see who he’s talking to, his eyes widen.
You look up from your dipped position, your eyes meeting Nick Wagner’s. “Nick?” you whisper, squeezing his hand.
Nick straightens, pulling you upright. His hands linger on you until he’s sure you’re steady. When he says your name, you smile.
“I was actually just thinking about you,” you admit. “Were you at the show?”
“Yeah,” Nick answers. “A friend had an extra ticket. We were in the mezzanine.”
You glance over your shoulder, then ask, “Do you have anywhere to be?”
“No, no, I don’t. Do you?”
You shake your head. “Would you maybe want to walk?” you suggest. “Catch up a bit?”
Nick nods so rapidly his vision goes blurry. “I’d love to,” he answers.
Walking side-by-side, your hand brushing Nick’s with every other step, you talk about what’s changed in your lives since you last spoke. Nick can’t tell you that he’s only here because he was undercover, but he makes a promise to himself that he will when the case is closed. He refuses to let a little lie end whatever might come of this.
“That looks so good,” you muse, looking at an ice cream parlor.
Nick stops, reaching out to grasp your hand when you keep walking. He leans back, pulling you to his side with a smile. “Then let’s get some.”
“Nick,” you say, laughing. “It’s almost midnight. Not exactly a recognized time for ice cream.”
“Never stopped us before.”
Your smile drops at the mention of what you used to have. “No, it didn’t,” you murmur.
He leads you to the parlor, opens the door, pays for you, is the picture of a gentleman. It’s an unexpected reminder of how perfect he is.
“Nick,” you begin over your ice cream. “Have you heard of the single bullet theory?”
Nick matches your tone to say your name. “Do you think we could go out again? This weekend, maybe?”
You reach over the table and straighten his tie, like a shot to the heart. “I’d love to.”
Nick Wagner x reader blurb, fluff, kissing, 700+ words. from this ask!
Dating a cop teaches you a lot. Some of what you learn is incredibly useful while other tidbits seem remarkably unhelpful. After you break up with a cop, you learn which is which. Being able to recognize when a cop is working a case is one lesson you assumed you could forget after you and Nick split ways.
Yet here you are. You look up from your computer and see a man who is obviously (to you) working undercover. When he turns, your lips part in recognition, your fingers stilling on the keyboard. It takes a single breath to be drawn into Nick Wagner’s orbit. He can’t see you from where he’s standing, likely won’t even realize you’re in the building before he finds what he’s looking for and leaves, but it doesn’t change anything for you. Seeing Nick Wagner again is like taking a breath of fresh air for the first time in years. You think about him often but hadn’t realized just how much you missed him.
Your phone buzzes with a reminder to take your lunch break. Carrying your phone and your bag toward the back door, you spare one last glance at Nick Wagner. He may always be the center of your universe, even if he’s not part of your life.
Sitting at the wooden picnic table tucked in the shade, you unlock your phone and find your text thread with Nick. It’s been over three years since the last message was delivered; you never could bring yourself to delete it, scared it would take the best memories of your life with it.
Nick is a cop, he’s been undercover, he’s worked through the ranks and transferred departments. The odds of him having the same number three years later seem low. So, you start typing. It’s a short message, communicating that it was nice to see him again, even though you know the distance between you will only grow from here. You press send, then set your phone aside and try to enjoy your break.
Inside, Nick’s phone buzzes. He looks at Morgan, who asks the man showing them around the building a question. Nick excuses himself, turning away to read the text. When he taps the screen and sees your name, he unconsciously holds his breath until he reads and rereads the message. You have to be here, he realizes.
“Excuse me, I need to handle this,” he offers quickly. He steps out of the office and starts backtracking through areas they’ve already seen. His strides are long and hurried as he scans every desk and office in search of you. When he reaches an empty desk mere steps from the back door labeled with a handwritten Employees Only. Take your badge!! sign, he pushes the door open and steps outside.
There’s a picnic table directly to his left, and he turns toward you like a compass finding true north.
“Hi,” you greet carefully, looking up at him.
Nick steps toward you and replies, “Hi.”
“I know you’re… you have an important job,” you preface rather than saying I know you’re undercover and I shouldn’t have bothered you. “I promise I won’t jeopardize that.”
Nick steps closer. You don’t seem deterred by how close he’s getting, so he closes the distance and sits beside you. “Jeopardize it,” he dares, raising his hands into the space between you.
You glance at his hands and murmur, “You don’t mean that.”
“I do. I made a mistake letting you walk away that night.”
Smiling, you agree, “I made a mistake walking away.”
It’s enough for Nick. His hands finish their journey, holding your jaw carefully before his lips press to yours. You spread your hands against his chest, moving with him like you didn’t miss the time you did.
The door clicks open, and you separate quickly.
“Uh, Morgan found something,” the man who exits says, looking between you and Nick, and the lack of space between you.
“The locked file cabinet?” you guess.
“Who are you?”
Nick’s focus is on you, his brows furrowed. “Do you know why we’re here?”
“I think I could guess.”
Nick smiles as he stands. “I missed you.”
You smile in return, then remind him, “You have a case.”
“Text me again,” he requests.
He joins his friend, and the last thing you hear is a mumbled, “Who is she?”
A moment later your phone buzzes.
Tonight, Nick’s text says, followed immediately by an address.
Summary: Joe is forced to dress up for his meeting with the commissoner.
Companion piece to:
Cuffs (NSFW) - Joe doesn’t want a one night stand… not with you.
Joe Fucking Hill - You’re there for Joe when he has a crisis of identity.
Good Girl (NSFW) - You’re not always such a good girl.
Downpour - Joe has something very important he needs to say to you.
Fight Night - The one thing Joe can’t stand is people talking shit about you.
The Details - Joe returns home to find you in bed after a long undercover op.
The Rat - You take matters into your own hands when someone breaks into your apartment.
Joe’s dress blues bring out his eyes.
That’s what you tell him as you lay sprawled out in his sheets, the quilt barely covering that fine ass of yours. Your head is propped up on his pillow as you watch him dress, your tousled hair falls across your features and he can’t help but compare you to one of those paintings he saw in the MET last summer during a previously doomed first date.
He doesn’t want to be putting on his uniform right now, he doesn’t want to be leaving the apartment. What he does want is to climb back inside that bed with you and spend the entire morning making love just like he promised you when he got in late last night. This call from the Commissioner’s office has thrown him off kilter, and now he’s wracking his brain for any reason he might have been summoned.
“Did something happen last night at the raid?” You ask him, clasping the sheet to your chest as you rise up from the bed. “Something he’d be calling you in to discuss.”
“No.” He says, shaking his head as you come to stand before him. “I have absolutely no idea what it could be.”
You reach for his collar, straightening it and he captures your hands in his, pressing his lips to the knuckles. He doesn’t know how to apologise any more than he has for this disruption to your plans, he’s just hoping that it won’t chase you away like it has all the others.
“Will you call me when you find out?” You ask him, your fingers lacing at the nape of his neck, brushing over his closely cropped curls. He hasn’t had time for a haircut over the past few weeks with taskforce he’s been on, it’s getting a little long for both his and the NYPD’s liking. “I need to know whether to slash his tires or not.”
He huffs out a laugh, his forehead resting upon yours as he looks into your eyes. “You really woke up and chose violence today huh?”
“That depends on what the commissioner says.” You tease, pressing your mouth to his. “Just let me know ok? I worry about you.”
“I promise…” He murmurs, walking you back towards the bed. “You’ll be the first one I call.”
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Those gifs of Carter I just reblogged really got to me because I need to sleep I'm so tired but I also had to write this fluffy piece. It's my first attempt at reader insert. Apparently I like to go outside my comfort zone at 11:30 pm. I like the plot but idk how the new POV turned out imo. But here it is anyway!
Mostly gn, but Carter refers to reader as "pretty girl" one time, boyfriend!Carter, set in early season 5 with Lucy and the thick hair and The Beard, Carter is low-key obsessed with reader in the best way, no use of y/n, sleepy cuddles/fluff, brief mention of medical/patient scenarios, but only once without much detail: car crash, running away, food-borne illness, child death from cancer
It's only seven p.m. when John Carter walks in the door of his apartment, which was significantly earlier than he sometimes got home. With, of course, the downside of having been gone since two that morning.
He hangs his coat on the coat stand by the door, toes off his shoes, and drops his satchel haphazardly on the ground, somewhere in the vicinity. He wasn't really paying attention.
“Hey, baby.” You smile from the couch, sitting up to look at him as he tosses his keys on the kitchen counter and starts loosening his tie. Underneath the exhaustion, his features pick up slightly.
“Mmm… hey,” he mumbles, dragging his body to sit down beside you, letting out a laugh when he sees what you had been watching on the television. “Saved by the bell? Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. I like it. It's funny. You don't have to think about it too much.”
“Not thinking sounds pretty damn good right about now,” he sighs, slouching back and running a hand through his hair.
“I bet. Long shift?” You ask, helping him undo his tie and setting it on the coffee table. He nods wearily as your fingers deftly work the top couple of buttons of his blue shirt.
“MVA, four victims. A boy who ran away from home. Woman with salmonella who didn't understand how she could have been sick since she doesn't eat salmon.”
His comment gets a laugh out of you as you start to run your fingers through his hair, earning a satisfied hum and heavy eyelids from him. “That's a new one, for sure,” you reply, watching as he melts under your touch.
“Lucy had her first patient pass today,” he adds, his voice a little quieter, “first child patient. 13 year old girl. Terminal carcinoma. Spread from her lungs to, well,” he clearz his throat, letting you finish the rest in your head. “Never gets easier.”
“I'm sorry,” you murmur, tracing your fingers over the features of his face, the scruff of his beard scratching your palms. “You look really tired, John.”
He nods quietly, letting you know just how long the day had been. You lay down on the couch, gesturing to him. “C’mere.”
He gives you a tired grin, gladly sprawling across you and resting his head on your stomach. “Love you,” he says, his voice muffled against your body.
“I love you too, baby. You're so cute when you're sleepy.”
“I'm glad the product of working for 17 hours is adorable to you.”
“That's not what I meant, Carter,” you laugh, twirling longer bits of his hair around your fingers.
“I know, sweetheart. God, you smell so good,” he grins, pressing a kiss to your sternum through your shirt.
“I didn't do anything special today.”
“Smell like home. My pretty, perfect girl. I missed you,” he rambles, nuzzling his face into your stomach. “Beautiful, soft, perfect. I was thinking about this all day.”
“Thinking about clinging to me like a koala and using me as your human pillow?” You giggle, kissing his hair.
He nods adamantly, “yeah. Just like this.”
“You should probably eat something. Do you want me to—”
His grip tightens on your shirt and he shakes his head. “No. Don't move. I'm comfy.”
“You have to eat something, honey,” you attempt to reason with him. “There's that leftover mac n cheese you like in the fridge…”
“It can wait. Cuddle now, eat later.”
You sigh, giving into those deep brown puppy eyes of his that seemed to go on forever. God, no wonder he always got his way, no matter how nonsensical. And you had to admit, you had been thinking about his arms around you for a good portion of the day, too. “Yeah. Alright, baby.”
The first time you casually say “Jackson” instead of baby or Jax, he immediately pauses whatever he’s doing. His head lifts slowly, brows knitting together as he studies you like you just spoke another language.
He assumes something is wrong. Jax knows you rarely use his real name unless you’re serious, so he leans on the counter, arms crossed, watching you carefully. “Alright… what’d I do?”
If you pretend nothing is wrong and keep talking normally, he gets even more suspicious. His eyes narrow slightly while he studies your face like he’s trying to read a hidden message.
He walks closer until he’s right in your space, hands braced on either side of you against the counter. “Say that again.”
The moment you repeat “Jackson”, his lips twitch because he secretly likes hearing it from you.
He’ll tease you about it immediately. “You mad at me or you just trying to get my attention?”
If you keep calling him Jackson for a while, he starts smirking every time, because it feels oddly intimate, like you’re the only person who gets to use it that way.
Eventually he hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your face up to his. “Careful, darlin’. Only my mama calls me that.”
But he won’t actually stop you. If anything, he starts testing it. He’ll lean close and murmur, “Go on… say it again.”
If you say it during a serious moment, though, his demeanor changes instantly. The joking drops and he listens very carefully.
Hearing his full name from you makes him feel oddly grounded, like you’re reminding him he’s more than just the club.
If one of the guys overhears you say Jackson, he’ll glance over and smirk proudly because you saying it feels personal.
Eventually he’ll pull you into his arms and murmur against your hair, “You know you’re the only one that can get away with that, right?”
𝗢𝗽𝗶𝗲 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅
When you call him “Harry”, Opie freezes mid-step.
He turns slowly with a confused expression because almost nobody calls him that anymore.
“You just call me Harry?” he asks, voice low but amused.
The name feels strangely nostalgic to him. It reminds him of childhood and the few people who knew him before the club life took over.
If you keep talking like nothing happened, he watches you with this soft, curious look.
Eventually he walks over and wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “That’s new.”
Opie doesn’t get mad about it at all, he actually finds it sweet.
If you say it affectionately, he melts a little inside even if he doesn’t show it.
He’ll quietly admit, “Been a long time since anyone called me that.”
Sometimes he’ll test you by leaning close and murmuring, “Go on then… say it again.”
If you say Harry during a serious talk, he listens extra carefully because he knows you’re being sincere.
The name makes him feel like you see the part of him that existed before the club hardened him.
Eventually he pulls you into a hug and kisses the top of your head. “Don’t tell the guys you call me that.”
But secretly? He loves it when it’s just between the two of you.
𝗛𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅
You casually say “Happy”, and he immediately looks up from whatever weapon he’s cleaning.
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly because you usually call him something softer.
“You mad at me?” he asks bluntly.
Happy knows people use his name when they’re serious, so he scans your face like he’s checking for danger.
If you say it again calmly, he just stares for a moment before giving a quiet chuckle.
“That’s my name,” he says like he’s amused by the novelty.
If you keep doing it, he starts teasing you by slowly saying your name back in the exact same tone.
Happy actually likes hearing his name from you because you say it differently than everyone else.
When you say Happy softly, he gets this oddly affectionate look in his eyes.
He’ll step closer and tilt his head slightly. “Sounds better when you say it.”
If you say it in a scolding tone though, he immediately smirks because he knows he probably deserves it.
Sometimes he’ll deliberately make you repeat it just to hear it again.
Eventually he pulls you into his side and mutters, “Don’t get used to that tone, sweetheart.”
But the tiny smile he hides says he secretly enjoys it.
𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗯𝘀 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅
The moment you say “Filip”, Chibs nearly chokes on his drink.
His head snaps toward you in total surprise.
“Did ye just call me Filip?” he asks with a thick amused accent.
Almost nobody uses his real name anymore, so hearing it catches him completely off guard.
If you keep talking normally, he bursts into laughter.
“Christ, lass, that’s the name my mum uses.”
But there’s a warmth in his eyes because it feels strangely intimate.
He walks over, hooking an arm around your waist while still grinning.
“Where’d ye learn that, eh?”
If you say it again teasingly, he shakes his head in disbelief.
He’ll gently tap your chin and say, “Careful now… ye make it sound too nice.”
Hearing his real name from you reminds him of home and the life he had before SAMCRO.
Sometimes he’ll whisper your name back in retaliation just to see your reaction.
Eventually he kisses your forehead and murmurs, “Only you get away with that, lass.”
𝗧𝗶𝗴 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅
The second you say “Alex”, Tig freezes like someone hit pause on him.
He slowly turns with a shocked expression. “Excuse me?”
Tig is used to nicknames, chaos, and teasing, but hearing his actual name throws him off.
“Did… did you just government name me?”
If you say it again calmly, he starts laughing in disbelief.
He dramatically clutches his chest. “Wow. I feel like I’m in trouble.”
Tig assumes you’re about to lecture him for something.
He immediately starts trying to guess what he did wrong.
If you insist nothing’s wrong, he studies you suspiciously.
Eventually he leans closer and lowers his voice. “Okay but why was that kinda hot?”
Hearing you say Alex makes the moment feel weirdly intimate for him.
He’ll grin and whisper, “Say it again.”
If you say it during an argument though, he knows he’s absolutely screwed.
But when it’s affectionate, he wraps his arms around you and murmurs, “Alright… I kinda like that.”
𝗝𝘂𝗶𝗰𝗲 ☾‧₊˚ ⋅
When you say “Juan Carlos”, Juice immediately panics.
His head snaps toward you so fast he nearly drops whatever he’s holding.
“Whoa whoa—why are you using my full name?”
He automatically assumes he’s in serious trouble.
Juice starts nervously listing things he might’ve done wrong.
If you keep repeating Juan Carlos, he groans dramatically.
“That’s the name my mom uses when I mess up.”
But he secretly smiles because hearing you say it sounds affectionate instead of scolding.
If you shorten it to Juan, he relaxes a bit.
“Okay… that’s less scary.”
He’ll jokingly start calling you by your full name too in retaliation.
But there’s a shy softness in his expression because it feels personal.
Juice loves that you know his real name and aren’t afraid to use it.
Eventually he wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your shoulder. “Alright, alright… I admit it. I kinda like when you say it.”
Summary: Joe doesn't want a one night stand... not with you.
Prequel to:
Joe Fucking Hill - You're there for Joe when he has a crisis of identity.
Good Girl (NSFW) - You're not always such a good girl.
Downpour - Joe has something very important he needs to say to you.
Fight Night - The one thing Joe can’t stand is people talking shit about you.
The Details - Joe returns home to find you in bed after a long undercover op.
The Rat - You take matters into your own hands when someone breaks into your apartment.
This thing with you… it’s supposed to be a one night stand.
But then the cuffs come out, Joe’s right wrist clipped to the wooden bedpost, and he knows he won’t be leaving again. His left runs up your side, tracing over the bullet wound in your flank. He wishes he could have been there for that for that, helped you heal but he’d been an asshole after the academy, focused on making his bones instead of continuing the relationship the two of you had.
You’d gone one way and he’d gone the other.
You sink down on his cock and his breath catches, ecstasy exhaled into the air as you press your lips to his. He’s forgotten how good it feels to be with you, to have you clenching around his dick as meets you thrust for thrust.
The handcuff clatters, the bedframe banging against the wall as the two of you find your rhythm. It’s intense, more intense than anything than he’s ever experienced but that’s the thing about you, it’s always like this.
It’s eye contact and messy kisses, his name spoken in hushed whispers as he hits that sweet spot.
Your fingers link with his, pinning his left hand to the pillow and that’s when he shatters, because you, you’re shattering too, falling apart all over his cock. He wants to thread his hand through your hair in that moment, keep you close but already the key is in your hand, and he’s sprung free from his entrapment, the cuff still attached to the bedpost.
“You should have just left me there.” He tells you, rotating his wrist to ward off the stiffness. “You could have spent all night having your wicked way with me.”
“Who says that wasn’t my plan anyway?” You tease leaning across him to unfasten the other part of the cuffs, setting them on the nightstand. “I mean that’s if you’re staying.”
“Oh I am.” He promises, his fingertips chasing back an errant strand of hair from your features as you settle between his legs. “I’m yours for as long as you want me.”
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