#Bradley rooster Bradshaw x female reader

[sometimesanalice]

That’s My Girl

Summary: Bradley has been looking after you for longer than he can remember. You’ve always been his favorite person. So when some guy makes an unwelcomed move on you, that last thing he’s going to do is just sit back and watch it happen.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 6.7K

Warning: language, male chauvinism, allusions to smut, some angst with a happy ending

(author's note: this is a fic is set in the 'Like I Can' universe, however it can be read on it's own!

In hindsight, Bradley should have known how rowdy the crowd at the Hard Deck was going to be tonight.

Sailors fresh off a several months long deployment were always a boisterous bunch. But Sailors fresh from a deployment during San Diego Fleet Week were a different thing entirely.

The bar is packed and humid, even with the doors and windows opened for the Pacific breeze. Penny’s old air conditioning unit might be on its last legs because Bradley’s shirt is sticking to the skin of his back. He’d nearly lost his mind when he’d seen that bead of sweat work its way down your neck and between your breasts when you’d pressed a kiss to his cheek and told him you were getting a refill and asked if he wanted anything.

Bradley really hoped you’d be up for leaving soon. He wouldn’t mind taking a dip in the pool at your apartment. Or better yet, getting you to join him for a cool shower.

It wasn’t the just the deep v of your tank top- or those sweet little embroidered flowers along the edges of it- that hand his fingers twitching to touch you. Although he liked those too.

It was that damn bow.

When Bradley had picked you up from your apartment earlier this evening and seen you wearing that, he’d given you a wolf whistle so loud it had caused your neighbor’s dog to start barking.

He’d taken advantage of your surprised laugh to back you up against your front door to get his mouth along the column of your neck. He’s always been a big picture kind of guy. And he knew he wouldn’t be satisfied until he was tugging open that bow between your breasts with his teeth.

You’d all but sighed his name as your fingers tangled in his hair.

Bradley.

And just as he’d reached your collarbone, you’d pulled him back up to your mouth like you were going to kiss him and murmured Later against his lips before slipping past him, like the menace that you are, leaving him to chase after the trail of your perfume.

You knew what you were doing, that was for damn sure. He’s always been a sucker for a bow. And for you.

Bradley had more than appreciated the extra sway you’d put in your hips just for him as you walked down your hallway towards the elevator. He’d grinned to himself as he set off after you, because at the end of the night, his girlfriend would be coming home with him.

Earlier in the evening, Coyote had been fast to claim the cluster of tables that some Butterbars had left to close out their tabs, most likely onto their way to the next stop of many for the night. It was lucky timing, because there’d been a nonstop steady stream of people making their way into the unofficial designated Naval watering hole for Fleet Week. There was a mix of civilians, Naval regulars who are stationed at North Island, and the visiting Sailors dressed in their uniforms on liberty. Bradley wasn’t sure how many more bodies could be packed in until some of the worn wooden shingles of the bar started popping off.

The lively and loud atmosphere of Fleet Week was something that Bradley had typically enjoyed in the past. He liked seeing people cut loose and laugh as they swapped stories with their friends and families. And he’d been happy to do his part to add to the good times, having been pulled to the piano twice already.

Over the years he’d built up a curated collection crowd-pleasers for occasions just like this. Part peacocking, part coping. While he’s never been the type to shy away from being the center of attention, he’d also found it was easier to breathe in the spotlight. Because with everyone’s eyes on him, it was impossible to feel alone.

So much has changed for him since getting permanently stationed in San Diego. And all for the better. That loneliness was a thing of the past, because now when he played, he was surrounded by all of his favorite people

But Bradley still ends his impromptu sets the same way he always has, with Jerry Lee Lewis. Only now he gets to sing it directly to the girl who’d given him the sheet music to the song in the first place.

The same one, he’s realized, who hasn’t returned back from getting her refill yet.

Bradley takes a quick glance around the corner of the bar they’d laid claim too. Bob, Fanboy, and Payback were lounging against the side of the pool table chatting up some of the visiting Sailors, since there wasn’t enough room to actually play a round without taking someone out with one of the cues. Coyote was leaning over the jukebox flipping through the albums with a pretty civilian who was out with her friends that he’d met and was clearly trying to impress. And Jake and Nat were seated with him at one of the tall round tables taking about the new Top Gun students, where your chair next to him was still empty.

Everyone was accounted for, except you.

There are so many people packed around the edges of the bar that it takes him a moment to find you. He thought maybe you’d been held up by Penny or Jimmy or some other familiar face, but he doesn’t recognize the man who standing way too close to you. But the firm press of your lips tells him everything he needs to know.

He sees the next moment playout as if it’s in slow motion. Watching as you attempt to take a step back, only for the guy to wrap his hand around your wrist to keep you from moving away. Bradley sees you glance down at that hand on you, and back up at the stranger. He knows that look in your eyes as you shake out of his grip. You aren’t just annoyed, you’re pissed.

Bradley slams his beer down and shoves his stool back.

He hears Jake curse behind him, “Oh, shit.”

Chair legs screech against the wooden floor as his friends hustle to follow after him, but he doesn’t wait for them to catch up.

There’s a trail of spilled cocktails and beers in his wake as he unapologetically weaves through the tightly crammed bodies that separate him from you. If anyone has an issue with him later, they can put a refill on his tab. But right now, his only goal is getting to you.

He doesn’t slow for a second. He just struts right up and steps in between you and the other man.

“Do we have an issue here?” he rasps, folding his arms over his chest.

Bradley takes the guy in with a hard glower. The name tape on his uniform reads Wilson. A LTJG, based on his shoulder boards, from one of the visiting ships. The man is big, but Bradley is bigger. And he outranks him. The guy might not know it yet, but it was just another thing he was planning on making crystal clear.

You put a hand on his tense shoulder. “Everything is fine.”

“It sure as shit doesn’t seem fine.” He doesn’t take his glare off of Wilson. “I think it’s time for you to go now.” He jerks his chin towards the front door.

“We’re just having a friendly conversation,” the other man drawls, sending him a wink. The implied innuendo makes Bradley’s jaw clench. There wasn’t anything “friendly” about the way he’d been using his size to keep you trapped at the bar.

The guy is trashed. There’s a blankness behind his eyes that Bradley doesn’t like the look of. He must have pre-gamed before going out because Penny and Jimmy weren’t ones to overserve.

“No, what you’re doing is paying your tab and leaving this bar.” It’s an order.

“Bradley.” You say his name like a warning. “I’m handling it.”

You pull on his shoulder, but he shrugs you off.

“No, kid, I’m handling it for you.” This asshole was Bradley’s problem to deal with now. He’d tapped in the moment he’d seen the man touch you.

“I see.” Wilson’s gaze bounces back and forth between the two of you, an oily grin appears on his face. “You’ve already got someone for tonight lined up. Damn, you didn’t waste any time did you, sweet thing?”

Anger flares hot and bright in his stomach.

“You better watch your mouth,” Bradley spits, pointing a threatening finger.

The bar around him blurs around the edges, but the man in front of him only gets sharper in focus.

You step around him and tug on his arm. From the corner of his eye, he can see you shaking your head at him. “Bradley, stop. I told you, I’ve got it.” Your voice is clipped, tight. “Let me take care of it.”

He knows you want for him to let it go. To back off. And he’s about to- for you- because you want him to. But then he sees the guy’s eyes drop down to the exposed skin of your chest- to that bow between your breasts- and smirks.

It’s a look so filthy that even Bradley feels dirty. He operates out of instinct. Stretching his arm in front of you, he purposefully pushes you back behind him to where he knows Seresin is standing close by, trusting that his friend will move you out of the way.

“A barrack bunny like you must know her way around. I don’t mind another man’s sloppy-”

For a moment, Bradley isn’t at the Hard Deck anymore. He’s standing in Jason Cameron’s kitchen, where the smell of weed and cheap alcohol and Axe hung heavy in the air.

Bradley’s fist flies on its own.

He barely registers the moment his knuckles connect with the other man’s jaw. He doesn’t see the man stumble backwards into the table behind him. He doesn’t hear the surprised gasps or the sound of glass breaking or the thud as the man hits the floor. There’s only the color red and the sound of his own ragged breathing.

When he shakes off the memory and returns back to his body, he’s almost surprised to see the broken bottles on the floor and not shards from a sliding glass door.

The next few minutes are a flurry of chaos as Wilson’s friends come and scoop him off the floor to make their exit. From the looks of irritation on their faces, it seems like this might be an all too frequent occurrence. He makes a mental note to try and look up the man’s supervising officer. And if he can’t find them on his own, he’ll ask Mav to help.

He can feel dozens of eyes on him, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Bradley takes a moment to apologize to Penny. He avoids looking directly in her eyes, not wanting to see the disappointment he’s sure is there. The adrenaline is still coursing and sparking through his body. He needs a moment to work off his anger and get his head back on straight before he comes to check on you. But he knows you’re in good hands with his friends.

Without being asked, he rights the table and stools on his way to the supply closet to grab a broom and dustpan. He takes his time meticulously picking up the bits of broken glass off the ground before he sweeps the rest of it up as he waits for his heartrate to settle back down.

When he’s done, he spots Nat and Jake sitting at the bar top and heads towards them. But for the second time tonight, you’re not where you should be.

“That was some left hook, Bradshaw,” Nat says, pinning him with a flat look over the top of her drink.

He ignores the comment. “Have either of you seen my girlfriend?”

Jake lifts his hand up at about your height. “About this tall? Great smile? Dating a man that’s clearly punching?” He chuckles to himself. “No pun intended.” Those dimples of his are more grating than usual.

Bradley’s hand flexes in irritation. His quick fuse is on its way to being lit again.

“Seresin,” he barks, low on patience, “Where’d she go?”

The other man lets out a low whistle and shares a look with Nat. “She left out the side patio door like ten minutes ago. Looked like she was about to spit nails too.”

“Goddammit,” he mumbles under his breath. He turns to Phoenix. “Did she really look that pissed?”

She shrugs. “I’m surprised she didn’t punch you, I probably would have.”

Bradley’s mouth drops open. “For what? For defending her?”

All he did tonight was stand up for you when someone crossed a line and tried to get physical with you. He wasn’t ashamed for doing it, he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

“But did she want you to do that?” she asks, deliberately.

He doesn’t understand why Nat is giving him a hard time about this.

“That’s my girl and that guy wasn’t listening.”

Nat lifts a pointed eyebrow at him, “Sounds familiar.”

Bradley forces out a breath. “That was different and you know it.”

“All I’m saying is I think she was making herself pretty clear, but you chose not to hear her and did what you wanted anyways.” His teeth clench together as a rock lands hard in his stomach. “And from the sound of it, she wanted to handle it her own way.”

“Yeah, but…” You’re his, he wants to say, but holds back at the risk of sounding like the jealous boyfriend Nat thinks he’s being. Except he wasn’t being jealous, he just wanted to protect you.

“No buts, Rooster. You fucked up.”

Nat has always been a straightshooter. It was one of the things he’s always appreciated most about her, that and her keen ability to read people. He trusted her judgement. And if she feels this way, even if he didn’t necessarily agree with it, then the chances are very high that you do too.

“Shit.”

“Yeah, ‘shit’. Now go fix it.” She pats his shoulder once, and then gives him a shove to the side door they’d seen you leave from.

It’s cooler outside.

The ocean breeze feels good on his hot, sticky skin. Bradley feels like he can breathe a little easier without all those people milling around him.

You’re not hard to spot. To anyone else you’d a solidary figure facing the ocean, but he’d know the shape of you anywhere.

From what Seresin said, Bradley had figured you’d be half way down the beach. He’d been planning just to follow the trail of steam to find you. But you’re still as a statue with your arms wrapped around yourself as you stare out at the inky waves.

The noise from the bar is muffled inside the walls of the Hard Deck, but still slips out from the windows that are cracked open and follows him as he walks towards you. The sand shifts beneath his shoes with every step he takes. The tunes from Penny’s jukebox get carried away on the wind and are replaced with the gentle roar of the waves as he approaches you.

The days are getting longer and dusk is rolling in. The sun is hanging low in the sky. Not quite set, but well on its way. He’d love nothing more than to pull you into his lap in one of the Adirondack chairs to watch the last glimmering moments of golden hour with you in his arms. But knows that’s probably not in the cards for tonight.

The two of you have had fights before. Usually over stupid, inconsequential things. Arguing with you feels different now than when it did when you were just friends. Now that you’re his girlfriend, it feels like there’s more at stake. He knew he’d never forgive himself if he fumbled the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Bradley wants to skip over this part to where the two of you are back on the same page. He wants to skip to the part where he gets to see your dimples and hear you laugh.

He stops just a few feet behind you. He knows you know he’s there, in that uncanny way you’ve always been able to sense him. The minutes tick by as he stands there and waits for you to acknowledge him. Or to turn around and shoot him that withering glare of yours. He’d take anything other than your silence.

But you don’t.

You give him nothing, which is almost worse.

It feels like a standoff.

He folds first.

“Sweet girl,” Bradley says, with a resigned sigh.

He doesn’t miss the way your whole body tenses at the sound of his voice.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now, Rooster.”

The way you say his callsign lands like a punch in the gut.

You’re only standing a few feet away from him, but it feels like the two of you are miles apart.

“C’mon, kid, that asshole is gone now. Come back inside.”

“Seriously?” you laugh bitterly, still refusing to look at him. “You’re seriously going to ignore me right now too? I said I don’t want to talk right now.”

He feels his jaw tick. “Look, I’m sorry,” he starts, still not feeling sorry in the least, “But-”

You put a hand up and whirl on him, shaking your head in disbelief. The thunderous look on your face would have a lesser man taking a step back, instead Bradley steels his spine and digs his feet into the sand.  

“I really don’t want to hear it. I don’t think I’ve ever been this mad at you,” you fume. “Not even in high school when you got in that stupid fucking fight at that Homecoming party when I had to take you to the hospital.”

He presses his lips together firmly. There was a time and place for a conversation about that night, the one where he’d earned the scars on his face, but it wasn’t here and now. It was a secret he’d kept to himself for nearly two decades, the only other person who’d known the full story was his mom. But telling you about it now would only make things worse.

You continue, like a freight train without brakes, “And you’d been drunk then. Not that that excuses anything. But you’ve had, what? Two beers tonight?” When you lift your eyebrows at him expectantly, he nods curtly in confirmation. “So tell me what the hell just happened in there?”

He swears that sharp flash of your eyes could cut glass.  A lick of heat bursts behind his sternum. Hot and fierce.

“He wasn’t backing off,” Bradley grits out, trying to summon the patience he doesn’t have. “What was I supposed to do? Give him a pat on the back and let him keep hitting on my girlfriend?” You scoff and he feels his pulse kick up in his throat. “I have always had your back, and I will always have your back.”

Bradley doesn’t understand why you don’t seem to understand that he’d do anything for you. He’s been looking out for you since your bike handlebars had iridescent tassels streaming from them, and if he has his way he’ll be looking out for you until his number is up.

“But that’s the thing, Rooster! You didn’t have my back in there,” you argue, stepping forward so you’re toe to toe with him. Your use of his callsign again chafes against his ears like sandpaper. “All you did was manhandle me out of the way to get at him and throw fists. I mean, Mav and Hondo would have let it slide if they’d been there to see that. But what about Cyclone? Would he? Why would you put your career at risk like that? What were you even thinking?”

You’re looking at him like you don’t know him, and he hates it. Because you’re the person who knows him best.

He runs a hand through his hair in agitation. He’s been trying to tame his temper, that caged animal that paced within the confines of the ribs in his chest. But his anger and frustration has been feeding off of yours, meeting it measure for measure.

“I wasn’t. I wasn’t thinking,” Bradley explodes, flinging his arms out to the side. “I’m not going to stop and make a damn pros and cons list while I watch some asshole being disrespectful and getting physical with you. It’s not going to happen, kid.”

“And I told you that I had it handled!” you exclaim.

The sound of the waves gets lost in the way both of your voices are raising with each and every parry in the verbal fencing match you’ve found yourselves in. This has escalated quicker than he ever could have expected, and all he wants is to find himself back on the same page with you.

“How am I the bad guy in all of this right now?”

“Don’t you get it? I’m not mad about you wanting you to be there for me, I’m mad about how you went about it. You literally pushed me out of the way and passed off to Jake, like my voice and feelings in that moment didn’t matter to you. Like you didn’t care about what I wanted. You have never treated me like that before.”

Guilt makes his stomach churn.

“You and I both know that’s not true,” he replies. It’s an uncomfortable truth.

That dark period after his mom died and how he’d treated you still haunted him sometimes. When he’d try to set fire to all the bridges around him, including his friendship with you. He hadn’t been worth knowing back then, but you’d never given up on him. He remembers it like it was yesterday, he’s never forgotten it. On the nights he couldn’t sleep, it was one of the many things that played out behind his eyelids like a highlight reel of all his worst moments.

Your eyebrows pinch together in confusion. He sees the moment it clicks for you because the fire that had been blazing behind those eyes he knows so well transforms into something softer. Something sadder.

“Bradley, I’m not going to hold onto something from when you were eighteen and hurting and heartbroken.” Your voice catches with emotion. “But tonight? Tonight, you made me feel small. And you’re the very last person I thought who’d ever make me feel that way.”

He can’t even enjoy hearing you say his name again, because you look so disappointed in him. The two of you stand there staring at each other, searching each other’s eyes as the waves rolling in along the shore fill the silence.

The way your lower lip wobbles steals the fight right out of him. All that righteous indignation that had been whirling in his chest is gone quicker than it came over him at the sight of the tears welling up along your lower lash line.

He’d let you down back then. And he’d let you down tonight too. He feels like he’s broken a promise to you, one he’d made with himself a longtime ago. Bradley wants to be the man whose shoulders you could lean on, the one you trusted to bet there to support you. He never thought he’d be the guy who makes you cry.

Bradley says your name tenderly. Every single letter of it is precious to him because you’re the most important person in the world to him.

The single tear that escapes the corner of your eye and rolls down your face cracks his chest wide open.

He holds out his hand for you, but you half-heartedly bat it away.

“No, I’m still mad at you,” you say, feebly. It’s unconvincing at best.

“You can be mad at me, kid,” Bradley murmurs, “But just let me hold you.”

He needs to know that you’ll still let him. That you still want him.

Bradley reaches out for you again and this time you let him pull you into his chest. And when you thread your arms around his torso and hold him just as tight that knot in his stomach loosens. He rests his chin on your head and releases a sigh. With you in his arms, he feels like his feet are finally back on solid ground.

He knows he owes you an apology, a real one this time. He knows that he’s fucked up, he understands where he went wrong. But he can’t shake the feeling that he feels like he’s missing something, that there’s another reason playing into why you’re so upset.

Every one of your quiet sniffles twists the knife that’s lodged itself between his ribs just a bit more each time.

He doesn’t know how long the two of you stand there wrapped up in each other, as he runs his hand up and down your back. There’s more to discuss, but he doesn’t rush you. He’ll hold you for as long as you need him to.

When you pull away, only far enough to look up at him, he takes the opportunity to gently cup your face in his hands. His thumb skims along the line of your jaw, your eyes are still watery.

“Sweet girl, why are you crying? I know you. Why does it feel like there’s more to this than just me being an idiot?” he asks, quietly. It still feels so fragile between the two of you.

“Because I l-like you so much. And I know you meant well, but I hated what happened tonight.” You wipe angrily at the fresh tears that streak down your face, like you’re irritated at them for them falling without your permission.  “My ex used to pull that kind of bullshit all the time and I always hated the way it made me feel.”

His hands fall from your face.

Your confession surprises him. “Jack?” Bradley asks, his eyebrows pulling together. You nod. “I thought you said he was fine? That the break up was mutual because things got stale between the two of you.”

It’s times like this where he’s reminded of just how much distance there between the two of you over the last decade before you moved to San Diego. Of how much of you he’s missed out on. All the little moments that made up someone’s life. There was only so much an email, or a text, or a call could do.

You sigh, heavily. “I’m realizing now that there were a lot of things I put up with Jack because I didn’t want to rock the boat.”

Bradley’s fingers flex involuntarily where his hands are resting your hips. He doesn’t know what to make of that admission.

“You got to give me more than that to work with, kid. Help me to understand.”

You run you hand along his forearm soothingly, like you can sense his unease. He slides his thumbs through the loops of your jeans, fixing himself to you.

“Jack was really good about wanting to show everyone that he was a good boyfriend. And he was- for a while.” You pause, pressing your lips together. “But there were a few times where we’d go out and he’d make a scene, like what happened tonight. Except instead of someone being an actual asshole, it’d be someone who’d started up some polite small talk with me as we waited in line. And it always became a bigger thing than it needed to be. Then afterwards, he’d make it seem like he was defending my honor or something, even though he knew I didn’t like the kind of attention and all the looks that came with it afterwards. But Jack was always about Jack, and he liked the hero edit his friends would give him.”

You look away from him towards the ocean, the sunset paints you golden. Bradley knows you’re collecting your thoughts, so he waits. When you’re ready, you turn back towards him. There’s a different kind of hurt reflected in your eyes, one that tells him tonight has opened up old wounds for you.

“He’d say all the right things around other people, but when it was just the two of us alone, I never got that side of him. At the time I believed he was saying them because he meant them, but I can see now that he never really showed me that he meant them. I took his words at face value and settled for them.”

You give him a self-conscious shrug. Like you’re embarrassed. But your big heart was one of the things he loved most about you, and he hated the idea that someone had been careless with it before it made it into his safekeeping.

Bradley swallows hard. That tonight reminded you of the low points in your past relationship is hard for him to hear. And knowing why, makes it even worse.

“I think, more than anything,” you continue, your voice much quieter now, “I’m just mad that I let myself get lost in that for so long. Like I knew I needed more and that I wanted more, but I kept putting him ahead of myself when he wasn’t doing that for me.”

You thread your fingers between his and squeeze them lightly. He squeezes yours back.

“But you, Bradley, say the right things and mean them. You show me how important I am to you, with or without an audience. No one has ever made me feel as special as you do. Like, you don’t buy me red roses because you think you should-”

“Wait,” he doesn’t mean to cut you off, but his mind has snagged on a critical detail, “I thought your favorite flowers were tulips?”

A soft smile coasts over your pretty face. “They are.” He loves the warm way you’re looking at him right now, tender and fond. “And that’s what I’m talking about. You show me all the ways you know me because you care about me and want to make me happy. You don’t treat me like I’m an accessory in your life. I mean, I didn’t feel like I could even hang art on the walls of the apartment I paid half the rent for without Jack having an opinion on it. And here you are letting me bring over kitchen towels and plants for you, and we don’t even live together yet.”

Yet. Such a small word, but it means so much to know that you’re envisioning the same future with him that he sees with you.

“I like that you do that. I want you to do that. I appreciate the way you show me you’re thinking about me too.” Bradley runs his thumbs over the back of your hands. “Although, I’d rather be the one buying them,” he says, only partly teasing.

You made his house feel like a home. He hadn’t had that in so long. He wanted you to have things there in his condo that you also liked and made you happy because he wanted you to stay. He couldn’t wait for the day the two of you shared one address instead of two.

“Does that mean I should return the throw pillows I found for you?” He spots a wink of your dimples. “They’re soft, but firm enough that you won’t hurt your neck when you inevitably fall asleep on the couch even though you claim you’re just ‘resting your eyes’.” He never wants you to stop teasing him.

“No,” Bradley chuckles. “They sound perfect, but you’re going to let me Venmo you for them.”

“Ok, fine,” you agree. Almost reluctantly.

God, he loves you.

He leans in to kiss you. Once. Twice. Soft, sweet.

Bradley lets go of one of your hands to settle on your lower back and press you closer to him, until there’s no space between your two bodies. And brings the other one, with your fingers still tangled with his up against his chest. Before resting his forehead against yours.

“I’m so sorry I made you feel like that tonight.”

“Thank you, I forgive you.” You set the hand not entwined with his on the side of his face, your thumb sweeps across his cheek. “But I need you to hear me when I say that I can hold my own just fine, Bradley. I know you want to have my back and look out for me, but please, just not like that. Even if your heart is in the right place, ok?”

He nods. “I hear you, sweet girl. It’s not going to happen again. I promise.” He turns his head and presses a kiss to your palm. And then lifts the one still in his up to his lips, and drops a kiss to the back it.

“Plus, you taught me how to throw a punch, remember? I’m pretty sure I broke a guy’s nose one time,” you grin.

“Atta girl,” he says with pride. It’s so much lighter between the two of you now. He takes a couple step back, letting go of you and giving you a not-so-subtle onceover. “Ok, hot shot, show me what you got.” Beckoning you over with both hands.

“I’m not going to punch you, Bradley.”

“C’mon, kid, show me how it’s done.”

You shake your head at him in amused disbelief. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“No ma’am.” He taps his finger on his abs. “Let’s see it.”

You roll your eyes at him fondly. Then you hook your thumb over the top of your fist, just like he showed you all those years ago. And you ever so slowly, ever so gently press your perfectly aligned fist into his stomach. It could hardly even be considered a graze.

He doubles over with an overexaggerated oof and then tilts his head up at you and winks with a smile.

“You’re ridiculous.” The sound of your laugh fills his lungs.

It’s the same sound when he’d toss you into the pool when you were twelve. It’s the same sound when he’d spin you on the big tire swing when you were fourteen. It’s the same sound when he twirled you around the dance floor when you were nineteen at your mom’s second wedding.

There’s not just a glimmer of your dimples anymore, the full force of them hits him right in the chest.

“Speaking of punching,” Bradley says, straightening back up. “Hangman thinks I’m punching up.”

“Oh, does he? Interesting,” you hum. Your eyes shine in amusement.

He grins. “He’s not wrong. You’re way out of my league.”

You softly shake your head at him. “I’m just right for you. And you’re just right for me.”

He couldn’t agree more, but you don’t give him the chance too because you’re threading your arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to yours. With you in his arms and his lips on yours, he feels whole. You weren’t just right for him, you were perfect for him. And he’d never stop trying to be the perfectly right man for you.

No one’s ever had him, not like the way you do.

You’d always had a special place in his heart, but now the whole thing belonged to you. It was yours for the taking. He knew it would be in good hands with you, and he wasn’t going to stop proving to you that he was the one to be trusted with yours.

“Do you want me to take you home or do you want to go back inside?” He asks against your lips.

You kiss him again. “Let’s go back,” you say, wrapping your arm around his waist. “You owe me a dance, you know.”

He drops an arm over your shoulder. “I do?”

“You do.”

“Well then, lead the way, sweet girl.”

After he twirls you around on the crowded makeshift dancefloor of the Hard Deck, you let him take you home. Where he apologizes to you again, but this time on his knees with your thigh thrown over his shoulder. And twice more in your bed for good measure.

But not before he got his teeth on that little bow of yours.

He never stood a chance against it.

𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

Bradley is about to line up his next shot at the pool table when Jake saddles up and nudges his shoulder.

“Looks like your girl has an admirer.” Hangman points with his beer bottle, directing Bradley’s gaze to the bar where someone is chatting you up.

He recognizes him from the most recent batch of Top Gun students. To call him overconfident would be an understatement. The guy is clearly as full of himself on the ground as he is in the sky, based on his body language as he monologues to you, all puffed up chest and cocky smiles.

If the guy had any common sense, he’d see that you look like you’d rather be anywhere else. It’s written all over your face.

“So it seems,” Bradley agrees, rests a hip against the table.

He’d noticed the guy checking you out. But it was pretty ballsy of the aviator to be leaning into you the way that he is, considering the two of you had arrived together and that Bradley had been the one tasked with doing some demonstration trainings with them earlier in the week.

The man makes some big gestures with his hands, he’s clearly reached the part of his story that’s meant to impress you. Bradley chuckles to himself when he sees the less than subtle roll of your eyes.

“Are you going to go all Rocky Balboa on his ass?” Jake asks with a knowing smirk.

You must feel their eyes on you, because you glance over in their direction.

He knows you can handle yourself, but he’ll be there if you want him to be.

Bradley lifts his eyebrow in a silent question. You give him a slight shake of your head and he nods.

“Nah, she’s got it.”

He sees the moment the guy fucks up and oversteps, because your eyebrows shoot up. You’re his sweet girl, but he knows the other guy is in for it when look that promises the best kind of trouble settles over your face.

His favorite menace.

Bradley watches on as you lean over the counter and ring the bell with enthusiasm.

A cheer goes up throughout the bar. He brings his fingers up to his lips and lets out a loud whistle.

You look rightfully smug as Penny points out the wooden sigh strung up between the beer taps to the confused Top Gun student whose bank account will be hurting in the morning.

“Damn. I forgot the kid is a straight hustler,” Jake says, clearly impressed.

“She sure is,” Bradley grins, still looking at you, “It’s a good thing she likes you or you’d be screwed.” He pats Jake’s shoulder reassuringly, before pressing the cue into his hands.

You return a few minutes later, with a tray of frothy, freshly poured beers for everyone wearing an all-to-pleased grin that lights up the whole bar.

He waits until the beers are safely on the table before threading a finger through your beltloop and tugging him to you.

“That’s my girl.”

Bradley tilts your face up for a kiss. It’s not his best work, you’re making it difficult for him since you’re too busy smiling.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Disclaimer: my writing playlist included Cassandra, The Prophecy, and Castles Crumbling. So legally I cannot be held accountable for any angst hangovers.

Thank you for reading!

If you want to see what happens next for these two, click here!

You can read more of my stories here!

taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[roosterbruiser]

Hi, please could I request a super fluffy, adorable and sickeningly sweet blurb for Bradley Bradshaw??

Sweet Rooster has a ridiculously tight hold on my heart right now

🐓

𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝

𝐚 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛

Rooster didn't realize how touch deprived he was until he met you. It's silly, really, because how could he not know? He was almost always alone and--more often than not--on a carrier in the middle of an ocean surrounded by testosterone. Maybe he didn't notice for so long because he didn't really care--or he thought he didn't care.

But then one night, only a month into what would become a very serious relationship, he was blinking himself awake as the two of you tried to get through Kill Bill: Volume 2 for the third time that week. He couldn't help that he was so tired, really. He got up at the crack of fucking dawn (which you thought was endlessly funny given his call-sign) and pushed his body to its limit all day on base in the hot sun. You didn't mind, really, and only teased him lightly about it. He obviously wanted to spend time with you, which was why you were sitting in his dark living room despite his desire to just sleep.

You're pretending not to notice him blinking himself awake and his big, brown eyes that are cartoonishly drooping. He's slumped over on the couch with his arm wrapped lazily around your waist.

In the middle of the movie, just after he dozes off for the third time, you turn to look at him. He's so dazed with exhaustion that he doesn't even feel your gaze, his thumb stroking long and complete circles over your bicep in a repetition that is surely aiding in lulling him to sleep.

"Roos," you whisper.

He slowly turns to look at you, raising his eyebrows, giving you a pathetic excuse of a smile. For a moment, he's worried you're mad at him. He really doesn't want to give you the wrong impression by watching the same movie three times in one week because he keeps fucking falling asleep while you're here. But when he sees your face, partly made up of shadows and partly made up of the flashing TV lights, he sees how open and gentle you look. Your eyes are soft and wide, lips tugging upwards, eyebrows blanched. You're not mad at all and he knows that immediately.

"M'so sorry," he says despite knowing you're not angry. He still wants to kick himself for not being able to just stay the fuck awake. "I really want you to know that I like you so much--like so, so, so much and you aren't, like, boring me or anything it's just that--!"

You don't know exactly why you do it, but you're glad you do. You have delicately tangled your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and it has rendered him entirely speechless--sentence coming to a screeching halt. It literally takes his breath away when you begin to very lightly scratch his scalp.

"Found your off button," you whisper, a grin creeping up your lips.

He wants to say something back, something witty and sharp, but he is so overcome with the desire to lean into your touch that he can do nothing but. His head grows heavy in your hands and you accept it with grace, laughing softly. It's a laugh that tells him for once in his life, he shouldn't be worried about imposing himself on others. He should just let you play with his hair.

"That's...that's real nice," he whispers finally, his voice thin.

You love seeing him like this: his lips parted, his eyes slipped shut, his Adam's apple bobbing thickly, his eyebrows pinched just so. He looks even more beautiful to you now than he did before--and it's because he's letting you get closer to him.

"Why don't you lay on my lap?"

Any other time, he'd have some sort of retort. But he just complies in silence, reeling at the loss of contact when you situate yourself so your lap is open and free for his head to lay upon.

But just before he lays down, a fear grips every nerve in his body. He hasn't laid on anyone's lap in years--fuck, he can't even remember the last time he laid in anyone's lap. Surely it was his mother's all those years ago--before she got sick, before he grew up, maybe even before his dad died. He feels, suddenly, like he's giving into something he didn't even know was tugging him.

But then he sees your eyes gleaming in the dim light. And maybe it's because you have the most beautiful face he's ever seen and maybe it's because he's lonely and maybe it's because he really does likely and maybe it's because he's so dead-tired, but as soon as you nod towards your lap, he complies.

Really, it's the closest you two have been before. You've had your fair share of over-the-shoulder cuddles and some polite goodnight hugs and quick kisses. But this--his cheek pressed against your thighs with one of your hands tangled in his hair and the other laying peacefully in the middle of his back--it's the most intimate thing you've done.

"People could pay you to do this," he mumbles, slurring against the material of your yoga pants.

You have to bite a grin as you gaze down at his profile; his features have all gone slack and you know he's on borrowed time now, slipping easily and restfully into dreamland.

"First one's on the house," you mumble, delicately outlining the scar across his throat. His long eyelashes flutter against his smooth skin and his mustache twitches very lightly when his mouth parts. "You're a very beautiful man, Bradley."

Heat gathers in his cheeks. You've rendered him speechless again.

In response, he wraps his arm around your leg, the one he's laying on. The crook of his elbow rests flush against the backside of your knee and he draws a careful line down the line of your calf. And then, very gently and with quivering lips, he turns and presses a lingering kiss to the inside of your knee.

And that's when you know. Really, that's when you both know: you're it for each other. Everyone else can go home.

here is my tag list!!

𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧, 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬! 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲, 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐛!

[lostinwildflowers]

Iced Tea Kisses

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Rooster and you have known each other for a long time and he casually asks you on a date after being platonic friends for years. 

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: Fluff, very very very slight angst if you squint, just two goofballs in love

A/N: This is my first time writing for Rooster, so hopefully I did him good! I'd love to hear feedback because I've got a couple of other Rooster ideas in my drafts!!! Please enjoy!! -Birch<3

It was an unusually calm night outside of the Hard Deck. Yes, it was the middle of summer and the sun was blistering hot, but with a decent amount of cloud cover and the ocean spray catching the wind, it was a peaceful day.

The regular crowd was gone for the weekend, the chance to go see their families giving them the opportunity to get out of dodge in the blink of an eye.

But you were a local, and you enjoyed spending time outside of the naval bar, reading down by the water as the sun set over it. You were friends with some of the naval aviators, specifically long-term best friends with none other than Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw.

After his father had passed away when he was young, Carole had him transfer schools, where Rooster met you and you became his best friend almost immediately.

Over the years, the two of you formed a very close and tight-knit friendship, as you were one of the only people Rooster had after his mom passed away. Thus, when everyone left town, the two of you stayed behind and hung out.

The sun had just started to set, and even with your shades fighting off the bright rays as you tried to read, you still had to squint at the pages to follow along with your book.

Next to you, Rooster was fiddling with the small cooler of drinks he'd managed to snag from Penny at the bar, reaching for iced tea to try to cool himself down.

Rooster, being himself, donned what most would call the ugliest shirt known to man, the bright reddish pink and yellow flowers splattered all over the green base of the Hawaiian shirt. The shirt was completely unbuttoned, exposing his abs and muscular pecs.

You did your best to focus on your book because while you weren't blind and you knew your best friend was hot, you'd seen him shirtless plenty of times over the years.

You could hear Rooster fumbling with the ice in the cooler, and blinking away from your book, you ask, "You need help over there?"

A small chuckle is your only response, and the sound of ice crashing before Rooster turns to you with a wide smile makes close your book and look at him.

"Iced tea?" he asks, offering the drink to you as his aviators slid down the bridge of his nose. You smile back at him and say, "Only if you didn't break my glass of lemonade for later."

Rooster's smile drops and he tugs the drink back toward his bare chest, the sides of his shirt gently flowing in the wind. "Ooo, might need to get a rain check then, you see, I had to put it out of its misery for trying to steal my iced tea."

A snort falls from your lips as you set your book down and face him, an eyebrow quirked at him as you quip, "You had to put it out of its misery? Did it try to attack you or something?"

Rooster shifts his weight forward, and looking over the brim of his glasses he whispers, "It did. You missed it, but it tried to cut off my right hand, so I did the only thing I could do."

At the same time, you both say, "Fight back." A moment of silence passes between the two of you before you both erupt in booming laughter, your hand coming up to swipe the iced tea from Rooster's hand.

But he's always one step ahead of you, and he lifts it above your head as he tuts, "Nu-uh, Y/n/n! This one's for me!" You struggle to your knees to try to grab at the cool drink, giggles still falling from your lips.

Rooster turns his body away from you, swapping the drink to his right hand as he chuckles, trying to keep you away from the last living drink from the cooler.

"Roooooooster," you call out in between giggles, your hands still trying to grasp at the drink. Your knee slides in the sand under you, and your right-hand flies out to catch yourself as you go down.

You end up catching yourself on Rooster's shoulder as your body weight pushes his back into the sand. The drink in his right-hand lowers as you fall into him, and his left wraps around you so you didn't whack your head on the cooler.

"That's my name," he mumbles cheekily up at you as try to catch your breath from all of your laughter. The drink was no longer a thought as you gazed deep into his hazel eyes, his shades having fallen into the sand a little ways away.

It's still around the two of you, minus the waves and the occasional call of a gull off in the distance. Rooster looks divine laying under you like this, his hair was longer than usual, the curls just barely beginning to be bleached by the sun.

His gaze was soft as he looked up at you, and before he could stop himself, he whispers, "Go out with me." His stomach drops as the words leave his mouth, and your reaction is similar.

You don't move from his lap as you stare down at him, your cheeks getting warm as you push your sunglasses from your nose up into your hair to keep it out of your face.

"No," you say, shaking your head. In reality, you wanted to lunge forward and shout yes, yes, yes! from the top of the world, but he was your best friend. There was no way you could do that to him, you couldn't ruin your friendship.

Rooster frowns and you think your world is about to implode for a second, but then a smirk returns to his lips as he says, "Why won't you go on a date with me, huh? Scared you'll like it or something?"

A huff falls from your lips, and your head falls to rest on Rooster's chest in practiced ease. You can feel Rooster's grip on you tighten, and when he squeezes your waist a few times, you pull back and look at him.

His gaze is serious, and you suddenly feel butterflies bloom in your stomach with the way he's looking at you. Rooster glances away, setting the iced tea down next to the cooler.

"Y/n, I want to take you out with me," he mumbles, his now free hand coming up to brush a piece of hair behind the end of your sunglasses. You shake your head once and say, "Roo, no, you don't. If we did this- if... if I say yes, we can't ever go back to the way we've been."

Rooster smiles lightly as he cups your cheek and replies, "But I don't want to be where we've been. I want a future, with you, and broken lemonade glasses. Days where I can come home and hug you, kiss you, make love to you." At the end of his sentence, he playfully wiggles his eyebrows, eliciting a soft giggle from the two of you.

He sighs as he tugs you closer and whispers, "I want you." You swallow thickly as you move your hands from his bare chest up to hold his face. His mustache tickles your hands as you run your thumb along his cheek, and you smile quietly for a moment before you nod.

"I want you too," you whisper, leaning into his touch, your nose barely brushing against his. You take a deep breath before cracking a wide smile and busting out, "As long as you promise to not break anymore of my lemonades!"

Rooster groans and leans back, falling flat against the sand. You giggle at his reaction but squeal when he pulls you to his chest. His hand releases your face, and with impeccable timing, he digs his fingers into your sides, tickling you mercilessly.

Cries and laughter fall from your lips as you wiggle helplessly in his arms, your limbs flailing in all directions. "Okay, okay, okay, I'm sorry!" you cry out as you catch one of his wrists.

You sigh as his attacks stop, giggles still escaping you as you reiterate, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I ruined your moment." Rooster smiles and leans back into you as he mutters, "Just as long as you'll promise me a thousand more."

You lean deep into him this time, your nose bumping against his as you whisper, "Always." At that, he makes the final push, and his lips land on yours in a soft but sweet kiss, the taste of iced tea on his tongue sending your mind into overdrive.

Ever so slightly you shift in his grasp, and before you know it, a cold liquid is running down the side of your legs. The both of you pull away from the kiss and roll away from the imposter, seeing the iced tea Rooster had set down just a few inches away, now laying on its side, the liquid poured out across the sand.

You turn back to Rooster and you mumble against his lips, "Now it's not only another lemonade you need to get me," and you fall back against his lips.

[gennyanydots]

This is an official distress call, over

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x f! Reader

Part of the Spitfire Universe. Can be read as a stand-alone but best enjoyed if you have some background.

Summary: Unca Wooster is having such a great day, especially since his favorite nephew is having an extended sleepover at his house. His girlfriend is even calling him in the middle of the day which she hardly ever does! Such a great day…… oh no.

Bradley was having such a great day.

He made pancakes for breakfast.

He got Eli to school on time.

He got to see his girlfriend for a minute or two at drop off.

He made it to work on time.

He got to fly.

Just such a great day. He’s been loving all of the extra Unca Wooster time he’s been getting in. Jake and his wife wanted to go away for an extended weekend for their anniversary and Bradley was first in line to watch his favorite nephew. He might have thrown some elbows to beat out Coyote but nobody needs to know that. (He’s not sorry)

Penny, Mav, and Amelia have Ellie for the weekend. Mav made sure to pull Bradley aside and let him know that if he needed help with Eli to just let them know.

Pshaw! Why would he need help with Eli? He’s the best kid ever! Bradley still wonders how Hangman could have made such a great kid. Must have been all his wife’s genes because he definitely doesn’t see Jake in the kiddo at all.

Bradley was on his lunch break when he noticed his phone vibrating in his pocket.

A surprise call from his girlfriend! See?! Best day ever!

“Hey baby, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He says as he answers his phone.

“Bradley, what the f word did you do?!?!” His girlfriend scream-whispers to him on the phone.

Huh. He wasn’t expecting that at all. What could he have done? He’s been having the best day ever so clearly it had to be nothing.

“Ummmmmm nothing? What are you talking about? What’s wrong, honey?”

He hears you sigh, “What did you watch last night with Eli?” He can hear some sort of commotion where you are but can’t quite make heads or tails of it. Probably in your classroom, which you shouldn’t be, you should be on your lunch break right now.

Bradley thinks back, they watched a lot of stuff, “Umm Paw Patrol, we watched some Bluey, threw in some Wild Kratts for educational purposes, and then I think Jaws was on when he was falling asleep. I put him to bed once it was over.”

“You let a baby watch Jaws?!?!” You scream-whisper at him again.

“Hey! He’s not a baby! He’s a big boy. He barely watched it. He fell asleep after like 20 minutes.”

“I’m gonna beat your a word. I really am. Is Phoenix there? Let me talk to her.”

“Why the violence, honey? I’m sure he’s fine,” Bradley assumes.

“Oh my sweet naive and dumb boyfriend. You think he’s okay? That’s cute. That’s really cute. Super cute. He’s definitely not clinging to me right now sobbing and telling me he’s never going in the ocean again because he’s going to get ‘eated by the scary gray shark in the water.’ and he definitely isn’t refusing to lay down because what if a shark gets him in his sleep,” you say exasperatedly.

Ohh. Fuck. Shit.

“I shouldn’t have let him watch Jaws,” Bradley said as he hung his head.

“Ya think?! Oh my God. I can’t believe you let him watch that. You’re never getting him to sleep tonight. It was a miracle the rest of the class went down for naps because when one overtired kid cries then they all cry. And they were all asking me why Eli won’t go in the ocean anymore and why sharks are scary.”

Bradley winces. Maybe he could wear him out a little when he picks him up. Let him play for hours at the playground.

He hears his girlfriend sigh then hears a kissing noise that he assumes went onto his nephew’s head. Poor little guy.

“Before you even ask I already told him I would come over and help protect him. He’s clung to me all morning and if his parents aren’t home and it’s just you then he clearly needs a responsible adult.”

“Hey now, I’m a responsible adult,” Bradley grumbles.

“But are you? Because you let him watch Jaws and I don’t think you’re allowed to be in charge of the tv anymore,” you say. He can hear you mumbling something to Eli.

“That’s….. fair. That’s a fair choice. You are in charge of the tv.”

“Okay I gotta go. I’ll see you in a bit. I’m gonna google some shark week stuff that shows sharks NOT eating people to help this little boy out.”

“Okay I’ll see you in a bit. Bye honey. Tell Eli I love him and that I would never let anything happen to him,” Bradley said with a sigh.

“You got it. Bye Bradley,” you say before the call disconnects.

Bradley runs a hand down his face.

“Why so glum?” A voice asks, walking up from behind him.

“I did something stupid,” Bradley explains while he turns to look at Phoenix.

Phoenix laughs, “What else is new? So what’d you do?”

“I traumatized Eli.”

Phoenix smacks Bradley’s arm, “Why the hell would you do that?! That poor sweet boy!”

Bradley pulls his arm closer to him then rubs it, “Ow! Don’t hit me!”

Phoenix leers at Bradley, “Don’t do stupid things. What. Did. You. Do?”

Bradley sighs, “I let Eli watch a little bit of Jaws last night and now he’s terrified of the ocean and won’t nap because he’s scared a shark is going to get him in his sleep. Don’t worry, I already got yelled at over it.”

Phoenix gasps, “You should lose custody. Like immediately. No more Eli for you.”

“My girlfriend said she’s coming over tonight because Eli needs a responsible adult,” Bradley explains.

Phoenix laughs, “Only you would get yelled at and then essentially grounded by your girlfriend.”

“Jake’s wife grounds us all, all the time.”

Phoenix shakes her head and points at Bradley, “No, she grounds you all. She’s never grounded me. I don’t do stupid stuff like this.”

Bradley grumbles.

“Well let me know if your girlfriend can’t stay the whole weekend and Eli needs a different responsible adult. I’m happy to help,” Phoenix smirks at Bradley.

“I got him. I won’t do something like this again. Promise.”

“Suuuuuure ya do,” Phoenix says as she shakes her head at Bradley.

When Bradley went to pick Eli up that afternoon Eli raced into Bradley’s arms, scrambling to get picked up.

“Woah buddy! Slow down! I got ya,” Bradley says as he scoops Eli up to gently set him on his hip.

“I can’t be down, Unca Wooster, I can’t!” Eli said as he hid his face against Bradley’s chest.

It was then that it hit Bradley just how bad he messed up. Poor kiddo. He felt so bad.

He watched as you walked over to the two of them holding Eli’s backpack, “He can’t be down, Unca Wooster, he can’t.” You shook your head as you handed Bradley Eli’s backpack.

Bradley holds Eli close as he leans to speak to you, “I’m gonna fix this.”

You shake your head, “No, I AM going to fix this. Don’t worry. I got a plan. You’re taking us to the aquarium tomorrow by the way. I’ll see you in a bit.” You wink at Bradley as you walk back towards the rest of your students.

Bradley sure hopes you have a plan because he sure as hell doesn’t.

[ssunflowerghosts]

I need serious help from top gun fans

There was a rooster fic based on the prompt of”there’s 15 people in this house and you’re the only one who has to make any trouble”

Rooster and the rest of the squad were firefighters and reader was a reporter writing about all of them

Please I need this fic it was Christmas themed🙏

[bradshawsweetheart]

I’ve been inspired for my first fic to ease back into writing!

[tigerlilywithering]

𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗌.

𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗌.

𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌.

[jesfreedark]

This whole series is absolutely one of my favorites.

where it all began and everything in between. one world, same man.

key: 🌶️ smut 18+ nsfw || 🥰 fluff || 🗯️ angst

this masterlist is in chronological order but you might want to read this first…

The Boyfriend Experience 

PART 1 5k+ notes! (and an extra, teeny ask) || PART 2  - complete

Phoenix concocts the perfect Plus 1 for an old friend’s wedding.

🥰 🥰

then this bit…

The Relationship Experience - complete

You know where they end up, but how did they get there? 

prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | epilogue

🌶️ 🥰 🗯️

Slow Dancing in a Burning Room - in progress

It was so easy to fall in love with Bradley Bradshaw. It was another thing to stay in it. 

prologue | one | two | three | four | five.one | five.two | six | seven

playlist

🗯️ 🗯️ 🗯️ 🌶️ 🥰

Uncle Brooster - one shot

A family party to celebrate Viper’s birthday brings the fluffiest of fluff as you watch Rooster entertain your niece and nephew.

🌶️ 🥰 

thirty-nine - drabble-ish

slow and sexy on Bradley Bradshaw’s 39th time around the sun. 

🌶️ 🥰

Miss You Most… at Christmas Time - one shot

Rooster never thought he’d have it all; and as his deployments extend, he feels it all slipping through his fingers. One shot, future fic.

🌶️ 🥰 🗯️

Other stuff

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the wedding date 🤍🫶🏻 by @bradshawswife

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Too Much is Just Right @thedroneranger 🥂

FIC REC FRIDAY | september 29th 2023 w/ @bobfloydsbabe

[sometimesanalice]

Bedside Manner

Summary: You were expecting the perfect summer afternoon with the Daggers, but when a game of dogfight football takes a turn for the worse, you’re left with a bleeding head and an aching heart. And it’s up to Bradley to show you his bedside manner.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K

Warnings: A little angst, a little pining, and two idiots in love.

It’s a perfect summer afternoon. Well, almost.

The sun is high in the sky and the steady salt kissed ocean breeze keeps it from being too uncomfortably hot. The coolers are filled with beers and sodas and a few pink cans of rosé that Coyote had brought. And the beach blankets were littered with open half-eaten family sized bags of chips and cubes of bright pink watermelon and containers of various dips and ziplocs with sun warmed and mostly melted chocolate chip cookies.

“You guys, really, I’m fine,” you state as adamantly as you can given the circumstances.

Sure, you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your throbbing, bleeding head. Sure, you are a little afraid to put your full weight on your left ankle and already dreading the long walk back to your car.

But it’s fine, you’re fine. Everything is…peachy. Or it will be as soon as they all stop looking at you like you’re about to crumple to the ground like some 1920’s silent film starlet from on the silver screen.

Nat has that deep pinch between her sharp brown eyes. Jake’s lips are pressed together in a firm white line. The rest of the team stands hovering around you in a misshapen semicircle, all sandy and sweaty, and wearing the concern painted across their faces.

All except for Rooster, who can’t seem to look at you at all.

“Clearly, you’re not,” Phoenix says flatly, clearly unamused by your attempts to minimize the situation. And you wish that just this once she could have let this go and follow your lead. But then she wouldn’t be Natasha Trace.

Your best friend since middle school had always been the most capable and sharpest person in the room and you loved that about her.

Normally.

But not so much when her keen assessment of you keeps you from being able to slink away quietly without fuss. 

“No, seriously. It’s just a little scratch. It’s not a big deal.” It sounds feeble even to your own ears. Trying to hold back a wince when the way you shake your head makes starbursts bloom behind your eyes.

You could have dealt with the pounding in your head if it weren’t for the relentless burning of your ankle that was only making things worse. One or the other would have been easier to manage, but both vying for your attention as the pain pulses with every heartbeat was miserable.

The sun was too hot, the kids frolicking the ocean were too loud, the sunscreen on your skin felt too greasy. All you wanted was a shower and your bed and to forget this whole day even happened.

You look around the group trying to gauge how successful your efforts are, but it’s clear that no one seems to be buying your brand of poorly performed bullshit. You wanted to crawl into yourself like a hermit crab, protected by your own shell, as six pairs of eyes all looked on at you sympathetically, while the pretty brown ones you wanted to see the most were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses and trained down at the ground.

It was supposed to be a fun day.

You’d woken up that morning absolutely giddy about trading spreadsheets for sand and sunburns and sea salt tangled hair. Your cheery, new swimsuit already laid out and waiting for you from the night before.

There was something thrilling about hooky on a Friday with all of your favorite people that made you feel all kinds of young and free. Well, hooky for you. They’d been given the day off after a month of intensive training and testing of some new defensive software. They all deserved the break and you were more than happy to tag along.

You were always the good kid in school, never skipping, never missing a class. You’d felt like a rebellious teen as you crafted your ‘out of office’ email, a smug grin on your face like you were getting away with something. Even though you’d earned the right to use that PTO whichever way you wanted.

The anticipation of a snow day from your childhood school days had nothing on the intoxicating promise of a beach day on a golden summer Friday.

The team must have felt the same way too because the group chat the night before had been chaotically amusing. The excitement was palpable enough that you’d almost think you all lived in some landlocked state rather than San Diego, where it felt like all roads led to the beach whether you wanted them to or not.

Somewhere between the string of all capitalized sentences and exclamation points with a few well-chosen emojis scattered throughout, Natasha had managed to wrangle everyone in enough into sorting out who was responsible for bringing what. There wouldn’t be another veggie platter incident, not on her watch.

You’d felt bright and effervescent as you’d pulled into the parking lot, your eyes reflexively seeking out a blue Bronco that hadn’t arrived yet. With a beach chair over one shoulder and a beach bag over the other and a packed cooler bag in your hand, you’d made towards the multicolored sprawl of blankets and the striped peaks of the umbrellas, where you were met with the smiling faces of shiny happy people.

Some of the boys had rushed over to help you carry your things and added your offerings to the communal pile of snacks and sunscreen and bottles of water. It had been easy to fall into conversation with everyone as you set up your own little patch of paradise and shimmied out of your frayed cut-offs. Natasha had given you a wolf whistle and you’d laughed as you give her the finger.

And hour and a half later with an easy grin on his face, carrying a case of beer and two big Ziploc bags stuffed with what you learned later were homemade cookies balanced on top, was Rooster.

You’ve had plenty of beach days with them but every time you saw him in those damn denim shorts he always seemed determined to wear, regardless of how impractical they were, your mind still went a little fizzy as you took in just how well they clung to his thighs.

He’d taken the ribbing from his squad in stride as he unboxed the beers and added them to the collection already chilling in Bob’s bright yellow cooler. You were trying- and failing- to read your worn paperback book when he’d surprised you by plopping his things next to yours on your oversized towel and stole a chunk of juicy watermelon off of the plate balanced on your lap.

“Hey, book worm,” he grinned as he popped it into his mouth, “How’s my favorite girl doing?” That smile of his getting bigger when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Hi, Rooster,” you’d said looking at him from over the top of your sunglasses with an amused smirk.

And if your cheeks felt warm, it was from the sun and not the teasing tone of his raspy voice.

When he’d shrugged off his shirt to apply the sunscreen you’d brought with him in mind, the wink he’d shot you went straight to your head like champagne. The sun highlighting his impressive abs and sculpted shoulders didn’t help either as he took great efforts to cover his chest and stomach with the lotion. He had to be doing it on purpose, because he’d kept rubbing it in well past when the white hue faded. But who were you to complain? Melanoma was no joke.

“You wanna help me out?” he’d asked turning his back to you, looking over his shoulder. You’re pretty sure that he’d been flexing because he’d looked impossibly broad, every defined muscle standing out for eyes to map out and explore.

You’d been at war with yourself, because while your eager hands were desperate to touch him, you also knew that once you ran your hands along his solid frame that you’d never want to stop. That you wouldn’t be content until your fingertips had traced every inch of him.

You had been blessedly and devastatingly spared the choice.

“I got you, Rooster. My hands are already all sunscreen-y,” chimed in Bob, who had just finished rubbing his own freshly applied layer. “Wouldn’t want it to get on her book.”

You were only half relieved to be off the hook, while Bradley on the other hand was still looking at you expectantly, almost hopefully, still with the white and yellow bottle of sunscreen partly extended towards you.

���That’s so sweet of you, Bob-” you’d started.

“Yeah, so sweet-” Bradley grumbled under his breath.

“I appreciate you sparing my pages the sunscreen grease,” you’d said shooting Bob a smile, choosing to ignore Bradley’s comment completely. “Plus, your hands are bigger than mine. You’ll have him covered in no time.”  

Bradley looked between you and Bob before he passed the bottle to the other man, shaking his head a little in defeat. You’d giggled to yourself as you wiggled your book at an openly brooding Bradley, and then leaned back on your elbows to observe the way the attentive WSO made sure to carefully and thoroughly cover Bradley’s entire back.

Respectfully, of course.

Behind your sunglasses you’d admired all of Bradley’s bulk compared to Bob’s lithe grace. But in your defense, they were standing right in front of you and you’d already reread your book at least five times in the past, so it wasn’t nearly as interesting as the scene in front of you had been.

“You look awfully comfortable over there,” Rooster called out with a raised eyebrow.

“Just taking in the view,” you’d teased back.

“Yeah, I bet you are,” he huffed as Bob finished up, giving him a thanks, man before tossing you back the bottle of sunscreen. He’d nudged his sunglasses down his nose and pinned you with his gaze, “Let me know if you want me to get your back. My hands are just as capable as his.” Even in the high heat of summer, the way he’d looked at you sent chills running along your arms.

You felt the way his keen eyes traveled from your face, down the deep-v of your swimsuit and along the swells of your breasts, and down your legs to your freshly painted toes. His mouth had ticked up in the corner then left you reeling and your heart pounding away in your chest as he’d strut off to go join Fanboy and Coyote by the mountain of snacks.

And that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. You never knew if he was just flirt-y or flirt-ing.

You hadn’t had a crush in ages, but when Nat had introduced you to her team five months ago, the man with the sunkissed curls and surprisingly attractive mustache had immediately caught your eye.

And as you’d gotten to know him, it had only gotten worse.

Not only was he very nice to look at and could make you laugh until your sides ached, but he also he had depth about him in a way that most men your age didn’t. You liked talking to him and listening to his stories. You liked learning his perspective on things. You liked being around him.

He made you feel interesting and special and funny and seen. You’ve never felt as comfortable in your own skin as you did when you were around him.

Rooster would send you flirty winks, give you less than subtle once overs, and could flash you such devastating slow grins that they’d have you trying to catch the butterflies they released in your stomach for hours after you went home.

But he’s never made a move.

If only he wouldn’t play hide and seek with his true intentions.

You felt like you were still waiting on some small clue whether he was serious or not. You didn’t know if he was just having fun with you or if he was into you and it was more than just friendly banter. It would be so much easier if he’d straight up tell you one way or another.

Needless to say, you’d let Nat be the one to help you with your sunscreen a little bit later. The idea of Bradley’s big hands on you, gliding along your sun-warmed skin and under the crisscross straps of your swimsuit, was too much for your hummingbird heart.

The sun climbed higher into the sky as the butter yellow midmorning transformed into a Midas-touched golden afternoon.

The squad had been able to reserve a fire pit and the plan had been to stay until the sunset. An endless summer day stretching out before them like a cat. They had nothing but time.

Clusters of people came together and split apart like a kaleidoscope as some went to take a dip in the ocean or raid the cooler and snack spread or go for a walk along the shore. Changing and shifting with the direction of the wind, going where the mood took them.

And for a peaceful moment, it had been you with your book and a napping Bradley sprawled out next to you on your towel with his arm flung over his eyes. Close enough that you could feel his warmth, almost but not quite touching. The sound of his soft breaths and the waves their own kind of lullaby as you contentedly read your book, turning your pages quietly to not disturb the man next to you, as the droplets of the Pacific dried on your skin.  

You still don’t know how you got roped into playing a round of dogfight football with the Navy’s best and brightest. You were more of a corn hole or ladder toss kind of girl, but Coyote had all but thrown you over his shoulder and dragged you out before you’d agreed to participate, conceding your defeat.

You were on a team with Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy against Nat, Rooster, Payback, and Bob. A few plays in and you had been getting the hang of it. They’d all been making sure to take care to go easy on you even in the chaos of two teams playing offensively and defensively at the same time. You were more than a little out of breath, but you were having fun.

Before the next snap, Mickey gave the most impassioned pep talk you’d ever heard, “Fuck luck, we don’t need luck. We gotta fucking win.” You had been about to laugh, but then you’d seen the looks on Jake and Javy’s faces and decided against it. Curious about the other team, you’d glanced over only to see Rooster looking back at you.

The calls had been made, the blur of plays in motion as people whirled and dodged and sprinted.

You’d just lobbed the ball to Javy before darting around Nat when a big, solid body collided with you. Hard. You’d felt the twinge of your ankle twisting in the sand right before the force sent you flying in the opposite direction you’d been headed.

The impact had been jarring. The air knocked from your lungs.

Where you should have been met with a mouthful of gritty sand, instead your head had connected with the rough surface of a partially buried rock. The low, thick thud reverberating throughout your whole body.

You’d been so stunned that you didn’t even register you were even on the ground until you heard the chorus of oh fucks and holy shits and goddamns and jesus christs over the ringing in your ears.

The game coming to an immediate and conclusive end.

For how many empty bottles and cans were sitting collected in a trash bag off to the side of your beach set up, they had been surprisingly quick to act as you blinked blankly, trying to clear the spots from your vision.

It was a silent ballet of efficiency as they instinctively fell into their roles, much like you imagined they did the sky. Everyone stepping up and then stepping back as they did their part, like the ebb and flow of waves.

Nat had carefully poured some fresh water from a bottle on your face to remove the sand that clung to the sweat and sunscreen on your skin. Then Jake had wordlessly passed her his clean spare shirt he’d jogged of to get to help stop the bleeding after Javy checked on your pupils to make sure they were the same size. While Bob stood off to the side holding your warped sunglasses in his hands, as if he was hopeful they could still be salvaged. Mickey and Reuben had been waiting in the wings giving you space, ready to help if they were needed, but not wanting to not crowd in.

And from the corner of your eye, you’d caught Rooster standing a couple feet away with his hands in his hair looking absolutely wrecked.

“Bradley?” you’d tried, even though his name stuck to your teeth. But he’d just shook his head at you before turning away slightly, like he couldn’t look at you, which made your heart sting as well.

They only allowed you to move to sit up after they were content with the answer to their questions- What day is it? Friday. Where are you? San Diego. What else hurts? My ankle and my pride.

It wasn’t until someone hauled you up from underneath your armpits that the throbbing and stinging and aching settled over you. The pain seeping and spreading through muscle and bone like an inky oil spill.

It’s still an almost perfect summer afternoon except for the fact you hate everything about this.

You hate the way they’re gathered around you with too many pairs of assessing eyes pinned on you. You hate that you’re the reason the game of dogfight football came to a definitive and abrupt end. You hate that you’re the reason their carefree and fun afternoon off has turned into this.

There’s a pressure building behind your eyes, the hot tears of hurt and frustration and embarrassment are clamoring to be released. You have to bite your lower lip to keep it from trembling.

And it doesn’t help that you’re the type who’d rather lick your wounds in peace.

You just need to get back to your car and you can figure things out on your own from there. You just need a moment to yourself.

As you open your mouth to argue your case again, Jake puts his hand up and stops you before you’ve even had a chance to start, “I hate to break it to you, sugar, but you’re not fooling any of us.” He says it gently, but gives you a pointed look at the way you’re leaning heavily on your right leg to keep the pressure off of your left ankle.

“That head wound is not a little scratch. Just like your ankle isn’t just a little puffy, when it’s twice the size it should be. You need to go to the Emergency Room,” Nat says, final and resolute. A lifetime of friendship has taught you not to argue when she has that look in her eyes, the one that says try me, I dare you.

They all talk over you as they figure out who is the most sober of the group after your suggestion to call yourself an Uber is immediately shot down. Drinks are being counted on fingers, and memories are searched to make sure every sip and bottle and can is accounted for.

Your eyes drift over to the man who is still actively avoiding looking at you, even as he talks to everyone else on the team. You aren’t paying too close attention to what he is saying, but you can hear the short, clipped staccato of his words.

Bradley’s shoulders are tinged a little pink even though you know for a fact that you had purposely passed him the 65 SPF. His eyes are hidden behind his dark green tinted sunglasses, but you don’t need to see them when you can read his body language better than any book.

His arms are crossed firmly over his chest, the tendons in his forearms flexing and shifting, like he is squeezing and releasing his fists from where they’re tucked under his biceps. Everything in his body looks coiled tight and strained, so at odds with the easy going and loose-limbed man you know him to be.

You don’t realize just how much you’ve zoned out until Natasha has to say your name a couple time before you pull your gaze away from Bradley and back to her.

“Ok, it’s settled,” Nat informs you, “Rooster’s going to take you.” You barely nod your head in acknowledgement when she tells you, because it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach now too.

“It’s the least he can do,” Jake drawls.

“That’s not fair-” you start, defensively.

“Fuck off, Bagman-” Rooster snaps.

The rage in his voice shocks you, you’ve never heard that much heat from him before. There’s none of the teasing tone that usually underscores their banter. Jake puts both of his hands up placatingly like my bad, folks and Javy just shakes his head and sighs.

And this time when you look at Bradley, he is finally looking back at you with a deep furrow in his brow. His jaw is clenched tight, that muscle ticking and jumping, as he takes in the way you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your forehead.

Not exactly the way you’d hoped he’d be looking at you when you put on your new blue and white striped swimsuit this morning.

The one you’d bought because you wanted to make him look.

Just not like this.

With everything sorted the rest of the team trickles away a smattering of take cares and get better soons and let us know if you need anythings. But not before Mickey hands Rooster his stuff and passes Nat your bag and sandals. He gives you the gentlest of squeezes on your shoulder before he leaves to join everyone else back on little part of the beach you all had claimed before things went to shit.

Your group of eight now downsized to a trio.

Bradley is quick to roughly pull on his tank and shirt, and Nat fishes out your car keys from your bag as she waits for him to slip his shoes on. When he’s ready she passes it to him and he silently slides it over his arm.

Nat bends down to help gingerly glide your feet into your sandals, “I’ll grab the rest your things and drop them off at your place and then one of the boys will drop off your car later. We’ve got it all covered, ok?”

“Thanks, Nat,” you say quietly, trying to hold back a wince as she slips the left one on, your ankle pulsing in tempo with your heartbeat.

“Best friends don’t say thank you, they just do,” she says matter-of-factly as she stands. It’s the same thing you’d told her after you’d dumped a carton of strawberry milk on Carly Radke for outing Natasha your freshman year in high school. It was only time you’d ever gotten detention, but it had been worth it.

“They just do,” you repeat with a small smile.

You’re so grateful that your friendship with her is one that has spanned years. That you’ve been able seen one another grow and change and come into their own, but that you haven’t outgrown each other. She’s the person you want by your side and having your back. There is no one quite like Natasha Trace.

She turns to Bradley and you watch him stand a little taller under her sharp eyes, your straw tote still dangling from his forearm.

“You good?” Nat asks him with a look in her eye that you can’t place. And you’re reminded that even though she’s your best friend, that he has also earned a spot as one of her closest friends. Their relationship built over years and experiences that you could never fully understand. Different, but just as deep.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got her. I’ll take care of her,” Rooster promises with a stiff nod, as he gives her his word. It might have made your heart beat a little faster if you didn’t feel like such a burden. That it’s simply a twist of fate and three less drinks than everyone else for the reason that he’s the one to look after you. That he’s the one stuck with you.

“I know you will,” she says softer now, patting his shoulder, “Keep me posted.” Nat presses a kiss to your cheek and gives you an encouraging smile then heads off to go rejoin everyone else.

You watch her go with longing. The cheerful beach set up with its colorful blankets and umbrellas looks more like a desert mirage now. The sweet coconut scented potential of what the day could have been now forever out of reach.

And then it’s just you and Bradley and the sound of the waves and cries of seagulls.

The two of you silent and motionless.

You feel one wrong move and the fragile attempt of the stiff upper lip you’ve cocooned yourself in will crack open and all the soft parts of you will seep out into the sand beneath your feet.

His expression is shuttered closed as he bends a bit like he is going to pick you up.

“Woah, buddy, what are you doing?” You’re squinting into the sun as you look at him. You’d step into his shadow to block it, since you’re now in need of a new pair of sunglasses, but that would mean moving to the left which isn’t an option with your ankle.

“Buddy,” he grunts under his breath, slipping off his sunglasses and carefully putting them on your face, being mindful of stinging scrapes and wad of soft cotton you’re holding to your head. “They’re definitely going to have to run concussion protocol on you,” he mutters more to himself than to you, “I’m taking you to the Bronco and then we’re going the ER, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, Rooster,” you grit out, even rolling your eyes hurts, “But I don’t need you to carry me.”

Everything about this was excruciating and embarrassing enough without him being the Clark Gable to your Vivian Leigh. Maybe you could lean on him and hop over to his car? Like a six-foot-one pair of crutches with good hair.

“Take a step without wincing and I’ll think about it,” he says firmly, pointedly calling your bluff. There’s an expectant look of go on then, whenever you’re ready on his face. Because he knows he’s right, and you do too.

You don’t even bother to make a move, but the way your lower lips wobbles speaks volumes.

“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly, almost like pains him to be right.

He bends a little to hook his arms around your knees and back to lift you up, and this time you let him. Your free arm automatically wrapping around the back of his neck. And he starts off towards the winking windshields of the parking lot.

You’ve thought about what it would be like to be wrapped up in Bradley’s arms, how good it would feel to be pressed closed against him. And now you are and it’s nothing like you’ve imagined, because there isn’t anything sweet or swoon-worthy about how you ended up in them. You’re his duty, you’re not his desire.

All your sandcastle hopes have been washed away by the tide.

You’re so frustrated. You’re frustrated by the day, by yourself, by him.

This time you can’t blink back the tears that well up in your eyes. They flood through your tear ducts carving hot trails down your sun-tinged cheeks.

You want the Bradley from earlier. 

The one who stole your watermelon with warmth in his eyes.

The one who dozed next to you in the sun like a cat, his features soft free of the tension he now holds in his shoulders.

You want your Bradley.

The one who’d whispered cheeky comments in your ear whenever the team got into lighthearted tequila fueled arguments about things like whether a hot dog was a sandwich.

The one who’d always go up to the bar with you on busy nights at the Hard Deck and make sure you didn’t get bumped into on the way back to your friends with your freshly refilled drinks.

You’re aching, aching. Everywhere.

For a brief moment, as you swipe at your tears, you’re happy for the throbbing in your head and ankle, so that way you don’t have to think about the stinging in your heart.

“I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you’re hurting,” Rooster says gentle and low as you sniffle, but you can hear the thickness of the words in his throat. The term of endearment is the sweetest of nothings, making your tears come faster. Where it should ease the heartache, all it does is make you angry at yourself for giving your emotions away. “We’re almost to the Bronco. It’s ok, we’re gonna get you taken care of, I promise.”

We.

You wanted that with him.

You want to press both of your hands to his cheeks to make him look you in the eyes to ask him is it going to be you and me together?  You’ve been a fool for love before, but you didn’t know if could take another hit-and-run with your heart.

The salt of your tears makes your cheeks feel tight and itchy as the summer breeze dries them on your skin.

Bradley carries you like you weigh nothing, but cradles you like you’re the most precious things he’s ever held. He’s mindful of any dips in the sand and gives wide berth around the college kids playing volleyball close to the entry back to the parking lot.

When he reaches the Bronco, he sets you down gently, making sure both of your feet are planted on the asphalt before letting go of you to unlock his car. He tells you to wait a moment when you move to open the passenger side door.

“I never know when I might get called up for an emergency deployment, so I like to have some extra clothes just in case,” he explains as he digs around in the backseat, pulling out a pair of gray athletic shorts.

“Oh.” And you realize you’re still just clad in your striped swimsuit. “Thank you for sparing me from the hospital germs,” you say lightly, an attempt at a joke to break the ice. One that doesn’t land, since instead of cracking a grin he just presses his lips together in a firm line and nods.

Bradley crouches low in front of you and you put a hand on his shoulder for balance as you lean against the Bronco, still trying to keep as much pressure off your left ankle as possible as you step into them. He’s looking up at you and even through his sunglasses perched on your nose, you swear his brown eyes get a shade darker as he eases the shorts up your legs. You’re touched by the effort as he ties the strings in a lopsided bow, even if things are feeling tense between the two of you.

“Think this’ll be easier,” he mumbles shrugging off his light blue button up. You’ve always liked this one, with its soft pastel pink and minty green watercolor prints of net fishermen and hula girls and palm trees.

He holds it open for you, helping you thread your arm through it, and then takes over holding Jake’s now ruined shirt to your head so that you can get your other arm past the sleeve. It smells like him, citrus and amber. Your fingers brush against each other when you reclaim the makeshift bandage, and he adjusts his shirt so that it hangs over your shoulders just right.

It’s an awkward kind silent as Rooster helps lift you into the Bronco with his strong hands around your hips. He is all smooth efficiency as he buckles you in with a click. You pass him back his sunglasses the same moment he hands you your tote bag, and it almost feels like a hostage exchange.

He says nothing as he hauls himself into the driver’s side. The car rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition and a cheery song from the 80’s station on the radio comes on. Bradley quick to turn the volume down low. His thumb brushing your shoulder as he sets his hand on the back of your seat to look behind him as he carefully backs out of the spot.

It’s never felt this strained with him before.

It’s so painfully obvious that the two of you are walking on eggshells around each other. You can almost feel the wall that’s gone up around him. The white noise of the radio drowned out by the hum of the road as he drives in near silence.

Your day has been most effectively ruined by a chunk of sedimentary rock, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still recoup what’s left of it.

He could still have the perfect summer afternoon.

He could still go back to your friends and their perfect beach set up and laugh with them as Coyote keeps accidentally setting marshmallows on fire. He could still catch the bold oranges and soft pinks of the sunset with all the satisfied contentment he deserved to experience.

“You can leave me and go back, you know. I’ll be ok if you just want drop me off and then head back to the beach,” you say looking down at your fingers as you trace the stitching of his leather seats.

When he doesn’t answer right away, you glance over at him. The vein in his neck is standing out boldly against the column of his throat.

“Do I seem like the kind of guy who would leave someone at the ER alone?” he asks, his voice rougher than sandpaper.

“No. No, of course not,” you say emphatically, “That’s why I’m giving you permission.”

“Permission?” he scoffs with a shake of his head.

“Yes, permission,” you say, clipped.

You’re giving him an out, why doesn’t he get that?

He heaves a big sigh and grunts. “Is it… Would you rather have Bob- with his big hands- here instead?” Bradley asks, frustration leaking out around the edges of his words.

“Bob with his big hands?” you repeat baffled, “What does Bob have to do with anything about this?”

“That’s what you said earlier, sweetheart. I’m just citing the source. Or I can call Phoenix? Or…” he pauses glancing at the t-shirt pressed to your head, “Or even Seresin. Once we get you checked in I can call any of them an Uber or something, and they can be there with you, if you don’t want me.”

“No, Rooster, I don’t want anyone else.” You wince at the implication and hope it doesn’t read into it further than the current situation to two of you are wading through like quick sand.

“Ok, good,” he grumbles.

“Great,” you lob back.

His hand tightens on the steering wheel, the knuckles turning white, “Then where is this even coming from?” The action makes his thick forearm flex in this most delicious of ways that you’d appreciate more if you didn’t feel the anger simmering low in your stomach.

“It’s pretty damn clear that you’d rather be back there, Rooster. Or literally anywhere else right now.” You flip down the sun visor with more force than it deserves, regretting that you gave him his sunglasses back when the bright California sun in your eyes turns your headache into a full-blown migraine.

“Of course, I’d rather be anywhere else!” he says hotly, tossing his sunglasses back in your lap, “Do you think I like that you’re hurt and that we’re on our way to the hospital?” You shove them on your face with an angry huff.

A car speeds by blaring their horn as they pass by.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck off,” he grunts but speed of the Bronco doesn’t change, “Asshole.”

Bradley’s driving five miles under the posted limit, and you know for a fact he religiously drives at least ten miles over. And his turns have been smoother than butter, as if he is trying not to jostle you anymore than you’d already been today.

You are so tired of this hot and cold thing that he’s doing. His words and his deeds weren’t going hand in hand. He keeps giving you the cold shoulder, but is also so in tune with your every movement and need.

Gingerly, you angle yourself in your seat to look at him better, resting your tired left arm on the back of your seat and taking in his strong profile.

“Why are you being like this?” you demand, waving your free hand in a vaguely in his general direction.

“Like what? I’m not being like anything,” he retorts, making the same vague hand gesture as you did a moment earlier.

And oh, if that doesn’t fill your chest with hot indignation. That low simmering anger has turned into a full roiling boil as you shift in your seat trying to get your ankle in a position where it doesn’t hurt.

“Seriously, Rooster? I can feel tension rolling off of you in waves. You’ve been like this since everything turned to complete shit on the beach. I didn’t mean to ruin your day, I’m just trying to figure out how to make things better,” you bite out unable to keep things bottled up anymore.

He sucks in a sharp breath, “Are you kidding me right now? You think you ruined my day?” He glances from the road to you and back again, his brown eyes wide and searching.

“Yes?” Or so you’d thought until you’d seen the shock written all over his face, but now you weren’t so sure. It’s like you’ve dumped ice water on him instead of simply calling him out. “I feel like you’re taking it out on me and I don’t know why.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rooster swears under his breath, shaking his head. “I’m so damn sorry, sweetheart. I’m mad at myself, because I ruined your day.  I should have been more careful, I should have been looking out for you. It’s not like you’re hard to miss in that swimsuit.” Your cheeks heat up at the comment, but you choose to ignore it.

Misery drips from his words like spilled ink off a page. You knew he was upset, but you didn’t realize he was upset about that. That he’s shouldering this fluke of fate as if it is his burden to bear. Some of the anger you’ve been feeling leaves your body like the tide washing out back out to sea. You’re still upset at him for how he has been acting up until this point, but you’re not mad at him about that.

“Bradley, no. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, an accident I’m responsible for,” he says hoarsely, rubbing roughly at his forehead. “God, I can still hear the sound it made when you hit that rock and it makes me feel sick. I would give anything to undo that moment. I need you to know that.”

He is being so hard on himself and your heart squeezes, this time in sympathy rather than hurt. He didn’t place that rock in the sand, the both of you were victims of circumstance.

“It could have happened to anyone. It could have been anyone,” you press delicately, trying to get him to hear you, shifting in your seat again still uncomfortable.

The sunshine bounces off of his slumped shoulders as he sighs raggedly.

“But it happened to you and it’s my fault. You’re bleeding, you’re in pain, and you’ve been crying. And it’s because of me.” He reaches down with his right hand and lifts up your leg so that you can rest it on his thigh, some of the ache alleviating immediately. He asks quietly, “That better?”

“Yes, thank you,” you murmur. He looks so upset, and all you want to do is curl into his lap. You want to hold him and you want to be held by him. “You know I don’t blame you, right?”

You expect him to move his hand back to the steering wheel, but he keeps it on your leg. His thumb stroking your still slightly sandy shin. Your cheery toenail polish at odds with the color blooming around your ankle.

Bradley’s throat bobs as he swallows hard, “Yeah, I do. I know that. But I still blame myself.”

The Bronco rolls to a soft stop at the light. There’s enough traffic that you know you’ll be here for a bit, and so does he since he turns in his seat to look fully at you. You take his sunglasses off, tucking them into the pocket of his shirt that rests above your heart, so nothing stands between his brown eyes and yours.

“So, you’re going to keep beating yourself up over it and icing me out? Making me feel worse? For what, Bradley? Because you’re a glutton for punishment? That’s not fair to me or to you.”

“Shit,” he mutters, his left hand running through his curls. “You’re right and I’m so sorry. I’ve been in my head feeling so damn guilty that I’ve been such an asshole. Can you forgive me?”

You’re about to answer him that when a horn startles you, making you jump in the leather seat. You see the light is green, the car that had been in front of you is gliding through the intersection passing under a blue sign pointing the way to the hospital.

“Bradley, the light.”

The car behind the two of you honks their horn again.

“They can wait. This is important, you are important. Do you forgive me?” There’s an underscore of need that punctuates his question.

“Yes, of course,” you say easily and sincerely. There’s so much remorse in his eyes, you would have forgiven him with that look alone.

“Thank you,” he breathes out in relief. And then he smiles at you for the first time since the beach and that ache in your heart is completely soothed, bandaged by that soft way he is looking at you.

Atlas no longer, he can simply be Bradley.

He takes his foot off the brake and by some miracle he’s able to make it through the light before it turns red again. You can see the tall structure of the parking lot near the hospital poking out above the line of the treetops.

The destination is closer than ever, but there are still things on your mind.

“And you aren’t an asshole, Bradley. But your bedside manner could definitely use some work,” you tease with a smile of your own.

“Baby, I’ve been trying to show you my bedside manner, but you keep holding me at arm’s length,” he groans dramatically.

The idea of experiencing Bradley Bradshaw’s bedside manner makes you feel all kinds of weak in the knees, even as you’re seated in his Bronco with your leg propped up in his lap, his big hand skating up and down along your shin comfortingly.

“How can you even say that with a straight face? You’ve never made a move!” you exclaim incredulously, “I was even the one to ask for your phone number, if you remember.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I hit on you all the time,” he argues with your favorite brand of Bradshaw banter, “I’ve been waiting for you to give me the green light, sweetheart.”

“I thought you were supposed to be pretty and smart,” you smirk.

He barks a laugh and the last tendrils of all the tension and all the pressure that had been swirling around you like a marine layer evaporates.

“You saying I’ve had the green light this whole time?” He looks over at you with a boyish smile, you like the way you feel when he looks at you like this.

“What I’m saying, Bradley, is if you’d have actually asked me out I would have said yes.” You press your toes into the muscle of his thick thigh and immediately regret it, wincing as pain ripples around your ankle.

He makes a sympathetic sound deep in his chest, “Sounds like I’ve been an idiot.”

“A very pretty one,” you allow, leaning your aching head back against the back seat.

“At least there’s that,” he concedes good-naturedly as he pulls into the parking lot, turning on his blinker for a spot opening up near the entrance to the Emergency Room by some twist of fate, one that’s in your favor this time.

Bradley pulls into the empty spot and kills the engine turning to you. He gently eases your foot back down onto the sandy floormat of the Bronco and leans into unbuckle your seatbelt.

He’s so close now looking up at you from under his eyelashes, and your breath catches in your throat. He moves closer, you can see the bits of hazel that surround his pupils. Your eyes flutter close and you tilt your head up, lips parting at the anticipation of his kiss.

There’s no holding back the noise of dissatisfaction you make when his lips press a tender kiss to your cheek. You lean into him wanting to feel, wanting him to give you more. His warm breath coasts over your skin as he chuckles. You can feel the way his lips are pulled up into a smile.

“I’m a gentleman, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls away, his eyes lingering on your lips. “My mom raised me not to go for the kiss on the first date. Or ones with head wounds and potential concussions.”

“Some first date,” you lament jokingly, looking in at the fluorescent lights awaiting you inside the hospital. You’d rather skip over this part entirely, but you’re ready to be done with holding Jake’s shirt to your head. “Nothing like insurance cards and scrubs to really set the mood.”

“Mmm. How about this, after we’re done here, I’ll take you through whatever drive-thru you want-”

“In-N-Out,” you cut in without a second thought. The novelty of it still hasn’t worn off on you, even if the fries are terrible.

“Ok,” he grins, “I’ll take you through in In-N-Out and get you your number two combo with mustard and grilled onions with a vanilla shake.” He pauses waiting for your nod of approval, looking more than pleased with himself when you acknowledge he got your order right.

“I like the sound of this so far,” you hum.

“Well that’s good. Since it’ll be our first date, I want to set that bar high,” he says giving you a wink. And there are those butterflies again, this time you don’t try to catch them with a net. They’re free to flutter around as they wish.

“If you really want to impress me, you’ll also take me through the McDonald’s drive-thru for their fries,” you muse.

“Done.”

“I was kidding,” you laugh, shaking your head at him disbelievingly and thoroughly charmed.

“Well, I wasn’t. So after we get you fed, give or take some fries, I will bring you home. I’ll get you whatever you need, I want to make sure you’re comfortable. Think you might be on crutches for a bit, sweetheart,” he says softly, playing with the ends of your hair. “And then in the morning, if you’re up for it, I’ll take you out for breakfast. Or bring you breakfast. Whatever you want. We can call that date number two.”

“And then you’ll kiss me?”

“And then I’ll kiss you,” he promises, offering you a crooked pinky finger. You beam and you wrap your own around his.

He slips out of the driver’s seat leaving you to contemplate the terms of his offer as he rounds the front of the Bronco. The nurses are going to get an eyeful of him in only those snug jean shorts and thin white tank. You make a mental note to avoid looking at him if they have to connect you to a heart rate monitor, he doesn’t need to know the effect he has on you. Not yet anyways.

“I have counteroffer,” you announce turning your body towards him as he opens your door for you.

“Let’s hear it, baby,” he says with a grin that almost makes you forget how bad your head and ankle hurt, “Shoot.”

“We still go to In-N-Out, but then in the morning you make me breakfast in bed with some of those famous Bradshaw pancakes I’ve heard about,” you say, as he steps in between your legs, “Seems like a good way to work on that bedside manner of yours.”

“I think you’re going to like my bedside manner, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over your cheek.

You tilt your head at him, taking in the sunkissed strands in his hair and the affection in his eyes, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

“Guess we will,” he rasps.

Rooster drops another sweet kiss to your cheek, whispering for you to stay put, and then he struts off towards the automatic doors of the Emergency Room. Leaving you alone with the butterflies in your stomach and the hope in your heart.

You dig your phone out of your straw tote and check the time, doing the math in your head.

There are a few messages from Nat and other people on the team already checking in, but you know you’ll have time to reply to them later as you wait with Bradley sitting by your side.

You look up and see he’s got a wheelchair now and is making his way back to you, wearing a soft smile on his face just for you.

Only seventeen more hours until you get to kiss Bradley Bradshaw and you can’t wait.

You’ve got that forever feeling about him.

Oh, oh, oh.

Thank you for reading! Rock on. Oh that joke was schist, I'll see myself out.

This was written as part of @roosterforme's Rocktober Playlist! You can check out all the other great submissions here!

The song that inspired this story was Paula Abdul's "Straight Up"

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[roosterbruiser]

VOULEZ-VOUS FINALE

Spans from December, 1978--December, 1992

Los Angeles, CA

She opens a bank account. Her bruise plays a big role in this chapter. 

Another house party with just the gang. Cherry and Hangman are pretty much high the whole time. Everyone does a little bit of coke besides Rooster. She reads everyone’s palms.

Jake plays the tape of him and Cherry for everyone and Rooster gets pissy about it. And he tries to say it’s because he never watches his own stuff so he doesn’t understand why Jake does. And Cherry has to be like…relax, man. I fuck everyone. 

Rooster sulks outside, smoking a cigar. And Cherry finally goes outside and sits on his lap and asks him what’s going on. He’s too afraid to admit that he’s in love with her. So he just says that he likes the way things have been and he doesn’t want things to change. She assures him they won’t. 

And like she can sense that he needs it, she fucks him that night. Stays with him. Except there’s a moment where he tries to slow her down, holding her hips, helping her rock. And she lets him for a second--it feels good. It feels really, really good. But then she’s awash with something that feels too big and she takes over again and goes fast.

Rooster tells her that he sleeps very deeply when she sleeps with him. It feels like he’s saying that he loves her. 

Los Angeles, CA May 29th, 1979

Jake’s guilty but unwilling to talk about things. They haven’t told anybody about what happened. They have a little get-together and watch some of the films Cherry has made and Rooster privately broods. She babies him--sits on his lap while he smokes a cigar. And then they have sex that night. It’s the first time they actually make love. 

How come she can be sweet with Jake and not make it sexual but she can’t do that with Rooster?

Her and Rooster are like achingly close to being a couple. She’s spending all her time with him, they seem to have found some sort of domestic bliss together. She’s getting more money and he helps her open a bank account. 

He is close to telling her that he loves her. But something that keeps happening is everytime they have an intimate moment together, she tries to get sexual with him. And he doesn’t know how to tell her now so he does it. 

It comes to a head when Hangman is over one night. Her and Rooster go to bed and he is just holding her, kissing her, about to say he loves her. And she tries to initiate sex. And he lets it get to her sitting naked on top of him before he stops her. They have a small warble because she feels rejected and he doesn’t know how to explain to her that she doesn’t always have to fuck him. 

So she gets out of bed and fucks Hangman. Then she sleeps in her own room. 

Los Angeles, CA June 9th, 1979

Things are a bit stilted between her and Rooster now. She’s back on her bullshit with Jake, doing coke all the time and partying. It’s like what happened to her meant nothing. It didn’t touch her deeply enough for anything to change, especially since her and Rooster are in such a weird spot right now. And Rooter is too worried about something happening to Cherry, so he’s been accompanying them. 

Cherry is feeling things for Rooster and it scares her. She is starting to get special treatment from people because they’ve seen her films. A few people ask for autographs.

Somewhere in here, Phoenix paints a portrait of Cherry.

One night at the disco, a woman approaches Rooster and she’s kind of all over him. But he’s just watching Cherry. And when Cherry comes back to the table, he says he’s ready to go and she says she wants to keep partying. The woman wants to fuck Rooster--Cherry can tell. She sees Rooster pushing her off and tells Rooster that he should just take her home.

They get into a spat about it and he ends up leaving with the woman and fucking her at home. But he can’t finish. He doesn’t know why. He lets her stay the night, but he doesn’t sleep in the bed. Really, he doesn’t sleep at all. He just paces. 

Los Angeles, CA June 23rd, 1979

Cherry films a scene with Bob--nurse and patient. Then after, her and Bob go to the pier and she takes a walk with him. They get to know each other a little bit and he tells her what he knows about Rooster and Jake. They get to know each other. They both grew up on farms so they talk about it. They don’t fuck again. They have a friendship that translates off-screen and on. People like watching them fuck. But they never do it outside. 

When she goes home, Rooster is making dinner. Things have been a bit odd between them. But she’s just overwhelmed. So she goes into the kitchen and just holds him from behind. And he melts in her touch. But then she starts kissing his neck and grabbing his cock and he just gives in because he knows that’s the only way he’s gonna feel her love. They fuck that night, but he tenderly kisses what remains of her bruise. She never takes the necklace off. 

Cape Cod, MA July 1st-3rd, 1979

Phoenix has a vacation home on Cape Cod, so they all go to the house. It’s huge and beautiful and they’re all happy together. Cherry rooms with Rooster and it really excited him. 

They kind of act like a couple for a little while there. She’s taking bumps with Jake but everyone’s taking bumps. 

They have a few good days of just shopping and sun tanning and swimming and fucking. Maybe they play spin the bottle or seven minutes in heaven. Cherry ends up fucking everyone in the group during seven minutes in heaven. 

When her and Jake are swimming together one night, she notices a scar on the back of his leg that she’s never seen before. He says it’s a piece of Gentry’s skull--embedded there forever because it was too deep. They couldn’t get it out. 

For once, at the end of the night, Cherry is too tired to have sex. She asks Rooster if it’s okay if they just sleep. He says of course it is. He’s thrilled. He feels like this means something big. 

Cape Cod, MA July 4th, 1979

They drink all day. Cherry takes a few bumps with Jake. They go out boating. It’s a good time. Everyone is beautiful, everything is beautiful. 

They stay out on the water and watch the fireworks. She sits on Rooster’s lap all night. 

When they get home, everyone is tired. They all go to bed. Her and Rooster go to bed too and they make love. Like they actually make love for the first time--she lets him. And it’s so intense and she doesn’t know what to do and she’s scared. 

And he is so happy after. She can see that it pleased him so endlessly. And that terrifies her. 

He tells her that he loves her. She pretends like she’s asleep. He falls for it. 

Los Angeles, CA July 13th, 1979 

Films a swingers scene with Rooster, Phoenix, and Hangman. She’s starting to get recognized on the street now wherever she goes. People from out of town are the only ones brave enough to ask for a picture together and she never says no.

Rooster is waiting for the perfect moment to tell her that he is in love with her. He wants to get it right. He wants to leave the business and take her with him. He has enough money for the both of them to live off of handsomely forever. 

So then the four of them hang out at Phoenix’s place. Rooster sees the portrait of Cherry that she painted and says he wants to buy it. It’s the first piece of art he’s ever bought from Phoenix. 

Jake tries to outbid Rooster. They have a weirdly tense squabble over it before Cherry intervenes and outbids both of them. She buys the portrait herself. 

Later on, when her and Rooster go home, he turns on a record and asks her to dance with him. She’s confused because he never wants to dance. But then it’s a slow record and they slow dance and it feels good. She is in love with him maybe. But she’s having so much fun just fucking around, just being by herself, just doing whatever. 

And then he says he wants to tell her something. And she asks him to make her cum first. He does--twice. And then he tells her that he’s in love with her. She is terrified but she knows that she loves him too. She feels powerless against it. So she says she loves him too. 

Los Angeles, CA July 17th, 1979

Her and Rooster decide that they’re going to try monogamy. She’s scared, but she loves him. What else is there to do? The deal is that they only fuck other people for work. That’s it. Nothing outside of that. 

They announce it to their friends while they’re all on the beach together. Everyone is happy for them. Honestly, it’s a good day. Jake isn’t an asshole--he doesn’t think it’s gonna last, but he doesn’t say that. He’s still touchy with her, which is okay for now. 

That night, she takes a bath with Rooster. They tell each other about their childhoods. 

Los Angeles, CA August 11th, 1979

She films a cuckold scene with Rooster and Bob. 

Fucking other men on set isn’t helping. She wants to keep fucking other people. But she loves Rooster--she’s devoted to him. And it isn’t that he isn’t fulfilling her, it’s just that she’s a genuine nymphomaniac. 

Cute moments with her and Rooster--maybe them swimming. Maybe them shopping. You know. Cute stuff. You can do it!

Monterey, CA August 17th-August 20th, 1979

Rooster takes Cherry on a road trip. They go up the coast and stay in a little cottage on the water. It’s nice. It’s just them. He loves that it feels so domestic. She just loves him. She’s insatiable, though. She always wants it--she always wants to be fucked. 

Cherry wants to be with him but she’s afraid it won’t be enough. She’s trying so hard for it to be enough. For him. For Rooster. He tells her about his mom getting sick. 

Los Angeles, CA September 1979

Films a domination scene with Rooster.

Cherry and Rooster are in love. But she wants to be fucked all the time. 

There’s a scene where she tries to initiate sex and he doesn’t want to have sex. So she’s just frustrated. She has to touch herself and it just isn’t the same. 

She grabs a drink with Jake and they end up going back to his house. They do too much coke and end up sleeping together. They both feel terrible about it. 

She tells Rooster as soon as she gets home. And he forgives her and Jake immediately--I mean, it’s like handing a lighter to a pyromaniac. He gets it. He says that she can sleep with whoever she wants, as long as she comes home and is in bed with him every night. 

Los Angeles, CA October, 1979 

Films a Western thing with the full cast. 

She fucks someone else one night and then comes home. Her and Rooster eat dinner. They got to bed. He initiates sex and in the heat of the moment, while he’s being rough with her, he tells her that he’s fucking someone else’s cum into her. He calls her a whore. 

They stop. They’re both upset. They agree that it isn’t working. He asks her, as a last ditch effort, to quit porn and just be with him. She says no. They hold each other. In the morning, they agree to only fuck on set. 

Los Angeles, CA November, 1979

Summer camp with the full cast. When her and Rooster fuck, it’s very much them longing for each other. It’s heartbreaking, really. They kiss a lot. He still makes her cum. She misses him so much. Just a long hug after the shoot. 

She starts getting super into doing coke with Jake again. They’re hanging out all the time together. She’s still living with Rooster. But they’re achingly just friends--which is very hard for them. 

She’s kind of in a tailspin. She fucks everyone. She misses Rooster. 

Los Angeles, CA Late November, 1979

Her and Jake are hanging out, doing coke one night. They are talking and they start arguing. He says she doesn’t know the difference between sex and love. And they’re both high and they really get into it but then all of the sudden, he starts seizing. 

She rides with him in the ambulance. The paramedics recognize her and one of them asks for her autograph. Rooster meets her at the hospital. He and Cherry comfort each other. She’s very distraught. Jake is okay--they get to go in and see him after a few hours. They stay in the hospital with him for a while. 

When Rooster goes home to get him and Cherry some clothes, Jake tells her that he has something that he only wants to tell Cherry and she can’t tell anyone. She agrees. It’s very soft. She’s stroking his hair, they’re both crying. He said he met God and he licked his wounds. It was Gentry.

Los Angeles, CA December, 1979 

Cherry is still reeling from seeing Jake overdose. She asks Dennis if she can push the shoot back. He says no. Rooster and him get into it. 

Cherry shows up on set and Rooster and Dennis are arguing. Rooster tells Cherry that this is his last scene--ever. He’s leaving the business after this. This means several things: Cherry knows everyone will start to leave after him, they won’t fuck anymore, and she will miss him severely. 

It’s a make-me-a-star scene. Very sad.

Dennis insults Rooster and Cherry decks Dennis in the face. She busts his lip open good and wide.

Los Angeles, CA Late December, 1979

It’s just her and Rooster over Christmas. It’s her first one away from her folks. She signs another contract with Goldman Homevideos. Dennis forgives her--so he can keep making money from her.

The prologue ties in here. It is Dennis. He drugged her. 

She goes into Rooster’s room. He throws Dennis out. He cleans her up. It’s all very tender. She says she wishes that she could be what he wants her to be. He says that isn’t the issue here--the issue is that she can’t give herself to him fully. They hold each other. She still has the gold chain. She says that she thinks they’re soulmates. He says he’s always known it.

Los Angeles, CA November, 1980

It’s Cherry’s 23rd birthday. She celebrates with the whole crew. It’s a good party. 

Afterwards, Rooster gives her another gift. It’s when they’re alone together. He gives her two thick, fat gold rings. One has a C engraved on it and the other has an A engraved on it. He says that the next time Dennis acts up, she can scar him up real good. So that everyone knows he fucked with Cherry Arsan. 

Rooster finished Emmanuelle. He reads some out loud to her as they nurse their final cocktails of the night. They just go to sleep there on the couch together. They don’t have sex. 

Cape Cod, MA July, 1981 

They’re all at Phoenix’s house for the 4th again. Rooster, Payback, and Phoenix aren’t in the industry anymore. That leaves Cherry, Hangman, Coyote, and Fanboy. 

They swim and eat and all just love each other. It’s a good time. Cherry and Hangman aren’t officially a couple, but they may as well be. Cherry lives with him now and they’re fuck buddies, even though they fuck other people. 

But monogamy isn’t a thing. So she sleeps in Rooster’s bed because she misses him. And he misses her, too. They end up having sex and afterwards, Rooster is upset. He wants her. So he tells her that they can’t have sex again. It makes him miserable. 

Los Angeles, CA April, 1982

Phoenix is getting married. Everyone attends the wedding. They dance--except Rooster, who just watches. But when a slow song comes on, her and Rooster dance together. They dance to the song Something On Your Mind by Karen Dalton. 

He asks her if she ever wants to get married. They talk about it. She doesn’t know what she wants. She says that if she ever does get married, she hopes it’s him. But she doesn’t feel ready. He says he’ll wait for her. 

Only Hangman and Cherry are in the industry still.  

Los Angeles, CA December, 1983

It’s Christmas. It��s just Rooster and Cherry. 

Hangman is starting to spend Christmas with Gentry’s family. 

They’ve been doing this for a few years now. They reminisce all the years they’ve known each other and the way things have changed. She gets him very expensive cigars and a new gold chain since she still wears his. It’s very nice. He gets her a pair of shoes--nice, leather Mary Janes. And a pair of bell-bottoms. 

They don’t have sex, but she sleeps in his bed. He says it’s the only time he sleeps through the night. She kisses his forehead. 

Los Angeles, CA

June, 1984

It’s Rooster’s birthday now. They all celebrate with a big party at Rooster’s house. It takes place after, as she’s helping clean the place. Hangman quit the business. Cherry is getting her own place. 

On the off-hand, Cherry asks Rooster to grab her purse. He sees that there’s a gun in it. She says the world isn’t what it used to be. He begs her to leave and just be with him. Just love him. Isn’t he enough? It’s sad. 

This is when she also breaks the news to Rooster. Her and Hangman, during a coked up excursion in Las Vegas, got married. And when they came down, they decided they were gonna give things a go. Maybe not entirely monogamous, but devoted to each other. Rooster asks her if she regrets it. She says she doesn’t know yet, but she likes how warm he is in bed. Rooster is heartbroken, but also wise. He knows what they have isn’t going to last. They love each other the way an addict loves their next fix. There’s no longevity. What he and her have? That’s forever. He knows. He knows it. 

Los Angeles, CA October, 1985

Cherry is on the cover of Playboy in September. Her mother sends her a letter. She lets Rooster read it. It’s very, very sad. She’s upset about it. 

Rooster asks if she wants to go dancing to cheer her up. Bell Bottoms closed. So they just go for a swim. He skinny dips, just to cheer her up. She does, too. They almost have sex. Almost. But they stop in time. 

Her and Jake aren’t doing very well in their marriage. Their relationship is tumultuous and immature. They fight over everything…their next fix, their marriage, their cars, their jobs. They’ve lost their friendship.  

Los Angeles, CA January 1987

Cherry’s parents both die in a car accident. She finds out that they were in an immense amount of debt when they died, but they never asked her for help. She thinks that is sad and funny. Cherry would’ve given them money if she knew, but she didn’t. Her, Hangman, and Rooster go home to help with the house. She sees old people she’s fucked. Everyone ogles at her because they recognize her. The women give her hateful looks.

Her brother is terrible to her. Her parents left her nothing in their will--just what was in her childhood bedroom. She sees it--the way she left it when she was 21. Nothing is touched. They basically just boarded it up. 

It’s melancholy. 

Her, Rooster, and Hangman all squeeze into her childhood bed and sleep there together. It’s the worst sleep of her life. Between her husband and her soulmate. 

Los Angeles, CA February 1988

Rooster introduces Cherry to his fiance. Her name is Samantha. She’s an accountant. Samantha is older. Like maybe close to forty. She’s beautiful. They all have dinner together. Samantha very obviously doesn’t like Cherry, but she’s very cordial towards her. Cherry is becoming very insecure as she ages. She liked being the pretty young thing on the scene, liked that everyone was always calling her a baby. But she’s not so super young anymore. 

Jake, Cherry, and Bradley all go to dinner together to meet Samantha. Samantha and Bradley haven’t been together for very long. Cherry just got back from Italy and she’s talking a lot about herself. But she’s also coming to terms with the fact that she has an expiration date and it’s approaching. She’s struggling. Maybe she even talks about getting plastic surgery (which Samantha is super against). 

She kind of fishes for compliments, very vain, always checking her makeup. Samantha is a very forward-thinking woman who can hold her own. But she has very rigid standards of what she considers feminist and what she doesn’t. 

Samantha doesn’t like Cherry. Cherry is kind of being a bit off-putting and being touchy with Rooster and Jake. 

They get into a discussion about porn.

Samantha says Rooster regrets doing porn. And Cherry is asking him but he’s on the spot. He talks about how it was predatory and how Dennis used them, but her whole perspective is like sure, maybe it was predatory, but look at the fucking house we’re sitting in. Look at the fucking gold chain you’re wearing. Look at the fucking steak we’re eating right now, with the perfect marble. And Jake and Rooster say that Cherry got the worst of it and she’s like yeah, I did. But what do I have to complain about when I’m sitting here in a Chanel dress, wearing a string of saltwater pearls? 

So then Samantha brings up how when her and Rooster have kids, and if they have sons, they don’t want them to watch porn. Porn has such a negative effect on youth and it makes men violent. Cherry takes that as a personal offense. She says she doesn’t make men violent by having violent sex on camera--she has to have violent sex on camera because that’s what men want. 

Her and Hangman hang around after dinner, when Samantha goes home. Her and Rooster don’t live together yet. They all talk about the years that have passed and how times have changed.

They talk about children. What they all want in life. And Cherry and Hangman tell Rooster that they’re getting a divorce--a very amicable one. As soon as they decided to divorce, they became friends again. They tell Rooster, while laughing, about the last fight that they had. Cherry called Jake a cokehead loser who couldn’t get over his dead gay boyfriend. Jake called Cherry an orphaned sell-out with too-big tits. Rooster doesn’t think any of this is funny. 

Los Angeles, CA November-December, 1988

Cherry has an ectopic pregnancy. She has one egg drop and it ends up detaching in the wrong spot. She was a whole conversation with Rooster about it. Rooster comes to her in the hospital and won’t leave until she finishes eating. She’s very obviously struggling, even if she’s trying to still be fun and flirty and sexy. He asks whose it was. She says maybe Jake’s, but it’s anyone’s guess. 

He leaves but waits outside the door. He hears Cherry sobbing. When he walks back in, she’s curled into herself and facing away from him. He just crawls into bed behind her and holds her tight. 

The next month, Rooster invites Cherry over for dinner. Samantha is there. Samantha and Rooster are looking into fertility treatment because they want to start a family. And Cherry tries to talk to Samantha about it, but Samantha implies that her issues are different from Cherry’s and that she’s always known she was gonna have a hard time conceiving. 

So first of all, Cherry asks Rooster if he wants kids. And he says that maybe he does. And she says you’ve never told me that. And Samantha is like why would he? And Cherry says that they were together. And Samantha has hit the ceiling at this point. So she’s like yeah, he told me about it. You couldn’t stop fucking other men. 

Rooster stands up for Cherry. And Cherry and Rooster have an argument. Cherry is trying to be everybody’s baby and Rooster is upset by all this. She’s smoking a cigarette in his house and he tells her to take it outside. And she’s surprised bc he always bends the rules for her. And she won’t let Samantha take that. 

But then he says that they’re engaged. She isn’t the woman in his life. 

She leaves before she starts crying. 

Los Angeles, CA July 1989

It’s the night before the wedding. Cherry quit the industry a few months ago. Everyone’s at the hotel. It’s late. She’s sitting at the hotel bar by herself, nursing a glass of wine. Rooster ends up coming down. They talk all night. It’s a lot of reflection--all her time in the industry, what she learned about love and sex. What she learned about men and herself. And he just loves her so much. 

Cherry does not intend to ruin the wedding. She just tells Rooster that she wishes their timing had been better. She wishes she had been ready. She wishes she was his age. He tells her it’s too late for that now. That he is a good man with good intentions and there is a woman upstairs who he said he would marry. Cherry, very sadly and sweetly, says she knows he is a man of his word. She tells him that he is going to make a perfect husband and a perfect father. She squeezes his hand. 

She goes upstairs to her hotel room and feels immense grief, but relief as well. The back and forth is finally ending. There is no more will-they-won’t-they with them. He’s moving on. She is heartbroken, but genuinely very happy for him. 

There’s a knock on the door. It’s Rooster and he’s holding his suitcase. He tells her that she’s always had horrible timing. She says she’s been late to everything in her life. He leaves with Cherry.

Sonoma, CA December 1992

Cherry is 35 and Rooster is 45. They own a vineyard in Sonoma. They’re preparing things for Christmas with everyone. They make love before the fireplace. They’re lovingly getting their home ready for all their friends. They’ve got a couple dogs and some horses. Life is good--sweet. 

A few of them have kids, most everyone is married. Cherry and Rooster got married a few months after the wedding was called off. They’re happy. They’re really, really happy. They look through photo albums while they’re getting things out. All the photos Rooster took of her over the years--some of them are devastatingly sexy. But others are sexy in a quieter way--like a picture he took without her knowing, one where she’s sitting at the end of her bed and rolling lace stockings up her legs. Another where she’s sucking her finger in the reflection of the mirror to get the lipstick off her teeth. And some of the pictures aren’t sexy at all--they’re just beautiful. Cherry on their honeymoon in Maine, bundled up in a sweater with a scarf in her hair waving in the wind. Cherry behind the wheel of Rooster’s cherry-red car, grinning sweetly with her big sunglasses on. Cherry first-thing in the morning, hair messy and toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. It’s the way he’s always seen her, which is not the way most men of the world see her: as a person. As herself. As something to be loved and not just fucked.

Fin.                           

[lostinwildflowers]

Piano... Woman?

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Rooster can't help but fall in love with a woman who plays piano better than he can.

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: Fluff!!!

A/N: After much love on the first Rooster fic, I have continued!! This is a constant thought in my head when I think of Rooster, so please enjoy some rot with me :3 Also was in the mood for some Billy Joel, OOPS! -Birch<3

It was silent, for a moment. The bar which was usually rowdy and reckless was still. A lone woman sat at the piano, fingers dancing gently and gracefully across the keys, every person in the bar speechless at the sight before them.

You weren't Rooster, yet here you were, sitting at the piano.

The black and white keys were smooth and weighted to the touch, the old upright piano a piece of history in the naval bar. You lightly smiled down at the keys as you felt the weight of every set of eyes on the room looming over you, doing your best to focus on the feeling on the wooden bench underneath you.

Your eyes flicker shut as the piano solo to Piano Man comes alive under your fingers, the infamous tune floating delicately across the room of the bar.

While you didn't have the harmonica, your right hand did its best to play the part, practically dancing across the upper octaves of the old keyboard. After a while, your voice rings out softly, the lyrics of Billy Joel captivating every person in the bar.

A moment later, the front door to the bar opens, and while everyone's attention remains on you, the stranger who walked into your show unannounced finds himself in awe. There you are, sitting in his spot at the piano.

And he can't help but find it attractive as hell. He's annoyed, first and foremost, that's his spot, that's what he does at the bar. But you look so good, sitting there in his place.

Rooster can't help but squirm where he's standing, his eyes flicking around the bar to catch the awe-struck faces of everyone watching you. A flash of red-hot anger courses through him for a second, waves of jealousy pouring off of him at your ability to capture the crowd.

He shakes his head side to side once, then twice, to try to clear the thoughts of jealousy out of his mind. Instead, he takes to walking up to the side of the piano, a wave of butterflies washing over him as his hazel gaze locks onto your own (colored) one.

For a moment, he can't breathe as your eyes pin him in place, the sound of your voice and the roar of the piano the only thing keeping him standing. Your voice is rich, full of color tones that put Billy Joel to shame.

He stands next to the piano for a moment as you continue to sing, your eyes flashing from the keys back to his own with a smirk tugging on the corner of your mouth. Then he takes a step, and leans against the wooden frame, his eyes watching your every move.

Rooster could feel the atmosphere of the bar thicken as everyone watched him look at you, sitting in his spot. The air was full of tension, but no one dared to make a move.

"And he's talkin' with Davy, who's still in the navy, and probably will be for life," you belt out as the bar erupts with laughter, the naval aviators and crew storming to the bar, ordering more beers as you continue to sing and play, but Rooster doesn't move.

As a matter of fact, he can't take his eyes off of you, his nerves were so on fire and his mind completely rattled at the sight of you. He can't help but feel turned on as you take the impressive piano solo in stride, hitting every note and beat as well as the legend himself.

The rest of the song seems to go by too quick, for when you strike the last chord, Rooster suddenly is hit with nerves as you grin up at him.

"Gonna put some bread in my jar?" you quip, fiddling with the keys before your hands spring off of them, landing gently in your lap. Rooster's jaw clenches as he watches you for a moment, a devious sparkle in your eye.

"Well I don't see a bread jar sitting on my piano," he replies, his voice slightly strained as he glances over the top of the keyboard before returning to you. You scoff playfully under your breath, your eyes rolling in disbelief.

You stand up from the piano bench and ask, "Your piano? I don't see your name on it." At your full height, you're still shorter than Rooster, but you're relying on the confidence in your stance to stand up to the 6-foot-1 man.

It's quiet for another moment as Rooster calculates his response, and he smirks. His eyes meet yours and he says, "My name might not be on her, but I'm the only one who ever uses her."

You chuckle at that, the bar's noise returning to its usual rumble as you smile at the tall man. Rooster returns your grin, the tension in the room slowly dissolving away.

You offer him your hand and giggle, "Y/n L/n at your service, sorry I stole your girl from you." Rooster chuckles as he takes your hand in his own, bringing it up to place a small kiss on the backside of it.

A wave of butterflies rolls through your belly as his mustached upper lip brushes gently across the skin of your hand, and you feel warm as he slowly releases you from his grip.

"Nah, she probably enjoyed the change of pace," he replies, "But, you know, I don't appreciate you stealing my crowd like that, Y/n."

Your eyebrow raises as you move to lean against the side of the piano, and your gaze follows Rooster's hand, which slides up the frame of the instrument before he lands on the bench, his fingers on the keys where yours had been just moments ago.

"You never told me your name," you say blankly, blinking at him gently as he started to get comfortable. He cracks a wide grin as he mumbles, "Oh sweetheart, you're gonna learn it before long."

"Hey!" you hear from across the bar, "Rooster's at the piano now, c'mon!" Your head snapped to the voice, your eyes landing on a bunch of tan uniforms heading in your direction.

You look back at the mustached man and ask, "Rooster? Did your dad hate you or something?" He just throws back a loud laugh and half yells, "No, but he sure did love this!"

At the end of his words, he begins playing and singing Great Balls of Fire, and you're amazed at how he managed to draw the entire bar around the piano where he was sitting.

Everyone is singing and dancing around you, yet you remained calm and patient as you watched him play. You had to give him some credit, the man had the voice of an angel and the piano skills of a wizard.

As he began to solo, Rooster locks eyes with you, and you can't help but feel warm as his hazel gaze bore into you. You squirm just a little, your eyes flashing away from him to watch everyone else having fun.

Rooster laughs as he catches sight of the pink tinging your cheeks and the bashful smile on your face, continuing to play and sing until the song came to a close.

He's grinning up at you when he hits the last chord, and you throw your hands up in defeat with a smile, "Pretty impressive, Rooster." He simply shakes his head and shoots back, "Call me Bradley. And I've gotta say, you had the harder song to play."

You give him smile and a nod, "Alright, Bradley. If you wanted, we could continue this debate over a beer?" You half asked it, but Rooster's grin widens even more as he stands up from the piano, the crowd slinking away as someone plugs the jukebox back in.

"Only if you'll let me put bread in your imaginary jar," he flirts, and he swears he's fallen in love when you start giggling at him.

"You can buy the jar too," you giggle as you begin to back toward the bar, "You also probably need to tune that old thing up!"

That was it. Rooster was sure that by the end of the night, your phone number was going to be in his phone, and in a week's time, you'd be going on a date with him.

"Anything so that I can hear you sing again," he says suavely, following after you. You turn your back on him and call over your shoulder, "Better get to buying me that beer!", where "Yes ma'am!" is your response.

[djs8891]

I’m hating the slow burn too 🤨 but i do love nervous, fumbling Bradley

A Little Bit Stronger

Part 3

(previous part here, next part here)

Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x OFC/You

Summary: You get settled at Bradley’s and open up to Reese a little more.

Warnings: Just like everything else I write/post: this story is for 18+ only. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. It will contain smut, adult themes, situations and language. Please also note this story may be triggering due to the topic of domestic abuse (physical, emotional, sexual) violence-feel free to message me with any questions before reading.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“That’s…not a bad idea,” Reese says when you and Bradley tell her and Jake the plan.

“Not at all,” Jake agrees, “gives you peace of mind until you can get in your apartment.”

You nod in agreement. While staying with Bradley made you a little nervous, it also put you a lot at ease.

“Do you think you’ll come today?” She asks, hopeful.

“I think so,” you answer, “let’s see how this looks when I get some makeup on it.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Well what do you think?” You ask as you meet Reese in the hallway, “Does it look okay?”

“Yes, it’s really not noticeable,” she replies honestly, even lowering her sunglasses to make sure before scanning the rest of you. “Damn girl, look at you.”

You flush at her praise yet eat it up all the same. Though you’ve remained active and kept up with pilates, you’ve gained a few pounds since you’re no longer kept under a strict diet. You like that the modest black one-piece under your white button-down and jean cut-offs feels a little less modest with your fuller hips, butt, and breasts.

Will Bradley will like it too?

“Thank you,” you murmur, “I think I’m all set.”

“Sounds like the guys are too,” she responds as she hears them come back in from a round of fetch with Hank.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

You follow Bradley to his house next to drop off your belongings before meeting Reese and Jake at the party.

“After you,” he pushes the door open, “sorry it’s a bit messy, I’ll clean up tomorrow.”

“Messy? What mess?” You laugh as you step inside, the smell of clean laundry with a hint of his woodsy cologne greeting you. There’s a pair of running shoes by the door, and a hoodie tossed over the back of the couch but otherwise tidy. It feels comfortable and homey with the simple but tasteful decor. “You have a beautiful home-Hank, no!”

Hank bounds past you both to make himself at home, claiming a spot on the couch.

“Get down,” you say sternly, fighting a smile at the puppy-dog eyes he’s giving you.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Bradley grins as he approaches Hank who rolls on his back for belly rubs, “a little dog hair never hurt anyone, right?”

He shows you the rest of the main floor before leading you upstairs.

A picture hanging on the wall that catches your eye. “Your parents?”

“Hmm?” He follows your line of sight, “Oh, yeah, that’s them. Goose and Carole.”

“Goose? Is that why your callsign’s Rooster?” You ask.

“Uh…yeah,” his hesitation giving away there’s more to it.

“You look like your dad,” you murmur, glancing at him before looking at the photo again, “but I can see your mom too.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, “God, I miss them. This was their house.”

“They’re gone?”

He nods.

“I’m sorry,” you reply, “I know how hard it is. Both of mine died too.”

“I’m sorry too,” he gives you a sad smile as he opens one of the doors, “here you are. Closet, bed, and the bathroom is through that door. It connects to the other room which is my office slash gym; I’ll sometimes shower in there after a workout but I’ll go downstairs if you’re home.”

Heat rises to your face as the image of his wet naked body crosses your mind.

Where the fuck did that come from?

He doesn’t seem to notice as he continues talking, “…there’s some weights, a treadmill, gym mats on the floor. Feel free to use whatever you want.”

“Thanks,” you will the redness in your face to go away, “and it’s your home, Bradley. Please don’t change your routine because I’m here.”

“I just want you to feel comfortable,” he replies, not looking at you while he picks invisible lint from the bed.

“I do,” you say honestly. He lifts his eyes to yours. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t feel safe.”

“Okay,” he clears his throat, “good. Are you ready to go?”

You take a deep breath. “I am.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

The sunshine on your skin feels like heaven as you ride shotgun in Bradley’s vintage Bronco. You can’t help sneaking glances at the way his biceps flex in his cut-off tee when he grips the steering wheel. His thick thighs straining the fabric of his swim trunks catch your eye too.

You force yourself to stop looking and grin when you catch sight of Hank in the sideview mirror; ears flapping in the wind.

Bradley assured you he was welcome too.

A younger boy comes running around from the back of the house as you arrive.

“Little Kernsie! You grew again?!” Bradley asks, opening his arms.

“Roo!” He yells, grinning from ear to ear as he slams into him, squeezing him tightly. His eyes light up when he sees Hank. “You got a dog!?”

“I wish,” Bradley laughs as he opens the tailgate and helps Hank down, “he belongs to my friend here, Shae.”

“Hi,” you smile, “you must be Drew.”

He nods, his cheeks turning pink before he looks behind you. “Mom! Jake!”

“You guys left the same time we did. How did you get here after…,” Bradley trails off when he sees their flushed faces and Jake’s finger-mussed hair. “Gross.”

Jake smirks and Reese flips him off over Drew’s head as he hugs her.

“I see you’ve met my friend, Shae,” Reese smiles.

“And her dog,” he says, looking up at you, “What’s his name? Can I pet him?”

“Hank, and of course you can,” you reply.

His laughter fills the air from the kisses he receives.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Your heart begins to pound nervously as you follow them behind the house, but it’s all in vain; you’re greeted with open arms and kind smiles.

Introductions are made and you start to feel more at ease with the help of a few drinks and good company.

After lunch, you and Reese settle in the sand near the water.

“Can you get my back?” Jake asks Reese, holding the sunscreen.

“Sure,” she replies, “Drew, you’ll need some too.”

“But I put some on earlier,” he argues, sighing when Reese gives him a look, “fine.”

You shake your sunscreen before squeezing the bottle just as Bradley takes off his shirt to reveal more tan, sculpted muscles; you want nothing more than to follow the thin line of hair from his navel down with your tongue…

Nearly half the bottle of sunscreen is in your palm when you snap out of your daydream.

“Can you get mine too?” Bradley asks Reese, thankfully not noticing the excess in your hands after coating your legs.

“Yeah, let me get Drew first,” Reese replies, smacking Jake on the butt sharply when she’s done with his back and moving on to Drew.

“I can,” you blurt out but recover quickly, nodding to your coated hands, “if you want. I’ve got way too much here.”

“Sure,” he replies smoothly but a flush works its way up as he turns to sit in front of you.

He jolts when you touch him.

“Sorry,” you murmur, watching as goosebumps erupt.

“It’s okay,” he smiles, “just cold.”

Long-dormant arousal flickers to life between your thighs at the feel of all that muscle under the sun-warmed skin beneath your hands. So strong yet he’s been so gentle with you.

Wonder if he’s gentle in bed…

“Can Hank play too?” Drew’s question makes you jump.

“Sure, but he might take off with the ball if he gets it,” you reply.

“That’s okay, thanks,” he smiles. “Let’s go!” He says, taking off with Jake and Hank.

“All set,” you tell Bradley, wiping your hands on the towel before starting to unbutton your cover-up.

“Thanks,” he replies as he stands. He looks down at you and does a double-take at what you’re doing.

“C’mon Roo, we’re waiting!” Drew hollers.

“Right, yeah, thanks again,” he stammers before running over.

Reese bursts out laughing when he’s out of earshot.

“What?” You smile, her laughter contagious.

“I’ve known Roo a long time,” she answers, “he’s a ladies’ man; always so smooth and confident. I’ve never seen him like that…all awkward and lost for words.”

You wait for her to explain; not at all picking up what she’s putting down.

“He likes you,” she continues when she turns and sees your furrowed brow.

You feel like you’re in middle school again the way the butterflies take flight in your belly.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you-“ she starts to backtrack at your silence.

“No,” you give her a small smile, “it’s okay, Reese. It feels…good, actually. Really good,” you sigh as you look at the waves crashing, “I’m not ready for a relationship, obviously, since I’m still technically married, but it’s nice to feel attractive and wanted again. To be more than just a body to impregnate.”

She doesn’t say anything, just puts her hand over yours.

“Chad decided we should start trying for a baby after my parents passed away. My mom had Alzheimer’s. While her death wasn’t unexpected, it was hard,” you say, voice growing thick, “but my dad dying 2 months later from takotsubo cardiomyopathy was devastating.”

“Broken heart syndrome,” Reese murmurs and you nod.

“My parents were crazy about each other,” you smile, “they had that kind of love everyone hopes for. My dad hadn’t been gone a week before Chad brought up getting pregnant. I told him I wasn’t ready and that was the first time he hit me.”

“Why on earth would he bring it up right after losing both your parents?”

“He was getting pressure from his dad,” you sigh. “Not long after, he made me stop working, he thought the stress from my job was keeping me from getting pregnant. I wasn’t getting pregnant because I never stopped my birth control; I hid it.”

“Good,” she says.

“Over the next 2 years, he isolated me from everything while he was out drinking, snorting lines, and sleeping with random women. Then would come home and sleep with me, half the time he was too high or drunk to get it up-but that was my fault too,” you snort mirthlessly.

“When he found the hidden birth control a few months ago he…” you close your eyes at the memory, the way he left you bleeding and broken on the floor, “it wasn’t good. That’s when I made the plan to leave.”

“I’m glad you did,” she murmurs.

“Me too,” you reply, “I just want him to leave me alone so I can start living again.”

“You deserve it,” she replies, “I am sorry though, I shouldn’t have said that about Bradley. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around him.”

“I don’t,” you shake your head. “Well not uncomfortable, but I do get a little nervous around him.”

Her eyes whip to yours. “What? Why?”

“He’s like ridiculously hot,” you laugh, “have you seen him?”

“He is,” she agrees. “He won’t pursue you though, not after everything you’ve been through.”

You nod, feeling the oddest mixture of relief and disappointment.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

The rest of the afternoon passes quickly. By the time the fireworks are wrapping up, your blinks are getting slower from a full day of sunshine and fresh air.

“Tired?” Bradley chuckles when he notices.

“A little,” you admit over the loud popping of the finale in the sky.

“I’m ready to go if you are,” he leans in so you can hear him. His warm breath sends a shiver up your spine.

“Sure,” you close your eyes, wishing you could lean into his warmth.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

A/N: Ughhhh I just want them to kissssssssssssss. I’m starting to hate the slow burn lol.

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[gennyanydots]

But this is love I just can’t live without Masterlist

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x f!Kazansky!Reader

Biker!au

Summary: You swore you were never coming home again. Not after what happened. What he did to you when you were kids. But you know you’d regret missing your own mother’s funeral if you didn’t show up. You just hope he doesn’t come even though it’s almost guaranteed he will. Has to support his grieving president and all.

Connected to but not necessary to read:

Take me with you Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x f!reader

Top Gun MC members:

Iceman - President

Maverick - Vice President

Slider - Sergeant at Arms

Hollywood - Secretary

Wolfman - Treasurer

Original members - Merlin, Sundown, Chipper, Cougar, Hondo, Cyclone

Newer members - Rooster, Hangman, Bob, Coyote, Fanboy, Payback, Fritz, Yale, Harvard, Omaha

Chapter 1 “Oh how can it be” Baby Ice

Chapter 2 “Bit off more than you could chew” Bradley

Chapter 3 “Nowhere to go” Baby Ice

Chapter 4 “A man so filled with doubt” Bradley

Chapter 5 “Counting on beauty to kill off the beast” Baby Ice

Chapter 6 “A curse I can’t disown” Bradley

Chapter 7 “Howl at the moon” Baby Ice

Chapter 8 "The softer the skin" Bradley

Chapter 9 "The sharper the teeth" Baby Ice

Chapter 10 “It’s tearing me apart” Baby Ice

Chapter 11 "It's worse when I'm alone" Baby Ice

Chapter 12 "Despite the toll of the dead" Baby Ice

Chapter 13 " " Bradley

Title and chapter names from:

[warnersister]

Personal Space

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x reader

Summary: you love your personal space. Unfortunately, Bradley also loves your personal space.

Pt. 2

You never understood why Bradley stuck around. Since the academy you’d preferred to stick to yourself; get your head down and get the job done. Especially with a surname like Mitchell. You didn’t want your father and grandfather’s reputation to negatively proceed you, and by the time people had put two and two together as to whom loins you came from: you’d made your own reputation so Maverick never made much of a difference to it.

But still, having dinner in the mess you’d sat down, when someone came and thudded down next to you and began eating themselves. “I’m Bradley” he said when you finally looked up at him. You raised a brow “Bradshaw?” You ask and he nods: you recognise him from the photos your dad pinned up in your two’s hanger. You hum “and you are?” He asks “not important.” You reply, deciding you’d lost your appetite and stood to clear your plate “good talk!” Bradley said, but you were already walking away.

He’d next encountered you when you were running around the academy, early morning; before any naval training would take place. He hummed and decided it was perfectly acceptable to interrupt your jaunt with his presence. “Hey! Up so early?” He asks as he tries to match your pace from a standstill “could ask you the same.” You reply bluntly “well I wanted to get a run in before-” “well there’s your answer.” You reply, cutting him off. “You run really quick.” He says as you try to keep your pace increasing to shake him off “goodbye, Bradshaw.” You say, pulling your sunglasses over your eyes and taking off at a pace he couldn’t sustain. He just stops and shakes his head smiling, you were funny.

Eventually, you’d both gotten up in the air and were quick to earn your callsigns “Rooster” and “Hen”. Bradley earned his because he was up before the chickens, you’d earned yours because the chicken kept fucking following you around like you were his mother. You were sat on the aircraft carrier, your trainee group learning how to land on a ship deck and you’d finally gotten a moment of peace that evening. You sat on the edge of the deck, feet dangling over the edge as you watched the sunset, not moving when you hear someone slip into the space between the barriers beside you.

“Oh look my chick is back.” You mumble sarcastically and Bradley laughs loudly at you. “You love me really” he says, looking at you as if he wanted to you agree with him “you seem to keep telling yourself that, don’t you?” You hum, turning to watch the sea lap against the grey metal. You can feel him fidgeting beside you, as if antsy to say something. “What?” You ask, finally turning to look at him. “What?” He repeats, looking at you with raised brows “you want to ask me something. You’re fidgeting.” You point out “so ask me or fuck off” you say, turning away again. “Your last name is Mitchell” he says and you roll your eyes “you can read and hear. Two things I’ve learnt today.” You huff, again, with sarcasm. “Are you related to Pete Mitchell?” He asks, looking at you and nearly holding his breath “you finally put two and two together?” You ask and he lets out the breath.

“Yeah, he’s my dad.” You say after a while “I was a whoopsie baby my mother didn’t want anything to do with” you tell him. “He used to fly with my dad.” Bradley almost whispers, voice just a few octaves above. “I know” you nod “he’s practically wallpapered all over our hanger.” You say “so are you” you eye him. “He pulled my papers” he says, again after a few moments of silence “I know” you say “do you know why?” He asks “yes.” You reply, and he could tell you weren’t going to elaborate. “Y’know I’m not a fan of your dad, but I really like you.” He says and you just look at him with a blank face. “Yup” you hum to yourself and he raises a brow “just as Mother Goose was described” you say, and Bradley’s face immediately lights up with a huge grin, stretching and arm around you and pulling you into his side.

“Get off me.” “Yup, yep, sorry.”

For your first deployment, the academy set it up that you’d at least be with one person from your training squadron, and today the list of names were coming out; they were scribbled on the back of a napkin and pinned to a notice board.

“1. Haywood & Solomons, 2. Hughes & Shelley & Omaha, 3. Cooper & Parker & Cromwell & Smith, 4. Bradshaw,” you crossed your fingers as someone read out the names, then yours was read alongside Bradley’s “oh for god’s sake” you grumble, turning to see Bradley practically jumping for joy. “This is great! Me and you, Hen!” Rooster cheers and you just stare at him “should’ve called you leech cause you’re acting like one. Calm down.” You instruct and he tries to chill out, but the cheeky smile on his face was indiminishagble.

He only became more unbearable then, with you every working hour, your wingman on the missions you’d fly, inseparable despite your complaints. “Where’s your boyfriend?” Hawk asked you, as he came to sit with you for lunch. You shush him loudly. “Woah woah I only asked where he was.” “Speak his name and he shows up. I’m trying to hide.” you say in a hushed voice “plus he isn’t my boyfriend” “sure” he scoffs but the daggers being shot into his head silenced him easily.

“Hey Hen! Hawk” Bradley greets as he sits down. You grunt and point an accusatory finger at Hawk “this is your fault, jackass” you say and he laughs at you, him and Bradley engage in conversation as you just eat, having learnt the skill of drowning him out. “What about you, Hen?” Hawk asked, drawing your attention away from your plate and up to the two men alongside you, you raise an eyebrow - letting them know you were insinuating that you weren’t listening to their conversation.

“Do you want a family?” He ask and you just nod “really?” Hawk asks “that’s cute, didn’t take you for a family gal” he jokes and you harshly kick his leg under the table “kids and everything?” He asks after the pain subsides. “Yup.” You say and Bradley hums “I didn’t know that” he says and you just look at him “you never asked.” You reply simply, and that was true: he hadn’t. He was quite prepared to spend the rest of existence chasing after you, whether that meant giving you your first kiss on your deathbeds.

The two of you even went to Top Gun together, training to be the finest naval aviators of them all. And boy, you two fought to be the best; tongue and teeth, blood sweat and tears, everything. The decision came down to one final dogfight. “May the best aviator win” Rooster jokes, sticking out a hand to you. You eye it and internally question if you were insane, before leaning up to peck his cheek. “Prepare to loose, chicken.” You say, leaving him frozen in his place while you head to your plane. That day, Bradley was seriously off his A-game, and you came out on top.

A Mitchell finally Top Gun.

“Congratulations!” Bradley says excitedly on graduation day when you victoriously lifted the trophy above your head. You turned to him and he leant down slightly - you weren’t stupid, you knew what he was intending to do. “Thank you, Brad.” You say, turning to walk over to where your father was stood - knowing that was probably the only time Bradley wouldn’t follow you. That was the first time you’d ever called him anything short of Bradley Bradshaw.

“I’m so proud of you honey” your dad says, hugging you tightly and you embrace him back, smiling widely “thank you, dad” you respond and he looks behind you where Bradley was stood a while back, watching the ordeal. “Is that-” “yes” you tell him and your dad just looks at you “I wouldn’t get all teary he follows me like a lost puppy” you grumble but he just grins “he’s a good kid, hon.” He says and you shake your head “he’s definitely something”

“So how does their relationship work?” Bob asks Hangman, watching Bradley talk your ear off and you just staring ahead into space, blankly. “You see Bobby my boy,” Jake begins “Hen loves her personal space” Bob nods “Rooster also loves Hen’s personal space.” Bob nods again, now understanding. “Haven’t they done everything together though?” He asks “I think it’s more the fact that Hen does something and Rooster just kinda goes with it” Phoenix said and Bob hums, as Bradley continues to converse one-sidedly with you.

“He means well” you hear from beside you as you stare out from the hanger, turning to see your honorary uncle Tom walking towards you, you run towards him as he embraces you tightly “hey Ice” you smile, sweetly. “Hey sweetheart” he croaks. “I mean what I said.” He states and you raise a brow “he means well” he nods towards the man doing his required push ups on the ground with Hondo. “I know, Ice.” You tell him. “No, I don’t think you do” he hums and you raise your eyebrows at him. “The kids in love with you. You’ve either got to let him in or tell him to get out.” He says, “you’re living together for goodness sake”. “It was cheaper” you argue “we both know the accommodation is subsidised.” He states, matter-of-factly, patting your shoulder as he turns to go talk to your dad when he walks into the room.

It was true, you and Bradley were sharing accommodation. “Hey Hen, they’ve offered us shared accommodation back in Miramar” Bradley says, coming over with a pamphlet. “Why?” You ask, taking it out of his hands. ‘Married couple accommodation’ it states and you raise your brows “you getting ahead of yourself, Bradshaw?” You ask and he shakes his head “the guy assumed our callsigns were cause we’re a couple” he tells you and you just hum. “Well I’d rather stay there than in an apartment.” You say simply, giving him back the leaflet and refocusing on the plane you were working on repairing. “Seriously?” He asks, voice overly hopeful. You look at him and shrug “just go get the damn house, Bradshaw. Before I change my mind!” You say and he grins, turning and breaking out into almost a jog to head to confirm your living situation.

You take a moment of hesitation, before loudly groaning and heading out onto the tarmac, getting down and doing push ups alongside Rooster. He turns his head and looks at you and you just raise your brows at him. “Hey honey” he grins “hello Bradley” he nudges your hip with his own. “I’ll drive us home.” You tell him, and he raises his eyebrows “Home?” He asks and you huff “okay, Bradley I will drive the two of us back to our shared accommodation that we accidentally got given.” You say and he laughs loudly “home sounded better.”

Then after the mission, the whole Dagger squad got permanently stationed in San Diego, other than deployment, so they urged the new additions to the base to buy their own properties closer to base rather than on it. You and Bradley were sat in the Hard Deck, a long time before it was open, the rest of the Daggers spending time on the beach while the two of you were scouring Bradley’s laptop for a property. Well, Bradley was.

How about this one? He turns his screen to you. You shake your head “I want grass in the garden. I want to plant flowers” you say as you point at the paved back of the house, explaining that it’s a waste of money to have it ripped out. Bradley nods “Mkay, garden” he says, moving back to look again.

“How about this one? Beach front, close to the running track for you. Only a walk from the Hard Deck. White picket fence, really” he hums, turning the laptop again “garden?” You ask and he nods “garden.” He nods with a grin. “Shall we go look?” You ask and he raises a brow at you. “You said it’s a walk from the hard deck. Let’s go.” You say, putting the address into your phone and immediately recognising the street name, Bradley quickly falling into step with you as you walk towards the property.

You look at it and place your hands on your hips. Bradley was right. Pretty damn perfect. “Can I help you?” A lady asks, walking outside of the house, clipboard in hand. “Oh no, we’d just seen this property online and wanted to take a look.” Bradley tells her. “Well I’ve had a no-show on a viewing. How’d you like to take a look?” She suggests, motioning to the open door. “Okay” you nod, following her into the house.

“Obviously the kitchen, living room, even a deck out back with a huge garden and high fences” she says nodding out the window and you hum. “Out the side there’s an entrance straight to the beach” she motions, then starts heading up the stairs “three bedrooms, attic space, bathroom” she says “I’m guessing it’s just you two at the moment?” She asks “oh we’re not-” Bradley begins “yes, just us.” You confirm, shutting him up. “Okay, so there’s a large room for your bed and then if any new additions are to join, you have the space for them” she smiles and leads you back out front.

“It’s not cheap, it’s California. So I understand if you’re not prepared to pay that much money, do you mind me asking what you do?” She asks “we’re naval aviators.” Bradley says “stationed here?” She asks and you both nod “ah! I get why you’re looking for a property here!” She says and Bradley looks at you. “I really like it, Roo.” You say, and Bradley has to stop his jaw hitting the floor at your nickname. “It’s your call, honey” he says and you look at the lady and smile as she offers her hand “we’ll take it.”

“How shall we split the payment?” You ask Bradley as you walk back to the Hard Deck after organising a meeting with the realtor to actually finalise all the kinks and bumps. “I don’t mind doing the down payment then we’ll take it in turn paying the loan” he suggests “we can get a joint bank account and do it that way” you say and he agrees as you settle back into your seats at the Hard Deck. “Where’ve you two been?” Hangman asks “we bought a house.”

One evening, after you were all moved in and were hanging out at the Hard Deck after a long day or routine flying, you were sat outside with Rooster; watching the sunset. “When are we getting married then?” You ask and he spits out his beer “what?” He asks, eyes wide and getting progressively more giddy. “Well we live together, we have a joint bank account, and Jake keeps telling me we’re practically married. So when are we getting married?” You ask as he hugs you tightly “whenever you want, baby” he says, kissing the top of your head and pulling a ring out of his pocket to get on his knee. “Will you marry me?” He asks and you raise a brow “didn’t I just say that?” You ask bluntly “just say yes, please” he begs and you nod “yes. Yes I will marry you, Bradley Bradshaw.” You confirm as he kisses your lips gently.

“Okay get off of me now.”

Pt. 2

[bradshawsweetheart]

I kind of want to do a Top Gun Maverick AU (specifically a Bradley pairing fic) based on The Quarry (2022)

@roosterbruiser you’ve awakened the summer camp AUs in my brain pls send help

[roosterforme]

Vintage | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You love teasing your husband about his deep and unwavering devotion to his Bronco, but he's insistent that it would come in second place to you every time, and he intends to prove it. While you're away on deployment, he concocts a plan to get you behind the wheel of your very own vintage beauty.

Warnings: Swears, fluff, mentions of smut

Length: 2700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

"Sometimes I swear you love that thing more than you love me."

Your voice startled Bradley as he ran the wet, soapy sponge along the hood of his vintage Ford Bronco, pulling him from his thoughts. That was something you frequently said to him, jokingly claiming that you were the second love of his life. But you both knew it wasn't true. Especially not tonight.

"Hey, Baby," he whispered, coaxing you closer to him as he tossed the sponge back into the bucket. "Come here."

The setting sun painted your face with orange and gold, and he noticed the sadness in your eyes. He quickly wiped his hands on his jeans and then held them out to you, and you were in his arms in an instant. "Bradley," you mumbled against his chest as he squeezed you, getting your shirt a little damp in the process. But you didn't seem to mind. "I'm going to miss you."

Detailing and cleaning what used to be his dad's 1973 Bronco had become a way for him to relieve stress. He would get out the soap and turn on the hose when he needed a few minutes to himself. It was easier to be alone in his head, processing his thoughts and worries when he was washing the light blue masterpiece he'd spent so many years and a lot of money preserving. He always found himself in a better headspace to deal with whatever was troubling him when he spent some time with the Bronco. And today was no exception. 

"I'm going to miss you, too."

Sometimes it felt like the nearly five years you and he had been married were just spent alternating deployments. First he would be gone on an aircraft carrier for months on end, and then it would be your turn. You'd be sent abroad with the Navy before returning to him, and then the cycle would begin anew. Everything felt harder when you weren't around, and maybe that's why Bradley was out on the driveway right now instead of helping you pack for your early call time tomorrow morning. 

With your cheek pressed to his sternum, you cried softly. "It's only two months this time. And I'll have access to my phone. And I'll even be home in time for our anniversary. I don't know why I'm feeling so emotional about this."

He pressed his lips to your hair and whispered, "It's not like it gets any easier. You know that. I know that. It's going to feel like two months of hell on my end."

You sniffed hard then looked up at him with a little smirk. "At least you'll have the Bronco to keep you warm."

Bradley groaned and started to walk you backwards toward the house. "I mean, she's pretty and all, and I've definitely spent a night or two curled up around her gear shift, but I never gave her a diamond ring."

Your lips and your soft laughter against his neck sent a jolt of physical pleasure through his body, but he didn't want to rush this. He needed this to last, to hold him over for two months without your touch. Both of you tripped along to the bedroom where he smiled and whispered, "Let me show you that you're my number one girl. Let me prove you always will be."

Bradley was meticulous. He knew every inch of his Bronco, inside and out, but he knew you better. The sounds you made were prettier. The way you clung to him as he brought you pleasure was unparalleled. Your fingers laced with his as he connected his body with yours in the most intimate way, and it left him breathless.

"I love you."

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

Two days. He'd only been alone for two days, and he was already halfway through binge watching a season of a show that wasn't even that interesting. When he got home from work, he eyed up the couch and TV before ultimately changing into some sweats and heading back out to the driveway. He looked over the Bronco from hood to taillights, making a mental list of what she needed: new wiper blades, two new tires, and an oil change.

When he took his phone out to order the parts from his favorite website, he must have typed something wrong. It rerouted him to a vintage Ford resale page that left him staring at a sage green 1975 Bronco in rough condition. Man, she was still pretty though, with her original chrome and hubcaps. She was just an hour away, and the price wasn't too bad...

He glanced up at the blue gem in front of him. An idea started to take shape. He wondered how you would feel about it. With a smile, he ordered the wiper blades and oil filter that he needed and went inside to make dinner. But he couldn't stop picturing that chipped, green paint, and the vinyl that needed to be patched. 

If he knew he could get you hooked on a Bronco of your very own, he'd make this purchase. Two months to go. Shit, he might have just enough time to pull this off. He could practically picture you cranking the engine to life and waving goodbye as you pulled out of the driveway and took your Bronco for a spin. He wouldn't be able to say it with a straight face, but he'd say it anyway. "You love that thing more than you love me, Baby."

When he was stretched out on your side of the bed later that night, enveloped in your sweet scent that clung to the pillows, he closed his eyes and thought long and hard about what he wanted to do. It would be fun to prove to you once and for all where his loyalties lie. Or maybe it could just be a project that would keep him busy, and if you didn't like the idea, he could resell it after you got home. Either way, he drifted to sleep as he thought about you behind the wheel, and he knew it was too perfect to pass up.

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

"Hey, Baby," Bradley said with a smirk as he answered his phone.

"Bradley! I miss you like crazy!"

"I miss you, too," he promised as he looked at the rather beat up, green Bronco before him. He got it for a great price when he offered to pay cash, and the tow truck just dropped it off a few days ago. Half of the engine was taken apart on a tarp at his feet, and it was currently jacked up so he could replace the oil pan. But he thought it was gorgeous. "I have a little surprise for you when you get home."

"A surprise?! Tell me. You know I can't wait that long."

"Nah," he said, kneeling down to check the wiring for the headlights. "I think I'll make you wait this one out."

"Rooster!"

"What?" he laughed, wedging the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he slipped his work gloves on and pulled at the loose wire. "You know, this is what you get for always giving me a hard time about my dad's Bronco. I love you so much, Baby, I'll make you wait for the surprise. It'll be sweeter that way."

"You're the worst," you groaned playfully. "Now I'll be thinking about what it could possibly be the whole time I'm gone. I'll be wondering what you have up your sleeve."

"As long as you're thinking about me, I'm happy," he rasped, and your pretty sigh in response left him a little breathless.

"I'm always thinking about you. Promise me as soon as I get back, we'll go for a long drive? Up along the coast? Late at night?"

He loved that idea. It would just look a little different than you were probably imagining if he could get this thing up and running again in time for your return. "We'll make a night of it," he promised. "I'll pack some blankets, and we can sit in the back and look out at the ocean. Can't guarantee I'll be able to keep my hands to myself though."

"Mmm. That's what I'm counting on."

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

After about two weeks of watching a lot of YouTube videos posted by professionals, Bradley finally had the engine rebuilt. He was just waiting for some parts to arrive before he could put it back in place. "You're a needy one, aren't you?" he asked the green Bronco. "Nothing like her. She's a saint." He nodded his head toward the blue one before kneeling to replace the taillights. 

He was quickly realizing that the money he saved on the cost of the actual vehicle was being eaten up in the expensive, vintage parts. He was lucky he knew how to do most of this himself, even if it took twice as long. Today he was replacing the brakes and listening to a Motown playlist, and he fully realized that he felt calmest when he was with you or a Bronco. He snorted at how ridiculous that fact was as he scooted under the vehicle, but it was true. And having you tucked away in the back with the tailgate dropped, all wrapped up in a blanket while you turned him on just by existing.... well, that's when he would be happiest of all.

As the weeks wore on and the project progressed, the day finally arrived when it was time to try to start her up and take her for a little drive. Everything smelled like new rubber from the tires he'd just put on. The vinyl seats were still in bad shape, but when he slipped the key into the ignition and turned it, the engine purred to life.

Bradley's head tipped back as he groaned softly. "So fucking pretty. My god." He tapped the accelerator gently with his foot, enjoying the rev of the engine. He smoothed his hands along the steering wheel and the dashboard before he adjusted the rear view mirror to accommodate his height. Then he flicked the chrome switch and turned on the radio which he was surprised still worked.

My Girl by the Temptations poured from the speakers as the station crackled to life, and that felt like a very good sign. "Let's get out of here, Sweetheart," he whispered before shifting into reverse and leaving the driveway and his toolbox behind.

She was smooth and steady and everything he was hoping for. Would it ever fully compete with Goose's Bronco? Probably not. Was it worth the investment anyway? He'd find out next week when you got home. There were just a few things left to do before he dropped it off to be repainted and have the interior patched, and then she'd be good as new.

Bradley's phone rang in his pocket, and he smiled when he saw it was you. "Hey, Baby."

"Bradley! I miss you so much. I swear, if this thing was longer than two months, I wouldn't make it. What are you up to?"

"Oh, I'm just out for a little drive."

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

After eight weeks of nothing more than a few scant phone calls, Bradley was more than ready to have you home again. Maybe you and he could take a few days off from work. He'd help you catch up on some sleep after initially keeping you up all night. He already had some blankets ready to go as soon as you said you wanted to drive up to Carlsbad and watch the surfers at sunset before making love in the back of your Bronco.

Your Bronco. His wife's Bronco. It would take some getting used to, but it already made him smile every time he thought about it. With his hands on that familiar steering wheel, he drove toward the Naval base where both of you spent so much of your time. He waited, leaning against the light blue hood until you came running toward him in your uniform with your bags.

"Bradley!" you shrieked as you landed in his arms where you belonged. 

"I missed you," he promised, finally kissing your lips again after so many weeks. He felt your bag hit his foot, and he smiled as he tilted your face up for better access to your mouth.

"I missed you, too," you moaned softly, and he was already making the move to get you back home and remind you what you meant to him. But you dug your feet in outside the passenger door. 

"Where's my surprise?" you asked as you tucked your fingers into the top of his jeans and grinned up at him. "I've been thinking about it nonstop. Is it you?"

"No," he replied with a chuckle as his gaze drifted toward the Bronco. "You'll see soon enough."

You glanced at where he was looking, and you rolled your eyes before kissing his chin. "Did she keep you company while I was gone? She looks pristine, like you spend some time working on her."

Bradley kissed your forehead. "Just get in, Baby," he rasped. "The sooner we get home, the sooner your little surprise will make sense."

He knew the routine by heart now. The short ride home would start out with you holding his right hand and playing with his fingers while he drove. Then your hand would migrate to his thigh when the Bronco was about five blocks away. Then as soon as the tires touched the driveway, you'd unbuckle your seatbelt and make your way over to his lap.

The routine was important to him. He loved it. He loved taking you inside and directly to bed before coming back out much later to get the bags. He thrived on the return to normal life that was triggered by the routine. But today, he knew you weren't going to end up on his lap, and that was more than okay.

When your hand settled on his thigh exactly five blocks away from home, Bradley smiled. Your fingers crept up inch by inch as you leaned closer and whispered in his ear that you had their fifth wedding anniversary all planned out for the following weekend. You were playing with the zipper of his jeans by the time he could see the house, and he just waited for it. He was not disappointed.

"What the fuck is that?" you gasped, both hands going to the dashboard in front of you as you leaned to check out the freshly painted green Bronco as he coasted into the driveway. "Bradley?" you asked, glancing at him with wide eyes as he shifted into park.

He smiled and leaned over to kiss your softly parted lips. "This is your surprise. You're always joking about how much I love my Bronco, but I'll never love anything more than I love you."

You pressed your lips to his once before pulling away, shaking your head slightly. "So you got me one of my own?" you asked, jerking your thumb toward the green one.

He nodded and pulled his key from the ignition before pressing it into your palm. "Yep. She's all yours."

"Wait," you whispered, your brow creasing in confusion as you looked down at your hand. "This is your key."

"No, it's your key. The key to the green one is in the house. That's my key."

You gaped at him as your eyebrows shot upwards. "You're giving me your Bronco?"

"Yep."

"But," you whispered, turning to look out the window, "I can drive the other one."

"No, I bought the green one with myself in mind," he replied, taking your chin gently in his hand so you were looking at him again. "This one's better. She's sweet. Like you. She's yours."

"Oh my god, Bradley."

He was wrong; you did end up in his lap. Right where you belonged. His hands settled at your hips as you kissed every inch of his face while he laughed.

"I want to take her for a spin," you whispered, nudging him out of the driver's seat with your knee. "Go."

He smiled as he walked around to the passenger side of the blue Bronco, and he barely had the door closed before you started the engine and shifted into gear. "Pretty soon you'll love this thing more than you love me, Baby."

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

He gave you his Bronco. The green one was for him. That's how you know he loves you. I hope they do some nasty shit in the green one to break it in. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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