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callsignspark · 7 months

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Mar[r]y Me - part 8.5

pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Mariella “M&M” Vertucci (fem!OC)

summary: A love story told through friendship, laughter, and food.

series warnings: 18+ minors DNI, discussion of insecurities, difficult family relationships, discussions of food and alcohol use, discussions of body image, conversations on what it’s like to be a fat woman trying to date in today’s society, extreme fluff, warnings to be added as needed

word count: 2.3k

previous part | series masterlist | main masterlist

note: happy Friday! this is a short but sweet one! see here for my soft-tober announcement and here for a quick update on what's happening in the month of October! have a great weekend!

part 8.5 - McDonald's apple pie

“Don’t get any ideas.”

“I’d never dream of it!”

Mary snuggles deeper into the couch as Pierce Brosnan - her favorite James Bond - races through the streets of Ho Chi Minh City on a motorcycle with Michelle Yeoh handcuffed to his wrist. Her chest hurts; tight from an overwhelming urge to cry and a tiredness she can’t quite shake no matter how much she’s been sleeping lately.

The day had been spent with Danielle and the kids, and it had been fun. They had gone to the beach and gotten Thai food for dinner, the adults devouring pad thai while Annabeth watched Frozen again. It was nice; she loved her family, but she missed Bradley.

More than she thought she would.

They didn’t get a chance to properly say goodbye. He had received a hug and the same “be safe, see you in two months” as everyone else. There wasn’t a spare second to sneak away and kiss him goodbye; there was always someone near them the entire time.

All she could do was slip a good luck note into the palm of his hand and hug him for an extra second longer than anyone else. It was hardly anything, but he still gave her a big smile and a sneaky forehead kiss, whispering that his peanut butter bites were safely stored at the bottom of his pack.

For the millionth time since she sat with Mav in her office and they watched the carrier steam away, Mary wonders where Bradley is. Thanks to her security clearance, she knows he's floating somewhere in the Pacific, but nothing more.

Maybe he’ll come back with an even deeper tan.

Somehow, Bradley is always sort of tan, even in January. Yes, they live in California, where it’s beach weather year-round, but it’s like he was born with a built-in base layer of golden skin.

Bond is just about to magically escape from another precarious situation he’s gotten himself into when the doorbell rings. Mary peeks over the top of the couch, trying to figure out who could be at her front door. Her family is in New York, Slider went back to Pensacola last week, and the majority of people she knows in California are also in the middle of the ocean with Bradley.

The bell rings again, whoever it is knocking this time. She sighs - they’re not going away - and frees herself from her perfectly crafted blanket burrito, a poor substitution for the pair of strong arms she’s missing.

Carefully peeking through the side window, she’s surprised to find Flora standing there and quickly opens the door, a blur of red and pink taking over her vision.

“Happy birthday!” Flora yells, shoving an enormous floral arrangement in her face.

“Than- thank you?”

Mary tentatively grabs the vase, taken off guard, as Flora walks in and slips her clogs off. Dropping her huge L.L. Bean tote bag on the dining room table, Flora laughs at how Mary is frozen at the front door, flowers hiding her torso but not her confused face.

“Here, give me those, and you open this.” Flora pulls a box out of her Mary Poppins-sized bag and takes the vase back. She carefully places the arrangement on the island, fiddling with the stems so they look perfect.

“What is happening?”

“Well, your boyfriend came into my shop about three weeks ago and asked me if I would do him a favor. He was so sweet and pathetic; I couldn’t help but say yes.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Funny.” Flora hums, eyebrow arching in disbelief. “I didn’t say a name, but you knew who I was talking about.”

Mary flushes, the tips of her ears on fire as she tries to stutter out an excuse.

“It’s okay, Mary.” Flora takes pity on her. “I know it’s complicated, but let’s face it, that man would do anything for you. Which is why I’m here, on a Sunday night, with gifts.”

“Gifts?” Mary echoes. “Plural?”

“Mmhm. First up, a floral arrangement full of warm tones because “red is her favorite color, but all red would probably be overbearing” - which is a direct quote.”

“They’re beautiful, Flora.”

“He did a good job, and he deserves a reward for understanding that flowers are expensive and you can’t cheap out if you want a nice, big bouquet. Next is the box.” She slides the brown box across the table, fluffing the ribbon curls on top. “I have no idea what’s in that one.”

Mary carefully opens the ribbons tied around the box, her throat tightening when she takes the lid off. At the top is a notecard with Bradley’s handwriting.

She pulls the sweater out of the box, and her eyes start to water as she holds it up for Flora to see. It’s a light yellow, almost the same shade as the stick of butter softening on her counter, practically identical to the one sitting in her closet, a red stain still covering the front. The material is so soft she can’t help but press her face into it, tears escaping as Bradley’s cologne washes over her.

Fuck. I miss him so much.

This was anticipated; she knows how sad Dani can get during Reuben’s deployments. Knows how sad she would get when her best friend was gone for months. It’s only been two weeks, but it’s the longest they’ve gone without seeing each other. Even during the rough patch in January, they still got glimpses of each other at work. The worst part is not knowing how he’s doing. If he’s okay. She assumes he is; Mav hadn’t mentioned anything, and she’s pretty sure he would tell her.

It would be the only way she would find out. Mary isn’t naïve enough to believe that she would be a first-tier point of contact if he got hurt. They haven’t even gone on a date yet, and the only time they kissed was that day in her office.

She’s pulled out of the impending spiral by a gentle hand rubbing her shoulders, which she didn’t realize were shaking. She lets herself be comforted by Flora, the older woman pulling her into a hug, uncaring about the tears staining her shirt.

“Sorry.” Mary sniffles, pulling back after a minute to wipe her eyes. “I just really miss him, more than I thought I would.”

“It’s okay, I get it.”

“That’s right. I forgot about Jake.”

She realizes she said something wrong by the way Flora’s hand goes stiff on her back.

“Jake and I are not together.”

“Oh. He just- when we were talking, he kinda implied that the two of you were sort of seeing each other.”

“We’ve fucked a few times, we're not together.”

Mary blinks at her. Jake had never said anything about sex; he was lamenting that Flora didn’t want to see a movie he was excited about. Sad that the florist wouldn’t join him.

“Jake, I mean, I don’t know Flora very well, but I gotta say she doesn’t really seem like a zombie apocalypse kinda girl.” Mary gently soothed, trying to give equal attention to her email inbox and the mopey Texan. “Why don’t you find a movie you’ll both like?”

“I tried! She doesn’t want to go to the movies at all. I know she’s busy - like she runs a whole ass business all by herself - but it’s like she doesn’t even care that we’re gonna be gone for two months!”

“Did you tell her that you want to spend time together before you leave?”

“No. We’re just- that’s not-” Jake sighs, cut off by Mary’s phone.

They had never finished their conversation; Jake had a hop and Mary a meeting, and a few days later, he was shipping out alongside Bradley.

“Okay. I’m sorry, he didn’t mention that, so I must have misunderstood.”

“You probably didn’t.” Flora rolls her eyes. “Jake likes to talk like we’re together, but I’ve told him several times a relationship is not what I’m looking for from him.”

“Can I ask why?” She quickly backtracks when the other woman’s face scrunches up. “Oh my god, you absolutely don’t have to say anything. I wasn’t trying to push.”

“No, you’re fine. Jake is a great guy. He’s smart and funny and handsome, but we want different things in life. Things that can’t be compromised on and that I won’t ever change my mind about. So there’s really no reason for us to try anything serious. I told him that before they deployed, but I’m officially breaking it off when they’re back because I’m not sure he got the hint.”

“That makes sense; that’s probably the best way to go about it.” She nods, impressed by how strong Flora is in her conviction and a bit sad at the same time. Those two would be great.

“Sucks, though. He’s incredible in bed.”

Mary lets out a bark of laughter at the complete 180 in conversation. “That surprises me and doesn’t surprise me all at the same time.”

“It’s that atrocious arrogance of his, isn’t it?”

“Yes! An ego like that means a man is either totally overcompensating, or he knows he’s good, and he’s got the moves to prove it.”

“Oh, he’s got the moves. Believe me.” They laugh at the eyebrow wiggle that accompanies Flora’s words.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve gotta know. That ridiculous Texas accent he pulls out when he’s trying to charm someone-”

“-does he use it in bed? More frequently than you would imagine.”

“Okay… but, like, does it do it for you?”

“I plead the Fifth,” Flora says as she furiously nods.

“Stop! Wait! And the cowboy hat?”

She laughs harder, tears in her eyes as she gasps, “Both of us!”

“You’ve both worn it?!”

Flora’s confirmation makes them both howl with laughter, Mary bending over and holding onto the table for support. It takes a few minutes for them to calm down, wiping tears away as they catch their breath.

“Well, that’s got to be the least shocking thing I’ve learned about Jake.”

It makes them both start giggling again; the blonde man’s affinity for his home state is well-known, frequently coming up in conversation.

“I should get going. I have to be up early to set up for a funeral. But I have one more thing for you, well, two things.” Flora dips back into her bag, pulling out a brown paper bag and a square envelope. “From Bradley.”

“McDonald’s?”

“Well, he requested I get you an apple pie - it had to be an apple pie - from Sift, but by the time I got there this afternoon, all their pies were gone. So I improvised, and thankfully, Mickey D’s had just done a fresh batch.”

“Apple pie is my favorite.” Mary quietly says, peeking into the bag and seeing five pie boxes. “Thank you for doing this, Flora.”

“It’s no problem. Bradley was so cute when he came in; I couldn’t help but agree. It’s sweet how much he cares about you.”

“I’m starting to understand how much he really does.” A content feeling settles in her chest, warming her up from the cold sadness that was taking over earlier.

Only 60 more days until Bradley is home.

“You’ll probably want to warm those up before you eat them,” Flora says, slipping her shoes back on, getting ready to leave.

“Hey, we're having a girls' night and putting together care packages for the Daggers next week. You should come, you can help with Nat’s box. Plus, it’s great to have extra hands to help put them together.”

“That sounds fun; I’d love to join you guys.” She opens the door and hesitates for a second, turning back to Mary. “No one knows about me and Jake hooking up. I didn’t tell Nat because she wouldn’t understand, and I don’t think he’s told anyone either. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“No problem. I’m always here to talk if you want some fairly neutral input.”

“Fairly neutral?”

She shrugs. “I know he can be an idiot, but Jake is a good guy, and he’s also my friend, so I can’t be completely unbiased about him. Fairly neutral is the best I can offer.”

“Fair enough.” Flora smiles at her, yelling back as she walks down the steps. “We should grab dinner sometime! Have a good night!”

“Night!” Mary waves, happier than she’s been since the beginning of the month.

She locks the door after making sure Flora gets into her car safely, promising herself that she’ll reach out to friends more. No more moping around, being sad that Bradley is gone.

I’ve got to learn how to deal with this if we’re going to date. It’s not like he’s going to leave the Navy; he’s going to be gone.

Snapping photos of her presents, she starts mentally composing the thank you email she’s going to send to Bradley. The Lincoln is on a communications blackout for the first three weeks of the cruise, but she’s been sending him little updates. Letting him know when she’s thinking of him, hoping she isn’t filling up his inbox too much.

She plops back into her favorite corner of the couch, stretching out on the chaise that makes her get a little hot under the collar every time she sits on it.

“Let’s read this card.” She mumbles to herself around a bite of pie as Bond saves the world and gets the girl.

A photo flutters out of the envelope as she pulls the card out, and she loses her breath when she flips it over. It’s the two of them on Valentine’s Day. When she made him pancakes, the photo he said he was going to tape up in his bunk.

A promise he followed through on, his last text showing off his rack. Corners of the blue blanket neatly tucked in, and the photo of the two of them taped on the wall right next to his pillow. Mary looks at the photo he printed for her, smiling at the happiness radiating from both of them. The corners of their eyes crinkled, and her dimple popping out; she still can’t quite believe that Bradley Bradshaw wants her, of all people.

Then she reads the card, and her insecurities quiet down for the night.

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fic tag | credit for dividers here

#top gun maverick fic #top gun maverick au #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fic #top gun au #top gun imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster imagine #DSS universe #MM fic #elle writes #mar[r]y me fic

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ellevandersneed · 9 months

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ok dream time. had a dream where i was legally required to apologize to an old professor i had in person because i apparently talked shit about her online and i felt super bad about it. my psychiatrist was the legal counsel and it all took place in my grandmothers house. the whole dream was me dreading the meeting but when the professor and her husband finally showed up i basically just said i was sorry and i didnt really know why i was mean. she was also british for some reason and either her or her husband had said that this is just how things are done in the UK, but they were both pretty understanding.

I wake up and fall back asleep.

Now I'm back in my childhood home, I'm turning 25. My parents and some extended family is there, telling me to get packed with whatever I can because I need to leave right away. I slip on a jacket someone gives me and put two small knives in my back pocket. The guests suddenly disperse and I'm alone, but only for a moment. I exit through the backdoor just as armed soldiers storm the house. I run, they give chase. I quickly zigzag past trashcans, slip between houses, barrel down streets until finally I arrive at my destination: Club Disney.

I enter a room filled with maybe eight or so people. On one end of the room sits a bench that stretches from wall to wall. Upon closer inspection it seems to be an extended piece of the back wall itself. Most of the people on the room are sitting on it. On the opposite side is a large projected screen depicting the Mickey Mouse logo, and on either side stand two somberly dressed guards. I sit on the bench between two patrons and glue my eyes to the screen. The logo begins to talk. I don't remember what it says at first.

Mickey Mouse shows us a series of clips of different video games. Some sort of puzzle platformer, a Kirby(?) fighting game, and something else. After the show has ended, Mickey reappears onscreen to awkwardly point out that I'd only been here a few days prior, and I look down to realize that, under my jacket, I've been wearing a Mickey Mouse clubhouse t-shirt thats exactly two sizes two small. I pull at its hem to try and make it fit, hoping that too much of my stomache isn't exposed. I get up and leave.

The next bit is sort of foggy, but I remember having a laptop open at or near the airport. I was trying to edit a picture of Colm Meaney by cropping a rabbit off of his red sweater, Colm was with me as I did this. Suddenly, I get a call from Chuck McGill, who is suddenly berating me, telling me this is no time to play games because I'm such a screw up. I knew instantly that he was the one who sent those hitmen to my house. I shout at him, calling him a sycophant and a freak, that there was something seriously wrong with him. Colm just gets embarassed. I slam the laptop shut and storm off.

Suddenly I'm in a sort of gallery, trying to keep my hand steady as I paint lines onto a sheet of paper. An older woman who reminds me a lot of Michelle Yeoh was up to me. She's tearful and wishes me a happy birthday. She seems really sorry about Chuck. I think she worked for him, because I'm suddenly struck with a vision of Chuck in his house being helped my staffers I've never seen before. The house is different too, it reminds me of someplace but I can't put my finger on what. The image fades away as this woman in front of me starts talking again. I can tell she really loves me in a motherly sort of way. She tells me she made the jacket I was wearing, and I realize its designed the same as hers. She hands me a birthday envelope and tells me I should get going. This is a tearful goodbye. We hug. I feel weird. I feel lonely, like this person is important to me somehow and I might never see her again. I feel like the past is always there was completely unobtainable, impossible to restore, always in the minds eye. I leave hurriedly. I do not want to be here anymore.

I'm now walking in a space outside. Its one of those dumping grounds for materials and trash you sometimes find behind big stores in America. Grass grows in patches up out of wherever concrete hasn't eaten the landscape. Gravel is strewn haphazardly down a short slope, as if spilled there years ago by a dumptruck, a half assed attempt at cheap parking space. I'm walking with a friend, telling them about the dream I just had. I'm saying something about how I must have been the main character from Better Call Saul in my dream, and that I didn't want to say too much in case previous events would spoil the rest of the show for them. I reach into my back pocket and find the two knives I put there earlier.

I wake up.

#my dreams #better call saul

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