#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!

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[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]

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

moodboards

the wedding date 🤍🫶🏻 by @bradshawswife

nyn’s 100 celebration (look at my new header! thank you, darling heart) by @elusive-honeydew

4AM @thedroneranger just obsessed !!

Too Much is Just Right @thedroneranger 🥂

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

[sometimesanalice]

For the Plot

Summary: Things aren't looking too good for you, sitting alone at the Hard Deck waiting for a man who might not show. Until Bradley Bradshaw sits down across from you and turns your entire night upside down.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Length: 7.7k

Warnings: fluff, so much flirting, and an italicized oh

Going on a first date on Valentine’s Day is unarguably the worst possible idea that anyone has ever had.And while the sure to be terrible, no good, horribly bad idea hadn’t been yours, you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking when you’d even agreed to it in the first place.

The guy you were planning to meet tonight was cute enough, even if you were still undecided about the mustache. And while the chats between the two of you had been pretty good as far as it goes getting to know a literal stranger, you were hopeful that it could be even better in person. The fact he was in the Navy was still a bit of a consideration for you, but not a deal breaker.

In retrospect, the name of the bar should have been your first clue and the location paired with the causal beachy exterior covered in planes should have been the second.

You had been expecting to see more than one girl all done up in pinks and reds tonight, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. And you swear to god, somewhere you hear a record scratch as you step into the Hard Deck, because you are surrounded by nothing but a sea of olive green and khaki and denim.

And you have never been so clearly out of place in your entire life.

There was nothing about your ensemble that was even remotely fitting for the literal Navy bar you’d found yourself in.

The ice pink mini slip dress you’d dug out of your closet was admittedly a little much for a first date, but since it was Valentine’s Day you figured why not lean into it a bit. And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Or so you’d thought at the time, because now it was a decidedly you problem.

The silhouette was simple enough, with the gentle drape of the cowl neck and the barely-there spaghetti straps, but the shiny sheen of the fabric made a statement of its own. It wasn’t something you got to wear very often for as much as you loved it.

But then you’d gone ahead and paired it with the tallest, most ostentation heels you had. The effort had been worth it though because the pearl encrusted block heels made your legs look like they went on for days. Even if it had been a feat trying to get the dainty buckle done with the way you’d been rushing out of the house with your beaded bag in tow.

The whole look was something you’d sure would come with Cher Horowitz’s seal of approval. However, the patrons of the Hard Deck you were less sure about. And even though there were civilians- like yourself- scattered about the bar, none were anywhere near as dressed up as you.

There are more than a few pairs of eyes on you as you stand there with your feet glued to the uneven wooden floors, as the door with its porthole-shaped window slowly closes behind you with a squeaky creak. The twinkle lights above your head felt more like a spotlight, illuminating how out of place you are in this moment.

Your hand is still clutched on the handle unsure whether you’re going to make a run for it or not. You are more than a little tempted to hightail it back to the parking lot and text your date to claim a bout of food poisoning from the safety of the driver’s seat in your car.

But chances are if your date is here then he has already seen you. A bright beacon of pink amongst varying shades of brown and woodgrain.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, trying not to panic. Officially a victim of your own bad decision making.

You take a quick scan of the room, trying to decide what your next move should be. There’s a woman behind the bar with kind but clearly inquisitive eyes. A blonde with a wolfish smile eyes you from where he stands next to a man with broad shoulders bent over what must be the pool table, hidden behind the paneled half wall. By a dart board, there are a couple men with their heads turned towards you, the game seemingly forgotten as they discuss the spectacle that is you.

There are hundreds of planes dangling over the bar, patches and plaques littering the walls and rafters, rounders suspended from the ceiling laden with too many ceramic mugs to count. It was all done with a heavy-handed, maximalistic approach that you’d take a moment to appreciate under any other given circumstances.

When you spot an open table tucked away in the corner of the room it feels like life raft to the iceberg of a situation you’ve put yourself in. Mindful of the scuffed, uneven floors- because the last thing you need is to eat shit or twist an ankle in front of room full of curious onlookers- you hustle over to the spot in hopes of having a moment to regroup.  

Once you’re situated- shrugging off the ivory cardigan you’d topped your outfit, trying to keep the nervous sweat that wanted to break out over your body at bay- you pull out your phone and check the time only to realize you’re devastatingly on time. Five minutes early, to be specific.

So you wait.

And check your phone again and the notifications in the dating app, just in case you missed something.

And wait.

You try to play it cool, skimming posts on Instagram and replying to some overdue texts. Finding anything you can to keep yourself occupied to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach the longer you sit there. Alone.

Now you’re not just simply embarrassed, you’re mortified.

You can still feel the eyes, the energy steadily shifting from curiosity to sympathy over the last thirty minutes you’ve been waiting all alone in the corner of a Navy bar you had no business being in for a man who clearly wasn’t going to show.

So much for doing it for the plot, you think to yourself with a shake of your head.

Another minute ticks by with no message and you decide you’re more than ready to hightail it out of there. Fully aware that you’re about to become a topic of conversation that won’t have to be restricted to only covert glances and muffled whispers. But hopefully, they’ll at least wait until the door closes behind you before the chatter starts up for real.

With a sigh, you reach for your beaded bag, just as a large body slips into the chair across from you, with an ease that is in contrast to the bulk of muscles you catch in your peripheral vision.

“You look like you’re in need of a date,” a warm, raspy voice offers.

It’s the smile that you catch first. Not quite a grin, but something familiar and friendly and charming in the way it crookedly pulled to the left. Followed closely by the rich chocolate brown eyes that were squarely trained on you with a look that was just as earnest as it was playful. But what surprised you the most was the way he was sitting in the stool across from you just as comfortably as if he was supposed to be there all along.

There was no way you could have prepared yourself for the sheer level of attractiveness of this man.

He was in a league of his own with those curls and wide shoulders. The white and olive green stripped crochet shirt he was wearing didn’t hurt either, especially the way the top buttons were undone giving you glimpse of a chain around his neck and the chest underneath it. He didn’t need to be in uniform- or even in a Navy bar- for you to tell he was a military man. Not with the confident way he held himself.

Even if the mustache he was sporting made it feel like the universe was playing tricks on you, but he more than wore it well.

You huff out a self-deprecating laugh. “What gave it away?” you ask. “The way I’ve been watching the door? Or just the general look of regret and embarrassment?”

“Embarrassed? What do you have to be embarrassed about?” His eyebrows pull together, perplexed. He shakes his head like he disagrees with even the suggestion of it. “I think the only person who should be embarrassed is the guy who is missing out on sitting across from you right now.”

You give him a soft smile of your own in return for the cinnamon sweet words. There’s a genuineness in his tone that makes some of the tightness that had settled in your shoulders from the moment you’d walked in release.

“That’s kind of you, but I think I’m going to head out,” you say, nodding to the door you never should have stepped through in the first place.

He gives you a teasing tsk. “And let a dress like that go to waste? Now that would be a shame.”

The appreciative look in his gaze that sets off a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. And then his eyebrow ticks up, just a little. Part invitation, part dare. And you can’t say you’re not intrigued.

There’s a decision to make.

You could leave now and cut your losses. There was a reason you had a back-up pizza in the fridge and had left you well-loved copy of You’ve Got Mail sitting out on your coffee table.

Or you could stick around and see what happens next.

You tilt your head at him, just as teasing. “Would it now?”

“It would,” he states, sincerely.

Before you can reply, your phone lights up with a new notification, pulling you out of the whisky haze you’d found yourself in. 

His eyes dip down to your illuminated screen. “Is that him?”

“It is,” you confirm, almost regretfully. You open the app and skim the message. And then read it again.

There’s no sorry, no apology for cancelling a half an hour after the time for the date that had been his idea in the first place. And then he’d even had the audacity to tack on a cavalier maybe another time at the end.

Unbelievable.

He lets out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”

“Apparently, I should have been the one to remind him that the fourteenth of February is a calendar holiday and a fan favorite day of the greeting card companies.” It’s so ridiculous you’d laugh if you weren’t so annoyed by the lack of consideration and the not-so-subtle blame he’d tried to shift on you. “Even though I did double check if he was sure about meeting up today, I guess I didn’t realize I actually needed to spell out ‘Valentine’s Day’ for him.”

The man across from you doesn’t bother holding back the less than impressed look on his face. And you decide you like that about him, that he wears his thoughts so openly. It’s refreshing.

“Do you mind if I take a look at his profile?”

You shrug and pass your phone over. You were planning on blocking West the second you had a moment anyways. You see him roll his eyes and guess it has something to do with the amount of shirtless gym selfies.

He snorts as he scrolls, “Please, his mustache has nothing on mine.”

An amused laugh escapes you. “Are we ranking mustaches now? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say that I’d have to give it to Selleck.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes good-naturedly, as he hands you back your phone. “But am I at least a close second?” There’s no mistaking the flirtatious tone in his voice.

You hum and take full advantage of the opportunity to look at him unabashedly, mapping the contours of his face because you can.

To simply call him handsome would be an understatement.

The way the golden light of the sunset is hitting him you catch some sunkissed strands in those soft looking waves of his hair. There’s the beginning of some crinkles around the edges of his eyes. You notice the scars on his face, some that look long healed and others that are still a light pink- like the one on the side of his neck and beneath is ear. And that mustache on him worked for you, one hundred percent.

There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he lets you assess him that leaves no question as to whether or not he’s been flirting with you. You like the way he’s looking at you and the way he’s easily made you forget about being overdressed and how uncomfortable you were even just five minutes ago. You’re having fun. And while you still haven’t answered his question from earlier, you have no doubt that he’d show you a good time if you let him.

“Maybe not a close second, but yours is certainly up there,” you tease.

He grins. “I can work with that.” There’s something about the way he adds on for now that has a spark dancing up along your spine. And then he sticks out his hand, “I’m Bradley.”

It’s a good name. It suits him. It’s one you think you’ll enjoy the way your tongue will curl around the letters of it in your mouth.

When you give him yours in return, he sits up straighter in his seat, like he’s won a small victory.

You don’t doubt that he’s the chivalrous type, the fact that he’s gone out of his way to come over to try and turn this evening around for you says more about him than any dating profile with nonsense questions and overthought answers ever could. But with a man like him, one who’d swoop in to save the night of a stranger because she looks like a damsel in distress, there’s an answer to a question you need to hear first.

“Bradley, this isn’t a pity thing, is it?” You were right, you like the way saying his name feels. You drop your hands into your lap, as you search his eyes. “Because if it is, that’ll make me feel worse than being stood up did.”

The way the words were sitting out and open on the table between the two of you made you feel vulnerable in a way you didn’t like. But you’d rather know now before anything goes further. Doing it for the plot or not, your ego could only take so much bruising in one evening.

He pins you with a look so serious that you feel it down to your toes. “Trust me, this is furthest thing from a ‘pity thing’, as you put it,” Bradley says, his tone slipping down a few gravelly notes. “Because if I’m being honest, if that asshole had actually shown up, I don’t know if I would have played fair.”

Oh.

A thrilling rush of warmth courses through you as your cheeks heat up.

You nod, trying to not look as affected as you feel. “Ok, I believe you.”

“Good,” he smirks, his gaze dropping down and lingering on your lips. You didn’t realize you’d trapped your lower lip between your teeth, you release it immediately. “Because you should know, I would have come over sooner- the second I saw you, actually- if I’d known. That’s some dress, sweetheart,” Bradley continues, “Plus, you’d be doing me a favor.”

You couldn’t help but be curious, so you lean in closer. “Oh, how so?”

Bradley mirrors you, crossing his thick forearms over each other and leans in that much closer. “I haven’t had a Valentine in years,” he says it like he’s letting you in on a secret.

For the first time all night, you don’t regret wearing the dress. You don’t regret the ostentatious shoes or the glimmering beaded bag. You don’t regret walking through that creaky door. You don’t regret showing up tonight.

How could you when you’ve just been served the best plot twist you’ve possibly ever experienced? A meetcute you never could have seen coming.

You realize just how close your faces have gotten and lean back in your seat, from fear of thinking you might do something stupid, like kiss him. “Will you stop with the big cow eyes, if I agree?”

Those crinkles around his eyes deepen, “Good to know they still work, I wasn’t sure if I still had it.”

You press your lips together trying to hide your smile, all too thoroughly charmed, but the corners of your mouth curl up all the same.

“Trust me, you have plenty.”

And Bradley’s own smile gets even wider.

Anyone in the bar can see how pleased with himself he is at your words. It rolls off of him in steady waves and swirls around your shins and ankles.

He makes a show of settling further into his seat, now that it is officially his seat. “What’re we thinking? One milkshake, two straws?”

You play along and pretend to ponder the offer for a moment. “That seems more like a second date type of activity, does it not?”

“You’re right, something to look forward to for next time,” he responds, not missing a beat. “So, can I buy you a drink?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

There wasn’t a menu or anything on the table when you sat down, so you aren’t sure what all is offered here. You thought you might have caught a glimpse of a laminated stack near register when you’d first walked in, but you hadn’t wanted to draw any more attention to yourself at the time by getting up again and wandering around and reminding people just how out of place you’d been.

You look around and see a mix of ceramic steins, pint glasses, beer bottles, and a few stems of wine on tabletops and in the hands of the other patrons.

The noise of the bar had become a faint white noise in your ears as the two of you talked, but it comes back in full force now.

“If they have rosé, I’d take a glass of that.” It isn’t hard to miss the hesitation in your voice, feeling a little silly defaulting to your usual go-to. You don’t imagine they go through a ton of pink wine here. “But, uhm, anything on tap would be fine too, if they don’t.”

Bradley’s lips twitch up. Not in a smirk, but something caught between amused and something else you can’t quite describe.

You try not to fidget under his warm gaze, “What?”

He slides out of his stool and rounds the table, setting a big hand on the armrest near your elbow, “There’s something you should know about me, sweetheart.”

“And what’s that?” you ask, more than a little breathlessly. Feeling a little high off of the smell of his leather and vanilla cologne, and something underneath that that reminds you of kerosene in a way that makes you want to breathe him in even more.

Bradley dips down close, his lips just a whisper from your ear, and murmurs, “Pink is my favorite color.”

Your head tips back on its own as you laugh. Its unabashedly loud and bright and delighted thing that fills the nooks and crannies of the corner you’d tucked yourself away into. And if a few heads turn your way because of it, that’s alright with you.

You don’t believe him, not one little bit. But that’s part of the fun. The back and forth, the flirting, the banter, the teasing. He’s so quickly turned this night around for you, you already know your cheeks are going to hurt by the end of it.

The sound of Bradley’s own laughter chases after yours. It’s warm and raspy and boyish, and you like the sound of it. You like him.

“One rosé, coming up,” he says, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before he steps out of your space. “There’s nothing I like more than a girl who commits to a theme.”

You catch his wrist, his skin warm under your palm. “Wait, what’s it really?”

“Red,” Bradley says, then gives you a slow once over, making your pulse spark in your veins. “But you’ve got me second guessing myself now.” He gives you a wink and then heads towards the bar.

You watch stunned as he saunters away, admiring the way the light wash jeans he’s wearing form to his long legs, before taking a moment to send a string of words punctuated with more than a few exclamation points to the group chat.

When he comes back, only a few minutes later, he has glass of familiar pink wine in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. And oddly enough, a straw tucked into the pocket on his shirt.

“It’s almost a perfect match,” he notes, when he sets it in front of you.

“At least I won’t have to worry about staining if I end up spilling on myself.”

Bradley chuckles and moves his stool in closer to yours, sitting back down with more smooth grace than a man with his build has any right to move. He tips the neck of his beer towards you, and you lightly tap your wine glass against it.

You take a sweet sip. “So.”

“So,” he repeats, with a teasing lift of his eyebrow.

“What’s your move?” you ask, running a glossy tipped finger around the rim of your wineglass.

“My move?” And there’s that grin again, one he doesn’t try to hide as he takes a sip of his own.  “‘m pretty sure I’ve been showing you my moves since I sat down. I’ve never been good at being subtle.”

Bradley pulls the straw from his pocket and taps it a few times against the shellacked woodgrain table top. He takes the flimsy wrapper carefully starts twisting it, a little furrow of concentration forms between his brows, spiraling it until it’s pulled taut against itself.  

You set an elbow on the edge, resting your chin on your hand as you study him. “But what’s the big move? I know you have one,” you press further.

His hands are big, calloused and rough, but capable. You want to know the story behind the scar that’s near the base of his thumb. You note that he wears his watch on the right instead of the left, and you pocket that new discovery for yourself the way a kid enthusiastically collects rocks in a park.

Bradley takes that piece of paper and folds it in half before twisting it again.

You watch in fascination as that pleased grin transforms into a confident smirk, like he’s enjoying even just the thought of showing you his big move. He looks like good trouble.

Bradley’s eyes slowly lift to yours, his hands pausing whatever he’s doing with that wrapper. He shoots a thumb to the left towards the end of the oval shaped bar. “You see that piano over there?”

“Mhm.” It’s an almost purr.

“That’s my big move.”

You feel your eyebrows lift in surprise. Bradley gave off such hometown golden boy vibes, you’d never have expected that he’d be the musical type too. The idea of seeing those hands fly over a set of black and white piano keys made your stomach tighten deliciously in anticipation.

“Am I going to get to see it?”

His gaze is steady on you when he replies, “Yeah, sweetheart, I’ll show you my move.”

A grin stretches across your face and you feel downright giddy, as you wiggle your shoulders in triumph.

Bradley shakes his head amused, and then refocuses his efforts on the task he’d started with the straw wrapper. He struggles only for a moment- those large fingers getting in the way- as he tries to open the end just enough to slip the tail though. He gives it one more final twist, securing the loop, before inspecting his handiwork.

“Now, since we’re valentines and all, it seemed only fitting that I get you- well, make you- a little something.” Bradley gives you a soft, boyish smile as he holds out his palm towards you, and in the center of it is a perfectly crafted paper ring. “Sorry, I couldn’t find you a Ring Pop on short notice.”

The words escape you for a moment at the sheer sweetness of the gesture.

Gently, you take it from his outstretched hand, and slip it onto the pointer finger of your right hand, adjusting it with care until you have it situated just right.

“I usually wouldn’t be able to accept something so grand on a first date. But for you, I’ll make an exception,” you say, liltingly. “Thank you, Bradley.”

You look down to appreciate it again, more than a little tempted to take it off and tuck it securely into your purse for safekeeping. For as much as you liked your dress and bag and your shoes, that little paper ring was now your favorite piece of the outfit you were wearing.

When you glance back up at him, his cheeks have the faintest pink hue to them. The little nonchalant shrug he tries to give you does nothing to hide how pleased he looks. “I make a mean daisy chain too. We might have to wait a couple months for Spring, but I’m good for it.”

Your mind flashes with an image of you and him in a park with a picnic basket sat between the two of you, and those large hands of his threading celery green stems together. It’s a pretty picture.

“Well, aren’t you just a regular modern day Renaissance man.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he rasps, silky smooth. It makes goosebumps raise along your arms. “Now, I’ve told you mine. Can’t say I’m not dying to know what your big move is. Am I going to get to see it, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you muse, lifting your glass to take another sip, “If you’re good.”

Bradley hooks a foot under you stool and tugs you just a few inches closer. “Just out of curiosity, what’s your position on kissing on a first date?”

You bend forward towards him and think you hear his breath hitch, you smile. “I’ll keep you posted.”

You’re still looking at his lips when a shout from across the bar startles you both.

“Bradshaw!”

Bradley mutters a string of curses and then blows out a breath, giving you a smoldering look that tells you that the conversation is far from over. You’re more than willing to let him try and change your mind about where he lands in the mustache rankings.

You look over your shoulder to see the with the sharp smile from earlier waving your date over to the pool table. “I take it you know, Malibu Ken?”

“Unfortunately.” A mischievous look coasts over his face. “But I’ll get you all the Ring Pops you could ever want if you say that to his face.”

You laugh. “I’m holding out for that daisy chain.”

Another holler rings out from across the room, the same Southern drawl as before.

“Seems like he wants your attention. Is he a Leo?”

He snorts. “You know what, he just might be. But more like he’s been waiting for the right moment to annoy me since I ditched him to come talk to a pretty girl instead.”

You try not to preen at the compliment.

“The relentless type, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it. I think I’m about thirty seconds from him queuing up “You Make Me Feel So Young” on repeat just to fuck with me,” Bradley explains. There’s a story there and you want to know more. “I know I still owe you the big move, but is it alright if I try to show off a little for you now? Just to get off my back for the rest of the night, then I’m all yours.”

You feel like you’ve just pulled an ace from your pocket.

“What are the stakes?” you ask, intrigued.

“Two hundred dollars and a whiskey,” Bradley replies.

You let out a low whistle, trying to school the catlike grin that wants to overtake your face. “That’s a lot of Ring Pops.”

The corners of his mouth curl up. “I was thinking dinner for our third date,” he says. “I’m buying for our second, of course. But it’s only right that we split the spoils of war.”

The sound of a brass band rings out over the staticky speakers and Bradley hangs his head down and lets out a long-suffering groan. You playfully pat his shoulder in faux commiseration.

You pretend to consider it for a moment, but you already know your answer. “Okay,” you agree, “Just as long as you’re okay with a little respectful ogling. You like my dress, and I like those jeans you’re wearing.”

He laughs, it’s a throaty rich sound. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

You gather for you purse and sweater as Bradley stands. His hands come to your waist, helping you off the chair, your bodies closer than close. It’s a forward move- he knows it, you know it- but with him, you don’t mind at all.

Bradley offers you his hand and you take it in yours; his fingers slip between yours easily like the two of you have already done this before.  

The two of you only make it a few steps before you tug on his hand, waiting until he looks at you from over his shoulder before asking, with a lifted brow, “Bradley Bradshaw?”

He huffs out a not-so-exasperated sigh, “I blame it on the 80’s.”

“Whatever you say, Brad-Brad.” It’s the one and only time you’re ever going to say it, you decide. You like saying his name too much to shorten it. And his back may be turned to you now, but that now familiar chuckle still makes its way to your ears.

Bradley leads you to the bar first, where he buys another glass of rosé and a beer for himself. When you try to pass your credit card to the woman behind the counter, he takes it, and rasps into your ear, “Let me.”

He tucks it right back into your purse as the sound of brass instruments starts up yet again.

“Like a dog with a goddamn bone,” you hear him mumble. And you press your lips together to keep from laughing. Sure, you’d rather be seeing his big move, but you can’t claim not to be amused by all of this.

He nods to a group of people in the corner near the popcorn machine when the two of you enter the alcove with pool table. Some of his other friends of his you assume.

You send them a little wave, one that they return in greeting. You can tell they’re curious, but you’re grateful when they resume their conversation instead of making you feel like your date with Bradley had become a spectator sport for their viewing entertainment.

The first thing Bradley does is introduce you to his friend. It’s a little thing, but he does it without prompt or awkwardly leaving you to take the initiative yourself. You appreciate the way he is still prioritizing your comfort the way he’s been doing it since he first sat down across from you.

The second thing he does is pull out a chair for you. Not with a fanfare, not with a flourish. But like it’s something that’s innately ingrained in him. You get the sense that the gentleman thing isn’t an act with him, it’s who he is.

Jake rests a hip against the table. “Sorry to interrupt your date, but Bradshaw and I had some unfinished business.”

You wave him off, it’s not a big deal. Not when you’ll have the rest of the night with Bradley. Plus, you’re eager to watch this play out between them, curious about their gameplay.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this over with,” Bradley rumbles, as he arranges the balls in the rack. And you wonder if he lost the lag before he’d made his way over to your table for one.

He comes back over to you, and leans on the ledge next to you as he chalks his cue. You’d thought about slipping your sweater back on, with the outside chill pressing against the line of glass windows at your back, but Bradley had more than enough warmth radiating off of him that you didn’t need to.

“You that eager to be out a couple hundred, Bradshaw?” Jake grins, as he leans over the side of the table. He turns his gaze to you and sends you a wink right before he breaks, sending the cue ball barreling into the others with a resounding clack, scattering them across the table.

And then they’re off.

It’s a rapid fire of back-and-forth banter between the men as they take their shots. Mostly good natured, but undeniably competitive. Smirking when they land their shots, and snarking over fouls. Clear that neither of them wants to lose.

Jake is all confident posturing, playing low over the cue with a lightly too tight grip. It’s the only thing that gives him away that he’s not the easygoing player as he wants people to think he is. Choosing higher risk shots that would highlight his ability versus some of the more straightforward options laid out for him, and skilled enough that it pays off most of the time. But after a couple rounds you note he’s too quick to stand up after taking his shot, not enough follow through because he’s too eager to see if his gamble pays off.

Bradley is all loose-limbed ease, clearly comfortable in both his skin and at the table. You can tell he’s probably playing quicker than he normally does, clearly trying to hurry up the game for your sake, even though he doesn’t need to. Although he does take his time as he positions himself around the table, only adjusting his bridge every now and then. Always with a 1-2 shot, a warm-up stroke followed by a steady hit. Watching him you catch his tendency to throw out his elbow of the follow through.

The two are pretty well matched in skill, you observe with keen eyes, as the balls skate across the Top Gun insignia, against the rails, and into pockets.

When Bradley’s not up to play, he’s by your side, right at your elbow. And when he is, it’s your eyes he’s looking into the moment he stands back up, seeking out your reaction. But more than once you feel his eyes on you as you watch them play.

True to your word, you to admire him in those snug fitting jeans. And when he catches your appreciative gaze, he sends you a wink before lining up his next shot.

Jake sinks another solid into the pocket he’d called only moments ago, and turns his dimpled smile at you, “You still sure about your date with the old man, chickadee? I bet I could show him up in that department too.”

The way he says it, you know he’s just teasing, probably just to rile you date up and get a reaction from him.

“Unfortunately for you, I think I have a thing for mustaches now,” you toss back, unbothered. And Bradley smiles into his drink.

You watch as Jake lines up his next shot and hits the white with a compact stroke.

“Double hit,” you declare.

“Dammit,” Jake curses.

You look over to see Bradley looking at you with a focused look on his face. Like there’s a theory clicking into place, one he needs the answer to. Wordlessly, he hands you the cue.

“You sure?” you ask.

“Two hundred dollars sure,” he states.

You take it from him with a sly grin.

Bradley’s thighs brush against the front of your knees, you know if you parted them even a couple inches, that he’d fit just right between them. His hands landing on your waist again as he assists you off the stool you’ve been perched on. And you’re starting to think he just likes an excuse to touch you, not that he needs one because you already more than like the feel of his hands on your body.

You walk the pool table, running a finger around the rails as you do. Evaluating the balls on the table like they’re chess pieces. The slow clip of your heels on the floor like the tick of a clock as you take your time deciding your approach.

“You’re the stripes,” Jake offers helpfully. “Don’t worry, I’ll even let you have a free shot.”

And you can’t help but laugh because this is going to be fun.

“Bradley?” you ask, leisurely chalking your cue.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Do you mind?” You gesture to the spot behind you, and he catches on quick with a not-so-subtle glance at the short hem of your skirt.

He sets his beer down and comes to stand behind you, there’s just enough space between the two of you that you don’t have to worry about hitting him with the cue, his broad from proving you the coverage you needed to bend over the table. While you don’t think you’d mind Bradley seeing the silk thong you had on underneath your dress, you weren’t exactly up for flashing the whole bar.

You haven’t played in a while, but it’s a muscle memory at this point, as you map out your moves. Seeing the lines and angles and arcs in your mind’s eye before anchoring your bridge.

You look at Bradley from over your shoulder, only to see his eyes are trained on the ceiling with his tongue pressed against his cheek. A gentleman, albeit not an unaffected one. A tendril of smokey gratification curls its way along your spine. You turn your head back to the pool table looking between the cue, target, cue ball, target.

It’s a smooth stroke with a satisfying crack. A clean three-rail shot that lands the striped five into the pock you’d intended for it.

“Damn” is all Jake says. His eyes you up, clearly impressed.

“You sure about that free shot, Jake?” You stand up and smooth out your dress, just for the show of it. “Or do you want to make it double or nothing instead, Malibu Ken?” You hear Bradley snort from behind you.

And just like you thought, he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, “Deal.” Jake turns to Bradley. “I just let your girl hustle me, didn’t I?”

“You sure did,” Bradley says with a grin, but his eyes are on you.

Neither are surprised when you sink your next shot too. The six sailing into the left corner pocket.

On your next shot, you may or may not deliberately foul. A tactical choice that sets Jake up with a less than ideal position on the table, knowing it’ll be a difficult shot for him to make.

“Now you’re just toying with me, aren’t you?” Jake grouses.

You just smile and take a sip of the rosé that Bradley hands you, neither confirming or denying.

Surprisingly, he banks it.  But his good luck only lasting through that one play. Because on his next, the ball glances off the side rail at too acute an angle to reach the intended pocket and he groans.

Not quite ready to be done, you ease off a little. Enough that they both know you’re going easy on him to extend the game longer, just so that he can catch up to you.

But soon enough, soon there’s only your eight ball left on the table.

“Looks like you’re about to be out four hundred dollars, Jake,” you say with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Just put me out of my misery already.”

You turn to Bradley, who has been carefully positioning himself behind you the whole time. You hold out the cue to him and ask, “Do you want the honors?”

He shakes his head. “Go on, finish him off, sweetheart. I’m enjoying the show.”

And when your final ball tips into the side pocket, Jakes resounding groan is drown out by the whistle Bradley lets loose between his thumb and pointer finger, as you turn towards him beaming.

“The atm’s by the restroom.” Bradley sounds only too happy to remind Jake as he closes the gap between the two of you.

You look over his wide shoulder, “As for the whiskey, something expensive please, Malibu Ken.”

Jake huffs a grumble but nods all the same as he goes to round up your winnings.

“Scored four hundred dollars and a valentine, that’s not too shabby, if I do say so myself,” you preen to Bradley.

“Think that might have been the best thing I’ve seen all year,” Bradley announces. “The hottest too, if I’m being honest.” You feel your cheeks heat under his gaze. His finger slips under the thin strap of your dress that had fallen off your shoulder somewhere along the way. He slides it back up and into place, treating it like some delicate thing the same way he did that paper wrapper. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

Normally, this is when you’d rerack, but you’ve never had a Bradley Bradshaw looking at you before.

“I took a class in college over the summer as an elective credit, and it turns out I had a knack for it,” you explain with a playful little shrug.

“I’ll say.” He takes another step closer. “Did you just show me your move, sweetheart?”

“One of them,” you grin.

You don’t have to press up to his height, not with your pearly heels.

You wrap your arms around his neck and bring his lips to yours for a kiss. A sound of surprise escapes from his throat. You feel the curve of a smile before his hands slide around your waist to pull you closer.

The scrape of his mustache against your upper lip sends electricity racing along every nerve ending in your body. In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. It’s unhurried, like he’s been waiting to savor the feel of your mouth against his. Exciting and new as you learn the taste and touch of him. You knew it was going to be good, but even so, it’s better than you could have expected.

“Think you just snagged that number one spot of my list of favorite mustached men,” you say against his lips.

“Suck it, Selleck,” he rasps.

You inhale the amusement of his light chuckle, letting it go to your head like champagne bubbles, before he slips a hand around the base of your neck and pulling you in close once again.

A couple hours later, you find yourself at home on the couch. Your cheeks a little sore from how much smiling you’d done tonight, as Tom and Meg trade words over a plate of caviar on screen.

It was only much later that night you’d gotten to see Bradley’s big move.

He’d surprised you with his voice and the talented way his fingers glided over the white and black keys. An expensive glass of amber colored liquor sitting atop the old piano as he played, and four hundred dollars tucked safely away in your purse.

You’d given him your number when he’d walked you to your car, only distracting you for a few extra minutes with his mouth, before you’d left for the night, hoping that you’d hear from him soon.

A notification lights up your phone, and a ribbon of thrill unspools through you.

You sigh when you see that it’s a notification from your dating app. You’re wary to open it, not wanting anything to color your night, but you figure now is as good of time as any to block the guy who had nothing on the one you’d spent your evening with.

When you see the name of the person who’d sent you a message, you click into his profile with lightning-fast fingers, skimming all the details to things you hadn’t had a chance to learn yet.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰

𝐀𝐠𝐞: 𝟑𝟓

𝐉𝐨𝐛 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥: 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐚

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬: 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥

𝐙𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧: 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫

There is a picture of him in uniform, grinning to someone out of the frame. And another one of him shirtless on the beach, surrounded by some of the faces you’d seen tonight at the Hard Deck.

But it’s the answers to the prompts that he’d picked, that set your heart fluttering.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲. (𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐫.)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬: 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬.

𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬.

That one makes you laugh.

You open the message from him, one that had been sent with a rose.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰: 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞? 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧? 𝐈 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐈 𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐨𝐩.

You don’t even have to think.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝?

And you can’t help but grin to yourself as look at that paper ring still on your finger. Because you know, this app won’t be on your phone for much longer.

Not now that you’ve met him.

Happy Hearts Day, friends! Thank you for reading!

And a big thank you to Jordan ( @gretagerwigsmuse) for all the support and encouragement and general woogirling over Bradley Bradshaw!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken  @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @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 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟔.𝟕𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒, 𝐂𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟔𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟖

You know this is supposed to be a punishment.

Really, you know that.

You’re in trouble; you made your mama cry and your daddy won’t look at you and your brother called you a whore. But gliding down the old wood and bobbing between long-haired boys that let their eyes fall to your chest, with the warm wind billowing through your hair and the sun kissing your cheeks, you don’t feel like this is punishment at all. 

Your cousin Jenny let you borrow her bikini, a flimsy crochet thing the color of a nectarine, and your Aunt Lydia let you borrow her old roller skates so you and Jenny could roller skate down the Venice Boardwalk. Jenny painted your nails cherry-red this morning and did your hair real nice. She’s a whiny sixteen-year-old, one that doesn't have any sisters or friends, and you’re supposed to be keeping an eye on her since you’re her older cousin. 

“Wait up!” Jenny calls to you as you glide down the boardwalk with a grin. “Stop going so fast! Not fair!” 

Glancing at her over your shoulder, you stick your tongue out at her. She’s fumbling around the wood, her limbs strewn about like a newborn animal.  

“Mellow out, Jenny!” You call to her, laughing. “I’ll catch you on the flip-side!”

She whines, a pitiful and whiny noise, when you continue without her. 

The sun is sitting high up in the turquoise sky. The air is thick with salt and patchouli and you don’t feel like you’re just the visiting cousin from the chicken farm. You don’t feel like this punishment--being sent away from Nebraska all the way to California to spend Christmas with your dad’s sister--is an adequate one. This has been the best Christmas of your life, really. 

Chest heaving, you hoist yourself up on the ipe wood railing to catch your breath and give Jenny a chance at keeping up with you. You kick your legs, your feet heavy from the striped skates on your feet. 

All the sounds around you are overwhelming: the waves crashing against the sand, the reggae music floating from the buskers just down the way, the hollow sound of footfalls and wheels on old wood, all the chatter of the thousands of people bustling around you in their Daisy Dukes and halter tops and and sweatbands. It’s overwhelming because you're not just suddenly being around so many people and under the hot sun instead of knee-deep in the snow, but all the life. Life is just buzzing around you, happening all at once. And it isn't chickens with their heads cut off, either--it's real life, actual people.

Your face is tilted towards the sun and your throat is growing warmer and warmer with joy. 

The longer you’re here, the more you feel like this is the place you’re supposed to be.

Dennis Goldman had spotted you from a mile away--he always claims that he can practically smell stardom on people--and watched you from a distance as you left the whiny girl you were skating with behind, bobbing and weaving around cyclists and swimmers with your breasts bouncing in that flimsy bikini top. Dennis knows a good pair of tits when he sees them--and boy, did he see them on you. 

You’re perfect. Your hair is done up nice, not too tight and not too loose--that is to say you don't look too much like a hippie or a square. And the face your hair is framing is a good one, Hell, even a great one. There is a sprig of freckles on your hairline, dark things kissed into your flesh. Dennis knows that freckles like that aren't earned sunbathing or skating down the boardwalk. No, no--they're earned out in the pasture with sweat dripping down the delicate column of your throat.

There is a ruggedness about your beauty--one accentuated by that too-big grin and those wide eyes and long lashes. He can't see any tan lines on your shoulders, which Dennis decides is further proof that you are not native to California. Your legs go on for a mile, sculpted and marked with bruises from manual labor. Your chest, covered just by that skimpy bit of yarn, gleams beneath the sun.

When he watches you heave yourself up on the railing, kicking your feet and looking up at the sky, he decides to go in for the kill.

Dennis is a short man, shorter than you by about an inch and a half, but his personality fills all that empty space above his bald head. When he saunters up to you, a fat cigar between his pink lips, you are watching an airplane cut the sky with your head tilted back, your jaw flexed.    

“Cigarette?” Dennis asks you, pulling your eyes away from the sky and onto his broad forehead. 

He’s smiling up at you, plumes of thick smoke tickling your nostrils as he offers you a thin cigarette from a heavy-looking gold case. It looks expensive--so do his thick-framed, tinted glasses. 

“No thanks,” you smile politely, shielding your eyes from the sun above. “Don’t you smoke cigars?” 

Dennis chews on his stogie and grins--his teeth are whiter than the sand just behind you, whiter than the clouds drifting across the sky. He stuffs the gold cigarette case back into the pocket of his corduroy jacket and smiles. 

“I’m a gentleman,” he tells you, winking. And so far, he isn’t giving you any reason to believe that he isn’t a gentleman. Not that you mind rude men, anyway. “I always keep cigarettes on me for the ladies.” 

At that, you perk up. A lady. He fashions you a lady. 

“Bitchin’,” you grin, running your hand through your hair.

Dennis glances around the crowd, clocking all the thick-mustached men ogling at your tits and the way it makes you straighten your spine. Dennis knows, right away, that you’re the kind of girl that likes to be looked at. And he likes girls that like to be looked at. 

“Are you here by yourself?” He asks. 

You shake your head. 

“My kid cousin’s around here somewhere. Lost her in the crowd.”

He saw you leave her behind, sticking your tongue out at her like a brat. But he just nods, taking a long drag of his cigar. 

“Aren’t you cold?” He asks. 

It’s curious--you’re one of the only people on the Venice Boardwalk wearing a bikini top. You’re surprised that more people aren’t wearing them, the salt air a balmy seventy-three degrees. It doesn’t matter that it is just a day after Christmas--this feels like summer to you. 

“I’m hot-blooded,” you tell Dennis, kicking your legs softly. 

He glances down at your scuffed skates and lets his eyes drag all the way up the length of your legs as you watch with a bated breath. 

“You look it, babydoll,” Dennis tells you, puffing on his cigar. “I’m Dennis Goldman.” 

He puts his beefy hand in the air between you and you shake it with ease, biting down on your lower lip as your cheeks grow warm. 

“How’s it going, pops?” You ask. 

He laughs, squeezing your hand and bringing it to his lips to press a wet kiss to your knuckles. You’re still flushed, your eyebrows pulled together.

“Decent,” Dennis answers, stubbing his cigar on the railing beside you and flicking the butt into the sand below. “What’s your name, kid?”

“My name is Dennis, too,” you say with a grin. 

“Is that right?” Dennis asks, biting a smile. 

“No,” you answer, sighing. “Just haven’t decided on a fake name yet. Gonna use Dennis as a placeholder for now. You dig?” 

Dennis nods, laughing. 

“I can dig it, I can dig it. How old are you, anyway, babydoll?”

You hum. 

“Turned twenty-one in November,” you tell him.

“Is November just a placeholder, too?” 

Then you laugh, shaking your head. 

“Nope,” you answer. “It’s the real deal.” 

Dennis eyes you up and down again, making sure you’re watching his drifting gaze. Then he points at you, eyes narrowed in concentration through his purple-tinted glasses. 

“I bet you’re a Scorpio,” he says, cocking a brow. 

You shake your head, blowing a raspberry and giving him a thumbs down. 

“Ah,” he says, nodding. “A Sagatarius, then, huh?” 

“Told you I’m hot-blooded,” you tell him.  

“Where you from?” Dennis asks. 

You size him for a minute, chewing on your bottom lip. 

“Guess,” you say. 

Dennis likes you already--you like to play games. 

“East or west?” 

“Everything’s east of California,” you tell him. 

 Dennis is imagining how well you would do in front of a camera. You would keen from the attention of a man--teasing and laughing, down for anything. He can tell you’re open just from the way you’re chiding him already. 

“Somewhere cold,” Dennis starts and you nod. He sucks in a breath, raking a hand through the few wispy hairs gelled to his head. “Somewhere with lots of land.” You nod again. He narrows his eyes at you. “You a farm girl, babydoll?” 

“Chicken farm,” you tell him. He doesn’t miss the sneer. 

“Kansas,” he guesses. You shake your head. “Arkansas.” You shake your head again. “Nebraska.” 

“Ding, ding, ding! You win!” You call to him, laughing. 

He smirks. 

“What do I win, then?” 

Your lips tingle. Heat is pooling between your legs, like it always does whenever the prospect of sex wanders into any of your conversations. Dennis isn’t cute--not by your standards--but he has thick fingers, thick like ten fat stogies attached to his hands. And you don’t care much about what men look like--just what they taste like, feel like. You're more concerned about what men can do for you.

“I’ll suck your cock,” you tell him, holding his gaze. 

Dennis isn’t shocked--doesn’t blink in surprise or stumble back. He tuts, nods, and then moves to check the fat watch on his hairy wrist.

You’ve said--and done this--plenty of times. But the farmers' sons and grocery store workers and bankers back home usually blush and stutter a little bit before they submit to your seduction. The fact that Dennis isn’t shocked makes a warmth settle deep in your belly. You fucking love California.   

“Tell you what,” Dennis says, leaning against the railing. “I’ve got a meeting with a client at a quarter ‘til. What do you say you tag along, babydoll?” 

Your mouth waters.

“So, you don’t want me to suck your cock?” You ask, not wounded but close to it. 

He watches you deflate a bit. 

“Of course I do, babydoll. I’m just a man after all,” Dennis says. “But I’m not the moneymaker here. My client is. And I think your services could be put to best use on him.”

“I’m not a hooker,” you tell him, crossing your arms. 

He shakes his head, holding his hands up in defense. 

“Trust me, I know that. I can smell a hooker from a mile away,” Dennis says, grinning. He thinks very highly of his sense of smell. “You’re just a girl that likes to have fun, right?” 

“Yeah,” you say, relieved that someone understands you finally. “I do like to have fun.”

And because you like to have fun, you're not allowed back on the family farm. But you don't say that. 

“You ever been to the disco?” He asks you. 

Slowly, you shake your head. 

“No discos in Nebraska,” you answer. 

“There’s plenty of discos here. I’ll show you around some of them if you stick with me.”  

Your mama used to tell you that you had no better judgment. She used to say that you didn’t think about the after or the before and only worried about the during. She hated that you went through life head first, couldn’t stand watching you briskly float through time. As much as you didn’t think about the consequences of your choices, they never seemed to touch you anyway. 

So--what’s the worst that could happen?

Casually, you look out over the crowd. You can’t see Jenny anywhere. You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on her, you know, but she lives in California. She’ll figure it out. You don’t really care if it pisses off your aunt.  

That heat is growing between your legs--the one that can only be sequestered by cock.

“What kinda car you got?” 

Dennis lets his glasses fall down his nose as he leans in close to you, beaming. 

“‘78 DeVille.”

“White?” You ask, leaning closer to him. 

He can smell the sunscreen on your skin and the cheap body spray on your throat. 

“Powder blue.” 

You bite down hard on your lip.

“Lead the way, pops.” 

 Rooster’s already waiting in Dennis’ office. It’s too fucking hot in here and Rooster is just about burning up in his maroon turtleneck and bell-bottoms, chewing on the butt of a cigar as he impatiently taps his fingers on the arm of the leather couch he’s fairly certain that he’s stuck to. 

Dennis is running late. He’s always fucking running late. Rooster’s already almost finished with his cigar and Dennis is showing no signs of showing up. He digs the toe of his leather loafer into the ruby-colored shag carpet, wishing that Dennis would invest in some fucking air conditioning in this place.

“Fuckin’ Dennis, man,” Rooster sighs, a plume of smoke descending in the low light of the room and seeping into all the walnut wooded furniture. “Phony.”

This was a rare day off for Rooster--until he got called in for a meeting with Dennis at the office of Goldman Homevideos. Dennis hadn’t said much on the phone, just that he wanted to talk with Rooster about some fine print on his contract. Rooster would much rather be back at his house in the hills, laying out in his pool, eating caviar, and listening to the radio now that they’re not just playing Christmas music anymore.    

When the doorknob turns behind him, just as Rooster leans back into the couch and combs a hand through his curls, he sighs loudly and stubs out his cigar on the crystal ashtray beside him.

“Christ, Dennis,” Rooster calls out, checking his watch. “Take your fuckin’ time, why don’t you?” 

Dennis clears his throat. 

Rooster finally turns around, his brows blanched, and then he sees you. You’re standing beside Dennis, smiling softly, your hair kissed by the wind and your cheeks pinched by the sun. You’re in a flimsy bikini top and tiny pair of shorts, a pair of old roller skates slung over your shoulder and leaving your feet bare on the carpet. 

“Is that any way to greet a lady?” Dennis asks, crossing his arms with a small smile.

“Didn’t know there was a lady,” Rooster says apologetically, standing up and holding his hips. “Sorry about that, kid.” 

You shrug, grinning. 

“Am I a kid or a lady?” You ask Rooster. 

That’s the first time you see him smile--his lips pink and curved around white teeth, his mustache tickling his nose. He laughs, too, a short and dry thing as Dennis pats your shoulder and gestures to you. 

“She’s got a quick wit, this one,” Dennis says. You keen at his praise, burrowing your toes in the soft carpet. “Rooster, we’ll go over your contract another time. Why don’t you show our guest to her seat?” 

Rooster knows what’s going to happen. He’s done this plenty of times. Dennis will bring him in when there’s any newcomer that he wants to try out, essentially using Rooster as a human dildo to feel out if they’ve got that star quality Dennis is so sure he can sniff out. Rooster already knows that he’s going to fuck you. 

“You can sit on the sofa,” Rooster smiles softly, nodding towards the leather. “Next to me.” 

You don’t feel out of your element somehow--you didn’t in the car on your way over here despite it being the nicest vehicle you’ve ever touched, you didn’t walking into the little bungalow-style office with Dennis, and you still don’t now as you sit on the couch beside Rooster. Just being here, in this low-lit room that smells like cashmere and leather, you have that feeling in your gut that this is just somewhere you’re supposed to be.  

From what you’ve gathered, this is about sex. You aren’t entirely sure what it is about sex, but it’s something that piques your interest. You’re already wet--and you have been since you mentioned sucking Dennis’ cock--and your fingers are beginning to tremble in anticipation.

Rooster sinks into the couch beside you--he smells like vetiver and tobacco, the scent thick on his tan skin. He smooths his mustache out and sits with his legs spread; it makes your mouth water. 

“What’s your name?” Rooster asks, glancing at you. 

Dennis smirks, settling into the chair behind his desk. 

“She won’t give it up that easily,” Dennis says for you, winking. 

“Just call me kid,” you say, shrugging. “Or lady. Whichever you think fits me best.” 

Rooster nods, chuckling. 

“I can dig it,” he says. “Where you from?” 

You shrug, crossing your legs and sighing.

“Around,” you answer.

Rooster laughs. 

“I think I’ve been there before,” Rooster teases. 

Now you’re the one laughing--it’s a good sound, one that is as sweet as the lips that are parting for it to fill the office they’re sitting in. 

“She’s a farm-girl,” Dennis answers for you. “Rooster here specializes in farm-girls.” 

You raise an eyebrow at Rooster, who rolls his eyes and adjusts on the sofa.

“What’s the skinny on that?” 

Rooster’s growing hot in here again. He isn’t necessarily proud of a lot of his earlier work--and he considers the first ten years of his career to be early--and grows uncomfortable when people bring up Cockwalk; all five volumes. 

“You ever seen Cockwalk, babydoll?” 

You’ve never watched a pornographic video in your life. 

“She’s a farm-girl,” Rooster reminds Dennis, glancing at you. “Bet you haven’t seen anything more than a Playboy, huh, kid?” 

You nod--besides all the sex you’ve experienced up close, you aren’t very knowledgeable about erotica.  

“Well, Cockwalk is what really shot Rooster off--and what gave him the name Rooster. Top-grossing porn film of 1975--and 1976. We’ll show it to you sometime.”    

Dennis lights up another cigar, letting his elbow rest on the desk. 

“Babydoll here,” Dennis says, gesturing to you. “She offered to suck my cock earlier on the Venice Boardwalk. Didn’t you?” He takes a long drag and then smiles as you nod, leaning back into the sofa and crossing your legs. “I was flattered, of course. Especially since I could smell the talent on her from a mile away.”

Rooster wants to roll his eyes. He flatters all the newcomers like this--drifters, hippies, punks. He calls Rooster in to fuck them, smokes a couple cigars and unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt, and then decides whether or not they’re good enough to bring on board.  

You’re hot--blood spreading across your chest and belly. That heat is pooling between your legs again; it’s starting to get uncomfortable. 

The air is thick with the scent of cigar smoke now. 

“But I told her to wait. So she could meet you. So--babydoll, this is Rooster. Rooster, this is babydoll. She’ll be fucking you today. You down for that?”

You swallow hard. 

“Can I ask a few questions first?” You ask. 

Dennis nods. 

“Where are we?” 

“Los Angeles, babydoll,” Dennis answers with a grin. He takes another long drag of his cigar and then exhales it through his nose. “This is my office. I own Goldman Homevideos.” 

You nod, biting your lip. 

“And Goldman Homevideos…” you start, shifting on the sofa and glancing at Rooster, who’s looking at you very softly. “What kind of homevideos do you make?” 

“Adult films,” Dennis tells you, puffing on his cigar again. “Erotic ones. Stag.”

Rooster watches a smile twitch your lips as warmth floods the tips of your ears. 

“Porn,” you say, chewing the word. It tastes good in your mouth. 

Dennis nods. 

“And you want me to be in your adult films maybe. You’re not jiving me, right?” 

“You wound me, babydoll. Rooster--I ever shit you?” 

Rooster shakes his head, resting his chin in his palm. 

“But now you want to watch me have sex with Chicken?” 

“It’s Rooster,” Rooster corrects, amusement tugging on his lips. 

You glance at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes. You lick your lips, tilt your head, and mouth sorry. But he knows that you aren’t. It makes him smile. 

He likes you--likes that you’re smart enough to ask Dennis questions and feel out the situation before going any further. It’s what he should’ve done all those years ago and what he wished other girls would do before they stripped.        

“So, Dennis Goldman, you want me to have sex with Rooster while you watch?” 

Rooster decides that he likes the way you say his name--your voice is soft and sweet, but it doesn't lack a certain gumption. 

“Bingo,” Dennis grins. “If I see what I like, I can give you a very comfortable life. Assuming you’re willing to make some movies with me.” 

You turn to Rooster now, smiling softly. 

“He just spring this on you, big boy?” 

Rooster barks out a laugh. 

“Rooster’s the best in the business,” Dennis tells you, watching your tongue poke out and coat your plump bottom lip in a sheen of saliva. “He doesn’t mind a surprise every now and then. Especially when that surprise is a sweet little thing like you, babydoll.”

“And you wanna fuck me?” You narrow your eyes at Rooster slightly, tilting your head. 

Usually, if someone asked Rooster that, he’d just respond the way he always does: I always wanna fuck everyone. That isn’t necessarily true--there are plenty of people he wouldn’t fuck if he wasn’t getting paid to do it. But looking at you--your wind-swept hair and your breasts straining against the fabric covering them, your glassy eyes, your glossy lips--he does want to fuck you. And he’s starting to feel better about coming in on his day off. 

He reaches out, brows knit, and lets his thumb drag across the highest point of your cheekbone. Your skin is plush and soft beneath his fingers. A tingle runs down your spine and settles between your legs. 

“Sure, I wanna fuck you, kid.” 

Then he turns to Dennis and nods towards the record player--that’s one thing about Rooster: he always has to have music playing when he films and fucks. Dennis, with the cigar still between his grinning lips, leans over and puts on a record. 

Too Hot To Stop by Funk starts playing--you’ve never heard this song before.  

You don’t break your gaze away from Rooster as you reach behind you and pull the strings of your bikini top. It falls in a heap on your lap and Rooster, a breath bated in his beautiful throat, smooths his mustache before grabbing the bra and setting it on the ground beside you. It almost strikes you as a soft thing to do--him taking your discarded clothing from your lap and setting it beside the two of you. Most men you’ve fucked don’t even care to not tear your blouse or smear your lipstick. 

Rooster scoots closer to you, saliva pooling on his tongue at the sight of your naked chest and the blush that’s covered it. He holds the back of your neck--not gently but certainly not roughly either--to keep you still as he ducks down and licks a hot stripe between your breasts. The sensation has your eyes fluttering already, your hands coming to rest on his thighs. 

He moves to cup your left breast, tweaking your nipple between his rough fingers, and encloses his mouth around your right nipple. He sucks harshly, humming against your skin. You taste like sunscreen and body spray, your skin almost salty from the sea breeze that tickled it earlier. He likes the taste of you--not that he’s very picky about the way things taste anymore--and the way your chest rumbles with a moan. 

This is the only moment today that you’ve felt a bit out of your element: what Rooster is doing to you feels good, like really fucking good. Hot beads of pleasure are spiking up your spine and settling between your vertebrae and your body is keening for more, more, more. Whenever you’ve fucked in the past, you’ve been in control. Meaning that you would suck an average cock and then spread your legs and get fucked. There’s been some pawing here and there, over the bra or under the blouse, but no one’s ever done this to you before. 

To Rooster, this is almost mechanical. He knows how to make women wet--it’s literally his job--and he knows what gets him going. When he lets his tongue flick your nipple, his eyes dragging up your flexed throat to your parted lips and closed eyes--you release a sweet moan and instinctively curl your fingers in his hair. 

Girl, it's something about your act / And I sure do like your style

“That’s good,” Dennis tells you. He’s still watching closely from behind the desk, his feet resting beside his notepad as he finishes up his cigar. “Rooster--take her pants off.” 

Rooster leans away from you and you almost whine at the sudden lack of his mouth on you. You lean back on the sofa, cheeks burning, and grin at Rooster as you settle your legs on either side of him. 

He hooks his fingers in your shorts and pulls them down swiftly--you’re not wearing underwear. The denim covering his crotch is growing tight now--and the cashmere wrapped around his throat. 

“Real pretty thing you are, babydoll,” Dennis says. “Show her your mouth, Rooster.” 

Sometimes Rooster feels like a puppet attached to strings, limbs flopping here and there at the command of Dennis or whoever else is behind the camera. Even when he’s having sex off camera, in his own home, sometimes he feels like he’s waiting for direction. But he listens all the same, smoothing his flat palms down your body and grabbing your hips. 

You’re looking up at him, lips parted in a pout, and your chest is heaving. You’re already so wet and just him grabbing your hips and pulling you up, pulling your cunt closer to his mouth as he settles lower on the couch--you feel like this is all building to something. 

Maybe it's the way / That you ride around 

“This alright, kid?” Rooster asks, peppering kisses along the soft skin of your inner-thighs. 

You’re squirming below him, your eyes lustful and dark. Sinking your teeth into your lower lip, you nod. 

“Do it the French way, baby,” you mutter to him. 

Dennis barks out a laugh, clapping. 

“What a line, doll!” 

Rooster secures your legs over his shoulders, cupping your ass, holding your body close to his face. Sometimes he feels like he does this so much that it’s ingrained in who he is as a person. He can just let go, think about something else, and have some broad writhing above him. But right now--he feels okay with being in his body, experiencing all of this. 

He licks a languid stripe between your folds and kisses your clit. The sounds you’re making are entirely authentic: he knows it, you know it, and Dennis knows it. Your eyes are closed tight and your fingers are woven in his hair and your thighs are quivering just from one kitten lick from Rooster. 

You taste good--you taste real. He can tell that you didn’t use perfumed douche before this and he actually thoroughly enjoys that. You taste like a human person. You taste like desire and arousal and skin and God, his pants are getting tighter and tighter. 

“Don’t worry about anyone hearing you, babydoll,” Dennis tells you. “They’re used to it by now.” 

This pleasure you’re feeling is entirely real. It’s red-hot and captures every single one of your senses. You can hardly hear anything above the sounds of your erratic heartbeat and the mewls and moans falling from your lips. Rooster is sucking at your clit, his mustache burning the delicate skin of your cunt, and this feels so fucking good. 

Girl, I'm out to get your love / And I'm too hot to stop now 

Rooster takes this opportunity to look up at you as he mercilessly sucks at your clit. You’re an undeniably pretty thing--especially when you’re naked and writhing above him. But there’s something else about you, something about the way heat covers your chest, something about the way your lashes bat against your cheeks that makes him feel like you’re different. You’re young--which isn’t different--but you don’t seem all that inexperienced. He doesn’t know what to make of that. He supposes, maybe, that he sees a bit of himself in you in that regard. 

“Go ahead and give Rooster a big head,” Dennis grins. “Tell him how good he is with his tongue.” 

“Your tongue feels fucking dynamite,” you moan out, back arching off the leather sofa. “You done this before or something?” 

Rooster almost laughs, but he’s able to just moan against your clit and have you cursing and heaving above him. Dennis does bark out a laugh, shaking his head lightly. 

“Oh, I like that mouth of yours, babydoll,” Dennis tells you. “Real sharp.” 

He watches Rooster eat you out with calmness, tapping his fingers lightly on his leather chair. You’re good looking--people would go crazy over a young, sexy thing like you. And he was right; you have great tits. But there’s also something about the way that you seem to be totally in your mind and body that makes you so appealing. You know where you are, you know what you’re doing, and you’re gonna say what’s on your mind. 

“Alright,” Dennis sighs, narrowing his eyes at Rooster’s gaze that is glued to your quivering lips. “Let’s see what else that mouth does. Take your pants off, Rooster. Babydoll, this is what you’ve been waiting for--suck his cock.” 

You’re close to cumming--which is something you’ve only done between the sheets of your own bed by yourself or in the front seat of a truck with John Duke that one time--but you don’t mind it when Rooster pulls away from you. 

Both of you meet each other’s gaze at the same time, his chin glossy with your arousal. And you bite a grin, slinking your leg off his shoulder. But before you can completely retract, Rooster brings his hand up to your calf and presses a short and wet kiss to the inside of your ankle. 

“You’re a romantic, aren’t you?” You ask him, nudging his head with your freshly-painted toes. “Bet you’re a Cancer.” 

Something tickles his belly. He is a Cancer. 

You see his brows knit, see the little surprised gap of his mouth. 

“I have a gift,” you tell him, winking. “Now, take your pants off.”

The carpet is plush beneath your knees--for a moment, you wonder if that’s why they chose it--and you’re flushed with anticipation as Rooster sits with his legs spread before you. 

This is the first time you’ve really sat back and looked at him. He is a striking man--one that looks like he was bred here in California. He’s sunkissed and muscular, his sideburns thick and his mustache neatly trimmed. He’s wearing an expensive sweater and even more expensive leather shoes and a thick gold chain rests against his broad throat. His hair is styled with gel that you mussed and his curls are thick and sandy. 

He starts to undo his own belt, his chest softening at the notion of this tension being relieved finally, but you lay your hands over his to stop him. The gesture is one that makes you dominant, especially when you smile coyly at him and reach for his belt, but your grip isn’t a harsh one. You hold him softly, but close enough that he can feel all the folds in your palms. 

You’re good with your hands--fast and dexterous--and Rooster’s got a big and pretty cock, one that springs up out of his briefs with pearls of precum shimmering in the lowlight.

“Jesus,” you mutter in awe, tracing all the thick veins that mark his cock. “You’re so big.” 

“Can you handle it?” Rooster asks, sort of in earnest. But a smirk is tugging on his lips. 

He’s teasing you--you like that. You like it whenever men can get on your level.

“Jinkies, I sure hope so Mr. Cockwalk,” you chide right back, grinning. 

Rooster laughs and Dennis claps again.  

“Beautiful,” Dennis encourages. 

He wishes he had his camera now--just this shot of you on your knees, elbows resting on Rooster’s parted knees as he leans his head back against the wall and gazes down at you with half-lidded eyes--there’s something special about this. There’s something really special about this. 

“Prove it, baby,” Rooster breathes. 

Instead of verbalizing your answer, you lean forward slightly and let all that hot saliva that’s pooled on your tongue drip out of your mouth and onto the crimson tip of his cock. He hisses at the intensity of the heat and the way your palm swiftly coaxes him, grasping him and swiftly pumping his head a few times to coat his cock in your spit. 

Instinctively, Rooster’s hips buck up and you keen at the reaction, letting your mouth come down on him. And fuck--you do know what you’re doing. Your mouth is wet and hot, supple as it wraps around his cock. 

Rooster’s gotten more blowjobs than probably half the men on this planet during his thirty-one years here. He likes them--who doesn’t like blow jobs? But there’s something about the way that you take him so well, something about the way you look up at him with your eyes squinted like you’d be smiling if your mouth wasn’t full of cock, that makes his chest tight. Even when the camera isn’t on him, Rooster knows what sounds to make--low, throaty groans--and what to do with his face--knit his brows, squint--but he feels like he’s forgetting all of that as you stare up at him. 

“How is she, Rooster?” Dennis asks. 

“Fucking great,” Rooster breathes, shuddering when you begin to bob your head and take him deeper. 

You even reach down and cup his balls, massaging them, as your other hand grips the base of his cock and keeps him in your throat. 

Rooster’s head falls back, eyes practically rolling to the back of his head. You’re taking him very deep, merciless in your tongue flicking along the sensitive skin on the underside of his cock. He’s bucking up into your mouth and you’re letting him, enjoying the flush tickling his ears. 

The realization hits Rooster like a fifty pound weight on his head--he snaps up to look at Dennis, his brows knit and his fingers digging into the leather sofa. 

“I’m about to cum,” he announces. 

He’s so used to announcing it out loud for everyone to hear that it doesn’t even strike him as strange anymore to tell the balding man behind his walnut desk that he’s about to shoot his load down your throat. 

At that, you pull back, letting your saliva seep down your chin as Rooster’s cock stands erect and red before you. 

Dennis is shocked, staring at you and Rooster with a grin. 

You look at Dennis over your shoulder, smiling softly. 

“Best in the business, huh?” 

Rooster laughs--he can take a joke. And then you glance at him, smiling yourself.

“Babydoll, why don’t you take Rooster for a ride?” 

Quickly, Rooster discards his sweater. You almost ogle at him--every single muscle in the human body is on display, gleaming in the light, adorned with curly, sandy chesthairs that settle beneath his gold chain. 

“Jesus,” you whisper to him, still on your knees. “Could you get any more California?”

Rooster beams at you, holding your hands and bringing you to your feet. 

“I can try,” he tells you, winking. Then he pats his thighs, arms parted for you to climb into when you’re ready. “Hop on. Ladies ride free.” 

The thought of Rooster fucking a man hadn’t even occurred to you--but a beautiful picture is painted in your mind for a fleeting moment. No one would ever do that back home in Nebraska, especially not admit it. But it doesn’t strike you as strange or dirty. In fact, it makes heat pool between your thighs again. 

Just before you straddle him, Rooster places a flat palm against your belly to pause you. He doesn’t look at Dennis, doesn’t care about what Dennis is going to say. 

“You wanna use a rubber, kid?” 

You shake your head. 

“I can’t have babies,” you say like it’s the most casual thing in the world. Rooster studies your face, blinking in surprise, but you don’t seem to clue him in on any upset in the matter. “I’m clean, too.” 

Rooster nods, gripping your hips and guiding you forward. 

When you’re close to Rooster, close enough that his forehead is resting against yours and his thighs are spreading your legs apart, you feel safe. Not the kind of safe you used to feel in your parents bed during a thunderstorm or in a really good hiding spot during a game of Hide N Seek with your brother. You feel safe like this guy isn’t an asshole and will probably stop whenever you want him to.

He’s holding onto your hips, his fingers dizzyingly long and digs into the meat of your legs when you sink down onto his cock. A string of curses tear through the air between the two of you and you gasp as he fills you up. 

“Christ, kid,” he mutters, “so tight.” 

That makes you clench around him and he gasps again, groaning. Fucking Christ--what are you doing to him?

When you’re fully seated, all of him inside of you, it takes everything in your power not to burst into tears. You’re so fucking relieved, that itch finally being scratched. He feels fucking perfect inside you, filling you up, pressing against something deep inside you that makes the lowest part of your belly bubble with pleasure. 

“You two look real good together,” Dennis praises.

Like Dennis’ voice snaps Rooster out of his lavender haze, he holds onto your hips and guides you up and down on his cock languidly. You hold onto his shoulders, gasping and crying out, throwing your head back in ecstasy. 

Dennis watches you carefully--you’re not acting. This is just the way you look when you have sex. You like to have sex; you like it a lot. What an asset a horny thing like you would be: all authentic pleasure, those pretty moans falling from your lips, those eyes rolling back in your head. You’ll be perfect. He’s sure of it. 

“Fuck,” you mutter to Rooster, your breath bated. “Jesus--fuck.” 

Rooster grins, letting you grind down on him and squeeze him tight. He’s not gonna last long--he knows it. Especially not when you lean forward and let your tits crash against his mouth. Hungrily, he finds your nipples and sucks relentlessly. Pulling his hair, you cry out. 

When Rooster pulls away from your chest, unable to continue sucking when you’re gripping his cock so fucking tightly, he does the only thing he can think to do--he presses his lips against yours. You kiss him back and it’s soft and sweet, very unlike what’s happening down below. And then he keeps kissing you, letting his tongue caress yours, letting your erect nipples feather across his naked chest. 

“You taste like Aperol,” you mutter against his lips, voice still drenched in pleasure. 

And then you smile against his mouth, and cry out when he delivers a particularly deep thrust. For some reason--that makes him cum. He holds you down over him and strains to get deeper and deeper inside of you. He pulses against your walls and you feel every moment of his release, resting your forehead against his. 

When it’s all said and done, when Dennis is genuinely delivering a round of applause for the two of you, you two catch your breath together. Your ears are ringing and his are, too. He’s smiling at you, a handsome and charming smile, and you’re biting your lip hard. 

“You know what you’re doing, kid,” he compliments, squeezing your hips. 

He’s still sitting deeply inside you. 

Coyly, you press some of his floppy curls from his forehead and then delicately stroke his mustache. He likes how soft you touch him--like you’re afraid to hurt him. 

“Aren’t so bad yourself,” you tell him. 

“We’ve gotta find a name for you, babydoll,” Dennis says, coming to sit down on the sofa beside you and Rooster. 

You stay where you are and Rooster doesn’t mind it one bit.

“You mean, like, I’m…?” 

Your toes are numb with excitement. 

Dennis grins at you, leaning over to pinch your cheek before patting it softly. 

“You’re gonna be a star, baby.”

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: 70S ROOSTER IS THE SUPREME ROOSTER

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

[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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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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