A/N: like……. do i want a big handsome man to compete with yes. would i let him win just this once despite being funnier and smarter and cuter than him. if he played his cards right yes.
Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Fem!Reader
Summary: Bradley makes a bet with high stakes even the girl next door can’t refuse. 1.5k words
Warnings: pure fluff and romance, cursing, pet names (babydoll, baby, sweetheart)
"C'mon, one game! For old time's sake."
Shirtless and on your porch like a door to door Magic Mike, Bradley Bradshaw is begging you to join him for a stupid game of basketball. Just like he has every summer since you moved in next door. You have half a mind to be annoyed, but you can't deny that you'd love to see him, muscles and all, glistening in the sun. For old time's sake.
"No, Bradshaw, all you ever wanna do is play basketball and fix cars."
"Yeah? Fine then, what would you rather do?"
You scan the painted frame of your door, mouth tugging to one side in feigned thought. He's scrutinizing, and it's hot out. Not a good combo for your bluff.
"... Watch you and your friends play basketball and fix cars," you say.
He rolls his eyes in all their hazel glory and punts the basketball into your hands. You receive it with an oof, jogging over to his driveway where there's a well loved metal hoop, sans net.
"Horse?"
"No, you always win with that stupid backwards shot,” you whine, dribbling the ball slowly at your feet.
"Hmm. Sounds like a skill issue, babydoll.”
You stick your tongue out in protest, bouncing the ball to him.
"Alright, let's scrimmage then,” Bradley says with a familiar spark in his tone.
"One on one? Not fair, you're like a million miles longer than me."
"Indulge me, sweetheart. I'll go easy,” he hums. Damn those Bradshaw genes and the charm that comes with them.
You scowl lovingly while grumbling: “Fine. But if you win, you owe me.”
"What exactly do I owe you?"
Oh, but it’s far too cheeky to stay between friends. The only thing less fair than a scrimmage is the way he smirks. Like he’s got a sweet secret he’s keeping from you.
"Dunno yet"—he chuckles at your annoyance—"A favor?"
"Too broad. How ‘bout a date?"
And suddenly you're kinda winded. Because, yeah, you've had this cute banter thing since you were young but it's never come to anything. Now you're adults and you miss him when he's deployed and he plays basketball with you because it feels like it’s all he has anymore. So before you can say anything, your brain is nodding for you. Sure this wager—a date— might be a bad idea down the line, but at least it'll be a hell of a lot of fun in the moment.
"Alright, hot shot. Let's see some ball,” you huff.
"First to 7. Go ahead and tip us off.”
He passes the ball to you and you immediately go for the three pointer, not expecting it to get anywhere near the hoop. Yet somehow you get it in one try. He turns to you with a ‘how the fuck’ expression painted on his face.
"I don't know! I don't know, I thought it would be funny!" you howl through your breathless laughter.
"Oh, it's funny alright, but don't go thinking that counts for three points,” he says, sweetly jabbing you in the side with the ball tucked under his arm.
"Aw, scared I'm gonna win?"
"Terrified,” he says. Maybe letting on a little more than he'd like to admit. Because the idea of taking you out and getting to show you off is just about making his blood sear like it's pressurized to high hell.
He tosses you the ball, you pass it to him, and you immediately go to body slam him. You feel young again, like there are no responsibilities except homework packets and curfew at sunset. He feels it too through a chuckle, grabbing his own sides when you keep missing layups.
"Stop laughing! 'S not funny, I can't even get—fuck! Just take it." And you sling the ball at him in defeat.
"Spoil sport. I'll show you how it's done."
Rest assured, Bradley jogs up to the basket while you skip after him, watching him sink the layup in one shot.
"Now we're even,” he coos, leaning in. Just to throw you off, you think.
"You sure? Cause I'm pretty sure I remember smoking your ass with a three pointer."
"One point. This is not real basketball. We're playing one basket one point,” he huffs, stepping back to dribble the ball proudly.
"Well, if I'd known, I wouldn't have put so much effort into—"
"Blah blah blah, c'mon, less talking more playing!"
You swat at the ball in vain, but he has it so strong in his grip he has to laugh, pivoting away from you and making yet another lay up. He’s smug, turning around and shrugging while you’re exasperated, hands on hips.
"Giving up so soon?" he teases.
"It's hard chasing after your long legs, Bradshaw!"
"No, I'm not buying it. Come on, take this one."
He hands the ball over and crouches face to face with you, giving you a wink. There’s a part of you that hesitates in his face like this, calm with a heart racing like a hummingbird. But you go for the fake out anyway, skirting around his other side when he whines about foul play.
But he stops you just before the basket, practically wrapping himself around your back. When you try to pivot or throw the ball, he grabs you around the middle and you squeal. He finally sets you free when you drop the ball.
"Hey! Speaking of foul play!" you shout, watching him beeline for the hoop.
"Don't hate the player!"
He swoops the ball coolly into the basket with a low whistle.
"Nothing but net, baby! Did you see that!"
"What is that, four?" you chuckle, seeing his face light up
"I'm racking 'em up. Careful, or you might actually have to go out with me."
And suddenly you remember the stakes, squinting at him wondering why he's playing so hard just for the bit. He snags the ball from you and sprints down the court, taking a weak shot that smacks the backboard and falls through the hoop easily. Bradley turns to you with a pinched brow.
"You didn't even try and stop me. Where's your head at?" he hums.
"Hmm? Oh, got distracted by... a bird,” you say, gesturing lazily at the sky.
"Oh, I see. You were thinking about our hot date, huh?"
"No.”
"Yeah, you were. Don't let me get in the way of your daydreams, sweetheart."
"I wasn't daydreaming! Just give me the ball."
He's laughing self-assuredly with a broad grin on his face, passing you the ball which you dribble around him, slowly making your way down the court. He lets you inch down the side, your back to him. One glance over your shoulder catches him staring at your ass with his lip caught snug between his teeth.
"Quit staring, Bradshaw!"
"Sorry, had to do some daydreaming of my own,” he says with a cool chuckle with a soft pink flush across his cheeks. You smile fondly at the way it creeps across his chest, too.
But you roll your eyes anyway and flit past him, finally tossing the ball in the basket.
"Feelin' the heat yet?" you tease, getting in his face like you want to fight. Though that’s far from the truth.
"Felt it a long time ago, doll. Let's get this show on the road."
You play mostly clean except for the occasional catcall. Or two. It only makes him laugh and flex his bravado under the attention of a pretty lady. You both score another point, putting you at four and six. He passes you the ball in a quick motion.
"One more and you know what that means,” he says. He’s date-minded, especially if it’s with you. His long time sweetheart and classic girl next door with the vocabulary of a sailor.
"I'd like to see you try,” you tease.
"Oh, you're about to."
You dribble it past him, but he's mighty fast, crossing the driveway in just a few strides. It’s just then you stop and think: win back the basketball champion title you never had and show Bradshaw who’s boss on his own turf. Or, let him win. Go on the date.
The thought swirls around in your mind for a second longer as a droplet of sweat kisses Bradley’s cheekbone. Then: fuck it.
You place the ball gingerly in his hands, and, on instinct, he goes for the immediate lay up. It’s only after the ball flies back through the hoop and lands squat in his grip that he turns to you with a puzzled look on his face.
"Did you just… give me the ball?"
You shrug with a cheeky smile
"It's all relative,” you coo.
"Bullshit. You gave it to me. You wanted me to score."
"Who knows why we do anything."
"Oh, you little—" He lets the ball fall from his palms and down the driveway, rolling into the gutter with a soft thud. Not a second longer, and his arms are outstretched, catching your waist and walking you backwards until you trip on the grass, tumbling back onto the lawn with a shriek of laughter.
Rooster and his teammates are frequent patrons at your aunt's bar, the Hard Deck, while they're training for a dangerous mission. When he asks you out on a date, the two of you jokingly agree to keep it friendly, never cross certain lines…but Rooster has other ideas.
"Do you ever sleep?"
You don't look up from the glass you're polishing, but your mouth twitches into a faint smile...the same way it always does when he shows up at the Hard Deck this early.
"We're not open for, like, another few hours," you tell Rooster, as if he doesn't know that already. You can hear him approaching the bar from behind, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor, making his way through the quiet, mostly-empty room.
You're not supposed to let people in before hours, technically. Especially not good-looking naval aviators who will inevitably distract you a little more than you'd like to admit, but...
"Then what are you doing here?" he asks.
You look up at him. He's taken off his aviators, his dark eyes watching you rather intently. His posture is casual, his tall frame leaning against the counter.
You set down the glass you've been polishing and reach for another one, returning your attention to your task. "Someone has to make sure everything's ready before we open."
He gives you a slow, easy smile. "Mind if I help?"
"Help?"
"Yeah." He looks around the bar as if trying to figure out where to start. "What do you need me to do?"
"Aren't you tired from training?"
"I'm fine," he says, not convincing you in the slightest. "Seriously. What do you need?"
You set down the glass. A small part of you can't resist the chance to keep him around longer.
"I'll feel bad if I make you work," it sounds like you're reasoning with yourself.
Rooster grins. "Then don't make me work. It's my idea."
"My aunt will kill me if she catches you in here, especially if you're working."
"She won't know."
Well...there are some heavy crates that need to be brought in from the storage room, bottles of alcohol that need to be placed on the shelves, tables that need to be wiped down...
The heavy ones. Oh, the heavy ones are tempting.
"You're a menace," you tell him, though it comes out sounding more like a compliment than an insult. It's hard to offend him anyway, you've found; he seems to take everything you say in stride, regardless of whether you mean it or not.
He smiles at you, unfazed. "Is that a yes?"
"What are you doing here so early anyway? You and your team don't usually show up until well after dark."
"Do I need a reason?"
"It's early. You can't be that bored already."
"Maybe I just wanted to see you."
Boy, is he good.
Not falling for it is a challenge every time. You wonder if Rooster knows that, if he gets a kick out of it the way Hangman does when he flirts with every pretty girl who crosses his path. The difference is, Hangman's flirting is playful, an intentional provocation that you can take as a compliment or blow off with a laugh.
Rooster's flirting is different. It's always delivered in that same deep, mellow voice of his, a warm baritone that reminds you of dark whiskey on a cold night, and he has a way of saying things that makes you think he might actually mean them.
"...you don't have to sweet-talk me," you tell him. "I already let you in."
He grins at you. "Who says I'm sweet-talking?"
You turn back to your task of polishing glasses so he won't see the smile you can't contain. That's it, you think. New rule: no more letting him in early. He's too distracting.
"Am I being kicked out?" Rooster asks, amused.
"Yes."
"Really?"
You try not to laugh. "No. But you really don't have to help."
He straightens up from the bar and stretches his arms, yawning. "Where's Penny? Did she leave you here to do all this by yourself?"
"Visiting her mother with Amelia. She'll be back later. I offered to cover while she's gone," maybe out of boredom or some desperation for human contact, but it sounded like a good idea at the time, you just didn't realize it would involve so much work. "The other waitresses will be here, um, soon, I guess, once it gets closer to opening time."
You don't want to admit you're a little intimidated by the responsibility. You've only been working at the Hard Deck for a few months now, having moved here from halfway across the country, and most of that time has been spent behind the bar or taking orders on your notepad, doing the tasks Penny asked you to do, and nothing more. Now that she's away for a few days, you're starting to feel a little overwhelmed with the amount of work that needs to be done.
"You look tired," Rooster observes.
"Thanks."
"I mean it in a good way."
"It doesn't sound good."
"You always look nice," he clarifies, to your mild embarrassment and surprise. "I just mean you seem like you could use some help."
You don't meet his gaze because, no, you're not going to be distracted by those brown eyes again, it's bad enough already. "I...okay. The delivery truck is supposed to arrive soon, so...there are a lot of crates that need to be brought inside. And some in the storage room that I need to bring here to the bar. Some of them are really heavy. I'm not even sure how Penny brings them in by herself."
"Let me take care of that for you."
Let me take care of that for you, says he, like it's no big deal.
"There are some boxes of liquor that need to be taken out of the storage room and brought in here, too," you continue, despite your better judgment, still watching him out of the corner of your eye.
He gives you another slow smile. "Okay. Where is this storage room?"
"There's a door behind the bar. To the right. I'll help you carry them."
"You don't have to."
"I'll show you where they are. And it's gonna be easier if there are two of us."
He looks at you with a knowing smile. "Is that why you want to come along? So you can make sure I don't get distracted and break anything?"
"Exactly."
"I think you're just making excuses to spend time with me."
Does he really have to keep looking at you like that?
"Rooster," you say, as firmly as you can manage.
"Yes?" It doesn't seem to bother him that you're trying to scold him. In fact, you think he's enjoying it.
You walk backwards behind the bar to lead him toward the storage room, pausing when you reach the door. You let out a sigh. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"
"Really?" He grins at you, putting his hands in his pockets. "I thought I was being very nice."
"Is that what you call it?"
"Yeah."
"Crates," you say, gesturing to the storage room and changing the subject before he can talk his way into any more compliments. "In there, by the wall. The smaller boxes on the shelves are for the bar. We'll bring them in after we move the big crates. The ones with the heavy bottles inside."
Rooster pauses. "'We'?"
"I can't let you carry all of those by yourself. They're heavy."
"That's cute. But I can handle it."
"No. Not by yourself."
He gives you a confident grin. "Watch me."
The moment he disappears into the storage room, you start to regret saying anything at all. You're not entirely sure what possessed you to let him help you with this; he must have gotten to your head. There are plenty of things you could be doing right now while he's out of sight, and yet...you decide to stand there in the doorway, watching him take inventory of the room, squinting in the dim light and trying to decide where to start.
It's not like you can just leave him to it. It would be too embarrassing if he hurt himself and you did nothing. The best way to keep an eye on him is to stay close by.
Right?
Rooster lets out a groan as he heaves one of the large crates up off the floor. "You weren't kidding," he mutters. "These are heavy."
"Let me—"
"I've got it."
He doesn't let you help him. He lifts the crate off the ground with another grunt, and you're distracted for a moment by the sight of his muscular arms flexing under the strain, the tight white t-shirt he's wearing pulled even tighter across his chest, the—
"Y/N?"
"Hm?" You look up quickly. "What?"
He grins at you. "Want to open the door for me?"
Fuck, you think, not for the first time that day, stepping out of the way to let him through.
You grab a smaller crate for yourself. It's not as heavy as the one Rooster is carrying, but you still strain a little under the weight of it, and Rooster still gives you a disapproving look when he notices.
"I told you," he says, slightly out of breath from his own effort, "you don't have to help."
"It's literally my job to help," you mutter. "Actually, it's my job to carry them all myself, so—"
"I got it."
"Yeah, but I can—"
"You can relax," he tells you, letting out a small groan as he heaves the crate up a little higher. "And go back to what you were doing."
It would be easier to protest if he didn't make it look so effortless. He carries the crate out of the storage room and sets it on the floor near the bar with a thud, barely breaking a sweat.
Your fingers dig into the rough edges of your own crate, which seems ten times heavier all of a sudden. You set it down next to his, more carefully than he did, glancing over at him to see if he noticed.
He looks down at the crate you just set on the floor, then over at you with barely concealed amusement. "Not bad," he says. "You could handle that all by yourself?"
"Shut up."
"No, really." He's not trying to hide his smile anymore. "Impressive."
The laugh you let out is entirely involuntary, equal parts embarrassed and amused. "Okay, fine, I get it," you say. "You're strong. You go get the rest of them while I finish wiping down the tables."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Thank you."
"Any time."
It's fine, you tell yourself as he heads back into the storage room. Rooster being in here won't distract you. It's fine. Everything is fine.
The delivery truck arrives shortly after Rooster has brought in the last of the crates to the bar, so you spend the next hour opening the boxes and sorting the bottles, filling the shelves behind the bar with whiskey and rum and vodka, gin and tequila and other liquors...and totally not stealing glances at Rooster as he carries the crates from the truck into the storage room.
You've found a rhythm by the time he returns from the truck for the final time, wiping your hands on your apron as you watch him approach the bar.
"I think that's all of them," he says, letting out a groan as he stretches his arms above his head.
The nerve, you think, resisting the urge to stare. The absolute nerve.
"Thank you."
He lowers his arms. "I never said it was for free."
"What?"
Rooster leans forward and props his elbows on the bar, the same cocky grin from earlier playing at his lips. "There's a price for my help."
"A price?" you ask, still polishing the same glass you've been working on since he arrived. "And what's that?"
"...a drink."
Well, that's easy.
"A drink? You want me to pay you a drink?"
"Ah, no, no," he says with a laugh, waving his hand like the idea is ridiculous. "I want you to let me buy you a drink."
Oh.
"Oh."
"And something to eat, too," he adds, and by the time you recover from the initial shock of what he's suggesting, he's already standing up straight again. "What time do you get off work?"
"No."
"No?" He looks at you in surprise.
"I can't," but you're only barely resisting.
"You can."
"Rooster."
He frowns. "What?"
"I..." Why is this so hard? "I can't go out with you. It's—I can't."
"Why not?"
You feel tempted. Boy, are you tempted. You're smiling even as you shake your head, trying to focus on polishing the glass in your hands. "Because I actually...like you."
Rooster pauses, his smile returning. "You can't go out with me because you like me?"
"This heart," you tap your fingers on your chest, smiling still, "is off limits, okay? No pilots allowed."
The tables are clean and the bar is stocked and organized, but you need to do something else, anything else, if only to avoid Rooster's gaze. You slip the cloth you've been using into your apron pocket and look around for another task. There must be something you missed. Anything.
Tables, yeah. You can wipe down the tables again.
"Okay," he says slowly, clearly not convinced, "so let me get this straight: You like me, therefore you're not allowed to go out with me?"
You nod. "Exactly."
"Are you kidding?"
You take the cloth out of your apron pocket again and glance around the bar, searching for any traces of dust on the tables or chairs that might need to be wiped down.
"Y/N?"
You've already gone over the tables once...
Rooster steps closer. "You know that makes no sense, right?"
You're not distracted by the sight of his hand sliding onto the countertop next to you. You're not distracted by the sudden proximity of him as he leans in closer. It's fine, it's not a problem, you can deal with this.
"So...you're saying you do want to go out with me," he says, sounding far too pleased with himself, "but you won't?"
He's so close. He smells good, like pine and leather. You glance over at him, realizing how little space there is between you now, and quickly look away.
"That's—I don't..."
"Because you like me."
"Shut up."
His gaze drops to your mouth. "Make me."
You swallow. Hard.
It takes a monumental amount of willpower to step away from him, to resist the temptation to touch him or get closer, but you manage. Barely. You make yourself focus on the task you've found for yourself, pretending that Rooster isn't standing behind you watching as you wipe down the tables a second time.
"I think we should go out," he says again, obviously not taking your silence for the no it's supposed to be. "There's a place downtown that I think you'd like."
You chuckle, which probably doesn't help matters, but...it's really hard to say no to him.
"Would I?"
He must have sensed weakness because he follows you around the bar as you continue your pointless cleaning. "Today is one of the last days we have off," he tells you. "Maverick has us in the air all day tomorrow, and most of the day after that. If we don't go out tonight, who knows when we'll have another chance...or how long it'll be before I see you again."
"Rooster..."
"Come on," he says, more gently this time. "One drink. Or maybe dinner. Nothing too fancy. I promise."
You pause and glance over at him. He really doesn't know when to quit. "But it's not a date."
"No. Totally not."
You don't like how much it sounds like he's laughing at you.
"Really?"
"Not even close," he says, like he's serious. "It's a totally not date between two friends."
He follows you, like a puppy, around the bar, until you pause again, thinking it over for what feels like the millionth time in the last few minutes. One drink, he said.
Not a date.
...just two friends hanging out.
No feelings involved.
You sigh, letting the cloth in your hand drop to the table, giving in to the inevitable. "Fine," you say, turning around to face him. "But it's not a date."
"No."
"Or a first date."
"Right."
"And it's just one drink."
"I swear."
"And we can't—we can't..." You can't help but notice the way he's looking at you, his brown eyes full of mischief, a hint of that playful smile on his lips again, and you're suddenly worried he might get the wrong idea about this whole thing. "No...you know."
His eyes linger on your mouth again before meeting your gaze with a sly smile. "No...what?"
"You know."
"I really don't."
"It's not a date."
He chuckles softly at your obvious distress, clearly enjoying this. "Okay, it's not a date."
"Exactly. So don't do anything you'd do if it was a date."
He steps closer, grinning, the space between you evaporating again. "And what is it," he asks in that deep voice of his, a low rumble that resonates somewhere in the pit of your stomach, "that you think I would do on a date?"
The table behind you feels like it's digging into your back.
"No kissing."
"Got it," he says, resting one hand on the table behind you, "no kissing."
"Or any other...date stuff."
"Like what?"
"Like..." You glance at his mouth.
Rooster smiles. "You want to make a list?"
You duck under his arm before he can do something that will get you in trouble. "I'll meet you after work," you tell him over your shoulder as you walk back toward the bar, desperate for some space before you lose your resolve altogether. "Just...stop talking. You're distracting me."
He turns and watches you, amused. "Okay. Pick you up at seven?"
You wonder if it's too late to back out of this, or if he's going to show up here at seven with that stupid smile of his and his ridiculous mustache and ruin everything anyway.
"You don't have to pick me up," you mutter, wiping your hands on your apron one more time, unable to hide your smile. "It's not a date, remember?"
Summary: Bradley meets his future wife one night at The Hard Deck.
Inspiration: Such a Night- Elvis Presley
Warnings: Alcohol mentions, tooth-rotting fluff
A/N: I haven’t written for Bradley outside of the roommates AU before but I rewatched the movie and was possessed by the idea of falling immediately head over heels for him…started writing it, had a breakdown, bon appétit
There was only a little relief from the bustling crowds in making it up to the bar of the Hard Deck, half of Fightertown having seemingly decided it was the place to be that Friday night. That had certainly been your colleague’s hopes for the notoriously naval bar when she had planned the date and time of her leaving night out- or to use her own words, “I’m not leaving Fightertown without bagging a sailor first”.
She knew what she wanted, you would give her that.
The bartender was busy on the other side of the bar so you made yourself as comfortable as you could to stake out your spot, leaning your elbows on the polished wood. You hadn’t taken any notice of the person you had ended up beside until the bartender focussed her ever-shifting attention on him and his voice- surprisingly and deliciously deep- cut through the general chaos of the bar like a hot knife through butter.
“Another round for everyone, thanks, Penny.” He glanced to his left and caught your own interested glance, brought on by his voice, and a slow, easy grin lifted his lips beneath a dark moustache that should not have looked as good as it did. “Hi there.”
You didn’t have it in you- or perhaps you had too many pink gins in you- to be embarrassed at being caught.
“Hi.”
You were shameless as you got a good look at him.
Nicely styled brown hair that had the look of having been lightened by the sun. Dark eyes that promised trouble in the best way. That immaculate moustache that wouldn’t have looked good on anyone else, you were certain, and the full pink lips beneath that looked oh-so-kissable. Tanned skin with a couple of silvery scars. Broad shoulders and biceps that looked all the better for being clad in a cream and sage-green Hawaiian shirt which- again- would not have looked anywhere near good on anyone else, especially without the tight white tank top and sinfully well-fitting jeans that completed his outfit.
He looked good…and he was looking right back at you.
If the lazy grin on those gorgeous lips was anything to go by, he liked what he saw.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” he commented, turning fully to face you, leaning one elbow on the bar.
You willed yourself not to look at his bicep again and maintain eye contact.
“Mm, I haven’t been before. One of the girls I work with wanted to have her leaving night at a Navy bar.”
He nodded in understanding, something like amusement in his eyes.
“And how’s that going?”
You turned away from him to face the room at large, nodding towards the group you had left near the jukebox.
“See that woman over there?”
He stepped closer, slightly behind you, to follow your gaze.
“The one wearing the sailor’s hat?” he asked.
You bit your lip at the feeling of his chest almost pressed to your back and his lips close to your ear- it had certainly been a move on his part, and a smooth one at that- and nodded in confirmation.
“She’s the one beside her, wearing the sailor.”
He let out a surprised burst of laughter and you turned back to face him again with a grin, both of you now closer together and neither of you seeming to mind at all.
“Looks like she won’t mind waiting a little longer for that next round.”
Your grin widened.
“It’s like you read my mind. So, who are you here with?”
He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by a shout of:
“Rooster! We getting that round or what?”
You raised your eyebrows, surprised, when he turned in the direction of the speaker and lifted a hand in acknowledgment.
“Rooster?” you repeated in confusion. He didn’t look like a rooster.
He groaned.
“Bradley,” he corrected you, turning to collect the tray of drinks that neither of you had noticed appearing on the bar beside you. “And I will be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
He waited for your nod to confirm that you wouldn’t leave before disappearing into the crowd with the tray, and it made your heart beat faster than any man you’d just met should have been able to cause. There was something so alluring about him, a pull in your belly that told you that you were meant to meet him that night.
Blaming the pink gin for that fairytale-esque feeling, you quickly ordered another whilst you waited on him returning.
On the other side of the room, a group of naval aviators was left thoroughly confused by their friend unceremoniously depositing their next round of drinks on their table with the announcement that he would see them later- that he was busy talking to his future wife- before disappearing back to the bar.
He returned to his spot in the stool beside you- the one that you had not-so-subtly saved for him with your bag- just as the bartender slid your fresh drink over to you.
“Put it on my tab, Penny, and another for me please.” He turned back to you and grinned. “I missed you.”
You rolled your eyes fondly. It was ridiculous; he was ridiculous. Still, you clinked your glass against his beer bottle and let him rest his foot on the base of your stool to keep it steady for you.
“Alright, Bradley. Explain Rooster.”
The conversation flowed as easily as the drinks from there on. He told you about his job as a naval aviator without being boastful- even if his chest did swell a little with pride when you admitted to being impressed. He listened avidly when you told him about your job, shaking his head when you downplayed it as not being as exciting as his own and asking genuinely interested questions.
And then there were the touches.
Flirtatious and respectful, things you hadn’t seen simultaneously in a man in…you weren’t sure ever. His hand on your waist to steady you when another patron bumped into you, that same hand never leaving the spot, its thumb stroking softly without roaming. It was addictive.
Had anyone asked you, you would have said that you and Bradley were the only two people in the bar long before the bartender cleared her throat pointedly to inform you both with a knowing grin that that was in fact true.
Your eyes widened in surprise as you pulled your phone from your bag to see that it was after 1am, the time displayed above a stack of texts from your girlfriends- each of them saying something along the lines of “get it, girl!!”.
“Can I walk you out?” Bradley asked, offering you his hand to help you down from your stool.
You missed his touch almost as soon as your hand left his, but once again he seemed to read your mind as his hand found the small of your back on the way out of the bar.
The coastal chill in the night air was pleasantly cool on your cheeks, warmed by the gin and the company.
“This was a much better night than I was expecting,” you told him, and he grinned.
“Yeah? Me too.”
You weren’t quite sure where to go next, but he had that covered too.
“Can I take you out for breakfast tomorrow? Well, today,” he clarified with a self-deprecating chuckle, “I really wanna see you again.”
You bit your lip to restrain the Cheshire Cat grin that threatened to take over your face.
“I’d like that. Shall we say ten? I’m not much of a morning person.”
“I’m liking you a lot so far this morning.”
There was no holding your grin back after that. Unable to resist, you leaned in to close the gap for a kiss, eyes fluttering closed in anticipation.
To your surprise, he leaned back out of your reach.
For a second, your stomach swooped unpleasantly, worried that somehow after everything you had read the moment wrong, but then that damned grin was back on his face.
“Uh-uh. I don’t kiss on the first date.”
You laughed in disbelief- and more than a little relief.
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly serious. And our second date isn’t for another-” He pulled back to look at his watch. “-nine hours. You’ll just have to wait, gorgeous.”
He raised his hand to flag down a passing taxi for you, and even that was attractive.
“Text me when you’re home safe, yeah?” he asked, the genuine care in his voice just making you want him more as the taxi drew up beside you both.
“And you,” you told him.
He grinned.
“I’m a big boy, honey. I’ll be just fine.”
The poor taxi driver was going to get a hell of a show if he kept talking like that. You were surprised your legs didn’t give out as you slipped under Bradley’s arm into the back of the taxi, noticing the way he held the door open until he had seen you fasten your seatbelt.
“I’ll see you soon,” he told you with a wink before closing the door.
As the taxi peeled away from the kerb, you let your head fall back against the headrest and a smile spread across your lips. You were vaguely aware of the taxi driver asking if you had had a good night, and your thoughts were immediately consumed by twinkling dark eyes and kissable lips and that stupid moustache. The driver was certainly only making small talk but you couldn’t help the giddy sigh that fell from your lips.
pity season (bradley bradshaw x reader medical!au)
part seven of flatline!
warnings: this series is 18+! there will be medical descriptions and explicit sexual content. discussions of abusive parents, suggestive content but no actual smut, child death (a patient)
6 WEEKS TO THE WEDDING
Your Saturday morning shift begins with a pounding headache, courtesy of Jake Seresin’s twenty-ninth birthday celebrations. You haven’t felt this hungover since you were in college. At least back then you weren’t responsible for an entire department of lives.
After the near-miss with Bradley, you’d spent the rest of the night attached to Natasha’s side, for fear of being caught alone with him again.
‘Never Have I Ever’ had not exactly been how you would’ve chosen to spend the rest of your night, but apparently a full day of drinking turns Jake back into a twenty-year-old frat boy.
“Never have I ever…” Nat begins, glancing around the room, with a glint in her eyes that you don’t like. “Hooked up with a colleague.”
Unsurprisingly, Jake drinks immediately, followed you, Javy, Mickey, and then finally Bradley. His expression drops a little - not quite a scowl, but definitely not particularly happy. You wonder if he means somebody at Miramar, or if he means during his intern year. Sleepy is the only one who abstains.
“Come on,” Jake drawls. “You’ve never hooked up with anyone at the hospital?”
“I got married at nineteen, Jake,” She replies, rolling her eyes. “Didn’t exactly make for a conducive hook-up environment.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been divorced for like… a year now… that’s more than enough time - hell, I’m sure Mickey wouldn’t mind-”
“Alright, I think you need some water,” Javy interjects, steering him away from a blushing Mickey and embarrassed Sleepy. Part of you is glad you’re not the most awkward pairing tonight.
You can see Bradley across the room, trying to catch your attention, desperate to talk to you. The idea of laying out whatever that was, after six margaritas, is not appealing. Even as the party starts to wind down, all you can manage is a brief goodbye, before you follow Nat out to the Uber.
Saturday shifts are never particularly fun, but last time you checked Bradley wasn’t on the schedule, so you’re at least spared some difficult conversations.
When you walk into the lounge and see him sitting at one of the computers, your brow furrows in confusion. “You’re not on today.”
“Good morning to you too,” He murmurs, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Bernie called in sick. I’m covering.”
“Oh. Okay, yeah,” You reply, shoving your bag in your locker, wincing slightly. You don’t intend to sound as unenthused as you do, but you’d really been hoping to avoid discussing the party.
“Listen,” He begins, wringing his hands together if he stands. “If I made you uncomfortable, or anything like that, please tell me-”
“You didn’t. Promise,” You say softly, mustering up as much of a smile as you’re able. “But we should really get to work. The ER is packed already.”
Your first case of the day is joint with Bradley - a father and daughter suffering from whiplash after a minor crash. Bradley’s job is relatively easy - the girl is quiet and sweet, and far braver about stitches than a lot of adults.
The father is a different story. Angry, belligerent, and intense in a way you can’t quite put your finger on.
Until it hits you. The sweating and twitching… it’s something you remember from your own childhood. You pull Bradley out of the trauma room by his elbow. “He’s high.”
“What? How do you know?”
“I think he’s going through withdrawal.” Your chest feels heavy, suddenly constricting with the idea that the car crash may not have been quite so accidental as you once thought. “I uh, I need some air - can you cover for five minutes?”
You’re gone before he even nods, making a beeline for the office.
It takes ten minutes for him to find you, eyes worried. “You were right. Cocaine. Social work are dealing with it now.”
“T-that’s good,” You mumble, pulling your knees up to your chest as you glance up at him. “I’m sorry, I was going to come back out, but I just-”
“S’okay. You needed the breather. I had it covered.” He pauses for a second, as if debating whether or not to speak again. “You want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
He lets out the smallest laugh, barely more than an exhale, and drops onto the couch beside you. “Come on, kid. I’m not a psychiatrist, but even I could tell you were freaked out back there.”
You consider your options. If you want to get into this now. Maybe you’d be better discussing the almost-kiss.
“I mean,” You start, eyes focused on the hangnail you’re currently picking on your thumb. “You know I don’t talk to my parents.”
“Yeah,” He murmurs, voice quiet.
“I don’t think they ever should have had me. Not really. They were both addicts - kept using, and it went undetected because Montana doesn’t have any kind of child protection laws like that.”
It’s very hard to meet Bradley’s gaze right now. You don’t want his pity. You just want him to understand why you’re so hesitant to let him in. To let anyone in.
He doesn’t say anything, just reaching out to rest a hand on your knee. “Dad got sober intermittently, but Mom was pretty much gone all the time. I uh- I got hospitalised as a toddler, because I found some of their stash.”
“God, kid. Shouldn’t Child Protection have stepped in?”
“They did an investigation, I think - I don’t really know what happened, I was so young. Something about blaming one of their friends, and because they weren’t high when they brought me in, they got away with it. Nobody ever came to check up on us again.”
A silence falls, as you try and debate how much you want him to know. If you want to even touch your teenage years, or if that might send him running for the hills. “Anyway,” You continue. “The drug stuff just gets me a little - specially when it’s a family involved.”
“If you ever need me to take over anything, you know I would. If it ever gets too much.” His voice is so earnest that you almost want to laugh. If you’d told August-you that Bradley Bradshaw would be doing everything in his power to make the ER a workable environment for you, you’d have scoffed.
“I know you would.”
It’s a battle not to cry, but your pager starts to bleep, and you can feel yourself compartmentalising. “I should get back out there.”
“They wouldn’t mind if you took an extra ten, I’m sure. I can cover-”
“I’m okay, Bradley. Really. Thank you, though.” You get to your feet, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek. “You’re very sweet.”
“Don’t tell Jake that. He’ll never let me live it down.”
The air feels a lot lighter, and you laugh. “Pretty sure he already knows.”
5 WEEKS TO THE WEDDING
“Some of your resident numbers are incredible, Kazansky,” Doctor Beau Simpson comments, glancing down at his tablet
He’s been the Dean of the Hospital for a little over two years now, very much priding himself on the highest efficiency in the state. It helps that half of his department heads are long-term colleagues. Penny Benjamin, Pete Mitchell and Ron Kerner have worked here for as long as Beau, with Thomas Kazansky moving from the West Coast to take over the hospital’s floundering Emergency Department.
In the three years that he’s been in charge, patient satisfaction has improved tenfold.
Sometimes Beau misses practising - cardiology had always been the great love of his life. But he likes the management side - being able to protect both doctors and patients.
“Especially Floyd and Bradshaw - they’ve fairly racked up their hours, haven’t they?”
“Can’t ever seem to get them out of that place,” Kazansky mutters, and Maverick snorts.
“Yeah, Floyd’s a workaholic and Bradley’s trying to charm her. That’s why they’re such a good team.”
“That’s not true - I warned him about dating within his own department-”
“Tom,” Penny interjects, trying to fight back a smile. “Has Bradley ever listened to you in his life?”
Unable to deny, Kazansky deflates a little. “Well, no - but he respects the sanctity of the hospital.”
At this, Maverick stops hiding his amusement, and laughs, deep and low. “Sure he does. The kid’s always thought with his heart - and his dick. Your only hope is Floyd turning him down, and I think that’s looking less likely with each passing day.”
“At least you’re looking at a couple - that Seresin kid’s slept with half my nurses. Some of ‘em won’t even work in the same OR as him,” Ron chimes in, and Beau lets out a heavy sigh.
The numbers had looked so good this morning - now, hearing about the fact that his new residents seem to be treating the hospital like Love Island, the victory is a little less sweet. “Surely he’s an HR issue then?”
“Nah,” Ron dismisses. “Nobody’s actually put in a complaint - think he just sleeps around. Family are multi-millionaires - think he’s the only one who’s got a real job, so I’ve gotta hand it to him. He’s here because he wants to be. And he’s a damn good surgeon.”
The meeting moves on, discussing Charlie Blackwood’s problematic R4 Michael Brown, and the fact that Leonard Wolfe is retiring next month, after forty years in internal medicine.
There are only a few tweaks to be made this month, and soon everyone is dispersing back to their own wards and departments. Beau catches Kazansky as he’s leaving. “Floyd and Bradshaw on today?”
“When aren’t they?”
“You’ll need to watch they don’t go over their limits - don’t want any lawsuits. But anyway - I was thinking I could come down, observe. See where this is all coming from.”
Tom shrugs. “Sure. But if they’re making out in the supply closet it’s not my fault.”
Much to Beau’s relief, you and Bradley are not kissing, and instead working. Each on your own patients, you work with a fluidity that’s rare in such young doctors. However, Beau can’t help but notice the way that Bradley’s hands drop to your waist each time he squeezes past you, his front to your back.
Standing at Central, he glances over the other residents and interns. You and Bradley clear two patients for each one that everyone else is getting through. “They’re not just fast, right?” Beau asks, raising an eyebrow.
Kazansky shakes his head. “Nope. High patient satisfaction, and diagnostic success. I think they’re just good at their jobs.”
A lull in flow, and they watch you both migrate over to the lounge. Through the window, Beau watches as you lean against the counter, Bradley bracketing you in on either side as his hand rests on the wall behind you. You’re entirely engrossed in your conversation, and totally unaware of your audience. “Please tell me they’re not about to-”
“Nope. That’s just the way they are. Past few weeks, they’ve been very touchy-feely. Not sure what’s changed, but it hasn’t affected their work, so I let it slide.”
"I mean... if it works, it works. The worry is that they break up and completely combust."
"Well, we'll cross that bridge if we come to it. Right now, I think we should just be glad we got lucky enough to get two residents like them at the same time."
"You know who they're like-"
"Nick and Carole? Yep. The irony is not lost on me."
4 WEEKS TO THE WEDDING
You don’t manage to catch lunch until almost three. The ER had been packed all morning - it’s flu season, and people seem unable to conceptualise that not every cold needs a hospital visit. Bradley’s had it worst - his entire day has been sniffling children.
He hadn’t even complained about the paperwork - a sure sign that he’s having a terrible day.
Half of the cases didn’t even seem to be genuine, just kids trying to get off school for a couple of days.
When Bernie comes in for the afternoon shift and tells you both to take a break, there’s a collective sigh of relief. Your stethoscopes are dumped, aprons discarded, and you both crash in the office.
“Have you eaten recently?” Bradley asks, and you check your watch.
“Had a granola bar after the ward round… so like half nine maybe?”
Your stomach had surpassed rumbling in favour of an eery silence, and you’re starting to wonder if it’s simply starting to digest itself to put you out of your misery.
“I think I’m about the same,” He sighs. “Let’s go get lunch - there’s that new taco truck just down the street? I’ve been meaning to try it.”
You think of the measly cheese sandwich currently sitting in your locker, and then the fact that you’re almost nearing the negatives, with still a week to go until payday. Really helpfully, your car had chosen to break down twice this month alone.
Your bank account is struggling, and impromptu lunch dates are not the way to a debt-free life.
Just when you’re about to speak, try and come up with some excuse for staying that won’t hurt Bradley’s feelings, he continues. “My treat.”
You should’ve known he’d offer. And while you know he doesn’t mean anything by it, the idea of constantly accepting help makes you uneasy. When you were growing up, nothing was ever done without consequence. Nobody was ever just good.
There was always a price.
You’re still trying to unlearn that thought process.
“It’s okay, Bradley, really- I probably shouldn’t-”
“Please? If you don’t come I’ll look like a loser who doesn’t have any friends.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I think you’d look like a doctor on his lunch break.”
“Agree to disagree.” His expression is earnest, that you find yourself nodding after a second.
“Fine. Tacos it is.”
He doesn’t bother to hide the grin as he leads you out of the ER, hand settled on the small of your back as he waves to a just-arriving Mickey.
Used to Montana winters, the slightly balmy California cold barely touches you. San Diego’s lowest December temperatures are still about ten degrees higher than Montana’s peak.
Bradley, on the other hand, spent his entire childhood in California, before making a brief Massachusetts detour for college. He’s positively unused to the cold, choosing to fly back to the West Coast for every Christmas.
“It is not that cold,” You murmur, throwing him a glance as he pulls his leather jacket on.
“Easy for you to say, Little Miss Montana. We didn’t all grow up in igloos.”
You snort. “I thought you skied? Doesn’t the very act of skiing involve the cold?”
“Yeah, but if you’re doing it right, you won’t ever touch the snow,” Bradley replies, cheeks turning pink. “And then you return to your well-heated hotel room, and drink until the buzz keeps you warm.”
“You sound like Jake.”
“No,” Bradley corrects. “If I was Jake, I’d be having sex to keep myself warm. There’s a big difference.”
“Oh come on,” You scoff. “I’m sure you’ve partaken in that practice before.”
The tinge in his skin tone darkens, and you can’t tell if it’s from the cold, or embarrassment. “Maybe in years gone by… but not anymore.”
“So you’re saying if we were stuck on a desert island, and the only way to conserve heat was sex, you’d decline?”
This new dynamic is strange. Neither of you are willing to bring up the almost-kiss at Jake’s party, yet you’ve settled into this rhythm where hypothetical sex is on the conversation table.
Like it’s an inevitability, rather than a possibility.
Like this is all some very elaborate foreplay.
Unless you’re reading into it too much.
“Woah, I didn’t say that,” Bradley interrupts immediately, a brief panic crossing his face. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Floyd.”
“It’s okay, Bradshaw - I get it. Celibacy’s tough on anyone, much less a former manwhore like yourself.”
It’s only when your face splits into a grin that Bradley lets out a laugh. “I told you, kid, I’m Mr Monogamy.”
“Shouldn’t it be Doctor Monogamy?”
“You’re being pedantic,” He dismisses, as you both slow to a stop in front of the truck. “What do you want?”
You take a quick glance at the menu before replying. “I’ll take the vegetable option, thanks.”
The line moves pretty quickly, and soon Bradley’s ordering for you both. He pays, and stops you from putting a five into the tip jar, grabbing a ten from his own wallet. “My treat, remember?”
“That doesn’t extend to tips,” You reply, sticking your tongue out.
“It extends to everything.”
The woman who owns the truck reappears with your order, offering you both a smile. “You make such a lovely young couple. You must be kept busy at that hospital.”
For once in his life, it seems like Bradley is the speechless one. Instead you nod, thanking her as you take the tacos. “We sure are. Have a good day!”
Pressing Bradley’s into his hand, you head to the park near the hospital. Bradley would rather eat in the warmth of Miramar’s canteen, but you need some more fresh air before making the journey back. “You’ve been quiet ever since we got the food,” You murmur, trying to make as little of a mess as possible with your food. From the way sour cream drips down your hand, you’re not succeeding. “Surely an assumption that we’re together hasn’t thrown you that much. Jake’s been saying it for months. Nat too.”
“Yeah, but they’re… them. Feels different when it’s a total stranger perceiving you.”
“Good different?” You ask, cocking your head.
“Good different,” He nods, and you have to fight back a smile.
“You flirt like this with all the residents?” He’s leaning into you slightly, and you realise he’s trying to steal your warmth.
“Only the really pretty ones.”
You hum pretending to think about it, before pulling back and getting to your feet. “Flattery doesn’t entitle you to warmth, Bradshaw. Besides, we should be getting back.”
“Oh, come on - you’re like a furnace! You’ve got more than enough heat to go round.”
The walk back to the hospital is short, but you both consciously walk a little slower than your usual pace. “I’m sure you’re not that cold,” You murmur, pressing the back of your hand to his, before frowning. “Shit. You are cold. Why is your body totally incapable of regulating itself?”
“No idea. But if you don’t hold my hand now, you’re legally responsible if I catch pneumonia out here.”
Rolling your eyes practically to the back of your head, you still slip your hand into his hand. “You’re such a baby.”
“I’m just being practical, Floyd. Conserving heat, and all that.”
It’s only when the hospital comes into view that you come to a complete halt. Heading for his car, right outside the ER, is your father. A man you haven’t seen in years. On instinct, you pull your hand from Bradley’s grasp, and he frowns. “Hey - what’s wrong?”
He follows your gaze, to the front door.
“N-nothing, it’s fine.”
“Is that- do you know him?”
It would be so easy to nod, let Bradley in a little further. Deep down, you know that he wouldn’t let either of your parents get to you at work. But Bradley isn’t with you all the time, and you get the sense that neither of them are going to let up until they get something from you. “No. Just thought it was someone else. It’s okay.”
By now, your dad is pulling out of the parking lot, and onto the main road. You twist your angle slightly, keeping you behind Bradley and out of his line of sight.
“Kid. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Please.”
You muster up as much of a smile as you’re able, and begin to move. “I’m alright. Promise. Just got a little paranoid.”
You can tell he doesn’t believe you, but you don’t have the capacity to pretend any further, opting to change the subject as you head back inside.
3 WEEKS TO THE WEDDING
Even after all this time, Bradley still struggles to pin you down. How you can go from being so outgoing, to a shell of yourself in minutes. You’ve been off since Friday.
Ever since you saw your father outside the hospital.
You still haven’t confirmed it to him, but he’s not an idiot. After hearing about the way they treated you growing up and into college, he figures they might be the only people who could draw that kind of reaction from you.
You’re always so calm and collected at work.
It’s more than a little disconcerting.
Sure, you’re still laughing at his jokes, and letting him flirt with you in a way you’d never have let slide before Jake’s birthday, but it’s all muted. Despite what you continue to insist, he knows there’s something wrong, and that it must be your parents.
He wonders why they’re even in town - any attempt to bring it up is immediately shot down.
“I’m fine, Bradshaw. I’ve got it handled.”
Bradley understands that you could probably handle just about anything life might throw at you, but he doesn’t want you
He’s not your boyfriend, a fact he’s painfully aware of. He’s hoping that might change in the coming months, but as of now, he’s just a friend. A friend who wants to be there for whatever you need.
Whether it’s a shoulder to cry on, someone to do the scut jobs you don't like - or somebody to punch your dad.
Whatever you want him to be, he can do it.
If you would only let him.
He's hoping today will have a lighter workload. That he'll maybe be able to talk to you, break through another few layers.
Until San Diego Hospital’s trauma centre loses power, and all emergencies are directed towards Miramar.
At first, it’s manageable. The waiting room is a little busier than usual, and he very much doesn’t envy the triage nurses. Of all the residents, it’s becoming increasingly clear that you and Bradley work the best together.
Where the others are bickering, you and he have already cleared a patient each.
It’s like you don’t even need to talk to each other. You both get a few approving nods from Kazansky over the course of the morning, and Bradley almost wants to laugh.
He’d been so against any kind of relationship between you both - Bradley had even been warned against the dangers of flirtation at a dinner with Kazansky and Maverick a few weeks ago.
“Yeah, but surely you’d rather we got on and worked well together, than the way we were at the start?” He’d argued, earning snort from the older men.
“Getting on does not equate sleeping together, Bradley. You can be nice to her without trying to get into her pants.”
He hopes that if something does happen between you both in the coming weeks, that Kazansky thinks back fondly on your work recently before jumping to conclusions.
Everything’s fine until a bomb goes off in downtown San Diego. For the next six hours, the ER smells like death and scorched skin, as you all do your best to treat the ever-increasing influx of patients.
Neither of you have ever had to deal with something of this magnitude in the months you’ve been at Miramar.
Bradley has children separated from their families, scared and alone, while you have to change your scrubs because of the amount of blood splattered across them.
It’s not the circumstances in which you’d like to work with Jake and Nat, but they both find themselves down in the department, trying desperately to triage in order to decide who needs to go to the OR most urgently.
Finally, San Diego get their ER sorted, and the flow slows. The night-shift start to trickle in, and you’re both sent for a break. It’s an unspoken agreement that you’ll be working late tonight, helping law enforcement with reuniting family members and identifying witnesses.
“What a shitty shift,” You sigh, dropping onto the couch in the lounge. “Got to be a bottom five. You know if they caught the guy yet?”
Bradley checks his phone, scrolling through CNN. “They’ve got someone in custody - they seem pretty sure that’s their guy.”
“Good. Yeah, that’s good,” You reply. “I can’t even imagine how everyone would feel if he got away. Hell, we couldn’t handle another trauma like that. We’re spread thin as it is.”
You turn slightly, leaning against him. “You were great, though. Very comforting to the kids.”
“It was the least I could do. We still haven’t found half their parents. Social work are beside themselves-”
“It’ll all work out,” You murmur, a surprising display of optimism. In work, you aren’t exactly known for your positivity, preferring to go for the ‘glass half-empty’ route.
“Yeah. Eventually.”
He’s so focused on the warmth of your cheek against his shoulder, that he doesn’t even realise your breathing has totally evened out.
Lips parted just a little, you’re sound asleep, propped up by his body.
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you this still before. You’re always so busy at work, it’s a miracle if you get to sit down together outside of paperwork time - something he used to hate, but is now starting to enjoy a little. It helps that if he’s especially nice to you, and takes the cannulas, that sometimes you’ll offer to do some for him.
He adjusts just a little, trying to get into a more comfortable position - for him and you. The movement has you moving, stretching before you curl back into him, entirely undisturbed. Now, your hand is curled around his bicep, and you’re spread out across the rest of the couch.
You look peaceful.
He likes it.
As carefully as possible, he pushes your hair from your face, and reaches for his phone. He could really be doing with a trip to the bathroom right about now - he doesn’t remember the last time he had a chance to go. But he’s sure as hell not about to disturb you.
Thankfully, the ER seems to have settled.
You both stay like that for about fifteen minutes, until Mickey pokes his head round the door, eyes apologetic. “I’m sorry guys, but we’ve got one more ambulance on the way in. You’re needed out front.”
He disappears, and Bradley reaches out to shake your arm. “Kid,” He says softly. “You’ve gotta wake up - we’ve got a few more people to see.”
You let out a low groan, blinking slowly as your eyes adjust to the light. He doesn’t know you’re awake until you bolt upright, a gasp slipping out. “Shit, Bradley, I’m so sorry-”
He’s frowning immediately. “It’s fine. No harm, no foul.”
He decides not to comment on the tiny patch of drool that’s accumulated on his sleeve - your embarrassment is enough, and it’s by far the least offensive bodily fluid he’s had on him today. “You needed the nap.”
“You should’ve woken me up - not let me pass out on top of you.”
He has an urge to tell you that it was far away the best part of his day, but swallows it back. He doesn’t want to come on too strong, not when you haven’t even kissed yet. Not for lack of trying, but still.
Instead, he laughs. “Well, when I fall asleep on you in the future, I hope you’ll return the favour.”
“Bold of you to assume you won’t crush me to death if you try that,” You retort. “Your bicep’s the size of my head.”
He grabs an apron, tossing one to you. “Is that something you do a lot? Thinking about my biceps?”
If looks could kill, Bradley Bradshaw would be a dead man. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“It’s alright if you do, sweetheart. Nobody would blame you.”
2 WEEKS TO THE WEDDING
“Cannot believe you waited until two weeks before the wedding to buy a dress,” Nat says, eyeing you critically as she pulls into the parking lot.
“It wasn’t my fault! My engine was fucked, and I needed to get it fixed.”
“Could’ve hitched a ride with Bradshaw,” She replies, and you groan.
“Enough with the Bradshaw. There is nothing going on between us.”
“Yeah, right. And Jake hasn’t slept with half the staff at Miramar.”
In an effort to keep your dress budget-friendly, you’re hitting San Diego’s finest thrift stores, enlisting Nat for help. She’s not going to the wedding, but is accompanying a new girlfriend to an awards ceremony next month. Sleepy was meant to be here too, but got called in last minute to cover the plastics theatre.
Jake Seresin’s work, you’re sure.
“You’ve already admitted that you like him,” She points out.
“As a person! Not as a boyfriend!”
The almost-kiss plays on repeat in your head, and everything that’s come afterwards, and you suddenly hope that Natasha doesn’t have a secret mind-reading ability she’s kept hidden from you until this very moment.
When she doesn’t react, you figure you’re in the clear.
Whatever your personal feelings are for Bradley, you’re not quite ready to make them known to anybody except him. You consider Natasha to be one of your best friends, trailing behind only Bob. And yet, something about your relationship with Bradley makes you want to hold your cards close to your chest.
Like it’s something precious, and only for the two of you.
Like external input could shatter it all.
It’s probably something you should spend some time unpacking, but who has the time? Your life is spent in the Miramar Emergency Department - you couldn’t even get the day after the wedding off. You’ll be working a night-shift the next day.
“Whatever. When you guys get married, I expect to be a bridesmaid.”
You’d been hoping that would be the matter dropped. Instead, with each dress you try on, the only commentary you get from Natasha is entirely related to Bradley.
“That red looks good on you - it’s like the Washington Commanders logo. Bradley’ll love it.”
“You can see your nipples from the side. While I’m sure Bradley would appreciate it, I’m guessing that’s not the vibe you’re going for?”
“That’s it. That’s the one.”
A deep green number that clocks in at $62, well within your $100 maximum. “You’re sure?” You ask, examining it from all angles. “You don’t think it’s a little low in the front?”
“It’s the perfect amount of low, trust me. Classy, but bold enough that Bradshaw’ll want to jump you as soon as he sees you-”
“That is not my goal,” You reply, but it’s no use. Nat’s almost as bad as Jake these days. Maybe you and Bradley haven’t been as subtle in recent weeks than you think you’ve been.
Eventually, you manage to switch the conversation over to her own love life, and lunch is entirely Bradley Bradshaw free.
By the time you head home, you’re exhausted. You definitely need to start cashing in some of your annual leave.
Dress bag in hand, you freeze as you step out of your car. Across the apartment complex, waiting by the courtyard, is Bradley.
When his gaze meets yours, you can see he’s been crying.
Frowning, you make your way over. “What are you-”
“I got a call today - M-Mei passed away this morning.” His voice breaks off in a sob, and you reach for him. As soon as you pull him in for a hug, his entire demeanour shatters, as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.
“Oh, Brad,” You murmur, cupping his head gently. “I’m so sorry.” A few residents exit the complex, shooting you both some odd looks. You give him a second, before pulling back slightly. “Let’s go up to my place.”
You slip your hand into his, and guide him towards the stairs. His hand tightens, almost involuntarily. Like some kind of anchor. He’s silent on the way up, only speaking when you’re standing on your landing. “I-I’m sorry for coming by like this - I just couldn’t be alone, y’know?”
Unfortunately, you know that feeling well. Often, after a bad shift, the only thing you can bring yourself to do is sit aimlessly - too keyed up to sleep, and too exhausted to do anything productive.
“Don’t apologise, please.”
You let him in, shutting the door behind him as he lets out a ragged exhale. “I’m sorry about the mess-”
“Don’t be. I-it’s actually a little comforting.” For a moment, you think he might able to hold it together, before another sob breaks free. “It’s not fair,” He cries.
“It’s the shittiest thing in the world,” You nod, eyes wet. You fight back your tears - you’re no good to Bradley if you’re both bawling. “You did all you could for her. You were so, so good to her and her mom.”
“I could’ve done more-”
You’re shaking your head immediately. “Don’t do that to yourself-”
“I just- god. I can’t imagine losing a child. A-and I know we see that stuff all the time - but this feels different.”
“Of course it’s different - you’ve known her for months.”
You’ve made it to the couch now, your hands carding through Bradley’s curls in a feeble attempt to be comforting. The tears are still leaking down his cheeks, but his breaths are steadier, no longer coming in sharp gasps. “When did you get the call?”
“This morning.”
The idea of Bradley sitting in his house alone for all that time makes your heart hurt. “Have you eaten anything?” The briefest shake of his head. “You want me to order pizza?”
“I can get it-”
“Absolutely not. My house, my rules. And the rule is that I’m looking after you tonight.”
Always thinking about you, he tries to interject. “We can just make do.”
“If you can find something salvageable in that refrigerator, be my guest. But if you’d rather leave here without food poisoning, I’d really recommend the pizza.”
“You need to let me cook for you some time.”
“Another day. When you won’t season it with tears.” You’re not entirely sure how jokes are going to land with him right now, but he lets out a small laugh, and a wave of relief floods through you.
“It’s a date.”
“Yeah,” You smile. “It’s a date. Now, what’s your sitcom of choice when you’re feeling like crap? It’s an integral part of the mourning process. I’ve got boxsets of…. Friends, Cheers, Seinfeld, and Modern Family.”
He thinks for a second. “Cheers.”
You nod and toss him the TV remote. “Good choice. I’ll go order the pizza, and I’ll be right back, okay?”
It’s a hard night. One filled with difficult discussions, about whether either of you are built for this kind of loss long-term, and what you can do to make things better for kids like Mei.
He tells you about his mom and dad. How his mom was never the same after his dad died, and how he’s lived in fear ever since of doing that to somebody he loves. That he doesn’t think he’s ever been able to relax in all of his relationships. There was always some kind of image to maintain, an element of manufactured joy.
He tells you that he thinks about the fact that his parents will never get to meet his kids on a daily basis, a sensibility you share, for an entirely different reason.
Sitting cross-legged on your beaten up couch with Bradley Bradshaw, a pizza box balanced between you both, you don’t think you’ve ever felt so close to another person before.
1 WEEK TO THE WEDDING
“Are you excited about the wedding?” You ask, as the residents gather at the board for morning delegations.
“Yeah - I’m more excited for Maverick to stop texting me in the middle of the night with thing’s he’s forgotten to do, expecting me to fix it by morning,” Bradley replies dryly.
“And do you?”
He scoffs a little. “Of course. What do you take me for?”
“Good to see you’re taking the Best Man duties seriously.”
Cases are doled out, and you’re more than a little pleased to see you’re paired with Bradley for the day. You wonder briefly if he had anything to do with this - he does have Kazansky’s ear better than anybody else in the department.
It’s a busy day - a few emergencies, but mostly just filled with endless fractures and falls. Javy’s locked up in the OR all day, and soon you’re almost at the end of your shift.
His front pressed to your back, you let your head lull back until it rests on his shoulder. “I’m fucking exhausted,” You murmur, eyes closing. “Hardly got any sleep last night.”
“Is everything okay?”
I’m being bombarded by texts and phone calls from parents I never want to see again.
“Fine. Think we’re good to take a break?”
He glances over at the list of patients, currently mercifully short. “Think so.”
Tripping slightly as you cross the threshold into the staff room, his hands find your waist immediately. Exhaustion-induced hilarity overcomes you, and soon you’re both giggling like school children. And standing very, very close to one another.
Clearing your throat, you separate from him, and opt to perch up on the counter beside the computers.
Maybe you’re thinking too much about this. None of the first kisses in your life have ever been perfect - so why are you putting pressure on this one to be any different?
You’ve thought about your almost-kiss every day since it happened. How, if it weren’t for Jake Seresin, that kiss could’ve been perfect.
The ER doctor’s office is certainly not your dream location, but there’s something about the way that Bradley’s looking at you, all heavy-lidded lust and parted lips, that makes you want to throw caution to the wind and jump him right here.
Scrubs have never looked so good, riding up slightly with each movement of his arms, exposing the hard planes of his abdomen. A glance out the door, and he’s kicking it closed, before moving across the room.
Instinctively, your legs part, and he settles between them, hands resting on your waist as he pulls you closer. Pressed up against him, the thin material of the scrubs does nothing to hide his hardening cock, every adjustment drawing a whine from you.
Your ankles lock behind his back, and soon there’s nowhere else to go. Hands braced on his shoulders, faces inches apart - HR would have a heart attack.
“Hi,” He murmurs, voice gravelly as he smiles softly.
“Hi.”
The air between you is charged. Conspirational. The culmination of months of wanting.
Part of you expects him to dive right in. Push you up against the cabinet, and kiss you until you can’t breathe. Instead, he tilts his head, and grazes your pulse point with his lips.
It’s not quite a kiss, but enough to send your heart racing.
“Bradley,” You whimper, fingers curling tighter into the fabric of his shirt tighter.
“Hm?” His tone is smug, like he’s savouring every moment. If your head wasn’t spinning, you’d be annoyed. Bradley Bradshaw’s speed in the workplace apparently does not apply to his love life.
“Are you going to kiss me or what?” It’s the most bite you can muster, and he lets out a low laugh.
“You ever heard of a little thing called build-up?”
Looking up at you through his lashes, you’ve never noticed how brown his eyes are before.
And then the intercom screams to life, and Reuben’s voice fills the room. “Trauma ten mins out. Car hit a pedestrian. Meet at the front door.”
“Shit,” Bradley curses, letting out a sigh. “Just our fucking luck.”
“Ten minutes is a long time,” You offer, not bothering to hide the way your eyes flit to his lips, but he’s shaking his head.
“Don’t want you to associate our first kiss with a trauma, honey. S’not the foot I want us to get off on.”
You pout, but you know what he means. If this patient coming in doesn’t survive, this night will forever be coloured by that. Still almost nose-to-nose, you let out a shuddering breath. “Don’t make me wait another six weeks.”
“I can promise you right now, kid - it will not be six weeks.”
The quickest kiss is pressed to your temple, before you detangle from one another, and get ready to face the last hour of your shift.
As Bradley worried, the patient coming in doesn’t survive. It’s a brutal death, CPR cracking rib after rib in vain. By the time it’s over, you’ve never needed your bed more.
Bradley offers to drive you, but you turn him down. After today - going from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows, all you need is some alone time.
When you pull into your complex, there’s another figure standing by your front door.
Not Bradley. That’s the first thing you notice.
Your heart slows when your vision focuses and you realise it’s your dad. You’ve been doing such a good job of avoiding him, you’d almost forgotten entirely.
Steeling yourself, you grab your bag, and get out of your car. You don’t have an argument in you - instead your tactic is silence. Head down, you walk towards the front door, as if the man who made your childhood a living hell isn’t standing right by it.
“You’re not very good at replying to texts, you know that?”
It takes everything in you not to snap back, threaten him a little. Say you’ll call the police. Or Bradley. As soon as the thought pops into your head, you’re pushing it down.
“Not very nice to ignore your old man, kiddo!” He replies, falling into step beside you as you make for the door. “Come on, it’s been what - a year?”
Almost four.
“Your mom and I just want to talk to you. She’s not been doing too well, y’know? And you’ve got that fancy job up here-”
You don’t stay for the end of his sentence, slamming the door shut behind you. Thankfully, the hallway is deserted, with no one around to see the commotion. You’re just glad he didn’t try and get inside.
Hands trembling, you can’t stop the tears that begin to flow as soon as your apartment door clicks shut.
Summary: Despite all the times you have tried to make your feelings for the mustached pilot obvious, he still hasn't caught on. You make things clear one night at the Hard Deck.
Word count: 3.2k
Warnings: drinking, arguments, angsty feelings.
Pairings: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader
“I just- I don’t know what to do about him, Nat.” You were seated across from Natasha on her bed, hand in hers as she worked on your nails. One well-kept secret about Phoenix was that she was incredibly talented in nail art; a secret that you regularly capitalized on as her best friend. She often used you for practice, like she was doing right now. Silently, the pilot nodded, used to your ranting about Bradley by now. “He’s just so- so oblivious.”
Unbeknownst to Bradley, you’d had a massive crush on him for months. You had been friends with the mustached pilot for nearly three years. He was an amazing friend, and in that department, you couldn’t ask for more. The only issue that you had was that apparently, Bradley was blinder than a bat. No matter how hard you tried or how obvious you made it, Bradley never picked up on your crush on him.
Normally, you wouldn’t mind that your feelings remained a secret, however; your feelings had reached the point where you knew they weren’t going away anytime soon. The only option left was to try and tell Bradley how you felt.
Painting one of the roses on your nails, Nat weighed in on the situation. “He’s an idiot.” Her choice of words had you stifling a giggle, receiving a playful glare when your hand twitched. You murmured an apology as she continued. “The only way he’s gonna realize how you feel is if you’re straightforward about it.”
A groan bubbled out of your chest. You hated confrontation. Surely if Bradley was smart enough to be in the top one percent of all naval aviators, he was smart enough to realize your feelings for him. Right?
“I know, I know,” You started, “I just wish he could open his eyes for once.”
“Maybe if he shut his mouth for once his eyes would have some room to work,” Phoenix muttered, knowing exactly how stubborn the pilot was. The two of you descended into giggles as Natasha finished off your nails.
Before you knew it, the two of you were in your car, blasting music as you drove to the hard deck. Jake had organized a night out for the group, and the two of you certainly weren’t ones to pass on a fun night out with friends. As Natasha hadn’t hesitated to point out, maybe you would finally get the chance to tell Bradley how you felt.
You pulled into the parking lot and parked beside Jake’s truck. The two of you hopped out and headed into the bar, already plotting what interesting drink orders you could try and get Penny to make this time. The second you stepped into the bar, you were greeted loudly by the group of aviators. With large smiles, you and Phoenix joined the group and were quickly pulled into whatever idiotic story Jake was telling. Unsurprisingly, your eyes quickly found Bradley.
Phoenix pretended that she couldn’t see how your stare lingered on your coworker. While you knew that Phoenix knew, you were oblivious to the fact that Jake and Bob had also figured out your little secret. Natasha forbade them from saying anything or trying to persuade Bradley into doing anything stupid. God only knows that if they told that fool to make a move on you he’d find some way to mess it up.
As Jake rambled on about some hilarious incident from his recent vacation back in Texas, you couldn’t help but imagine what would happen if you told Bradley the truth. Honestly, you were tired of wasting time. You didn’t want to miss out on anything anymore. Even if Bradley didn’t feel the same, you needed to know. At least then you would be able to move on knowing that nothing could ever happen between the two of you.
Natasha’s elbow in your side pulled you out of your depressing thoughts. She fixed you with a knowing look, leaning over to whisper in your ear as the rest of the group dispersed at the end of Jake's story. “Tell him,” she urged you quietly. “We both know that he’ll never figure it out on his own.” And with that, you mustered up all the courage that you could before disappearing into the crowd to find Bradley.
Suddenly, Bob and Jake popped up over Natasha’s shoulder. “Twenty bucks says the dumbass still finds a way to screw it up.” Bob and Natasha hummed in agreement.
By the bar top, you were just about to call out to Penny to ask where Bradley was when you spotted it; a brightly coloured Hawaiian shirt and a pornstache that could put all the rest to shame. It took a couple of minutes of maneuvering through the intoxicated crowd, but eventually, you were standing right behind him. At the soft tap on his shoulder, Bradley spun quickly, surprised to find you standing there.
“Hey Bradshaw,” you started, “There’s something I need to talk to you about.” He nodded for you to continue. “I just wanted to tell you that-” Before you could finish your sentence, you were interrupted by some blonde winding her arms around his shoulders and peppering kisses up the side of his neck. Your words died in your throat as you started at the scene in front of you. Bradley didn’t even try to push her off. You felt sick to your stomach.
Noticing the tears welling in your eyes, the blonde smirked. “Sorry, did I interrupt something?” She sounded innocent, as if she didn’t know exactly what she was doing by trailing her finger across his chest and sucking a mark into the skin of his neck. You could only shake your head, feeling bile rise in your throat. The room suddenly seemed hot; you were desperate to find a way out of there. Before you knew it, you were shoving your way through the crowd and out the door of the bar.
With the blonde still clinging to his side, Bradley looked around the room in confusion. He met Natasha’s stern gaze and instantly knew that he had screwed it up somehow. Bradley huffed and pushed the blonde off of him, rolling his eyes at the scoff she let out. Then he was following after you, leaving the chaos of the bar behind him as he chased you into the parking lot. “Hey!” He called out, hand grasping your wrist. “What the hell is your problem?”
You jerked your wrist out of his hand and spun to face him angrily. Your face was hot with anger and Bradley could have sworn he saw steam coming from your ears. Despite all this, he could see tears welling in your eyes. “My problem?” You seethed, stepping dangerously close to him and jabbing a finger into his chest. “My problem, Bradshaw, is that you’re ignorant enough to let that- that slut hang off your arm without a care in the world!”
It killed you to see him standing there with her, but what was worse than all of that, was the fact that he didn’t care in the slightest. It’s not like she was someone he was seeing; she was just a random face in the bar. Somehow, that made things worse to bear.
Bradley scoffed and dismissively shoved your finger away from his chest. “Why the fuck do you care?” You could only stare at him, searching for the words he wanted to hear. “That chick had nothing to do with you, and you know that so what the fuck is your problem?” He paused, his words cutting deep as you searched for a response.
Behind him, the bar door opened revealing Jake, Bob, and Natasha. They watched silently as you continued to rip into each other.
“You know what, you fucking dick?” You were close to him once more; so close that you could smell the alcohol on his breath. “You are the most ignorant, self-absorbed person I have ever met.” With each accusation, you drove your finger into his chest harder, despite his attempts at brushing it off. “You are so wrapped up in your own bullshit that you don’t even notice who you’re hurting!”
You had never spoken to him like this before. Sure, there had been little arguments here and there, but the rage that he saw in your eyes now was something new entirely. A single, angry tear dripped down your face. “You don’t think about anyone besides yourself! You certainly don’t care about them. And believe me, Bradshaw, you have made that more than obvious.”
The pilot in front of you scoffed once more, having no retort for your deep jab at his character. Of course, he cared for the people around him, and for you to suggest otherwise was, in his mind, unfathomable.
However, you didn’t stop there. “You are absolutely unbelievable! You are so oblivious it’s painful, Bradshaw. You must have your head stuck up your ass to miss every single hint I’ve been giving you for months!” You paused for a moment, waiting for Bradley to interject.
He didn’t, refusing to believe anything you said to be true. There was no way that you could have feelings for him. Was there?
He shook his head in annoyance. “You still haven’t answered my question,” he pointed out, hating how easily you were able to sidestep it. “Why the fuck do you care who I flirt with?” His voice was loud, even scaring those watching from the front steps of the bar. Bradley figured that you were probably having a bad day and had taken your anger out on him. Even though he hoped that this wasn’t the case and that you actually did care about who was flirting with him. It was wishful thinking; to imagine that you would ever see him as anything more than an annoying friend. He was sure of it.
You could only groan angrily with tears still tracking down your skin. “Jesus, Bradshaw, because I love you, you fucking idiot!” It was as if time stood still. That was what it felt like as you watched Bradley process the reality of the words that you had just shouted at him. No movement came from the pilot in front of you; the only sign of life being the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
He couldn’t believe what he’d heard. There was no way it could be true. There was no way that a kind-hearted, sweet girl like yourself could ever fall for anyone as messed up as him. To Bradley, the mere idea of you having feelings for him was unfathomable.
For months, he had watched you from afar, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. He slowly began to learn what you loved, from your favourite song to sing along to when you were drunk at 2 am to your favourite flavour of ice cream. Bradley learned what made you laugh until your stomach hurt and what made you cry until your cheeks were stained. He knew every little thing about you but he never acted on it, in fear that you would never feel the same. To know that all this time, you had feelings for him as well, was surreal.
The deafening silence grew between the two of you, moving until it encompassed the bystanders waiting in front of the bar with bated breath. Continuing to stare at the pilot, your mind was running a million miles a minute. What had you just done? Sure, the two of you were arguing, but that was no reason to bear your true feelings to the man. What if he didn’t feel the same? You were convinced that this had to be the case when he refused to move a muscle.
“Bradley,” you whispered, nerves showing through the shake in your voice. “Please, say something.” Your mind plagued you with thoughts of the worst-case scenario. You were fully expecting him to turn around and storm off, refusing to ever speak to you again. With tears filling your eyes once more, you pleaded one last time. “Bradl-”
Your eyes widened as Bradley cut you off in a way you would have never expected. In one fluid, sudden motion, Bradley had lunged toward you, his lips moulding softly with yours. His hands cradled your waist, holding you as if you were a delicate flower. You could have sworn you heard yourself squeak but honestly, you were too overwhelmed to tell.
As Bradley continued to kiss you gently, your eyes fluttered shut. You became lost in the feeling of his hand caressing your side. His pinky finger slipped under the hem of your top, drawing a light gasp from your lips. The kiss deepened as Bradley pulled you towards him by your waist and as your hand worked into his soft curls at the base of his neck.
A soft giggle slipped past your lips as that familiar pornstache that you were used to making fun of was now tickling your upper lip. The pilot smiled into the kiss at the feeling, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours lovingly mere seconds later. “Does that answer your question?” He whispered, causing more giggles to flow from your mouth. You could only nod, still starstruck by the actions of the man holding you.
For the second time this evening, you were close enough to the pilot that you were able to smell his breath. While the faint scent of alcohol was still present, you were now able to pick up the familiar scent of your strawberry lip gloss. One glance at his parted lips was enough for you to see the slight pink hue that your lip gloss caused him.
There was a lovestruck smile on his face; a stark contrast to the anger shining in his eyes merely twenty minutes ago. Admiration shone in his eyes as he looked down at you. While he knew that he never stated it clearly, he was in awe of the wonderful woman that you were. As he thought about how perfect you were, guilt for the way he spoke to you before began to eat at him.
He cleared his throat, needing to make amends for his actions. “Seriously, though,” He started, eyes softening as he recalled the events from earlier. “I’m so sorry for how I acted earlier. What I said was completely uncalled for and out of line.” The corners of your mouth twitched up in a forgiving smile as you reached up to stroke the corner of his mustache with your thumb. Bradley wrapped you up in his arms, rocking the two of you softly. “I love you so, so much, baby girl.”
Your hand trailed from his soft cheek to the back of his neck as he shifted the two of you, fingers once again threading through the short curls. Warm, ocean air breezed past the two of you as Bradley held you close. Behind you, the sun was setting beautifully over the ocean. It painted the parking lot with a soft, pink glow. No matter how many sunsets you had seen before, for some reason, this one was the most beautiful. It was almost as if the beauty of the sunset reflected your feelings for each other. Despite the rocky road that it took you to get here, no moment had ever seemed as perfect as this one.
Unsurprisingly, your moment of bliss was quickly interrupted by the other aviators waiting at the steps of the bar. Your friends gradually made their way closer, unable to contain their questions and comments any longer. You felt Bradley sigh into the skin of your neck before he kissed it softly, causing butterflies to swarm in your chest. With your head still tucked into his chest, you felt a blush begin to creep up your neck at the realization that your friends had likely watched the whole event unfold. Despite the flush in your cheeks, you still made eye contact with each of them, dreading the inevitable bombardment of questions that were bound to come.
Even as you stood in front of your friends, ready to explain the rollercoaster of a scene they just witnessed, Bradley’s arms remained wound around your waist. His thumb moved over the bare skin of your side softly, leaving goosebumps in his wake. “No need to explain.” Nat offered with a reassuring smile. She could sense that you were hesitant to have to explain it all so quickly. Plus, she knew that she would get the details soon enough.
Together, Bob, Jake, and Nat offered you their congratulations before turning to head back to the bar. With his arm still around your waist, you and Bradley follow your friends in sync with each other. Your still-rosy cheek rested against his broad shoulder.
Jake wasted no time in collecting his winnings from the previous bet, pumping his fist in the air as Bob and Nat each handed Jake a 20. In the back of your mind, you briefly wonder why they handed him the cash in the first place. Once the five of you re-entered the air-conditioned comfort of the bar, Jake turned to you and Bradley, announcing that drinks were on him with that familiar, shit-eating grin on his face. That alone should have been enough to tell you that there was more to the story than you suspected.
Despite the weariness in both yours and Bradley’s minds, if Jake was offering to buy your drinks, who were you to turn it down? Just as you were about to take a sip of your beer, Bob piped up. “He bet you’d screw it up,” He quipped, grinning at the mixture of betrayal and shock written on Jake’s face that instantly took over his previous cocky expression. Within seconds Bradley had smacked his arm. While he was slightly annoyed that Jake had bet against him, he was more upset about the fact that he allowed Jake to win.
Bob and Phoenix continued to laugh at Jake’s dejected expression as you and Bradley watched fondly. The aviator pulled you into his side with gentle movements and your head fell onto his shoulder the second you were snuggled up against him.
In a state of bliss, you allowed your eyes to slip shut. You could only savour the feeling of being held in the arms of the man you loved. Tucked into Bradley’s side, you couldn’t think of anywhere else you would rather be. Turning his head, Bradley pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, which caused a glowing smile to blossom on your face. A giggle escaped you at the feeling of his mustache tickling your skin, leading to a smile mirroring your own taking over his sculpted features.
Sure, it had been a rocky road to get here, but you would do it all over again if it meant feeling like this for a moment longer. You loved Bradley, and it brought you more relief than one could ever imagine to know that he felt the same for you.
Simply put, you were ecstatic. Ecstatic that you no longer had to keep your feelings a secret. Ecstatic that you could see a future blossoming between you and Bradley. Despite not knowing what that future held, you were positive that you and Bradley would be together for a long, long time to come.
However, one thing was for certain; Bradley Bradshaw was the most oblivious man you knew.
a/n: Thank you for reading! Requests are open. I’m excited to be back <3
A/N: I'm so excited that y'all loved the first part! Thanks for your enthusiasm, you rock <3
Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.
Aka it's a road trip, strap in.
CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)
WC: 2000+
Part I | Masterlist
“I’m getting hungry.”
Bradley glances at the restaurant sign as he passes it on the interstate, suppressing a sigh. He usually skips lunch on long trips so he can arrive at his destination before nightfall. “I’ll get off at the next exit,” he says.
“Will you?” you exclaim excitedly, as though he’s offered to catch and cook your next meal himself.
Bradley chuckles mildly. “Well, I’m not going to let you starve.”
“You’re so sweet,” you reply, and Bradley eyes you with a grin because he’s about eighty percent certain you’re being facetious.
“What’re are you in the mood for?” he asks as he gets on the off-ramp.
“Something greasy and very bad for my heart.”
Bradley lets out a small laugh. What’s bad for his heart is you sitting next to him being all cute for the next twenty hours straight.
He pulls into the lot of a little diner just off the highway and parks his car while you flip down your sun visor to glance at your reflection in the mirror. “How do I look?” you mutter, mostly to yourself.
Bradley tries not to examine you directly and instead just glances in your vicinity. “Better than the truckers, I bet,” he comments, noticing the row of semis at the back of the lot.
You give him an unimpressed look and then push open your door. “I sure hope they have French toast.”
“I thought you wanted something greasy,” Bradley says, walking around the front of the Bronco to join you.
“I want options,” you state, marching forth toward the front doors.
Bradley strides ahead and pulls the door open for you. He can’t say he isn’t looking forward to having a sit-down meal with you, like it’s a date or something. And, as much as he hates to admit it, he’s almost thrilled at the prospect of the other patrons assuming the two of you are a couple.
You walk through the open door and Bradley stalls for a moment, trying to clear his head. He shouldn’t even be thinking about that sort of nonsense. He and Hangman have enough issues without adding Bradley’s crush on his baby sister to the mix. They’ve just begun to mend their bumpy – to say the least – relationship, and Jake would sure as shit not appreciate his colleague developing feelings for his younger sibling.
“You comin’, sugar?” you call from inside.
Bradley, who’s clearly taken too long of a beat, glances at you in a bit of a daze. He’s sure you just called him ‘sugar’ and that has utterly thrown him. He enters after you and gives the hostess a look that he hopes might resemble a polite smile. But his face feels hot and numb at the same time, so he can’t be sure.
…
“I think I’ll get the pancakes,” you muse, flipping through the menu leisurely.
Bradley smiles at you when you’re not looking. “Want to share some things?”
You glance up at him happily. “Can we?”
Bradley chuckles. “Why not? I could go for a pancake. What else should we get?”
Your eyes light up and you instantly refer back to the menu. “Fried pickles.”
Bradley cringes but he’s still amused. “Those’ll go great with the pancakes.”
“I agree,” you respond without a hint of sarcasm. “Chili?” you continue. “Or tacos?”
“Why not both?” Bradley shrugs.
You give him a serious look. “That’s just crazy talk.”
Bradley laughs. “You’re right, what was I thinking?”
“I sort of want some pie, though.”
Bradley closes his menu and leans forward into the table. “I’ve already thought of that,” he mutters under his breath, as though he’s about to divulge a secret. You lean in too, your bright eyes blinking up at him eagerly. “We’ll get one for the road,” he whispers.
You gasp. “You’re a genius!”
Bradley chuckles, leaning back in his seat proudly. “I won’t deny that.”
…
When the server arrives to take your orders, you let Bradley do the talking, but chime in with little requests now and again; onions on the home fries, maple syrup for the bacon, sour cream in the chili. And Bradley can’t help but delight in the fact that, every time you think of something, you tap his hand that's resting on the table, ‘oohing’ with excitement.
Bradley eyes you with a smile once the server departs. “Maple syrup for the bacon?”
You wave a hand at him. “You’ll see.”
Bradley shakes his head with a smirk. “Not on my bacon.”
“Yeah, my brother warned me that you’re a bit of a square.”
Bradley raises his eyebrows and scoffs. “Your brother said what?”
You grin at him mischievously. “Don’t worry, I can make up my own mind.”
“Your brother warned me that you’re a bully,” Bradley replies, his smile only getting wider. “And, coming from Hangman, that’s saying something.”
You let out a peal of laughter so exuberant that several faces turn to look in your direction.
“Don’t worry,” he adds when your laughter partially subsides. “I can make up my own mind.”
“And?” you ask with soaring eyebrows. “Have you?”
Bradley hesitates for a moment and then decides to respond in a cheeky manner to avoid any awkwardness. “Not just yet,” he says with a chuckle.
You reach out and lightly smack his forearm. “Stop!”
“I’m joking,” Bradley concedes, grabbing your hand before you can strike him again. “It’s not like you’ve ever hit me to get your way,” he says pointedly.
You shake your head with a smirk and withdraw your hand.
…
“Everything was delicious,” you gush to the waitress as she clears the table. “We had such a wonderful time!”
“Glad to hear that, dear,” the waitress gives you a smile and then winks at Bradley, as though she’s in on some scheme with him.
Bradley furrows his eyebrows in amusement as she walks away and then digs into his pocket for his wallet. “My treat,” he says when you reach for your purse.
“No way!” you exclaim. “You’re already giving me a ride. The least I could do is feed you.”
“You don’t have to do anything. I’m happy to be your ride.”
“I insist,” you declare.
“I insist harder,” Bradley presses, laying down several bills onto the receipt tray.
You gaze at him pensively and finally slide your wallet back into your purse. “So, you’re stubborn,” you note.
“So, you’re observant,” he remarks.
You chuckle, shaking your head. “Thanks for lunch, Rooster.”
…
Back on the road, you offer Bradley a turn with the radio, muttering something about not wanting to be a bully by hogging the music. He can tell you’ve said it in jest, but he still wants to make sure he hasn’t offended you.
“You know I don’t think you’re a bully, right?” he says, glancing between your face and the road several times.
You eye him playfully. “Well, give it a minute.”
Bradley chuckles. “It’s getting dark,” he notes after a little while. He was hoping to get farther on the first day, but the prospect of maybe spending an extra day with you on the road doesn’t seem nearly as daunting as it might have in the morning. “Want to stop for the night?”
“I can drive if you want,” you offer.
Naturally, Bradley overthinks your response. He wonders if maybe you’ve had enough of him and would prefer to get to Texas as soon as possible. “No, no,” he responds. “I can drive. I just thought you might be tired.”
“From sitting?” you quip.
Bradley gives you a flat look. “It’s been a long day.”
You shrug. “It flew by.”
That sets his mind at ease somewhat. A day doesn’t fly by unless you’re having a good time. “I think we should stop,” he says.
“Alright,” you respond, “let’s stop.”
…
“You two lovebirds want the mountain or city view?” the hotel’s front desk clerk enquires with a beam.
Bradley is about to explain that the two of you will, in fact, require separate rooms because you are the absolute opposite of lovebirds, when you respond with, “Mountain, please.”
The clerk hands you a key and Bradley follows you down the hall mutely, with both of your suitcases in tow. He’s not about to dispute your decision to share a room, despite knowing that it’s exactly what he swore he’d avoid doing the moment he laid eyes on you.
You open the door and enter, holding it open for Bradley so that he can bring in the luggage. He sets it down gingerly by the door and straightens his back to look around. The are two double beds against the wall and a large window with a spectacular view of the Santa Catalina range.
You flop down on one of the beds with a contented sigh. “You know what, darlin’? I am tired.”
Bradley watches you climb further up the bed and rest your head on one of the pillows. He’s used to you calling him all sorts of terms of endearment at this point, but it still warms his heart each and every time you do. “No dinner tonight, sweetheart?” he responds, adopting your speaking style on a trial basis.
You lift your head from the pillow. “Let’s just order in?”
You seem unfazed by the fact that Bradley just called you sweetheart. Meanwhile, he’s nearly thrown up from the anxiety it’s caused him. He resolves not to call you that – or any other overly-friendly name – ever again. “Yeah, we can do that,” he responds casually. “Pizza?”
You nod. “With barbeque chicken.”
“You got it.”
…
“Did you always want to be an aviator?” you ask, taking a bit of pizza while dusting crumbs off the bedspread.
The two of you are sitting cross-legged atop one of the beds with the open pizza box between you. Bradley grabs another slice. “Pretty much.” He doesn’t really want to get into specifics, because that means being vulnerable, a state which Bradley does not much enjoy.
“Interesting.”
“What about you?” he asks. “What are you studying?”
“Math.”
Bradley nearly chokes. For some reason, he expected something less cerebral. “Are you going to be an accountant, or something?” he asks with a smirk.
You frown slightly. “I sure hope not.”
“Well, what do you want to be?”
“A good person,” you respond thoughtfully.
Bradley lowers his pizza and stares at you. “You are a good person,” he says hoarsely.
You shrug. “I have my days.”
“I mean, I don’t know you very well,” Bradley reasons. “But you seem great. Much better than your brother.”
You laugh and lower your gaze. “Aren’t you a sweetheart?” you say warmly.
Bradley can feel his heart pounding like a double bass drum. The only sweetheart in this room is you and he can hardly keep that to himself. To think that you might be doubting your own integrity is affecting Bradley on a near-physical level. “You’re a good person. Anybody who tells you otherwise is an idiot,” he states.
You smile, still looking downward. “Thanks.”
“You don’t need to thank me.”
You place your half-eaten slice of pizza back into the box and fall back into the pillows, sighing dramatically. “I’m stuffed!”
Bradley, who’s just taken his final bite, mutters around the crust in his mouth. “Me too.” He closes the pizza box and picks it up to set it onto the floor by the bed. Then, he moves to the other bed and lies down on his back with a weary exhale.
“Hey, Rooster,” you call from your bed.
“Hmm?”
“Are you a good pilot?”
Bradley turns onto his side to face you. “I think so.”
“My brother said you were just alright,” you say.
Bradley snorts and throws a pillow at you. You laugh and then stuff the pillow in between your knees. “Joke’s on you, I’m keeping this.”
Bradley adjusts his second pillow under his head and mutters, “You’re welcome.”
“Tomorrow you can choose what you want to listen to,” you say.
Bradley chuckles. What he wants to listen to more than anything is probably you.
Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 10 | Rooster x Reader
Summary: After just two days back home, Bradley takes you on a second date. He wants more, and you don't seem to mind when he can't keep his hands and lips to himself.
Warnings: Fluff, angst, language, Bradley being boyfriend material
Length: 5000 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader
Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist
"Shit."
It had been such a long time since Bradley wore anything other than a flight suit, a khaki uniform or gym clothes, he had no idea what he was supposed to wear to dinner tonight. You mentioned weeks ago you thought Italian food sounded nice for a second date, and he agreed wholeheartedly. He managed to snag a table for the two of you at Salvatore's, and he was absolutely prepared to drop over five hundred bucks, but his clothing was becoming a situation.
After spending the entire day with you yesterday, Saturday morning was a bit of a reality check. He was trying to work through three loads of laundry while he sorted through a box of mail. There was nothing sweet in there like the packages you and your class sent to him while he was deployed. It was mostly bills that had already been automatically paid online, mortgage statements, and junk. Then he started folding laundry, somehow expecting some articles of clothing that weren't threadbare tee shirts or tropical print button downs to jump out at him.
"Why don't you have normal clothing?" he asked himself as he picked up his phone now that it was late enough to text you. He wanted to make sure you were okay with grabbing a drink before the dinner reservation which wasn't until 7:45. But when he unlocked his phone, instead of zero new messages, he found a picture you sent seven minutes ago.
"Oh my god," he groaned softly, dropping onto his bed next to some unfolded laundry. You were in your own bed wearing his favorite sweatshirt and a bright smile.
Good morning, Handsome. Last night felt like a dream, but your sweatshirt is real, so it must have happened.
He scrambled to write back, clothing crisis forgotten. God, he wanted to be in that bed in the worst way. Things would definitely get out of hand pretty quickly, but he knew those first few kisses would be the sweetest things. After last night at the beach, waiting for a few more dates was going to be the challenge of his life, but he wanted you to know he was in this for the long haul. Especially after you mentioned that you thought he may have ghosted you.
Hey, Gorgeous. My sweatshirt looks way better on you than it ever did on me. Did you sleep in it?
He hit send and then wished he hadn't asked that question. He sounded like a horny twenty year old. It was bad enough that he had to practically beg you to go inside your apartment last night while you were kissing his neck, but he didn't want to embarrass himself.
Of course I did. It smells like you. The only thing better would be having you in my bed, too...
How the hell was he supposed to wait until this evening to see you? He tossed his phone aside. His blood felt like it was on fire, and he was sweating. Never before had he wanted to move this fast from a first date to making things official. But he knew you. He'd been working up to this point for months. And the Thai dinner with Prosecco on the beach wasn't really a first date. That felt closer to a reunion with a girlfriend than anything else. The only thing missing for that to have been true was a sleepover instead of him taking you home for the night.
He was too many steps ahead right now. You hadn't yet done the drive down to Coronado from Mira Mesa for yourself, but he already caught himself wondering if you'd consider moving in with him in the future. "You need to relax," he ground out through gritted teeth. "You'll scare her away." He cracked his neck and forced himself to fold a stack of underwear before picking up his phone to reply.
I don't want to rush things, but your bed does look very comfortable. I'm confident we could get cozy there... You're making me blush. I need to get this conversation back on track. Cocktails before dinner at Salvatore's? I'll pick you up at 5:30?
A few minutes later, you responded with a photo of you still all snuggled up in bed, smiling and giving him a thumbs up in his shirt.
--------------------------
"Just in case," you muttered, making sure your bedding was straightened and your room was tidy. You left Bradley's TOP GUN sweatshirt folded on your pillow, but you certainly wouldn't mind having the man himself in your bed tonight. Your fingers and toes tingled when you thought about it. You bit your lip and scooped up his shirt, inhaling his scent one more time before you realized he would be here any minute.
When he knocked on your door, you set it back on your pillow and glanced at yourself in the mirror as you bounced past it. Cocktails and dinner at Salvatore's would have been a major splurge for a night out for you, but Bradley selected the restaurant. All you did was mention Italian food, and he really ran with it. You'd have been happy with some pizza and breadsticks, simply excited he remembered you mentioned Italian food at all, but this called for your littlest black dress and your brightest red lipstick.
"I'm coming!" you called, going as fast as you could in your black heels, giggling at the double meaning. You had to compose yourself before you could open the door, and when you did, you were met with the actual man of your dreams.
"Hey, Gorgeous." Bradley's crooked little smile faltered a bit as his gaze slid down from your eyes to your lips, but he didn't stop there. He was shamelessly checking you out as a pretty shade of pink crept up into his cheeks, and you did a slow turn for him.
Your skin felt warm as you met his eyes after doing a full circle. His lips were parted as you whispered, "Hi," and reached for his hand. As soon as your skin met his, he pulled you closer to him. "Bradley." His lips were on yours as he backed you up into your apartment until you softly met the wall behind you. He was big and warm, and you were holding his left hand while his right one came up to your face.
He broke the kiss by tipping your chin up so you were looking at him. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he crooned softly. Your lipstick was smudged along his mouth, and his tongue darted out to taste it before he said, "I'm fucking crazy about you."
His rough thumb dragged along your bottom lip as you said, "And you've never even seen me dispose of a spider for you."
"Baby," he rasped. "I'd probably propose."
A shocked giggle escaped you, and his crooked grin was back as he kept you there against your wall with your door wide open. You reached up and ran your fingers along the collar of his oxford shirt before tugging on the fabric until his lips were on yours again. You let your head tip back against the wall as he devoured you, tasting your lips, tongue and teeth before his forehead came to rest gently on yours.
"You know," you gasped, trying to catch your breath, "I thought all your emails were sweet and romantic."
He chuckled as he pulled away from you. "I was hoping I was doing okay in person, too."
You shrugged playfully and tried to spin out of his grasp, but his hand was still wrapped up in yours. He followed you to your coffee table so you could grab your purse as you casually told him, "You're even better in person than I thought you'd be."
"Oh yeah?" he asked, pulling you close again. "You like my stupid looking clothes and how I can eat three meals for dinner?"
He was so endearing, you didn't know how to handle him. So you kissed him again and whispered, "I like all of it." You let your fingers trail along his shirt buttons as you said, "You look nice in this, but I can already tell you're more comfortable in your colorful Aloha shirts and jeans. And I love that you can eat three meals for dinner, because we ended up sharing everything last night."
"Let's go," he coaxed, leading you toward your door. "I'll let you pick whatever you want to try at Salvatore's. I don't usually like sharing my food, but there's just something about you, Gorgeous. You make me feel comfortable."
-------------------------
You tried to tell Bradley twice that he still had some of your lipstick smudged on his face, but he just shrugged and said, "Good," in response both times. If he didn't mind, then neither did you. It couldn't be any more obvious that he was with you when the exact color that was on your lips was also on his. You listened to him hum along to the retro oldies station as he merged onto the coastal highway while you took a minute to fix up your own smudged lipstick.
He grinned over at you as you put your makeup away and said, "Come on, Baby. If you didn't want it on my face, then you wouldn't be putting more on your lips."
Every time he made a bold statement like that, you wanted to cancel dinner altogether and take him to your bedroom. "I never said I didn't want it on your face. It looks good."
He reached out blindly for your hand, and you grabbed his immediately. "You did tell me you wanted me to kiss you as soon as I saw you."
"Yeah," you muttered. "Don't stop doing that." You knew things with him were going to get physical pretty quickly, but you'd never been quite this attracted to someone before. You drew little shapes on his palm as you asked, "How was your first night back in your own bed after so many months away?"
He groaned softly. "Epic. Fantastic. I don't fit very well in an extra long twin bed."
"No, I would imagine you don't," you said with a laugh as you watched him drive his Bronco in the evening sunlight.
He licked his lips and grinned as he said, "Would have been better if you were there though."
The eruption of butterflies in your belly left you biting your lip. You wanted to respond, but you needed to be able to make it through dinner before you were hanging off of him again like you were last night. That's when he brought your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles, treating you to his mustache there. "Feel like getting a drink or two in the lounge first? Maybe a bottle of wine?"
"Mmhmm," you hummed, ready to go anywhere he took you. As soon as he parked, he jogged around to help you down, letting you slide against his body with your hands on his shoulders. You wobbled a bit in your shoes, but he kept you steady.
"You good?" he asked as he leaned in, his lips brushing the side of your neck as his arm wrapped around your waist.
"So good," you promised. "Never better."
Bradley kept his hand right there on your hip as he led you along the sidewalk toward the restaurant. The lounge was packed; this was definitely a popular weekend date night locale. Couples filled the space with noisy conversation, but you could hear Bradley perfectly as his lips found your ear when he said, "There's an empty stool at the far end of the bar." He gave your hip a little squeeze as you headed for it, and he leaned on the bar next to you. "Why don't you pick out a bottle of wine or whatever you want? I'll go let the hostess know we'll be hanging out in the lounge."
When you agreed, he kissed your lips like the two of you had been at this for years, not just since yesterday. You weren't the only one who watched him walk away in his snug pants and Oxford shirt that somehow showed off his biceps. He was just that good looking. When you saw him without a shirt on, you'd probably faint and need him to revive you. When the bartender came over, you were chuckling to yourself at the idea of having sex with Bradley while he kept his shirt on to save you from that fate.
"Can I get you a drink?"
You looked at him in a daze, realizing you meant to choose a bottle of wine. You blurted out what kind you liked best, and with a nod and a smile, he turned to fill your request. And that's when you finally looked at the menu and realized the bottle was more than a hundred and fifty dollars.
"Oh shit." But it was too late. He had already opened it and was heading your way with it. You scrambled in your purse for your wallet, cringing at the idea of Bradley seeing the bill when you could have simply ordered a cocktail instead. Just as the bartender was pouring out a bit of the wine for you to try, you found your credit card successfully. And that was also when Bradley came back.
"They'll come get us when our table's ready," he said. "I told them it would be easy to find me since my date is the most beautiful woman in the restaurant." He watched the bartender pick up a second glass and said, "Oh perfect, you found some wine that you like."
You nodded and tried your best to pass your credit card across the bar undetected with your hand covering it. "I sure did."
Bradley's eyes followed your hand as he took a sip of the wine. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing," you told him, picking up your own glass with your other hand. You tasted the wine and nodded at the bartender, and then he filled up both glasses while Bradley reached for your credit card.
"That's not necessary, Gorgeous. You can put that away."
You waited until the bartender walked off before you shook your head. "Let me pay for the wine. I was distracted and just picked a random bottle before I looked at the price, and then it was too late because he already had it opened. It's expensive."
Bradley looked completely unfazed as he eased your card from your hand and tucked it back into your wallet. "I don't care about that."
"I do," you said softly in your embarrassment. "I don't want you to think that's what I expected."
Bradley laughed in response. "First of all, I would never think that. And second, I was on that aircraft carrier for so long, and this wine tastes so good, and you look so pretty... I don't even want to tell you how much I'd be willing to pay for that bottle of wine and our dinner."
You simultaneously felt better and a little warm. "Okay, fine. But next time we go out for dinner, we're getting burgers from In-N-Out, and I'm paying."
His smile grew as you sipped your wine which really was quite good. "So that means you want to go out again?"
You rolled your eyes up at him where he stood, his hand brushing your knee where it was crossed over your other leg. "I'm about to make an In-N-Out reservation right now."
"Perfect," he replied. "Which night? I have to work late a few days next week to get caught up on everything I missed while I was away."
"You're ridiculous," you told him with a laugh. "How about Wednesday?"
His fingers toyed with the hem of your dress as he said, "Wednesday's good. You also need to let me know when I can visit your classroom again." His words were so sweet, and his gaze was sincere, but the feel of his fingertips inching along your skin above your knee was something else.
You set your glass down next to your purse and reached for his hand, letting his fingers slip underneath your dress as you met his brown eyes. When he teased your skin with his rough hands, you reached for his shirt, and Bradley came willingly. Salvatore's didn't provide the two of you with the same level of privacy as the beach last night had, but you didn't really care, and he didn't seem to either.
-----------------------------
You had the softest skin. How was he supposed to keep his hands off you? And that red lipstick made your little pout when he teased you even more delectable than he could have imagined. And he'd been doing plenty of imagining for the last few months. He'd imagined you in a variety of scenarios with him, but so far being with you in person surpassed everything his vivid thoughts came up with.
When he mentioned visiting you at work, you treated him to the silky soft feel of your skin, and then you literally grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged until he was kissing you. Oh god, he was never going to recover from this. He had to wrap his hand around the middle of your thigh to keep himself from going any further as you moaned softly into his mouth. He was absolutely starving and a little dizzy from the wine, but he was thinking about skipping dinner in favor of the solitude of the Bronco right now.
"Mr. Bradshaw?"
Your tongue was slowly tasting his when you jerked away from him as the hostess strolled over. Embarrassed, you turned toward the bar as Bradley grunted in response at the young woman who told him the table was ready for the two of you. And maybe that wasn't a bad thing, because feeling you up in the middle of the crowded lounge wasn't something he'd feel good about later. At least not on the second date. He'd bring you back here in a few months and see if the two of you even made it to dinner.
With a smile, he reached for your free hand after you picked up your glass. You halfway hid your face against his bicep as the hostess picked up the bottle and led the way through the lounge and into the restaurant. Bradley kissed your forehead and murmured, "If I could keep my hands off of you, this wouldn't be a problem."
You peered up at him through your lashes. "Hanging out on your couch alone is sounding better and better."
"Fuck," he groaned softly as you released his hand and took a seat at the table set for two which was overlooking the bay. Bradley pushed your chair in, and his thumbs met your bare arms. He took a few deep breaths before taking the seat opposite yours and accepted one of the menus as he listened to the specials while he looked at your face. He muttered some sort of response, and then the two of you were alone.
You emptied the remainder of the wine between his glass and yours, and then Bradley watched you lick a little droplet from your thumb as you smiled at him. "So which three dinners are you planning on ordering tonight?"
It took him a second to realize that he was holding an open menu even though he hadn't looked at it once. He cleared his throat and said, "Definitely some homemade spaghetti and meatballs. The last time I ate spaghetti, it was overcooked and sad, and I had to go back to my bunk and think about you to make myself feel better." You covered your mouth with one hand while you laughed, and it was the most charming thing he'd ever seen. "I'm so serious, Gorgeous. I got a plate of soggy noodles, and literally the only thing that made it better was imagining you teaching your class about military grade jets and aviation."
Your pretty eyes were glittering as you told him, "I keep extending my lessons on the topic, and you are completely to blame for that. After the first time you responded to us, my students asked about you every single day. They are completely enamored with you."
"Yeah? Just them? Or you too?" He knew his words were reminiscent of the way you'd tried to blame it on your kids when you asked him to send you a picture so you could see what he looked like.
"Hmm." You pretended to peruse your menu. "I'm thinking about the ravioli. Or maybe the penne with vodka sauce." Your foot tapped his leg beneath the table, and he had to fight the urge to reach under and touch your skin again. You were teasing him in every way right now, and he was absolutely loving it. When the waiter dropped off glasses of water and some freshly baked bread, he asked if you wanted anything else to drink.
"You want another bottle of wine, Gorgeous?" Bradley asked, deciding to tease you right back.
"Absolutely not," you told him, looking at him like he had two heads before kindly telling the waiter, "No, thank you."
He was still laughing when he picked up a piece of bread. "So we'll get spaghetti, penne and ravioli?"
"You don't have to order what I want," you told him, your foot still running along his calf while your expression dripped with innocence.
"No. I want to though." It was kind of fun spoiling you with something as simple as dinner. Vanessa would have made a comment by now about how much she hated the slightly kitschy, over the top restaurant, even if the food was supposed to be immaculate. You didn't seem to mind one bit that he ordered three massive entrees and intended to finish whatever you didn't. Vanessa always got embarrassed, but all you said was that you were excited to try all three.
There was never a lull in conversation. You actually listened to Bradley when he was talking, and he could have listened to you all night.
"So you know how last night I mentioned... that I'd never really thought about dating someone in the military who deploys for work?"
"Yeah," Bradley rasped, not sure he loved where the conversation was heading.
You looked a little apprehensive as you said, "I was thinking about it more last night after you dropped me off."
"And?"
You kind of shrugged and said, "I think I'd actually be okay with it, as long as it's you. It almost feels like we got some big, scary thing out of the way already, you know? And I could always write to you, because I kind of loved doing that. And yes, Bradley, I am also completely enamored with you."
It was almost a shame that the food arrived then, because as you started to cut into an enormous ravioli, all he could think to say was, "I'm completely enamored with you, too."
-----------------------------
You were so full from dinner, you didn't know how Bradley could walk. He ate at least two times what you did, and then he insisted on ordering a piece of cheesecake. When you caught sight of the bill, you tried not to gasp, because it was more than you spend on groceries for a whole month. But he handed over his credit card and signed his name without even breaking conversation with you. And now you were discreetly grabbing a handful of mints on your way out of the restaurant as he held your hand.
It was late, and you knew he was still tired. He mentioned briefly that he had a lot of chores to do this week amidst some late nights at work, but you didn't know how you'd be able to wait until Wednesday to see him again. When he started up the Bronco and headed in the direction of your apartment, your mind flooded with questions, but he asked you one first.
"I already have plans tomorrow, but I don't think I can wait until Wednesday to see you again. What time do you usually get to school?"
"7:20."
"Okay. And what kind of coffee do you like?"
You couldn't stop smiling as you told him what you usually ordered on the rare occasion you had time to stop at Starbucks. You kind of already felt like he was spoiling you.
"Have you memorized everything I've ever told you?"
"Yep," he replied, his handsome smile evident in the street lights. "And I've gotta say, you're one of a kind, Gorgeous."
You honestly didn't want the ride to end. The fact that there was no buffer of traffic to add to the twenty minute drive made you pout a little bit. Bradley's deep voice layered over the music playing on the radio while he held your hand was intoxicating, but you made a disappointed sound as he parked in front of your building.
When he released your hand to kill the engine in the near darkness, all you could see was his handsome profile. "You thought the drive would be too much for me," you whispered. "But when I'm in the car with you, I don't want it to end."
He cleared his throat and softly said, "Well, we don't have to get out quite yet if you don't want to."
Your pout turned into a grin as you unbuckled your seatbelt. "I can tell you still need to catch up on some sleep. I don't want to keep you out too late, Bradley."
He chuckled and undid his own seatbelt. "Why don't you come a little closer and say my name again."
As you eased yourself onto your hands and knees, you scooted across the seat and whispered, "Bradley," with a little laugh.
"Closer?" he asked, and you crawled over to him until you were able to kiss his cheek.
"Bradley."
He turned his head so his lips met yours, and he whispered, "Closer," against your mouth.
You were immediately in his lap, your hands resting on his chest as the steering wheel met your lower back. Your lips found his scarred cheek just like last night, and you kissed your way along his mustache and the side of his nose. You let your hands drift slowly down over his abs until they met the leather of his belt, and you whispered his name one more time.
His big hands closed around your wrists as he groaned, "You really love teasing me."
You nodded and said, "I really do," as he guided your hands up to his shoulders and around his neck.
"You're really good at it, Baby. All those pictures of you in your bed are enough to get a man through a deployment and then promptly kill him once he's on dry land if he can't touch you immediately."
He kissed the inside of your arm, and you scooted your body a little closer to his. "You can touch me." Your words elicited a deep groan as he slid his big hands along your bare arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He kissed your lips, swiping his tongue against yours as his fingers trailed down your sides. You almost cried out when his thumbs grazed the sides of your breasts before he gently squeezed your waist and your hips.
You could invite him to stay over. You didn't think he'd turn you down if you did. But all you could manage to say was, "Bradley," between kisses.
He tipped his head back against the headrest and whispered, "I love the way that sounds." His eyes were glittering in the darkness as he looked at your face and your body, and you remembered his text message from earlier.
I don't want to rush things
It was hard for you to remember that yesterday in your classroom was the first time you touched him. The first time you heard his voice in person. As much as you wanted to lean in close and ask him to stay, instead you kissed his ear and said, "You promised me movie night on your couch. When?"
"Friday?" he asked, kissing along your neck. "Let me end the week with my Gorgeous girl?"
"Yes."
You were afraid you were going to melt right out onto the pavement when he opened his door, but he helped you down and kept his arm wrapped around you. Bradley walked a half step behind you in the darkness all the way to your apartment. While there was no expectation that he was going to join you inside, you ended up pinned against your door, because it didn't seem like he was quite ready to leave yet either.
He was eager. You could feel it as his lips found your neck again. He smiled against you as he whispered your name in that deep raspy voice. "Since you don't like surprises, I'm telling you right now that you should expect to see me in the parking lot at your school on Monday morning. Sound okay?"
"Oh god, yes," you whined as he released you. There were so many things you wanted to tell him as he put a foot of space between your bodies, really giving you a chance to see his pink cheeks and the way he was breathing deeply. You blurted out, "I'm falling so hard for you."
His crooked little grin was back as he nodded at your door. "Lock it behind you. And when you get in bed, in my sweatshirt, send me another selfie."
"I will," you promised, and you did exactly what he said. A minute after you texted the photo, you got a message back from him.
I think I'm falling even harder.
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I'm so obsessed with them. She was so concerned about that bottle of wine! And he really wasn't lol. Coffee and burgers and a couch date coming up. This story will be 18+ soon. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls
I'm a whore for soft Bradley. Could I request "You look so pretty like this." If you feel it, please?
I'm also a whore for soft Bradley too!
He swears he doesn't do this. It's not what his mother instilled in him.
"Don't expect anything on the first date."
"Offer to walk her to her door."
"Don't ever kiss on the first date. You don't want them to feel pressured."
God, did Bradley try to follow all those rules. He liked to think he was doing a great job too. That is, until you placed your hands in his and looked up at him with those beautiful bright eyes.
"I had a really great time tonight." Your voice was angelic, better than any song he had ever heard.
He squeezed your hands, fighting the urge to giggle when you squeezed back. It was so easy with you.
"So did I. Think we can do it again, honey?" Another rule his mother insisted on.
"Don't call a girl by some pet name. Call her by her God-given name."
But with you it just made sense. You were so fucking sweet, cloyingly so. He wanted to drown in it.
You giggled at the pet name, clearly a fan, "I would love that! Sooner rather than later though."
"I think that can be arranged." He hadn't let go of your hands. Bradley didn't want to, if he was being honest.
You raised your eyebrows, playfully, "You think? Don't tell me you're getting cold feet now Bradley."
"With you? Impossible," his words gave you the confidence to step forward, your body now inches away from his.
He should step back. That would be the proper, gentlemanly thing to do.
But like a magnet, he was drawn to you. Without realizing it, he had stepped forward, almost closing the distance between his body and yours.
The action gave you the courage to step forward, tilting your chin up to get closer to his face.
That was what gave Bradley the confidence to kneel slightly, allowing his lips to finally connect to yours.
Of course you tasted sweet, why would it be anything less? Your hands found the collar of his shirt, gripping it slightly in an attempt for his lips to remain on yours.
Don't kiss on the first date, Bradley.
Did it help that you had made the first move? Bradley thought so. Still, his hands hovered over your hips, not wanting to go too far.
Your hands found his, placing them on your body.
"You look so pretty like this," he whispered, lips disconnecting from yours for much needed air.
Warmth rushed through your body, a grin spreading across your face as you leaned in to give him another pack.
"You're not so bad yourself Bradley. Actually, you're ridiculously handsome like this."
Now it was Bradley's turn to blush, the tops of his sunkissed cheeks becoming even rosier.
"Would you like to come in?" You stepped away to unlock the door, gripping the handle as you stared back at him.
