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cherrycola27 · 12 days ago

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Shout out to Nat and Jake for being the best friends that Roo and BG need. Now, if only Nat could rock Indi-hoe's shit, all would be well

Aim for the Sky Part 33 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley can't wait to learn if Rose is going to have a younger brother or sister. Planning for the baby means planning for the future, but Bradley can feel that you're unhappy. With help from friends, he finally figures out why.

Warnings: Angst, adult language, body image, DILF Roo, pregnancy, jealousy, vomiting

Length: 3500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

You'd been quiet for days, chalking it up to exhaustion from work, but Bradley was a little concerned. He was missing out on a lot of cooking and cleaning at home, as well as responsibilities with Rose. Most days, he was collapsing in bed right after you, body tired and brain overworked. But he was close to advancing a few of his pilots to the next stage in their careers, and he didn't want to let up just yet.

Truthfully, he was enjoying many aspects of his day-to-day at work. He loved making decisions that would benefit his group. When he had a compelling answer for his superior officers, it made him feel so good about himself. He didn't even mind putting in the extra hours. But it was clear that Indigo wanted to be his class pet, and he wasn't quite sure what to do about that.

She was weighing on his mind a lot, most likely because she was constantly invading his office hours. He wanted to tell her she didn't have to try so hard to be the best aviator in the bunch when she just simply was the best one. But that would be feeding her ego, which probably wasn't the smartest option right now.

"Are you ready?"

Bradley looked up from his desk to see you standing there, and he jumped to his feet. "Of course I'm ready," replied with a smile, pushing all of his paperwork to the side and logging out of his computer. "Been looking forward to this."

You smiled softly, hand resting on the slight swell of your belly as you shifted your weight from one booted foot to the other. "Me too," you whispered, and Bradley grabbed his keys, wallet and phone from his desk drawer. He reached for your hand, lacing his fingers between yours and headed out into the sunny October afternoon.

"Time for our final guesses," you said. "Do you think it's a boy or another girl?"

Bradley looked down at your face, the perfect curve of your cheek catching the sunlight. You were beautiful. Every bit as stunning as the day he first laid eyes on you in one of the classrooms he passed on a regular basis. "Sweetheart, if there's anything good or just in this world, it better be another girl. Then I'd have three of you to look at."

"Rose looks like you, Bradley!" you insisted immediately, breaking out in the biggest smile he'd seen on your face in weeks.

"Rose looks like you. Everyone thinks so. She's adorable." He pulled you to a stop and leaned down to kiss your cheek. "And her face already has this exact curve that I'm fucking obsessed with."

Bradley let his lips linger, loving the way your cheek warmed as you stepped all the way into his embrace. You seemed on the verge of telling him something or asking a question, your posture never quite relaxing. He'd noticed that recently. Like you couldn't let yourself completely go with him like you always did. He wanted to ask you what was going on, but he was more than willing to wait until you were ready to say something on your own.

"We'll be late if we don't get a move on," you whispered. Bradley responded by kissing along your cheek to your lips. "I'm serious, Roo," you mumbled.

"Let's go," he sighed. "Dr. Morris already thinks I'm an idiot. I better not add tardiness to her list of complaints about me."

A short drive later, and the two of you were walking into the waiting room right on time. You barely sat down before a nurse was calling you back and handing you a hospital gown.

"It's weird without Rose here," you said as you got undressed. Bradley held out the gown for you to slip into, shaking his head.

"Nah. This is just for us. She can hear all about it later after work."

He was just about to close the distance to stop you from tying the gown closed so he could get another look at you, but Dr. Morris strolled it.

"How are we all doing?" she asked, shooting Bradley a look on her way past. It wasn't like he was capable of knocking you up again, but she was looking at him like he might have.

"Fantastic," he replied at the same time you said, "Okay."

He shot you a look as you eased yourself up on the table. He wasn't sure what he could do to make you happier. A conversation was clearly necessary now, but he didn't even know how to initiate it. If finding out more about the second Nugget today wasn't enough to make you smile, he didn't know what was.

He dropped down into the chair at your side, wrapping his big hand around yours as Dr. Morris spread that warm gel across your belly and asked you an array of questions. He listened to your answers as his heart beat a little faster. He was excited about this. Soon you could talk about baby names and nursery themes. He couldn't wait to meet his second child in the spring.

Bradley kissed your fingertips, watching intently as your doctor isolated some ultrasound images. Then she asked, "Do you want to find out the sex?"

"Fuck yes," Bradley gasped, scooting his chair a little closer. "I mean, please."

You and Dr. Morris were both wearing smirks as he squeezed your hand. He was so excited, it was hard to swallow. He didn't care if it was a boy or a girl. He felt the same way last time around, too. He just wanted a healthy kid he could dote on.

"It's a girl."

He was up out of his seat, sending the thing screeching across the floor as he hooted. Okay, so maybe he did have a bit of a preference for another daughter, but he would have been happy either way.

"Another girl!" he shouted while you smiled up at him. "Just me and my three beautiful girls."

Bradley let his lips collide with yours, kissing you until he got his fill. Dr. Morris and the rest of the ultrasound and everything else could just wait a few minutes while he soaked in this pure perfection.

----------------------------

Bradley had been inundating your text thread for days with links to various nursery themes, but meanwhile you and he hadn't even decided which room would be your second daughter's.

"A second daughter," you whispered at your desk. Your parents were excited; you got to watch your mom and dad cry over FaceTime. Rose was too young to care, but one day she might have an opinion about her sister. You, on the other hand, felt like a mixed bag of emotions.

You wanted to be happy. You really did. But it was too hard. Somehow letting your sadness ebb and flow was easier. Especially whenever you ventured too far away from your lab or your office. Indigo was always around. It was like she knew were to find you. And perhaps she did. Your name was in the directories around base. But it felt like she was mocking you. She obviously wanted your husband, and he was either oblivious or hiding something.

When you managed to let your intrusive thoughts win out, you checked his phone only to find pretty much nothing untoward. Other than ruining the surprise of what was probably supposed to be an anniversary gift, all you found was one unanswered message Indigo sent to him a while ago. It bordered on flirtatious, and you were a little concerned that he gave her his phone number, but there was really nothing there.

But she was in your face on base enough that you kept to your office as much as you could. Of course, today was the day you were absolutely starving, and you left your lunch at home. You could pop down to the cafeteria, grab a sandwich to appease yourself and the baby, and then bring it back up here to eat it. Should be a piece of cake.

Hot turkey sandwiches were on the menu, and you almost cried tears of joy as you had one packed up in a container with extra gravy and a side of mashed potatoes. It smelled so good, you couldn't wait to take a bite.

When you were waiting for the elevator, you froze with your lunch in your hands. You could see Indigo and Spice heading out of the cafeteria, and there was hardly anyone in the lobby for you to try to hide behind. You felt absolutely ridiculous as you stood there eavesdropping.

"What kind of progress have you made?" Spice asked, voice carrying over the sound of conversation around you.

Indigo smiled and laughed, showing off her perfect teeth. "Well, I can't give you details here, but... it's no wonder he's willing to spend so much time with me after hours. Anyone with eyes can see his wife let herself go this time around." Your cheeks burned as she added, "He's more than happy to help me with absolutely anything I need."

You sucked in a deep breath, certain she was talking about Bradley. And you. When the elevator arrived you ducked inside, jamming your finger against the button for your floor. As the doors slid shut, Indigo's gaze connected with yours, and she stood there proudly with her friend like she'd actually managed to steal Bradley from you.

A sob escaped your lips, and you tripped along to your office door. You really did look awful. Your skin was broken out, and you were going to need to start wearing the maternity tent well before your third trimester. Your belly was already tender, and then the baby decided this was the perfect moment to kick hard enough you thought you were going to wet your khakis.

"She's right," you whispered, tossing your lunch onto your desk and running for the bathroom. One glance in the mirror as you ran for an empty stall left you sobbing in the ladies' room. You looked awful. It was no wonder Bradley was paying extra attention to her. The fear that looking at Indigo had already turned into touching her was eating away at you. When you flushed the toilet, you turned and gagged before emptying the meager contents of your stomach into the bowl.

When you finally made it back to your office, your stomach couldn't handle a single bite of food. You dumped it in the trash.

-----------------------------

Bradley was just wrapping up a meeting with Maverick when Indigo cornered him outside his office. "Can I help you with something?" he asked, trying to keep the amusement from his voice. She was getting to be relentless.

As she shook her head slowly, she laughed. "I already told you, Sir, I can think of countless things you could help me with."

"Well why don't you run some of them past me?"

Her eyes widened as she licked her lips. "We could do that at the Hard Deck? I could still buy you that drink?"

Bradley sighed, hands planted on his hips which somehow drew her in closer. "I can't let any of you buy me drinks. Sorry, but that's not going to happen." He nodded toward his door. "But I have about fifteen minutes if there's something I can help you with."

She nodded. "Fifteen minutes would probably be more than enough, Sir."

Indigo stepped inside his office, glancing back at him over her shoulder, but Bradley saw another familiar face turn the corner in the hallway.

"Hey, there, hot shot," said Natasha, making Bradley smile. "You have a minute?"

"Actually, no," he replied, watching as his best friend looked inside to see who was waiting for him. She made a face, gaze snapping back to his. "Can it wait until later?"

Nat pressed her lips together like she was fighting off a scowl. "I wanted to see if you were free to workout with me later," she whispered. "I could stop by after dinner, and we could do some reps in your garage?"

"Absolutely," he replied. "See you around seven?"

"Yeah."

She took one more look at Indigo before marching back the way she came, leaving Bradley with nothing to do but take a seat behind his desk.

"Do you want me to close the door?" Indigo asked, voice laced with hope as she half stood.

"Leave it," Bradley replied, once again showing no hint of favoritism. "Now, what did you want to talk about?"

----------------------------

After dinner, you excused yourself to Rose's nursery to feed her and make a phone call to your parents. Bradley kissed you on the forehead before doubling back to the bedroom to change into gym clothes. When he let you know Nat was coming over to workout in the garage, you seemed almost relieved.

He started setting up his weights and bench press when he heard the sound of a familiar engine pull up to the house. A minute later, Nat was strolling in wearing bright pink spandex with a matching gym bag.

"I could spot you a mile away," he told her, and she chucked her bag at his chest. They both laughed when he caught it.

"You know what I can see a mile away?" she asked.

"What?"

"The word dumbass written across your forehead."

He rolled his eyes, dropping her bag onto one of the mats. Then he froze as he heard another engine pull up to a stop at his driveway. This one made him glare at Nat.

"Why is he here?" Bradley asked, and a split second later, Jake came strolling in like he owned the place.

Nat and Jake shared a look as Jake tossed his gym bag next to hers. "I thought I might need some backup."

Now Bradley was annoyed and also confused. "Backup? For what?"

Natasha closed the distance to him, patting Bradley on the chest with a firm hand. Her dark eyes conveyed concern as she asked, "Are you fucking stupid? Or are you doing it on purpose?"

"Huh?"

"I love you, Bradley. I really do. But I still have to follow girl code."

"Nat, I have no fucking clue what you're talking about."

The clanging of Jake adding weights to the bar made Bradley want to scream as Nat shook her head in pity.

"She wants in your pants," Jake drawled.

"Who?" Bradley asked, still unsure what they were even talking about.

"Your student with the crazy blue eyes!" Nat said, smacking him hard on the chest.

"Indigo?" Bradley asked, taking a step away from her. Both Nat and Jake were nodding as Bradley's brow creased. "She's like twenty-six years old."

"So?" Nat asked, hands planted on her hips.

"So, she's not trying to get in my pants. I'm married. Everyone knows I'm married."

Bradley held up his left hand, complete with wedding band. He rarely ever took it off, especially since it got him into hot water with you when he was deployed. But as he watched the band shine under the fluorescent lights, his lips parted wordlessly, and he stood there while both Nat and Jake scrutinized him.

If Indigo had been flirting with him this whole time, he'd written her off as an overzealous young pilot trying to prove herself. Now every interaction replayed through his mind, and he rubbed his palm over his eyes as he groaned. There was no way this was happening to him. He'd been alone with her on several occasions in his office. The door always remained open, but she'd pushed for him to close it.

Bradley's cheeks burned with mortification, and he wasn't sure he could even look Nat in the face. If Indigo really was trying to get in his pants, then he was a joke. He was an absolute joke, and none of the younger pilots took him seriously in his new role. That thought made him sick, but not as sick as the idea that maybe you'd noticed something as well.

Bradley swallowed hard. "Oh, fuck." When he swallowed again, he wanted to scream.

"Okay, there's my answer," Nat whispered, wrapping her fingers gently around his wrist and pulling his hand away from his face. She pressed herself up onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Thank god you're just stupid. It would be so much worse if you were messing around with her intentionally."

"I'm not," he barked, angry at the insinuation. "I wouldn't. I've never even touched her!"

Nat's hands were on his chest, coaxing him to calm down, but he was too worked up. "Easy, Soul Sister," she said, but he was shaking his head now.

"I'm fucking married, Nat! I made wedding vows. I have a daughter, and my wife is pregnant with another girl. What the fuck would I cheat for? What's going to be better than this?"

Bradley's chest was heaving with ragged breaths as she guided him to sit on his bench. He landed hard, jostling the weights as he looked up at two sympathetic faces.

"Nothing's gonna be better than Angel," Jake drawled. "I'm still not sure if it was dumb luck or divine intervention, but she's way out of your league, Bradshaw."

"I know," Bradley snarled. "You think I don't know that? She's fucking perfect." He tilted his head back, blinking up at the lights. "Do you think she knows Indigo was trying to flirt with me?"

"Absolutely," Nat replied, and Bradley forced himself to meet her eyes.

"Yes, asshole," Jake added. "She's not stupid like you are."

"Fuck." Bradley stood and started pacing around. He felt like his job and marriage were suddenly on the line. He didn't know what to say to you that wouldn't potentially make things worse right now. If he could think of something reasonable, he'd run across the yard and back inside the house and say it to your face.

Maybe this was part of the reason you'd been so quiet? But it didn't make sense. He never talked about Indigo outside of the context of work, because there was simply nothing else to say. But after that night at the bar, you were really fucking mad at him. He thought you were mad that he got drunk, but maybe there was more to it.

"God damn it," he groaned, realizing Nat was lifting weights while Jake spotted her. "Do you think I should talk to Mav tomorrow?"

"Yes," they both replied in unison. The fact that they agreed on something was scary enough, but that let Bradley know just how fucked he was.

But he would take care of everything. He'd talk to Mav and figure it all out. What other choice did he have?

"I'm heading inside," he murmured. "Can the two of you turn off the lights and lock up when you're done."

Bradley didn't wait for an answer. He was already walking across the backyard, craving your reassuring touch that he wasn't quite sure he deserved. When his phone vibrated in the pocket of his shorts, he pulled it out. He was met with another text from Indigo, but this time there was a photo as well. She was on the beach at sunset, the orange and pink sky somehow making her eyes look even more startlingly blue, and she was smiling at the camera. When his eyes slid down the screen to her cleavage, he almost dropped his phone. But not before he read the text.

This beach is so beautiful. Wish you were here.

Bradley couldn't decide what to do. Turn around and go back to the garage? Go inside the house? Sit down on Rose's jungle gym and cry? Smash his phone to bits? When another text appeared, he looked at it immediately.

Oops, I sent that to the wrong person. Have a good night, Sir.

Bradley squeezed his phone in his hand until he was afraid it might break. Then he opened a different text thread and pounded out a message, hitting send immediately.

Mav, I need to talk to you about something important first thing in the morning.

When Bradley noticed movement, he looked up at the sliding glass door. You were carrying Rose around the living room, bouncing her in your arms as you yawned. Getting the Nugget ready for bed was supposed to be his job. He loved it. The bedtime stories and the snuggles were the best part. He needed to have this.

Finally he walked inside, sliding the door closed quietly behind him, trying not to panic. Rose was nearly asleep, but you let him take her into his arms. Bradley kissed her all over her sweet face before forfeiting her to her crib, then he climbed in bed with you. When he reached for your hand, you curled up against him, and he let his hand rest along your belly.

"I love you, Sweetheart," he whispered, heart aching. "I love my three girls."

-----------------------------

Start getting your shit together, Bradley. Indigo has shown she's relentless. Also, I thought I was solid on the baby's name, but I might put it to a vote. Stay tuned. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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cherrycola27 · 13 days ago

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This was phenomenal

Gentle

Pairing: Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. Minors, DNI.

Notes: No physical reader descriptions, no use of y/n. Also not beta-read. Because it never is.

Length: 3.6K

Warnings: Bradley took Reader's virginity and didn't know it; Reader was an older virgin; mentions of public sex; under-negotiated kinks; wrist restraints (belt); protected sex; vaginal sex; dirty talk; rough sex; aftercare

Summary: You expect him to be so righteously angry—a pinched expression, a knit brow, a tight jaw. But there’s something in those warm, dark eyes that looks so painfully mournful.

It’s unfair. You both came. What’s he so put out about?

You’d almost prefer his anger to whatever the hell this is. Anger you could handle—but does he regret last night?

It’s a throwaway comment, one that you’re positive he’ll miss. The bar is bustling and so busy that it's a wonder he’s heard your friend crow it at all:

“To seeing you with that freshly-fucked glow for the first time!”

You aren’t scandalized by what she says. You’d told her the truth of it last night—offered sparse details and omitted names. You laugh and cheers with your friends. You’re not embarrassed by the mention, the tease.

But your insides are burning hot at the sight of Bradley in your periphery, his beer frozen halfway to his lips. You drain your drink and clear your throat, simply offering, “Getting another one,” As you push away from the table. You’re determined not to look at him as you go, praying that he just lets it pass.

But Bradley Bradshaw has never been good at just letting things go.

You’d been grateful for that last night.

There had been something zipping between the two of you all day—little looks and lingering glances that had fanned your flames, blossoming into a wildfire as he’d led you into the alley by the bar the night before. You had felt the heat of him behind you, thrilled at the scent of his cologne, the bristle and prickle of his mustache and lips against your neck as his hands had grasped your hips to still you.

You feel the heat of him as he comes to stand beside you now, smell his cologne as he sets an empty beer bottle down on the bar. Neither of you speak for a few moments. You’d hardly looked at him last night, either—pressed face-first against the brick wall of the alley, your pants around your knees with Bradley’s hand over your mouth to quiet you, his hot breath, soft groans and bitten-off swears pushed against the shell of your ear.

It's a shame, you think, that you’re locked into this pattern with Bradley. He does have the sweetest eyes.

“You should’ve told me.”

He says it just loudly enough for you to hear it over the murmur of bar noise, the conversation, rattle of cocktail shaking, and the distant strain of REO Speedwagon over the recessed speakers.

Maybe you should’ve. There had been a split-second when you considered it, but it had all happened so fast.

It wasn’t how you’d always expected it to be. There was no bed covered in rose petals, no romantic music. You’d been so caught up in your need, in the thrill of feeling Bradley as desperate for you as you were for him.

You’d decided, as you’d showered last night, felt the ache of him between your thighs, eyed the bloom of bruises on your hips and a scrape on your cheek from where you’d been pressed against the brick a little too hard, that it was okay. You didn’t need roses or romantic music. You’d just needed the ferocity that Bradley had fucked you with, and the brush of his rough, work-worn fingertips against your neglected clit, and the moan of his voice in your ear as his hips stuttered and slapped against yours.

“You didn’t ask.”

You realize as Bradley shifts testily beside you that it’s the wrong thing to say, and maybe a little unfair. You tack on, “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, it does. I figured—”

“I know. S'okay. Let it go, Bradshaw.” It’s unlikely, but worth a shot. If there’s one thing Bradley loves, it’s proving people wrong. You know as well as he does just how stubborn he can be, how by-the-book. But some things just nag and nag and he has to litigate them.

You can tell that this’ll be one of the things that he won’t stand for. Dog with a bone. Knight with a righteous cause.

“You should’ve told me.”

It’s his new refrain, you realize. You can’t imagine how he must’ve felt when he heard your friend, saw you laugh, waited for you to correct or argue with her. And did he notice the scratch on your cheek then? Did he think of the push of his body against yours, the quiver of your thighs as he’d stretched you wide around him, the buzz of your whimper against his fingers as he finally fucked you?

"Doesn't matter,” You insist again. “Drop it.”

“You should’ve told me—”

“Lower your voice.”

“I would’ve been more gentle.”

“I didn’t want you to be more gentle,” You snap, finally turning to meet his eye. You realize immediately that it’s a mistake. You expect him to be so righteously angry—a pinched expression, a knit brow, a tight jaw. But there’s something in those warm, dark eyes that looks so painfully mournful.

It’s unfair. You both came. What’s he so put out about?

You’d almost prefer his anger to whatever the hell this is. Anger you could handle—but does he regret last night? You sure as shit don’t.

Your jaw works tightly as you fold your arms against your chest and turn back to the bar. He can regret it all he wants, if that’s what this is.

“Anyway,” You press on, “I enjoyed myself. Thought you did, too.”

“I did—” Small wonder, “But—”

“‘But’ nothing, Bradshaw. We both had a good time. Just…Forget it.”

You hear Bradley draw in a deep breath before his hand lightly comes down on the bar. When he curses this time, it doesn’t make your stomach flip with excitement. It just pisses you off.

“Get in.”

Your annoyance has cooled and shifted to nerves. You glance around the parking lot, openly unsure. You can get a car to take you home. It could be there in two minutes, have you home in twenty.

Bradley stands still as a statue, hand holding open the passenger side door as he waits. It wasn’t a question like he’d asked last night—”Wanna take a walk?” It isn’t a murmur accompanied by a warm hand on your lower back, steering you away from the thudding bass of the bar, from your friends as your stomach fluttered with anticipation.

It’s an order, one that you’re tempted to disobey.

But you climb into the Bronco and buckle up. You look straight through the windshield as he gets into the driver’s seat and starts the car. The drive is quiet, and does nothing to calm your nerves. Once Bradley parks, he just warns, “Don’t,” when you reach for the door handle. You expect him to launch into a lecture, but he gets out, rounding the car and opening the door for you.

He’s practically your shadow as he follows you to the front door. You step aside once it’s open, unsure if Bradley will turn and head home, his self-appointed duty done. But he steps inside, shrugging his jacket off and throwing it over the back of your couch. He’s been there once or twice, but he still takes his time looking around as you lock up behind him and take off your shoes.

“Shoes off, Bradshaw.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You want something to drink?” You ask, stepping past him.

“Water.”

“You hungry?”

“No.”

You nod, flipping on the light in your kitchen and grabbing a couple of glasses for the two of you. You can hear Bradley's footsteps as he drifts lazily through your living room, joining you in the kitchen and taking the proffered glass of water with a murmur of thanks. The two of you sip in silence for a few moments.

“Maybe I should’ve—” You start, then back off as you feel Bradley turning to look at you. You take another gulp of your water. “There just didn’t seem like the right moment to mention it. And bringing it up—it all would’ve felt like a bigger deal. I didn’t want that.”

“Could’ve told me afterward.”

“We were more focused on getting back to the others.”

“You tell ‘em it was me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s none of their business. Besides, they wouldn't care—and they didn’t ask.”

“Seems to be your answer for everything these days.”

You roll your eyes, setting your empty water glass in the sink.

“Okay. You bring me home just to scold me?”

“No.”

Bradley steps closer, lowering his water glass into the sink beside yours. You watch his hand lift. Your eyelashes flutter as he cups your jaw, turning your head toward him, his thumb sweeping gently across your skin.

“Look at me.” He orders. Your focus sweeps up slowly, mapping the swell of his lips, the scattering of scars, the line of his nose before your eyes finally settle on his. He’s devoid of anger, still, and the sorrow is gone. Bradley’s expression seems deceptively neutral, and that’s far more concerning than any look he’s given you before.

“Where’s your room.”

There still aren’t any roses, but at least there’s a real bed this time. Bradley doesn’t guide you face-first into one of your walls or against the door. He keeps a firm grasp on your jaw as his tongue slips between your lips. You wind your arms around his shoulders, fingers curling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

You try to urge him back toward the bed, but Bradley slides a hand down to your throat, giving it a warning little squeeze that makes you melt. You smooth one of your hands down his front, fingers skating along the cool metal of his belt buckle. Before you can undo it, Bradley catches hold of your wrist. He breaks your kiss, using the grasp on your throat to tip your head up to the side, and smoothing his lips along the exposed skin.

“Slow down,” He murmurs against your jaw, the buzz of it tickling your skin.

“But—”

“Slow down.” It’s firmer now, and you have to tamp down a grin. You know what that tone is like from Bradley. You’re certain you can wind up face-first on your bed if you play your cards right.

You just have to piss him off a little.

You wriggle your wrist from his grasp, tipping your head down against the press of his hand, desperate to catch sight of his belt buckle as you fumble for it with both hands. You hear the short, irritated huff of Bradley’s breath before he catches both of your wrists in one hand. Your mouth waters at the clank of his buckle being undne as he gives your wrists a squeeze and shoves them away from him.

“Take your clothes off,” He orders. “All of them.”

There’s steel in his voice now. You begin to turn, your hands curling around the hem of your shirt when you hear him tut.

“Face me.”

Your face burns hot as you go still. Bradley’s expression is flat again: mirthless eyes, and a firm press to his lips. You tug your shirt up and over your head, undo your bra, then shove down your pants and underwear.

“Get on the bed.”

You sit, and wait.

“Lie down.”

You should scooch back toward your headboard, but instead, you flop down where you are, feet still on the floor. You yelp as Bradley lands a slap on your outer thigh.

“Don’t play dumb,” He warns. “Go on.”

You finally slide back, watching Bradley undress and fish a foil packet out of his back pocket. You eye his body covetously as he walks closer, climbing over you and straddling your hips, tossing the condom by your pillow.

“Hands up.”

You raise them obediently, holding perfectly still and hardly breathing as he loops the belt around your wrists. He holds your eye as he winds the belt around your wrists and the bedposts, a single brow raised. You can call it off now—you know he'll unwind it, pull back, stop.

When you nod, Bradley tightens it, the leather biting into your skin.

You want what he gave you in the alley—the rush, his force, his ferocity and bruises. But Bradley kneels on the bed in front of you, curling his hands around your ankles, skimming them up slowly. You squirm, feeling exposed and vulnerable as his hands slip over your thighs, up across your belly.

“Bradley—”

“Hush.”

You suck in a soft breath as his fingers smooth over your sides, pressure just firm enough to keep from tickling you. His head dips, kissing over your belly, up to the underside of one of your breasts. You try to arch into his lips as he leans further up.

“Please,” You whine, but his tongue sweeps between your lips before you can say another word. You wilt back against the bed, your fingers curling and flexing around one another as your wrists strain against the belt, the buckle clanking against the bed frame. You want nothing more than to grasp and pull his hair, feel the slide of the strands against your skin.

“But—” You breathe as he breaks the kiss.

“Shuddup.” It buzzes against your skin as his kisses travel back down, sucking at each nipple, sweeping past your belly button as his shoulders push your thighs wide. You pull in a shocked breath as his hot breath skates across your pussy, chased by the teasing flicker of the tip of his tongue. You whimper, chasing the slick heat before Bradley’s hands curl around your hips. You open your mouth to complain again—but it dies on your tongue as Bradley laps broadly across your lips. He buries your face between your thighs, moaning lustfully against your slick skin. Your nails dig into your palms at the rattle of his groan shakes through you.

You whine, knees tightening around his shoulders as you shove your hips down against his lips. And though you’d expected him to reprimand you, Bradley’s hand slides up between your thighs, fingers teasing at your pussy. It’s only a moment before he slips one inside, curling it before adding another. You huff softly, cunt squeezing around him as his fingers pumping in and out—and in and out again as your hips chase his manic rhythm.

Your wrists yank against the belt, hips bounding as you chase the curl and snap of your orgasm, Bradley’s name falling from your lips as your pussy rolls against his tongue. He hums, lapping at your pleasure as your cunt clutches at his fingers. Your voice quiets as you settle, cunt pulsing as Bradley nuzzles your thigh, lightly nipping at the skin and slickly soothing it as your movements slow.

As you come back to yourself, you can’t deny the thrill of catching Bradley’s eye—the heat of it as he peers over your belly; the sly glint as he laves his tongue back and forth, fingers curling in your still-pulsing opening. You part your lips, waggling your tongue and grinning as Bradley surges up.

You whimper as you taste your arousal on his tongue, shiver as his fingers withdraw and his cock twitches against your inner thigh. Your hips tip up on instinct, chasing the heat as Bradley’s length twitches against you. He reels back just far enough to grab the foil packet by your head, ripping it open with his teeth, and sheathing his cock in the latex.

“Please,” You mumble before he can ask or tease, “Please—Need it, Bradley, I—Oh, fuck,” You gasp as he drives into you with a single stroke. Your pussy clutches at him, your nails digging into the leather of the belt as you push your hips up into his. Bradley’s hands land on either side of your head, flexing in the fabric of your pillow case as he holds himself steadily over you.

“Shuddup,” He groans again—But my god, it’s a tighter sound than it was before, and it makes your pussy grasp at him as his face presses into your neck.

“Bradley–”

“Quiet—”

“I need it,” You whimper, shoving your hips up against his, “Fuck, you feel so—Mm, Bradley, please—”

“Just—”

“I want more, Bradley, ‘m so—”

You gag at the sudden intrusion of two fingers sliding between your lips. Your mouth falls open, eyes glazing and tongue laving against the rough pads of his fingertips as they rub over your tongue.

You let your jaw go slack, whines spiraling from between your lips as he finger-fucks your mouth, hips slapping against yours in tandem. Your toes curl in the fabric of your sheets, wrists yanking against your restraints. Bradley plants his knees against the mattress, his hips slamming against yours as the headboard rattles against your wall. You wind one of your legs around his, sucking in a breath as his free hand grasps and squeezes your thigh.

Bradley pushes his face into your neck, fingers slipping from your mouth to hold your hips. You can’t fight the way your voice stutters in his throat at the slow, concentrated roll of his body against yours. You try to push against him, to urge and speed his pace, but Bradley seems to neither hear nor feel your urging and whines.

It’s no use. Bradley’s grasp keeps you pinned in place, the slow grind of his hips drawing your orgasm nearer and nearer.

“That’s it,” He encourages against your jaw. He groans as your cunt pulses around him, your hips bucking as your back arches.

“Faster,” You breathe, then gasp as his strokes slow and deepen. Your eyes slip closed, pressing your head back against the pillow as your push your body up against his. You shiver, knees squeezing around his hips as the coil of pleasure in your belly tightens.

“Look at me,” He urges, hand lifting to curl around your jaw. Your head flops like a ragdoll’s, eyes blinking blearily up at him. Your heart stuttering in your chest at the heated focus on his face—the parted, panting lips, and the way his dark eyes skate from your mouth to your slightly unfocused gaze. He tuts when your eyelashes flutter, giving your jaw a squeeze before you can close them.

“Ah ah. Eyes on me, baby,” Bradley orders. “Show me how bad you want it—Show me,” He repeats as my mouth falls open to insist, “Don’t tell me. I don’t wanna hear another fucking word. You’ll take what I give you,” He growls, “And when you’ve cum, you’ll fucking thank me for it.”

Your eyes roll back into your head as you buck up against Bradley, mouth falling open in a stunned, guttural shout as you cum, cunt pulsing around his cock. Bradley curses, dipping his head and laying a bite on your shoulder as his hips continue to grind slowly and steadily, fucking you slowly through your orgasm.

You wait for him to follow, to tip over the edge, but Bradley’s hips don’t stutter and slow like they did last night. Instead, his fingers slip between the two of you, teasing over your tender, swollen clit as his tongue sweeps across the freshly laid bite mark. You hiss in a shocked breath, hips bucking up into his rough touch.

“Br-Bradley—”

“Gimme another one.”

Your hands slowly slip down to rest over your head as Bradley unwinds the belt from your wrists, dropping it across his other clothes where they were discarded by the bed. You sigh contentedly as you feel the bed dip and shift beneath you, and hear the soft pad of his footsteps as he leaves the room.

You know that you should move your arms, get some blood back into them, check your wrists, but for a few moments, you just lay there and let your body settle. Your cunt still pulses from the slow, sensual rolls of Bradley's hips, the sure and even way that he’d fucked you through another two orgasms before finally coming undone himself. You draw your knees together, shivering again as you squeeze your slick thighs together.

“Here,” You hear. Your head lolls to the side, eyes blinking open as Bradley sets a glass of water down on the bedside table. Before you can try and push yourself up, Bradley sits beside you, hooking his arms around your back and helping you slowly sit up. Your head swims a little, and Bradley shushes you softly as you close your eyes to stop your head from pounding, resting your head forward onto his shoulder.

“Y’alright?”

“I think so,” You mumble.

“Give it a minute.”

“Mm.” You lean back against the headboard, eyes still closed as Bradley’s hands gently brush over your quivering thighs. “I should get cleaned up.”

“We will,” He says. “Water's heating up for the bath.”

You peek open one eye, brow raising in surprise. We, huh? But Bradley holds your eyes steadily, unflinching as he picks the water up and holds it out. Your arms throb slightly as you lift them to take the cup, drawing in a sip, then a gulp.

“Slow down,” He chuckles.

“Mmm. That again?” You ask, passing back the glass. “All I got tonight was slow.”

Bradley sets the glass aside, scooching closer and nudging his nose against yours. He searches your gaze for a moment before his eyes dip to your lips.

“You deserve slow,” He murmurs, “You deserve thorough. And one’a these days, I’m gonna teach you,” His lips ghost yours, “How good gentle can be.”

“That’s not what tonight was?”

“With a belt around your wrists? No, baby,” He chuckled. “That’s not what tonight was.” He leans away, grinning as you lean up, lips chasing his. “I’ll go check on the bath. Finish that water.”

“Yessir.” You watch him get up, swiping your tongue over your lips. “Bradley?”

He turns, brows raised expectantly, and smiling when he sees you reaching for him. He leans back in when you smooth your hand over his neck, submitting to the soft, searching kiss that you pull him in for.

“For the record," You tip your head back, "You were exactly what I wanted—last night and tonight."

Relief flickers in his warm eyes, lips quirking in a slight smile as he covers his mouth with yours again.

"For the record," He murmurs. "You're gonna like gentle."

"I know I'm gonna like it," You insist, leaning back against the headboard, "Long as it's with you."

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ;

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ;

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ;

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ;

@winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 @nominalnebula

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cherrycola27 · 14 days ago

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Finally finished Rooster! Most of this time was taken making the background, which is of course, The Hard Deck. Hope you all enjoy him! I do plan on making some of the others in the dagger squad, I already finished Baby On Board!

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cherrycola27 · 16 days ago

Photo

Bradley Bradshaw and his gold cross chain

“In awe and wonder” Fotografia: Santi Ruiz

#false god

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cherrycola27 · 17 days ago

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I agree with you @marvelouslyme96

Still can't believe she follows me, has alerts for me, and yaps with me. Like I am not worthy

but sir that’s my emotional support mutual who’s way cooler than me that i can’t believe actually follows me

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cherrycola27 · 18 days ago

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Also, if you'd like to hear about the premise for any of these, please come into my asks!

In 2025, I'm trying to get back into writing and posting some fics. I have some updates for some of my series fics that I'm working on, but dipping my toes back in, I'd like to focus on some One-Shots.

Who all would be interested in a small collection (3 fics) inspired by The Tortured Poets Department?

One- Shots I have outlined are:

"But Daddy, I Love Him" (Rooster x Reader)

"Guilty As Sin?" (Rooster x Reader)

"I Can Fix Him (No Really, Can)" (Hangman x Reader)

#cherrycola27 #top gun maverick #rooster x reader #hangman x reader #ttpd

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cherrycola27 · 18 days ago

Text

Who all would be interested in a small collection (3 fics) inspired by The Tortured Poets Department?

One- Shots I have outlined are:

"But Daddy, I Love Him" (Rooster x Reader)

"Guilty As Sin?" (Rooster x Reader)

"I Can Fix Him (No Really, Can)" (Hangman x Reader)

#cherrycola27 #top gun maverick #rooster x reader #hangman x reader #ttpd

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cherrycola27 · 19 days ago

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I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD RIGHT NOW I AM READY TO THROW DOWN SO HARD. I WILL END INDIHOE SO FAST SHE WONT KNOW WHAT HIT HER

Aim for the Sky Part 32 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You're struggling through your pregnancy, trying to stay calm as your worries about Bradley grow as quickly as the baby. Bradley wants to put his best foot forward at work, making himself available for office hours, but maybe he's made himself too accessible.

Warnings: Angst, adult language, body image, DILF Roo, smut, pregnancy topics, lactation kink, jealous

Length: 3400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Bradley's new office was coming along nicely. Everything was standard issue Navy grade, but he started adding some touches here and there to make it look more personal. The file cabinet was covered in ultrasound photos, one column of Rosie and one of her younger sibling.

He glanced at the wedding photo on his desk before adjusting it and wincing. You were still mad this morning that he overdid it at the Hard Deck last night, but he wished you would just let it go. It's not like he drove home drunk or anything. Nat and the guys were just excited to learn he was going to have another kid. The drinks just kept coming.

There was a knock on the door, and then Maverick poked his head inside. "You have a minute?"

"Yeah," Bradley replied, waving him inside. "It's not like I can tell you no. You're my commanding officer, Mav."

The older man chuckled, setting some folders on the desk. "I need you to keep all of the forms updated for each of the pilots. It's best if you work on it every day and then update the hard copies. You should have time to do this between visits during your office hours."

Today was the first time Bradley was holding office hours, and honestly he felt a bit like a college professor: the aviators were kind of his students, and he was responsible for making sure they were prepared to fly.

"Not sure how busy my office hours will be," Bradley muttered. He should probably send a text to remind you he'd be home a little later than usual tonight. While he didn't want to make a habit of missing dinner with his girls, this was a far cry better than being deployed.

"You might be surprised," Maverick replied with a smile as he backed toward the door. "You've got a lot to show the others, Lieutenant Commander."

Then he was gone, and Bradley could feel the warmth rising in his cheeks. He just wanted to prove himself, but the first time someone had him up against the wall, scrambling for an answer, he wasn't sure what he was going to do. He'd only started to advertise his extra hours during today's lecture, so it would probably be another week or so until someone came to him for any sort of guidance on a Monday evening. But he would try to be ready.

He was just opening one of the folders from Maverick when there was another knock on his door. This time when he looked up, he was met with a flight suit complete with a Golden Warriors patch identical to the one he wore. That would have been enough to let him know it was Indigo, but then he met her eyes as he stood up behind his desk.

"Lieutenant Jeffries," he greeted with a smile as she strode inside. "How can I help you?"

She studied his face with a knowing look for a few seconds before breaking out into a smile of her own. "Sir, I can think of so many ways you could help me. It's not even funny."

Bradley blinked, brow furrowed as he examined her. "Well, why don't you start with an easy one? It's been a long day. And something tells me you might be regretting the late start you got at the Hard Deck last night."

Her laughter filled the room. "I could never regret finding the officer hangout before the rest of my peers from Texas. I need to keep the edge I have over Rex and Spice." When she started to close the door, Bradley frowned.

"Keep it open," he said casually, reaching out to catch it before it shut. He didn't want anyone thinking he was playing favorites, and the little pout on Indigo's lips convinced him she wanted to be his favorite aviator. But she didn't argue. She simply sat down on the edge of the couch and looked up at him.

"The easiest way you can help me is by telling me where I can improve," she said, fingers toying with the zipper at her neck. "I want to be the best you've ever seen."

------------------------------

You couldn't tell if Cat was actually annoyed with you or if she was just teasing, but you were too exhausted from a restless night to care.

"I can't believe Bradley told Jake you're pregnant before you told me yourself! I just saw you last night!"

Her gaze dipped down to your belly as you stood before her in the lab. You knew you were showing. There was no denying it now. You had a bunch of appointments coming up with Dr. Morris, and you were just going to keep getting bigger until you had to wear the maternity tent again. You knew you were already huge and that you'd probably never be your normal size ever again. And the last thing you wanted was Cat Coleman of all people scrutinizing your appearance when she always looked pristine.

Everything was made worse by Bradley's interactions with Indigo. She was everywhere on base, but now she had taken over your bar, too. You saw her this morning but managed to duck out of the way before those piercing eyes landed on you. She knew what you looked like now, and Cat's gaze lingering on your belly was doing nothing to give you a boost of confidence.

"Please make sure you're eating and drinking enough," she told you. "We don't want another repeat of Annapolis where you could barely give a presentation. Or a repeat of the day you fell at work."

You gritted your teeth. "This pregnancy doesn't even feel like my last one. Okay? I'm eating just fine. Too well, actually."

You turned on your heel, boot squeaking on the floor and headed out to collect Rose from daycare. Everything was just a reminder of your size right now. Visions of candy bars danced in your head as you told yourself you'd go home and eat a sensible dinner while Bradley held his office hours. But you already knew... you just knew Indigo would squeeze her way in there with her pretty eyes and her perky tits. And your husband seemed to be oblivious to her. At least you'd tried to convince yourself he wasn't actively looking. But you knew she found him attractive. You could smell it on her a mile away.

Tears filled your eyes as you approached the daycare facility. If he was looking at her, you couldn't blame him. Indigo was beautiful, her body stunning even in her flight suit. Meanwhile you looked like an exhausted, lumpy, khaki-covered potato with acne and zero energy.

"Let's go home," you whispered to Rose, trying to smile at the daycare staff as you pushed her out in her stroller.

You were absolutely fine. You were totally fine. Or at least you would be. Or at least that's what you kept telling yourself.

But all week long, you heard the same collection of call signs spilling from Bradley's lips, and Indigo's was always the first one. She was the fastest, most cunning, smartest, most decisive pilot he'd ever flown with. Any time you asked him a question about work, she was the answer. And he was late coming home almost every day.

"Hey, Sweetheart. Sorry, I had to stay in the infirmary with Spice after she strained her shoulder," he said, rushing inside on Friday night as you made dinner. "She couldn't even raise her arm to get her helmet off."

He kissed your cheek, letting his hand rest on your belly for a beat before he ended up on the floor next to Rose's play mat where she was trying her hardest to crawl to Tramp. As soon as Bradley showed up, she changed her mind and tried to get to him instead.

You pressed your lips together as you turned off the stove burner. "Did anyone else stay with you and Spice?"

"Yeah, Indigo hung out," he replied easily, brushing his fingers along Rose's hair with a smile. You swallowed hard, watching him on his hands and knees in his khaki uniform. He looked so good. Like ridiculously good. Broad shoulders and big biceps and a handsome smile.

"Why am I not surprised?" you muttered, turning away from him.

"I think they're friends," he said. "It's kind of amusing getting to experience the love and hate dynamics amongst the group. The women tend to stick together on the ground, but anything goes in the air."

Your stomach ached with hunger pangs, and the only thing you wanted to eat was ice cream. When you realized you'd eaten a frozen burrito barely an hour ago, you desperately wanted to go to bed hungry, but you started to feel guilty about the baby.

"My parents listed their house today," you announced, trying to change the subject before you started to cry.

"Did you hear that, Nugget?" Bradley scooped Rose up in his arms and carried her into the kitchen where you were plating two meals. "Your grandparents are moving here to spend more time with you. And next summer, we'll take you and your little brother or sister back to Virginia to see where ol' Goose and Carole used to live, okay?"

He peppered her face with kisses until she was giggling wildly, and every negative thought started to get fuzzy around the edges. When his brown eyes met yours, you nodded toward the table, and his arm slipped around your waist.

-----------------------------

Bradley came home from his office hours on Monday to find you wearing only his old UVA shirt. The soft cotton was hugging your bump and showing off your legs, and he was ready to get on his knees and beg for you.

After he put Rose in her crib for the night, he met you in bed where you were wearing your glasses, your face freshly scrubbed. He was plainly getting hard in his gym shorts the more he looked at you. It was so obvious. When you stood on your knees and coaxed him closer with your finger, he met you there.

"I hope you know how good you have it, Roo," you whispered against his lips.

He knew. He knew all about it. He let his hand slide down over your belly, keeping you in place when you tried to scoot away. Then his fingers slowly yanked up the hem of his shirt until he was touching your pussy.

"Of course I know it, Baby Girl." He circled your clit with his middle finger before slipping it inside you. "I've got my Rosie. And my hot, pregnant wife with her perfect pussy." When you whimpered, he kissed your nose. "I've got it all."

You dragged the shirt up over your belly and chest, tossing it aside. For a beat, Bradley went completely dizzy at the sight of your tits. Then you made everything better by placing your hands on your breasts, working them until beads of milk appeared. Your head was tipped back, pussy squeezing his middle finger, and Bradley almost lost his mind.

His kisses were rough. He knew it. But you were whining Roo as he got undressed, and then you were guiding his lips to your tits. He had to have it dirty. His cock was so fucking hard, he needed to make you scream.

"Oh, fuck," he growled as his lips grazed your nipple, lapping up your milk until he thought he was going to pass out. Every inch of your body was so sweet and supple, but he wanted you babbling and begging.

Bradley meticulously cleaned you up until you were clinging onto him, then he pushed you onto your back. Without hesitation, he started fucking you. When you needed a hand over your mouth to keep from waking Rose, he was all too happy to help. When you spread your legs wider, he watched his cock glide inside your welcoming body over and over again until he felt his orgasm in his balls.

"Shit. I'm gonna cum," he groaned, waiting until you nodded against his palm to lose himself. Hips thrusting, filling you with shallow strokes, he fucked you until your pussy was dripping. He watched the mess he made dribble down your ass before catching it with his fingertips. "I swear I don't think I can keep my cock out of you long enough for you to not be pregnant ever again."

You snorted before reaching for his hand and bringing it to your lips. "After this one, I'm going right back on the pill. No more slip ups," you whispered. Bradley watched as your tongue darted out, licking his sticky cum and swallowing every drop.

"No more slip ups," he echoed, smiling at your belly. He'd never consider this a mistake. Not in a million years. A surprise? Absolutely. But not a mistake.

Bradley's phone lit up where it had been discarded on the floor when you slipped into the bathroom. He had a text from an unknown number with a Virginia area code. At first, he thought it might be his cousin Brenda letting him know she had a new phone number, but when he opened the message, his brow creased in confusion at first.

Lieutenant Commander, thanks for spending so much time with me today in your office today.

Only three people had been in his office with him earlier. One was Maverick. One was Forrest who he had to reprimand. The third was Indigo. Bradley hadn't been giving out this number, but it was readily available if anyone wanted to look through the registry in the lobby of the building where his small office was housed.

He scratched the rough stubble along his jaw, contemplating if he should respond after nine in the evening. He saved her number under her call sign and tossed his phone on the bed when you walked back in with a smile on your face. He should wait until the morning to respond if at all.

You yawned when he passed you. "I'm ready for bed, Roo."

"Give me a minute to brush my teeth, and I'm right behind you."

---------------------------

By the end of the week, your parents had two offers on the house where you were raised. They were officially downsizing to a cute bungalow a few streets over in Coronado, and you were excited. Or you wanted to be.

But every time you let your heart fill with happiness over your parents or the baby, you remembered that Indigo was texting your husband. You saw it for yourself. Right after he fucked you so good, you could barely walk, you glanced down at his phone on your bed. He had her number saved in his phone, and you wanted to cry.

You could ask him for permission to look at his phone. You could see what his reaction was. That would give you a good gauge of what exactly was going on between them. But Bradley had never once asked you to hand your phone over to him. He'd ever insinuated that there would be a reason he didn't trust you.

Unsure what else to do, you sat in your office during your lunch break and cried. The tears were hot and miserable on your cheeks, and a headache instantly started brewing behind your eyes. It took you almost ten minutes to get yourself under control, and by then you didn't even feel like going to the cafeteria for food.

When someone knocked, you looked up at your door. Maybe it was Bradley. Maybe you could get his phone from him somehow and check it yourself. "Come in," you called, voice soft from all the tears you'd shed. Instead of your husband, Jake strolled inside. "Did you get lost? Cat's probably in the lab."

"Aww, come on, Angel," he drawled, dropping down into your extra chair. "I came all the way up here to see you."

"Oh." You were a little surprised. Everyone was so busy as the last quarter of the year was beginning, you felt like you hadn't seen much of him.

"Why do you look so sad?" he asked, already leaning forward to stand again. "Want me to grab you and the baby something to eat and bring it up here?"

"No," you told him quickly. "I'm fine. Just a little stressed." You tried to smile, but you felt like you could cry again. "Are you having a slow day?"

"Nah." He leaned back with his arms crossed over his chest. "Just had to get away from your annoying husband and his band of misfits clogging up the comms with their exercises."

"Band of misfits?" you asked with a soft laugh.

"Bunch of children," he replied with an eye roll. "Look like they just graduated from high school." His eyes went wide. "Oh shit, that probably means I look old now."

"You don't look too bad for someone older than me," you promised with a smirk. "Hey, do you know anything about any of those new pilots?"

"I know they like to hog the line in the cafeteria. One of them took the last slice of pizza yesterday, and I had to wait for a new pie to finish baking. Food should be based on seniority. I outrank all of them."

You were laughing at his smile now. "Hey, maybe I should get something to eat. And it might be nice to get out of my office for a few minutes."

"I'll walk you down." Jake stood and helped you to your feet. "Can't hang out too long though. Mav has a fire under his ass about getting Phoenix, Bob and I in the air this afternoon."

You headed to the cafeteria with Jake, getting a chance to hear his side of the wedding plans after listening to Cat for weeks. They wanted something small and simple, but he assured you there would be room for the Bradshaws on the guest list. Once you had a tray piled high with a salad, breadsticks and once slice of pizza, you took a seat while Jake headed back out to the tarmac to get back to work.

Your lunch tasted incredible. The cheese from the pizza was practically melting in your mouth. When the cafeteria started clearing out, there were only a few tables occupied, and you started stacking the plates on your tray. You could have a calm, reasonable conversation with your husband. He'd let you look at his phone, and everything would be fine.

"Okay, but what's up with Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw?"

Your eyes darted up from your tray to find two officers sitting a short distance away. The one facing you had a patch on her flight suit that said SPICE, and you recognized her call sign from conversations with Bradley.

"He's hot, but he's wearing a wedding band," she added.

You swore your heart stopped at her words. Then you realized that the woman with her back to you was Indigo. Her jet black hair was wound up in a tight bun that accentuated her long neck even from behind, and her laughter set your teeth on edge.

"I already told you," she said, and you had to stop breathing to make sure you heard every word. "His wife is a civvy. I saw her at the bar the only night he showed up. They have one kid, and apparently she's pregnant again. At least that's what I heard Lieutenant Trace saying."

"What does his wife look like?" Spice asked, casually taking a sip of her drink as if your world wasn't crumbling to pieces.

"It was hard to tell in the dark, but her face seemed okay. Nice-ish body, but come on..." Indigo gestured to herself. "The man's only human, and his wife is definitely older than me. That much is easy to tell. And she'll be huge again soon."

You tried to get up from your seat quickly, fighting with yourself to get out of the room, but it was too late. Both of them were standing now, still chatting as Indigo turned your way. As soon as her eyes landed on your face, you saw them widen. That pretty blue color looked terrifying as a smile of recognition spread across her lips.

Indigo absolutely knew who you were now. Her eyes dipped down to the hyphenated name pinned against your chest, and now she knew you weren't a random civilian. She knew you were an officer who worked on North Island. She knew way too much as she took in every inch of your body. And she looked really pleased by what she saw.

-----------------------------

He has his sweet moments, but Roo doesn't see the bigger picture here. Next chapter will reveal if Rose is going to have a brother or a sister. Any guesses? Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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cherrycola27 · 19 days ago

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Okay but what if Miles presents the award that Glen is up for and he wins?

Glen Powell is nominated for a Golden Globe on Sunday (let's hope he actually gets to attend and it's not a repeat of the Top Gun Oscars)

Miles Teller was just announced as a presenter for the Golden Globes on Sunday

and most likely Monica Barbaro will be there to represent A Complete Unknown and support her costars

soooooooooo

Top Gun Maverick Dagger Squad reunion Sunday?!?!

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cherrycola27 · 20 days ago

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Happy New Year all!

Today also means that I officially have one month left of being in my 20s. Not super sure how I feel about it, but maybe 30 won't be so bad

#cherrycola27 #happy new year #death to my youth #feb 1 here we come

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cherrycola27 · 22 days ago

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This is absolutely poetic and fabulous and I'm just over joyed (and concerned) but how much i loved this

The Middle of Nowhere (Part 4)

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, dark!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, dark!Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Reader (no relationships) Summary: As the hunt begins, you try to make it back to town before one of your captors can carry out their murderous plan. But it isn't long until one of them finds you... Word Count: 6037 TW: NOT ALL TWS MAY BE MENTIONED SO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! Language, Hunted for Sport, Knives, Blood, Reader has hair long enough to grab, Reader's POV Notes: I am EXTREMELY proud and excited about this series and hope you enjoy! Huge thanks to @green-socks for the beta read and to @green-socks, @mayhem24-7forever, and @blue-aconite for all the constant love, and encouragement in my DMs 💕

Series Masterlist

The freshly fallen snow stretches for miles in all directions. Your head is still pounding where Rooster drove his elbow into it but at least your vision has mostly returned to normal. Now that you have left the clearing with its electric lanterns, your eyes begin to adjust to the natural lighting around you. Luckily—or maybe not so luckily—the moon is nearly full and reflecting off the snow around you, allowing you to avoid crashing into the trees directly in front of you. That doesn’t stop branches from snagging on your jacket or underbrush from scratching at your bare legs and feet and you still can’t see more than a few feet in front of you, but you are trying to find any positives in your current situation.

Who are you kidding—there’s nothing positive about your current situation.

You’ve been drugged, assaulted, stripped down, and are being forced to flee from a pair of psycho killers who plan on murdering you in ways you can’t possibly even fathom. All while you’re barefoot and wearing a jacket that stands out so starkly against the snow that it might as well be a neon sign saying “come and get me”.

But on top of all that, the worst part is that there’s no way to cover your tracks as you go. The snow is several inches deep and with every step you take, you sink into the soft powder leaving a clear imprint behind that either of the men chasing you can easily follow. You could try to take the time to cover your tracks, but that’s much easier said than done, and even in the best-case scenario, it would still be noticeable something had disturbed the snow. Besides, it would just stall your escape, allowing them to get closer, and it would further numb your already frozen hands as you dug through the snow.

So, no. Continuing forward is the only slim chance you have of making it to safety and out of your captors’ clutches.

The only slight advantage you may have over them is that neither man seemed too familiar or comfortable in the snowy terrain. You, on the other hand, have lived in this area your entire life. Hell, you’ve been coming out to these woods for as long as you can remember. That has to count for something, right? Maybe under normal conditions it would, but between the lingering effect of the drugs they used on you, the throbbing in your head from Rooster’s blow, the burning pain in your hands and feet, and the cold making it difficult to even breathe, you aren’t able to navigate as easily as normal. So once again, whatever upper hand you might have come up with is snatched away from you.

Even knowing it is a useless endeavor, you still refuse to give up without some sort of a fight. So, with your hands jammed deep within your jacket’s pockets and your hood pulled as tightly around your face as possible, you continue to run forward in a straight line as you try to think up some way to fight back.

You aren’t sure how far you’ve gotten or how long you’ve been running, but you freeze as you hear something from the direction you had run from. The voice echoes around the barren woods and you manage to make out the last few words. “—run. Hangman’s coming.”

Shit. It seems as though your head start is over and the hunt has officially begun.

The fact you are still close enough to the clearing to be able to hear Hangman’s whoop of excitement sends a shiver through you—one not caused by the cold. While you’d much rather deal with Hangman than Rooster every time, escape or evasion from both men is still your ultimate goal. If only you had a weapon or some sort of protection against the two heavily armed men. But they must have emptied your jacket pockets before handing it over and your tank top and boy shorts barely provide any protection from the cold, let alone anything that could be used against your pursuers. For now, your only chance is to keep running and hope, by some miracle, you can evade them.

As you run, time seems to stand still. You feel as if you are on a treadmill, running as fast as you can yet remaining in one place. You have no idea how long it has been since you took off from the clearing, but everything looks the same. The same towering trees and bushes reaching out from the darkness towards you, the moonlight only seemingly illuminating a few dozen feet in front of you at one time. The same unmarked snow stinging your feet as you sink into it with every step, a troublesome numbness spreading from your little toes across to the others. The same silence enveloping you, the only sound breaking it is the sound of your panting and chattering teeth.

But then…another sound breaks the silence.

There is a soft whoosh from behind you seconds before something drives itself into your left shoulder. You collapse into the snow with a cry of pain, twisting around to see a long, thin knife jutting from your shoulder blade. Luckily, your coat managed to deflect most of the damage, but you can still feel hot blood oozing down your back, leaving a warm trail in its wake.

As you reach for the knife, wincing as another bolt of pain shoots through your shoulder, a voice calls out from the dark maze of trees, “If you thought my dart skills were impressive, darlin’, just wait ‘til you get a taste of what I can do with a blade.”

You hear another whoosh and you just have time to roll sideways as another knife lodges in the snow, exactly where your knee had been seconds ago. The move had saved you from being incapacitated, but the quick jostling causes the knife still in your shoulder to sway violently back and forth and you are forced to bite your lip to keep from wailing. The taste of copper fills your mouth, but you would rather bite through your tongue than give Hangman the satisfaction of hearing you scream.

You take a deep breath before yanking the knife out of your shoulder with a stifled moan.

Flexing your hand, you’re relieved to see the knife didn’t seem to cause any nerve or mobility damage. You didn’t need another thing to add to your growing list of disadvantages.

Grabbing the second knife as you heave yourself to your feet, you spin around brandishing both knives in front of you. Hangman is close enough to nail you with a knife, but he is still far enough away to remain cloaked in darkness. This means the next attack could come from any direction, and, if you’re not careful, it could be deadly.

“You know,” the voice calls out to you from your left and you swiftly turn towards the sound. “I was so sure Rooster would find you first. I haven’t seen him this set on winning a hunt since we found a girl outside of Boston who looked like his ex-girlfriend. Oof, the things he did to her that night. Even I got a little nauseous. So I can only imagine the look on his face when he walks up and sees me on top of you, slowly carving you up or having more fun like we did back at the bar.”

You shutter as you recall the feeling of his tongue in your mouth back before you knew what a psycho he was. His voice continues to taunt you from the darkness. “Or, better yet, I want to watch his face as he stumbles on your corpse hanging from one of these trees. Remind him exactly why they call me Hangman.”

“You sick fuck,” you cry, still brandishing your knives in the direction of his voice. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because we enjoy it.” His voice now comes from your right and you nearly trip over your frozen feet as you face it. “Because we can. Because there’s nothing better in this world than snatching someone like you and dropping them into a place like this where they don’t stand a chance. It’s the natural order of things that humans have either forgotten or hidden away because we’ve been told it’s wrong. But what is more right than a predator hunting its prey?”

Panting slightly, causing large puffs of your breath to bloom in front of your face, you call out, “This is where you made your mistake, dickhead. I’m not your timid ‘little fox’ who you threw into an unfamiliar arena. Around here, we’re raised in these woods. Taught to hunt almost before we can walk. So if you think I’m gonna just lay down without a fight, you’re about to be sorely disappointed.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’ve got me all wrong.” You whirl around, knives raised, to face the sound of his voice behind you. “I don’t want you to give up or give in. I’m ready for a fight. That’s what makes this fun.”

With that last word, another knife shoots out at you from the darkness. You have just enough time to dive backwards before it passes over you, inches from your face. But before you can scamper back to your feet, Hangman is charging out of the woods towards you. As he reaches you, knife raised, you thrust your feet up, driving them into his stomach. Using his forward momentum, you flip him over your head and he ends up on his back gasping in the snow. The knife he had been holding in his hand disappears into the snow somewhere to the left but far enough away he can’t reach it.

As Hangman continues to struggle to catch his breath behind you, you scamper to your feet. Grinning as you approach your would-be attacker, you chuckle, “And my ex said those self-defense classes were a load of bull.” With your hands resting on your knees as you peer down at him, you ask Hangman in a cloying voice, “How’s those solar plexus feeling? Little winded there, buddy?”

He glares up at you with murder burning in his eyes but even as he struggles to sit up, he’s helpless until he has a moment to collect himself. That thought only makes your grin grow wider.

Stepping over his waist, you sit down—hard—on his stomach, causing him to let out another oof as the air is knocked out of him once again. Pressing the knives he had previously thrown at you against either side of his neck, you drop the smile as you growl, “Now listen, you fucker. I’m not like you. I haven’t enjoyed a second of any of this and I’m not the kind of person who likes hurting others—even pieces of shit psycho murderers like you. So, I’m going to walk away from here and you’re not going to follow me. In fact, you’re going to go find your psychotic friend and you’re both going to get back in your truck and drive the fuck out of my life forever. And for that small gesture of human decency, I won’t turn you in to the cops when I reach town. We all just go about our lives like this never happened and you never come after me again. Do we have a deal?”

“What if I say no?” he pants, the murderous glint in his eyes suddenly taking on a more mischievous gleam to it. “You said it yourself, you’re no killer. So what’s your plan if I decide I’ll take my chances against you? You really think you can plunge those things into me? Watch the life fade from my eyes as my blood soaks onto your hands? That’s a stain you’ll never be able to wash out. Me? I’d bathe in blood every day if I got the chance. But can you live with that stain on your hands for the rest of your life?”

“Considering it meant I lived through this nightmare you put me through, I think I’d be fine. But should we test that theory?” You press the tips of the blades deeper into his neck and you feel him flinch beneath you. The movement is slight and he maintains a blank expression, but that little, involuntary motion is enough to boost your confidence in your plan. Seems you are making your point. “Besides, I said I don’t like hurting people, not that I wouldn’t. Believe me, if it comes down to either you or me, I’ll choose me every time. But I’d rather not kill anyone if I have another option. So, what do you say? You let me walk away or you get skewered with your own knives? Your choice.”

Hangman glares at you for a long time and you can almost see his mind at work trying to figure out another way out of this. But when you drive the knives in deeper, blood trickling down his neck into the white snow, he snarls, “Alright! I’ll let you go. But I can’t make any promises about Rooster. Once he starts a hunt, there’s no stopping him until he’s tasted blood.”

You consider this for a moment then nod. “Fine. But he said the rules are that if I make it to town, I’m free. Right? So that means he’ll have to stop then.”

Hangman hesitates. “Yeah, those are the rules. But…”

“But what?”

“But it’s never happened before. No one’s ever made it to safety so I don’t know what he would actually do if you make it back to town before he catches you. Technically, he’s supposed to let you go but I wouldn’t be surprised if he snuck into your apartment a few days from now and slit your throat while you slept.”

Pressing the knives further into his skin, you growl, “How the fuck do you know I live in an apartment?”

“Your driver’s license was in your wallet,” he grunts, squirming under the pressure of the blades. “It’s one of the first things we look at. The anonymity of a random victim is more fun, but we have to make sure your disappearance wasn’t going to be noticed before we could leave town. So, we did a little research while you were still unconscious.”

Which means they probably know everything about you. Your real name, your address, your social media which means your friends and family. Even if you escape, there’s nothing stopping them from biding their time then returning to finish the job. However, none of that matters if you can’t survive the night.

You know this is a horrible idea. There is nothing to stop Hangman from coming after you the moment you remove the knives from his neck beside his word. And considering he’s a lying, psychotic serial killer, there’s very little doubt he’ll do just that the moment you let your guard down. But what else can you do? You think what you said to Hangman is true and you could kill him if it came down to it, but there is still a lingering doubt in the back of your mind.

You had been hunting many times with your dad growing up and had killed your share of smaller animals before. But killing a squirrel and killing a person were two very different things. If you try yet fail and Hangman sees you can’t go through with it, then you lose any leverage you currently have which means there’s nothing left to stop him from overpowering and killing you.

Then, there’s Rooster. Even if Hangman does hold up his side of your deal, you know deep down Rooster won’t. He was practically coming in his pants at the thought of all the unthinkable things he was going to do to you if he got his hands on you—and that was before you seemingly broke his nose. After that, there’s no way he’ll agree to let you go as long as you are still in the woods. And while you may have gotten lucky with Hangman and gotten the upper hand, you doubt you’d be able to recreate that feat with Rooster. Not when all he can think about is mutilating and murdering you. But maybe it would slow him down if he finds his friend and Hangman explains what happened. Maybe it would give you just enough time to reach town before he got his hands on you. Then there would be nothing stopping you from going back on your part of the deal and heading straight to the police station so these two could be stopped before they could finish their hunt.

Yet that unlikely plan hinged on Hangman truly agreeing to let you go which put you right back to the issue of not being able to trust him not to kill you.

Suddenly, you remember the noose he showed you back at camp he kept tied around his belt. Dropping one of your knives, you reach down and begin blindly reaching for the rope with one hand as the other still holds the knife to Hangman’s throat.

He chuckles as your hand brushes against something that is definitely not the rope. “Whoah there, sweetheart. If that’s what you wanted, I’d have given it to you back at the bar. All you had to do was ask.”

“Shut up, you perverted bastard,” you mutter as you continue to fumble around his belt. Your fingers finally brush against something thin and coarse and, instinctually, you glance down to confirm you located your target.

It is a dire mistake.

Instantly, Hangman thrusts up and slams his head into yours. The knife you had pressed against his throat cuts a thin line across his skin, drawing blood, but isn’t deep enough to slow him down. His forehead drives into yours and the world goes black for a second as your head snaps backward, the knife flying from your grasp. You feel yourself fall back into the snow as Hangman climbs to his feet. By the time your vision begins to return to normal—though your head is once again throbbing in pain—he is standing over you in a similar gloating stance as to how you leered down at his prone body moments before, blood streaming down the side of his neck.

As a malicious grin slowly spreads across his face, Hangman holds up the rope. “Was this what you were looking for? Well, sweetheart, if you want it so badly, who am I to say no.”

Winding back his arm, he throws the noose end of the rope high into the air where it arches perfectly before soaring over a limb of a nearby tree and dropping back down just within his reach. It is the kind of throw only a trained athlete could pull off and, especially given his physique, it wouldn’t surprise you if you learned Hangman had played some form of pro sports at some point in his life. He also has the ego for it.

You try to crawl away from him across the frozen ground, but the world still hasn’t completely cleared and you slip and crash back into the snow. As you prop yourself up on your forearms once more, you feel yourself yanked to your feet as a hand grabs a fistful of your hair. A ripping, burning feeling tears at your scalp as you struggle in Hangman’s grasp, but it’s too strong. Tears sting your eyes in the frosty air as he begins dragging you on your stomach over to the limb where the noose swings ominously.

It’s over. You had your chance to put down your attacker and you pussied out. Now he is going to kill you and there’s nothing else you can do to stop him. You wonder if anyone will ever find your body or if everyone will always just wonder where you disappeared. Maybe one day there will be an episode of 20/20 or a True Crime documentary on the bartender who just vanished one night after her shift and the theories of what might have happened to her. That makes you wonder how many of those shows or stories you’ve seen over the years were actually caused by these two and their group of psychopathic killers.

Hangman releases his hold on your hair when he reaches his noose causing you to faceplant into the snow. You want to just lay there and just let the cold embrace of the snowbank take you, but of course, Hangman isn’t that generous. His foot drives into your side, kicking up slightly so it flips you over onto your back. Groaning, you clutch at your aching ribs but he isn’t giving you a moment of relief. He learned from his previous mistake.

Grabbing the noose, he pulls it over until he is standing over you with it swinging in his hand. Grinning, he tugs on the knots as he stares down at you. “You know, I planned on drawing this out and making it really satisfying for me. But seeing how you weren’t a fan of my knives—or maybe enjoyed them a little too much—” he gestures to his neck where blood is still freely flowing from the slash you put there “—I think it’s time to move on to the grand finale, don’t you think? It’s my favorite part after all.”

On your back looking up at him, you try to scuttle away as he leans down to slip the noose over your neck. He lunges at you but you pull your legs away just in time to avoid his grasp. As you continue to crawl away, you notice the other side of the rope that is dangling from the limb is slowly unfurling and all the slack is getting pulled up into the tree as Hangman drags the noose along with him. In a moment, it’ll all slip up out of his reach or even all the way off the limb. The smallest smile flashes across your face at the realization.

Hangman must have noticed because his brow furrows for a moment before he looks over his shoulder. In doing so, he unconsciously pulls on the noose as his body turns and the rope jumps another few inches into the air.

Hangman’s eyes grow wide as he mutters, “No, no, no, no.”

Releasing the noose end, Hangman leaps up just as the other end of the rope goes soaring past. He just manages to snag the end of the rope between two fingers before it is out of reach. Then he crashes back to the ground.

Seeing your chance, you snatch the noose as it begins to rise up into the tree and, bounding forward, tackle Hangman just as he is sitting back up. He flails underneath you and one of his fists collides with your jaw, snapping your head back. You can taste blood as it begins pooling in your mouth, but you ignore it and the pain. Instead, you weave between Hangman’s continued flailing limbs and, just as he raises up to snarl at you, you slip the noose over his head. The action surprises him enough that he pauses for a few seconds as he processes what just happened.

But that’s all the time you need.

Grabbing the other end of the rope, you heave with every ounce of energy you have left. Hangman is a muscular guy, but somehow your efforts manage to tighten the noose around his neck, causing his eyes to widen in surprise. As he claws at the rope, you heave again, practically dragging yourself across the snow to get the needed leverage. The rope moves a little further and Hangman is lifted off the ground. It’s not much, but it’s enough that you can see he is struggling to breathe. Not wanting to make the mistake of underestimating him again, you give the rope one final pull. Given the energy you expended on the first few pulls, it was a much weaker effort, but it does the job. Hangman’s full body weight is now suspended by the rope.

Spitting out a mouthful of blood into the pure snow, you tie off your end of the rope on a nearby limb. After ensuring it won’t give him any slack, you take a few steps closer to where Hangman is thrashing on his rope. Grinning at the sight of his face growing redder and redder, you lock eyes with him and sneer, “Turns out, I’m really enjoying this grand finale after all. It’s my favorite part too.”

His lips move as he tries to snarl something back at you, but the rope around his neck is making it difficult for him to manage much more than some grunts and rasps. As his breathing begins to grow more frantic and strained, you see a shadow of fear pass over his face as his fate begins to become clearer to him. It is a sight that warms your entire body despite the frigid environment around you.

Stepping forward so you are as close as possible while still just out of his reach, you murmur, “What you’re feeling right now, that fear and helplessness? That dread of knowing what’s about to happen yet knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it? That’s what all those women felt while they hung there while you got your rocks off. And I gotta say, I questioned whether or not I’d really be able to kill you. But now that it’s happening, I’ve never seen a more satisfying sight.”

Almost all the fight has gone out of Hangman as he weakly wheezes and meekly pulls at the rope. His eyes have become bloody as the blood vessels burst from all his straining and his face is so red it's almost purple.

No longer afraid of the man who had beat, stabbed, and almost murdered you, you step closer until your face is nearly touching his chest. Looking up at his face swaying above you, you put all the fury, all the pain, all the fear you’ve felt over the past few hours into your words as you hiss, “I hope in whatever Hell I’m sending you to that you’re forced to relive this moment for all eternity.”

If Hangman heard or understood you, he makes no sign of it. Instead, it seems as if all his remaining energy is focused on getting out his last word or words. Even as you watch the last sparks of life flickering out, his lips continue to move as if trying to say something even as his chest begins to spasm due to lack of air.

And, just as you think he’s done, he manages to force out a single breathy word that is only decipherable because you are practically pressed against him.

“Bra-Bradley…”

Then his hands drop from his neck as his entire body goes slack and the woods fall silent.

You stand looking up at him for a long time, holding your breath in anticipation of one last jump scare or resurgence. But this isn’t a movie. The evil is gone and Hangman’s not coming back for more.

As the realization that it’s really over finally washes over you, you stumble back and collapse to the ground. All the fear and adrenaline that had kept you going since that first knife struck you in the shoulder, suddenly vanishes.

For the first time, you feel the full impact of the injuries you’ve sustained. Your shoulder cries out from all the strain you’ve put on it, all with a stab wound still bleeding down your back. You just now notice how your tank top clings to your skin from all the blood and sweat that has soaked into it. Your jaw throbs from where Hangman’s fist collided with it, and you can tell it’ll be swollen and bruised in an hour or so. At least you have plenty of snow to press against it. Your scalp still stings from where Hangman pulled you across the ground by your hair and you really hope he didn’t make a bald spot somewhere. But it’s your ribs that hurt the most. It’s doubtful they are broken, probably just bruised, yet each breath sends a fresh stabbing pain into your side. It’ll cause the most issues as you continue on.

That thought almost makes you cry. Taking on Hangman had been difficult enough and you had barely escaped with your life. However, Rooster is still somewhere in these woods actively looking for you. Any head start you had is gone after all the time you took tussling with Hangman. And you have a feeling if Rooster was out for your blood before this, when he discovers you killed his friend, he’s going to want to carve you up with a rusty knife piece by tiny little piece.

But maybe…

The only reason you were able to get the advantage against Hangman was because he underestimated you. He was too distracted by his own fun and games to really pay attention to what you were doing. Now, while you seriously doubt Rooster will make that same mistake—not after you headbutted him in the clearing��maybe he has a different distraction that will work on him. Namely, his rage and blood lust.

If you can get him so angry and ramp up his need to kill you so high, then maybe, just maybe, he will get sloppy and you’ll have a chance to take him down too. Maybe you can make him see red so strongly, that he won’t be able to see you going in for the kill.

Glancing back at Hangman’s limp body, you wonder if there’s a way to use it in this new plan. Maybe carve something into his skin with one of his knives? Like a message to Rooster saying you have Hangman’s weapons and he’s next? Very Die Hard of you.

It wouldn’t be that difficult to do. After all, Hangman isn’t that far in the air. In fact, the toes of his boots softly kiss the snow beneath him as he continues to sway.

His boots!

Ignoring the way your muscles scream at you as you move, you scramble to your knees and crawl over to Hangman’s dangling body. Your fingers are so numb and swollen from the cold that untying the tight laces is nearly impossible but you refuse to give up. By the time you can slide the second boot off his rapidly chilling body, your nails are cracked and your fingers are bleeding, ruby droplets coating the snow around you.

You hesitate for a moment, wondering if it’s too morbid to also take his socks. However, the boots are several sizes too big and your feet are so frozen that you need to take whatever extra padding you can get. So you slip off his thick, woolen socks. You do draw the line at taking his pants though. As much as you would love some covering for your bare legs, you knew the fit would be way off and just slow you down as you tried to plan the rest of your escape. So, you resign yourself to your new socks and boots.

As you pull them on, the heat radiating from within the soft wool and worn leather feels like Heaven wrapped around your frostbitten feet. However, you can’t help but shudder at the knowledge this is the last warmth Hangman will ever give off. It’s almost like you can feel his hands wrapped around your ankles and trailing up your shins.

You try your best to push those thoughts aside. After all, you only did what you had to do to survive. If the roles had been reversed and Hangman had won the hunt, he would currently be doing fuck knows what manner of twisted, ungodly things to your body.

Just the thought of what he might have done reignites the fury and fight in your chest that had blazed when you watched Hangman get a taste of his own medicine.

Turning back to his now shoeless body, you begin to doubt your original idea of carving a message into him. For one, you really don’t want to do it. Killing him was one thing but mutilating his body is a whole other ball game. Plus, you have terrible penmanship using a pen or pencil. There’s no telling if your message would even be legible when using a knife as a writing tool and then you just wasted time for no reason. Then there is the fact you are in a massive wood at night in the dark. Even if Rooster is tracking you, there’s no guarantee he’ll come across Hangman’s body, especially with his dark denim jacket and jeans helping him blend into the night.

But that gives you another idea.

Stripping off your burnt-orange jacket, you shiver as the cold air hits your bare arms. Trying your best to ignore it, you grab Hangman’s jacket, wrestle it off of him, and put it on yourself. Though denim on the outside, the interior is sherpa-lined and it is as warm, if not more, than the jacket you just traded him for.

Feeling something in the pockets, you are overjoyed to discover his phone in one and the keys to the truck in the other. Checking the phone first, you see it’s locked. However, the key is a facial recognition scan. You know it’s a long shot, but, standing on your toes, you line Hangman’s face up to the screen and nearly squeal when you see it unlock. Your joy deflates somewhat when you see there’s no service but you remember Hangman mentioning the terrible service in these woods when he got that call from his missing hunter friends back in the clearing. Hopefully, as you walk, you’ll find a spot with at least one bar so you can call for help. Going into the settings, you disable the lock function so you won’t need Hangman’s face next time you try to access the phone.

Turning back to what you had planned, you do your best to fit your jacket onto his body. It’s too small but you manage to get it pulled up almost to his shoulders, enough that it’ll stay on. Then, taking a few deep breaths, you slowly pull on the end of the rope. It’s hard going without the adrenaline rush to aid in your efforts, but eventually, you manage to raise Hangman until his head almost brushes the limb the rope is thrown over. Hopefully, between the height and the flash of color, Rooster will be able to spot him if he is anywhere in the area.

However, that means you need to leave this area as soon as possible.

Now that you have Hangman’s phone and truck keys, your best bet is to try to head back to the clearing. If you can make it there before Rooster catches you, you should be able to steal their truck and head for town. Or at least get somewhere where you can use the phone.

And if for some reason that plan doesn’t work, at least the clearing will make a good place to make your final stand against Rooster.

Collecting all of the knives that you can find that had scattered around during your fight, you tuck them into the inside of your new jacket. Then, taking one last look at Hangman’s limp body hanging high overhead, you turn and head back in the direction you came from.

They wanted you to be a fox, fine, you’ll be a fox. A fox will do whatever it takes to free themselves from a trap and survive, even if that means gnawing off their own foot. So while it might take doing unspeakable things that will haunt you for the rest of your life in order to survive, it’s a price you’re willing to pay to be the one who walks out of these woods at the end of the night.

One down. One to go.

Thank you all for reading, reblogging, and commenting! There are two more parts coming soon in this series (Part 5 in Bradley's POV and Part 6 in Reader's POV). But I also have more planned for this universe beyond that so stay tuned for updates!

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