Hangman *notices Bradley Continually Glancing Over At Y/N*: What Are You Looking At?

Hangman *notices Bradley continually glancing over at Y/N*: What are you looking at?

Bradley: Nothing.

Hangman: You ever going to tell her how you feel?

Bradley *looking at Y/N from across the bar* I’m this close to falling in love with her.

Hangman: Your fingertips are touching. 

Bradley: Exactly.

congrats on 500! very much deserved ☺️ i want to get my ask in early for…..fake dating with bradley. i feel like he’d oddly get really into it, man is a showman thru and thru

♡ pairing ; rooster x female!reader

♡ wc ; 1.2k

♡ warnings ; a creepy dude tries to hit on you?, mentions of alcohol consumption

♡ note ; thank you so so so much for requesting jordan :(( you're so right!!! if this was longer, i definitely would have gotten into rooster pulling out all the stops. that man would buy couple looks for him and his fake girlfriend, change my mind.

The guy is there again.

You spot him across the bar the moment he comes in, so attuned to it by now that it’s all you do. Like there’s some kind of radar newly installed inside of you. You look for him around corners and in supermarkets and especially at night when you do the five-minute trek from your job to your apartment in the dark of the night, only intercepted by flickering streetlights. 

It was fun in the beginning when you met him at the bar: A bit of harmless flirting, a few winks, a number scribbled on a napkin. But then you didn’t call him, too busy and too shy and honestly not interested enough, and suddenly it wasn’t all that fun anymore.

Suddenly, it got scary. Every time you arrive for drinks with your friends, he lingers somewhere at your periphery. By the toilets, by the jukebox, by the pinball machine. Always keeping an eye on you. Always glowering, always nursing a drink, only disappearing outside for periodic breaks and then coming back reeking of cigarettes.

It’s not like he ever does anything, and so you’re too embarrassed to tell your friends about it, to ask them to change locations for your Friday post-work drinks, when the Hard Deck has been a firmly cemented part of the routine for years. What if they laugh at you? What if they think you’re overreacting? What if they tell you not to act like the whole world revolves around you, not to be so full of yourself that you think any guy that looks at you in crowded bars might be a stalker?

So nothing really bad has happened - but the fear is there. Lodged firmly in your chest, sinking its ugly, icy claws into you at every turn. The fear that something could happen, something really, awfully, truly bad. You don’t want to end up on Dateline.

And tonight, you’re alone. One of your friends just canceled, citing a cold, and the other two are stuck in San Diego’s rush-hour traffic. So you’re alone at your usual table in the corner, in a new dress that suddenly seems too short, fidgeting with the glass of gin and tonic in front of you, drawing shapes into the condensation that do nothing to calm the racing of your heart.

You glance at the guy again, just to gauge how far he is from you. But when you spot him leaning against the wall, he’s already looking at you. Your eyes meet, and ice-cold, instantaneous panic trickles into you.

Oh god, you think as he pushes off the wall, as he grins at you, oh god, no. That wasn’t intentional. Oh god.

He pushes his way through the crowd, and you look around, frantic, both hands gripping the table’s edge, heart in your throat, eyes burning, and then… You spot a flicker of something colorful.

“Rooster!”

You rise half out of your chair, waving frantically.

Rooster turns around, genuine confusion on his face. You remember him vaguely from a drunk night a month or two ago when your friend’s friend Phoenix introduced her fellow Naval aviators to you. He’d been nice enough, a little absent-minded, drinking beer and bobbing his head along to Springsteen tunes. Wearing the same fading Hawaiian shirt.

Mostly, you remember his face from a rather embarrassing, rather steamy dream you had about a day or two later. What can you say? The mustache might look like it’s jumped right out of a 70s porno, but it sorta works for you.

Which makes you seriously worry about your taste in men, but that’s beside the point.

He raises an eyebrow but comes over anyway. Smiles at you. Says, “Hi.”

“Hi,” you answer. “You remember me?”

Rooster nods. “Phoenix’s friend, right?”

And then he even repeats your name, and it shouldn’t matter, but it sort of makes your heart stutter. You wish you could indulge in the giddy feeling, in the oh my god, he remembers me of it all, but over his shoulder, the man is still approaching, something unreadable, something dark, something frightening on his face.

You don’t know what you look like, but Rooster’s brows furrow as he looks at you.

“You alright?”

“I…” You pause, wonder if maybe you’ve read too many romance books, wonder if you’ve watched too many Hallmark movies, but then you think fuck it, who cares, whatever. “The guy behind you… he’s been bothering me for some time now.”

Something like anger crosses Rooster’s face. His mustache trembles a little bit. 

“Did he hurt you? I can…”

“No, nothing like that, just….” You shrug, suddenly helpless. “Can you… I know this sounds insane, but will you just pretend to be my boyfriend? Please? Only for like five minutes….”

Your voice starts trailing off towards the end of the sentence. Nerves set in, tingle up your spine, turn your insides liquid. God, this must be the worst idea of all time. You don’t even know Rooster, can’t explain why you’re asking him this.

Just… There's something about him that makes you feel strangely, inexplicably safe. You want him to stay with you a little longer.

Rooster’s throat moves as he swallows, looking down at you with something searching in those brown eyes. That gaze almost makes you squirm on the spot.

And then suddenly, Rooster’s arm is sliding around your waist, his nose is buried in your hair, and he’s whispering, “Sorry for not asking first, I’ll stop touching you in a second.”

In your chest, your heart flutters like a robin. You don’t even want him to stop touching you.

He withdraws, turning both of you to face the guy. He’s stopped just a step or two from your table, brows furrowed over dark, glinting eyes, an expression on his face as if he’s just bitten into a lemon. Your first instinct is to shrink back, to hide behind Rooster, but he gives your waist a reassuring squeeze. 

Suddenly, it’s not so difficult. Suddenly, you don’t feel so afraid. Not with Rooster there.

“You got a problem, pal?” Rooster asks, and you can feel the echoes of his voice rumbling in his chest.

The man’s eyes flicker towards you just for a second, then he looks back at Rooster. Seems to gauge his chances. Deem them relatively low.

He shrugs, jerks his head, disappears into the crowd.

You let out a shuddering breath, letting go of all that fear that’s been building for weeks, that’s been weighing you down more than you’d like to admit.

“Thank you,” you whisper, stepping away from him, leaving the circle of his arms reluctantly. “That… I’m sorry. But thank you. You helped me so much.”

Rooster throws another glance in the direction the man disappeared in, something vigilant in his eyes. Then he looks down at you, and the steel in his gaze dissolves. Eyes, once again, like molten chocolate.

“No worries,” he says, smiling softly. “I’ll leave you to it.”

You nod dumbly, watch his retreating back as you slowly sink down into your chair again.

And then Rooster stops, halfway to the counter, turns around, says your name.

Once he’s sure he has your attention, he smiles, almost bashfully.

He delivers the killing blow, the thing you’re sure you’ll think about for years to come, that will crawl beneath your skin, into your bloodstream, and settle there, live there, grow there.

“I’ll be your boyfriend anytime. Real or fake.”

my dreams about Morpheus will be so explicit that he’ll be blushing

Running (Part 1)

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x fem!reader

Word count: 5.2k

TW: Anxiety, past abuse, stalking, mentions of sex but no actual smut.

Summary: You ran across the country to the place you knew you’d be the safest- with Maverick on a Navy base somewhere in California. Your plan was to lay low until the coast was clear - but then you met Bradley Bradshaw. 

Will you be able to escape the man who was determined to find you? Will you be able to keep Bradley safe? To fall in love again? 

PART TWO

Authors note: Holy shit, this has been a fun one to write. Please enjoy!

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Your honor, I need evidence and I volunteer as tribute.

"Dream has had a history of romantic involvements, all of which ended poorly for various reasons. Despite his cold exterior, Dream is often passionate and infatuated with his lovers."

SCREAMING

dream of the endless you’re such a mr darcy variant