Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw One-Shots

Terrified

You knew that your part-time teaching job gave you more time around the house. Bradley's job required more travel time. He'd been permanently stationed near Top Gun as an instructor after his Uranium mission. You, being his fiancé, moved with him. He'd often come home tense after a day of yelling at over-egotistical young Hangman's, each one thinking they were the shit. Today was no different.

The lasagne was just about ready when Bradley slammed the door behind him to your little condo. You could already feel the tension through his arms and shoulders in the air before you even laid eyes on him. When you did, his jaw was clenched and eyes dark.

'Hi Baby.' You said softly, like he was a cat that was about to snap at any moment. You gave him a soft hug. He didn't lean into it or kiss your head like he normally does. Something was off, he was worse than before. 'Are you okay?'

'One of my students did the dumbest thing today. Nearly got me fired.' Bradley grumbled as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

'Aw, sweetheart, I'm sorry.' You kissed his cheek, hoping he'd melt and relax. He remained tense. 'It's hard being a teacher.'

'Yeah, like you know what that's like.' Bradley scoffed. That stung a little, you did know what that's like. You'd studied for four years to teach seventh grade English students the importance of Shakespeare - which many of them just dissed or laughed at anything that alludes to any romantic gestures. But you let it slide. You'd never been almost fired because one of your students disobeyed the rules.

'Do you want to talk about it?' You asked, trying your best to find his eyes. He wouldn't look at you, he stared right past you in a tired gaze. 

'No.' He pulled out of your grasp to walk to the kitchen. 'Where's dinner?'

You bit back on snipping at him. You'd normally stand up for yourself when he was in a mood like this. You just had to remind yourself that he was almost fired today. Fired. From his dream job. Obviously, he'd be in a foul mood. 

'There's lasagne in the oven, it's almost ready. Do you want to help me set the table?' You trailed him into the kitchen and opened the cupboards to find two plates.

'Lasagne? I don't like lasagne. You know that.' Bradley said through gritted teeth. 'God Y/n! I have a shit day and you make me gross mushy pasta bake that is just half dry or half soaked.'

Okay, your patience was wearing a little thin at this point. He'd never said anything before about not liking your lasagne. In fact, it was the dish you made the night he proposed. It wasn't your best meal, but it carried a lot of emotional sentiment. 

'Brad, I... I didn't know you don't like my lasagne.' You said, trying your best not to sound hurt.

'No. I don't.' Bradley said through gritted teeth. His eyes were dark and unwavering, like something had grabbed a hold of his sweet, bubbly personality and wasn't about to let go anytime soon. You cairred on, tyring to act normal by taking the lasagne out of the oven. You held it in your hands with oven mits on.

'Baby, you don't look so good. Let me run you a bath and-'

'Of course I don't look so good.' Bradley snapped at you. His voice was harsh and felt like sandpaper dragging across your eardrums. 'I was nearly fucking FIRED today! I don't want a fucking bath, or any of your fucking gross ass lasagne. I just fucking want to be left alone!' 

While he was shouting at you, he'd taken steps and was now towering over you. His anger seemed to blow up his height a lot more than normal. He loomed over you like a giant on a kid. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop you from crying. He'd never done this before. He'd never been this angry with you, or the world before. You'd never seen him like this. You were too stunned to notice the heat from the tray was burning through your oven mits.