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though luckily for you, you’ve never had dynamight on your client roster. (prayers for whoever his publicist is, if he’s even got one at this point.) but since it’s not your job to tell him what he should and shouldn't do, mostly shouldn't, he often becomes a buddy for you in boring events. easy, flirtatious conversation and he loves cussing out a hero who couldn’t do anything right which was rich coming from his wild public image.

events, galas, parties, product releases and conferences. he always found you throughout the years, against whatever wall you decided to blend into this time. you were technically still working as heroes drunk their pains away at the open bar, observing your clients while he would start at the front of the room, slouched in his seat, stage lights beaming on him and answering questions. he always looked uninterested at the table with the puffy black microphone dangling from his hands and his brows low, casting a shadow over his eyes. his tone would lack any bit of excitement though his words always carried wit and smarts. you weren’t really thinking of him romantically, you did have a boyfriend after all, but he did possess traits you loved. strong, brave, cocky and rude. and well, you couldn’t deny that he was easy on the eyes. very easy on the eyes. with wheat blonde hair that always looked styled but you’ve seen him rake his hands through it so you’ve concluded he just looks like that. the scar on his left cheek adds to his sex appeal if that’s even possible and his scarlet pupils say everything without his lips moving. it doesn’t help your wild imagination that he leaves every conversation with you asking the same question.

the first time you meet bakugou was at the buffet of a conference, paper plate in hand choosing which party finger food should plop in your plate. it was another conference that was so dead, you’re sure if you gave villains in jail the option to escape if they sit through an old guy drone on about how sexual relationships between pro heroes isn’t recommended, they’d prefer to add another few years onto their sentence.

“if i didn’t know you, i’d think you have a personal vendetta over those prawns.” the voice makes you jump in your spot slightly, though you recognise it instantly. it’s deep and familiar, especially from hearing it multiple times on the stage. now that it’s so close, it’s much more intimate and raspier without the projection.

the number three pro hero stands beside you in an expensive pinstripe black suit with light blonde stubble decorating his jaw. you’re around large men often, working with heroes all day but this was the first one you felt intimidated by. it was his beauty. how boyish with his pearly sharp canines and beauty spot on his neck. his eyes were a pretty ruby red with intrigue floating behind them and the gold chain on his neck sat on his collarbones cleanly, noticeable around the crisp white collar of his shirt. he doesn’t carry a plate of his own, he just stands cross-armed beside you, black suit jacket hugging his biceps deliciously.

you laugh, flustered. does he mean that he’s seen you around? “you don’t know me though?”

his eyebrows rise in curiosity, a little quirk of his lip. “so tell me. what’re you thinkin’?”

heat spreads at your chest first, drawing right up to your neck and his attention alone makes you feel special. something about the question, how broad it can be, feels personal and you can’t grasp if he’s flirting with you or if this was a normal conversation for the man? you didn’t think thee dynamight was the type to conduct casual conversation with strangers, though you know better than anybody that news articles and tabloids don’t cover everything about somebody.

“they both look good. i was thinking which one i should get more of,” you say with a small smile before picking up the tong and pinching another. you turn to him, offering him the plate, “wanna try one?”

bakugou looks suspiciously between you and the breaded prawn. you’re not sure if you should be offended by the look but you’re enjoying his attention. probably a little too much, “i hope you don’t think i’ve poisoned it. you’ve been here the whole time.”

he scoffs, cheeks rising in amusement. he takes the prawn between his fingers and pops it in his mouth. your eyes drop to his plush lips like it was inevitable, then his moving jaw and his thick neck as he swallows. can watching people eat be sensual? you’re now sure it can be.

“verdict?” you ask, breathless.

“it’s alright, i know something that would taste better,” he murmurs, low and the deep timber sends vibrations down your body. there’s no way he’s not flirting with you now. his pupils are locked onto yours and his tongue swipes a strip across his lip.

you clench the stupid paper plate in your hand without realising, “w-what?”

then he turns to the rest of the food, nudging his head towards it, “the pork ribs are always so goddamn good.”

you let out the breath you were holding, your whole body deflating like a balloon. that was good. though a little disappointing. you also shouldn’t be feeling disappointed about a man not flirting with you when you’ve got a boyfriend.

“you single?”

you freeze as his voice cuts into your ranting chain of thoughts. the disappointment that blew away momentarily, fans back into existence. 

“no, i’ve got a boyfriend.”

bakugou katsuki is a regular occurrence from that day on. he tries to keep his space from you during galas, meetings, visits and conferences, but he can't stay away. 

his gaze always lands on your head amongst the crowd of bubbling personalities. your job meant you had to be a wallflower in these situations, making sure your clients were acting right. thinking of tips to give them in their next interview, telling them they need to stop using the press pencil as a toothpick. but occasionally you allow yourself to have a little chat with the blonde that appears beside you every time you think about him like a trick and always leaves you wanting more. bakugou never pushes the conversation further and you always want him to.

what’s worse is that you knew he wanted to because every conversation ended with the same question.

when your client, a pro hero friend of his slips up in an interview accidentally revealing their secret idol girlfriend, it’s always dynamight, laying his head back on his seat before you to meet your grimace with an upside down smirk. then he’d wander over to you, hands in his suit pockets, posture lazy but he could never be.

“he’s a fuckin’ idiot but cut him some slack with the moanin’,” he smirks, sliding beside you with his scarred arm brushing your bare one.

“i don’t think my moaning does anything for him now. think he’s numb to it,” you sigh and he huffs a laugh. you’re more comfortable with him, coming up to nine months of knowing each other.

“if you were my publicist, i’d be good to you,” he says, looking straight ahead at the heroes saying their thanks into the microphones, “your moaning would definitely do somethin’ to me.”

you flick your eyes up to him with a warning glare, hoping everything can be said with the creases between your eyebrows, “dynamight.”

everyone says bakugou hardly smiles and you haven’t heard such a false statement. the man grins at you with a shrug, gold canine winking at you, “yn.”

you never tell him to stop with the flirting. you also never give him the answer he wants.

“you single yet?”

“nope. still got a boyfriend.”

he sighs, rubbing his jaw in thought. his eyes waft over your outfit, a simple black dress to match the theme for the night and to blend into the shadows. he speaks again, guttural, almost pained, “you look beautiful. best lookin’ here.”

then he wanders off to a group of pro heroes he also calls his friends.

another time was the after party of a new hero perfume release (hero perfumes were all the rage nowadays) and it was your first time seeing bakugou tipsy, on the verge of drunk. at this point you were almost sure you saw a different side of bakugou that he doesn’t show anybody. you never got the angry frowns, the unsympathetic grunt or the sarcastic replies. he was always loud laughs, funny comments and sweet compliments, a whole lot of compliments.

you caught his eyes from across the room and it must have been a record the way his bored pout became a dopey smile quicker than you could blink. the crowd made way for him to move because it’s dynamight, and he stops at your feet with rosy cheeks.

“hey baby.” deep. his voice was like soft velvet across your skin, a rasp at the end of the pet name paired with a shiny glint in his eyes. also, he probably shouldn’t be calling you baby.

“hi dynamight. you look like you’re enjoying yourself,” you reply, nursing your second drink in your hand. you were nowhere near as drunk as him but you guess a more intimate room with just heroes and friends means he can let go.

“i am. much better now you’re here,” he flirts, brushing his fingers through his hair and looking you up and down. he’s got a plain black t-shirt on and dark wash jeans, unlike the suits and shirts surrounding you. he’s bigger than this event which means the rules are always lax for him. if you had more alcohol, you’d definitely be asking to bite his bicep.

“‘like your outfit. ‘s sexy. tights and skirt. makes your legs—,”

“dynamight.” his stare makes you burn, undoubtedly lustful, like he’s undressing you with his eyes. if he asked, maybe you’d let him. he’s always asking the wrong questions.

“you single yet?”

you huff a laugh at his consistency, you’ve got to give it to him. “boyfriend’s still in the picture.”

your hand flies to your mouth with a laugh when bakugou flings his head back in a childish groan. you’re surprised he doesn’t stomp his foot also. it’s so unlike the dynamight you read about on the hero news that you so badly want to snap a picture. “can’t you ever just lie to me? make a poor man happy?”

“you’re definitely not poor.”

“i’m poor without your love and affection.”

his bottom lip is puffy and pink, unintentionally pouting at you but you think it’s from all the glasses of drink he’s been pressing to it. he’s so handsome, you’re almost certain he’s wearing day three facial hair, a light moustache forming on his upper lip, hair dusted against his cheeks. you wonder what you’d have to say for him to let it grow out.

you roll your eyes and down your drink. this needs to end before you let him do what he wants. “goodbye dynamight, have a nice evening. don’t drink too much!”

the last time bakugou asks you this question, he’s had a shit day at work. it’s been physically and emotionally draining. back to back government meetings with nonstop bad news.  he was down a sidekick on patrol so it took longer to take down a villain than necessary which meant he missed seeing his mother before her flight to france. he hasn’t seen her in a few months now.

the pro hero just wants to go home, look at his ceiling for an hour before falling asleep with help from a melatonin gummy. nothing crazy or intense. he just wants to fucking sleep this day away, tugging his hood over his head and rubbing his face with his palm. he storms through the hallway of deku’s agency having taken the stairs for a few flights and now opted to just take the lift instead. he almost trips up on his feet once he ears the melodic voice he loves. but he’d hate for you to be sounding like that to him.

“i wasn’t on anything! i told you i wasn’t!”

“then why was my email flooded with photos of you snorting white powder in your car and then walking into a school to speak to children?”

“photoshop? it wasn’t me!”

bakugou doesn’t care if he’s being nosy. eavesdropping on a conversation that’s literally nothing to do with him. his excuse is that he likes you and he wants to say hi to you since he now knows you’re here too. he can just wait, ask if you wanted him to drop you home since your stupid fucking boyfriend wasn’t going to.

bakugou peeps through the slit of the open door to the small meeting room, all his stealth training coming in handy. you’ve got your head in your hands in defeat with tired eyes, utterly exhausted with the man before you. you’re pointing to your laptop screen on the table while starstarter, this new rookie sits cockily before you. bakugou recognises this ignorant, arrogant hero. his obnoxious blue and yellow costume and bakugou means costume because it’s this latex generic one piece that looks like it was on sale in the party section. bakugou’s not going to be the one to say it outloud but this kid is a fanboy, an upcoming wannabe dynamight lacking all the parts the world loves about real dynamight.

like care and finesse when it matters. to staff, to those that are there to help and make being a hero easier. instead starstarter’s legs are spread obnoxiously, one knee bouncing in irritation as he rolls his eyes at you. bakugou wants to stick his fingers in the kids eye sockets, so he can’t even look at you. doesn’t he understand you’re just doing your job and he isn’t playing his part? 

you twirl the laptop to the orange haired rookie, glowing screen in his face, probably showing the photo of him doing exactly what you said.

“that’s not you, is it?” you ask incredulously, “you just had to stay out of the media for a month! you’ve had three articles already!”

bakugou’s hand flies to the door handle as soon as starstarter whips out of his seat in anger, the plastic chair falling back on the ground. you jump in your seat at the abruptness, eyes weary and… scared.

“i didn’t even want a publicist! fucking deku thought i needed one but i’m fine without you! as long as i’m saving people who gives a fuck about what my rankings are!”

“can you shut the fuck up and pick up the chair?” 

you spin around on your seat to find dynamight and just seeing him, calm and controlled, one eyebrow raised in expectation, soothes you. you didn’t even realise how worked up you got from starstarter’s outburst, your heart rattling against your rib cage, breath stuck in your throat. you release your grip on your skirt, smoothing out the creases you just made. he’s only in a hoodie and a pair of jeans, probably just had a meeting after a night patrol.

“d-dynamight? do you need me?” starstarter asks, standing up straighter, plastering a goofy smile on his face like he’s the chosen one. everything in one ear and out the fucking other.

“fuckin’ listen to me kid. i said shut the fuck up and pick up the chair,” bakugou spits like he’s stupid, stuffing his hands in his pockets. then he looks over at you, fidgeting around trying to look like you weren’t terrified just a second ago. “you okay, yn?”

you’re not. not really, but embarrassment seeps through you at the conversation between you and starstarter being loud enough that he heard it. that he heard someone speak to you like that. but you just nod, giving him a small smile. “we’re just packing up here.”

starstarter picks up the chair, not bothering to tuck it under the table and completely forgets your existence. instead, he walks over to bakugou like they’re long lost friends despite the almost ten year age gap between them. 

“so dynamight, i’ve been thinking about how my quirk matches with yours—,”

the dynamight you see on tv, in conferences and interviews is alive. top lip curled in disgust, eyebrows sharp in a frown and voice so harsh that even your eyes widen.

“is your head stuck up your asshole?”

starstarter steps back, confusion etched into his face, “n-no? w-what did i do?” then the rookie points his thumb over at you, who is starting to pack your laptop back into your bag, trying to remove yourself from the situation, “oh you know how scandals go! you get loads of them. publicist just on my ass at the moment.”

it’s as if time slows down for a few silent seconds. you notice the golden sparks from bakugou’s right hand first then in a split second that same hand is around starstarter’s neck against the wall.

it’s impressive how bakugou keeps his face deadpan while starstarter splutters and dribbles, baffled by the turn of events. his legs kick out from how bakugou’s holding him up and starstarter is so confused, he completely forgets to use his quirk. not that it matters against dynamight.

you gasp, grabbing your bag and rushing over to the two men.

“dynamight! put him down!”

bakugou looks down at you, your plush lips and your pretty dangly earrings. you’re clutching your bag to your chest, hand tapping his left bicep like he’s a button to let go of starstarter. fuck that.

bakugou eyes starstarter, the faux bravo he had before completely gone. his dull finger nails are scratching at bakugou’s hand around his throat but it’s only a gnawing annoyance for the older, stronger hero. 

“first, don’t fuckin’ talk to me. i’ve never liked you. secondly, apologise to yn, you bastard.”

you mumble a small, “oh,” in realisation. your hand that was once tapping him to let go, now just resting on his bicep.

bakugou likes you holding him.

starstarter, however, has his eyes bulging out of his head, “what? what the fuck for?”

bakugou squeezes his fingers around his throat and starstarter gasps for breath.

“for fuckin’ shoutin’ at her? treatin’ her like shit? or are you too up your own ass to notice your pisspoor attitude?” he scoffs, lifting and slamming him against the wall for good measure. that knocks the wind out of the younger, causing him to wince in pain.

“oh, oh, i’m sorry yn. didn’t mean t-to do that. i promise,” starstarter cries and only then does he remember he can use his quirk to try and escape, his hazel irises beginning to glow a bright white gold.

“use your quirk on me and i’ll kill you,” is all bakugou has to say for starstarter to relax and turn it off immediately.

“f-fine! i said i was sorry! i won’t shout at her or anyone!” he’s flailing around like a newborn baby, every breath stuttered and gasped.

bakugou looks over at you beside him, now pressed to his side. “is that good enough for you, yn?”

you should say yes to stop this madness, to stop this one sided fight to protect your honour. but starstarter has always acted like such an irritating child. your most difficult client who never realises how self destructive his behaviour is and how hard he makes your life.

“promise you’ll fix up. no more scandals next month. it will make both our lives easier.”

“yes!” starstarter blubbers, imagining bakugou blasting his head to smithereens, “yes! no scandals. fuck, n-none.”

with that, bakugou releases his grip and starstarter falls to the floor in a heap. his hand clutches around his neck, taking in massive gulps of air like a fish that plopped back into water.

you and bakugou ignore his mutters and mumbles as he slides out of the room like a sorry slug. you’re sure you’re going to hear rumours about dynamight tomorrow, how he tried to kill starstarter. though it’s nothing bakugou’s pr team can’t handle.

bakugou faces you, eyes scanning every inch of your face, then your body as if he’s checking for bruises. “you sure you’re okay? i’ll break his arm next time he tries shit like that.”

you shake your head. every time you breathe you can taste the caramel of his quirk. “no it’s okay! he was particularly annoying today. you know how the new gen get.”

you’re trying to deflect from how scared you were before, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. every word comes out breathless, unable to make eye contact with the hero. 

“no i don’t. i don’t want anyone speakin’ to you like that again. if any hero, no anyone, does you gotta tell me,” and bakugou holds his palm out to you.

you frown, “what?”

“gimme your phone.”

this conversation is so unlike the usual flirty back and forths you both have that you have no clue how to navigate his serious tone. 

“oh. oh! i don’t need you as a bodyguard, this is a rare occurrence,” but you still pull out your device, unlocking it to slide into his palm.

“i don’t give a fuck. next time, you tell me and i’ll sort it.”

“is this an excuse for you to get my number?”

you say it so innocently, playing with your hands behind your back as you look at him jabbing his number into your phone and then his face. 

he’s completely flushed red, matching his pupils. nothing like the man that was just holding up another against the wall. 

“you think i did all that to get your fuckin’ number?”

you wave your hands in the air in disagreement, “no! not everything but this part. the getting my number part.”

bakugou looks to your phone, how he added his name as Bakugou Dynamight and his number half complete. 

“n-no, i meant what i said, dumbass. ‘sides you’ve got a boyfriend anyway.” he spits, not in offence to you but in offence to the fact itself. he cannot be bothered to be rejected again, he doesn’t even have it in himself to ask you if he’s still in the picture because this boyfriend doesn’t seem to be leaving. from before he met you, for this last years, to now.

“we broke up last month.”

“you’re lyin’ to me.”

bakugou blurts, your phone slipping out his hands though he catches it just in time. you giggle at the fumble but you have no time to adjust as bakugou steps closer towards you, right in your space.

“tell me you’re lyin’.”

though when you look into bakugou’s pupils, the ruby has been eaten by the black of his pupil, staring at you like he’s begging for you to say the opposite. his lips are parted, waiting to reply to your next comment, every possible answer on the tip of his tongue.

“i’m not. we… we weren’t working out and i think he was cheating on me? well not physically but definitely emotionally with someone at his work and i thought i couldn’t even be mad because… you know,” you offer in a ramble because there’s still something slightly tender about the topic.

bakugou follows every word, watches your pulse race under the skin of your neck. he frowns for a moment, looking away from you and then back on your form. arm holding your forearm, then brushing your hair away from your face.

“w-why couldn’t you be mad?” is where he starts, despite how he sounds, he wants to punch this fucking loser ex-boyfriend of yours in the face. who would mess up their chances with you? he didn’t know how good he had it. he sighs internally at the fact he seems to want to kill anyone who bothers you.

your white teeth sink into your bottom lip, refusing to make eye contact. “because of you. we always flirt. i always enjoy when we do and for a while i pushed it aside that it’s just a work thing but then it got to a point that i realised i would rather find out what it would be like to be alone with you even when i was alone with my ex.”

you deeply inhale, “it’s okay if it wasn’t anything serious for you! it’s not anything serious to me yet, it was just a sign that i—,”

bakugou grabs your hand, just so that you focus on him again instead of these loopy rambles you’ve got going on. you’ve never been like this, he’s never even seen you nervous before today.

“y’gonna let me take you out? since you’re single now?”

bakugou can barely believe the words he’s saying, the corner of his lips stretching up with every syllable. you feel as if you’re floating, the rush of a crush fully formed rumbling inside of you. 

you laugh though you’re nodding slowly, fingertips brushing your bottom lip, “you still need to finish adding your number into my phone.”

“oh, oh fuck yeah,” he mumbles and he can feel his heartbeat shake at his temples. he’s finally getting a chance with you. bakugou enters the last few digits of his phone number and when you reach to take back your phone, he shakes his head, editing the contact name.

“text me so i get your number and i’ll set somethin’ up for us,” and his grin becomes a chuckle, loud and full of bass. he holds his jaw in pure surprise, handing back your phone, “i can’t believe this.”

you shrug lightly, “i can.”

“thought i was gonna be benched for another year until i’d have to get involved. threaten him or some shit,” and you can tell there’s a tinge of seriousness behind his words but you ignore it because the sentiment is sweet. 

“you would have waited another year?” you balk.

“i still would have liked you in a year so yeah,” bakugou tries to be nonchalant, shrugging and adjusting the chunky watch on his wrist.

the watch, the time. you gasp, looking around the room that you’ve packed everything, “oh shit, i have a meeting in literally two minutes on the top floor. i’ll have to text you later, okay?”

bakugou stands up straight as you dart around him, “y-yeah okay.”

you’re just about to run out the door but you spin around, reaching on your tip toes, sliding your palm on to his jaw and pressing a soft kiss into his cheek.

“thank you for earlier by the way. i fucking hate him.”

warmth radiates through bakugou, from his toes to the top of his head. he’s not gonna get used to your touch anytime soon.

“n-no probries. fuck, i mean no worries and no problem.”

your giggle can make caterpillars become butterflies on command, skirt blowing past as you wave the pro hero goodbye. 

“bye dynamight!”

as soon as you hop on the train home, the first thing you do is whip out your phone to text the hero. you remember him backspacing his name and you’re expecting something silly but you’re surprised to find it as just Katsuki.

You: we’re on a first name basis then?

his reply is instantaneous. a bubble with ellipses and then a pop of his reply.

Katsuki: We’ve been on a first name basis. You just took ages to give in.

likes don’t do anything on tumblr! but reblogs, comments and asks mean the world! i delete comments asking for the another part. thanks xox

paired with one of his old white merch t-shirts that have his hero name printed in grey basic text across your breast. the fabric completely drowns your body, the seams of the shoulders landing almost at your elbows. the tee sits below your ass and you've got your usual pale pink silk bonnet on your head, you have no clue why bakugou katsuki, your dear beloved boyfriend is staring at you with those eyes.

his shiny ruby eyes half lidded, head tilted clearly interested and his palm gripping his bare thigh. you haven’t even washed your face yet.

“i’ll be quiet. you won’t even notice me.”

you stomp over to his fridge, cringing at the blast of cold air. perhaps you went one glass of wine too far last night with your friends. 

“you forgot to pick up more oat milk for me, ‘suki!” you groan, flinging your head back like it’s the end of the world.

“there’s a new one on top of the fridge. you forgot to put it in the fridge, baby.” he mumbles, clicking away at his desktop, able to drag his stare away from your body. but since he’s in your orbit, he only lasts a couple seconds before he’s back staring at you.

“oh. my bad,” you huff, stretching up to grab the milk on top of the fridge.

bakugou sighs. adjusts himself in his underwear.

“the meeting is in less than ten mins. you gotta be out by then.”

you scrunch all your features like you’ve just been exposed to a horrible smell. stinky rotten eggs or weeks old sour milk. you pause from making tea just to bother bakugou.

“why do you want me out so bad? you’re being mean,” you moan, crossing your arms over your chest.

it only draws bakugou’s attention to your nipples, two points poking beautifully against the fabric of his t-shirt. you’re so sexy and so unaware, that it’s painful for the blonde. your bonnet tied with a bow at the front of your head is downright adorable.

“i’m not being mean. i don’t want a hard on while i talk to the fuckin’ commission. they’re already on my dick about other shit,” bakugou sighs, voice going breathy by the end.

he’s already showered, been up for two hours before you and has done a considerable amount of work already all while you were sleeping away in his bed. he’s already been tempted to climb in beside you, sneak under the quilt and between your legs. but he’s got to work so he can get you oat milk for your morning tea.

bakugou is shocked when a giggle spills from you. it’s slightly croaky and raspy from being early for you but still so very soothing for his ears. he frowns.

“you find me sexy like this?” your smile is glorious, toothy and it highlights the imprints of the pillows over your left cheek.

wearing his t-shirt with your favourite pyjama bottoms and fluffy striped socks? one of bakugou’s favourite looks on you. he knows exactly what you smell like right now, your morning musk, a little sweaty, skin toasty under the tee and sensitive all over.

“yeah,” he levels you with a stare that makes you feel his arousal. it sits deep in your stomach, swirls around and heats up.

this is probably the state where you feel most comfortably uncomfortable. comfy clothes, half asleep, ready to curl up in bed. but also needing a shower, sort out your hair and put on some fresh clothes. you’ve got no clue what bakugou sees in this look. he’s got the same eyes as when he saw you in your mini skirt and low neck black top for your last date.

you notice how he palms himself.

“i’m in my old pyjamas with crust in your eye.”

“perfect to me. if i didn’t have this meetin’ i’d drag you back to bed.” 

“you’re insane.”

“you like how i smell after the gym.”

“you’re not wearing old ratty clothes though. you just smell good.”

bakugou shrugs, leans back in his black leather chair and scratches his head. his eyes fixated on you.

“i mean it though. you’ve gotta get out when it starts.”

because you live to torment your lover, you lift off his kitchen counter and walk over to him across the room. you don’t purposely put in an extra sway in your hips like you want to seduce him or do you put on your signature flirty smirk.

you just walk like you’re a zombie slowly turning back into a human. your arms out to embrace him. from his seated position, he stuffs his head just below your breasts and your fingers rake through his hair.

“fuck,” bakugou feels as if his head is in the clouds, aroused to the point that he knows he’s going to have to tug one out later. “you smell so good… and fuckin’ soft.”

he looks like a man in a state of desperation, eyes shut, deeply inhaling. two large palms sneak up your top, pressing down on your bare sides, clasping onto you like a lifeline.

“thanks ‘suki,” you giggle, still in shock that he’s so visibly interested in you like this, that is how you look now that’s getting him like this. love has made him crazy.

“they’re gonna drag this meetin’, say a bunch of shit i already know,” he grunts, chin plopped under your breasts. he pouts his lips, “kiss me before you go.”

you scrunch your nose, “i’m not kissing you.”

“why?”

“haven’t brushed my teeth and you still want me to leave.”

“don’t care and if you don’t my cock is gonna be even harder than it is now.” his voice is a deep timbre and he tightens the grip on your waist when you shake your head. “you kiss me when we’re in bed.”

“it’s different when we both have morning breath.” you reason, fiddling with the gold hoop in his right ear.

“you’re fuckin’ trouble,” bakugou rolls his eyes, ducking his head underneath your t-shirt to kiss anywhere his lips can touch.

your stomach, your sides, the underside of your breasts. you’re in a fit of tickles and giggles, trying to push him out by his shoulders but he refuses to move like a boulder. “‘suki! katsuki! get out!” you laugh, “this tickles!”

then teeth get involved, soft love bites along your side and a dangerous one right beside your left nipple. you freeze from your wriggling, your mouth falling open as he starts to suck, flicking his tongue over the perked bud.

you hold his head to you, “shit. that feels good.”

then he’s off a second later, spinning you around and slapping your clothed bottom. “okay, fuck off now. everyone’s joinin’ and i hate being late.”

“goodie two shoes.”

bakugou doesn’t care, just gets comfortable in his chair and clicks away on his computer like he wasn’t making love to your breast just a moment ago.

“baby.”

“i can sit over there! i haven’t even eaten yet!”

“i left some pastries for you in those white bags, take one into my room. brat.”

“you’re mean.”

“i’m gonna eat you after. promise.” he says, and he starts the meeting, his camera on but microphone off.

voices and little faces in squares spark up once bakugou comes into picture.

“dynamight! on time like always.”

“hi kacchan. you ready for tomorrow?”

bakugou ignores the small figures of his friends and colleagues on the screen, to give you one of his sickening grins. “please babygirl. there’s an almond croissant in there.”

you gasp, “is it from the bakery—,”

“kacchan, your mic isn’t on!”

bakugou hums at you, “‘course it is.”

you skip over to grab two white bags, holding tightly. “you win this time. i’m expecting my other treat too.”

you’re about to walk out of the room when you hear, “don’t fuckin’ shower.”

“katsuki!” you shout with a smile, making your way back to his bed.

“i know my mic wasn’t on. i was talkin’ to my girlfriend.”

you hear midoriya izuku coo on the other end, “yn! how is she?”

the love bakugou katsuki feels for his son is like no other. even though he sees him often, three times a week, this week four, he always looks older. like a day away from him and suddenly he’s going to pop out with a baritone voice and a beard. not yet though, chubby cheeks pressed against his knee and two little arms around his calf.

kenji, looks just like him and you. obviously from having a child together but it’s truly odd to see his own baby pictures come to life. his father’s wheat blonde but less spiky, leaning more to your hair texture at the end. and instead of his ruby eyes, he’s got yours, copy and pasted.

“hey papa! me and you today!”

“hey little man, you okay kenj?” he ruffles his sons hair and like a cat, kenji leans into it.

“ya! mama going!”

then bakugou lands on you, pupils dilated. where the fuck are you going looking like that?

it’s almost amusing, you in your brown suede mini skirt, black cowl neck top showing your tits, makeup done to literal perfection, little baguette handbag on one arm and then kenji’s deku green backpack hanging off your other arm.

your lips are glossy with these cat like eyelashes at the corner of your eyes. you look seductive, like a siren able to lure bakugou out to sea to drown. he’d definitely follow. he’s so careful to mind where his eyes go, not your cleavage, the glitter on your collarbones. also not the length of your legs in those kitten heels and mini skirt. there’s even a slither of stomach and bakugou wants to bite, wants to drag you back into his house and—

wait, where the hell are you going?

“thanks for taking him last minute! i completely forgot i had plans tonight.” you say, and your smile has bakugou’s next breath shaky.

it must be only him in the whole world who has a crush on his baby mama. the woman he’s never dated, only had sex with on a one night stand and has a whole child with.

bakugou sniffs, letting go of kenji so he can run off probably to all the toys he keeps in the living room.

“no problem, always wanna spend more time with him.” he states, crossing his arms. his pupils are about to drop past your chin when he blurts, “you’re not gonna be cold?”

you laugh, loud and sharp, “of course you’d say that. don’t worry, my jacket is in my car.”

“ah okay. you look good,” bakugou cringes inwardly. how the fuck did he flirt his way into your space the first time he met you? it’s been two years now and there’s almost no improvement. can you even be called friends?

you roll your eyes, clearly amused by him.

“thanks katsuki. i wanted to ask if you have any blister plasters? i feel one coming on.” you lift your left foot off the ground for a second, “first time wearing these!”

an excuse to scan the length of your legs, your smooth thighs, ankles, your feet in your little maroon kitten heels. are you going on a date?

a cough rumbles through bakugou, then he nods, “yeah, come inside. i’ll get you one.”

kenji is in the living room, surrounded by big puzzle blocks he’s cutely failing at putting together. “papa!” he shouts, running into the hallway to see you following after bakugou. kenji’s head tilts, a frown, “mama? here?”

a million thoughts rush through bakugou, reasons he can’t date you even if you ever want him back. kenji finds it weird that you’re even in this space. two spaces, mama’s house and papa’s house. everything about how you’ve parented kenji so far has been separate, very clearly separate.

“i’m leaving in a sec, kenj. just getting something from your papa.” and you perch up on a kitchen stool as bakugou reaches into his kitchen cupboard for the blister plasters. kenji comes to stand by you, two chunky puzzle pieces in hand.

“i brought his new books with him and these yoghurt raisins he’s been loving recently incase you didn’t have any,” you hum, resting your hand on kenji’s shoulder.

“damn, always changin’ his favourites. i just bulk bought those dino crackers,” bakugou sighs but it’s all love as he circles his island counter and gets down on his knees before you.

you’re in shock, jumping and crossing your legs over the other, “you don’t have to put it on me? i can do it?”

a hot hand on your ankle and your whole body vibrates with interest. you’re grateful your son deems the situation boring, toddling off back into the living room.

now bakugou katsuki, your baby father, the man who’s half your son and carries half of your sons last name is stupidly gorgeous. there’s a reason why you ended up in bed with him that one and only time, with his thick arms, you can see a two veins running through each of them and his eyes make you want to moan. a deep ruby red that practically twinkle when they look at you. his attention makes you feel powerful, probably the reason he’s so good at running a hero agency, you’d comfortably leave your life in his hands.

and now, with those nerdy cute glasses on his nose bridge, somehow looking like a model with his fluffed up hair and the sight of dino crackers in a tub behind him labelled ‘KENJI’S SNACKS BACK OFF!!’ made by your son, makes you swoon.

you’re the definition of flustered with this strong, domestic, burly man on his knees with a blister plaster in his hand. he could see directly up your skirt if he wanted to.

“nah, it’s fine. this shit doesn’t bother me.” he blinks expectantly waiting for you to hand him your foot.

swears only when your child is away. you wearing your slutty little outfit with this gorgeous man in his sweats and somehow you feel like a princess with him sliding a glass slipper onto your foot.

“you gonna let me or do you wanna just do it?” he removes his hand from your ankle.

you’ve seen clips of bakugou in action. mostly when it’s on the news, always making sure kenji doesn’t see bakugou covered in blood or shouting orders on tv. how sure of himself he stands, the strength he holds when he blasts a villain that multiple pro heroes couldn’t crack. sometimes you drop kenji off to his agency just before bakugou’s about to leave and you see him in all his glory. the boots that give him an extra couple inches, the tight black material that sucks him in and highlights every ab and pectoral. you remember how he nods a hello to you in those moment, with a boyish smirk like he knows what you’re thinking.

you think your baby father is sexy. so what.

you shake your head to rid your thoughts but bakugou takes that to mean you want him off. he adjusts to get up but you place your hand on his shoulder. the movement has him lifting his head to you, lips parted like he was ordered.

“no, i mean it’s fine. just wasn’t expecting it.” then you uncross your leg from over your other. then you joke with a finger pointed at him, “don’t look up my skirt. i wore it hoping nobody will be seeing me from this angle.”

bakugou visibly gulps at that, head ticking, “i fuckin’ hope not.”

calloused finger tips take your calf and with one hand, big fingers fiddle with your heel buckle. you’re almost sure it’s not possible for him to take it off but then it’s swiftly removed and onto the floor.

you blink at him, “what?”

bakugou carries the focus of a trained professional as he studies the sensitive skin around your heel. he ignores your confusion, “where are you goin’ tonight?”

it’s like whiplash, his question so quick after yours. you barely register what he says before you answers, “club in the city. it’s new, apparently has a live jazz band.”

bakugou grunts, wiping the area with a disinfectant wipe. “who with?”

your smile is slow, a realisation forming that you can’t completely confirm yet. “why are you asking that, katsuki?”

then he glances up at you, bottom lip plump and red. you hate that you can still remember what it’s like to kiss him.

“wanna make sure my baby mama is safe. not hangin’ around fuckin’ creeps.”

“ah, you’re asking for kenji?”

you can’t read his eyes yet but there’s a spark of amusement fluttering through them, “sure, let’s use that excuse.”

you roll your eyes and he carefully, lays the plaster on the area. “with a friend.”

“is it a date?” and it’s the nagging at the back of bakugou’s head that makes him ask, the fact he’s needs to know. dying to know.

now you really laugh, undecided if you want to toy with him or not. “and if it is?”

to that bakugou rises to his feet and seated, he feels even taller than usual. the whiff of bakugou’s scent, that caramel sugary scent, reminds you of that night two years ago when he was thrusting into you so sweetly that you could barely remember your name after.

“i hope it’s awful,” he grunts and he feels like a teenager. not a grown ass man and not someone’s grown ass father. he doesn’t know why his finger lands your chin, angling your head to face him. you don’t know why you let him, lips parted like his will land on yours. ruby eyes flicker to your eyes to your lips and the need for contact is imminent.

“you’re so stupid,” you mumble and when you realise the position you’re in, that your son is only next door, you pull away from bakugou katsuki.

bakugou’s left standing where you left him as you scramble away, pulling your shoe back on and buckling it back up with a single hand. you adjust your skirt and you go back into mum mode. “he might ask for something sweet but don’t give it to him, i already gave him ice cream earlier. also ask him about quirk training at school, you’re so much more suited to helping him with that.”

bakugou crosses his arms across his chest. if you want to pretend there’s nothing between you both as you go and meet another man, then sure. he gives you a slow nod, “i will. enjoy your date, yn. though i’m not sure green goes with brown.”

you frown glancing down at your outfit. black cowl neck top, brown suede mini skirt, maroon kitten heels. green where?

“mama! you still here?” kenji appears walking back to you, this time the tv remote in his hand, “you didn’t say bye mama.”

“i was just about to!” you bend down to your sons height, ignoring bakugou’s gaze. “i’m gonna pick you up tomorrow morning, okay? ready for football tomorrow. don’t ask papa for any ice cream, i’ve already told him.”

kenji pouts before landing a big kiss on the top of your head just like where you and bakugou always kiss him. you laugh at the motion, landing a soft kiss on his cheek, “okay, kenj? see you!” you rise and your son begins to wave.

“bye mama!”

bakugou leads you to his front door and green, green, green, still shakes through you until you realise. your fucking green underwear. you spin round with a gasp, bakugou almost falling into you as you halt. stabilising himself with his hand on the wall right beside your head. kenji is still standing behind him, waiting for you to go.

you’re again so close to bakugou, chest to chest and with the realisation that you know what he meant, a smirk grows on his face. so fucking sexy.

“you’re a perv,” you whisper scolding him, finger pointed but it only makes bakugou pretend to bite it by clashing his teeth together.

“have a good night, yn,” he replies, walking forwards as you walk backwards out, “i mean it.”

“BYE MAMA!”

“bye kenj!” and then to bakugou, “i’m watching you.”

“fuckin’ love to hear that.”

not only does the stupid black compression shirt he’s wearing highlight the slender accent of his hips and itty bitty waist — but it clings to every muscle in bakugou’s marble-carved body. you can see every bulge of his biceps and ripple in his backs, even down to his washboard abs. honestly, you count your lucky stars every day that you managed to sink your fangs into the blonde before anyone else did, claiming him as your own. you might have even thrown up if anyone got to see him lounging about the place in grey sweats the way you did, the material just barely sitting on his hips.

you have to swipe at your mouth to stop yourself from drooling when he puts his mug down and lifts an arm up high to put the coffee granules back in the cupboard — his shirt riding up just enough for you to get a good look at a slither if his his sun-kissed, diamond cut v-line and waistband of his boxers too. it’s like the guy is purposefully trying to kill you.

just the very sight of katsuki like this, probably fresh from his work out, has you in a shambles — breaking out into hot sweats, panting like a dog. someone might even think you’re sick.

katsuki pays your little tantrum no mind, crossing his arms and leaning his hip against the kitchen counter while he waits for you to finish.

“you look so good.” you relent eventually, shoulders sagging.

shaking his head in a fond manner, the blonde rolls his ruby framed eyes. “no, you look good.” katsuki coos amusedly, arms opening wide for you as you pad further into the kitchen to snuggle against his chest. although he’s taunting you and you’re playing right into his game, you will always love that katsuki finds little ways to compliment you and make you feel adored — you feel it as he presses the wisps of a kiss into the crown of your head. “you always do.”

“it’s not fair that you get to go around like this! wearing that and making me feel all—!” you wave your hands about eccentrically, a heated frustration burning at your nerve endings as you screech your feelings out.

bakugou smiles to himself, sexy and slow, barely jumping when his toast pops out of the toaster. he grabs it, holds the corner of his food between his rows of pearly white teeth and spins your positions so that he traps you against the kitchen counter. “gonna need some context, babe.” you think that he’s going to touch you but instead reaches behind you to grab at his coffee.

freaking tease.

it’s impossible to think clearly when your boyfriend is this close — his intoxicating musky scent of sweet sweat and cool toned aftershave making you dizzy. “i hate you.” you state indignantly, flopping against his chest and letting it’s plushness muffle your speech patterns. “you’re stupid hot. and a slut.”

“you slut shamin’ me, sweetness?”

“s’what you deserve. dressin’ like you don’t belong to nobody. like you belong to the streets.”

“i belong to you, baby. you know that.” chucking his toast onto the counter, the blonde swoops down to kiss you hungrily — tasting of freshly brewed coffee grounds and salt. of course he would get off to something like this. he’s got you right where he wants you, weak in the knees and melting in his arms.

you screw your eyes shut, squirming in place as bakugou steps back and guides your hand under his tight fitting compression shirt, overloading your brain with just how built he is. fleshy pecks and golden abs. he ends up keeping it rolled up so you feel hot all over. “i can get undressed if it makes ya feel better.”

you can’t help that your eyes drop back down to his cotton grey sweats — they’ve slipped a little lower, low enough for his sharp v-line and soft blonde curls from his happy trail to peek out from the waistband. if you squinted (not that you would need to) you could make out the outline of his semi as it brushes against your inner thighs.

this is it. this is the end. “it makes me feel worse actually. like i might die of thirst or something. especially if you don’t—“

“if i don’, what?” his hands are all over you now, splayed over your tummy, digging into your waist — he overwhelms you. pressing his body against yours until you practically feel him through your pores. bakugou is hot (physically, sure) but against you, your desire for him spreads like a heatwave through every inch of your body — from the tips of your fingers and toes to the top of your head.

“kiss me.” you breathe, a neediness seeded into your tone.

bakugou arches a blonde eyebrow, looking down at you cockily. “c’mere then, brat.”

he uses a finger and thumb to tilt your chin up towards him, leaning down to kiss you before tricking you with a fake out. just as you begin to whinge and complain, the blonde squishes your cheeks so you can’t wriggle away from him and licks into your mouth with a teasing laugh. he only kisses you fully when you grasp at his slender waist, feel him up from under his clothes and slip your hands over his ass — just bellow the waistband of his sweats.

“fuckin’ tease,” katsuki grunts, tugging on your lower lip with his teeth and sucking in your tongue.

a free hand wanders from his bottom, climbs up the rippling muscles of his back and tangles in bakugou’s sandy roots — fisting then as you drag him closer, working your tongue into his hot and welcoming mouth. “takes one to know one, kats,” you mewl into him, letting him swallow your satisfied gasps and squeaks.

every action, every groan and grope becomes rougher, needier, hornier — squeezing each other turns to grinding on one another until there’s no room for either of you to breathe and just as you move to shove your hand down the front of his boxers, everything comes to a halt.

you knock bakugou’s coffee over when he lifts you onto the counter.

“ow! hot!” you squeal, still tilting your head back to make room for the blonde at your neck.

he doesn’t stop, nipping at your skin. “yeah, so you’ve said babe.”

“not you, dummy!” swatting at your boyfriend, you push him off. “the fucking coffee on my ass!”

katsuki blinks, his lashes fluttering against the column of your throat while be peeks over your shoulder at the beverage spilling across the counter and seeping into your clothes.

“that’s what you get for callin’ me a slut.”

“oh…oh fuck you.”

“‘m trying babe.”

“fuck you. slut.”

“keep degrading me sweetness, ‘m kinda into that.”

…

“You must think I’m an idiot.” Bradley mumbles as you fiddle through the board games under the book shelf. You glance back at him over your shoulder, and laugh. For his sake, you shake your head.

There are times in your friendship, more often than not, where it’s appropriate to make fun of him. This isn’t one of these times. Rooster’s feeling pretty sorry for himself right now, and he doesn’t need any salt on his wounds.

He does look pretty ridiculous, though. He’s stretched out along the sofa, a bag of frozen peas on his knee and a compression bandage under that. Wearing sweatpants that are a size too big to allow for the swelling, and a sweater that’s a size too big because that’s how he likes his sweaters to fit.

It’s day two of your week long trip to the mountains with your closest friends. This was what you had been most excited about when Phoenix had told you she was marrying Dani. Dani’s family had an incredible lodge up in the Rockies.

For Phoenix’s birthday this year, she invited you and your closest friends up to the lodge. Everyone else is out on the mountain right now. You’re sitting in the living room with Rooster, trying to find something that’ll make the time pass.

Yesterday, on the first day of the trip, Rooster was being Rooster and Hangman was being Hangman. Rooster — who had never been snowboarding in his life before this week — wanted to keep up with Hangman, who has spent a month in Aspen each winter since he was six.

Now, he’s on strict bed-rest (well, couch rest) and will be for the next two days. Feeling sorry for himself with a pulled hamstring and a torn ACL. Considering that he can’t move from the couch without support, someone had to stay back and take care of him. Today, it’s you.

“Could’ve happened to anyone.” You soothe. Anyone that tried to go down a red slope on their first day on a board. Bradley tucks one arm behind his head as he watches you rummage through the variety of old board games.

It’s snowing pretty hard outside and has been since you arrived. Kind of foggy too. Not exactly ideal conditions for someone who has spent maybe thirty days of his entire life in the snow to learn how to board. Especially not when he’s surrounded by already fairly proficient boarders.

“Oh — Trivial Pursuit!” You gasp, tugging the box out from under the monopoly and dusting it off. Rooster groans and leans his head back against the arm rest.

“Or we could just watch paint dry.” He mumbles, a testament to how boring of a game he feels that trivial pursuit is.

“Shut up. I love this game,” You push yourself up and walk over to the couch, setting the box down on the coffee table. You sit down on the floor with your back to the edge of the couch. “And it’s your fault we’re stuck in here so it’s only fair that I pick the game.”

“Yay.” Bradley says dryly.

You lift the lid off of the box and set it to the side.

“Could we at least get drunk while we play?”

You muse with the idea for a moment and shrug. That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. You take the box and press it into his hands, “Fine. You set up. I’ll make us some drinks.”

Rooster has to grit his teeth as he pushes himself somewhat upright and cranes his torso forward to set the game up on the coffee table.

You have to take a moment to watch in amusement as he struggles to set the game up. You love that idiot. He’s been one of your best friends for going on eight years now. You’ve been on a couple trips together, countless missions — you’ve become great friends. Which is why you don’t mind caring for him while he’s in pain.

He helped you out when you dislocated your shoulder at Hangman’s pool party that one time. It’s only fair.

You pad dutifully to the kitchen, ready to embrace the carer role to its fullest extent. Maybe a good nurse wouldn’t have topped the hot chocolates up with a little too much Baileys — but you know Rooster, he’d prefer it this way.

“This is incredible.” Rooster groans as he settles back comfortably against the coach and warms his hands around the mug. It’s already plenty warm in the living room with the fire that Bob got going before everyone headed out about an hour ago.

You settle down onto the floor, pleased to find that Rooster has actually set the game up correctly.

“The person who invented this combo deserves the best head.” He adds, letting out another groan of pleasure as he takes another sip.

You wish you invented it. Maybe it’s the fact that you haven’t had sex in a while, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re sitting on a faux fur rug, in front of a log fire, snow outside and a gorgeous man behind you — but the sound of that groan hits you right between your legs.

Your eyes widen slightly.

There had been a few intimate feelings towards Rooster when you had first met him. He’s an attractive guy. It had almost happened. But it hadn’t. There had been this tension in the beginning.

There were so many almosts. So many almosts that you had just given up. Clearly the universe was giving you a sign that it wasn’t supposed to happen. You had stopped trying to make it, and fallen platonically head over heels for Bradley Bradshaw.

You had been comfortable as just friends for a long time now. But shit, does that guy sound pretty when he moans. You scold yourself for things like this regularly. You shouldn’t think that your best friend sounds pretty moaning.

“Alright. I’m going first.” You decide, feeling the need to quickly change the subject.

“Aren’t we supposed to roll to decid-“

“It was my idea, I’m going first.” You insist.

“I’m injured — I should go first.”

You end up going first. You smirk as you shake the dice in your hand. He swats playfully at the back of your head.

This is how you have always showed affection. Gentle bullying. You’re a very affectionate pair. You had to tone it down last time Rooster had gotten a girlfriend. You understood why she was mad, you would be too. It was a shame she didn’t stick around long — you liked her.

Since then, you had been a bit less open with touching each other. Especially around others. People thought your playfulness was sometimes flirting. Of course, it wasn’t. You didn’t let yourself do that anymore.

After he smacked your head, Rooster brushes his fingers over the top of your hair, brushing it back off of your shoulders. You feel no urge to shrug his off as he trails his fingers along your shoulders. He toys with your hair, curling a loose strand around his finger and unwinding it.

“You have to ask me the purple question.” You pass him back a question card without looking at it. There’s a disappointment that fills you as his hand leaves your hair. He sighs softly and lifts the card.

He chuckles the moment he reads it. “How many movies did Sean Connery play James Bond in?” He asks. Bradley knows for a fact that you don’t know the answer to this question because you’ve consistently refused to watch any of the James Bond movies with him for as long as he’s known you.

“Mm… seven?”

“Lucky guess.” Bradley mumbles. He hits the back of your head again. ‘Accidentally’, as he’s passing the card back to you.

You turn and bite his leg. You’ve always had a very playful friendship. You bite his shoulders, his hands — whatever’s in your way or within your reach when the necessity strikes. Now, it’s his thigh.

He flinches, then stills. It’s only once you’re pressing your teeth into his thigh, looking up at him, that you realise how compromising of a position you’re in.

He’s wearing grey sweatpants. Your eyes flicker down and you know exactly where his dick is under the material. Luckily, it’s resting against the other thigh. His lip has quirked when you look back up at him.

You withdraw quickly. Turning and taking a large gulp of your hot chocolate before picking up the dice again. You got your question correct, you get to keep rolling. You make an eight question winning streak. Rooster finishes his hot chocolate before it’s even his first turn.

“Could I have another one?” He asks you, resting his empty mug on your shoulder like he’s going to leave it there to fall on you. You sigh, dramatically, as you push yourself to your feet. You finish off yours and nod, heading for the kitchen once more.

“Fine. But if you need to pee then I’m not holding it.” You answer back.

“My leg is fucked, my hands work just fine. You just like thinking about my dick in your hands.” He calls to you. You’re glad you’re in the kitchen where he can’t see the way that unnerves you. You bite your cheek and go about making each of you another drink.

Rooster has to lean forward to roll the dice on the table. He really can’t move much. Any movement on his knee still really hurts.

“Thanks, honey.” He smiles sweetly and purses his lips like he’s going to blow you a kiss as you hand him a drink that’s almost as much liqueur as it is hot chocolate. Just the way he likes it.

“No problem, princess.” You answer back, settling back in on the floor and grabbing a question card as you sip at your own.

One of Rooster’s primary issues with Trivial Pursuit, is the length of time it takes. He makes a ten question correct streak before it’s your turn again. Two hours and three more drinks later, Rooster is tired of questions.

He’s barely lifting his head as you tell him what to do. Roll. Ask me the blue question. Answer the red question. Roll again.

He’s staring at the wooden beams above his head. The architecture really is beautiful in this place. So is the mountain, and there’s a great view of it from the living room but he still would rather be out there, rather than stuck in here like an idiot.

He drums his fingers on his stomach and looks towards the book case. His eyes scan over the other board games over there. Looking for something else. Anything better than this. Nothing that he can stand to spend another three hours doing.

He’s bored.

“Okay, ask me purple.” You hand him another question card. He sighs softly as he takes it. Even reading the question takes too much effort at this point. He looks at you. You’re facing the board, your back to him as you wait to get another question correct.

Rooster looks towards the fireplace, watching the flames crackle and rise. Then he looks towards you again. A thought crosses his mind and he squashes it instantly, then hesitates. No harm in asking.

“Can I see your tits?”

You turn, dice still in hand, and blink at him. He’s looking back at you like he had just asked you how your day was going. Like that was the most normal thing in the world to ask his best friend of eight years.

“It would make me feel a lot better.” He adds. Your lip quirks slightly at the fact that he’s playing the sick card. You aren’t sure how boobs cure knee pain, but you know that at this point in your friendship, questioning Rooster’s strange brain is pointless.

He looks so cozy. Somehow perpetually tanned, cheeks flushed slightly from the warmth of the fire, his hood resting around his shoulders and his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. He smiles softly at you.

“Are you serious?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him in disbelief. He nods his head, tucking an arm behind it like he’s settling in to watch his favourite movie. He smiles at you, then nods again for you to go ahead.

“You’re such a teenager.” You scoff. Humour is the only way you know how to handle this. You still aren’t quite sure if he’s fucking with you.

“Please? — I’m bored, I need something to help me refocus.” Rooster smiles. Fuck, he’s so pretty. You shift slightly, half turning to face him and resting your elbow on the couch cushion. You scrunch your brows at him, trying to suss him out.

You’ve known him for long enough now to know that he’s serious.

You debate it. Debate just nut-tapping him and calling him a pervert. But it really is just your boobs. He’s seen you in a bikini a hundred times. Seen you in some pretty risky clothes when you’ve gone out drinking together. You know he knows what your boobs look like — what difference does it make for him to have also seen your nipple?

He’s watching you expectantly.

“Just for a second.” You agree.

“Seriously?” He wasn’t expecting you to say yes. Honestly you were expecting to try to hit him in the nuts. He pushes himself up onto his elbows. You’re half tempted to tell him no. The other half of you wants to see if he finds you as attractive as you find him.

Just for the validation.

You shrug your shoulders at him, twisting yourself up onto your knees. You grab the bottom of your sweatshirt, watching his eyebrows lift in anticipation.

There’s a split second where you hesitate. Sure, he’s your best friend. But after this, he’ll just be you best friend who has seen your tits. You think about it as he stares expectantly at you, still pushed up onto his elbows. Lots of your girl best friends have seen your tits — it makes sense that he would too. Fuck it.

You lift your sweatshirt and the loose fitting t-shirt that you’re still wearing under it. You’ve forgone a bra, considering that the plan was just to sit beside Rooster all day and make sure he didn’t die of boredom.

His lips part slightly as you lift the sweatshirt up and expose your chest to him. He stays there, propped up on his elbows, that stupid bag of probably thawed out peas still on his knee as he just stares at you. His lips quirk, ever so slightly, like he’s going to smile.

Every time you get drunk, you’re possessed by this overwhelming urge to tell Rooster what gorgeous eyes he has. It’s not your fault that he looks like the prettiest thing in the entire world when he’s blinking at your with those big brown eyes. You watch those pretty eyes now.

Men amaze you. He’s truly so mesmerised by what’s before him. You give him a while to just stare. Maybe twenty seconds. It certainly feels like longer. Then your cheeks are starting to redden. You scrunch your nose, feeling suddenly anxious by his lack of reaction.

“Say something, you freak.” You demand. Yet, you don’t drop your sweatshirt back down. Rooster’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. He swallows and lifts his eyes to finally look at your face.

“Can I touch them?” His voice is low, serious. His gaze flickers back down for a moment before he reminds himself to be respectful and looks back to your face.

You purse your lips.

“Mm… don’t you think that would be crossing a line?” You ask gently. This is not only your best friend, but also your wingman. You have to go to work with him after all of this.

“I think I already crossed that line.” He nods downward. You follow his line of sight to his half-hard cock straining against his grey sweatpants. Damn grey sweatpants. The sluttiest of men’s clothes. You’ve heard that Rooster is well endowed, and you’ve always been curious. You aren’t disappointed by what’s in front of you now.

You want him to touch you. In fact, you can’t think of anything else right now worse than denying him. Than denying yourself this.

“Just for a second.” You agree once more. You can’t pretend you don’t want him to touch you. He scoots over to make room for you to sit on the edge of the couch cushion. Your ass is half hanging off of it when you sit.

“You could just… it would be easier.” Rooster gestures for you to straddle him. You take one more look at the bulge in his sweatpants.

“I think that would be too far.” Truthfully, you don’t think you have the necessary self-restraint to be sitting on his dick and not take this far enough to ruin your friendship.

Rooster nods. You lift your sweatshirt once more. He lets out a soft breath. This time you notice his Adam’s apple rise and fall in his throat.

He reaches out tenderly, hand cupping your left breast. He squeezes softly, swipes his thumb delicately over your nipple, then brings his other hand up to cup your other breast.

He groans softly, just like he did when he first tasted his hot chocolate, kneading your breasts in his hands. Bradley’s lips quirk up into a soft smile, content for the first time all day.

His eyes flicker up to yours as he shifts slightly more upright. It’s then that you realise he’s going to kiss you. Alarm bells. Every brain cell you have is screaming that once those stupid, perfect, pouty lips touch yours — there is no more friendship.

In the interest of preserving the relationship with the best friend that you’ve ever had, you drop your sweatshirt and move away from him to sit on the floor again. Bradley adjusts himself against his sweatpants. You don’t see him frown.

“It’s your turn to ask me a question.” You announce, handing him a card without looking at him. He takes the card and settles back against the couch with a soft sigh, then clears his throat.

You can hear that he wants no part in continuing this game. But if you stop playing now then there’s nothing to do but sit here and think about how badly you want him to fuck you. So many almosts. You can’t take another one.

“Red. Okay. Uh… how many years did it take Michelangelo to paint the Sistine Chapel?” In Rooster’s defence, you can hear him trying to hide his bored he is for your sake. Still, you don’t turn to face him.

“Six.”

“Four.” He corrects you. He tosses the card back onto the coffee table and gently strokes your hair back off of your shoulder. You hand him the dice without meeting his gaze.

He sighs softly, toying with the dice for a moment. He shifts a little. Adjusts his half-hard cock. Looks down at the board. Thinks about how much longer this is going to take.

He rolls a five, then watches as you move his piece. You grab the question card. He trails the pad of his thumb from your jaw to the collar of your sweater. You’ve never played a game of Trivial Pursuit with this much sexual tension before.

“W-What is the literary term for a word describing a sound?”

“I truly couldn’t care less if I tried.” Rooster admits. After all, honesty is the best policy. You can’t turn to look at him. You don’t have the restraint. You want him so fucking bad that’s is almost pathetic right now.

So, you sit and wait patiently for him to just spit out the fucking word onomatopoeia. Just answer the question, Rooster.

He reaches out and slides his fingers around the base of your neck. He squeezes softly and strokes his thumb affectionately against the skin of your neck. He guides you back until you’re turned to face him.

He looks at you, his eyes hungry with lust, the intensity in those pretty, brown eyes sending shivers up your spine.

You let out a soft breath now that you’re staring at him. He can tell that you’re doubting this. That you’re starting to overthinking it. That the clock is ticking down quickly before this becomes just another almost.

He leans quickly forwards and captures your mouth in a kiss. Before you have a chance to freak out. You melt against him. Again, he groans, this time into your mouth. The sound vibrates through you and propels you into his arms.

You push up and swing one leg over his hips, straddling him without breaking the kiss. You take extra care to settle in delicately against him, not wanting to worsen his injury. He slips his tongue into your mouth, holding you against him with his hand on the back of your neck.

From here, you can feel just how hard he is. Rock hard and pressing into you. You grind down ever so slightly, feeling the tip of his cock graze you. The realisation strikes that he isn’t wearing underwear for the exact same reason you don’t have a bra on — you refuse to be subjected to such discomfort on a day of promised laziness. He’s made for you.

“Aren’t you…” You pull back, breathing hard. It’s like he can’t stand not having his mouth on you. His lips are on your throat the moment they leave your mouth. “Aren’t you kind of incapacitated from the waist down right now?”

“Don’t worry about it.” His hands are already slipping under your sweater, pushing it up your torso. You lift your arms up obediently and let him strip you of your hoodie and t-shirt. “Fuck me, you’re perfect.”

You can’t pretend that that compliment didn’t go straight to your head. Your ego is inflated and you’re suddenly feeling much more confident about this encounter.

He lifts his head and kisses your shoulder, both hands sliding up your torso and grabbing at your tits. Rooster groans, peppering soft kisses along your skin. You’ve always wondered what that stupid moustache would feel like against your skin. The answer is that it’s actually surprisingly pleasant. It tickles just enough to make you shiver but not enough to be irritating.

Rooster wraps his lip around your nipple, pinching the other between his fingers, making you gasp softly. His tongue flicks over the sensitive bud, pulling away, grazing his teeth just lightly over the tender flesh. He watches your head roll back. He groans more urgently this time, squeezing your tits in his hands as he turns his attention to the other nipple.

The line has been well and truly crossed already. There’s no way you can look him in his stupid, beautiful eyes again and pretend that he didn’t have you soaking through your panties with just his mouth on your tits.

You grind down against his cock, moaning softly at the friction. Your thin pair of leggings and his sweatpants don’t separate much. You can feel exactly how rock hard he is. You grind desperately onto him as he sucks a faint purple mark into your skin — just a light one that’ll fade within a couple of hours. Just enough that when he pulls back, he can admire the teeth marks on your skin.

His hands find your hips as he guides you, he presses his good leg down and uses the leverage to drive his cock up against your core. He pauses, holding you still, rocking the tip of his cock against your clit through your clothes. Your mind goes blank. Through your clothes. He found it through your fucking clothes.

You’re rocking your hips, grinding desperately against him through your clothes. He groans, taking just a moment to rake his eyes over your shirtless body, skimming his fingertips along your side.

“Fuck, I need to see what I’ve been fucking missing.” He breathes out, tugging at your hips. He slaps your ass, lifting his head and kissing you hard. You moan into his mouth. Your fingers slide down his chest, pushing under the hoodie, sliding it up his chest. He has to sit slightly, grabbing a fistful of fabric from behind his head and tugging it off.

It’s more than warm enough. The fire and your body heat is more than making up for the snow outside.

You stand up to rid yourself of your leggings and socks, embarrassed suddenly that you’re in a skimpy thong in front of your best friend and he’s laying there with one arm tucked behind his head, just smiling.

He shifts his hips slightly to get comfy. Your eyes fall down to the straining bulge in his sweats. Your lips part slightly. He brushes his palm over his cock, adjusting it slightly to ease his discomfort.

“I’m just really excited that I’m winning.” Bradley jokes breathily, nodding towards the game. You have to giggle. His fingers curl around your wrist as he tugs you back down to him again. You lay on top of him this time, your knee resting between his.

His hand grabs at the back of your neck as he guides your mouth against his, his tongue curling into yours. He pushes his hips against yours.

You’re both shifting, the couch is a little too small for both of you to fit comfortably. Your foot knocks his leg just slightly. He gasps, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He takes a moment, then let’s out a strained breath.

“Oh shit — I’m sorry.” You gasp, sitting up quickly to make sure he’s okay. He grabs the bag of peas digging into his side and tosses it across the room. You look down at his bandaged knee, brows scrunching. “Rooster, maybe we should wait until you can move again.”

“Already waited eight years.” He grabs you and kisses you again before you have time to process what he has said. The knowledge that he has wanted you just as badly as you have wanted him creeps into your heart and makes itself at home there.

Your ego really can’t take much more of this, you’re going to be insufferable if he continues with all of this flattery. But equally, you don’t want him to stop.

“I can take care of you,” He promises, nudging his nose against the crook of your neck. “Whether I can move or not. I’ve got you.”

You can’t resist. Your hand wraps around his cock over the soft jersey material, palming over his length as his tongue caresses yours. His hand slides between your bodies and nudges your panties to the side.

“You’re fucking soaked.” He murmurs. You roll your hips against his fingers.

“You’re fucking huge.” You reply. He smiles against your lips. He pushes harder against your hand, trailing his fingertips between your folds. You slide a hand up into his hair, humming softly as you tug at his curls. You’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.

He grabs your leg and adjusts your position to give him easier access to your pussy, slipping a finger into you. You hmm softly, tugging at his curls again. He groans into your mouth. His ring finger slides into you alongside his middle. He curls them both into you.

You feel his cock twitch in your palm as your walls clench around his fingers. There’s an urgency to this now. You’re in the living room of the lodge, about fifteen feet from the front door. It’s been a couple of hours, everyone will be back soon.

“That feels good, huh?” Like he already knows that it does. Because it does. All you can do is breathe, soft whimpers spilling from your lips as he works his fingers into you. It feels better than good. You wish you had the words.

Your fingers curl around his wrist, rocking yourself down onto his fingers. Excitement pools in your stomach as you fall forward slightly, bracing yourself onto his shoulder.

All Rooster can think about is that one time he was so drunk that you tried to do the nice thing and let him sleep in your bed. The plan was for you to take the couch. But then he had been so heavy, and so uncooperative — literally dead weight — that you had just left him curled up on the floor in your room.

He’d woken up the next morning while you were in the shower. The soft moans spilling from behind the bathroom door. The two of you had been completely alone in your place. He’d thought of those sweet sounds of you touching yourself constantly since then.

You sound even better now that he’s touching you. He groans softly against your lips, he’s enjoying this just as much as you are.

“Ah… fuck.” You sigh contentedly, swallowing hard. “Rooster. I’m so close.”

Music to his ears. Truly. He grabs the back of your neck with his free hand and pulls you close, eyes locked on yours as he works his fingers into you with his other hand.

If this is him injured, you’re mad at yourself for denying yourself all of him for all this time. You don’t have much time to be mad at yourself.

Your head lulls back, muscles tensing, fingers curling around his shoulder tightly. You’re whimpering, moaning, fucking yourself on his fingers.

“Look at you,” Rooster coos, half-teasing. You don’t have the words to bite back, breathing hard as you try to steady yourself in your post-climax haze. “Christ, you’re so good. So good.”

You can’t wait any longer. The moment your world stops spinning, you push at the waistband of his sweats. He obliges, pulling his fingers from you and pushing the sweats down to his shins. You can see the discomfort on his face. The pain he’s trying not to let you see.

“Rooster…” You frown.

He shakes his head, “I’m fine. Seriously. Doesn’t even hurt.” Actually, his leg is throbbing because it hurts so bad. But, his cock is throbbing too and he knows which one he’s more likely to listen to. You wish you had the strength to argue with him.

You shimmy out of your panties and lean down to kiss him. Your hands held his shoulders as his own squeezed softly at your ass, then grabbed his cock in one hand. He lined himself up with you as you dripped in wetness. His eyes meet yours as you rocked yourself against his tip.

Rooster shivers, even with the heat from the fire. He grabs your thighs with both hands, raking his nails against your skin. A muscle in his jaw ticks.

“So, you don’t want me to make you feel all better?” You tease. Voice soft and feigning concern. You even bat your lashes and squeeze your tits together for him. Then, you sink your hips down slightly, letting his tip nose at your entrance before you lift away again.

Rooster swallows. He manages to nod his head as his hands find your hips. Those pretty brown eyes look up at you, expectant and eager. His hands squeeze around your hips. Your grind yourself along his length, just letting him feel how worked up he’s got you.

“Fuck, of course I do.” Rooster rushes out, his hands finding your hips, giving the skin a firm squeeze. He ruts his cock against you, grinding it against your clit.

You slowly sink down on him, taking in his tip. A soft squeak slips your lips. He squeezes softly at your thighs again. His eyes shut, preventing himself from grabbing your hips and forcing you down to take him in all at once.

Bradley pushes himself up onto his elbows and lifts his chin, lustfully hooded eyes looking up at you as he grabs the back of your neck and guides your mouth to his. He kisses you softly, caressing his tongue against yours. His other hand strokes at your hip.

“You alright?” He whispers against your lips. You have to grab his shoulder tighter, worried for a moment that the sound of his voice alone might send you over the edge. You’re still, just hovering there, with him just barely inside of you.

“Mhm.” You breathe back, resting your chest against his as you sink the rest of the way onto his length. Rooster grabs your hips with both hands and pulls you tight against him, driving himself as deep as he possibly can.

You hit his shoulder, then grab his chin. His brows furrow slightly, confused as you lean in and look him in the eye.

“Hey. Let me.” You demand. He loosens his grip on your hips, smirking softly as he nods for you to do exactly that.

You lift yourself just slightly, rocking back down once again, finding a soft rhythm. Sinking up and down on his length. More full than you’ve ever felt. Head lulled back.

The pain of him stretching you out soon fades. Rooster feels it when it happens. Feels you relax, your walls fluttering around his cock. Each bounce filling you with strong surges of pleasure. You pick up speed, your bodies sloppily colliding.

Sounds of your breathless pleasure filling the empty lodge. Maybe even the forest outside. You couldn’t care less at this moment in time.

You arch your back, grabbing onto his thigh for support as you fuck yourself on him. He squeezes softly at your hips, sliding his hands down to your ass instead. Trying to take a backseat and give you full control.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He groans, throwing his head back against the cushioned arm of the couch. Rooster’s brows knot together, his eyes fluttering shut. Your palms rest against his chest, unashamedly checking him out while he isn’t looking.

You set the pace, taking care of him exactly like you promised to. Fucking your self on his cock, moaning his name like a pornstar. Rooster groans, lip between his teeth. He doesn’t feel sorry for himself anymore. Fucking up his leg is worth it. He’d sit through this pain six times a week if it meant he got to experience this as a result.

His cock twitches, you feel him squeeze your hips tight and slow your pace. He whimpers softly, lifting his head and taking your nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue expertly against the sensitive bud.

His hands grip hard at your ass, pulling you towards him as he squeezes your cheeks between his fingers. He growls lowly, shifting his hips, changing the angle. Letting his cock hit your g-spot each time you come down on him.

Your desperate moans fill the air, mixed with each of his soft grunts. The sounds of your pleasure make him twitch inside you. There’s nothing he loves more than knowing how good he makes you feel.

“‘M not gonna last. You feel so fucking good.” He pants, fingers pressing so hard into your hips that forensics might be able to take a fingerprint sample from your skin later.

“I’m almost there,” You pant, leaning down to kiss his jaw. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He smacks your ass, half-playfully, guiding your hips as you ride him. He presses his heel into the couch and drives his hips up into you as you’re coming back down on him. Just once.

You cry out, then gasp in. He took his lip between his teeth, grabbing both of your hips, guiding you as you bounced on his cock, his eyes on your face as your brow furrowed in pleasure. His eyes glance down to your tits, watching contentedly as they bounce.

“You’re so beautiful,” He groans out, breathing hard. “Look so fucking pretty when you’re all full like this.”

“Yeah?” You breathe out, lifting your hips until his tip is the only thing filling you, then sinking down until he’s nestled fully inside of you, grinding your hips down against him.

“Fuck. Yeah.” Rooster grabs your hips. “Wanna fuck you. Gonna take it like a good girl for me?” You crash your lips hard against his, nodding feverishly.

His hands slide down to your ass, his palm connecting hard with your right cheek, then squeezing at the soft skin with both hands. He presses his heel into the couch for leverage, mouth falling down to kiss at your chest as he fucks into you from below.

You grab onto his shoulders. You take him perfectly, your walls squeezing around his cock as he pounds into you. You fall against his chest, moaning desperately into the crook of his neck as his cock drives into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You aren’t sure, and you’re glad he can’t see your face because you know he’ll never stop teasing if he knows that your eyes just rolled back in your head. His name pools off your tongue like liquid gold.

His hands squeeze at your ass, smacking at your cheek, groaning breathlessly.

“I’m gonna — I’m-“ You can’t manage real words right now. He grabs a handful of your hair and tugs as his other arm tucks around your waist and keeps you steady as he pounds into you.

Earth shattering. It’s the only way to describe it. His soft groans in your ear as he fucks you through potentially the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. Toes curling, eyes shutting, voice faltering. You’re glad you fell against his chest before, because you know you would have outright collapsed if you hadn’t already.

You’re clenching around him, kissing lazily at his neck and whimpering as your sensitive pussy contracts around him.

In a loud groan, you felt him begin to spill into you. You mewled over him, your legs shaking as he kept his speed, his cock sending spurts of hot liquid into you. You whimper as his cock pulses inside of you.

His hands are all over you, not able to focus on any one thing — not able to touch enough of you at once as he comes. Your name spills desperately from his lips as he gives one last, deep spill into you. His thrusts falter, slowing until they stop all together.

He holds you there, against his chest, his cock still in you, until you’ve both caught your breaths. He kisses your temple softly.

“Onomatopoeia.” You say against his throat. You press your lips tiredly to his salty skin.

“Huh?” He clears his throat then swallows, his voice hoarse from moaning your name.

“Onomatopoeia. Literary term for a word describing a sound.” You breathe. He chuckles, his laughter rumbling in his chest and vibrating through you.

“Fuck off.” He scoffs, pushing at your face until you’re barely resting against his shoulder anymore. You smile as you push yourself up, shooting him a playful wink.

You both groan softly as you lift your hips and let him slip out of you. Both of you look down at the cum that drips onto his pelvis as you lift off of him.

“Phoenix would kill us if she knew we fucked on her mother-in-law’s couch.” You whisper, as if it’s suddenly important to keep quiet. Rooster nods his head in agreement as you push yourself up and step into your panties.

“Could you grab me some tissue?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right-“ Your leggings are halfway up your legs, your top half still completely bare when you’re silenced by the sound of a car door slamming. Your eyes go wide.

You grab your shirt and hoodie in your hands and sprint for the bathroom, leaving poor, injured Rooster to fend for himself.

“Wait — where the fuck are you- dammit.” He struggles back into his sweats and rushes his hoodie back over his head. The door to the downstairs bathroom locks behind you. You can’t face your closest friends right now.

Luckily, there’s plenty of gear to get out of the car. They take a good couple of minutes. Rooster stares at the ceiling. He can’t believe you ditched him in his hour of need, with his pants literally around his ankles.

That reminds him, he fixes the compression bandage on top of his sweats that had gotten all messed up during the rush.

“Bradshaw, how’s the knee?” Hangman calls as he swings through the front door, carrying two boards over his shoulder. Rooster pushes himself up on his elbows and peers towards the door over the back of the couch.

“I’m — Yeah. It’s the same.” He calls back.

“Where’s your nurse?” Coyote teases, following right behind Jake. Bradley is reminded of your betrayal.

“Peeing, I think.” Rooster answers. Phoenix and Dani head in. Then Bob and Payback. Then Fanboy, who’s not carrying anything. Mickey walks around and shrugs his coat off, tossing it onto the arm chair.

He looks at Rooster and scrunches his brows, then looks towards the fireplace. “You want me to put that fire out? — You look kinda warm.” Fanboy offers. The sweat beading on Rooster’s forehead gives him away, but Mickey doesn’t suspect anything.

Rooster presses the back of his palm to his forehead, wiping away the sweat that had gathered. He nods his head gratefully. The door to the bathroom unlocks and you step back out, dressed, composed.

Your eyes meet his. Rooster smiles softly, it’s a sweet enough look. But something in those pretty, brown eyes says you’re going to get it once I can walk again.

…

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“Good morning aviators.” Mavericks voice brought your attention back to the front where he stood, watching all of you standing in line outside.

The blazing heat was starting to make you sweat underneath your flight suit, but you forced yourself to pay attention. Phoenix stood beside you, Bob on her other side. She turned to glance at you, an eyebrow raising over her sunglasses as she asked you the silent question you all seemed to be wondering today. What the fuck are we doing today? Normally you would be inside already, but apparently they wanted the pilots to wait until Maverick arrived.

He began to head towards the building, the others falling into step behind him—Hangman right on his heels. You had half a mind to bark in his direction, but thought better of it. It would just give him even more of an incentive to be up your ass. He was already pissed that you and Bradley were being considered as team leader.

“I don’t know about you but I’m pretty sure they’re taking us in to kill us,” you whispered, trying to stifle your laughter as Phoenix elbowed you in the side.

“There’d be no point in that.” Bob piped up behind you, managed to duck around Fanboy and end up on your other side.

“Oh yeah why’s that?” you asked, peering over your sunglasses at him.

“Because I’m pretty sure Hangman’s already planned our deaths.” He shrugged. “Would be a shame to let all that trouble go to waste.”

Your mouth parted, lips spreading into a wide smile. “Robert Floyd, did you just make a joke at the expense of Hangman?” His cheeks turned red, head ducking as you swung an arm over his shoulder and leaned against him. “No, this is good! This is progress. Does this mean you consider me as your friend?”

Phoenix scoffed. “Don’t get too cocky Panther.”

“You can’t possibly think he likes you better.”

“Well I’m the one in control up there,” she said, gesturing to the sky.

You however turned back to Bob, taking in his slightly baffled expression. “We can’t let her do that to us, Bob. We’re pals.”

“That’s enough chit chat for today,” Maverick called, grabbing your attention as the three of you headed into the room.

The room was where you’d been briefed on the mission before and you figured new tactics were being taught today. They made sure to wait until the very last second to tell you what exactly that was. Taking off your sunglasses, you slipped them into your front pocket before planting a kiss on Bob’s cheek and taking a spot in front of Fanboy. He and Payback were in the midst of having a silent conversation—the worry on their face prominent enough for even you to see with one small glance.

Shifting, you caught Hangman’s gaze as he shot you an all too cocky wink. To which you returned in kind with a lovely gesture of your middle finger. He wanted to throw you off your game just as he did with everyone else here, but it seemed you and Bradley got the worst of it. He didn’t like competition. That much was clear.

You and Bradley still hadn’t spoken since last night. Hell, you’d hardly seen him all morning, and you had half a mind to ask him why he left. You weren’t mad. Just surprised. Turning your head even further you managed to meet his gaze head on, an icy stare being sent your way. He looked at you like last night never happened, like you were back to being enemies, and it caused your heart to sink in your chest. Quickly, you turned back to the front, placing your sole focus on Maverick as he pulled up the mission plans.

Bradshaw would have to wait for now.

Your attention went to the screen, as you watched Maverick step back and give the attention to the other men in the room. Even while you sat there—eyeing what you knew were the new plans—you could feel Bradley’s gaze burning a hole in the back of your head. There was something up with him today and while you wanted to ask what was up, you simply allowed yourself to settle into the role of being a pilot once more. You were familiar with it.

Being a pilot oddly enough…felt safe.

Bradley on the other hand was a storm. One you weren’t sure you were ready to brave quite yet.

Snapping back to reality you caught the final bits and pieces of their explanation and felt a knot begin to form in your stomach and grow by the second. The mission was now being moved up. A decision they clearly didn’t like, given the grave expressions they wore and you could feel the tension in the room rise. Fanboy and Payback quickly began talking to one another about what had to be done and you were greeted with a flash of you and Hunter.

For a brief moment, you wished Hunter was there with you.

He’d know how to fly this mission—he’d know how to get you home safely.

You however were drowning with the intensity of it all; making you wonder why you were even considered for this mission in the first place.

“You’ve now got two weeks. Which means you’ll be moving on with your training.”

“Oh shit,” you muttered, hearing the others begin to mumble to one another.

“Sir how are we supposed to move on when no one here even accomplished the canyons?” you asked, glancing at Maverick who was busy looking at someone else.

“Well lieutenant there’s no other options at this point.”

Hangman scoffed beside you, his eyes glinting with enough malice to remind you that he still hated your guts. You were half tempted to punch the smirk off his face, but figured it wasn’t worth getting reprimanded. Still…he was on thin fucking ice.

The man stepped back, allowing Maverick to take over and you shot a glance at Bradley over your shoulder. He was the only one who made it to the target last time, but he was behind schedule—a fact Hangman refused to let him forget. He kept his gaze straight, jaw clenched as he sat upright in his chair, his posture stiff enough to almost seem painful.

You gave up and turned back to the front, listening intently as Maverick explained the parameters of the second half of the mission. A fact that let you know if you didn’t get miracle one right, you were sure as hell not getting near accomplishing miracle number two. Tapping your finger on the desk, you felt someone’s gaze come back to you. Figuring it was Phoenix, you stayed put—waiting for Maverick to finish his lecture.

“Today we begin working on hitting the targets.”

“How the hell is that supposed to go down?” Hangman asked, the drawl of his voice exhibiting peak cockiness.

“The pilot would have to be going at intense speed,” you replied, fixing your gaze on him. “I’m sure you have enough experience with that.”

He smiled. “Do you want to find out Panther?”

“I’d rather crash my F-18.”

The comment was ignored, but you could hear Phoenix snort in the background, no doubt proud of you for putting Hangman in his place. He needed to be knocked down a peg or two. So, you risked turning around, winking at her quickly before your gaze was drawn to the man glaring at you across the way. Bradley watched you with enough ire in his stare to send a chill down your spine—your eyes widening briefly before you shifted in your seat.

You were too afraid to ask what his problem was; the circumstances of last night aside, Bradley and you were still toeing the line of hatred and something akin to love.

“Like you haven’t already,” he snipped.

Narrowing your eyes you felt your hand clench into a fist on instinct, prepared to defend what little honor and reputation you had left. If it came down to it, you’d bring him to the floor. Perfectly happy to land a few hits in before someone dragged you away.

“That’s enough Hangman,” Maverick snapped.

He sighed, shifting in his seat like he was bored of all of this, but you could see the wheels working in his brain. You’d known pilots like him before. Seen how they enjoyed picking and prodding until their competition was left in the dust. Except Hangman was different. He knew things that he wasn’t sharing yet and you could already feel the destructiveness of his actions heading everyone’s way.

“No one has ever experienced a mission like this,” Hangman started to speak again, the toothpick between his teeth being moved with every word. “Not even Maverick.”

You had to begrudgingly admit that he had a point there. Maverick’s past experience was extensive to say the least, but it wasn’t anything like this. If a pilot survived this, they would be able to make it out of almost anything, but that was the thing.

The pilot had to survive.

This mission didn’t come across as something one would walk away from unscathed, and that’s what terrified you.

Which one of you in this room wouldn’t make it home in the end?

You had half a mind to turn and look at the man you were most worried about, but could already feel his eyes on you. Even though he would never admit it. He was just as afraid as you were that this thing between the two of you—whatever it was—wouldn’t be around after the two weeks were up.

Grabbing your helmet, you headed outside and towards the jets that were lined up. Unease had filled your body the second they announced having to move on with the mission’s training and it had yet to fade. They were giving you no time at all to figure out what had to be done in order to survive and it seemed that you were meant to accomplish turning miracles into reality. You were shit out of luck a long time ago—already having lost one pilot.

You just hoped that the others still had some luck left to spare.

“Fuck,” you spit as your sunglasses fell on the floor.

You were barely able to handle the first parts of training and yet now they expected you to succeed in something everyone else deemed impossible. Hangman’s words rang in your head from inside of the room. Not even Maverick had experienced a mission this demanding, this grueling. Yet they wanted whomever they picked to come out of his perfectly fine and ready to keep going.

The parameters for the flight weren't even the hardest part. Hitting the target would be your main goal. You fought against the doubt that filled your mind as you tilted your head up, squinting at how bright it was outside.

You did your best to keep your demeanor calm given the circumstances. After all it was simply training today—nothing bad could go wrong. Yet why did you have a horrible feeling you were going to be eating your words later? Before you could grab your sunglasses off the floor, someone else did it for you. The black—now slightly scratched—aviators being pressed into your hands.

Bradley of all people stood in front of you, all ready and prepared to get into his F-18. He would be with you, Phoenix, Bob, Payback, and Fanboy on the first run of training. Four jets, two leaders. You could feel the anxiety rush through your veins at the very thought of it. Instead of giving into the panic, you chose to focus on Bradley with a glow of sunlight around him. It was unfair how beautiful he looked standing there doing absolutely nothing. Really it felt rather rude. But you shoved those thoughts away.

You needed to remain focused on the task at hand; not on your silly relationship problems.

“Thanks for last night,” you said, unnerved at the way he wouldn’t take off his sunglasses to meet your eyes. “You didn’t have to—”

His hands latched on your upper arms, pushing you slightly backwards until you were pressed against the side of his jet. His eyes were covered, but you recognized the stoic expression on his face. The same one he wore a few nights ago at the bar. Something was clearly bothering him and yet instead of talking about it—he pushed it away, focusing his irritations on you instead. You were right last night. This relationship—whatever it consisted of—was far from being healthy in any way shape or form.

So much so that it made your head spin.

“You need to back down from trying to be leader,” he said, causing all of the hope in your chest to crash down into your stomach.

“What?” Had you been remembering last night wrong? Was him helping you all a figment of your imagination?

“They’re going to pick soon and I need you to let me take it from here.”

A sour taste filled your mouth as you regarded him with a withering stare. “Are you being serious? Or are you just fucking with me?” Bradley had gone from loving to suddenly picking up that long forgotten fight you shared with him this time around. “Am I remembering last night wrong or are you suddenly back to being a dick?”

He made no move to back away from you—his face so close that if you leaned up just a tad you could kiss him. Or slap him. In all honesty the latter sounded like the most appealing action right at this moment. He was asking you to tank your career by backing off, by letting him take what you worked so hard to gain. Where the fuck was your Bradley? The man who held you last night until you slept comfortably beside him. 

It was clear to you now that the person who stood before you wasn’t him.

“We both know who the better pilot is here.”

You shoved against him, trying to get him to back off, but he barely even shifted on his feet. “Fuck you. I’ve earned my place here and I’m not going to have you of all people trying to take a position that I’m clearly competent in. I have just as much claim on being leader as you do Bradshaw.”

It seemed his mind—his whole demeanor—had shifted into him being an asshole again; the Bradley you cared for now gone. Oh how you wished he’d simply give up this petty fight and allow you both to get on with your lives. He dropped his hands from your waist, giving you some room to cool off, but he was far from done. There was something he wasn’t telling you. Something that was clearly bugging him, and you couldn’t discern if it regarded you or not. You considered the possibility that he was just having an off day; that he woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

“Is there something going on with you and Floyd?”

Until he said that.

“What?” you laughed, unsure if you ever heard him correctly.

“Are you and Floyd starting something? Because I want to know I’m wasting my time here.”

You reared back, your mouth dropping open in disbelief. A white hot anger filled your veins, as the realization finally settled in your mind. He was jealous. Bradley was jealous of one fucking kiss on the cheek meant to be friendly. You hardly even knew Bob other than a small conversation here and there. How could he even consider it when last night he was in your bed? Yet again, rather than ask you about the situation calmly, he picked at the wounds that were still healing. He treated you like an enemy rather than a friend and you couldn’t stop the doubts from flooding into your mind.

Was this it? Was this all there would be between the two of you?

Precious moments of comfort that were found few and far between, and at the end of it all a raging anger that would still peek its head out more often than you expected. More often than it should. You wanted Bradley; wanted to be with him. But you weren’t sure how many times you could handle being treated this way. You couldn’t tell anymore if he even loved you, or if this was simply a relationship of convenience for him until he shipped off to his next mission. 

Meanwhile you might never truly heal from the wounds he reopened.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You really believe that Bob and I…that we’re…what? Together? What the fuck Bradshaw?” You pressed a hand to your forehead—your heart twisting violently in your chest. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

“Doing what?’ he asked. He was clearly oblivious to the war of emotions battling it out inside your mind and for some reason that only made you angrier.

“Loving you!” His posture stiffened and you heard him inhale sharply at your admission of the truth—finally. “I don’t know if loving you is worth all of this back and forth Bradley. I’m so tired. I’m tired of pretending to hate you and hoping that you were pretending too. But clearly you’re not. Not if you think I would willingly choose to be with another man when you know how I feel about you.”

“Kitten—”   

His words were no longer registered in your mind. “I’m sorry for leaving, but if I remember that night correctly only one of us actually said their feelings out loud. And it sure as shit wasn’t you.”

You caught the sight of Maverick heading your way, helmet in his hands and fell back into your professional ways. There was a mission to complete, a job to be done, and you couldn’t allow petulant emotions to get in your way. They would only hinder you in the end. Wiping your face clean of any expressions, you straightened your spine. Bradley’s mouth was still opening and closing—the words unable to get out. Except you knew the truth.

He wouldn’t have to force the words out if he truly meant them.

Nodding his way, you grabbed your helmet from where it fell to the floor. The black color now matched the emotions that flooded your body the longer Bradley stayed quiet. Maverick gestured for you to follow him and you felt like there was a ball in your throat that wouldn’t go away. Your heart sank even more the longer you stood there watching Bradley process your words, but you had done your part. You told him the truth. There was nothing more for you to give him.

“I’ll see you up there Rooster,” you said for the first time in years. The name felt odd on your tongue.

He flinched as if you’d slapped him across the face and you wanted to feel sorry about it. Only you couldn’t.

Not anymore.

“You are a go,” Maverick’s voice echoed in your ear as the jet flew through the air.

Phoenix and Bob were right behind you, Rooster having taken the front for Payback and Fanboy. After climbing into your jet and only acknowledging him through his callsign, you simply allowed yourself to become numb to your emotions one last time. Today would be routine, just like every day. You would flip the switches, bring the jet into the air and follow the directions Maverick laid out, because that’s the only way you would survive finally cutting Bradley Bradshaw off.

For good.

You couldn’t go on like this. Being wracked with guilt for leaving him all those years ago, only to suffer the brutal consequences in the end by his hand. Love wasn’t supposed to be this painful. Here you thought he’d forget your existence, move on and get married, but instead you were left with a man who didn’t seem to know what he wanted. Let alone if what he wanted was you.

“You with me Phoenix?” you asked through the radio, pushing the control stick forward to remain close behind Payback and Fanboy.

“I’m with you Panther.”

Bob’s voice followed after hers, telling you exactly how far out the target was and like you were on autopilot you responded with the reminders to check his lasers. If you missed the first round, you’d have to try again. Until eventually you got it right every time, but your gut instinct told you something wasn’t exactly right. You were stupid enough to shove it away—having told yourself that this was just training. You could make mistakes in training and try again to right your wrongs.

“We’re coming up on the target. Stay sharp for the second missile,” Bradley’s voice felt jarring at this time, but like everything else…you shoved it down.

“Copy that Rooster.”

You fucking hated using his callsign. The feeling as if you were just anybody else on the team had turned your body cold, but as of right now…you were just that. It was clear to both of you that whatever happened before wasn’t meant to be brought up here. Not when things were life and death. Except you couldn’t help but notice the edge to his voice as he let you know the first missile had been fired. You played it off as your mind overthinking again; changing the manner of his tone to fit your heartbroken demeanor.

“Coming up on the target,” Bob said. “Laser is all good.”

“Phoenix?”

“After you Panther,” she replied. You could hear the smirk in her voice, letting you know that it was now your turn to show them who was leader and who wasn’t.

Flipping a switch, you took a deep breath before pushing the control stick forward, flipping the jet as Maverick had explained and coming into a dive. Evening out the jet, you heard Bob line up the shot through the radio and without a second of hesitation you took the chance the second he said go. Now came the hard part. You heard Maverick’s voice in your head, explaining that the pilot would be pushing Mach 9 in order to get out of Coffin’s Corner.

“Fuck,” you spit, feeling the pressure on your body become excruciating.

Breathing was painful, turning your head was painful, fuck even surviving this felt as if you were being torn limb from limb. The gravity pulled against you as the jet took off even higher—Phoenix right behind you. All you needed was to push on just a bit further, but that gut feeling from earlier reared its ugly head. A beeping started to echo in the small cockpit, a red light flickering above you, and a cold chill went down your spine as flashbacks started to return in full force.

“Smoke in the air! Smoke in the air!” 

Hunter’s voice practically screamed in your ear, the beeping only getting louder the more you continued to push the jet to its limits. You could see his face, see the image of him lying dead on the ground, and suddenly…getting air to your lungs wasn’t your biggest problem. Phoenix’s voice shouted through the radio, trying to shake you out of your nightmare, but nothing worked.

The jet was dropping altitude too quickly. Yanking on the stick, you tried to even it out, but another red light flashed in front of you, altering you to the right engine dying.

“Fuck!” you shouted, pressing the switch to extinguish it in the hopes that would be enough to get you back on the runway.

“Panther what’s going on?” Maverick called, his jet not far behind.

“The right engines out!” You’d been trained for situations like this and without another thought you began to even out the jet, gaining altitude as you shook your head to rid yourself of the flashbacks.

You’d managed to even out, the sight of the runway coming up in the distance, but another sound began quickly after the first. The echo of your left engine now going out—leaving you dead in the air. You panicked. Hunter’s face was all you could see and for a moment you felt your lips form around the letters of his name. Perhaps he was there with you. Finally ready to take you with him after all these years going it alone. The prospect of crashing didn’t scare you as much as it should.

No, what scared you was that…you weren’t afraid to die at all.

“Panther bail out! I need you to eject!” You barely heard Mav’s voice.

“I can’t outrun them. I’m going to get a bit lower, enough for you to eject.”

“I’m not leaving you here to die.”

“Eject Panther! Eject!” Maverick was practically screaming at you now, but your head had gone hazy—the force of hitting Mach 9 causing you to fade in and out.

“Either you eject now or we both die!”

Gasping, you flipped another switch, trying to slow down the jet, but you couldn’t see straight—your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You heard Phoenix yell at you through the radio, her voice trying to bring you back and you wanted to scream that you were trying. That you could see the hill coming even closer, yet you were unable to reach down and pull the chord beneath you.

Why couldn’t you move?

“I—” you gasped, trying to get air into your lungs. “I can’t.”

The radio crackled, another voice coming in clearer than the others. “Panther I need you to eject!” Bradley’s jet was diving down towards yours, his panicked voice causing your heart to twist.

“Roo—” you mumbled.

His jet was right beside yours, the dive he was in breaking the rule of the hard deck. “Do it now Panther! Please!” You could vaguely make out the terror in his plea. “You can do this. Just breathe.”

Fumbling, you felt the roughness of the rope scratch against your hands and you inhaled, shutting your eyes tightly as Hunter’s face showed up vividly behind your eyelids. Yanking it with all the strength you had, you felt the gust of wind hit you harshly in the face—the echo of your chute opening a few moments later. You could hear the distant crash of your jet, the explosion nearly rocking the ground below, but your vision was fading with every passing second.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, tilting your head to the side, the sunlight blinding you. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

You hit the ground hard, your knees taking the brunt of the fall and on instinct you unlatched yourself from your chute. Leaving your body to collapse—the breath leaving your lungs. The exhaustion refused to leave your body even though you fought against it. Pulling that many Gs left you in a state of disorientation. One that you couldn’t get out of.

The air was stale from the heat of the day. The sun still beat down as you lay there, sweating the longer you drifted in and out of consciousness. You fought to stay awake, but your mind seemed to have other plans entirely. It had decided to be cruel today—forcing you to relive things you wished to forget at a time like this.

“I know I say it every time we fly,” Hunter said,  glancing up at the sky like he’d find his solace in the clouds. More often than not every pilot preferred to be up there rather than on the ground. 

Up there…heartbreak, grief, pain it all disappeared. Probably why so many refused to retire; why they remained until they were forced out or lost in the heat of battle. You knew which path you were on long ago—the futile choice already made for you.

He turned his eyes to you, a sorrow in them that you recognized after knowing him for so long. “If we don’t make it back, Panther. If I don’t…” He blinked, wiping away his pain and slapping an all too false smile on his lips. “Tell my girl I was flying back to her.”

It was an omission of truth, a terrifying thought no pilot wanted to consider, but you did it anyway. Returning his smile you clapped him on the back lightly. You didn’t know then that you’d be delivering his message after all these years. That he’d leave his final words with you, but there it was…the reality of being an airman. One day your heaven became your ultimate hell and nothing would ever be able to change that.

You were jolted awake by the sounds of a chopper landing near you, someone running out and grabbing you quickly in order to get you on board and back. Pain erupted in your side, searing down your leg as they shifted you, but you had no energy to cry out. Everything shifted as the chopper took off; someone reached down to gently pull your helmet off as they attempted to check your pulse. You wanted to say you would be fine. All you needed was a moment, but even this was too extreme for your body to handle.

Before you could open your eyes, you were pulled under again.

The bar doors swung open as you sat there finishing the bottle of whiskey you and Phoenix were meant to drink together. She’d taken off in a hurry after learning what choice you made, but at least she promised things were okay between you two. You just wished you could tell her the truth—why you were so adamant on running in the first place. But you didn’t even know what the truth was. You were just a hopeful idiot, waiting for life to hand you love on a silver platter rather than fighting for it yourself.

“I thought I’d find you here kitten,” Bradley’s voice bounced off the empty bar walls as he took the stool beside you.

“You told me to come here.” You didn’t want to say it, but he looked almost…bashful. “Why…did you ask me here, Bradshaw?”

He poured himself a glass, taking a deep breath as he drank before meeting your eyes for the first time that night. “I know we’ve graduated and you and I have done nothing but try and kill each other, but…”

“But?” Fuck, you hoped what you thought he was going to say next actually came out of his mouth.

“I want to be with you,” he blurted out. His face turned red when he caught you staring at him with your eyes wide. “I…I care about you kitten. Fuck I don’t know if it’s love or if it’s just some crush, but…I know I want you.”

Your throat felt dry as you tried to swallow, his words sinking into your mind. “You…”

“Yes,” he replied.

“And what if…” You could barely get the fucking words out. “What if this—” You gestured between the both of you, your hands shaking slightly. “Is just an itch that needs to be scratched to get me out of your mind?”

“It’s not.”

You couldn’t stand the way he was watching you with so much calm in his expression; as if he was so sure about what the two of you shared. “How do you know?”

He leaned forward, lips twitching as he heard your breath catch in your throat at his close proximity. “Because you’ve been in my mind since day one, kitten. Believe me when I say nothing could get you out of it. Nothing would make me want you to leave it.”

“She’s fighting being unconscious,” someone said over the loud echo of the helicopter blade. “Her body’s gone into shock.”

They moved you again swiftly and you could barely make out the sunlight through your shut eyes. Vaguely in the back of your mind you knew where they were taking you. The hospital no doubt. You’d taken a hard hit on the way down—your body unable to handle the sustained G’s in the training. The gurney was stopped suddenly, jolting you again and bringing back the pain in your side. You nearly cried out, but not even your voice would work.

Footsteps pounded against the asphalt, your name echoing in the distance; the paramedics stopped them halfway to you and you tried to raise your head to see them. Why was it so fucking hard? Why…were you still drifting in between being conscious and unconscious?

“I need to see if she’s alright.”

Bradley.

“Lieutenant, I need you to wait with the others. She’s going to be taken to the hospital—”

“I just need to see if she’s okay!” he shouted, the scuffle of his feet echoing on the ground.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw I can’t let you—”

“Let him through.” Maverick. Your brain registered they were there and for the first time, you managed to slowly open your eyes—able to make out the shape of Bradley rushing towards you.

He looked so blurry as he stood there, his hand dropping to your cheek before cupping the back of your neck when he leaned over to get close. This is what you longed for. This is what kept you afloat when everything else was falling apart around you. Hunter’s face, the memories, they all retreated to the back of your mind as a new image took form. A bright eyed pilot who had stolen what was left of your already shattered heart—his crooked smile enough to send your entire being into overdrive.

“Kitten, can you hear me?” he asked softly, tilting your head. “Fuck.” Something wet fell on your chin. “Fuck I’m so sorry.”

“We have to take her.”

His grip got tighter, the broken tone of his voice nearly breaking your heart again as your eyes fluttered slightly—the ability to move returning. “Is she going to be okay?”

You could easily tell them that it was just a panic attack. You were used to them popping up at random times, but you were so tired and Bradley’s skin felt warm pressed against yours. Vaguely you felt them move you, his warmth leaving you for the cold bitterness of the outside world. Except by the time you could open your mouth, attempt to reach for him, they were already slamming the doors shut on the ambulance.

“Bradley,” you faintly breathed, the paramedics shifting around you to continue and attempt to check if you were comfortable where you were.

Besides, you think to yourself, they weren’t solid plans in the first place. No one would blame you for indulging if they saw the scene in front of you, and you certainly couldn’t help yourself.

On your doorstep was none other than Bradley Bradshaw, the hookup-turned-friends with benefits you’d been seeing the past couple of months, and had never planned on catching feelings for, but here you both were. Complicated to say the least.

It was a hot day, and his clothes reflected that- the loose button-up he wore was barely buttoned, revealing his bare chest underneath, with a pair of blue swim trunks clinging to his thighs. Aviators sit low on his nose, a smirk peeking out from under them.

He has a six pack in one hand, and a towel thrown over his shoulder. “I’ve come to use your pool.”

You snap out of your admiration when you realize he’s spoken. “Hi to you too, Bradley.” It’s sarcastic, but you step aside to let him in anyway.

“You didn’t have plans today, did you?” He asks as he walks through your entryway, setting the beer cans on your counter.

Yes. “Nope.”

He looks at you with a grin. “Perfect.” You stare at each other for a few moments, and then he raises an eyebrow at you, and you realize he’s waiting for you to do something.

You clear your throat, pointing over your shoulder to your room as your face warms at his attention. “I’m just gonna change.”

“Oh great, I’ll come with you.” Your heart skips a beat at the casual innuendo, he’s fully teasing you, but you push him towards your backyard anyway, attempting to laugh it off. “I’ll just be a second, I’ll meet you outside.”

When you finally make your way to the yard, you spot him already in the water, shirt discarded across one of the lounge chairs. “That was quick.” You tease, sitting down on the edge of the pool to let your legs dangle into the cool water. He wades over to you, slicking back his wet hair in the process.

“Well yeah, it’s like, ninety degrees out here.” He points out, slapping his hands down onto your knees.

“Fair enough.”

“You planning on coming in? Or are you just gonna admire me from afar?” You pretend to think about it, though it’s obvious in your own mind that nothing could stop you from joining him.

You must take too long though, because the next thing you know, he’s pulled you in after him. You yelp as the cold water envelops your body with a splash, though your head isn’t submerged thanks to his strong arms holding you up.

“That’s better.” He smiles, connecting your lips. You wrap your legs around his waist, holding onto his shoulders. His hands move to grip your ass, and you smirk. “Ah. So that’s the real reason you’re here.” He gives a cheeky smile in response to your jab.

“Oh, hundred percent. The pool is just a nice add-on.” You snort, turning to swim away from him. “Whatever.” You send him a little splash as you say it, not understanding fully what you’ve just started.

He cocks his head, giving you a look that simultaneously worries you and turns you on.

“I didn’t mean to splash you.” You deadpan, but he’s still moving toward you. Your back hits the edge of the wall, causing you to look back briefly before facing him again with a sheepish smile.

He’s close enough to splash you now, but he doesn’t. His gaze shifts as he grabs your hand, pulling you back to him. You stay quiet as you look up at him, his thumb brushing across your cheek.

Your breath hitches as he leans down to kiss you. It’s tender, intimate even. You'd still been getting used to how gentle he was the longer you knew him, a stark contrast to the desperate fucking you'd started out with.

He pulls away, smiling innocently, before dunking you under the water fully. You come up sputtering, wiping your eyes and the hair out of your face, completely taken off guard.

You’re speechless, mouth gaping open. “Now we’re even.” He smirks, kissing your cheek. You push on his chest, laughing. “Not even close! That was way worse than what I did! I’m soaked.” You cringe at the knots that were already forming in your hair.

“Already?” You’re wading back to the edge as he says it, and you only spare him a really? glance before hoisting yourself out of the pool.

“Keep it in your pants, Bradshaw.” You mutter, secretly wishing he’d do anything but.

You groan inwardly, laying back onto the hot cement and throwing an arm over your eyes to shield them from the sun. It was a comfortable position, your legs far enough into the water that you weren’t too hot or too cold.

You're there for a good ten minutes without any word from the pilot in your pool. You're unsure what he's been up to, but you hope that your lack of attention is having a... frustrating effect on him.

By the tiny ripples that splash up onto your legs, you can tell Bradley’s he's back in front of you. He sighs dramatically.

“Do you need something?”

“No, no… you keep resting.” He says nonchalantly. You sigh, sitting up on your elbows to look at him.

“Okay, seriously, what is it?” You prompt, still shielding your eyes, but now from the bright water.

He shrugs, “I think you’re right-“

“That’s a new one.” You interrupt, snorting, “About what?”

“Well if you’d let me finish.” He huffs. “I was saying, I think you’re right. We’re not even. I still owe you.” He rests his chin on your legs, still standing in the water.

“Oh yeah?” You question, sitting up to give him your full attention. He wraps his arms under your knees, pulling you even closer to the edge, so your ass is hanging off.

He hums in confirmation, kissing the skin closest to him, your shin, then adds, “If you want me to.”

He stops then, waiting for your reply.

That couldn't have worked out better if you planned it. Not that you had come up with a plan to end up in this position, but you weren't going to complain when you'd been hoping for it since you'd seen him standing on your doorstep.

“I think that sounds like a good idea.” It comes out breathier than you anticipated, and you shift on the cement under his gaze. The look on his face is one you hadn’t seen often, but you still recognized it.

He was eager. Your stomach flutters at the realization.

A soft smile crosses his lips at your confirmation.

He looks up at you as his fingers hook under the band of your bikini bottoms, and you lift your legs out of the water while he slowly pulls them down to make it easier for him to remove them from his position.

They’re thrown next to the shirt he had discarded immediately after entering your backyard.

He parts your knees, leaving him now conveniently eye level with you, granting him full access.

He slides a finger through your folds, “That’s definitely not from the pool. You weren’t lying about being soaked were you honey?”

“I think your smart ass mouth could be put to better use elsewhere.” You lean back onto your elbows, “Please.” You add, keeping your gaze on him.

Who was the eager one now?

“Yes ma’am.” He chuckles, starting a trail of chaste kisses from your knees up to your inner thigh.

He uses two fingers to part your lips, presses another kiss to your core, and then he’s putting his mouth to good use.

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him in a more striking position. It was almost picturesque. And sure, the way his tongue felt only added to the situation, but… god.

He looked…pretty. There wasn’t another way to describe it.

The sun gave him golden skin, and your eyes raked over the way his arms flexed as he gripped your thighs. His hair was shimmering, the light glinting off of it as his head moved.

He was so pretty.

Your thighs clench together when his nose hits your clit, but his hands keep your legs firmly spread. He grunts at the tension against his palms, but you’re grateful his hands are there, because you’re positive you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself in this position without them.

He was so pretty, but you have to pull your eyes away from the sight as you get closer to your climax. You tilt your head back, feeling the warmth of the sun, and close your eyes, focusing on the way his tongue feels.

A loud moan escapes your lips as he sucks at your clit, the pearl at the center of your clam. "Fuck, Y/N."

You grab at his wrists, desperate for some sort of stability, and force yourself to look back down at him, addicted to the sight of him between your legs. He keeps one of his hands pressed on your leg, but twists the other so he can intertwine it with yours, sparing a glance up at you.

That was enough to send you over the edge.

You press your tongue to the back of your teeth, letting out breathy moans as your lungs heave in and out. He doesn’t leave his spot until you’ve completely come down from you high, working you through it.

Still breathing heavily, you cup both sides of his face to guide his lips to yours, tasting yourself on his mouth. He’s practically doing a plank the way you’re forcing him to hold himself up to you, but he doesn’t complain.

It’s not like it was hard for him to hold the position.

You slide your hand to his back as you deepen the kiss, wrapping your legs loosely around him.

“I wouldn’t mind getting used to that view.” You mutter against his mouth, enticing another laugh from him. “So fucking pretty, Bradshaw.”

“Pretty huh?”

“Mmhm.” You hum. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re very… talented. But that sight was something else.” You brush his hair out of his face, admiring his features as you lightly trace over them. He watches your expression, smiles at the way you get so easily distracted by him. His heart swells with pride.

It wasn’t complicated for him anymore. He’d argue later that it never had been. He wanted to be the only one that could entice a reaction like this from you.

He wanted to be the only one to see just how pretty you looked as he went down on you.

You were so pretty.

***

i. Bruce Springsteen — Born To Run

You wanted to sleep in.

You were planning to sleep in. That’s the sole reason you arrived in this new town a day earlier than the rest of the cast before the rigorous final phase of flight training for your upcoming movie. But as the old saying goes, you make plans and Siri laughs and fucks up your alarm.

And the more you try to go back to sleep, the more anxious you get about the big day. It’s like a schoolkid before a field trip —if only said field trip was where you’d get your ass kicked black and blue. You’re not ready, you knew that. But you had to be. As the new kid on Top Gun, arguably the biggest action film this decade, there’s too much catching up to do. Every minute you’re not spending in training should be a minute spent preparing for it.

That’s why you're giving yourself a head start; sleepwear shucked off, sports bra on, workout playlist thumping from your AirPods. And with a short pep down the steps, your stride hits the sand.

It’s sweaty, hot, heavy as the ground underneath you crumbles a little with every step in your run. It takes you everything to maintain your pace so you don’t sink into the sand and make it even harder for yourself —even if you pay for it in burning heels and lungs and limbs and muscles.

But the view is nice. Lines of blue, yellow, orange, and white fading into each other on the horizon. Seafoam washed up on the shore, clearing your shoe prints like you’re starting over with every lap, every set of lunges and crunches and what-have-you. And through it all, not a single soul in sight.

Well. Except for one man. 

Jogging in your opposite direction about 20 minutes into your workout. He runs laps on the mile-long strip of empty beach, bare torso gleaming in the sun and sweat, aviator glasses perched atop the bridge of his nose. You’re not usually into pornstaches, but it suits him. You’d take a longer, better look, but he catches you staring and nods at you briefly with a coy smile as he runs past you.

Fuck. 

You push through until you hit the quiet, closed beachside bar called The Hard Deck, and jogs up to the sidewalk, sighing in relief upon finding an even surface —and enough distance to hide your embarrassment from the sexy, sweaty stranger, as you jog back to your apartment.

Out of sight, out of mind. 

***

ii. Cage The Elephant — Cigarette Daydreams

But later that evening, sun barely setting outside the window, when The Hard Deck’s come alive with patrons drinking and conversing and playing pool, jukebox music playing in the background, an all-too-familiar figure strides into the room. His six-pack abs are clad in a white tank this time, a flowy Hawaiian shirt thrown over his broad shoulders. The sunglasses, however, seem to be a mainstay, and you force yourself to look away before you embarrass yourself. Again.

He walks over to the empty spot next to you, fingers drumming against the wooden counter.

“Hey, Pen, can I have my usual, please? Thanks.” He tears off his aviators, stealing glances your way not so inconspicuously, as you try to keep your gaze ahead. Don’t get reeled in by the smell of sunscreen and saltwater on him… “Fancy seeing you here.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you try your damnedest to stay cool as you turn towards him. You don’t know what to expect, but you surely don’t expect the warmest, coziest brown eyes looking right at you with a little smile. “I could say the same about you.”

“Nah, I think you just happen to be in my general territory.” He smiles in teasing, murmuring a thanks as he receives his beer. “So what brings you to Fightertown?”

You pause for a second, studying the way he earnestly waits for your answer. He doesn’t know who you are —and you like that. The moment ‘actor’ gets thrown into the conversation, the moment it clicks that they’ve seen you in movies or Netflix, some people can’t get past it. And right now, this stranger is seeing you not for what you do, but who you are —and you want to keep that just a little longer. So you decide to go with the vague answer,

“Work.”

“Oh, yeah? What kind?”

“It’s… classified.” You smirk over your non-answer.

His grin widens as he shakes his head —he knows what you're doing, but he’s not pushing any further. Instead, he cheekily remarks, “You know, with the reps you’re putting out there this morning, I would’ve thought you were gearing up for a mission.”

Well, he’s not wrong. But he can’t know that, so you settle on the next best thing. “I don’t think I’m cut out for the Navy,” which is not a lie —just because you’re playing one, doesn’t mean you’re really one. “You?”

He leans in just a tad closer, and oh God, you can smell his aftershave. “Between you and me, I ask myself that every day for the last 15 years.” And just as quickly as he closes the distance, he straightens up again on his seat. “But yeah. I’m a combat pilot.”

“Wow!” your eyes light up; partly because this is great extra research materials —great coincidence, too, as you’re flying fighter jets in the movie—, and partly because his face lights up, too. “What’s that like?”

“Do you like flying?” he props his knuckles underneath his chin, looking at you thoughtfully. It’s a little unnerving, but you don’t hate the butterflies in your belly.

“Um, it’s… okay?” You chuckle somewhat bashfully. “I guess I’ve never really thought about it more than just… getting from one place to another. Looking at clouds and oceans from a tiny window.”

“Oh, there’s so much more than clouds and oceans with this one. It’s the best fucking thing ever.” He gushes. And pauses. And pipes up, “I can show you better than I can tell you.”

“Really?” You lean against the counter, casually moving closer to him. “Wouldn’t you get into trouble for that?”

“Might just be worth it,” he shrugs, “for both of us.”

His honesty is refreshing. He treads the fine line between cutting to the chase and respecting your space, and you really, really like that about him. “Why don’t you buy me a drink first and we’ll go from there, Mister…?”

“Bradley Bradshaw. At your service, ma’am.”

***

ii. Ryan Adams — Wildest Dreams

Bradley Bradshaw, as it turns out, is at your service. Taking you to his bed, gently resting you on the edge of the mattress as he ravenously devours you in hot, wet kisses —from your lips to your neck. Undoing your buttons one by one, his mouth doesn’t seem able to leave you alone as it follows his fingers down your chest.

“Fuck me, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes out. 

He nips at the soft swell of your breast, impatient as he tugs the cup down your chest. Toying at one hardened nipple with his tongue while he teasingly thumbs the other, making you arch your back. And with that, he unclasps your bra with just one hand —one swift movement. Equally as frenzied, you push his open shirt off of his shoulder, his arms more tanned and golden than God.

You chuckle. “I could say the same about you.”

You would think you’d get used to his curious, thoughtful, lewd gaze after a whole night of flirting, but the heat creeps up on your cheeks anyway. “You’re a sweet talker, you know that, baby?”

Bradley pulls away as he shucks off his remaining clothes, white tank tossed aside and faded blue jeans left on the floor. His gray boxers are tight on the front, his hard-on straining from the inside. His sun-bleached hair ruffled by your doing, a soft smile ghosting on his mouth, and you have to admit… you meant every word of it.

Gorgeous.

A little chuckle escapes you as he pulls you back towards his lips. The mustache tickles your skin, unusual but not unwelcome, but you’re far more giddy with the prospect of feeling it everywhere. And the hand… 

Venturing down.

Lower.

Gently caressing your soft cleft through your panties.

“Jesus Christ, you’re soaked…” he groans, slipping his hand underneath the fabric.

On any other night, you would’ve been embarrassed by how wet you are, and how blatantly he pointed it out —and truth be told, you’ve been wet since he put his hand on your thigh the whole car ride. Not quite dirty —he didn’t do anything in that manner; but not quite innocent either, knowing what happens next.

But his bold hand indulges like the rest of him. His middle finger slides right along your slit, finding your swelling bud, and he moans like it makes him feel good.

If the little figure-eights weren’t enough to send waves of pleasure all over your body, the stretch of his middle and ring finger entering you at once sure is. You pull him closer, so that his body rests on top of you, worried that you might float in mid-air if he’s not there.

He is, very much, there. Pumping his digits in and out of you, capturing your lips, your tits, every inch of your skin with his mouth. Nuzzling the side of your face like he’s listening to every hitch of breath. Figuring out how to make you sing, how to make your body twist deliciously. You’re so close, so fucking close already, God, and when he curls his fingers inside you just right…

It’s too fast. Too easy. But you’re way too blissed out to think much of it. You can barely think of a response when he doesn’t slow down after her first orgasm, not even a little bit. Whether you like the drawn-out high.

(You do. You really do.)

And you have a feeling he knows that. If the hard cock grinding against your thigh was any indication, you would think he’s into it, too.

“Yes, baby, that’s it. Give me one more —one more before I fuck you…” he murmurs against your jaw, his soft voice reverberating on your skin. “Can you do that for me?”

You don’t always do strangers a favor, but when said stranger is handsome and funny and two fingers deep inside you, an exception can be made.

Might just be worth it. For both of us. 

You don’t know when your first orgasm ends and your second begins. Blood and thrill and pleasure just course through your entire body from tip to toe, and it takes you a few moments to realize your moans and whimpers filling the air. He swallows your sweet noises into his kiss, and takes what he can get until you falter from his lips.

He smooths your hair away from your forehead tenderly, watching you regain some semblance of composure through heavy lids and thick lashes. Your finger brushes against the scars on his face. Two lines running down one side of his cheek, smaller ones on his chin. You don’t ask, but maybe the featherlight caresses over the lines is enough of a question.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he rasps, “You still wanna do this?”

“You still need to ask?”

A smile breaks out on the corner of his lips as he bites the inside of his cheek. You push him off with a single finger to his chest, sending him to fetch a condom. This is not the time for stories or sentiments. You’re just two strangers tumbling into bed, looking to scratch an itch.

You flip onto your stomach, listening into the crinkle of the foil, fighting the temptation to sneak a peek at his… asset. But no. Let his length, his girth, his sheer size surprise you. You bury your face in his white sheets, soft and fresh and now wrinkled and bunched.

His large hands stroke your hips, soft on his calloused palms. Pulling you in with a trail of kisses up your spine. Nudging your opening with the tip of his cock.

“Fuck, you’re killing me, sweetheart…” Bradley grunts through gritted teeth. 

“What?” you grin, grinding against his hard length. “I’m not doing anything.”

Smack! His hand lands sharply on your ass cheek. Not enough to actually hurt, but definitely enough to make your skin tingle. Enough to make you turn to face him, throwing you a dirty look. “Like hell you’re not.”

“Are you gonna do something about it?”

And then he does.

The smartass remark dies in your mouth, and a low groan comes to life in his, as he stretches you open. Deliciously painful and painfully delicious in the best way —the kind that makes your mind go blank for a moment.

“Fuck, I…” Bradley stills, fully sheathed inside you. “Can I —can I move?”

He sounds so earnest like this. So vulnerable. Boyish, almost. You’re almost tempted to kiss his stupid face senseless, if only moving your hips weren’t a much better way to satiate your desire. Drawing yourself nearly all the way off of him, and hitting your ass back. The sound of skin slapping against each other is filthy, but it still doesn’t beat the groans rumbling out of his chest and the breathy moans you bury in the bedsheets.

The California air is warm that night, but you want it to set you on fire. As he finds his pace, pounding in and out of you with more grit, you reach back for his waist, his hip, his anything, just to say,

“Harder.”

He slows down, the intrigue audible in his voice. “What’s that?”

“I said…” you take a deep breath, setting your jaw as you clench around him, “Harder.” 

He curses under his breath and slams you back into his hips. Slower. Deeper.

Definitely harder.

“That hard enough for you, sweetheart?” The spank he gives your ass right after is a sweet consolation prize. He grabs your hair, buries his hand in the roots, and pulls you up so that your back’s flush against his bare chest and good God, you feel like you’re winning.

His hands are everywhere —on your tits, around your waist, between your legs— and he laves wet, desperate kisses on your shoulder, panting in your ear, thrusting up into you mercilessly. And as you inch closer to another orgasm, he holds you closer, cages you in his strong arms.

“Shit… good girl. Come for me…”

It’s too intense. Too intimate. You shouldn’t be able to zone in on his heartbeats matching yours. Or the little kisses pressing on your cheek. But your resolve is slipping, and you fall apart in his arms as he holds you in place —and as he comes inside you, you wonder if you’re in the right place, after all.

He pulls out, and you let out a little whimper, hand digging into his wrist at the loss. But he soothes his hand up and down your thigh in reassurance, and with a final kiss to your jaw, gets up to discard the condom while you catch your breath.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” you remark, propping yourself back on your arms. “I thought you were an… all-round vanilla kind of guy.”

“Well, you know what they say. Always assume vanilla until proven otherwise.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, interest piqued. “Huh. Does that mean you’re… not that vanilla?”

“Maybe,” he drawls mischievously, though you don’t miss the glance he stole at your bare chest.

“Care to share with the class?”

“I think I can show you better than I can tell you.” He sits on the edge of the bed in front of you, closing the distance to your lips dramatically.

You fall back into his bed, laughing into his kiss, noting his penchant for corny one-liners —of which he’s openly proud of. And amidst all the jokes and the talks of less-than-vanilla sex, the two of you seem to forget about the very action of sex itself. Even in the nude and the sweat of the heat, the two of you are perfectly content lying around in lazy kisses and soft touches. Along his arm. Down his chest.

His face.

“Car accident,” he says out of the blue.

“What?” It takes you a moment to realize you’ve been tracing the scars on his cheek—again. Featherlight against the harsh lines. You retract your hand ever so slightly —you really didn’t mean to pry, but he really doesn’t seem to mind.

“Junior year of high school.” He nods matter-of-factly. “The car flipped eight times, I was thrown out the window, landed like 50 feet away… I even still got gravel in my face.”

He juts out his chin, and you tentatively reach out. The bumps were minute, but they’re there.

“Shit. That’s awful,” you mutter. “Bet the ladies think it’s badass, though.”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” His eyes flutter heavily with each blink.

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you take a good look at him. So… soft in his broad and gruff and masculine glory. And then ultimately you decide, “It’s cute.”

“Cute?” He opens one eye, looking at you curiously for a moment—proving your point even further—before relaxing back into his pillow. “That’s not too shabby, ain’t it?”

And as he lazily strokes your hair, you can’t help but agree.

Not too shabby at all. 

***

iii. Lizzy McAlpine — an ego thing

The next morning, 0800 sharp, the principal cast is gathered in a hangar of the Naval Air Station, making small talk with each other on the weather and the flight in and the training that lies ahead. Your co-star Pedro makes a joke about a dramatic entrance his character makes in the beginning of the story, and you simply laugh it off.

But then you hear footsteps. The heavy combat boots against the concrete, and you turn around. And it’s really, really funny how life imitates art.

Your stomach shouldn’t have dropped so quickly —the sun hits him from the back, and you can only see his silhouette for a moment— but it did. The outfit may be different —gone is the flowy yellow Hawaiian shirt as the muted forest green flight suit takes its place—, but it’s still the same swaggered gait. The same pair of Ray Bans. The same 80’s mustache.

The same fucking guy you slept with last night.

“Everyone, this is Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw, callsign Rooster,” Kevin, the stunt coordinator, addresses the whole team, “He’ll be replacing Lieutenant Natasha Trace as our resident naval pilot for this project.”

Shit.

“Morning, everyone.”

You hear an unruly choir of replies around you, but you can barely force out a response.

“Did you guys get a good night’s rest last night?” His eyes flicker your way for a second, and it feels like a cold stab to the heart. More replies from your crowd —seems like nobody caught wind of it, thank God. “Great. ‘Cause we got a long day ahead of us, folks.”

He moves on to the briefing, and you’re trying your damnedest to pay attention —this information is life-and-death, after all— but your head is still reeling. How fucking stupid were you for thinking life would let you off easy.

As if all this pilot training was a cakewalk.

“Who wants to go first?” The aviator snaps you out of your reverie, looking out at the whole group with a simple smile.

The boys exchange looks and kind of murmur ‘ladies first’ out of nerves and hesitation, and you’re a second too late in making any kind of response. This is your worst nightmare.

Kevin looks at you expectantly. “What do you say?”

You shoot your friends a dirty look, as you find yourself caught between a rock and a hard place. The last thing you want to do is to be stuck in a cramped cabin thousands of feet in the air with the man you ghosted after hooking up last night. But at the same time, you don’t want to be a diva. You made a promise to yourself that you were gonna take on whatever challenge they throw at you head-on. And you’ve been making good on the promise so far. 

You’re not gonna let some man ruin your streak. 

“Lt. Bradshaw, this is Y/N,” Kevin introduces the two of you as you step up to formally introduce yourself.

You offer him a handshake. “It’s nice to meet you… sir.”

He doesn’t flinch at the honorific, but he does pause, as if processing how it rolls off your tongue. How strange it is to shake your hand after touching you everywhere else. “Just Rooster is fine. There’s no ranks in the cockpit. Got a callsign yet?”

“Houdini.” you nod briefly.

He tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, curious.

“Passed the Dunker test in record time,” Kevin proudly notes. “She’s a tough one.”

“Let’s not jinx it, Kev.” You pat your friend in the arm with a tight smile.

Bradley —Rooster— isn’t unfriendly, by any means. He makes small talk about how the aircraft works and the training that’ll come in handy as the two of you suit up and get ready to fly. But as soon as the canopy closes, and it’s just you and him inside the jet, not a word is spoken between you. With the engine roaring underneath you, it’s still the most deafening 20-minute silence of your life.

“Houdini, huh?” Rooster flatly pipes up through the comm. “That’s fitting…”

He’s not gonna make this easy on you, but you try anyway. “Look, I—”

“Tower, this is Rooster on Joyride One. Are we clear for taxi?”

“Joyride One, you are clear for taxi,” an operator responds in your headphones.

The plane starts moving, but the only reason you’re taking a deep breath is the front-seater before you. “Rooster,” you call him again.

“I read you loud and clear, Houdini. Do you read me?” He sounds oddly calm. Even. Like there’s no subtext underneath his words. 

But no subtext is enough subtext, and you know how to pick your battles —this isn’t one you’re gonna win. “Loud and clear,” you huff in relent. “What happened to Phoenix?”

“Duty calls.”

“That’s a shame. We were supposed to fly together.” You’ve met and talked to her a few times, and you really liked her. You were genuinely bummed that you no longer get to work with Rooster. It has nothing to do with avoiding Rooster.

Well. Maybe a little bit.

And with that, his facade finally cracks, and you can distinctly hear the coldness in his tone. “Guess you’re stuck with me now. Unless you wanna Houdini your way out of that, too.”

Motherfucker. You straighten up, bracing yourself as the aircraft starts gaining speed on the taxiway. “Nope, I’m good. Whaddya got for me?” 

“We’re gonna start easy, get you accustomed to the height and the G-Force, and we’ll talk about the basic turns and spins when we’re in the air. Think you can handle that?”

“Oh, yeah. Bring it on.”

And you mean it. You’re taking every bit of willpower in your gut to use everything you’ve ever learned in the training. Every turn, every inversion, every multiplication of the gravity pull. Every thousand feet higher in the air.

You nearly throw up several times, but you’re much too spiteful to admit defeat. Not today.

Not ever.

And even if you get off the plane feeling like you’re about to die, you don’t show it. As soon as your feet touch down on the tarmac again, you simply take off your helmet and take a deep breath. In, out. Take in the smell of fuel and afterburner, which still beats the suffocating air of being stuck with Rooster.

“Kevin’s right.” he admits, fluffing out his matted hair once the helmet’s off. “You are a tough one.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, tight-lipped. “Hey, about last night—”

“I told you, I hear you loud and clear, Houdini.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off, stopping in front of you.

“You left in the middle of the night—no number, no goodbye, nothing. Message received, okay? There’s no need to bring it up again, especially not when the comm lines are open.”

Oh.

He steps forward, lowering his voice yet somehow it feels even more intense. “In fact, let’s not bring it up again —ever. Just… forget it ever happened.” He turns on his heels and walks away, towards the hangar where everyone else is waiting.

It pisses you off beyond belief, that he scolded you like you were a child, and then he stormed off like one, and didn’t even let you get a word in. And it pisses you off even more, knowing that he’s right. You were wrong for leaving without a word. Wrong for leading him on, when you know there’s absolutely no chance for you. Wrong for indulging in his company anyway, knowing what you know.

It wasn’t until you exhausted the beri in your pocket, everyone else having folded rounds earlier and left the table, that you sat across from Marco, the smug look on his face wiped away when you drunkenly suggested what you did. “I’m out of money, so I guess if you wanna keep playing I could put myself on the line,” With a raise of your eyebrows and an uncoordinated wink at the tall blonde. Well jokes on you, because you lost that hand also. Maybe poker wasn’t your game, you thought.

“Well Commander,” You said, pushing back your chair and standing, wobbly to your feet, the deck spinning, the rocking of the ocean not doing anything for your vertigo, “Whoa, here I go,” You said, stumbling and falling into the lap of the victor.

“You’re so drunk yoi,” He commented, chuckling at your dramatic movements as you turned to straddle him and face him.

“Sooo? I’m drunk, you’re sober. You’re always sober,” You slurred, touching the scruff of hair on his chin, “Even if I was sober, I’d let you fuck me,” You whispered, inhibitions lowered, you weren’t really thinking about your words. “So c’mon, make good on your win, take me.”

He chuckled again, his strong hand on your thigh so you wouldn’t fall off his lap, “What kind of Commanding officer would I be if I took one of my crew to bed this drunk yoi.”

You whined, “C’mon Marco,” you rolled your hips, sloppily, against his crotch, feeling him stiffen under the stimulation, “I want it, and by the feel of it, so do you.”

“Careful, you’re looking rather desperate for me now,” He said, voice quiet in the middle of the crew’s celebrations, grabbing your hips to keep them still, holding your core close to his stiffening erection.

You gripped the collar of his shirt in both your hands, looking at him with pleading eyes, “Marco, I want you to fuck me, I always do,” You admitted, a thought quite too embarrassing for your sober life.

He raised his thin eyebrows at you with a cheeky smile, “And you're sure it’s not the gallon of rum in your belly?”

You used his collar to pull his mouth into yours, the taste of the rum and cola on your tongue, flooding his now, the amount of alcohol in your body enough for him to taste it on your breath. He kissed back, holding himself back until now, his hands slipping under your shirt and touching your skin, pulling you into him. You rolled your hips against him, rubbing your clothed sex against his.

He broke the kiss, salvia linking the two of you until he spoke, breaking the thread, “You’re playing with fire, (y/n)”

“Maybe I’m okay with that,” You slurred, fingers trailing across the large tattoo on his chest, hands moving with the rise and fall of his chest, lingering over his pecs and tracing the defined lines of his abs.

He smirked, “You better be ready for it then,” He said, as you grinded against him, his hands falling to your ass and lifting you up, legs wrapping around his waist as instinctually as he stood. You could hear cat calls from the drunk men around you, whooping and hollering at the scene you were making as he carried you away, your desperate grinding not stopping even as he walked through the crowd.

He tossed you to your bed, unbuckling his belt and letting his trousers fall to the floor of your room as he shut the door behind him.

“You want this, yoi?” He asked a final time, stroking his hard dick in his hand, you were nodding, watching him from your position on your back, your legs spread with your knees bent, framing his body as he walked towards you. “Good, because I aim to take what I’m owed, yoi.”

Your hands wandered to your sex, rubbing your hands against your aroused core, teasing yourself for him through your clothes.

“What are you going to do with all those clothes on? Clearly you’re not as desperate as I thought you were yoi,” He was still advancing slowly towards you, pulling the shirt from his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor as well, hearing his words you struggled to quickly remove your clothes, exposing your body from your position on the bed, your legs still spread for him.

“Please fuck me,” You moaned, touching your sex again, needy mewls spouting from your lips, “Marco, I want your cock so bad.”

He grinned, climbing between your legs on the bed, his hand replacing your own and toying with your body, getting you so worked up that your head was spinning, melting under his touch, burning with desire for the phoenix between your legs. “Go ahead, yoi. Keep begging.”

“Bury your cock in me,” You pleaded as his hands worked on you, your breath hitching in your throat as he leaned down to trail kisses across your collarbone. “I want you to stretch me with your big cock, please fuck me, pleaase,” You moaned, words still sluring from your drink.

“Well, you’ve asked so nicely,” He said, lining himself up with your entrance and pushing inside you, slowly, to slowly, you needed the time to adjust to his size, but not this much, you wanted more,

“Pleeaase, give it to me,” You whined, rolling your hips and encouraging him to kept pressing into you, feeling your tight body holding him inside, squeezing him with your muscles.

“What a desperate little whore,” He growled, suddenly slamming into you with his whole length, “The audacity of thinking you can give me demands, yoi.”

“I’m--” you moaned as he rolled his hips inside you, thrusting his cock in and out of you, withdrawing his body to leave you empty before thrusting deep and filling you to the brim again, "I’m not a wh-whore,” You moaned.

“You bet your body, didn’t you? Only a whore would do that, yoi.” He chided, “And whores get treated like such.” You moaned, rolling your head back as his pace quickened, fuck, the stamina of the phoenix was a force to be reckoned with.

The force of him fucking you was making you drool, your moans pouring from your mouth hanging open, “F-fuck please,” voice struggling to keep up with his pace, croaking out through your moaning breath.

“What was that, yoi?” He said, his own voice heavy, husky and betraying how close he was, how desperate he was to keep fucking you.

“Yes, Yes I’m your whore, Marco,” You moaned, rolling your hips up into his, your back arching as the tight coil of your orgasm inside you snapped, the coursing of your orgasm hitting you like an earthquake, making you scream out, wrapping your legs around him and holding him as close and tight to you as you could as you came, his hips rolling in shallow thrusts through your orgasm, you felt his muscles tighten, body clenching before his own orgasm.

“Cum inside me, please, fill me up, fill up your whore,” Your inebriated words taking over, acting shameless as you rolled your hips against him, hooking your foot around your ankle to hold him inside you as he began to fill you up.

He groaned, rutting into you as he finished his orgasm, his slick cum pooling around his cock as it slid in and out of you. “Fuck,” He groaned. “I guess that was worth the bet.”

Your legs fell to the bed on either side of you, and he pulled out to lay next to you on the bed.