Hangster commission for @mxrcusflint of of a scene from their fic Sweetheart in the Spring! (which is lovely, tgm folks you should def check it outš)
im gonna throw up what do you mean jack rested his fucking head against robbys fucking arm to comfort him i feel like my house was just burned down and rebuilt into mansion what the fuck
This Jake. 36. Freshly retired NFL QB, 2x Super Bowl winner, Texas alum, wasnāt quite ready to call it quits, decides to give Broadcast a try cuz he canāt let the game go.
This Bradley. 41. Sports broadcasting darling, journalism major from Notre Dame. Burberry campaign, ESPYS host.
They get paired together to cover Sunday Night Football. This means a season of living in each otherās pockets. Traveling each week, hotels, team visits and research, deciding on the āstoryā of the game, shitty coffee and late nights and banter during the broadcast and between takes. And maybe Jake has a bone to pick with how hard Bradley was on him over his career, but maybe he also doesnāt know what to make of Bradley lighting up when talking about his favorite college highlight of Jakeās, a game no one else remembers but itās also his favorite as it was his beloved coachās last game. And maybe Bradley wears glasses in the morning, and knows more about football than anyone Jakeās ever met.
They both love the sport, one as a fan, one as a player.
And maybe they fall in love with each other along the way.
the look dana gives jack when robby won't stop treating leah. god. that to me perfectly encapsulates rabbot's relationship cause if DANA looks at jack like he's the only one in the world who can help than you know it's real. also its just so fascinating to me that dana and jack are not on the same shift at all but they connect through their love for robby multiple times in the season and they genuinely seem to care for each other too and for dana to know every single time that rabbot needs each other more than anyone else is INSANEEEEE and the fact that jack is genuinely canonically the only one robby listens to just goes to show that their bond is truly soul and bone deep and everyone who knows them knows that too
I canāt get enough of the popular fandom notion that Rooster is a human furnace - he runs so hot he can run around in jorts and a tank top with snow on the ground. And then thereās Jake, who starts shivering the minute it gets below 70 degrees, but heās got to be a tough macho guy (like Rooster!) so he never brings a jacket with him, either. So Bradley, being the protector of the group, starts carrying a few of his own hoodies in the Bronco ājust in case someone needs oneā (he starts this even before they figure out their feelings for each other).
Sitting in Mavās back yard during a BBQ after the sun goes down and it gets a little breezy? āHere Jake, donāt be stupid, put this on. I can hear your teeth chattering from across the deck.ā At a carnival at night, and Jakeās a little sunburned from a day at the beach? Heās got goosebumps on his goosebumps and canāt stop shivering, until Bradley drapes a big, soft hoodie around his shoulders, and its so warm from baking in his Bronco all day that Jake just sighs and melts into it.
So yeah, everybody just gets kind of used to seeing Jake wearing Bradleyās hoodies everywhere. His old college sports hoodies or Navy hoodies, all with BRADSHAW or ROOSTER written in block letters across his shoulders.
Maybe the sight drives Bradley a little bit crazy, even when they arenāt ātogetherā together. Maybe seeing his name branding Jake as his own, seeing him a bit swamped in them because theyāre slightly too big for him, starts a slow-burning smolder in his core that he doesnāt know exactly what to do with. Maybe his hands get sore from where they clench so hard to keep from reaching out to grab something that isnāt his (yet), even if its quite literally got his name on it. Maybe his eyes track that name bobbing and weaving in amongst the crowd, and he feels even hotter than he usually does, because thatās HIS name, HIS claim.
And maybe Jake can feel those eyes on him. Maybe he shivers just a little bit more noticeably when Roo is around, so Bradley will inevitably go and get a hoodie, and shoves it into his arms, because even chivalrous heās got to be a little bit of a jackass, and now heās got an excuse to wear that name on his body. Maybe it sends a thrill down his spine when people mistakenly call him āBradshawā.
Maybe it sends a thrill down Bradleyās spine when he hears that, too.
Maybe, when theyāre all lying around together watching a movie, Jake sidles up to Bradley closer than he normally would ābecause youāre a freaking furnace and Iām cold, deal with it Bradshaw,ā and Bradley ādeals with itā by stealing an arm around his shoulders with a deep, put-upon sigh and the barest beginnings of a grin that he canāt seem to control.
And maybe the Daggers and the 86 boys roll their eyes (affectionately) at these two insufferable idiots who arenāt quite as subtle as they think theyāre being.
^ āYouāre warm and Iām cold. Shut up and cuddle me, Bradshaw.ā
thinking about my beloved Bradley and⦠guys, GUYS
this man grew up drenched in legacy. from day one it was Gooseās son, not Bradley. his world was flight suits and aviators and sunday barbecues with Ice and Mav and the ā86 legends like it was completely normal. of course flying was the only path. what else was there?
he grew the mustache when carole got sick not because he liked it, but because sheād smile and say āyou look just like your dadā
and then suddenly everyone was saying it. you really are Gooseās boy
so he stared in the mirror and tried to see himself, but all he saw was what he was supposed to be
thatās why when maverick pulled his papers, it HURT
because without the navy, without flying, without that version of himself⦠who even was he?
so yeah, he makes it to Top Gun. he survives. he says āyeah okay, I did itā like it means something and it SHOULD
until one day Jakeāstupid perfect Jake with his dumb green eyesāasks him what his favorite color is
or maybe itās his favorite movie. or sport. something ridiculous.
and Bradley just blanks full 404 error
because is his favorite sport really golf, or was that just what Ice would drag him to?
is his favorite beer actually that brand, or was it just the one Maverick handed him at fifteen with a wink?
and Jake sees it
he sees him
and from that moment on, he makes it his personal mission to take Bradley to every weird restaurant, every random hobby class, every indie concert and baseball game and cooking course just to show him thereās more
more than legacy. more than ghosts.
that he gets to choose
and one day Bradley tries a raspberry sour beer and lights up
and Jakeās like āthatās it. thatās your beer. we found itā
and for the first time, heās not being Gooseās son
hangster, great gatsby inspired snippet, brought by too much of party 4 u on repeat
The party across the Sound flashed bright lights for the tenth night in a row. Summer bred a deep, restless urge to run until sweat dripped down lithe legs, until tailored shirts stuck to the back of menās broad backs. The invitation sat open on the counter.Ā
Jake kept the lights low. Electricity prices were skyrocketing across the country, but plummeting into darkness allowed him to take in the burst of fireworks, yellow and red, little bright glitter marks cascading down the deep inky blue of the sky.Ā
Heād seen the display enough times to know this was only an intermission.Ā
A rumble of an engine coming up the drive made him pull out the whiskey. The good glasses had been shined in the afternoon, brought out to entertain the guests whoād trekked out from the city in mid-July heat. Theyād played tennis in the backyard, sipping lemonade, exclaiming their joy at being by the water, and asked Jake if he knew about āa way to get into your neighborās grand affairs, Jake, honey, do you think we couldā¦?āĀ
The engine stopped. Across the water, a live band began to play again.Ā
He knew the steps coming up the drive, more sure and steady than Jake had remembered them walking away. He could imagine the low branches of the trees up the walk way, still in need of trimming. The dark tall figure ducking as he approached.Ā
All Jake could hear were the trumpets, blasting out a roaring dance. Heād ventured into the throng on the fifth night, too pulled by curiosity and fear at the initial on the cream envelope. The crush of bodies had seethed in rhythm, swinging and twirling around Jake as he had ventured into shaky ground.Ā
The footsteps stopped right besides the stairs to the balcony. āYouāre missing your own evening.ā
Jake poured the whiskey into one of the glasses.Ā
āWhy havenāt you come again?ā
āOh, do you have eyes on me?ā
Bradley seemed taller now. His suit was pressed, a tan linen more befitting of summer days than a gala affair. Jake took a glance at the clean-pressed line of his slacks and realized Bradley had never intended to join his own party. His shoulders had filled out since Jake had last set eyes on him, whisked away in a car to the front, leaving Jake watching with the wheels kicking up dust.Ā
āDid you not like something on Tuesday?āĀ
He dared a look at Bradleyās face āĀ the genuine concern, the stubborn down-tilt of his mouth. Bradley had always been made to please; when Jake didnāt respond, he licked his lips.Ā
Truth was, heād loved everything. The women in their sleek dresses, the champagne glasses with the rims dipped in gold foil, and the music āĀ lush, vibrant, reckless as the night drew longer and longer. Jake had asked around about this mysterious benefactor, only to catch a glimpse of a profile heād long buried peering down from the topmost balcony of the mansion.Ā
āNo,ā Jake breathed. The big spotlights were shining out from the grounds across the way, drowning out the stars. āNo, it was perfect.ā
āOf course it was. I remember all the things you like.ā
Heād missed Bradleyās voice. How heād sing Jake songs on an out-of-tune piano, more charming than any of the socialites Jakeās circle was composed of. How heād whisper about race horses and the wild west, stories Bradley had lived as a young boy far past the gilded gates of the city.Ā
Bradley hadnāt moved up the steps. He had his hat in hand, clutched tight to his chest. āI always āĀ I promised Iād make something of myself. For you. To give you what you deserve.ā
āYou should go home,ā Jake gripped the glass.Ā
His palm was damp, slipping over the cut crystal. If he reached out āĀ if he looked again at Bradley, Jake would do terrible, stupid things. He would let the carefully constructed starched collar life handed down a bloodline fall to the wayside, would tumble into the dirt and beg Bradley to get rid of the shine. To give him back his rough and tumble first love, to ask Bradley how heād made his fortune and God, to please say he hadnāt killed for it.Ā
āJake.ā
āGo,ā Jake said. āPlease.ā
Bradley didnāt fight. He stepped down the path, footsteps drowned out by the whistle of more fireworks launching in the distance. Jake didnāt dare turn before he heard the engine come back to life. He caught those sure hands at the wheel, turning back onto the small road.Ā
His side of the bed was cool. The clock downstairs in the dining room chimed midnight. Jake tucked the invitation under the mattress, brushing over the raised B on the seal.Ā
Bradley speared on Jake's hard dick, absolutely losing his mind, and Jake, the asshole, saying, "I guess I've finally found a perch I wouldn't mind you never leaving."