summary: jaime and his girlfriend are graduating college and are ready for whatever else life throws at them, takes place before the events of blue beetle, so no spoilers!
author's note: this is just because i watched blue beetle and am obsessed with jaime, he's too cute so here is this little blurb. this can also technically serve as a prequel to the fic i'm currently writing
word count: 1.2k
The run throughout campus you had just made was purely off the adrenaline of the end of the semester. And not only the end of the semester, but the end of your college years. Four years, 135 credits later, and you were only one walk across a stage away from college graduation. The minute you handed in your final there was only one person you wanted to see and the 20-minute walk to his house became a 10-minute sprint.
You were panting by the time you were standing in front of his house and you took a minute to breathe. Thankfully the door was unlocked, so you stepped inside, toeing off your shoes quickly as you greeted one of Jaime’s housemates who was sitting at the dining table. He gave you a smile before you made a beeline to your boyfriend’s room. The door was open a crack so you pushed it all the way open and finally, your eyes landed on Jaime Reyes as he sat leaned over his desk, earbuds in and nodding along to whatever was playing in them.
You smiled as you shut the door before coming up behind him and plucking out one of his earbuds. His head popped up and he turned to face you, his face changing from one of shock to endearment.
“Hey—” Was as far as he got before you were cupping his face and leaning down to press your lips against his, tossing his earbud on the desk.
He didn’t miss a beat, reaching his hands up to grab your waist and bring you down onto his lap easily. You straddled his thighs, relishing in the feeling of his kiss, already high off the air of freedom. Jaime’s left hand pressed into your lower back and you sighed, letting your body melt against his.
There was a level of comfort that always came with his kisses and you needed that now. He managed to ground you just by existing and even when you were so happy you feel like you could float away, it was nice to know that he would be right there with you to share in that feeling. And it felt good. It felt good to be held by him, to be loved by him, and little moments like this reminded you of that.
“Mm, querida,” He started when you pulled away for a moment. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”
You beamed at him. “I just took my last final ever! I’m done!”
The smile on his face matched yours and he hugged you, keeping you secure in his lap. “Oh, I’m so happy for you. All that’s left is to graduate now, huh?”
“We’re so close.” You muttered, kissing him again, softer this time.
One of his hands slipped underneath your tank top, rubbing gentle circles into your skin and you sighed. Three years together and the smallest touches still caused goosebumps to appear, proven by the shiver that went down your spine at his continued action. Moving your hands to grip his arms, you were suddenly aware that he was wearing a cutoff tee, his arms and shoulders proudly on display.
Your fingers danced along the lines of muscle on his bicep, engaged in the soft skin beneath them. Your own skin prickled with heat from the feeling of his hands on you and you noticed him starting to deepen the kiss. You pulled back, relishing in the way that his head followed your movements, chasing your lips.
“Mm-mm, don’t think I’ve forgotten that you still have work to do.” You said, giving him a sly grin.
He groaned and looked past you at his desk, his notebook and pen abandoned from when you ambushed him. “Two more finals and then I’m free too. Then you won’t be able to get rid of me.” He said, smug smile on his lips.
“You worried?”
“Isn’t everyone?” He quipped, then let out a sigh when you gave him a serious look. “A little. But I know this stuff, I’ll be okay.”
You sit up a little in his lap, bringing your hands to his face once again and just took him in.
He met your gaze with a searching look. “What is it?”
You simply shook your head with a smile of your own. “I’m so proud of you.” He laughed, turning his head but you moved your own so you were still in view. “Jaime Reyes, with a degree in pre-law. That’s amazing.”
“I haven’t gotten into law school yet.” He said and you shook your head.
“But you will.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you’re Jaime.” You made him look at you and didn’t continue speaking until you were sure you had his full attention. You had been by his side for three years now and in that time you had seen how dedicated he was to his studies, how sure he was that this was going to be his way to pay back his family for their sacrifices. You didn’t know anyone as intelligent, kind, and loving as him and you needed him to know that.
“Jaime, what you’re doing is incredible. You amaze me every day and I’m so lucky to know you. Your future is so bright, Jaime. There’s no doubt in my mind that you are going to do amazing things in this world. You’ve already done amazing things to mine.”
He tugged his bottom lip in between his teeth, holding back a smile. “I love you.” He whispered.
“I love you more.” And you meant every word.
He leaned forward and kissed you, then buried his head in your shoulder, holding you close. “I love you most.” He muttered into your skin, replying as he always does.
You sat like that for a moment, your breaths coming slowly and in sync. The gentle rise and fall of his chest against yours lulled you into a sense of security and you closed your eyes as you rested your head atop his. Below you, Jaime tightened his grip on you momentarily before relaxing again. It was quiet moments like this that made you appreciate your relationship even more. To know that you had someone you could go to and simply just be with, without expectations, was something you never wanted to take for granted.
To be that person for Jaime as well was a treasure you could have never saw coming. He was always the one with a plan, someone who consistently looked to the future and the life that was coming for him. You were glad that he knew he didn’t always have to be that person with you. That it was okay to be unsure, to feel scared. That when he felt like that, you would be the one to bring him back up.
“I can’t wait to do life with you.” You said, suddenly. All of these thoughts in your head needed to be released somehow, and this one sentence couldn’t begin to cover it, but you knew he would understand.
You felt him nod against your shoulder and he picked his head up as you did the same, allowing the two of you to look into each other’s eyes.
“This is only the start, I can’t wait for what comes next.”
can't two people reconnect? i only see him as a friend (the biggest lie i ever said)
I'm still working on this one but I'm really excited about it so I wanted to share a little sneak peek at it because Jake Seresin definitely needs a warning ;)
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“Sorry about that, ma’am. I thought those beers were mine. Didn’t mean to steal from you,” his low, twangy drawl went right through you, settling warm and comfortingly in your stomach. “I’d offer to buy you a drink to make it up to you, but, well …”
Texas. That’s where that accent is from, you thought, instantly being transported back to your nursing school program in Austin. How many wannabe cowboys had spoken with that same drawl, trying to charm you and your friends during a night out? Not too many of them had succeeded with you, especially not after —
“Jake? Jake Seresin!?”
It had to be him. You’d know that smile anywhere, had seen those green eyes in your dreams for far too long after you both had moved on.
He was bigger now, muscles more pronounced and jaw more defined, more of those cheeky smile lines creasing around his eyes. His voice was deeper too, some of his accent smoothed out after years in the military, but it had to be.
He swore under his breath, eyes widening as he made the connection as well.
He practically whispered your name, as if it felt a bit rusty on his tongue, but the second you nodded, he repeated it louder, warmer, like he was slipping back into his favorite jacket.
“Shit, how long’s it been?” Jake wondered aloud, looking you up and down as if to make a note of every infinitesimal change that had occurred since you last saw each other. “You look great, honey. Beautiful as ever.”
You rolled your eyes but felt your cheeks heating up at his compliment. Jake always had a way of making you feel like the most special person in the room — but then again, he made everyone feel that way, as you later found out.
“You look good too, Seresin. Like a proper, respectable Navy man,” you admitted, though the words don’t sound nearly as begrudging as you hoped.
You’re rewarded with one of those thousand-watt grins and for a second, you’re back in a Texas dive bar, flirting with the most handsome man you’ve ever seen to the tune of some cheesy country-rap remix.
“I am good,” Jake promised, eyes locked on yours, and you think he might be back there with you, leaning up against the jukebox, the floors sticky under your feet. “I don’t know how respectable I am, but I am definitely good.”
His voice drags out that sentence, low and flirtatious, and butterflies fill your stomach the same way they did all those years ago.
You could practically feel the ghost of his big hands on your hips, your lower back, caressing your cheek as the world disappeared around you that night, just the two of you creating your own little world in the corner of that dingy bar.
Your lips parted — to say what, exactly, you’re not sure — and you see his eyes drop to them for just a moment before —
The woman behind the bar called out “Hangman!” with a tone of voice that makes it clear that it’s not the first time she’s said it and you both startle and turn to see her holding four bottles of beer out towards Jake, a look of exhaustion on her face. He jumped forward to take them, apologies pouring from his lips and he pointedly shoves several bills into the tip jar in order to earn an eye roll and a small smile from her.
Two sweating bottles in each hand, he turned back to you and almost seems a bit relieved that you’re still standing there. (As if you’ve ever been able to walk away from him.)
“I have to drop these off with my friends,” Jake said, nodding to a table somewhere behind you, “And you should probably get those drinks to the people who sent you over here. But do — do you wanna catch up? There’s a deck out back with some tables, it’s usually pretty quiet this time of night.” He waited for you to nod, before pressing a quick kiss to your cheekbone. “I’ll meet you in five minutes.”
With one more charming smile, he’s off into the crowd and — not for the first time in your life — you’re left speechless and a little stunned, staring after Jake Seresin.
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Tagging some people who asked to be added: @tvshowgirl81 @redbarn1995 @stoneyggirl @keepingitlokiii @averyhotchner
Summary: Loving Bradley is the easiest thing you've ever done, and coming home to him is always the best part of your day. Especially when you come home with cake. But a slight mixup at the bakery leads to the sweetest of promises.
Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader
Length: 5k
Warnings: So much fluff (side effects may include giggling and kicking your feet)
(Author’s Note: this fic was written for my one year celebration of the ‘Like I Can’ series, but it can be read on its own!)
After a long week, there was no place you’d rather be than at home with Bradley.
The two of you have been living together for a couple of months now, but seeing his Bronco parked in the driveway of the condo you shared knowing the empty spot next to it is meant for your own still made your heart flutter out of sheer giddiness.
Even if he still teased you about your practical Honda Civic’s lack of street cred. But it did have a spacious backseat with its own set of doors and an actual trunk, unlike the Bronco.
And on the rare rainy days you got in San Diego, Bradley was asking to borrow your car rather than risk the interior of his big blue baby. Those days you just got to preen as you handed over your car keys to him. Sure, you could be the one to drop him off, but it was funnier watching the way he valiantly attempted to hold back his grimace as he tried to adjust the driver’s seat to comfortably fit his bulk.
As you pull into your spot, you’re hit with that same gust of summer breeze warmth you always are as you. It was a feeling you didn’t expect to go away any time soon.
It takes a bit of finesse getting the front door open with your work tote and purse slung over one shoulder while you cradled the paper bags of bread and box of treats you’d stopped for on the way home in the other.
Bradley had texted you to let you know that he was making dinner earlier, but had forgotten the bread during his grocery run and had asked if you didn’t mind making a quick stop to grab some. He’d promised to make it worth your while, and while you would have done it for him anyways, a little extra incentive was always nice.
Especially after the way he had teased you in the shower this morning.
You picked up the baguette that he’d requested along with a couple loaves of fresh bread for sandwiches that you were planning to stick in the freezer for later. At the checkout, they’d had a few fun pink bakery boxes packed with six individually wrapped cake slices in different flavors. It seemed like more fun than the basic red velvet cupcakes you had been debating as you waited for your turn to pay, so you’d picked up one of those boxes too. Since it was Friday, you figured a little treat was very much deserved after such a long week.
The two of you had just gotten back from a little trip back home not too long ago, but you were already dying for another vacation. Ideally one that involved creamy blended beverages served in coconuts and Bradley Bradshaw wearing some 5-inch inseam swim trunks with his thick thighs on display in the golden sunlight.
It had been so nice to see your parents and to visit the sights of your childhood growing up together. You’ve always gone home for holidays, but it had been years since he’d been there with you. Some things had stayed the same like the ice cream shop where Bradley had had his first job. And some things had changed with the times like the empty parking lot where he’d first taught you how to drive was now the site of an upscale organic grocery store. Now that you and Bradley were you and Bradley, the nostalgia of your younger years felt extra sweet as you’d strolled with his hand tucked yours.
It’s a miracle you get through the door without dropping anything.
You’re waiting to hear the scamper of little paws against the laminate floor headed your way as you kick off your heels, Duck was usually the first one to greet you when you got home.
The puppy was growing all too quick for your liking. For as much as Bradley grumbled about being woken up early on the weekends by the black and white ball of fluff, you’ve caught him on more than one occasion cooing at the dog and slipping him treats. The sweet, goofy little dog was the perfect addition to your dynamic duo.
Even if Bradley still got huffy about the name and how Duck had come to be in your life.
On the occasional night when Bob’s friend Casey from the animal shelter- the man you’d been on exactly half of a date with once close to a year ago- was invited to come hang out, your boyfriend always was finding reasons to stand a little closer to you or leave his hands lingering a little longer on your hips. Those nights usually end with the two of you sweaty and out of breath, tangled in the sheets of your canopy bed.
You can hear Bradley singing along with one of his playlists in the kitchen and the sounds of drawers opening and closing as you tuck your purse and tote under the side table at the entrance. You smile to yourself as you drop your car keys into the bowl where his are already resting, the keychain on the keys to his Bronco was the same one you’d given him when you were teens when Mav had gotten him the Montero for his 16th birthday.
Taking the bread and box of cake slices with you, you pass through the living room you see Duck passed out belly up on his Sherpa lined dog bed. His ears flopped out to the side and his little paws twitching as he dreams about chasing balls or squirrels. It’s a good think your hands are full or you’d be collecting even more photos of your sweet boy in addition to the hundreds you already had on your phone.
“I’m home,” you greet, rounding the corner to the kitchen, the savory smell of onions and garlic growing stronger the closer you get, “And I come bearing a baguette.”
Standing in front of the stove is Bradley with a checkered kitchen towel slung over his shoulder. His curls look a little damp, still drying from the shower he must have taken earlier. The soft looking shirt he’s wearing is pulled taut across his back, and the sweatpants he has on are hugging the curve of his ass in the best way. He looks so at ease and comfortable, none of the tense strain in his body that he sometimes comes home with.
Bradley looks over his shoulder towards you with a grin on his face, “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” His pretty brown eyes rake over you in a way that has you wondering about just how he is planning on thanking you for picking up the baguette you’d stopped for. He lets out a low whistle, “Damn, I love that skirt on you.”
“I’m glad you clarified,” you say, sending him a wink and setting your bakery haul down on the island counter, “I wasn’t sure if you were talking to me or the armload of freshly baked carbs.”
He leans his hip on the side of the counter, “A little yeast and flour have got nothing on you, kid.”
“Now you know you can’t go around saying things like that an expect me not to fall in love with you,” you tease, opening the freezer to put the sandwich bread away.
“I’m failing to see a problem with that- oh shit,” he curses, hastily turning back to the stove to adjust the range knob as something spits and sizzles on the top of the convection cooktop.
You step around the island and over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind him. He’s always been the right kind of warm, the kind that makes you want to melt into him. You press your face against his back, his shirt soft against your cheek. Under the woodsy smell of his body wash there’s still a faint lingering scent of jet fuel. It’s your favorite smell.
“Hi, sweet girl,” he says, settling his big hand over yours, still stirring the sauce with the other. And you can almost see the easy, contented smile on his face just from the gentle tone of his voice.
“Hi, Bradley,” you hum, happy to be home.
“How was your day?”
“I’m glad it’s the weekend,” you say with a sigh, “The beach day tomorrow with everyone is going to be much needed.” A sympathetic sound rumbles from his chest as his thumb runs over the back of your hand. You were looking forward to sitting under the shade of the stripped umbrella and feeling the sand between your toes as you sip on an icy cold beer. “How was yours?”
“Not too bad, I took Seresin out and now he owes me $200. So overall, it’s been a pretty good day,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. “Cyclone let us out early, so I was productive. Did some errands, got the groceries. Well, most of them. I even took Duck to the dog park and let him run around for a bit. He made friends with a Great Dane, I took a few videos of them playing on my phone for you.”
The mental image of Bradley recording a video of your puppy being cute and playing in the park in the same way a proud dad would film his kid’s little league game makes you feel more than a little weak in the knees.
Pressing up on your toes, you skim a kiss against the side of his neck and prop your chin on his shoulder to peer at what he’s cooking up.
“It smells really good in here,” you tell him, taking in the pot of sauce simmering away on the stove. Off to the side there’s a cutting board with some fresh basil chopped up and a pile of papery vegetable scraps and a couple empty cans of tomato sauce.
“Yeah? It’s been awhile since I’ve channeled my inner Stanly Tucci, so I thought some homemade spaghetti and meatballs sounded good.”
Your eyebrows raise on their own, the surprise evident in your voice, “Homemade meatballs?”
“Ok, maybe those came from Trader Joe’s,” Bradley admits, “But the sauce is all me. I even put the red pepper flakes in it the way you like it.” He reaches over for a handful of basil and adds it into the pot.
You send your thanks up to Carole for making sure her son at least had known the basics of cooking. He could more than hold his own in the kitchen, and the competent way he handled a chef knife in his big hands was endlessly attractive to you.
“‘Semi-homemade with Bradley Bradshaw’ has a nice ring to it, want me to pitch it as a reboot to the Food Network?” You feel the way he chuckles under your palms, the muscles of his stomach contracting and releasing.
“I don’t think I’d make it out with my liver intact. That woman loved her cocktails strong, I’m pretty sure her sangria recipe would send me to the floor,” he jokes, “No wonder why our moms were always watching her.”
“A woman after my own heart,” you sing, “I’m so glad I inherited such good taste from them.”
Bradley shakes his head amused, “The good news for you is that there’s a bottle of red open and waiting for you, funny girl.”
The promise of wine perks you up immediately. Pasta, wine, cake, and Bradley. What more could a girl need?
“God, you’re the man of my dreams.”
“I sure hope so,” he says, squeezing your hand.
“Oh, you are so getting lucky tonight, Lieutenant.” You take advantage of the way he leans his head back and laughs to press a quick kiss to his cheek.
You slide your arms back from around his waist, only managing to take one step towards the bottle of your favorite Cabernet Sauvignon that’s breathing over near the sink with one of your wine glasses set out next to it before you’re being stopped with a gentle hand on your wrist.
“Hold up, where do you think you’re going, kid?” Bradley asks, tugging you back to him with a grin.
He doesn’t wait for your response before he is leaning in to properly kiss you for the first time since he left for work this morning.
At the press of his lips against yours, you feel every ounce of strain you’d been carrying from the day dissolve like melted sugar. A satisfied hum escapes you and you feel the way the corner of Bradley’s mouth ticks up at your reaction to him. His hands cup your face, tilting you head until it was at the perfect angle for him to deepen the kiss. You don’t even notice he’s back you up against the island until the countertop is digging into your lower back, too distracted by the way the coarse hairs of his mustache scrape along your upper lip.
If it weren’t for the sound of the timer going off the two of you might have almost would have forgotten about dinner entirely, it wouldn’t have been the first time it’s happened.
“Is there anything I can help with?” you ask, smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt from the way you’d had it clutched in your fists just moments ago before letting go of him so that he can silence the beeping coming from the oven.
“You want to make us a salad to go with it?”
“Yes, chef,” you purr as you spin on your heel taking off in the other direction.
And really you should have expected the cheeky way his hand connects with your ass in a quick, sharp slap. You shoot him a glare over your shoulder, but he’s already facing the stove and stirring the sauce again as he adjusts the seasoning with a smirk.
You take a moment to pour yourself a glass of the wine Bradley had opened for you and take a sip. The bold, juicy flavor dancing across your tongue as you set about gathering the things to make a simple salad to go with the dinner he’s made for the two of you.
This is your favorite part of the day, when it’s just the two of you together.
The back and forth has always been easy with him. Whether it’s making dinner or running errands or doing laundry together. The things that always felt mundane on their own had become some of the things you most looked forward to during the week. It’s not that you need to be around him, but you always want to be around him.
When Bradley declares the sauce to be perfect, he comes and joins you at the island. Grabbing a cutting board of his own he starts slicing up the fresh baguette you’d picked up, offering you the end to snack on.
“Oh, what’s this?” he asks, picking up the box of assorted cake slices.
You continue chopping the cucumber in front of you, “Isn’t that fun? They had a stack of those at the checkout. I think they must have made too many cakes this week on accident, but it’s so smart of them so sell them that way. Why get one flavor when you can have six? Best of both worlds for everyone.”
“That so, huh?” he sounds amused by your enthusiasm, “Is there something else you wanted to talk to me about?”
It hadn’t been a particularly noteworthy visit, other than you’d been able to score a parking spot in front of the building, “Uh, not that I can think of?”
“You sure?” Bradley prods.
“No?... Oh! I was going to pick up that marbled rye you like while I was there getting the baguette, but they were already sold out. So I got a loaf of the multigrain brown bread and some sourdough instead.”
“Mmm, interesting.”
Stopping your salad prep, you look up at him skeptically, “Ok, why are you mmm-ing me, Bradshaw?”
Bradley’s eyes are alight with playful mischief as he slides the box of the cake slices towards you and pointedly double taps on the sticker on the upper right corner of the pink box with his finger.
You hadn’t stopped to read the shiny gold label when you’d grabbed it at the bakery, the tempting layers of cake and frosting and fillings had immediately sold you on it, but you couldn’t unsee what the curly scripted font said now.
Wedding Cake Sampler
“So, when’s the wedding? I’m assuming I’ll be invited,” he grins.
You feel your face get hot as you realize your mistake. It wasn’t just a sample box, but a very specific type of sample box. A very specific type of sample box for a very specific occasion.
Suddenly the interaction with the bakery employee as you were paying makes so much more sense now.
“Oh my god, the girl at the checkout said ‘Congratulations’ and I said ‘Happy Fri-yay’ back to her,” you groan, covering your eyes with your hands, “I thought she meant it like ‘Congrats on making it to Friday’ thing.”
He laughs, “Sweet girl, that’s about the damn cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Happy Fri-yay, Bradley! She was congratulating me on our- I mean- the nonexistent impending nuptials she thought I had and I reply to her that? We need to find a new bakery, I can’t go there ever again,” you lament. It’s truly a tragedy, since they have the best sticky pecan rolls in the area.
“And you call me a drama queen,” Bradley lightly teases, “She probably thought it was funny.”
You groan again, louder this time. If he was going to call you a drama queen, you’d at least try out your best Mariah Carey impersonation.
Your face is still hidden behind your hands when you feel Bradley gather you into his arms, running a warm hand up and down your back. “C’mon, it’s not even that bad. I’m sure I did at least three things more embarrassing than that today.”
“Yeah, I bet you did too,” you grumble into his chest without heat. The way he chuckles at your surliness lets you know he doesn’t take it personally. Not only is he getting laid, but you decide you’re definitely going to give him head too for being the sweetest man alive.
He takes your wrists in his hands and pulls the away from your face, “I gotta tell you, I’m glad it was just a little mix up. It would have sucked to find out my girlfriend had a fiancé I didn’t know about.”
You can see every shade of brown in his eyes as he looks into yours, the affection and amusement rippling there the same way the light catches the surface of a cup of coffee on a Sunday morning.
At this point you really do just have to laugh at yourself. It’s such a silly thing to get worked up about, especially since you know you’re probably more ruffled about Bradley potentially thinking that you’re trying to drop a not-so-subtle hint with it. And fact of the matter is that you still probably would have picked it up anyways, you just might have peeled off the incriminating sticker off in the car before bringing it in.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about, Bradshaw. I’ve got my hands more than full enough with you.”
“Yeah, you do,” he boasts, the insinuation is not lost on you.
You snort a laugh and shove at his chest lightly. He drops a kiss to the side of your head and makes his way back to the other side of the kitchen island as you get back to your salad making duties.
“Hey, just so you know, I can’t wait to eat wedding cake with you later,” he says as he continues to slice up the baguette.
You playfully toss a cucumber at him for his teasing and he pops in mouth with a grin.
A little later, when you have your steaming bowls of pasta in front of you at the dinner table, he raises his glass of wine to you, “Happy Fri-yay, sweet girl.”
And your laugh is as crystalline as the clink of your glass meeting his in cheers.
After the leftovers are put away and the dishes cleaned, the two of you are cozied up watching the new romcom that was just added on Netflix.
You’re stretched out across the couch with your feet in Bradley’s lap eating the cake you’d picked up. You try a bit of each flavor deciding which one you like the most to save it for the end, while Bradley takes his chances and eats one slice at a time before moving on to the next one. It’s truly unhinged behavior and you couldn’t help but tease him about it when you’d noticed his cake tasting methodology.
Bradley moans around a forkful of cake and you know he’s just found the carrot cake- his favorite.
He’s always been a bit of a pseudo health nut with questionable logic. “It’s got carrots and walnuts, it’s basically a superfood” he’s claimed on multiple occasions, while purposefully excluding the part about the pound of butter and cream cheese that goes into the frosting.
“I’d clear my schedule in heartbeat and take you to City Hall any day of the week as long as we get to have this carrot cake when we get married,” he says right before he licks the frosting off of his fork.
Your breath catches in your throat.
When, not if.
He says it so easily like there’s not a doubt in his mind that it’ll be you and him facing each other at the end of an aisle as vows about forever are exchanged.
He says it like a fact.
He says it like he knows.
“I didn’t realize I missed the part where you asked me,” you say, setting your plate on the coffee table in front of you, too full of the hope of it all to keep eating.
“And here I was waiting on you, kid,” he says playfully, taking another bite.
He’s teasing, you know he is. Bradley isn’t the type of man who would lead you on or play games with your heart.
“Bradley.” It’s an almost whine the way his name comes out of your mouth as you nudge his thigh with your foot. You turn your head to bury your face in the cushion of the couch, suddenly feeling very bashful.
The two of you have never talked about it, at least not like this before. Only in casual passing comments like getting a place with a bigger backyard for Duck or about setting up a joint banking account. A hypothetical future.
“Hey, c’mon. Look at me,” he coaxes, squeezing your foot. When you peek at him, the look on his face is all open sincerity, “You’re my forever girl. I love you and I’m planning on spending the rest of my life with you. That is, if you’re ok with that.”
A rush butterflies happily swoop and swirl around in your stomach.
He’s been in your life for almost three decades now. You’d known the boy, the teen, and you more than liked the man he’d become. You had absolutely no intention of ever letting him go. He was yours. Forever and always.
“That’d be ok with me,” you tell him freely. You watch as his smile gets wider and broader until it’s taking up his whole face, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “I think I could handle quite a few more decades with you, Bradley Bradshaw.”
“Is that so?” he drawls, his fingers skimming up and down the top of your calf.
“Oh, definitely. You’re stuck with me,” you grin.
“Good.”
He tugs your ankle, pulling you until your back is flat against the couch. You squeal in delight as he pins you down on the cushions, your arms and legs wrap around him on their own drawing him in even closer. Then he’s kissing every inch of your face that he can reach as you laugh in delight.
If it weren’t for Bradley’s sturdy bulk on top of you, you’re pretty sure you might have just floated away. You’ve never felt this incandescently light in your whole life.
He brushes one more quick kiss to the top of your nose before he pulls away, “But just so we’re on the same page, that wasn’t an official proposal. More like a declaration of intention.”
“I don’t know,” you muse, stroking his pink cheek, “Sounds like you’re desperate to wife me up, Bradley. Practically begging for me to take you to the courthouse.”
His hands go straight for curve of your waist, attacking that ticklish spot that’s always made you giggle and squirm. Only taking mercy on you once you’re out of breath. You’re almost positive that the smile on your face might be there permanently.
You don’t miss the intensity in Bradley’s eyes as they trace over your face as he settles himself more fully on you, “You don’t know the half of it, kid. But I’m letting you know now, I’m not going to make either one of us wait long for it.”
And then his mouth is on yours.
You feel the promise he’s making to you in his kiss. The caress of his hands along your body feels like a vow. You feel every ounce of just how much he loves and cherishes you. The cake was sweet, but his honeyed kiss tastes even sweeter.
“Tell me we can have carrot cake at our wedding, sweet girl,” he murmurs against your lips.
Our wedding.
The thought of it made you giddy.
You wanted to wear his ring on your finger just as much as you wanted to see him wearing one of his own one day. You liked your last name, but there was nothing more you wanted than to be Mrs. Bradshaw. It would be another thing you and Carole could share. A name and the everlasting love for her son.
“Ok, we can have carrot cake at our wedding,” you agree, wholeheartedly, “It’s basically a superfood, after all.”
“Damn right it is,” he beams.
The cake is quickly forgotten in favor of pulling your shirt over your head.
You might not have a ring. Yet.
But you did have a lifetime with Bradley and a carrot cake to look forward to. And that was more than enough for you.
Bradley was pretty sure that there was nothing better on this Earth than having you draped across his chest as you slept soundly in his arms. Your breathing had softened and evened out ages ago, but his mind was whirling with thoughts of his bright future with you.
He’d meant it when he’d told you he wasn’t going to make you wait long. Bradley didn’t know how much longer he could go on calling you his girlfriend when all he really wanted to call you his wife. He’s imagined you in a white dress walking towards him more times than he could count.
When he’d planned the surprised trip back to your shared hometown as a gift for your six-month anniversary, he might have had some ulterior motives. While it was nice to see the place you’d both grown up in again as adults, there had been a more pressing issue on his mind the whole time.
He hadn’t been able to control the nervous bounce of his leg or his sweaty palms when he’d ask your mom’s permission for your hand in marriage. It hadn’t been any easier the second time, when he’d had to do it all over again with you dad that sunny day at the golf course.
Bradley knew it was a bit of an antiquated tradition, but he’d never proposed to anyone before and he wanted to get it right. He wanted you and your parents to know just how serious he was about his intentions to love you for the rest of his life. He’d even asked Mav for his blessing too, just to make sure he had his bases covered.
It had thrown him through a loop when at the end of the trip you mom had slipped him the ring she’d worn while she was married to your dad. She’d told him there was no expectations or pressure to use it, she just wanted him to have it just in case.
The engagement ring his mom had worn had been tucked in the back corner of his nightstand for almost four months now. Bradley had pulled it out of storage sometime around the third month of officially dating you. It would be too soon for anyone else, but he’s already had decades with you. And he’d never been more sure about anything in his life as he was about knowing you were the one for him.
The two of you had always been perfectly right on time in your own way.
He’d dwelled on it for weeks trying to figure out if he should give them both to you at once. Or if he should propose to you with one and save the other to you during another monumental moment, like when the two of you started a family. He’d heard about push presents. He figured could turn one into a necklace or something for you.
Bradley could feel the presence of both rings every time he walked into the bedroom. They were both equally were important to him, he wanted to get it right.
His mom had known and loved you, he knew that she’d have been so excited to see her ring on your finger. And after his mom had passed, yours had helped him during those rough days in ways he didn’t think he could ever properly thank her for. Even though your parents’ marriage hadn’t worked out, they were the reason that you were here and he couldn’t imagine his life without you.
It wasn’t until Natasha had shown him the Toi et Moi style ring that things locked into place in a way that made his heart race at the very idea of it.
The right ring for the right girl.
He lets his fingers trail up and down your back gently as you slept soundly against him.
In the kitchen earlier that night, he might have bent the truth about his day just a little bit.
The final design had been sent to his email that morning. And it was more perfect than he could have imagined.
He did win $200 from Jake and had gone to the dog park with Duck, but he’d also stopped by the jewelers across town to give them both of the family heirlooms because he didn’t want to waste a single minute.
Two diamonds, one ring. The start of you and him. A story of your beginnings to be worn on the finger that would tie him to you with a golden thread for the rest of your lives together.
He’d even paid extra to have it engraved.
My sweet girl. My forever girl.
I genuinely thought I was one and done after I wrote my first fic in December of last year. And then came these two. 'Like I Can' was meant to be a oneshot that turned into a 3-part series that turned into half of my masterlist. I adore this couple with my whole heart. Thank you for reading along and celebrating with me!
Elle (@callsignspark) thank you for sending me the TikTok that inspired the headcanon about the wedding cake sampler, I'm showering you with shiny 'thank you' shaped confetti! And another big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for getting as giddy about these two as I do and for always enthusiastically reading the snippets I send you! You both are the best!
If you enjoyed these two, you can read their story from the start here!
Can I just take a moment to appreciate you using the pet name ‘querida’ in your fic? I was waiting to read some fic for Jaime & him using that pet name & I was like I wonder if I’ll even come across any fics where the writer decides to use it, and low & behold your fic did✨✨
THANK YOU FOR USING IT IN SHORT <33 I have an odd attachment to that pet name all due to one of my favorite book series where the main character gets called that by her love interest and have been in love with ever since
haha i love that nickname, it’s such a sweet term of endearment!!
summary: jaime and his girlfriend are graduating college and are ready for whatever else life throws at them, takes place before the events
summary: jaime and his girlfriend are graduating college and are ready for whatever else life throws at them, takes place before the events of blue beetle, so no spoilers!
author's note: this is just because i watched blue beetle and am obsessed with jaime, he's too cute so here is this little blurb. this can also technically serve as a prequel to the fic i'm currently writing
word count: 1.2k
The run throughout campus you had just made was purely off the adrenaline of the end of the semester. And not only the end of the semester, but the end of your college years. Four years, 135 credits later, and you were only one walk across a stage away from college graduation. The minute you handed in your final there was only one person you wanted to see and the 20-minute walk to his house became a 10-minute sprint.
You were panting by the time you were standing in front of his house and you took a minute to breathe. Thankfully the door was unlocked, so you stepped inside, toeing off your shoes quickly as you greeted one of Jaime’s housemates who was sitting at the dining table. He gave you a smile before you made a beeline to your boyfriend’s room. The door was open a crack so you pushed it all the way open and finally, your eyes landed on Jaime Reyes as he sat leaned over his desk, earbuds in and nodding along to whatever was playing in them.
You smiled as you shut the door before coming up behind him and plucking out one of his earbuds. His head popped up and he turned to face you, his face changing from one of shock to endearment.
“Hey—” Was as far as he got before you were cupping his face and leaning down to press your lips against his, tossing his earbud on the desk.
He didn’t miss a beat, reaching his hands up to grab your waist and bring you down onto his lap easily. You straddled his thighs, relishing in the feeling of his kiss, already high off the air of freedom. Jaime’s left hand pressed into your lower back and you sighed, letting your body melt against his.
There was a level of comfort that always came with his kisses and you needed that now. He managed to ground you just by existing and even when you were so happy you feel like you could float away, it was nice to know that he would be right there with you to share in that feeling. And it felt good. It felt good to be held by him, to be loved by him, and little moments like this reminded you of that.
“Mm, querida,” He started when you pulled away for a moment. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”
You beamed at him. “I just took my last final ever! I’m done!”
The smile on his face matched yours and he hugged you, keeping you secure in his lap. “Oh, I’m so happy for you. All that’s left is to graduate now, huh?”
“We’re so close.” You muttered, kissing him again, softer this time.
One of his hands slipped underneath your tank top, rubbing gentle circles into your skin and you sighed. Three years together and the smallest touches still caused goosebumps to appear, proven by the shiver that went down your spine at his continued action. Moving your hands to grip his arms, you were suddenly aware that he was wearing a cutoff tee, his arms and shoulders proudly on display.
Your fingers danced along the lines of muscle on his bicep, engaged in the soft skin beneath them. Your own skin prickled with heat from the feeling of his hands on you and you noticed him starting to deepen the kiss. You pulled back, relishing in the way that his head followed your movements, chasing your lips.
“Mm-mm, don’t think I’ve forgotten that you still have work to do.” You said, giving him a sly grin.
He groaned and looked past you at his desk, his notebook and pen abandoned from when you ambushed him. “Two more finals and then I’m free too. Then you won’t be able to get rid of me.” He said, smug smile on his lips.
“You worried?”
“Isn’t everyone?” He quipped, then let out a sigh when you gave him a serious look. “A little. But I know this stuff, I’ll be okay.”
You sit up a little in his lap, bringing your hands to his face once again and just took him in.
He met your gaze with a searching look. “What is it?”
You simply shook your head with a smile of your own. “I’m so proud of you.” He laughed, turning his head but you moved your own so you were still in view. “Jaime Reyes, with a degree in pre-law. That’s amazing.”
“I haven’t gotten into law school yet.” He said and you shook your head.
“But you will.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you’re Jaime.” You made him look at you and didn’t continue speaking until you were sure you had his full attention. You had been by his side for three years now and in that time you had seen how dedicated he was to his studies, how sure he was that this was going to be his way to pay back his family for their sacrifices. You didn’t know anyone as intelligent, kind, and loving as him and you needed him to know that.
“Jaime, what you’re doing is incredible. You amaze me every day and I’m so lucky to know you. Your future is so bright, Jaime. There’s no doubt in my mind that you are going to do amazing things in this world. You’ve already done amazing things to mine.”
He tugged his bottom lip in between his teeth, holding back a smile. “I love you.” He whispered.
“I love you more.” And you meant every word.
He leaned forward and kissed you, then buried his head in your shoulder, holding you close. “I love you most.” He muttered into your skin, replying as he always does.
You sat like that for a moment, your breaths coming slowly and in sync. The gentle rise and fall of his chest against yours lulled you into a sense of security and you closed your eyes as you rested your head atop his. Below you, Jaime tightened his grip on you momentarily before relaxing again. It was quiet moments like this that made you appreciate your relationship even more. To know that you had someone you could go to and simply just be with, without expectations, was something you never wanted to take for granted.
To be that person for Jaime as well was a treasure you could have never saw coming. He was always the one with a plan, someone who consistently looked to the future and the life that was coming for him. You were glad that he knew he didn’t always have to be that person with you. That it was okay to be unsure, to feel scared. That when he felt like that, you would be the one to bring him back up.
“I can’t wait to do life with you.” You said, suddenly. All of these thoughts in your head needed to be released somehow, and this one sentence couldn’t begin to cover it, but you knew he would understand.
You felt him nod against your shoulder and he picked his head up as you did the same, allowing the two of you to look into each other’s eyes.
“This is only the start, I can’t wait for what comes next.”
Summary: Jaime doesn't like that you work a night shift at a bar, so setting out to get a job at Kord Industries, you're shocked when he comes home with something else....
Warnings: mentions of men being pervs, lots of screaming and a little bit of violence, SPOILERS FOR BLUE BEETLE!
Word Count: 2.4k
A/N: My first full fic in a while? Yes, it is indeed and with my new love, Jaime Reyes. If you haven't seen Blue Beetle, pause and go buy a ticket cause this movie is good! So proud of mi Xolito! Anyway, I'm proud of this, so enjoy! 💕💕💕
I don't consent to my work being copied, reposted, or translated.
“You don’t have to do this, y’know? I’ll get the job tomorrow and work hard to support the family and us,” Jaime stood up from your bed, grabbing hold of your hands to stop you from getting ready for work.
“Jaime, I know you want to do everything you can to stop us from losing the house, but we need the money, wherever we can get it from,” you inhaled.
You moved in with the Reyes three years ago after your parents kicked you out. The details are unimportant and messy but you were happy you ended up in a loving household after all. The only problem now, you’re on the brink of becoming homeless.
“But a job where drunk assholes violate you?” he scoffed and you rolled your eyes, knowing most customers haven’t gotten handsy since you started. “It’s not right,” he shook his head, squeezing your hands. “I don’t want you to have to go through that,” he rested his forehead against yours.
You knew he meant well. It sucked having to work at a bar where wearing low-cut tops and push-up bras made for extra tips. Especially when you worked during the night. But then again, even when businesses are going bankrupt, bars are seemingly filling in at an all-time high. You had to take advantage of the dire situation even if Jaime didn’t like it.
“I can handle my own,” you smirked. “Nana taught me a thing or two,” you winked.
“I bet she did,” he chuckled.
“And besides,” you removed your hands from his grip, smoothing them up his arms until they rested on his biceps. “I have my big strong boyfriend to protect me,” you looked at him finding the blush forming on his face adorable.
He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in as he leaned forward to kiss you. His lips moved against yours slowly, one of your hands moving up to tug on the hair of the nape of his neck.
Living in a small house with five other people gave you no privacy whatsoever, so moments like these were cherished. All those stolen glances, hidden kisses, late-night talks—it all meant something.
“I gotta go, okay? I’ll see you in the morning,” you pulled away.
“You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you walk to work alone at eleven at night,” he grabbed your arm lightly, pulling you back into his embrace. “I’ll be there to pick you up at seven too,” he said and you sighed out contently.
“It means a lot, but don’t you have your job interview tomorrow?” you rested your head against his chest as you both walked out of your and Milagro’s room.
“I’ll sleep, wake up, pick you up, then come back and get ready,” he shrugged and you agreed with his well-thought-out plan.
“Ya te vas, mija?” Rocio asked once you both entered the kitchen and you nodded. “Cuidate, y come tu comida, no quiero que te desmayes,” she handed you a paper sack and you smiled, thanking her.
It was things like that which made you grateful for Jaime’s family—your family. The constant protection and worry they hold over you like one would for a daughter or sister. Making sure you had a lunch packed so you can eat and not faint during your shift. It warmed your heart and made you grateful every day.
“Make sure she gets there safe, okay, Jaime?” Alberto pointed to his son and your boyfriend nodded, reassuring the two.
Walking out of the house, you found your hands intertwined as you made your way down the block. You glanced at Jaime to find him smiling at you before he looked ahead. You grinned at the fact you caught him before you too continued your focus forward.
Palerma City was alive at night, even in the small barrio you lived in. The streets were dark, flickering lamp posts illuminating the people who were still up trying to make a living by whatever means. You looked far past, the bright neon skyline of the city, all the rows of high rises where all the rich white folk were fast asleep tucked away in silk sheets.
You would get there one day.
“What did my mom pack for your lunch?” he asked, pulling you out of your thought.
“A torta de jamon, an apple and orange, some Fritos, and oh, a gansito,” you gasped in excitement before you stuffed the bag in your backpack. “I know exactly what I’m eating first,” you giggled.
“My mom literally said we ran out of gansitos,” he said in shock. “She loves you more than me,” he feigned hurt and you wrapped your arm around him, cooing as you kissed his cheek.
“What can I say? I’m lovable,” you hummed.
The two of you turned the corner and you found yourself at “Margaritaville”, the newest establishment where you got paid minimum wage and received great tips from businessmen who got off on a pretty bartender flirting with them before they made their way home to their wives. Or from people who recently got laid off from their jobs and needed someone to talk to.
Either way, you’d put on your best smile, bat your lashes and make sure your top was low enough if that meant being able to pay part of the rent.
“Be safe, okay?” Jaime pulled you in for a hug. “I’ll be awake at 6:30,” he promised.
“I will,” you mumbled into his neck before pulling away. “See you soon,” you smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.
He cupped your cheek before you pulled away, your fingers pulling along his, straining to stay in touch as you kept moving toward the door until they unlinked, his arm stayed hovered in the air for a split moment while yours dropped to the side. He watched as you turned back and waved until you entered through the back door, making sure to stay for a minute before he turned back around.
The lingering touch of you remained on his fingers until he arrived home and made his way to bed. It wasn’t fair you had to become a main stream of income for the house. It shouldn’t be you pulling in the long hours, it should be him.
He needed to get that interview at Kord Industries tomorrow.
~
You undid your apron, shoving it back into your backpack. You let out a sigh as you did a once over to the barely empty bar. The next shift already arrived and was taking care of the customers. Letting out a yawn, you placed your tips in your pocket, opening the back door only to be greeted by Jaime who was waiting at the curb.
“Buenos dias, mi amor,” he smiled and you felt your cheeks blush at the pet name he liked to change out every once in a while. “Made you breakfast,” he handed you something rolled in some paper towels before you unveiled two bean burritos. “How was work?” he kissed your cheek while he took your bag from you.
“Made $150 in tips,” you stated, biting into your food. “Getting paid tomorrow, so it went well,” you nodded. “Customers were more to themselves tonight, except for this one guy who was crying about his wife leaving him. I think he left looking for a prostitute to be honest,” you chuckled.
“Poor dude,” he hummed. “But the money is good,” he said, wrapping his arm around you.
The rest of the short walk was made in silence and it was calming to just have Jaime by your side. The eight-hour shift takes it out on you and you couldn’t wait to go to sleep.
“Hola,” you greeted as you walked through the door.
“Como te fue?” Nana asked and you responded to her before a yawn came out.
“Disculpe,” you pressed a hand to your chest. “I’m gonna go shower,” you said, the family understanding as you made your way to your room.
After a quick shower and changing into casual wear, you felt refreshed as you walked back into the family room. The whole family was gathered as Jaime stood in the middle, hair geled back and his fancy clothes put on.
“Wow, que chulo,” you complimented with a bright smile plastered on your face as you stood behind the couch.
“You see, cabezon? You look fine,” Uncle Rudy told his nephew and Jaime nodded in defeat, clearly flustered. “Y/N wouldn’t lie, she loves you too much for that!” he cackled and you joined in, making Jaime blush even more.
“Let’s go and get this over with, I still don’t trust that Jenny girl,” Milagro muttered under her breath and you sent a glance at Jaime.
You were aware of what happened when Milagro and Jaime lost their job with Victoria Kord. Millie was correct to have a distaste for the older lady, but after her niece offered an olive branch, giving Jaime an opportunity–you weren’t sure if she was in the right to have that distrust. But then again, you weren’t there.
“Descansas, okay?” Nana kissed you on the cheek and gave you the blessing before she walked out and you nodded.
The rest of the family walked out, leaving you and Jaime left.
“Good luck, okay?” you grabbed his face and gave him a chaste good luck kiss. “I know you’re gonna woo them over,” you sent him a sure smile.
“How are you so sure about that?” he held your wrists, running his thumbs over your delicate skin.
“Cause, you’re Jaime Reyes”.
~
“You don’t know what’s inside?” you heard Millie ask.
You were awakened by muffled conversations, your brows furrowing as you checked the time. They couldn’t have come back that soon and if something serious happened, they would’ve woken you up.
About to drift back to sleep, you eyes shot open by shouting. The voices of Jaime, Millie, and Rudy combine together. Bolting out of bed fast, you opened the door and ran into the dining room, finding Millie and Rudy to be playing hot potato with a blue bug, Jaime trying to get them to stop.
“Mira, look what you did! You woke her up,” Rocio gestured to you and the room suddenly got quiet.
“Ay, Y/N, I’m sorry,” Jaime winced, trying to grab the thing from Millie but she held it out of his reach.
“Look what Jaime brought back. That Jenny girl is a total floozy, like what is this that she gave him?” she cocked a brow, holding it clearly so you could see.
“A bug?” you rubbed your eyes. “Why would she give you a bug?” you asked, walking closer.
“She told me to guard it with my life, I wasn’t even supposed to open it,” your boyfriend explained and his words made you uneasy.
“I think you should put it back, you don’t know what it can be,” you turned to Millie.
“She’s right,” Jaime held out his hand and Milagro reluctantly agreed, placing it in his palm.
You watched as he was about to place it back in the box until it lit up, his face inching closer to inspect it. You stared back in amazement, the bug coming to life.
“I think it likes me,” he grinned, glancing up at you with a twinkle in your eyes that made your heart skip a beat. But that smile was instantly wiped away the moment the bug launched itself onto his face.
“JAIME!” you screeched, the family shooting up from their seats as they tried to aid him.
“It’s on your face!” Uncle Rudy screamed before he grabbed onto the bug, attempting to rip it off but it shot out a bolt of electricity, sending him across the room and Jaime against the wall.
Your body began to shake and you wanted to run over to help Jaime but he got up, the bug detaching from his face until it crawled over his shoulder and under his shirt like a spider you wanted off immediately.
“Jaime!” you shouted, his body thrashing around the room like he was fighting with the bug. “Baby, please,” you cried, hands over your mouth as you tried to begin to process what was going on but you couldn’t.
“Oh god,” Jaime stilled, hunched over as he looked at you. “I think it’s inside of me,” his gaze filled with panic and you felt your skin crawl. “It’s inside of me!” he screamed, hand reaching out for yours before he doubled over in pain, the bug poking out underneath his clothes before arms pierced through, sending him up against the ceiling.
Another wave of screams sounded, the love of your life’s agony cries being the worst thing you ever heard. The tears were falling down your cheeks. You wanted to help him but couldn’t. You wanted to know what was going on but didn’t. You were completely helpless in this situation.
Black goo grew over his body, his clothes burning to crisps and you were afraid of what it was going to do once it got all of him. Were you about to lose your Jaime? How did you get to this point when it was just a job interview?
“Y/N!” his call for you made your heart stop and you tried telling him you were here but his cries drowned it out.
Suddenly, he was completely transformed, a suit of armor in black and blue engulfed him. The cries and the screams quieted down as you all stared at him. A split second ago, you thought he was going to die, but now he was fine? It didn’t make sense.
“Mijo?” Rocio called out as Jaime walked over to the photo of La Virgen, his illuminating yellow eyes staring back into the reflection.
“What was that?” he looked back in shock, hands over his mouth. “Did you hear that?” his voice was panicked, his expression hidden with the eyes providing just the tiniest amount of concern.
“Jaime, what’s going on?” you took a step forward.
“That voice, you don’t hear a voice?” he walked forward, standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by all of you. The suit seemed to have turned on, blue light glowing between grooves and you all watched in awe. “Systems check?” he mumbled, looking around the room.
“Jaime?” you asked, noticing the arms powering up.
“It’s okay, everything is going to be okay!” he shouted just as he was flown through the ceiling before he became a dot in the sky.
summary - Bradley Bradshaw has one goal as he finishes his junior year of college - get Makayla Cunningham to be his girlfriend. Because Makayla Cunningham is exactly the kind of girl a guy like Bradley Bradshaw deserves. There's just one problem, Makayla is adamant that Bradley is a bad boyfriend. If he wants to win her over, Bradley has to prove he can keep a girlfriend of Makayla's choosing for the entire summer. It's just his luck that girl is his little sister's best friend.
warnings - college au, frat boy Bradley (Bradley’s frat is completely fictional and in no way meant to reference any existing frats), language, descriptions of a panic attack, brief mention of throwing up, talks of parental death, Bradley is 22 and reader is 19, no use of y/n, Bradley is 6'6" because I said so
this blog is 18+, minors please do not interact
word counts - 3.3k
the trial run masterlist
Makayla: what are you doing now?
Bradley feels his phone buzz against the shiny, faux wood table at the casual sports bar he and the guys had chosen to watch the Phillies game. Normally Bradley would have been just fine watching the game at home, his mom had a pretty big television and she never tried to trick herself into thinking that her son wasn’t drinking while he was away at college so she didn’t care too much when the boys pulled out a beer or two.
But Admiral Simpson absolutely hated the mess, and didn’t care much for sports either, and with his return looming over Bradley’s head, he just didn’t want to deal with it. So he, Jake, and Javy decided to find a sports bar that was close by and watch the game there. His mom tried to assure him that it wouldn’t matter, but Bradley Bradshaw isn’t 15 years old anymore and he knows enough to know that just because his mom wants something to be true doesn't mean that it is.
But the buzz of his phone pulls him from these thoughts and Bradley looks down to see Makayla’s name lighting up his screen. He types out a quick reply to her message, moving his thumb to press the send button before he hesitates. You always like when he sends pictures. Opening the camera quickly, Bradley shoots a somewhat awkward smile, angling to get some of the bar in the background before sending it off with a text.
Watching the Phillies game
Bradley watches the three gray dots appear as Makayla takes several seconds to respond. He’s almost anxious for her response, which he doesn’t fully understand because he knows he shouldn’t be. Something about talking to her always put him a bit on edge.
Makayla is a very particular girl. She has strong opinions on things and tends to make sure everybody knows them. Bradley isn’t blind to how sometimes unnecessarily cruel she can be—this whole date requirement being a prime example of it—but Bradley thinks that girls like her are allowed to be.
He lets out a breath when she still hasn’t responded, dropping his phone screen side down and letting the conversation die as Jake and Javy come back with their drinks.
“Has the score changed?” Jake glances at one of the many televisions pointed in their direction while Bradley shakes his head. All three boys have their eyes trained on the TV and Bradley lets out a small mumble of thanks when Javy passes him his beer. The only thing that draws them away from the Phillies game is Bradley’s phone buzzing on the table again. Jake grins when he sees Bradley scramble for it. “That the girlfriend?”
Makayla: right
Bradley clears his throat, looking up from his phone. “Yeah.”
“I gotta say, dude,” Jake continued to rib him playfully. “Your sister’s best friend? I did not see that coming.”
“Honestly, I’m just happy to see him move on from Makayla,” Javy joins in the teasing, but Bradley can see how sincere his words are.
His brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
Taking in Bradley’s expression, Jake scoffs in disbelief. “Come on, man. Sometimes I’m not convinced you even like her.”
“What?” Bradley’s fingers clench defensively against his beer.
His eyes flit between Jake and Javy and, to his surprise, both boys seem to be in agreement, having noticed something Bradley wasn’t even aware of. What do they mean he doesn’t like Makayla? Of course he likes Makayla. It’s the whole reason he’s doing any of this.
“I can’t be the only one who realizes that she’s exactly the kind of girl the Admiral would approve of.”
Jake’s words dump over Bradley like ice water, so chilling that, for a moment, he genuinely thinks someone’s poured beer on him. She’s exactly the kind of girl the Admiral would approve of. In some capacity, Bradley guesses that’s true. Makayla comes from a wealthy, established family, she was raised with the gender values Admiral Simpson wishes his mom had. Now that he thinks about it, Makayla’s probably the only person he knows who would not only survive, but enjoy a dinner with his stepdad.
Before Bradley can say anything to argue that of course he likes Makayla, a resounding crack rings out through the sports bar and the patrons jump up in excitement at the home run playing on the large TVs. Jake and Javy join them quickly, not nearly as affected as Bradley as he sits on his vinyl seat dumbly. He takes a long sip of his beer before shaking the feeling off and trying to forget everything long enough to enjoy the game.
Again, his phone buzzes on the table.
Makayla: also you should shave that mustache before you get back
Bradley purses his lips, the comment striking a cord in a way that has him locking his phone instead of responding to Makayla. Bradley doesn’t consider himself to be insecure—not in the slightest—but he’s finding it harder and harder to focus on the game, something nagging in the back of his head that he’s doing something wrong.
He uses the feeling of his cool beer bottle against his palm to ground himself, but he still finds himself shifting in his seat every few seconds, an uncomfortable itch overtaking him. From his peripheral, he catches his phone resting on the table. He can suddenly feel his keys inside his back pocket.
“I have to go.”
Javy and Jake turn away from the game in confusion—and truthfully Bradley also can’t believe those words just left his mouth. “What?”
“I just—” Bradley clears his throat, getting up almost frantically as he grabs his phone from the table. “I remembered I have to do something. Just— Tell me how it ends.”
With that, he’s leaving the table before Jake and Javy can even respond. He lets out a shaky breath, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants. He’s barely had a sip of alcohol and feels confident to drive, but he stays sitting in his Bronco for several minutes anyway. Keeping his gaze trained on the steering wheel, Bradley tries to feel like he’s not swallowing rocks.
He looks down to find his hands shaking and he bites down on his lip, squeezing his eyes closed. “Shit.”
He knows what’s coming. He can feel it, like that feeling when you’re about to vomit. Bradley shoves his palms into his eye sockets, leaning back in his seat until his head is touching the headrest. Tears prick at his waterline, even though his eyes are closed tight, and each one feels almost painful as his throat gets smaller and smaller.
Bradley all but throws himself forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he holds his head in his hands. He keeps reminding himself that this will pass—it always does. But the waiting is the worst part and Bradley just can’t believe he’s trapped himself in the parking lot of a sports bar, hiding under the view of the windows as he waits to calm down.
His bottom lip is trapped between his teeth and he pulls at his hair as his breaths get sharper and quicker. The pain stings against his scalp, but it does little to distract him. Truthfully, Bradley should have known this was coming. It’s been looming over him since he stepped foot in San Diego and, if anything, he’s just grateful it happened when he was alone.
His fingers are still shaking, worse now, and his breathing pattern is entirely erratic. He tries to slow it down, but deep breaths feel like cement in his chest, and he just can’t. Bradley feels like a kid again, hiding in a stall in the boys bathroom until he was strong enough to come out. It’s the same quivering breath against his palms, the same stubborn tears rolling down his cheeks, he’s still that same kid. And he hates it.
Bradley hates that he’s not over this. Because he should be. A few words from his friends and a text shouldn’t be able to do this to him. But it does. And it is. And now he’s sitting in his car trying not to hyperventilate in the parking lot of a sports bar while his friends sit inside, none the wiser.
Bradley really hates coming home.
“Are you okay?”
Bradley needs you to stop asking him that every time you see him. Because you shouldn’t be able to tell that he’s not okay. The two of you only somewhat know each other and if you can tell that something’s going on, then he’s not hiding it as well as he thought.
“Fine,” he says simple, actively trying to ignore the worry in your eyes as you look at him.
He thought he waited long enough before coming inside to make it look like he hadn’t just been crying, but under your attentive gaze he keeps purposefully avoiding your eye so you don’t notice.
“Did something happen?” You try again gently. “I thought you were supposed to be watching the game with Javy and Jake.”
“I missed you.” The words come out before Bradley can process them, his own voice almost unrecognizable to him as he spits the words out instinctively.
Your lips part slowly and then he watches them curl up in a small smile. “It hasn’t even been an hour, Bradley.” You tease him, but it’s soft, as you take a step closer to him.
Bradley relaxes just slightly, allowing you into his space as some of his anxiety washes off of him. He nods. “Exactly. Too long.”
You smile again, letting your arms wrap around his shoulders while Bradley’s finds purchase on your hips. And then, just because he felt like it, he dips down to catch your lips, kissing you slowly. He tries to focus on the feeling of you, the softness of your lips, the way your nails scratch at the base of his curls every so often. Sighing against your lips, Bradley pulls you closer, his shoulders finally sagging.
“Okay, ew.” Giselle’s voice cuts the room and you pull away from Bradley quickly. Bradley honestly couldn’t give less of a shit about what his sister saw the two of you doing together, but you’re clearly embarrassed, looking down bashfully to hide your fluster.
Bradley shoots his sister a deadpanned glare. “Can we help you?”
“Oh, I was just looking for my best friend,” Giselle plops a grape in her mouth from where they’re sitting on the kitchen counter. “Making sure she hadn’t died or anything.”
Bradley grunts, the hand he still has on you squeezing your hip. “Well, she hasn’t.”
“Yeah, but she’s kissing you. That’s a fate worse than death.”
“Giselle,” you cut in before Bradley can respond. You and Giselle share a look, seemingly communicating to each other without words. Whatever your trying to tell her gets across because his sister sighs, holding her hands up in surrender.
“Fine,” Giselle nods and Bradley watches as she grabs another grape. Then she shoots you another look—equally unreadable to him—and you nod. “I’ll leave you to your sucking face then.”
Bradley waits for her to leave the kitchen before he looks down at you. “Sucking face?”
You smile slightly. “It’s a long story.” Turning back into his hold, you place your hands on his chest, smoothing down the fabric of his t-shirt. For a second, Bradley thinks you’re going to kiss him again, but instead you ask, “Is the Phillies game still on?”
“Should be,” Bradley glances at the stove clock. It’s only been an hour and a half, there was still a significant chunk of the game left.
Though, at this point, Bradley had no intention of watching it, he doesn’t say anything as you lead him around the house, grabbing your laptop from Giselle’s room and then heading into his. He’s still quiet as you manage to find—what may be an illegal—site to watch the game on, setting it up on the foot of his bed.
“Come on,” you pat the spot next to you and briefly Bradley thinks that you don’t look at all out of place in his bedroom.
He moves wordlessly to sit beside you, your thighs brushing only just as you both get comfortable on his bed. He doesn’t really know what you’re doing or why you’re doing it, and you seem to show no signs of wanting to tell him, so all he can do is sit somewhat awkwardly next to you as he watches the small screen of your computer.
You lean a bit closer to him. “You’re gonna have to explain to me what’s going on though.” There’s a small smile on your face and Bradley’s grateful that you finally seem to be picking up on the fact that he just wants to pretend that everything's okay.
“Sure, sunshine.”
Bradley finds himself getting more invested in the game as the minutes tick by, his episode in the parking lot slowly forgotten as he explains terms and players to you in quiet mumbles. By his third commercial break, Bradley’s starting to feel more like himself, his grip on his emotions tightening and his mood rising.
He glances at you next to him. You hardly notice, now drawn into the Phillies game with a concentration Bradley can’t help but find adorable. He looks at the way your biceps are pressed against each other and lifts his arm just slightly. It’s when he tries to raise his arm again that you turn to look at him.
“No way.” A large grin overtakes your face as you look between him and his arm.
Bradley furrows his brows. “What?”
“Oh my god,” you laugh. “You’re about to do the thing. You’re so about to do the thing.”
Bradley can only look confused. “What thing?” When you only laugh harder, he makes a face. “What thing, sunshine?”
“The thing,” you hardly elaborate. “You were about to do the yawn thing where you put your arm around me.”
“What?” Bradley pulls back slightly in defense. “No, I—” When you just shoot him a look, Bradley purses his lips. You laugh again.
“I cannot believe the Bradley Bradshaw pulls moves that cliche.”
“Shut up,” Bradley shoulders you good-naturedly. “Don’t girls like that shit?”
You snort. “Just admit you’re losing your touch, Bradshaw.”
“I’m losing my—” Bradley laughs incredulously. “Alright, fine,” he gets up, holding out his hand to help you off his bed.
Confusion flashes across your features as he helps you up, leading you out of his room, the Phillies game now forgotten. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you that Bradley Bradshaw can be very,” Bradley turns around to shoot you a teasing smile. “Very smooth.”
Bradley can firmly live in the truth that he is smooth, the expression on your face proof enough when he pulls up to an empty part of the beach. In the late afternoon, the ocean sparkles, crashing and ebbing against the shore and the breeze is just cool enough to make the beating sun bearable.
You hop out of the car quickly and Bradley takes his time grabbing both your bags as you lay out towels on the abandoned sand. For whatever reason—even after all these years, Bradley still doesn’t know—every time he’s visited this part of the beach, there hasn’t been another soul on it. In the back of his mind, there’s a thought that this might be because it’s private property, but Bradley hasn’t been caught yet, so he figures it’s fine.
He sets your bags down next to you, sitting on the towel next to yours as he looks out on the ocean. Taking a deep breath, Bradley lets the ocean air fill his lungs, finally letting the events of the day wash off him. Makayla’s text comes back to him though, nagging at his brain, and he lets out a small sigh.
He knew it was stupid to be that thrown about a comment about his mustache. Even thinking the words felt stupid. But to him, it didn’t feel stupid. There was very little that Bradley has left of his dad. He doesn’t have the house, or the garage, or that vintage popcorn machine. He doesn’t even have all the memories, a lot of them he was too young to remember.
But when Bradley first started growing facial hair, it felt like he had something else of his dad’s. It was an embarrassing mustache at first sure, Giselle and his friends teased him to no end, but it grew and he’ll never forget the day his mom looked at him and sucked in a breath. Because Bradley looked just like his dad.
And yes, obviously Bradley took pride in his mustache when most of his frat brothers could only grow patchy beards at best. But he liked looking in the mirror and seeing his dad—or the reminder of his dad. He liked knowing that no matter what, no matter the choices his mom made, or people like Admiral Simpson, he will always be Nick Bradshaw’s son.
Bradley didn’t expect Makayla to understand that. How could she when he’s never said anything? But there’s something that stings about it, like she doesn’t get it. Bradley sucks in a sudden breath, a thought hitting him. Maybe no one gets it.
You shift next to him and Bradley’s so in his own head that, in a moment of insecurity, he turns to you. “Do you think I should shave my mustache?”
You look at him quietly for several seconds, the question hanging in the air as you cock your head slightly like you’re deep in thought. Bradley tries not to seem nervous as you examine him.
“Well, you should do whatever makes you happy, but I like your mustache.” You say finally, climbing into his lap and smoothing your thumbs along the hairs. “Feel like you wouldn’t really be you without it.”
“You think?” Bradley’s hands fall to your hips as you straddle his thighs.
“Yeah, it’s very Bradley Bradshaw.” You trace your thumbs along his mustache again and Bradley’s eyes flutter closed at the feeling. “And I happen to like Bradley Bradshaw.” You press a quick peck to his lips. “Very much.”
Bradley grins, relief flooding his veins, and he moves one of his hands to grab your chin so that he can kiss you again. “Well, I like you too, sunshine. Very much.” He rolls you down on one of your towels, being mindful of the sand, before deepening the kiss.
This is not the first time Bradley Bradshaw has made out on a beach, but even Bradley can admit that this time is different. It’s not that rushed, sort of “teenagers hooking up before they get caught” kiss that causes Bradley to fumble with bra clasps and get sand everywhere. His hands aren’t rushing over your body, grabbing and squeezing like he doesn’t have enough time. With you, Bradley can’t help but go slow. Slow enough that he can feel the warmth radiating off your body. Slow enough that he can hear every sound he pulls from your lips. Slow enough that the thought of going any faster doesn’t even cross his mind.
Bradley pulls away from you suddenly, watching as your dazed eyes blink away to confusion. Still hovering over you, he looks down. “What was that? Oh—” Bradley meets your eye again with a cheeky grin. “My mustache says it likes you too.”
You blink at him as you process his words and then throw your head back with a cackle. “Oh my god. That was worse than the yawn thing!”
“Oh, you want worse than the yawn thing?” Bradley traps you under him, a smirk forming on his lips. “I can make it dance for you, is that what you want?”
“Do not— Bradley!”
Somewhere in his bag, under a spare t-shirt and extra towel, Bradley’s phone lights up with a text notification that remains unnoticed as he goes back to kissing you through peals of laughter.
I don’t have a taglist but feel free to follow my library @jupitercometgold if you want to be notified when I post
summary - Bradley Bradshaw has one goal as he finishes his junior year of college - get Makayla Cunningham to be his girlfriend. Because Makayla Cunningham is exactly the kind of girl a guy like Bradley Bradshaw deserves. There’s just one problem, Makayla is adamant that Bradley is a bad boyfriend. If he wants to win her over, Bradley has to prove he can keep a girlfriend of Makayla’s choosing for the entire summer. It’s just his luck that girl is his little sister’s best friend.
warnings - college au, frat boy Bradley (Bradley’s frat is completely fictional and in no way meant to reference any existing frats), language, talks of parental death, Bradley is 22 and reader is 19, no use of y/n, Bradley is 6'6" because I said so
summary - Bradley Bradshaw has one goal as he finishes his junior year of college - get Makayla Cunningham to be his girlfriend. Because Makayla Cunningham is exactly the kind of girl a guy like Bradley Bradshaw deserves. There’s just one problem, Makayla is adamant that Bradley is a bad boyfriend. If he wants to win her over, Bradley has to prove he can keep a girlfriend of Makayla’s choosing for the entire summer. It’s just his luck that girl is his little sister’s best friend.
warnings - college au, frat boy Bradley (Bradley’s frat is completely fictional and in no way meant to reference any existing frats), language, Bradley is 22 and reader is 19, no use of y/n, Bradley is 6'6" because I said so, I added outfit links but you can imagine whatever you’d like :)
summary - Bradley Bradshaw has one goal as he finishes his junior year of college - get Makayla Cunningham to be his girlfriend. Because Makayla Cunningham is exactly the kind of girl a guy like Bradley Bradshaw deserves. There’s just one problem, Makayla is adamant that Bradley is a bad boyfriend. If he wants to win her over, Bradley has to prove he can keep a girlfriend of Makayla’s choosing for the entire summer. It’s just his luck that girl is his little sister’s best friend.
warnings - college au, frat boy Bradley (Bradley’s frat is completely fictional and in no way meant to reference any existing frats), language, talks of parental death, my very limited knowledge of the military, sorry she’s a little short she’s more of a necessary background info chapter, Bradley is 22 and reader is 19, no use of y/n, Bradley is 6'6" because I said so
summary - Bradley Bradshaw has one goal as he finishes his junior year of college - get Makayla Cunningham to be his girlfriend. Because Makayla Cunningham is exactly the kind of girl a guy like Bradley Bradshaw deserves. There’s just one problem, Makayla is adamant that Bradley is a bad boyfriend. If he wants to win her over, Bradley has to prove he can keep a girlfriend of Makayla’s choosing for the entire summer. It’s just his luck that girl is his little sister’s best friend.
warnings - college au, frat boy Bradley, language, Bradley is 22 and reader is 19, no use of y/n, Bradley is 6'6" because I said so
summary - Bradley Bradshaw has one goal as he finishes his junior year of college - get Makayla Cunningham to be his girlfriend. Because Makayla Cunningham is exactly the kind of girl a guy like Bradley Bradshaw deserves. There’s just one problem, Makayla is adamant that Bradley is a bad boyfriend. If he wants to win her over, Bradley has to prove he can keep a girlfriend of Makayla’s choosing for the entire summer. It’s just his luck that girl is his little sister’s best friend
warnings - college au, frat boy Bradley, language, mentions of underage drinking, attempted peer pressure (?), Bradley is 22 and reader is 19, no use of y/n, Bradley is 6'6" because I said so
summary - Bradley Bradshaw has one goal as he finishes his junior year of college - get Makayla Cunningham to be his girlfriend. Because Makayla Cunningham is exactly the kind of girl a guy like Bradley Bradshaw deserves. There’s just one problem, Makayla is adamant that Bradley is a bad boyfriend. If he wants to win her over, Bradley has to prove he can keep a girlfriend of Makayla’s choosing for the entire summer. It’s just his luck that girl is his little sister’s best friend.
warnings - college au, frat boy Bradley, language, brief mentions of throwing up, brief threats of violence, underage drinking, Bradley is 22 and reader is 19, no use of y/n, Bradley is 6'6" because I said so
summary - Bradley Bradshaw has one goal as he finishes his junior year of college - get Makayla Cunningham to be his girlfriend. Because Makayla Cunningham is exactly the kind of girl a guy like Bradley Bradshaw deserves. There’s just one problem, Makayla is adamant that Bradley is a bad boyfriend. If he wants to win her over, Bradley has to prove he can keep a girlfriend of Makayla’s choosing for the entire summer. It’s just his luck that girl is his little sister’s best friend.
warnings - college au, frat boy Bradley, language, underage drinking, allusions to sex, Bradley is 22 and reader is 19, I added outfit links but you can imagine whatever you’d like, no use of y/n, Bradley is 6'6" because I said so
finally hopping on board this train and boy am i glad i did! i usually don’t read fics that have anything to do with a sort of bet but this is one of my favorite writers on here so i know if anyone will do it justice, she will! and i’m already intrigued
warnings - language, suggestive, it’s not relevant here but Jake is 6′4″ because physics actually isn’t real in the bcu because I said so
this blog is 18+, minors please do not interact
word count - 1.6k
follow the adventures of Jake and Bambi in 107% Rule!
The strap of Jake’s duffel bag feels heavy against his shoulder, but then again everything feels heavy as he trudges down the steps leading out of the Mercedes private jet. He and Bradley had spent the evening and most of the night traveling and he now feels like he’s in that weird limbo where it’s 3 am and everything feels like time has frozen.
His eyelids droop sleepily and he has to rub at them with calloused fingers just to stay awake. It’s fair to say that he’s entirely exhausted, ready to fall into bed and not come out until he’s gotten 3 weeks worth of sleep.
From next to him, Bradley grunts at something one of their assistants is saying—probably something about the fact that whatever they’ll be doing tomorrow won’t be sleeping. One glance at the other driver tells Jake that he’s in the same boat as him and in some ways it’s oddly comforting that the great Bradley Bradshaw can get tired too.
What Jake’s most upset about though is the fact that he isn’t home. Just the thought of you curled up asleep on his bed, your favorite mugs in his kitchen sink, and your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom has Jake itching to just tell this assistant to stop talking and let him go. He doesn’t, obviously, but he wants to.
He doesn’t quite remember how he and Bradley are finally let go, but soon enough they’re parting ways, getting in different cars and being driven home with a simple look to say that they’ll see each other tomorrow. Jake has to keep waking himself up each time he dozes off against the window, blinking a few times and even going as far as slapping his cheeks.
The driver pulls up at his house on his third wake up call, wishing Jake a good night that the blond can only nod in response to. He slings his bag over his shoulder again, ducking out of the car as he notes the dark windows of his house.
Now that he’s just a floor away from you—as opposed to a whole ocean—Jake can’t help the smile growing on his face. He unlocks his door quickly, kicking his shoes off and dropping his luggage to be dealt with later. Via the light of his phone screen, he climbs up the steps that lead to the second floor, muscle memory leading him to the door of his bedroom even when his phone turns off.
The breath it feels like he’s been holding since he left you finally releases when he opens the door to reveal your sleeping body. The light of the moon through his window illuminates you, your chest rising and falling softly as your cheek smushes against the pillow. You’ve managed to kick the blankets down to your ankles—and Jake realizes that he’s even missed your lack of appreciation for warmth.
Your body is clad in one of his old t-shirts, the fabric ridden up so that it’s resting on the middle of your ass, and one of your legs is hiked up as if thrown over an imaginary hip. Jake knows that should be his hip, so he breaks out of his stupor to change out of his clothes, leaving himself in boxers and white undershirt.
Still sleeping peacefully, you don’t register the bed dipping under Jake’s weight and it’s only when he reaches to run a hand over your body that you stir. Your brows furrow in dulled alarm, your unconscious body trying to process what this sudden feeling is, but Jake shushes you quietly before you scare yourself.
“It’s just me, Bambi,” he smiles sleepily, brushing his thumb against your cheekbone.
“Jake?” You croak, blinking slowly, eyes adjusting to the darkness and the sight of your boyfriend lying next to you. The realization wakes you slightly and you look from his face to the hand resting on your back and back again. “You’re home?”
Jake dips forward to peck your lips and you accept it gratefully, repositioning your body to bring him closer to you. “I’m home,” he confirms and kisses you again. “I missed you.”
You weave your fingers through his hair, soaking up his gaze and refamiliarizing yourself with the gold flecks in his eyes. “I missed you too.” Your hand comes up to rest on his cheek, your eyes saying something that Jake’s too tired to understand but you make no move to speak again.
“What?”
You bite down on your lip. “I don’t want to go back to sleep,” you confess. “I’m scared I might be dreaming.”
Truthfully, Jake can’t help but feel the same. Some part of him worries that, as he holds you in his arms, he’s going to wake up back on that Mercedes jet going somewhere that isn’t home.
His grip tightens on you. “I’m here, Bambi.” He turns his head to kiss your palm.
“Or I’m just really good at dreaming about you,” you challenge in a whisper. “I’ve had dreams about you that have felt this real before.”
Jake’s smile grows against your hand. “Oh yeah? What kind of dreams were they?”
Jake knows exactly what kind of dreams they were and you only confirm it when you look down bashfully. In response, Jake rolls himself on top of you, sliding his hands into your own as he hovers over you. His knee stays situated between your legs and he doesn’t even bother hiding the smirk on his face.
“Jake,” you whine, turning your head to try and hide your face in your pillow.
And maybe Jake is just that tired, but he giggles, dropping his weight onto you as he noses your neck, pressing kisses along the heated skin. “You make it too easy,” he teases before pausing, planting another kiss on your neck. “For the record, I’ve had those dreams about you too.”
He peeks out of his hiding place in the crook of your neck to catch your expression and you’re already looking down at him with a face that says “no shit, Seresin”. A smile breaks out on his face and he lifts himself up on his forearms to kiss you again.
When he pulls away—only enough for his nose to rest against yours—you look up at him vulnerably. “Promise me this isn’t a dream.” Your whisper carries through the room.
“I promise,” Jake breathes against your lips. “Promise me this isn’t a dream.”
He feels your fingers thread through his hair. “I promise.”
Jake lets himself melt into you, kissing you like he treasures it. Like he treasures you under him, and the feeling of your hands in his hair, and finally being home.
It’s no surprise that Jake’s just as exhausted the next morning—the two of you didn’t do a lot of sleeping. But it’s a good kind of exhausted, the kind of exhausted that has him smiling against your shoulder as he recounts his race.
“So I was here.” Jake presses his index finger against your top rib. “And Bradshaw was all the way back here—” He trails his finger just under your breasts to land at the other side of your ribs. “But he wasn’t even my biggest problem because here—” Jake drags his finger back across your skin. “Was Mav and he was trying to box me in so he could pass me.”
You turn to look at him with a small grin. “What did you do then?”
“Well, I thought there’s no way in hell I’m letting that old timer pass me.” Jake keeps his eyes locked on your skin under his finger. “So I skipped my next pit stop and stayed right in front of him the whole time.”
“Did you win?” You ask, though you already know the answer.
Jake winks at you. “Obviously. And because I won, I got to go all the way here to get my trophy—”
You catch Jake’s fingers before they can sneak down your stomach and under the sheets and give him a playfully stern look. “Think you went there about five times last night, baby.”
“Six.” Jake corrects with a smirk.
Rolling your eyes, you let his hand fall to your stomach, turning on your side to face him. A thought comes to your mind suddenly and you pout. “You have to go soon,” you tell him.
Jake stretches to glance at the clock and seems to arrive at the same conclusion as he frowns slightly before reaching over you to grab his phone.
“What are you doing?” You furrow your brows.
Jake doesn’t answer, tapping through his phone before putting it up to his ear. “Hello?... Yeah, I woke up really not feeling well… I think I’m—” Jake exaggerates a loud cough and you bite back a giggle. “Sick. It’s probably super contagious, wouldn’t want to give it to Bradley or anything… Yeah, okay, I’ll let you know.”
You watch with brows raised in amusement as he hangs up the phone, tossing it haphazardly on the bed somewhere. “Really?” You tease, but Jake doesn’t even give you a chance to continue, pulling a yelp from your lips as he grabs your ankles and pulls you down on the mattress.
“Now where were we, Bambi?” Jake grins before suddenly ducking his head under the blanket. “Oh yeah, number seven.”
At the sound of your giggles, Jake smiles. It was good to be home.
