#bradshaw!reader

[sarahsmi13s]

Duckie

Chapter 9

pairing: jake ‘hangman’ seresin x bradshaw!reader; bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x twin sister!reader

characters: y/n bradshaw, nick bradshaw, jake seresin, penny benjamin, serenity hart, denver miller

word count: ~10.7k (don't kill me i know the chapter lengths are all over the place, i'm sorry)

warnings: language, parental doubts, canon character deaths mentioned, drinking, thunderstorms, jake being an absolute sweetheart

a/n: i want to apologize that is has been 8 months since i have last updated the main story, i really didn't think it would take that long... but i just wanted to make sure i was proud of the chapter and i really do think i am proud of it. so thank you for your patience and i hope you enjoy 💜

series summary: daughter of goose and carole and twin sister to bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw, y/n bradshaw also got her papers pulled when she tried to enlist in the Navy. which turned out to not be as bad as she thought.

chapter summary: a week after duckie and jake went on their "not-date" she is seriously regretting not getting jake's number before he left -- considering they haven't seen each other since. though, as fate would have it, that weekend they see each other at the beach and as duckie is walking away jake gets a push from his friends to get her number. little does he know he'll be getting much more than that from her

'duckie' universe

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It had been a hectic week since your ‘not date’ date with Jake and honestly… you were missing him. Nick was missing him too, hugging the cowboy manta ray every afternoon when he napped. You were really kicking yourself for not getting his number, you had no way of talking to him. And you both were busy, you with school stuff and softball practices and Jake with his Top Gun classes. So you just had to bet on the off chance of running into him again.

Late that Saturday morning, you and Nick were walking the beach, occasionally splashing in the surf. You wanted to tire him out so when Serenity came over later to babysit, he wasn’t too much trouble.

At some point when you had been distracted, Nick had run off without you noticing, most likely seeing something he liked or wanted.

When you do notice his absence, it’s because you don’t hear giggling and splashing. You look down next to you and panic shoots through you when you see that your son isn’t right at your feet. 

“Nick? Nick! Nicky!”

Your chest heaved with your panicked breathing, thoughts running through your mind a mile and a half a minute as you shouted and ran across the beach like a mad woman – shouting for your son.

How could this happen? How could you not notice that your toddler wasn’t right next to you? What kind of mother gets that distracted that she doesn’t even hear her child run off? How did you not notice? Why didn’t you hear him? Why did you let something else pull your attention away that fast and for that long?

Maybe those middle aged mothers in the store were right? Maybe you were too young to be a decent mom… Maybe you shouldn’t–

“Han’man!” 

The small, but excited voice shut your thoughts off in an instant, relief flooding your entire body as you ran in the direction you heard your son – nearly tripping over your own feet in the panic. 

You spotted the classic beach volleyball court and saw Jake pick him up, looking equally as confused as he was happy. 

“Nick where’s your-” 

“Nicholas Jacob!” You called, adrenaline still pumping through your body.

Your son yelped a little and turned into Jake’s neck upon hearing you shout as the pilot cringed. The first and middle name? Never a good sign. 

“Oooh, someone’s in trouble,” he mumbled, instinctively rubbing the child’s back in order to keep him calm. 

The other aviators noticed this and gave Hangman a confused look. They were in the middle of a volleyball match and then boom a toddler’s running into the pilot's legs. And now he was comforting said child, not something they would expect from him usually.

Nick threw his arms around Jake’s neck, not turning to look at you as you ran over, sliding a little as the sand shifted under your heavy steps. “You can’t just run off like that! Do you know how worried I was?!”

The other pilots probably should have looked away, minded their own business. But now they were very intrigued as you came up to Jake as he held your son. 

And by the time you got in arms reach you had calmed down slightly, trying to channel your mother to help you handle this situation.

“Nicky,” you coaxed, as you got closer and reached out to rub his back. He just buried his face into Jake’s shoulder, a small cry coming from his lips as he hugged the pilot tighter. He hates yelling, he doesn’t like it when people are mad at him. You played with his curls, knowing that he thought you were angry, “Baby, I’m not mad… You just worry me when you run off like that. You are too much like your Uncle.” 

Nick looked at you finally, but still rested his head on Jake’s shoulder. His eyes were red and you sighed, knowing that he still thought you were mad. “I’m sorry I shouted, Nicky. Mama’s not mad at you. I promise.” He sniffled and reached out for you. You smiled softly and took him into your arms, then he promptly buried his face into your shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, guys,” you apologized, looking around at all the pilots. “I don’t know how he got away from me.” Jake shook his head, waving it off with a flick of his wrist, “It’s okay. I was winnin’ anyway.” You laughed, bouncing Nick instinctively, “Alright, well, we’ll leave you to it.” You adjusted Nick on your hip, smiling at the men before walking away.

Jake watched you walk away before turning back to his classmates, clapping his hands together and ready to start the next match. But he was met with crossed arms and expecting looks. “Okay let’s – What?” 

“You’re in so deep, Hangman,” Denver, also known as ‘Ransom’, said with a teasing scoff. “Have you gotten her number yet?” 

The blond shook his head, “No but I figured she’d offer it when she was ready.” The other pilot rolled his eyes. “Seresin, since when have you ever waited for her to make the move?” Jake huffed, “She’s different. I don’t want to move too fast. I want her to know that I’m all in first.” 

Denver crossed his arms, “Hangman, go ask her. Show her you’re all in. She won’t know if you don’t tell her. And I’m pretty sure she’s a little nervous to ask you. You know… given that she doesn’t know!” 

Jake’s eyes widened in realization, making the brunette laugh as Jake jogged after you, “Hey, Y/N, wait up!”

You turned as he called out to you, Nicky looking up as well from his spot on your shoulder. Looking up at him as he slowed down to a stop in front of you, you tilted your head a little, “Yeah?”

He took a few deep breaths, talking with one hand as the other rested on his hip, “First I want to preface, it’s totally cool if you say no. But we’ve been getting to know each other, and I was wondering if I could get your number?” 

You looked at Nick then back at Jake, thinking about your response carefully. “I’ll be at the bar tonight. Come by and we’ll talk about it.” 

Jake nodded, and smirked, “I look forward to it.” He ruffled Nick’s hair before going back to the group.

You smiled, eyeing him as he walked away – a little more confidence in his step as he walked up to his friend. 

You know you were kicking yourself before for not getting his number, but now that he’s asked you… you were hesitant, you felt like you had a lot you needed to tell him before you took this step. Sighing a little, you adjusted Nick on your hip again and made your way back to your car.

During the drive home, Nicky was quiet and played with the shells he had found on the beach.

You knew he was still upset from when you yelled, and you knew that he didn’t quite understand why you were so worried. He was only three after all, and he had so much wonder that it was a miracle he didn’t run off to squash his curiosities more often.

He did need to understand why you had shouted and why you were so worried, it was important that he knew that.

But neither of you were ready to give nor receive that conversation. You were still thrumming with that anxiety from the 90 second eternity it took to find him and he was still upset from when you yelled at him. You just needed to wait for when you got home after you both calmed down.

When you got home, you gave Nicky his bath in near silence as you made sure all the sand was gone and he was clean of salt water.

You had thought through your side of the conversation and decided on how you were going to talk to him.

After getting him bathed and getting some comfy clothes picked out, you knelt in front of him as you helped him dry off.

“Nicky? Can we talk about what happened at the beach?” 

He sniffed, nodding his head under the little shark hood of his towel. 

You smiled softly at him and gave a gentle squeeze to his arms. “You know Mama isn’t angry right?” “You yelled… people yell when they’re angy…” His voice was soft and timid, he was trying not to cry again. 

“Oh baby…” You tilted his head up and cupped his cheek. “Sometimes people yell when they’re angry or mad. But not all the time.” Confusion flashed over his tearfilled eyes and you sighed. 

You sat back on your heels, wiping his tears away with your thumb. “People can yell for a lot of different reasons, Nick. Sometimes we yell or shout because we’re excited, we’ve done that before haven’t we? Like when you saw Hangman and shouted because you were so excited to see him.” 

He nodded, using the towel to wipe his other eye as you gave him an encouraging smile.

“It all comes down to how we say something, and I know that might not make sense just yet, because you’re three, but it will and we’ll talk more about it then. But I know you don’t like yelling when people sound angry or mean, it’s loud and it can be scary, right?” He nodded again, sniffling a little, “Yeah…” 

You nodded, dipping your head a little to look him in the eye. “And Mama’s sorry if she sounded angry or mean, that wasn’t my intention. But you running off like that scared me, it really really scared me. I didn’t know if you were hurt or lost.” 

“But I was safe with Han’man… I was okay Mama…” 

“I know that now. But in the moment I was really worried about you and I didn’t know where you had run off too. That’s why I shouted.” 

You rubbed his arms, making sure to hold eye contact. “You can’t just run off like that without telling me. It makes me worried for your safety.” 

The dam finally broke and Nick started sobbing. “I’m sorry Mama… I-I jus’ saw Han’man an-and wa-wanted to s-say hi…” 

“I know, I know baby,” you cooed, wiping his tears as they fell. “And Mama forgives you, I know you didn’t mean to. And I know there will be times where you’re really really curious and you want to explore, but you have to tell me so I, or someone else, can make sure you’re safe. And there will be times I’m gonna yell, but I still love you okay? And I will do better to control my tone in the future.” 

He sniffled and hugged you tightly, his little arms wrapping around your neck in a grip that rivaled a grown man. You smiled and adjusted your legs, crossing them before wrapping him tighter in his towel and pulling him into your lap.

You sat on his floor for a while, holding him close and rocking back and forth as you pressed kisses to the side of his head.

It wasn’t too long after that conversation that Serenity was using her spare key to come in, finding you and Nick giggling in the living room as you watched Kung Fu Panda.

“Looks like I’m missing all the fun,” she laughed, sitting her backpack down on the bar. 

Nick sat up, a wide smile on his face, “Ren!” She smiled and walked over, her arms out wide for a hug, “Nicky J!” He got off the couch quickly and ran to her, hugging her with a high pitched giggle. 

You smiled as you stood up, “Oh I don’t know about missing the fun, just a little late to the party.” 

“Well, I guess I have some fun to catch up on,” she said as she ruffled Nicky’s curls. “And Mama can relax a little bit.” 

You nodded because now that she was here you could take a shower and get ready to go to the bar. You needed the moment of solitude to collect yourself after your mild panic attack on the beach. Needed to take a second alone to let the parental mask slip and just let yourself feel.

“Yes, and I will be showering and getting ready to go to the bar. You both can finish the movie and give me the rundown when I come back.” 

Serenity nodded, “You got it, we’ll take notes. Won’t we buddy?” Nicky nodded, “And we can act it out for you too!” You smiled and played with his hair, “Yes you can, and I look forward to it.” Nick giggled, running back over to climb on the couch and continue watching the movie.

You looked at the college student, brows raised as you let out a breath. She arched her eyebrow inquisitively, “Mama need me time?” You nodded, rubbing your hands on your thighs. “She needs so much me time. Had a bit of a scare at the beach and I need a minute to process it, without him two feet away… God, that sounds so bad doesn’t it?”

She shook her head, grabbing your wrist gently, “Not at all. You need space to breathe, that’s why I’m here – well, and cause I love that little man over there.” You both laughed, glancing over at the couch where Nick was zeroed in on the TV. 

Her grip tightened momentarily to gain your attention again. “And you’re doing great, Y/N. Don’t ever question that.” 

A rush of tears filled your eyes, a weight you hadn’t realized was sitting on your chest lifting ever so slightly and allowing you to actually breathe again. Biting your lip to keep from crying in front of your son, you hugged Serenity letting out a heavy exhale that released the obsessive thoughts that rattled in your head. 

“Thank you…” 

Your voice was no louder than a whisper, but your gratitude was nothing short of a scream. 

Serenity rubbed your back, “And I will fight anyone that says otherwise. Even you. Understand?” She pulled back only when you did as you nodded and wiped your face. “Good,” she nodded towards your bedroom with a smile. “Now go shower.” 

You nodded, squeezing her shoulder in thanks before jogging towards your room.

She smiled after you before turning to your son, clapping her hands as she walked over, “Okay Nicky, let’s make sure we get all the details for Mama.” 

After your much needed shower, taking the solitary moment to breathe and let more tears fall to just release the stress, you got dressed in a pair of jeans and an old band t-shirt you had held onto from when you went through your mom’s things. And you added a black jacket because it had clouded over while you were in the shower. 

And of course, Nicky gave you the rundown of what you missed of Kung Fu Panda while you got ready before going back to let you finish up.

You took a deep breath as you clasped the guitar pick necklace behind your neck, letting the engraved gold rest against your sternum. Kendall had gotten it for you for graduation, having your favorite lyric of Great Balls of Fire engraved on the front – because he indeed drove you crazy and vice versa. For Christmas, Penny went and had Kendall’s initials engraved on the back, knowing that you’d be giving the necklace to Nicky once he was old enough.

Letting the breath out and calming yourself down, you stepped out of your room and slipped your jacket on as you walked to the door. “Okay, I’m heading out. It looks like it might rain, so just call me if anything happens or you need me to come home, okay?” 

Serenity nodded from her spot on the couch, popping a goldfish cracker into her mouth “Got it, go have fun.” 

You squatted down and Nicky ran over to give you a hug. “Bye Mama, have fun with Han’man.” You smiled and rubbed his back, “I will. Be good for Ren okay? I won’t be back until after you go to bed, so I love you baby.” You gave him kisses all over his face, “Mwah, I love you sooo much.” He giggled and kissed your temple, “I love you too Mama.” 

You shared a smile and he ran back to the couch to curl up in his corner.

“Okay, you know all the numbers Ren. If I don’t answer, call Penny or the bar. Okay, I’m gonna head out now, see if I can beat the rush of pilots that are gonna get grounded soon. I love you both, bye.”

They both waved at you as you grabbed your purse and walked out the door.

About 90 minutes and one Amarello after you arrived, you watched Jake stroll into the bar, his green eyes finding you leaning on the bar immediately despite the crowd in front of him. 

“Howdy,” you greeted with a smile as he walked over and leaned on the bar next to you. “Hi, Darlin’,” he replied, grinning down at you.

You glanced around, the bar wasn’t as packed as you thought it would be, but it was still full of pilots since the surprise showers grounded their classes for the rest of the day. 

You looked back at Jake, remembering his question from earlier today on the beach. As you drove over and the hour and half you had to yourself at the bar, you had tried your best to prepare your speech, get everything you needed to say in order so you didn’t fuck anything up and miscommunicate your feelings.

Sighing, you closed your eyes, recalling everything you had lined up to tell him. You didn’t look in his eyes, keeping your gaze centered on his chest, knowing his green irises would wipe your memory. 

“I’m gonna be honest here Jake…” 

He held up his hand, gently interrupting you, “I get it, Y/N. If you still aren’t ready for a relationship, I understand. But I still want to be a friend that you can call, whether it be just to talk to me or if you need help.” 

You sighed, relief filling your chest knowing that he was willing to wait, but you still wanted, no needed, to tell him how you were feeling. 

You finally looked up in his eyes, swallowing the word vomit of emotions that wanted to escape, “Jake, you have done a lot these past few weeks. You’ve taken the time not only to get to know me but to get to know Nick. That means so much to me, more than you know. And I can tell that Nick already likes you, so I can’t just let you out of our life easily.” 

Jake smiled, bashfully looking down at the bar as a chuckle broke through his lips, “I try my best. And I’m a little offended that you thought getting rid of me would ever be easy.” 

You rolled your eyes before continuing. 

“And I do like you, Jake. I like you a lot. While you are cocky as hell, you’re sweet and a gentleman. It’s just…” You rocked on your feet, thinking of everything you needed to say but couldn’t put into words – your rehearsed lines disappearing into thin air now that Jake was here. Damn those eyes.

You hung your head, trying to see if looking away from him would help re-materialize the pre-coordinated words. 

But Jake ducked his head to meet your eyes, showing you he was listening and chasing away your coherent thoughts, “It’s just what, Y/N?” 

You glanced at Penny, receiving a reassuring nod from her and sending a short one back. “I’m gonna step outside really quick Pen, watch my drink?” She nodded and gave you a small, encouraging smile. 

“Follow me,” you patted Jake's shoulder, and slid your hand down his arm to grab his hand. 

You pulled him outside to the covered deck and leaned on the railing, taking a deep breath to inhale the scent of the rain – trying to reign in your racing thoughts.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Jake’s whiskey smooth voice asked as he leaned on the railing as well, his back facing the clouds.

You cleared your throat, dropping your head to look at the damp sand as you pieced together the puzzle of emotions and words in your head. 

“My dad died when I was 4… He left my mom alone to raise 2 kids that were too much like their father. I told myself that I need to stay away from service men, definitely pilots. But you, and your perfect teeth and perfect hair, those damn green eyes…” 

Jake was flattered but he could feel how this was going to end. You’d build up his ego to cushion his fall when you turned him down.  

“You have become an exception to my one rule.” Okay… Jake certainly wasn’t expecting that. “A rule that I gave myself on my own. I’m just scared, Jake. Nick and I have grown so… close to you and I’m afraid–” 

Jake lifted your chin, cutting you off, and quietly spoke to you, noting the thin line of tears in your water line. “Hey… I understand. But I’m a damn good pilot, I ain’t goin’ down easy.” You laughed, shaking your head fondly before smiling up at him, “There’s that ego.” 

He chuckled softly, his trademark half-smile flashing a canine, “What can I say? But seriously, I will do whatever it takes to get back to you both safe. If that’s what you want.” 

You nodded, stepping closer, unconsciously straightening your back to be closer to him, “I want it, I do.” You bit your lip, a shuddering breath escaping your lips. 

His soft gaze hardened slightly, reading your body language, but it softened again as he tilted your chin up. “Then why are you hesitating?” You shrugged, shaking your head subtly, “I don’t know.” 

You knew why, deep down you knew why you were holding back. Why you wanted to spray the butterflies in your stomach with vinegar. Your brain knew why. But your heart was pounding on your ribcage, trying to get to your brain to tell you it was okay. That you could love again, and it would all be okay.

Jake leaned down, seeing the fight in your eyes. “Is this okay?” You nodded, your breath mixing with his as you looked from his eyes to his lips and back again.

There was a soft eagerness, a puppy in those green eyes waiting to run around, bouncing as he waited for his command – a command only you could give. It was familiar but completely new at the same time. But it felt safe.

Instead of giving him the words he was looking for, you rested your hand on the side of his neck and pressed your lips to his – letting your heart take the wheel.

The kiss was soft, but it didn’t change the fact that butterflies went wild in both of your stomachs. Jake couldn’t help but smile against your lips as he cupped your jaw and tasted the hint of Amaretto on them.

You pulled away, needing to get air into your lungs but Jake chased your lips, catching them in their minty trap. It was clear he came prepared for anything, not that you minded. 

Your free hand fisted in his jacket, wafting his cologne into the air – an all consuming, but not overwhelming scent.

You both finally pulled away from the chaste kiss, light headed and breathless. You stayed close, your noses brushing against each other. 

“What’s gonna happen when you leave?” 

Jake smirked, his breath still tickling your lips as he pulled out his phone, “Well, I’m not sure, but it’d be a hell of a lot easier with your number.” You laughed and finally looked up at him, stepping back a little to take his phone, “Smooth Lieutenant. Very smooth.”

As you and Jake held eye contact a smile settled across your face before you looked down at his phone, typing in your number and sending a text to yourself.

Jake couldn’t help the blush that darked his tanned cheeks at the sparkle of your smile that not even the rain could dim. 

You weren’t like anything he’s ever seen before; a strong, single mother that did everything for the sake of her child and someone that had gone through so much at such a young age.

“You’re amazing…” 

Jake hadn’t realized what he said out loud until you giggled and looked down at the deck with pink tinted cheeks. 

“I said that out loud, didn't I?” He laughed at the end of his question. You nodded, “You did. But I’m flattered, so thank you.” 

You messed with his jacket, “And you’re good, Lieutenant. Maybe too good to be true.” 

“You’re stroking my ego, Darlin’.” You giggled and gave him a quick kiss, “I better head back in.” He grabbed your waist, “Do you have to?” “Do you want to have fun or not?” He bit his lip and you patted his chest and walked in. 

He watched you walk in and shook his head. Laughing to himself he adjusted his posture and went in and straight to the pool table.

You and Jake hung out at the bar for hours after that, having the time of your life. 

You danced to the music that came from the jukebox, played darts and you watched him play pool. You drank and ate, Penny keeping an eye on you both because you had to drive back home to your son and Jake did not need a hangover in the morning.

But you didn’t need the drinks to have a good time. Like right now. Jake had suggested another round of darts, but this time, you added a few spins before your throw. Almost like kids getting ready to hit a pinata at a party.

Jake grinned as he spun you around a few times. “Okay, now that you’re properly dizzy, why don’t you try and get a bullseye?” 

“You’re kidding me,” you giggled as you swayed a little on your feet. “I doubt I’m gonna hit the target. I can’t hit it when I’m standing straight, what makes you think I can hit it when I’m dizzy?”

He shook his head and turned you by your shoulders to square up to the board. “Who knows, maybe you’ll be better?” You snorted as you raised the dart, “I highly doubt that.” He scoffed playfully, “Just throw the dart, Y/N.”

You giggled, “Okay okay.” 

Your tongue poked out of the seam of your lips as your vision swam a bit and you lined up your shot. 

Taking a few balk throws, you finally get ready to actually throw it when there is a harsh crack, followed by a loud, booming sound – loud enough to rattle the windows.

“Oh shit!”

Any attempt you had made to actually aim the dart didn’t matter, because when you jumped at the harsh thunder the dart was sent on its own journey.

You laughed at your reaction to the sudden thunder and leaned back against Jake, “I can blame that horrible throw on the thunder, right?” He looked over your shoulder, seeing the dart about a foot and a half under the board in the wall.

“You sure it was thunder?” 

Your jaw dropped and you smacked his chest with the back of your hand, “That was uncalled for Seresin. But I walked into that one.” You both laughed as Jake nodded, “Yeah, I guess I can give you another shot Bradshaw.”

“Well, thank you oh so gracious Hangman,” you sassed a little as you readied another dart. “I’m actually gonna try this time.”

He chuckled and crossed his arms as he watched you repeat your process, his eyes drawn to your lips as your tongue once again pokes out. 

You managed to throw the dart just as the lights flickered out. 

“Are you fucking serious? The weather really doesn’t want me to hit this board,” you grumbled as you pulled your phone out to use your flashlight. 

Jake did the same, him immediately shining it at the dart board.

“Look at what we have here, you actually hit the board,” he teased as he walked up to the board. “Not a bullseye, but you hit it.” You flipped your hair, “Look at me go. Mama’s still got it.” 

Jake gave you a look, his face deadpanned and his brow low. You held his eyes, yours playfully squinting. 

It was a standoff for about 20 seconds before you both started laughing.

“C’mon Mother Goose, let’s go to the bar,” he chuckled as he grabbed your hand gently.

You froze for a second, confused as to where he got that nickname from – forgetting it was just a nursery rhyme to everyone else at that moment. 

He looked at you, frowning in concern, “Hey, sweetheart, you okay?” 

You shook it off, swallowing as you nodded, “Yeah, yeah… I’m okay.” 

With a furrowed brow, he stepped closer, tilting your chin up with a crooked finger, “You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?” 

His light tease pulled you back fully. 

“N-No, I’m fine, it’s okay,” you said softly as you shook your head. He cupped your cheek, “Are you sure?” You nodded, “Yeah, yeah, just thought of Nicky… He’s not the best with storms sometimes.” 

“Do you wanna check in on him? Make sure he’s doing okay? Especially now that the power’s out.” 

You chewed on your lip, your thumb and pinky tapping rhythmically on your thigh. “Are you sure it’s okay?” 

Jake nodded, “Of course it is! That’s your baby, do not question if it’s okay. It’s always okay.” You immediately open your contacts, “Thank you.” 

He smiled, squeezing your hand, “I’ll be at the bar when you’re ready, if you gotta go home, that’s okay.”

You gave him a smile and mouthed a ‘thank you’ as your phone rang, waiting for Serenity to pick up. 

Jake nodded again before going over to the bar.

Penny and Jimmy were turning on battery powered lanterns and setting them up around the bar. 

“You guys need some help?” Jake offered as he leaned on the bar.

She looked up at him as she sat a lantern down on the bar, “You don’t think you could get the power back on, could ya?” 

Jake laughed lightly, “If my call sign was Sparky, I might be able to give it a shot. Unfortunately, it’s not.” Penny shook her head with a laugh, “It’s alright Hangman, once we get these set up, we’ll hopefully get the generator up and running.” 

He nodded, “In the meantime, I’ll take two waters, if you can spare them.” She nodded with a smile, “Coming right up.”

As she got the bottles out of the ice bucket she prepped after looking at the forecast, you came over after finishing up your call.

You sighed a little as you sat down. 

“Hey,” Jake greeted as he rubbed your knee. “How’s the little man holdin’ up? He alright?” You nodded, smiling as you rested your hand on his, “Yeah, Serenity said he was snuggled up on the couch with his turtle and his manta ray, watching movies with plenty of goldfish crackers.”

Penny popped up, “You have power?” 

“Nope,” you laughed a little awkwardly. “He’s watching it on Serenity’s laptop. Which I told her she didn’t have to let him do that. She’s got stuff to do for summer classes but mine was dead. I just hope she doesn’t get behind.”

She gave you your water, “She’s a good kid, I’m sure she’ll be okay for one night.” You nodded and sipped your drink, “Yeah.”

You looked around noticing that everyone started to mellow out since the place was practically pitch black – save for the lanterns.

“Man… seems the lights weren’t the only thing the storm took out. How long until the generator is up and running?” You asked, leaning on the bar. 

Penny shrugged, “I don’t know. It depends, we haven’t used it in a few years. It shouldn’t take too long, I think Jimmy checked on it after the clouds rolled in and the forecast changed.”

You nodded and looked around, “Well, maybe some live music can hold everyone over until then.” Penny and Jake furrowed their brows as you grabbed a lantern and went over to the piano.

“What? Did you seriously think that Bradley was the only one of my father’s kids that could play? C’mon now Penny, you should know better than that,” you teased with a playful wink over your shoulder.

Jake furrowed his brow, “Have you been holding out on me Mother Goose?” His tone was entirely playful as he came over to piano with his phone flashlight on as a fresh toothpick hung from his lips.

Penny blinked and looked up, a rush of nostalgia hitting her, “Wait did you just call her ‘Mother Goose’?” Jake looked up at her and nodded as he rolled the toothpick to the other side of his mouth, “Yes ma’am I did.” She nodded and glanced at you as she wiped down the bar, “And um… w-where did that nickname come from?” 

He shrugged, “She’s got a little duck on her keychain and she’s a mama. Just kinda makes sense, I guess. Why do you ask?” 

You couldn’t help but smile a little as you tapped the keys. 

“Oh I was just-” Penny started but you cut her off gently.

“Goose was my dad’s call sign, Jake. A lot of his friends from the Academy and flight school called him ‘Mother Goose’,” you said, emotion present in your voice but you weren’t sad.

Jake stumbled over his words a little, “Oh I-I had no idea. I can stop if you w-want me too.” 

You shook your head, a smile gracing your features as you looked up at him, “No no, it’s okay Jake. It definitely shocked me when you called me that earlier, but it’s… nice.”

He smiled back at you and sat down, “I’ll call you whatever you want, Darlin’.” 

A giggle slipped past your lips and you were now thankful that the poor lighting hid the blush on your cheeks as you tested more keys.

You took a breath and readied your fingers on the right keys, “Okay okay, let’s get these people fired up.”

Jake arched his brow but then you played the opening notes to a song he heard non-stop in flight school when the class went out to a bar.

“Jerry Lee Lewis? You really are Bradshaw’s sister,” he laughed, gently nudging your shoulder but not so much as to mess you up.

You just rolled your eyes before jumping into the song. “~You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain!~”

Jake chuckled as people in the bar began to cheer, a few patrons jumping in to sing with you. He looked around, seeing that the flashlights on phones had been turned on and everyone’s moods seemed to flip on dime.

“~You broke my will! Oh what a thrill!~”

“~Goodness gracious great balls of fire!~”

His eyes landed back on you, watching you play the piano like he had only ever seen your brother play. It was lively, bringing an energy to the bar that got zapped out with the electricity. Almost as if the lightning hit you and you soaked up all the energy in the bar, and now you were returning it when it was needed.

He felt himself singing along, unable to escape the way that your infectious voice seemed to latch on to everyone that heard it. 

Jake had always fought the urge to ‘feel the music’ when it was your brother. Be the one person in the bar unaffected by him. But here with you, he didn’t fight. He didn’t want to fight it. And he was unashamed to be sitting next to you on that piano bench, singing a song that you were sure your brother had played to death. 

He saw you smile at him when you noticed it, feeding off of his energy just as much as he was feeding off of yours.

You found yourself looking only at him to see if he was enjoying himself, using him as a reference point for how the rest of the bar was feeling. That your attempt at entertainment was working.

It felt good to see everyone having fun because of you.

Now you could understand why your dad and Bradley did this so often.

Your smile never left your face as you continued to sing, though you hated how the song was coming to an end so soon.

Jake met your eyes as you started the last verse, his smiling matching yours. 

“~I chew my nails and I twiddle my thumbs!~”

“~Real nervous but it sure is fun!~”

He watched your eyes light up as he sang the words back to you and the blush crawled up your neck. You clearly weren’t expecting him to sing that line to you – telling you how you made him feel through the song.

So, he continued to look at you, holding eye contact as he sang through a wide, infectious smile, using the lyrics to convey what he had trouble putting into words once again. 

“~Come on, baby! You’re drivin’ me crazy!~”

His heart fluttered when you seemed like you were at a loss for words, despite them already being written for you – all you could do was smile as your muscle memory continued to play.

“~Goodness, gracious! Great balls of fire!~”

You played the last string of notes, your face dangerously close to Jake’s as the soft glow of the lanterns and phone flashlights illuminated his features almost angelically, the lights creating a halo around him and blurring the crowd like a camera focusing in on the subject of its image. His green eyes, though casted in a shadow, twinkled softly as he looked your face over like you were the only thing in the room – and to him, you were.

He was seeing the same thing. The blues of LEDs and the yellow of the lanterns created a harsh but gorgeous contrast on your face as your chest heaved when you attempted to catch your breath and the light sheen of sweat made your skin shine in a way he never thought about before. Your eyes were illuminated, but they held a shine of their own when you looked him over.

The cheers behind him all melded into one sound, one that Jake could confuse for his own heartbeat if it wasn’t pounding against his ribcage.

There was no hesitation this time as he pulled you close by the nape of your neck and pressed his lips to yours with breathless passion.

Your outside hand fisted in his Henley shirt, the fabric warm but a little rough under your fingertips. His heart was thumping rhythmically against your knuckles, giving the butterflies in your stomach a beat to dance to.

His hand moved down to the side of your neck, his thumb finding your pulse point. The sensation of your heartbeat under his fingertips was mesmerizing.

The kiss felt both like an eternity and not long enough when you finally pulled away, both of your lips damp and as your breath mixed as your foreheads rested against each other.

Around you, the crowd was still buzzing with energy, talking to each other as they started mingling again. 

But you and Jake couldn’t hear them, not when you're so consumed with one another right there on the piano bench. You were in your own little world, a small sanctuary in the middle of the bar. Just you and him.

Smiling, you can’t stop the giggle from escaping as you try to smooth out where you had gripped his shirt. “That was um…”

“Electrifying?” Jake offered, his dimple appearing as he smirked playfully.

“That’s one way to put it, yeah,”  you said with a light, slightly breathless laugh.

He chuckled and opened his mouth to say something else, but the overhead lights flickered for a split second before they stayed steady and the sound of the jukebox started up again.

You both sat up straight, looking around the bar as the patrons started back up in their games they abandoned.

“Would you look at that – one song and you managed to light up the whole bar, literally,” Jake said as he looked from his surroundings and then back to you, taking in how you smiled at everyone having fun again.

You hummed, turning your head with a playful glint in your eye, “Well, thank goodness it was only one song. I don’t know if I could’ve played another one. Unless Twinkle Twinkle Little Star counts.” 

Jake laughed as he stood up, offering you a hand to pull you to your feet. “Well, if Nick was here, I’m pretty sure he would have a blast if you played that.” 

“Oh, yeah, he definitely would,” you said with a laugh as you pushed some hair out of your face. “Another drink?”

He nodded, fluffing his shirt a little. “I can go for another.”

You grabbed his hand and pulled him to the bar, “Penny!”

After you got your drinks, you and Jake went to a booth by the windows.

“That was really impressive, Y/N. I knew Rooster was good, but he’s not that good,” Jake complimented as he sipped his fresh beer. The bitter liquid soothed his throat, his voice a little raw after singing.

You shrugged and sipped your Amaretto, the warm liquid warming you up from the chill of the rain outside. “I don’t know about that. He’s been playing since he was little. I started getting into piano in, like, middle school. And then in college I um.. I picked up a little guitar.”

Jake watched you bite your lip, your nails tapping against the glass of your drink. He wasn’t entirely sure what caused that far off look to appear in your eyes, a fogginess he wasn’t familiar with. But one thing he did recognize was that flicker of love, a shine of longing and admiration peaking through the fog – like a lighthouse on the shore.

He didn’t know much about Kendall, just what you had told him. He knew that you had met in college, you had been friends before you began dating, and that Kendall played the guitar – his favorite one tucked into the corner of Nick’s bedroom.

You cleared your throat, blinking the fogginess away and pulling Jake out of his thoughts. 

You rubbed your hands on your jeans before resting your elbows on the table to talk with your hands, desperate to keep the conversation flowing.

“But like I was saying, Brad and I are very different when it comes to singing and playing the piano. He definitely channels our dad a little more than I do.”

He chuckled and leaned forward, resting his upper body on his forearms, “Well, I think I’m a little biased when it comes to that. But don’t sell yourself short, Darlin’, you put on quite the performance.” He added an unnecessary wink, but it didn’t stop you from smiling and looking at the table to hide your blush.

You lifted your head and smiled at him, sniffling just a little. “Thank you, Jake. That means a lot.”

Jake reached over and squeezed your hand, “Anytime.” He cleared his throat, “If you don’t mind me asking, that song clearly means a lot to you and Rooster, why-why is that?”

Tears stung your eyes a bit, again, but your smile didn’t falter. “Our dad, he um… he played it all the time. And I mean all the time. I’m surprised our mother stayed sane.” Jake reached up and wiped a tear that slipped through. You leaned into his warm palm slightly, as you continued.

“One of our last memories with him was sitting at the piano as he sang that song. Our mom in his lap singing with him without a care in the world about who was watching…” Your voice was a little heavier as you neared the end of your sentence, the memory making you a little emotional.

He smiled and squeezed your hand again, his thumb rubbing your knuckles, “That’s beautiful.” You gave him a soft smile and squeezed his hand back. 

“Can I show you something?” He asked softly, not wanting to disturb the moment too much.

You nodded and sat up a little straighter, wiping your eyes as you spoke, “Of course.” 

Jake nodded his head towards the window and your eyes followed the direction. 

The glass was a little foggy, sweating as the cold temperature of the rain was meeting the warm air of the bar and the glass acting like a mediator between the two.

Your brow furrowed in immediate confusion though you weren’t going to question Jake just yet. There was certainly much more to it.

And he proved your suspicions by bringing his finger up to draw in the condensation.

It was a quick drawing, a simple sun with a smiley face and a little heart next to it. But the look on Jake’s face told you it was so much more than just a little doodle on a window.

“That’s really cute Jake,” you said softly, as you smile at him.

His grin widened and he shifted in his seat. “When I was little, I was never good with storms. My sister was even worse. She was scared and I was upset because I couldn’t go play in the rain.” 

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up when he said that, the picture of a young Jake pouting in his room as he watched the rain out of his window in your head – he definitely picked out two droplets to race against each other, maybe even him and his sister picked one and had a competition.

He just smiled at you before continuing.

“My grandma and my mom had this routine with us where they would have us by the bay window in the living room and we would draw in the condensation. And I, of course, rubbed my wet hand on my sister’s face,” he said with a small chuckle.

“That I’m definitely not surprised by. Bradley pestered me too, still does, it’s a brother thing.”

Jake nodded, “Oh yeah, for sure. But aside from that, there was a purpose to why my mom and grandma had us do this. Because as you can see now-” He pointed to the drawing, seeing that it was already dripping and disappearing, more condensation taking its place. “-it’s already going away.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. You still weren’t exactly sure where Jake was going, but it was clear this was something he held onto and cherished. Especially for him to bring it up now, years later. Plus, he had you roped in now, you were invested in this little smiling sun. 

“The whole point of drawing in the fog was because it doesn’t last forever, and neither would the storm outside. Or any storm, really. As I got older, we stopped the window drawings, but my mom kept it up with us for little things. Like when my sister was going through a break up, she drew a sun with a little heart on a note and put it in her backpack. I can bet you that she still has every note, because I know I do.”

Tears pricked your eyes a little bit, “That’s really really beautiful, Jake. Your mom and grandma sound like very wise women.”

Jake nodded, a proud smile pulling at his lips, “They are, I’m lucky to have them.”

You mirrored his smile and you both went back to conversing with each other, planning out ideas for your next ‘not’ date.

“There’s so much to do here, so much it’s like there’s nothing,” you said, laughing as you sipped your drink.

You had listed off a lot of places to go nearby and all the things you could do together, but it all sounded so fun that you were having trouble deciding.

Jake nodded, rubbing his face a little as he laughed, “Yeah, seems like it.” He glanced around, noticing a pool table nearby. “Hey, how about we think on it some more later and just play a game of pool?”

You hummed a little and glanced over your shoulder at the pool table. 

A sly smile came over your face as an idea popped into your mind. 

You turned back to face him, biting your lip a little, “I um… wow this is embarrassing, I haven’t really ever played pool before.”

Jake squinted at you, almost analyzing you to see if you were just fucking with him. But you just played it up by hiding your face in your hands, hiding the grin that you knew would give you away if he spotted it.

“You’re serious? You’ve never played pool before?”

His tone was inquisitive, but it also had a laugh behind it that he was hiding as best he could and it almost had you laughing.

“No no, I have played before. But it’s just been too long. Last time I played it was maybe 10 years ago when I was in high school, and I was awful.”

Jake’s laugh finally broke through at that.

“Hey! Don’t laugh!” You whined, holding back giggles of your own.

He nodded, trying to stop himself by clearing his throat. “You’re right, you’re right. It’s not funny. It’s… it’s kinda sad actually.”

You dropped your jaw and reached over the table to swat at his shoulder. “Oh shut up!” 

He chuckled as he dodged your hand, and you couldn’t help but smile as the corners of his eyes crinkled and his dimples poked through. “Okay okay, I’m sorry. But c'mon let’s play at least one game,” he proposed as he slid out of the booth and stood. He offered you his hand, a wink accompanying his next words, “And I promise I’ll go easy on you.”

You rolled your eyes and took his hand, “Fine, one game.”

A victorious grin crossed Jake’s face as he pulled you to your feet, squeezing your hand as he turned and pulled you to the table. Your lips pulled up in a similar fashion as you stumbled a little when he drug you behind him. 

“Okay,” he said as he came to stop at the pool table. “I don’t have to explain the rules, do I?” His brow arched with his question, only using it to further his teasing. You rolled your eyes, hand going on your hip, “No, I know that much, Seresin.” The sass in your tone made Jake laugh, “Alright, Bradshaw, let’s play.”

You nodded and grabbed the two pool cues, “Let’s.”

He chuckled and shook his head playfully as he quickly racked the pool balls. Once they were all in order, he took the triangle off and tossed it on a table as he walked over to you.

His fingers wrapped around the taller cue, his warm hand encapsulating yours. 

How had you not realized how large his hand was until now?

“Y/N?”

You shook your head, not having realized that you froze, “Oh um, sorry, sorry.”  You let go of the pool cue, clearing your throat as you pushed some hair behind your ear. He chuckled at your sudden shyness, “It’s alright, darlin’. It’s cute when you get all blushy.” You huffed, though a smile pulled at your lips as you shoved his shoulder. 

Jake laughed and held his hands up in defense, only slightly jostled by your shove. He gestured to the table and grabbed the cue ball, “Okay, okay, you wanna break?” He punctuated his question by putting the ball on the table with a *clack*.

You bit your lip, still feigning nervousness as best you could. You nodded and walked around to the end of the table beside him. 

Tossing the cue up and catching it lower, you leaned over and nearly fell into muscle memory – letting the end come down and rest easy in the dip between your thumb and pointer finger.

You rolled your shoulders a little bit, moving your hand much lower on the stick so you would have less control of the cue. You relaxed your shoulders, letting them drop as your right hand tightened its grip. The maple cue rested on the walnut of the table, using it as the support for the middle of the stick. 

Jake tilted his head, taking in your posture. It was… unconventional, and maybe a little awkward. But he wasn’t going to step in just yet, because maybe that stance just worked for you. And the look of concentration on your face was just too cute for him to interrupt.

Much like earlier at the dart board, your brow furrowed and your tongue poked out from between your lips. Jake grinned at the sight, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Nick made the same face when he focused on something. Like if his nose crinkled like yours did when he colored or if he stuck his tongue out when he did a puzzle. 

Then his mind wandered a little further. 

The image of a little girl appeared in his head, basically a clone of you in your lap as you sat at the piano. You guiding her hand along the keys, then having her repeat the order on her own. Her tongue sticking out as she tries to remember. 

But before he can fantasize any longer, he shakes himself out of it once you take your shot.

He watched the tip of the cue whiff the ball as the butt nearly became perpendicular to the floor. “Woah there!” 

You covered your mouth with your hand, doing your best to feign embarrassment at your ‘failure’. “Oh.. my.. gosh.. I can’t believe that just happened,” you snorted, laughing at yourself as you looked up at the ceiling, hoping that a blush was covering your cheeks to really sell it. 

Jake came over to stand next to you, chuckling just a little. “So um… is that how you held it in high school?” He leaned against the table, the cue snug against his side as he crossed his arms, looking down at his boots as he crossed his ankles before looking up at your profile.

You swallowed as you kept your eyes on the ceiling, and Jake couldn’t help but watch the column of your throat move with the action. 

Sighing, you looked at him, “I mean, kinda, like I said, it’s been awhile. But that felt so wrong.” You looked away from him and focused on your cue. “And now I’m embarrassed… because you just saw that.” 

He sighed gently, a smile pulling at his lips. While you were embarrassed, he couldn’t help but admire the blush on your skin. He didn’t like the reason, because you shouldn’t be embarrassed, but you looked cute.

He reached out and turned your head to face him, smiling softly at you. “Hey, you don’t have to be embarrassed. It happens, and I guarantee that is not the worst shot I’ve seen.” 

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.” 

He sighed and propped his cue against the wall, “C’mere.” He adjusted the cue ball again and gently pulled you to him when you hesitated to move closer. “I don’t bite, unless you ask,” he whispered the last half of that in your ear, his accent slightly thicker as you felt his lips curl into a smile against the lobe of your ear.

His warm breath raised goosebumps on the skin of your neck, a shiver going down the nerves of your spine. He chuckled, his chest rumbling against your shoulder and making you giggle as a genuine flush covered your face and neck.

“Okay,” Jake said, turning you gently so your back settled against his chest. His hand rested on your hip and everything just felt right. Both of you slotted together like a puzzle piece, it was comfortable.

He looked down at you, “Am I too close?” 

Your head shook almost embarrassingly quickly. If anything he wasn’t close enough.

“No no, you’re okay.”

He nodded, smiling at you, “Alright, just let me know, okay?” You swallowed, nodding back, “I will.”

“Alright, now, I’m gonna show you how to properly hold a pool stick. Do what you were doing before.”

You nodded, bending back over and mimicking the stance you had done previously.

Jake looked at you gaging what to adjust. “Okay, so one issue is, your back hand is too low. Don’t shake hands with the bumper.” He took your wrist and tried to slide your hand up but it barely moved. “And you don’t need a death grip on it, it’s not going anywhere unless you move it.” You nodded and relaxed your grip to let him adjust your hand placement. 

He moved it to about the middle of the weight and watched your guiding hand adjust itself to a bit more of a natural position.

Smiling, he glanced down at you, “There we go, how does that feel?” You nodded, “A lot better, definitely more comfortable.”

“Perfect, and that’s how you know you’re doing it right. Before you were uncomfortable and it threw off your control. You guide the cue, it doesn’t guide you.”

You snorted a little, hanging your head as you laughed, “You sound like a therapist, or a yoga instructor.” Jake laughed along with you, “Unfortunately I’m neither of those. Not qualified nor flexible enough.”

You arched a brow and looked at him over your shoulder, a cheeky smile on your lips, “Not flexible enough? Oh, that’s a shame.” His eyebrows raised, almost as if he was sizing up a challenge, “Oh is it now? I mean, I’m sure with enough stretching, I’ll be good to go.”

You laughed before shaking your head, “Okay okay, let’s stay on task, Lieutenant, yeah?”

“Right, right, of course.” 

Jake cleared his throat as his fingers wrapped around your shoulders, “Okay, being relaxed is fine. But you’re too loose and that makes it awkward.” He slowly pulled them out from their slouched position, straightening your back a little in the process. “That’s better.” 

You swallowed a little, the heat of his chest against your back making you both nervous and excited.

“Do you feel more in control?” You nodded at his question, not trusting your voice to be steady. “Good, now, let’s test this.”

Worry shot through you for a moment, afraid he might step back and let you do this on your own – squashing the mini fantasy that you created.

But your worry was smothered when Jake adjusted his own stance, his knees nudging the backs of your thighs. His right hand encased your own as his left hand acted as a stand for yours – keeping your guiding hand steady.

“Loosen your grip, Duckie. It’s not gonna change your power. In pool, the speed determines the power.”

Jake’s voice was steady, but it was raspy as he spoke in your ear again. His breath fanned along your ear lobe and your jaw, raising goosebumps once again.

He felt your wrist and hand relax a little, and he just hoped you couldn’t feel his heart beating against your back. 

“Alright, there we go. Now, all you gotta do is bring it back and–”

His sentence fell short as the felt tip collided with the cue ball and he felt a vibrating sensation against his hip.

“See? So much better. And now, if that’s your phone in your pocket, I think you’re getting a call.”

He stepped back and let you stand straight as you pulled your phone out.

Your heart dropped slightly when you saw Serenity’s contact flash across your screen. 

Did something happen to Nick? Was he okay? Did something happen to the house? What went wrong?

Jake must have noticed that your face changed on dime, because his face fell into one of concern. “Y/N? What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” 

Was it Serenity? Was it Bradley? Was it a chaplain? Or hell an NCIS agent?

“It’s Serenity,” you said as you pressed the green answer button and brought the phone to your ear. “Hey Ren, what’s up?”

Jake sighed in relief, his worst thoughts going off to the wayside in favor of just worried thoughts.

You brought your hand up, chewing on the edges of your nails as she spoke.

“Hey, Y/N, everything’s okay–”

Jake watched your body visibly relax, your hand rubbing at your mouth much like he’d seen Bradley do when he was stressed.

“Nicky’s okay? Nothing’s on fire?” 

“No, nothing’s on fire. But Nicky is not wanting to go to bed without you here. I think it's the rain, the storm I should say. He doesn’t want to go to his room. Won’t even get up off the couch.”

You sighed but nodded, “Okay, I’ll be there in a little bit. Get his turtle and his manta ray, then get my body spray and lightly spritz a blanket and let him curl up on the couch until I get there.”

“I’m so sorry Y/N, I know you wanted to have a fun night out… I just didn’t know what to do.”

“Don’t apologize, I’m glad you called. I’ll be home in a little bit.” 

You hung up and looked at Jake, “I’m so sorry, Jake. Nicky is–”

He held his hand up, “Nope, no apologies, go be with your baby. We can meet up later. Tell Nicky I said ‘hi’.”

Your heart skipped a few beats as you smiled at him. He smiled back and nodded towards the front door, “Now go Mother Goose, you got a duckling waiting on you.” 

The look in his eyes was nothing short of fond, the yellow overhead lighting making his eyes a comforting shade of green. 

He wasn’t upset at all, no disdain for your sudden departure on his features. Was he disappointed? Yeah, but you were always going to be a mother first. He couldn’t and would never get in the way of that, or try to change it.

You hugged him, and he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around your waist in reciprocation. 

“Thank you,” you kissed his cheek in thanks as you pulled away from the hug. “You don’t have to thank me, Darlin’. Just text me or call me when you get home safe, okay?” He said with a smile, gently squeezing your shoulders.

You nodded, matching his smile, “Of course, as long as you do the same?” He winked, “You got it.” 

He grabbed your purse for you, “Drive safe, Sweetheart.” You nodded, “I will. Bye Jake.” “Bye Y/N.”

You smiled at him again before going over to the bar, patting the top with the palm of your hand. You opened your mouth to get Penny’s attention but she was already smiling at you. “Heading out?” Your head tilted as you nodded, “Yeah, how’d you know?” She shrugged, nodding down to the bag hanging off your shoulder, “Lucky guess.” 

Chuckling, you pulled your wallet out, “Nicky won’t go to bed, the storm is keeping him up.” You pulled out a fifty, “For my drinks and Jake’s, the rest is your tip.” Penny shook her head, pushing the money back towards you, “That’s way too much, Duckie. 25 is plenty. Plus, Jake’s tab is open and your drinks are on it.” 

“Penny Benjamin–”

“Y/N Bradshaw, don’t argue and go home to your son,” Penny pointed to the door to punctuate her order, the damp towel swaying slightly from her movement.

Huffing out a ‘fine’, you put the fifty away and put a ten on the bar, “I’m still tipping you, because I love you. Not as much as you deserve, but you’re gonna fight me on it.” She smiled gratefully at you, taking the bill, “Thank you, now go home. Text me when you get there.” 

You patted the bar again, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll see you later, don’t let Jake get too drunk.” 

With that you walked to the door, though Penny stopped you with a shout. 

“That was an Oscar worthy performance by the way!” 

You rolled your eyes, waving to her as you slipped your jacket on, “Bye Penny!”

phew!

that was a long one huh? but hey, we finally got a kiss! they kissed!! and before hand we got a little peak into duckie's insecurities as a mom. though we can all agree she's pretty great right?

i hope you guys liked this chapter and are ready to see where the next chapter takes duckie, nicky, and jake!

hi darlings i know it's been a long time, too long, but like i said before -- i wanted to make sure this was a chapter i was proud of and lately my creative battery just wouldn't behave and it's been hard to write and like what i write. but i think... i think i did it here.

my ducklings <33:

@roosterscockpit @milesdickpic @luckyladycreator2 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @hisredheadedgoddess28 @malindacath @avengers-fixation @shawnsblue @caitsymichelle13 @classycolorpeach @mamachasesmayhem @bobby-r2d2-floyd @twsssmlmaa

@horseshoegirl @startrekfangirl2233 @babyreads​ @amatswimming @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @hangmansgbaby​ @callsignwidow @kmc1989​ @goodstuff28​ @pjngpp3501​ @lunamoonbby​ @joyfulpandamiracle​ @craftyinfluencersandwich @averyhotchner​ @emily-roberts​ @teenwolf01 @sunderland-6​ @bethabear12

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[captainsophiestark]

Bird Strike

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my Year of Olympians and part of a bigger challenge being run by @yearofcreation2023​ which I’m finally catching back up on! It features a ton of other awesome creators and runs all year, so go check it out!

Fandom: Top Gun

Prompt: Apollo; light, the sun, truth, inspiration, medicine, healing

Summary: A bird strikes brings Hangman down and leads to confessions from him and Rooster's sister.

Word Count: 1,825

Category: Angst, Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Alright, you're all good Bob. Just take it easy on your wrist for a little while, and you should heal up just fine."

"Thanks," said Bob, giving me a smile as he hopped off my exam table. Life was never boring as Top Gun's chief medical officer, but thankfully today I hadn't had to deal with any serious injuries. Just a slightly sprained wrist from a little too much dog fight football.

"Sure thing." I headed for the door with Bob, since I didn't have anyone else waiting for medical attention. Jake Seresin, the most arrogant pilot at Top Gun (except maybe Mav), was currently up flying, and since I didn't have any pressing work to attend to I wanted to listen in on how he was doing.

"Hey!" Bradley, my older brother, waved as soon as he saw me and Bob enter the room. A few aviators were gathered around, listening to the comms between pilots still in the air. "You missed my run."

"Oh no, I'm so sad. How will I ever recover?"

Bradley just rolled his eyes at me as I sidled up next to him beside the radio. I could hear Jake's voice, strategizing with his wingman and tracking the instructor's positions. I tuned in, imagining I could see his plane as it flew across the sky.

"So you're in here listening carefully to the radio for Seresin but not your brother?"

"Shut up," I said, shoving him back much harder than necessary. I wasn't sure if he knew that he'd found some truth in terms of my feelings for Jake, but I never wanted him to know. "I heal injuries for a living, and I'm just as skilled at causing injuries."

"Don't you have some kind of oath to do no harm?"

"You're my exception."

I gave him a fake sweet smile as he narrowed his eyes at me. He opened his mouth, probably to make a bad attempt at a comeback, but he stopped short at the sounds of distress coming from the radio.

"Hangman, watch out!"

"Bird strike, bird strike!"

My heart stopped in my chest. The room went dead silent, everyone freezing and all conversation coming to a stop as we listened to the radio.

"Hangman to Tower, Hangman to Tower. I need to come in for an immediate emergency landing."

"Copy. Just stay calm, we've got the runway open for you."

"Alright. I'm coming around."

The silence stretched on, hanging over the room like a heavy blanket. I twisted my fingers, fidgeting, trying to dispel the nervous energy. He was going to be fine. He had to be.

I saw Bradley glancing at me out of the corner of my eye, but I ignored him. I kept my eyes and attention glued on the radio. I wasn't sure if I wanted the silence to end or not, but I didn't get a choice as the radio crackled to life again.

"Tower, it's no good, I'm losing speed and altitude too fast. I'm gonna have to eject."

I felt like I'd been hit by a train. Wordlessly, I reached out one hand, and Bradley quickly took it. He stood tall and strong beside me, his face clouded while my world spiraled out of control. This could not be happening.

"He's gonna be fine," Bradley muttered. I barely heard him. It sounded like we were underwater, and the room had started to spin.

Bradley and I had lost our dad this way, when the canopy to his fighter jet didn't detach the way it was supposed to. We'd both been pretty young, but I swear I remembered every awful moment of our mother coming to break the news, of Mav explaining just what had happened and how sorry he was with tears in his eyes. When Bradley had decided to follow our dad's path into becoming a pilot, my number one nightmare had been losing him the same way. Now I might be forced to live that reality with Jake instead.

The silence stretched on as Bradley and I stood, shoulder to shoulder, waiting with everyone else in the room. A moment later, I heard Mav's voice over the radio.

"Canopy looked good and I saw a chute."

Mav continued to call out his position for Jake's recovery team, but I barely heard it as relief crashed like a wave through my ears. I wouldn't be completely relieved until he walked through the door, but at least it sounded like he was going to be just fine.

"It's okay," Bradley muttered, pulling me into a quick hug and mumbling into my hair. "It's okay."

I nodded, still feeling a little shaky as I gave him a quick hug before pulling back.

"I need to get to my exam room. Even if he's perfectly healthy, he's gonna need a checkup to make sure nothing's wrong."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to force myself to calm down a little. I shook my head.

"That's alright. I'm okay."

Bradley didn't look totally convinced, but I managed to shake him anyway with a promise to call him if I needed him. I focused on taking deep breaths and trying to calm myself down for the walk back to my exam room. It sort of worked, although I literally paced the room waiting for Jake to be brought in. When I finally heard shuffling outside the door, I quickly crossed the room and flung it open.

"I told you, I'm fine!"

Jake stood in the hallway on his own two feet, wrestling with one of the men who'd brought him in. The guy didn't budge despite Jake's protest, but I decided to step in before things could escalate.

"Jake, get in the exam room."

His head snapped up to face me, but despite his momentary surprise, he didn't back down.

"I'm gonna tell you the same thing I told them, I'm fine. I don't need an exam-"

"You ejected from your plane. You might be walking, but that's no grantee you don't have an injury just waiting to show itself once the adrenaline fades. So come on. The less you fight it, the sooner you can leave and go do whatever it is you want to do so badly."

He fixed me with a look, but I just crossed my arms and stared right back. Finally, once he realized I wasn't going to back down, he sighed.

"Fine. But if I miss somebody shooting Maverick down, I'm gonna be pissed."

I resisted the urge to reply as Jake walked past me, and I followed him into the exam room. My brain still didn't completely believe he was sitting here, in front of me, apparently completely healthy. The adrenaline dump made my hands shake a little as I checked Jake's heartrate and went through a few more basic checks.

"Are you sure you don't feel any pain?" I asked while I worked. I'd already asked him twice before, but I wanted to keep checking in case his answer changed, especially as any potential shock wore off.

"For the third time, yes. Quit hovering already."

I stepped back, hands on my hips as I fixed Jake with a look. He seemed to be perfectly happy and relaxed in the wake of his dangerous adventure, but I was still wrestling with the thought that my worst nightmare almost came true, so I wasn't in the mood to be gentle.

"Jake, it is my job to check you out and make sure you're not injured with something that's going to come back to bite you the second you're out the door. So sit still, stop complaining, and let me do my job!"

"...Since when do you care so much?"

"Excuse me?"

"Not about your job, but... about me. You seem like you care a lot. I thought you hated me for all the shit I give your brother."

I sighed. "No. I mean, sure, sometimes it's annoying and sometimes it's a little over the line, but... no. I don't hate you, Jake."

He didn't really respond, which left me to finish my exam without resistance. Thankfully, he was perfectly healthy, not a scratch on him. Still, that didn't stop my hands from shaking as I lowered my stethoscope. I started to pull away, but Jake caught my hand and stopped me.

"Hey, you're shaking." I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. I'd done so well hiding it until now. "What's wrong?"

I opened my eyes to find Jake staring at me, his bright blue eyes full of unusual concern. I sighed.

"You know mine and Bradley's history, Jake. I lost my dad to the same thing that landed you here today. I've spent every single day since Bradley joined the navy terrified that I would lose him the same way, and then when I heard you on the radio, dropping out of the sky and being forced to eject..." I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and then looking back at Jake. "I've had feelings for you for a little while now, Seresin, but when I heard that call? I just about had a heart attack at the thought of losing you."

Jake huffed a little, disbelieving laugh, then tugged me closer to him. My heart stuttered in my chest as Jake grinned.

"I've had feelings for you for a while now, too," he said. A smile pulled its way onto my face, but a moment later, Jake's expression sobered. "Although I have to warn you, sweetheart, if we do something about those feelings... you're not gonna be any less relaxed going about your day since I'm going to be up in the air all the time."

I sighed and closed my eyes, leaning in to rest my head against Jake's forehead. He still held my hand tight, giving it a little reassuring squeeze.

"I know," I finally said. "But... I'm willing to take that risk. It's worth it to me. And it's not like I wouldn't be worried about you anyway."

Jake pulled away, the grin firmly back in place as he looked at me. "I'm glad I'm worth it to you."

Without another word, he leaned back in, this time for a kiss that I'd thought about more than once (and apparently so had he). We stayed that way for a long time, savoring the moment and each other as my hands wandered over Jake's shoulders, reassuring myself that this was real. He was okay, and now we were both better than okay.

When we finally pulled apart, Jake still had that ridiculous cocky grin on his face as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me tighter to his chest.

"Your brother is gonna hate this," he said gleefully. I just laughed and lightly smacked his chest. He was right, my brother was going to hate this, but Bradley would just have to deal with it. Now that I had Jake, I didn't plan to let him go any time soon.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury

Top Gun Taglist: @elenavampire21

[asuperconfusedgirl]

how I read the most toe-curling, spine-shattering, nerve-wrecking, nastiest smut ever written in this god forsaken app

[marigold-field]

nothing, and i mean NOTHING, compares to joining a new fandom and reading through all the ____ x reader tags. it’s akin to opening gifts on christmas or recieving a package in the mail. actually, scratch that; it’s th equivalent of ascending to the heavens

[crownofdecitreadingrespectfully]

Why do writers apologize for long fics? why aRE YOU SORRY FOR FEEDING US POOR, SORRY SOULS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL ARTWORK WE COULD EVER DREAM OF READING?? DO MICHELIN STAR CHEFS APOLOGIZE FOR COOKING THE MOST DIVINE FOOD EVER MADE??? DO THEY APOLOGIZE FOR NOURISHING OUR BODY AND SOULS????

[sunlitsunflowers]

Protective and sweet Jake is what I live for and this is perfect!!!! I love the dynamic between these two and regardless of whether they stay friends or more I'm excited to see what other shenanigans they get up to!!!💛💛💛

Pinky Promise

Summary: Jake gets a call in the middle of the night asking for a ride home. But it’s who is asking that makes him worried.

Word count: 2k

A/N: Another request knocked out! Currently working on part 2 of Beautiful Stranger and might have plans for continuing this one depending on if you all like it. Thank you so much for reading! -C

You were a little on the tipsy side as you squinted at your phone trying to make out the numbers on it. With them moving as much as they were, it was near impossible to type in a correct phone number. Instead, you opened your contacts and scrolled down to your brother’s name.

The smart thing to do would be to call him for a ride, but the more drunk side of you could only think about the nagging you would get on the way home and probably the month following. So, you scrolled up and down your contacts deciding on who would be the lucky winner to receive a call at 1 in the morning.

Jake groaned as he heard his phone going off. He blindly reached for it and squinted at the bright screen, trying to decipher who the hell would be calling at this hour. He had to be up in a few hours to get ready for another day of trying to get through the near impossible assignment, so unless it was an emergency, he was ignoring it.

The number that flashed on his screen wasn’t one he had seen before. He almost wrote it off as a wrong number or another spam call, but something told him to answer it. The area code was one he knew and a call this late on a Saturday might mean something is going on. So, instead of rolling over and enjoying the few hours of sleep he had left, he answered the mystery number.

“Seresin.”

“Oh shit! That’s the Jake that’s in this phone? Why would he put that number in here?” The voice was female and sounded somewhat familiar but was clearly drunk.

“Sorry to disappoint. Who is this?” Jake was kicking himself for answering it now, having the person insult him within two seconds of talking.

“Ah. Look, you have to promise not to tell my brother anything. Like pinkly swear and everything.” Jake was too tired to entertain childish requests, but the first part of the statement finally sunk in. The only one on the team who had a sister near base was Bradley. Fuck.

“Y/N? Is that you?” He needed the confirmation before freaking out. What did she do that warranted keeping her brother in the dark?

“I am not answering that question until you promise me.” He sat up in bed, turning on the lamp next to him. There was no way this wasn’t her.

“Alright. I promise I won’t tell him right now. Can you tell me what’s going on?” He was hoping she was too drunk to catch how he promised.

“Fine. I’m at this bar with my friend and I played wingman a little too well and she left with this guy. I mean good for her. She just got over this really bad breakup and needed to get laid.” Jake had gotten out of bed and put the phone on speaker as he got dressed. Something told him he was going to have to pick you up from somewhere. That’s if you managed to stop getting sidetracked.

“Anyway, I have this thing about not liking to get in Ubers by myself and it’s a long ass walk back to my apartment.” Jake had grabbed his keys at this point and was walking out the door.

“Where are you? I’m on my way.” He turned on his truck and waited for a response.

“Shoot. Well, we started at one place and now this is place three. No place four. You know what, let me ask because I have no idea.” Jake sighed and shook his head. He had heard stories from Bradley about his younger sister and how reckless you were. Or at least that’s the way he described you. He always kept you on a tight leash, trying his hardest to keep you out of trouble.

But Jake thought you just wanted to have some fun. One of his sisters went through a phase like this and it was best to keep a close eye on them but never push them. For reasons like this.

You told him the name of the bar and he was on his way. “I’ll be there in about 15 minutes. Are you okay to wait inside for me?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I need to finish this water anyway.” Jake told you to call if something came up but he shouldn’t be long.

It wasn’t but 5 minutes later his phone started ringing again. He saved your number as Baby Bradshaw, knowing that this probably wouldn’t be the last time you called him.

“Yes ma’am?”

“Are you close?” As casual as you tried to sound, Jake could hear a slight bit of urgency.

“Five minutes away. Everything alright?” The hesitation that followed his question told him everything he needed to know. But he waited for your response before he pushed the issue further.

“Umm, it’s probably nothing. Just this guy by the bar keeps giving me this look and it’s making me feel a bit uncomfortable. But I’m also drunk and a tiny bit paranoid.” Jake pushed the accelerator down a bit further, breaking a few laws in order to get to you faster. He wasn't going to be blamed for getting the youngest Bradshaw in trouble.

“I’ve always been told to listen to your gut.” He heard the hum on the other end of the line as he blew through a red light.

“My gut is telling me they want tacos.” Jake couldn’t stop the laugh that came out.

“We can get you tacos on the way home, sweetheart. Now do me a favor and stand where a lot of people can see you. People like security or a bouncer. Can you do that for me?” He heard you hum again.

“Slight problem. He is following me now.” Jake’s heart started to beat faster and knew he needed to get there now.

“Shit. What did Bradley say. Thumb out, use your knuckles.” He shook his head trying to figure out what the hell you were saying. But it clicked a second too late.

“No don’t-“ He heard commotion on the other line and parked his truck right outside the bar. Flying out the door, he nearly ran into you as you were standing by the entrance with a bouncer blocking a guy with blood running from his nose from getting close to you.

Jake grabbed you before you could get around the bouncer and pulled you outside. “I told you to stay the hell away from me, you creep!” You were yelling at the guy all the way outside, letting him know you weren’t to be messed with. He wanted to go back in there and show the guy what happens when you mess with innocent people, but he knew leaving your side wouldn’t be for the best.

When the two of you were next to his truck, Jake let go and looked you over. Your face had a red tint to it from what he assumed had just happened, but besides that you looked to be in one piece. That was until he saw your eyes start to water.

He put a hand under your chin and lifted your head up. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

You sniffed a few times and wiped the tear that managed to escape. “Bradley didn’t say how much it hurts to hit someone.”

Jake bit back a smile and looked down at your hand. While it was a bit red and would surely bruise tomorrow, it didn’t look too bad.

“He probably didn’t think you would ever have to do that. Why don’t we get you back home and you can tell me what happened.” He watched you nod your head and opened his passenger door for you, closing it when you were in.

He waited a few minutes after you were on the road before asking questions. “Want to tell me why you called me instead of your brother?”

You shook your head at the question. “Have you met my brother? It would be nonstop nagging for God knows how long. Anyone else seemed like the better option.” You paused as you remembered exactly who you were with.

“I will say I didn’t expect him to put your name in my phone. He seems to have a strong dislike for you.” Jake smirked at what you had said and shrugged his shoulders.

“He probably knew I had sisters and would do anything to make sure they were alright. Regardless on who they were related to.” You thought this over and nodded your head. It wasn’t long until the next question came.

“What happened at the bar?” You felt his eyes on you and knew he was more concerned than curious.

“The guy I told you was giving me weird looks ended up following me to the door. He stopped me and tried to grab my hand and even though I pulled it away, he kept coming at me. I don’t know, I guess I just felt like I needed to do something to stop him.” You missed the way Jake’s hands tightened on the steering wheel or the clench in his jaw.

“He was lucky I was 30 seconds behind, or he would’ve gotten more than a broken nose.” You looked over and saw how serious he was. A look your brother wore all too often.

“How long until you tell bird boy what happened?” Jakes eyes caught yours and you saw the conflict in them.

“If I was him, I would want to know something happened to my sister. But I will at least drop you off before I call him. Keep your phone on silent and say you fell asleep. That way you can push it off until he gets off tomorrow.” He heard your sigh but that was the end of that.

It was silent in the car until he heard you say, “I’m not as stupid as my brother makes me out to be.” Stupid was never a word he would have used to describe you. A little carefree maybe, but you knew what you were doing.

“I see someone who wants to have a little fun in their life while they can. Nothing wrong with that.” He glanced over to you to see you playing with your injured hand.

“You’re not as bad as they make you out to be either. Besides my brother, not many people would come and get me when they have to be up soon.” Jake held back a wince when he saw the time. A coffee run in the morning would be needed. Maybe he could talk Natasha into picking him up some from that place she always went to.

He pulled into your apartment complex and parked as close to your building as he could.

“Hey, sweetheart. You can call me anytime you need help, okay? I know your brother and I are not on great terms, but I know he would help me out when family is involved.” You gave him a small smile and thanked him for the ride.

He waited until you closed the door before he backed out of the parking lot, trying to figure out what he was going to say to Bradley. It was nearing 2am and calling him was oit of the question. So, he sent a simple text.

Hey man. Your sister called a random number in her contacts tonight and didn’t realize it was me. She needed a safe ride home and that exactly what I did. We can talk about it more at base, but wanted to let you know she is safe. -Hangman

He went to put his phone down when a text popped up. He prayed Bradley wasn’t awake, wanting to push the rest of that conversation off. But instead, it was baby Bradshaw with the text You never got me tacos.

Jake laughed out loud replying that he owes you some in the near future. With a spitfire attitude that you had, Jake saw the two of you becoming good friends. That’s if Bradley didn’t lock you up after tonight’s events.

A/N: Not too sure how I felt about this one but thinking about doing a Jake and Y/N friend series. Thoughts? Likes or dislikes? Thank you for reading!

Tag List: @rosiahills22 @sunlitsunflowers @dempy @mamaskillerqueen @luckyladycreator2 @atarmychick007 @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @topguncultleader @alilstressyandlotdepressy @avengers-fixation @chaoticcassidy

[geminiwritten]

domestic fantasy ; jake 'hangman' seresin

fandom: top gun

pairing: jake x reader

summary: your ex is coming back to collect some things he left behind and you accidentally tell him that you have a new boyfriend, so hangman accepts the role of your new (fake) boyfriend

notes: did i spent the last three days writing for 8-10 hours a day? yes... am i going slightly insane? also yes... but guys!!! fake dating!!! i don't know how i vomited this fic up so quick, jake is just so easy for me to write (i think it's because i love him but not in a soul-crushing way like the way i love rooster?) anyway, PLEASE enjoy and please, please let me know what you think!

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, reader is shorter than hangman (just want to mention it), allusions to sex, and it's pretty horny so 18+ ONLY please! let me know if i’ve missed anything!

word count: 10937

“This weekend?” Your voice is unsteady, but you hope the crackling from the poor phone reception is enough to mask it. “I’m not sure if I can do this weekend.” 

Spencer sighs, clearly frustrated by your repeated attempts to keep him away from San Diego. “Look, I know you don’t want to do this—and honestly, neither do I—but it has to be done. I’ll only be in town for a couple of days. I’ll grab some boxes, hire a van, and get them shipped straight to my condo. Don’t you want your spare room back?” 

You gnaw nervously on your bottom lip as you glance out at the open-plan office space, hoping none of your coworkers are listening too closely to your phone conversation. 

You broke up with Spencer six months ago, after dating for nearly four years, and he left in such a rush that almost an entire room of his stuff stayed behind. It isn't anything important—mostly old sports gear and college memorabilia—and it’s not like he’s needed any of it. The breakup hit him hard, and he spent the following four months backpacking around Europe to clear his head. He’s only been back at his condo in Upstate New York for two months, and during that time, he’s been relentlessly bugging you to let him come pick up his things. 

It’s not like you want to hold on to anything that reminds you of him, but you desperately do not want to see him again. You offered a few times to pack up his things and ship them to him, but he flat-out refused. He even called it a violation of privacy now that you’re no longer together. So, about a month ago, you told him you’d find a free weekend for him to come by and collect the rest of his stuff—and you’ve done everything you can to avoid it since. 

“Okay,” you mutter, turning away from the office to face the window overlooking North Island Naval Air Station. “But you can’t stay at the apartment.” 

“What?” Spencer snaps. “Why? It’ll be so much easier. I’ll be in an out in three days, tops.” 

“Three days?” you echo. “Spence, that’s my whole weekend gone.” 

“There’s a lot of stuff,” he argues. “I could bring Harry with me, if-” 

“You are not bringing your brother, Spencer.” You stomp your foot, despite the conversation being over the phone. “Look, if that’s how long it’ll take, then fine. But you are not staying at the apartment. You can’t. My boyfriend just moved in last week.” The last few words slip out before you can stop them. 

Fuck. 

There’s a beat of silence before Spencer speaks again, his voice wavering. “Boyfriend?” 

You tip your head back and take a deep breath. “Yes, boyfriend.” 

Another awkward stretch of silence. 

“Okay... I’ll stay at the motel around the corner,” he says. 

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “Good.” 

“See you Friday, then.” 

“See you Friday.” 

You pull the phone away from your ear and tap the red button, watching Spencer’s caller ID photo flicker out before the screen goes black. With a sigh, your arms drop to your sides, and you lean forward until your forehead rests against the windowpane with a soft, dull thud. 

What the fuck did you just do? 

- 

Gravel crunches beneath your tires as you swerve into the parking lot of The Hard Deck bar. You pull up beside a familiar Ford Bronco, yanking the parking brake just a little too hard before practically stumbling out of the car. Your feet carry you across the lot and through the front door before coming to a stop as you survey the room, searching for the familiar face you came here to find. Across the bar, tucked into the booth closest to the pool table, are your friends. They’re sipping beers and chatting happily, blissfully unaware that an electrical storm of stress and anxiety is headed right for them. 

You weave through the tables and other patrons with determination, your breath coming and going in quick, anxious bursts. Your feet only stop when you reach your friends’ table, and their conversation quickly dies as they each turn to look at you. 

Jake’s brows pinch. “Hey, are you okay?” 

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth and bite down nervously, unsure how to reply. 

Javy, who was sitting next to Jake, stands up and nods toward the bar. “I’m going to grab another drink. Want anything?” 

You nod. “Whatever you’re having.” 

He gives you a cheeky wink before striding off toward the bar. You watch him for a few seconds before turning back to the booth and sliding in beside Jake, leaning into him and letting your head fall on his shoulder. 

Natasha sits across from you, her head tilted and a curious glint in her narrowed eyes. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“Not yet, I haven’t,” you say, before letting out an exasperated sigh. “My ex is coming back this weekend.” 

She rears back and sits up straight, her brows raised. “Coming back to stay?” 

You lift your head from Jake’s shoulder and shake it softly. “Nah. He just wants to pick up everything he left behind.” 

Jake shifts beside you, his arm sliding around your lower back almost possessively—but you know he only means to comfort you. “Including you?” he asks, his tone playful but laced with a hint of uncertainty. 

You snort and turn to face him, a little startled by how close those piercing green eyes are. “Of course not. Or at least, I hope not. I mean, I think I made it pretty damn clear he wasn’t getting me back, even if he was planning to try.” You trail off, turning away, unsure how to bring up the real reason you came here tonight—the question that’s been gnawing at you since your phone conversation with Spencer. 

“Okay,” Nat says, “so, what’s the big deal?” 

You suck in a deep breath, filling your lungs as you gather every shred of dignity you still have left. “I told him he couldn’t stay at the apartment because… my boyfriend just moved in.” 

Natasha’s brows shoot up toward her hairline and her mouth pops open. Amusement dances behind her eyes, but she has the decency to hold it back as you drop your head into your hands and let out a groan. “I fucked up.” 

Beside Natasha, Mickey leans forward. “But you don’t have a boyfriend?” 

You look up at him and scowl. “No shit.” 

“Oh.” He nods slowly, fighting the grin that tugs at his lips. 

“So, what are you going to do?” Reuben pipes up from the other end of the table, looking just as amused as the rest of your friends. 

“Well...” You lean back, pressing your shoulder blades into the vinyl of the booth as you twist your neck to glance at the man beside you. “I was going to ask Jake if he could help me... pretend.” 

Jake’s smirk fades, and a flush creeps into his cheeks. His green eyes widen, the usual cocky confidence replaced by startled confusion. “What? Why me?” 

You shrug, trying to act nonchalant about asking the man you regularly fantasise about to be your fake boyfriend. “It just makes the most sense. I’ve known you the longest.” Your eyes flick toward the other boys at the table. “No offense, but Jake and I just have better chemistry—and Spencer knew it. He was always a little threatened by our friendship.” 

You shift your gaze back to Jake, who’s still looking stunned, his lips parted slightly. 

“Plus, I only broke up with Spencer six months ago. I couldn’t have met someone new and asked them to move in that fast. It has to be someone I already knew.” You widen your eyes and bat your lashes dramatically. “Please, Jake. I’ll do anything.” 

He blinks at you, cheeks still tinged pink. “Define anything,” he says, that cocky smirk slowly starting to return. 

“Whatever you want,” you reply, planting both hands on his thigh closest to you—oblivious to the fact that it makes his dick twitch in his jeans. “You know I’m good for it.” 

Jake coughs into his hand, shifting slightly, trying to hold onto his bravado while making sure your touch doesn’t creep any higher. “Alright,” he says, voice a little rougher than before. “I’ll do it.” 

You raise a brow. “That easy?” 

He lifts a finger. “On one condition.” 

You narrow your eyes, suspicious. “Which is?” 

He leans in, that cocky smirk curling at the edge of his lips. “I want a home-cooked dinner. Every night I’m there. Candles. Music. Maybe a little wine. You know... boyfriend perks.” 

Natasha snorts across the table. “You mean domestic fantasy perks.” 

Jake just shrugs, eyes still locked on yours. “Hey, if I’m going to play house, I want the full experience.” 

You swallow hard, but your mouth moves before your brain catches up. “Deal.” 

He grins wider, and this time you’re pretty sure it’s not just cockiness—it’s anticipation. 

- 

You pace in circles around your kitchen island, one arm tucked under your breasts, holding your opposite elbow as you anxiously gnaw on your thumbnail. Jake is supposed to be here any minute, and the cork in the bottle of nerves rattling around in your stomach just won’t stay put. 

You’ve known Jake for years. You met in college and, despite the distance with his deployments, have been metaphorically inseparable ever since. But physically? That was a little harder, obviously. 

You’ve always had a soft spot for Jake—a bit of a crush, but you were never foolish enough to think anything could come of it. You’ve been perfectly content being his friend, never pushing for more. But every single one of your boyfriends? They hated him. You can’t blame them, really—Jake has that effect on people. That cocky, irresistible charm that makes it impossible for anyone else to ignore him. 

Still, you can’t shake the guilt creeping in. Fooling Spencer into thinking you and Jake are together? After all those times you promised him there was nothing more than friendship between you and Jake? It feels wrong. Even if Spencer never really took your word for it. 

A knock at the door pulls you out of your spiralling thoughts, and you hurry to answer it. Jake is standing on the other side, looking even more irresistible than usual. There’s no uniform today, no flight suit or polished boots. Instead, he's wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, and somehow that makes him look even better. His hair is messy, not gelled like it usually is, and the scruff on his jaw—a day’s worth of stubble—only adds to the allure. He looks... delicious in a way that’s totally different from the polished, put-together fighter pilot you’re used to. 

“Hey, girlfriend,” he says with a smirk, “sorry I’m late.” 

Your brain and mouth have completely short-circuited, leaving you with no choice but to smile, nod, and step aside to let him in. He’s got a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a box of random belongings in his arms—little odds and ends that someone might have lying around their apartment. 

Jake drops the box onto the kitchen counter and turns back to you. “What time is Spencer the Snob getting here?” 

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “In about an hour. Do you think you can manage to be civilized?” 

“Yes,” he replies, his voice sharp as he props his hands on his hips. “Can he be civilised?” 

“Spencer is always civilized.” 

You walk over to the box and start pulling out items, mentally sorting them. But Jake isn’t done. 

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Spencer is not always civilized. He’s just really good at hiding what a complete dick he is.” 

You turn and lean your hip against the countertop, raising one eyebrow. “You only don’t like him because he didn’t like you first. And let’s be honest, that’s because you bought me lingerie for the first birthday that I was with him. He didn’t get the joke and thought it was way too suggestive.” 

Jake snorts, his jade eyes lighting up with mischief. “Yeah, that was a good one. I’ll never forget the look on his face.” 

You resist the urge to laugh and roll your eyes again, turning back to the box. “I’ll admit, Spence is a little snobby. But that’s just how he was raised. It’s not his fault he’s got money.” 

Jake’s expression darkens, and he narrows his eyes at the affectionate nickname. “Spence?” 

“Sorry,” you say, your cheeks flushing pink. “Force of habit.” 

The two of you move quietly around the apartment, slipping into an easy rhythm as you make space for Jake’s things. You tuck two framed photos of his family onto the bookshelf, nestled between your novels, and slide one of his official Navy portraits beside them—one you definitely wouldn’t mind keeping. 

He hangs a jacket and a couple of worn caps on the hooks by the door and drops two pairs of his boots beside your own lineup of shoes. You clear off a bedside table for him to clutter with his things, and listen to the soft clink of bottles as he unpacks his toiletries in the bathroom. 

Finally, you add a towel for him to the rack beside the shower. And for a moment, you let yourself imagine it: the two of you in there together. His hot, slick skin pressed to yours, the steam curling around your tangled limbs. His hands sliding soap across your body, rinsing you slow and thorough. He’d wash your hair too, fingers working into your scalp until your eyes fluttered closed—and then you’d return the favour, watching his mouth part in bliss beneath your touch. 

“Hello?” Jake waves a hand in front of your face. “Anyone home?” 

You blink rapidly and turn to face him, only to find him standing way too close with that maddening smirk tugging at his lips. Your eyes flick up to his, and the look he gives you is downright dangerous—curious, cocky, and just a little bit amused. 

“You good, sweetheart?” he asks, tilting his head. “You’re lookin’ a little hot under the collar.” 

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Instead, you let out a weird half-laugh, half-scoff and sidestep him like he���s radioactive. “I’m fine. It’s just warm in here. Is it warm in here?” 

Jake leans back against the bathroom doorframe, arms crossed and eyes glittering. “Could be. Or maybe you were just thinkin’ about something real steamy.” 

You choke on air. “Excuse me?” 

He shrugs, all faux innocence. “Just sayin’... you’ve got that look. Like your brain wandered somewhere it probably shouldn’t have.” 

You grab a towel—any towel—and smack him in the chest. “Shut up.” 

Jake laughs, catching the towel with one hand like he knew it was coming. “Whatever it was, must’ve been good.” 

When he finally steps aside, you scurry past like lingering too long might scorch your skin. Only once you’ve turned down the hall and reached the kitchen—putting a safe stretch of space between you and him—do you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

“Okay,” you say, planting both palms against the cool, marble countertop. “Spencer is going to be here in half an hour, so we have exactly thirty minutes to practice being a couple.” 

Jake smirks like this is nothing—like he’s been in this exact situation a hundred times before. “You tell me what you’re comfortable with, darlin’.” He steps up to the other side of the kitchen island and leans forward, mirroring your posture. 

You tilt your head slightly, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you narrow your eyes at him. “We need to look convincing. No weirdness, no pulling faces. Just... act natural.” 

Jake cocks an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “Natural, huh? So, no kissing? Not even a little peck?” 

You try to focus, but the way he’s leaning across the island—just far enough to make the space between you feel electrified—throws you off. “Uh, no. Nothing like that. We’ll start slow. Hold hands, sit close... you know, the easy stuff.” 

Jake’s grin widens, his gaze flickering down to your lips before locking onto your eyes. “Hold hands, sit close. Got it. But what if I make you want to kiss me? I’m really good at that.” 

You feel the heat spreading through your chest, but you refuse to let him see it. “You think you can make me want to kiss you?” You raise an eyebrow, trying to match his cockiness. 

He leans even further toward you and drops his voice low, the teasing edge still there but with a smouldering intensity you’re having a hard time ignoring. “Oh, sweetheart. I know I can. All I need is the right moment.” 

You can’t help but laugh nervously, your pulse quickening as he stays there, so close you can feel the heat of his presence even if the island bench is still separating you. “Well, we’ve got thirty minutes to see if you can keep your hands to yourself, Seresin,” you tease, but there’s an edge to it now—a hint of challenge. 

Jake leans in a little more, his gaze fixed on you, like he’s seconds away from crossing the line. “Trust me, darlin’. I can keep my hands to myself... but only if you can keep your hands off me.” 

Your chest rises and falls faster than usual, your head spinning slightly from all the extra oxygen surging through your blood. You part your lips, ready to fire back something just as cocky—something to keep the volley going—but the sharp chime of your phone slices through the tension, and both your gazes snap to where it buzzes on the countertop. 

You settle back onto your heels, and reach for your phone, huffing out a small, frustrated sigh before sliding the answer button and pressing it to your ear. “Hey, Spencer.” 

“Hey, how are you?” 

Your eyes slide toward Jake, who is looking almost as frustrated as you feel. “Fine. How far out are you?” 

Spencer chuckles, and something inside of you instinctively recoils, even though the sound itself isn’t particularly offensive. “I’m great, thanks for asking. The flight was fine, a little bumpy, but we made it. I’m just waiting at baggage claim, so I’ll be about twenty minutes.” 

“No worries,” you say, “see you soon.” 

You hang up before he even finishes saying goodbye, drop your phone face-down on the bench, and glance back at Jake. “Alright, let’s go over the details. We started dating three months after Spencer left. You asked me out, and I was a little surprised.” 

Jake frowns, already halfway to an objection, but you cut him off with a raised hand. “Just go with it, okay? It keeps my integrity intact. You have no idea how many times I had to convince him I wasn’t into you.” 

His frown fades fast, replaced by that maddeningly smug smirk. “Go on, then.” 

You roll your eyes, but continue. “I was surprised, but everything just... clicked. Being best friends made the relationship feel natural. That’s why things have moved fast. You were already here most nights, your rent went up, so you moved in two weeks ago.” 

Jake nods like he’s logging it all away. “Okay, but more importantly—how’s the sex?” 

You stare, deadpan. “Seriously?” 

He shrugs, hands raised like a saint. “What? It’s a legitimate question. Spencer might ask.” 

“I highly fucking doubt it.” 

Jake chuckles. “Yeah, fair. Still worth a shot.” 

With a long, theatrical exhale, you walk around the kitchen island and stop in front of him. “Alright, let’s talk touching.” 

His eyes light up, devilish. “Now you’re speaking my language.” 

You ignore him. “I’m ticklish, so don’t touch my ribs or ghost over my arms—I will flinch.” 

“I know.” 

You pause. “Okay…” You shake your head, ignoring the question trying to form. “I’m not huge on PDA, but I like lingering touches. Just small things, to remind each other we’re there.” 

“I know,” he says again, that smirk glued in place. 

The question in your head itches a little louder, but you push it aside. “And if we go out—which I really hope we don’t—make sure you’re always sitting next to me. I hate it when couples sit across from each other. I don’t want to gaze into your eyes, I want to feel your warmth.” 

Jake’s smirk splits into a wide, boyish grin. “I know.” 

The floodgates crack. “How the fuck do you know everything?” 

He leans in just slightly, voice soft but sure. “Because I know you. I’ve watched you with every guy you’ve dated. Just because I wasn’t the guy doesn’t mean I haven’t been paying attention.” 

You blink, reeling from the quiet truth in his tone. It hits you like a gust of wind—real, unshakable. You actually have to take a step back to steady yourself. There’s no teasing in his voice, no smug edge. Just Jake, earnest and open in a way that’s rare. 

And it almost wrecks you. 

Jake might be cocky and insufferable ninety percent of the time—but when he loves, he does it fiercely. Deeply. Fully. And you’ve always known you were lucky to be one of the people he loves. 

But for the first time, you let your mind wander somewhere dangerous. What would it be like to be loved by Jake Seresin—not just as a friend, but as his person? His everything? 

“So,” Jake says, cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter, “where should I touch you first?” 

You close your eyes for a beat, reminding yourself that this is still Jake—insufferable, irritating Jake. “You don’t have to be weird and over the top about it. When he gets here, you can just sit on the couch, then I’ll join you and sit close. You can put a hand on my thigh.” 

Jake’s brows furrow, his face contorting with mild disgust. “I know you’re trying not to make him uncomfortable, but that’s not going to work. Think about it—your ex is coming over, and your current boyfriend is just sitting casually on the couch? Not buying it.” 

You roll your eyes again, hoping to avoid yet another pointless argument. “Jake, this doesn’t need to be-” 

“You told him you’re dating me,” he interrupts, poking his chest with a finger. “And if this was real, I’d be making damn sure I had a hand on you at all times.” 

You raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore how your body reacts to his proximity and his words. Heat floods your chest and settles behind your hipbones, desire tightening in places you don’t want to think about right now. “You don’t need to stake your claim, Jake. Spencer isn’t here to win me back.” 

Jake steps closer, cutting the distance between you until there’s barely two feet separating you. “You don’t know that.” His voice lowers slightly, making the air between you feel thick and electric. “And yes, I do. If you want him to believe we’re dating, then you need to let me do exactly what I would do if this was real.” 

You’re not sure whether he’s just being cocky or trying to show off, but damn it, he’s making a good point. “Okay, fine. But don’t make him uncomfortable.” 

Jake’s smirk widens, taking on that familiar, smug edge. “No promises, darlin’.” 

You spend the next ten minutes pretending to clean—wiping already spotless counters, rearranging throw pillows, and dusting things that definitely don’t need dusting. All while Jake lounges on the couch like this is the easiest job he’s ever had. 

“It’s three days, sweetheart,” he says. “By Sunday, Spencer will be back in his overpriced New York apartment sipping single malt and Googling himself.” 

You snort but say nothing. Three days. Just two dinners and one brunch. You’ll keep the visits restricted to daylight hours, keep Jake close, keep your story straight—and by Sunday afternoon, Spencer will be out of your apartment and out of your life. 

That’s the plan, anyway. 

But as you glance over at Jake—sprawled out, so completely at ease in your space, looking infuriatingly good even in his most relaxed state—you start to question the rest of it. 

Because it’s not Spencer you’re worried about fooling anymore. It’s yourself. And when Jake turns his head and catches you staring, smirking like he knows exactly what you're thinking? 

Yeah. This might be harder than you thought. 

The intercom buzzes, loud and sudden, startling you from your task of rearranging the flowers on the dining table. Your heart launches into your throat, pounding like you’ve just jumped from a plane without a parachute. 

Jake chuckles and rises from the couch, strolling over to the intercom with infuriating confidence. He presses the button and leans in. “Come on up.” 

You force your feet to move, carrying you toward him and not stopping until you’re right beside him. You press yourself against him and the moment your body meets his, heat blooms under your skin. It’s not new—you've touched him before—but it feels different. More charged. More deliberate. Jake’s arm slides around your waist without hesitation, and his fingers curl into your hip, firm and possessive. There’s a subtle squeeze and the pad of his thumb grazes a sliver of skin just beneath the hem of your shirt. 

You feel it everywhere. 

He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “It’s showtime, sweetheart.” 

Your breath stutters. This is just pretend. 

Your heart pounds against your sternum, each beat like the tick of a countdown clock. The elevator dings. Footsteps echo down the hallway. Closer, closer. You draw in a deep breath and hold it, ignoring the sharp ache it sends through your chest. 

“Relax,” Jake murmurs, pulling you tighter against his side as he reaches for the doorknob. 

The second the footsteps stop, he yanks the door open—no chance for a knock. 

“Spence!” Jake beams, like they’re old frat brothers reunited. “Come in, buddy. How are you?” 

You nearly snort. The absurdity of his enthusiasm bubbles up in your throat, but you bite your lip hard enough to keep it down. 

Spencer looks good—but all it does is remind you how little you miss him. His perfectly coiffed blonde hair hasn’t changed one bit, but he’s tanner than you remember—courtesy of the European sun, no doubt. He’s not as tall as Jake, but he’s got that same overinflated ego. The difference? Jake’s cockiness comes from… well, let’s just say it’s probably anatomical. Spencer’s is inherited—passed down with a trust fund and a country club membership. 

He’s dressed exactly as you expected: a sky-blue Ralph Lauren polo, crisp white pants with a crease so sharp it could slice bread, and tan boat shoes—an ironic choice, considering he’s terrified of boats. 

But it’s his face that really seals the moment. Jaw unhinged, eyes wide, staring at Jake like he just opened the door to a ghost. Or maybe something worse: the ghost of his ex-girlfriend’s new sex life. 

“Jake?” Spencer finally says. “Your new boyfriend is Jake Seresin?” 

Jake’s grin is unbothered—like this is the moment he’s been waiting for his whole life. “The one and only.” 

You feel his hand press a little firmer into your waist, anchoring you there like you might suddenly run—and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t tempted. 

Spencer steps further into the apartment, his eyes glued to Jake’s smug face. “I thought you said there was nothing going on between you two.” 

Your stomach twists, but you keep your voice even. “There wasn’t. Not back then.” 

Spencer glances at you. “You told me I was being paranoid. That he was just your friend.” 

Jake chuckles. “I remember you telling me about that.” 

You shoot him a look that’s supposed to say “not helping,” but he just smiles innocently and shrugs. 

Spencer looks seconds away from spontaneously combusting. “I trusted you,” he says, starting to sound like the whiny, private-school rich kid you always tried to ignore. “You promised me nothing would ever happen with him.” 

“Yeah, that was then, and this is now. Things change, Spence—and this has nothing to do with you,” you say, tone sharpening. If he’s going to act like a child, then you're going to treat him like one. 

Jake’s hand slides from your waist to the small of your back, his thumb sweeping in a slow, easy circle like he’s soothing a spark before it ignites. “People change, bud. Timing is everything.” 

Spencer folds his arms, visibly rattled. “So, what—he swooped in the second I left?” 

Jake tilts his head, eyes full of mock offense. “Swooped? Come on. Give me a little credit. She came to me.” 

You snap your head toward him, about to object, but his grin is wicked and the mischief in his eyes dares you to play along. 

“Well...” You drag the word out, buying a few precious seconds to stitch your story together. “Technically, yes. I was upset after the breakup, so of course I turned to my best friend for comfort.” 

Spencer’s blue-grey eyes narrow. “You broke up with me.” 

“That she did, pal.” Jake tries for a sympathetic look, but you know better—he’s enjoying this a little too much. 

“Just because I ended things doesn’t mean it didn’t rattle me,” you shoot back, trying to shift the focus away from Jake. “We were together for four years, Spencer. That’s a long time. I just had the guts to do what you didn’t. So, forgive me if I’m not in the mood to explain myself to you. I don’t owe you anything—and my new relationship? It’s none of your business.” 

You see his expression twist into an offended scowl, and anger flickers in your chest. The nerve of him, acting like you still owe him something just because you pulled the plug first. 

“For the record,” you continue, voice cool and firm, “yeah, I leaned on Jake. And somewhere along the line, I found something a lot deeper.” 

Then, without missing a beat, you glance at Jake—who’s already wearing that cocky smirk—and let one of your own curve across your lips as you look back at Spencer. 

“Actually,” you say, eyes narrowing with satisfaction, “I think it was Jake who found something a little deeper… if you know what I mean.” 

Jake snorts, slapping his hand over his mouth, but he can’t suppress the gleeful chuckle bubbling from his lips. Spencer, on the other hand, looks utterly humbled—his cheeks are bright red and his jaw is hanging open like he’s just been slapped across the face. 

You step away from Jake, waiting for his hand to drop so you can grab it. The second your fingers slide into his, a rush of warmth zips up your arm, and you try to ignore how good it feels, but damn, it’s hard. 

“Get your boxes,” you say to Spencer, keeping your tone cool. “Jake will help you pack some stuff this afternoon, but it’s date night, so you’ve got exactly two hours. You can come back in the morning.” 

Spencer's lip twitches, like he's about to argue, but then he stops himself. He nods curtly and unties the fancy cashmere sweater draped around his shoulders, hanging it carefully on a hook by the door. He hesitates when he notices Jake’s clothes tossed haphazardly alongside yours. After a moment, he huffs, shakes his head, and stomps out of the apartment. 

You fight to suppress a grin as you turn to Jake, but he’s already beaming at you. “You’re amazing, you know that?” 

You pretend to flick your hair off your shoulder with theatrical flair. “Oh, I know.” 

He chuckles. “I can’t believe you just told your ex I’ve got a huge dick.” 

You shrug, one shoulder rising nonchalantly. “You’ve got the ego to match, so I figured I could make an educated guess. Besides, it’s not like Spencer will ever know for sure.” 

His brows shoot up. “Oh, so you were just guessing?” 

Heat floods your cheeks, and suddenly his eyes are too intense to meet. “Well, obviously.” 

He leans in, his hand tightening around yours, voice low and teasing—laced with a challenge that feels dangerously not like a joke. “Want to find out for real?” 

Your breath hitches. Words abandon you. All you can do is stare at his face—too handsome and too tempting. 

“Because I’d go a hell of a lot deeper than that weasel. So deep, you’d be screaming-” 

The intercom buzzer cuts him off, and you’re hit with a wave of relief and frustration all at once. Your pulse is racing, your chest tight, and the thrum of your heartbeat fills your ears. 

Jake chuckles, clearly amused by the timing, and leans back, releasing your hand to press the button on the intercom. He glances over at you, winks, and casually strides toward the lounge, sprawling out like he owns the place. Like he’s some modern-day Adonis—there to wind you up and then claim your couch like it’s his throne. 

You force your limbs to move, opening the door for Spencer and helping him carry in the flattened cardboard boxes tucked under his arms. You lead him to the spare room—where all his abandoned belongings have been gathering dust for the past six months—and leave him to it. 

You don’t have to ask Jake to help. The second you return to the living room, he stands, crosses the space without hesitation, and steps right up to you. His palm finds the back of your head as he pulls you in, pressing a warm, gentle kiss to the top of your hair. 

You know he’s just doing what you asked—pretending to be your boyfriend. But the tenderness of the gesture feels heartbreakingly sincere. It sinks into your skin, fills your chest like warm water, and when he pulls away, he takes the comfort with him. 

Your eyes trail after him as he walks toward the spare room, and you shamelessly ogle his ass on the way out. Then you collapse onto the lounge where he’d just been sitting, curling up in the lingering scent of his cologne. You tug a blanket from the wicker basket beside the couch and wrap it around yourself, clicking on a show you barely register—because all you can think about is the way Jake Seresin touches you. 

This might not have been such a brilliant idea after all. 

- 

Spencer uses up his two hours like he paid for them, waiting until exactly 5:59 PM to dust off his palms on those stupid white pants—as if he hadn’t made Jake do all the heavy lifting—and announce that he “better get going.” 

You give him a tight smile as you hold the door open, already half-relieved just watching him walk out. It's not that pretending to love Jake is hard—you do love him. It’s the reminder that all the lingering touches, the soft smiles, the stolen glances—they’re just an act. That’s what’s draining you. 

The second the door clicks shut, you let out a long, theatrical sigh, like you’ve been holding your breath for the full two hours. “Oh, thank God. I don’t know how I’m going to survive a whole day tomorrow.” 

Jake chuckles, but there’s something tight about it—like he’s forcing it out through gritted teeth. “Am I that hard to love?” he asks, and though his tone is teasing, something flickers behind his eyes that doesn’t feel like a joke. 

Your brows knit. “No, it’s not that. It’s just...” 

He steps closer, invading your space like he’s done all day—and you hate how much you don’t mind it anymore. In fact, you kind of want him to stay right there. 

“What is it?” he murmurs, voice low and rough enough to make your skin prickle. 

You swallow hard, suddenly aware of how close he is, how good he smells, and how charged the air between you feels. “It’s just Spencer, you know? Having him around is... exhausting.” 

Jake’s lip quirks, but his eyes are sharp, studying you. “Oh? So you’re not struggling with this fake relationship thing at all? Not even a little confused? Frustrated? Having trouble remembering it’s not real?” 

You blink, stunned silent. You’re not sure how, but you’re starting to believe Jake Seresin might actually be a mind reader. 

“I-” The words catch in your throat, strangled by the weight of his stare. His piercing green eyes pin you in place, make you forget how to speak, how to breathe. 

Then, just when it feels like you might combust, his smirk cracks into a grin and he takes a step back, letting the tension snap like a rubber band. “Alright then,” he says, clapping his hands together, “what’s for dinner, gorgeous?” 

You inhale like you’ve just broken the surface of the water. Your lungs burn. Your head spins. This man is giving you whiplash. 

It takes almost a full minute to regain control of your body, and when you finally do, you walk straight into the kitchen without giving Jake an answer. You can’t even look at him right now—but he has no trouble looking at you. 

He watches you like he’s starving and you’re the feast. It makes focusing on dinner nearly impossible. 

You busy yourself preparing the meal you planned yesterday—Italian sausage spaghetti with a pull-apart garlic loaf. You don’t usually go all out for dinner, but you’re using Jake’s presence as an excuse to cook something hearty and delicious. Maybe after eating, you’ll both be too full to maintain this unbearable sexual tension. He can crash on the couch, and you’ll curl up in bed. Or maybe you’ll take a long, steamy shower and do what you need to do to unknot the tension pulsing behind your hipbones. 

Dinner comes together quickly, and after a few casual questions from Jake about the food, he drifts back to the couch, half-watching whatever show has been playing in the background for past few hours. You set the dining table just the way he asked—candles, wine, and soft music humming from the speaker on your bookshelf. 

Finally, you place two full bowls of pasta on the table—opposite each other. Because you’re not really dating, so why would you sit beside him? To feel his warmth? Let him rest a hand on your thigh? 

The thought alone sends a shiver down your spine. 

You try to shake it off and glance at Jake—only to find him already watching you. 

You clear your throat. “Lieutenant Jake Seresin, your dinner is served.” 

He grins like a kid in a candy store, pushing off the couch and sniffing the air like a Loony Tunes character. “Damn, I think Phoenix might’ve been right. This is a full-on domestic fantasy.” 

You roll your eyes and duck your head, hoping he doesn’t see the heat rising in your cheeks. “Just sit down and eat, Hangman. I’m tired and hungry.” 

You flick off the kitchen lights, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of the candles. The atmosphere feels far more romantic than you intended. Is this what Jake wanted? 

You don’t give yourself time to overthink it—because the food smells amazing, and there’s a very attractive naval aviator sitting across from you, looking like he was plucked straight from a dream. 

You spend the first few minutes eating in silence, both too busy shovelling pasta into your mouths and tearing into buttery garlic bread to speak. Somehow, Jake even manages to make slurping spaghetti look hot—and you hate when people make noise while they eat. 

“So,” you say, slowing your pace and setting your fork down, “did you want to stay here tonight or head back to your place?” 

He keeps his eyes on his plate, as if avoiding yours will mask whatever he’s really thinking. “Up to you, darlin’. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

“Well, Spencer did seem pretty suspicious about the whole thing… so I think it’s safer if you stay.” 

His head snaps up, and that signature smirk spreads across his lips. “Is that so?” 

“Yeah,” you say, fighting the heat rising to your cheeks, “he might sniff around tomorrow. Like, literally. He might be a creep and notice your towel’s untouched, or that your side of the bed hasn’t been slept in, and-” 

“You want to share the bed?” he asks, looking far too pleased with the idea. 

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “We’ve shared a bed before.” 

“Yeah,” he says, a low chuckle slipping out, “blind drunk.” 

His eyes are too pretty, too intense, and your chest feels tight under their weight. You look away, eyes darting around the table until they land on the wine bottle. 

“Well then,” you say, picking it up and refilling his glass, “drink up, Seresin.” 

Two bottles of wine later, you’re both loose-limbed and laughing—less awkward about the day’s chaos, and a lot less anxious about sharing a bed tonight. 

You giggle at one of Jake’s ridiculous jokes while clearing the table, and when he insists on helping clean up, you swat him away, telling him it’s all part of his domestic fantasy. He rolls his eyes but still hovers, drying dishes and pretending not to notice the way you keep throwing him side-eye glances every time he guesses wrong about where something goes. 

“Do you want to shower?” you ask as you finish wiping down the stovetop. 

His green eyes go wide, that crooked grin slipping across his face like sin itself. “Is this you offering?” 

Your stomach flips, heat crawling up your chest. “I meant—do you want to shower first?” 

“Oh,” he chuckles, almost disappointed. “Yeah, sure. If you don’t mind?” 

“Wouldn’t have asked if I did,” you mutter, turning back toward the lounge. 

You listen to his footsteps fade toward the bathroom, then collapse onto the couch, burying your face in a pillow that smells maddeningly like him. 

What the fuck are you doing? 

Yes, you’ve always had a little crush on Jake, but you’re not delusional. He’s out of your league. You’ve made peace with that. You’ve always been happy just being his friend. So why does all of this feel so good? Why is it getting harder to remember that he doesn’t see you the same way? 

He’s thrown himself into this charade like it’s more than just pretending, and it’s messing with your head. Does he want something more? Something casual? A few nights, maybe? Or... does he want you—the whole messy package? 

The shower starts, and you groan into the pillow. You’re confused. You’re also so fucking horny. Red wine was a terrible idea. 

Ten minutes later, the bathroom door creaks open. “All yours,” Jake calls, his voice smooth and casual as he walks toward the bedroom where he left his duffel bag. 

You drag yourself upright, every step toward the bathroom a battle against the mental slideshow of naked, wet Jake. You shut the door, strip down, and step into the shower, letting the hot water calm your skin and chase away the ache blooming low in your belly. 

You don’t have the guts to do what you really need to make that ache go away—not with Jake just a paper-thin wall away. The thought creeps in, bold and reckless, whispering what if you just called him in here? But then you laugh softly under your breath and shake it off. As if. The idea of Jake rejecting you would be a level of humiliation you’re not prepared to face tonight. Or ever. 

You shut off the water, swipe a towel from the rack, and give yourself a quick dry before wrapping it snugly around your body. The bathroom is thick with steam, your skin flushed and dewy, your pulse still thudding from thoughts you shouldn't be entertaining. 

You open the door to let in some air—only to nearly collide with Jake. 

He’s right there. Shirtless. Grey sweatpants slung low, a towel around his neck, and an annoyingly cocky smirk on his lips. 

“Damn,” he says, leaning one arm against the doorframe, eyes roaming blatantly. “I was coming to see if you drowned, but now I’m thinking maybe I should’ve brought more wine.” 

You try to step back, but he follows, slipping inside like he belongs here. You grip your towel tighter. 

“Jake,” you warn, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing?” 

“Just enjoying the view,” he says casually, his eyes far too warm for comfort. “This your idea of torture? Walk out here looking like a damn dream and expect me to just keep pretending?” 

You’re not sure what’s pretending and what isn’t anymore, and you have no idea what his words mean. Is he just messing with you? He has to be. 

“I didn’t ask you to come in.” 

“And yet,” he says, grinning, “here I am.” 

The heat in the room is stifling—and it's not just the steam. Jake moves in closer, crowding your space, eyes flicking from your lips to your towel and back. His fingers reach up, slow and deliberate, and tug lightly at the edge of the fabric resting on your collarbone. 

“Think this is regulation towel length?” he teases. 

“Do you want me to report you to HR?” you ask, trying not to smile. Your voice wobbles on the last word when his fingers brush across the swell of your breast. 

“Only if HR gives out spankings,” he says with a wink. 

You laugh, then immediately regret it, because the movement loosens the towel just slightly—and his gaze drops. The air between you crackles. 

“Jake,” you murmur, breath hitching. 

He leans in, his lips brushing your temple like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. “Say the word,” he whispers, voice lower than a dare. 

You turn your face toward him, your lips just inches from his—and then: 

BZZZZZZZZZZZT. 

The intercom buzzes loudly from the living room, startling you both. You jump, and Jake curses under his breath. 

“Saved by the buzzer,” you mutter, half annoyed, half relieved. 

He takes a step back, eyes still dark with want, running a hand through his hair. “Or maybe cursed by it.” 

You give him a pointed look. “Shut the door on your way out, Hangman.” 

He backs out slowly, smirking the whole way. “You know I’m not going to forget this, right?” 

You roll your eyes and wait for him to close the door before locking it for good measure. After drying off, you go through your usual skincare and haircare routines, trying not to think about whatever the hell just happened between the two of you. But one glance down the hall as you exit the bathroom makes your heart plummet. 

Spencer is standing by the front door. And Jake—still very much shirtless—is looking smug as hell. 

“Hey, darlin’,” Jake drawls, turning to Spencer with a wink. “We just finished up in the shower, if you know what I mean.” 

You freeze like a deer in headlights, towel clutched to your chest. You feel like a naked model caught mid-pose in front of a life drawing class—except your ex is the one holding the sketchpad, and Jake is… well, Jake. 

“Spencer,” you bite out, “what the fuck are you doing here?” 

“I-I forgot my sweater.” He holds up the creamy cashmere one he’d left by the door, eyes darting anywhere but your body. 

You raise a brow. “And that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” 

He opens his mouth, then shuts it again—clearly trying not to ogle you while very aware of the broad, half-naked man beside him who is allegedly your boyfriend. Jake’s green eyes darken the longer Spencer’s gaze lingers. 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters. “I guess I didn’t think-” 

“Yeah, thinking’s never really been your thing, huh, pal?” Jake cuts in, clapping a firm hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Now if you don’t mind fucking off, I’d like to get back to round two with my very satisfied girlfriend. And just so we’re clear—if you show up before 9AM tomorrow, all you’re gonna hear is her screaming my name in ecstasy.” 

Your body lights up like a struck match. You don’t even look at Spencer as Jake all but escorts him out the door. Your focus is entirely on the shirtless man—the ridiculously hot, dangerously cocky, fake boyfriend who just made you feel completely and utterly claimed. 

You’re not sure if it’s the wine or the caveman behaviour, but suddenly, the idea of crossing that line doesn’t seem so dangerous anymore. In fact, it sounds like the best idea you’ve had in years. 

Jake shuts the door and flicks the deadbolt before turning those dark green eyes on you. “Keep lookin’ at me like that, darlin’, and you’re gonna make my dreams—and Spencer’s nightmares—come true.” 

His dreams? 

Your breath catches in your throat. Then, like a startled chicken, you turn and bolt to your bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you. Your head spins as you scramble to grab the pyjamas stashed under your pillow. Every inch of your skin feels hypersensitive, like Jake’s gaze alone has lit up your nerve endings one by one. 

Once you’re dressed and your face isn’t quite so scarlet red, you head for the bathroom. You hang up your towel—deliberately ignoring the sight of Jake’s hanging next to it—and start brushing your teeth. But the flutter in your stomach is relentless. 

Jake appears a moment later and joins you silently, his eyes finding yours in the mirror. You try to avoid them, but your gaze keeps drifting back, always checking, always wondering. And every time, he’s still watching. 

You rinse and spit, then flee the bathroom before your knees give out. You don’t bother with the rest of your night routine—you need sleep, or space, or maybe a total reset of your entire hormonal system. 

You crawl into bed and flick on the TV perched atop your dresser, the hum of background noise a small comfort. But it does nothing to quiet the static under your skin when Jake steps into the room. 

He flicks off the main light, shuts the door with a soft click, and then sits on the bed beside you. The mattress dips under his weight, and it feels like the whole room tilts with him. 

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just sits beside you in the dim glow of the TV, his body so close you can feel the heat radiating off his bare skin. 

You pretend to be engrossed in whatever’s on the screen, but your heart is thundering, and you can feel his gaze on you like a brand. 

Then his voice, low and rough, slices through the quiet. “You always wear shirts like that to bed, or is this part of the fantasy?” 

You try to scoff, but it comes out a little breathless. “You think everything’s about you.” 

Jake chuckles. “You’re sitting here braless in a tissue-thin shirt, biting your lip like you want me to devour you—and I’m the one with the ego?” 

You turn your head, ready to throw back some snark, but he’s already watching you with that look. That look that makes your insides clench and your breath catch. Like he’s starving. Like you’re the first real meal he’s had in days. 

“Jake…” 

His gaze drops to your lips, and his voice is rough around the edges when he says, “I’m not gonna make it through this night if you keep lookin’ at me like that.” 

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” you whisper, but even you don’t believe that. 

Jake leans closer. “No? Then why’s your chest rising like that? Why are your pupils blown wide? Why is every part of you screaming touch me?” 

You don’t answer. You can’t. 

He shifts toward you slowly, like a predator moving in, until his thigh brushes yours and his hand finds your jaw. His thumb drags lightly along your cheek, then down to your bottom lip, tugging at it just enough to make your breath stutter. 

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “Just say the word.” 

You stay frozen, heart galloping in your chest. 

“Because if you don’t…” he leans in, voice barely audible now, “…I’m gonna lose every ounce of self-control I have left.” 

Still, you say nothing. Can’t say anything. 

Jake’s eyes search yours for a second longer. Then— 

“Fuck it.” 

He crashes into you like a storm. His mouth slants over yours, hot and possessive and desperate, like he’s finally giving in to something he’s been denying for far too long. His hands cup your face, then slide down, over your neck, your shoulders, gripping your waist like he needs to ground himself. 

You gasp into his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue sweeping in to taste you. It’s not gentle. It’s fire and tension and not just one day, but years of pretending finally snapping all at once. 

Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging, pulling him closer. He groans against your lips and pushes you back into the mattress just slightly, moving over you, his body caging yours in without touching more than he has to. 

You arch up into him, chasing his heat, his weight. And when his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, resting just above your waistband, your breath catches in your throat. 

He pulls back just enough to look at you—his pupils dark, his lips kiss-bruised. “Still pretending?” he breathes. 

You shake your head, dazed. “Not even a little bit.” 

- 

You wake up warm. Too warm. 

Jake Seresin is sprawled across half your bed, one leg tangled over yours and an arm wrapped around your waist like you’re his personal body pillow. His bare chest is pressed to your back and his breath ghosts hot across your neck with every slow, sleepy exhale. 

You’re painfully aware of two things: one, you’re very, very naked. And two, so is he. 

And then... you remember everything. 

The kissing. The touching. The downright Olympic-level sex. The way he looked at you like you were something he’d been starving for. 

Your body aches in the best way, but your brain is in full meltdown mode. You try to untangle yourself without waking him. Emphasis on try. Because the second you shift, Jake groans and tightens his arm around you. 

“Nuh-uh,” he mumbles, voice still rough with sleep. “You’re not goin’ anywhere.” 

You huff, trying to wriggle free. “I have to pee.” 

“Fine,” he says, releasing you with an exaggerated sigh. “But don’t even think about climbing out the window. You’re mine now.” 

You roll your eyes as you slip out of bed, grabbing the closest shirt—his shirt—and tossing it over your head. It hangs low on your thighs, smelling like him and sex and very bad decisions. 

By the time you return from the bathroom, Jake’s propped up on one elbow, watching you with the same hunger in his eyes as last night “Damn, you look better in my shirt than I do.” 

You scoff and head for your dresser. “Don’t you get tired of hearing yourself talk?” 

“Not when I’m this right.” 

You grab a pair of shorts, but before you can pull them on, Jake is already moving. He slides off the bed, all muscles and tan skin, and corners you against the dresser. 

“You know,” he murmurs, eyes dark and wicked as his fingers slip under the hem of his own shirt you're wearing, “you didn’t officially wake me up yet.” 

Your heart kicks up a notch. “Is that a thing now?” 

“Absolutely.” He leans in, brushing his nose along your jaw. “You gotta wake me up right, darlin’. Or I’m gonna be all cranky.” 

You arch a brow. “Define right.” 

He grins, lips brushing yours. “Tongue. Teeth optional.” 

You laugh into the kiss he gives you—hot, deep, and toe-curling. His hands roam down your back, tugging you flush against him. You can feel he’s already half hard again, the cocky bastard. 

But before things can spiral into round two, your phone buzzes loudly from the nightstand. 

Jake pulls back with a dramatic sigh. “If that’s Spencer again, I swear to God-” 

You smirk. “Jealous?” 

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Jealous? Sweetheart, I just spent the night making you scream my name.” 

You roll your eyes, fighting a smile, and he grins like he just won the damn lottery. 

To Jake’s great disappointment, it is Spencer. He’s on his way over, and the motel he’s staying at is only five minutes away. You both overslept—but can you really be blamed? No way. You were up most of the night tangled together, doing something that definitely didn’t feel pretend. 

“Come on, Romeo,” you say, tossing Jake his shirt. “Get dressed before Tybalt gets here.” 

Jake pauses, one brow arched as he tries not to stare at your naked chest. “Did you just imply that you used to date your cousin?” 

A light laugh bubbles out of you. “Not intentionally, but I’m surprised you know Shakespeare.” 

He grins, smug. “A little knowledge never hurt anyone. Helps win the ladies over, too.” 

He’s joking, you know he is—but the way he says ladies—plural—hits you like punch to the gut. That’s what Jake is: a ladies’ man. It was stupid to think this could be anything more than a bit of fun. Some stress relief between two friends who spent all day teasing each other until they snapped. 

If anyone can do casual sex, it’s Jake Seresin. It doesn’t matter how many pretty words he said last night—you can’t let yourself believe he actually meant them. 

“Hey,” he says gently, catching the shift in your energy. “You okay?” 

You nod a little too quickly, offering a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. Your nose starts to sting, and you blink fast, trying to will the emotion away. Who the hell cries after the best sex of their life? 

You gather your clothes and retreat to the bathroom, needing a buffer between you and Jake’s curious, overly perceptive eyes. You dress quickly, trying not to think about how good his shirt felt against your skin. 

It isn’t long before Spencer buzzes the intercom again, and you’re almost grateful. Jake doesn’t get the chance to press you, to ask about the look on your face that feels like it could crumble into a sob at any second. 

You’ve really fucked up now—because you let yourself believe it might’ve meant something. 

The two men spend the morning in the spare room, exchanging nothing more than grunts and sidelong glances while packing Spencer’s things into boxes. You don’t bother checking on them—you're not sure you can look at Jake right now anyway. So, you remain firmly planted on the couch, stuck in a spiral of your own damning thoughts. 

Around midday, you consider offering them lunch, but then you remember the mischievous glint in Jake’s eyes when he said that “it helps win the ladies over,” and you quickly decide against it. Instead, you grab your keys, tuck your phone into your back pocket, and head toward the door. 

“I’m heading out for a bit. Won’t be long,” you call out, not waiting for a reply before stepping out. 

“Wait,” Jake’s voice calls after you as the door swings shut. But you pretend not to hear. 

You stride toward the elevator, pressing the button more forcefully than necessary, but it doesn’t arrive fast enough. By the time the doors finally slide open, Jake is already in the hallway, his brows furrowed in concern. 

“Hang on a second,” he says, stopping right beside you, raising a hand to hold your jaw gently. 

When you step back, his face falls, confusion and dread flickering across his features. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Nothing,” you answer, stepping into the elevator. 

But he follows you in, jaw ticking with tension. “Darlin’, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking I broke you.” 

You shake your head. “I’m not broken.” 

“Then what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, hm?” His voice softens, but the underlying concern is still very present. 

You take a deep breath, averting your eyes to the floor of the elevator as you try to carefully assemble your thoughts. You don’t want to hurt him, but you also can’t ignore how wrong everything feels in your gut. 

“I just... I can’t do this, Jake,” you say, your voice almost cracking. 

He looks absolutely gutted, like you’ve just sucker-punched him. 

“I know it shouldn’t be a big deal. Plenty of people do it without any consequences,” you ramble on. “But I think there could be some huge consequences if we keep doing this. There’s just too much on the line. And while the sex was—God, it was mind-blowing—I just don’t think I can handle you doing it with other people while I’m over here trying to... figure out what this is.” 

The hurt on his face quickly morphs into utter confusion. “What the hell are you talking about, sweetheart?” 

“This,” you gesture between the two of you. “Last night. Us having sex and the whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing.” 

Now, he looks genuinely offended. His eyes widen, green irises flashing with disbelief. “You think that’s what this is?” 

Your heart races, the pulse in your throat thrumming. “Isn’t that what you want?” 

Jake lets out a short, humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair. He glances briefly at the elevator doors before locking his gaze on you, intense and unyielding. 

“Is that what you think?” he asks, his tone a low warning. 

Suddenly, you feel very small—not in a sad way, but in a vulnerable, exposed way. He steps closer, stalking toward you with predatory intent, and you instinctively back up against the elevator wall. His presence fills the small space, and the hunger in his eyes is unmistakable. 

You swallow thickly and nod. Just a small movement, but it’s enough to make him pounce. He presses his body to yours, trapping you between him and the wall, the metal rail digging into your lower back as he cages you in. 

“I thought I made it pretty fucking clear last night, darlin’,” he whispers, his voice low and almost dangerous. “But if I didn’t, then let me say it now.” 

He pauses, eyes burning into yours as you breathe in each other’s air, hearts racing in sync. 

“I want you. Only you. All of you,” he growls. “I’ve been waiting years to do what I did last night. And now that I’ve had a taste?” He lets out a deep, throaty chuckle. “I’m never letting you go. You’re mine.” 

Your mind goes blank. Your mouth is dry, and your heart’s thundering in your chest as his words hit you like a freight train. 

“Say it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours as he pulls you closer. “Tell me you understand.” 

“I’m yours.” The words fall from your mouth before you can stop them, but they feel right. Like they were meant to be said. 

Jake smirks, a wicked, cocky grin that makes his eyes sparkle with unspoken mischief. “Good.” 

And just like that, his lips crash into yours—urgent, fiery, and full of need. The kiss is wild and untamed, teeth clashing, tongues battling for dominance. His hands drop to the curve of your ass, lifting you effortlessly, forcing your legs around his waist as he presses you harder against the elevator wall. 

Every inch of your skin hums, the heat between you two scorching. You can’t get enough of him, his touch, the rawness of this moment. You claw at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours, and before you can even think, you're already lost in him, all logic and restraint flying out the window. 

But then, right on cue, your personal cockblock arrives. The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Spencer stands there, completely flustered, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Neither of you had pressed a button when you entered, but the look on Jake’s face suggests that it might have been intentional. 

“Sorry, pal,” Jake grins, his lips bruised and swollen. “I just can’t get enough, you know what it’s like.” 

Spencer’s mouth moves, but no words come out. 

Jake casually takes the box from Spencer’s arms. “Let me help you with that. Go grab another one. Let’s get you out of here before you see more than you’re willing to, hm?” 

Spencer nods woodenly, still staring in complete shock. 

You can’t help the giggles that escape you as you slip past Spencer and out of the elevator, back toward your apartment. 

There’s nothing fake about you and Jake anymore—not that there ever really was. And now, you can confidently say that Jake’s ego is as well-proportioned as the monster between his legs. 

END.

[writesick-lover]

Hiiii,,

Could you write something for bob? Anything. I really enjoyed ‘cry baby’ if that helps.

All the best

A/n: Hiii! I was waiting for the moment when I finally get the kick to write to Bob and this was it! I actually got a bunch of ideas, but in the end I settled for this! Hope it was worth the wait - I do plan to share other tropes for Bob as well... maybe in a Cry baby universe? ;) But for now, ENJOY!

That’s my wife

Robert 'Bob' Floyd x fem!reader

⤞ My masterlist ⤝

═══════☆♡☆═══════

It was crowded in Hard Deck, as it was every Friday night. Bob usually didn't mind, always staying close to his group by the pool, but today was different. All of a sudden, he felt annoyed by the pushing bodies, making it hard for him to see the entrance of the bar. Because today was not an ordinary night at the pub. Something special was happening for Robert Floyd, thanks to special someone about to make an appearance.

And just as he thought about her, he manifested her presence into the bar.

Bob would recognize his wife anywhere. Even in a totally packed Hard Deck, where he probably wouldn't be able to find his own mother. She made her way through those sweaty bodies, her  'excuse me's and 'thank you's flowing through his ears like a melody.

Bob started to look for a place to put his beer to for the time, ready to meet the girl of his dreams at the bar just like they agreed to. When he finally found a small space under the window, he heard a loud whistle. His head snapped.

"And who is this pretty lady," Hangman's voice made the whole company turn as he gazed towards the bar. "Ha, Hangman," Rooster joined him at the staring contest, nudging his ribs. "You can bet, she wouldn't go for a guy like you," he grinned, seeing Jack's shocked face. "A guy like me?" He repeated. "Then what are you? A trashcan?" He retorted, wiping the smile from Rooster's lips in a second.

Bob gulped. He followed the direction in which the two were looking.

His body froze on the spot, trying to figure out what to do. They were eyeing her. She was beautiful, as always. It was these moments, when Bob couldn't comprehend his own luck. His right hand traveled to his left, subconsciously playing with the ring on his finger. Well, shit.

"You're just worried she wouldn't go for a trashcan like you," Hangman provoked and everyone could only watch with a small smile how quickly Bradshaw took the bait. "We'll see about that," and with that, he was on his way to the center of the room, Jake Seresin right at his heels.

Bob was too stunned to do anything. Something in him started to burn, eating him from the inside, pinching every corner of his heart. But he just kept on twisting the golden ring, not noticing the questioning look Phoenix gave him. Her face twisted in surprise at first, connecting the dots pretty quick despite the silence from her best friend. But then she was right beside Bob, nudging his shoulder a little.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "She's got the same ring on her finger," Bob only managed to nod. Natasha's face brightened. "Congrats," she gave him a smile and Bob shared the enthusiasm with a small lift of the corners of his mouth. "Yeah," he said, finally picking up the courage to take a step forward. "I told her about you, although I wish this wasn't the way they meet for the first time," Natasha caught his arm in his motion.

"Hold on," she said, nodding towards the three at the bar. "I wanna see this,"

"Hey there," Rooster went all out. His huge frame surely made an entrance for him, but an additional smile and a confident greet couldn't hurt. And beside that, chicks are digging his deep voice.

Before you even got to turn around, another man was standing beside him, his smile brighter as ever. You eyed them both, with Hangman pushing Rooster to the side and stepping forward. "Is he annoying you? I can take care of him for you," Hangman cooed, not noticing your slight lean backwards, away from the two peacocks in front of you. It took you a while to recognize them, but after a few seconds, it was unmistakable who these two were. You knew them from a photo of the whole group Bob was showing you after he got back from his mission. You weren't sure if you were supposed to laugh or cry. Who would have thought you would meet like this?

☆ ☆ ☆

"That's Hangman" Bob pointed at a handsome pilot with a smile that shined with bright white teeth. "Avoid him at all cost," he looked at you, his eyes completely serious, which only made you burst into a fit of laughter. "I'm serious," he said, the corners of his mouth tugged upwards. "I can see that," you breathed, your hands travelling to his back and rubbing it reassuringly. "But noted," your kiss tickled Bob's cheek, spreading a tint of pink across his face.

"And this is?" you pointed to a tall man with a stache, his big arm hugging your husband around the shoulders. "Oh, that's Rooster," Bob's eyes softened. "And this is Nat, right?" you exclaimed, pointing at the woman hugged by Rooster from the other side. "Yeah, that's her," you two shared a smile as you watched Bob slide his fingers across the photo. "I can't wait to meet them," you said softly into the warm morning and Bob couldn't help but smile sweetly. "They mean a lot to me," he whispered back, gulping. "I know," you turned his face towards you before pecking his lips, both of you falling into a calm silence of comfort with each other.

☆ ☆ ☆

You slightley stretched upwards, trying to look past the men's broad shoulders that bumped to each other, trying to push the other out of the way. Your husband was nowhere to be seen and although you were quite enthusiastic to meet his crew, enthusiasim was pretty far from what you were feeling now. You watched the two glaring at each other and you bit back a smile. If only they knew.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Rooster pushed forward, making Hangman stumble back. "Get in line, chicken," Hangman grabbed his shoulder, forcing himself next to you instead of Rooster. "Boys, I hate to say this-" you began, your fingers falling on the ring on your left hand.

"Come on, sweetheart, let me get you something," before you could finish, you were blinded by Jake's perfect set of teeth, the photo from Bob apparently doing it injustice. "Guys-" you tried to speak up, but to no avail. "Penny, one more on me," Jake called to the woman behind the bar, who only nodded, preoccuppied with other customers. You sighed.

"Don't listen to him," Rooster touched your right hand gently, making you look at him. Ah, missed. The two completely ignored the shiny stone on your ring finger glistening in the dimmed lights of Hard Deck. You decided to let them go in this one, forcing on a straight face as they bickered with each other.

"They are all over her. Maybe I should-" Bob watched the bar, an anxiety creeping into his voice. Phoenix looked closer, noticing the crease forming between his eyebrows and the way he narrowed his eyes. His hands, unbeknownst to him, closed into fists. He was ready to shoot.

"Bob?" she grabbed him by his shoulder, grounding him. He looked at her, his brown eyes a little lost. "I've got your back," she tightened her squeez and that was all Bob needed. It was time to get his wife.

"And why shouldn't she listen to me? She obviously likes what she sees," Jake retorted, nudging you with a flirty smile. "Cause you're a casanova, Bagman," Rooster fought back. "You wouldn't smell love even if it was right under your nose," you had to pause at those words, yanking your hand from Rooster. This was going too far. Bradley looked at you in surprise, to which Hangman bursted out laughing. "You too, so it seems," he got out through heavy breaths, leaning on the bar for support. "Nice one sweetheart,"

"Speaking of love, gentlemen," a woman's voice came from behind the two competing mountains of men. They both turned to the lieutenant who grined at them. If she didn't have ears, she would be smiling all around. "Nat," you sighed in relief, recognising her immediately. "In the flesh," she grinned at you. "It's so nice finally meeting you," she said, Jake and Bradley exchanging confused looks. "Bob told me so much about you," you ignored the two, clinging to a conversation with Natasha like a tick. "Bob?!" the loud yell of both aviators brought you back to the reality. "Are you Bob's sister or some-"

"Yeah, no, I didn't have you for the types to go after married women," Nat giggled, cutting off Hangman as the two completely paled. They slowly turned towards you, their eyes falling on your left hand resting on the counter. A silence fell on the Hard Deck.

"Whose-" Rooster was the first to recover. "Mine," a bright smile blossomed on your face as you saw Bob walk from behind Natasha. "Sorry, looks like I got here first," he grinned as well before stepping in front of you. "Penny?" he called out, but he didn't have to say anything else.

That night, Hard Deck was filled with the dreading sound of a bell and if Rooster and Hangman could become more pale than they already were, they probably did. "Guys," Bob turned sround, his hand automatically traveling to your lower back. "This," he looked at you, his eyes twingkling in the warm light.

"Oh no," Hangman groaned, rubbing a hand through his face.

"Oh shit" Rooster let out.

"This is my wife,"

Your face brightened hearing the words as cheers errupted from around you - everyone ecstatic they will get a free round. And there was a lot of them. "Nice one, Bobby," Coyote and the rest joined the group, not even trying to hide their smiles. They mirrored Bob's contagious smile, the warm atmosphere spreading to everyone around. Well, to almost everyone.

"How do you want to pay?" Penny stopped by amidst pouring shots, smirking at Hangman and Rooster, both still in shock, grilled in their own embarrassment. "We-" the two looked at each other pleadingly for help from the other. "Shit," both said at the same time. "Well, lads," Payback and Fanboy patted their shoulders. "It was nice to know you," they pushed them lightly towards the door leading to the empty beach.

"I'm gonna kill you, Bagman," Rooster glared at his friend, Jake only laughing slightly. "Can you believe it? Our little Bobby found himself a wife! And I went after her!" he laughed at himself. "Yeah, cause you're a fucking idiot!" Roosters last words disappeared into the night, drowned in the laughter and chatter of the people around.

"Well, that was something," you giggled, looking back at the two men, now having it out with each other, their feet sinking in the cold sand. "You're okay? I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," Bob started to apologize but you knew how to shut him up.

"I'm okay. Better even, now that you're here," you pulled back. "And here I was, thinking that they wouldn't like me," you joked, making Bob snort as others joined you.

"Congrats, man," Fanboy hugged Bob around the shoulders, giving him a tight squeeze. "You seem like a lot of fun," Coyote laughed, pointing at you. "I sure am. If only they listened," everyone followed your motion to the entrance, "they could have had some fun too,"

Everyone laughed as you looked at your ring one more time. "But honestly, Bob, where did you find her? She's hot! Do you have siblings?" Payback had to chime in, other boys only agreeing with his statement and awaiting your answer. You only shook your head, earning a few groans from the group. "No wonder she got those two out of their minds," Natasha smirked.

"Yeah," Robert's eyes fell to the floor, suddenly feeling overwhelmed from the compliments. A sheepish smile spread on his face.

That's my wife

═══════☆♡☆═══════

Let me know how you liked this story with a like, comment and repost!

Who should be next from the Dagger squad?

If you liked this story, you might like -> Cry-baby

[ruerecs]

fanfic writers NEVER contemplate or apologise for your fic being over 3-5k words long, we readers LOVE longer fics!! anyways have a good day/night 🙂‍↕️

[that-one-fangirl69]

you ever read a fic so good you just gotta sit there and contemplate your entire existence and everything you’ve ever read before?

[romerona]

Ethera Operation!!

You're the government’s best hacker, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared to be thrown into a fighter jet.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Awkward!Hacker! FemReader

Part I

This was never supposed to happen. Your role in this operation was simple—deliver the program, ensure it reached the right hands, and let the professionals handle the breaching.

And then, of course, reality decided to light that plan on fire.

The program—codenamed Ethera—was yours. You built it from scratch with encryption so advanced that even the most elite cyber operatives couldn’t crack it without your input. A next-generation adaptive, self-learning decryption software, an intrusion system designed to override and manipulate high-security military networks, Ethera was intended to be both a weapon and a shield, capable of infiltrating enemy systems while protecting your own from counterattacks in real-time. A ghost in the machine. A digital predator. A weapon in the form of pure code. If it fell into the wrong hands, it could disable fleets, and ground aircraft, and turn classified intelligence into an open book. Governments would kill for it. Nations could fall because of it.

Not that you ever meant to, of course. It started as a little experimental security measure program, something to protect high-level data from cyberattacks, not become the ultimate hacking tool. But innovation has a funny way of attracting the wrong kind of attention, and before you knew it, Ethera had become one, if not the most classified, high-risk program in modern times. Tier One asset or so the Secret Service called it.

It was too powerful, too dangerous—so secret that only a select few even knew of its existence, and even fewer could comprehend how it worked.

And therein lay the problem. You were the only person who could properly operate it.

Which was so unfair.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be your problem. You were just the creator, the brain behind the code, the one who spent way too many sleepless nights debugging this monstrosity. Your job was supposed to end at development. But no. Now, because of some bureaucratic nonsense and the fact that no one else could run it without accidentally bricking an entire system, you had been promoted—scratch that, forcibly conscripted—into field duty.

And your mission? To install it in an enemy satellite.

A literal, orbiting, high-security, military-grade satellite, may you add.

God. Why? Why was your country always at war with others? Why couldn’t world leaders just, you know, go to therapy like normal people? Why did everything have to escalate to international cyber warfare?

Which is how you ended up here.

At Top Gun. The last place in the world you wanted to be.

You weren’t built for this. You thrive in sipping coffee in a cosy little office and handling cyber threats from a safe, grounded location. You weren’t meant to be standing in the halls of an elite fighter pilot training program, surrounded by the best aviators in the world—people who thought breaking the sound barrier was a casual Wednesday.

It wasn’t the high-tech cyberwarfare department of the Pentagon, nor some dimly lit black ops facility where hackers in hoodies clacked away at keyboards. No. It was Top Gun. A place where pilots use G-forces like a personal amusement park ride.

You weren’t a soldier, you weren’t a spy, you got queasy in elevators, you got dizzy when you stood too fast, hell, you weren’t even good at keeping your phone screen from cracking.

... And now you were sweating.

You swallowed hard as Admiral Solomon "Warlock" Bates led you through the halls of the naval base, your heels clacking on the polished floors as you wiped your forehead. You're nervous, too damn nervous and this damned weather did not help.

"Relax, Miss," Warlock muttered in that calm, authoritative way of his. "They're just pilots."

Just pilots.

Right. And a nuclear warhead was just a firework.

And now, somehow, you were supposed to explain—loosely explain, because God help you, the full details were above even their clearance level—how Ethera, your elegant, lethal, unstoppable digital masterpiece, was about to be injected into an enemy satellite as part of a classified mission.

This was going to be a disaster.

You had barely made it through the doors of the briefing room when you felt it—every single eye in the room locking onto you.

It wasn’t just the number of them that got you, it was the intensity. These were Top Gun pilots, the best of the best, and they radiated the kind of confidence you could only dream of having. Meanwhile, you felt like a stray kitten wandering into a lion’s den.

Your hands tightened around the tablet clutched to your chest. It was your lifeline, holding every critical detail of Ethera, the program that had dragged you into this utterly ridiculous situation. If you could’ve melted into the walls, you absolutely would have. But there was no escaping this.

You just had to keep it together long enough to survive this briefing.

So, you inhaled deeply, squared your shoulders, and forced your heels forward, trying to project confidence—chin up, back straight, eyes locked onto Vice Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, who you’d been introduced to earlier that day.

And then, of course, you dropped the damn tablet.

Not a graceful drop. Not the kind of gentle slip where you could scoop it back up and act like nothing happened. No, this was a full-on, physics-defying fumble. The tablet flipped out of your arms, ricocheted off your knee, and skidded across the floor to the feet of one of the pilots.

Silence.

Pure, excruciating silence.

You didn’t even have the nerve to look up right away, too busy contemplating whether it was physically possible to disintegrate on command. But when you finally did glance up—because, you know, social convention demanded it—you were met with a sight that somehow made this entire disaster worse.

Because the person crouching down to pick up your poor, abused tablet was freaking hot.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with a head of golden curls that practically begged to be tousled by the wind, and, oh, yeah—a moustache that somehow worked way too well on him.

He turned the tablet over in his hands, inspecting it with an amused little smirk before handing it over to you. "You, uh… need this?"

Oh, great. His voice is hot too.

You grabbed it back, praying he couldn't see how your hands were shaking. “Nope. Just thought I’d test gravity real quick.”

A few chuckles rippled through the room, and his smirk deepened like he was enjoying this way too much. You, on the other hand, wanted to launch yourself into the sun.

With what little dignity you had left, you forced a quick, tight-lipped smile at him before turning on your heel and continuing forward, clutching your tablet like it was a life raft in the middle of the worst social shipwreck imaginable.

At the front of the room, Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson stood with the kind of posture that said he had zero time for nonsense, waiting for the room to settle. You barely had time to take a deep breath before his voice cut through the air.

“Alright, listen up.” His tone was crisp, commanding, and impossible to ignore. “This is Dr Y/N L/N. Everything she is about to tell you is highly classified. What you hear in this briefing does not leave this room. Understood?”

A chorus of nods. "Yes, sir."

You barely resisted the urge to physically cringe as every pilot in the room turned to stare at you—some with confusion, others with barely concealed amusement, and a few with the sharp assessing glances of people who had no clue what they were supposed to do with you.

You cleared your throat, squared your shoulders, and did your best to channel even an ounce of the confidence you usually had when you were coding at 3 AM in a secure, pilot-free lab—where the only judgment you faced was from coffee cups and the occasional system error.

As you reached the podium, you forced what you hoped was a composed smile. “Uh… hi, nice to meet you all.”

Solid. Real professional.

You glanced up just long enough to take in the mix of expressions in the room—some mildly interested, some unreadable, and one particular moustached pilot who still had the faintest trace of amusement on his face.

Nope. Not looking at him.

You exhaled slowly, centering yourself. Stay focused. Stay professional. You weren’t just here because of Ethera—you were Ethera. The only one who truly understood it. The only one who could execute this mission.

With another tap on your tablet, the slide shifted to a blacked-out, redacted briefing—only the necessary information was visible. A sleek 3D-rendered model of the enemy satellite appeared on the screen, rotating slowly. Most of its details were blurred or omitted entirely.

“This is Blackstar, a highly classified enemy satellite that has been operating in a low-Earth orbit over restricted airspace.” Your voice remained even, and steady, but the weight of what you were revealing sent a shiver down your spine. “Its existence has remained off the radar—literally and figuratively—until recently, when intelligence confirmed that it has been intercepting our encrypted communications, rerouting information, altering intelligence, and in some cases—fabricating entire communications.”

Someone exhaled sharply. Another shifted in their seat.

“So they’re feeding us bad intel?” one of them with big glasses and blonde hair asked, voice sceptical but sharp.

“That’s the theory,” you confirmed. “And given how quickly our ops have been compromised recently, it’s working.”

You tapped again, shifting to the next slide. The silent infiltration diagram appeared—an intricate web of glowing red lines showing Etherea’s integration process, slowly wrapping around the satellite’s systems like a virus embedding itself into a host.

“This is where Ethera comes in,” you said, shifting to a slide that displayed a cascading string of code, flickering across the screen. “Unlike traditional cyberweapons, Ethera doesn’t just break into a system. It integrates—restructuring security protocols as if it was always meant to be there. It’s undetectable, untraceable, and once inside, it grants us complete control of the Blackstar and won’t even register it as a breach.”

“So we’re not just hacking it," The only female pilot of the team said, arms crossed as she studied the data. “We’re hijacking it.”

“Exactly,” You nodded with a grin.

You switched to the next slide—a detailed radar map displaying the satellite’s location over international waters.

“This is the target area,” you continued after a deep breath. “It’s flying low-altitude reconnaissance patterns, which means it’s using ground relays for some of its communication. That gives us a small window to infiltrate and shut it down.”

The next slide appeared—a pair of unidentified fighter aircraft, patrolling the vicinity.

“And this is the problem,” you said grimly. “This satellite isn’t unguarded.”

A murmur rippled through the room as the pilots took in the fifth-generation stealth fighters displayed on the screen.

“We don’t know who they belong to,” you admitted. “What we do know is that they’re operating with highly classified tech—possibly experimental—and have been seen running defence patterns around the satellite’s flight path.”

Cyclone stepped forward then, arms crossed, his voice sharp and authoritative. “Which means your job is twofold. You will escort Dr L/N’s aircraft to the infiltration zone, ensuring Ethera is successfully deployed. If we are engaged, your priority remains protecting the package and ensuring a safe return.”

Oh, fantastic, you could not only feel your heartbeat in your toes, you were now officially the package.

You cleared your throat, tapping the screen again. Ethera’s interface expanded, displaying a cascade of sleek code.

“Once I’m in range,” you continued, “Ethera will lock onto the satellite’s frequency and begin infiltration. From that point, it’ll take approximately fifty-eight seconds to bypass security and assume control."

Silence settled over the room like a thick cloud, the weight of their stares pressing down on you. You could feel them analyzing, calculating, probably questioning who in their right mind thought putting you—a hacker, a tech specialist, someone whose idea of adrenaline was passing cars on the highway—into a fighter jet was a good idea.

Finally, one of the pilots—tall, broad-shouldered, blonde, and very clearly one of the cocky ones—tilted his head, arms crossed over his chest in a way that screamed too much confidence.

“So, let me get this straight.” His voice was smooth, and confident, with just the right amount of teasing. “You, Doctor—our very classified, very important tech specialist—have to be in the air, in a plane, during a mission that has a high probability of turning into a dogfight… just so you can press a button?”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of being airborne.

“Well…” You gulped, very much aware of how absolutely insane this sounded when put like that. “It’s… more than just that, but, yeah, essentially.”

A slow grin spread across his face, far too entertained by your predicament.

“Oh,” he drawled, “this is gonna be fun.”

Before you could fully process how much you already hated this, Cyclone—who had been watching the exchange with his signature unamused glare—stepped forward, cutting through the tension with his sharp, no-nonsense voice.

“This is a classified operation,” he stated, sharp and authoritative. “Not a joyride.”

The blonde’s smirk faded slightly as he straightened, and the rest of the pilots quickly fell in line.

Silence lingered for a moment longer before Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson let out a slow breath and straightened. His sharp gaze swept over the room before he nodded once.

“All right. That’s enough.” His tone was firm, the kind that left no room for argument. “We’ve got work to do. The mission will take place in a few weeks' time, once we’ve run full assessments, completed necessary preparations, and designated a lead for this operation.”

There was a slight shift in the room. Some of the pilots exchanged glances, the weight of the upcoming mission finally settling in. Others, mainly the cocky ones, looked as though they were already imagining themselves in the cockpit.

“Dismissed,” Cyclone finished.

The pilots stood, murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out of the room, the blonde one still wearing a smug grin as he passed you making you frown and turn away, your gaze then briefly met the eyes of the moustached pilot.

You hadn’t meant to look, but the moment your eyes connected, something flickered in his expression. Amusement? Curiosity? You weren’t sure, and frankly, you didn’t want to know.

So you did the only logical thing and immediately looked away and turned to gather your things. You needed to get out of here, to find some space to breathe before your brain short-circuited from stress—

“Doctor, Stay for a moment.”

You tightened your grip on your tablet and turned back to Cyclone, who was watching you with that unreadable, vaguely disapproving expression that all high-ranking officers seemed to have perfected. “Uh… yes, sir?”

Once the last pilot was out the door, Cyclone exhaled sharply and crossed his arms.

“You realize,” he said, “that you’re going to have to actually fly, correct?”

You swallowed. “I—well, technically, I’ll just be a passenger.”

His stare didn’t waver.

“Doctor,” he said, tone flat, “I’ve read your file. I know you requested to be driven here instead of taking a military transport plane. You also took a ferry across the bay instead of a helicopter. And I know that you chose to work remotely for three years to avoid getting on a plane.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “That… could mean anything.”

“It means you do not like flying, am I correct?”

Your fingers tightened around the tablet as you tried to find a way—any way—out of this. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t need to fly the plane. I just need to be in it long enough to deploy Ethera—”

Cyclone cut you off with a sharp look. “And what happens if something goes wrong, Doctor? If the aircraft takes damage? If you have to eject mid-flight? If you lose comms and have to rely on emergency protocols?”

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting at the very thought of ejecting from a jet.

Cyclone sighed, rubbing his temple as if this entire conversation was giving him a migraine. “We cannot afford to have you panicking mid-mission. If this is going to work, you need to be prepared. That’s why, starting next week you will train with the pilots on aerial procedures and undergoing mandatory training in our flight simulation program.”

Your stomach dropped. “I—wait, what? That’s not necessary—”

“It’s absolutely necessary,” Cyclone cut in, his tone sharp. “If you can’t handle a simulated flight, you become a liability—not just to yourself, but to the pilots escorting you. And in case I need to remind you, Doctor, this mission is classified at the highest level. If you panic mid-air, it won’t just be your life at risk. It’ll be theirs. And it’ll be national security at stake.”

You inhaled sharply. No pressure. None at all.

Cyclone watched you for a moment before speaking again, his tone slightly softer but still firm. “You’re the only one who can do this, Doctor. That means you need to be ready.”

You exhaled slowly, pressing your lips together before nodding stiffly. “Understood, sir.”

Cyclone gave a small nod of approval. “Good. Dismissed.”

You turned and walked out, shoulders tense, fully aware that in three days' time, you were going to be strapped into a high-speed, fighter jet. And knowing your luck?

You were definitely going to puke.

Part 2???

[sarahsmi13s]

Duckie

Chapter 8

pairing: bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x twin sister!reader; jake ‘hangman’ seresin x bradshaw!reader

characters: y/n bradshaw, nick bradshaw, jake seresin, bradley bradshaw (mentioned) penny benjamin (mentioned), hayden kazansky, serenity hart (hayden’s gf and nick’s baby sitter), random booth workers

word count: ~6.3k 

warnings: extremely fluffy, jake being domestic and sweet, nicky being an adorable child, mentions of deployment, just a very very fluffy chapter, mentions of food and desserts, the use of the word ‘smile’ a lot, let me know if i missed any

a/n: i am so sorry it’s been nearly two months since the last update, i got bogged down with school and summer classes, i ended up writing a whole new chapter to dive more into jake and duckie

so despite the wait, i hope you like it

series summary: daughter of goose and carole and twin sister to bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw, y/n bradshaw also got her papers pulled when she tried to enlist in the Navy. which turned out to not be as bad as she thought.

chapter summary: jake as spent weeks trying to get to know nick and duckie, hoping to show her that he was willing to be there for both of them. duckie can see that and she wants to face her fears and dip her toe in the water. so during a morning at the beach that jake stumbled upon, she asks him to go to a farmer’s market with her

duckie universe

ch 7  ch 9

*************

For the next few days, that turned into weeks, Jake talked to you, getting to know you and your son; and both of you getting to know him in return.

He sometimes caught you and Nick at the picnic table and he would go outside, ignoring his friends’ teasing as he did. He then talked exclusively to Nick, getting the kid to laugh and would occasionally catch you watching him. 

Jake really wanted to win you over and show you that he was all in, that he wanted to love you and your son.

And you could see that.

********

You, Jake, and Nick were on the beach, sitting on towels and facing each other as Nick sat in between your legs and played in the sand. “So, you run on the beach on your days off?” You asked, replying sunscreen to Nick’s arms and back. Jake nodded and took a sip from the water you had given him, “Yeah, it’s nice. You know, run a few miles, cool off in the ocean, run half the distance and do a cool down walk the last half.” 

“And I assume you like the added difficulty because of the sand. You seem to like to challenge yourself.” Jake chuckled and nodded, “Yeah, yeah, I do like to challenge myself.” 

You smiled and put the sunscreen away, “Challenge paves the way for change and can make you better. If you know you can do something, you aren’t really challenging yourself are you?”

Jake’s smile matched yours, “No, no you aren’t. But mental challenges and physical challenges are different. Like I know-” He pointed to his head, “-that I can run 8 miles. I’ve done it before, I know I can do it. But is my body going to let me or is it going to try and stop me from finishing my run.”

Before you can speak, Nick gasped as he dug in the sand.

“What did you find bubba?” Jake asked immediately with interested eyes. 

You smiled and looked down at Nick’s hands as he held a shell in them. “That’s so cool Nicky!” You said as he showed Jake.

“Look Han’man, a shell!” Jake grinned and held his hand out, “That so neat! Can I hold it?” Nick nodded and put the shell in Jake’s much larger hand, turning what looked like a big shell into a normal sized, or even small, shell.

Nick giggled as Jake carefully held the shell. You played with Nick’s blond hair, “You gonna add it to your collection bubba?” “Can I, Mama?” He asked, looking up at you hopefully. “Of course sweetheart.” 

“Oh, wait, hold on…” Jake objected gently. “I don’t think you can add this one Nicky.” 

The toddler turned to Jake, pouting, “But.. why?” 

Jake felt his heart twist at the pout on the little boy’s face, tears threatening his teal eyes. He didn’t like it when kids cried, especially if he’s the reason.

But he saw this as a learning moment for the 3 year-old. 

“Well, come take a look Nicky,” Jake said as he shifted and Nick scooted closer. “Look in there, do you see it?” 

Nick tilted his head and leaned in closer to the shell in the pilot’s hands. You leaned as well, curious as to what Jake was talking about. 

That’s when you saw the little legs and pinchers curled up inside the shell’s opening. “Oooh, I see. Do you see it baby?” You rubbed Nick’s arms as he looked closer and huffed, “I don’t see anything!”

Then the little hermit crab peaked its head out and started to walk around on Jake’s palm.

Nick squealed and got in your lap, a little scared by the new creature. “It’s okay Nicky. It won’t hurt you,” you reassured him. “What is it?” Nick asked in a hushed whisper, leaning a little closer and becoming more intrigued.

“It’s called a hermit crab,” Jake explained. “Hermit cwab?” Jake nodded, “Yeah, they like to hide in their shells and be alone sometimes. And something that’s really cool is that they get new shells when they outgrow their old ones.”

“Ooooo,” Nick awed as he looked even closer at the little crab.

You smiled as Jake continued to talk to Nick about the sea life in his hand.

Nick loved the water and the beach. He loved to collect shells and give them to people on their birthdays or when he thought they looked sad, because shells made him happy and he figured they would make other people happy too. He loved marine life too, turtles and sharks mostly. But you now had a feeling hermit crabs would be added to the list.

“So, since hermit crabs make some types of shells their homes. You always need to check and make sure that the shell is empty before you take it home,” Jake told your son as he sat the little hermit in the sand and watched it scurry off.

Nick nodded curtly and saluted Jake, “Aye aye, Capan Han’man!” Jake grinned and saluted back. Nick ran over in the hermit and squatted down to watch it scurry and dig in the sand, making you and Jake fall into a fit of giggles.

You calmed down and smiled at Jake again, admiring the way the morning sun made his hair shine and the sweat made his skin glow like Adonis.

“Um, there’s a farmers market just downtown this weekend. Would you want to…” You trailed off feeling a little forward for asking and anticipating the turn down.

But Jake looked at you curiously, wanting you to finish your question.

You smiled nervously and started to lift sand into your hand before letting it fall through your fingers. “Would you want to go with me?”

“It’s totally okay if you don’t! I’m sure you have plans or want to spend time with your pilot buddies. I just wanted to offer,” you spat out after your question before Jake could answer.

You braced yourself for the sympathetic smile before the decline of your offer, but all you received was a genuine smile with a nonchalant shrug. “Sure, sounds like fun,” he smiled at you, his green eyes shining before he covered them with his sunglasses.

Smiling, you let out a relaxed breath before looking back at your son.

“Hey Nicky wanna get in the water now?”

He nodded vigorously, “Yes Mama!”

****

As the morning turned into afternoon, the forecasted rain clouds rolled in.

“I think that’s our cue,” Jake chuckled as he pointed at the sky. He needed to get back to his room and study, since they had to take the day because of the weather, but he loved hanging out with you and Nick and really didn’t want it to end.

“I think our cue was Nick getting fussy at the sand on his feet. He got really tired after lunch, and all the playing and sand castles. So thank you for that, Jake,” you smiled as you started to pack up.

He smiled and helped you, “My pleasure, I’m sure he’ll go down easy for a nap.” You nodded, “Oh he will. As soon as I get him in the bath, I’m sure he’ll be falling asleep.”

Once everything was packed, you slipped your swimsuit cover back on.

“That’s a really nice color on you by the way,” Jake complimented as he shook out your towel and folded it before repeating the process with the other.

You looked down at your yellow cover up and smiled, “Thank you!” He smiled before picking up what he could hold, “You’re welcome. But I mean, you look good in about every color I’ve seen you in.. but yellow just really makes you glow.”

The heat that warmed your cheeks went deeper than the sunburn as you giggled a little.

“This was my mom’s actually. She loved the color yellow,” you smiled as you smoothed over the dress. Jake smiled, “She’s got good taste.”

You smiled wider before unlocking your car. “You can just put it in the back, I’ll be there in just a second.” Jake nodded, “Yes ma’am.” He smirked at the lip bite you tried to hide as you turned around.

“Nicky! Come on bubba, we gotta go home.”

Nick stomped his little foot, “Wanna stay!”

You crossed your arms, “Nick, we gotta go. It’s gonna rain.” He continued to play in the sand, “I like rain Mama.”

You sighed and hung your head before going to him. 

“Okay, you get two options,” you held up two fingers. “We go home and we can have a movie day for the rest of the day. Or we go home and we can read by the window. But we are going home, it’s not safe to be on the beach in a storm.”

He pouted and continued to dig in the sand, “Don’t wanna go home…”

You knelt in the sand and gently made him look at you, “Why don’t you wanna go home?” “My hermit cwab…” Nick said, tears pooling as his lip quivered.

“Oooh,” you nodded, realizing why he was so upset. “You don’t wanna leave your buddy, do you?” He shook his head and sniffled, “Wanna take him home…”

You sighed. You understood how he felt. When you were his age, maybe younger, you watched ducklings in a pond at the park and when one let you pick it up, you didn’t want to put it down.

Then your parents told you that you had to leave the park, you cried and cried because you didn’t want to leave your new friend. But your dad found a way to make you feel a bit better.

“Hey, Nicky?” He wiped his eyes as he sniffled and looked at you. “How about I take a picture of you and your hermit crab? That way you have him with you?”

His eyes lit up, “Reawy?” You nodded and pulled out your dad’s polaroid that you had brought with you, “Yeah bub, let’s find him.”

You and Nick dug in the sand for a little bit and you found the little crab. “I found him bubba!” Nick gasped and giggled, “Bootles!”

Your brow furrowed as you laughed, “Bootles?” Nick nodded, “His name is Bootles!” You smiled, “That’s a very good name baby.”

“Okay, hold your hands out. And remember, be gentle,” you instructed as you placed the small crab in his hands. “Okay, say hermit crab!”

“Hermit cwaaaaab!”

He grinned and held the crab by his face as you snapped the photo.

You pulled out your phone and snapped a few more photos while the polaroid developed. “Okay baby, we need to head home.”

Nick nodded, “Bye Bootles!” He placed a little kiss to the shell before sitting the crab down and watching the creature scurry off.

He ran over to you as you put the camera away and looked at the developed photo, “Let’s go home Mama.” You smiled, “Alright baby.”

You smiled at the photo and put it in your bag before standing and holding your hand out, “C’mon Nicky.” He pouted a bit before making grabby hands at you, “Don’ wanna walk.” You sighed and rolled your eyes playfully, “Okay baby.” You grunted a little as you picked him up, “Let’s go home.”

Adjusting your bag, you trekked up the sand back to your vehicle, keeping Nick up on your hip.

By the time you get to your car, Nick was fast asleep on your shoulder.

“Little man all tuckered out?” Jake asked as he put the last of your things in the back of your vehicle.

You giggled, “Yes, very tuckered out. I’m really considering just a movie so he can sleep through it.” Jake smiled and opened the back door for you, “That way you can have a nap too.”

“Oh no, I have so much to do today,” you said as you put Nick in his carseat. Jake nodded, “So, this was your desired outcome?”

You looked at him over your shoulder and giggled a bit, “Is that bad?” 

Jake shook his head as he gently shut the door, “No, it’s strategic. Take him to the beach, tucker the little guy out, get home and make sure he’s asleep, and then boom, you’ve got him out of your hair for a little bit to do what you need to do.”

“I feel like he might catch on eventually, but I will milk this strategy until then,” you laughed as you got in the driver’s seat. Jake laughed as well as he leaned on the top of the car and the door, “A mama’s gotta do what a mama’s gotta do.”

You smiled and nodded, looking at Nick sleeping in the rearview mirror.

Looking back up at Jake, you found him already smiling at you. “Thank you for today Jake,” you said softly, your cheeks heating up a bit. “Nick had a lot of fun.”

“What about you?” Jake asked, with a hint of hopefulness in his tone.

You nodded. You had had fun today, Jake was making you laugh and blush, and you started feeling something you hadn’t felt in years.

And if you were completely honest, it was starting to scare you. But there was just something about this that you couldn’t let go of; no matter how scared you were. However, you had to go slow and be careful, for both the sake of your heart and the sake of your son’s heart.

“I had a lot of fun today Jake. Thank you,” you smiled up at him. “Though, I am sorry that you had to stop your run.”

He shook his head, “Don’t worry about that. I can go to the gym on base and hit the treadmill. Maybe the stairmaster.”

You giggled, “Well, I hope you have fun with that.”

“What time should I pick you up this weekend?”

You blinked at him confused for a second before you remembered, “Oh right right! Um, does 0830 sound good?” He nodded and smiled, “Sounds perfect. I’ll see you then.”

“Here let me get you my address,” you said before digging in the console for a pen and sticky notes.

Once you found them and wrote down your address, you gave the sticky note to Jake.

“I’ll see you then?” Jake nodded and smiled, “See you then.”

You nodded back and smiled, “Alright, have a good rest of your day Lieutenant.” “You too, mama.”

He closed your door and watched you drive off before looking down at the yellow sticky note, “I need to find out what flowers she likes…”

**********

A few days later you’re getting ready for your trip to the farmer’s market with Jake.

Now this wasn’t a date, no not at all. Just an outing between friends. Time for you to get to know Jake when he wasn’t around Nick. But it was not a date.

****

You applied your mascara in the floor length mirror in your room, humming a song to yourself as you did so.

“Maaamaaa?” Your toddler called from your bed.

“Yeees Nicky?” You asked as you screwed the lid back onto your mascara.

“Why can’t I go wiff you and Han’man?” He asked as he bounced on your bed.

You sighed a bit and caught him, “Because, mama and Hangman are going to be walking about in the heat and sweating, it wouldn’t be fun for you baby.” You grinned and began to tickle him, “I think Hayden and Serenity have a lot of fun things planned for today.”

He giggled and curled up to escape your hands, “Ah! Mama!” You laughed and continued to tickle him as he flopped onto the bed. You kissed all over his face, “Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!”

You pulled back and took a breath, “Okay baby, Mama has to finish getting ready.” Nick giggled and starfished in the middle of the bed and you went to your bathroom. “You wanna help mama brush her hair?”

Nick nodded, “Yeah!” He rolled onto his stomach and slid into the floor before going into the bathroom.

****

“Duckie, you look good. You sure this isn’t a date?”

“Yes, Hayden, I’m very sure this isn’t a date. I actually have a list of things to look for,” you said, matter of factly.

Hayden put his hands up, “Okay, okay… But I mean you look-” “Hayden, you’re pressing,” Serenity said as she played with Nick.

“Right, sorry. But still, you look great, Duckie.”

You smiled and ruffled his hair, “Thank you Hayden.” You slipped on your shoes and clipped your hair up with a claw clip.

“Okay, I’ve still got fifteen min-” Your sentence is cut short by tires in your driveway. You chuckled, “Military man, should have guessed he’d be early.”

You waited for a honk or something but one never came.

But, then there was a gentle knock on your door.

Your heart rate elevated and you couldn’t hide the grin as you went to open the door.

“Jake,” you said a little breathlessly, smiling as you took in his appearance.

His blond hair wasn’t gelled, allowing it to fluff and rest against his forehead. The green checkered shirt he was wearing matched his eyes and showed off his biceps and tanned arms. His light wash jeans hugged the tops of his thighs but were loose the rest of the way down and bunched around his ankles, brandishing his brown cowboy boots with the contrast.

“You look… good,” you smiled, eyes trailing back up to his eyes.

He chuckled, smiling to show off his forming smile lines, “So do you, Y/N.”

You felt the heat on your face as you bit your lip and looked at your shoes bashfully

“Han’man?”

You turned as Jake looked around you and inside.

“Nicky, hey buddy,” Jake smiled as Nick ran over. Nick wrapped his arms around Jake’s leg, “G’moorrnniing!”

Jake squatted down to give him a proper hug, “Good mornin’ little man!” 

Nick put his hands on Jake’s shoulders, “Have fun wiff Mama today! I not going cause Mama said I would get too hot and I wouldn’t have fun. So, I’m playing with Hay and Ren today!”

“Well that sounds fun, and I promise your mom and I will have fun. I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”

Nick nodded before running back to the living room as Jake stood back up.

You smiled and looked at the floor before looking up at Jake, catching the flowers in his hand. “You-you brought me flowers?”

He furrowed his brow before looking at the bouquet in his hand, “Oh! Yeah, yeah, I did. I hope that’s okay. I know this isn’t r-really a date, but-”

“Jake, Jake!” He looked back up at you and you smiled softly, “They’re lovely, thank you.” You gently took them from him, your hands brushing together and making you both blush.

“Would you like to come in for some coffee? We’ve got about thirteen minutes before we need to leave,” you offered, holding the flowers to your chest. He smiled, “Sure, that sounds great. Thank you.” You smiled and led him into your home, “Kitchen’s this way.”

“Where do you keep your vases?” Jake asked once you got to the kitchen. “Oh, um, I think they’re under the sink.” Jake nodded and looked under the sink, “Ah-ha! Gotcha!”

He stood up, “This one okay?” You turned from the drawer you were digging in to see the tall mason jar. “Oh yeah that’s perfect.” He nodded and stood to rinse it out and filled it before sitting it on the island.

“Thank you, Jake,” you said as you smiled, putting the cut stems into the water.

You turned to the cabinet, “Iced coffee or hot coffee?” “Hot if you got it.” You nodded and grabbed a mug and poured him a cup.

“Here you go, there’s sugar and dry creamer, liquid creamer is in the fridge, if you want it,” you told him before grabbing your mason jar glass and opening the fridge.

He thanked you before adding a little bit of sugar. “So, have they done this farmer’s market before? Or is this like a new thing?”

“Oh they’ve done it before, started back when I was a kid. They took off for a while, started it back up a few years ago. Actually the year before I moved back.”

He nodded and sipped his coffee as you sirred yours.

“And a lot of the booths are military families.”

“Oh really? That’s cool.”

“I think there’s a care package booth too. They… They um,” you smiled a little to yourself. “They put it together right there in front of you. My mom would get one made for my uncle every year if he was deployed when we went.”

Jake smiled, “You said your brother was on deployment right?” You nodded back, “Mhmm.” “Well we need to make sure we stop by that booth.”

You looked up at him, “Wait really?” He nodded and sat his mug down, “Of course. I can tell that you and your brother are close, even though I may or may not know him.”

You snorted a bit, “Right, I haven’t told you about him. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t ask Penny about him.” He crossed his arms and shrugged, “I won’t lie, I did want to ask. Buuuut, I figured you’ll tell me when you want me to know. I’m not entitled to that information.”

And there were the butterflies again.

Yeah, he did the bare minimum and didn’t try to find out more about you through other people. But the fact he was willing to admit it and be upfront with you was something you really liked, especially after being with Chad.

“Thank you,” you said before sipping your coffee. Maybe today you should tell him; just let him know in case there is any tension between them and if that’s a turn off to being friends, or more.

“Of course.”

You both smiled and continued to drink your coffee and talk for the next fifteen-ish minutes.

“We should probably get going, it opens at 0900 and it takes about 30-45 minutes to get there,” you said when you noticed the time on the microwave.

Jake nodded and rinsed his cup out, “Where do you want this?” You blinked for a second, a little surprised he didn’t just leave it in the sink. “Oh um,” you checked the dishwasher and saw that it was full. “You can just leave it in the sink, I’ll wash it when I get home.”

“Nonsense,” he waved you off and pointed to your glass. “Are you done?” You looked down, “Oh yeah.” You dumped out the ice and put the jar in the basin, “I’ll wash it. It’s not a big deal.”

Jake ignored you and grabbed the rag. “Jake, you don’t have to do that.” “It’s not a problem. You invited me in for coffee, it’s the least I could do. And plus, it’s two dishes.”

You smiled gently at him, “Thank you.” He smiled back and watched you go to the living area.

“Nick, come give Mama a hug.”

****

You and Jake walked past the booths, laughing and stopping when you see something that is on your list.

“Hey, isn’t honey on your list?” Jake asked, stopping as he saw a table full of jars of honey. You hummed and looked down at your list. “Oh, yes! Yes it is.”

Jake smiled as you came over, smiling as you looked at the jars.

“Hi, how can I help you?” The lady behind the table asked with a sweet smile.

Jake watched you smile back, just as sweet. “Hi, I was just wondering what flavors you had?” “Oh we have regular, orange blossom, and lemon honey syrup.”

You bit your lip, “Man, I want all of them..” You looked down at your list. “Okay, I’ll take a pint of regular honey and the lemon honey syrup.” She smiled and grabbed the two, “Is that all?” You nodded and pulled out your wallet, “Yes, for now, I may swing by before we leave.”

She nodded as she wrapped them in tissue paper before putting them in a little crate then into a paper bag.

“That’ll be twelve dollars.” You smiled and handed her the cash, “There you go.”

“Thank you, you two have a good day.” “You too thank you.”

You looked back at your list, “Fruits are next and then care package and then roam the crafts.” Jake chuckled and nodded, “Okay, I’ll catch up in a second.”

You smiled at him, “Alright.”  You thank the lady again before walking away to the fruit stands.

Jake watched you walk away before turning to the table. “Can I get you anything sir?” “Yes,” he smiled and took out his cash, “I will take two pints of the orange blossom.”

The woman gave him a slightly knowing smile as she did what she did with yours. “Twelve dollars.”

He smiled again and gave her fifteen, “Here ya go ma’am, keep the change.” She smiled as Jake walked away, “Thank you, have a good day!”

Jake found you at a peach stand, “Peaches?”

Your head whipped up and you smiled at him, “Nick loves them, his dad loved them too.” Jake smiled as he saw that glimmer of love in your eye.

You and Jake held eye contact for a moment, just looking at each other with smiles on your faces.

A baby giggling in the booth next to you knocked you both out of your trance.

Jake jumped a bit and shook it off, “Wha-what do you make with the peaches?”

You giggled and picked through the peaches, “My mom had a cobbler recipe that I love and Nick likes it too. I’ll juice them and make tea. Then other times we just eat them.”

“My grandma makes amazing peach cobbler,” his eyes trailed to the apple stand. ��Her apple pie however, is what she’s known for.”

You smiled at him, “So are apples your favorite?” He chuckled and shook his head, “No actually. I love oranges. Always have.”

“Any desserts your mom makes with them?” Jake nodded with a huge smile, “She makes a loaf cake, it’s amazing.” You smiled, “That sounds delicious.”

“I’ll have to make it for you sometime.” You nodded and finished picking out your peaches and giving them to the woman to weigh, “I would like that.”

“Thank you,” you said as you traded eight dollars for the fruit. “Okay, just a few more booths. Then we can go to lunch.”

Jake nodded, “We can check out the food trucks.” “Oh, yeah! But if we get snow cones we can’t tell Nick… or Hayden.” You and Jake laughed as he made a zipper motion over his lips, “My lips are sealed.”

You nodded, “Thank you.” You grabbed his hand, “C’mon let’s go.” He grinned as you pulled him along, fruit stand to fruit stand.

****

“Okay, let’s go get that care-”

“Miss Bradshaw!”

You turned over your shoulder, “Oh Cheyenne! Hi, how are you?” “Good, I’m good. How are you?” You nodded and smiled as you walked over to her booth, Jake right behind you, “I’m good, Cheyenne.”

“Nicky not with you today?” She asked as she stood up. “Oh no, he’s with Hayden and Serenity today. He would have gotten too hot or run around.” She nodded, “I can understand that. Max is the same way. Except he’s seven.”

You and Jake laughed as she huffed with a grin, “Which is why he is at our dad’s house today.”

Then Cheyenne noticed Jake, “Ohh, who is this?” You blushed and looked up at him, “This-This is um, Jake. He’s a pilot for the Navy.” She nodded, “Oh, and he’s your friend right?” Her emphasis on ‘friend’ making you and Jake blush.

You and Jake looked down at the table. “Oh, did you make these?” Jake asked, trying to change the subject. 

“I did, and Miss. Bradshaw, I made this for you to send to Bradley.” She held out a crocheted rooster to you. “Oh my goodness, Cheyenne! It’s so cute, he’s gonna love it. Thank you!”

She smiled, “You’re welcome.” You looked up at her, “How much do I owe you?” “Oh, no, Miss. Bradshaw, it’s free.” “Are you sure? You must have spent days on this.” She nodded, “I’m sure.”

You smiled at her again, “Thank you.” Cheyenne nodded back with a smile.

You looked down at the table and saw something, “Awe Nick would love that… but he has so many stuffed animals already.” You bit your lip and bounced on your toes.

After the internal argument you groaned. You wanted to get it for him but you still needed to get Bradley’s care package squared away. “I’ll come back and see if it’s still here.”

Jake watched you walk away and looked at the table. “I think you know what I’m about to ask.”

She laughed, “For little Nick Bradshaw? Five dollars.” “No, don’t do that. How much, actually?” “Ten.” He nodded, “That’s better.” He held out a ten and she put the crocheted animal in a bag.

“Here you go Jake.” “Thank you, have a good day,” he smiled and walked toward the care package booth.

“Jake?” Cheyenne said as she came up to him.

“Yes?”

“She likes you. A lot. I can tell in the way she looks at you.”

Jake smiled and looked over at you, “I like her a lot too.” Cheyenne smiled and nodded before going back to her booth.

He chuckled and shook his head, his heart feeling a little lighter that he wasn’t seeing things when you looked at him.

He made it to the booth as you were finishing up.

“Bradley is going to love this, Y/N!” You nodded with a smile, “I know and can you put this in there? It’s from Nick.” “Oh of course, I bet Rooster loves getting these shells from his nephew.” You smiled again, “Yeah, he sends some back from Virginia Beach sometimes. Or wherever they’ve docked.”

The woman behind the table smiled, “That’s so sweet. Let me get this totalled up for you, I’ll be right back.”

You nodded and turned as you saw Jake approach.

“Got it all sorted?” You nodded, “Sure did.”

He smiled down at you, his hand moving to rest on your lower back, but he forced it down. “So, roaming the crafts is next?”

You nodded, “Yes! And then lunch.” “Sounds fantastic,” he grinned at you as you smiled up at him.

“Thank you for coming with me today Jake.”

“Of course, I’m having a lot of fun actually.”

You nodded and smiled wider to match his smile, “I’m having a lot of fun too.”

****

“Okay I have a question,” Jake proposed as he sat down with his burger and fries.

You froze a bit, before nodding as you sat next to him, “What’s up?”

“Well, it’s not so much of a question as it is like a statement that could wind up being a question,” he rambled with a fry in his hand.

You giggled, “What is it, Jake?”

“I think I know your brother.” You stayed silent but nodded. “Now here’s the question, is it Bradley Bradshaw, a.k.a Rooster?”

You sighed and nodded, “Yeah, that’s my brother.”

He nodded, “We were in flight school together.” “Really?” He nodded again and took a bite of his burger, “He wasn’t the biggest fan of me to be honest.”

You shifted a little as you brushed salt off your pretzel, “Oh…” You cleared your throat, “Does that- does that change-” You point between you and Jake, “This?”

“No, no not at all. I don’t care how your brother feels about me, I care about how you feel about me.”

You nodded again and opened your mouth to speak but he continued.

“And I totally understand if his opinion matters to you and you-”

“Jake, stop.” You cut him off and held your hands up, making him stop talking. “Take a breath.” He nodded and inhaled.

You giggled, “Okay, now yes, my brother’s opinion matters to me. But I’m also a big girl and can make my own choices. From what I’ve seen, from what you’ve shown me, you’re a good guy, Jake. A great guy. That matters more.”

“Really?”

“Yes! Jake, in flight school, you and my brother were basically rivals. No one is a fan of their rival.”

“I guess that’s true,” Jake smiled.

“And as long as you two don’t fight in front of my son and keep the jabs and smartass comments to a minimum around me, I think we can make it work.”

He nodded, “For you, I can do that.”

You smiled and nodded, “Good. Now let’s eat.”

****

Jake parked his truck in your driveway, “Let me walk you to the door.”

You smiled and unbuckled, the door opening as your hand reached for the handle. “Thank you Jake.” “Of course.”

You grabbed your bags and Jake walked with you to the door.

You sat your bags down and pulled out your keys.

“Is that a duck key chain?” Jake asked, his head tilted with a smile gracing his lips. You nodded and smiled at him, “Yes, it is.” He held it in his hand, a small twinkle in his eye, “It’s adorable.”

“Thank you, my uh… my nickname has been Duckie ever since I was two. My dad had gotten me a duck stuffed animal and I would not let go of that thing,” you said with a light laugh.

Jake smiled at you, “That’s really sweet.” You nodded and unlocked your door.

You opened it and turned back to Jake, “I had fun today.” He blushed and smiled, “I had fun today too.”

“Mama!”

You and Jake looked down as Nick ran to you.

You bend down and pick him up, “Nicky baby! Did you have fun with Hayden and Serenity today?” He nodded and looked at Jake, “I did Mama! Did you and Han’man have fun?”

Jake chuckled and tickled Nick’s ribs, “We did little man! And I brought you something back.”

Nick gasped and your brow furrowed as Jake pulled something out of the bag you hadn’t realized he was holding.

Your jaw dropped when he pulled out the crocheted manta ray with a little cowboy hat; the one you saw and wanted to get Nick but was gone when you had gone back by the table.

“Jake-”

“That’s for me?” Nick gasped as Jake nodded and smiled. “It is Nick!” “I wove it! Thank you Han’man!” Nick stretched out of your arms to hug Jake, which Jake gladly did with his free arm. “You’re welcome, Nicky.”

Jake put him down and Nick looked up at you, “I’m gonna put this on my bed, Mama! With my turtle!” You smiled and ran a hand through his curls, “Alright baby, have you had lunch yet?” He nodded, “Okay. I’ll be in in a minute and we can Octopus.” “Okay!”

You and Jake chuckled as he ran in and to his bedroom.

You looked up at Jake, “Jake, you didn’t have to get that for him.” He nodded and looked at the bag, “I know I didn’t. But I wanted to.”

“Well, thank you Jake. He’s gonna cherish that little cowboy manta ray.” Jake blushed and looked through the door, “You think so?” “He’s putting it on his bed with his turtle, the turtle his dad had when he was a kid,” you said, tearing up slightly as you smiled.

Jake’s heart clenched at your tears but it fluttered because Nick thought of him so highly.

“So yeah, I think he’ll cherish it,” you smiled softly as you messed with his shirt a little.

“I got you something too,” he said as he reached into the bag and pulled out the jar of orange blossom honey.

You smiled and took the jar gently, “Jake…” 

“You said you wanted to get all of them, and I wanted to get some orange blossom honey-” You looked up at him, the smile still on your face, “‘Cause you love oranges.” He nodded, a smile matching yours, “Yeah, and I really think you’ll like it.”

“Thank you, Jake. And it’s a good thing I went back to that booth, cause I remember you asking about the syrup…” You pulled out the jar, “So I got you some.”

He took the jar and smiled, “Thank you, Y/N.” You nodded, “You’re welcome. It works great in teas and even water. Maybe whiskey, but you didn’t hear that from me. It’ll help with sore throat as well, works with Nick great.”

Jake chuckled, “Ever wanna know if something works, you ask a mother.” You nodded and held the jar close to you.

“Thank you again Jake, for coming with me today.”

He smiled and nodded, mirroring your actions with his jar, “Thank you for inviting me. It probably sounds a little silly but… it felt like I was back home for a few hours.”

You shook your head, “That doesn’t sound silly at all.” You smiled softly at him, “It sounds really sweet.”

“Thank you,” he said softly with a grin on his face.

You went on your tip-toes and kissed his cheek, “Have a good afternoon Jake. Thank you for today. We should do this again.” He nodded and watched your lips as you went back to your flat feet, “We should. I’ll figure something out and we can talk about it.”

You nodded, “That sounds great. I’ll see you later, Jake.” “See you later, Y/N.”

You and Jake smiled at each other for a moment before you shook yourself out of it and went inside, waving bye again as you closed the door.

Jake smiled and looked at the jar before walking to his truck.

****

Once you closed the door you leaned against it.

You sighed and looked at your jar, smiling like a fool with your heart fluttering like you were a teenage girl before groaning as you heard his truck leave.

“Shit… I forgot to get his number…”

*************

duckie and jake got to spend a day with out nick. it wasn’t a date, just a nice friendly hang- who is duckie kidding, it was totally a date

and jake got to learn who her brother was, but that doesn’t matter to him. what matters is how duckie feels and how nick feels about him, not bradley.

so now they’re planning another ‘hangout’ and let’s see if they can finally cross that path into being more than friends

my ducklings <33: @roosterscockpit @milesdickpic @luckyladycreator2 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @hisredheadedgoddess28 @malindacath @avengers-fixation @shawnsblue @caitsymichelle13 @classycolorpeach @mayhemmanaged @startrekfangirl2233 @bobby-r2d2-floyd @twsssmlmaa​ @horseshoegirl​ @babyreads​ @amatswimming @callsign-athena @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @cassiemitchell​ @callsignwidow @kmc1989​   @goodstuff28​ @pjngpp3501​ @lunamoonbby​ @joyfulpandamiracle​ @craftyinfluencersandwich @averyhotchner​ @emily-roberts​ @teenwolf01 @sunderland-6​ @bethabear12​ @coldmuffinbanditshoe​ @dempy​ @djs8891​ @ingoaliesitrust @novavida​ @tigerfan24 @lynnestra44​​ @lilmonstrjedi

apologize if i missed anyone! go to the duckie universe masterlist and comment or reblog if you would like to be tagged!

i’ll put the ones that didn’t work in the comments!

[angelbby555]

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Summary: The admiral's daughter is teasing Bradley about his push-up game. But once he does the push-ups with you sitting on his back, you are left speechless.

Word count: 900

⋆. ୨୧˚⋆

"Do you call that a push-up?" You mused, staring down at the back of Bradley's head. The plan was to go eat lunch with your father Tom Kazansky but somehow you ended up outside in the tarmac watching pilots do push ups.

Your golden excuse? Wanting to greet Hondo and admire the cool aircraft. The truth? You had a thing for Bradley Bradshaw's massive arms. The curve of his bicep was absolutely gorgeous. It should have been illegal the amount of time you dreamt about sinking your teeth into his arm.

As a little girl it was okay for you to think the base was your personal playground, running around asking officers for piggy back rides. Now you were older and knew better. Your father told you to treat the men with the utmost respect, and not to mess around with any of them like GI Joe's.

You followed the rules but Bradley was the one guy you itched to play with. There was so much to love about him. Bradley was nice, attractive, funny and a shameless flirt. Wasn't afraid to put the moves on the Admirals daughter like the rest.

"I've seen little girls do more push-ups than you."

Bradley let out a breathy laugh. Beads of sweat were falling off his forehead to the concrete, while he pushed through the exercise.

"Really? Because I don't see you doing any."

The only part of you he could see was your low-top converse. He would kill for a glimpse of you in your small sundress, but Bradley would hate to face you when he was ready to collapse.

"I would, except I don't want to." You stretched a leg out behind you. In the corner of your eyes you caught a glimpse of how scrumptious his shoulder blades looked, strained against his black t-shirt. Lord have mercy. "Plus I would hate for you to get embarrassed by someone wearing a dress."

Bradley was pissed you hadn't seen him earlier breeze past his first round of 500 push ups. In his second round, he was slower, sweatier, and sloppy. The only motivation was to last until you left. But you didn't look like you were moving any time soon, enjoying front row of his struggle.

"Down 460"

"I didn't know we were doing yoga today. Nice plank bro."

It was certain that you wouldn't be saying this around your father.

"Down 470."

"Are you working out or massaging the floor?"

A few chuckles, even Hondo smirked

"Down 480."

"Damn with that form, the floors gonna start pressing you." You had jokes Bradley would give you that. But he had ambitions. And he really wanted to impress a pretty girl and get her to shut her mouth.

"Get on my back, and I'll show you some real push ups."

You blinked "Please your chicken arms would snap."

"Why don't you get on and find out?" His voice was strained but cocky, earning a round of ‘oohs’ from Hangman and Coyote.

That's when Bernie spoke up on Bradley's behalf. "Alright since Rooster wants to show off. Let have him take the final 10 home."

Instantly Hangman and Coyote dropped all their weight to the tarmac once Hondo had let them off. Bradley tapped your shoes with his hand. Which he instantly regretted since he was about to topple over

"Get on." Bradley voice was firm.

"Okay." You put your hands up in defense and took a step forward. Suddenly you were feeling a bit shy at the proximity. But if Hondo insisted, that's fine by you.

You lowered yourself down and smoothed your skirt out before you sat sideways on his back. You were barely putting any weight on him, hesitant.

"Nu uh pretty girl, properly." His voice left no room for argument. Your stomach flipped as you stood back up, then straddled him properly. Then you sat right down putting all your weight on Bradley. But to your surprised his spine didn't sink down and he kept his firm posture.

"Bradley you dont-"

"Down 490."

Hondo cut you off and Bradley was lowering himself on the ground making your shriek. Bradley wasn't shaking, his form was perfect and stable as he raised back up.

"Down 491."

To say you were impressed was an understatement, your pupils were definitely dilated.

"Down 492."

Being on top of Bradley felt like riding a carousel, his back lifting you in smooth, controlled motions.

"Down 493."

At this point you weren't sure if it was Bradley's soaked shirt that had you wet or your own arousal.

He didn't shudder once doing clean push ups like he wasn't tired. Your hands wandered on his back and when your hand brushed against his shoulder you let out a small gasp from how hard his muscle was.

The two exhausted boys on the floor were rooting for Bradley and you were internally as well.

"And Down 500."

Bradley didn’t stop. Just for good measure, he gave you five more.

You scrambled off him as soon as he was done, pulse racing. That might’ve been the hottest thing you’d ever seen in your entire life. And worst of all? You were pretty sure he could’ve done twenty more.

Hangman, Coyote and Hondo were all whooping and cheering for Bradley.

Bradley pushed himself onto shaky legs, his palms stinging, his body aching. But he still had that award-winning grin on his face.

"Not to bad for chicken arms huh?"

Iceman definitely had Bradley's ass, once he found out about this.

[sometimesanalice]

For the Plot

Summary: Things aren't looking too good for you, sitting alone at the Hard Deck waiting for a man who might not show. Until Bradley Bradshaw sits down across from you and turns your entire night upside down.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Length: 7.7k

Warnings: fluff, so much flirting, and an italicized oh

Going on a first date on Valentine’s Day is unarguably the worst possible idea that anyone has ever had.And while the sure to be terrible, no good, horribly bad idea hadn’t been yours, you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking when you’d even agreed to it in the first place.

The guy you were planning to meet tonight was cute enough, even if you were still undecided about the mustache. And while the chats between the two of you had been pretty good as far as it goes getting to know a literal stranger, you were hopeful that it could be even better in person. The fact he was in the Navy was still a bit of a consideration for you, but not a deal breaker.

In retrospect, the name of the bar should have been your first clue and the location paired with the causal beachy exterior covered in planes should have been the second.

You had been expecting to see more than one girl all done up in pinks and reds tonight, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. And you swear to god, somewhere you hear a record scratch as you step into the Hard Deck, because you are surrounded by nothing but a sea of olive green and khaki and denim.

And you have never been so clearly out of place in your entire life.

There was nothing about your ensemble that was even remotely fitting for the literal Navy bar you’d found yourself in.

The ice pink mini slip dress you’d dug out of your closet was admittedly a little much for a first date, but since it was Valentine’s Day you figured why not lean into it a bit. And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Or so you’d thought at the time, because now it was a decidedly you problem.

The silhouette was simple enough, with the gentle drape of the cowl neck and the barely-there spaghetti straps, but the shiny sheen of the fabric made a statement of its own. It wasn’t something you got to wear very often for as much as you loved it.

But then you’d gone ahead and paired it with the tallest, most ostentation heels you had. The effort had been worth it though because the pearl encrusted block heels made your legs look like they went on for days. Even if it had been a feat trying to get the dainty buckle done with the way you’d been rushing out of the house with your beaded bag in tow.

The whole look was something you’d sure would come with Cher Horowitz’s seal of approval. However, the patrons of the Hard Deck you were less sure about. And even though there were civilians- like yourself- scattered about the bar, none were anywhere near as dressed up as you.

There are more than a few pairs of eyes on you as you stand there with your feet glued to the uneven wooden floors, as the door with its porthole-shaped window slowly closes behind you with a squeaky creak. The twinkle lights above your head felt more like a spotlight, illuminating how out of place you are in this moment.

Your hand is still clutched on the handle unsure whether you’re going to make a run for it or not. You are more than a little tempted to hightail it back to the parking lot and text your date to claim a bout of food poisoning from the safety of the driver’s seat in your car.

But chances are if your date is here then he has already seen you. A bright beacon of pink amongst varying shades of brown and woodgrain.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, trying not to panic. Officially a victim of your own bad decision making.

You take a quick scan of the room, trying to decide what your next move should be. There’s a woman behind the bar with kind but clearly inquisitive eyes. A blonde with a wolfish smile eyes you from where he stands next to a man with broad shoulders bent over what must be the pool table, hidden behind the paneled half wall. By a dart board, there are a couple men with their heads turned towards you, the game seemingly forgotten as they discuss the spectacle that is you.

There are hundreds of planes dangling over the bar, patches and plaques littering the walls and rafters, rounders suspended from the ceiling laden with too many ceramic mugs to count. It was all done with a heavy-handed, maximalistic approach that you’d take a moment to appreciate under any other given circumstances.

When you spot an open table tucked away in the corner of the room it feels like life raft to the iceberg of a situation you’ve put yourself in. Mindful of the scuffed, uneven floors- because the last thing you need is to eat shit or twist an ankle in front of room full of curious onlookers- you hustle over to the spot in hopes of having a moment to regroup.  

Once you’re situated- shrugging off the ivory cardigan you’d topped your outfit, trying to keep the nervous sweat that wanted to break out over your body at bay- you pull out your phone and check the time only to realize you’re devastatingly on time. Five minutes early, to be specific.

So you wait.

And check your phone again and the notifications in the dating app, just in case you missed something.

And wait.

You try to play it cool, skimming posts on Instagram and replying to some overdue texts. Finding anything you can to keep yourself occupied to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach the longer you sit there. Alone.

Now you’re not just simply embarrassed, you’re mortified.

You can still feel the eyes, the energy steadily shifting from curiosity to sympathy over the last thirty minutes you’ve been waiting all alone in the corner of a Navy bar you had no business being in for a man who clearly wasn’t going to show.

So much for doing it for the plot, you think to yourself with a shake of your head.

Another minute ticks by with no message and you decide you’re more than ready to hightail it out of there. Fully aware that you’re about to become a topic of conversation that won’t have to be restricted to only covert glances and muffled whispers. But hopefully, they’ll at least wait until the door closes behind you before the chatter starts up for real.

With a sigh, you reach for your beaded bag, just as a large body slips into the chair across from you, with an ease that is in contrast to the bulk of muscles you catch in your peripheral vision.

“You look like you’re in need of a date,” a warm, raspy voice offers.

It’s the smile that you catch first. Not quite a grin, but something familiar and friendly and charming in the way it crookedly pulled to the left. Followed closely by the rich chocolate brown eyes that were squarely trained on you with a look that was just as earnest as it was playful. But what surprised you the most was the way he was sitting in the stool across from you just as comfortably as if he was supposed to be there all along.

There was no way you could have prepared yourself for the sheer level of attractiveness of this man.

He was in a league of his own with those curls and wide shoulders. The white and olive green stripped crochet shirt he was wearing didn’t hurt either, especially the way the top buttons were undone giving you glimpse of a chain around his neck and the chest underneath it. He didn’t need to be in uniform- or even in a Navy bar- for you to tell he was a military man. Not with the confident way he held himself.

Even if the mustache he was sporting made it feel like the universe was playing tricks on you, but he more than wore it well.

You huff out a self-deprecating laugh. “What gave it away?” you ask. “The way I’ve been watching the door? Or just the general look of regret and embarrassment?”

“Embarrassed? What do you have to be embarrassed about?” His eyebrows pull together, perplexed. He shakes his head like he disagrees with even the suggestion of it. “I think the only person who should be embarrassed is the guy who is missing out on sitting across from you right now.”

You give him a soft smile of your own in return for the cinnamon sweet words. There’s a genuineness in his tone that makes some of the tightness that had settled in your shoulders from the moment you’d walked in release.

“That’s kind of you, but I think I’m going to head out,” you say, nodding to the door you never should have stepped through in the first place.

He gives you a teasing tsk. “And let a dress like that go to waste? Now that would be a shame.”

The appreciative look in his gaze that sets off a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. And then his eyebrow ticks up, just a little. Part invitation, part dare. And you can’t say you’re not intrigued.

There’s a decision to make.

You could leave now and cut your losses. There was a reason you had a back-up pizza in the fridge and had left you well-loved copy of You’ve Got Mail sitting out on your coffee table.

Or you could stick around and see what happens next.

You tilt your head at him, just as teasing. “Would it now?”

“It would,” he states, sincerely.

Before you can reply, your phone lights up with a new notification, pulling you out of the whisky haze you’d found yourself in. 

His eyes dip down to your illuminated screen. “Is that him?”

“It is,” you confirm, almost regretfully. You open the app and skim the message. And then read it again.

There’s no sorry, no apology for cancelling a half an hour after the time for the date that had been his idea in the first place. And then he’d even had the audacity to tack on a cavalier maybe another time at the end.

Unbelievable.

He lets out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”

“Apparently, I should have been the one to remind him that the fourteenth of February is a calendar holiday and a fan favorite day of the greeting card companies.” It’s so ridiculous you’d laugh if you weren’t so annoyed by the lack of consideration and the not-so-subtle blame he’d tried to shift on you. “Even though I did double check if he was sure about meeting up today, I guess I didn’t realize I actually needed to spell out ‘Valentine’s Day’ for him.”

The man across from you doesn’t bother holding back the less than impressed look on his face. And you decide you like that about him, that he wears his thoughts so openly. It’s refreshing.

“Do you mind if I take a look at his profile?”

You shrug and pass your phone over. You were planning on blocking West the second you had a moment anyways. You see him roll his eyes and guess it has something to do with the amount of shirtless gym selfies.

He snorts as he scrolls, “Please, his mustache has nothing on mine.”

An amused laugh escapes you. “Are we ranking mustaches now? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say that I’d have to give it to Selleck.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes good-naturedly, as he hands you back your phone. “But am I at least a close second?” There’s no mistaking the flirtatious tone in his voice.

You hum and take full advantage of the opportunity to look at him unabashedly, mapping the contours of his face because you can.

To simply call him handsome would be an understatement.

The way the golden light of the sunset is hitting him you catch some sunkissed strands in those soft looking waves of his hair. There’s the beginning of some crinkles around the edges of his eyes. You notice the scars on his face, some that look long healed and others that are still a light pink- like the one on the side of his neck and beneath is ear. And that mustache on him worked for you, one hundred percent.

There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he lets you assess him that leaves no question as to whether or not he’s been flirting with you. You like the way he’s looking at you and the way he’s easily made you forget about being overdressed and how uncomfortable you were even just five minutes ago. You’re having fun. And while you still haven’t answered his question from earlier, you have no doubt that he’d show you a good time if you let him.

“Maybe not a close second, but yours is certainly up there,” you tease.

He grins. “I can work with that.” There’s something about the way he adds on for now that has a spark dancing up along your spine. And then he sticks out his hand, “I’m Bradley.”

It’s a good name. It suits him. It’s one you think you’ll enjoy the way your tongue will curl around the letters of it in your mouth.

When you give him yours in return, he sits up straighter in his seat, like he’s won a small victory.

You don’t doubt that he’s the chivalrous type, the fact that he’s gone out of his way to come over to try and turn this evening around for you says more about him than any dating profile with nonsense questions and overthought answers ever could. But with a man like him, one who’d swoop in to save the night of a stranger because she looks like a damsel in distress, there’s an answer to a question you need to hear first.

“Bradley, this isn’t a pity thing, is it?” You were right, you like the way saying his name feels. You drop your hands into your lap, as you search his eyes. “Because if it is, that’ll make me feel worse than being stood up did.”

The way the words were sitting out and open on the table between the two of you made you feel vulnerable in a way you didn’t like. But you’d rather know now before anything goes further. Doing it for the plot or not, your ego could only take so much bruising in one evening.

He pins you with a look so serious that you feel it down to your toes. “Trust me, this is furthest thing from a ‘pity thing’, as you put it,” Bradley says, his tone slipping down a few gravelly notes. “Because if I’m being honest, if that asshole had actually shown up, I don’t know if I would have played fair.”

Oh.

A thrilling rush of warmth courses through you as your cheeks heat up.

You nod, trying to not look as affected as you feel. “Ok, I believe you.”

“Good,” he smirks, his gaze dropping down and lingering on your lips. You didn’t realize you’d trapped your lower lip between your teeth, you release it immediately. “Because you should know, I would have come over sooner- the second I saw you, actually- if I’d known. That’s some dress, sweetheart,” Bradley continues, “Plus, you’d be doing me a favor.”

You couldn’t help but be curious, so you lean in closer. “Oh, how so?”

Bradley mirrors you, crossing his thick forearms over each other and leans in that much closer. “I haven’t had a Valentine in years,” he says it like he’s letting you in on a secret.

For the first time all night, you don’t regret wearing the dress. You don’t regret the ostentatious shoes or the glimmering beaded bag. You don’t regret walking through that creaky door. You don’t regret showing up tonight.

How could you when you’ve just been served the best plot twist you’ve possibly ever experienced? A meetcute you never could have seen coming.

You realize just how close your faces have gotten and lean back in your seat, from fear of thinking you might do something stupid, like kiss him. “Will you stop with the big cow eyes, if I agree?”

Those crinkles around his eyes deepen, “Good to know they still work, I wasn’t sure if I still had it.”

You press your lips together trying to hide your smile, all too thoroughly charmed, but the corners of your mouth curl up all the same.

“Trust me, you have plenty.”

And Bradley’s own smile gets even wider.

Anyone in the bar can see how pleased with himself he is at your words. It rolls off of him in steady waves and swirls around your shins and ankles.

He makes a show of settling further into his seat, now that it is officially his seat. “What’re we thinking? One milkshake, two straws?”

You play along and pretend to ponder the offer for a moment. “That seems more like a second date type of activity, does it not?”

“You’re right, something to look forward to for next time,” he responds, not missing a beat. “So, can I buy you a drink?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

There wasn’t a menu or anything on the table when you sat down, so you aren’t sure what all is offered here. You thought you might have caught a glimpse of a laminated stack near register when you’d first walked in, but you hadn’t wanted to draw any more attention to yourself at the time by getting up again and wandering around and reminding people just how out of place you’d been.

You look around and see a mix of ceramic steins, pint glasses, beer bottles, and a few stems of wine on tabletops and in the hands of the other patrons.

The noise of the bar had become a faint white noise in your ears as the two of you talked, but it comes back in full force now.

“If they have rosé, I’d take a glass of that.” It isn’t hard to miss the hesitation in your voice, feeling a little silly defaulting to your usual go-to. You don’t imagine they go through a ton of pink wine here. “But, uhm, anything on tap would be fine too, if they don’t.”

Bradley’s lips twitch up. Not in a smirk, but something caught between amused and something else you can’t quite describe.

You try not to fidget under his warm gaze, “What?”

He slides out of his stool and rounds the table, setting a big hand on the armrest near your elbow, “There’s something you should know about me, sweetheart.”

“And what’s that?” you ask, more than a little breathlessly. Feeling a little high off of the smell of his leather and vanilla cologne, and something underneath that that reminds you of kerosene in a way that makes you want to breathe him in even more.

Bradley dips down close, his lips just a whisper from your ear, and murmurs, “Pink is my favorite color.”

Your head tips back on its own as you laugh. Its unabashedly loud and bright and delighted thing that fills the nooks and crannies of the corner you’d tucked yourself away into. And if a few heads turn your way because of it, that’s alright with you.

You don’t believe him, not one little bit. But that’s part of the fun. The back and forth, the flirting, the banter, the teasing. He’s so quickly turned this night around for you, you already know your cheeks are going to hurt by the end of it.

The sound of Bradley’s own laughter chases after yours. It’s warm and raspy and boyish, and you like the sound of it. You like him.

“One rosé, coming up,” he says, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before he steps out of your space. “There’s nothing I like more than a girl who commits to a theme.”

You catch his wrist, his skin warm under your palm. “Wait, what’s it really?”

“Red,” Bradley says, then gives you a slow once over, making your pulse spark in your veins. “But you’ve got me second guessing myself now.” He gives you a wink and then heads towards the bar.

You watch stunned as he saunters away, admiring the way the light wash jeans he’s wearing form to his long legs, before taking a moment to send a string of words punctuated with more than a few exclamation points to the group chat.

When he comes back, only a few minutes later, he has glass of familiar pink wine in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. And oddly enough, a straw tucked into the pocket on his shirt.

“It’s almost a perfect match,” he notes, when he sets it in front of you.

“At least I won’t have to worry about staining if I end up spilling on myself.”

Bradley chuckles and moves his stool in closer to yours, sitting back down with more smooth grace than a man with his build has any right to move. He tips the neck of his beer towards you, and you lightly tap your wine glass against it.

You take a sweet sip. “So.”

“So,” he repeats, with a teasing lift of his eyebrow.

“What’s your move?” you ask, running a glossy tipped finger around the rim of your wineglass.

“My move?” And there’s that grin again, one he doesn’t try to hide as he takes a sip of his own.  “‘m pretty sure I’ve been showing you my moves since I sat down. I’ve never been good at being subtle.”

Bradley pulls the straw from his pocket and taps it a few times against the shellacked woodgrain table top. He takes the flimsy wrapper carefully starts twisting it, a little furrow of concentration forms between his brows, spiraling it until it’s pulled taut against itself.  

You set an elbow on the edge, resting your chin on your hand as you study him. “But what’s the big move? I know you have one,” you press further.

His hands are big, calloused and rough, but capable. You want to know the story behind the scar that’s near the base of his thumb. You note that he wears his watch on the right instead of the left, and you pocket that new discovery for yourself the way a kid enthusiastically collects rocks in a park.

Bradley takes that piece of paper and folds it in half before twisting it again.

You watch in fascination as that pleased grin transforms into a confident smirk, like he’s enjoying even just the thought of showing you his big move. He looks like good trouble.

Bradley’s eyes slowly lift to yours, his hands pausing whatever he’s doing with that wrapper. He shoots a thumb to the left towards the end of the oval shaped bar. “You see that piano over there?”

“Mhm.” It’s an almost purr.

“That’s my big move.”

You feel your eyebrows lift in surprise. Bradley gave off such hometown golden boy vibes, you’d never have expected that he’d be the musical type too. The idea of seeing those hands fly over a set of black and white piano keys made your stomach tighten deliciously in anticipation.

“Am I going to get to see it?”

His gaze is steady on you when he replies, “Yeah, sweetheart, I’ll show you my move.”

A grin stretches across your face and you feel downright giddy, as you wiggle your shoulders in triumph.

Bradley shakes his head amused, and then refocuses his efforts on the task he’d started with the straw wrapper. He struggles only for a moment- those large fingers getting in the way- as he tries to open the end just enough to slip the tail though. He gives it one more final twist, securing the loop, before inspecting his handiwork.

“Now, since we’re valentines and all, it seemed only fitting that I get you- well, make you- a little something.” Bradley gives you a soft, boyish smile as he holds out his palm towards you, and in the center of it is a perfectly crafted paper ring. “Sorry, I couldn’t find you a Ring Pop on short notice.”

The words escape you for a moment at the sheer sweetness of the gesture.

Gently, you take it from his outstretched hand, and slip it onto the pointer finger of your right hand, adjusting it with care until you have it situated just right.

“I usually wouldn’t be able to accept something so grand on a first date. But for you, I’ll make an exception,” you say, liltingly. “Thank you, Bradley.”

You look down to appreciate it again, more than a little tempted to take it off and tuck it securely into your purse for safekeeping. For as much as you liked your dress and bag and your shoes, that little paper ring was now your favorite piece of the outfit you were wearing.

When you glance back up at him, his cheeks have the faintest pink hue to them. The little nonchalant shrug he tries to give you does nothing to hide how pleased he looks. “I make a mean daisy chain too. We might have to wait a couple months for Spring, but I’m good for it.”

Your mind flashes with an image of you and him in a park with a picnic basket sat between the two of you, and those large hands of his threading celery green stems together. It’s a pretty picture.

“Well, aren’t you just a regular modern day Renaissance man.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he rasps, silky smooth. It makes goosebumps raise along your arms. “Now, I’ve told you mine. Can’t say I’m not dying to know what your big move is. Am I going to get to see it, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you muse, lifting your glass to take another sip, “If you’re good.”

Bradley hooks a foot under you stool and tugs you just a few inches closer. “Just out of curiosity, what’s your position on kissing on a first date?”

You bend forward towards him and think you hear his breath hitch, you smile. “I’ll keep you posted.”

You’re still looking at his lips when a shout from across the bar startles you both.

“Bradshaw!”

Bradley mutters a string of curses and then blows out a breath, giving you a smoldering look that tells you that the conversation is far from over. You’re more than willing to let him try and change your mind about where he lands in the mustache rankings.

You look over your shoulder to see the with the sharp smile from earlier waving your date over to the pool table. “I take it you know, Malibu Ken?”

“Unfortunately.” A mischievous look coasts over his face. “But I’ll get you all the Ring Pops you could ever want if you say that to his face.”

You laugh. “I’m holding out for that daisy chain.”

Another holler rings out from across the room, the same Southern drawl as before.

“Seems like he wants your attention. Is he a Leo?”

He snorts. “You know what, he just might be. But more like he’s been waiting for the right moment to annoy me since I ditched him to come talk to a pretty girl instead.”

You try not to preen at the compliment.

“The relentless type, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it. I think I’m about thirty seconds from him queuing up “You Make Me Feel So Young” on repeat just to fuck with me,” Bradley explains. There’s a story there and you want to know more. “I know I still owe you the big move, but is it alright if I try to show off a little for you now? Just to get off my back for the rest of the night, then I’m all yours.”

You feel like you’ve just pulled an ace from your pocket.

“What are the stakes?” you ask, intrigued.

“Two hundred dollars and a whiskey,” Bradley replies.

You let out a low whistle, trying to school the catlike grin that wants to overtake your face. “That’s a lot of Ring Pops.”

The corners of his mouth curl up. “I was thinking dinner for our third date,” he says. “I’m buying for our second, of course. But it’s only right that we split the spoils of war.”

The sound of a brass band rings out over the staticky speakers and Bradley hangs his head down and lets out a long-suffering groan. You playfully pat his shoulder in faux commiseration.

You pretend to consider it for a moment, but you already know your answer. “Okay,” you agree, “Just as long as you’re okay with a little respectful ogling. You like my dress, and I like those jeans you’re wearing.”

He laughs, it’s a throaty rich sound. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

You gather for you purse and sweater as Bradley stands. His hands come to your waist, helping you off the chair, your bodies closer than close. It’s a forward move- he knows it, you know it- but with him, you don’t mind at all.

Bradley offers you his hand and you take it in yours; his fingers slip between yours easily like the two of you have already done this before.  

The two of you only make it a few steps before you tug on his hand, waiting until he looks at you from over his shoulder before asking, with a lifted brow, “Bradley Bradshaw?”

He huffs out a not-so-exasperated sigh, “I blame it on the 80’s.”

“Whatever you say, Brad-Brad.” It’s the one and only time you’re ever going to say it, you decide. You like saying his name too much to shorten it. And his back may be turned to you now, but that now familiar chuckle still makes its way to your ears.

Bradley leads you to the bar first, where he buys another glass of rosé and a beer for himself. When you try to pass your credit card to the woman behind the counter, he takes it, and rasps into your ear, “Let me.”

He tucks it right back into your purse as the sound of brass instruments starts up yet again.

“Like a dog with a goddamn bone,” you hear him mumble. And you press your lips together to keep from laughing. Sure, you’d rather be seeing his big move, but you can’t claim not to be amused by all of this.

He nods to a group of people in the corner near the popcorn machine when the two of you enter the alcove with pool table. Some of his other friends of his you assume.

You send them a little wave, one that they return in greeting. You can tell they’re curious, but you’re grateful when they resume their conversation instead of making you feel like your date with Bradley had become a spectator sport for their viewing entertainment.

The first thing Bradley does is introduce you to his friend. It’s a little thing, but he does it without prompt or awkwardly leaving you to take the initiative yourself. You appreciate the way he is still prioritizing your comfort the way he’s been doing it since he first sat down across from you.

The second thing he does is pull out a chair for you. Not with a fanfare, not with a flourish. But like it’s something that’s innately ingrained in him. You get the sense that the gentleman thing isn’t an act with him, it’s who he is.

Jake rests a hip against the table. “Sorry to interrupt your date, but Bradshaw and I had some unfinished business.”

You wave him off, it’s not a big deal. Not when you’ll have the rest of the night with Bradley. Plus, you’re eager to watch this play out between them, curious about their gameplay.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this over with,” Bradley rumbles, as he arranges the balls in the rack. And you wonder if he lost the lag before he’d made his way over to your table for one.

He comes back over to you, and leans on the ledge next to you as he chalks his cue. You’d thought about slipping your sweater back on, with the outside chill pressing against the line of glass windows at your back, but Bradley had more than enough warmth radiating off of him that you didn’t need to.

“You that eager to be out a couple hundred, Bradshaw?” Jake grins, as he leans over the side of the table. He turns his gaze to you and sends you a wink right before he breaks, sending the cue ball barreling into the others with a resounding clack, scattering them across the table.

And then they’re off.

It’s a rapid fire of back-and-forth banter between the men as they take their shots. Mostly good natured, but undeniably competitive. Smirking when they land their shots, and snarking over fouls. Clear that neither of them wants to lose.

Jake is all confident posturing, playing low over the cue with a lightly too tight grip. It’s the only thing that gives him away that he’s not the easygoing player as he wants people to think he is. Choosing higher risk shots that would highlight his ability versus some of the more straightforward options laid out for him, and skilled enough that it pays off most of the time. But after a couple rounds you note he’s too quick to stand up after taking his shot, not enough follow through because he’s too eager to see if his gamble pays off.

Bradley is all loose-limbed ease, clearly comfortable in both his skin and at the table. You can tell he’s probably playing quicker than he normally does, clearly trying to hurry up the game for your sake, even though he doesn’t need to. Although he does take his time as he positions himself around the table, only adjusting his bridge every now and then. Always with a 1-2 shot, a warm-up stroke followed by a steady hit. Watching him you catch his tendency to throw out his elbow of the follow through.

The two are pretty well matched in skill, you observe with keen eyes, as the balls skate across the Top Gun insignia, against the rails, and into pockets.

When Bradley’s not up to play, he’s by your side, right at your elbow. And when he is, it’s your eyes he’s looking into the moment he stands back up, seeking out your reaction. But more than once you feel his eyes on you as you watch them play.

True to your word, you to admire him in those snug fitting jeans. And when he catches your appreciative gaze, he sends you a wink before lining up his next shot.

Jake sinks another solid into the pocket he’d called only moments ago, and turns his dimpled smile at you, “You still sure about your date with the old man, chickadee? I bet I could show him up in that department too.”

The way he says it, you know he’s just teasing, probably just to rile you date up and get a reaction from him.

“Unfortunately for you, I think I have a thing for mustaches now,” you toss back, unbothered. And Bradley smiles into his drink.

You watch as Jake lines up his next shot and hits the white with a compact stroke.

“Double hit,” you declare.

“Dammit,” Jake curses.

You look over to see Bradley looking at you with a focused look on his face. Like there’s a theory clicking into place, one he needs the answer to. Wordlessly, he hands you the cue.

“You sure?” you ask.

“Two hundred dollars sure,” he states.

You take it from him with a sly grin.

Bradley’s thighs brush against the front of your knees, you know if you parted them even a couple inches, that he’d fit just right between them. His hands landing on your waist again as he assists you off the stool you’ve been perched on. And you’re starting to think he just likes an excuse to touch you, not that he needs one because you already more than like the feel of his hands on your body.

You walk the pool table, running a finger around the rails as you do. Evaluating the balls on the table like they’re chess pieces. The slow clip of your heels on the floor like the tick of a clock as you take your time deciding your approach.

“You’re the stripes,” Jake offers helpfully. “Don’t worry, I’ll even let you have a free shot.”

And you can’t help but laugh because this is going to be fun.

“Bradley?” you ask, leisurely chalking your cue.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Do you mind?” You gesture to the spot behind you, and he catches on quick with a not-so-subtle glance at the short hem of your skirt.

He sets his beer down and comes to stand behind you, there’s just enough space between the two of you that you don’t have to worry about hitting him with the cue, his broad from proving you the coverage you needed to bend over the table. While you don’t think you’d mind Bradley seeing the silk thong you had on underneath your dress, you weren’t exactly up for flashing the whole bar.

You haven’t played in a while, but it’s a muscle memory at this point, as you map out your moves. Seeing the lines and angles and arcs in your mind’s eye before anchoring your bridge.

You look at Bradley from over your shoulder, only to see his eyes are trained on the ceiling with his tongue pressed against his cheek. A gentleman, albeit not an unaffected one. A tendril of smokey gratification curls its way along your spine. You turn your head back to the pool table looking between the cue, target, cue ball, target.

It’s a smooth stroke with a satisfying crack. A clean three-rail shot that lands the striped five into the pock you’d intended for it.

“Damn” is all Jake says. His eyes you up, clearly impressed.

“You sure about that free shot, Jake?” You stand up and smooth out your dress, just for the show of it. “Or do you want to make it double or nothing instead, Malibu Ken?” You hear Bradley snort from behind you.

And just like you thought, he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, “Deal.” Jake turns to Bradley. “I just let your girl hustle me, didn’t I?”

“You sure did,” Bradley says with a grin, but his eyes are on you.

Neither are surprised when you sink your next shot too. The six sailing into the left corner pocket.

On your next shot, you may or may not deliberately foul. A tactical choice that sets Jake up with a less than ideal position on the table, knowing it’ll be a difficult shot for him to make.

“Now you’re just toying with me, aren’t you?” Jake grouses.

You just smile and take a sip of the rosé that Bradley hands you, neither confirming or denying.

Surprisingly, he banks it.  But his good luck only lasting through that one play. Because on his next, the ball glances off the side rail at too acute an angle to reach the intended pocket and he groans.

Not quite ready to be done, you ease off a little. Enough that they both know you’re going easy on him to extend the game longer, just so that he can catch up to you.

But soon enough, soon there’s only your eight ball left on the table.

“Looks like you’re about to be out four hundred dollars, Jake,” you say with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Just put me out of my misery already.”

You turn to Bradley, who has been carefully positioning himself behind you the whole time. You hold out the cue to him and ask, “Do you want the honors?”

He shakes his head. “Go on, finish him off, sweetheart. I’m enjoying the show.”

And when your final ball tips into the side pocket, Jakes resounding groan is drown out by the whistle Bradley lets loose between his thumb and pointer finger, as you turn towards him beaming.

“The atm’s by the restroom.” Bradley sounds only too happy to remind Jake as he closes the gap between the two of you.

You look over his wide shoulder, “As for the whiskey, something expensive please, Malibu Ken.”

Jake huffs a grumble but nods all the same as he goes to round up your winnings.

“Scored four hundred dollars and a valentine, that’s not too shabby, if I do say so myself,” you preen to Bradley.

“Think that might have been the best thing I’ve seen all year,” Bradley announces. “The hottest too, if I’m being honest.” You feel your cheeks heat under his gaze. His finger slips under the thin strap of your dress that had fallen off your shoulder somewhere along the way. He slides it back up and into place, treating it like some delicate thing the same way he did that paper wrapper. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

Normally, this is when you’d rerack, but you’ve never had a Bradley Bradshaw looking at you before.

“I took a class in college over the summer as an elective credit, and it turns out I had a knack for it,” you explain with a playful little shrug.

“I’ll say.” He takes another step closer. “Did you just show me your move, sweetheart?”

“One of them,” you grin.

You don’t have to press up to his height, not with your pearly heels.

You wrap your arms around his neck and bring his lips to yours for a kiss. A sound of surprise escapes from his throat. You feel the curve of a smile before his hands slide around your waist to pull you closer.

The scrape of his mustache against your upper lip sends electricity racing along every nerve ending in your body. In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. It’s unhurried, like he’s been waiting to savor the feel of your mouth against his. Exciting and new as you learn the taste and touch of him. You knew it was going to be good, but even so, it’s better than you could have expected.

“Think you just snagged that number one spot of my list of favorite mustached men,” you say against his lips.

“Suck it, Selleck,” he rasps.

You inhale the amusement of his light chuckle, letting it go to your head like champagne bubbles, before he slips a hand around the base of your neck and pulling you in close once again.

A couple hours later, you find yourself at home on the couch. Your cheeks a little sore from how much smiling you’d done tonight, as Tom and Meg trade words over a plate of caviar on screen.

It was only much later that night you’d gotten to see Bradley’s big move.

He’d surprised you with his voice and the talented way his fingers glided over the white and black keys. An expensive glass of amber colored liquor sitting atop the old piano as he played, and four hundred dollars tucked safely away in your purse.

You’d given him your number when he’d walked you to your car, only distracting you for a few extra minutes with his mouth, before you’d left for the night, hoping that you’d hear from him soon.

A notification lights up your phone, and a ribbon of thrill unspools through you.

You sigh when you see that it’s a notification from your dating app. You’re wary to open it, not wanting anything to color your night, but you figure now is as good of time as any to block the guy who had nothing on the one you’d spent your evening with.

When you see the name of the person who’d sent you a message, you click into his profile with lightning-fast fingers, skimming all the details to things you hadn’t had a chance to learn yet.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰

𝐀𝐠𝐞: 𝟑𝟓

𝐉𝐨𝐛 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥: 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐚

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬: 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥

𝐙𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧: 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫

There is a picture of him in uniform, grinning to someone out of the frame. And another one of him shirtless on the beach, surrounded by some of the faces you’d seen tonight at the Hard Deck.

But it’s the answers to the prompts that he’d picked, that set your heart fluttering.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲. (𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐫.)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬: 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬.

𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬.

That one makes you laugh.

You open the message from him, one that had been sent with a rose.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰: 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞? 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧? 𝐈 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐈 𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐨𝐩.

You don’t even have to think.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝?

And you can’t help but grin to yourself as look at that paper ring still on your finger. Because you know, this app won’t be on your phone for much longer.

Not now that you’ve met him.

Happy Hearts Day, friends! Thank you for reading!

And a big thank you to Jordan ( @gretagerwigsmuse) for all the support and encouragement and general woogirling over Bradley Bradshaw!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken  @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[trickphotography2]

Rooster wasn't for you. You were opposites in so many ways - he was an extrovert to your introvert. The center of attention to your wallflower. You weren't interested in a one night stand, and he couldn't offer more. So his volunteering to help with Friendsgiving was just a friendly gesture after you returned from a deployment...right?

Word count: 7.8K

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“Just a minute!” you called, swiping a strand of hair from your face. The knocking stopped, and you quickly washed the flour from your hands, drying them on the towel thrown over your shoulder while heading to the door.

And there, standing on your front step as the sun started to rise, was Bradley. His normally styled curls were sleep-mussed, his grey t-shirt clinging to his arms and untucked from his Navy PT sweatpants. The smile on his face grew as he took you in - sweatpants, a baggy sweatshirt dotted with flour, fuzzy socks, and not a stitch of makeup. The difference from your normally put-together appearance was stark. “Morning, Duch.”

“You’re late.” Laughing, he held up a bag of microwavable frozen corn.

“Had to turn around when I forgot my contribution.” Rolling your eyes, you stepped back to let him in, watching to ensure he removed his shoes before following you into the kitchen.

“The turkey’s already thawed and in the sink. I just need you to clean it out, and I can take it from there.” Bradley nodded, tossing you the corn before going to the kitchen. You put it in the freezer and walked to the downstairs bathroom to wash your hands before resuming your spot at the counter, picking up your bread lame and staring at the unbaked loaf. A part of you wanted to do a simple score, knowing that it would just be eaten, but the hostess in you demanded a more intricate design. The indecision tore at you. To buy time, you sprinkled the top with more rice flour. 

“Can you get me the trashcan?” Bradley asked, and you nodded, quickly abandoning your project. After you set it beside him and pulled off the cover, he tossed the netting and plastic. You couldn’t help but notice his biceps flex as he shifted the turkey. But you shrunk back when he reached into the cavity and pulled out the giblets and gravy package, shaking your head at his raised eyebrow. He discarded them as you braced yourself, nose scrunching when he removed the neck. “You alright there, Duch?” he teased. 

“Gross.” 

“It’s just a turkey neck,” he said, holding it closer to you. You jumped back.

“I will throat punch you if you touch me with that.” He laughed, edging it closer, and you raised a fist. There was a reason a condition of you hosting everyone for Friendsgiving was someone else cleaning the turkey.

“Didn’t take you for being squeamish.” 

“You would be, too, if your grandpa chased you around the house with it when you were a kid, and you had to lock yourself in a bathroom to escape.” At his barked laugh, you shook your head. “I told that to my ex, and he thought it was funny to put it in his zipper and chase me around the house with it. If floppy dick isn’t attractive, a turkey neck sure as shit isn’t.” 

Bradley choked on a laugh. For as prim and proper as you were at times - hence the callsign Duchess - you sometimes reminded everyone that you also had a military sense of humor. “Maybe you just haven’t seen the right ‘floppy dick,’” he smirked, dropping the neck into the trash. 

Shrugging, you glanced away from him when the oven beeped, alerting that it was preheated. “You’re right. Bob probably has a pretty one.” A rosy flush crept up his cheeks as he turned back to the turkey and forced a laugh. Bradley didn’t want to hear that you were thinking about Bob’s dick. “Put it in this afterward, and I’ll dry it.” After dropping the roasting pan beside him, you rewashed your hands.

Standing in front of your bread, you bit your lip to keep from giggling as you contemplated scoring a dick into the dough but decided to go with a traditional wheat stalk. To your surprise, he grabbed the roll of paper towels by the sink and patted the turkey dry, even the cavity. As you removed the Dutch oven from the preheated oven, he tied up the trash bag and took it out. After putting the bread into the oven, you set the timer and moved to the sink, glancing at Bradley when he came back in. Standing beside you, he reached for the soap and lowered the water temperature before scrubbing his hands. Removing the hand towel from your shoulder, you draped it over his after drying your hands. “Thanks,” he murmured. 

“Thanks for taking care of the turkey.” Standing by the island, you crouched to retrieve a cutting board. The sound of other cabinets closing made you peek over the countertop to see him rooting through the overhead storage. “Are you looking for something?” 

“Coffee mugs.” Biting back a retort about making himself comfortable, you pointed to the right of the stove. You bit your tongue when he grabbed two mugs - including your favorite - and went to the wet bar where the full pot was finished brewing. Placing the cutting board on the counter, you grabbed a knife from the block and were surprised to see a mug of coffee beside your workstation. Murmuring your thanks, you grabbed the creamer from the fridge along with packages of herbs and butter. “What are you making?” Bradley asked.

“A marinade since I didn’t brine the turkey.” 

“You want a hand?” 

“I’ve got it,” you said automatically. “I’ve got a schedule.” He didn’t need to know that you were already behind after falling asleep on the couch early last night and forgetting to set your alarm. And he definitely didn’t need to know that you’d only been awake for 20 minutes before he arrived. If you put your head down and focused, everything would still be ready to eat at the agreed-upon 3:00 PM. Some of your time to get yourself ready would just have to be sacrificed. For some reason, you’d insisted that everyone dress nicely for Friendsgiving. Wearing a uniform almost every day didn’t give you any opportunities to dress up, and sometimes it felt nice to wear something other than jeans and a t-shirt. 

Setting your tablet up, you navigated through the bookmarked recipes and rinsed the herbs before pulling them from the stems. Bradley leaned against the counter beside you and sipped his coffee while glancing around the kitchen. Seeing him relaxing there, one leg crossed over the other and looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, made something flutter in your chest. 

“You know, you could have saved a lot of time if you’d just agreed to let Hangman fry the turkey.”

That made you snort. “I just finished my renovations - the last thing I want is for my house to burn down.” It had taken months to get your home exactly how you wanted it. After twelve years in the Navy, you were ready to put down some roots, and buying a home had seemed like the smart thing to do. Living in a construction zone for the last year hadn���t been fun, but a well-timed deployment meant you weren’t there for the worst of it. The results were worth the pain, and you’d jumped at the chance to host when you got back and realized most of the squad had no plans for Thanksgiving. You couldn’t wait for them to see the changes in the Craftsman that had been a definite fixer-upper when you purchased it. The kitchen had been completely gutted and replaced with double ovens and quartz countertops, and the smaller kitchen island had been moved and changed to a wet bar with a wine fridge, replaced with an oversized one. The popcorn texture was scraped from the ceiling throughout the house, the floors redone, and the walls painted. The primary bath had been updated with a large soaker tub and walk-in shower, and you loved the giant closet. The guest bathrooms still needed work, as did the yard, but those were projects for later. 

“It looks good, Duch,” he said softly, gaze holding yours for a long moment. You felt those inconvenient butterflies again and shoved them aside, dropping your eyes to the cutting board. Bradley wasn’t for you. You were too different - he enjoyed nights out at the bar, while you liked to spend time at home. He liked being the center of attention while you preferred to blend into the background. Besides, he didn’t seem much like a relationship guy, given the number of flings he had at the Hard Deck, while the idea of casual dating gave you hives. Pushing away from the counter, Bradley reached under the sink for a trashbag, putting it into the can before washing his hands. He moved closer, nose twitching slightly at the scent of rosemary, and braced his big hands on the countertop beside you. “Alright, what can I do?” 

“You don’t - ”

“Lemme help.” His eyes met yours, smiling when you sighed. 

“Fine. The meat injector is in here,” you said, bumping one of the drawer handles with your hip. “And I’ll need the chicken stock from the pantry.” Pouring the stock, herbs, and a couple of sticks of butter into a stockpan, you handed Bradley a silicone spatula and told him to stir. You rolled your lips together to keep from smiling when he pulled his phone from his pocket and watched videos of turkey injections before declaring he would be in charge of it. Reluctantly, you agreed. Once the marinade had cooled, the bird was given a second drying, you had finished the coffee, and Bradley had rewatched the video three times, it was time. He studied the turkey through narrowed eyes as you tried not to laugh. “You want to - ”

“Ah!”

“The breast and thighs - ”

“I’m doing it, Duch,” he cut you off. 

“Well, remember that if it turns out dry.” The unimpressed look Bradley shot you made you grin as you put your chin in your hand and motioned for him to proceed. The tip of his tongue poked through his lips as he filled the injector and hovered the needle over the turkey. His eyes darted to you, and you raised an eyebrow. “You can tap out at any time, Rooster.” Instead of replying, he pierced the meat and pushed down on the plunger. You couldn’t help but laugh when he yelped, marinade spraying in his face after pushing too hard. But when he reached to wipe it away, you caught his hands. “Don’t put turkey germs all over your face,” you scoffed, towing him toward the sink. You held his chin while cleaning his face with wet paper towels. 

“Now you’re just messing with me,” he chuckled when you scrubbed his mustache, but he didn’t pull away. His breath was hot on your hand, and his smile soft when you reached up to dab away a speck of garlic in his eyebrow. Balling up the paper towel, you shook your head. 

“Wash your face with soap to make sure you don’t get salmonella. Cyclone’ll kill me if you’re out with food poisoning.” Turning on the water, you ensured it was warm before getting a clean washcloth. The oven timer beeped as you dug through the linen closet, and you hurried back into the kitchen, throwing the towel on the sink beside him and grabbing the pot holders to take out your bread. Once it was on the wire rack to cool, you moved to the turkey. 

“What’re you doing?” Bradley demanded, turning while drying his face. 

“Taking over.” You gasped when he closed the space between you in a few strides, wrapped his arm around your waist, and lifted you away from the counter. “Bradshaw! What the hell?”

“Told you I’m doing it,” he chuckled in your ear. Once back on your feet, you spun in his hold and stared at him. Butterflies erupted in your stomach at his cocky smirk. 

“Fine, but if you waste more of my marinade, you’re out of my kitchen.”

“Deal.” 

Thankfully, there were no further incidents, but you kept a close eye on him while slicing up a loaf of bread you’d baked two days before and let go stale for stuffing. After covering the roasting tray with tin foil, the bird went back into the fridge to rest for a few hours. “Thanks, Rooster. I guess I’ll see you later?”

“What else can I do?” 

“You don’t - ” 

“I want to help. I haven’t…” his eyes dropped to the floor as he shrugged. “I never got to do this before. My mom and I would always go to my cousin’s for Thanksgiving before she died, and it always seemed kinda fun.” 

Everyone on the squad knew that Bradley’s parents had passed when he was young. He didn’t mention them often, but you noticed he’d get quiet sometimes when people talked about their families. So his volunteering the information felt important, and glancing at the clock showed that you were still behind schedule. “Fine.”

“Yeah?” he asked, excitement flashing in his eyes. 

“Don’t look so happy - you’re doing prep work. You can peel potatoes, assemble the veggie tray, and roast the garlic. I need to work on sides and desserts.” 

And he did. Bradley followed your instructions, grimacing while peeling potatoes over the trash can until you took out a plastic bag and put it in the sink for him to do it there. You kept an eye on him as he cut the spuds into uniform pieces after explaining that they wouldn’t cook evenly for the mashed potatoes, somewhat worried that he would cut himself. Rather than deal with the onions, you delegated the task and tried not to laugh at his near-constant sniffles and swipes at his watery eyes as you diced peppers. Once you dug out the hand-me-down crystal platters, he arranged the veggies you’d prepped the night before while making pies. Dips were mixed, and cans of olives and bottles of pickles were opened and drained before being plated.

Other than bumping into one another when going for the fridge at the same time, it wasn’t too bad sharing the kitchen. The coffee pot was quickly emptied, and Bradley brewed another between shredding blocks of cheese. You sang along with your playlists, his deep voice joining on a few songs while teasing you about others. When you sang about karma being a kink, he watched your hips sway at the sink, clenching his jaw when you sang a breathy ‘oh god.’ 

He slid the roasting tray into the oven when the turkey was rested and ready to cook. “Now what?” he asked, turning to look at you. 

“Now we keep an eye on it for about four hours. Baste and re-inject it every hour or so,” you shrugged. A glance at his watch showed it would be almost 2:00 PM by the time it was ready. As though realizing it would still be hours before eating, his stomach grumbled its discontent. He blushed when you smirked. “I guess the least I can do is make my sous chef breakfast. Get the muffins and butter from the fridge for me.”  

“Did you make these?” he asked, setting the containers beside you as you heated a skillet on the stove.

“I did - family tradition is grilled muffins on Thanksgiving morning. You okay with blueberry?” At his nod, you started slicing muffins in half. Rather than giving you space, Bradley stayed at your elbow. A comfortable silence fell, broken only by sizzling butter. His gaze met yours when you glanced up at him, and a smile tugged at his mouth. 

An image of reaching up to bury your fingers in his messy curls and tugging his mouth down to meet yours flashed through your mind. Your fingers twitched with the urge to do it, eyes drifting to his mouth and lingering there for a moment too long. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and you forced yourself to look away, heat creeping into your face. 

You nearly jumped out of your skin when he reached up to shift a strand of hair that had fallen from your messy bun. “I’m glad you're back, Duch,” he said, voice slightly raspy. 

Forcing a laugh, you plated two muffins and handed them to him. “Everyone misses the mom friend of the group when she’s deployed.” Your eyes darted to his stomach when it growled again, just in time to see the front of his sweats twitch. Pretending you didn’t see it, you nodded to the living room. “The parade is recording if you want to watch it.” 

Bradley opened his mouth as though he would say something before taking the apparent dismissal. Alone in the kitchen, you touched your cheek and felt warm skin. With a deep breath, you grilled yourself a muffin as the sound of the broadcasters came from the living room. After topping up your coffee, you joined him. He sprawled on one end of the couch, plate balanced on a thigh as he sipped his coffee. Sitting on the opposite side, you crossed your legs and let out a soft groan. Only a couple of hours standing in the kitchen and your back was already starting to protest. “What else do you have to do this morning?” he asked after a moment.

Mentally running through your list, you sighed. “I need to do some cleaning and get into the attic. I’ll start cooking a bit closer to noon, so things just have to be warmed up.”

“What do you need from the attic?” 

“My nice china. My parents bought my sister and I sets for our hope chests when we were kids.”

“What’s a hope chest?”

“You know, stuff you’d need once you get married?” When his eyebrows shot up, you shrugged. “They weren’t really serious about it - it was more of a joke. But, every once in a while, they’d buy something for us and put it away for when we were older and say it was for our hope chest.” Taking a bite of muffin, you gave him a sad smile, “Mine’s more of a ‘hopeless’ chest,’ though. I guess they finally gave up on me getting married because they gave it to me when they sold their house and moved closer to the grandkids. I figured I’d get it out and use it instead of having it sit in the cardboard boxes it’s been in for over two decades.” Something passed over Bradley’s face but disappeared in an instant. Wanting to change the subject, you asked, “What do you usually do for Thanksgiving?”

“Nothing. It’s just another Thursday.” When you frowned, he lifted a shoulder. “A couple of times, I went to the Officer’s Club, or someone would invite me over. But most of the time, I just make myself a turkey sandwich and catch up on sleep. What about you?”

“If I’m not with my family, then this. When I first commissioned, I went to the O-Club with some friends but missed cooking and hanging out. And you know how hard it is to go home for the holidays.” He nodded even though he didn’t. Bradley never asked for the time off unless he was dating someone who insisted on it. With no family to visit, he was happy to volunteer when there was reduced manning and allow others to take leave. “So I invited a couple of people from my squad over, and that was that.” 

“It’s a lot of work.”

“It is,” you agreed. “But it’s worth it.” Bradley’s fingers curled around his plate and in his sweatpants, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath. When he shifted forward, you quickly stood and reached out your hand for his empty plate. “Do you want another one?” Shaking his head, he stood and took your plate. 

“Do you?” Swallowing hard, you shook your head and watched him walk back into the kitchen. Biting back a groan, you gave yourself a moment to collect yourself. Things had been…different… since you’d gotten home. And as much as you enjoyed these quiet moments alone with Bradley, it also stung. You’d thought the time away would help, but as soon as you were back, it was like no time had passed. He was still there, partnering for foosball in the Ready Room and coaxing you to go to the Hard Deck. Making sure that you sat next to him in briefings. Offering to look at your car when it made a noise.

Friends. That’s what friends do for each other. After all, he did the same for Nat. 

Collecting the empty coffee mugs, you followed him to the kitchen and watched as Bradley cleaned up the mess and set it in the sink. “Don’t feel like you have to stick around, Rooster. I can handle getting everything ready.” 

“I’m happy to help if you want me here. I’d just sit at my house watching TV and wait to come back if I went home.” 

Chewing the inside of your lip, you bit back a wave of want. “Don’t think this gets you out of the dress code,” you replied, forcing your voice to be cool while allowing your eyes to run the length of him. “I’m serious - slacks and button-downs, not sweats.” 

Laughing, he snapped a salute. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure I run home and change to pass your inspection.” 

The rest of the morning was a blur, punctuated by moments of stark clarity. 

Bradley’s hands on your waist as you climbed down the attic stairs. 

Biceps flexing as he carried your Christmas tree to a spare bedroom to set up tomorrow.

His elbow bumping yours as he dried the china and set it aside.  

The look of concentration on his face when he basted and injected the turkey again.

His body passing close to yours as he emptied the dishwasher and you assembled dishes.

Just after noon, he went home to get ready while you showered. People were due to arrive around 1:30 PM, and you were back on schedule with your unexpected assistant. 

Sooner than you expected, there was a knock at the door. Groaning, you capped your mascara, shimmied into your black sheath cocktail dress, and went to answer it. Bradley stood on the porch, having changed into a pair of slacks and one of his nicer Hawaiian shirts, hands in his pockets. Folded over his arm was a coat, and he grinned at you when he caught you looking at it. “Wasn’t sure if I would pass inspection without a sports coat,” he chuckled, allowing his gaze to rake over you. A flush rose on your cheeks as you reached behind yourself to pull up the dress zipper. It caught just above the top of your thong.  “You look… you’re fine.” Chuckling, he shook his head. 

“Turn around, Duch.” After a beat, you stepped back to allow him inside and did as he said.

“There’s a hook and eye at the top,” you said and inhaled sharply when you felt his fingers brush the back of your neck. The smell of his cologne enveloped you, and you bit back a moan when his hand moved to your lower back and tugged the zipper up. After a beat, you turned to face him and were surprised by how close he was. His mouth curved into a smile as he looked down at you, hand resting on your waist. 

“You look fine, too,” he said softly. Your hands itched to move to his chest. Bradley’s eyes drifted to your lips, and your breath caught as his fingers flexed around you. If asked, you would have sworn you felt the lightest pressure pulling you closer - but then someone knocked on the door. Stepping out of his hold, you smoothed your hair down and ignored the brief moment his hands hung in suspension before being shoved back into his pockets. 

“I came early to see if you needed a hand,” Phoenix said when you opened the door. In her hands was a tray, and she’d also chosen a cocktail dress for the occasion. Her normally tied-back hair was loose around her shoulders. 

“Hey,” you smiled, hoping that you weren’t blushing. Nat’s eyes shifted over your shoulders and narrowed slightly. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Same as you - seeing of Duch needed help.”

“He’s been here all morning,” you blurted out, flushing when both sets of eyes landed on you. “He’s taking care of the turkey.” 

“The guy who hates cooking is in charge of the main dish?” Nat smirked. “Probably would have been better letting Hangman fry it.”

“He’s being supervised,” you assured, glancing over your shoulder to see him rolling his eyes. Stepping back to let Nat into the house, you accidentally bumped into Bradley, who held your hips to steady you. Quickly moving away from his touch, you took the tray from her and motioned for them to follow you into the kitchen. “I haven’t had a chance to put any drinks out, but there’s some coffee left and wine chilling. I still need to make the cocktails, but there’s also soda and flavored water.” The two followed you, exchanging a look that you missed.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, Bradley tossed his coat onto the wet bar and moved to the oven, flipping on the light to check the turkey before glancing at his watch. “I need to do the last basting, right?” 

“It’s about that time,” you agreed, glancing at the clock. Digging through a drawer, you pulled out an apron and put it on, crossing the strings behind your back before tying them in a bow across your stomach. You thought you heard a murmured ‘Jesus Christ’ when you turned around to see him holding the pot holders. 

You could feel Nat watching as you worked together to remove the turkey and then return it to the oven, popping olives into her mouth and smirking. “Looks like you guys have it down,” she said. “Don’t need my help at all.”

“Nope,” Bradley said, drowning out your, “You can feel free to relax.” 

“Might as well do something since I’m here,” she shrugged, pushing off her elbows. “What can I do?” 

And so, with a third set of hands, you set them to making large batches of seasonal cocktails while you cut the bread you’d made that morning, covering it with slices of brie and dried cranberries before drizzling it with honey. A quick scroll through your schedule gave you the times to start cooking, and you preheated the second oven.

The house slowly filled as more of the squad arrived. Countertops were quickly covered with their contributions - thankfully, more than beer and wine, and only a few sides repeated -  and you mentally shifted your schedule to accommodate the additional dishes.

Mav, Penny, and Amelia were the last to arrive, with her new bartender, Georgia, in tow. Penny had asked you if she could invite her, given that the woman was new to the area and didn’t have anywhere else to spend the holiday. You’d replied with, “The more, the merrier,” just like you had for everyone else’s requests to bring a guest. 

But you regretted that sentiment when you saw how she zeroed in on Bradley, staying close to him while you worked in the kitchen. The few times you broke away to mingle - showing off your renovated home, making sure that everyone’s glasses were topped off and that they didn’t need anything - you saw her hanging off his arm, giving him a simpering smile that set your teeth on edge. And, while she’d adhered to the dress code, you weren’t exactly thrilled to see that her breasts were nearly spilling out of her low-cut dress. 

“You need anything, Duchess?” Payback asked, setting down the pitcher of spiced ginger pear and bourbon. 

“I’m good,” you replied, wiping your hands on the dish rag thrown over your shoulder and blowing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Turkey should be done in a few minutes; once it rests, we can eat.” 

“Thanks for doing this,” he said, glancing over at your full house. Aviators were sprawled across your living room and spilled out into the backyard. It was exactly what you’d hoped for when redesigning the house - plenty of space to comfortably entertain. 

“I’m happy to, Payback,” you smiled, allowing him to pull you in for a hug. “Beats having a quiet house for the holidays.” 

“Want me to get the turkey out for you?” 

“I’ve got it covered,” a voice said behind you, and you couldn’t help but wonder about Bradley's slightly sharp tone as you pulled away from the hug. 

“Got it,” Payback replied, raising an eyebrow and lifting his hands. “Let me know if you need anything, Duch.” Squaring your shoulders, you turned to face the man behind you and forced a smile. 

“I’ll clear off a spot on the stove for you to put the pan, and then we’ll let it sit for half an hour.” 

“Then it’ll be done?”

“Then you’ll have officially made your first turkey,” you nodded. When the timer went off, Bradley quickly pulled the bird from the oven and set it on the stove, closely inspecting his work. 

“Does it look right?”

“Yes, relax.”

“Did you make it?” a smokey voice asked, and you felt your shoulders rise. Glancing at Georgia, you saw Bradley’s eyes dart between you.

“He did,” you answered, smiling at the woman. 

“I just followed her directions,” he replied. 

“It looks great!” Georgia giggled. Forcing a smile, you undid the apron strings and pulled it off before excusing yourself. You could feel eyes on you as you walked down the hallway to your bedroom and shut the door, retreating to your en suite.

After washing your hands for the millionth time, you quickly applied lotion while examining your appearance in the mirror. Compared to Georgia, you looked matronly with your hair pulled back and a higher neckline. Sure, your dress was classy - somewhat tight and falling just above your knees - but not attention-grabbing. 

Not that you were trying to grab anyone’s attention.

A knock on your bedroom door startled you, and you peeked out to call, “Who is it?”

“Rooster.” Glancing back in the mirror, you saw your cheeks were slightly pink and scowled at your reflection.

“Get it together,” you hissed before turning off the light and going to open the door. And there he was, smiling down at you.

“Your phone was going off,” he said, holding up your cell. When your eyes flitted toward it, the device unlocked to show your family group chat was going off. Taking it from him, you swiped up to see videos and pictures. A smile crept onto your mouth as you clicked the first and heard your older sister’s voice.

“Guess what?” she said before tossing a card down and throwing her hands up. Cheers and laughs broke out, and you could hear your nephew complaining as your grandmother said, “Looks like Mom won!”

The camera panned to show your other nephew licking whipped cream off his pie, utterly unfazed by the family now pounding on the table in a drumroll. Catching Bradley’s interested expression, you moved so he could see the screen. Scrolling through the other videos, you watched your mom roll down a hill with the boys and your dad holding a glass of wine with your brother-in-law. The sight made your heart clench, and you sighed. Being away from family on the holidays was the worst. Thankfully, they all understood that your job didn’t always give you the flexibility to be with them.

“Looks like a fun group.”

“They are. I’m glad I get to spend Christmas with them.” He nodded, a flicker of sadness and something else in his eyes. “What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Mav’s already told me I’m spending it with him and Penny.”

“Sounds like fun.” You knew a complicated dynamic existed there but didn’t want to pry. His shoulder lifted, eyes drifting to your now dark phone. And that’s when you recognized the look on his face - longing. “Hey, you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” When he saw your unconvinced expression, he sighed. “Holidays kind of suck when you don’t have family.” 

“I’m sorry, Bradley.” Something in his expression changed when you said his name and reached out to touch his arm. His eyes darted from your hand to your face, and you quickly pulled away. But he was faster, catching your fingers and holding tightly. Your breath caught with the intensity of his gaze, and he stepped into your room. His breath was warm on your face when you refused to retreat. Lifting your chin, you saw his throat bob when he swallowed.  

“Hey, there’s a timer going off,” Bob called down the hall. 

“Be right there,” you yelled back, pushing lightly against Bradley’s chest and forcing space between you. But when you tried to shake off his hand, he held fast. “I need to go, or something will burn,” you breathed. Reluctantly, he nodded and released you. 

You’d already removed the green bean casserole and macaroni and cheese from the oven when Bradley reappeared. Unsurprisingly, Georgia glued herself to his side as he sipped his drink. Though you could feel him looking at you, you refused to meet his gaze. 

When everything was ready, you looked over your kitchen and nodded approvingly. When the guys offered to carve the turkey, you turned them all down and delegated that task to Bradley.  “He earned it,” you said, glancing at him before busying yourself with opening another bottle of wine. With Coyote and Fanboy at his elbows critiquing his cuts, you steered clear of that part of the kitchen and chatted with Penny while pulling out silverware. 

Hangman refused to let you go around the room and tell people that food was ready, instead pulling out a chair and helping you stand on it before whistling loudly to get everyone’s attention. “Dinner’s served!” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder, his arm around your hips to keep you steady. “Thank you for bringing something, and please help yourself. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone - I’m glad I get to spend it with you.” Lifting your wine glass, you took a quick sip and laughed when Hangman lifted you off the chair to set you back on the floor. 

Choosing to wait until your guests had a plate, you leaned against the wet bar and smiled tiredly, watching your hard work be devoured. There weren’t enough chairs for everyone at the table, so the group spread into the living room. You took a few pictures and sent them to your family. 

Someone stepped in front of you, pulling your attention from your phone. “You’re not gonna eat?” Bradley asked. 

“Just waiting for the line to clear,” you replied, forcing a nonchalant tone. The corner of his mouth twitched as he shook his head. 

“Come on, Duch.” His fingers curled around yours, drawing you from the counter and into the line. Grabbing one of the smaller salad plates, you let him push you in front of him, taking small amounts of almost every dish while he served himself larger portions. After topping up your wine, you walked to the living room and felt him behind you, ignoring Georgia's attempt to get his attention. He motioned for you to take the last spot on the couch and sat on the floor. “Jesus,” he moaned after taking the first bite of turkey.

“Mmmm,” you agreed. “You did a good job.”

“Who would have thought the guy who made the barracks evacuate after he burned ramen would make a good turkey,” Nat smirked. Bradley flipped her off, unable to keep the proud grin off his face. 

Dessert was eaten, and the last bottle of wine finished before 7:00 PM. The house felt quiet as it slowly emptied, and you hugged everyone goodbye. Already, tentative plans for a Christmas party formed even as you fought off a yawn. After assuring Penny that you were fine cleaning up, she left with Mav and Amelia in tow. 

Which left only Bradley. 

The sound of running water drew you back into the kitchen, and you paused in the doorway at the sight of him rinsing silverware and loading the dishwasher, a hand towel thrown over his shoulder. “I can take care of that,” you said quickly. Bradley glanced at you and shook his head.

“Relax, I’ve got it. Can the plates go in here, or do they need to be hand-washed?”

“They can go in there.” Ignoring the order, you walked around the house, picked up empty glasses and forgotten dishes, and set them by the sink. Donning your apron, you surveyed the leftovers, “Did you want any of this?”

“Yeah, I’ll take a plate.” Nodding, you started to put the food away. Thankfully, there wasn’t a lot left. Everyone had been happy to take leftovers, and you were glad you’d had the forethought to buy containers for them to keep. 

The silence was comfortable, and you were stifling yawns with the back of your hand. Between the turkey, wine, and lack of sleep the night before, you were ready to change back into comfy clothes and pass out. Without prompting, Bradley started to cut up what was left of the turkey, placing some in the containers you’d portioned for him before putting the rest in the fridge. You started the dishwasher when it was full and wiped down counters. After tossing the rest of the turkey, he took the trash out.

When the door swung shut, you took the opportunity to stretch, moaning when your back popped before bending at the waist and letting your arms dangle. As much as you enjoyed hosting, your body took a beating, being on your feet all day. You would definitely need to invest in some mats to make the kitchen floor more comfortable before your next full day of cooking. 

Even when the door opened, you felt too good stretching to stand up straight. You heard Bradley chuckle and then the sound of water running, followed by the snap of a trashbag being shaken out. Finally, you stood and threw out a hand to steady yourself when the world spun. Hands wrapped around your hips and drew you closer. “You okay, honey?” 

The term of endearment caught you off-guard and had clearly slipped out by the flush on Bradley’s cheeks. “Honey?” you echoed, quirking a brow.

“Duchess,” he corrected. 

“Rooster.” Your hands rested on his forearms, feeling the muscles flex as his fingers clenched around your hips. Taking a deep breath, you felt your chest brush his. His lips quirked into a wry smile. “What?” 

“Just waiting for something to interrupt.” At your questioning look, he chuckled. “Been trying to kiss you all day, and something always gets in the way.” 

“What?” you breathed, shock written across your face. 

“Been thinkin’ about kissing you since that night at the Hard Deck, actually.” 

“T-the Hard Deck?”

“Yup. Before you deployed.” Heat rushed to your face at the memory - or lack thereof - of your going away party. There had been one too many shots, and you had a vague recollection of Bradley driving the Bronco. Of him telling you not to throw up while he helped Nat into her apartment before taking you home. Half carrying you to bed and making sure you had water and medicine - warm hands on your face and a raspy laugh.  

“When I was drunk?”

“When you told me you liked me.” Mortified, you felt a sudden flush of heat and tried to pull away, but he held firm. “But that you didn’t think I was a relationship guy.” 

“Roo - ”

“I am. A relationship guy,” he clarified, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “For the right woman.” Your mouth was dry, unable to force out a single word. “I was gonna say something before you left, but you avoided me. And then you were gone for three months.”

“I… you messaged me.” 

“Wasn’t exactly something I wanted to say over email,” Bradley chuckled. “I like you too.” 

“What about Georgia?”

That drew him up short, and a confused look crossed his face. “The bartender?” 

“Yeah. She… I mean, she’s clearly interested. And more your type.” Groaning, he leaned down to rest his forehead on yours.

“Honey, I’m not interested in her. And she’s not… ask Nat. She’s been on my case about my” - he lifted a hand to make air quotes - “‘hoe phase’ since I got out here.” That drew a snort from you, and Bradley pulled away to smile at you bashfully. “Gimme a chance, Duch.” 

Hesitating a moment, you took another deep breath and gave the butterflies in your stomach free rein. Hands shaking, you wrapped your arms around his neck and nodded, unable to keep from matching his smile. 

Moving slowly, as though afraid to spook you, Bradley leaned down and brushed his nose to yours. “As much as this is doin’ things for me,” he said softly, pulling at the apron strings tied at your stomach, “I think we’re done in the kitchen tonight.” Biting your lip, you could only nod, leaning away as he tugged it over your head, balled the apron up, and tossed it behind you. With his hands back on your hips, he walked you backward and lifted you onto the counter, stepping between your knees. “This alright?” 

“Yeah,” you whispered, allowing yourself to reach out and run a hand through his curls. Bradley's eyes closed when you lightly scratched his scalp, and he swayed closer. His breath ghosted over your lips and - 

“Fucking Christ,” he groaned when his phone started to buzz. You jumped, feeling the vibration against your shin, and laughed as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck. Your breath caught, feeling his lips on your throat. When he reached into his pocket and scowled down at the screen, you saw Nat’s name before he sent the call to voicemail. 

Leaving the phone on the counter, he smirked and guided your legs around his waist as your arms went around his neck. His hands cupped your ass as he lifted you. In the doorway to the kitchen, he paused long enough for you to slap the walls until the lights turned off before walking toward the couch and lowering himself onto it. Your knees dug into the cushion on either side of him, forcing the hem of your dress higher. 

From this angle, he had to look up at you. Hands migrated from your ass to thighs, callouses lightly scraping and fingertips darting under the fabric to trace shapes on your skin and drag the hem higher. Lightly, you ran your thumb along the scars on his chin before ghosting over the ones on his cheek that had always intrigued you. A moan rumbled from his throat as he followed your touch, mustache tickling the delicate skin of your wrist. Blushing, you wondered how it would feel on your inner thighs. He chuckled, kissing your cheek, “What’re you thinking that’s got you red?” 

Rather than answer, you turned and kissed him - just a light brush of your lips against his that seemed to catch him off-guard. You stared at one another for a long moment until he guided you closer. His mustache prickled, not unpleasantly but different, when he kissed you again. It was sweet and unhurried, a direct contradiction to the hardness you felt straining against his zipper. 

Pulling away, you smiled tentatively down at him, seeing the remnants of your lipstick on his mouth. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and you leaned forward to press your lips to them. “Hi,” you said softly.

“Hey.” 

“You like me?” 

“Yeah. You like me?” 

Rather than reply, you captured his lips again. “Drunk words,” you said between kisses, “are sober thoughts.” He barked a laugh before tugging you closer and licking into your mouth. 

“Shoulda said something earlier,” he chided, gripping your ass tightly. “Coulda been doing this for a long time.” 

“Blame the tequila.” The word came out as a moan when he trailed kisses down your neck, and you felt him smile. 

“Thank god for tequila,” he mumbled, nuzzling your breasts and making you grind down on him. Bradley caught your hands when your fingers trailed down his chest to tug at his shirt. “Nuh-uh, honey. Gonna take you on a couple of dates before we get to that.”

“What?” 

“No more ‘hoe phase.’” 

“Maybe just one more night?” That made him laugh again as he shook his head.

“No, Duch. Wanna do this right with you.” 

“I’ve heard the stories. I know you would.” When you rocked against him, he pinned your hand at your lower back and stilled you with a hand on your hip. He growled your name and smirked when your thighs clenched.

“Liked that, huh?” he teased. “Ms. Prim and Proper Duchess likes to be bossed around?” Heat flooded your face, and he chuckled again. Without warning, he stood, and you squeaked, trying to keep from falling. But he held you steady and set you on your feet, towering over you. “Can I stay over?” You didn’t hesitate in nodding, and his kiss was rough before he pulled away and swatted your ass. “Go get ready for bed while I lock up.” 

When you emerged from the bathroom, face cleaned and in your panties and a tank top, Bradley was lying in the middle of your bed in just his boxers. Groaning, he looked at you and shook his head. “Where are those sweats from this morning?” 

“You want me to wear sweats to bed?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe and raising an eyebrow. His hand drifted down to his hard cock, squeezing lightly. “You’ve seen me in less at the beach.”

“Trying to do this right, honey.” Rolling your eyes, you walked to your dresser and pulled on sweatpants before digging out a pair of fuzzy socks. He laughed when you tossed them at his head, setting them aside as you circled the bed to lie beside him. Quickly, he pinned you beneath him, settling in the cradle of your thighs. As he licked into your mouth, you felt his hips rolling against yours. “Still too damn sexy,” he murmured against your lips. 

“Housewife lingerie does it for you?” you teased, running your hands through his hair. Rather than answer, he looped an arm under your knee and drew it up, allowing you to feel him better. “Fuck.”

“Not tonight.” 

And, unfortunately, he was true to his word. Anytime your hands strayed to his boxers, he pinned them over your head, seemingly content to tease and kiss all night. 

Eventually, though, you could no longer keep from yawning. After setting his alarm - Bradley was on duty in the morning while you’d taken the day off - he tucked you against him, your back to his chest. His cock pressed against your ass as he kissed your shoulder, hand slipping under your shirt to brush the underside of your breast. Sighing, he murmered, “Best Thanksgiving I’ve had in a long time.” 

You couldn’t help but agree.

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

Author's Note: Do I think that Bradley has a raging domesticity kink? Possibly.

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[warnersister]

Personal Space

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x reader

Summary: you love your personal space. Unfortunately, Bradley also loves your personal space.

Pt. 2

You never understood why Bradley stuck around. Since the academy you’d preferred to stick to yourself; get your head down and get the job done. Especially with a surname like Mitchell. You didn’t want your father and grandfather’s reputation to negatively proceed you, and by the time people had put two and two together as to whom loins you came from: you’d made your own reputation so Maverick never made much of a difference to it.

But still, having dinner in the mess you’d sat down, when someone came and thudded down next to you and began eating themselves. “I’m Bradley” he said when you finally looked up at him. You raised a brow “Bradshaw?” You ask and he nods: you recognise him from the photos your dad pinned up in your two’s hanger. You hum “and you are?” He asks “not important.” You reply, deciding you’d lost your appetite and stood to clear your plate “good talk!” Bradley said, but you were already walking away.

He’d next encountered you when you were running around the academy, early morning; before any naval training would take place. He hummed and decided it was perfectly acceptable to interrupt your jaunt with his presence. “Hey! Up so early?” He asks as he tries to match your pace from a standstill “could ask you the same.” You reply bluntly “well I wanted to get a run in before-” “well there’s your answer.” You reply, cutting him off. “You run really quick.” He says as you try to keep your pace increasing to shake him off “goodbye, Bradshaw.” You say, pulling your sunglasses over your eyes and taking off at a pace he couldn’t sustain. He just stops and shakes his head smiling, you were funny.

Eventually, you’d both gotten up in the air and were quick to earn your callsigns “Rooster” and “Hen”. Bradley earned his because he was up before the chickens, you’d earned yours because the chicken kept fucking following you around like you were his mother. You were sat on the aircraft carrier, your trainee group learning how to land on a ship deck and you’d finally gotten a moment of peace that evening. You sat on the edge of the deck, feet dangling over the edge as you watched the sunset, not moving when you hear someone slip into the space between the barriers beside you.

“Oh look my chick is back.” You mumble sarcastically and Bradley laughs loudly at you. “You love me really” he says, looking at you as if he wanted to you agree with him “you seem to keep telling yourself that, don’t you?” You hum, turning to watch the sea lap against the grey metal. You can feel him fidgeting beside you, as if antsy to say something. “What?” You ask, finally turning to look at him. “What?” He repeats, looking at you with raised brows “you want to ask me something. You’re fidgeting.” You point out “so ask me or fuck off” you say, turning away again. “Your last name is Mitchell” he says and you roll your eyes “you can read and hear. Two things I’ve learnt today.” You huff, again, with sarcasm. “Are you related to Pete Mitchell?” He asks, looking at you and nearly holding his breath “you finally put two and two together?” You ask and he lets out the breath.

“Yeah, he’s my dad.” You say after a while “I was a whoopsie baby my mother didn’t want anything to do with” you tell him. “He used to fly with my dad.” Bradley almost whispers, voice just a few octaves above. “I know” you nod “he’s practically wallpapered all over our hanger.” You say “so are you” you eye him. “He pulled my papers” he says, again after a few moments of silence “I know” you say “do you know why?” He asks “yes.” You reply, and he could tell you weren’t going to elaborate. “Y’know I’m not a fan of your dad, but I really like you.” He says and you just look at him with a blank face. “Yup” you hum to yourself and he raises a brow “just as Mother Goose was described” you say, and Bradley’s face immediately lights up with a huge grin, stretching and arm around you and pulling you into his side.

“Get off me.” “Yup, yep, sorry.”

For your first deployment, the academy set it up that you’d at least be with one person from your training squadron, and today the list of names were coming out; they were scribbled on the back of a napkin and pinned to a notice board.

“1. Haywood & Solomons, 2. Hughes & Shelley & Omaha, 3. Cooper & Parker & Cromwell & Smith, 4. Bradshaw,” you crossed your fingers as someone read out the names, then yours was read alongside Bradley’s “oh for god’s sake” you grumble, turning to see Bradley practically jumping for joy. “This is great! Me and you, Hen!” Rooster cheers and you just stare at him “should’ve called you leech cause you’re acting like one. Calm down.” You instruct and he tries to chill out, but the cheeky smile on his face was indiminishagble.

He only became more unbearable then, with you every working hour, your wingman on the missions you’d fly, inseparable despite your complaints. “Where’s your boyfriend?” Hawk asked you, as he came to sit with you for lunch. You shush him loudly. “Woah woah I only asked where he was.” “Speak his name and he shows up. I’m trying to hide.” you say in a hushed voice “plus he isn’t my boyfriend” “sure” he scoffs but the daggers being shot into his head silenced him easily.

“Hey Hen! Hawk” Bradley greets as he sits down. You grunt and point an accusatory finger at Hawk “this is your fault, jackass” you say and he laughs at you, him and Bradley engage in conversation as you just eat, having learnt the skill of drowning him out. “What about you, Hen?” Hawk asked, drawing your attention away from your plate and up to the two men alongside you, you raise an eyebrow - letting them know you were insinuating that you weren’t listening to their conversation.

“Do you want a family?” He ask and you just nod “really?” Hawk asks “that’s cute, didn’t take you for a family gal” he jokes and you harshly kick his leg under the table “kids and everything?” He asks after the pain subsides. “Yup.” You say and Bradley hums “I didn’t know that” he says and you just look at him “you never asked.” You reply simply, and that was true: he hadn’t. He was quite prepared to spend the rest of existence chasing after you, whether that meant giving you your first kiss on your deathbeds.

The two of you even went to Top Gun together, training to be the finest naval aviators of them all. And boy, you two fought to be the best; tongue and teeth, blood sweat and tears, everything. The decision came down to one final dogfight. “May the best aviator win” Rooster jokes, sticking out a hand to you. You eye it and internally question if you were insane, before leaning up to peck his cheek. “Prepare to loose, chicken.” You say, leaving him frozen in his place while you head to your plane. That day, Bradley was seriously off his A-game, and you came out on top.

A Mitchell finally Top Gun.

“Congratulations!” Bradley says excitedly on graduation day when you victoriously lifted the trophy above your head. You turned to him and he leant down slightly - you weren’t stupid, you knew what he was intending to do. “Thank you, Brad.” You say, turning to walk over to where your father was stood - knowing that was probably the only time Bradley wouldn’t follow you. That was the first time you’d ever called him anything short of Bradley Bradshaw.

“I’m so proud of you honey” your dad says, hugging you tightly and you embrace him back, smiling widely “thank you, dad” you respond and he looks behind you where Bradley was stood a while back, watching the ordeal. “Is that-” “yes” you tell him and your dad just looks at you “I wouldn’t get all teary he follows me like a lost puppy” you grumble but he just grins “he’s a good kid, hon.” He says and you shake your head “he’s definitely something”

“So how does their relationship work?” Bob asks Hangman, watching Bradley talk your ear off and you just staring ahead into space, blankly. “You see Bobby my boy,” Jake begins “Hen loves her personal space” Bob nods “Rooster also loves Hen’s personal space.” Bob nods again, now understanding. “Haven’t they done everything together though?” He asks “I think it’s more the fact that Hen does something and Rooster just kinda goes with it” Phoenix said and Bob hums, as Bradley continues to converse one-sidedly with you.

“He means well” you hear from beside you as you stare out from the hanger, turning to see your honorary uncle Tom walking towards you, you run towards him as he embraces you tightly “hey Ice” you smile, sweetly. “Hey sweetheart” he croaks. “I mean what I said.” He states and you raise a brow “he means well” he nods towards the man doing his required push ups on the ground with Hondo. “I know, Ice.” You tell him. “No, I don’t think you do” he hums and you raise your eyebrows at him. “The kids in love with you. You’ve either got to let him in or tell him to get out.” He says, “you’re living together for goodness sake”. “It was cheaper” you argue “we both know the accommodation is subsidised.” He states, matter-of-factly, patting your shoulder as he turns to go talk to your dad when he walks into the room.

It was true, you and Bradley were sharing accommodation. “Hey Hen, they’ve offered us shared accommodation back in Miramar” Bradley says, coming over with a pamphlet. “Why?” You ask, taking it out of his hands. ‘Married couple accommodation’ it states and you raise your brows “you getting ahead of yourself, Bradshaw?” You ask and he shakes his head “the guy assumed our callsigns were cause we’re a couple” he tells you and you just hum. “Well I’d rather stay there than in an apartment.” You say simply, giving him back the leaflet and refocusing on the plane you were working on repairing. “Seriously?” He asks, voice overly hopeful. You look at him and shrug “just go get the damn house, Bradshaw. Before I change my mind!” You say and he grins, turning and breaking out into almost a jog to head to confirm your living situation.

You take a moment of hesitation, before loudly groaning and heading out onto the tarmac, getting down and doing push ups alongside Rooster. He turns his head and looks at you and you just raise your brows at him. “Hey honey” he grins “hello Bradley” he nudges your hip with his own. “I’ll drive us home.” You tell him, and he raises his eyebrows “Home?” He asks and you huff “okay, Bradley I will drive the two of us back to our shared accommodation that we accidentally got given.” You say and he laughs loudly “home sounded better.”

Then after the mission, the whole Dagger squad got permanently stationed in San Diego, other than deployment, so they urged the new additions to the base to buy their own properties closer to base rather than on it. You and Bradley were sat in the Hard Deck, a long time before it was open, the rest of the Daggers spending time on the beach while the two of you were scouring Bradley’s laptop for a property. Well, Bradley was.

How about this one? He turns his screen to you. You shake your head “I want grass in the garden. I want to plant flowers” you say as you point at the paved back of the house, explaining that it’s a waste of money to have it ripped out. Bradley nods “Mkay, garden” he says, moving back to look again.

“How about this one? Beach front, close to the running track for you. Only a walk from the Hard Deck. White picket fence, really” he hums, turning the laptop again “garden?” You ask and he nods “garden.” He nods with a grin. “Shall we go look?” You ask and he raises a brow at you. “You said it’s a walk from the hard deck. Let’s go.” You say, putting the address into your phone and immediately recognising the street name, Bradley quickly falling into step with you as you walk towards the property.

You look at it and place your hands on your hips. Bradley was right. Pretty damn perfect. “Can I help you?” A lady asks, walking outside of the house, clipboard in hand. “Oh no, we’d just seen this property online and wanted to take a look.” Bradley tells her. “Well I’ve had a no-show on a viewing. How’d you like to take a look?” She suggests, motioning to the open door. “Okay” you nod, following her into the house.

“Obviously the kitchen, living room, even a deck out back with a huge garden and high fences” she says nodding out the window and you hum. “Out the side there’s an entrance straight to the beach” she motions, then starts heading up the stairs “three bedrooms, attic space, bathroom” she says “I’m guessing it’s just you two at the moment?” She asks “oh we’re not-” Bradley begins “yes, just us.” You confirm, shutting him up. “Okay, so there’s a large room for your bed and then if any new additions are to join, you have the space for them” she smiles and leads you back out front.

“It’s not cheap, it’s California. So I understand if you’re not prepared to pay that much money, do you mind me asking what you do?” She asks “we’re naval aviators.” Bradley says “stationed here?” She asks and you both nod “ah! I get why you’re looking for a property here!” She says and Bradley looks at you. “I really like it, Roo.” You say, and Bradley has to stop his jaw hitting the floor at your nickname. “It’s your call, honey” he says and you look at the lady and smile as she offers her hand “we’ll take it.”

“How shall we split the payment?” You ask Bradley as you walk back to the Hard Deck after organising a meeting with the realtor to actually finalise all the kinks and bumps. “I don’t mind doing the down payment then we’ll take it in turn paying the loan” he suggests “we can get a joint bank account and do it that way” you say and he agrees as you settle back into your seats at the Hard Deck. “Where’ve you two been?” Hangman asks “we bought a house.”

One evening, after you were all moved in and were hanging out at the Hard Deck after a long day or routine flying, you were sat outside with Rooster; watching the sunset. “When are we getting married then?” You ask and he spits out his beer “what?” He asks, eyes wide and getting progressively more giddy. “Well we live together, we have a joint bank account, and Jake keeps telling me we’re practically married. So when are we getting married?” You ask as he hugs you tightly “whenever you want, baby” he says, kissing the top of your head and pulling a ring out of his pocket to get on his knee. “Will you marry me?” He asks and you raise a brow “didn’t I just say that?” You ask bluntly “just say yes, please” he begs and you nod “yes. Yes I will marry you, Bradley Bradshaw.” You confirm as he kisses your lips gently.

“Okay get off of me now.”

Pt. 2