word count: 2.4 k (fluff)
summary: Bradley wasn’t used to having someone waiting for him to come home, but when he returns to his girl's apartment after deployment to find something familiar in her apartment, he hopes he’ll never have to leave again.
-
He’s dreamed of being exactly where he is right now for weeks. He’s in your bed and his side is warm from where your bodies are still connected. He’s had longer deployments, but this one felt especially long. There is no doubt in his mind why time seemed to move slower for the last twelve weeks. You.
He moves slowly not wanting to break whatever bubble you’re in. The sun is starting to pour in through the windows due lack to the curtains that you were too lazy to close last night. He got in late and you had fallen asleep on the couch waiting up for him. He had to admit, it was hard for him to decide to wake you or just join you. He knew nothing would beat waking up in your bed this morning.
For the first time in a couple months he’s not waking to a bunkmate getting up or boots stomping down the hall. Announcements being blared calling them to sudden attention. Instead, he’s waking up to you. In your bed. Tangled up in your sheets.
“Morning, sweetheart.” His voice raspy, revealing how early it really is.
“Mmm.” You groan back, still half asleep.
Bradley leans down to press a kiss to your bare shoulder. Another on your neck. Another behind your ear. He feels you shift around a little.
“M’gonna make breakfast.” His lips pressed against your ear.
“Not yet.” You finally turn in his hold and take a possessive claim of him by wrapping your arms around him. He settles in a little more, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. He looks around your room while soaking it in for a few more minutes. He listens to you fall in and out of sleep with uneven breaths.
You have books piled high on your dresser, a receipt tucked in between the pages as a bookmark. One of his sweatshirts you’ve borrowed and never returned is tossed on the chair with obvious frequent wears. There’s a couple plants that lean closer to the window. He’s sure once you're actually awake you’ll claim it’s untidy and it’s a mess you meant to clean before he got back, but to him it’s divine. He’s never spent so much time in someone’s place that felt so clearly like home.
He knows it’s a privilege to be here. To be in your room. To be in this small piece of heaven.
“You know,” He starts, waiting for you to pick up your head to show that you are in fact awake, “I think this is my favorite place.”
“Really?” You grin, “My bedroom?”
He smirks, looking down at you.
“Your bedroom.” He confirms, “Your sheets. Your pillows. You.”
You laugh and Bradley soaks it in. He would say anything to get a laugh from you.
“I’m glad I made the list.” You slide your hand against his bare chest. You use it to pull yourself up closer until your noses almost brush. It feels intoxicating to be so close. You both have been craving this for weeks. Months.
“Twelve weeks felt like forever.” He confesses.
“I’m glad it wasn’t just me counting down the minutes.”
He shakes head, taking advantage of the short distance to press a slow kiss to your lips.
“I finally feel like I’m home.”
A small piece of heaven.
Two weeks before Bradley’s deployment…
“Wanna fly out to Virginia with me this weekend? I’ve got some storage stuff to go through… and I wanna show you my parents place.”
Bradley’s question was completely out of the blue. So much so that you almost dropped your morning coffee over the question. He blurted it and immediately turned back to face the stove.
“You want me to meet Virginia-Bradley?” You tease, setting down your crossword and the drink you nearly spilled.
“Yeah, sweetheart. I really do.” He admits, setting down his spatula and facing you again.
You get up from the stool you were sitting on at the counter and make your way around to him. You're just wearing his shirt and a pair of panties, he slides his hand under the bottom of the hem to rest on your ass.
“If you want me there, I’m there.” You place a hand on his chest.
"I want you to come."
That’s how you ended up on a last minute flight out East to Bradley’s hometown. You had heard stories and seen pictures but in the months you’ve been dating you had never been out. Bradley said he doesn’t go back that often, just to check on the house and get things out of storage when needed.
Natasha had confessed to you months ago that he’s never brought a girl back to his parents house. This was in fact a big deal.
They rented a car and drove it to the small town that he called home. He pulled in the driveway and pulled out a set of keys with a familiar ease. It was easy to forget that he didn’t live here full time. He just had his parents' old house and whatever base living arrangement he had been assigned. He hasn't been one to have much of a landing pad.
“Brace yourself, it’s pretty much the same as when my mom was still around.”
He swings open the front door and you’re met with a clean house that looks picture perfect the same as you're sure it looked nearly twenty years ago.
In the hallway, Bradley’s school pictures line the wall.
“Oh my god.” Your hand flies to cover your mouth in awe of the young version of him, “Look at baby Brad!”
“Oh this is just the beginning. My mom was a hoarder.” He shakes his head, but his smile is still proud.
He was not wrong.
Scrapbooks. Boxes of pictures that they sort through. Little league trophies. Model airplanes.
“I think we have enough to get a good Bradshaw museum started.” You hold up a picture of him with a saxophone, posing with the middle school band.
“Put it away.” He pushes your hands away and you fight back a snort.
Together, you go through more, eventually finding his parents' wedding scrapbook that brings tears to your eyes.
“They look so happy.” You sigh, fingers tracing the edge of the page.
“They were. Happiest people alive.” He sighs, studying the image. He knows their story was cut short, but it was a hell of a good one. His mom made sure he knew that.
You go through a few more boxes, setting aside some things to mail back and take with them.
“You’re the first person I’ve ever brought back here.” He looks over your shoulder as you flip through a stack of loose pictures.
“What does that mean?”
He knows that you’re aware. Nat has always had loose lips with the girls in his life that she actually likes. You? He knows the two of you are thick as thieves.
“It means you matter, and that this is the closest I can do to bring you home and meet the parents.” He scratches the back of his neck, unsure of himself.
“Hey,” You set down the stack to place a hand on each side of his face, turning his full attention to you. “I’m really glad you asked me to come. There’s nowhere else I would rather be.”
They continued to go through things. Check on the house and make sure everything is still in good shape. He brings you into town and shows you a couple spots. The place he used to play baseball. The old makeout spot where he got his first hickey. The lake his Grandpa would take him fishing at.
The weekend goes by fast but it’s nice, you get to play house for the weekend somewhere much bigger than your apartment. Bradley rakes up the fall leaves that are starting to crunch while you wash the dishes from last night's dinner in the sink. It feels like a whole other life over here. A different kind of heaven.
Present day.
They lazily stayed in bed for nearly another hour before Bradley’s stomach growled too loudly to ignore. He quickly hopped out of bed to get started on breakfast, you promise to be close behind, just needing to get dressed.
Bradley chuckles seeing his tool box lined up against the wall by your front door. He did tell you that you could borrow them because you had claimed you needed to hang some things and who actually has a level? He does. He told you to please use your key and break in so when he came back after deployment he wouldn’t be staring at a crooked wall.
He takes a step closer to admire your handiwork, he’s not surprised to find it looks great. He also wants to see what pictures you picked. Pictures of your travels, sunlit oceans, your friends, a few pictures of him have managed to make their way all the wall which warms his heart. One from when you were first getting to know each other, at the Hard Deck. Another that’s more recent, you kissing his check and he’s blushing like he was caught doing something naughty. He keeps scanning to recognize the faces, his heart fully stalling when he lands on one. He stops.
His parents.
A simple frame. Goose with his iconic and massive grin that is contagious. Carole is half laughing and half trying to wrangle him into behaving for the picture. They look young, happy, and so full of life.
It’s one of his favorite pictures of them. It was clear to see how in love they were.
“Bradley?” You notice his still build taking in the wall in front of him. You know exactly what picture caught his eye.
He clears his throat, but his voice still cracks when he finally speaks, “Where… Where did you get this one?”
You hesitate, taking a step closer to look at the wall by his side. His eyes unwilling to leave his parents.
“When we were in Virginia I had some of those boxes to be sent out sent here to my place. It didn’t feel right to just have them sit in base storage while you were gonna be gone.”
His breathing stills.
“I just thought… it felt right. Like they should be here with you when you came home.”
Home.
He turns to face her, eyes glassy, chest tight with both an ache and warmth building.
“You hung them on your wall.” His voice a whisper, "You made space for them in your home.”
You bite your lip, “Is it too much?”
He cups your cheek with a callused thumb brushing across your cheek.
“Nobody’s ever done something like this for me. Nobody’s ever loved the parts of me that hurt.”
You lean into his touch, eyes starting to shine with his.
“I love all of you,” You whisper, “Even the parts you think you have to protect.”
That undoes him. Bradley swallows, he’s sure his voice would betray him if he tried to respond right this instance. He just holds out a hand for you to turn and both look at the picture of the young couple on the wall.
“I wish they knew you.” Bradley’s voice, softer than you’ve ever heard.
“I know.” You sigh, leaning your head on his shoulder, “I feel like I did by knowing you. I have no doubt you wouldn’t be half as charming as you are if they weren’t so amazing.”
He chuckles, wiping a stray tear from the top of his cheek before it has the time to slide further down.
Before the uranium mission he hadn’t had a home base. He bounced all over the states wherever they needed him to be. The last year and a half have been the longest he has been anywhere since joining the Navy. He spent the first year living on base, and the last few months at Mav’s house. He’s been looking to get his own place, but he was hoping it would actually be your place too.
Bradley thinks for the third time that morning.
This must be what heaven feels like.
“C’mon.” You pull on his arm after hearing his stomach yet again, “Let me feed you.”
“Anything is better than what the Navy’s been reheating the last few weeks.”
“Exactly. You need real food.”
You shuffle into the kitchen with bare feet. You move around each other with the ease of people who have done this a hundred times together. You’re pulling eggs from the fridge, Bradley places one hand on your hip from behind and uses the other to take the eggs.
“I thought I was cooking.”
He doesn’t answer with his words, he simply presses his lips against yours. It lasts a little longer than he intends, but your hands find his hair and it’s way too delicious to end sooner than he has to. You eventually pull away with a laugh.
Bradley steps around you to start cracking eggs into a bowl and begin whisking them. You make your way to the living room and turn on the old radio that sits on your bookshelf. A go to whenever the apartment was feeling a little quiet. Or on mornings like these when you are both slow to get out of bed.
You get started on making coffee while he stares at the eggs in the pan like they hold all the answers.
It’s too soon.
Way too soon.
You have only been dating for a few months. It hasn’t even been a year yet. You are both still finding new things you love about each other.
But.
If you asked him to marry you tomorrow, he would say yes before you could even finish the sentence. He doesn’t want to rush. He doesn’t want to pressure you at all, but he wants to be ready.
Which is why when you were both back in Virginia he got something else out of storage. Something he was too afraid to risk mailing and had to tuck away rolled up in his socks in his carry on.
Summary: After a petty argument turns into a tense standoff, Bradley decides to shut you up the only way he knows how — on his knees, mouth and fingers relentless until you forget what you were fighting about in the first place.
Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw
Word Count: 1.7k
A/N: did i just write a 1k word fic of pure smut after saying i would never write smut again? yes. yes i did. I also wrote this at 2am so if there’s parts that don’t make sense it’s cause i was delirious
Warnings: Explicit sexual content (oral f receiving, fingering, edging, overstimulation), dirty talk, praise & degradation mix, slight manhandling, post-argument tension, Bradley being a smug menace. 18+ only.
It started with something stupid.
It usually did with the two of you.
Bradley had been in a mood all day — not outright mean, but short, distracted, the kind of clipped tone that made every little interaction feel like you were one wrong word away from getting snapped at. You’d ignored it through breakfast, through the grocery run, through him flipping channels for twenty minutes without settling on anything. But by the time dinner rolled around and he still hadn’t said more than a handful of words to you, the irritation had boiled over.
“You could at least pretend to enjoy your own damn food,” you muttered, stabbing at your fork.
Across the table, his head came up. “I’m eating, aren’t I?”
“Barely. You’ve been sulking all day, Bradley.”
“I’m not sulking,” he said flatly, leaning back in his chair. “I’m tired. There’s a difference.”
Your laugh was short, sharp. “Right. Tired. Sure. So tired you couldn’t be bothered to answer me when I asked if you wanted to go out tonight.”
“I didn’t feel like it,” he said simply, like that should have been the end of it.
And maybe it should have been. But the way he just… dismissed you, like your plans didn’t matter, made something hot and ugly curl in your chest.
“God, you can be such an ass sometimes.”
His jaw ticked. “Careful.”
“Oh, careful?” you shot back, leaning forward. “What, you gonna ground me? You gonna glare at me until I apologize for pointing out you’ve been acting like a—”
“Don’t,” he warned, voice low.
You stood, taking your plate to the sink with more force than necessary. “I’m going to bed.”
You’d barely taken three steps toward the hallway before you heard the chair scrape back and heavy footsteps follow.
“Not done talking to you,” Bradley said, catching your wrist before you could get through the doorway.
You turned, yanking your arm free. “You’re done talking to me all damn day, but now suddenly you wanna—”
“That mouth of yours,” he interrupted, eyes narrowing, “is gonna get you in trouble.”
You let out a scoff, backing up a step. “What, you gonna lecture me, Lieutenant?”
His lips twitched — not in amusement, but in that dangerous almost-smile he got when he was about to do something reckless. “Something like that.”
You didn’t move. Neither did he.
For a moment, the kitchen was dead silent except for the sound of your own breathing, shallow and fast in your ears. His eyes tracked over your face, slow and deliberate, like he was deciding whether to keep arguing or do something much more dangerous.
Then Bradley stepped forward.
You retreated instinctively until your back hit the wall with a muted thud, your hands pressing to the cool surface like you could melt into it. He followed, close enough that his chest brushed yours with every breath, close enough that the faint scent of his cologne wrapped around you like a warning.
“That mouth,” he murmured, head tilting, “keeps getting smarter every time you open it.”
You swallowed hard, refusing to look away. “Maybe you just don’t like hearing the truth.”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “Oh, sweetheart… I love hearing the truth.” His voice dropped, raspier now. “Especially when you start shaking halfway through saying it.”
“I’m not—”
He stepped even closer, and you felt the hard press of his thigh against yours. His hand slid up your side, not quite touching your breast but close enough to make your breath hitch. “You are,” he said, matter-of-fact, eyes fixed on yours. “And I think we both know why.”
Your pulse thudded in your throat. “You’re impossible.”
“And you,” he murmured, voice gone low and rough, “are in way over your head.”
Before you could answer, his hands were on your hips. In one fluid motion, he pressed into you hard, pressing your back to the wall, pinning you there with the weight of his body.
The next thing you knew, he was dropping to his knees.
It was fast — almost violent in how little time it took for him to be eye-level with your hips, big hands already pushing your shirt up, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your shorts.
“Bradley—”
“Uh-uh,” he cut you off, tugging the fabric down over your thighs in one sharp pull. “You’ve been running that mouth all night. Time to see if I can put it to better use.”
Heat flooded your face, but before you could protest, his palms slid up the backs of your thighs and hauled one leg over his shoulder. His head dipped, nose brushing your inner thigh, and when he looked up at you through his lashes, his smirk was pure, filthy promise.
“Hold on to something, baby.”
-
Your fingers curled against the wall before his mouth even touched you. It was instinct — some part of you already bracing for what you knew was coming.
Bradley didn’t start slow. There was no teasing kiss to ease you in, no gentle taste to test the waters. He went straight for you — one broad lick up your center, hot and deliberate, like he was claiming territory.
You gasped, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen, your hips jerking forward. His grip tightened instantly, big hands locking you in place against the wall.
“Stay still,” he murmured against you, breath hot where you were already slick. Then his tongue was on your clit, flicking with steady, unhurried pressure that had your knees wobbling in seconds.
“Bradley—”
“Not so mouthy now,” he said, voice low, before sealing his lips around you and sucking hard.
The noise you made was more of a strangled moan than a word. You dug your fingers into his hair, not to push him away, but to anchor yourself as his tongue slid lower, circling your entrance before dipping inside. The rough scrape of his mustache against your skin sent another shock straight through you.
One hand left your hip long enough to shove two fingers into you, curling immediately, finding that spot that made your thighs twitch. His mouth never left your clit, working it with precision that felt personal — like he knew exactly how to dismantle you and was taking his time doing it.
“Fuck—”
He hummed, the vibration sending a pulse of heat straight to your core. “That’s it,” he said between licks. “Gimme all those pretty sounds, sweetheart.”
Your head tipped back against the wall, a choked whimper slipping out. Every time you got close, he eased off just enough to leave you teetering on the edge — a quick swirl of his tongue turning into a soft kiss, that perfect curling motion of his fingers slowing until you wanted to scream.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” you panted, tugging on his hair.
His eyes flashed up at you, dark and amused. “You figure that out all by yourself?”
You tried to glare, but it melted into a gasp when he sucked hard again, fingers picking up pace. “Bradley—please—”
That earned you a filthy grin against your skin. “There’s my girl. Beg for it.”
You didn’t even hesitate. “Please. Please, I need—”
He cut you off with a groan, mouth working you harder, faster, his fingers thrusting deep in a relentless rhythm. The sound of him — the wet, obscene pull of his lips, the slick slide of his fingers — filled the room.
When you came, it hit you like a wave, sharp and hot, your whole body tightening before shuddering apart. You cried out his name, clamping down around his fingers, trying to push him away from the overstimulation.
Bradley didn’t stop. If anything, his grip on your thigh tightened, holding you open as he kept licking, slower now but still purposeful, drawing out every last aftershock until you were shaking against the wall.
Only when you were slumping, breathless and boneless, did he finally pull back, his mouth glistening, chin wet. He pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to your thigh before standing, towering over you with that same dangerous smile.
“You done fighting with me?”
You couldn’t answer right away. Your pulse was still hammering, your thighs trembling where they rested against his.
Bradley braced one hand on the wall beside your head, the other still firm on your hip, keeping you pinned. “I’ll take that as a no,” he said, his voice deep, ragged from the effort of holding himself back.
You swallowed hard, still catching your breath. “You’re—”
“A menace?” He smirked. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”
When you didn’t respond, he dipped his head, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was nothing like the argument you’d had earlier — slow, messy, all tongue and heat. You could taste yourself on him, slick and salty, and it only made you cling to his shirt harder.
“You taste so fucking good,” he murmured against your lips, stealing another kiss before straightening just enough to look you in the eye. “Want more?”
You nodded without hesitation.
That smirk deepened. “Then we’re doing this properly.”
In one smooth motion, he hooked his arms under your thighs and lifted you, carrying you down the hall. You squeaked, wrapping your arms around his neck, but he didn’t slow — just pushed your bedroom door open with his shoulder and set you on the bed like you weighed nothing.
-
You barely had time to shift before he was on the mattress with you, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. He leaned over you, bracing on one arm, and ran his free hand up the inside of your thigh, spreading you open again.
“I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart,” he said, low and certain. “Not even close.”
Your breath caught as he settled between your knees once more, eyes locked on yours. This time, he took his time — slow kisses up your inner thigh, open-mouthed and wet, his mustache brushing your skin until you were squirming.
“Bradley—”
“Shh,” he murmured, dragging the flat of his tongue up your center in one long, lazy stroke. “Let me take care of you.”
You didn’t stand a chance.
Round two was even messier, his mouth and fingers working in perfect sync until you were shaking and gasping, your second orgasm crashing over you before you could warn him.
When he finally pulled away, he didn’t bother wiping his mouth. He just crawled up your body, kissed you again, and rested his forehead against yours.
“Still mad at me?”
You let out a breathless laugh. “I don’t even remember what we were fighting about.”
“That’s what I thought,” he said, grinning against your mouth. Then he kissed you again, slow and deep, already hinting at the fact that the night wasn’t over.
Summary : No matter how obvious you make it for him, Bradley just cannot seem to get the hint.
Pairing : Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem!Reader
Disclaimer : English is not my first language so sorry for any grammatical errors that might have escaped my proofreading💞
Word count : 3.9k
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“Yo, Mickey give me the schedule, I want to see who’s playing on the main stage.” Reuben called out to his friend.
“I don’t have it, dude, you do.”
“No I gave it to you after lunch, remember ?”
Mickey pulled out the inside of his pocket to prove his point, “I have nothing.”
Letting out an exasperated sigh, Reuben turned to the rest of the guys who seemed deeply uninterested and not at all concerned.
“Anyone has it ?”
Jake who was showing something on his phone to Javy didn’t even look up, “do we have what ?”
Reuben pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation, God were these guys incompetent when they weren’t flying at supersonic speed in a war machine.
“What are you sulking for, Payback ?” Natasha asked.
As soon as Bradley heard her voice, he looked up from his phone, on which he was pretending to be busy. Sure enough, you were right next to Natasha, back from your little trip to the bathroom.
Bradley had willed himself to not look too excited when Natasha had asked if you, her best friend, could accompany the squad on their outing to the music festival that had settled on the edge of town for a weekend. They all knew you pretty well by now, Natasha had already dragged you along to multiple hangouts with them. But it had only taken a few minutes after your first meeting for Bradley’s heart to do somersaults in his chest at the mere mention of your name. Still, he had yet to make a move. Why ? He didn’t really know. Each time he worked himself up to ask you out, or not even that, simply ask for your number, he would backtrack.
Bradley didn’t consider himself to be a shy guy, hell no. But there was something about you that made him a bit tongue tied whenever you were too close to him, and he would lie if he said that it didn’t embarrassed him a bit, at his age to still feel a schoolboy blush creeping up his cheeks when you sent a smile his way.
“Do you want me to hold your bag ?” Bradley asked, cringing a bit at how earnest he sounded.
You shook your head with a warm smile, “I’m okay, but thank you for proposing, that’s really nice.”
You affectionately squeezed his shoulder and Bradley’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly. The sole, brief contact of your hand on his covered shoulder was enough to send butterflies flying in his stomach with the force of ten Super Hornets.
“Yo Rooster, did you get sunburnt on your cheeks ?” Jake questioned with a smug grin, finger pointing to his own cheeks to accentuate his point, “you’re super red.”
Bradley only glared at him, and before he could retort anything, Natasha hit Jake on the back of the head.
“Leave him alone, Bagman.” She warned while Jake looked at her, deeply offended and rubbing the back of his head like the overly dramatic man he was, “now come on troops, let’s go to the main stage. In the toilet, Y/N and I heard people talking about a huge band that’s gonna play there.”
Everyone agreed and quickly started walking towards the main stage. Bradley was walking beside you, instinctively matching your pace to stay close to you. The squad was already quite far ahead when Bradley noticed that you had — purposely ? — slowed down a bit, leaving the two of you separated from the group. And being, if only a little, isolated with you like that made him equally as nervous as it made him giddy.
“Jake’s right you know, your cheeks are kinda red, you should put on some sunscreen.” You said softly, eyes fixed on the crimson hue painting his face.
Hearing the words ‘Jake is right’ coming from your pretty lips perhaps shouldn’t have left such a big sour taste in his mouth. Bradley tried to swallow the feeling off and focused on trying to not blush any harder under your soft and worried gaze.
He cleared his throat, “yeah, I probably should.”
“I have some in my bag,” you said helpfully, looking in your tote bag for the orange tub.
Your concern and desire to help him felt like a soothing balm on his bruised ego and he couldn’t contain the small, sheepish smile that pulled at his lips.
“Thank you, Y/N.”
But when he made a move to grab the sunscreen tube you seemed to be holding out for him, you immediately retracted your hand out of his reach.
“Let me ?” You asked, a glint in your eyes that made his heart skip a beat.
Bradley let out a small, surprised, but nonetheless absolutely delighted laugh. He stopped in his tracks, slightly lowering himself so it’d be easier for you to reach his face, which had definitely darkened in shade by now.
“Go ahead.” He said, voice dripping with fondness.
The word ‘sweetheart’ almost slipped away from him but he managed to reined it in at the last second. You giggled softly and squirted a small amount of sunscreen on both of his cheeks.
“Let’s not forget the forehead and chin as well…” you mumbled under your breath, which made Bradley smile even more.
Very gently and carefully, maybe more than anyone had ever been with him, you began to rub the cream onto his cheeks, making sure that it was fully covering and protecting his face. The feeling of your delicate fingers almost affectionately rubbing his face was sending his heart into a frenzy, accompanied by a warmth that spread in his entire body. It felt so good and for a moment Bradley was conflicted between closing his eyes to enjoy the experience to its full extent, or stay like this, his gentle brown eyes gazing down at you with surely nothing short of adoration as you focused entirely on getting every little nook of his face.
When you finished, you cupped his face with infinite tenderness.
“There, you’re all good to go now.”
And as quick as you had put them on him, your hands were gone. And the intensity of the longing Bradley felt for your touch probably should have been concerning.
“Thank—“ his voice came out strangely hoarse and he was quick to clear his throat, “thank you, Y/N.”
You offered him a sweet smile, your hand coming up to squeeze his shoulder… for the second time in under ten minutes he noted.
“Well, looks like we lost them,” you said, when you turned your head to look at where the squad was suppose to be, just a bit ahead of you. In their place was now a whirlwind of people passing through, and none of them looked like cocky and overconfident naval aviators.
“It’s okay, we know where they’re going.” He said, voice dropping into a sweet and low register, the way it usually did around you.
Instinctively, and before he could do anything to rein it in, his hand reached out to yours, ready to protectively guide you into the swarming sea of people. And as soon as his hand made contact with yours, it finally registered in his mind. His hand retracted as if he’d been electrocuted by your touch.
“Sorry !” He said quickly, “I just thought— I mean I didn’t want you to get lost in the crowd, you know ?”
God, he was embarrassing himself.
Fearing to see repulsion on your features, his gaze fixated on the worn out and yellowing grass under his feet. A few seconds passed and the lack of any reaction coming from you made his heart sink at the bottom of his stomach. He had fucked it up, fucked it up before he could even make his interest clear, and after all perhaps it was for the best, at least he was fixed now, a girl like you couldn’t possibly be interested in a guy like him anyway—
Bradley’s whirlwind of self deprecating thoughts stopped dead in its tracks, rendered silent by your arms wrapping around his. His eyes snapped back up to meet yours.
“There, that way it’s more secure,” you explained, the warm smile never leaving your lips, “you won’t lose me.”
It was like time had froze for an instant, Bradley looked down at your bright smile that was meant for him, only for him at that moment and he physically felt his heart stutter. The feeling of your body pressed against his arm was almost too much for him, and the outline of your breasts against his arm downright felt like a test from God.
While willing his racing heart to calm down and his cheeks to not overheat, Bradley guided you in the crowd, making sure that nobody was jostling you too much. And his eyes immediately darted to you when he felt one of your hands slip away from his bicep. Just as quickly, he averted his gaze when he saw your hand going to the low neckline of your top, seemingly readjusting it, Bradley just prayed that you hadn’t follow his line of sight.
He was gonna move on, but when you repeated the movement three times just under the span of five minutes, Bradley felt like he could perhaps address the matter.
“Is everything alright ?”
“Yeah, it’s just—“ you did it again, hand coming up to slightly move your top, “this top is gorgeous but it’s itchy as hell.”
You were right. The top was gorgeous, more precisely it was gorgeous on you. All day, Bradley had willed himself to keep his eyes away from the pretty dip of the top which was showing off the swell of your breasts, the top made them sit so prettily, in a manner that had his mind spinning if he thought about it too long. But now that you mentioned it, the fabric indeed did not look very comfortable.
“I think it’s slowly starting to give my boobs a rash.”
Oh.
The mere mention of your chest had his cheeks flaming up again. Damn it, just when he had managed to get his blush under control.
Hearing you complain suddenly, and very strangely he had to admit, gave birth to an urge to fix your problem, provide a solution. And his brain was quick to find it.
“I can give you my shirt, if you want.” Bradley supplied before he had anymore time to think about it, and what was there to think about really ? He’d give you all his clothes in an instant if you’d asked.
You eyed his open Hawaiian shirt, “are you sure ?”
“Yeah, don’t worry. I still have my tank top.”
You seemed to think about it for a second but made your mind pretty quickly.
“Well if it’s really not a bother then yeah, I’ll take it. Thank you, Bradley, that’s really nice of you.”
And then your hand came up to squeeze his bicep and Bradley wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to handle all your casual touches, which were very much not casual to him.
“Alright, let’s go to the toilets so you can change, yeah ?”
Turning back around and thus abandoning all the progress you had made in the crowd, you made your way towards the toilet.
“Oh god.” Was the only thing you were able to say as Bradley and you gazed at the endless waiting lines in front of each of the five portable toilets installed by the festival crew. “There literally were only five people ten minutes ago. I’m not waiting half an hour just to change clothes.”
Bradley’s mind was racing, trying to find another solution for you to change with the privacy you deserved. There was no way he would let you change outside here for everyone to see—
“I’ll just change outside.”
His head whipped towards you so fast he almost gave himself whiplash.
“Outside ?!” He repeated, deeply offended and distressed you would even suggest something like that.
But his alarmed tone didn’t faze you, a small smile pulled at your lips, a mix of mischief and warmth that was doing dangerous things to him, “yeah, we’ll find a quiet corner, plus, you’ll shield me, right ?”
Like his life depended on it.
Thus, similar as a man on a mission, Bradley looked for a quiet place in the midst of the festival’s craziness. Anywhere near the toilets was out of questions, as well as any of the stages. Too much people.
Finally, Bradley managed to get you to a more tranquil space, just near some hotdog food truck, he found it bizarre to see a food stand without anyone agglutinating in front of it, but one look at the hotdogs quickly supplied him with all the answers. The trailer was empty, so he ushered you behind it, in the corner. He hastily took off his shirt, opened it wide open to cover you so nobody could even think of taking a glimpse.
“Alright, try to make it quick.” Bradley turned his head to give you privacy and also to look out for any creeps.
He heard you chuckle, along with the sound of moving fabric. “Who knew you could be so assertive ?” You teased.
But Bradley cringed at the tone he had dared to use with you, “sorry I didn’t—“
“No, it’s fine.” The smile in your voice was evident, “I like it.”
Gazing out in the empty part of the festival field, he tried not to say anything stupid now and ruin all the progress he’d made. He felt his shirt slip from his fingers as you delicately took it from him, promptly, he turned around, his back facing you and continued to stretch out his arms to shield you.
After a few seconds he heard you put something in your bag and then your fingers went to gently tap his shoulders.
Terrified of misinterpreting your cue, he asked, “can I turn around ?”
“Yes you can,” you agreed in an endeared laugh.
Nothing could have prepared him for the sight blessing his eyes. Standing with a sheepish smile, you were showing off your new outfit to him. Outfit composed mainly of his Hawaiian shirt, falling onto your smaller frame perfectly. The few top buttons were opened, allowing the fabric to reveal just the beginning of the valley between your breasts before draping delicately over them.
Bradley felt like his brain short circuited. You looked nothing short of ethereal in his clothing. And the thought that right now, something of his was touching your arms, your stomach, your breasts… you, was entirely too much.
“Well ? How do I look ?” You prompted, facing his silence.
Bradley cleared his throat, “you— you look good. Great actually, it suits you better than me,” he tried to joke lightly, except it was nowhere near a joke, it was the pure, blatant truth and the casual laugh he had opted for sounded awfully hoarse.
Your smile widened and only then did Bradley catch the way your eyes seemed to be raking appreciatively over his now uncovered shoulders and arms. He preened on the inside and subconsciously puffed up his chest a little, desperately trying to appeal to you in anyway.
“Should we go find the others ?”
“Yeah.” Instinctively, you went back to his side, your arms snaking around his.
While trying to make your way back to the main stage, you passed by a relatively small one surrounded by quite a lot of people, quite the contrast compared to the size of the stage. Lively music was booming from the speakers, and the crowd was happily moving along to the beat. Bradley’s fast pace was suddenly cut short when you gently held him back, tugging lightly on his arm.
“Is everything okay ?”
“Let’s dance, Bradley.”
His heart skipped a beat.
“D— dance ? What about the others ? Don’t you want to get back to them ?”
“Not yet. Right now, I want to dance with you.”
Akin to an angel who came down on earth to bless him with your smile and presence, you gently pulled him towards the middle of the makeshift dance floor, giving him time to backtrack if he wanted to, but there wasn’t any world out there in which Bradley could ever pull away from you. The music suddenly changed. The rhythmic tunes subdued by the gentle sway of a slow dance.
“Ohh, look at that, perfect timing.” You smiled up at him.
Bradley was usually a good dancer, a pretty smooth one if he said so himself, comfortable in his body and the way it moved. But right now all his muscles were stiff, rendered useless and rigid under your expectant gaze.
“Don’t look so nervous,” you chuckled, taking his hands and placing them on your waist.
“I’m not.” He lied, not very convincingly.
Bradley prayed to God that you couldn’t feel the way his hands were slowly becoming clammier as they hesitantly rested on you. Your arms went around his neck, getting a bit closer to him. You swayed naturally to the slow beat of the song, taking him with you, and soon, guided by your elegant steps and soft words of encouragement, Bradley relaxed. Your fingers were lightly playing with the hair on his nape, and the occasional small drag of your nails there was rendering him putty in your hands, a tiny, delighted shiver going down his spine everytime. And for a moment, it seemed as if the crowd had disappeared, leaving you and Bradley alone, he was bathing in your attention and nothing had ever felt this good.
Your eyes were all too warm as they gazed up at him, just the tiniest bit squinted from the smile that never seemed to leave your lips whenever you were in his presence. And Bradley’s heart did somersaults in his chests when he caught your gaze flicking, almost imperceptibly, to his lips.
“I didn’t know you were such a good dancer,” Bradley whispered in an attempt to not break the moment, voice a bit husky from the closeness he shared with you.
You let out a small, endeared laugh. It was a stupid compliment, you both knew it. It wasn’t dancing, if anything it was more gently swaying and stepping to the side every once in a while, but he’d take any chance to compliment you.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
And by God did he want to know everything.
And just as he was about to finally voice this consuming desire, the music faded out, immediately replaced by loud drums, shattering the moment in the same time as the courage he had been mustering up all evening.
“Don’t look so gloom.” You almost cooed.
Shit, his face must have shown how annoyed he was at himself. Why couldn’t he just make a move ? The answer came too quick. What if you rejected him ? Bradley didn’t mind getting turned down, sure it was a little humbling at times, but it wasn’t that deep. But coming from you ? That was an entirely different story. One he wouldn’t be able to cope with if it ended badly.
Your voice got him out of his sulking turmoil.
“Bradley ?”
His eyes immediately snapped towards you.
“Yes ?” Voice going a bit high pitched at the end.
A chuckle passed your lips and Bradley got hit with a bone chilling realization, had you just been laughing all day at his inability to act like a normal person around you ? Did you think he was weird ? After all, you never really had the opportunity to truly see what he was like, since he was so guarded and uptight around you. Perhaps you thought he was the awkward, weird one of the squad. Oh god, what if you were just being nice to him out of pity ?
“Could you drive me home, please ? I’m a bit tired.”
That was it. You were tired of him, done, didn’t even want to go back to the squad.
“Are you sure ? Didn’t you want to stay for dinner at the Hard Deck after ?” He tried to reason, having a difficulty swallowing the lump in his throat. “The squad is gonna wonder where we are.”
“Yeah I’m sure, I’d like to go home, if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course, no problem.”
He’d be damned if he didn’t at least make sure you got home safe after making you endure his presence all day.
“And don’t worry your pretty head about the squad, they’ll manage just fine without us.” You squeezed his shoulder for the nth time tonight, and when it had felt thrilling just a few minutes earlier, it just felt painful now.
“Alright.” Bradley hoped his smile came across as kind and did not convey any of the dread he was feeling up forming a pit in his stomach.
The drive to your house felt awfully charged to Bradley, and not in the way he usually liked. The soft hum from the radio was the only thing filling in the silence in the car. The sun was well set into its descending phase now, subduing a red and pink glow for the dark of the night. Bradley was unusually quiet, in the hopes of getting you the peace and quiet he thought you were looking for, after spending the last part of the evening babysitting him.
“Bradley ?”
God did he love hearing his name coming out of your mouth, and he prayed that after the awkward teenage boy act he had pulled tonight, that he would be given the chance to hear it again.
His eyes flicked over to you, seeing your hands playing with the buttons of his shirt on your chest.
“Yeah ?”
“You really are an oblivious guy, aren’t you ?”
Frowning, Bradley fully turned his head to get a look at you. His eyes widened when he saw you undoing every single button of the Hawaiian shirt, the fabric draping gracefully over your breasts, revealing the valley in between them. He quickly turned his gaze back to the road, his pulse roaring in his ears… and traveling quickly somewhere down south.
“I— um, I’m not sure, what is—“ his eyes flicked to you again, shirt open, your head was lolled to the side, looking at him with something he realized he might have misinterpreted from the start, his gaze returned on the road, taking the turn that led to your house, “what are you saying ?”
You let out a giggle as Bradley parked in front of your place, your bottom lip was caught between your teeth as your gaze traveled to his mouth, a smile stretching yours. Wordlessly, you got out of the car. Confused, and ridiculously turned on, he got out as well, rounding the car and watching you walk to your door while he just stood there, unsure of what else to do. Did you want him to walk you to your door ? Did you want him to just leave you the fuck alone…? He was so confused.
And so he just watched as you unlocked your door and walked in… without ever closing it. You turned around in your entrance hall, eyes boring into his despite the meters separating you.
“If you didn’t catch the hint,” you said, and Bradley watched wide eyed as you let the shirt slip off your shoulders and fall gracefully to the ground, baring yourself to him, “that was an invitation for you to get in.”
Oh yeah, he definitely got it now.
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Author's note : I like to imagine Bradley as either this very observant and aware guy, or totally oblivious, there is no middle ground. Also I’m still having a bit of trouble writing Bradley and characterizing him so if you think I wrote him out of character too much, please do tell !!
Alsoooo there are 300 of you guys following me, that’s insane !! Thank you so much, I’m really honored. I have some very excited things coming up and I can’t wait to share them with you all !! Thanks again💞💞
The San Diego sun had the audacity to shine even brighter when she stepped out of the black SUV.
It wasn’t just that she was famous.
She was her.
The most photographed, most admired, most untouchably glamorous woman in the world. The kind of woman whose name alone could crash a website. Whose face hung in art museums and teenage boys’ lockers alike. She didn’t just walk onto the Top Gun tarmac—she graced it.
Sleek sunglasses. Designer boots. Wind-swept hair. A presence that made grown men stand straighter and forget their own names.
“Holy shit,” Hangman breathed. “It’s really her.”
“No kidding,” Rooster muttered. “Try not to pass out.”
“She’s even prettier in person,” Phoenix said, and she meant it.
And yet, when she reached Admiral Simpson, her smile was warm. Her handshake was polite, eyes steady, voice kind. She thanked everyone for the tour. She complimented the weather, said the jets looked incredible, asked real questions about the training program. For someone worth billions, she was shockingly… normal. Nice, even.
She took pictures with everyone—every pilot, every crew member, every starstruck staffer on the runway. She laughed with Fanboy. Complimented Halo’s braids. Teased Payback about trying to sneak in two photos.
And then she paused.
Eyes scanning the group again, like she was looking for someone.
Then, pointing just past the main huddle, she smiled.
“Who’s that cutie patootie over there?”
Every head turned.
Bob, who had been standing half-behind a jet wing, blinked in confusion.
“Me?” he squeaked, touching his chest like she couldn’t possibly mean him.
She nodded and beamed at him. “Mmhmm! Hi!”
She walked over like she had all the time in the world—no rush, no pressure—and when she stopped in front of him, she took off her sunglasses and stuck out her hand.
“Hi,” she said, sweet and sunny. “My name’s Y/N L/N. It’s so, so nice to meet you.”
Bob’s mouth opened and closed a few times.
“I—I’m Bob. Lieutenant Robert Floyd. It’s—um—it’s nice to meet you too, ma’am—I mean—not ma’am, I just—”
She laughed softly and shook his hand. “Bob. I love that. You’re adorable.”
He looked like his entire brain just shut off.
“I’ve been meeting so many people,” she said, still holding his gaze. “Would you mind taking a photo with me?”
His eyes went wide. “With—me?”
She leaned in slightly, teasing. “Well, you are the cutie patootie, aren’t you?”
Phoenix absolutely lost it behind him.
“Y-Yes,” Bob said quickly. “I mean, sure! Of course! Yes.”
She handed her phone off to someone nearby and stepped beside him, slipping her arm through his like they’d done this a hundred times. “Ready?”
Bob didn’t know how to be ready for any of this. But the camera flashed, and she smiled up at him again.
“Thank you,” she said softly, like he’d just made her whole day. “You were the highlight of my visit.”
And just like that, she let go, gave him one last smile, and turned to walk back toward the group.
Bob stood frozen in place, flushed from his neck to his ears, still holding his helmet like it might float away.
Hangman clapped him on the back. “The Y/N L/N just called you a cutie patootie and took a solo picture with you. You better laminate that memory, Floyd.”
“I think I blacked out,” Bob muttered.
Phoenix leaned in, grinning. “If you don’t ask her out the next time she visits, I will.”
Rooster snorted. “Like hell you will. I’m still recovering.”
Bob adjusted his glasses with trembling fingers. “Is this real life?”
Fanboy pulled out his phone. “Buddy, the whole thing’s on video. You’re gonna be a meme by tonight.”
———
“America’s Sweetheart & Her Navy Sweetheart”
“Are we sure you want this one?”
Delaney—assistant, social media manager, therapist in crisis—tilted her head at the phone screen.
The photo was perfect.
Y/N looked radiant, obviously. But it was the guy beside her—tall, glasses slightly crooked, blushing like a Victorian debutante—that made the shot so unexpectedly adorable.
The world had seen her with presidents. With Oscar winners. With the Met Gala’s best-dressed. But no one had ever seen her like this.
Smiling softly. Relaxed. Standing next to someone who clearly had no idea how famous she was—or didn’t care.
“He’s so cute,” Y/N murmured, sipping from her iced coffee, sunglasses perched atop her head. She was scrolling through the pictures again like she hadn’t already hearted every single one.
Delaney stared. “You really want to post it?”
“I really do,” Y/N said, brightening.
“Caption?”
Y/N grinned.
Delaney’s eyes narrowed. “You already thought of one, didn’t you?”
Y/N said nothing. Just passed her a post-it.
Delaney read it once. Blinked. Then grinned like a devil.
⸻
@yourusername
📍Top Gun Naval Program
✨found my wingman✨
📸: @delaneydoesit
⸻
It took six minutes for the photo to hit one million likes. Ten minutes before #cutiepatootie trended on Twitter. By lunch, “Bob from the Navy” had a dedicated fan account and trending TikTok audio.
Y/N pretended not to notice.
She was lounging in her dressing room, reading scripts, but her phone buzzed every few seconds with a new mention. Every gossip site was foaming at the mouth. Paparazzi were now camped outside the base—looking for him.
“America’s Sweetheart Gets Starry-Eyed Over Navy Boy.”
“Who is Bob from Top Gun??”
“She Can Have Anyone—and She Picked This Guy?!”
Delaney popped back in with a smoothie and the numbers. “We’ve got 47 million views across platforms and about sixteen thousand girls crying over Bob’s blush.”
Y/N looked pleased. “Good for them.”
“You planning on going back there?”
She didn’t answer right away.
But then, with a coy smile and a glance toward the corner of the room—where Bob’s photo now lived quietly on her vanity—she said:
“I might have left something behind.”
————
Bob didn’t even make it through the hangar doors before he got tackled by a wave of phones.
“BOB. BRO. BOB. YOU’RE FAMOUS.”
“Have you seen Twitter?! You’re a meme now!”
Phoenix shoved a phone into his face. On the screen was a screengrab of the photo—the photo—captioned in Comic Sans:
“me when my celebrity crush notices me and I forget how to speak English 😍”
Bob blinked. “Is that… me?”
“You’re on TMZ,” Rooster called from across the room. “Twice.”
Hangman was grinning like the cat that ate the golden retriever. “My guy. You broke the internet. You broke it.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Bob muttered, cheeks already burning. “She just asked for a photo—”
“SHE POSTED IT,” Fanboy yelled, pointing at the giant screen someone had wheeled in. “With the caption ‘found my wingman,’ Bob! Her wingman!”
Payback looked personally offended. “I’ve been trying to go viral for years. This man just blushed and now he’s the Navy’s newest sex symbol.”
Bob pinched the bridge of his nose. “I—I’m not—”
“Shh,” Phoenix said, holding up her hand dramatically. “Wingman of the Year is speaking.”
“Guys—”
“No, seriously,” Rooster said, laughing, “what does it feel like to be America’s Boyfriend?”
“I’m gonna throw up,” Bob said earnestly.
Just then, Cyclone’s voice boomed from the hallway.
“Lieutenant Floyd.”
Everyone froze.
Bob straightened like he was about to be court-martialed.
“Yes, sir?”
Cyclone appeared, holding up a tablet with the photo in question still open on screen. “Would you care to explain why the Department of Defense is getting press requests for your dating history?”
Bob blinked. “I… I wouldn’t?”
Cyclone sighed, muttered something about “celebrities and chaos,” and walked off. But not before he added, “Tell her thanks for the recruiting spike.”
Everyone erupted again.
“She made you the poster boy for patriotism!” Fanboy whooped. “They’re calling you ‘Top Gun’s golden retriever boyfriend’ on TikTok!”
Bob buried his face in his hands. “This is a nightmare.”
Phoenix patted his back. “It’s a fairytale, sweetie. And she picked you.”
Bob peeked through his fingers. “Do you think… she was serious? About me being the highlight of her visit?”
Hangman, for once, didn’t joke.
“She could’ve taken a picture with anyone,” he said, voice unusually soft. “And she chose you. That means something.”
Bob blinked.
Then his phone buzzed. Again.
And when he looked down, his heart stopped.
A DM. From her.
Y/N L/N:
Hey, cutie patootie. Any chance I can come back for that second photo? 😉
Bob let out a noise that could only be described as a strangled squeak.
“Everything okay?” Phoenix asked.
He looked up. “She wants to come back.”
And just like that—chaos erupted again.
————
Bob had checked his reflection eight times before she arrived.
Phoenix had to physically take his glasses off his face to clean them herself. “Bob,” she said, “you’re fogging these up with your panic.”
“I’m not panicking,” he said, panicking.
“You’re wearing cologne.”
“It’s just—I thought I’d try something new.”
Rooster smirked. “It’s giving: ‘I’m calm, cool, and collected while my celebrity crush returns to base to maybe fall in love with me.’”
Hangman leaned against the lockers. “It’s giving: ‘he practiced what he’d say in the mirror all morning and he’s gonna forget every word the second she smiles.’”
“Thanks, guys,” Bob muttered, already red.
Then the hangar doors opened.
And she stepped through.
Y/N L/N. The Y/N L/N. Actress. Icon. Billionaire. Dressed casually like the cameras weren’t following her every move online. But what hit Bob the hardest wasn’t the press or the way the whole hangar paused just to look at her—it was the way she beelined straight for him.
Like she was looking for him.
“There you are,” she said with a grin. “Hi, Bob.”
The way she said his name—sweet and familiar, like she’d been thinking about it—nearly sent him to the floor.
“Hi,” he croaked.
She smiled brighter. “I wasn’t sure if I’d get to see you today, but I’m really glad you’re here.”
“I—I work here.”
Y/N giggled, and Bob blinked like a deer in headlights.
“You’re so cute,” she whispered, like it wasn’t going to set off every alarm in his brain.
Phoenix watched it unfold with her arms crossed and a smug grin. “We’ve been saying.”
“Oh!” Y/N turned to the others. “You’re his squad, right? You all were so sweet last time.”
Rooster elbowed Bob. “We’ve got a good one here.”
“He’s our best guy,” Fanboy added. “Smartest in the air. Saved my ass twice.”
“Three times,” Payback corrected.
Hangman chimed in, half-teasing: “Don’t let the glasses fool you—guy’s got a heart of gold and he’s low-key the funniest one here.”
Bob, mortified, ducked his head. “They’re exaggerating.”
But Y/N wasn’t listening to them anymore. Her eyes were already locked back on Bob.
“You’re kind of a hero,” she said with a soft little shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal—but it was.
“I—I wouldn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to,” she smiled. “They already did.”
Then she caught sight of a jet behind him and gasped. “Is that yours?”
Her hand reached out instinctively—like she forgot about the cameras, the audience, all of it—and wrapped gently around his arm.
“Oh my God, is that the one you flew in? That’s so cool—can I see inside?”
Bob might’ve blacked out for a second.
“You wanna see my jet?” he said, dumbly.
“I mean, yeah,” she beamed. “I came back to visit you—and, okay, maybe the plane too.”
She was still holding his arm.
“Tell me everything,” she said, leaning in. “Like—what you do in there, how it works. Please. I’m so curious.”
Phoenix whispered, “Breathe, Bob.”
Rooster added, “This is the best day of my life.”
Bob swallowed hard. “I—I sit in the back. I’m the weapons systems officer. I help the pilot navigate, track targets, communicate with command. I—uh—I read a lot of maps.”
Y/N looked at him like he’d just recited Shakespeare.
“I love smart guys,” she said softly. “You’re just full of surprises, huh?”
Then she grinned. “Show me how it all works?”
Bob blinked. “I—y-yeah. Yeah, I can show you.”
And the second he helped her climb up the ladder into his jet, the rest of the squad turned around like we are NOT watching this man fall in love from five feet away.
She actually climbed in.
Like, willingly. With a bright-eyed smile and a soft little “Oop!” as Bob offered her a hand and helped her settle into his seat—his seat, the one no one but him ever sat in—and now she was swiveling her head around like this was the most exciting thing in the entire world.
“Oh my God,” Y/N whispered, running her fingers over the side console, wide-eyed and glowing. “This is insane. I don’t even know what I’m looking at but I love it.”
Bob climbed in behind her, carefully easing into the front seat. His hands shook a little as he adjusted the straps of his harness—not because he was nervous, but because she was in his jet. Y/N L/N was literally sitting in the space he spent most of his life in, looking like she belonged there, like she might never want to leave.
“You sit back here?” she asked, pointing to the panel of screens and buttons in front of her.
“Yeah,” Bob said. “I—I manage all the tech. Radar, targeting systems, communication. Kind of like the guy behind the guy.”
She looked up, clearly impressed. “That sounds like a lot.”
“It is,” he admitted. “But I like it. It’s… it feels like where I’m supposed to be.”
Y/N smiled, this kind of soft, private smile—like she liked that answer way more than he meant her to. “That’s really cool.”
She looked at the helmet tucked beside his seat. Gently, she reached for it. “Can I…?”
“Oh! Um—yeah, of course,” Bob said quickly. “It might be a little big—”
He didn’t even finish the sentence before she was pulling it over her head with both hands and giggling as it sank just a little too far down her face.
“How do I look?”
Bob’s voice died in his throat.
“Perfect,” he said quietly.
Y/N pushed the visor up and blinked at him, and Bob almost forgot how to breathe again.
“I don’t get it,” she said after a beat, setting the helmet in her lap. “How are you not married? Or dating someone? Or at the very least, mobbed every time you walk outside?”
Bob flushed so hard he felt it in his scalp. “I—I don’t think people really notice me.”
“I notice you,” she said plainly, like it was a fact. “You’re thoughtful. Sweet. You have kind eyes. And you saved your friend’s life. You don’t think people notice, but I think you just don’t realize how worth noticing you are.”
Bob blinked. Stared. Tried not to pass out.
She smiled. “You’re blushing.”
“I—I’m always blushing,” he said faintly.
Y/N reached out, brushing her fingers gently against the sleeve of his flight suit. “I like it.”
And then—God—she just… rested her hand there. Like it was natural. Like it belonged. Like she wasn’t the most famous woman on Earth holding onto a guy who’d spent his whole life learning how to stay small.
Bob didn’t say anything.
He couldn’t.
Because her thumb was gently brushing across the patch on his arm.
And she was looking at him—really looking. Like he was someone she’d been waiting to find.
“Is it okay,” she asked gently, “if I take a picture in here?”
Y/N gave him a grateful smile and pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. “I won’t post anything classified. Promise.”
He laughed under his breath. “You’re probably more careful than half the people who actually work here.”
She leaned back against the seat and angled the camera just right, catching her reflection in the canopy glass with all the panels glowing softly around her. A quick click. Then another. She turned slightly toward him.
“Do you mind getting one with me?”
Bob froze.
“In here, I mean,” she added quickly. “We don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable—”
“No!” he said a little too fast. “I mean—no, I don’t mind. Not at all.”
Y/N smiled like he just handed her the moon. “Okay, come here.”
He leaned back slightly, trying to get into the frame behind her without knocking anything important. The proximity alone nearly did him in—her shoulder brushing his chest, her phone held high between them, her perfume subtly filling the small space of the cockpit.
She angled the phone, checked the lighting, then whispered, “Smile.”
He did.
God help him, he did.
Click.
She glanced down at the picture and beamed. “This one’s my favorite.”
Bob didn’t even ask to see it. Just knowing he was her favorite anythingmade his head spin.
The rest of the visit flew by in a haze. She climbed down from the jet with his help—thanked him again, touched his arm again, asked the others about the air show schedule, then got whisked away to meet with the base commander for a quick tour. She hugged Phoenix on her way out. Promised she’d be back soon.
But just before she disappeared around the corner, she glanced back at Bob—gave him a little wave. Just for him.
And smiled.
Bob stood there long after she was gone, helmet still tucked under his arm, lips parted like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.
Phoenix came to stand beside him, arms crossed.
“Hey, loverboy,” she said. “You might wanna check your phone.”
He blinked down, startled—and saw that he already had seven missed messages. Three missed calls. Two voicemails.
1. Y/N alone in the cockpit, head tilted playfully, sunglasses on, the helmet in her lap.
2. A shot of her and Bob together in the plane, his glasses slightly crooked, both of them smiling like they’d won the lottery.
3. A blurry candid of him helping her down from the ladder, one hand holding hers, the other steady at her waist.
The comments were already blowing up:
@selenagomez: oh she’s in love.
@pilotwivesunite: WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE WENT BACK FOR HIM
@aviationfan69: bob is all of us. we are bob. bob is america.
@ynlnupdates: can confirm she did say “he’s the cutest” out loud in front of everyone
@roosterdaddy: as a pilot and a man, I salute you, Bob.
⸻
Bob didn’t say anything.
Didn’t even look up from the screen.
Phoenix patted his back, amused. “You’re a national treasure now, baby. You better start practicing your red carpet smile.”
He was already blushing.
And somewhere across the base, Y/N was laughing as her assistant read the comments out loud, heart full, cheeks warm, and only one name echoing in her head:
Bob.
———
The hangar was quiet. Late afternoon light spilled through the high windows, casting golden stripes across the floor. Most of the squad had cleared out, letting the adrenaline of the day wear off in the locker rooms or the parking lot.
But Bob was still here. Still trying to breathe normally.
Because she was still here too.
Y/N lingered by the nose of the plane, running her fingers along the cool metal with a curious little smile, her assistant off somewhere taking calls. Her hair was up now, sunglasses on her head, and she looked impossibly cool even while doing absolutely nothing.
Bob didn’t realize he was staring until she turned.
And walked straight up to him.
“Hey,” she said softly, smiling like they were old friends. “I was hoping I’d catch you before I left.”
He blinked, managing a nod. “Y-Yeah. Still here.”
She tilted her head. “I was wondering if… it would be okay if I got your number?”
Bob stared.
Not because he didn’t hear her—but because every nerve in his body just lit up.
“My number?” he repeated, voice slightly cracked.
She nodded with a soft laugh. “You don’t have to say yes. I just— I’d like to talk again. If that’s okay.”
“Y-Yeah,” he said quickly, fumbling for his phone. “I mean—yes. Please. Of course.”
She handed him hers without hesitation.
He typed it in carefully, checking it twice. Then handed it back.
Y/N looked at the screen. “Bob Floyd,” she read aloud, smiling softly. “I’ll text you.”
He tried not to look as stunned as he felt. “Okay.”
She lingered for half a beat longer, then gave him the gentlest touch on the arm.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For everything today.”
And just like that—she was gone.
⸻
Two weeks passed.
No text.
No call.
No new post with his name anywhere.
At first, Bob kept checking. A dozen times a day. Every buzz in his pocket made his chest jump. But as days turned to a week—and then another—he stopped.
He just… stopped hoping.
She’s a billionaire, he reminded himself. She travels constantly. She probably forgot. Or changed her mind. Or—
Or it was just a sweet moment to her. Not… not something real.
He never said anything out loud. Just kept his head down, flew his drills, smiled politely when Hangman joked about his “Hollywood girlfriend.”
But inside?
He felt like he’d dreamed the whole thing up.
⸻
Until one night.
Bob was lying on his couch, glasses slipping down his nose, a rerun humming softly on the TV, when his phone lit up.
Unknown Number:
Hi Bob. It’s Y/N. I’m so, so sorry it took me this long to text you. Please don’t think I forgot. I’ve been to five countries in two weeks—Australia, Japan, Glasgow, New York, and now finally San Diego again.
I’ve been thinking about you this whole time.
Can I take you to dinner?
He read it twice.
Three times.
Then let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
His fingers hovered above the screen.
Then, finally—
Bob:
You had me worried.
A minute passed.
Then:
Y/N:
I know. I’m sorry.
Let me make it up to you?
And just like that…
Hope came roaring back.
———
Bob had never gotten dressed so slowly and so nervously in his life.
He changed shirts three times.
Debated cologne.
Put on a jacket, took it off. Put it on again.
He even cleaned his glasses twice, just in case. Because Y/N L/N—the most famous woman on the planet—texted him and said, Can I take you to dinner? Like it was the most normal thing in the world.
It wasn’t.
And it definitely wasn’t normal when she sent the location with a simple:
“Come hungry :)”
When he pulled up, Bob did a double take.
It was Joe’s Diner. A little 24-hour joint he knew well. Kind of rundown, all-day breakfast, the kind of place you could get pancakes and a cheeseburger at the same time. Local favorite.
But tonight?
The neon sign was glowing—and every booth was empty.
Except one.
Right in the corner.
With her.
She was already seated, sipping a milkshake with a red-and-white straw, grinning when she saw him through the glass.
Bob walked in slowly, trying not to trip over his own feet. “Hey…”
“Hi!” she said brightly, standing to greet him. She looked insane. Like she just stepped off a magazine cover—jeans, heels, a tight black top and diamonds like they were casual. Hair loose. Smile soft.
And still—somehow—completely down to earth.
“I hope this isn’t too much,” she said, biting her lip. “I tried to pick somewhere low-key. But when I got here it was packed and I got nervous and I kind of… rented the whole place out.”
“You what?”
She cringed playfully. “It was just a little panic move. I didn’t want people filming or asking for pictures while we were catching up, and I—I tipped!” she added quickly. “A lot! And I gave everyone working tonight $500 each. Just as a thank-you for letting me be a drama queen.”
Bob blinked.
“You rented out a diner… to get pancakes with me?”
She smiled. “Yeah. I missed you.”
He swallowed. “That’s… really nice.”
“You’re really nice.”
She sat back down, gesturing for him to slide in across from her. “I hope you like breakfast for dinner.”
“I do,” he said as he sat, heart pounding in his ears.
“Good,” she grinned. “I already ordered. I got waffles, pancakes, eggs, bacon, hashbrowns… and a milkshake.”
He blinked. “All that for you?”
“No,” she laughed, nudging his foot under the table. “For us.”
⸻
The food came fast—heaping plates of breakfast heaven—and Bob couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to her. Like nothing had changed. Like the weeks apart hadn’t happened. Like he wasn’t sitting across from the most beautiful, famous woman in the world while she poured syrup like a child and kicked her heel against his under the table.
She asked about his flights. His callsign. His favorite movie. If he liked dogs or cats. If he’d ever been to France.
And when he turned the questions on her, she answered just as openly.
Her eyes sparkled when she laughed. And Bob couldn’t stop smiling. Not once.
By the time they were finishing their second milkshake—sharing it this time—Bob didn’t want the night to end.
Neither did she.
Outside the diner, the night air was cool and quiet—except for the low murmur of four very serious-looking bodyguards stationed at every possible entrance and exit.
They stood at full attention, one by the curb, two by the diner’s double doors, and one tailing discreetly behind as she walked with Bob to his car.
Bob had never felt so… important. Or awkward. Mostly awkward.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying not to look like he was floating on air.
“I had a really, really great time tonight,” she said softly, slowing her steps as they reached his car.
Bob nodded quickly. “Me too. I… yeah. It was amazing. The waffles, and the shake, and you—uh, not that you’re—no, I mean—you’re amazing, I just meant the diner—the night was amazing, with you, and—”
Y/N giggled, cutting off his ramble with a gentle touch to his forearm. “Bob,” she said, and he shut up immediately. “Can I…?”
Before he could ask what she meant, she leaned up and pressed the softest kiss to his cheek.
Bob went rigid.
She pulled back just a few inches and blinked at him, shy for the first time tonight. “Was that okay?” she asked, suddenly unsure. “I—I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. That might’ve been—”
“That was more than fine,” Bob blurted out.
Her smile bloomed slow and warm. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
She paused. Tilted her head.
“…What if I actually kissed you?”
Bob blinked. Then swallowed. “Like… kiss kissed?”
She nodded.
“Oh my God please.”
She laughed—full and sweet—and before he could process it, she leaned in again, this time meeting his lips with hers.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t too much. It was… perfect. A little hesitant at first, then deeper when Bob finally remembered how to move. His hands hovered at her waist, not quite touching, until she pulled him just a little closer by the lapel of his jacket.
One of the bodyguards cleared his throat.
They pulled back, breathless.
She looked up at him through her lashes, smile dizzy and sure. “Now that’smore than fine.”
Bob was red. Like full-blown scarlet. But he was smiling, too.
“Should I… text you again?” she asked.
Bob nodded quickly. “Please.”
“I’ll try not to wait another two weeks.”
“I’ll survive,” he promised, and meant it a little too much.
She kissed him once more on the cheek for good measure before her security detail politely reminded her it was time to go.
But Bob stood by his car, lips tingling, heart thrumming, eyes locked on her retreating figure like he’d just watched a miracle walk into the night.
Because maybe he had.
———
Bob walked into the hangar the next morning like he’d just discovered heaven. Or touched it. Or made out with it behind a classic 1950s diner while four bodyguards pretended not to look.
He had that kind of dazed, floaty, not quite all the way here look about him. Hair tousled. Coffee half-sipped. Smiling to himself like an idiot.
And the squad? Oh, they noticed.
Phoenix clocked it the second he walked in. “No. No way.”
Payback leaned over. “Bro. What is that face?”
Bob blinked, snapped halfway back to earth. “What? What face?”
“You’re grinning,” Fanboy said, pointing. “You never grin. You… barely smile. You smirk at best.”
Rooster walked by with a protein bar and raised a brow. “Did you get laid?”
“Bradley!” Phoenix hissed.
Bob choked on air. “No! I—God, no! I mean—not no, I just—wow, what?!”
Phoenix crossed her arms and smirked. “Okay, so not laid. But something happened.”
Bob’s ears were already going pink. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Oh, it’s a huge deal,” Payback grinned. “You haven’t even taken your backpack off. You’ve just been standing there smiling at the floor like a golden retriever in love.”
Fanboy leaned in. “Tell us.”
Bob hesitated. Bit the inside of his cheek. Then—
“She kissed me.”
“OH—”
It was like a bomb went off.
“NO. NO WAY.” Rooster shouted.
Phoenix straight-up slapped his arm. “You’re lying!”
Bob held up his hands. “Swear to God. At the diner.”
“She kissed you?” Payback repeated.
Bob’s smile got a little dreamy again. “Yeah.”
Fanboy let out a slow whistle. “On the cheek or…?”
Bob didn’t answer.
“Oh my god,” Phoenix whispered. “You got kissed kissed.”
Phoenix looked ready to explode. “Okay, so when’s the wedding?”
Fanboy gasped. “Did she post again?!”
Everyone immediately whipped their phones out, and sure enough—
@ynln
📍San Diego
🎬 had to see my pilot again before flying out to shoot the next movie 🤭💋
[photo of her in the cockpit next to Bob, hand on his shoulder, both of them beaming — and Bob? Blushing like hell]
And then the caption below the pic:
@ynln:
also, someone tell lieutenant floyd that i’m gonna marry him if he keeps being this cute
Rooster screamed. Phoenix looked like she was going to pass out. Fanboy started pacing in a circle with his hands on his head. Even Payback was speechless.
Bob stood there, stunned silent, staring at the screen.
Phoenix grabbed his arm. “She posted that? About you?!”
Bob nodded faintly, barely breathing.
Fanboy turned to him, deadly serious. “Do you know what this means?”
Bob blinked. “That… she likes me?”
“That you’re America’s Boyfriend now,” Fanboy said. “And also maybe her future husband.”
Payback grinned. “How’s it feel to be the luckiest man alive?”
Bob, still dazed, just whispered: “Unreal.”
———
Bob was pretty sure he was dreaming when the email showed up in his inbox.
Subject: 🎬 You’re Cordially Invited
From: Y/N’s personal assistant
Ms. Y/N L/N formally invites Lieutenant Robert Floyd and members of the Top Gun program to attend the official U.S. premiere of her upcoming film “Starlight Syndrome” in Los Angeles, California. Transportation will be arranged. Tuxedos required. Press will be present. Photos encouraged. Please RSVP within 48 hours.
Phoenix screamed when she found out. Literally screamed. Rooster nearly choked on his gum. Hangman tried to act unfazed, but even he ended up checking the mirror twice after hearing what the dress code was.
But Bob?
Bob just stared at the invite like it was written in gold. Like it might disappear if he blinked.
It had been two weeks since their diner night. Two weeks of silence. Two weeks of maybe she forgot or maybe it didn’t mean as much to her. He’d told himself not to get his hopes up. He tried not to check his phone. Tried not to look at the diner pic she left in his messages. Tried not to imagine her red carpet photos with someone else.
And then—this.
“You okay, Bob?” Fanboy asked, glancing at him.
Bob looked up slowly, blinking back into reality. “…She remembered.”
⸻
Cut to:
Red Carpet Night
She’s in some GOWN that looks like it cost six months of rent. Diamond earrings. Hair curled like old Hollywood. Makeup perfect, but not tooperfect—still the soft-eyed, sweet-talking girl who once whispered, “sorry, was that fine?” before kissing him behind a diner.
Bob steps out of the black SUV in a fitted tuxedo he nearly passed out putting on. Everyone looks great, but the second the press cameras see him—
“Lieutenant Floyd!”
“Bob Floyd, over here!”
“Are you the pilot she mentioned in her caption last week?!”
“Are you dating Y/N?!”
Bob freezes. Phoenix leans in. “Don’t lock up, just smile and wave like a politician.”
And then—she’s there.
Coming down the carpet in heels that cost more than his car, glowing,smiling, her eyes scanning through the crowd until they land right on him.
She walks right up to him and grins. “Hey, Lieutenant Floyd.”
Bob clears his throat. “Hey, Ms. L/N.”
She laughs softly, slipping her arm through his like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “So glad you made it.”
“You invited me,” he says dumbly.
“And you came,” she says, then pauses. “Sorry I didn’t text sooner. Press tour had me all over the globe. again. I didn’t forget you. Not for a second.”
Bob blinks. “You didn’t?”
She leans in, brushing her lips against his cheek again, soft and familiar. “Of course not. I’ve been thinking about you the whole time.”
And the flashbulbs? They explode.
——
As soon as she spots the squad getting out of the black SUV, she beams.Instantly waves them over, not caring that half of Hollywood is watching.
“There they are!” she says to the press with a laugh, her earrings glittering as she turns. “These are my guys!”
She doesn’t wait for them to approach—she walks toward them in her heels like she’s floating. Her team freaks out behind her. “Wait, Y/N! Stay in your mark!”
But she just waves them off. She’s on a mission.
“Rooster, Fanboy, Phoenix, Coyote, Payback, Hangman…” she’s pointing at each of them, remembering all their names. “Come take pictures with me—please. I need at least a hundred.”
They’re all caught off guard, not used to being the ones asked for photos, but they rush in, adjusting ties, smoothing hair, suddenly aware this moment will be everywhere.
They take group shots, laughing, hyping each other up. She makes them laugh for the wide angles, does one where they’re all pointing at the camera like a boy band. And then:
“Okay. Solo shots. Come on.”
She poses with each one—smiling with Phoenix, pulling Hangman into a fake headlock, matching sunglasses with Rooster—but when it’s Bob’s turn?
She turns fully toward him, voice dropping just slightly. “Hi again.”
He’s already red. “Hi.”
She wraps her arms around him, warm and confident. “This okay?”
He nods quickly. “Y-Yeah.”
“Good,” she whispers, and leans her head on his shoulder for the photo.
The cameras go insane.
Click. Flash. She’s giggling in another. Click. Flash. She’s turned toward him, both hands holding his now. Click. Flash. One more, and she hugs him again, resting her cheek briefly against his chest.
“You’re gonna break the internet,” Phoenix mutters behind them.
Bob’s eyes are wide. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” Hangman says, actually impressed. “You look like the lead in a romance movie.”
⸻
And when the photos hit Instagram that night?
Her official account posts a carousel.
📸🎞️ Premiere night magic
🎬: #StarlightSyndrome
💫: Thank you to the real-life heroes who showed up tonight—your support means the world to me.
(Also yes, Bob gives the best hugs.)
swipe ➡️
First photo: her and the whole squad, all grinning.
Second: her arm-in-arm with Bob, her cheek against his shoulder.
Third: them mid-laugh, eyes only on each other.
Fourth: just Bob, caught off guard in a tux, smiling small but real.
———
The venue is glowing—low golden lights, deep velvet couches, a live band in the corner playing sultry jazz that occasionally slides into pop covers. The crowd is dressed to the nines, champagne everywhere. But she’s not interested in Hollywood small talk. Not tonight.
Because when she walks in and sees them—the squad huddled around a table near the back, already laughing with drinks in hand—her smile lights up the whole room.
“There’s my table,” she says to her assistant, ignoring every producer who tries to pull her away. “Don’t let anyone drag me off. I’m going there.”
And she does.
She walks right over, hugs Phoenix from behind, taps Rooster’s glass with her own. Bob stands when she gets there—of course he does—and she gives him a grin before leaning in and kissing his cheek.
“Hi, Bob.”
He’s already red. “Hi. You—you look stunning.”
“So do you.” She sits right next to him. Doesn’t even hesitate.
⸻
She makes the rounds from there—laughing with Coyote over bad pick-up lines, cheers-ing Payback when he dares her to take a shot. She dances with everybody.
At one point, she pulls Fanboy into a spin. At another, she drags Phoenix out for a full choreographed moment when the band switches to Beyoncé. She even twirls Rooster like he’s the belle of the ball and he goes with it.
“Where’d you learn to dance like this?” Hangman asks.
“On set. You think I’m gonna waste those choreography lessons?” she quips, grabbing his hand and flipping it to lead him into a swing move before pointing dramatically to Bob.
“Okay—my turn. Come on, Bob.”
He freezes. “What?”
“Dance with me.”
“I—uh, I don’t really dance—”
“Lucky for you, I do,” she teases, grabbing his hand. “Let me lead?”
He can’t say no. So he lets her pull him in. It’s awkward at first—Bob trying not to step on her toes, her laughing gently when he almost trips—but she never lets go.
“You’re doing great.”
“You’re lying,” he mutters.
She laughs and leans closer, her forehead brushing his. “I don’t lie to you.”
⸻
Eventually they all collapse back at the table, flushed from dancing, laughing too loud, sipping drinks with messy garnishes and half-melted ice.
She looks around at all of them—grinning, bickering, teasing each other—and then looks at Bob beside her.
“This is my favorite table in the room.”
His chest tightens a little. “Yeah?”
She nods, resting her head briefly on his shoulder. “And you’re my favorite part of it.”
He doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure he could, not with his throat tightening and his heart thudding like that. But he doesn’t need to.
Because she’s still holding his hand under the table.
———
The after party was in full swing—music pulsing, people dancing, drinks flowing—but Bob had somehow ended up on the balcony. He wasn’t avoiding anyone. He just… needed air. Or maybe he needed to think. About the night. About her.
And speak of the devil—there she was.
She stepped out, her gown glimmering under the soft patio lights, her heels clicking gently on the tiles. She was holding two champagne flutes and passed one to him like it was the most casual thing in the world.
“You disappeared,” she said, smiling like she already knew where he’d gone.
Bob cleared his throat. “Just wanted some quiet.”
“Good. I needed a break too.” She leaned on the railing beside him, shoulder just brushing his. “This was nice. All of this.”
He smiled. “It really was.”
Then she turned slightly toward him, something playful in her voice.
“Do you think your friends like me?”
Bob blinked. “Like you? Are you kidding? They’re obsessed with you.”
She laughed, tipping her head back slightly. “What about you?”
And that was when it happened.
He looked right at her, soft-eyed, serious as ever, and—
“I was obsessed before I even met you.”
There was a beat of silence. A pause. Then his entire face turned red.
“Wait—I didn’t mean— I mean, I did, but not like—I just meant—”
She was smiling, watching him unravel, clearly trying not to laugh.
“I mean, I’ve always admired you. A lot. Not just how you look—God, not just that—I mean you’re obviously—you know—but you’re really… you’re so kind. And smart. And I just—okay. Yeah. I’m gonna stop talking now.”
She took a small step closer.
“Bob?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m really glad you said it.”
He blinked. “Wait—what?”
“I’ve been obsessed with you since you stuttered out your name that first day.”
And then she clinked her glass gently against his.
“To quiet balconies and flustered pilots.”
Bob leaned against the balcony railing of her rented house in San Diego, one hand wrapped around a sweating glass of water, the other loosely tucked into his pocket. She stood beside him, the hem of her dress fluttering in the warm breeze, her elbow barely brushing his. They’d been talking about nothing and everything for the past hour. He had never felt more at ease.
Then his phone buzzed in his back pocket.
He glanced at the screen. Mom.
“Give me one sec,” he murmured, stepping away a little, pressing the phone to his ear. “Hey, Mom—”
Her eyes were on him immediately. She didn’t even try to hide it. She could see the way his body stiffened before she could hear anything, see the way his free hand shot to his mouth, pressing against it hard like he could physically hold the sound inside.
His knees nearly buckled. He leaned hard against the balcony wall, his face dropping out of sight.
“Bob?” she asked softly, already moving.
He didn’t answer. The phone slipped from his hand and hit the wood with a dull thud.
She was there instantly, no hesitation, both hands coming to his shoulders. “Bob—hey. Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart, look at me.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “What happened?”
He turned to her, eyes already glassy, and in a choked whisper, he finally got it out.
“It’s my grandpa.”
A beat.
“He’s gone.”
The silence that followed was still—but not empty. She pulled him into her arms without a second thought, his face buried into the curve of her neck as his shoulders began to shake. Not a full sob at first—just breathless, body-wracking grief that broke through the careful calm he always carried.
“I’m here,” she whispered, over and over, her hands running up and down his back, her heart splintering for him. “I’m right here. I’ve got you. Shhh… I’m not leaving. I’ve got you.”
Minutes passed like that. She didn’t rush him. Didn’t speak unless he needed it. Just held him, solid and unwavering, while the sky dimmed behind them.
When his breathing finally slowed, he still hadn’t let go. His cheek was pressed against her shoulder, and his voice was barely audible.
“C-Can you come with me?”
She didn’t hesitate.
“Of course I will,” she said, tightening her arms around him. “Just tell me when we’re leaving.”
⸻
The next morning, her team was already mobilized before sunrise.
Flights were canceled. Meetings postponed. Her stylist sent condolences. Her assistant was on the phone coordinating with security.
They boarded her private jet just after noon—Bob sitting quietly by the window, hands clasped in his lap, while she curled into the seat next to him, fingers laced gently through his.
The six security guards kept a respectful distance. No press knew what was going on. She made sure of it.
The funeral was quiet and heartbreaking. Bob’s family welcomed her immediately, touched by her presence and her grace. She stayed two full weeks—meeting cousins, helping his mom with errands, holding his hand through every difficult moment. She was dressed simply, spoke softly, and never once made it about her.
She was just his—the girl who didn’t blink when he fell apart, who flew across the country to sit beside him at the hardest table he’d ever faced.
And every night, when the house fell quiet, she sat next to him on the porch swing with two mugs of tea. She never said too much.
Just enough.
———
It was late. Almost midnight. The crickets had taken over the soundtrack of the sleepy Texas town, and the porch swing creaked every so often with the rhythm of the night.
Bob had gone inside to help his mom with something in the kitchen, leaving her sitting alone with a cup of tea she’d made herself at this point. Familiar now. Natural.
The screen door opened behind her, and she turned to see a woman—older, warm-eyed, and sharp in that matriarchal way. Bob’s Aunt Carol.
“Mind if I sit?” she asked.
“Please,” Y/N said instantly, scooting to make room. “Of course.”
Carol sat down with a sigh, her hands folded over her lap. She looked at the actress—the actress—the same one Bob had had posters of on his bedroom wall since he was sixteen—and gave her a long, thoughtful once-over.
“You’re not what I expected,” she said gently.
Y/N smiled, not offended in the slightest. “I get that a lot.”
Carol nodded, still watching her. “You’re sweet. Not just in a polite kind of way. I can tell. You see people. You saw him.”
She swallowed, caught off guard. “I… I hope so.”
“He’s always been our quiet one,” Carol continued, glancing toward the house. “Shy. Gentle. Loves deeper than he lets on. Lost his dad young. Took it hard. Carried more than he ever should’ve.”
Y/N blinked back sudden emotion, nodding slowly.
“You holding him like that?” Carol said softly. “Out there when that call came? I saw it. I know what that meant.”
Y/N pressed her lips together, heart tight in her chest.
Carol leaned in slightly. “So I just have one question for you.”
“Okay,” Y/N said, barely above a whisper.
“Are you gonna break my nephew’s heart?”
The question didn’t sting. It settled heavy. Honest.
Y/N looked her dead in the eyes, shoulders square, voice unwavering. “No, ma’am. I’d rather someone break mine first.”
Carol sat back, studying her for one long moment.
Then she smiled. “Good. Then you’re welcome here. Anytime.”
Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
From inside, Bob’s laugh echoed faintly through the walls. She turned toward the sound, like gravity had shifted just slightly in his direction.
Carol watched her for another beat and said, “You love him already, don’t you?”
She didn’t deny it.
Didn’t even look away.
“…Yeah,” Y/N murmured, lips curling just barely. “I think I do.”
———
The house had quieted, humming low with the sounds of settling: dishwasher running, floorboards groaning under the weight of memories. The kind of silence that only came after a long day filled with too many emotions.
Bob stopped just outside the guest room, like he always did. He never let her walk alone, not even down the hall in his childhood home.
She turned and faced him at the door, her hand still on the knob. Her expression was unreadable—soft, but serious.
“Can you come in for a second?” she asked.
His heart stuttered.
He hesitated for half a breath too long.
“…Yeah. Sure.”
He stepped inside, standing awkwardly near the dresser while she sat on the edge of the bed. She motioned for him to sit next to her, and when he did, the mattress dipped with the weight of what he thought was coming.
“You okay?” he asked quietly, trying to keep it neutral, but his voice betrayed him.
She folded her hands in her lap, took a breath. “There’s something I need to say. And I’m a little nervous, so please don’t interrupt, okay?”
Bob nodded immediately. Scared stiff.
She met his eyes. Really met them.
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she started. “I didn’t expect to come to a Navy base and meet someone like you. And I definitely didn’t expect that you’d be the one person I couldn’t get out of my head.”
His brows furrowed slightly, unsure. Guarded.
She went on.
“And when I asked for your number, I meant to text you the next day. But things snowballed. Press junkets, red-eyes, interviews… I didn’t even have time to breathe. And I thought about you every single day.”
Bob’s throat moved with a quiet swallow.
She scooted a little closer on the bed, her knee brushing his. “I know this isn’t normal. None of this is. I have six bodyguards and a schedule that’s insane, and you fly jets for a living and barely look at your phone.”
That made him smile, just a little.
“But I want to try,” she said. “I want you. I don’t care about the noise or the press or how different our lives look on paper. I care about the way you treat me. The way you look at me like I’m just a person. The way you make me feel safe without trying.”
He was frozen. Wide-eyed. She reached for his hand, gently easing it into hers.
“I don’t know how this will work,” she said, voice softer now. “But if you want to try, too… I’m in. No matter what.”
Bob blinked fast, then looked down at their joined hands like he couldn’t quite believe they were real. “I thought… I thought you were about to say this wasn’t gonna work,” he admitted.
She smiled. “I kind of figured you’d panic.”
“I was preparing myself for the worst,” he laughed nervously. “Like full breakup speech.”
She shook her head and leaned in, pressing her forehead gently to his. “No breakup. Just… beginning.”
He pulled back slightly so he could look at her, really look. And then, voice barely a whisper:
“I’ve wanted this since the moment you called me a cutie patootie in front of everyone.”
Omgg do you have the charlie angels reader draft?!?! If so, could you post it someday? I LOVE charlies angels ✨️✨️.
Heyyy, so, yessss I do have a small one shot I think? I never thought would see the light of day, so I polished it a bit because I am more than happy to share itttt, actually thank you for asking lol <3<3<3
Only Angels fly this high!
Bradley Bradshaw x Charlie's Angel reader!
You were never just Maverick’s daughter.
You were the girl who swept your district's science fair four years straight, the one who could solve a Rubik's cube in under sixty seconds without even looking flustered. You knew every Avenger’s and DC's origin story by heart, had an unshakable love for Aragorn and your textbooks, and could quote Star Wars like scripture.
With your braces gleaming, frizzy ponytails bouncing, and socks that never once matched, you were a walking storm of heart, brilliance, and sunshine. A true geek with a gymnast's poise, a mind too quick to sit still, and a laugh that could fill a room before you even entered it. You were fire and fizz and full of wonder— Pete Maverick Mitchell's daughter, sure, but unmistakably, undeniably you.
When your dad disappeared on those long, classified missions—off saving the world in ways you weren’t allowed to know, you just packed your bag like clockwork and headed to one of two places. Sometimes, it was to your godfather, Uncle Ice, who’d ruffle your hair and tell you, with that steady calm of his, that even though you hardly looked like your dad, you had the same fire in your eyes. The same stubborn spark. The same refusal to back down. He said it like a compliment, like a promise. You loved him deeply, truly. He was a quiet sort of anchor, a man who never needed many words to make you feel seen.
But most of the time, you went to the Bradshaws’.
Carol always welcomed you like one of her own, with a warm smile, a hug that smelled like fresh laundry and vanilla, and a plate of something home-cooked waiting on the table. Over time, their house became your second home, the place where you memorized the sound of their old floorboards and where you felt safest when the sky felt just a little too big.
And then there was Bradley.
Older. Cooler. Already growing into the kind of person you could only dream of becoming. He had this effortless way about him—music in his ears, sun in his smile, the kind of person that made rooms quieter and your heart louder. You followed him around with books hugged to your chest, spilling facts about superheroes and black holes, always hoping he'd listen—and he did.
He never rolled his eyes. Never made you feel silly for talking too much or knowing too many things. He let you tag along, called you “kid” with a grin that somehow didn’t sting, and made you feel like being exactly who you were, loud laugh, wild ideas, frizzy hair and all, was something worth being proud of.
You adored him.
Not in a way that needed anything in return, but in that pure, clumsy way that only happens when someone older and kinder and just out of reach shows you what it feels like to be seen.
When Bradley left for college, you told yourself not to miss him. You tried to tuck the ache away somewhere quiet, somewhere small, behind schoolwork, hobbies, competitions and all the things you used to ramble about to him when he’d pretend not to listen but always did. It wasn’t just that he left; it was that things changed.
You only saw him once after that. At Carol’s funeral. The air that day was thick with loss, the kind you could feel in your throat. You spotted him across the room—older, more tired, a stranger in the shape of someone you used to adore. You exchanged a look. Maybe a nod. Nothing more. Heavy. Wordless.
Calls stopped. Messages faded. And after the falling-out between him and your dad, whatever thread had quietly tied the two of you together just… vanished.
But even as time tugged Bradley further away, you never drifted from your dad. If anything, you clung to him tighter. You sent him everything—snapshots of you mid-flip in your gymnastics uniform, shaky videos of your band performing at school, newspaper articles of your victories, long, rambling letters from chess tournaments detailing every single move like it was a mission report. When you got your college acceptance letter, you didn’t just call him, you sent a copy with a doodle you’d drawn of the two of you in matching aviator sunglasses, grinning like dorks.
Because he wasn’t just your dad. He was your rock. Your anchor. Your hero in a flight suit. And no matter how many people came and went, how many versions of yourself you outgrew, he was always the one constant, the voice on the other end of the line who never once stopped believing in you.
And then… you became something more.
Charlie's Angel.
Not long after you started college out in California, with wide eyes and ambition for your future, you were approached by a curious agency. The Townsend Agency. It wasn’t like anything you expected. There were no job postings or open interviews. Just a whisper, a test, and then a door you didn’t even know was there opened right in front of you.
What followed was a whirlwind training that pushed your body to its limits, missions that tested your mind and your morals, and partnerships that carved something fierce and beautiful into your soul. You weren’t alone in it, either. There were two other girls—no, women—who became your teammates, your family, your sisters in everything but blood. Together, the three of you tackled the impossible. Missions took you all over the world—scaling rooftops, decoding encrypted files on the fly, surviving car chases, shootouts, betrayal. It was thrilling. Dangerous. Meaningful. Just the kind of beautiful chaos you lived for. Like a good Mitchell. You always did love flying close to the sun.
That being said… you still haven’t told your dad.
Not because you didn’t want to. You did… do. You’ve come close a dozen times, standing at the edge of the truth with your phone in hand or your heart in your throat, thinking this is it. But it never felt quite right.
Because how do you tell Maverick, the legendary naval aviator, your fighter pilot of a father, that his little girl became a spy?
Not a doctor or a lawyer or a quiet observer behind a desk. No, you became an Angel, a full-blown, off-the-books, world-saving, chaos-wrangling secret agent. You jump out of planes sometimes without a parachute, trusting only your timing and a teammate’s hand to catch you. You've fought trained mercenaries twice your size in the back alleys of foreign cities. You’ve disarmed bombs with ten seconds left on the clock. Posed as arms dealers, infiltrated corrupt corporations, survived car crashes, scaled a glass building in Dubai with nothing but suction grips and nerves, hotwired a moving car in Paris while dodging sniper fire.
And somehow still walked away—bloody, bruised, but grinning with your sisters.
How do you sit your dad down and say, “Hey, remember how you used to panic when I scraped my knee on the monkey bars? Well, now I carry lockpicks in my heels and can kill a man with a paperclip.”
Your friends tell you to just do it. “He’ll understand,” they say. “He’s military. He gets it, he's done dangerous things all his life."
But you know better.
He was a father first. He always had been, even when he wasn’t physically there, even when he was halfway around the world, flying high above everything. His heart was always anchored to you. You were his little girl, his sunshine, his soft spot in a hard-edged world, who checked your helmet twice before you could ride a bike, who made you text the second you got somewhere, worried when you scraped your knee, when you stayed up too late studying.
He was Maverick. Top Gun. Hero to most. But to you, he was just Dad.
So no, it’s not easy. Not when you know the truth will make his pulse spike and his mind race to every worst-case scenario. Not when you can still picture his face the day you fell off the beam at your gymnastics meet and he looked like the world had ended.
But still… there’s a part of you that hopes—when the moment comes, when you do tell him—he won’t just see the danger. He’ll see the strength, the purpose, the pride.
That somewhere deep down, the Maverick in him will recognize the Angel in you... Today is not that day, though.
Not when you’ve finally managed to visit after months apart—not because you didn’t want to come sooner, but because life had a funny way of keeping you both busy. His schedule was packed with flights and trainings and whatever top-secret projects still pulled at the edges of his life. Yours… well, yours was classified. Let’s just say saving the world tends to mess with your calendar.
But now, with a rare stretch of time off, you showed up at his hangar-home like no time had passed at all. He met you at the door with that familiar squint and slow-building smile, arms pulling you into one of those hugs that made you feel twelve again, like the universe could shrink down to just the two of you and still be enough.
You showed off your latest toy—a vintage, growling Mercedes-Benz Heritage, sleek and silver, like something out of a Bond film. He gave it an approving nod, muttered something about it being too pretty to trust you behind the wheel, and you both laughed like no time had passed.
At some point, after he proudly showed you the new project he was working on—an old plane with more history than metal—you insisted on cooking. Said you wanted to treat him. He looked skeptical but stepped aside, letting you take over the tiny kitchen.
The thing is… you might know how to hack into secure government servers blindfolded. You can decode encrypted files while hanging out of a moving vehicle and disarm a bomb with nothing but a bobby pin, chewing gum, and sheer nerve.
But apparently, you still don’t know how long garlic bread is supposed to stay in the oven.
Smoke curled out of the toaster oven like a signal flare, thick and dramatic, as if announcing your failure to the whole Mojave. You stood there, spatula in hand, staring at what used to be garlic bread—but now looked more like a charred fossil.
“Dammit,” you muttered under your breath, coughing as you fanned the smoke with a dishtowel, trying to open a window that didn’t want to budge.
So, you stumbled out of the silver trailer—smoke still trailing behind you like you were escaping a failed op—waving the towel above your head, hoping to clear the air.
"Everything is fine, just give me a vacuum and a YouTube tutorial," you coughed, still fanning the smoky air like your life depended on it. The kitchen now smelled less like garlic and more like defeat.
Then you heard it—your name, called out in a voice that was both familiar and unfamiliar all at once. Warm but deeper. Steady. Older. You froze mid-wave of the dish towel, eyes narrowing as you turned around.
And there he was.
Bradley Bradshaw.
Holy. Shit.
"Bradley!" you gasped, the breath catching somewhere between shock and joy.
Before you could think, you dropped the towel, launched forward, and threw your arms around him. It wasn’t graceful—your elbow clipped his sunglasses, you nearly tripped over your own feet, and there was definitely still flour smeared across your shirt—but none of it mattered. The hug was tight, warm, all the things unsaid wrapped into a single, breathless squeeze.
“Oh, it’s been forever,” you said breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look at him.
You were grinning wildly, eyes dancing, completely caught up in the joy of the moment. What you didn’t notice—not at first—was how stunned he looked.
He blinked, almost like he wasn’t sure how to catch up.
“Look at you!” you said, poking his chest with mock offense. “You grew a mustache!!!”
Bradley let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking his head as if trying to make sense of it all.
“And you… grew up,” he said quietly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud—like the realization had just hit him and slipped past his guard.
“Barely,” your dad chimed in from across the hangar, where he was wiping his hands clean with an old rag, smudged with grease from the plane’s engine. His voice cut through the moment like a well-timed punchline.
You turned just in time to see him eyeing the thin trail of smoke still drifting from the open trailer door.
“Please tell me you did not burn down my kitchen,” he said, eyebrows raised, half-exasperated, half-amused.
You held up your hands in surrender, cheeks flushed. “Not entirely! It’s still standing. Just… maybe don’t open the toaster for a while.”
“Great…” Your dad shot you a long-suffering look, then sighed like a man who’d seen combat but still wasn’t prepared for you in the kitchen. Then he turned to Bradley, wiping the last of the grease from his palms. “Hey, I wasn’t expecting you today.”
“Yeah… uh, just happened to be nearby,” Bradley said, almost too casually. Then he lifted the takeout bag in his hand. “And—looks like I showed up just in time.”
He gave you a small smile, the kind that was soft around the edges and held a hint of something else—something unreadable and warm.
,You grinned at the bag like it was the Holy Grail. “Ohh, like a psychic… or maybe Lady Fate herself. What you brought and please tell me you brought enough for an unexpected mouth?”
“I did,” Bradley smirked, giving the bag a little shake for dramatic flair. “Thai. From a little spot near the base—place looks like a shack but cooks like heaven. One of those joints where they always forget the utensils, but never mess up the order.”
You gasped like he’d just told you he found buried treasure. “My kind of place. Who needs forks when destiny delivers Pad Thai?”
Bradley chuckled, handing you the bag with a knowing grin. “Hope you still like spicy, because I told them to go easy—and they still said ‘mild’ was more of a suggestion than a promise.”
You peeked inside the bag, the smell already making your mouth water. “Perfect. I like my food with a little danger. Keeps me humble.”
Your dad chimed in from behind you, grabbing plates “You say that now, but let’s see you talk tough after the first bite.”
You shot him a look. “Says the man who thinks pepper is a bold seasoning choice.”
The three of you settled in around the small table—plates spread out, drinks poured, laughter drifting lazily through the warm air. Conversation flowed easily, the kind that bounced between memories, light teasing, and just enough catch-up to fill in the gaps years apart had left.
You asked Bradley about his life, his job—nudging him gently with curiosity, dancing around certain topics with the kind of practiced grace that would’ve made Bosley proud. You didn’t lie—you just knew how to steer. How to let a story breathe without giving away the details underneath.
While delicately munching on a spring roll, you hummed quietly, savoring the flavor, then murmured without thinking, “I’ve been craving them like crazy since I came back from Thailand.”
Bradley, mid-bite, paused and looked up with a mild tilt of his head. “You’ve been to Thailand?”
You froze—not visibly, just a flicker of hesitation behind your eyes. The kind of pause most wouldn’t notice. But Bradley had always paid attention.
Still, your smile was easy as you nodded, grabbing your drink for cover. “Yeah. Work keeps me traveling.”
Bradley leaned back slightly, chopsticks in hand, eyeing you with playful suspicion. “Yeah? What do you do, exactly? Something fancy, I imagine, if that car outside is any indication. Since when do you have that kind of taste, huh?”
You raised a brow, feigning offense. “Excuse me, I’ve always had taste.”
He snorted. “Right. Last time I saw you drooling over a car, it was that busted-up ‘Back to the Future’ knockoff you swore was the coolest thing ever. What was it? That rusty little hatchback with spray-painted flames and a bumper sticker that said ‘Flux This’?”
You laughed, nearly choking on your spring roll. “Hey, that car had personality. It was vintage.”
“It was a safety hazard.”
“It was charming!”
Bradley grinned, shaking his head. “You’ve upgraded. I’ll give you that. So, seriously—what do you do now?”
You smiled sweetly, taking another bite of your spring roll with practiced nonchalance.
“I’m a private art conservator,” you said, repeating the same polished line you’d fed your dad years ago—the one you’d carefully crafted to sound just vague and boring enough to kill curiosity.
Bradley blinked. “A what?”
“Art conservator,” you repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I restore paintings and sculptures—help private collectors preserve rare pieces. Lots of travel, lots of delicate work, very serious,”
Bradley glanced at your dad, who didn’t even flinch, too busy digging into his pad see ew like this was Tuesday.
Then he looked back at you, eyes narrowing slightly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Seriously?”
You met his gaze, unblinking. “Dead serious.”
He leaned back in his chair, skeptical. “You? Art conservator? The same girl who once glued googly eyes onto her dad’s Elvis poster because—and I quote—‘It improved the emotional depth’?”
You shrugged, all cool confidence. “Every great artist starts somewhere.”
Bradley laughed, shaking his head. “Unreal.”
“Hey,” you said, pointing your chopsticks at him. “Don’t knock the hustle. Art is very fragile. Almost as fragile as, say… classified intel of the worlds economy on a microchip hidden in the frame of a nineteenth-century oil painting inside the vaults of the luvre.”
Both Bradley and your dad raised their eyebrows in perfect unison, like a synchronized team of disbelief.
You blinked, then raised your hands. “Kidding, pass the rice please."
Bradley chuckled and reached for the plate, shaking his head as he handed it over.
“See, that’s what I find unreal,” he said, his voice laced with something halfway between nostalgia and awe. “You were always… I don’t know. Too clever and smart for your own good.”
Your dad grunted in agreement, still chewing.
You tilted your head, scooping rice onto your plate with a lazy grin. “Is that your way of saying I was annoying?”
He smirked. “Terribly. But also kind of a genius. I always figured you’d end up running some multibillion-dollar tech company or… I don’t know, sending astronauts to Mars.”
You snorted. “Wow, aim high, why don’t you?”
He leaned his elbows on the table, studying you. “I did. You had that kind of brain, y’know? The kind that never turned off. It always felt like you were thinking ten steps ahead of everyone else.”
You paused for just a second, fingers tightening on the chopsticks before you smiled again, softer this time. “Still am, just not in the way most people would guess.”
Bradley narrowed his eyes slightly, playful but curious. “Yeah, I’m starting to get that.”
You returned to your food, casually scooping rice onto your plate, but you could still feel Bradley’s eyes on you—curious, watching like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t know he’d started.
“So,” you said, changing the subject with a too-bright smile, “what about you, Lieutenant Mustache? Still flying? Still breaking hearts?”
Your dad let out a soft snort, clearly enjoying the turn of the conversation.
Bradley leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, giving you a look. “I’ll have you know the mustache has become a very powerful asset.”
You raised a brow. “Does it come with a security clearance?”
“Practically,” he said with mock pride. “Still flying, still in uniform… just with slightly more facial hair and responsibility.”
“Terrifying,” you muttered, hiding a grin behind your drink—because in all honesty, that mustache looked damn good on him. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud. At least not yet.
There was a beat of silence after that, easy and warm. The kind that settles between people who’ve shared enough history to skip over the awkward parts. Three lives woven through time, scattered and now briefly realigned. It felt like no time had passed at all—and somehow like everything had changed.
Your dad stood with a quiet groan, stretching his back as he grabbed the empty soda cans and crumpled napkins.
“I’ll grab more,” he said casually. “Napkins, too, since someone eats like she’s still thirteen.”
You shot him a look. “Rude.”
“But true,” he replied over his shoulder, disappearing inside the trailer.
And just like that, you and Bradley were alone.
The hangar fell into a soft, ambient quiet—just the hum of the overhead fan, the distant creak of the cooling engine, and the sound of Bradley’s thumb absentmindedly tapping the rim of his drink.
He looked over at you, eyes thoughtful. “So… ‘private art conservator,’ huh?”
You raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Still hung up on that?”
“Just trying to picture it,” he said, tone teasing but curious. “You, in gloves, hunched over a painting with a little brush.”
You leaned in slightly, resting your elbow on the table. “What, you don’t think I’ve got the patience for restoration?”
“I think you’ve got the precision,” he said, eyes not leaving yours. “I’m just not used to you being quiet for long.”
You smiled slowly, the kind of smile that said you’re not the only one who’s changed. “People grow up, Bradshaw.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, gaze flicking down and then back to you again. “Apparently, they do.”
The tension between you wasn’t thick, but it was there, like static. Familiar and new, cautious and curious. It buzzed just beneath the surface, waiting- your phone began to ring.
The sudden sound made you flinch just slightly, dragging you out of the moment. You set your plate down with a reluctant clink and fished the phone from your pocket.
Bosley.
Your eyes flicked to Bradley for half a second—he was watching you, still relaxed but alert, picking up on the shift in your energy. You forced a smile, one hand already tucking the phone to your ear as you stood.
“Gimme a sec,” you said casually, stepping away from the table, from him, from that dangerous almost-moment.
You put the phone to your ear, trying to keep your voice casual. “Hello… Yeah, okay. I’ll be right in.”
You hung up, slipped the phone back into your pocket, and took a moment to school your features before turning back around. A practiced smile curved across your lips—effortless, easy. You walked back to the table like you hadn’t just been called back into a secret life.
Bradley was still seated, watching you with mild curiosity, like he knew something wasn’t adding up but didn’t know quite what.
“Everything good?” he asked, tone neutral but eyes searching.
“Yeah,” you said with a shrug that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Work. Something I need to take care of.”
Before he could say more, your dad emerged from the trailer with two cans of soda under one arm and a bundle of napkins in the other.
“Alright, I brought backup—oh.” He paused, catching the shift in your expression, one you always wear when you need to leave impromptu. “You leaving already?”
You gave him an apologetic look. “Duty calls.”
He sighed, handing over a soda anyway. “Figures. You show up after a year, almost burn my kitchen down, steal my spring rolls, then vanish.”
You grinned and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Classic me.”
Your dad chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t be a stranger and text me ass soon as you get there.”
"Of course and don’t worry I'll come back as soon as I can."
You turned to Bradley, catching his gaze again—still curious, still trying to piece together the puzzle of who you were now.
“Guess I owe you a proper catch-up,” you said softly.
He stood, nodding slowly. “Yeah. You do.”
And just like that, you slid into your sleek silver Mercedes, the engine purring to life beneath your fingertips like it knew exactly where you were going—and why. One last glance in the rearview mirror caught the faintest reflection of your dad watching from the hangar, soda in hand, and Bradley still standing by the table, napkin clutched loosely in his fingers, brow furrowed like he wasn’t quite ready for you to disappear again.
You gave a small wave—half playful, half I’ll be back—then pulled out of the dusty lot, tires crunching against gravel as the sun dipped lower behind you.
Back to the mission.
Back to the life they didn’t know about.
Back to saving the day, as usual.
Y/N: Heyyy hope you enjoyed ittttt. There's something about Top Gun x Charlie's Angels that just scratched my brain just right, y'know? One of my favs movies ever.
Summary: After finally sleeping and spending the night with Bradley, you thought the sexual tension that had always been there between the two of you would be gone, but (un)fortunately for you, it did the exact opposite of what you wanted it to.
Word Count: 6.3k | I do not give consent to having my work published or posted to any other platform or profile other than my own.
Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of smut, mentions of sex, descriptions of smut, descriptions of sex, unwanted touching, swearing, pining, jealousy x10, all that fun stuff (minus the touching, ew).
You were annoyed with yourself as you searched around the unfamiliar room for your clothing.
The crisp, white bed sheet was wrapped tightly around your body as you stood up and looked around the floor for your bra or your shirt or something that didn’t smell like him, because the sheets definitely did and you were growing more and more pissed off the longer you had it around you.
Last night had been great. It had been fun. But now that it was the next morning and you had been brought back down to earth, you were annoyed and irritated.
And since the very reason and cause of your annoyance seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth - at least that’s what it felt like right now - the only person you had to blame at the moment was yourself.
Stupid brain. Stupid body. Stupid fucking curiosity. Stupid urge to know what he tasted like, what he smelled like, what he felt like.
Well, now you know all those things, and of course they didn’t make you feel any better.
You were muttering curses under your breath when you found your jeans, and since you couldn’t seem to find where your panties had ended up during the tossing of clothes last night, you just pulled the denim up your legs and looked around again.
As soon as you lifted up one of the pillows that had fallen off the bed during the night, you heard his voice, and fuck did it make your skin flare up.
“Oh, are you leaving already?” he asked, and you stilled instantly. “I was just about to make breakfast for you, you know, to refuel after last night.”
His voice was cocky, confident and sexy, and you tightened the sheet around you before standing back up straight.
There he was.
Bradley Bradshaw stood in the doorway of his room, his upper body on full display - the same skin you touched and tasted last night mocking you as he crossed his arms, and his biceps bulged a bit.
Sweats were hung low on his hips, a tantalizing V line resting under his abs, and until last night, you were sure those only existed in erotic novels. But of course, Bradley fucking Bradshaw was living proof that, with the right amount of exercise and training and personal care, men can truly look like a type of God.
He was smirking at you, as if he was recalling all the sounds he’d coaxed out of you last night in his head, or maybe he was envisioning how your body looked under this very sheet, because he now knew every inch of it. Either way, you locked your jaw and gave him a fake smile, one so forced it had him laughing.
“No, thanks, I think I’m good,” you replied as nicely as you could. Civil. You just needed to be civil with him until you found the rest of your clothing and got the hell out of his house.
But Bradley was anything but civil.
He liked to provoke. To read the room, then do the exact thing that would only worsen things. That was one of the reasons you fucking hated him. Well, hate is a big, strong word. You couldn’t fucking stand the guy. There, that’s a bit nicer.
Then you went back to your search for your clothing.
Seriously, where the fuck had he thrown your shirt?
“Aw, come on,” he said, leaning against the frame as he watched you move around his room, and something in his gaze made you squirm. It felt like he didn’t want you to go, that he wanted you to stay exactly where you are, in his room, wrapped in his sheets, in his house. But those were his eyes talking, his mouth was saying something else. “I can make you the best French toast you’ve ever had. Promise.”
You paused again and turned to face him, your hands tightening in the fabric around your body. “Bradley. Respectfully. Fuck off,”
Harsh. But, it wasn’t your fault he’d pushed you to your breaking point. It also wasn’t your fault that the distance to your breaking point was so short.
But, of course, Bradley didn’t care.
“Well, at least you got the fuck right,” he murmured, reaching up and running his hand through his hair. It was still a mess from last night, from when you ran your own fingers through it and pulled on it and tugged on it, the deep, eye-rolling groans he let out whenever you did it only fueling you more and more. “The off, not so much.”
His words were irritating you even more, and you grabbed your bra once you found it half under the bed. “What?” you muttered, turning around and shedding the delicious smelling sheets of you as you slid your bra on.
When you turned to face him again, he looked almost dejected that you didn’t let him see your front side once the sheet hit the floor, as if he didn’t see it enough the night prior. But then he opened his mouth again, “Oh, I was just recalling the words you said to me last night. The ones you repeated over, and over, and over again,”
Your face heated up and you suddenly felt the urge to walk over to him and throw yourself at him. But in what way, you weren’t sure. “Oh. Oh, God, no,” you shook your head and that’s when you found your shirt.
Right by the door. Right at his feet. Of course.
When you walked over and reached for it, Bradley picked it up and lifted it just out of your reach. “Why the hurry?” he pouted, towering over you with his brooding height, the difference evident and oh so tempting. “I thought we could have a refresher of last night before going back to work.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “You thought wrong,” you mumbled and reached for your shirt, but he held it higher. “Bradley, give me my fucking shirt.”
Bradley pursed his lips and shook his head. “Can you ask nicely?”
You gave him a look that had him fucking cackling, then he was lowering his hand and allowing you to take the fabric from him. “Dick,”
Bradley shook his head as he strolled past you and walked over the sheet you’d dropped on the floor, then he laid back on the bed. “Mm,” he hummed, crossing his arms behind his head as he bucked his hips slightly to get comfortable, and you hated that your eyes went straight to his groin. “You sure seemed to like mine.”
You wanted to scream as you pulled your shirt on and looked over at him. “Oh, my God, would you shut up?”
Bradley looked like he wanted to say something else that would remind you of the fact that you and he finally fucked last night, multiple times, and he most definitely probably had something in mind and ready to go, but instead he just shrugged. “Yeah, sure,”
You let out an audible sigh of relief as you walked over to the bed again and grabbed your phone from off his nightstand. It was nearly dead, but had just enough battery for an Uber.
Thank you, Lord, because you were going to walk before you asked him for a ride back to your house.
“I’ll see you at work,” you muttered as you turned and headed for the bedroom door. “Bye.”
Bradley watched you with hooded eyes. “What, no goodbye kiss?” he called after you, his lips curving upwards when you looked over your shoulder and glared at him. He lifted his hand in a lazy wave as he leaned back on the pillow you’d been on not even five minutes ago. “Bye, it was so nice to finally have sex with you.”
You’ve never slammed a door harder in your life.
-
Sunday afternoon was spent questioning every single choice you’d made in your life, while Sunday night was spent unwillingly fantasizing about the very man you’d swore you’d never talk to again.
It was one night. One fun night to finally get each other out of your systems. Now you and he can stop the constant flirting that was disguised as bickering, and you can move on with your lives. That always worked, right? The sexual tension should finally be gone.
Another thing that was unwilling on your part was the dream you had about him. You’d dreamed about him in the past, but unlike all those times before this one, you didn’t know how good the real thing was. But now you do, so when you woke up and felt an unbearable ache between your thighs, you forced yourself to get ready for work instead of indulging in the thought of how good his lips felt on you, and how big his fingers are.
When you’d gotten to work, you had to sit in your car for a few extra seconds to calm yourself down, because you were slightly horny and the reason for it was somewhere around the base. You just had to hope you didn’t run into him anytime soon, because he’d be able to see how flustered you are.
But nothing ever came from hoping with you, because as soon as you stepped out of your car and turned, you came face to face with the man himself. You stopped abruptly before you bumped into him, and then you felt a scowl form on your face. “Jesus Christ, now what-”
“Woah, so hostile,” Bradley teased as he stood before you in all his glory. His khakis looked better on him than they did on anyone else in the world, and his aviators were total sex appeal, and that wasn’t even mentioning the mustache. You really couldn’t be blamed for caving and going home with him on Friday night. “What’s got you so worked up? Don’t tell me you moved on from me already.”
You raised a brow and crossed your arms, already done with this interaction. At your lack of response, you saw the way his smirk faltered a bit and the way his shoulders tensed up, as if he really thought you’d found someone else to sleep with in the last forty eight hours since you left his house. “What do you want?” you finally asked after waiting a few more seconds.
Bradley’s smirk returned, and he held up a finger as he reached into his pocket. What he pulled out had your face heating up, and you couldn’t even blame it on the San Diego heat. “I was just returning these,” he said as he held up your panties you’d left behind once you gave up on trying to find them Saturday morning. “Thought you might want them back, even though I really didn’t want to give them back to you.”
Your face was flushed as you grabbed the flimsy fabric from his hand, and you felt like you couldn’t speak as you turned around and threw them onto the floor in front of the passenger seat in your car. “Jesus, could you be any more of a pig?”
Bradley shrugged and leaned against your car. “If you want me to be,”
That for some reason had a genuine laugh leaving your lips, but you quickly masked it with a cough. You knew Bradley clocked it though. He notices everything, especially everything about you. “You’re not gonna, like…brag about it to all the guys, are you?” you asked, hating how vulnerable your voice suddenly sounded. “Because that would be seriously uncool, even for you.”
One of his brows lifted as he looked down at you, and you wished you could see his eyes. They usually gave away what he was actually thinking. “Why would I do that?”
You shrugged, looking over to the right as the other aviators began making their way inside. “I don’t know, you just seem like the type to do it,”
You didn’t mean for that to sound so harsh, but the way Bradley’s lips pursed before straightening into a thin line made you regret your choice of words. “No, I’m not going to brag about it to the guys. I don’t give a shit about their business, and I can assure you they don’t give a shit about mine,”
That made you nod, and you looked down at your matching boots. “Okay,” you said quietly, unsure if he even heard you. “Good.”
“Great,”
You lifted your gaze just as he turned and began walking away from you, and you weren’t sure why you felt the urge to reach for him and pull him back to you. Maybe you felt guilty about your poor choice of words? Or maybe you simply wanted to be close to him. No, that couldn’t be it. It was definitely the first one, and definitely not both.
-
It was nearing the end of the day, and you were still feeling a little bad about your last interaction with Bradley. You weren’t sure why you were feeling so guilty, or why the almost dejected look on his face was effecting you so much, but you needed to confront it head-on, or else you’d be thinking about it for the rest of the day, and you didn’t need to think about him anymore than you already do.
Unbeknownst to you, you’d be thinking about him even more in just a few minutes.
You were heading out to the parking lot again, planning on apologizing later when you inevitably saw Bradley at the Hard Deck, but when you turned your head and looked over, you saw him across the parking lot by his truck. The Bronco you’ve had an unwarranted amount of fondness for, and the same one he drove you in to his place on Friday night.
Why not just do it now?
You paused by your car, your hand on the door frame as you opened your mouth to call out to him, but then you realized he wasn’t alone. No, he was leaning over and looking down at someone in the passenger seat, and you hated that the first thought you had was about how hot he looked.
The sun was just beginning to set, and it made his skin look golden and his hair a lighter shade of brown, and you could only imagine how pretty his eyes look in that lighting.
His forearm was braced on the door frame, his other hand gripping the window frame, and because the window was down, you could clearly see that it was a girl he was with. A girl he was talking to. Very closely. Very intimately.
Not just any girl. Phoenix.
The one girl you had a large amount of bitterness towards, and you weren’t entirely sure why. She’d never done anything to you, but she was bossy, and sometimes very unpleasant to be around, and for some reason, Bradley seemed to be around her all the time. Maybe that was the reason you didn’t like her. You didn’t want to admit that.
They were together all the time, and the one night they weren’t you ended up in bed with him. Almost as if she was getting in the way of it. But no, even you weren’t petty enough to blame that on her.
You watched as he ducked his head and leaned in closer to her, and you watched as his lips moved as he said something to her, and then she rolled her eyes and leaned up to kiss his cheek before she gently shoved his face away from her.
Almost instantly, a gross, ugly feeling crept up the back of your throat, and you had to quickly swallow the lump that was forming. You didn’t want to know if he was taking her back to his place, to the bed you’d woken up in not long ago. You didn’t want to know if he was taking her out on a date. Or if they’d say fuck it and have a quickie right then and there on the backseat.
No way you were jealous. There was no way.
Fuck, you totally were.
And, because you are the luckiest person on the planet, your hand was still raised in an attention-grabbing gesture when Bradley turned his head and locked eyes with you. At least you assumed he did. You really couldn’t tell because he was still wearing his aviators.
Then he started turning fully towards you as if he was planning on coming over to you, but you weren’t feeling apologetic anymore, so you quickly turned away and got into your car. Your eyes betrayed you when they glanced up at the rearview mirror and watched as he paused and looked conflicted, like he knew that, up until about five seconds ago, you wanted to talk to him.
But you didn’t anymore, so you tore your eyes away and turned on your music in hopes that it would quiet the voices in your head that were telling you that you had no right to feel jealous. You weren’t his and he wasn’t yours. You’d made that clear.
And so had he.
-
After Bradley dropped Nat off at her house, he drove to his. He had spent the whole ride there bragging to her about the fact that he’d called the inevitable breaking of her piece of shit car nearly four months ago, but she just rolled her eyes and told him that she’d get at least another year out of it, maybe even two.
Saying I told you so had never felt so good.
But now he was stuck driving her to and from work, because apparently that came with the role of being her best friend. At least that’s what she told him anyway.
He tried to keep his mind off you, and off the way you looked upset when you were leaving work. He could’ve sworn you looked like you wanted to talk to him, and were even about to, but then you turned around and left before he could meet you halfway.
He wanted to talk to you, and he wanted to text you, but you and he weren’t really on texting terms. Sure, he had your number, but he’d never used it, and he couldn’t think of a good enough excuse to start a thread with you.
But he wanted to do more than that. He wanted you to stop putting your guard up around him, and he wanted you to say yes to him when he asks you out on a date, then say yes when he asks for three more after. But you’d never given him the time of day, and he never understood why.
Right from the very start, there has always been a connection between you and him. Of course, the sexual tension was obvious, but there was also an underlying connection he felt that he knew you felt too. You just never gave him a chance, and he was at a loss. It bothers him greatly, and that’s probably why you and he bicker like an old married couple, or at least that’s what Nat tells him.
He wants more with you, he wants something with you, but he didn’t know how to go about it. He’s tried talking to you, flirting with you, and after this past weekend, he’s even slept with you, and yet this morning you were back to being cold and distant with him.
Your attitude was actually one of the things he loves about you. He finds the way you don’t take anyone’s shit incredibly sexy, but that was just the beginning. He finds everything about you sexy, and now that he’s had a taste of you, now that he’s felt every inch of you, he was fucked.
He was fucked, because he thought that once you and he finally got together like that, the rest of it would fall into place. You’d drop the act and you’d agree to give this thing between you and him a chance, but now he felt like he was right back at the start.
Bradley hadn’t even looked at another girl the way he looks at you since the day you joined Top Gun. You’d knocked him off his feet and straight onto his ass, and he didn’t want you to ever let go of the hold you have on him.
Once he got home, he plugged his phone in after winning the inner debate he was having with himself about not texting you, then he hopped in the shower for a quick wash.
It was a Monday night, which meant the Hard Deck would be filled with people wanting to kick off their week by having a drink or three, and Bradley was no better, because once he was out of the shower, he dressed himself in jeans and a light blue hawaiian shirt, then he was off to the bar.
It was dark by the time he got there, but the place was lit up like a tree at Christmas time, giving everything a homey feel. The pretty grin he got from Penny only added to it. “Rooster,” she greeted as she dried a beer glass. “How are you?”
Her smile was infectious, so of course he returned it. “I’m always well,”
Penny raised one brow. “Liar,” she said, “You want a beer?”
“You know me so well,” Bradley leaned against the bar, his eyes subtly flickering around the room as she poured his drink.
He wasn’t being as subtle as he thought, though. “She’s over there,” Penny said, and when he looked back at her, she nodded in the direction of the pool table. “Red shirt.”
Bradley looked over his shoulder and that’s when he saw you, and while it was confirmed by Penny’s comment on your shirt, it wasn’t needed. Bradley knew that backside anywhere. “Am I that obvious?” he asked when he turned back to Penny.
She nodded as she set the glass down in front of him. “Oh yeah,” she answered as she looked over at you as well. “Go talk to her if you want to so badly. How hard can it be?”
Bradley wanted to bring up the fact that she and him came from different eras, and talking to the girl you’re pretty sure you’re in love with is a lot harder now than it was twenty years ago, but he bit his tongue in fear of buying everyone a round. “Thanks for the advice, Pen,” he said instead, and she just grinned at him.
It was hard to forget about the fact that the last time he saw you here, you ended up completely naked in his bed, and he finally knew what you sounded like when you came. Multiple times. Or that you had a thing for praise. And that you like it when he wraps his hand around your throat.
Fuck, he was not about to get hard right now just thinking about it.
He picked up the glass and brought it up to his lips for a sip, but when he turned around and leaned against the bar, he froze. Of course, his gaze naturally wandered over to where you are, but instead of finding you standing by the pool table, he found you leaning over it as you lined up a shot.
That was fine, he’d seen you play pool a hundred times. That wasn’t what made him grip his beer tighter.
No, it was the way Skills was eyeing you from across the table, and since your pretty red shirt was loose at the top, it gave him the perfect view of your cleavage.
Harley ‘Skills’ Matthews was another aviator at Top Gun, and he and Bradley had never seen eye to eye. Skills was a jerk, plain and simple, and Bradley didn’t like the way he constantly bounced around from woman to woman, with no care in the world about them afterwards. Skills had even tried his luck with Nat, but after she told him where to stick it then informed Bradley about it, there had been a growing tension between the two men ever since. As far as Bradley knew, Skills hadn’t done anything with you, and he intended to keep it that way.
Bradley clenched his jaw as he stared at the other guy, making no move yet as his beer glass hovered near his mouth, inches away from his lips. He was well aware of the thick feeling creeping up the back of his throat. It was one he’s felt countless times when it came to you. He was jealous. Of Harley fucking Matthews. He felt the same way about every guy who chatted you up, because he simply didn’t like seeing you flirt with or get hit on by other guys.
What was a little more powerful than that jealousy, though, was the feeling of protectiveness Bradley felt for you.
Skills wore a smirk on his lips as he watched you take your shot and totally fail, then he set his own drink aside before rounding the table and moving closer to you. Bradley couldn’t make out what he was saying to you, but he assumed it was an offer of help since he stepped up behind you and wrapped his arms around your body, helping you get into a better stance.
Bradley could tell by the look on your face that you hadn’t actually accepted the offer before Skills made his move, but you didn’t say anything as you allowed him to bend you over a bit more, then he moved even closer to you.
Your expression turned into one of shock, then one of annoyance as Skills pressed his front right up against your back, and you tried moving away from him, but his hands were on your waist now. You looked uncomfortable now as you tried to move his hands away, but Skills just leaned down so his lips were near your ear.
Before Bradley even knew what he was doing, he was already halfway across the room, his beer left forgotten on the bar after he’d set it back down, untouched, in favor of getting over to you.
As he was making his way through the throngs of people, he could just barely make out your voice among the chatter of everyone else. “I’m sorry, Harley, I’m really not interested,” you said in a rather kind voice, but Skills just laughed and moved closer to you once you’d finally managed to get out of his grasp.
“Oh, come on,” he drawled. “You’re not still hung up on Bradshaw, are you? I saw you go home with him last week, but you avoided him all of today. I don’t think he’ll mind if I step in for the night.”
That had Bradley speeding up a bit and his anger growing, because yours and his business was just that, yours and his business. It wasn’t anyone else’s to talk about.
“Seriously, Harley, stop,” you warned, but your tone wasn’t as threatening as you probably hoped it was.
“Come on,” Skills repeated, reaching for you when you backed up. “I can make you forget all about that guy. Just come home with me.”
“She said she’s not interested,” Bradley’s voice cut through the air, much deeper and powerful and threatening than either yours or Skills. You were still backing away when he finally reached you, and as soon as he spoke, you backed up into him and let out a quiet gasp as he placed his hand on your elbow to steady you. Once he ensured you were okay, Bradley’s icy gaze met Harley’s again. “What don’t you understand about that?”
Harley rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms. “Fucks sake, Rooster, I was trying to-”
“I know what you were trying to do,” Bradley cut him off as he stepped around you so you were at his side. A few people had turned their heads to look at what was going on, but he didn’t care. His body felt like it was two seconds away from going up in flames, and his hands were aching to be clenched into fists. “And she told you to stop, yet you kept trying. Pretty pathetic, if you ask me.”
You stayed silent as you looked up at him, but Bradley never took his eyes off the other guy, and he wouldn’t until he was out of the bar. Whether that be by walking out or getting thrown out, that was up to him.
“Seriously, dude?” Skill muttered, oblivious to the possessive and protective look in Bradley’s eyes as he crossed his arms. “You’ve already had her. Why can’t I get a turn?”
The nerve of this guy, talking about you like you were something to be tossed around and used and dumped. He was talking about you as if you weren’t even fucking there, and that’s what pissed Bradley off the most. As if you deserved to be treated like that for simply saying no. This guy didn’t know you, didn’t care about you, and he had no right to talk about you.
Bradley took a few steps closer to him, shielding your body with his, and their chests a few were inches from touching now as he lowered his voice. “Get the hell out of here, Skills,” he muttered, his voice deep and dangerous as he watched the realization flash in Skills’ eyes. “And don’t ever talk about her like that again. Don’t ever talk to her again. Do you understand me?”
Skill’s eyes shifted between you and Bradley a few times before he let out a humorless laugh and raised his hands in defeat. “Fine,” he said, moving away from Bradley as he shook his head. “Whatever, man. I would’ve fucked her and moved on anyway, so thank you for saving me some time.”
Nearly everyone in the bar had tuned into the confrontation, including Jake, who was leaning against the wall beside the doors. Once Skills had made it over there, Jake stuck his foot out and Bradley was treated to the sight of Skills literally falling face first out the door and into the sand that was outside.
There was a round of laughter as Jake lifted his beer and took a sip, as if he didn’t just trip the guy, then he nodded in Bradley’s direction.
Bradley couldn’t even find the joy in that obviously embarrassing moment for the man as he turned around and faced you again. You were rubbing at your eyes as you let out a sigh, and then you crossed your arms. “Thanks, I guess,” you muttered as everyone, or mostly everyone, went back to doing their own thing. “Although, I’m pretty sure Phoenix wouldn’t appreciate you defending other girls.”
He wasn’t sure why you’d brought Nat up right now, and he felt his brows furrow together as he looked down at you. “I’m pretty sure Nat would be offended if I didn’t defend another girl,” he said back, ending it in a confused tone that had you rolling your eyes as you turned around and began walking away from him.
What? That was all you were going to say? Thanks, I guess, then go back to ignoring him? No fucking way.
Bradley hadn’t planned on defending you tonight, but he did it without an ounce of hesitation, and he wanted to talk to you a lot more than just that. The tension between the two of you now was almost starting to feel hostile, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit.
“Wait, what is this?” he called after you as he followed the path you took towards the back door. You paused just in front of it when he caught up to you, and when you turned to face him, he saw the look of embarrassment on your face that was quickly replaced with one that was guarded. “What are you-”
It was then when he realized. You were jealous. Of Nat.
You were jealous of his best friend. You were fucking jealous.
The look you gave him after work today made so much sense now. He thought you’d looked jealous, but he didn’t let himself believe you actually were. Thank fuck for Phoenix.
He wanted to laugh, but he was afraid it would make you turn right back around and leave, so he held it in.
“Oh,” he said, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he realized that Nat brought out the same, ugly feeling of jealousy in you that all the other guys you’ve talked to brought out in him. He knew then that he wasn’t alone in this, and perhaps he never was. “Oh, you think that Nat and I…” he couldn’t even say it because of how bizarre it seemed to him. That’s how wrong you were about it.
You raised your brows as you crossed your arms, giving him an unimpressed look that came off cute rather than offensive.
This time he did laugh. “She’s my best friend, nothing more,” he said, trying his best to keep the big grin off his face since this was supposed to be a serious moment. It was hard, because this was what he’d been waiting for. You wanted him just as much as he wanted you, he could see it in your eyes. You’d just put up walls for some reason, but now he finally knew why.
“Mhm,” you mumbled as if you refused to let yourself believe that.
But you’d gotten in his head and in his heart, and he was determined to get into yours. “I’m serious,” he promised, feeling confident enough to move closer to you. He was actually feeling pretty damn confident all of a sudden, and he wasn’t about to waste a single second of it. “Half the time she can’t stand me, baby.”
He was close enough to you that he heard your breath hitch, and you quickly looked away from him as a blush coated your cheeks. He definitely didn’t mean to embarrass you, if that was the case. He only wanted to tease you a bit, get you all flustered. “Oh,”
Well, rendering you speechless was a nice change too. Half the time you’re trying to pick a fight with him, so the fact that you were actually letting him speak for once was rather refreshing.
Progress is what that is.
“Yeah, oh,” he repeated, his gaze softening as he watched you sway back and forth on your feet. “That’s something you would’ve known had you asked. Or, you know, actually spent more than three minutes talking to me.”
You nodded slowly as you pressed your lips together, giving him a sheepish look as you shrugged. “Sorry? I guess…”
Bradley laughed and shook his head, and he feared he would always let you get away with things like that. “Uh huh. Something you also probably don’t know,” he began as he moved even closer to you, dipping his head down a bit so his face was closer to yours, “is that I’m in love with you.”
That had your eyes widening as you looked up at him, your throat moving rather unevenly as you swallowed harshly. “What?” you asked, even your voice a little unsteady as you gave him a look that said, ‘If you’re fucking with me, I’ll end you’.
“I love you,” Bradley shrugged, as if it was the easiest admission he’s ever had to say.
Your gaze flickered down to his lips, and God, did he want to kiss you again. He kissed you maybe a hundred times during the brief hours he had you last Friday night and Saturday morning, but it still wasn’t enough. He wanted to kiss you all the time. Freely. Whenever he wanted.
“Okay, um,” you trailed off, and you sounded more nervous than he’s ever heard you. “Well, what if I hate you? Yeah, I hate you.”
Bradley let out a breathless laugh as he shook his head. “I don’t think you do,” he replied, his voice low and smooth as he lifted his hand and brushed your hair off your cheek, then he curled his fingers under your jaw and tilted your head so you were looking up at him.
“No, I don’t,” you agreed, then you let out a puff of air that somehow sounded whiny towards the end.
Bradley’s thumb stroked along your cheek as he wrapped his arm around your waist, and when you practically melted against him, he knew it was over. The game had been played out, and you were finally his. “Are you finally going to let me kiss you now?” he asked, noting the way you bit down on your lip at his question. “Or are you going to make me wait even longer?”
A soft groan left your lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned up, and he met you halfway, your mouths connecting in a very much needed, and very much overdue, kiss.
Bradley wrapped both of his arms around your waist as he pulled you closer until your body was right up against his, and then he kissed you like he’d been starved of it for years.
His hands bunched up the fabric of your pretty red shirt as his tongue brushed along yours, and when you moaned against his mouth, he knew he had to get you out of here. The back door was mostly hidden from the rest of the bar, so he knew no one could see you - unless they were actively trying to look - and no one heard that sound you just made.
But he wanted to hear it again. And he wanted to make more of those sounds leave your mouth.
So after forcing himself to break the heated kiss, his hand found yours, and he started pulling you towards the door. You were a little unsteady as you followed after him, and once you’d made it outside, you let out a laugh as you tripped a bit. “Where are we going?”
“My truck,” he answered as he guided you along with him through the parking lot. “The backseat’s been dying to meet you.”
