Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw One-Shots

Trigger

TW: Toxic boyfriend and a tiny bit of sexual assault

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'Stop it, Oscar!' You hissed as your boyfriend pressed his bony body against yours. Your back was pinned to the fridge in some random new navy cadet boy's house. Oscar had dragged you along to yet another party which you didn't want to go to. Now he was piss drunk and pushing his hand up your shorts. You tried your hardest to squirm your way out of his grip. 'Oscar! Stop!' You repeated.

He pushed you further against the fridge, your back was digging against the door handle. 'Ow!' You shrieked from pain. 

'But baby...' He slurred against your skin, leaving an unpleasant trail of saliva, 'I'm horny.' He dragged the word out like it would suddenly make you comply. You felt him push his limp cock against your leg. 

Why were you with him? That was the question of the hour. He was sweet at first, all your friends thought you would be so good together. Picnic dates and drive-in movie theatres every weekend turned into every so often, turned into never again. You kept telling yourself that he'd change, that it was just a phase - hm forcing you to do things you didn't want to do. But you were getting sick and tired of waiting for him to change.

A gross moan against your chest broke you from your thought process. Tears started to well in your eyes as you tried your best to shove him off you. You were too weak to get him off. He may be skinny, but he was packed with something that made him ungodly heavy.

'Oscar...' You cried out, feeling weak as you tried to slap his arm off from groping your breasts. 'Stop... please...'

Nothing. No reaction. Just awful dry humping that you'd normally just drown out in hopes that he'd buy you a bouquet of roses the next day.

Suddenly the movement was gone, the groping, humping and saliva drooling. All of it just vanished. You opened your eyes, which you'd squeezed closed in horror. Oscar was on the floor, scrambling for cover as a taller guy with a brown mop of curls loomed over him.

'Did you not hear what she said?' Your curly-haired Hero asked in a deep voice. 'Man, I swear you newbie cadet guys are deaf.'

'She's my girlfriend.' Oscar slurred. 'I can do with her what I wanna.'

'Boy, where's your mama? She clearly didn't teach you any manners.' Curly-Hair Hero picked Oscar up by the collar with ease. 'You don't touch a woman like that.' He said with a swift punch to Oscar's gut. 'Ever.' A second round.

Oscar toppled back on the ground, folded over in pain.

'Apologise.' Curly-Hair Hero said.

'Nah, man.' You were surprised Oscar still had the guts to refuse the tall Hero who was double his shoulder-width. Curly-hair Hero picked Oscar up again and wound up his arm like he was going to deliver another punch.

'Sorry!' Oscar blurted out as he flinched. 'I'm sorry! Sorry!' 

'Not to me.' Curly-Hair Hero said. He pointed directly at you - who was still standing backed up against the fridge, too stunned to think or say anything. 'To her.'

'Sorry, I'm sorry Y/n.' Oscar said rapidly. 'Sorry sorry sorry sorry.'

You stood straight and walked up to him. It was now or never. 'We're done Oscar. I'm not your girlfriend anymore.'

'What?' Oscar's grey eyes widened. 'But-but I love you.'

'That isn't love.' You spat in his face. 'We're done.' You turned and headed outside, leaving the two inside. You weren't exactly sure where to go. Oscar was your ride here, and you were his ride home. You made your way to the curb and placed yourself down, unsure what to do.

Your skin shivered as the concrete burned cold against your thighs. You'd left your coat inside, there was no point going back in to get it. You then realised you'd just left without thanking your Curly-Haired Hero. He had just rescued you from hell and you thank him by leaving. You were about to turn back to thank him when his voice - unforgettable voice - stopped you.

'Are you okay?' It was softer this time. When you turned around, you saw the face of your hero. Adorned with an adorable straight nose and a clean-shaven face, the scars perfected everything. 

'Yeah, thanks.' You smiled at him as he sat next to you. 

'Bradley, Rooster.' He offered his hand for you to shake. You took it. 

'You have your callsign?' You asked. You were training to be in the Navy yourself, only as an intel officer.

'Yeah, I was the second to get it.' He shrugged with a smile. 'What's yours?'

'I don't have one. I'm not a pilot.' You shrugged.

'I'm not.' Rooster tilted his head with a sly grin. 'Officially. So then, what do they call you?'

'Y/n.' You chuckled at his response. 'Thanks for saving me in there.'

'Anytime.' Rooster panicked, realising what he'd said. 'I mean- not anytime soon- or ever- ever again- never again-'

'I get what you mean.' You laugh softly. Rooster couldn't help but think you were the most beautiful person he'd ever laid his eyes on. Your skin tone was absolutely perfect in this light, and the way your hair bounced as you laughed. And the way your eyes shone at him as you looked at him. He was smitten.

You couldn't help but be taken with the young aviator as well. He was defiantly a few years your senior, but he was kind-hearted. He had a genuine smile, one of those you only see once or twice in your life. It was like Nick said when he described Gatsby's smile in chapter three of The Great Gatsby, " It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced — or seemed to face — the whole external world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favour."

'I- I know this is horrible timing. And I know that you'd be super sceptical.' Rooster started. 'But could I get your number? You- you control the speed and setting of our friendship.'

His choice of words made you chuckle. You'd never been told you could control the setting of a relationship. But you knew what he was trying to ask. He wanted to ask you out, but understood the relationship isn't want you may need right now, so he was offering a friendship as well.

'I'd like that.' You nodded. You gave him your number, and he texted you. 'Rooster.' You muttered as you put in his callsign as your contact. You even put the little rooster emoji next to it.

'Now you need a callsign.' Rooster looked at you as though he was contemplating hard. 'I got it.'

'What is it?' You asked while he typed something into his phone. He purposefully hid it from you as he typed it in. 'Rooster, what is it?' 

He showed you the contact. Trigger.

'Trigger?' You raised an eyebrow as you read the name out loud.

'Trigger. You trigger strength.' Rooster said softly. You shook your head, not understanding what he meant by that. 

'Okay.' You laughed. 

What you didn't know was that Rooster had never fought anybody like that before, but you triggered his strength to protect you. He knew how odd that sounded because he was a head taller and a hell of a lot broader than Oscar, but Oscar was a wrestler and kickboxer and could have easily taken Rooster out. Leave Oscar's weakness up to the weed or alcohol in his system or something. 

'I like it.' You smiled.

'Me too.'

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