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roosterforme · 11 months

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Wrong Number | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley was planning on a quiet night at home with a beer and a basketball game on TV. When he receives a text from a wrong number, he's left looking at a beautiful photo of you. Now he just needs to persuade you to ditch the guy you meant to text and focus on him instead.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, slight dirty talk, Bradley touching himself

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written for Rocktober. Check out my masterlist for more. Banner made by @thedroneranger

Bradley had endured such a long week at work, all he wanted to do was change out of his uniform, grab a beer from his fridge and lounge around on the couch in his underwear without a responsibility in sight. Nobody should have to work until ten on a Friday night, but it had taken him that long to sort through the massive stack of paperwork from Admiral Simpson. At least now he had nothing planned for the rest of his evening.

His apartment was too hot, and the cold bottle of beer pressed to his bare thigh as he reached for the TV remote left some droplets of condensation. It felt good. He took another sip as his phone vibrated next to him. With a soft grunt, he abandoned the remote in favor of the phone and unlocked it with his pass code.

There was a new text from an unknown number. And there was a photo attached. He grimaced, afraid of what he was going to find if he tapped on it. He read the phone number twice, but it didn't sound familiar beyond the San Diego area code. He let his head tip back as he recalled the time he pissed Nat off and she gave his phone number to a random sailor in retaliation. Bradley really hoped he wasn't going to have to kindly ask someone to stop sending him dick pics like last time.

Before he lost the nerve, he tapped on the message, and his screen was suddenly filled with a photo of a woman who looked just a few years younger than him. And she was hot. He paused with his beer bottle halfway to his lips before letting it settle back down to his thigh.

Hey, Alan. It's me. So now you have my phone number, too.

Bradley didn't know who the hell Alan was, but he wasn't mad about the mix-up. This photo was something else. It almost looked like it was taken in the bathroom at the Hard Deck. The lighting was bad, and there was a paper towel dispenser in the background, but whoever you were.... damn, you were stunning. All pretty features and smiling like you had a secret.

It took him a moment to stop staring at the photo and return to the previous screen and your message. He was going to have to tell you that he wasn't Alan and that you had the wrong number, but he just sat there and tapped his phone case instead. He didn't even like the name Alan, but damn if he didn't want to be Alan right now. That lucky bastard had you interested in him.

Bradley was wondering how the mix-up happened in the first place as he drafted up a text to you. Only some sort of fucking idiot wouldn't check and double check that he gave you the right number. "Amateurs," he mumbled as he typed with a little smirk on his face.

Hey, sorry to inform you, but this actually isn't Alan. However, I wouldn't mind one bit if you kept sending me the photos that are meant for him.

He hit send and tossed his phone aside, assuming you'd just block him and move on with your night. He brought his beer bottle back to his lips and enjoyed the way the drink helped cool him down while he contemplated taking a shower, but when he reached for the remote again, his phone vibrated.

There was another message from the same number. Intrigued, Bradley unlocked his phone again, and he was pleased to see another text and another photo.

Hi, Not-Alan. Sorry about that! I hope you have a great night.

This photo was similar to the first one, except that you were flipping him the peace sign and winking which made Bradley laugh. You seemed fun, even through this limited interaction. And he was sure that was the ladies' bathroom at the Hard Deck, which pissed him off, because he got out of work so late he didn't feel like going out tonight. Maybe if he had been there, you wouldn't have been talking to Alan in the first place.

"Damn it." He was intrigued. He wanted to know more about this.

My night is substantially better now that I have two photos of you. So where did Alan get off to anyway? And why is he trying to steal my phone number?

This time Bradley was dying for another response. But it didn't come. He stared at his phone for a solid minute before returning to his beer and downing the rest of the bottle. Still nothing. He stood and made his way into the kitchen, tossing his empty into the recycling bin before getting another one from the fridge and eyeing up the food situation. He should probably eat something, but he swore he heard his phone vibrating. When he looked over to the couch, the screen was lit up.

He slammed the fridge door and opened the new bottle before heading back to his phone. There was no photo this time, but there was a new message.

I actually lost Alan in the crowd, so really, the man could be just about anywhere. And I don't think he was trying to steal your number at all, Not-Alan. He wrote it on my palm, and it smeared before I could add it to my phone.

"Okay," Bradley said out loud. "Now we're getting somewhere." He sat down on the couch with his beer on the coffee table and started a new message.

Alan should learn how to write neater in the future, because he's missing out here. You have to double check that someone who looks like you got the number right. Everyone knows that.

Bradley decided that he was going to have no shame for the night. Not as long as you kept writing back to him. He was contemplating how to save your number in his phone when another selfie with a message came through. You were out by the bar at the Hard Deck with a smile on your face, and you were holding up your palm complete with Bradley's smeared phone number.

Does this number look familiar, Not-Alan? Still no actual Alan in sight, by the way.

Bradley supposed that the 7 could have been mistaken for a 1. Or maybe Alan's phone number had a 5 that got smeared into a 6. It didn't really matter. Bradley was going to shoot his shot and hope Alan didn't resurface.

Good, Alan can just stay lost. What's your name, pretty girl?

Then he saved your number as Pretty Girl, and this time he did manage to turn the TV on while he waited with his phone in his hand. He muted the Clippers game and picked up his beer before promptly setting it back down again.

Pretty Girl: Not so fast, Not-Alan. You tell me your name first. And how old you are. And your blood type and the last four of your social security number.

Bradley laughed and started typing. He realized he hadn't stopped smiling for the last twenty minutes as he hit send.

I'm Bradley. I'm 34. O positive. 2305.

On a regular night, the basketball game would have held his attention, but tonight he couldn't stop looking at his phone. "Come on, Pretty Girl," he muttered, running his beer bottle along his thigh before taking a sip.

Pretty Girl: Okay, Bradley. You have my attention. Send me a selfie exactly where you are, and I'll think about telling you my name. No changing into something nicer. No fixing your hair. Just a selfie. Right now.

Bradley looked down at himself in just his black boxer briefs and mumbled, "If you say so." When he set his phone camera to selfie mode, he looked at the screen and realized his hair still looked pretty decent from work. So he went ahead and took a picture where he was wearing a bit of a skeptical smirk, and he sent it before he could think twice.

And now his heart was beating a little faster. This was probably where you'd stop responding. Oh hell, at least he went for it, but a few minutes later, you still hadn't sent anything back to him. Maybe he could have tried to hide the scars on his neck and cheek, but what was the point? Clearly you were sending him actual selfies you'd taken tonight, and he did exactly what you'd told him to. Then his phone vibrated.

Pretty Girl: Do you really expect me to believe that you're not just googling "hot shirtless guy with a mustache", downloading a photo, and trying to pass it off as yourself?

He tipped his head back and laughed. There was just something about you. He didn't even know your name or what your voice sounded like, but he could already tell he was going to like both of those things. If you ever told him or let him hear you.

That's really me. Promise. Will you tell me your name now? Or do I have to keep calling you Pretty Girl?

He was wondering if you were still at the bar, surrounded by guys like Alan who would love to take you home while you were chatting with him. And he hoped the next text would contain your name. But you just ignored him when you wrote back a few minutes later.

Pretty Girl: Prove you're not just sending some photos of a random hot dude. Go stand by your open refrigerator and take a selfie. Then take another one with your toothbrush.

"She's a handful," Bradley murmured as he stood with a smile. He carried his beer into the kitchen, opened his refrigerator and snapped a selfie where the fridge light somehow accentuated his features nicely. Then he left his beer on the counter while he went into his bathroom. He was actively trying not to smile for this one where he had his red toothbrush hanging out of the side of his mouth, but he was on the verge of laughing at how ridiculous his night turned out to be.

He typed up a message and attached both photos and then sent them off while he finished his beer at the kitchen counter, Clippers game forgotten.

What is this, Pretty Girl? A hostage negotiation? I already told you, that's really me.

It didn't take too long for you to respond this time, and Bradley wasn't even letting his screen dim long enough to need to unlock it now.

Pretty Girl: Are you naked in these photos?

"Jesus," he muttered. Of course he wasn't. Did you want him to be? Shit, he needed to stop thinking about that.

No! I'm wearing underwear. You told me not to get changed or anything.

He felt flushed and too warm as he set his phone down on the counter and went to open some windows. Then he walked a few laps around his apartment in an effort to chill the fuck out. He wasn't even with you, and you were under his skin.

When he returned to his phone, there was a selfie and a message waiting for him. In the photo, you were sipping a drink, and the way the straw pressed to your perfect lips had him practically moaning.

Pretty Girl: My friend thinks there's something wrong with me. I'm at a Navy bar in San Diego at the moment. There are hot guys galore, and yet I'm glued to my phone.

"Shit, shit, shit." Bradley thought about getting dressed and heading out to the bar himself. Then maybe he could hear you tell him your name in person right before he pulled the straw away from your mouth and kissed you.

How much longer are you going to be at the Hard Deck, Pretty Girl?

Bradley started heading for his bedroom closet when his phone vibrated in his hand.

Pretty Girl: How do you know I'm at the Hard Deck? Do I need to smash my phone to bits and go into hiding?

"Fuck," he grunted, typing so quickly he had to go back and fix several spelling errors before he could send it. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable, so he paused before getting any clothing out of his closet.

Because I'm in the Navy, and I live in San Diego. And I recognized the inside of the bathroom from the first photo you sent me. I swear I'm not creepy. You can ask Penny, the bartender and owner of that fine establishment. I spend enough time there. Show her my photo.

Bradley collapsed onto his bed with his forearm over his eyes and his phone clutched to his chest. He didn't have to check the time to know it had been a while since he texted you. He also didn't have to look at his phone to know it was after midnight now and that you and he had been chatting for almost two hours. Bradley jolted when the phone vibrated against his chest.

Pretty Girl: Okay. Alright. Penny is a sweetheart, and your story checks out. Also, she told me your call sign and then told me to have you verify what it is for my own peace of mind. So what is it, Bradley? And how do you know what the ladies' restroom here looks like?

Oh, he was going to owe Penny big time. He typed away as he lay sprawled out on his bed.

My call sign is Rooster. And as for your bathroom question.... are you really going to make me answer that?

Bradley closed his eyes and thought about the girl who had taken him into the bathroom with her last year. He was pretty sure she had brown hair, but other than that, he couldn't really recall. But he did remember looking at that paper towel holder on the wall and the framed photo of an F/A-14 that was hanging over it while he was in there with her.

He wouldn't mind taking a trip there with you, that was for sure. Or maybe you and he could skip the scandalous bar hookup and just go right to dinner or a movie. For some reason, he thought he might actually prefer that.

Pretty Girl: Be back soon. I'm getting a ride home.

Bradley mused out loud, "It better not be from Alan." Shit, he could have offered to go pick you up and make sure you got home safely. He'd only had those two beers all night, and now he was picturing some faceless guy named Alan driving you home and pawing at you.

He texted you back.

Let me know when you get home, okay? And you can always just call me.

With a sigh, he got out of bed and plugged his phone in, not sure what to expect at this point. He went back into the bathroom and used his red toothbrush. And then he went back to the living room and closed all the windows. When he was in his room again, he had no new notifications as he climbed in bed. He was about to text you again and check in when his phone rang.

CALL FROM Pretty Girl

Bradley was smiling as he answered. "Hey, Pretty Girl."

A soft laugh preceded your voice, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek as you said, "Hi, Bradley with the O positive blood. Are you trying to tell me that you were in that bar bathroom with a girl?"

He found himself laughing. "Can I plead the fifth?"

When you moaned softly, he dropped his phone onto the pillow and had to scramble to get it. "Oh, my god. Even your voice is sexy."

Okay. He should not be on the verge of touching himself after you spoke three whole sentences to him. "You make it home safely?" he asked, trying to play it cool as he thought about those photos you sent him.

"Mmhmm. A very nice man named Alan drove me home. He's right here next to me as I get changed for bed."

Bradley thought for a beat that he had met his match in you. "You better be lying. You know what, put Alan on the phone."

Your laughter filled him up as you said, "He's not really here. I had to ditch him, because he doesn't even have a mustache. Apparently that's a deal breaker for me now?"

Holy shit. Bradley was in trouble. He was getting turned on, and you weren't even really saying anything dirty. "You're killing me. You gonna tell me your name, Pretty Girl?"

"No. I think I'm going to hold onto it a little longer."

"Fine. But please explain to me how I've never seen you at the Hard Deck before. I'm certain I would remember your face."

Your voice sounded a little softer now as you said, "I just moved to Coronado. It was my first time at the bar."

If he hadn't worked so late today, Bradley would have probably been there tonight as well. "You had fun? You think you'll go back again?"

"Probably," you replied casually. "When do you think you'll be there?"

Bradley was so warm he was starting to sweat. "Pretty Girl, you just say the word, and I'll clear my whole damn calendar."

Your little sighs and soft giggles were going to be the death of him. "You know, I still have Alan's, or rather your phone number on my hand."

He imagined himself kissing your palm and rewriting his phone number. "Should be in my handwriting. I'll make sure I always bring a pen with me to the bar."

You cleared your throat softly, and Bradley imagined you climbing into bed. "Penny told me to watch out for some of the other guys. But she said you're okay."

"Just okay?"

"Actually, she called you a big, brown eyed puppy dog."

Bradley laughed. "I've been called worse."

"I'm sure you have," you replied quickly. "You deserve some sort of punishment for daring to look good with a mustache."

"It's a blessing and a curse. Now, are you going to send me another photo? Or are you going to just agree to meet me tomorrow night?"

He heard a rustling noise and then you softly said, "Alan is not going to like this one bit." And then another photo arrived, and this one had Bradley's mouth hanging open.

"Now it's my turn to ask if you're naked in this picture." He was taking in every inch of your exposed skin and your bedding tucked up to your collar bones. You took your makeup off for bed, and you looked cozy and intimate. And you were talking to him. You were letting him see this. Bradley had to actively think about not touching himself.

"Totally naked."

"Fuck."

"Send me another one?"

"Yeah," he grunted, swallowing hard as he tried to pose for another selfie just how he was, sprawled out on his pillow with his left arm bent and tucked back behind his head. But his cheeks looked flushed, and his eyes looked darker than usual. He was turned on.

Fuck it. He snapped the photo and sent it. And about ten seconds later, he was greeted with the strangled sound you made.

"It should be illegal for someone with that mustache to look so good. It's rude, honestly. Bradley, you're kind of rude, because now I want to know...."

He was hanging on your every word. "Know what, Pretty Girl?"

The call went completely silent before you said softly and sweetly, "What your mustache feels like...everywhere."

A soft, startled laugh escaped his lips. You were on the verge of some dirty talk now, he could just tell. And his cock was hard as he replied with, "I'd love to let you find out. But before you respond, I need to know how much you've had to drink tonight. I don't want to take advantage of anything here."

You whimpered on the other end of the call. "A mustache, brown eyes, and a gentleman? All Alan did for me was buy me those two Long Island iced teas."

Bradley grunted and said, "That's enough about Alan. Why don't you go ahead and tell me where you'd like to feel my mustache first, Pretty Girl."

You squeaked and said, "I want to feel it rough along my skin right below my ear while you whisper to me. Oh my god, I can't believe I said that out loud. I should just go to bed."

"Don't hang up," Bradley said, panting with need now. "Tell me more."

"Okay," you sighed with another little squeak. "I want to feel it on my lips. While I'm sitting in your lap, licking the taste of that beer you drank from your mouth."

"Holy shit," he groaned, palming himself through his boxer briefs.

"I know," you whined with need. "And I want to feel it on the back of my neck while you do filthy things to me. And I don't even know you!"

"You will," he guaranteed. "Please, tell me what time I can meet you tomorrow."

Bradley listened to the rustle of your sheets as he waited. Then you finally said, "Seven o'clock? At the Hard Deck?"

"I'll be there, Pretty Girl. I can't wait to see you."

--------------------------

It was barely even 6:30, but you were already at the bar all made up and wearing a cute dress. Penny recognized you right away, which was kind of nice and kind of embarrassing. When she asked if you wanted another Long Island, you waved her off and said, "Nothing yet. I'm meeting someone."

Her eyes lit up as she asked, "Is it Rooster?"

You'd barely slept all night, preferring to look at the four selfies he'd sent you after you ended the call around two. There was a little more dirty talk, sure, but you and he also learned a bit more about each other. And now you were going to meet this naval aviator who was originally from Virginia but loved the Los Angeles Clippers face to face.

"Yeah. It's Rooster."

Penny looked truly delighted. "You have nothing to worry about. He's very sweet."

"Tell that to the butterflies," you muttered as you placed one hand on your stomach for a beat, willing the nerves to dissipate as you walked away. You'd told Bradley you wanted his mustache on your body. In several places. And then he told you he thought you were so pretty and fun that he wanted to kiss you everywhere. And right now you were just mystified as to how this could have possibly happened only a week after you moved to this neighborhood. And you still didn't know what happened to Alan after you went to the ladies' bathroom and saved the wrong number in your phone.

You laughed when you thought about it, and then you ran your hands along the fabric of your dress. You were so antsy, your palms were sweaty. You looked down at yourself and just got more nervous. Bradley hadn't seen much of your body in the photos you'd sent to him. You'd seen plenty of his though, and he looked tall and muscular even next to his damn refrigerator. And his face was gorgeous, right down to that sinful looking mustache.

And you were just... you. Alan was really more your speed with his nerdy glasses and messy hairstyle and his lack of ability to even grow any sort of facial hair at all. You just hoped that Bradley wouldn't take one look at you in person and walk right back out of the bar.

You were about to tell Penny that you thought you needed a drink after all when the door caught your eye, and Bradley strolled into the bar like he owned the place. "Oh...fuck," you whispered, gaping at him as he ran his fingers through his hair. The photos hadn't even done him justice. He had to be over six feet tall, and he was so broad and muscular, he looked like he could pick you up and toss you around a little bit. "Shit." He was wearing some snug fitting jeans and a tropical print shirt like he just knew he could pull off the most ridiculous look. "Damn." He was glancing around, trying to find you while you started scouring the room unsuccessfully for another exit.

You were trapped in here, and he was walking further into the bar now. And you didn't think you could hide halfway behind this couple who was making out for very much longer.

As Bradley's eyes scanned the crowd again, he looked a little apprehensive. His brow was scrunched, and he checked the time on his watch. You knew it was almost seven. So you took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then you scooted one step to your left. When his gaze came your way again, his eyes landed on you. And then his face softened. The apprehension melted away, and he smiled a cute and somehow sexy little grin that made you whimper.

Now he was heading your way, his gait sure and steady. And then he was just a few feet away and you could see the scars on his face that you'd studied all night in the photos. And you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes that somehow the selfies didn't capture. And then he was talking, and his voice was even better in person.

"Pretty Girl."

Okay, so he'd seen you up close, and he wasn't running away. That had to be a good sign, right? You managed to say just one slightly breathless word. "Hi." And then his smile grew, and he was closing the space between your body and his. He was reaching for your face and running one rough thumb along your cheek. And then he kissed you.

And the soft scrape of his mustache was even better than all of the ways you'd spent your night imagining it might feel. You couldn't help but return his kiss, and somehow your hands ended up pressed to the front of him, sliding up to his chest.

When he broke the kiss, he stayed close, his lips not far from your face. He covered your hands with his, keeping them on his body. And then he leaned close to your ear, his mustache scraping along your soft skin there as he whispered, "Tell me your name, Pretty Girl. I'm dying here."

Soft laughter bubbled out of you as he pulled away from you a bit, and those butterflies were going wild. His eyes were fixed on your face, begging for an answer this time as he stroked your hands with his thumbs. And then you told him, and he tried your name out on his tongue a few times with that grin that you liked so much. He kept saying it softly until you kissed him this time, and then he guided your arms around his neck.

"Listen," he said in that raspy voice that you'd love to focus on all night. "I have no problem staying here for a while if you want to. I bet you could even persuade me to join you in the ladies' room."

"Sounds tempting," you told him with a smirk.

"It really does. But we could also just ditch the bar and grab dinner instead? Maybe watch the Clippers game and have a drink at my place? I'm a little worried Alan might show up here and try to lure you away, if I'm being honest."

You practically snorted with laughter. "I can't even really remember what Alan looks like. He was totally gone from my mind after the first selfie you sent me. Let's get out of here."

He took you by the hand. "Anything you want, Pretty Girl."

-------------------------

I love dreamy loverboy Bradley, and I love Pretty Girl too. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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unrelatedwaffle · 10 months

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I'm still thinking about hbomberguy's Plagiarism video and I think there's still going to be a lot of student plagiarism because...writing based on synthesizing info from multiple sources is tough, and rephrasing someone's entire sentence structure FEELS like "writing in your own words" enough that it's not obvious to beginners how blatant it is.

if you struggle with writing research papers, often procrastinate and then scramble to assemble a paper from a single source, you are setting yourself up for likely plagiarism. here are some real tips for avoiding this and getting better at academic writing. these are a short version of sonke ahrens's great book on the Zettelkasten method, How to Take Smart Notes (which i recommend reading, but it is one of those Books That Could Have Been a Blog Post, as If Books Could Kill would say, and the full Zettelkasten method is probably overkill for most people).

1. Take notes on what the texts make you think while you read, with a pen and paper, in your own words. These are not summary notes, but "this section reminds me of that one episode of the simpsons" or "i don't think it's true that willpower is finite..." these are your own thoughts and feelings

2. When you're completely done with an article or book chapter, start a note file on the computer with the proper citation at the top and write a 1-2 sentence summary of the content of what you just read. Without looking at the text. Yes, this is hard!!

3. Go through your personal notes from step 1 and see if anything there is a Big General Idea or theme. It may take reading a few articles or stepping away/thinking in the shower before these emerge. "Hmm I'm noticing that a lot of societies have similar rituals about food and gratefulness, I wonder if it's a superstitious way to ensure future abundance?" Elaborate on that in a separate note.

4. You can weave the notes from Step 3 into a thesis statement with supporting arguments properly summarized and supported with info from Step 1.

#hbomberguy #plagiarism #writing advice #zettelkasten #sonke ahrens #research papers #writing help #procrastination

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i-ate-your-dog-srry · 6 months

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Please how to draw puppet hands tutorial? 🥺

I'm not great at drawing puppet hands. (or hands in general), but I'll try my best to tip you off on some rules of thumb I tend to use!

Also Don't get me wrong if you draw hands in ways a detested in this And it's simply part of your artstyle I think that's neat but it simply doesn't work for most artstyle! :3

Sorry if I'm not very useful! I'm self-taught, and I learned through observing! I always use to watch the hands of the Simpsons characters because they have a very simple and understandable grasp on how hands hold/overlap so the best advice I can give you is just look at hands a lot when you're enjoying art! Take some little notes in your brain of things that could help, or if you see hands that you don't like, take notes on what not to do! I hope I helped a bit!

#silly stuff #silly #art #digital art #welcomeh #welcome home #cute #wally darling #wally #barnaby #frank frankly #eddie dear #wally darling heh

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sailor-aviator · 3 months

Text

Road to Perdition: Chapter Two

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: The Great Depression wasn't called a depression for nothing. Jobs were scarce, and the price of food and other necessities were rising higher and higher with each passing day. What little money you were able to make went straight to the bank and out of reach from your booze-swilling lech of a brother. It's on one such run that you come face to face with members of the infamous Dagger Gang; a group of, admittedly handsome, men who steal from the banks to hand it back out to the poor. You want nothing to do with them, but that blond-headed devil might just have something to say to the contrary. (1930s!Mobster!AU)

Content Warning: Police, FBI, Self Deprecation, Jake being a scoundrel, Suggestive Comments, Cursing, Attempted SA, Derogatory Names being thrown at reader, Guns, Descriptions of Blood. I think that's it, but please let me know if I missed something!

Word Count: 4.3k

Series Masterlist

The ache to your temple had dulled, but still throbbed enough to be noticeable even after two days. You had woken in the alley, head aching from where Hangman had struck you as the police officer gripped your shoulder to steady you.

“Are you alright, miss?” The officer had asked, concern shining in his brown eyes as he looked you over. You had been dazed and disoriented, looking around to try and piece together what had happened. You glanced around and saw the bank manager already on his feet speaking with another officer. A particularly hard throb had you wincing and grabbing at your temple, and the officer before you offered you a sympathetic smile and a hand to help you up.

“It looks like they got you pretty good,” he muttered, eyeing the growing bruise on the side of your head. You grimaced at him, eyes wandering again and landing on a tall man pushing his way through the throng of police. He was older, his dark hair graying at the temples and making him look even sterner than his hard expression already made him look. His blue eyes scanned the area, and you wondered when the last time he got any sleep was, the dark circles under his eyes indicating that it had been quite a while. A shadow of stubble outlined his hard-set jaw, emphasizing the look of irritation that covered his handsome features. His eyes met yours, brow arching at you as you met his gaze.

“Do you remember anything, miss?” The officer next to you asked gently, and you turned to look at him. You opened your mouth to reply, but stopped as a figure walked up into your peripheral.

“I’ve got it, son,” the man dismissed gruffly, sparing the young officer a look before fixing his attention back on you. The officer seemed put out by the dismissal, but he nodded at you, tipping his cap with a final “miss” before walking off to join his fellow law enforcement. You watched him go for a moment, feeling the newcomer’s gaze on you as you pointedly refused to meet his gaze. The man cleared his throat, and that’s when you looked back over at him, keeping your face neutral as you met his gaze once more.

“The name’s Agent Beau Simpson,” he started, eyes roving over you as his lips twisted into a frown. “What’s yours?”

You gave him your name, sizing him up as you did so, a habit you supposed you picked up from the days when your father would take you out on some of his runs during prohibition. You needed to know the measure of people just in case.

“I work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” he continued, sliding his hands into his pockets as he allowed his eyes to wander across the alley. You let out a snort that drew his attention back to where you stood.

“What’s the FBI doing in a shithole like this?” You questioned. Agent Simpson raised a brow at your coarse language, earning an eyebrow raise of your own in challenge.

“The Bureau has tasked me and my partner,” he pauses to gesture over at an older looking man who’s stopped to talk with the bank manager, an easy smile on his wrinkled face as he listens to the other man attentively, “Agent Kazansky, with investigating the activities of the Dagger Gang.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. Now it made sense. You had heard some of the nicknames whispered around town as Everyone had heard about the notorious gang of criminals roaming the rural areas of this and the neighboring states. The group was heralded as a godsend, robbing the crooked banks and giving the money back to the working poor. You weren’t sure what to think of them to be completely honest. It seemed to you to be too good to be true, and the bruise at your temple throbbed in agreement.

“The Dagger Gang, huh?” You muttered, bringing your fingertips to press gently against the pained skin. You winced at the contact, and Agent Simpson watched you with an unreadable expression.

“Looks like they left you with a parting gift,” he commented. You shot him a look before letting your hand drop.

“Did you need something, or am I free to go?” You huffed, crossing your arms. Agent Simpson said nothing for a moment, but you thought you caught a glint of amusement in his eyes before he took out a small notepad and pen from his jacket pocket. How he was able to wear that many layers in this heat was beyond you.

“You mind telling me what happened?” He asked, and you let out a sigh, recounting your tale to him as he wrote down every detail.

“And that’s all I remember,” you finished, picking at the seam of your skirt as you watched Agent Kazansky finish up with the bank manager. The police were starting to clear out the area as well, having finished bagging as much evidence as they could find.

“You’re sure?” Agent Simpson prompted, brow raised as he finished a note. “Nothing else happened?”

The flash of jade green eyes and soft lips on yours had heat crawling up your neck and to your cheeks. You took a sharp breath, steeling yourself and willing the memory out of your head as you offered him a nod.

“Positive,” you muttered, looking away. Agent Simpson stared at you for a moment before nodding.

“Alright then,” he sighed, putting the notepad and pen back into his jacket and pulling a small, white card out. “If you think of anything, give this number a call. The people at the Bureau will be sure to get the information to me.”

You took the card with a small frown, placing it into your bag with a nod.

“Will do,” you agreed, fingers resting on your camera as a thought struck you.

“Say,” you chirped, catching Agent Simpson’s attention as he was walking away. He turned back to give you a curious look. You held up your camera, waving it for added effect. “You mind if I take some pictures for the paper?”

Now you sat in the parlor of your oldest friend, Alice, in the home she shared with her husband of two years, Frank. It was a lovely home, much nicer than your own at least. Everything was kept in pristine condition, not a speck of dirt or mess in sight. You took a tentative sip from your teacup, a family heirloom of Alice’s, as she prattled on about the luncheon with the ladies from her parish.

You loved Alice dearly, having known her as long as you could remember, but since she got married, it seemed the two of you had been drifting further and further apart. You supposed part of that was your own fault, recounting the number of times Alice had invited you out to spend time with her and Frank. It seemed like they were always a package deal, and while you were fond of him, you couldn’t help but feel that you had been replaced as Alice’s partner in crime. The two of you used to do everything together, but since she had gotten married and settled into her fairytale life, you found yourself more often than not serving as the proverbial third wheel on their excursions.

“So what do you say, Moonie?” Alice chirped, eyes wide with excitement as she leaned forward to rest her palm on your knee. You stiffened for a second before relaxing, racking your brain for hints as to what she was asking you as you sipped your tea. It seemed that your time spend in self-imposed exile had made it hard for you to keep track of conversations.

“You have no idea what I just said, do you?” She sighed, leaning back with a swish of her long, blonde curls. You refused to meet her gaze as she let out another sigh, leaning forward once more to touch the bruise to your temple gingerly. You winced at the contact, setting your cup down on the table in front of you as you turned to look at her.

“I suppose it’s not your fault,” she mused, dropping her hand to take hold of yours. “It must have been so scary what you went through. And the nerve of those brutes to leave such a mess of your pretty face.”

“Alice,” you sighed, giving her a look that begged her to drop the line of conversation. She gave you a wry smile in return.

“Well, anyway,” she continued, mercifully dropping the subject as she let your hand go to place her own cup on the table beside yours. “I was asking if you wanted to come dancing with Frank and I tonight.”

“Alice, I don’t-” You began, but she waved your dismissal off with a brush of her hand.

“It won’t just be the three of us,” she said. “Frank’s friend from Wichita Falls is in town for some business, and I thought it might be fun to do a double date.”

You didn’t respond, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you studied her. You knew she only wanted you to be happy, to have the same kind of life that she lived now, but there was a part of you deep down that knew it would always be just outside your grasp. Still, the idea of getting to spend more time with Alice was appealing, and with Frank’s friend in town, you might actually get to spend some actual one-on-one time with her.

“What did you have in mind?” You relented, earning an excited grin.

Hours later, you were stepping foot into one of the hottest clubs in the Dallas area. You fought the urge to scratch at your face, not used to the makeup that Alice had dolled you up with. Rouge tinted your cheeks and a deep red painted your lips for the first time in years, and you could hardly believe your eyes when she had shown you in the mirror of her vanity earlier that evening.

“You look gorgeous, Moonie,” she had chirped, squeezing your shoulders as she dipped her head down to look at you. “Charlie is gonna be blown away!”

She had practically shoved a bright, red number into your hands as she pushed you towards the restroom to change. Your fingers brushed over the silky fabric in question, letting out a nervous breath as your small group entered the club. She had been right. Frank’s friend, Charlie, had looked gobsmacked when the two of you made your way to the foyer where the two men were waiting, and you let yourself bask in the warm feeling of being noticed by a handsome man.

Charlie’s hand rested on your waist as he guided you further into the room while trailing Alice and Frank. The club was in full swing, several people already on the dancefloor as the band played a jazz number that had you almost giddy. Alice and Frank stopped at a table close to the dancefloor, Charlie pulling out a seat for you as you gave him a grateful smile.

“Don’t get too comfortable!” Alice hollered over the noise, a delighted grin spread across her face as her eyes darted between you and your date. “After the first drink, we’re all headed to the dancefloor!”

“Oh, Alice, you know I don’t-” You began, brow furrowing in uncertainty, but she fixed you with a look that cut you off mid-sentence.

“No,” she stated firmly, arching a brow. “You do. You just haven’t. Come on, Moonie, let loose and live a little! There are no worries tonight!”

You sighed in defeat, casting an awkward smile to Charlie as he let his fingers brush over your shoulders. Alice gave you a knowing look before turning to say something to Frank, and you jumped as Charlie leaned into you.

“You look real pretty tonight, sweets,” he murmured, breath fanning over your cheeks, the smell of cigarettes and alcohol nearly making you gag.

“Thank you,” you managed, allowing your eyes to wander around the room. It was a beautiful place, it’s reputation doing little to prepare you for the majesty of the interior. Deep reds accented with golds lined the walls, artificial shadows cast across the room to offer the illusion of privacy in the crowded space. You wondered who or what lurked in them.

A waiter came around to take your orders, and while everyone around you ordered a cocktail, you stuck with plain water.

“No spirits for you, sweets?” Charlie asked with a lift of his brow. You gave a wry smile, mind flashing briefly to your older brother.

“I’m not one for alcohol,” you supplied, picking at the cloth of the napkin that sat in front of you.

“Shame,” he muttered, giving a smile to the waiter as he came back with everyone’s drinks.

You all chatted amongst yourselves as you sipped at your water, feeling yourself grow more and more stifled by Charlie’s presence as he crowded around you. The feeling of eyes on you tickled at the back of your neck, but you brushed it off as jitters about being out and about for the first time in who knows how long. Before long, Alice was on her feet and tugging Frank towards the dancefloor with her signature grin and bat of her eyelashes. Frank followed her eagerly, the two of them falling into an easy foxtrot.

“We should join’em!” Charlie called over the music, not waiting for protest as he took your hand and dragged you towards the dancefloor. You bit back your sigh, falling into step with the music, allowing yourself to get lost in the tempo as your feet moved. The feeling of eyes on you grew, and you allowed yourself to scan the room for the source of the uneasy feeling. You were pulled back, however, as Charlie stepped on your toes, causing you to wince with a hiss as he flushed a deep red.

“I’m so sorry, sweets,” he grumbled, attempting to guide you along the floor once more. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

“It’s alright,” you assured him, moving your feet once more as the music continued. The air between the two of you was silent and awkward as you continued, and you started to wonder how you were going to make it through the rest of the night. Perhaps you could feign illness…

“Frank told me you had a bit of a run-in earlier this week,” Charlie said, eyes glancing at your temple where, despite Alice’s best efforts, the bruise was still slightly visible beneath the layer of powder covering your face.

“Yes,” you sighed. “I suppose I did.”

“You must have been frightened, sweets,” he pressed, hand stroking along your waist as you gritted your teeth.

“It wasn’t that big a deal,” you muttered as the song came to an end. You pulled away, forcing a smile on your face as Charlie allowed you to withdraw. A slower number came on, and the two of you stared at each other for a moment before he cleared his throat, shifting on his feet.

“I’ll, uh,” he swallowed, “I’ll go get us another round of drinks.”

You nodded but didn’t respond as he spun on his heel and retreated. You let out another sigh, starting to make your way back to the table when a hand grasped your wrist.

“Where’re you going, dollface?”

You whirled around at the familiar voice, eyes meeting jade green that sparkled with mirth. You stood frozen for a second as the blond’s face split with a cocky grin.

“Let go of me,” you hissed, attempting to pull your wrist free, but his grip remained gentle but firm.

“Come on,” he drawled, pulling you closer, the smell of tobacco and mint making your stomach flutter. “Just one dance.”

He left you no room to argue as he snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him with a devilish grin and taking one of your hands in his. He began to sway along to the music, and you begrudgingly followed.

“See? Isn’t this nice?” He crooned, looking down at you with hooded eyes. You glared back up at him, pressing your lips into a thin line as he whisked you around the dancefloor.

“I think you’re already having a better time with me than you were lover boy over there,” he grinned, nodding over to where you were sure Charlie was. His hand on your waist began to venture lower, and you reached behind you to drag it back into place. You cast the man in front of you another glare, but he remained unperturbed, leaning forward so that his lips brushed against the shell of your ear.

“Been thinking ‘bout you,” he murmured, sending a shiver up your spine, one that didn’t go unnoticed judging by the smirk that graced his lips. “Been thinking about those pretty lips on mine.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, your face warming at his words. How could this man stir such conflicting emotions in you?

“Been imagining how soft you’d feel against me,” he continued with a hum, lips trailing down towards your cheek, sending chills across your skin that had your insides twisting. “Been thinking about the pretty noises you’d make when I-”

“Don’t be crass,” you snapped, pushing against his chest. You only put about an inch or so of space between the two of you, your glare only a fraction of how fierce it was at the beginning of the dance. He chuckled, pulling you close again as he continued the dance.

“Sorry, sugar,” he smirked. “You’ve just been driving me crazy these past couple of days.”

“You don’t even know me,” you muttered, looking down at the floor. Hangman dips his head to look at you once more.

“No,” he acquiesced, “but I want to.”

You looked back at him at that, shock coloring your face.

“Why?” You asked, brow furrowing, waiting for the punchline. It didn’t make sense. You weren’t like the free spirited girls who flitted around town. You didn’t own nice clothes or worry about the latest trends. This man was beautiful, he could have anyone he wanted. So, why you?

“What do you mean ‘why?’” He laughed, stopping when he saw the serious look on your face. He offered a shrug. “I dunno. There’s just something about you, doll. Something that once I saw you, I knew you were something I’d never want to let go. Been thinking about it nonstop since the other day, and now here you are looking like an angel down from heaven itself right in front of me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you groused, earning another chuckle. You gulped as you felt his hand begin to wander south once more, heart beating wildly in your chest.

“Maybe,” he hummed, leaning into you so that his lips ghosted over yours. Your gaze flitted down, remembering the softness of his lips on yours, cursing how much you wanted to feel them again. “But you say you want nothing to do with me, that you don’t feel what I feel? I’ll be out of your life for good, dollface.”

Your eyes flickered back up to his, studying them for any signs of deception, but there was none to be had. Your mind whirled with the possibilities. It wasn’t smart to get mixed up with someone like him, especially when you weren’t planning on sticking around. You let out a shaky breath and Hangman cooed at you, stroking your cheek in a brazen show of intimacy.

“Use your words, honey,” he murmured, and you let out a quiet whine, cheeks heating at the pathetic sound.

“I-” You started, stopping as you heard your name. You whipped your head around to see Alice pushing through the crowd towards you. You pulled away from Hangman, refusing to meet his heated gaze as your best friend stopped in front of you, her husband right behind her.

“Moonie, honey,” she smiled, eyes glancing at the man beside you curiously. “Where’s Charlie?”

“He, um,” you stuttered, eyes looking around wildly for your date.

“Hi,” Hangman greeted, offering his hand for Alice to shake. “My name is Jake. Jake Seresin.”

“Oh, hi!” Alice greeted, taking his hand in a polite shake. “I’m Alice, and this is my husband, Frank.”

“Sorry about stealing your friend away,” he drawled, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back. “I saw her from across the room and just knew I had to have at least one dance with her.”

You couldn’t see, but you were sure he was flashing her a mega-watt smile with the way she looked so flustered. You took a deep breath, anxiety licking up your spine as the room suddenly felt too loud and too crowded.

“I need some air,” you blurted out, already turning towards an exit, not bothering to wait for a reply. You pushed through the throngs of people, earning several dirty looks, but you couldn’t be bothered as you pushed your way through a door and into the cool, night air of an alley. The quiet enveloped you as you sucked in huge lungfuls of air, the sweat on your skin feeling like ice in the cool breeze.

What was going on with you? You had never been so affected by anyone in your life, and this man, this stranger, waltzes into your life and suddenly you’re making a fool of yourself. He must have hit you harder than you thought, that was the only logical explanation.

You were so busy in your spiral that you didn’t notice the door open as someone stepped out with you. You jumped as a hand clutched your shoulder, spinning to see Charlie looking at you with an unreadable expression.

“Oh, Charlie!” You exclaimed, placing a hand over your chest to try and calm your racing heart. “I didn’t-”

“You know,” he interrupted you, a look of disdain flooding his features, “had I known you were so easy, I wouldn’t have bothered taking you out on a date.”

“What?” You asked, brow furrowing in confusion. He let out a bark of a laugh, taking a step towards you, and you took one back.

“A dame like you? I should have known,” he sneered, backing you up towards the wall of the alley. You grunted as your back met the brick wall, heart beating erratically for a different reason now. “Girls like you are too easy, the way you were putty in that guy’s hands just from a single dance. So, come on, sweets. Open those legs for me like the good slut I know you are.”

The slap echoed in the empty alley, your hand stinging from where it had connected with Charlie’s cheek. You were frozen in shock, which was all the time it took for him to recover, your head bouncing off the brick as he gripped your hair and slammed you back.

“Bitch,” he snarled, other hand reaching up to grip your dress. He pulled, and a tearing sound met your ears as you tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

“I was going to be nice,” he hissed, his horrible breath washing over you as you continued to struggle, “but now I’m going to make sure it hurts.”

His hand came up to wrap around your neck, and you let out a cry as he squeezed. You pressed your eyes closed, waiting for his next move when a click sounded over his shoulder.

“Let her go,” came the deep timbre, and you opened your eyes to see Jake standing behind Charlie, a gun in his hand which he pointed at Charlie’s head. Charlie let out a low growl, but obeyed the command, his hands falling away from you. You nearly crumpled to the ground, but caught yourself as Jake held his hand out to you, not taking his eyes off of the other man. Hesitantly, you moved passed Charlie, taking Jake’s hand and allowing him to push you behind him. Once you were safe behind him, Jake reared the hand holding his gun back, bringing it forward sharply with a sickening crack. You gasped as Charlie groaned, clutching at his nose which was now leaking blood through the cracks of his fingers.

“You sorry piece of shit,” Jake growled, the sound of the door opening behind you catching your attention. You watched as Alice and Frank made their way into the alley, eyes wide with shock as Jake stood over Charlie.

“I catch you even looking in her direction again, and you’ll leave with more than a broken nose,” he spat, dragging Charlie up by his collar and practically throwing him down towards the mouth of the alley. “Get the hell out of here.”

“Moonie, oh my word,” Alice started, rushing towards you as Charlie scampered off. “What happened?”

“I…he…” You tried to talk, but the words just wouldn’t come out. Your head hurt, and you were feeling dizzy. Your fingers played with the skirt of your dress as you tried to formulate a sentence. You were vaguely aware of Jake and Frank speaking in the background, but you were too distracted by the hole you came across. “Your dress…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Alice hushed, pulling you close and leading you down towards the street. “Let’s just get you out of here, honey.”

Once again, you allowed yourself to be guided, the decision being made for you. You paused at the mouth of the alley, looking back to see jade green already looking at you.

A/N: It's been a while since I updated last, but here it is!! I'm still so excited to continue this story, and this Jake is quickly becoming a favorite of mine, I can't lie. I'm hoping to have the other three updates out this week, but more likely than not, it might just be one or two, so let me know what you want to see next!

If you would like to receive notifications on when I post, please follow my sideblog ( @sailoraviator-library ) and turn on post notifications! As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. You can find all of my works on AO3 under the username sailor_aviator. Until next time!

#rtp #road to perdition #30s!au #mob!au #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin fanfiction #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman #hangman top gun #top gun hangman #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman fanfiction

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bullet-prooflove · 1 year

Text

Rumours: Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson x Reader

Tagging: @chickensrule @iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface @justameresimp @lxaah11 @librarian1002 @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond

You don’t know about the affair, not until Beau tells you.

Apparently, a couple of the graduates were off base one night and caught sight of their Vice Admiral in his civvies, leaving a restaurant with a woman in a little black dress. The heat in his gaze when he looked at her…

It’s clear they’re sleeping together.

There are other sightings. All of Beau with the same woman, all in compromising positions. Stolen kisses in doorways when it’s raining, his hand resting on her hip as he leads her from the theatre, whispering something salacious into her ear.

His poor wife, they say, sitting at home waiting for him while he’s out playing the field.

It’s at a retirement dinner for one of the Majors that the scuttlebutt reaches its peak. He’s seen leaving early with one of the JAG officers, a Lieutenant Commander, his hand on her lower back as he holds open the car door.

Beau doesn’t realise he’s a topic of conversation until Warlock approaches him. It’s becoming an issue, the other man tells him, you’re losing their respect.

Over what? he asks and then Warlock is forced to tell him.

He’s confused at first because not once in your entire relationship has ever he stepped out on you, the thought hasn’t even crossed his mind despite the deployments. He listens as Warlock recounts the events and he checks each one of them off in his head and he realises in every single occurrence the woman that he’s been seen with…

It's you.

It’s only when they bring Maverick in for a chat do they understand what’s happened.

There’s a lot of fresh faces on base and you’ve been deployed for over six months. They’ve all just assumed that his wife is the little lady that runs the house he lives in, like most of the other Vice Admiral’s wives. Never seen, never heard from. Just existing in the background.

It doesn’t help that you kept your maiden name when you married or the fact that Beau hates clutter, so he doesn’t keep so much as a picture on his desk. Why would he? He has them all on his phone.

You find the whole thing hilarious when he comes home and tells you that night. You’re sitting in front of the coffee table, your files spread out across it as you make notes in your legal pad, wearing his old college t-shirt and a pair of paint splattered leggings.

The two of you have a perfectly good dining table in the kitchen, but you never use it. The living room is your space, the soft sound of Norah Jones playing in the background and the scent of wild sage and sea salt from the candle you have burning on the mantlepiece.

“It’s not funny.” He tells you as he sits down on the floor alongside of you, his elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t know what to do about it.”

“The woman you’re having an affair with is actually your wife.” You remind him, tapping your pen upon the legal pad. “It’s a little funny.”

“You know I’d never…” He trails off as his lips brush over the curve of your shoulder because the thought of it is so repugnant to him. He doesn’t want to think about another woman in your bed, trying to take your place.

“I know.” You tell him, inclining your head so that he can read the honesty in your expression. “I would never either.”

He’s never doubted you, not for a minute.

His thumb trails along your jaw, guiding your mouth to his and he kisses you with a tenderness he reserves for no one else. He loves these moments, the ones where it’s just the two of you, at home, simply being with one another.

“Show and tell.” You say softly as his hands begin to wander, his lips seeking out that delicious little spot just underneath the hinge of your jaw, the one that makes you say his name.

“Hm.” He mumbles distractedly as his fingertips delve under the hem of the t-shirt, skirting along the line of your bra.

“I mean it Beau.” You utter, your head tipping back as he guides the shirt up and over your body, before tossing it onto the couch.

“I’ll take it into consideration.” He whispers against your skin as his fingers tug at the waistband of your leggings. “Right now, I’ve got other things I want to focus on.”

***

Beau chooses to address the issue with the Top Gun graduates. They’re fierce, loyal and above all else, he knows that they’ll put a stop to those rumours that are circulating the base. He can’t have his subordinates doubting him, he needs them to trust him, in the field and off it. News of an affair erodes that, it makes him seem duplicitous, makes them question his motives and that leads to mistakes. People get hurt or worse killed. So, yea, now he’s taking your advice, he’s doing show and tell.

“Final order of business.” He says as he stands in front of them, hands clasped together. “I need to address the rumours regarding the affair I’m having with a JAG officer.”

He senses the mood shift, backs straighten, and all eyes are on him. He nods at Warlock, whose waiting at the side door before he opens it. There’s a low murmur when you step inside, a few elbow nudges because the source of the scuttlebutt has now entered the room and is now standing alongside their Rear Admirable clad in a navy-blue JAG uniform.

Briefly Beau wonders what they expect from this latest development.

Maybe the whole, we’re just colleagues’ speech.

“This is my wife.” He introduces you to the group. “She’s a Lieutenant Commander in JAG and recently returned from a six-month deployment overseas. If you need an attorney, she’s the best we’ve got.”

It’s true, you excel at your position, and he couldn’t be prouder of you. You’ve achieved so much throughout your career and one of the reasons he’s here today is because he hates the idea of your successes being diminished by gossip.

“You have two minutes for questions.” He tells the graduates before folding his arms over his chest.

Phoenix is the first one to speak up, she raises her hand and Beau inclines his head towards her.

“How long have you been married?” She asks, leaning forward on her desk.

“Seven…” You pause because the deployments make it harder to keep track, you’ve been away for some anniversaries and home for others. You look to Beau for clarification.

“Eight.” He says, the edges of his mouth tipping up into a small smile because he knows you can never remember the exact timings. The only reason he does is because he’s meticulous about putting information into his calendar.

“Eight years.” You correct yourself. “Together for three before that.”

Rooster is next up; his elbows are on his desk before he raises two fingers.

“How does it work with the deployments?”

“Patience.” Beau informs the Lieutenant, rubbing his palm across his jawline. “Open communication.”

You don’t know the graduates, this is the first time you’ve met them, but you think you can see something underneath Rooster’s demeanour. There’s a reason he asked that question, so you elaborate.

“You have to be honest with each other, talk about your feelings, the good ones and the bad ones especially on the lead up to it.” You reiterate before gesturing between you and Beau. “We talk as often as we can, keep each other up to date with what’s going on in our lives, even if it’s just the day-to-day stuff. If one of us doesn’t get in contact for a few days, we try not to take it too personally. I know that life on the base can get hectic and he knows sometimes you can’t just get a signal in the middle of the Pacific.”

That gets a little laugh and it’s good to see that there’s a little humour in them. You hate it when people take themselves too seriously.

“Care packages.” Beau supplements into the conversation.

“Oh, sometimes when I’m away he sends me things from home, and I send him stuff from my travels.” You tell the group, leaning back against the podium at the front of the room. “Just a little something to say we’re thinking of each other.”

You can see you’ve given Rooster some food for thought. You wonder what his circumstances are, if there’s a girl in the background, he’s thinking of getting serious about.

“Have you ever thought about giving it up?” Hangman asks, a cocktail stick dangling out of his mouth. “The job for the sake of the marriage?”

Another one with something on his mind, you think. Although you don’t spy a wedding ring on his finger, you suspect something that might be heading that way. You’re good at reading people, it comes in handy in the courtroom.

“Yea.” You answer honestly, with a small shrug of the shoulders. “We’ve talked about it a few times, but this is who I am, the same way it’s who he is. Neither of us will compromise on that, if it’s right you shouldn’t have to.”

Hangman nods knowingly before Beau interrupts.

“Alright, your two minutes is up.” His palm comes to rest upon your lower back, thumb skating over the vertebrae. “We have other places to be, so good luck with your training.”

It isn’t until you reach the corridor outside that he slows his step. The two of you find yourself alone for a minute, a rarity on such a busy military base. You lean against one wall, while he stands rigid in front of the other, both hands coming to rest on his hips.

“Those were some tough questions, right?” He asks you, his mouth setting into a grim line before he looks at you.

“That last one…” You shake your head. “The job for the sake of the marriage, that felt a little too close to home.”

Beau nods his agreement before his gaze meets yours.

“You know I’d never…”

“No, I know.” You assure him, pushing away from the wall and coming to stand before him. You reach for his collar straightening it just a little, despite the fact it didn’t require any intervention. “But it is getting harder to leave.”

Then don’t. He wants to say but instead he bites his tongue because he’s a good husband and it’s a lot more complicated than that. Your palms come to rest on his chest, he can tell you’re preoccupied with something. It’s in the way your brows crease just a little.

“What is it?” He asks you, studying your expression for clues.

You’re interrupted by the door opening as Warlock steps out into the corridor, the encrypted tablet clasped in his hands.

“We have a full schedule today...” He pauses, his finger lingering over the calendar as the two of you step apart. “I can give you a minute.”

“He’s all yours Solomon.” You say with a smile as you draw away from him.

He can already feel you slipping through his fingers, he isn’t sure what it is that gives him that sensation but it’s acute. There’s a trepidation in the pit of his stomach, something he only gets when it comes to your deployments but it’s far too soon for that. You’ve barely been home more than a couple of weeks.

“I’ll catch up with you later.” You promise before turning on your heel and striding down the corridor with purpose.

It reminds him for the moment of the first time he saw you, walking into the courtroom with your head held high, that black leather legal binder tucked under your arm. He’d been sitting in the gallery watching the trial of an Ensign accused of smuggling coke through produce in the kitchens. The idiot had been under his command at the time and elected for a court martial. You had eviscerated his case; it was both beautiful and painful to watch.

He spends the rest of the afternoon distracted, wishing the two of you had had a chance to finish that conversation.

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