I bet you think about me
Bradley Bradshaw x ex!fem!reader
⭐︎⋆˚࿔ Summary: Your breakup with Bradley was devastating. Both of you try not to think about it — but, one nightmare and drunk call later, you realize things aren’t as avoidable as you hoped.
⭐︎⋆˚࿔ Content: angsttt. post-breakup regret. mentions of drinking. tears. no use of y/n. reader and bradley must cross paths again…will they…kiss?
⭐︎⋆˚࿔ Word Count: 2.5k (in hindsight I shouldn’t have put a word limit for this event LOL)
⭐︎⋆˚࿔ Requested By: anon (☆)
⭐︎⋆˚࿔ A/N: first bradley fic!! yay!!! naturally the swiftie in me needed to reference miles teller in the ibytam music video, so writing this was a total blast🙂↕️
⋆｡°✩ Part of my 200 followers celebration 🪩
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆
Cream-colored bouquets and bows still decorate the venue. All the guests have gone home. Only your dress makes sound now, brushing the tiles with your long train as you glide across the dance floor together. You stare into his eyes, your lips painted with the smile that has melted him since day one.
Bradley’s heart pounds hard against his jacket pocket, where his vows written on a crumpled piece of paper are still nestled. He wants to say he loves you more than anything – a phrase he gets to say for the rest of his life.
That’s when he sees the red.
Everywhere. Glasses of wine broken on tablecloths. Paint dripping off curtains. Cake underneath its icing, which somebody has seemingly ripped a piece out of with their bare hands. Even your dress is red as blood – a sharp contrast to the bright light you’re disappearing into.
You’re walking away.
He needs to chase after you. Taking you into his arms will solve everything. But his polished shoes are cemented in place. He tries shouting. No words come out.
As your dress train is still trailing, its lace like a flower in bloom, you turn around one last time. He wants something – anything – to keep his soul in place. Except you only have one thing to say.
“Why did you let me go?”
Bradley wakes up in a cold sweat.
His limbs are tangled in the sheets. Yanking them off immediately, he scrambles to check the time on his phone. It’s three in the morning.
“For fuck’s sake,” Bradley mumbles, rolling back around.
This must be the fourth nightmare this week alone.
At this hour, your shining eyes tend to be all he can think about – but he’s never dreamt a stupid wedding before. Did his subconscious have to go that far? Or be so vividly on the nose? He knows full well his overthinking and hesitations killed that relationship, like every other good thing in his life.
Bradley’s body shudders.
Against his will, bawling starts to echo around his empty room faster than he can stop it. His head is spinning. The pain is blinding. He hopes the cries will drain his energy until he has no choice but to fall back asleep.
And, inevitably, dream of you again.
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
You try not to dwell on memories of Bradley too much. Part of you likes to imagine he regrets the way he broke it off – or, at the very least, that he thinks about you. Based on how easy it was for him to leave, though, you’re sure he’s fine. Wherever he is.
So you absolutely despise nights where you only stare up at the ceiling in bed.
The sound of his laugh and the shimmer of his deep brown eyes always haunt you when you least expect it. You want to block everything out – it’s no use. You can almost hear him knocking on your apartment door, waiting for you with the bag of groceries you asked for, a surprise bouquet of roses, and his warm smile.
You flip onto your side. He doesn’t deserve this space in your thoughts, but you can’t help it. Is he seeing somebody new? Do his Navy friends like her better? You briefly consider beginning to throw things at the wall, starting with your phone.
Actually, it just started ringing.
With an unsaved number you thought you blocked.
You sit up, mouth dry. The phone keeps buzzing. It could be that number you think it is. No, no – your reminiscing has made you delusional. This is probably a scam call, right? Or a dream. You’ve woken up to this kind of plot line before.
Even though every single nerve in your body is screaming not to, you answer.
Your hand trembles. “Who…is this?”
Nothing. You hate the disappointment that washes over you. Sighing, you move the phone away from your cheek to hang up.
Then a man’s voice slurs your name. “Hey, is this – is this still your number?”
Bradley Bradshaw.
A hundred things flash through your mind at once. Your chest swirls with nausea. It’s real. Nothing is making sense. Leaping out of bed, you start pacing around your room. “Why the hell are you calling me, Bradley?”
“Good to hear from you, too,” he says, louder this time.
There’s a bustle of what might be a bar in the background. You grip your phone tighter. Of course he wouldn’t have called you otherwise.
Yet you can’t quite bring yourself to hang up.
Before you can respond, he starts talking in that lilted cadence again. “You know I – I dreamt about you. The other day.” A drunken laugh leaves his mouth. It’s not bitter – rather, pained. “It was a good dream, you know?”
That is the last thing you needed to hear tonight.
You can’t take this at face value, though. Clearly he’s not in his right mind.
Suddenly concerned, you ask, “Are you with other people right now?” You’re only worrying for his safety. Not because you also want to know if he’s with someone. Ugh, everything about this is so pathetic. “Who’s there with you?”
Radio silence. You sigh. “If you’re alone, I need you to–”
“I should’ve married you.”
All air is knocked out of your lungs. Your mind goes blank.
“I should’ve married you,” he repeats, like salt in the wound.
You don’t realize there are already tears streaming down your face.
“Bradley.” His name leaves your mouth like you’re begging, the same way you did the night he left. “Are you sure you’re okay? I asked–” Your voice is wavering. “I asked who’s there with you. Can you tell me that you’re not alone? Please?”
He’s not listening. “I’m – I’m really sorry.” Bradley starts weeping into the speaker. Your chest twists. “I am so, so sorry.”
This conversation is happening so fast it makes you dizzy. You need to sit down.
As you attempt to come to your senses, you hear a woman’s voice asking for him in the background. You cover the speaker to let out a choked sob, fearing the worst. This cannot be happening.
“Damn it, Bradshaw! I said give me the phone!”
Never mind. It’s Natasha. You haven’t heard from her in so long.
Bradley’s apologizing fades away – thank God – and her voice comes closer to the speaker. “Who’s this?”
“It’s…” Any explanation withers away. You thought you would be strong enough to answer. You were wrong.
But she must recognize your voice – of course she would – because she gasps. “Holy shit. Uh – I’m so sorry.”
She must not have heard what he told you. Or maybe she did, and she just doesn’t know what to say about it. You didn’t, either.
“Everybody’s out together right now,” Natasha offers. “I guess he got carried away. I hope this didn’t–”
“It’s fine.” Every memory spills from your eyes. Taking an unconvincing deep breath, you say, “Is he – is he alright?”
A beat.
“Yeah. Yeah, he’s okay.” She pauses. “Mickey’s taking care of him now.”
“Good,” you whisper. “Um…make sure he drinks coconut water in the morning. That’s his favorite remedy.”
Your lip quivers. “Hope you’re doing well, Tasha. Bye.”
You hang up before this absolutely horrible ordeal can go any further.
The rest of the night, you’re a mess. Broken doesn’t even begin to describe how you’re feeling. You are a shell of a person, drowning in her tears, completely lost and unsure of what to do.
Why the hell would Bradley say that?
You can’t tell which is worse: if he was just drunk babbling, or if he really meant it. Life is a blur again, as terrible as the day your relationship ended. No amount of time or distance has helped curb how much you still love him.
This line of thinking is useless, though. You’re never going to see him again, and you’re not going to reach back out.
That doesn’t make the crying hurt any less.
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Taking a sip from your glass bottle of soda, you swivel your bar stool nervously. After your initial mental breakdown – which was followed by several more rounds of uncontrollable tear-shedding, obviously – the last few days have been spent forcing yourself to get out and about. You know that tends to help you.
When you’ve felt up to it, you try going to places that you and Bradley visited together. Regardless of how much it makes you scream internally. He doesn’t own this goddamn city.
Memory reclamation aside, you still never expected yourself to end up back at the Hard Deck.
Thankfully, you remember what times and days his friends frequent this place. Tonight is not one of those scheduled outings – or else you wouldn’t have dared to step foot here.
“Hey.” Penny’s voice smooths your emotionally rough edges over. “Need anything else?”
You clear your throat. “Oh, I’m fine for now, thank you!”
“Of course. Let me know.” She smiles. “It’s good to see you again.”
You grin back weakly. You don’t know what the Dagger Squad has said to her about the situation. You’re sure Jake has made a passing comment or something. At least you don’t have to dread ordering things at the counter with her.
You sigh – you’re not here to drink this evening, either. It’s only for a session of exposure therapy, and a gut-wrenching one at that. This bar looks exactly the same. The pool table, where you used to convince Bob into playing a round, is still that deep green. You see yourself leaning against the worn wall, careful not to bump any of the Navy memorabilia while catching up with Natasha.
Worst of all, you see the piano.
The awful, cursed piano. Bradley always scooted over to leave you room on the bench, your shoulders brushing. It brought him to life, pounding away at the keys and singing so loudly that the rest of the world faded away. Back when you were convinced you were his world.
I should’ve married you.
Coming here was way tougher than you thought it would be. You’re about to make small talk with Penny as a distraction when the bell above the door rings.
“Ladies and gentlemen, these are your pilots speaking!”
It’s Jake.
With your luck, the Dagger Squad has chosen tonight for an unplanned outing after all.
This is whiplash in the worst possible way.
Immediately attempting to wave down Penny again, you force out, “Hey, can I have my–”
“Your check?” She’s already skated back around to your side of the counter. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. This one’s on the house.” Leaning in, she murmurs sympathetically, “Go ahead and get out of here.”
So they have mentioned something about you. Whatever. You can ruminate excessively on that later.
Giving her a quick smile of gratitude, you hop off the stool and book it as casually as possible towards the exit. If it wasn’t for the adrenaline, you might have collapsed onto the ground. All your old friends are gathered at the pool table, dressed in civilian clothing instead of uniform today. A pang hits your chest. You hope they’re enjoying themselves.
Then you spot him.
Or his back, really, with his broad shoulders clad in a tropical cream print. Your breathing goes shallow.
Before you can look away, he turns around – and stares directly into your eyes.
Bradley’s face goes white.
You need to leave. Now.
Nothing matters to you at that moment – certainly not being subtle as you speed walk straight out the door. Your feet carry you down the beach sidewalk like you’re flying, wind whipping against your face. You don’t give a shit that he’s calling out after you. You’re done. It’s over.
Unfortunately, Bradley has other plans.
“Wait!” Running at full naval aviator speed, he jumps directly in front of you. “Please! Can we–”
“Jeez, Bradley!” You barely backpedal in time to prevent a collision. “What the hell are you doing!”
“Damn it, I’m trying to make things right!”
In other circumstances, the waves crashing on the beach would sooth you. Now you worry that they’re too rhythmic, like a clock counting down your time remaining together. Despite how much your tunnel vision is convincing you that you’ll faint, the sight of him right here, in the flesh, suddenly makes you want to cry.
Well, this has felt like hell on earth anyway. What more do you have to lose?
“Fine.” Despising the vulnerability in your voice, you inhale sharply. “Go.”
Sighing, Bradley flinches. Then he stands up straighter, with that same determination you’ve seen in his gaze so many times before.
“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m…not expecting you to forgive me, alright? I left you. Randomly. Because I – I think way too much, and I was afraid. Of letting you down. But it’s not an excuse. There’s not a – a singular fucking day that goes by where I don’t regret it.”
Bradley bites his lip. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for the way I ended things.” He takes a step closer. “Really. From the bottom of my goddamn heart.”
You press your lips together.
“And…” Hair moving in the breeze, Bradley closes the final amount of distance and stands a mere inches away from your face. “I meant what I said on the phone the other day, by the way.”
You remember how raw the confession left his mouth. It unearthed images you hadn’t thought of in ages: a sparkling ring, a big party. Most importantly, the quiet dance full of twirls and dips and laughs and kisses and every other excruciating thing you always found yourself mourning.
“What are you saying?” you whisper, voice paper thin.
“I’m saying…” His breath hitches. “I’m saying I still love you.”
Any sense of resolve is gone.
You missed this feeling deep in your bones.
Bradley’s eyes, glistening with tears, search yours for permission to come even closer. You nod. Slowly, he reaches out to wrap one arm around your waist. Then the other moves to your cheek, where he wipes away a stray tear.
“You don’t have to say it back,” he whispers. “I just thought you should know.”
“Don’t worry.” You cup the side of his face. “I love you, too.”
In the light of the beach sunset, you finally come together in something that neither of your nightmares – for all their striking imagery – never had.
A kiss.
It’s slow and drawn out, expressing every ounce of remorse he’s ever felt over the course of your loneliest days. This is an additional apology, the kind that momentarily melts away a long list of mutual fears and individual regrets. From this moment on, Bradley won’t ever stop trying to make it up to you.
And his mouth is as soft as you remembered. It makes you sigh.
When you break away, he presses his forehead to yours and smiles gently. “If you give me another chance…I promise I’ll get things right this time.”
Grinning, you run your hand up his neck. “You better.”
“I will. I swear to God, I will. Because, believe me, I never stopped thinking about how much I love you.” He presses one last kiss to your lips. “Ever.”
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