#love is in the air tgm

[pavsy]

Love is in the air~

Happy Valentine's Day ♥️♥️♥️♥️

[sometimesanalice]

Like I Can (Part 1)

Summary: After yet another bad date and tired of swiping on apps, the Dagger Squad steps in to help you out by setting you up on a series of blind dates. Much to Rooster’s dismay.

Warnings: fuff, slight angst. Minors DNI

Length: 3.2K

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

Part 2

(We’re kicking of Valentine’s Day a bit early❣️ Enjoy!)

“I’m all for growing the sport, but Brady buying an MLP team is ruining the integrity of the league. He may be the GOAT of football, but he has nothing on Ben John’s world-class pickleball game,” your date Max passionately states from his spot across from you at the Italian place he had recommended.

Or was his name Mac?

He’d already told you all about the CRBN paddle drama. At this point, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had already prepared a PowerPoint presentation on the topic complete with transitions and color-coded charts. He seems the type.

And he had yet to ask you a single question about yourself all evening.

You can tell he is gearing up for the next part of his rant, when your phone lights up on the table, the ringer on higher than you realized.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I thought I had this on silent. It’s my mom, I should probably take this,” you apologize to him, your phone already halfway raised to your ear.

“Hey, kid, how’s it going?”

“Hi Mom, I’m with someone right now. Is everything ok?” You let a little worry tinge the tone of your voice.

“Seriously?” Rooster drolly rasps on the other end of the line, “Are we actually doing this?”

“Oh no! Is she alright?” You wouldn’t consider yourself actress, but you think you’re really selling the performance with the way you widen your eyes and how you make your voice go a little tighter and higher.

“Yup, seems like we’re really doing this. What’s it this time, kid? Did grandma slip on a banana peel and then get run over by a reindeer?” You can practically feel his eyes rolling as he begrudgingly goes along with you.

“Oh my goodness, that sounds serious! How would that even happen?” you ask, shaking your head in in faux shock determined to really sell the act.

“Is everything ok?” Max-Mac whispers to you from across the table. 

His profile didn’t raise any red flags when you’d swiped on him. If anything, he’d seemed a bit more of the beige flag type. Your chats had been fine, he seemed fine, so why not meet up for a date?

What you didn’t realize until it was too late was that “Sports Enthusiast” actually translated to “Pickleball Fanatic”.

“Hold on, Mom,” you hear Rooster scoff as you pull the phone away from your ear. “I’m so sorry, there’s been a family emergency. It’s my grandmother. I really need to go,” you announce to Mac-Max grabbing your purse from the back of the chair. “Thank you so much for understanding. And good luck at your pickleball tournament!” you call back to him as you hustle towards the front door.

“I take it you’ve made your escape?” You can hear the humor in his voice, your antics are nothing new to him.

“Oh my god, was that seriously only thirty minutes? He wouldn’t stop talking about pickleball, Rooster. Anytime I tried to change the subject, he found a way to circle right back to it!” You tell him as you attempt to dig your keys out from where they were buried in your bag. “And then, he pulled up the leg of his jeans and said, I kid you not: ‘Don’t worry, this isn’t an ankle monitor, I’m just wearing my ankle weights.’ Who does that?”

“Just come to the Hard Deck. You should have canceled like I told you to in the first place. Bob and Coyote got back the other day, so everyone’s here. Well, almost everyone,” he says pointedly. “We’re more fun anyways. And Hangman has been harassing me about you, something about your fluke of a win?”

You’d kicked Jake’s ass the last time you played darts with him. Although in his defense, he had been pretty drunk that night and it was a less than fair game since Phoenix would distract him while Fanboy moved your darts on the board.

You wouldn’t be challenging him to a rematch anytime soon. Not unless the odds were in your favor, it was better to keep him on his toes and his ego in check.

Thankful for the princess parking you managed to snag when you first arrived, you unlock your car and toss your bag into the passenger seat before climbing in. Breathing out a sigh of relief to be done with Mac-Max once inside.

“You back in your car yet?” Rooster asked. He was such a worrier, but you can’t say it bothered you. You liked knowing he cared.

“Yeah, just got in.”

“Ok good, see you in a few. Drive safe, kid.”

Thirty minutes later Natasha was sliding a cold, frothy pint in front of you with a sympathetic look.

It wasn’t too busy at the Hard Deck yet, but it was still early in the evening. You knew it would pick up soon, and before long Penny would be ringing her bell on some rowdy unsuspecting customer.

“Ankle weights?” She asked, trying and failing to keep from laughing at your expense.

“Seriously, Rooster?” you shoot a glare in his direction, “Where’s the loyalty?”

“What? She was right there when I called you. A request that was your idea, if you remember,” he said as he walked up to you, squeezing your shoulder before sliding his arm around you in greeting. “Plus, it’s not like you don’t already tell Phoenix about all your escapades. You really know how to pick ‘em, kid.”

You’ve known Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw since before you had braces back when you were still wearing your hair in two braids. Your moms had been on the school PTA together at the time and had hit it off immediately.

He hadn’t been too happy about being forced to hang out with the kid who was couple years younger than him, especially one who was so clearly enamored with the cute older boy. While you’d outgrown that phase, for the most part, somethings stuck- like the nickname. 

And over the years you’d formed your own bond outside of the forced proximity of your mothers’ friendship.

He’d taught you how to throw a punch, the different ways to pitch a baseball, and to drive a stick shift. You’d taught him how to whistle with his fingers, to play Nerts, and to tie a tie (after asking your dad to teach you).

The give and take was easy with him, you both showed up for the other.

You were there the night he drunkenly fell through the glass patio door at Jason Cameron’s homecoming party. As one of the only sober people there since he wouldn’t let you drink, or let anyone else give you alcohol for that matter, you were the one to take him to the ER. “Don’t worry, kid,” he had slurred, pressing the Washington High t-shirt that you’d found in your trunk to his face to stop the bleeding, “Looks s’worse than it feels.” And you were the one to stay with him as he was stitched up. The evidence of that night still unmistakable on his face.

He was there for you when your parents had sat you down and told you they were getting a divorce. A hurricane of angst and grief, you hadn’t left your room for anything other than school for over a week when he’d let himself in your room one afternoon. Rubbing small circles on your back as he’d let you cry for a bit, he didn’t even tease you about the stains you’d left behind on his shirt. And then he’d herded you into his crappy car and drove you to the slightly sketchy amusement park an hour away with the Tilt-A-Whirl and the giant corndogs. And when he’d told you “It’s going to be ok, kid” on the ride back home, you believed him.

You had been there for him when his mom passed, and all during that dark period after when he was set on self-destruction after his fallout with Maverick. While he had tried to push everyone away, you were always the type to hold on tightly to the people that mattered.

And then life had sent you on different directions. First when he went to college and then when you did. Next for him the Navy, and then you with your own career, both of you always in motion. You two shared a connection the way people with a long history do, the kind where you could go months without talking but knowing the other person is always right there if you need them. Your camaraderie sustained by texts, email, and the occasional FaceTime.

A long-distance friendship for over a decade.

So when your boss had approached you about a promotion that was dependent on you relocating to the West Coast, you thanked whatever kismet in the universe had you packing for San Diego where he was permanently stationed.

The break up with your boyfriend at the time was entirely too amicable considering how long you had been together. He was nice, the sex was nice, your life together was nice. You had all but signed the paperwork for your promotion when you told him, but he didn’t see himself as a west-coaster and you couldn’t envision yourself as anything but. Whether you had stayed together all that time out of convenience or complacency, you still couldn’t say.

It was easy to fall back into the comfort of your friendship with Rooster. Although the lanky teen you had known was replaced with a mustache sporting well-built man courtesy of the Navy. One that had left you feeling confusingly flustered on more than one occasion, and forced to cycle through your mental highlight reel of embarrassing teen Rooster moments to keep from your mind from wandering.

He’d helped you find your apartment, taught you about avoiding the 15 Northbound, and showed you where the best place in town to get tacos was. The transition was made easy with him by your side as he introduced you to his team members who quickly folded you into their group as one of their own.

That was a little over a year ago. You liked this new life of yours in San Diego.

And while the dating pool of men you could swipe through was much larger, well, some things never changed.

“You don’t get it, Rooster. You’re surrounded by absurdly hot Naval eye candy all day,” you complained gesturing to Natasha, she raised her beer to you as thanks in response. “While you’re getting women throwing themselves at you because of the gold wings, I’m fighting for my life on these stupid apps where all the men on there are posing with fish. It’s brutal!”

You’d need to officially call things off with Max-Mac later, thinking to yourself how glad you were that you never gave him your real number, and instead signing up for a Google voice number. You were just not cut out for the competitive pickleball lifestyle.

“Bradshaw, why don’t you set her up? It’s not like we don’t know enough people who would be better options than these fish men,” Natasha asked, like it was the most logical thing in the world, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, Bradshaw. Tell Nat your super logical reasons for leaving your longtime friend to fend for herself.” You knew where this was heading, so you took a long swig of the beer Phoenix had brought you.

“Seriously, not this again.” His arm that was around you was removed in favor for pinching the bridge of his nose and looking up to the ceiling like it would spare him from the conversation.

“You started it, now tell her.”

“I need another damn drink if we’re going to do this,” Rooster mumbled.

“Me too,” chimed Natasha, clearly reveling in his misery.

“Make that three. I need to catch up.” You hadn’t even stuck around long enough to get a drink at the restaurant, and now you were ready to let loose a bit.

He grunts out some unintelligible thing and then stalks off to the bar shaking his head.

“I’m an upstanding citizen, I pay my taxes, I make a mean peanut butter brownie, and I always drive him around when the Bronco is in the shop for a tune up. It’s literally the least he could do,” you say to Phoenix as you watch him chat with Penny as she works to grab the fresh bottles.

“Oh, so this is thing,” Natasha says decidedly when she eyes the six beers he’s carrying back to the table, three bottles held by the neck in each of his large hands. His classic Hawaiian shirt fluttering with every step, your eyes briefly drifting down to his defined waist.

“Sure is,” you confirm, drawing out the word. Downing the rest of the beer from your pint glass before reaching for one of the new bottles Rooster was divvying out amongst your trio, “I’ve never asked him for anything-”

“That is a boldfaced lie. And you know it,” he cuts in, as he hands you a granola bar from his pocket, that he must have snagged from Penny. “You definitely asked me to set you up with Kyle Cooke from my baseball team in high school. I didn’t do it then, and I’m not doing it now,” he declared, pointing at you with an accusatory finger to further drive the statement home.

“Reasons being?” Natasha wheedled, a mischievous smirk on her face. You could tell she was eating this up, there were two things Natasha Trace loved most in this world: juicy gossip and giving Rooster a hard time.  

Ever the showman, he dramatically lifts up a finger, “First of all, everyone I know is an asshole.”

“I am offended on Bob’s behalf,” you countered, unwrapping the bar and taking a bite, annoyed. Hangman might fit the description, but certainly not Bob.

“Two,” he continues on, raising a second finger, and ignoring you completely as if you hadn’t just made a very valid point, “Let’s say I set you with a friend and then you end up hating them. Then you’ll judge me for being friends with them, we’ll argue, and eventually we won’t be friends anymore. Or even worse, I set you up with someone, you hit it off and date for a while. What happens when you break up? I’m left having to pick sides and walk on eggshells around you guys about the other person.”

“God, you’re such a overthinker. That all sounds totally rational, you drama queen,” you look to Phoenix for agreement, but she’s busy typing out a text message on her phone.

“And three, it’s messy as fuck. And I don’t need to hear about your trophy of a one-night stand.”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes, “That was one time! It wasn’t a trophy it was a gold medal.”

“Wait, what?” Confusion coloring Natasha’s features. 

“One time this guy gave me one of those plastic gold medal things on a lanyard, kind of like the ones they give out at kids soccer games, after we hooked up. I mean, kicked him out right away, but I did keep the medal. It was a good confidence boost,” you shrug.  It wasn’t exactly a high point moment for you.

After that encounter you’d definitely started scrutinizing every profile a bit harder before swiping right, or at least you thought you had been. In your defense, at least Max-Mac’s profile didn’t have a fish photo, but the bar was still clearly on the ground.

“I knew you when you wore those shirts with that big mouthed monkey on them. And that’s the kind of shit I don’t need to know about. I don’t wanna be involved. Not gonna happen, kid,” his declaration resolute.

“Well, that sure is something, Bradshaw,” Natasha states, giving him a curious look.

“What are y’all over here discussing so intently,” Hangman questions as he saddles up to your little group, tucking his phone into his pocket. 

“We were just getting into the finer details of the kid’s dating life and how I am going to fix it by setting her up with this great guy I know,” she pronounces, looking all too pleased with herself. A truly self-satisfied grin gracing her face.

Natasha Trace was probably the most bad ass person you’ve ever met, so the idea of her setting you up with someone had you sitting up straighter on the stool you were seated on, “Really?”

“Who?” Rooster demands, frowning at her.

“Yeah, I mean Bradshaw clearly has his convictions, and I respect that. However, I’m an excellent wing-woman. Seriously, I don’t know why I haven’t thought about introducing you guys before. You two would be perfect together.”

Hangman never one to miss an opportunity to rile up Rooster is quick to jump in, “Just because you fly in a two-seater doesn’t make you a good wing-woman, Phoenix. However, now that you mention it, I have a buddy who might knock your socks off. Unless you’d rather just knock boots, I’m sure he’d be up for whatever you wanted,” he shooting you a wink. “I think I’ll toss my name in the ring here too. After all, I’m very good.”

“You want to make it a bet, Bagman?” Her accent always got a little more pronounced when she went toe to toe with him.

“What’re you thinkin’, Darlin’?” he drawls suggestively with a sharp smile. That ever-present toothpick being rolled in his mouth from side to side.

“You guys are not going to be making bets around the kid’s love life,” Rooster snaps.

“The big dogs are talking, Bradshaw,” Hangman taunts as he waves him off.  

“$50 entry? The dates happen here and at the end the kid picks which date was the best. Winner takes all?” You can see the competitive gleam in her eye.

“Alright, alright. Works for me, Phoenix. I can’t wait to take your money.”

“The hell you are,” Rooster barks, still trying to regain control of the quickly spiraling situation.

Well, this had certainly taken a turn.

You find yourself reaching for your third beer of the night.

And you’re even more surprised when Hangman hollers for the rest of the team to join, and before you know it your dating life takes centerstage as the subject of the bet between the group of competitive naval aviators. Many of the others deciding to join in, never ones to shy away from a bit of rivalry.  

“What do you say? You up for it?” Natasha asks, wanting to make sure you were still on board now that her original offer had taken on a life of its own.

You look over and see Rooster looking at you like you’d be crazy to get involved in their kind of chaos. You know he can already tell what your answer will be.

“Why not?” you agree cheerily as he groans into his beer.

At least you would be spared from swiping for a while. It’s what you deserve, you are an upstanding citizen after all.

Get ready for some dates! Part 2

Written as part of @roosterforme’s #Love Is In The Air TGM Fic Challenge! 

Song Inspiration Sam Smith’s “Like I Can”.

Thank you Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for letting me bounce ideas off of you!

Edit: I’ve started a tag list for Part 2! Just let me know if you’d like to be added!

[bussyslayer333]

Love me, Love me

summary: bob floyd and the trials and tribulations of loving you.

or, my contribution to @roosterforme ‘s #loveisintheairtgm fic playlist!!!

pairing: bob floyd x bartender!reader

word count: 3.0k

warnings: swearing, some suggestiveness, mentions of alcohol maybe??, idiots in love smh

Bob was staring at himself in the mirror feeling a lot like how he did before his first middle school dance. Touching up his hair so he could impress Missy Clark. Except now he wasn’t trying to impress Missy, he was trying to impress you.

It was simultaneously a hundred times better and a hundred times worse.

Better, because you didn’t have braces that would catch on his lip if you kissed. Worse because you were probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and somehow he managed to make a fool out of himself every time he saw you.

He was picking up Jake and Bradley tonight before heading to the Hard Deck. It was probably one of his short comings as a man who doesn’t drink; he was destined to be the designated driver.

When Jake slid into the passenger seat he looked to Bob, looked away for a moment, then stared straight back at him.

“What?”

“Is that a new shirt?” Jake questions, mildly intense.

“Errr, yes?”

“Why do you look so nice?” Jake pesters, reaching a hand out to poke at Bob’s neatly styled hair.

Bob shrugs his hand away with a huff, “Um it’s a new year’s resolution, y’know look good feel good thing.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, unconvinced, before leaning in to sniff at Bob.

“You’re wearing new cologne.” Jake states, “why?”

Bob is starting to get slightly antsy, worried for the inevitable teasing that would occur once Jake found out about his infatuation crush on you.

“Well, Jake, the thing is…”

Jake leans in.

“I’m in love with you! I’ve been trying to impress you for months! …yeah.” Bob finishes lamely.

Jake laughs. Loud.

For a moment, Bob is offended that the idea of him being in love with someone is so amusing. Then he remembers the fact that for some reason he has just professed a fake love to the most obnoxious man on planet earth.

“Bobby, man you crack me up.” Jake chortles, wiping at the few tears that had slipped from his lash line.

Bob sighs as he comes to a slow in front of Bradley’s house, too caught up in his thoughts to stop Jake from hitting the horn to alert Bradley of their presence.

Bradley emerges from his house, hawaiian shirt on and an effortlessly handsome smile plastered across his face. Bob realises that if he was going to fake confess again Bradley would be a much more believable candidate.

“Hey boys,” Bradley smiles, sliding into the seat behind Bob.

He pats Bob on the shoulder far too hard without realising, and smacks Jake on the back with the same strength. Jake doesn’t shudder down on impact like Bob.

Jake allows Bob a second to breathe before he starts his pestering again, albeit more slyly.

“Rooster.” He starts

“Bagman.”

“Very funny.”

“I try my best.” Bradley chuckles.

Jake rolls his eyes and continues, “any guesses for why our dear Bobby is so dressed up for our Friday night drinks?”

Bob goes to protest, but Jake shushes him promptly.

“and don’t confess your undying love for Rooster because I will know you’re lying.”

Bradley cocks his head in confusion, before getting to his point.

“The bartender, obviously.” Bradley laughs.

Jake raises his eyebrows and makes a loud “ooooooohoooo” noise at Bob.

“You’re nailing her Bob? Nice.” Jake slaps Bob on his still recovering shoulder.

“No! I’m not!” Bob speaks a little defensively.

Bob had grown to like Jake over their time spent working together. However, his crudeness towards subjects such as this still made him cringe.

“But you would like to…?” Bradley supplies unhelpfully.

“I mean, yes, but also I want to take her out. On a date. With me.” Bob sighs.

If he thought too hard about what it would be like to have you in his bed, he would probably be sporting a hard on in the car with two of his best friends. It wouldn’t be the ideal way to start his Friday night.

“You should ask her out,” Jake smiles nonchalantly.

“Yeah! Tonight,” Bradley adds on.

Bob can’t help but laugh dryly at his friends optimism, because of course they would think it’s that easy.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he sighs out, pulling onto the road that leads to the Hard Deck.

“Sure it is!” Bradley delivers another encouraging painful slap to Bob’s shoulder.

Bob sighs dejectedly, clearly Bradley did not understand what he was trying to get at. He lets Bradley and Jake get out of the car before giving himself a mini pep talk in his rear view mirror.

“You’ve got this, Bobby,” he affirms.

BANG BANG.

Bob jumps out of his skin.

Jake’s face is smushed against the window, “you coming?”

“I can see up your nostrils.”

“Lucky you,” Jake snorts, finally pulling back so Bob can get out.

You’re the first thing Bob sees when he enters the bar; giggling at something a patron said as you pour a pint of whatever IPA Penny has on draft at the moment. Your hair is pulled back loosely and the light summer dress you’re wearing has Bob wondering if he needs to wipe at the drool forming at the corners of his lips.

He beelines for you, ignoring the shouts of greeting coming from his group of aviators already congregating around the pool table, and when you look up and meet his eyes, Bob could swear your smile widened.

“Hey Bob! Don’t you look smart!” You smile, radiant as ever.

Bob tries to ignore the heat that floods his cheeks and bites his lip to refrain from smiling too hard.

“Darlin’, thank you, but you… you look stunning,” he charms, probably overeager but you seem to have that affect on him.

Your nose scrunches in the way that it always does when you’re bashful of a compliment, it’s adorable but the idea makes Bob frown sometimes, makes him wonder if you know how beautiful you really are.

“I, I mean- this old thing?” You shrug down at your dress.

Bob can tell you’re being modest. You don’t need to be.

“Can I get you a drink?” You offer, steering the conversation from yourself.

It’s now or never that Bob realises he needs to make his move. He pinches his thigh through his trousers and finally pipes up.

“I, um, actually had a question that I wanted to ask? If that’s okay?”

“Yeah, shoot!” You nod.

“I wanted to ask this really incredible girl out, and I was just wondering, well, what you think she’d say?”

“I think she’d be a fool to say no,” you say with conviction.

Bob’s confidence seems to skyrocket after your confirmation. He nods and tries to conceal the smile threatening to split his cheeks in half.

“Good to know.”

As he walks off, Bob lightly pumps his fist in victory. You can’t help but giggle at the sight, hoping that whoever he was asking out would say yes. It would, however, be a lie to say you weren’t disappointed he wasn’t asking you.

Bob spends the rest of the weekend thinking about where he should take you out. He doesn’t want to come off too eager, so figured he should wait until Monday to see you again. He’s not sure when your next shift is, but figures if he swings by the Hard Deck after work he could probably catch you and ask whether your prefer Italian or Mexican.

When he gets to the Hard Deck at just gone 6 the bar is relatively empty, not much of a Monday evening crowd apparently. Bob ummed and ahhhed over the idea of bringing you flowers. In the end he settled on some pale pink roses, hoping they’d please you.

Penny is manning the desolate bar when he finally makes his way to the bar top. She smiles at him, albeit slightly confused at his lack of company and addition of flora in tow.

He says your name tentatively, “is she here?”

Penny frowns, “She just left about half an hour ago, said she had a date?”

Bob’s stomach drops. “Oh.”

“Was there a message you wanted me to pass on?” Penny smiles apologetically.

“No, um, don’t worry about it. Thanks Pen,” Bob nods curtly, spinning on his heel.

The flowers feel out of place in his clammy palm now, a dead weight dragging his right arm down. He still places then gently down on the passenger seat when he enters his car.

Bob leans his head on the steering wheel, not caring about the way the metal frames of his glasses are pushing painfully into the flushed skin of his cheeks.

“Fuck.” He whispers.

Bob drives back to his apartment with a furrow etched onto his brow, wondering if he hadn’t been clear enough that he was interested in you. His first thought is to ring Phoenix, you and her were close and regularly went out together. She picks up after the first ring.

“I’ve fucked up.” Bob sighs.

“Well hello to you too,” Nat snorts, Bob can hear the crinkle and crunch of what sounds like a bag of chips.

“Care to elaborate?” She questions.

He speaks your name as a whisper, “is she on a date right now?”

“Ohhhhhh,” Nat exclaims in understanding, “you’re an idiot.”

“I know!” Bob groans, at the reminder.

“She really likes you! But now she thinks you’ve got some secret crush!”

Bob is elated at the idea of you returning his feelings. Not so much at the idea of his failed attempt at asking you on a date being so stupid that it put you off.

“Ughhh, this is really embarrassing Nat.” Bob grumbles.

He can hear Nat snickering on the other end of the phone.

“Just tell her you like her, Dumbo.” She crunches down on another chip.

“Thank you that is really helpful actually.” Bob spits sarcastically.

Bob can hear Nat shuffle around before she starts up again, “look, for some reason she’s enamoured by everything you do. Like she’ll text me about how cute you looked in your glasses or how she liked your patterned shirt.”

She snorts, “it’s kind of disgusting but also heartwarming, I don’t know, what I’m trying to say is you just need to be yourself. That’s why she likes you.”

Bob is silent for a beat, “…she liked my shirt?”

“I’m hanging up now-”

“Thank you, Nat!” Bob quickly shouts down the line before she ends the call with a chortle.

Praying on the downfall of someone’s date is somewhat cruel. But Bob couldn’t really find it in him to care. Not when you look so sweet in one of your sundresses, stood at the bar wiping down the continually sticky counter tops.

It’s busy for an early Thursday evening, and Bob has once again bypassed his friends to beeline for you. Refreshed flowers in his hand, Bob was going to tell you how he felt. No beating around it this time.

“Oh! Hey Bob,” you drawl, slight flush to your cheeks at the sight of him.

“Hey beautiful, these,” he hands over the delicate bouquet, “are for you.”

You take them from him, inspecting the pinks and whites of the variety of flowers wrapped up in tissue paper.

“Wow, thank you! I- well no one has ever bought me flowers before!” You gush, fiddling with the ribbon at the bottom of the bouquet.

“They’re kind of an apology actually,” Bob smiles.

“Oh?” You prompt.

“Last Friday, I asked you that question?”

You nod in remembrance.

“Well, I was trying to ask you out. On a date that is, but clearly I went about it the wrong way, and if you’re not interested that’s okay! Of course, I just wanted you to know-”

Bob’s rambling is interrupted by the touch of your lips to his. His eyes widen in surprise before he leans in fully to your touch, hand coming to caress at your cheek. You pull back all too soon for Bob, who tries to chase after your lips.

“I want to.” You whisper against his lips.

“Huh?” Bob mumbles, slightly dazed from your kiss.

You giggle and pull back to look into his eyes fully, “Go on a date with you Bobby. I would love to.”

Bob grins, “Really?”

“Totally.”

Bob arrives outside your apartment at exactly the time he said he would. He’s dressed in a stripe button down and cream shorts. He looks handsome, annoyingly so and greets you with a kiss on the cheek. Ever the gentleman.

“We’ve already kissed,” you tease, smashing your lips against his in a greeting.

Bob reciprocates almost immediately, making a noise of approval as your tongue flicks against his. He pulls back breathless,

“I was trying to be a gentleman.”

“It’s okay,” you take his hand and thread your fingers through his.

You swing your hands gently whilst you listen to him talk, “I was thinking we could walk down to the beach?”

“Sounds perfect.”

The breeze is light, heat from the late afternoon still clinging to the air as you walk along worn concrete. Bob’s hand stays intertwined with yours and he nods along to all of your ramblings, somehow still interested even after your seemingly endless anecdotes.

“I’m probably boring you,” you smile apologetically.

Bob shakes his head with a laugh, “darlin’ I could listen to you talk about my taxes and be absolutely enthralled.”

You try to fight off your furious blush by smushing your face into his surprisingly muscular arm. Bob rolls his eyes and takes your face in his hands.

“I mean it.”

Bob initiates the kiss this time, slowly guiding your face towards his. It’s only quick, as your still surrounded by couples walking, but it leaves you reeling anyways.

The sun is setting by the time you make it to the beach, and you have a sneaky feeling Bob has timed your date to match it. You don’t ask, the idea alone is almost too much.

He lets you chatter on as you walk further and further down the beach, only stopping to ask questions to further your stories.

“I wanted to ask you something,”

“Sure,” you hum.

“Did you go on a date with another guy this week?” Bob hopes he doesn’t sound too accusatory (or jealous).

You nod shyly, “yeah, he kind of sucked though.”

“How come you went?” Bob inquires.

“I wanted to prove to myself that I wasn’t jealous of you going on a date with someone else.”

Bob chuckles, “even though you were the one I was asking out?”

You snort, “We’re stupid.”

“The stupidest.”

You both giggle for a moment at the absurdity of the situation before allowing the laughter to lull and finally take in the scenery. You hadn’t passed people for the past 10 minutes of your walk, reaching a more secluded area of the beach.

“Do you want to go in the water?” You ask slyly.

“I mean, I’m not very well prepared,” Bob gestures down to his outfit.

“Me either,” you shrug with a smirk, before lifting the hem of your dress and pulling it over your head.

You let it fall to the ground and bend down to take off your shoes, leaving them next to your dress. You snap back up with a smirk and let Bob take in the sight of you in your lacy underwear. He gulps visibly.

You wander towards the waves slowly, letting Bob take in the way your hips sway tantalisingly.

“You coming?” You call over your shoulder.

“Fuck.” Bob whispers to himself, “yeah, give me a minute!”

Bob shucks himself of his clothing in record time so he can join you in the water, which is rippling gently against your waist. It’s cool, but not overtly unpleasant. If anything it’s soothing his nerves.

You turn to face Bob when you can sense him behind you,

“wow,” you breathe out, drinking in his toned abdomen that had been exposed to you.

“I feel like I should be saying that,” Bob smiles down at you, allowing his hands to rest at your waist.

You roll your eyes and flick water at him playfully. Bob’s eyes darken teasingly and he splashes you back with a little more force.

“Bob!” You squeal as the cool water hits your chest.

You have no choice but to retaliate with an even larger splash of water. As soon as it hits Bob you take off, disturbing the peaceful ripples as you try to swim away from the now drenched Bob. He catches up to you with ease and lifts you into the air, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

Your arms come to hang around his neck and you rest your forehead against his, both breathing harshly against one another’s mouths. Your lips connect sloppily as Bob’s hands grip tight at your behind to keep you close to him. The light blue lace of your thong is now dark blue from the water, the fabric of the bra much the same. It clings to you almost sinfully, and when Bob pulls back to look at you he lets out a deep, guttural groan.

“Look at you, darlin’.”

You flush at his words, accent heavy now it’s tainted with lust. You flick water at him playfully once again, trying to distract from how overwhelmed he makes you feel.

Bob chuckles and readjusts you in his grip, one arm under you to support you and the other pushing back at the wet strands of hair framing your face.

“Is it crazy if I say I think I love you?” Bob whispers.

“Is it crazy if I say the same thing?” You reply.

a/n: HERE IT IS 🎺🎺🎺🎺 sorry for the wait everyone!!! please behold valentines bob, isn’t he the cutest idiot 😭😭

expect a lil jakey one shot next guys, then mayhaps ch4 of drive me wild hehehe

as always pls reblog, comment, or send me an ask and tell me what you think!!!

thank you for reading :)))

- honey <333

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Never Meant to See You Again

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: Your ex-boyfriend, Jake Seresin, confesses how he really feels. Meanwhile, it's raining, so he looks sexy af doing it.

CW: ANGST - sorry, my loves. I know it's Valentine's season but sometimes you just wanna hurt so good.

WC: 1600+

This fic was written for @roosterforme's love is in the air tgm challenge! Inspired by the song I Wish It Would Rain Down by Phil Collins.

Masterlist

“Hey!” you hear the desperation in his voice even with the deafening wind. “Y/N!” he shouts when you don’t stop walking. “Will you just” – he pleads, the sound of his voice growing closer despite your quickening pace – “Just for one second, just” –

You feel his hand close around your arm and you whip your head around. Jake watches you with a grimace as the wind pummels his face. “What?” you ask aggressively.

Jake lets go of you and shrugs, spreading his arms to indicate that he hasn’t thought this far ahead. “We have to coexist, Y/N.”

“Great,” you respond. “Let’s do that.” You start walking again – briskly because the sky is darkening and your hair is starting to escape its bun and swipe violently at your face.

You hear him sighing just before a boom of thunder drowns out his approaching footsteps. He falls in step with you despite you trying to keep your distance. “We’re on the same team,” he says, loudly enough that you can hear him despite the howling wind.

You glance up at him distrustfully as he slows his pace to meet your gaze.

“Y/N,” he starts again.

“Don’t.” You shake your head, tearing your eyes away from his overgrowth of stubble, still walking.

“Look,” he says, taking a hold of your arm again to get your attention. “I know that you don’t need me,” he pauses, watching you steadily. “You don’t need me in your life.” He sighs, regret stealing over his features. “But you might still need me up there.” He points up at the rolling clouds overhead with the same hand that’s holding his helmet, because his other one is still firmly wrapped around your forearm.

You glare at him mutely. Jake Seresin might have been a shitty boyfriend, but he’s a hell of a pilot and you know that he’s right.

Jake lets out a resigned breath. “Wasn’t my idea. I never meant to see you again, babe.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“It’s temporary,” he says and you wonder if he’s referring to the mission you’ve both been called back for or him calling you ‘babe’.

“We should go inside,” you say stoically as the weather that’s put your training on hold for the day deteriorates further.

Jake nods, his eyes still lingering on yours, stalling. He takes a moment to run a hand through his hair, longer these days but no less obnoxiously becoming. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Not now, Seresin,” you say flatly, starting for the hangar again. You feel the first drop of rain land on your forehead.

“Y/N,” he says.

You turn to see him standing there defeatedly, watching you with a miserable expression. You can tell that he’s still hurting and, despite utterly hating his guts, it isn’t easy to see him in pain. The year of distance has tempered your loathing, much to your dismay, and now you find yourself almost feeling sorry for the man. Almost. “Was there something else?” you ask, trying to keep your breathing steady as you meet his gaze.

He gives you a small smile. “Just that, it’s good to see you.”

You exhale sharply as his words send a jolt through your body. “It’s starting to rain,” you state, wavering on the spot while Jake stands perfectly still. Further down the flightline, the maintenance crews are retreating after having secured the last of the equipment before the storm.

Jake takes a step forward while you focus on remaining upright against the gusts of wind. But his growing proximity isn’t helping you feel steady on your feet.

You let him come right up to you before finally taking a step back. “I’m not getting caught out in this storm,” you say, retreating.

Jake glances up at the skies as though he’s welcoming the impending shower. “It’s just a bit of water,” he says as the rain starts coming down harder. “It’ll be over soon enough.”

But he knows as well as you do that you aren’t one to wait around, hoping that the storm will pass. You don’t have that kind of patience. “I can be civil,” you call, walking backward as the downpour intensifies.

Jake watches you through the heavy rain pelting the tarmac. You try to catch your breath as it washes over your face and trickles past the collar of your flight suit, soaking your undershirt. “Me too,” he responds.

You flex your hands, curling them into fists as your pace slows to a halt when you see that Jake isn’t budging. When he finally takes a step forward, you sigh, trying to summon the hatred you once felt toward him. Unfortunately, all you can muster is despair.

Jake is moving slowly, as though he’s half-expecting you to run, but the truth is, you can’t move a muscle because you’re entranced. It’s ridiculous how attractive he looks with rainwater dripping from his soaking hair. He approaches cautiously, his eyes meeting yours as he presses his lips together solemnly. “I let you down,” he says, his eyebrows converging as he frowns. “And I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I know that. I’m not expecting it.”

You clench your teeth to keep your mouth from trembling as your eyes well up. Finally, the pouring rain exhibits an advantage – masking your falling tears.

“But I need you to know that I am sorry,” he continues, his eyes searching your face. “I’m an idiot for ever letting you go.”

You lower your gaze, blinking through the water – whether it’s tears or rain is irrelevant at this point. Jake’s hands come up and he places them on your arms, so gently that you wouldn’t feel them if you weren’t watching them in action. You let out a shaky sigh as he takes another step forward and, when he presses his lips to the top of your head, you squeeze your eyes shut.

“God, I missed you,” he breathes as his mouth moves to your forehead.

You shake your head, lifting your face to grace him with a reproachful look. You’ve spent an entire year getting over him. Twelve months coping with the pain of losing your best friend. Three hundred and sixty-five days adjusting to his absence. And he has the nerve to tell you that he’s missed you? “Come on, Jake,” you say, not quite able to suppress the hint of malice in your tone. “Doesn’t look like this rain is going to be letting up anytime soon.”

Jake studies your face. “One day, maybe.”

You scoff. “Meanwhile, it’s getting uncomfortable.”

Jake smiles sadly. “I don’t mind it,” he says. “As long as I’m with you.”

You take a step back. “You’re not.”

“I know.”

You let out another frustrated sigh but you can’t seem to hold it together any longer. Dropping your helmet into the puddle at your feet, you break down in tears.

Immediately, Jake closes the gap between the two of you and takes your face in his hands, his eyes flitting between yours urgently despite the wall of rain between you. “Please don’t,” he begs, his face contorted as he tries to hold back tears of his own. “Please.” He rests his forehead over yours.

You push at him and back away. “Then stop!” you yell, your words barely audible over the pouring rain. “Stop making me hurt!”

Jake bows his head, running a hand over his face as his shoulders start to shake. When he glances up at you, his eyes are red and shining. “I can’t stop, Y/N,” he croaks, his voice breaking when he says your name. “I love you.”

You roll your eyes and let out a spiteful laugh but, when Jake steps forward again, cupping his hands around your cheeks, you bite into your bottom lip, falling silent.

“You might not need me anymore,” he says, “but I still need you. And I know that’s selfish, and I know that it’s never gonna happen, but I’m not gonna stand here and pretend to be okay. I’m not okay.”

You watch him solemnly, trying to subdue the trembling of your body. Whether it’s the rain or his words causing you to vibrate uncontrollably is anybody’s guess.

“I’m never getting over you,” he whispers, his lips hovering just over your mouth.

It’s taking all of your strength to hold back a sob; to keep from falling into his arms and letting him shelter you from the rain. Jake has always been an expert at testing your self-control. “We should go,” you mutter. “Before this storm gets any worse.”

Jake sighs over your lips. “It’s just rain, baby,” he whispers. “It’s always gonna pass.”

You close your eyes, feeling yourself submitting to his pull. “It’s getting cold,” you counter.

“I can warm you,” he breathes.

And suddenly, you’re letting out a whimper and grabbing a hold of his flight suit and drawing him impossibly close. At the same time, Jake lifts your face, finally locking his lips with yours. His kiss is so needy, so fevered that it’s making your head spin. His hands leave your face as he wraps his arms around your neck, moving further into you as your fingers clasp behind his back, squeezing him against your body.

You aren’t thinking about the past when his tongue is pushing urgently against your own. You aren’t thinking about the future when your palms travel up his chest, slipping up the wet skin of his neck until your hands are on his face, your fingers stroking the stubble on his jawline. The storm is far from over but perhaps you’ve got what it takes to ride it out.

Jake clutches your waist as he layers your mouth with kiss after kiss. “Oh, baby,” he mutters apologetically. “Baby, I swear I never meant to see you again.”

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[roosterforme]

The Kind of Girl I Could Love | Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: Bob has a secret admirer, but he's convinced it's actually Jake and Nat messing with him. 

Warnings: Pure fluff

Length: 1900 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female Reader

I wrote this for my Love Is In the Air playlist! Check my masterlist for more!

It started out with a simple note.

I like your glasses.

Bob held the note card in his hand and glanced around the deck of the aircraft carrier as discreetly as he could. There were people everywhere. Anyone could have left this for him to find on his seat inside the cockpit of the F/A-18 that he shared with Phoenix. 

I like your glasses.

Bob didn't even like his own glasses. There was nothing to like about them. They made him look even more awkward than he already felt, and he couldn't wear anything else, or he wouldn't be allowed to be in the Super Hornet at all.

So he scrutinized the handwriting, but it didn't look familiar. And that's when it dawned on him. Phoenix and Hangman were just messing with him. They did this from time to time. One time they covered his car in post-it notes. Another time they hid his helmet bag from him. 

He rolled his eyes and scrunched the note up in his fist. Bob was completely unremarkable. Nobody would ever leave him this kind of note. Nat and Jake should have known he wouldn't fall for it this time.

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

Bob found a second note a few days later.

Your smile is nice. I wish you would smile at me.

He sighed and tilted his face up to the heavens. Great. Now he was going to have to call Nat and Jake out on their little pranks. He could feel his cheeks flushing pink this time. It was so embarrassing that his teammates thought it would be funny to do this to him. Nat knew how shy he was, and how he wished he could find a girl to date. 

Bob glanced around again. There were a few women on deck at the moment. None that looked like they would be remotely interested in him. They were all either too old or too attractive. And who would have access to his cockpit seat anyway? 

It wasn't a good idea to get his hopes up when he just knew who was behind this. 

"What's wrong with you?" Nat asked as she climbed her ladder. "I already apologized for eating your croissant! I didn't know you were saving it for later!"

Bob shook his head. "This isn't about the croissant, Phoenix. But I wish you and Hangman would stop picking on me."

"Huh?" she asked before boosting herself into the seat in front of him.

But it was time to get to work, so Bob crumpled up this note as well and tossed it into his helmet bag. "We can talk about it later," he mumbled as he started his preflight safety routine. 

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

Now things were getting out of hand. 

You look handsome in your flight suit. Tall and strong.

Bob took another close look at the handwriting. It looked fancy and feminine, but nothing like Nat's. He supposed Jake would be able to imitate something like this if he really tried. 

"Hey, Hangman," Bob called to him. 

Jake turned and shrugged at him from the top of his own ladder. "Yeah?"

"Can you just knock it off?" Bob asked, waving the note card in the air.

Jake squinted like he was trying to see what Bob was holding. "What are you talking about, Bob?"

"The notes!" 

But it was too late, because now all of the conversation was being drowned out by the deck speaker system. The final mission announcements were being made as Phoenix got settled into her set. 

Bob would have to talk to them both later.

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

"I know I'm an easy target, and I know I don't usually get annoyed, but please. Please, just stop."

Jake and Nat both looked at him from across the table as they ate their dinners later that night. 

"Stop what exactly?" Jake asked. "Is this what you were trying to tell me earlier?"

Bob's cheeks flushed. He couldn't believe they were going to make him spell it out like this. 

"The notes, guys," he said, pulling the newest note card out of the pocket of his flight suit and sliding it across the table. "It's not funny."

Jake and Nat both leaned closer to read what was written there, pretending they had never seen it before. 

"You have a secret admirer?" Nat asked, her eyes darting up to meet Bob's.

Jake grinned. "Someone has a crush on you."

Bob took the note and crumpled it up. "I know it's you two, so can you please stop!"

Nat and Jake looked at each other. 

"Did you write it?" she asked, and Jake shook his head.

"Did you?" he asked, and she shook her head no as well. 

Bob didn't think he should believe them, but he really, really wanted to. Just the idea of someone thinking about him in that way made him want to smile. 

"It's not us," Nat said with a grin. "But we'll help you figure out who it is." 

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

Bob didn't want to get his hopes up. But when he thought about who might have access to his cockpit, he immediately thought about the mechanical crew. And when he thought about the mechanical crew, he thought about you. 

He had seen you out on deck the other day, but you were so beautiful. Way too gorgeous to be leaving the notes. Just the prettiest smile. Sometimes you said hi to him, and he'd get so flustered, he could barely respond. 

It was too unlikely though. And he wasn't even sure if it was a woman leaving the notes. 

"I have an idea!" Nat said as she checked the air pressure in the tires. "Why don't you leave a note?"

Bob thought about it for a second. "I guess I could do that."

So he left a note on his seat asking who you were.

And the next time he climbed the ladder, there was another note card waiting for him. 

I'm too shy to tell you who I am. But I work closely with your jet. And I have a crush on you.

Bob's heart was pounding. There was nobody on the tarmac at the moment, so he showed the note to Nat.

"The plot thickens!" she said as she read it. "I wonder if it could be her."

Bob looked in the direction that she had nodded, and there you were. You had your hair pulled back away from your face, and you were wearing your typical jumpsuit. And you were smiling, your eyes catching Bob's for a split second. 

"Nat. Come on. She's so pretty.

Phoenix just laughed at him. "You're a catch, Bobby! Even if it's not her, you can still ask her out."

But he just shook his head and muttered, "No, I couldn't."

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

Bob got two more notes the following week. 

Your accent sounds cute. Where are you from?

This person has heard him speak before.

Bob had only ever been complimented on his accent when Jake had as well. Everyone loved Hangman's Texan drawl, and only mentioned Bob as an afterthought. But when he wrote a note telling you he was from Montana, and asking you as politely as he could if you were a woman, Bob got another note in response.

I've never been to Montana. Yes, I am a woman. You sound smart and organized in the air.

If it wasn't for the fact that this woman had mentioned his glasses, Bob would have been convinced these notes were meant for Jake. 

And now Bob was facing a different problem: the aircraft carrier would be arriving back in San Diego in a few days. His missions were finished. He didn't have much reason to climb up into his cockpit now, and he still didn't know who the notes were from.

In a final effort to try to bring his admirer out of the shadows, Bob wrote one final note and bypassed all of the mechanics to leave it on his seat. 

When we dock in port, would you like to meet in person? Near the Admiral Kazansky memorial statue? I'll wait there as soon as I get off the carrier. I hope you'll be there too. 

On his way back across the deck, he saw you dressed in your jumpsuit, and you smiled and waved at him. Maybe Nat was right; he could still ask you out no matter what, even if you weren't the one leaving the notes for him to find. 

But he felt a connection with the note writer. She seemed to like him as he was. He never had to show off or pretend he was confident like Jake for her to notice him. So he would wait, and hopefully in two short days, there would be someone meeting him at the statue. 

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

Bob was starting to sweat through his khaki uniform, and it wasn't even that hot outside. 

"Are you sure I look okay?" he asked Phoenix, and she continued to make a fuss over him.

"You look so good," she promised, combing her fingers through his already tidy hair and readjusting his glasses. "Here, open up." She popped a mint into his mouth, and Bob rolled his eyes.

"I highly doubt I'll be kissing anyone, Phoenix."

"You never know, Bobby. I'm still holding out hope that the cute mechanic is your note writing secret admirer."

Bob let Phoenix lead him down the ramps when their deboarding group was called. He was so nervous now, he just wanted to go right home and pretend none of this had ever happened. 

"Go find your girl! Text me later!" Nat told him, pushing him in the direction of the statue. 

Bob wound his way slowly through the crowd. His heart was pounding. What if nobody was there? What if nobody came? What if it was just Jake waiting for him after all?  He felt sick, with clammy palms and an upset stomach as he neared his destination.

"Bob?" a soft voice called to him, and his eyes drifted up a uniformed body, his eyes coming to settle on your face.

"It's you? The pretty mechanic?" he asked, and when a smile found its way to your lips, you nodded.

"Yeah. It's me. Are you disappointed?" you asked, twisting your fingers around each other and shifting your weight from one booted foot to the other.

"D-Disappointed?" Bob asked, setting his duffel bag down next to yours. "No. I was hoping it was you. I still can't believe you noticed me."

You giggled, a cute, surprised expression on your face. "Bob, you were the most noticeable guy onboard!"

Bob inched closer to you, but you didn't back away. You actually stepped right into his personal space and ran your palms up to his shoulders and kissed him softly. Desire bloomed through his body, and as you pulled away from him, Bob leaned down for another kiss. His glasses bumped your cheek, but you didn't seem to mind as you kissed him over and over, until he felt a little dizzy. 

His glasses were askew, but he could clearly see the gentle flutter of your lashes as you opened your eyes and gazed up at him.

"Do you want to go grab lunch with me?" you asked, your expression so open and your face so pretty. "I want to hear all about Montana in your sexy voice."

"Yes, of course." Bob blushed and fixed his glasses, but he scooped up both duffel bags and followed you along the dock, listening to you gush about how strong he was. 

The last thing Bob heard as he disappeared into the crowd with you was Jake wolf whistling and Nat yelling, "Go Bobby!"

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

Bobby!!! So noticeable!!! Thanks to @thedroneranger for helping me shape this fic together!

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[amysteryspot]

I Will Always Love You | B.B.

Summary: Bradley has no one to release him at his tapping out ceremony.

Warnings: female reader; use of (Y/N); reader has a big family; mentions of Bradley having no family left after Carole's death, mentions of the fight between Bradley and Maverick; breakup; kinda off a happy ending;

Word Count: 1023

A/N: This was written for the @roosterforme's fic challenge #love is in the air tgm. It was inspired by the song "I Will Always Love You" by Whitney Houston. I had so much fun writing it and I hope you all enjoy it.

They were meant to be. That’s what everyone said to them after they got together. It seemed like their friends had been waiting for the news already. (Y/N) and Bradley were so in sync with each other that it was obvious to everyone but them how perfect they worked together.

Her family welcomed him with open arms, which was a blessing. Bradley had little to no family he still had contact with after his mother’s passing and his fall off with his godfather. (Y/N) was the second eldest of five siblings, not to mention all of the cousins. They all loved him. She always told Bradley that he was easy to love.

In times like these, Bradley felt the loss of his mother the most. He was sure that Carole would have loved (Y/N) just as much as she had loved him.

They were meant to be… until they weren’t.

Coming from a big family, all (Y/N) wanted was a good job that could get her out of her parents home. Bradley understood that, after all, he was only in college as a way to get in the Navy, like he always dreamt. Everything was doing fine until their graduation.

“You’ve been strange since yesterday.” Bradley said, loosening his arms from around (Y/N) that was sitting beside him.

She sighed, turning around to look him in the eyes.

“I’ve received a proposal.”

Bradley blinked a couple of times, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“To go to London.”

The breath got caught in his throat as he looked at the woman he loved and wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

“London?” He asks.

“Yes.” She confirms. “The office needs someone there and since I just graduated they thought it would be a great opportunity to start this new phase.”

The tension in the room was thick. Neither of them expected to have this conversation so soon. Bradley thought that they would at least have a couple of months to spare.

“You should go.” He finally said after what felt like hours of silence.

“Brad…”

He cuts her off before she can get another word in.

“It’s a great opportunity for you to start your career and…”

Her soft lips are on his and for a moment everything feels right. The kiss lasts only a couple of seconds, but it is enough to dissolve some of the tension, leaving place for sadness to set in.

“We have to talk.” She said.

“There’s nothing to talk about. You have to take this opportunity, you don’t know if you’ll get another.”

“I know.”

Simple as that. No buts, no questions. They both just knew.

“When do you leave?” He asks, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“I don’t know.” She answers, voice breaking.

That’s when the first tears start to fall. Bradley pulls her to him, snuggling themselves together, trying to get as close as they could to forget the storm above their heads.

“We will find a way.” He mumbles against her hair. “Everything will be okay.”

Maybe it wasn’t meant to be, after all.

Bradley had a month to prepare for the academy, (Y/N) was given the same time to prepare for her trip, so they both decided that they would make the most of the little time they had together. It was one of the hardest things he had to do in his life.

After too much talk, the both of them decided that ending their relationship to focus on their careers would be the best decision for both of them. They would be too busy with their jobs to be able to maintain a long distance relationship, so it seemed like the logical decision to make.

They agreed not to have an airport goodbye. (Y/N)’s family took her from Bradley’s place, but he didn’t go. Their goodbye was just their own.

And just like that, Bradley was alone again. He and (Y/N) parted as friends, her family still talked to him almost daily, but how do you stay friends with someone you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with?

With time he stopped answering her, it didn’t take long for her to stop trying to reach out and that’s how he ended up here, standing alone at his tapping out ceremony, with nobody to relieve him.

Until someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Bradley turned around to meet (Y/N) standing there as beautiful as the last time she woke up by his side. He was quick to engulf her in a hug and, before thinking, kissing her.

She tasted like cinnamon and coffee. It was so familiar and yet so strange. When they separated, he was quick to apologize.

“I’m sorry.” He started, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I…”

The words got lost between their lips once she kissed him again.

“Congratulations, soldier.” She mumbled against his lips. “Or should I say sailor?”

Bradley smiles, relinquishing the feeling of her hands caressing his face.

“Soon to be pilot.” He answers, opening his eyes to look at her.

“Well, soon-to-be-pilot, there’s more people here that want to see you.”

She turns around in his arms, making way for him to see her family cheering at him.

“Why is everybody here?” He laughed.

“Are you kidding me?” She asked, smiling. “There was no talking them out of coming to see their favorite member of the family become a soon-to-be-pilot.”

He frowned, unsure of how to react.

“You’re easy to love, Bradley Bradshaw. I’ll always love you and so will they.”

She kissed him again, taking him out of his head a little, before nudging him to go celebrate with her family—their family.

“Common, before they say that I want you all to myself.” She said, taking his hand and adding, “Which is true.”

Bradley smiled, “Later.” He promised. “You can have me all to yourself later.”

And that promise was enough to put both their hearts at ease. Even if they had only tonight, Bradley knew that a part of them would always belong to each other.

[laracrofted]

delicate

synopsis: bob floyd is good at everything, except maybe expressing his feelings. based on delicate by taylor swift.

pairings: bob floyd x fem!reader (no y/n)

warnings: 18+, minors and ageless blogs dni, listen... if you're a delicate enjoyer, you should know to expect light angst here. expect softness too and also, semi-explicit sex, swearing, and the like. (wc: 2.2K)

note: so i've done nothing but listen to delicate and watch the lewis pullman pottery videos all week. be gentle with me.

written for the love is in the air challenge hosted by the lovely @roosterforme.

summoning a few fellow bob floyd enjoyers: @theharddeck @bradshawsbitch @rhettabbotts @roleycoleyreccenter @hangmanbrainrot @t-nd-rfoot

Another late night comes, and Bob Floyd is naked on the other side of your bed. 

Moonlight shines in from the outside, slipping between the curtains that aren’t quite closed, and in the near dark, Bob looks almost contemplative, tracing the length of your spine with soft, barely there touches. 

He is like a statue, something carved from marble, stretched out against your side, close enough for you to feel the warmth that radiates from his skin. You are a seasonal bloom, curving towards the sun, basking in his warmth.

He isn’t wearing his glasses and so, probably can’t make you out as much more than shadow and light, but Bob doesn’t seem to mind, content to admire you in the darkness, content to find the shape of you through gentle touches. Fingertips skim the curve of your waist, drum along your ribcage, making you giggle into the pillows. 

He knows your ticklish spots, careful to press the kisses a little lighter on the back of your knee or skim his nose along the side of your neck, all slow and purposeful, depending on his mood. A smile pulls at his blushing mouth, swollen with kisses, paired with an amused exhale. 

That was definitely on purpose. 

The BCGs sit on the nightstand, set aside on a stack of books, next to the mug of chamomile tea, half-drunk and probably cold now. You don’t want him to reach for them, knowing that Bob only puts them back on to leave. 

He doesn’t reach for them. 

You have a few more minutes. 

You don’t mean to let your eyes close, but Bob is warm and familiar and comforting. It is a losing battle. 

He brushes a kiss across your hairline and settles there, muscles bulging in the folded arm under his head. His breaths, slow and steady and even, stir the escaping hairs there. 

You drift in and out, lost in dreams of smoking planes and late-night texts and chamomile tea and a whispered confession against your brow. Come back to awareness in the cold absence of his warmth, his weight sinking the cheap mattress.

Between your lashes, Bob is a shadow at the nightstand, already dressed again in the black t-shirt and dark jeans that he'd been wearing at the Hard Deck tonight, sending you the I’m coming over message. 

He doesn’t notice your gaze, staring down at the nightstand with a clenched jaw, still wearing that contemplative expression. It has soured somewhere in the middle, tinged with an internal debate. 

He casts his gaze down to you, looking over your sleeping form, brushing the back of his hand across your cheek. You don’t open your eyes, not brave enough to pull him back down beside you and ask him not to leave. 

Stay here. Don’t make me ask. 

And after a few minutes, Bob picks up his glasses and leaves. 

Bob Floyd is good and also, good at everything. 

He’s not loud about it. 

Not like Hangman is good at pool, cheering and fist-pumping after a trick shot to draw over a crowd, already recounting the shot in self-congratulatory to the nearest person who’ll listen. He preens at the attention, basking in it. 

“Not just good,” Hangman said once, not one to let a compliment slide without making it into a thing, making you regret saying anything at all. “Too good to be true.”

Bob’s not dramatic about it either. 

Like how Rooster will dance his fingers across the piano, playing a few teasing notes to make sure the Hard Deck quiets down around him, building the suspense of the moment, waiting for them to look at him. 

Not like that at all. 

He is unassuming, not expecting compliments or attention, and in the rare event that a Hard Deck patron or a fellow Naval avatar does notice how skilled Bob Floyd is at the pool table and the like, he is quick to dismiss the praise. 

He is just… good. It is that simple.

You’d been a civilian mechanic on North Island for a good six months and were utterly convinced that no Naval aviator who’d graduated from Top Gun could be anything other than a walking and talking ego. Experience hadn’t changed your mind.

It is probably your own fault. You’d made it too easy for him.

All Bob Floyd needed to do was be good, quietly good in that way of his, and Bob had you. 

It sneaks up on you. A startling realization.

You’ve never been this person, the one who is waiting for the text to light up your nightstand in the black, the one who is reaching across the still warm bed after, grasping for a ghost that’s already slipped out into the night. You aren’t supposed to want him like this.

You are supposed to be the cold one, the one with one foot out the door, ready to leave rather than get left. You don’t let anyone get close enough to hurt you, not anymore, and Bob Floyd isn’t supposed to be the exception.

He is though. 

He’s your friend. You like him.

He’s more than that. You like him. 

You let yourself dream for a while, imagining that maybe Bob Floyd could like you too. He could want to be with you – not just want you on dark nights, drenched in loneliness, looking for someone who would understand the life of a Naval aviator and not expect promises. 

It doesn’t always seem like such a dream. That, at least, helps you feel less foolish. 

He comes to check on the F-18 repairs that Phoenix used to spearhead and lingers to ask you more questions.

Another mechanic calls him your boyfriend. A tease meant to embarrass you, not him, but Bob flushes pink. 

His next words come out stuttered, caught in a sharp wind and knocked off course, but Bob doesn’t correct him. 

He doesn’t deny it, but Bob still leaves. 

And after Bob accidentally knocks your favorite mug from the nightstand with an errant foot, shattering it into pieces too small to glue back together, Bob makes you a new one. It is dotted with little pink and green flowers and on the bottom, marked with his initials.

Didn’t want it to get mixed up in the kiln, Bob explained to you, showing you the little R.F. on the bottom.

He can easily hold it in one hand, fingers wrapping around the sides and meeting near the handle. You weigh that against the delicate flowers that line the glaze and feel fragile.

You don’t know anything about ceramics – other than that Bob does know about them. Just like he can play the drums and pick out the constellations on clear nights. You do know that Bob must’ve spent at least a few days making it, if not a week. 

“It’s not perfect. Got a little misshapen around the handle because I didn’t…” He shows you, pointing out the imperfection. It is a little misshapen, endearingly so. Little pink flowers. You pinch your arm and miss his explanation. “Is it okay? I could try again.” 

He looks nervous. Moisture pricks at your eyelids.

“It’s perfect.” No one’s ever given me anything so thoughtful. I like you so much. You bite down on your lip hard and bring the mug close to your chest, cradling it. "I’m never using another mug ever again. You’ll have to put it in my grave with me.” 

He made it for you. 

No one has ever made anything for you before, and Bob made something so beautiful and personal and precious with you in mind. You feel raw, flayed right open for him to pierce you through the heart. 

He made it for you… and still, Bob leaves. 

A message lights up your phone screen, set aside on the kitchen counter during your meal preparation. It is much earlier than Bob would usually send an I’m coming over text, but Bob does text you about other things. You are friends after all. 

Need a pool partner at the Hard Deck. Come meet me in the back?

He comes home with you a little earlier that night, stays a little longer, holds you a little tighter, arms around you like steel bands; but eventually, like clockwork, Bob reaches for his glasses on the nightstand.  

You should’ve ended it ages ago. Protected your own heart. 

He looks so handsome, so beautiful in your bed, pressing your legs open to take you apart with his mouth, guiding your hands to stroke through his hair, silky and slightly damp from a late-night shower. Soaking in every sound that escapes from your mouth.

You almost say it then. 

You don’t, instead filling the silence with moans and gasps and the reverent repetition of his name. Move your fingers through the soft strands, tugging when Bob slides his ring finger into you and nudges at a spot that makes your vision haze. 

He moans against you, low and wanting, curling his fingers tighter around your thigh, hard enough to leave indents. You’ll check for bruises in the morning, even though Bob never leaves any. He’s always so careful with you. 

“Please,” Bob whispers, before making you shatter on his tongue.

You almost tell him then, but manage to hold it in, blinking the stars from your eyes, until Bob is sprawled across your bed after, mouth shining with you, pressing a wet kiss to your temple. 

Soft. Like a promise. 

“I really like you.” 

Half a second passes, and Bob is completely still. 

Fuck. You pull back from him.

Why did you say that? You shouldn’t have said anything, 

You’ve ruined it. It was good. You’ve ruined everything. You – 

A creaking bedspring. Bob reaches over you to turn on the light and grabs his glasses from the nightstand. You are both bathed in the warm yellow light as Bob slides them on.

Not to leave. He wants to see your face better.

He pushes himself upright, sliding to lean against the headboard, forearms rippling with the movement. Bob doesn’t leave. 

“You…” Bob hesitates, expression guarded. “You do?” 

It would be easier to lie about it. You can’t do it anymore. 

“I do. Is that… Is it okay that I said that? Is it too soon?” 

You can hear your own hope in your voice, unbridled, and Bob searches your expression, eyes wide and blue behind the wire frames. You’d never seen that color blue before him.

In lieu of an answer, Bob says, “I love you.” 

You might not be breathing. You’re definitely crying. 

He cups your cheek in a large palm, catching a tear that spills across the bridge of your nose. His voice is low and tender, enough to warm you from the inside out. “I’ve loved you for months now, and I couldn’t...” Wetness shines on his own cheek, and Bob brushes it away. “It felt so delicate and new, and I couldn’t risk losing you, even if I only ever got to have pieces.” 

A curl falls across his forehead. You brush it back, stroking your fingertips down his cheek, and Bob closes his eyes with a shuddering breath, leaning into your touch. He is shaking. 

“Not just pieces. You’ve had me, all of me the whole time.” 

And Bob rewards your confession with his own.

“I always wanted to stay with you. You never asked, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” And the corner of his mouth lifts in a wobbly smile. “That didn’t stop me from pushing my luck when I was feeling brave.” 

You remember. He’d hold you a little longer, pull away a little slower. He’d whisper words too low for you to make out. You wonder now if Bob was saying these words; if Bob had really whispered I love you in your dreams or said it for real. 

You need to know. “And if I ask you now?” 

“I’d stay with you,” Bob promises, serious and solemn. “I'd hold you. And then, in the morning, I’d bring you breakfast. I make a mean scrambled egg.” 

You laugh, and Bob smiles at the sound.

He lowers you onto your back, moving over you. He is broad enough to blot out the light, looking at you with such hope and love. His gaze moves between your eyes and your lips.

“Are you?” Bob asks, serious again. He raises your interlocked fingers and kisses the back of your hand. “Asking, I mean?” 

You kiss him. It is answer enough. 

For the rest of the night, Bob is all over you, kissing your cheeks, pinning your interlocked fingers into the soft sheets. He slides into you with your name on his lips, saying those three words over and over again, like a prayer.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

He lets go only once – to slide his glasses from his nose and deposit them back in their place on the nightstand.

And in the morning, Bob brings you coffee in a handmade mug with the little pink and green flowers. He stays. 

end note: i'd love to hear your thoughts and feelings, especially since i've never written a bob floyd fic before. happy valentine's day!

[bradshawsbitch]

best friend | bob floyd x f!reader

a second part

this fic is for @roosterforme 's Valentines Day challenge - #love is in the air tgm! for this fic I chose the song 'You're My Best Friend' by Queen - count on me to make the simpiest song on earth a smidge angsty!

disclaimer; as always with me - I set out to write fluff... and I have to go through the five stages of grief first apparently. this did not turn out quite like I first thought, but I hope you'll like it still! it does have a fluffy ending!

plot; bob has always known he needs you. but perhaps he needs you more than he himself knows?

warnings; fluff with a small preamble of angst, female!reader, no use of y/n, uranium mission, mentions of earlier overconsumption of alcohol, mentions of bloody nose, mentions of throwing up, cursing, cuddling naked (is this a warning? i don't know. it's in there), l-bombs, bob tying your shoes bc heart eyes.

word count; ~3.4K

tagging people who might like; @theharddeck @rhettabbotts @lt-bradshaw @roleycoleyreccenter @sebsxphia @laracrofted @gretagerwigsmuse @hangmanbrainrot @hangmanapologist

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‘you make me live’

Robert Floyd was a very clean-cut man. His glasses, the birth control ones, were neat and tidy on his face, rarely crooked, and rested (a little uncomfortably if he were allowed to complain) against the bridge of his nose. He much preferred his old ones, the ones that he had had as a teenager, horn rimmed and snug and comfortable against his nose. But those had broken during a stint he’d pulled just before he joined the Navy, and thus - birth control goggles it was for him. To be fair he figured it suited his new lifestyle better. Neat. Unassertive. 

As a teen, Robert, at that time most known as Robby, was not quite as tidy and neat as he was now. The Robert that you, his best friend, had come to know was definitely on the more rowdy side. He drank quite heavily, and had the occasional smoke as well - something he was fairly certain would shock Hangman’s smirk right off his face if Bob ever wished to shatter the illusion of naivety he’d shouldered. 

It would sometimes irk Bob when people at first construed him as meek. Sure, he’d never been the most social butterfly, and meeting new people always seemed a bit daunting no matter how much practice he had. He figured that might be why he had drank so heavily in his late teens. He’d wanted to be able to talk to people and not feel as if he wanted to sink through the floor because he stuttered once.

After every stutter he uttered, Bob cursed up a storm in his head at his own incompetence. He was far from upset though, he was fucking pissed. How was it that he knew exactly what he wanted to say, yet his tongue betrayed him so wholly? It hardly seemed fair that he actually had so much to say, yet didn’t possess the ability to voice it. If people only knew how eloquent he had sounded in his head.

He guessed that’s why he liked you so much. That first time that you met, and Robert’s tongue had done its best to trip him up at every turn, you’d just smiled warmly at him - eyes twinkling with genuine interest as he spoke. The more you gave him your undivided attention, without letting your gaze flicker away from his face, the more confident Bob had grown - as if his mouth and tongue suddenly remembered how to do their jobs properly when he felt more relaxed, and as if he wasn’t in a rush to say what he wished before the recipients focus had been drawn elsewhere. 

You had waited patiently, and you’d replied with such care that he felt taken aback that you’d actually remembered most of his monologue. Since then, Bob had barely gone a day without speaking to you. It didn’t matter much what time of day it was, or how long you spoke, or how. Through the phone, via FaceTime or in person, Bob just needed to hear your sweet voice. Needed you like the air he breathed.

It had been that way ever since you met, and you had helped him when he needed it the most. Just before he had managed to make his drinking an unsalvageable problem, you had reminded him that he was valuable without the confidence that beverages lended him.

With you he never felt the need to put on any bravado or show. He had barely touched a drop of alcohol since his nineteenth birthday, and he never felt the urge to start up again. Bob had figured out that people could find him interesting and worthwhile without having the aid of alcohol to loosen his tongue and inhibit his sagacity.

‘whatever this world can give to me, it’s you - you’re all i see’

The world had undoubtedly thrown a few wrenches in Bob’s path. Growing up he’d suffered a lot at the hands of his peers, not really knowing why they felt the need to pick on him in particular. In his mind he didn’t stand out much.

Sure, he might be a bit clumsy sometimes, and he had been a little thinner and ganglier than his fellow classmates - but as he grew that had changed. Now he had defined abs and biceps, and still he didn’t feel entirely comfortable flaunting them on the beach. He preferred to keep a shirt on on the rare occasion he’d make it to the beach, something he knew you didn’t like - but something you didn’t ever push.

Bob was fairly certain most of the people that used to make fun of him had no idea that he was quite sharp, and he was not entirely sure that if he were to explain the intricacies he attended to in the aft seat of the F/A-18F he was usually assigned to, they would most likely come up blank for a response.

Robert was fairly certain anyone could wake him up in the middle of the night and ask him to man the AESA or ATFLIR system and he’d do it half asleep. The only one he’d tried to explain what he did in detail to was you, and only because you had asked and seemed genuinely intrigued - not even his father seemed particularly interested in knowing the heavy weaponry his son was responsible for when Bob tried to talk about it to him when he’d just joined the Navy.

Through any of the hardships Bob went through though, he always had you. You were always just a phone call away, even though Bob preferred to see you in front of him. Robert would never really call himself a liar, he tried his best to always say what was on his mind, no matter the outcome, but he undoubtedly was a liar.

Horribly enough, he was lying to you. And for some time he had definitely lied to himself. He’d almost told you after his situation with Phoenix, that first time he’d have to eject out of a spiraling Super Hornet at such speeds it made him dizzy to think that he’d actually survived. 

He had called you from his hospital bed, voice shaking slightly as he reassured you that he was alright - having to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from sniffling as he heard your teary voice blubbering how worried you’d been when you had gotten the call that his plane had gone down during a training exercise.

He had made you his emergency contact several years ago at that point. And perhaps your soft sobs was what made him keep his confession close to his chest for just a while longer. If you didn’t know, and he didn’t make it home during the upcoming mission - at least you might not suffer too much from the loss of him. Better to lose a best friend than a lover right? That’s what Bob reasoned. 

‘whenever this world is cruel to me… i got you to help me forgive’

As Phoenix put the Super Hornet down hard on the deck, Bob shook slightly as he swiftly went through his checklist. He was pretty sure his nose was bleeding, and wave after wave of nausea kept hitting him sporadically. He needed to get out of the jet. He needed to breathe fresh air, and most of all - he needed you. Hurrying down the steps, Bob ran as fast as his legs would carry him to the side of the huge ship, emptying the contents of his stomach into the vastness of the ocean below. They had lost Mav. They had lost Rooster. 

What if it had been him and Nat? It just as easily could’ve been. His legs were shaking as the adrenaline from the mission they had just gone through started waning. God, why had he gotten close to any of these people? He knew he had gotten too familiar with all of them after that god damned game day on the beach - he’d told you happily about being perched on Bradley’s shoulders, and you’d laughed and congratulated him on a good game. 

The memory sent another wave of nausea through him and he retched again as warm blood dripped down over his cupid's bow. Just as he was about to rush up to the nearest admiral around and get on his knees to beg them to let him call you, Phoenix showed up at his side, her dainty hand - that had just guided them to safety - landing on his shoulder. Not caring in the slightest, Bob quickly wiped his mouth and nose on his sleeve before roughly pulling her into a bone-crushing embrace, her soft words of reassurances falling on deaf ears. 

“Thank you, Nat. For getting me back.” Bob had, since he had met Natasha, known she would do everything in her power to make sure he made it back, with or without Maverick’s ‘funeral talks’. He watched his pilot clench her jaw, eyes turning misty as she looked up at him and nodded. 

“Likewise,” she said, patting his shoulder again before releasing him swiftly as they both noticed Hangman’s F/A-18E launch off the ship. Nat’s brows were furrowed, and Bob accompanied her as they made their way back towards the others. Fanboy took one look at Bob before offering him a pained look and a baby wipe - Bob knew that Mickey sometimes still threw up after flights, and had them on him at all times just in case. 

“You okay, man?” Fanboy spoke softly to the other wizzo, patting Bob’s back as the taller man thanked him and wiped at his nose and mouth. Bob shook his head somberly, wanting to be anywhere else than where he was right now. With a clarity he hadn’t known in a while, he realized that he craved you. Craved your voice, your touch, your embrace. He needed you.

‘you’re the first one when things turn out bad’

If he had been able to teleport himself to your doorstep right now he’d press you so close to his chest, he’d breathe in your scent, he’d let his lips descend upon yours only to let them never leave their new found home, securely against yours. He’d carry you to bed, and he’d use any excuse to keep you snuggled into his side for days and days. 

As it was, he had no choice but to stay where he was. Perhaps it was best that he did, otherwise he wouldn’t have known that both Mav and Rooster had made it back alive, if barely. Laying down to sleep that night as the waves rocked the ship, he had never felt so exhausted mentally and physically in his life. It felt as if his very essence had been changed through the emotions and experiences he had had during this day. He couldn’t wait to be home. Home with you.

Bob had decided the second the Super Hornet had landed that day that he would be selfish. He would tell you about the feelings he’d harbored for you for years now. It was better than dying and you never even knowing. Never knowing that you were the only one for him, that you were his sunshine, his very reason for breathing. 

‘i’m happy, happy at home’

What Bob hadn’t counted on as he finally was able to make his way towards where people were usually gathered to greet their loved ones, was that you were there. He never had anyone waiting for him, because you lived some ways away, and the rest of his family were all the way over in Montana. Perhaps that’s why he needed to be nudged in the side by Phoenix, the one whom he’d spent the most time showing pictures of you to, before he made out your calls of ‘Robby!’.

His mouth fell open in shock as he saw you sprinting towards him, dropping his duffel bag just in time to be able to catch you in his arms as you barreled into his tall frame. He only had to take a small step back to steady himself, before his arm squeezed hard at your waist and his other cradled the back of your head as he felt you nuzzle into his chest.

He could hardly make out your muffled words, but it did sound an awful lot like his name being repeated over and over again in relief. Relief flooded him too as he took in a shaky breath, overcome by the familiar scent you brought with you. Tears clouded his vision as he pulled you in closer, standing to his full height for a moment, letting your converse clad feet lift off of the pavement.

As the two of you pulled away from one another, he could see tears streaming down your cheeks, and his brows furrowed as he cradled your face between his large palms. 

“Sunshine…” Bob breathed out, a lopsided smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You offered him a teary smile in return. Thumbs soothed over your tear stained cheeks, and Bob took this moment of silence to look you over.

He noticed that in your haste to make it over to him, one of your shoelaces had fallen out of the neat bow you’d no doubt hastily thrown together before leaving to see him. How you’d gotten the information he wasn’t sure, he hadn’t been able to tell you before he left when he’d be back. He figured Phoenix might have something to do with it though. He wondered what she’d told you.

Releasing the hold he had of your face, Robert slowly fell down to kneel by your feet, slowly taking the laces between his nimble fingers, tugging softly to make sure they were tight enough before tying another knot, this time a double bow, to make sure they didn’t fall apart again.

He playfully tugged at the top of the shoe, before he gazed up at you. The expression on your face had his breath leaving his lungs suddenly, and his lips parted in surprise. That look of adoration on your face was so beautiful to him, and to have it directed at him… it was overwhelming. 

“Take me home?” you whispered once he had stood to his full height again, and he wasn’t entirely sure what you meant. He had rented a small flat whilst he was going to be stationed here, so he figured that was home for him right now. Maybe home was wherever you were. Maybe you felt the same. He hoped you did. Bob only nodded before confidently grasping your smaller hand in his, lacing his fingers with yours as you steered him towards your car. 

The ride back to Bob’s rented flat was mostly silent, except for his soft spoken directions. He had yet to let go of your hand, thankful for your automatic car. His thumb stroked over your knuckles, maybe more to soothe himself than you. He felt like he needed to feel your skin against his own, make sure you were real. Make sure he was real too. 

Getting out of the car, Bob swiftly moved to open your door, his hands on your waist the moment you stood up.

“Robby,” you whispered, emotions unknown lacing your tone. Bob couldn’t do this here. Not on the driveway. He ushered you to the door, unlocking it and steering you inside without uttering a word.

“You’re my best friend,”

Bob spoke slowly, letting his cerulean eyes map out your face, every single familiar feature a thing of beauty. Heaving a deep sigh, he again let his palm rest against your cheek as you gazed up at him, that look of adoration still present.

“I love you, sunny,” Bob confessed, his voice breaking at the end of his sentence, overcome by the fact that he might not have made it home to tell you that. You licked your lips as more tears fell from your eyes.

“Phoenix told me you almost didn’t make it home to me,” you replied shakily. He averted his gaze, but you stepped closer, your chest now resting against his own. It forced him to look down at you again, god, you were so close. 

“How could you have left me without telling me that beforehand? I’ve–” you trailed off, a sob shaking you softly. Bob furrowed his brows, letting his arms wound around you to hold you steady against him. 

“I’ve loved you my whole life… ever since I first heard you speak, I’ve loved you,” you cried “as more than a friend. I’ve wanted to be yours for so long, Robby,” Bob groaned, pulling you into a tight embrace, tucking your face into the crook of his neck as his lips found the top of your head.

“Sunny… you’re mine. You’ve always been mine. And I’ve always been yours. I’m sorry–” his voice broke again “I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you. I never in a million years figured I’d be good enough for you,” his voice was raw with emotion, a raspy and deep quality to it that had you momentarily dizzy.

You thought you had heard every iteration of Robert’s voice that there was. Sleepy Robby, angry Robby, sweet Robby, sad Robby… nothing compared to this. Nothing. 

“You stupid, stupid man,” you chastised him, a teary laugh falling from your lips as you broke free from his embrace. Bob had the decency to look bashful as he chuckled, thumb stroking over your cheek again. Your own hand raised, fingertips ghosting over his cheeks, the harsh feel of his stubble unusual for you. Your exploration continued slowly, before your thumb graced Bob’s lower lip, hearing his breath stutter in his throat. 

“Kiss me, Robby,” you spoke softly, glancing up at those cerulean eyes you loved so much. The groan that left Bob was otherworldly to you as he cupped your face in between his palms, his warm lips descending upon yours as your eyes fluttered closed.

Bob could swear he’d never felt anything like it as his lips were met with your warm and plump ones, moving so slowly and deliciously against his own, small sighs making him a little crazy. He couldn’t get enough of the feeling. You felt like home. Hesitantly, Bob let his tongue wet your bottom lip, and the way you let him deepen the kiss had another groan leaving his lips as your tongue met his slowly. 

“I never want to leave you again,” Bob leaned his forehead against yours as his eyelids squeezed shut. 

“Then don’t,” you let a soft giggle escape from you. Bob only smiled, before he bent down, letting his hands rest on the backs of your thighs as he hoisted you into his arms. 

“I need snuggles and I need them now,” he simply said as he walked you into his bedroom, carefully helping remove your shoes before he planted you in the middle of the comfortable bed. Removing his own shoes, Bob stripped out of his khaki uniform, leaving him in only his boxers - something you had certainly seen before, but something beautiful nonetheless.

He moved to climb onto the bed with you, but you held up your palm, stopping him momentarily as you wiggled out of your jeans and your top - needing to feel Bob’s skin against yours. 

Bob offered you the softest of smiles before he laid down beside you, keeping a small distance between your bodies, not wanting to make the first move at touching you. Rolling your eyes, you muttered “silly man” before promptly draping your thigh over his, letting your stomach and chest snuggle close into his warm skin, your head resting against his neck. 

“Thank God,” Bob sighed, kissing your forehead as his strong arms wrapped around your midsection, his fingers tracing patterns on your bare skin. The same fingers that only hours ago had frantically manned the countermeasures and systems needed to get out safely. Bob squeezed his eyes shut before he took a shuddering deep breath.

“Hey, you’re here with me, Robby,” you spoke softly, resting your chin against his chest. “You’re here and you’re mine and I love you so much,” you continued, your fingers raking through his neat hair. He managed a smile, and his body relaxed against yours as he mirrored your movements.

“I’m here… and I’m yours, and I love you,” he repeated slowly, leaning against his forearm as he reached to kiss you again, one hand resting comfortably at the back of your head as his lips moved with yours. He felt your lips turn upwards into a soft smile against his own, and when you broke away from him, he let out a relieved sigh as he fell back against the pillows, eyes closed.

He smiled as he felt you climb on top of him, curling up on his chest, your head resting comfortably on his sternum, your thighs encompassing his hips. His palm softly stroked up and down your spine, and he swore he could almost hear you purring like a cat at his touch. 

Soft kisses were shared between whispered words of comfort and love, and Bob had never thought he could be this lucky, to have his best friend dozing off against his chest, her kisses and her love soothing his rattled soul.  

‘oh, you’re my best friend’

[thedroneranger]

A Little Time Alone

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Précis: Bradley and his wife have been busy with everything except each other.

Note: One of two entires for @roosterforme’s #love is in the air tgm love song playlist challenge. This fic is inspired by Luke Comb's The Kind of Love We Make.

Warnings: 18+ only, smut.

Word count: 3.7k

It had been weeks since we spent any time together. 

Between the new curriculum and latest batch of pilots, I was coming home late every night and leaving early every morning.

At first, she was doing her damnedest to stay up until I got home. Each night, before sliding into bed, I would slip her tablet from her clutches and remove her askew reading glasses, placing both on her nightstand. Once I settled into bed, unconsciously, she would snuggle into me, allowing me to fall asleep with a smile.

However, lately, it was clear she had been sleeping for hours. Tucked into bed, fast asleep with just her hair peeking between the bedding. I would slide into my side and do my best not to disturb her.

Each morning, I didn’t leave without giving her a goodbye kiss, but guilt always edged my decision to not wake her. Instead, I would press my lips to her forehead or cheek, whichever was exposed.

Things seemed to take a turn after her plan to surprise me with lunch on base was foiled. Normally, she would coordinate with Maverick, if he were around, or the security guard she had befriended to sneak into my office with sandwiches from our favorite deli.

Of course, she always wore a dress, which made it easy for me to bend her over my desk for a pleasurable finish. 

We had a text code so I knew to expect her. The last time she plotted a lunchtime date, I, unbeknownst, stood her up. Unable to check my texts all morning, I never saw her message and never went to my office. It wasn’t until later in the evening I saw several messages and a couple missed calls. 

I was devastated and wanted to apologize in person. However, she was always asleep when I got home. I even tried to call a few times during the day, but I never managed to catch her. After that, we exchanged fewer and fewer texts throughout each day. 

Even our weekends had been spent separately. I found myself on base more and more for special events and training. Hell, the last couple weekends, I even slept there.

She, on the other hand, has been a godsend, representing us both at family get-togethers and other personal events.

I can only imagine how she felt, likely making up excuses for my lack of presence.

The whole situation made me absolutely miserable.

“Bradley. Bradley. Bradley!” My head jerked to find Maverick intensely staring at me.

“Yeah, Mav?” I coughed to clear my throat and gave him my full attention.

He and I were alone in his office. Maverick and I were co-instructors for an upcoming class. We were going over the lesson plan when my thoughts drifted. “What’s on your mind, Bradley?” Mav put down his pen, leaned back in his chair and looked at me.

Shifting in my chair, I noticed the tension in my shoulders and that I’d been holding my breath. Subtly untensing, I spoke. “I can’t remember the last time I spent time with my wife, and she’s getting distant.”

Maverick leaned forward. He loved her like a daughter. Actually, I was convinced he liked her more than me. Mav was always reminding me not to let work ruin our relationship. 

Not that he had room to talk. 

Although, he and Penny have appeared rock solid since getting back together. Once Maverick proposed and they wed, Penny was the happiest I’ve ever seen her.

“Bradley—”

I cut off Mav. “I know, I know. Don’t fuck it up.”

“Go home,” he said.

“What?” My eyebrow cocked.

“Go home. Report back on Monday,” Mav said. We stared at each other for almost a full minute. “Go fix it.” The tone in Mav’s voice told me he was about to make it an order, so I nodded, gave a quick salute and dashed out.

Not having been home at a decent hour in nearly a month, I forgot what traffic was like. It had me doubting if I would be home any earlier than as of late. 

Her vehicle was in the driveway when I finally pulled up.

My feet were carrying me faster than my brain was processing. My mind was trying to get my hands under control so I could get the key in the door, when the door flung open.

A gasp left her lips as our gazes locked. “Hey, stranger.” She did her best to hide a smirk. Unfazed, I walked toward her, forcing her to back up and allow me into the house. Once far enough in, I closed the door. 

“Hey,” I replied. My eyes raked across her form. She was wearing a short red sundress and some strappy sandals. My cock twitched. I could not recall the last time I saw her in anything other than our fluffy duvet. 

“I should go—I don’t want to be late.” She walked toward me and got on her toes to kiss my cheek. However, I turned my head and captured her lips with mine. She hesitated for a second, but melted into me as I wrapped an arm around her waist and the other hugged her ribcage. Her hand slid from my bicep up to my neck. 

We separated just enough to look into each other’s eyes. “I hate that I forgot what you feel like,” she said. 

The comment made me hold her tighter. “We can’t have that,” I said as a matter of fact. Her eyebrow and lips quirked. I smiled at her. “I’ve been missing you more than you can imagine,” I confessed.

She was still looking at me with a tight smile. “I may have an idea.” She pursed her lips and looked off the side. Then, she looked back at me and pressed her lips to mine. As we kissed, I uncoiled an arm from around her, so I could reach back to lock the door.

She heard the click. “I have to go,” she said with her lips still against mine. 

Again, we separated just enough to look at one another. “Cancel.” My voice was more demanding than either of us expected. She looked surprised but not offended. “We need a little time alone.” I sounded softer. “So tonight, I’m only gonna be your man,” I told her. She raised an eyebrow. “I’m off the entire weekend.”

“Bradley Alexander—” She was ready to scold me for messing with her. 

“Scout’s honor.” I held my fingers up in the Eagle Scout sign. We stared at each other. “There’s no way I’m leaving this house, especially when you look this good.” My hand dropped lower to squeeze her backside. She dropped her head trying to hide the blush in her cheeks as if I’d never seen it before.

“Go shower,” she said. My grip on her loosened so she could step away. “I’m not spending the evening huffing jet fuel.” She looked my attire up and down. I left in such a rush, I still had my flight suit on. 

Extra swagger in her hips, she sauntered to the kitchen. For a split second, I considered following her and bending her over the nearest surface. But tonight called for something slower, softer than a counter quickie.

Instead, I went to our ensuite bathroom and let the water pressure ease my muscles. Soothed by the water and steam, I lost track of time. When I realized, I hopped out, did a quick shave and dressed.

We were home, but she was wearing that sinful sundress, so I at least wanted to wear something I knew she’d love. I put on my favorite pair of worn jeans, a white tank and an Aloha shirt I knew was one of her favorites. 

I padded downstairs, noticing the lights were low and she’d lit candles. A smile turned my lips when I heard Led Zeppelin IV spinning on the record player—I thought about the countless times we made out to this soundtrack.

When I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I stopped in my tracks. She was sitting on our small breakfast table, palm supporting her, head tilted back, wine glass to her lips. One leg ran the radius of the table while the other hung off at the knee. Her heel popping to the beat of the music.

She turned to look at me. “Wine?” She held out her glass. I shook my head as a coy smile pulled a corner of my mouth. She winked as she polished off the last sip in her glass.

As I approached the table, she shifted so she was facing me and placed the glass at her side. Stepping between her legs, I pushed the glass further back. A hand on either side of her, I leaned so we were at eye level. 

Her hand cupped the side of my jaw, and her thumb ran along my lips. Mindlessly, I pressed a kiss to it. The tiniest smile curled the corners of her mouth as she searched my face. I hummed as her fingers traversed the raised skin of my scars and came to rest on the dip of my chest just below my clavicles. “Do you have any idea how handsome you are?” she asked.

Surely she felt my chest rumble as I chuckled. “Only when you tell me.” My voice was raspier than usual. Leaning further into her, I dropped my head to place soft kisses on her neck. 

“Surely other women tell you.” I knew exactly what she was doing. 

“I can assure you, they keep their thoughts to themselves,” I replied. Between kisses I told her about my latest class catching sight of her on base. It was the last time we had lunch together before our drought. A couple of them commented about a hot civilian. Turning, I found her chatting with Maverick. 

I told them the easiest way to not return from a mission was ogling another pilot’s spouse. One of the women who had been doing her damnedest to flirt with me blurted, “That’s your wife?!” I nodded at her with a wink. She paled and never looked me in the eye again.

The earned laugh that quickly morphed into a moan had me considering unzipping my pants and unceremoniously fucking her. But I had to pace myself. She was flat against the table, my body covering her with my forearms holding me up as I kissed whatever exposed skin was available. The raggedness of her breathing kept me going. 

“Do you know how hard it is for me not to wake you up every night at some ungodly hour?” I told her, picking my head up to see her response. 

Her bottom lip was between her teeth as her eyes twinkled in the low light. “Why wouldn’t you wake me up?” she asked. Her thighs were squeezing my hips, the skirt of her dress covering almost nothing. 

“First, you sleep through absolutely everything.” She chuckled as my hands skimmed her bare thighs. “We could be having a magnitude 10 earthquake, and you’d sleep through it.” She nodded in agreement as one of my hands slid between us. 

I froze. “Where are your underwear?” She never went commando without a purpose. 

She propped herself up on her elbows. “Maybe I was hoping you would be home, in bed, when I returned. And I could wake you up.” She paused. “If you came home.” Her gaze was intense.

My smile faltered and my head dropped with my shoulders in a moment of guilt. Quickly, I looked back up at her. “I’m sorry.” Still gripping her thigh, my thumb drew circles on it. 

“Show me,” she said.

“Excuse me?” I had expected her to scold me or for us to get into a deep conversation about the past month.

She moved my hand from her thigh to between her legs. “Actions speak louder than words.” Expertly, she maneuvered my hand to guide two fingers into her. “Show me how sorry you are. How much you’ve missed me.”

For a minute, I froze. Tired of waiting for me, she wrapped her hand around my wrist to slide my fingers in and out of her. Finally, I got a hold of myself, my thumb pressing to her swollen bundle of nerves and the pads of my fingers stimulating that spongy spot inside. Her breath caught as I took over.

“That’s it, honey.” She melted against the table. “Let’s take it nice and slow.” She clenched around my fingers—I thought I might come right then. “Fuck,” I said under my breath. She smiled as she watched me squeeze my eyes shut. 

Back on her elbows, her fingers snuck into my hair and pulled me until our lips connected. My lips parted just enough to allow her tongue in. It toyed with mine, matching the rhythm of my fingers pumping in and out of her. Her lips left mine with a smack. “Bradley,” she moaned as I alternated between scissoring my fingers and curling them against her G spot.

“That’s it,” I cooed, keeping the same pace and pattern. I could feel her tightening around my fingers. “Fuck,” I breathed out, enjoying the feel of her. My lips fell to her neck, knowing the additional contact would send her over the edge. 

The stutter breath she let out matched her contractions around my fingers. “That’s it, honey.” I watched her face as she went through her high, my fingers keeping pace. As she untensed, I slowed to a stop. She looked at me as she steadied her breathing and a smile appeared. She continued to watch as I cleaned her from my fingers. Immediately, she pulled me down to taste herself.

She hummed as we separated. “Go pick another album. I wanted to make out with you on the couch.” My cock jumped from just the words leaving her mouth. Standing to my full height, I helped her off the table. 

She shooed me with her hands to the living room where my inherited record player was housed. I thumbed the sleeves until I found the perfect selection: The Velvet Underground’s Loaded.

As soon as the needle fell into the groove, she appeared with the bottle of wine. We both traipsed to the couch. She split the wine as I settled into the sofa. I accepted a glass and then beckoned her to sink into my side. Together, we sipped and listened to the opening song. 

As the next began to play, she placed our empty glasses on the coffee table and straddled my lap. My hands came to rest on the tops of her thighs, pushing the fabric of her dress higher to expose more skin. She shimmied even closer to me, so she was at even more of a height advantage—my head was tipped almost completely back. 

Her fingers sifted through my locks, her nails massaging my scalp. A deep breath I didn’t even realize I was holding escaped my parted lips. She smiled as she watched me relax. My eyes were practically in the back of my head, her massage turning my mind to mush.

She tugged my hair, which earned a moan and caused me to shift under her. She ground against me, the stiff seams of my jeans caressing her most sensitive spot. I let her roll my head to the side so she had better access to pepper kisses along my neck. She continued to grind against my denim-clad crotch. Boy, did I wish there were less fabric between us. 

My fingers dug into her thighs as she sank her teeth into my neck. “Christ,” I said under my breath. She sat back and eyed me, proud of the reaction she got. Her thumb passed over the spot that would surely be purple later. “Maybe your students will have fewer questions come Monday.” Before I could say anything, she leaned in and sweetly pressed her lips to mine. 

“You’re such a sour patch kid,” I teased. She smiled at the nickname while she nipped my lips and swirled her tongue against mine. At the same time, her hands were busy unfastening my jeans. She climbed off my lap, and I lifted my hips to help her rid me of my garments. 

Climbing back into my lap, her knees bracketed my hips and the tops of her feet contoured the curve of my thighs. Her core rested against my length. I wanted nothing more than to guide myself into her.

“It’s really unfair you look this good in such a silly print.” Her fingers followed the shoulder seams of my shirt to the collar. Using the points, she pulled me back in for a kiss. As we separated, her hands dipped under my collar and over my shoulders to help shed the cloth. 

Once that was off, she took advantage of a tiny hole I hadn't noticed in my tank. Penetrating it with her finger, she pulled and the fabric easily gave way. I watched as the hole grew and she fisted the fabric to snap it at the hems. She untangled me from the ruined garment and dropped it to the floor. 

My arms snaked around her waist, pulling her closer and hands palming her backside through her dress. Her hips lifted, and with one hand, she guided me into her. Slowly, she returned to her resting position. A sigh left my mouth as I felt her adjusting to me.

“Honey,” I trailed off as she squeezed me a couple times. We kept eye contact as she began to slowly lift and lower herself. The pace quickened just a bit as she fell into rhythm with the music.

As she kept going, my hands slipped under her dress and began to pull it up until it was over her head. Once it was off, my mouth immediately found one of her nipples. The moan that left her lips was euphoric. 

It made me bite her harder. She let out something between a moan and cry as her nails sank into my shoulders. I hissed, enjoying the burn as she scored my skin.

She was frustrated, and I wanted every bit of that energy. 

Not wanting to miss any of it, I coiled an arm back around her waist and easily flipped us so she was laying on the couch parallel with the cushions. 

Her doe eyes stared up at me, filled with surprise. My quirked lip grew to a smirk, as I anchored a hand on the cushion beside her head and the other on the couch back. My hips began to rock, setting a new pace for us. The lust came back to her gaze as her soft thighs met my hips and her heels found purchase in the dimples of my ass. 

I held it together as her nails gently ran from the top of my cock to just under my pecs and back. Her touch was soft but firm enough not to tickle. I flexed a little extra. 

Watching her breasts bounce with each thrust was enamoring. Her breathy gasps each time I bottomed out were the only noise I was hearing. My eyes sank as she stopped touching me and started touching herself. 

My pace stayed the same, but my gaze was trapped where we connected. I slid in and out while her digits swirled along her swollen nerves. My hips stuttered from the added pleasure as her index and forefingers made a V around the base of cock. “Fuck me,” I whined. 

She smiled. “No, you’re fucking me,” she corrected. We laughed together. 

“I missed this so, so much,” I confessed. Wanting to be closer to her, I sank to my elbows. I tucked my palm behind her head, letting my fingers sift through her hair. Her eyes were hooded as she looked at me through her lashes. 

We locked gazes as she took a deep breath and moved her hands to my waist, her nails sinking into the flesh just above my hips. At the same time, I felt her entire lower half contract, thighs hugging me and core convulsing. 

“Bradley.” My name was long and drawn out as it left her lips. It was enough to make me spill into her. I breathed her name into the crook of her neck as I curled my arm under her head, my elbow became her head rest, to hug her whole body as close as possible. Her hand ran up my side and hooked around my shoulder. 

I followed her name with a pleasurable hiss as her teeth sank into the meat of my shoulder. She punctuated the action with a tender kiss. The first of several she trailed into the crook of my neck as we rode out our orgasms.

Just as we came down from our high, the record ended. “Perfect timing.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead before pulling out and heading to the record player. She whined, but turned to enjoy the view as I walked away. Patiently, she waited as I flipped the vinyl and put it back on the player. I lined up the needle perfectly, and immediately the opening notes seeped out of the speakers. 

By the time I was headed back to the couch, she was standing beside it. “Should we change the dress code in the house to birthday suits only?” I pressed my body to hers, enjoying the full frontal contact and handful of her ass I grabbed. She squeaked and arched her back. My lips covered hers to distract from her attempt to escape. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled into her lips. 

We parted just far enough to look one another in the eyes. Her expression was playful. “Apology accepted.” I squeezed her around her ribcage and stuck my face in the crook of her neck. Although we were stark naked, our hug was earnest. 

As we separated, she held my biceps, keeping us close. “Let’s go upstairs so you can keep doing what you’re doing to me all night long.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Together, we blew out all the candles, and then walked upstairs hand-in-hand.

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[cherrycola27]

Burnin' Up

Pairing: Jake x Fiancée!Reader

Warnings: Some Language, mostly fluff!

...........................................

You tapped your fingers to the beats of your 2000s Pop playlist. It was finally Friday, and you were itching to get home and get ready for your anniversary date with Jake.

Your engagement ring gleamed in the late afternoon sun as you tapped along to the Jonas Brothers. You hoped Jake would appreciate the high heels and red dress you had picked out for tonight as much as Nick, Joe, or Kevin would've. Though you hoped he'd appreciate the matching red lace set you'd planned to wear under it even more.

You glanced at the clock on your dash. It was 3:45. You'd left school the moment all of your students had gone, knowing you would need every available minute between dismissal and the time he arrived home from base to get ready. Jake had told you that your reservation was at 6 pm sharp and that he had planes to get ready on base right after training.

You were thankful that he had decided to do that because that meant you had full reign over the bathroom for at least an hour and a half.

You turned onto your street just as the song was finishing. You made a mental list in your head of what you needed to do when you got home.

However, all of those plans went out the window when you rolled into the driveway, and Jake's Silverado was parked in his spot.

Worry set it. Being a teacher meant that on most days, you left before Jake. However, he almost never made it home before you did. You checked your phone to make sure that you hadn't missed a text from him saying training ended early. Nothing. Now you really were getting worried. If Jake was home, that meant something was wrong.

You quickly gathered your things and made your way into the house.

"Jake?" You called out. You slipped your shoes off next to his boots. You hung up your keys and set your bag down next to the bench in the mudroom.

"Jake, honey, I'm home!" You called out again, waiting for him to answer.

You padded your way through the kitchen and into the living room. You were just about to head upstairs to see if he was in the shower when you heard a faint groan come from the couch.

You tiptoed over to the sofa and peaked over the edge. You let out a sigh of relief when you saw Jake asleep, one arm thrown over his head, the other dangling off the edge. You were half tempted to take a photo, but then he let out another groan in his sleep.

Your brows crinkled when you noticed that his body was flush, and he was paler than usual.

You gently shook his shoulder trying to wake him, without startling him.

"Jake," you cooed to him before stroking his face.

You quickly pulled your hand back because his forehead was searing hot to the touch.

"Jake, baby, wake up." You said, jostling him.

His eyes flew open, and he quickly sat up. "What time is it?" He asked in a haze. "It's a little after four. Honey, are you feeling okay?" You respond to him.

"What—yes I'm fine. I had a headache, and Maverick let me come home a little early. I just dozed off when I got home. I was hoping a nap would make me feel better before tonight," Jake told you.

"Sweetheart, if you aren't feeling well, we can celebrate our anniversary another night. Why don't I call the restaurant and cancel our table, and we can stay in and relax?" You say stroking his head. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, he definitely had a fever.

"Absolutely not! I've had this planned for over a month. This is our last first date anniversary before we get married, and I wanted to make it special for you!" He proclaims.

"Jakey, I understand that, but if you're sick, I don't want you pushing through it and being miserable all night." You tell him, trying to reason with him.

"Listen here, woman, I do not get sick!" He states matter of factly. To further try and prove his point, Jake quickly stands up, ready to change for the evening. But when he rises to his feet, the room starts to spin.

"Easy there, cowboy." You say, jumping up to steady him.

You press the back of your hand to his forehead and sigh.

"Jake, you're burning up." You tell him

"Yeah, for you, baby." He quips back.

"Jacob Thomas Seresin Jr., would you just admit that you don't feel well so I can take care of you?" You huff out, placing your hands on your hips.

"You used my full name. Does that mean I'm in trouble?" He chuckles.

"You will be if you don't get your ass upstairs and let me take care of you." You threaten him.

"But honey, I don't want you to have to do that. I'll be fine." He tries to convince you, but it's too late. You're already dragging him by the arm towards the stairs.

"In sickness and in health, Jacob. In sickness and in health." You call over your shoulder.

"We aren't even married yet!" He half argues back.

"And if you don't get changed into some comfy clothes and get your ass in that bed, we won't be." You tell him sternly.

"I don't know why you're worrying about me. I'm telling you, I don't get sick!" Jake huffs, tossing his clothes into the hamper and grabbing a pair of sweatpants.

His back is turned to you, but he can feel the daggers you are staring. He decides it's best not to argue with you. He would also never admit it, but he is feeling kind of crummy. His head hurts, he feels exhausted, and his skin was kind of clammy.

He trudges over to his side of the bed and climbs in. You come over and make sure he is comfortable, tucking the covers around him and kissing his forehead.

"Here." You say holding out a glass of water and a bottle of cold medicine. He accepts them without a fight, downing the medicine taking a sip of the water.

"Thank you, honey," He says before setting the glass on the night stand.

"You're welcome. Now, I'm going to call the restaurant and let them know we can't make it, and then I'm going to make you some soup. Get some rest baby." You say before heading back downstairs.

By the time you return upstairs with some soup and a Gatorade, Jake is fast asleep.

You smile softly at him. Jake always tried to put up a macho man front. It warmed your heart for him to let his guard down around you.

It hadn't always been this way. When you had first met Jake, you thought he was a certified asshat. He had strolled up to you at the Hard Deck, toothpick in his mouth and beer in his hand.

He tried everything to win you over, but you wouldn't budge. It continued like that for weeks. The truth is Jake was dying to get to know you. He couldn't figure you out, but he desperately wanted to.

One night, you finally snapped at him. "Bagman, you are such an annoying human being. You go around like you know who I am, but you don't!" You had yelled at him, pushing his chest.

"Sweets, I don't have you figured out at all. You've got me on my toes. Every time I come in here, all I want to do is get to know you. Why won't you let me?" Jake said back smoothly.

His honesty had sealed the deal for you. After that, you were his girl. Soon, you would be his wife.

Jake shifted in his sleep, arms reaching out for you. He let out a groan, and his brows furrowed together.

You quickly set the soup to the side and changed into some sleep shorts, and one of his old Navy shirts. You slipped under the covers and snuggled up next to you.

He sighed contently, tucking you under his chin.

You sank back again him, enjoying this tender moment.

You don't remember falling asleep, but the next morning, you wake up, and your body is cold and achy. The sheets that are supposed to be occupied by Jake are empty.

You sit up and see that the soup from last night has been taken from the room, and his sleep clothes are neatly folded on his side of the bed.

"Jake?" You call for him as you walk downstairs.

"Baby! What are you doing up?" He asks, turning the stove off.

"I could ask you the same thing." You say putting your hands on your hips.

"I feel so much better this morning, so I wanted to surprise my best girl with breakfast in bed." He tells you.

"Aw, Jakey, you're too good to me." You smile, coming into the kitchen to hug him.

"Just trying to be half as good to you are you are to me." He says, embracing you back.

You pull back as he leans down to kiss you, but just has he does, you start to cough.

"Uh oh." He says. Looking down at you.

"Don't give me that look, Jake." You tell him.

"What look?" He feigns innocence.

Suddenly, everything hurts, and you're freezing cold. Jake gives you a knowing smile.

He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, you cut him off.

"Don't say it, I know, I know. And I'm going back upstairs to bed. I'll take some medicine and hopefully feel better in the morning." You half laugh turning away from him.

"It's my turn to nurse you back to health now, baby!" He yells up the stairs.

"Don't you dare, you're the reason I'm sick, Jake!" You yell back from the top.

You can hear him laughing through the house.

This may not have been the anniversary weekend the two of you had originally planned, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

And that's it, folks! My final entry for @roosterforme 's love is in the challenge! I hope you enjoyed it. This fic was inspired by "Burnin' Up" by the Jonas Brothers. My teenage self is screaming!

Tag List: @dreamingathighaltitude @shanimallina87 @luckyladycreator2 @mak-32 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @rosiahills22 @thedroneranger @roosterforme @youlightmeupfinn @withahappyrefrain @arson-tm @sebsxphia

[notroosterbradshaw]

the Relationship Experience - seven

part of: The Boyfriend Experience universe

six.

It was so early – well, not early by his standards, but Rooster knew it would be way too early to expect you to be awake. He squinted over his shoulder as the sun was starting to rise on the horizon, a scorcher on the cards if the burn of its climb held any credence.

He wasn’t due back for another few days, but please the right people, know the right ass to kiss to potentially get him on a plane to bring him home sooner? He'd try it if it could get him back to you quicker. It probably wouldn’t happen again, so he’d take the reprieve this time.

Hitching the flowers in the crease of his elbow from that florist you loved to drag him to when he wasn’t due on base with the sparrows, he knew walking in on the morning of Valentine’s Day was going to be tough. But he also knew most people didn’t say no to a man in uniform just wanting to buy a beautiful bunch of roses for the girl - no, woman. The woman he hadn’t seen in three months and to surprise her that morning.

Three hellishly long months.

He’d missed Christmas and New Year and he’d expected to miss today, too. But sometimes good things happen to reasonably good people, he figured. Or painfully brownnose to your superiors until you get your way. Look, he wasn’t proud of it, but hey.

He was home.

He quietly unlocked the front door and let himself in, dropping his duffle by his feet, and wandering into the familiar surroundings of your apartment. The linger of your perfume, the photo wall. He went over and said hi to his mom, tenderly tracing the frame before moving to the kitchenette for a hard-earned glass of water. He sculled it before going for seconds and tossing his gaze over his shoulder for your bedroom, quietly placing the glass in the sink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt and subsequent buttons of his NWU, energised.

Placing his hat on the bench with his phone silenced, keys and sunglasses within it, the pull to your bedroom was purely magnetic.  

Pushing into the bedroom soundlessly, Rooster’s gaze softened, seeing your sleepy form on your side of the California King, his pillow snuggling tight against your cheek and your sinful body draped in a lone white sheet. The sexiest of sights and it took everything in his power not to rush you. Choosing to take his time, he sat at the desk seat of your bay window and unlaced his boots, placing his socks in them and tidily putting them out of the way, before removing his shirt altogether, laying it carefully over the back of the chair. He loosened his slacks, but resistance was futile. He was half-hard and wholeheartedly unabashed about it.

He had to wake you.

Moving across the room, he sat on your side of the bed and smiled to himself, allowing his fingertips to graze your supple, warm skin and he was awestruck. “My sweet girl, I’m home,” he dared whisper, his tender rasp rougher in his exhaustion.

But if he knew and boy, did he know how well you slept… it was going to take more than some sweet coos to wake you. He lowered himself to sweep the lowly sheet away from you, letting it slink down your back and the curve of your hip, prompting him to leave a wet kiss against it. He grasped a handful of your ass, massaging it in his palm and smiled when he heard you whimper and roll closer to his side, looking for his warmth even in his apparent absence.

He chuckled quietly to himself, pleased you still searched for him. 

He tried whispering your name, his mantra and reached for your hand, his lips grazing your knuckles and your fingers flexing before he placed it back on the bed and changed tack.

Hearing your gentle whimper and contorting your body into a light wriggle, Rooster bit back a smile as his tongue traced from the base of your spine towards the back of your ribs. He’d forgotten how smooth your skin was as he nuzzled some pressure into his kiss, a trail of saliva leeching between your shoulder blades.

Your murmur made him weak, but it was surely this if there was ever a right way to come home. Waking you up under his touch, his eager kiss. He was being so patient, in a way that only the last decade could teach him. But fuck, regiment be damned, all he wanted to do was wake you with his lips dipping urgently into your core, tasting you on his tongue and watching his lover, you, lose all control.

Already half undressed to his loosened slacks to ease pressure on his raging cock, he contemplated doing just that, tossing you onto your back and trapping you with your glorious thighs constricted around his ears while he devoured you, pinning you down with his strength as you pleaded for him, pleaded for his hard cock, pleaded to cum.

Three months of utter frustration pulsated in his ears, all the blood in his body located below the belt so much so that he felt like two different people:

The first who wished to wake you affectionately, kiss, caress, and fall into a slow morning of making love, showing you how much he’d missed you and how in love he was as the sun rose before falling asleep together and starting again but the second was powerful and almost feral. The second wanted to do all the things he thought about frenziedly when he found a moment of privacy, dreaming of slamming into your fervent pussy while you called for more and riding him to the rough rhythm he commanded; the head he craved so sloppy that he knew he would blow hard and fast, taking the brunt of his frustration on your body part of his choosing.

You were intoxicating, the remains of yesterday’s perfume on your skin. The tender curve of your ass that his large palm swept across elicited another subtle squirm from you. He bit back a smile; you would be writhing under him soon.

He prided himself on introducing you to the benefits of sleeping nude, something you didn’t do before him. While Rooster generally slept naked when he was at home, it was obviously not something he’d toil with while away, for obvious reasons, but he was a creature of habit and when the sleepovers started, it didn’t take long to convince you, his sweet girl, that sleep just came easier when you shared skin. Point, Bradshaw.

He would never tire of rolling over, his muscular arms searching for you, dragging you back to him and feeling your perfect ass roll with purpose against his cock, showing him you needed him during the early hours before his alarm. He’d grip your hips as he gently ground himself into you, growing harder in next to no time, and fucking you so deep while loving on you slow. Your breathy moans coaxing gentle rumbles from his chest, his voice telling you how good you were together and his mind telling him this was the real thing, and he couldn’t imagine being with someone else like this anymore.

You were his living, breathing fantasy.

“Sweet girl, wake up for me…” he whispered with a low chuckle, pushing up the bed and laying beside you to rest his head on the pillow. He brushed your messy hair from your face. Your beautiful face. He kissed the apple of your cheek, calling your name again a little louder now, his voice raw with exhaustion and desire. “I’m home.”

Watching your body twist into the mattress, he licked his lips anticipating your reaction. You’d both survived the first deployment since your lives had changed, and he needed to touch and feel you.

You rose unhurriedly, every movement fluid as you mumbled a confused “Bradley?” and dragged your head off his pillow. Blinking a few times, he tried not to laugh as you rubbed the sleep from your pretty albeit disbelieving eyes.

“Hi, baby. I’m home,” he said again, tenderly tactile as his fingertips padded your bicep to your wrist and you smiled, groggily. “I’m so happy to see you,” he said as it seemed to dawn on you that he was right before you.

“Oh, Bradley,” you scampered urgently into his arms, skin to skin just as God had intended. He missed your warmth against his and pressed a series of kisses into your jaw and clavicle as he held you close, reassuring you he was home, he was safe. “I thought I was dreaming,” you looked at him wide awake now, incredulous and still searching for signs of injury or harm, your tears reflecting in your eyes.

You didn’t know what to say, about a million questions bubbling on your lips, but you could only scramble towards his mouth and kiss him as if your life depended on it. Kiss him for getting home safely, kiss him for the days you didn’t get to kiss him at all, kiss him because you needed to remember how he tasted. And kiss him because you missed how fucking thoroughly he could kiss you. Rolling his body above yours, you laced your calves around him, hoping that if you didn’t let him go, he couldn’t disappear again.

“I’m home, sweet girl. Fuck, I missed you so goddamn much,” he found your wrists and cupped them tightly above your head, as you chased his kiss without the slightest hint of shame, and he devotedly delivered, helping relax your body back down on the mattress, his body weighing you down and fuck, how you’d missed being trapped under his remarkable, powerful body.

Without hesitation, you opened your thighs to him and although he was still dressed, he wholly let his weight release on you. He adjusted slightly to get where he needed, his hips rolled against you, the friction of his uniform eliciting a gasp from you his mind hadn’t been able to replicate when he thought about you on those cold lonely nights in the middle of the ocean.

“Fuck, I missed that sound,” he confessed, his lips leaving yours and cascading low. His breath was hot against your skin and he nuzzled your neck, burying his face into your warmth. You’d missed the tickle of his moustache as he ghosted kisses across your pulse.

“Jesus Christ,” you tenderly let your fingers lace into his soft curls and scratch at the nape of his neck. He needed a trim, and he had a rarely seen five o’clock shadow but you were lying to say you would love to see your man bearded up and a bit of length to his curls. “Why didn’t you tell me you were getting in early, Bradley?”

“Where would the surprise be in that?” he asked lovingly, drizzling kisses between your breasts before resting his cheek on his favourite place to lay.

He made a good point. This wouldn’t be happening if you met him as expected. Friends, families, sailors, chaos. Not slow and delicate like this. He nudged you with his pelvis, particularly fond of that grunt you responded with. “Tell me,” he laughed quietly. “What were you dreaming about? Whatever it was had you in a bit of a state,” his big hands drifted across your forearms, biceps, and the smoothness of your breast and you leaned into it, urging him for more.  

“That you were kissing me, my back, my shoulders,” you managed, bashfully covering your face with your palms. “Was getting good too…” you admitted, a small groan escaping your mouth as he swirled his tongue around a pleading nipple.

“Oh, it was one of those kinds of dreams. My dirty, dirty girl. So sexy,” he grunted but thrilled your dreams were being fulfilled by him too. “But you weren’t dreaming,” he confided in his sexy rasp. “I wanted to give you a pleasant wake-up. It’s the least I can do with the plans I have for you today.”

“You need time to rest,” you told him, remembering how your father and grandfather would be lost to sleep the first few days upon their return from deployment but also you needed him to be turning you inside out sooner rather than later. Your knuckles caressed his rosy cheeks, turning your fingers to follow his faint scars but he was never self-conscious with you, not the way you treasured them. You’d missed the feel of the wiry-raised skin under your touch and reached up to kiss each and every one.

“Oh, baby, that is so good,” he murmured, sinking further into you. You kissed the biggest scar on his shoulder, and your hands drifted down his strong side, the thick muscles contracting as you touched him.

“You sure you’re not too sleepy, big boy?” your voice was like liquid gold to his ears as your silken tongue followed your favourite scar across his throat, his Adam’s Apple bobbing under the strain.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Hold that thought, love,” he promised you. He pulled away and you immediately missed the feel of his skin against yours, knowing your eyes were watching his every move. He moved to stand, and loosened his zip down, knowing full well that a little show to remove his slacks could turn you a little wild. Just how he loved you with that look from doe-eyed that you were home, to dark and carnal for him. He carefully shimmied the waist down, already so hard and wanting and he let his last remaining item of clothing fall, dropping his boxer briefs with his slacks. “Miss me just a little?” he asked, licking his lips as he carefully stroked himself, languid and delicate. It felt so good to know how close he was to claiming you. He heard your sweet little gasp, giving you another few moments to watch him.

You were overwhelmed by your own body heat, every nerve ending on fire. “Just a little. Your body is perfect,” you breathed, licking the side of your lip like a woman parched. You loved watching him touch himself and, on those rare occasions, when you’d shared a little mutual masturbation, you could cry out louder than if he were inside you merely from the sight alone, but that wouldn’t cut it now. You loved watching Bradley Bradshaw touch himself. He groaned a little, watching the pad of your finger circling your belly button.

You needed him. You needed to feel him drive all his strength into you, have him find the places only he knew and fuck you so good, you’d weep.

“God, you look good. Do they just lock you in the gym when you’re on the carrier to come home looking more amazing than you did the last time I saw you?” you asked before you could stop yourself. “Is this what I get from the Navy as a welcome home gift after all the years of pain and disappointment?”

He hummed but couldn’t resist a giggle at your anti-Navy sentiment. “Gym relieves the tension on multiple fronts,” he admitted, a small sneer on his full lips, as he collected the pre-cum on the tip of his cock and his finger moved to your mouth, gratefully accepting it between your lips and he breathed, scared he was far too hot, too turned on, too close to ruining all this. You missed his taste, so distinctly him.

Crawling to cover you on the bed, his knees worked with his palms, holding your knees to thrust your thighs wide, cunt glistening and on display for him. “Gotta bury my cock in you. Feel how warm and soft you are again,” he professed wildly.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Gonna get you a little riled up for me first,” he chewed his lower lip, his deep tone decisive. “Eat you out as you deserve. Fuck you so deep your eyes roll back, and you’re just fuckin’ drunk on me,” he lowered his body to yours, his slippery tongue gleefully swirling around your straining nipple and he stared up at you as if you were his last meal. His gleaming sharp teeth sank into the soft flesh of your breast, your body contorting in bliss and utter defeat beneath him.

His words made you shamefully needy.

Your noises of pleasure and encouragement were just exquisite.

You pushed your chest closer to his mouth, forcing him to pay deliberate attention to your breasts, your fingers lacing behind his thick neck, your nails raking into his scorching skin to keep him there. He’d learned early on that you adored having your tits played with. He was an ass man by nature but he was easily swayed when held you from behind and cupped your breasts as he covered you, his thumb and index finger toying with your nipples until you begged for his cock, got yourself off on his fingers… or watched as you got off on your own while he fucked into you ruthlessly. “God, I’ve missed you,” you told him, voice dripping with want.

He palmed your other breast as he looked up and smiled lazily at you. “Nowhere near as close as I’ve missed you,” he nuzzled the soft skin, pressing in open-mouth kisses, his skilled tongue swirling your nipple, his honeyed eyes dark with their longing. He breathed into your skin as you almost begged. He loved nothing more than having you melting for him.

“Oh, God,” you mewled.

“Lemme take care of you for a bit, love, but tell me… did you touch yourself when I was away?” he pleaded to know the answer.

“I thought about you so much,” you admitted. “Obsessed with you,” your back curving your breast into his greedy mouth. “Couldn’t get you out of my brain.”

He hummed, pleased. What man didn’t want to hear those words? “But did you touch yourself?” Rooster kissed between your breasts, his tongue tracing to your belly button, he stared up at you with a curious gaze, eyes dancing in a way that you knew he was taunting you, awaiting your answer.

“Every night. Most mornings,” you confided. “It is hard to let you go, Bradshaw.”

He laughed into your skin. “Good girl. I hope you came hard. But I also hope it doesn't compare to the real thing.”

“Never,” you admitted. “Nothing compares to how you get me off on your perfect cock,” you traced the shell of his ear and he shuddered.

“Fuck. Tell me more…”

You took his hand tenderly. “How good these beautiful hands are, when they’re inside of me,” you patiently sucked on his index finger again, and he realised maybe… just maybe you were the one doing the taunting in the early hours of the morning. “How your slick tongue loops around my nipple and those perfect teeth bruise the flesh,” you moaned as he took note of your subtle hint, blowing his breath against the sensitive bud and watching it pucker for him as he kissed and boldly circled it with his thick tongue at your whim before giving the other the same devotion, if not more. “Jesus Christ. I could cum like this,” you accused lightly, knotting your fingers in his curls to keep him doing what he was doing with his mouth.

“Don’t you want my cock?”

“So bad,” you told him. “I’m so turned on.”

He hummed, his long finger sweeping through your slick folds and you told no lies.  “Jesus Christ. But you don’t get to cum yet,” he moved his lips away from your nipple and you flopped back into the pillow, a little deflated.

He huffed a laugh, his tongue tracing your ribs. “I know you’re not working this morning. So, I’m gonna fuck you for hours. And then hours after that.”

The sound that escaped you was almost inhuman. “But shouldn’t I be taking care of you?” you asked incredulously as he moved to his belly on the bed, roughly spreading your legs wide for him and nuzzling at your clit, reacquainting himself with you.

“Sweet girl, this isn’t about me… yet,” he muttered, his long fingers stroking the soft skin of your labia. “I love goin’ down on you so fuckin’ much,” he said more to himself. He was showing the restraint of a saint, but for all his faults, he knew this guaranteed him going straight to heaven.

Rooster’s sex drive was notorious, and his cock was above average, how the fuck else did he get his call sign? Well, it wasn’t that straightforward but the mix of wanton needs and fucking hating early mornings despite the requirement, it was interchangeable. He let people make their own assumptions, but only a few knew. Like you. “Lay back and do as you're told.”

“You’ve been at sea for months,” you tried, breath hitching as his lips nipped against the soft skin on your inner thighs. “Roost – Bradley,” your tone is a mixture of warning and lascivious need.

His eyes changed as he stared up at you, a mix of want and desire laced within the gold and honey of his colour. “You’ll make it up to me, but you just looked so pretty, love, sprawled out under the sheets, naked, soft. Those sounds you were making while I kissed you made me so fuckin’ hard,” he confided, his kiss wet as he directed his attention to your clit. “Nothing compares to being here with you.”

Your hips vaulted off the mattress almost immediately, and he used his strong hands to keep you pinned down to take everything he was offering you. His tongue traced the slick already formed, at home with a taste he knew so well.

“Bradley,” you almost chastised as your head lolled back and your nails raked into his brawny shoulders. “I want to feel you in me, I want you to feel me cum.”

“Plenty of time for that,” he shushed you, his tongue swirling at your clit, lapping up the juices that were making the most obscene sounds with his tongue. He had never been so turned on and declining to fuck you immediately was one of the hardest things he’d ever said no to, and he never ever said no to you. He smiled wickedly, feeling that familiar tremble in your thighs as he knew you were closing in on what he hoped was a really fuckin’ good orgasm, gagging to explode. Your moans, the way you squirmed beneath him, thrusting towards his mouth desperate to take all he had to offer.

“Bradley…” you drawled, the bliss in your tone turning him to jelly.

“Love,” he acknowledged, sliding his fingers in and adding to the ruthless assault.

“I missed this,” your breathing hitched as his talented fingers crooked inside you, finding that magical spot and you cursed, the pressure building in your stomach, tensing, flexing, forcing him to use his strength to keep you on your back.

“You ready to cum for me?” he asked in that rasp, thicker and dire with longing. “God, you’re a sight,” he murmured, his tongue darting out and circling your clit, dark eyes not leaving your form. He groaned, your fingers tugging at his now mussed curls. No longer a gentleman, just a man waiting for his woman to fall apart for him.

“Bradley,” you managed.

“Come on,” he growled. “Let your fuckin’ neighbours know your man is home.”

You managed a grin as he released your thighs and let your pussy grind into his eager mouth. Holy shit, he was incredible. A God of a man… and all yours. All fucking yours. It was enough to make you crack, the pressure on your senses overtaking you as you threatened to cum messily.

Your voice didn’t call to him as feral as you felt, but you breathed his name out as you gripped his strong, muscular shoulders and let go, your orgasm ripping through your body like an earthquake. Your body was on high alert as he greedily lapped up all you gave him.

“Thatta girl, just like that. Fuck, you look so good,” he murmured, banking the memory of you coming undone and all under his power. The way your body moved and quaked, Jesus Christ, he would bottle it if he could. “That’s my sweet girl,” he mumbled, awed, as you fell back against the pillows, blissed out… just how he liked it. He pressed against your tummy, his lips leaving your dripping core and travelling back up your torso, sweeping a path of your slick and his saliva against your blistering skin. He revelled in the explosions and goose pimples splaying across your skin as his lips moved over it. “Yes, love, I know,” he said as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, needing him close, and he gazed at you with soft eyes as his tongue skimmed your throat. Wet kisses continued as he devoured between your breasts, the sensations on your skin too much as you writhed with sensitivity. “You did so good, love.”

Love. There it was again. He hadn’t really called you that before; you’d heard it thrice, maybe more, in quick succession. To say you were fond of it was an understatement. You were so used to being his Sweet Girl… but you craved to be his Love. The rumble of it off his tongue was unimaginable.

“Tell me what you need,” you begged him. “I’ll do anything,” you gingerly pulled yourself off the bed and rolled him over, really seeing him for the first time since he got home. Sweet, kind, funny Bradley Bradshaw. You raffled off those positions he adored most, which brought you as much pleasure as him. “Be selfish, Bradley. Tell me what you want,” you pleaded with him.

He breathed deeply. “Be selfish…” he repeated. He was never asked to be selfish, your divine voice clouding his judgement as he pulled you to his waist, exhaustion be damned.

“Want me to ride you, big boy?” you offered, moving to straddle his powerful quads, taking his leaking cock in your earnest palms, your thumb circling around the tip. He hissed, eyes fluttering closed as you lightly worked him. He let you disarm him for a minute or two, your skilled hands knowing exactly how he needed to be touched. The right pressure, the right speed. His murmurs quiet and abs clenched as he tried to hold it together. He didn’t want to cum like this. He shook his head slowly and sat up, you were face to face. “Blow you?”

He said a quiet no as you continued to palm his thick, long cock melodiously. “Fuck,” he breathed through his nose. “That feels good. Three months… too damn long.”

“I know, baby,” you agreed. “Doggy?” you offered, and he shook his head, trying not to laugh. “Plain, old missionary?” you goaded when you didn’t get a response. You felt his cock twitch and knew he would cum if you kept up your ministrations.

He bit back a smile. “Baby… just sit where you are and be with me,” he ordered quietly, releasing your hands and guiding himself into you, fully sheathed as you both preened to the new feeling. It had been too long for you both. He sat up and lengthened his long, strong legs before him. You were face to face and you crept to your knees.

It was an unbreakable moment and you’d never felt more adored as he tenderly grasped your chin and brought you closer to kiss your forehead. “Just still, you and me.”

You held his face softly in your hands and searched his handsome features. “Just still,” you repeated, a gasp escaping your lips as you resisted moving and keeping your promise to him. “Tell me… you’re okay, baby?”

While the impression of a grin didn’t spread wide across his handsome features, the affection in his eyes didn’t lie. “I’m fan-fucking-tastic, sweet girl. Safe and sound,” he replied with a quiet quiver in his voice as he strained to remain within you, cool and calm.

And it had been so long that he’d felt like someone genuinely missed him. Your adoration for him was palpable and almost overwhelmed him. “I’m so happy you’re home. While you were gone, everything was just so…” your voice trailed off.

“Just so, huh?” his lip quivered as he licked back a smirk.

“Just so,” you established, unable to consider the words. You combed your fingers through his unkempt curls and laced your hands behind his neck, massaging his solid traps. He smiled, his face nearing yours.

“I don’t apologise,” he laughed wholly against your lips before kissing you. “I’ll never apologise for that.”

“I’d never want you to,” you replied as he adjusted his posture and found a spot deep inside that spoke deeply to you. “Fuck, this feels so good. You feel bigger than I remember.”

“Compliments like that will get you far, kid. Just go with it. I know it’s a lot,” he talked you through it. “Gonna make everything better, I promise.”

“You’re holding out on me,” you gave a watery sigh.

“Stamina,” he shrugged, arrogantly. Rooster rarely reminded you about the threshold of his physical limits. You knew, but Jesus, there was no keeping a good man down. “Behave, and you might get what you deserve.”

“I dread to think,” your eyes closing of their own volition. “Fuck, I don’t think I can do this.”

“You can do this,” he whispered, brushing away a single tear from your sweltering cheek.

“No, I need to move or something, Bradley. Anything,” you whined.

Rooster chuckled, a deep grumble rising from his belly, and you could feel it exponentially. His laughter into your skin as you relaxed your weight on him, exactly what he wanted as you rested for forehead on his brawny shoulder, but it didn’t soothe any desire for you. “That’s my girl,” he said, swallowing hard. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

“I’m trying so hard not to cum and you’re not even moving,” you blinked through tears that threatened as he felt your pussy flutter around him. He sighed, his heart racing. “Everything is in hyper colour.”

“I know, baby,” he grasped your chin and moved to kiss you again. “You’re doing beautifully.”

“Please fuck me, Bradley. I need you,” you begged. “I can’t do this.”

“Just a little while longer, baby. I’m not hurting you?”

“No,” you kissed him, you wanted to devour him. “Definitely not hurting me, just feels too damn good.”

Without responding, his body kicked into gear, his pelvis pressing up and his cock burying itself deeply as you cried out, leaning back and resting a palm on the bed to move to an angle that made him just that more godly. “That’s good,” he instructed, raising your hips to rest against his powerful thighs as his hips rolled sinfully slow. “I want you to touch yourself.”

And who were you to argue? You knew his eyes were glued to your body as he continued thrusting into you methodically, you needed the respite. But if he wanted to be teased, that’s what you’d give him, your free palm gripping your at your breasts, pressing and pulling against your nipples as you met his thrusts. You could cum as you were and sucked in a sharp breath, hoping to hold out a little longer for him. His eyes were keenly on where your bodies met and he groaned as your fingers followed down your belly, opening yourself to him and swirling at your clit.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect, you know that?” he asked, his hips speeding and pushing up into you. “Get yourself there, love. I wanna see you cum again. You’re so wet, can’t last,” he chewed his lip, watching your hand play with your pretty pussy. “So close, you’re so tight. Little more, love,” he cursed as you started to crumble, your cunt pulsating around him like a vice grip, the tremours bringing out the raw side of him and he fucked you madly, harder, rougher, wanting to take as much of you for himself.

“Bradley,” you panted, his name falling from your lips like a song as he licked his fingers and reached to furiously rub your clit with your own, sending you over the edge, your body shuddering uncontrollably and coating his cock with your slick juices. He cursed and his hips stuttered, pounding into you roughly as came viciously, milking his cock with all you had. He didn’t think he’s cum so hard, your body dragging out his orgasm until you were both spent. 

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed a litany of curses as he pulled you to sit up and collapse against him, exhausted. He smoothed your hair back and tried to collect himself although the way you were licking and caressing his clavicle and that vein that ran down his neck, he almost forgot his goddamn name, his body sensitive in the afterglow. “I love you; I love you so fuckin’ much it makes me crazy,” he admitted as you clasped his face demanding, your tongue sweeping against his lips to kiss him roughly.

“I love you so much, Bradley. I could cum for you all day,” you swore as he giggled quietly against your lips.

“I’m holding you to that today, sweet girl,” he eased you back and his tongue darted out to swirl around your nipple. Jolts of pleasure shot through your body as you crudely raked his messy hair.

“Stop teasing,” you pleaded with him as he started to regulate his breathing.

“Can’t. It��ll be merciless all day, and tomorrow and every day after that. Want your body in every position we can conjure up.”

“Have I got you for a few days before you’re back on base?” you asked nervously, wrapping your arms around his shoulders like he could slip away at any moment. You needed him close and weren’t going to let him go easily.

“Few days,” he said softly, kissing your lips tenderly. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweet girl.”

“Oh,” you said, staggered. Like it had even occurred to you what day it was when he wasn’t around. Christmas and New Year passed in a haze; you flat-out refused a single thought of Valentine's Day without him… and here he was before you. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Bradley Bradshaw. This is all I could ever want or need,” you said affectionately. He was exquisite as his cheeks flushed.

“Hold that thought,” he said, reaching for his boxers and going to catch the mess of your lovemaking. He tidied you up like always, without hesitation.

“Such a gentleman,” you baited as he winked.

“Least I can do. Be right back,” he figured before he popped up and left the room. You sighed and moved up the bed, snuggling into the pillows, pulling the lone sheet back up your body and trying to avoid the morning chill in the room. He reappeared a moment later, water in hand, a bouquet of multicoloured roses in the other and you could feel your grin spread across your face. “Where - how did you get them?” you asked suspiciously as he offered you the glass first and you took an enthusiastic gulp. He laughed, as he wiped away the dribble that escaped your lips.

“The florist you like,” he admitted. “But don’t ask how I managed to wrangle roses on Valentine’s Day.”

“You wore your uniform,” you didn’t even have to think about it. “Who says no to a man in uniform?”

He shrugged, handing them to you. “Not many,” he rubbed the back of his neck, bashfully before moving to his side of the bed. “I’m so glad to be home.”

You put the glass and flowers on the bedside table and wrapped your arms around his neck to kiss him as if your lives depended on it. “You’re the love of my life, Rooster Bradshaw.”

He hummed. “Same, sweet girl,” he kissed you again; before you knew it, it was round two.

…that fucking 1 per cent.

A while later, finally mobile after hours in bed, you watched Bradley put together the best he could with the fruit and soft cheese you were going to spoil yourself with later that night (it wasn’t grocery day and you weren’t expecting to have to feed him too, you protested and he cackled).

But he was ravenous, and while sexy, a hangry Bradley Bradshaw wasn’t pleasant. So after a shared shower, you tossed on a tee while he was left with a pair of his boxer briefs he must have left accidentally and you’d found a few months back that you’d washed so they were ready for exceptions just like this.

A mix of 60’s Motown played quietly and while you’d always loved it, he’d helped you appreciate it so much more.

You muttered the lyrics to Smokey Robinson’s ‘Tracks of My Tears’ quietly while playing with a hole in the threadbare NAVY tank you wore, Bradley’s toe-tapping with the beat, muscles in his back and shoulders like poetry in motion as he pottered.

He looked stronger, broader, and tanner, you noted as you sat on the bench, watching him work intently. You didn’t reckon you’d ever felt like this. So drawn to someone, it scared you. And rightfully so. Rooster was everything you didn’t want to fall for. High-risk job, away so often, the Navy. But you’d never felt so confident in love either. You were so in love with Bradley Bradshaw. He had changed you; and for the better.

You smiled as he approached with a strawberry in his fingertips. “Open…”

You did as he instructed, chewing gently on his finger teasing, the sweetness of the berry a sudden craving. His eyebrow quirked. “Good?”

You nodded, completely transfixed over him. You pulled a knee to your chest, resting your heel on the bench. Eyes watching him, doting. “Delicious.”

“More?”

“Yes, please,” you replied softly and he brought the plate over to share, standing between your legs, holding a strawberry between his gleaming teeth. It was so fucking cheesy, but it was an excuse to kiss him. You managed to keep your hands to yourself as you stretched for his lips, teeth darting for the fruit and took a careful bite and his lips tenderly caught yours. You sighed into the kiss as he dragged you to him, his strong palm wide and flat against your lower back.

“I’m so glad to be home,” he confided. Of course you knew, but his tone was different. “I was away longer than we’ve been together.”

You knew, dear God, you knew. You’d always been impatient by nature, a direct causation from your father and grandpa doing this too… and it never got easier. You’d learned to know days, hours, minutes and seconds intimately. It made you appreciate the time to yourself, but in the past, you’d find ways to amuse yourself, like packing your bags and just getting out of the confines of your four walls. These days, like you’d told Bradley earlier, everything was just so. Just morning, just afternoon, just time for bed. And you shrugged gently, mostly for his benefit. “Nature of the beast,” you hummed.

He nodded faintly. “Baby, I’m being recalled to Top Gun next week. There are about 12 grads being brought in. High stakes but no one are really talkin’ much. I’m going to probably ship out in a month or so.”

You nodded again. Fuck... “Okay, sweetheart,” you answered, just like you were trained to make it easier on the men in your life. But your palms were suddenly clammy, your heart was pounding, blood pulsating in your ears and your anxiety was bubbling roughly under the surface. You knew what this meant, you knew it all too well. Grandpa used to put these highly specialised operational teams together when you were growing up. You’d never forget his guilt when parts of the detachment didn’t come home. It still lived deeply with him. 

He sighed, his palm running down the side of your face and forcing your gaze to his. “But I’m taking some extended time off after that, okay? I’d really like us to go somewhere. Escape San Diego. Drive to Mexico, get on a fucking plane to Hawaii, fuckin’ Alaska, I don’t care. Just you and me. No one else.”

He’d spat out a lot in a space of ten seconds. Top Gun, high stakes. A vacation. His train of consciousness confused you but you nodded because you figured it was what he needed. “Okay, whatever you want. That sounds amazing. Beach.”

He gave a faint grin, not really surprised by your vote. “Take you anywhere you wanna go. But just us.”

His stipulation was easy to agree to. “Okay,” you cupped his flushed cheek as he burrowed into your touch. You pulled him to you and held him close. You’d learnt this in the short time you’d known him that he craved being held and you would pull him into your arms anytime he needed it... and those times you did too. “Us.”

“Anywhere you want, okay?” He rested his forehead against yours as the song changed and a small smile that didn’t meet his eyes. He helped you from the bench top and pulled you into his strong, protective arms. “I love this song.”

Otis Redding, These Arms of Mine.

“Me, too,” you said like a secret as he lowered you to the floor. You watched him expectedly and took your hand in his, pressing it against his rapidly beating heart. His hand on your back guided you that one step further so that your bodies were flush against each other. He moved so fluidly, it only made you appreciate his body more.

He rested his chin on your hair, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “The absolute goddamn desire. I think I know exactly how it feels,” he said quietly. “I definitely get the loneliness part. You know,” he paused, waiting for the line. “These arms of mine, they are burning, burning from wanting you. These arms of mine, they are wanting, wanting to hold you,” he sang lowly and you’d be lying to say you didn’t feel like you were falling just a little deeper. And you didn’t know how much deeper you could get.

“I dreamed of you every night I was away, I couldn’t get you out of my brain,” he confided, loosening his arms from his hold you around the waist, skilfully dipping you. You wrapped your leg around him, keeping him there. He’d make sure you didn’t fall. 

You were familiar. “It’s going to be so hard,” you blinked back tears although you were in his arms, already fearing the next deployment and the distance it brought.

“I love you, I love you so much,” he tenderly kissed you, tightening his hold just that little more. “I will always come back to you.”

“It scares me what you do, Bradley. It’s a different scary than Grandpa and Dad…” you buried your face in his chest, not daring to meet his eyes. He hummed to the affirmatory. It was palpable how terrified you were for him. He didn’t know how to reassure you that he would be fine, he’d done this for years. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

He sighed heavily and guided your eyes to his. “You’ll never have to wonder, okay? Oh, baby,” he said, thumbing away a stray tear. He kissed you tenderly, putting all his reassurance and devotion into it. “Don’t cry. I’m here now, let’s make the best of this time,” with that, he stood you up and started to sway you again, nuzzling his nose from the curve of your ear to your jaw. He gently tipped your chin, allowing him access to drop hot, wet kisses against your flushed skin and he knew he heard you moan quietly. “Just play out the rest of the song with me, okay?” he instructed, his large palms caressing down your side, pressing your waist into his.

For a moment, you forgot everything, your brain short-circuiting on his strength, scent and tone. “I love you,” you breathed as he slipped his palm under your thighs and hitched you without warning or effort into his powerful arms. He eased you back against the bench and god, you’d forgotten how good it was to just kiss him. The tickle of his moustache and rub of his stubble against your cheeks, something devilishly sexy, so used to his baby-soft skin and the occasional rupture of scars, his tongue smooth against yours, laced in desperation. Your hands followed the ridges and peaks of his torso and back, making him smile against your lips as you tickled him. “Take me to bed, big boy,” you whispered.

“Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am,” he murmured against your lips and carried you away.

You were so carried away.

“Love, you here?” The front door slammed and you jumped, grasping at your cold, old heart. A very unlike Bradley Bradshaw entrance.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered to yourself. “Couch,” you called to him, his heavy boots clunking down the hallway before he appeared, face hard, flight suit to his waist, dark undershirt saturated, curls dripping, biceps defined. He didn’t shower at work, you noted. He never came home in his flight suit if he could help it, choosing to leave work at work. He tossed his keys, phone and glasses on the bench and crossed his arms, not daring to approach you. “Bradley, you gave me a fucking heart attack,” you exclaimed with a nervous laugh, standing to greet him and break the tension with some comedy. “Dinner is staying warm in the oven. I didn’t expect you to be so late, baby.”

“Me either, I’m sorry,” he stood before you, stoic, hard. Angry. No, apoplectic. A silent white rage you’d never seen from him before, you could feel it radiate, just pouring off his skin. You should have been concerned he was wearing a face of stone, and truthfully, you’d never seen him so upset. But also? It was simply divine. He was very sexy when he was gruff. All muscles and sweat and muscles. Was he angry at you? Fuck, back up a minute.

“Are you okay?” You asked, confused and maybe a little fearful of his answer. You took his calloused hands in yours, clutching them tightly and forced his dark eyes to yours. “Talk to me, Bradley. Did something happen?”

He’d left this morning upbeat and excited, looking forward to whatever the day promised him with his new detachment. But your blood ran cold with his answer. “Yeah,” he nodded, staring down at you, jaw tight, voice chillingly even. “Mav is back.”

epilogue.

masterlist.

A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x 

[sometimesanalice]

Like I Can (Part 3)

Summary: After yet another bad date and tired of swiping on apps, the Dagger Squad steps in to help you out by setting you up on a series of blind dates. Much to Rooster’s dismay.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, slight angst. Minors DNI

Length: 7.2K

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

Part 1 | Part 2

(All’s well that ends well❣️ Enjoy!)

You’d been on edge all day. 

Having slept terribly the night before, you’d woken up early and giving up on the idea of going back to sleep had ended up at a sunrise yoga class, hoping that some movement would help you clear your mind. By the end of the hour you were even more frustrated than you were before you arrived, the poses feeling unnaturally forced instead of flowing seamlessly as they usually did. 

So much for some goddamn inner peace.

Work was even worse. You had arrived to find that the espresso machine was broken. And whoever made a pot on the ancient drip machine, that was undoubtedly pulled out of a dingy storage closet somewhere, clearly hated everyone else since it tasted like tar. You could barely focus enough to clear out your inbox, when your work nemesis started breathing down your neck about a proposal that wasn’t due for another two weeks. 

Time was dragging on. And every time you looked at the clock thinking it had been at least an hour since you’d last checked, were continually shocked to see that barely fifteen minutes had passed by. Thankfully it was Friday, so your boss didn’t care when you called it a day and left at lunch. It was better for everyone this way.

You had tried painting your nails, but didn’t have the patience to let them dry and smudged them trying to open a package of crackers. Ignoring the crumbs that got everywhere as you ate them while working the cotton pad over the remnants of your pretty pink polish. Your new favorite show didn’t hold your attention like it usually did and you found yourself mindlessly scrolling on your phone, missing most of the plot you’d had to restart it. Twice.

Not even the scenic drive along the coast to the restaurant you were supposed to meet your date at had done anything to alleviate your nerves.

You had been surprised at the choice of location when you had received the text message with the information about this particular date. As much as you enjoyed going to the Hard Deck, you were very much looking forward to drinking something other than a beer. Sure, Penny could make a mean spicy margarita, but sometimes an overpriced aesthetically pleasing cocktail just hit the spot better than anything else. 

But most of all, you were thankful for a change of pace and the privacy this offered you. You had never been one for the spotlight, and dating on display had left you feeling drained.

You’re sitting in a surprisingly comfortable wooden wicker dining chair on the outdoor patio of the new trendy fusion restaurant you’ve been dying to come to. From your spot tucked away in the corner you can see the ocean waves rolling in and back out again. The golden rays already promising a stunning sunset later in the evening.

The foliage of the giant potted monsteras and birds of paradise made the terrace feel like a lush oasis, and contrasted stylishly against the large painted terracotta tiles on the ground. The pergola that covered it was dotted wisteria amongst the other climbing greenery, and numerous oversized hanging rattan sconces. The dainty lights woven throughout reflecting off the wine glasses on the table.

This was exactly what you needed. Too bad you couldn’t let yourself enjoy it, the twisted knots in the pit of your stomach had served a constant reminder of your nerves all day.

You had used this date as an excuse to finally buy the deep green floral dress you’d had your eye on for ages. The gentle drape of the neck was subtly sophisticated, while the high slit on the side added some serious sex appeal. 

There was nothing wrong with a little retail therapy you had told yourself as you’d swiped your credit card. If you looked good, maybe it would help you to feel good.

In all honesty, it probably had a little too much sex appeal since you couldn’t stop fidgeting in your chair trying to get the silky dress cover up more of your thigh that was currently displayed rather provocatively. It felt like the more you tried to get it to lay right the more of your leg was exposed. 

It probably didn’t help that you couldn’t stop the restless bouncing of your leg. You weren’t usually an antsy person, leg bouncing had always been more of Rooster’s anxious habit than yours.

Maybe you’ll feel less exposed once you draped the linen napkin across your lap. You’re tempted to do it now, but you don’t want to disturb the artfully laid out tablescape before your date has arrived.

It had been three weeks of back to back truly terrible dates. You could see the finish line now, but you couldn’t say that it wasn’t wearing on you. It had sounded like fun in theory, but now you weren’t so sure you would said yes again if you were offered a do-over. 

You were tired. 

Tired of going through the motions with men who could hardly be bothered to do the bare minimum. Tired of trying to sell the best version of yourself. Tired of putting on a show when all you wanted to find was an easy kind of love.

And this particular date had you more on edge and anxious than any of the other ones you’d gone on.

Even if you were pressed, you could not remember a single thing about the guy Payback had set you up with on your most recent blind date.

That evening you hadn’t even bothered trying to put together a cute outfit for the meeting. Instead, the only real effort you’d opted to put in was painting your lips a bright red as an attempt to psych yourself up for it. You didn’t usually wear such a bold color, but when you did it never failed to make you feel more brilliant.

And while you couldn’t remember anything about your date, what you did vividly remember was the fight you got into with Rooster that night.

You had been coming back from the restroom and on your way back to your date when you had bumped into him rounding the corner. 

“Sorry, that was my fault,” he’d said as he reached out to steady you with hand going to your waist, dropping it once he realized it was you. “Oh, hey.”

Glancing over to your date who seemed absorbed in some game he was playing on his phone, you figured he wouldn’t miss you if you spent a few extra minutes away to catch up with Rooster.

He had been acting really distant lately, taking a couple days to respond to texts rather than a couple of hours like it usually took him. Natasha had told you about the rigorous training they were being put though, and you had assumed it probably had something to do with that. However, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off between you two.

Rooster was already pulling away from you and taking a step towards the bar when you reached out grabbing his wrist to keep him with you. Looking around for a quiet place to talk, you’d heard him sigh behind you, but still held on to him as you made your way to one of the high-top tables in the corner by the empty stage. 

You’d stopped and let go as you turned towards him, only to find him already looking at you with an expression that landed somewhere between expectant and exasperated. The cuffs of his shirt straining around his biceps as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Well?” he grunted out.

Was he mad at you? You couldn’t think of any recent arguments you’d had recently that would explain the harsh tone he was using with you. 

“Is everything ok? I feel like you’ve been really off lately. You know I’m always here for you, right?” Your hand was already reaching out to touch him, but you resisted the urge not wanting to further agitate him.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m surprised you even have time to talk to me with all these washouts you’ve been wasting your time on. You’re the one with the busy social calendar, not me.” He was looking over the top of your head avoiding your gaze now, the bitterness in his voice had stunned you. 

“Seriously? What is the matter with you?” 

He’d never been so intentionally callous with you before and it hurt. 

“Listen, if there is an issue me dating the people your friends have been setting me up with, you need to let me know,” you’d said pointing a firm finger at him, your anger rising. “This was supposed to be a fun no pressure situation, but I don’t want to be in the middle of this if things are getting heated between you guys. It’s not worth it to me. But you don’t get to ignore me for days and then claim that I’m the one avoiding you.”

He made a noise of frustration as he dragged both hands through his curls. You could see the flex of his jaw as he’d clenched his teeth together.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he ducked down to that his eyes were level with your, and you could see the remorse in them. “You’re right, that was shitty of me to take it out on you. I’m just… tired.”

You’d simply nodded at him, feeling like you weren’t on the same page as him didn’t sit well with you. “Phoenix told me about your new training program, it seems intense,” your voice sounded small even to your own ears.

“Yeah, the training,” he’d sighed out pausing for a moment as he weighed his words, rubbing at his chest, “It’s taking a toll on me, but that’s my problem. I mean it, I’m sorry.”

“Are we good?” you searched his eyes, your friendship with him was so important to you.

“You and me? We’re good, kid. Always.” He’d reached out and squeezed your shoulder before heading back to where the group was gathered together pretending like they weren’t just watching your argument play out. 

Needless to say, your head was somewhere elsewhere entirely as you made your way back to your date. You’d felt bad being so distracted, but your mind just kept playing the argument on repeat. It was like your brain was trying to pull apart every little word to decode something that you didn’t think was there.

After Payback’s friend had left, you rejoined everyone else around the pool table. You couldn’t tell if the mood was off or if it was just you reading into things, since they hadn’t been prodding you with questions like they usually did.

Natasha was in the middle of giving you a glowing review of the man she had been bragging about since she first offered to set you up, when Rooster came to sit with you both.

“He’s just your type. He’s an engineer, so he’s smart. He’s got that whole glasses wearing and floppy hair thing going for him. And he’s funny. Rumor has it that he talked back to his Rear Admiral one time and got away with it because the guy had found him amusing. I fully expect you to name one of your future children with him after me.”

Rooster had surprised the pair of you when he stood up so violently that he almost knocked over the beers on the table. 

“What the fuck, Bradshaw?” Nat had exclaimed as you both worked to rescue the teetering bottles from becoming casualties from his sudden movement.

You had no idea what he was going to say as an explanation for why he’d jumped out of his seat the way he did, but what he ended up unexpectedly announcing instead of answering Nat’s question had sent you into a tailspin.

So now here you are in a restaurant you’d be dying to go to, fidgety and anxious in a probably-too-expensive-and-probably-too-provocative dress for a first date with the guy who Rooster was willing to break his long-standing rules for to set you up with.

To say you were feeling the pressure was an understatement. No one knew you like Rooster did. He’d seen you at your best and at your worst. He wouldn’t just pick any random guy he knew, he would be picking the one who he thought would be the best for you.

The thought should be comforting, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of uneasiness.

You pick up your phone again and double check the time in the text that Rooster had sent you with all the details for your date with his friend. 

It was either that do that again or moving the ever-so-slightly crooked gold salad fork back into place.

You’re about to open Instagram for the third time since you sat down, turning when you hear a throat clear purposely behind you.

“Hey, sweet girl.”

For Rooster, when you’d first agreed to participate in the bet with his friends those dates started off as annoying inconveniences. Just inconsequential disruptions that got in the way of his time with you.

You were his best friend and at his bar, yet he felt like he’d hardly seen you these past couple of weeks- or at least not as much as he would have liked. 

Sure, he got some time with you here and there at the end of the night like when you had late night tacos on the beach. Or when he’d taught you his favorite pool trick, well more like attempted to teach you, he loved how stunningly bad you were at the game. But he felt like he was competing with these idiots his friends had picked out for your time and your attention. 

He wasn’t used to sharing you. In the past, if you had a date that conflicted with something spontaneous he wanted to do or something that the group had planned together, more often than not he could get you to move it or cancel completely.

He’d never been above a little bribery to get his way, he knew what you liked.

You going on dates wasn’t a new concept to him, but seeing them paraded in front of him was a different story. And he was getting really tired of watching you from across the bar while feeling like you were out of reach.

The more of them you went on, and the more he heard Natasha crowing about having the perfect man for you the more agitated he felt. The worse that feeling in the pit of his stomach got. 

The evening of date for Payback’s pick, they’d all seen you walk in through the doors of the Hard Deck wearing that shade of red lipstick. You’d wore it so well. His friends had immediately started speculating about what it meant. Phoenix had called them all idiots, and while he couldn’t claim to know anything about make-up and those things, he did know you didn’t just wear that color for no reason. 

He had vague memories of his mom putting the color on when they’d go greet his dad, at least he like to think those were his memories. Or maybe they were just something he’d created in his head from all the time he had spent looking at old photos of his mom and dad together, her smile always outlined in the color. His favorite was the one where his dad’s cheeks were covered in bright red lipstick kisses as he smiled indulgently down at his mom while a young Bradley was propped on her hip clutching his prized F-14 Tomcat. He had that one framed on the end table next to his couch. 

And seeing that color on you for a date with this random guy had rattled him.

He’d felt so terrible later that evening when he took those feelings out on you. Hating himself as he lashed out at you. Hating himself as he saw your face fall and the hurt in your eyes. Hating himself for being the person who made you feel bad.

And the crux of it all was that you weren’t wrong, he had been deliberately distant by being slow to reply and ignoring texts from you. He wasn’t proud of it, but he didn’t know what else to do. He’d hoped by creating some space that it would help him to try and get his head back on straight. 

He’d let you assume that he was tired from the new training program they were being put through. What he didn’t tell you was that he was already outperforming everyone on the team, and that he hadn’t had to do any extra push-ups in a week and a half. 

He was tired because he hadn’t been sleeping, and he couldn’t sleep because every time he tried to close his eyes all he could see was you on these dates. Replaying them in his mind’s eye wondering what the outcome would have been had they not gone so terribly wrong each time.

The what-ifs swarming around his brain day and night like agitated hornets.

While he had been quick to apologize for being a dick, the sharp pain that settled behind his sternum wouldn’t subside no matter how much he had tried to rub it away.

He didn’t know what was more unbearable, the idea of losing you to a chance encounter of circumstance. Some meet cute courtesy of the universe that he couldn’t see coming until it was too late, when it’s already too far out of his hands and out of his control. To see you grinning that smile so bright, the one so wide it made your dimples appear, as you introduced that guy to him. 

Or sitting here night after night analyzing every little thing as you date the people some of his closest friends had picked out for you. Watching and hoping that these dates would just be funny stories you told on drunken nights out rather than the story told at your wedding about the night that everything changed when you met your person. Of having to be happy for you even as you pull away from him.

His ears were ringing and he’d felt his stomach drop. 

He could see it now, a day when your life ran parallel to his rather than entwined as he was used to. Of you with a partner. With children. Of him as ‘Uncle’ Rooster, demoted to the rank of ‘longtime friend of the family’ rather than a core member of it. 

The thought of it making him feel sick. 

All evening he had been moving around like a ghost completely lost to the thoughts in his head, but now it felt like he’d been shocked by a live wire. He’d pretty much jumped out of the chair he had just settled in, almost knocking the beers in front of him off the table completely. 

“I want in, I’ll do it,” he’d blurted out, interrupting the conversations that had continued on around him while he had been spiraling. “This whole thing has been a complete shit show. I can’t watch this anymore. I know a guy, I’ll set it up. I’m in.” 

His hands were sweating as he hoped no one would call his bluff. He’d made it a point to actively avoid looking at you. You had such an uncanny way of reading him. 

“I don’t know, Bradshaw. You’re a little late to the game, aren’t you? I’ve been saving the best for last, and I’m ready to collect my winnings.” He’d expected some shit from Hangman, but he never would have guessed it’d come from Phoenix. 

Feeling his anger flare up, he reached into his back pocket and fished out a $100 bill from his worn leather wallet, double the original entry fee. He slapped it down on the table, leaving no room for any further discussion, “I’m the one setting her up for the next date.” 

He’d caught a look between Hangman and Phoenix, but he couldn’t be bothered to read into it as he tried to keep his temper in check.  

He wouldn’t lose you. Not to someone who didn’t deserve you, especially when he already knew the person who could make you happy.

“Alrighty,” Jake had drawled out, as he pocked the bill. “Looks like we have another player. I look forward to taking your money.” 

He’d extended his hand out and they’d all shook on it, reaching Phoenix last her grip firm and her smile sharp. And that was that. 

Now he was here at the new popular restaurant he’d heard you talking about a few weeks ago, his feet cemented to the tiles beneath him just gazing at you. 

He could tell from where he was standing behind you that you were nervous by the way you were opening and closing apps without truly looking at anything. He knew it was a habit of yours when you were feeling anxious, something for your hands to do as you tried to distract yourself.

He had sweet talked the hostess over the phone into reserving the best spot on the outdoor terrace, and you looked so beautiful sitting there wearing his new favorite color. Your hair is held back by a delicate golden clip on one side leaving the line of your neck exposed, the sea breeze picking up a few wisps.  It makes his teeth ache with want.

He knew you were gorgeous, he’d stared down enough men at the Hard Deck to know that others thought so too. However, he’d never let himself sit with those thoughts for too long, not trusting himself to keep his mind from wandering. 

You were his best friend. 

And best friends don’t think about how the other would look so perfect in their bed, that pretty green dress forgotten on the floor. 

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you would look under his arm.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you would look with his ring on your finger.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you are for him.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect he is for you.

Him.

It was a good thing he didn’t want to just be your best friend anymore. 

He’d already done too much thinking, done too much waiting. He wasn’t going to miss his moment. 

Taking one more deep breath, he made his way to you.

“Rooster? What are you doing here?” He was the last person you’d expected to see when you turned your head to see who had been trying to get your attention, “Are you ok? What’s wrong?”

Did he get emergency orders? Did your date get in an accident? 

Your anxiousness was quickly morphing into panic, you’re already half way out of your seat when he puts his hand on your shoulder, his thumb stroking the skin there reassuringly. 

He is standing there looking completely at ease, as if he belonged there, “Nothing’s wrong, sweet girl.” 

And there it was again, you hadn’t been sure if your ears were playing tricks on you the first time he’d said it. That simple term of endearment silencing the alarm bells that were going off in your head, the edges of the lush restaurant softening around everything except him.

“Your mom always called me that,” you say softly. 

You cherished all the memories you had with Carole, the woman who had been such a significant figure in your life for so long. You knew your mom still sent Rooster a cake every year to celebrate her birthday from whatever bakery was closest to wherever he was stationed. 

“I know, I remember,” his voice so warm and deep, “She loved you.” 

He says it so simply, so sincerely. As if his presence here hasn’t just completely untethered you and sent you adrift in a sea of bewilderment.

The writhing snake that had made a home all day in the pit of your stomach finally disappeared, only to be replaced with the fluttering of wings that you were desperately trying to ignore. 

You’d been so shocked when Rooster had exclaimed that he was going to set you up with someone, your mind had been whirling so much at the time you could barely focus on anything that had been said in the aftermath of his announcement. Maybe you had missed some caveat he’d come up with for his participation in the bet? That could make sense, considering how adamant he had always been in the past about never getting involved in your love life. 

He was standing there looking so good in his best short-sleeved button up shirt, the one that was scattered with vibrant palm leaves that fit snugly against his body. And wearing the white slacks that usually had you looking anywhere else in the room to avoid acknowledging the way they clung to your best friend’s thighs and ass. If only he knew how weak they made you. 

There just has to be a logical reason for why he’s here, but the soft smile on his face was rendering your brain uncooperative. 

You were getting tired of feeling like you were missing something that should be so obvious, “My date is supposed to be here soon, are you going to hover in the back like you have been at the Hard Deck? Or are you just planning on pulling up a chair and third wheeling up close and personal?” 

“Why would I need an extra chair,” he asks as he pulls it out and eases his large frame down onto the wicker seat, “When mine’s already free?” 

You move to open your mouth when the waitress arrives, asking if you had your drink orders selected. 

“I’ll do the Bourbon Sidecar. You feelin’ like a gin, sweet girl?” You just nodded at him mutely, still desperately trying to catch up. “And the Clover Club for her, please.” 

It’s what you were planning on ordering to calm your first date jitters before had Rooster arrived and sent you into a complete tailspin. He hadn’t even looked at the thick textured cardstock of the drink menus that were strategically placed just to the right of the golden soup spoons on the artfully laid out table. 

The butterflies were threatening to break free from the tightly locked cage you had attempted to shove them in. 

The waitress took down the drinks, and you watched her as she crossed the patio pausing to tap away on the screen of their POS, trying to give yourself a few more moments to collect your thoughts. 

“Bradley. I don’t understand, what’s going on?” He’s sitting there looking so secure, so steadfast, so sure. 

His cheek ticks up, “I like it when you call me Bradley. Why did you stop calling me that when you moved out here?” 

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Why did you stop calling me Bradley when you moved out here?” he asks again, leaning in. How does he expect you to answer a question, when your mind is going 1,190 miles an hour? 

“I don’t know,” you start with a halfhearted shrug. “You’ve made a name for yourself in the Navy, you are ‘Rooster’ to everyone here.” You open your mouth to say more, before closing it quickly.

“There’s more going on in that head,” you feel his foot reach out tapping against yours under the table, before leaving it there a steady presence. “Tell me.”

You know you can tell him anything, but this feels different.

The intensity of his stare has you fighting the flush you feel spreading across your cheeks.

It wasn’t something that you’d ever given much thought to before, but you know if you answer truthfully now that he’s asked you it’s going to leave you feeling more exposed than you’ve ever been with him. 

You sit up more fully in your chair deciding to be brave, “I mean, we haven’t really truly been in the same place since we were teens, and things are so different now. It was easier to start calling you ‘Rooster’ or ‘Bradshaw’ like everyone else, because it didn’t make me feel like I was piece from a different puzzle trying to force myself into a new picture. I wanted to fit into the life that you’ve built here, to feel like I still have a place with you as you are now.”

You’re actively fighting to keep your eyes on his. It would be so easy to look away or to laugh off your confession, but for whatever reason, you don’t want to take the easy out. 

“I never knew you felt like that, but I wish I had,” the look in his eyes is softer than anything you’ve ever seen from him before. “I like being Bradley to you, I want to be Bradley to you. You aren’t just a piece to me, you’re the whole picture. You’ve always had a place here, exactly as you are you are now.”

It’s never been like this between the two of you. It feels like you both are saying too much and not enough all at the same time. As much as you find yourself wanting to sink into these intoxicating yet unfamiliar feelings, you know you’re still holding yourself back.

God, he is so handsome. You had been right, the sunset that was just starting was stunning, but the way golden beams were hitting the lightened strands of his curls was spectacular.

You’re almost too afraid to ask, but it’s unbearable not knowing, “Why are you here right now, Bradley?”

Of course, the waitress chooses that moment to return with the drinks. 

She sets them down in front of you, the skewered raspberries sitting daintily on the side of your glass are suddenly the most fascinating thing in the room. You vaguely hear him saying you both need more time and that he’ll flag her down when you’re ready to order. 

He waits for her to leave to attend to her other tables before turning his heady gaze on you once again.

“I thought I’ve been making my intentions pretty clear here, sweet girl.” 

He takes a sip of his Sidecar before continuing, the slight bounce of his leg the only thing giving him away that he might not be as self-assured as you’d originally thought, “I’m here for our date.”

There’s no hope of containing the butterflies now. You’re a lost cause. 

“Bradley.” You can only imagine the emotions he is reading on your face. It would absolutely break your heart if this was some kind of bad joke.

“He’ll never love you like I can.” 

“What?” you ask sounding every bit as dazed as you feel.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says shaking his head slightly, huffing out a little laugh at himself, “I got ahead of myself.”

You watch as he resituates himself in the chair, wiping his hands on the front of his slacks before restarting. 

“Watching you on those dates has been hell, I don’t want to be jealous of some guy you gave a second glance. I don’t want hold back, not when we can be so much more,” he reaches across the table, taking your hand between his two large ones, “I thought having you as a friend was enough for me, but how am I supposed to sleep at night knowing that I could be the one who makes you happy and then do nothing about it? That I’m the only one who can love you the way you deserve to be loved?”

You’ve always known he’s cared for you, that was unquestionable, but to be loved by Bradley Bradshaw? It was something you’d never let yourself imagine, let alone dared to hope to for. It had been kinder to spare yourself from the heartache that came with hope. But now? With him sitting right here in front of you saying you could have him like this?

Was this how he felt flying in his F-18 every day?

He gets up and rounds the table coming to your side, hooking an ankle around the tapered leg of your chair pulling you out a bit. You’re suddenly very thankful for the probably-too-expensive-and-probably-too-provocative for a first date dress you purchased when you see the way his rich brown eyes turn molten as he gets a glimpse of your exposed thigh.

He settles into a crouch before you, his warm hands seeking out both of yours, “You don’t need Phoenix or anyone else to set you up, because he’ll never love you like I can. Let me show you how good it can be. Let me be it for you, sweet girl.”

The man in front of you is everything you could have ever possibly wanted for yourself. And to be the one who could get to keep him forever? There’s no doubt in your mind, it’s worth everything.

You’re sure you will have to have a more serious conversation about what this means for the two of you, but that can wait for another time when he’s not in front of you with his eyes so earnest. So hopeful. To another time when he’s not wearing his heart on his sleeve as he patiently waits for any kind of response from you.

It would be so easy to lean in and kiss him right now. 

So easy to learn what that mustache would feel like against your skin. 

To learn how his lips and tongue would feel against your own. 

To learn how his mouth would move with yours.

But what’s a couple more hours when you’ve had years to build up to it.

“Well then, Lieutenant. I guess you better show me how it’s done,” you bring your hand up to cup his face, your thumb gently stroking along his cheekbone. “But I’m warning you now, I fully intended to give you as good as I get.” 

Being on the receiving end of a Rooster smile was something special, but it had nothing on the beaming grin that Bradley Bradshaw is giving you now. 

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” he says as he lands a lingering kiss on your cheek before standing and pushing your chair back in for you. “You’ve always known how to keep me on my toes.”

He returns back to his surprisingly comfortable wooden wicker chair, stretching his leg to rest it against yours. When the waitress comes back you both end up picking your meals at random, having been too absorbed with each other to actually bother reading the menu. 

You’d barely eaten all day because of the knots in your stomach, and now you were starving. Thankfully, Bradley at least had the commonsense to ask the waitress to pick her favorite dish as a third entrée “for the table”.

It feels the same in many ways, he knows what to say to make you laugh and what to bring up to get you fired up. And you know what questions to ask to keep him talking and how to push his buttons just right. 

But it’s also different when he doesn’t bother to hide his knowing smirk every time he catches you looking at his lips. And it’s even better when you don’t bother trying to hide yours when you catch him doing the same.

Afterwards, he takes your hand in his as you slowly make your way to the parking lot, his fingers lacing between your own. He surprises you when he leans against the Bronco, murmuring something about not wanting to let your pretty dress get dirty. His long legs extended wide as an invitation for you to come stand between them, his strong hands stroking the silky material of your dress on your hips as you step closer. 

You’ve been ignoring the pull low in your stomach all evening, the tension between you two the most luscious feeling you’ve ever experienced. The combination of his heat, his woodsy smell, the headiness of his gaze on you almost too overwhelming. 

Almost.

Your hands settle on his broad chest, playing with the button of his shirt now a bit nervous. Your faces closer than you’ve ever allowed them to be before. If what you’re hearing is the sound of the waves or the roaring of the blood in your ears, you couldn’t say.

You know he is waiting for you to make the first move. You see the moment when he’s about to say something, knowing him the words would be wonderfully reassuring and perfectly Bradley.

Why would you want to talk when his mouth was already waiting like a question. Why would you want to talk when you could learn what it’s like kiss him instead?

So you do.

When your lips meet his for the first time it feels like the sweetest kind of devotion. 

bradleybradleybradley

His mustache scratching satisfyingly at the skin of your upper lip. His mouth tasting like the Sidecars he sipped on throughout the night and something that was just fundamentally Bradley. 

Your hand moves on its own to stroke the side of his neck, your fingers seeking out the line of the longest scar that adorns his skin there from that night all those years ago. 

Your heart is beating wildly in your chest as he licks his lips before bringing his face down to yours again. Your other hand tightly clutching his shirt in anticipation.

He’s always been so in tune with you, so when he tilts your head just right before leaning into the kiss it feels like a homecoming. 

thisthisthis

One of Bradley’s hands makes its way up your back, pressing you closer to him as the other bands more securely around your waist. And when his tongue skims your lower lip, you sigh into his waiting mouth thankful for his strong grasp on you. 

Nothing your mind could have imagined would have ever come close to the perfection that is Bradley Bradshaw’s mouth moving against yours. Nothing has ever felt so good, so right.

When he pulls away, you���re both over fighting back the smiles that feel like have been permanently fixed on your faces all evening.

“I’m don’t want to call it a night yet,” he tells you, as he brushes the hair back from your face. His smile turning playful, “What do you say, kid? Wanna go get some milkshakes?”

“Depends,” you reply cheekily, “Can I drink it in the Bronco?”

Wrapping both arms around his neck you draw him back in towards you again.

“Anything you want, sweet girl,” he promises against your lips.

The next night at the Hard Deck, you entered the bar with Bradley’s arm draped your shoulders. 

His team whooping loudly when you pull him in for a kiss as he handed you a Blue Moon. They’d declared the drinks were on Bradley that night as they’d swarmed you both in celebration. Maverick pulls you aside to give you a warm hug, whispering “I knew you’d get here” in your ear before releasing you.

Now that you had let yourselves cross that line from friends to more, the pair of you are entirely too aware of the other. Never content to be too far away from the other. Your eyes like magnets, each seeking out the other to find them already looking back.

There’s nothing friendly about the way he has his hands on your waist. Nothing neighborly in the way his hands rub your shoulders. Nothing platonic in the way he rests one hand on the back of your neck, his thumb making teasing circles.

And there’s nothing friendly about the way you run your hands through his curls when he’s at the piano. Nothing neighborly in the way you slide your hand into his back pocket. Nothing platonic in the way you rest your hand on his chest, your finger tracing the line of his collarbone. 

It has always been so easy with him, even as you explore in this new area of your relationship.

You’d been orbiting around each other all night, when Jake yelled out to heckle you both about indecent exposure, threatening to call his cop friend if Bradley didn’t “get his ass over to the pool table in the next thirty seconds.”

He’d peppered your face with kisses before you’d shooed him away, laughing when you realized he had swiped your beer and had taken it with him.

“So you and Bradshaw,” Natasha states as she settles down next to you.

That makes you smile.

“Yeah, me and Bradley.” 

How could you have possibly thought you’d want anyone else other than him? You were a goner from the moment you’d turned and saw him standing there at the restaurant. Your golden boy.

You turn towards her, putting a hand on her arm, “I’m sorry that you didn’t get a fair shot at the bet. I really do appreciate the effort you all went through. I mean, Bradley would have had it in the bag anyways. But still–”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she waves a hand, cutting you off, “We had a team meeting and changed the rules of the bet anyways. I still won, so it’s all good.” Her smile was nothing less than mischievous. 

“Wait, what?” 

“We could all see from Rooster’s reaction during that disaster of a first date with all the dogs that he was completely hung up on you. We didn’t want to wait for him to figure it out, so we decided to adjust the terms a bit to help him out,” she laughs at your clearly baffled expression. “We reached out to the cringiest people we knew and set you up with them instead. And then took bets on how long it would take Rooster to get his head out of his ass and go get his girl.”

“Oh my god, seriously?” The revelation has you bursting out in laughter.

“Yep, well except for Bob. His date was a genuine accident, bless him. I’ll be honest, I didn’t even bother reaching out to anyone. I was betting on Rooster getting it together before I needed to step in,” she explains while wearing the most self-satisfied smirk on her face.

Of course Natasha Trace had bet on him. On you.

You couldn’t wait to tell Bradley how you had both been so absolutely played by his team. 

You loved these people. You loved your life here in San Diego. 

“I’d apologize for putting you through all that, but it looks like it worked out well in the end,” she says knowingly nodding her head towards him. 

You’re fully watching him now as he bends over the pool table looking amused at something that Hangman says. 

Bradley looks up catching your eye and shoots a wink in your direction, a grin taking over his whole face. You already know you’re wearing a matching one.

“I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

Thank you so much for all the love on this one! I’ve loved sharing this journey with you all! Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone! 

If you want to know what happens next for these two you can check out my masterlist! 

Written as part of @roosterforme’s #Love Is In The Air TGM Fic Challenge!

Song Inspiration Sam Smith’s “Like I Can”.

Thank you Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) as always for being the ultimate hype girl! 

Taglist:

@sehnsuchts-trunken @top-hhun-main @itscheybaby @prettylittlelauraa @startrekfangirl2233 @marantha @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @itsizzythebell @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @boltgirl426 @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @torres-espana @uzumegui @dont-talk-me-down @fandomunite2107 @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pariahsparadise @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @nina-sj @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @misty-inferno @angellwingsss @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @mrsdaamneron @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @melllinaa @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @mandolin22 @imaginecrushes @soleilgrec @keyrani @finelytaylored @phantomxoxo @viridianphtalo @chicomonks @artemissunn​ @hey-assbutt35​ @mayempress​ @eddiemunsonreader @averyhotchner​ @caatheeriinee07​ @rileyanntoinette​ @lublycho

[roosterbruiser]

𝐅𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐫

𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐘𝐨𝐮

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 𝟗.𝟖𝐤

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐜 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟, 𝐬𝐚𝐝, 𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐚𝐝, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐝, 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝.

There is supposed to be a sweetness that grows in the absence of great love. They’ve coined a phrase for it, one that never fails to keep your eyes from rolling, one you won’t even waste your breath uttering. People sing about it--all that space someone leaves behind and the way that your heart is supposed to contort and expand with excess affection--and people write poems about it, too.  

But it’s been a year and it still hurts; there is no overflow of fondness. 

The agony hasn’t dulled yet--and you have found comfort in calling it agony and not pain. It’s something you’ve put great thought into: this is not pain, it is bigger than that. It’s rubbing alcohol on a gash that needs sutures. It’s popping blisters with the heat of the sun. It’s smiling finally and splitting your lip down the middle. It’s jamming grimy fingers into bullet holes. It’s chewing rusty nails. It’s falling one hundred feet from a cliff and into the water on your belly. It’s cracking the hardest part of your skull on the pavement. 

Now that it’s been a year, now that you have adjusted to accepting your life in terms of throbbing and aching, you are certain that you would much rather have never loved Jake if it meant losing him. 

That’s how your mother tried to comfort you when you told her about the breakup. It was fresh--though it still feels fresh even right now and you assume it will always feel fresh--and you couldn’t talk about it without salt wetting your tongue and your lips growing swollen around the words you chewed out. 

“Jake’s gone.” It was all you could manage to say to her. 

She was sitting across from you at the little bistro table outside Risotto’s, sipping espresso through a straw so as not to disturb her lipstick. She was glowing that afternoon--wearing a linen sundress with her hair pulled back and her sunglasses big and her disposition sunny. 

When you said it, when she finally paused in her chattering about her latest cruise with your step-father, she raised her eyebrows--stunned. She was the last person you were telling--for more reasons than you have fingers--but she was the first person you were telling face-to-face. Meeting her for an early lunch at Risotto’s was the first time you’d left the house in a long while. 

“Where did he go?” She asked, tilting her head. 

You didn’t feel good. You hadn’t felt good for even one microsecond of one day since the other side of your bed suddenly became so frigid. You knew, also, that you didn’t look good. Unwashed hair, unbrushed teeth, mismatched socks, bleary eyes, a permanent flush in your cheeks. But your mother hadn’t asked you what was wrong; she was never good at doing that. Jake was, though. If he had been there, he would’ve asked. He would’ve known the moment he saw you that you were thoroughly heartbroken.   

“Back to her,” you said, your voice thin and wavering. Your cheeks were hot and the saliva on your tongue was sitting thick in your mouth. “His wife.”

Your mother watched your lip tremble. You were already pulled into yourself, shoulders drooping and chest hollow. Your hair was dipping over your plate and into your food when you finally let your face fall into your hands to weep. It made your mother ill watching your hair sweep through the pasta sauce.  

Someone walking by had given your mother a strange look as you openly sobbed into your palms, those shrill and shrieking things, and she’d grown hot with embarrassment. So, she paid for her cup of espresso and your uneaten pasta and ushered you into the privacy of the bathroom. 

It was hot in there, just as hot as it was outside beneath the San Diego sun. It felt like you couldn’t step out of the heat wherever you went--it just followed you, bit into your skin, blistered you.

You leaned against the bathroom counter, arms crossed tightly over your chest. And your mother stood just before you, feeling out of her element and entirely uncomfortable with the amount of snot dripping down your nose.  

“What happened?” 

What had happened was Jake woke up three Tuesday's ago, looked at your sleeping form, and then decided that he needed to go back to his wife--whom he’d left for you a little bit over two years prior. For all intents and purposes, Felicity was still his wife; there’d been about a dozen delays in the finalization of their divorce, all seemingly minute and at the fault of precisely no one except the courts. 

No rhyme or reason. No explanation. He just waited for you to wake up, held your cheek, and told you he was leaving and that he wasn’t coming back. Then he left. Movers came for his things a few days later. He changed his number. He deactivated every social media he had an account for. He vanished, simply put. Just like that. Somewhere between asleep and awake, he was gone. For good. 

“Nothing. We were fine,” you told your mom, holding your face in your hands again. Your breath was hot in your palms, aiding the blush in your cheeks and the heat rash climbing up your throat. “We were better than fine. We were fucking great. We were perfect. And then he just left.”

“Well, there had to have been something wrong,” your mother insisted, gathering one-ply toilet paper by the handful and unceremoniously pressing it against your hands. “He wouldn’t leave for no reason.” 

“But he did,” you insisted, shaking your head, gripping the toilet paper roughly. “I’ve thought about it good and-and hard. We had dinner that night. I made mashed potatoes, steak, and green beans. We drank half a bottle of red wine. We did the dishes together. We went to a late movie. We came home and took a shower together. We had sex. We went to bed. Jesus Christ, we were laughing all night! Even just before I fell asleep, he told me he loved me and I told him that I loved him. Nothing happened. Nothing changed. Nothing was wrong.”

Your mother listened intently, picking at her long nails. With her eyes narrowed in thought, she tutted. 

“Did you overcook his steak?”

“No,” you told her, flopping your hands at your sides and letting your face angle towards the polished tiles below your untied tennis shoes. “He likes it medium rare and I cook it medium rare.” 

“Was the movie bad?” 

“No,” you answered again. “It was a Martin Scorcese film.” 

She hummed. She kept thinking, kept pursing her lips and squinting at you as you dabbed under your nose. 

“Maybe he got water in his ear in the shower.” 

You sighed. 

“This isn’t making it better,” you told her, sniffling. 

You leaned against the counter, your shoulders slumped and your face drenched in salt. 

“I’m not trying to make it better,” your mother sighed, crossing her arms. “I’m trying to figure out why he left you.” 

It stung to hear her say it. Stung so badly that you flinched inadvertently, just a reaction your body had to the words. It was like the doctors checking your knees for reflexes; you had no control over it.  

“There’s nothing to figure out,” you assured her flatly, fruitlessly wiping at your cheeks and staring down at the scuff on the toe of your shoes. “He’s gone. It’s over. That’s that.” 

“Maybe he’ll come back,” your mother said. 

You shook your head. 

“No,” you whispered, sniffling again. “Movers came and packed him up.” 

“He hasn’t called?” 

“Changed his number,” you told her. Your voice was growing thinner and quieter.

“Well. Maybe he’ll change his mind after a while. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” 

A beat of silence followed that. You weren’t sure what to say. You weren’t really sure what to do other than cry and cry and cry. 

“I don’t think he will,” you said finally. 

She sighed, then. She wasn’t sure what to say either. She had never been good at this sort of thing--things that required her to give you that undivided attention you were always so insistent upon.

You weren’t sure why you even bothered telling her. You knew that she would’ve sat through your entire early lunch without commenting on your appearance if you’d let her. She would’ve pretended like everything was fine, would’ve asked about work, would’ve kept talking about the country club.  

“Wouldn’t you rather have loved and lost than never loved at all?”

Your throat grew hot.  

“Please don’t quote Victorian-era poets to me while I’m upset,” you whispered to her. “And that’s not even the way it goes.” 

You two were always like this. She never knew what to say to you and when she tried, you were convinced that her attempt was half-hearted and in poor taste because it usually was. Even when you were a baby, she never knew much about what you wanted or needed. It was no different now that you were a grown woman. Simply put: she was bad at caring and you were good at rejecting.

She at least spared you from bringing up the fact that Jake had put his wife in your very position a couple years back--for you. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” your mother admitted, holding her hands on her hips. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut tight. 

“Me neither,” you told her. 

It was quiet for another moment. 

She glanced at her watch. 

“You can go,” you told her. 

She played tennis every Saturday afternoon--you knew that’s where she wanted to be. 

She swallowed. 

“I don’t have to,” she said. 

What she really meant was: thank you.  

“I know,” you told her. Another beat. “Go.”

And so she’d left and then you were alone. 

You’re still alone right now. 

Or you were until twenty-seven minutes ago when the doorbell rang. 

You’d only gotten around to making dinner fifteen minutes before the intrusion so the air was still thick with the scent of Top Ramen. You were sitting on the couch, poking around your bowl of overcooked noodles, watching another episode of The Price Is Right in your dark living room when the chime rang out in the foyer.

If this had happened a little over a year ago, if Jake was still living with you but maybe gone for the evening, you would’ve been frightened. Some unannounced guest at your front door after ten at night while you’re home alone? 

But you’d simply set your bowl on the coffee table and meandered through the dark, your slippers shuffling on the unswept tile. You didn’t even check the peephole--you didn’t care to. You just opened the door.

Then he was there. Just like that, just like he had been for years before and not been for a year, he was there. Standing under the dinky porch light in the silky night air, wearing a pair of old Levi’s and a starchy white shirt.

 And when you saw him, him with his eyebrows pinched the way he used to whenever he was thinking hard about something, him with his lips in that serious flat line you used to run your finger along, him with his Adam’s apple bobbing so profusely, him with his hands at his sides and clenching around precisely nothing--a strange peace flooded you. You’d been trying so very hard to press forward, to forget about him, to wash off the life you shared. Even if you knew it was entirely in vain, you did because that’s what you were supposed to do. But seeing him there on your porch, shrouded in shadows and awash with a strange emotion you cannot read--and you’ve been out of commission in the reading Jake’s emotions department for a while, anyway--you thought okay, this is it. I have been so overwhelmed with grief that my brain is atrophying and I am imagining things. This is my yellow wallpaper. 

For the first time in a year, you felt good. This was your surrender. You were letting go, giving in, allowing yourself to be swallowed. It was like slipping into a warm bath; all the muscles in your body unfurling, all the breath in your lungs escaping, all the pain in your body dissipating. 

But then he spoke. 

“What’s that face?” 

“What?” You choked. 

You didn’t even mean to speak to him. It was just an immediate response.

“That face,” Jake said softly, nodding towards your cheek. “I’ve never seen you make it before.”

“That’s just my face now,” you told him. 

It got quiet after that. There were no crickets chirping, no cicadas calling, no cars rumbling down the quiet street, no music playing through a cracked window. The night was just entirely silent.  

The next few minutes were a blur. You wandered away from the door, still entirely convinced that this was your undoing and that you were taking up company with the ghost of your lost love. He’d taken it as an invitation and followed behind you. When you sunk back down into the sofa, taking your lukewarm bowl of noodles on your lap, he just watched you from the foyer. 

He didn’t really know what he was doing there. He didn’t know why he came back other than to fill the gaping hole in his chest that he’d punctured there. It was selfish, he knew. He kept in touch with a few of your mutual friends and every once in a while, when he could afford it, he’d ask how you were. And the answers were never good. But seeing it, seeing you sit in that pitch-black living room, seeing you sit there with your bowl of shitty ramen, seeing your gaunt cheeks aglow in the artificial blue-light from the television, he understood just how bad things were. Really, he thought he had it bad with the nightmares and the guilt. But this was something different entirely.  

When he said your name, you just glanced over at him. Your eyes were very dull. 

Then he sat on the loveseat, facing you. And you just resumed watching The Price Is Right.

But now the episode is over and your bowl is empty. 

So, you look over at him and his face is angled at the television, too. His eyes are so very glassy that you could watch the television in the reflection. His posture is rigid, which is not how he used to sit on the loveseat. He used to throw his entire body on top of it with a heave, used to sprawl out with his limbs askew. He used to take naps there like that. He used to pull you on top of him, used to keep your head cradled against his chest as it rose and fell with a grace you knew you would never come close to possessing. 

This is all very strange. Jake knows this is very strange. You just left the door open behind you and ate your cheap dinner and watched TV while he sat there. But what is even stranger is that he didn’t want to immediately retreat. He didn’t feel that discomfort in his bones he feared he would. He even ended up watching the episode with you. 

“Are these reruns?” He asks after a moment as a toothpaste commercial plays over the screen. This is the TV he left here--the unreasonably big one that cost a fortune to get mounted. 

“Yeah,” you answer. 

“When does the new season start?” He asks. 

“September, I think.” 

It’s quiet for a moment. You’re still looking at him, wondering how long it is going to be until he evaporates. 

And he’s looking around the room now, squinting through the dark, letting his eyes fall over all the familiar terrain. The coffee table is amess with mail and car keys and matchbooks; you used to get onto him about crowding it with paperwork and glasses. The mantle that used to house all those trinkets you picked up everywhere is void of anything at all save a sad pillar candle almost burned to the wick. The throw pillows are strewn about, not at all in the precise order you liked them to be, and none of the throw blankets are folded and sitting in the basket beside the couch. It’s April now, but there are no pastel decorations littering the room. It’s just dark.  

“How long will you be here?” 

His eyes land on you again. You’ve curled into yourself, knees drawn to your chest, and you’re letting your cheek press against the flat of your knees as you look at him. There is something far-away about the way you’re looking at him, something that just isn’t quite there. 

“What do you mean?” 

“How long are you staying?” 

He sighs, raking a hand through his hair. 

“I don’t know how to answer that.” 

You shrug. 

“Okay,” you say. “Just lock the door on your way out.”

Somehow, even though he knows the opposite, he feels like the strange one here. He was expecting this to go differently. He thought you would cry and he would cry. He thought that maybe you wouldn’t let him in. He thought maybe you would’ve moved by now. Really, he expected things to go any other way than they are right now. 

You’re just blinking at him, fiddling with a loose stitch on the couch. 

“Do you want me to go?” He asks. 

You shake your head immediately. 

“Of course not,” you answer. 

His heart is sitting in his throat, pulsing.

A beat passes. There’s a dog food commercial playing now.  

“Don’t you want to ask what I’m doing here? Or why?”

“No,” you answer again. 

He nods. 

“Why not?” 

You breathe softly, shrugging. This is the most strange conversation to be having with someone who is just not here.

“Why would I?” You return finally. 

He rakes his hands through his hair again, softening into the sofa. He’s missed this sofa very much--he used to take long, open-mouthed naps here with your weight atop him. 

“I don’t know,” he answers and he’s telling the truth. “I guess I would want to know if I were you.” 

“You’re not me,” you answer even though you do think, in a convoluted way, he must be you since you’re the one imagining him here.

“Yeah,” he sighs, nodding. 

“What should we do?” You ask. 

He blinks. 

“About?” 

“Not about,” you answer, sighing. “What should we do now? Go to bed?” 

“Are you tired?” Jake asks. 

“I’m always tired,” you say. 

That hurts. It’s a quick pain that radiates across his chest.

“You want to go to bed with me?” He asks. 

You just nod. Of course you do. It’s all you’ve wanted for the past year. Just to lie beside him again, just to fall asleep with his foot nudging yours. That’s it. It’s simple. 

You’ve missed him the most there--which is a given. Entirely a given. 

He doesn’t know if he should. Things are still strange with Felicity. He doesn’t know where they stand, especially after tonight. Honestly, he doesn’t know where they’ve been standing for the past year besides the edge of a cliff and a stuffy therapist’s office. 

“Okay,” he says softly. He nods. “We can go to bed.” 

You don’t turn any lights on in the house as you navigate through it. You are good at navigating in the dark; it’s how you’ve been living for the past year. Jake stumbles a few times, feeling around for a doorknob or railing. You don’t reach for his hand and he doesn’t reach for the curve of your waist. 

Even when you get into the bedroom, you don’t turn the light on. You don’t wash your face or brush your teeth. You just slip out of your socks, leave them in the heap that sits at the end of your bed, and climb under the unmade sheets.

Jake stands in the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. He can make out your silhouette beneath the linens, so much smaller than he remembers you being. Maybe you are--especially if you’ve been eating ramen at ten at night for the past year. He can’t make out much else besides the hunky shadows of furniture and he doesn’t try. He slips out of his jeans and his t-shirt, which feels strangely and achingly normal to be doing in this room at your bedside, and then pulls the covers down. 

The two of you lie side by side without touching each other. 

You can’t believe the peace that has found you so suddenly. This is a peace you have scoured for for twelve grueling months--yoga, acupuncture, retreats, massages, therapy, antidepressants, girl’s nights, blind dates--and never even came close to finding. But here it is now, laying in bed beside you, blinking up at the ceiling. He’s not even touching you, but he doesn’t have to: just knowing that you could reach over and press the flat of your foot against the curve of his calf is enough to untie a knot that’s been sitting in your throat. 

Jake, for some reason, feels the same. He’s been having trouble sleeping for a year--an entire year. Felicity doesn’t snore. In fact, Felicity is entirely soundless when she sleeps. And he hates that. Often, he’s thought about the way you mumble throughout the night and the lonesome snores you sometimes let out. Felicity likes to be held, but you liked to hold him. He’s missed it--missed your arms around his waist, your hips against his. And now that he’s in bed with you, now that all this strangeness is becoming normal in the dark room around the two of you, he can feel himself growing tired. Sleep is starting to tug on his eyelids. 

“Are you sleepy?” You ask softly. 

You used to ask him this a lot. Usually it was accompanied with your fingers in his hair, tugging softly as he laid in your lap as you tried to finish another chapter of a book you’d been reading for too long. Sometimes it was when he was teetering between asleep and awake, when you knew just by looking at his slack face and parted lips that he was sleepy. It used to make the two of you laugh, a sound only the wrinkles in the sheets could hear. 

“Yes,” Jake answers. 

You swallow. There are suddenly tears in your eyes. 

“Okay,” you just say. 

“Are you?” He asks. 

“You already asked me that,” you say softly. 

“Sorry,” he says. 

“It’s okay,” you answer.

This is starting to feel real. It is beginning to dawn on you that this is not a figment of your imagination, you have not been subdued by anguish. This is real, he is here, you watched an episode of The Price Is Right together, and now you’re in bed together. It’s almost too much for you--it’s making your chest tight, making your knuckles white. You thought that being around him again would make grief explode out of your chest like something akin to Alien. But here you are--intact somehow.   

You want to ask him how long he’ll be there. You want to ask if he’ll be there when you wake up tomorrow morning. You want to ask him what he saw in your sleeping face that made him leave. But you don’t. You’re afraid of breathing too hard, afraid of moving wrong. 

“Are you still awake?” He asks. 

You nod and he feels it. 

“What’s happening?” He asks. 

This wasn’t his intention when he came here tonight. Fuck, he doesn’t even really know what his intention was, but he knows that it isn’t this. 

“I don’t know,” you answer. 

He can tell that you’re choked up. 

“Ask me why I’m here,” he demands in a hushed tone. 

You sniffle, shaking your head. 

“I don’t want to,” you say. “Please don’t make me.” 

He bites his lip hard. His throat is thickening with tears, too, just hearing how utterly broken your tone is. Just to know that he is the one that fractured it, just to know that he is the one that’s hurt you--it makes his chest tight. 

“Ask me anything. Please.” He’s begging. 

“You’re being selfish,” you whisper. There are tears rolling off your cheeks now. You take a deep breath. “It’s not fair that you’re making me ask. You know that I can’t say no to you. You know that.” 

He does know that. It’s how the two of you started anyway. 

Jake and Felicity were on the rocks, like they always were, when he met you at the beach three years ago. It was late and the two of you were the only cars parked in that sandy parking lot, each of you staring out over the dark water. 

Jake knew better than to approach a young woman alone at night--so he did his best to not send creeper-vibes in your general direction, barely even glancing at you. But then he made the mistake of crumpling a piece of straw wrapper between his fingers and tossing it out his window. 

He nearly jumped out of his skin when you suddenly laid on your horn after witnessing the entire ordeal. 

He looked at you, bewildered, and you were wildly gesturing for him to roll his window down. So he did, his throat entirely dry, and you ripped into him. 

“Did you just fucking litter? Right in front of me?” 

He didn’t know what to say. He just stared at you, eyes wide. 

“I’m sorry?” He managed to stutter out. 

“If you’ll litter right there in front of me, then what will you do when I’m not here?” You raved at him, throwing your arms up. “That’s the scummiest shit I’ve seen all day and I work at City Hall!” 

He was admiring you without even meaning to. Your eyes were alight with fire, your face glowing in the white light of the moon. The breeze was pressing into your hair, pushing it over your bitten lips. You were beautiful--even when you were yelling at him. 

“City Hall?” He asked. “You the mayor or something?”

You blinked at him, dumbfounded. 

“Do I look like the mayor?” You asked, furrowing your brows at him. 

He made a show of looking over your bare shoulders and the necklace sitting on your throat and the red in your cheeks. And suddenly, your heart was racing. This perfect stranger who just littered in front of you, the one you ripped into, was suddenly undeniably handsome and absolutely checking you out. 

“No,” he answered finally. “Aren’t mayors usually bald men?” 

You wanted to smile. 

“That’s a bit regressive, don’t you think?” 

He grinned. It made your heart stutter. 

“What’s your name?” 

You bit your lip. 

“I don’t give my name out to strangers that litter.” 

So Jake had gotten out of his car, raised his brows at you, retrieved the tiny piece of trash you were so upset about, and walked it all the way over to the garbage can. Then he’d gotten back in his car with a grin. 

“Now I’m just a stranger,” he said. “Do you tell just strangers your name?” 

 There was a grin tugging at your lips. 

“If they tell me theirs first,” you insisted. 

“Jake,” he said without hesitation. “Seresin. C’mon, your turn, City Hall.”

You nodded. Jake Seresin. 

You told him your name and he smiled. It made your toes curl. 

“Nice to meet you,” he said, nodding. 

“Okay,” you said back, shoulders straight. 

The two of you ended up fucking hard and fast against the hood of his truck after the first hour. The breeze was warm and salty, your body was soft and supple, and the waves were crashing in the distance. His windows were rolled down so the two of you could hear Fruits of My Labor by Lucinda Williams playing softly from his radio. For some reason, it was the best sex he ever had.  

There was a strange pull between the two of you, one that neither of you were willing to reject. He told you that he was married just after that and it strangely did not deter you. You had never been the kind of girl that went after married men, but Jake made you dizzy. You were powerless to interrupt whatever was happening between the two of you. 

He left Felicity for you just a month later. 

And now he’s lying beside you and he can feel every shuddering breath that you breathe and he feels like his body is going to turn itself inside out.     

“Why’d you leave?” You whisper. 

He’s guilty. He feels like he’s asked you to do something impossible. 

“I keep not doing the right thing,” he says. He practiced this on the way over, practiced everything he’s wanted to tell you for the past year. But none of it is coming to him now that he’s beside you. “Like I left Felicity for you and then I left you for her and I just thought that if I righted things with Felicity, then I would feel better about myself. Because I don’t. Feel good about myself, that is.”

“Fuck you,” you whisper dryly. It isn’t with malice. It’s just an expression, one that you’ve used frequently enough that he doesn’t flinch. “You don’t feel good?”

He’s quiet now. 

“I feel guilty.” 

You sniffle again. You’re not angry. 

“I bet you do,” you say. “I would feel guilty if I made someone feel the way I have for the past year.” 

He’s quiet. 

“I left because I felt like I had to do the right thing,” he says, quieter now.

He’s telling the truth. He hardly thought twice before he left Felicity and fell right into your life together. You were living together right away and things were good. They were seamless and easy. He kept waiting for something to happen, something that would make him feel guilty about leaving Felicity and moving on with you so quickly, but it never came. His friends loved you. You cooked his steak just right. His mom adored you. You were thinking about getting a dog together. You never argued. He couldn’t get enough of you ever. And you returned that love tenfold.

So that Tuesday morning, after a perfect night for a fucking Monday, he woke up and looked at you. You were sleeping with your face buried deeply in the pillows, your eyes fluttered shut, your face awash with peace. And he cupped your cheek, pressed hair behind your ears. 

And then he thought I want to marry you. It was the first time he thought it; his last marriage, which wasn’t even officially over yet, had scarred him to the point of swearing off legal unions entirely. You’d been all for it, insisting that whatever he would give you was enough. And the thing about it was that you were telling the truth and he knew it. Seamless. 

Then he got scared--the kind of fear that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand to attention--and he thought of you looking at him the same way Felicity had when he handed her his ring. That pain--it was hideous to witness, hideous to inflict. He couldn’t do that to you.

Guilt found him for the first time, too. Guilt that he loved you more in this one precise moment than he loved Felicity in the years they were together. Maybe loving someone as much as he loved you wasn’t natural--maybe that wasn’t the way the world was meant to work. 

So he decided. He was going to leave. 

Then he’d left. To preserve you and your feelings. To preserve whatever goodness you two had that was surely fleeting anyhow, even if it hadn’t shown it yet. Felicity, for some reason, had welcomed him back even if they both understood that there was precisely nothing left between them. No amount of therapy could bring back what they had--and even if it could, it would be remarkably dim in contrast to what he had with you.    

“And was it?” You ask. “The right thing?”

He pauses. He truly doesn’t know. The ache in his chest says no, absolutely not. But the ring sitting heavy on his fourth finger says yes, it absolutely was. Even if Felicity is so rigid still.

“I don’t know,” Jake answers. “I’ve been wondering about that the past year.” 

What you wouldn’t give to have been wondering anything other than your loneliness for the past year. 

“Why are you here?” 

You’re afraid of the answer. Your fingers are numb with grief. 

“I missed you,” he answers instinctively. 

That’s when your first sob punctures the quiet bedroom. Every fiber in his being is screaming for him to reach out and hold you, for him to collect you in his arms and hold you tight against him, to comfort you. But he doesn’t move. 

“Jake,” you cry, holding your face in your hands. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

His teeth sink into his lower lip. 

“Me neither,” he answers. 

“I didn’t even think you were real,” you tell him, mercilessly sobbing into your palms. “I thought I’d finally lost my fucking mind. I thought you were a ghost. I genuinely thought I’d gone insane with grief, Jake. Do you know how fucked that is?” 

He reaches out, a strange lack of hesitance sitting in his belly. Then he lets his hand rest on your belly. It’s a gesture that’s marked your relationship together. He used to call you Fido because you loved for him to rub your belly; he learned that it was because of the lack of physical touch you’d received from your frivolous mother as a child and he was always, always happy to appease you. 

Your breathing steadies, just for a moment. His hand is warm and heavy with familiarity. God, you’ve missed this hand so much that you could stay here and not move for the rest of your life and be content. You could die just like this and it would be okay. It would be good, even. 

“I’m real,” Jake says because he doesn’t know what else to say. 

“I wish you weren’t,” you admit. “It would be a lot easier for me when you go.”

There’s that pain in his chest again. It’s worse than the airframe on his F-18 getting bent as he pulls 9G’s. It’s worse than punching out into the cornflower sky. It’s worse than anything, he thinks, to hear you say this to him. 

But he can’t get himself to say that he’ll stay because he doesn’t know if he can. 

“Don’t say that,” he just says softly. 

“I mean it, though,” you weep. “I wish you weren’t real.” 

His eyes flutter shut. This hurts. But it’s a pain that almost feels good--it’s a punishment. He’s punished himself, sure, and his friends have said some things here and there. But it feels good for you to be punishing him now. This is what he deserves. He deserves for you to tear into his flesh. He deserves to bleed for what he’s done to you--ripping you apart until you’re an empty-eyed bag of bones. 

He strokes the imprint of your ribs beneath his fingers and lets you continue. 

“I wish we never met and-and I wish I just was alone this whole time and I wish we weren’t ever happy together! I wish you just fucking littered and I just fucking let you!” 

He takes it. A glutton for punishment. 

You don’t move his hand away. You’re angry, but you’re not even exactly angry at him. You’re just angry that it is humanly possible to house all this grief. You’re angry that you have the capacity to love someone this much and be hurt by someone this much. It seems unnatural. 

“I don’t,” Jake finally whispers. “You made me feel so happy. So content.” 

“But it wasn’t enough.” 

“I never said it wasn’t enough,” he whispers. 

“You never said anything about any of this,” you tell him. 

You’re still crying. 

He’s still thumbing your bones through your skin, refamiliarizing himself with the terrain. Touching your skin feels like being wrapped in the very first blanket he was wrapped in as a newborn, very warm and soft. It makes him want to be naked and wrapped around you. 

“You’re tired,” Jake says softly. “I’m tired, too.” 

“Yes,” you agree. You sniffle hard. 

“What if we just sleep and then we talk tomorrow? In the morning? As early or late as you want.” 

You’ve never been able to say no to him. 

“Okay,” you whisper. 

He doesn’t move his hand. 

“Jake,” you say because you can’t help it. You almost can’t believe how easy his name rolls off your tongue. You’ve tried so hard not to utter it but here it is, smooth as the inside of a seashell in your mouth. “Please don’t leave before I wake up.” 

He shakes his head. 

“I’m not going to leave before you wake up,” he promises. 

He means it. He owes it to you. He owes it to the pain sitting heavily on his chest. 

And even though he doesn’t deserve it and the both of you know that, you turn in the bed. He’s confused at first, alarmed at the sudden movement. But then you’re doing it, clicking yourself into place. You are holding him. Your lips are pressed to his bicep and your leg is threaded through his and he can feel your tears and your breathing and oh my God he has missed this so much that he’s choked up. 

This is what you do. You love Jake the way he needs to be loved without him uttering a word to you about it. You just know him, you just understand him, you just fucking love him. Felicity has never been able to understand what he’s thinking, has never been able to give him what he wants without him asking for it. He doesn’t blame her--he doesn’t know what she wants either. But he knows that you want him to press his back against your front, so he does. It’s the least he can do for you. 

You’re overwhelmed at the sheer closeness of this encounter. You were so worried he was going to fade into the sheets as soon as you touched him, but he didn't. He’s totally solid beneath your touch. He’s just right there, pressed up against you. He still uses the same aftershave and you’re worried you’re going to get drunk on it--you’ve been limiting yourself to whiffs of his pillow every now and then, always calculating the time wisely. But now it’s just permeating the sheets, sitting heavily in your nostrils.

 And his skin--it’s so warm and soft. It just feels right to hold him. It’s not unfamiliar at all.  

“Goodnight,” he whispers to you. 

“Stay,” you just whisper back. 

You’re desperate. 

So he nods, lets his face press into that pillow that still smells like his aftershave. 

“I am,” he whispers. 

“Don’t hurt me,” you beg quietly. 

You press a tentative kiss on the bare skin of his back. His eyes water.

“I’m trying not to,” he tells you quietly.   

The two of you get your first full night of rest in twelve months in the bed that you used to share. It’s blissful, really. So blissful that when you wake up and he’s not in bed, you think about checking yourself into some sort of institution. Because it had felt so fucking real--so real that you genuinely slept. Like really, thoroughly, actually slept. 

You walk down the stairs in tears already, feeling like you’re back at square one even though you never really got past it in the first place. The house is quiet and you aren’t even sure what day it is and there’s dishes to do and sobs to heave--

But when you walk into the kitchen, he’s still here. He’s sitting at the kitchen table that the two of you thrifted your first year together with a steaming mug in his hand and another one sitting across from him--the coffee is the exact shade you like it to be. 

When he sees you, you in your pajamas with your messy hair and the tear tracks on your cheeks, he wilts. He thought he was doing the right thing letting you sleep in--because he knows you and he knows you haven’t been sleeping very well at all--and getting coffee started. It doesn’t even dawn on him that you probably thought he’d left again until he sees the way your pupils dilate when they land on him. 

“Oh,” you whisper, halting suddenly at the threshold of the kitchen. You sniffle, frowning, swiping your tears away hastily. “I thought you…” 

He shakes his head, sinking his teeth into his lower lip. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. 

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself and settling into the kitchen chair across from him. 

“It’s fine,” you tell him. 

It’s quiet for a moment. At the very least, there are birds singing in the gray morning light, hopping from one branch of a eucalyptus tree to the next. The room is washed white and you can see every speck of dust and grime you’ve let build up in the kitchen. The house is just messy--you’ve let it get that way. Without Jake living here, you’ve given up trying to keep the coffee table clear and the shoes on the rack by the front door. It doesn’t matter--well, it didn’t matter. 

“I missed this coffee,” he tells you, bringing the mug to his lips again. “Felicity likes Folgers.” 

You smile softly. You were the one that turned Jake onto good coffee. He fashions himself as some sort of coffee snob now, one that usually gets his coffee imported. But not with Felicity, you suppose. 

You wipe your eyes again. You would’ve liked to have this conversation after a shower--Hell, even just after brushing your teeth. But you’re too afraid to let him out of your sight again. So you settle in against the wood, closing your eyes as it groans beneath your weight. 

“How is she?” You ask. It just seems like the right thing to say. 

Jake winces. He knows he shouldn’t be talking about his wife right now. He knows that. He doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to be talking about, but certainly it shouldn’t be Felicity. 

But maybe this is a good place to start. Maybe this is the first time he can be honest with someone about the way things are between them--he usually keeps his responses vague with others. People don’t really want to know, especially his friends that were friends with you--the ones that preferred you. 

Oh, we’re fine. We’re working on our marriage. Therapy is helping. 

With you, though--he can just say it. 

“She hates me,” he says, laughing dryly. He’s fiddling with the little chip on the rim of the mug, watching as your fingers slide into the handle of your mug. It’s your favorite--he knows that. “Like, she actually really hates me.” 

He won’t look at you, but you’re looking at him. You’re watching that humorless smile tug at his lips, watching him blink away the tired in his eyes. 

“Yeah,” you breathe. 

If you were Felicity, you would hate him, too. You would hate you, too. 

“Therapy isn’t helping,” he tells you. It’s the first time he’s said it aloud. “Haven’t slept in the same bed for a few months now.”

You nod. If you close your eyes, you can still feel his heaviness in your arms last night. 

“So?” You prompt. 

There’s a lull as Jake bites his bottom lip pensively. He was really expecting more of a fight here. He was expecting you to be up in arms about him coming back. It’s almost worse that you’re so calm, so welcoming. 

He doesn’t know this, but you’re not above begging. If it meant he would stay, you would get on your knees and grovel. But you just wait for him to answer. 

“I told her we should refile for divorce,” he tells you, which is true. 

Your spine prickles. 

“Good for you,” you tell him. “You deserve to be…held.” 

He didn’t even have to say it. You know that Felicity doesn’t hold him--he told you that the first time around whenever you held him for the first time in bed. You know that it’s true even now because of the way he went totally slack in your arms.

“I don’t know what I deserve,” Jake admits. 

Me, you want to say. Me. 

“It’s time for you to tell me,” you whisper. 

You take a sip of your coffee and shut your eyes as it warms your chest. 

He knows what you mean. He can’t bring himself to look at you yet. 

“I woke up and I wanted to marry you,” he tells you. 

He hasn’t told a soul this--not even his therapist. He hasn’t uttered it out loud even once. 

You furrow your brows but say nothing. Your throat is dry. 

“I just…” Jake sighs, blinking at his coffee. “When I met you, things were fine with me and Felicity. We didn’t argue. We were talking about moving houses. But then there was you and everything I thought I knew about love, about my relationship with Felicity, it was just…gone. Shaken up.” 

You just nod again. 

His heart is racing. 

“If I was…if I was a good man, I wouldn’t have had sex with you that first night. Or any of the nights after. If I was a good man, I would’ve stayed with my wife. But I’m not a good man, so I cheated on her and then I left her,” Jake says. He takes another deep breath and sips on his coffee again. “But I just couldn’t help it. I just loved you so immediately.” 

“Mmm,” you hum, wiping under your eyes again. 

You move to hold your face in his hands as he continues, your face contorting with grief again. 

“And then I thought that I could be good for you and I was good for you. We were good. It was all so easy. I felt like I didn’t really deserve it--especially since I just didn’t feel guilty about Felicity. But we agreed to not get married, right? You and me?” 

You nod, not moving your face from your hands. 

Jake wants to hold you. He knows you’re crying. But he’s going to lose his nerve if he doesn’t continue right now. 

“But then I just woke up and we had such a good night--I mean, who has that good of a night on a Monday? I looked at you and I just thought about how badly I wanted to marry you suddenly,” Jake says. His voice is beginning to quiver. “And then I thought about Felicity’s face when I told her I was leaving. I thought about how broken she was. And I-I was so scared that if we got married, I was gonna do the same to you.” 

You sigh into your palms. 

For an entire year, you’d been racking your brain. You’d been trying to pinpoint the moment he fell out of love with you. You’ve been retracing all your steps carefully, trying to figure out where you went wrong. But you didn’t do anything wrong. All you did was love him the best he’s ever been loved--and he still left you. 

“I’m not a good man,” he says. 

“Don’t say that,” you snap, looking up at him. 

He looks at you finally. Your eyes are rimmed with red and there are fat tears on your bottom lashes. 

The two of you just look at each other. You both still want each other so bad that it’s making your bottom lips tremble. You want to make this house his house again, too. You want to hold him every night as he falls asleep. He wants to kiss your throat in the shower and push your hair behind your ears and never litter again.

The both of you feel suddenly how intense things feel right now. 

So, Jake changes directions.  

“How’s your mom?” He asks. 

He’s afraid to talk about anything else. He’s afraid that if he doesn’t ask about that then he will confess his love right here, right now and ruin everything. 

“Still a cunt,” you whisper. 

He smiles softly. 

“How was she? When I left?” 

He was worried about you. Of course he was. He knew it was a grand sort of irony, him being the one inflicting all that anguish, but being distraught over the state of your wellbeing. But he knew that you wouldn’t reach out to any of your mutual friends--it would hurt too bad. So that would leave you with your mom, who was never useful when it counted the most. 

“Terrible,” you answer him. You’re still crying, but now you’re laughing dryly, too. “Left me alone in the bathroom at Risotto’s to play tennis at the club.” 

“You’re kidding,” Jake says, gritting his teeth. 

You shrug. 

“No,” you answer with a sigh. You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m not.” 

“She’s a real piece of work,” he mutters. “Was she wearing those ridiculous sunglasses?” 

You laugh softly, nodding. 

“Knew it,” Jake mumbles, rolling his eyes. “I haven’t missed her.”

It’s quiet again. 

“How’s your mom?” You ask. 

You’ve missed her, but you haven’t had it in you to answer any of her calls. 

“Fine. Pissed at me,” he answers, nodding. “Misses you.” 

“Yeah.” You wipe your eyes for the thousandth time that morning. “I miss her, too.”

You finish your coffee. Then you chew on your bottom lip, staring at a stain in the middle of the table that you were never able to buff out. 

“Does she know you’re here?” 

“My mom?” Jake asks. 

You shake your head. 

“Felicity,” you answer. You don’t say her name maliciously. You’ve always felt very bad about the way things happened--but now you feel that you’ve had your penance; your year without Jake. You feel like the two of you are even now. 

“Yes,” he answers. 

Felicity was calm when Jake said he wanted to stop working on things. She agreed. She admitted to having feelings for a coworker, though she hadn’t done anything but kiss him. They had a glass of scotch together. He kissed the top of her head. She asked if he was going to your house. He said yes. And when he left, things were okay. It felt like the first time they’d been honest with each other since he came back. 

“And it’s over?” 

He nods. 

“It’s over,” he confirms. He twists the ring on his finger and then settles it softly on top of the stain you’re staring at. “I mean it.” 

You nod. 

“I believe you,” you answer. You pause and comb your fingers through your hair. “Does that make me stupid?” 

Jake smiles sadly, softly. 

“You’re not stupid,” he answers. “You’ve never been stupid.” 

You laugh dryly again.

“You don’t have to marry me,” you tell him. You shrug, shaking your head as you look down at the table. “I never expected you to. I don’t care about getting married. I never did.” 

Maybe that is what hurts the most--is that all of this could have been avoidable with a single conversation. If he had just gotten on your level. If he had just been honest.

“I want to marry you,” he says. “That’s the issue.” 

“Well, if you ask, I’ll just say no,” you tell him. 

He smiles gently. 

“No you won’t,” he whispers. 

You nod. 

“I know,” you say. You bite your lip. “I was just saying that.” 

“That’s a lot to give up,” he says. “Marriage.”’ 

“It’s a piece of paper,” you tell him. 

He shakes his head. 

“It’s a lot more than a piece of paper,” he tells you. “It’s a wedding and it’s taxes and it’s a legal bind. Even metaphorically, it’s more than just paper.” 

“It’s frivolous,” you insist. 

You mean it, too--you don’t care about getting married. 

“But maybe you won’t always feel that way,” he whispers. “Maybe you’ll wake up one day and you’ll want to get married and I will too and I’ll fuck it up again.”

You sigh. 

“Yeah, and maybe the moon is going to disappear and maybe the sun is going to explode and maybe all the bees are gonna die,” you tell him. He purses his lips. “It’s all relative.” 

He shakes his head again, exhaling. 

“What kind of people are we if we both wanna get married but are too scared to do it?” 

You grip your mug. 

“People that make do,” you say. You sniffle. “People that do what works for them.” 

He sighs. 

“Will it always work for you? Not being married?” 

“Will it always work for you, Jake?” 

He pauses. He doesn’t know. 

“Maybe,” he answers. 

“Before we start talking about all of this again,” you breathe, “I still have to forgive you.”

There’s a lump in his throat. 

“I know,” he promises. “I know that.” 

“And I am going to take my time doing that,” you insist. 

He nods profusely. 

“You should,” he says. 

A beat passes.    

“Jake,” you whisper. 

The two of you finally meet each other’s gazes. Jake nods, earnestly letting his eyes rake over the sunken hollows of your cheeks and the darkness staining your undereyes. Your lips are chapped and your nose is bright red. 

“Yeah, darlin’?” He returns. 

Your skin gooses at the way it falls off his tongue: darlin’. 

“Will you stay while I shower?” 

He does stay. He sits on the toilet, his hands folded in his lap, and watches the steam fog up the mirror. You feel like you’re washing away an entire year’s worth of filth.

“My towel?” You ask when you turn the faucet off, reaching through the curtain. 

He hands it to you swiftly, then settles back down on the toilet. 

“You changed the shower curtain,” he says softly, just to say something. It’s one of the only things he’s noticed that’s been replaced. “I like it.” 

It’s a mirage of moody painted florals, dark reds and oranges and pinks. 

“The other one was too boyish,” you say as you dry yourself off. 

Jake laughs quietly. 

“Well, I’d say this is the opposite of boyish,” he tells you. 

You pull it back, wrapped in the towel, your wet hair sitting limply on your back. He looks at you and you look at him, both of your stomach's in knots. When you bite down on your lip, he watches water droplets roll off your calves and onto the tile. 

“What are you looking at?” You ask him. 

Beneath his gaze, you feel more three-dimensional than you have in a year. You feel, suddenly, like you can straighten your shoulders and square your jaw. You don’t want to slouch through life when he’s looking at you. 

“Your legs,” he says honestly, letting his eyes drag back up to yours. “You.” 

You swallow hard. 

You feel like you have to say it now. 

“You broke my heart,” you tell him. 

Now he swallows hard, blinking, but nodding. 

“I know,” he says quietly. “I know that I did.” 

“And it was because you were scared,” you continue. “Really, you could’ve just talked to me. We could’ve worked it out.” 

He nods again. 

“This has been the worst year of my life, Jake,” you tell him. “And that’s putting it lightly.” 

He nods. His eyes are starting to water. 

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he admits quietly. “And I’m sorry that I did. If I could take it back, darlin’, you know that I would. I would.” 

“I believe you,” you whisper. 

He exhales shakily. He wasn’t expecting to hear you say that. 

“I wanna be with you,” he tells you before he loses his nerve. 

You swallow hard and plant your feet on the ground firmly. 

“If we’re going to do this,” you say, gesturing between the two of you with your heart racing. “Then you have to be solid. Because if we…if we…and then you leave again, I don’t think I’ll survive. Really, Jake. I don’t.”

“I’m solid,” he says. 

It feels like the first time he’s told the truth in a long time. 

“You won’t leave?” You confirm. Your voice is quivering. 

He nods. 

He’s just wearing his t-shirt and his boxers from last night, his hair mussed and his eyes swollen from sleep. He’s glassy-eyed as he gazes at you, his lips flat. You want to run your finger along those lips, want to be close to him. You feel like your bones are beginning to vibrate. 

“I won’t leave,” he answers. “I want this. I want you.”

Your breath visibly stutters whenever he says it: I want you. It’s what you’ve been waiting to hear for twelve long months. It’s what you’ve cruelly dreamed of. It’s what you have ached for. 

“I forgive you,” you say. So much for taking your time. 

Jake watches your cheeks grow pink, watches your hair drip down your shoulders. You’re washed in the low yellow light of the bathroom, your chin trembling. 

“Come here,” he whispers to you, his voice thin. “I have to hold you.” 

For a moment, you feel like you’re frozen. But then he opens his arms and your feet are moving without you, just propelling you forward and across the rug and into his embrace. Then he’s holding you against him so tightly that your back pops, holding you so tight that you can’t breathe. You’re crying and he’s relishing in the way your body just fits so perfectly there in his arms, the way your fingers feel when they tangle in his hair. He’s missed you so much that he almost feels like this is a fuzzy daydream. 

His hair is like velvet between your fingers, his arms like a blanket around you. You’re sobbing, heaving and he’s just hugging you close to him with his head buried in your chest. He’s inhaling the laundry detergent that you buy and the body wash you use and he can feel himself falling into you again. 

“I’ve been crying for you, boy,” you whimper to him, hugging him against your body. 

He’s kissing you now, his lips dampening from the towel still wrapped around you, but it doesn’t stop him. He won’t stop kissing you. He won’t leave. He will prove to you--to himself--that he is good. He will be good for you. 

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he promises. He’s beginning to cry now, too. He doesn’t know if its because of the sudden and overwhelming feeling of being close to you or if it’s because he’s missed you so fucking much or if it’s because he hurt you so bad. “I’m gonna make it right, darlin’.” 

“I know,” you whimper. “I know you are.” 

You stay like that for a long time: wrapped up in each other.

𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐚𝐝…𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲.

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 @roosterforme'𝐬 #𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐈𝐬𝐈𝐧𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐀𝐢𝐫𝐓𝐆𝐌 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞!! 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞!!

[madsnowstorm]

everything | j. seresin

beyond - leon bridges ft. luke combs

summary : jake loves weddings. you hate them. shared revelations might just change your opinion

warnings - 18+, fem!reader, established relationship, FLUFF. so much fluff. not beta'd,

notes — happy valentine's day! here is a sickly sweet one for @roosterforme's 'love is in the air' challenge. like, so sweet.

Jake loved weddings. He always enjoyed a good reason to dress up, hair gelled just right and cufflinks perfectly in place. If he happened to be in Texas he’d have on his favorite pair of boots and a bolo tie. He loved dancing at the receptions. It didn’t matter if there was a live band or a DJ, Jake was always out on the dance floor. This was especially if there was line dancing involved. Then there was the cake. Jake’s one weakness in life was wedding cake. He could turn down any cookie, pie, or ice cream cone shoved in his face…But wedding cake? There was no holding him back…Except today, at this wedding, he could only focus on one thing. You.

You were sitting at a table that was right off the dancefloor. One shapely leg was thrown over the other, peeking out of the slit of your burgundy bridesmaid dress. Your bare foot was bouncing to the music and your eyes were trained on the bride and groom who were sharing their first dance. Jake’s eyes traveled quickly to Javy and his new wife, his childhood sweetheart, Leah, as they swayed to the rhythm. They did not care that over one hundred people were staring them down. The only thing capturing their attention was their partner. Jake only looked at them for a moment longer before letting his gaze drift back to you. His eyes were drawn to how soft and bright your skin looked. You looked soft and supple.He wanted to glide his hands over your bare shoulders and down your back. You were radiant...Like the sun. And he wanted to put that shit in a bottle and tuck it in his pocket.

God. You were so fucking beautiful. 

Funnily enough the two of you met at another wedding months ago. One of Javy’s and Leah’s friends from their youth was getting married and Leah was a part of the bridal party. Javy didn’t want to be alone and knowing that Jake was down to crash any wedding, brought the blond along. Jake wished he could say that he noticed you the moment you walked into the large event space. He wished he could tell you that he’d gotten tunnel vision when he saw you walking towards him. Wished that he could drone on and on to his future grandchildren about how the moment your eyes met his, he knew you were the one.

No. That didn’t happen. In fact, you were late to the ceremony and snuck in next to Javy. Javy’s body shook with laughter as you raised your hand in an awkward wave, cringing. Seconds later the ceremony started and his attention turned from you to the ceremony. He actually forgot that you were there until the ceremony was over and Javy was introducing you both. As you both sipped on drinks of your choice while the event space was being converted for the reception, the topic of work. You were extremely uninterested in the fact that he was a naval aviator. He attributed that to you knowing Javy for so long, but it did stump him a little bit. 

As he talked with you, he found himself trying to impress you. He wanted to make you smile, to make you laugh. He wanted to see you after this. It was different than it normally was. Typically when he left weddings he was going back to some hotel room with a girl on his arm and a pleasant buzz, and was gone by the next morning. You, though? You left before they even served the wedding cake, mentioning something about it getting late after looking at the delicate gold watch on your wrist. Jake did not understand. How could someone leave before having at least one slice of cake? 

In the moments it took for him to try and wrap his head around that unfathomable act, you’d made it to the parking lot. It only took a few moments for the blond to catch up to you, yelling your name and waving his hand to grab your attention. Standing by your compact SUV, he all but begged for your number. He could tell by the way you bit your bottom lip that you weren’t entirely sure about him. He was willing to let you go, but just as quick as you decided to leave, you also decided to give him a chance. Numbers were exchanged and drinks were planned.

Five months later led you to where you were today; you happily watching your friends on the dance floor and Jake longingly watching you. The song the band was currently playing transitioned into another. This song had a slightly peppier sound, but still had a slow rhythm. 

“The bride and groom would love to invite you to grab a partner and join them on the dance floor!” The lead singer announced before they began singing.

Jake made his way over to you, dodging people who were now walking around. Some were headed to the dancefloor, while others looked to be grabbing sweet snacks or drinks. There were some older couples that chose to stay seated, enjoying the sight of young love.  Your eyes were still on your friends, but now your body was beginning to sway with the new song. Jake thought that was good, because it meant it would not take much convincing to get you out on the dance floor. As Jake walked closer, he watched your eyes move from Javy and Leah, to him. Your smile widened and his heart stuttered.

__

You hated weddings. They were expensive and uncomfortable. The wedding industry was practically a crime against humanity and you could think of a million different things that could be purchased for the cost of a wedding. The food was never good and the wedding cake was always bland and usually dry. The only thing you could slightly be on board with were weddings that had an open bar. Leah was one of your childhood friends and it was only because you loved her and valued her friendship that you adopted the motto grin and bear it when you accepted the offer to be a bridesmaid. It also helped that Jake was just as much of this process as you were. 

He was the exact opposite of you. The man adored any reason to celebrate, weddings included. In moments he knew you were overwhelmed or just completely done with all the pomp and circumstance, he would always find a way to put a little joy in your heart. A wink here, a flirty touch there. Your boyfriend almost made you forget that you hated weddings.

“M’lady,” He asked, appearing behind you. You looked over your shoulder and basked in the beauty of the man in his dress whites. While he was far from the only one dressed in his military regalia, he was most certainly the best looking. Your gut filled with anticipation for what was going to come after the wedding. “Can I have this dance?” You lifted your finger to your chin, tapping it as though you were deep in contemplation. 

“I’m sorry, but I-” Jake didn’t let you finish your joke. He grabbed your free hand which was draped over your chair and pulled you up. It was clear the dance floor was his destination.

Other couples were swaying around the tiled door. You caught Leah’s eye and she smiled at you. Your friend looked beyond happy and incredibly in love. You were happy for her and Javy and wished them nothing but the best. Jake pulled you close as you took your spot near your friends. One hand was heavy on your hip, the other grasping one of yours. He held it close to his heart, letting both your hands rest on his chest.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look today?” He remarked.

“Hmmm, maybe once or twice.” It was more than that. All throughout wedding party pictures he kept whispering compliments and promises in your ear. He made you feel like the most beautiful creature to have walked the earth. You could feel the rumble of a chuckle under the back of your hand.

“Anyone ever mention how funny you are?” It was now your turn to laugh. Jake’s only response was to shake his head. He got quiet for a moment, before asking another question. “Do you want to get married?” The question took you off guard, causing you to step on Jake’s toes.

“Are you proposing?” You hoped he couldn’t hear the nerves in your voice. The two of you had not talked about the future, completely fine to move at the snail's pace you’d been at.

“No, not at all.” Jake shook his head. “I just meant in general. Do you want to get married?” Was this really the time? Your heart was beating heavily against your chest. It wouldn’t be surprising if Jake could feel it.

“Do you want to get married?” Was your coy response.

“Don’t deflect. It’s a simple question.” Jake was an arrogant guy. It was one of the first things you noticed about him. He typically spoke with a teasing tone, but there was no hint of it now. He was serious. 

“Married to you or just married?” You matched his tone. This time you weren’t being playful and you needed this clarification  before you gave yours.

“Married to me.”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation, but the words left your mouth without permission. Part of you was scared that your feelings about the future wouldn’t be reciprocated. “Do you want to get married to me?” It was his turn for honesty, but as your eyes roamed over his face you knew your mind could not prepare you for his answer.

“I want everything with you, Darlin’.”

“Jake…” His name was no more than a whisper on your lips.

“I’m sorry if that is too early or if that scares you , but it’s the truth. I want marriage, yes, but I want you to meet my family. I want to make a family. I want a dog and a house. I want someone to come home at the end of hard days and long deployments. I want everything.” The only way you knew how to react was physically. As your lips met his, you didn’t have a single care about all the people around you.

“I love you.”

“I know, who doesn’t?” Your eyes narrowed and you pinched his hip. He playfully yelped. “Did I say that? I meant to say that I love you too.”

Maybe weddings weren’t so bad, after all.

[roosterforme]

Hello, I Love You | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Phoenix signs Bradley up for speed dating on Valentine's Day, he is skeptical. But after he meets the woman of his dreams, he's not afraid to admit his best friend was right.

Warnings: Pure fluff, adult banter, some cursing

Length: 2300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written for my Love Is In The Air playlist challenge! Thanks for reading! And please check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun.

Bradley strolled into the Hard Deck, got a beer from Jimmy, and then made his way to the pool table to join his friends. 

"What's up?" he asked Phoenix when she eyed him a little nervously.

"Now, don't get mad, okay?" She set her pool cue down and patted his shoulder.

"What did you do?" Bradley asked, frozen with his beer halfway to his lips. 

Phoenix smoothed out his Hawaiian shirt across his chest and shoulders, and then she took his chin in her hand and turned his face from side to side. "Yeah, okay, should be fine," she muttered, examining his appearance. 

"Nat, seriously, what did you do?"

"Well.... I signed you up for speed dating," she informed him, wincing before he even responded.

"No," he said, adamantly shaking his head. "Nope." Bradley sipped his beer and turned to grab some darts.

"And it starts in thirty minutes," Phoenix added, her eyes going wide as Bradley glared at her.

"Natasha, I'm not going."

"But you're lonely! And it's Valentine's Day! You need a girl!"

Bradley scoffed. "I'm not lonely. I'm... picky."

"Too picky, Rooster. Just go to the speed dating thing, please? I already spent twenty bucks to sign you up," she pleaded. "It comes with a free drink!"

Bradley chuckled. "You think I'll find a girl there? You're insane, Nat. It's going to be the weirdest assortment of people under the San Diego sun. Crazy people who collect cats and probably a bunch of basement dwellers."

But as he watched his friend's face fall, he felt a little guilty. "I just thought you might have fun, you know, putting yourself out there. It's been a year since you dated anyone," she said softly. 

Bradley took a sip of his beer and ran his hand over his face. "Fine. I'll go, but only to prove to you that I'm right and you're wrong."

He watched her jump up and down a few times and clap her hands. "Yes! It's at the Surfside Tavern, and if you leave now, you'll arrive just in time," she said, taking his beer from his hand and pushing him toward the door. "Text me later and let me know how it goes... unless you know, you're busy getting hot with a basement dweller."

Bradley just rolled his eyes and headed toward the Bronco. 

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

"Let me get you signed in! What's your name?" asked a young man with Connor on his name tag. He was seated at a small table at the front of the bar, and now Bradley was getting a little nervous. There were a lot of people here tonight.

"Bradley Bradshaw," he replied, taking a name tag sticker from Connor. 

"Just grab your drink at the bar and head on back to the area where the tables are set up. I'll get everyone started soon," said Connor with a smile. 

Bradley took a deep breath, half tempted to bail, but then he thought it would be worthwhile to get his free drink since Nat stole his other one. He got a beer from the bartender and then turned toward the back of the room, where there were a bunch of guys were wearing suits. 

"Shit," he muttered, glancing down at his own jeans and bright shirt. 

When he looked up, he quickly braced himself as you accidentally bumped into him, the drink in your martini glass sloshing precariously close to the rim. "Sorry!" you gasped, looking up at him. 

He steadied you, wrapping on big hand around your waist as you regained your balance. And Bradley instantly knew there was no chance he would be bailing early tonight. 

"Thanks," you whispered, tapping your martini glass to his beer bottle with a grin.

You took a slow step away from him as Bradley whispered, "Damn." You looked like a real treat, with bright eyes and kind of a shy smile. And as you walked toward all of the guys in suits, you turned to smile back at him over your shoulder.

"Okay, let's get started!" Connor announced, pulling your attention away from Bradley and toward him. "Let's have the ladies each take a seat at one of the tables, and the guys will rotate around the room. You'll have five minutes to get to know each person, and then I'll tell you to switch. You can grab a notepad and a pencil if you want to keep track of names. Let's go!"

Bradley watched you take a seat and cross your legs, subtly glancing at him again. He was pulled toward your table like a magnet, barely able to control himself. But it looked like he wasn't the only one. 

"Fucking suits," he groaned when another guy sat down across from you. Bradley doubled back and chose a table with someone else, practically tripping since he could barely look away. 

"Hi! I'm Bridget!" said the bubbly woman now seated across from him. 

"I'm Bradley," he replied with a smile, trying to discreetly count how many tables away you were sitting. 

"Oh my God! We both have B names! That's insane!" Bridget gushed.

Bradley laughed nervously. "Both are BR names, actually," he muttered. Then he watched her scribble down his name with KEEPER next to it. 

Oh shit. He had to endure five minutes of Bridget listing off potential names for their theoretical future children. Bruce, Brandy, Bryce, Brinley, Brooke and Brynn were apparently all viable options, and when Connor announced that five minutes was up, Bradley launched out of his seat. 

He tried to hustle over to your table, but Connor was on him right away. "We're rotating in order. Remember?" 

Bradley looked over to where you were sitting, shaking hands with your second "date". But you were looking at Bradley and smiling. It looked like you were trying not to laugh. 

Bradley glared down at Connor, towering over him. "Come on, man. See that one over there? I wanna talk to her." 

But Connor was not deterred, and rather showed Bradley to his next table with Angie. "What do you do for a living?" she asked, smiling at him across the table.

"I'm a Naval aviator," he replied, trying to get a peek of you talking with Mr. Suit. 

"Oh," Angie replied, and her smile turned into a frown. "I'm in the Army." Bradley watched her jot down his name and write NO next to it. Then she took out her phone and started to play Candy Crush. 

Once again, when it was time to switch tables, Bradley jumped up and rushed toward yours. 

"Sir, we've been over this before," Connor called after him, but Bradley made his way to where you were sitting with a different guy who was wearing a full-blown tuxedo. 

"Hi," Bradley said, reaching out to shake your hand. He checked your name tag this time; he just fucking knew you'd have a pretty name. And your hand was so small and soft, he held onto it for a moment. 

You looked up at him, and an adorable giggle escaped your lips before you also said, "Hi."

"I just wanted to make sure you know I'm coming up in two more tables," he told you very seriously. 

You nodded your head and pressed your lips together to try to stifle your smile. "Yeah, I noticed that when you tried to knock several people over a few minutes ago."

Bradley smiled at you, already loving your sense of humor.

"Don't write down anything flattering about him, okay?" Bradley nodded toward the guy in the tux who just scowled in response. 

Your shoulders shook with silent laughter. "I'll see what I can do."

"Sir!" Connor scolded. "This is not your table!"

"Yes, Connor, I know," Bradley grumbled, heading over to sit with Michelle.

Michelle eyed him cautiously. "I take it you're only interested in her?" she asked, gesturing toward your table.

Bradley shrugged. "Sorry, Michelle."

She shrugged too. "That's okay. I really liked Simon. Want to hear about the novel I'm writing?"

Bradley was enthralled after five minutes of Michelle explaining the intricate plot of the detective thriller she was working on. "Damn it, Michelle. I need to know how it ends."

She smiled and jotted down his email address. "I'll put you on my mailing list."

Finally Bradley was seated at the table next to yours, just a few feet away from you. "Hi," he said again, and he could tell he must have the dumbest look on his face. 

He watched your lips curl into the most radiant smile. "Hi, Bradley." God, he felt light headed as soon as you said his name. 

"I'll be there soon," he promised, and you blushed a little bit as you turned toward another guy in a fucking suit.

Bradley turned toward Cara and asked, "Has every other guy been in a suit?"

She nodded. "One was in a tuxedo."

"Huh," he grunted, trying so hard not to focus on you while Cara asked him questions about himself. 

"Bradley, where do you work?"

He shook his head, "No... I'm originally from Virginia."

"That's not what I asked."

But Bradley couldn't help it. You were sipping your martini and re-crossing your legs. And the guy you were with sounded boring as hell.

"Are you even listening to me?" Cara asked, breaking his concentration 

"Oh, uh... sorry, no," he replied, smiling at you as you glanced at him.

"Rotate!" Connor called, and Bradley was practically shoving the suit guy out of his seat at your table. 

"Finally," he muttered, smirking as he sat down. Your cheeks were a little flushed as you spun your martini glass on the table by the stem. When your gaze slid up his chest and neck and landed on his face, he asked you, "You've gotta tell me, what are you doing here? You could get a date just walking around Target in your pajamas."

You laughed and bit your lip, tipping your head back to look at the ceiling before meeting his eyes again. "I don't wear pajamas," you told him with a smirk of your own.

Bradley sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. "I rest my case."

"What about you, Bradley? You're cute. I like your mustache. And thank God you're not wearing a suit. You could probably get a date just by shoving the previous guy out of his seat and asking me."

He nodded his head and tried not to smile. You were so fun. And you were quick on the draw. "We'll get there, babe. But actually... my best friend made me come tonight. She thinks I'm too picky when it comes to women."

"Oh yeah? Well, what do you like?" you asked, raising the glass to your lips again and taking another sip.

"So far, I like you. A lot."

Your cheeks were even more flushed now, and Bradley wanted to talk to you all night long.

"What do you look for in a guy?" he asked, leaning his forearms on the table to get a little closer to you.

You leaned a bit closer as well as you told him, "I need someone who can make me laugh. It doesn't hurt if he's handsome. And I think mustaches just moved to the top of my nonnegotiable list."

Bradley licked his lips. "And what's your ideal first date, babe? I'm planning on making it very memorable for you; already hoping for a second."

You laughed again. "Padres game. Complete with beer and ballpark nachos."

"Seriously, why are you here?"

You nibbled on your lip for a beat before you said, "My sister made me come. She said she's so tired of listening to me complain that there are no cute, funny, single guys with mustaches who aren't afraid to wear a green and yellow Hawaiian print shirt in public."

Bradley's entire body was humming. "There's nothing about you that would turn me off, is there?" he asked, and his voice was raspier now. 

He watched you lick your lips and shake your head. "No. Unless you can't stand smart girls who like to be a little sassy when they aren't wearing any pajamas."

Bradley audibly groaned and you giggled. 

"Rotate!" Connor called, and everyone was up and moving around.

"Fuck, no. I'm not moving, Connor!" Bradley called over his shoulder. Your eyes were glittering with amusement, and Bradley was going to leave this bar with you if it killed him.

Connor walked over and sighed. "You've already had five minutes together."

"That's not long enough. Have you seen her, Connor?" Bradley asked, nodding at you. "Fifty bucks if you tack on another five minutes, my man," Bradley promised him, making you crack up across the table. 

Connor just muttered, "Before he wouldn't sit down, now he won't get up." 

Bradley felt you take his hand in yours, and his eyes were immediately on your face. "Let's get out of here, Bradley," you suggested. "Go to another bar? Or go for a walk?"

"Absolutely," he replied, hopping up and pulling you to your feet.

You led him through the bar, smiling at him over your shoulder as you laced your fingers through his, and Bradley could already tell you were his perfect match.

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

Natasha was still shooting some pool with the guys when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She pulled it out to read a text from Bradley.

Rooster Bradshaw: YOU WERE RIGHT.

"I knew it!" she shouted, jumping up and down again.

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

Thanks for reading! There are plenty of other love song themed Top Gun: Maverick stories available here!

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[theharddeck]

yours (jake seresin x f!reader)

pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x fem!reader (no y/n)

summary: after returning stateside just in time for Javy's wedding after a long deployment, Jake and his girlfriend make up for lost time.

warnings: 18+ minors DNI -- explicit sex, folks. we've got cockwarming, dirty talk, unprotected PiV sex, f!receiving oral sex, condescension, dumbification if you squint, creampies (yes, plural) (it's been a long time for jake okay, no judgment) and the normal disclaimer--be safe and hygienic when having not-fictional sex pls (i.e. writing this made me want to chug a pint of cranberry juice)

note: this fic is the smutty followup to this fluffy fic I wrote for @roosterforme 's #love is in the air tgm challenge, based off the song yours, by russell dickerson. you don't have to read it, but it's sweet.

wc: 6.2k

previous fic

//

“Sweetheart…honey, wake up.”

You blinked, your eyes adjusting to the darkness of the truck, Jake standing in the open door, looking like he was trying to hide a smile. 

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. 

But the emotions of the day– the joy of the wedding, the sweet relief of having Jake home, the exhaustion of being emotionally “on” as you helped coordinate things throughout the day– had taken a toll on you, and as soon as the truck had pulled past the cobblestones and onto normally paved road, you'd fallen asleep. 

You rubbed at your eyes, grimacing when you realized you were probably smudging whatever was left of your mascara all over your face. You felt groggy, you felt grumpy, and you felt guilty that you’d fallen asleep while Jake drove both of you home. 

“You should’ve left me in the car,” you grumbled. “I could’ve slept the whole night.”

Jake laughed, adjusting the truck door slightly so he could reach past you to undo your seatbelt. “Sweetheart, in what reality was I gonna leave you in the car in our driveway?”

“One where I’d be asleep right now,” you mumbled, knowing you were cross, but unable to stop the grumpiness. You hated naps, you hated unintentional naps, and you especially hated that you’d made Jake drive home essentially alone. Especially when he was probably twice as tired as you. 

“Alright,” Jake said soothingly, like he was trying not to laugh, and you let him turn you so your legs were out the door. You knew you should grab your heels but just the thought of putting them on was too much, and Jake seemed to know it. He turned around so his back was to you, nudging between your knees against the side of the bench seat. 

“Hop on,” he instructed.

“Jake, I can walk–”

“‘Cause you can doesn’t mean you have to,” he said. “Now come on, I want to carry my girl home.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest and you scooted to the edge of the seat, climbing onto Jake’s back like a koala. This position was one that you’d determined months (and a handful of insecurities) ago was no problem for him to carry you in, and you snuggled into his back as he walked up the driveway to the house.

“You smell nice,” you mumbled sleepily into his neck, and you heard Jake’s breath catch as your breath puffed over his skin. 

“Thanks,” Jake said, an amused lilt back in his voice. “You feel nice.”

“Weighted blanket,” you agreed, undoing your arms from around his neck to fit the key into the lock as he leaned forward slightly, “all the physicians agree.”

Jake pushed open the door to the house after you'd unlocked it, ferrying you over to the side table for you to drop the keys with a clatter. You settled your head back against his neck, letting him carry you where he willed. 

God, you’d missed this. 

Just being with him, this close. Your arms around him, held up by his strong hands under your knees, your skin pressed against him. It always felt overwhelming when you had him back, in the most bittersweet way. So profoundly grateful that he’d come back, so achingly aware of how long he’d been away. 

“Missed you,” you whispered into Jake’s hair, followed by a soft kiss against the nape of his neck. 

Jake’s steps faltered and a moment later his hands lowered your thighs as he bent his knees, returning you to the ground. The moment your feet touched the hardwood, Jake turned, his hands still holding yours in place around his chest and he kissed you. It wasn’t to be sexy, it wasn’t riotous, it was assurance—he knew what you meant. He felt it too. 

Your arms tightened around him, pulling him closer to you, and Jake’s hands framed your face, cradling you, like you were precious to him. He pressed deep kisses to your lips, then moved your face so he could kiss up your cheek, your forehead, and then gentle kisses over your closed eyelids. Then he pulled you into his chest again, his head settling on top of yours as he squeezed you tightly, grateful for the lack of distance. 

“Missed you too, honey,” he said softly, his voice thick.

You held him tightly, your arms stroking up his strong back, happy to be wrapped up in him. A part of you wanted more– it’d been so long–but you’d also fallen asleep on a twenty minute drive. And Jake had to be even more tired than you…no, there’d be time enough for that in the morning. 

You pulled back slightly, looking up at Jake. 

Neither of you had turned on the lights when you came in; his face was illuminated only by the moonlight filtering in through the windows down the hall. And yet he was so familiar to you, the shadows in front of you falling into recognizable patterns. Even in the darkness, this was your Jake, home to you, and you could both rest.   

He smiled at you and you smiled back, before poking at his boots with your toe. 

“I could go straight to bed but we’re pretty gross, aren’t we?” you asked, as Jake leaned down to take them off. He wavered a little as he balanced between legs, and you reached a hand out to steady him. Jake shot you a grateful look as he dropped the boots unceremoniously, then he nodded. 

“I trust the hotel, but you were barefoot a lot, there.”

You wrinkled your nose, looking at the dark soles of your feet. “Shower?”

“Sounds great,” Jake said, and the two of you you walked towards the bathroom. 

You started the shower and Jake pulled out a couple of towels from the hallway closet, before joining you. You turned your back to him as he stepped into the room, and he came up behind you, kissing your shoulder lightly as he undid the zipper of your dress. Slate blue chiffon tumbled to the floor and you stepped out of the cloud of it, careful to not get dirty footprints on it. You clipped your hair up—no way you had the energy to wash it tonight, and you didn’t want to sleep on wet hair—and stepped into the shower, waiting for Jake. It wasn’t a large shower, but it didn’t need to be, not with how close the two of you wanted to be. The steam added to the surrealness of this evening. The romance of the wedding, the softness of the empty dancefloor, the familiarity of the two of you in this home that was both of yours. 

You washed each other gently, sudsy bubbles and soft hands, motions slow as exhaustion crept up on the both of you. It took longer than it should’ve, pausing for wondering kisses, wandering touches, just reassuring each other that you were here, you’d made it. Jake shook his head like a Labrador, sending water droplets flying and you helped him wash the sweat out of his hair, giving him a fake mohawk and goatee of soap bubbles before he rinsed them off. When it was finally time for Jake to turn off the spray, you weren’t sure if the warmth over your skin was from the hot water, his touch, or the deep contentment coming from your heart. 

God, you were a sap. 

You pulled on one of Jake’s sweatshirts and he tugged a tshirt over his still damp torso, towel-drying his hair in a motion so aggressive you were amazed he had any hair still on his scalp. You brushed your teeth with your free hands tangled together, unglamorous but needing the contact with each other. Together, you pulled the throw pillows off the bed, and when you settled into the bed, your body going spineless at finally being able to rest, Jake reached over to pull you closer to him. 

You went easily, sliding an arm between the cool mattress and him, and tucking your knees between his. Jake sighed, something deep like contentment as he pulled you into his chest. You felt one of his hands smoothing over your outer thigh, petting you, and you wriggled closer. 

You needed to be closer. 

Every inch of you was pressed against, wedged beneath, slotted between, your boyfriend, but it still felt like you couldn’t reassure yourself he was there. 

“What do you need, honey?” Jake asked softly, his voice a rumble against your skin and you shivered. 

“Closer,” you whispered, hoping it made sense. You didn’t know what you needed, but it was clawing at you, like panic, that he was finally back with you, finally here, and you couldn’t settle into it. How many nights had you cried yourself to sleep in this empty bed? And now he was back with you, but you felt restless, unmoored. 

“Shhh, you’re okay,” Jake soothed, and you pulled in a deep breath, willing yourself to listen. You felt him shifting beside you, but you stayed clinging him, trusting him. He untangled himself from you slightly, pulling back to tug his tshirt over his head and you nuzzled your cheek against the hair of his chest. Jake’s hands were gentle against your stomach as he prompted you to slide the sweatshirt over your head, and then you could feel him sliding your panties down your legs. Once you were both naked, your heart felt like it was slamming against your ribcage, relieved, still needing more.

“Please, baby,” you whimpered, and you felt Jake nodding. 

“I know, darlin’,” he said gently, and he leaned away from you to reach into the bedside table. A moment later, you heard the cap of the tube of lube, and then Jake’s breath caught as he pumped his hand over himself. 

“You’re okay, honey,” he reassured you, and your hips canted towards him, “just a little longer, okay?” 

You knew you weren’t ready, that this was still gonna be a hell of stretch after so long, but you needed him. Blessedly, Jake’s hands pulled you on top of him, hips straddling his as your torso pressed up against him. 

“Gonna be so close to you, darlin’,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your cheek quickly, before reaching between the two of you to guide his cock towards your entrance. He slid between your folds and your breath lodged in your throat in relief, and then he was pushing into you. 

Fuck. 

Even with the added lubricant, the pressure of him was sharp and strong, and your hands fell to the mattress around him, pushing back against the soft covers. 

“Jake,” you moaned, breathless, overcome. He wasn’t fully hard, having just worked himself up quickly, but the stretch was still more than you were used to. You were panting as you both worked your hips down to meet his, your walls slowly letting him in. Jake’s breath was coming in controlled bursts as he tried to keep himself in check, and you felt like you could feel your heartbeat in your fingertips, you were so aware of your body. 

“I know, angel,” Jake gritted, his voice tight, and you felt your core tighten in response. This wasn’t about anything other than closeness, but you always had a bit of a pavlovian response to that tone from him. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart, just a little more.”

You pressed your lips together to trap your whimpers inside, and pressed yourself down farther. When your thighs brushed his, you wanted to sob in relief. You felt stretched, full, aching and absolutely held. This was what you needed: Jake overwhelming you, grounding you, reminding you that you were here with him. 

“Thank you,”  you whispered, your voice hoarse, and you lifted slightly to press kisses to whatever skin was closest to you. Jake’s hands tightened on your thighs, and you bit back a moan as you felt him jerk inside of you, as you shifted. 

“‘Course, honey,” Jake said back, and he pulled your arms back between you. He folded his arms around you, wrapping you up, warming you as you warmed him. You felt your panic fade, shrinking away in the overwhelming presence of Jake, good and strong and all around you. Your head was draped against his chest, and when you breathed in, all you could smell was him. When you shifted your hips slightly, you ached with the fullness of him. He was everything and it was perfect, and your eyes felt heavier as you finally were able to relax. 

“Love you,” you mumbled into his chest, and you felt, rather than heard, Jake’s deep sigh of contentment. 

“Love you too, baby,” he rumbled.

You felt amazing. 

You felt full and sleepy, like you were finally out of your body, and yet the feeling of Jake around and in you was the realest thing you’d known. The steady thumping of Jake’s heart under your was soothing, and you felt yourself slowly drifting off to sleep. 

You shifted your hips to settle down further, but Jake’s reaction had your eyes flying open, as his breath punched out of him, as his hands shot from your back to gripping your hips, holding them still. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, before you could process his reaction. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just—it’s been a while and you feel good…I’m good, sorry, go to sleep.”

Well, now you weren’t going to do that.

Because now you were aware that it wasn’t just exhaustion that was overwhelming you...it was that Jake was fully hard inside of you, stretching you completely. It was that his breath was controlled, measured, like he’d tried to stop himself from panting and this was the only way. His hands were tight on your hips, his legs tensed underneath you, as your sweet boyfriend was determined to lay still so you could sleep, while his entire body was radiating tension. 

“Okay,” you mumbled, appeasingly, biding your time. You waited for Jake’s grip on you to loosen before you rolled your hips again, and this time, Jake’s thighs bucked up into you before he could stop himself. 

“Jesus, fuck, woman,” he swore, and you giggled, unable to hide your amusement. 

It was sweet, what he was trying to do, borderline heroic, but you were a simple woman. You’d missed him, you had him, and it was incredibly flattering that this closeness affected him in a different way than it did you. 

You moved your hips again, fucking down on Jake slowly, and the man below you groaned, a broken sound that might’ve been the prettiest thing you’d ever heard. 

“Baby,” he started, his voice hoarse, “that’s not what this is for, I just want you to be able to sleep, knowing I’m here. I’m fine, it’ll—”

He broke off when you clenched down on him, not moving your hips but tightening around him. 

“You feel fine,” you told him, your own voice breathier than you’d anticipated. He felt better than fine, he felt borderline euphoric, but he was trying awfully hard to be noble, and you didn’t want to push it. 

“Sweetheart,” he warned, his hands tightening on your hips again. You could feel your body reacting to him, warming in a new way. You wouldn’t get off with him, not with how primed he was, but you wanted to feel him. Wanted to be the one to make him feel good. 

“Sweetheart,” you parroted back to him. “You can fuck me, Jake, if you want.”

He fully moaned, one of his hands dropping from your hip to press over his eyes. “I’m sorry, it’s not what I wanted, wanted our first time back to be so good for us—”

He was babbling, already halfway gone, and your heart swelled at his sweet confession. 

“This doesn’t count, baby,” you reassured him. “Come on, want to feel you.”

You could tell he wanted to protest, wanted to be stoic about this, but you rolled your hips again, and his words faded into his pleasure. 

“How do I feel, Jake?” you murmured, pressing your hips tightly to his, and kissing your way up his chest. 

“So fucking good,” Jake gasped, his hips starting to buck up into yours. He found a rhythm quickly, desperately, like he was sprinting towards something he’d been following for months. 

You hummed as he worked deeper into you, relishing the stretch, the feeling of him moving under you. 

“Baby, you feel so good,” Jake told you, his hands coming up to cup your tits, squeezing them as he rutted into you. “God, I missed you so much—fuck, honey, just like that—you feel so good, darlin’, missed you so fucking bad—”

He was practically whining, and you licked at his collarbone lazily. He was so good to you, gentle and patient, and it felt so deeply gratifying to be the one to bring him pleasure. 

“Fuck, honey, I’m sorry, it’s so good—” he moaned, his chest heaving as his thrusts grew sloppy. You felt pride coursing through you-- you’d made him like this, your body, so quick to push him over the edge. His hips shoved into you, pushing his cock impossibly deeper into you, and your hips widened to welcome him. 

“That’s it, honey,” you encouraged him, your own breath going shaky as he drove into you. He was so thick, pressing so deep, and you felt so good having him in you; you needed to feel him find his release. 

You knew Jake was close because his grunts morphed into soft cries, little whimpers he only let escape when he was too overstimulated to notice. Those delicate noises were like music to your ears, and you kissed your way up his neck; when you brushed your teeth against the shell of his ear, Jake stiffened. His entire body went tense and his breath cut off harshly as his hips shoved deeper into you as he came with a silent groan, and then it was you moaning, drunk on the feeling of his warm cum spreading inside of you. His hips thrust weakly into you as he rode it out, and you looked up to catch a glimpse of him like this. Sweat had plastered his hair to his forehead, and his chest was heaving, absolutely spent, his face frozen in pleasure, gorgeous. 

“You did so good, baby,” you whispered, pushing yourself off him lightly to brush at his hair. He made a noise that might’ve been your name, might’ve been another subconscious moan, but you adored the sound of it. 

He cleared his throat, and tried to say something but you shook your head, not understanding as you tried to make out what he was saying. 

“I asked,” he mumbled, after another minute, one of his hands reaching around to the back of your neck, squeezing lightly, “if you’re trying to kill me?”

You snickered at his dramatics, scooting up to press a kiss against his jaw. Jake turned his head, catching your lips with his own, and you felt his smile against your mouth. 

“Poor man,” you teased, settling back into his chest. The hand on your neck tugged jokingly on a bit of the hair at the base of your neck, and you grinned, appreciating the comfort between the two of you. 

You could feel his cum seeping down your thighs, and it felt amazing to be so full of him. You knew you should get up, clean yourself up, but he felt so comfortable that you didn’t think you could handle that right then. 

“G’night,” you murmured into his chest, patting the pectoral closest to you in what you hoped was a soothing manner, but was honestly entirely for you. 

At first, you thought Jake was clearing his throat again, but then you realized he was chuckling, a soft sound that shook you lightly, as you lay on top of him. 

“Now sweetheart,” Jake said, the hand around your neck coming up to tilt your chin towards him. You looked up at him, curious, and the look in his eyes sent a bolt of dark heat through you, even through your exhaustion. “I know I’ve been gone a minute…but surely you don’t think that much has changed.”

And you knew he meant that you hadn’t gotten off, but truly you didn’t need it. You were dripping with the reminder of his orgasm, that was plenty for you, tonight. You guys weren’t quid pro quo about it, and you knew your orgasm ratio was normally higher than his, and that he took that as a point of pride– but it didn’t mean you had to cum tonight. 

“Jake,” you shook your head, licking your lips. “That’s very gallant of you, but we can…tomorrow. We can—”

You cut off with a squeak as Jake flipped you over, his hands capturing yours and bracing them on either side of your head. He fixed you with a long look, daring you to challenge him again, and he lifted himself off of you slowly. 

“Need you to hold my seed in you, honey,” he said, thoughtfully, looking down at your naked body, spread under him, still joined. “Can you do that for me?”

He didn’t wait for you to answer, his softened cock sliding out of you before you could process his requested. You whimpered at the loss of his warmth, but tightening your core to hold his cum inside of you, thinking absently of the sheets you didn’t want to change. 

“Good girl,” Jake praised softly, looking down at you. His hands let go of yours, trailing down your body and ghosting over your breasts. Between the cold night air of the room around you and the soft touch of his fingers, you felt your nipples tighten, pulled to alertness before he even touched you. 

“So pretty, aren’t you?” Jake murmured, his hands spreading over you. Your back arched, instinctively, pressing your breasts into his hands, craving the calloused heat of them. Jake chuckled, but he acquiesced to your request, his broad fingers spreading over your breasts and his thumbs brushing your nipples. His touch was light, teasing, and it felt like a dream after so long without it. 

“Jake,” you breathed, as his hands worked over you. You felt your core relax and regretted it a moment later when you felt some of his cum drip out of you. You whimpered, tightening again, determined to do as he’d asked, but his hands on your chest were pulling your attention. 

When he lowered his head to lick at you, you broke again. Your hips fell farther open and you whined at the sensation of his cum leaking out of you. But Jake’s mouth was warm, his tongue broad and firm, the perfect pressure against your nipples. You felt his teeth graze against you, felt it like a live wire to your core, and you forgot what he’d asked, forgot anything but the feeling of his mouth against you. His soft lips, teasing teeth, soothing tongue worked over you, stroking your pleasure higher, and you ground up into him. 

You didn’t realize one of his hands had left your breasts until you felt him at your entrance, and then he broke away from you suddenly. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, an air of disappointment in his voice that made you want to beg, do better, be good. “What happened?”

As he asked, he pulled his finger through your folds, gathering up his cum, mixing with your new arousal between your thighs. The sound of it was deafening, pornographic, overwhelming and you realized you were panting. 

“Feels too good,” you managed, gasping as his fingers slid through you again. “Jake—”

“That won’t do, darlin’,” he chastised gently. “Come on, baby, you know better. You can’t be this gone already, I’ve barely touched you.”

Had he only just? 

It felt like he’d been touching you for years, forever, but the way your body was reacting, you knew it was longer. You moaned as his fingers worked over you again, and you realized he was pushing his cum back into you. Fucking his release back into your cunt with his wide fingers, and you clenched down on him as his digits worked your entrance. 

“Have to do everything for you, don’t I, angel?” he asked, but you heard the pride in his voice as he took in the sight of you below him, taking him. 

“P-please,” you whispered, not sure what you were asking for, and Jake made a soothing sound in his voice. 

“Easy, sugar,” he soothed, pulling his hand out of you.

You clamped down again, achingly empty, but pried your eyes open to watch him. Jake lifted his hand to your mouth, his fingers tracing over your lips until you opened for him. Your tongue darted around his fingers, tasting his release and your arousal and you moaned at the taste of the two of you together. Fuck, it’d been so long, and Jake’s eyes darkened as he watched you.

“That good, huh, baby?” he asked.

You nodded, your tongue cleaning his fingers, and Jake pressed them back into your cunt again. You expected him to spread you on his fingers, but instead he pulled them out, lifting them to his own mouth. He was on his knees between your legs, and when he tasted you, his eyes fell shut. 

“Fuck, honey,” Jake groaned, his voice like gravel. He swayed slightly, like it shocked him, like it was overwhelming, like his need was a palpable thing, and you felt your body pulsing with desire. 

“Jake, please,” you whined, your hips canting towards him. “I need to feel you, need something.”

His eyes opened, and your breath caught at how wide his pupils had blown. His hand fell to between your legs, and your head dropped back when he palmed your cunt, possessive. His thumb tripped over your clit and your legs jolted, but he didn’t press his fingers back into you. 

“God, this pretty pussy,” he mumbled, to himself more than you. His thumb brushed over your clit again and your eyes screwed shut, overwhelmed. “This pretty, perfect, pussy.”

And his voice was different this time, and you felt the bed shift, but you didn’t realize what was happening until you felt his tongue where his fingers had been. 

You sobbed out his name, your hand tangling in his hair to pull him deeper into you, but Jake moaned, fucking moaned, like this was for him. His tongue spread you, and you realized he was lapping at you, licking his cum out of you, chasing the taste of you together. Your hips bucked up, but Jake banded a forearm across your waist, holding you down while his tongue fucked into you, devouring you. 

You felt devoured. 

Your entire body was aflame, ignited by the pull of his tongue, the pressure of his mouth. His lips were spread wide over you, his tongue pulling at you, pulling from you, and his nose brushed against your clit as he adjusted to get deeper into you. This was different than the stretch of his cock, this was his adoration painted against your inner walls, a declaration of hunger and desire that had your thighs shaking as you fought against the tight hold he had on you. 

“Darlin’ you’re sweeter than anything,” Jake said against your pussy, his throat thick, voice heavy. You moaned at the sound of it, moaned at the feel of it, of him between your legs. “Fuck, honey, I missed this. I can feel you shaking, are you close, baby? Please say you’re close, I need to taste more of you.”

He lifted a hand to between your legs, spreading your open with his fingers as he fucked you with his tongue. He felt amazing, he felt like everything, and his words drove you closer to release. 

“I’m close, Jake,” you gasped, your voice reedy. “Baby, you feel so good…”

“That’s it angel,” Jake muttered into you. “Let me make you feel good, baby, want to taste it, need to, fuck, honey–”

You felt his shoulder against your thigh and you lifted your head to look down at him, moaning wantonly as you realized he was pressing himself against the bed. His face buried in your cunt, your boyfriend was fucking himself raw against the mattress, drawing his own pleasure from yours, and the thought of it made the pressure coiling in your stomach snap. 

You collapsed back into the bed as you came, your hips writhing against Jake’s firm grip, and you heard him moan as he tasted your release. 

“Oh, fuck, baby,” he moaned into your cunt, “God, you taste so good. Look at you, sugar, doing so well—holy shit, baby, you’re so good for me…”

You felt your body shaking, you felt his tongue pulling your release out of you, and you felt warm, like the air around you was humming. You whispered his name, trying to pull him off of you, but Jake pushed you away easily, continuing to lap at you until he was satisfied. 

He finally pulled back, pressing wet kisses against your thighs, and you felt the world reorienting. How had you made it this long without him? Without his sweet kisses, his soft touch, the sweet heart behind all of it, that beat for you, and made you feel so cherished? Your body was buzzing, light and satisfied, but it wasn’t enough, you needed him again.

You reached down for him with boneless arms, grabbing weakly to pull him up to you. 

“C’mere,” you begged, not caring how desperate you sounded, nor minding the fond chuckle when Jake crawled up to you. 

“See,” he drawled, sounding pleased with himself, “wasn’t that better than just drifting off to sleep and–”

You cut off his question when you pulled him down to you, tasting your joint release on his lips. He tasted good but he felt even better, his strong arms caging you in, his hard body hovering over you, like he was careful. 

“Need you again, baby,” you whispered against his lips, drawing back to kiss up and down his jaw, feeling almost frantic with it. “Need you like the first time, Jake, please.”

Jake groaned, his body pushing against you as he processed your words. 

“You sure, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice dropping deeper, even as one of his hands came up to frame your face, checking that you were okay. His eyes were soft as he hovered above you and you nodded sharply, reaching down between your bodies. You both gasped when you hand closed around him, thick and hard again, between you. 

“So sure,” you whispered, kissing him again, “I need to feel you in me, please, Jake, please—”

“Okay, honey, okay,” Jake hushed you, reaching down to pull your hand away. You wound your arms around his neck—had it only been earlier tonight when he’d held you like this on the dancefloor?—holding your breath as you waited for him. 

And then he was there. 

His thick cock was right at your entrance, heavy and full and pushing, and when you bowed away from the bed, your breasts pushed against Jake’s crisp chest hair. You moaned, and he sunk deeper into you. Just a few inches, a few heavenly inches, but your head tipped back, reveling in him. 

“Baby…” Jake groaned, his hips rocking slightly as he pushed into you, and you nodded, feverish. 

“It’s so good, baby,” you reassured him, clinging to him. He pulled out a little, gathering leverage, and when he pushed deeper into you, you started crying, you couldn’t help it. 

“Honey?” Jake stilled, concern coloring his voice. 

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” you said quickly, pressing your hips up to him. “It’s that good, Jake, shit, give me more, please…”

He groaned, his head dropping into your neck, and this time he didn’t stop until he was seated. You lay there for a moment, chests heaving together, soaking in the closeness and the fullness and the perfection. You were trembling, every part of you shaking, rejoicing, but you needed him to move. 

You meant to ask him to move, beg him to move, but when you opened your mouth, you couldn’t make it form words. Jake’s hips jerked forward, and your breath caught in your throat at the fierceness of it. You whimpered softly and Jake’s hands spanned your hips, pressing you into the mattress and holding you steady as he pulled out of you. 

The ache was just as good this way, just as noticeable and heady, and you whined at the drag of him. Jake’s laugh was low this time, breathy, and when he pushed back into you, just as slow and steady, he shook his head. 

“Thought you were all tough earlier, didn’t you, baby?” he asked, his voice gruff. “Getting me off easy earlier? And now look at you…too needy to even ask for what you need.”

Your nails clawed into his back, pulling him into you, an unspoken request, but Jake knew, he always did. 

“Come on, baby,” he said, pushing deeply into you. His hips ground against yours, his pelvis rocking against your clit, and he laughed again when your eyes rolled back. “You should’ve thought of this earlier. Because I already got mine; I could fuck you all night like this.”

Heat rushed over your skin; you knew he was right. Shit, he was right, he’d done it before. He could hold you on the edge for hours, blubbering and begging, and he’d be just as in control as he was now. You felt your mind going blurry at the prospect of that, of being at his mercy, being his toy for the night. 

“Oh, sweet girl,” Jake crooned, pulling back. “You’d like that, too, wouldn’t you?”

You nodded, distant, your body bowing off the bed to follow his cock, grateful for anything he’d give you. Fuck, he was so good to you. Always taking care of you, looking after you, giving you everything you needed, even after months of being away from you. 

“That’s what I thought,” Jake said, and he slammed his hips back into you. 

You keened, your back arching at the push of him, perfect. Jake groaned when he felt you clenching around him, and he settled into a rhythm over you, pumping his thick cock into you, reveling in the needy sounds he was pushing out of you. 

“You sound so fucking good, angel,” Jake panted, his hips driving into you. “God, you feel amazing, milking this cock. Honey, you’re gonna make me cum again, fill this pussy up again, aren’t you?”

You felt tears leaking out of your clenched shut eyes, and you were no longer conscious of the sounds you were making. All you could focus on, all you knew, was the divine push and pull of Jake’s cock, ramming in and out of you. He was rutting against you, hard and deep and the most delicious rhythm and you felt white light creeping up around you. 

You moaned, begged your tongue to form his name as his body worked yours higher. He felt so good, strong and hot and right, and you were too scattered to manage it, your moans echoing brokenly around the room. 

“You’re perfect, baby,” Jake groaned, his voice getting tighter as his hips worked faster. “How did I get so lucky, huh, how is this perfect baby mine? Fuck, honey, I missed you so much, can you cum for me again, angel? Let me feel you—oh, shit, honey—please, let me feel it.”

His hips were pistoning into you, hitting a spot that had you seeing stars, and you were pretty sure your nails were drawing blood, but you couldn’t stop. Your body was tightening, almost there, almost fucking there, and then you felt Jake’s hips stutter as he got closer to his release, and it pushed you over the edge. 

You came hard, with a wail that might’ve been soundless, clinging to him like he was the only thing that could keep you sane, which maybe he was. You felt his body tighten over you, his arms cage around you protectively, and knew he was proud of you even though you couldn’t think, couldn’t hear him. He was whispering something in your ear, his own voice hoarse, but you couldn’t hear it over the pounding of your heart.

You felt him go still over you, felt his cum spurt inside of you in hot ropes, felt full and sated and perfect, and like you never wanted to be anything other than this. Under him, full of him, your heat beating with his. 

Jake groaned, catching himself on his forearms before he collapsed over you, but you pulled him weakly until he draped his large body over yours. Your blood was rushing in your ears, your whole body was shivering, but you needed this, needed him. 

Jake was breathing heavily, his sweet breath puffing next to your ear, and you nuzzled into him. You’d have to get up, eventually, get cleaned up and take care of the sheets. You had to sleep, too, finally catch up on the thing your body had wanted since before you left the reception. But you lifted a hand to the back of Jake’s head, running your fingers through his hair, relishing the way his chest vibrated as he practically purred into your touch. 

“Welcome home, lieutenant,” you whispered, softly, wildly thankful to have him home, and knowing that him being here was what made it home for you too.

//

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