#FUCK OFF SPOTIFY TAG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[charmandabear]

Office Hours: it's so easy to bite with your hands pinned (2/16)

Summary:

After fantasizing about it, Rosalind can't stop thinking about what it would be like to fuck Ancunín. Maybe Shadowheart is right, maybe she should just do it to get it out of her system.

Pairing: Astarion/named f!Tav Rating: explicit

Word Count: 3.4k

Chapter tags/warnings: vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, p in v intercourse, blood/blood drinking, creampie/no breeding (full list on ao3)

Yayyyyyy chapter 2! I've been absolutely going through it personally, but your comments and kind words have brought me such joy. My goal will continue to be to upload Sunday/Monday so if I miss a day, I give you full permission to yell at me. (But please be nice, I'm very sensitive.)

Read it on AO3. ~ Masterlist (coming soon.) ~ Office Hours playlist on Spotify.

“Shadowheart, I think I fucked up.”

Rosalind picks at the cardboard sleeve on her coffee cup as Shadowheart grabs her latte from the counter. Her best friend’s eyebrows disappear into her platinum bangs as she fixes Rosalind with a cautious look. They had met six years ago while moving into adjacent apartments. Shadowheart was already working at BGU in the Divinity School, and a few years back she helped Rosalind get an interview with Volo in the theatre department.

“Do I need to kill someone or help you bury the body?” she says with a sly smile, and Rosalind groans, almost too ashamed to admit it. She has complained far too much about Ancunín for what happened last night not to be exceedingly embarrassing.

“No, not that,” she begins, then takes a sip of coffee to brace herself. “You know that snotty Renaissance Lit professor I’ve mentioned?” They tap their phones on the turnstile censor and file through one at a time.

“Yeah, the one you’re always going on about?” Shadowheart looks over her shoulder as she asks the question, and she’s treated to Rosalind’s dramatic eye roll.

“I’m not always going on about him,” she grumbles, and Shadowheart’s laugh reverberates off the metro walls.

“You absolutely are, but continue,” she smirks, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Okay well let me at least show you what he looks like before I lose service,” Rosalind preemptively defends herself, pulling out her phone and searching for the BGU English department faculty page. She scrolls down to Ancunín’s portrait and turns the screen towards Shadowheart.

It looks like a candid photo but it’s very clearly composed. He’s sitting pitched forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He’s looking off to the side and his brow is furrowed like he’s engaged in vigorous academic debate. It’s wildly pretentious.

“Oh. Oh,” she says in a low tone as her eyes study the screen. Suddenly she gasps and looks at her friend with wide eyes. “Rosalind, no, tell me you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t!” Rosalind shouts, perfectly scandalized. Then, in a much lower voice that ultimately gets drowned out by the roar of a train flying by, she says, “I just thought about it.”

“What?” Shadowheart shouts, pulling her scarf in a little closer to protect herself from the wind cast off by the train.

“I just thought about it!” Rosalind shouts back, wishing she had just waited to speak.

“Thought about what?”

“Fucking him!” Of course, she shouts this last bit just as the train has fully passed, which means everyone else waiting on the platform hears her clear as day. Rosalind hides her flushed face behind her cup, praying that no one from the school is also taking the metro today.

“And?” Shadowheart looks at Rosalind expectantly.

“And what?”

“How was it?”

Rosalind scoffs and looks down the tunnel at the train’s headlights in the distance in order to avoid answering her question for a second longer. “I mean, it was my imagination, so like good I guess?”

“Well sure, but would you want to do it in real life?” As Shadowheart answers, the train comes to a screeching stop and the two of them board, snagging a two-seater as far away from both entrances as possible. Shadowheart pinches her knees together and places her bag delicately on her lap.

Rosalind sighs heavily before answering. “Man, I dunno. I’ve never really been into the idea of hate sex, at least not since Aradin.”

Shadowheart makes a face of abject disgust. “He doesn’t even know how lucky he is that I’ve never been in the same room as him.”

“Trust me, I’ve never been more appreciative of having someone so eager to commit murder for me,” Rosalind laughs, putting her hand on Shadowheart’s knee. They sit in silence for a few minutes, and Rosalind looks out the window at the other platforms whizzing by. 

“I think you should go for it,” Shadowheart says suddenly, and Rosalind chokes on her coffee.

“Excuse me?” she coughs as she wipes her mouth.

“What’s the worst that could happen? If it doesn’t work out, you can just go back to hating him like before, and at least then you won’t need to wonder anymore,” Shadowheart says matter-of-factly. She’s awfully nonchalant about having just described the literal nightmare scenario.

“Excuse me, how is that possibly meant to make me feel better?” Rosalind gapes at her.

“At least you get a good shagging out of the deal, right?” Shadowheart flashes a coffee-stained grin and Rosalind pushes her face away.

“Maybe not, he could be terrible for all we know,” she replies smugly as the train slides into the University stop. They funnel out with the hoard of students and other professors who also get out onto the platform. “Man, Shade, we need to get you laid, don’t we?” Rosalind teases her as they trash their empty coffee cups.

“Listen, you’re closer to getting some than I’ve been in months, it’s not that good out here for most of us,” she groans.

“Hey, if I end up getting lucky, maybe he’s got some pretty colleague he can hook you up with,” Rosalind says with a shit-eating grin and Shadowheart rolls her eyes.

“Absolutely not, English academics are the worst.”

***

Rosalind and Shadowheart split ways in front of the student union, each of them heading to their respective sides of campus. Rosalind goes directly to her office and immediately closes the door — usually an unthinkable act but entirely necessary today. She can’t look at his face right now. She can’t possibly look him in the eye.

She spends the majority of the day locked in her office, double checking the hallway before leaving to teach Voice and Speech. She even avoids the main office for fear of running into him there. 

When 5:00 rolls around, she takes a peek outside her door to see most of the other professors leaving. To play it safe, she decides to work until six so she can be absolutely sure he’s gone by the time she leaves. She passes the time by absentmindedly grading weekly reflections. It’s only when she realizes that she’s read one paragraph about Miss Julie about a half dozen times, she figures it’s time to leave.

She pokes her head into the hallway, but can’t tell from this angle whether or not his door is closed. She grabs her bag and coat, takes a deep breath, and makes a beeline for the stairs. It’s only when she approaches his office door that she realizes it’s open. 

Fuck.

It’s fine. She can just walk past it and get to the stairs and then she won’t need to worry about it. He might not even be in there. Or if he is, he probably has his head down and won’t notice her walk by. It’s fine. She can feel her heart pounding in her ears nonetheless.

“Oh, professor, a word?” His voice floats into the hallway right as Rosalind passes his door. Are you fucking kidding me? She turns to see him sitting at his desk, head down, writing something. He doesn’t even bother looking up at her. Prick.

“Yes?” she asks coldly, not budging from her spot in the hall. He glances up and looks at her over his glasses. Those fucking glasses. Rosalind wants to rip them off his face and throw them out the window.

“Do you have a moment? I think we need to talk.” His voice is low and cool. Does he fucking know? There’s no way he can know.

Right?

Rosalind takes a tentative step into his office. It’s surprisingly cluttered for a man who always looks so put together, but it’s somehow warm and inviting. She can barely see the walls from being covered corner to corner in overfull bookshelves. He’s got a big mahogany desk in the middle of the room — significantly nicer than the university-issued ones. It’s covered in stacks of papers, books, weird little knick knacks; it’s amazing how he’s able to get anything done on it, honestly. Two chairs face his desk, but they’re covered in a rich plush velvet instead of a scratchy cotton weave like the ones in Rosalind’s office. He’s got a scent diffuser somewhere, giving the room an aroma like an earthy spiced tea. 

“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the cushy red chairs across from him. Rosalind stands still, clutching her bag, staring at him like a deer in the headlights. When he realizes she’s not going to sit, he gets up and crosses over to the door.

“Do you mind if I close this? It’s… a bit embarrassing,” he asks with a crooked smile. She can feel the heat in her cheeks rising. Her mouth goes dry as she tries to swallow the lump forming in her throat.

There’s no way he knows.

Right?

But something compels her to nod, so he closes the door and walks back to his desk. He leans casually on the edge of it, facing her and crossing his arms in front of his chest. He’s taken off the blazer he usually wears and is down to just the turtleneck, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Rosalind watches him carefully, waiting.

“I wanted to… apologize. For yesterday.”

Rosalind blinks at him, the conversation immediately not going in the direction she expected. She still feels so much shame about last night that it takes her a moment to realize what he’s referring to.

He sees the gears turning in her brain and decides to continue. “It was inappropriate to barge in on your meeting with your student. You were mid-instruction, and I needn’t have inserted myself into your conversation.” He leans back on his hands, stretching out his lithe figure to impossible proportions. Rosalind’s grip on her bag slackens and she can’t help but drag her gaze over the length of his body. He looks back at her quizzically.

“I get the sense that you don’t very much like me,” he muses. Now it’s his turn to give the once-over, and Rosalind feels practically naked before him with the way he leers at her. “Then again,” he adds, and pushes himself off his desk. He slowly advances toward her, though whether like someone approaching a vicious beast or a predator stalking its prey, it’s unclear. She retreats while holding his gaze until her back is flush against the door. 

No escape now.

He gets precariously close and takes an unsettling whiff. When he speaks again, his voice is a husky growl.

“I think it’s entirely possible you like me… quite a bit.” He’s at least a half foot taller than Rosalind, and he looks down on her with heavy-lidded eyes. The heat in her face has fully reached the tips of her ears now, and her breath comes out ragged. 

“I’m sure I—” she begins, but it comes out thick and raspy. She clears her throat and tries again. “I’m sure I don't know what you mean,” she finally manages with all of the composure she can muster. He cocks an eyebrow, then slowly takes off those infuriating glasses.

“No? Then perhaps I’m mistaken, and your heart rate hasn’t drastically increased in the past few minutes.” His eyes continue boring into her. “And maybe that smell between your legs is completely unrelated.”

An undignified splutter escapes Rosalind as she presses her thighs closer together. He takes a half step back to let her respond. 

“If I am indeed mistaken, then I’ve said my piece and you’re free to go.” The seductive honey is gone from his voice, and in its place is a politely professional tone. He’s giving me an out, she realizes. He’s saying that we can both laugh at this as an embarrassing moment and never bring it up ever again.

But on the other hand… Rosalind thinks back on her conversation with Shadowheart and swallows thickly.

“You’re not mistaken,” she manages to choke out in a whisper. The lazy smile is back and he lifts her chin with his index finger.

“What was that? Speak up.” His command makes Rosalind’s knees go weak and she withers under his gaze.

“You’re not wrong,” she says more boldly, trying to meet his energy. His smile broadens, and for the first time she notices two pointy fangs slip out beneath his upper lip.

Fucking

vampire??

That explains why he could track Rosalind’s heartbeat, and even more his ridiculously keen sense of smell. Doesn’t make it any less humiliating. 

“No, I don’t suppose I am,” he snarls and suddenly he’s kissing her roughly, hands twisting in her hair and one knee sliding up between her legs. He pushes her against the door, lifting her up onto her toes. She’s desperate just to keep up as he devours her, her hands weakly grasping at his hips, shoulders, neck. But he’s fully in control of the kiss, and after a moment she lets him take her.

He breaks the kiss but doesn’t pull away as they both breathe heavily, air cycling between their lungs. Rosalind’s head is full of a thick fog and she can’t see straight. His hands are still in her hair, tight but not pulling — yet. Why do I get the sense that might not last long?

He drops to his knees and she nearly doubles over from the sudden lack of support. He runs his nose and lips across the hem of her black denim skirt, inhaling again. Her fingers lace into his hair, but not even remotely in the dominant way from her fantasy. At this point she’s just trying not to collapse. 

He looks up at her, flashing another fang-bearing grin. His hand slips up her skirt and his thumb runs across her pussy, barricaded by sheer tights and panties.

“Darling, you’re positively soaked,” he hums contentedly. “You’d have a hard time hiding this from anyone.” She bites her lower lip, trying to keep the needy whines at bay. But when he fiercely rips the crotch of her tights and presses the flat of his tongue against the drenched gusset, she can’t stop the cry from escaping her throat. He sucks lasciviously, the debauched slurping noise ringing in her ears. Her knees buckle and he grabs hold of her hips, hiking up her skirt to get better access to her dripping cunt. He presses a finger past her panties and slips it into her, and she gasps at the stark temperature difference. 

“Gods, fuck,” she groans under her breath, and she runs a hand through her hair as her head drops back against the door. He presses his nose into the flesh of her lower belly, licking and kissing it as he slides in a second finger into her. She can feel her legs beginning to shake as he pumps into her, stretching her out. She grasps the handle of the door trying to brace herself on something. When her hips begin to subconsciously roll against his hand, he yanks his fingers out and she whines at the sudden emptiness. 

“Someone’s needy,” he sings as he stands before sucking her arousal off his fingers. He pulls her into another searing kiss and the taste of her lingers on his lips. He grabs her ass and digs his fingers into her flesh, spreading her cheeks until she gasps into the kiss. In one fluid motion he sweeps up her legs and wraps them around his waist. She yelps in surprise; he’s significantly stronger than he looks.

He carries her over to that incredible mahogany desk, plopping her down on the hardwood and sending books and papers tumbling to the floor. He presses his bulge into her mound, this time the sound of both of their groans mingling pleasingly. He tears at her chiffon button down, trailing hungry kisses down her chest as she throws her head back in pleasure. He makes quick work of fully removing her top, though she’s certain he sacrificed some buttons in the process. She can hardly bring herself to care as she paws wantonly at the back of his neck, desperate for him to get his lips onto every single inch of her. He pulls down the lace cup of her bra with his teeth and starts sucking on her nipple, pressing his hand into the small of her back. She arches into him, his hands working her like a soft clay.

So much for the pleading mess that she pictured last night. Instead, Rosalind has been reduced to shambles, begging for his satisfaction.

“Puh-please,” she stutters, and those devilish eyes lock onto hers again. He snakes his way back up her chest and bites her lower lip.

“Puh-please what?” he mocks her stammering, but makes up for it when he rolls his hips forward, dragging that delicious hardness against her. She squirms, trying to pull him closer but he’s got her arms locked in his grip. His lips leave hers and ghost over the flesh of her neck. He very gently scrapes his fangs across her jugular, eliciting a ghoulish moan from her in return. By all the gods, Rosalind hadn’t even considered that as a part of it. His movement makes it clear that he won’t bite unless she wants him to.

But holy hells does she want him to.

“Gods Astarion,” she gasps, and she’s almost certain she can feel his cock twitch at the sound of his own name. “Fuck me then bite me, or the other way around I don’t care, but please get inside me!” The string of words almost sounds foreign to her, but she’s well beyond the point of trying to sound clever. In an instant, he’s undone his belt buckle and his erection springs forth, bouncing and already dripping precum. He roughly shoves her panties to the side and sinks his cock and teeth into her simultaneously, drawing out her cry of both pain and pleasure. She wraps her legs and arms around him, trying to pull him in deeper. She feels his mouth filling up with hot blood just as her cunt fills up with his dick. 

His pumps are slow, taking his time as he swallows gulps of her blood. The obscene slurping noise mixed with his heavy breathing and occasional grunts that tickle her ear send her reeling. She’s always had a sensitive neck and more than enjoys the occasional hickey. But this is a whole new level of pain mixed with pleasure. His lips grow warm with her blood and she bucks against him, her whines getting swallowed by his curls. Her hands cup his ears, and she’s unable to stop herself from playing with those tiny silver hoops. He lurches and pulls away from her neck, looking absolutely feral with her blood dripping down his chin, which only sets her off more. 

“Please, I-I need more,” she whimpers breathlessly, angling her hips towards him and trying to get him to thrust faster.

“You eager little thing,” he growls, and the animalistic sound pulls another desperate whine from deep within her. He pushes her back down onto the desk and hooks his elbows beneath her knee high boots, pressing her thighs against her chest. He begins to pound into her properly, sending her hurtling towards climax. She grabs onto the edge of the desk as he revs up his pace, his cock stretching her out as he keeps her feet up by his shoulders. The heat begins to mount in her core and she knows it won’t be long before she comes. But at this point she’s just trying to hold on for dear life.

“Fuck, gods, Astarion, I’m—” She finishes before her sentence does. He doesn’t relent as the orgasm wracks her body, if anything, he fucks into her harder. Just as she’s barely come down from her climax, he pulls out and yanks her off the desk, spinning her around and pushing her face down into the smooth mahogany, warmed from her back. He pushes her skirt up to her hips and grabs a hold of her ass, his nails digging into the part of the tights still in-tact. He slides into her again with a groan, and already she can tell that she’s working her way up to a second one. Her bare tits squish against the polished surface and he grabs her hair, pulling her head up and arching her back into him. 

She desperately wishes that she could see his face because she can feel his thrusts getting more uneven and erratic. She tries to turn to get a glimpse of him, but his grip on her hair remains tight. But even if she can’t see him, she can still hear him, his grunts and the low string of incoherent swears pouring out of his mouth. The sound of him getting lost in her is enough, and her own moans start building and mixing with his, an utter symphony of epicurism. 

His hips give a few more broken thrusts and she can feel his climax, setting off a second for her. The throbbing of his cock matches that in her cunt, and she holds onto the edge of the desk as the waves wash over her. Once the ripples have settled he pulls out, and she can feel his semen dripping out of the sudden emptiness and running down her leg. She silently says a thankful prayer for her IUD.

They’re both panting as he collapses onto her back, planting a half-hearted kiss on her spine. She weakly pushes herself up off the desk and sees the devastation of papers, smears and fluids. She turns around to relish in his appearance. Her blood is splattered on his fine cream sweater, his usually perfectly coiffed curls damp and sticking to his forehead. She reaches up and wipes the remainder of her blood off his chin. He smirks and gives her a surprisingly gentle kiss. 

“That was good,” she murmurs through steadying breaths, “but next time, keep the fucking glasses on.”

[xyl4-4444]

Be patient! He's cooking a FIRE Dj set.

[art-from-the-juice-box]

gen loss dump part 2 :]

i have a gen loss playlist so the last two was me hitting randomize and drawing a pic based on the song before it finished. the second one technically isn’t that cause charlie’s inferno isn’t on apple music cause they hate me so it’s way more of the song out of spite because they wouldn’t give it to me.

[rainbowpufflez]

“If I could go back, one thing I would do / Try to unravel, cut down, and unscrew / The first double helix that links me to you”

Wow, get a load of these guys. What’s wrong with them?

Also song inspo if anyone would like it! It’s where the top quote is from!

[thevoiceofdesertbluffs]

"I can hear the devil speak, "Won't you run away with me?"" - Devil Speak, Machine Girl

[horseshoegirl]

Way Down We Go

(Bradley Bradshaw OneShot from Damn Those Dog Tags)

💛 AN: Just a little bonus chapter; you do not have to read it if you do not want to. I hope you do, though, cause I did a thing I had not planned on doing with this (Not the smut). Liz is not written in the second person, as this can be read separately from Damn Those Dog Tags.

Special thank you to @desert-fern and @startrekfangirl2233 for checking this over while I was sick!

THIS IS PURE FILTH. SO WHEN I SAY STAY OUT IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, I MEAN IT!

❗18+ (Minors DNI!!), Strong language, Smut (Oral, Unprotected Sex), Original Female Character, Divorced Female Character, Mentions of Original child character, Bradley working through childhood trauma and the events of Part 13 of DTDT, mentions of name calling.

#8.7 K

📜 Rooster knows he fucked up. Badly. If it wasn't for Sadie kicking him out, the entire team standing with Jake was surely it. With nowhere else to go, Bradley finds himself knocking on the front door of the one person he knows he could confide in. Even if she tells him what he doesn't want to hear.

Sadie's teary-eyed face haunted Bradley the second he pulled out of Liz's driveway.

He couldn't escape it. No matter how much he stomped on the gas pedal or how loud he turned up the radio to blast 80s music, nothing could remove the sheer devasted look on her face as she told him to get out.

He knew he wasn't paying attention as he drove. Cars honked. Yellow stop lights went ignored. He forgot to turn his blinker on as he changed lanes or turned corners without so much as stopping.

It was a miracle no roadside police or highway patrol pulled him over. But Sadie, forgoing calling him her uncle or even by his callsign, hurt him badly. He couldn't have cared less if he obeyed the rules of the road.

It wasn't until he came to a stop sign at a four-way intersection Bradley suddenly slammed his brakes hard, the tires of his Bronco skidding to a halt. He hit his hands off the steering wheel, letting out a guttural roar of pure frustration.

Liz had lied. And the whole team had taken Hangman's side. Did they not get it? Did they not understand that Hangman would leave them out to dry the second he got what he wanted?

He had a tally. And Rooster could only remember the nights he watched every single one of the bartenders before Liz quit because Hangman broke their hearts.

It was only a matter of time before Liz was next. Before Sadie was next.

A broken heart over whatever her relationship was with him would be better than the alternative.

But he couldn't deny he was hurt. Was he angry at them? At Liz? Sadie, concussed and still sassing the hell out of him, because even a ten-year-old saw through his bullshit? Or was he angry at himself? Cause maybe deep down, Sadie doing exactly that made Bradley realize just how badly he had fucked up.

Staying at the intersection for a little while, Bradley rested his head against the top of the steering wheel, trying to control his breathing and fight the ache in his chest. Until he gathered the strength to lift his head and stare out at the roads in front of him, realizing the choice he needed to make.

He could turn back around, even if he shouldn't. He could turn left and go to Maverick. But Mav would call him out on what he said, and Bradley didn't want to relive the same look of utter disappointment that wrecked Sadie's face on Pete's.

Seeing it on one person he cared about was enough.

He could go straight and go home to be alone with his thoughts, with nothing but misery for company.

But looking right, Bradley realized he had a third option, despite only seeing her within the context of Liz and Sadie. An address stood out in the back of his mind. He had dropped Sadie off there enough times to remember the route without having to look it up, and he wasn't sure why he suddenly had the urge to seek her out now. 

Maybe he knew she would listen to him when no one else would. And right now, the last thing Bradley wanted was to be alone.

The impulse was too strong. He decided to turn right.

Bradley found himself on auto-pilot as he drove, maybe a little more numb or spaced out than the road rage he had before. It wasn't until he pulled into the driveway of the little white-panelled house did his emotions suddenly seem to quiet down.

The wind had slightly picked up, rustling the red, white, and blue flag hanging off one of the support beams on the front porch. Bradley fixed his eyes on it as he climbed out of his Bronco and up the walkway, pausing at the first step.

She had a way of making him feel welcome since the first day he came to pick Sadie up from school. She made him laugh as she called him out on his shit or teased him for flirting with the other school moms as the pair waited for Will and Sadie. 

The thought hurt, knowing Liz would probably follow through with her long-standing threat of revoking his Sadie privileges, not that she really needed to.

Sadie had made it clear enough. He was clearly unwanted. 

But New Year’s Eve stood out in Bradley’s mind, the night he found himself thinking about repeatedly. If it wasn’t the quick celebratory pluck on the lips the two of them shared, it was the time they spent together simply talking in the hours afterwards. About everything and anything, no judgment whatsoever. 

Bradley sometimes wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips again.

Properly this time.

The memory of that conversation led him to step up onto her porch and knock his knuckles against the door. But in waiting for her to open the door, he bit his bottom lip hard. What were the chances Liz had called her over the past hour, telling her everything he had done? Everything he had said? There was a good chance she wouldn’t even come to the door.

Pacing back and forth, he started questioning why he had decided to come here, wondering if he had enough time to leave without being caught. Once she found out what he said, there was no question she'd want to add her name to the growing list of people who never wanted to see him again.

But it was too late for him to turn around. Just as he went to take that first step toward the walkway, the door opened.

Alyssa, wrapped in a silky white robe, was shocked to see Bradley standing on the other side of her door. Not that she minded; she had been crushing hard on the piano-playing aviator since he started picking Sadie up from school. But outside of Sadie and Liz, Rooster didn't have very many reasons to seek her out.

The first thing she noticed about him was the pure look of devastation permanently etched across his face as he turned to face her. His eyes were rimmed red, and his hair was a mess like he had raked his fingers through the strains multiple times. Even the confidence she always found to radiate off him was absent, and she wouldn't be surprised to learn he had paced across the deck multiple times before deciding to knock.

It was that one look that told her everything she needed to know.

"What did you fuck up?"

Bradley reared back. "That obvious?"

"You show up on my doorstep close to nine at night with your tail between your legs. You wouldn't be coming to me, of all people, had you not done something to piss off your entire team. Liz included."

He looked past her and into her front hallway. "Where's Will?"

"At his father's," she said unamused, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at him pointedly.

Taking one look at her, Bradley suddenly felt small. Alyssa was Liz’s friend. She would no doubt side with her.

"I can leave," he said, his voice full of resignation. With his hands raised, he stepped backwards, proceeding down the two steps of her front porch.

Alyssa frowned. "I asked you a question, Bradley. That's not me kicking you off my front porch."

Bradley froze, his face crumbling at her words. It made Alyssa pause, wondering if she had been a little too harsh. Whatever happened, it was clear Bradley had nobody else.

He wouldn’t have come to her otherwise.

Without taking her eyes off him, she stepped backwards, leaving her front door open and walked towards her kitchen. "I've got tea on the stove," she called out, voice carrying out the front door. "Or I have something stronger if that suits you better."

Bradley hesitated, watching her retreat back inside. Something about that open door was calling to him, beckoning him to take her up on her offer. He knew he'd have to explain what happened to her, and at one point on his drive over, he knew it was possible she'd react exactly the same way Sadie did.

But instead, she was here, willing to listen.

It was enough.

Stepping back up those front two steps, Bradley found himself walking through her open door, quietly shutting it behind him. Rounding the corner of her hallway, Alyssa had her back to him, taking a bright red kettle off the stove. She reached up to a cupboard above her head, opening the door to pull out a white mug before turning around to greet him.

"Pick your poison."

He eyed her mug. "So long as it's not tea. I can't handle something that weak."

Alyssa scoffed, turning back around to pour the hot water into the mug. She was methodical as she worked, adding her tea bag and unscrewing a jar of honey, taking a spoon through the gooey liquid before adding it to her tea.

"Who said I take this weak?" she remarked, walking over and reaching for the bottle of whiskey she had tucked away in the back corner. "Clearly, you've never had a hot toddy before."

She unscrewed the cap as she walked, pouring a good amount into her drink. If Bradley showed up at her door wanting to talk, she was clearly going to need some liquid courage to help her through whatever problems he brought with him.

Alyssa poured Bradley his own glass, approaching him with her arm outstretched and placing it into his hand.

"Spill Bradshaw," She remarked, picking up her mug and cradling it in between her hands, leaning over her island next to him. "We got all night."

Bradley looked down, sloshing the liquid around in the glass before bringing it up to his lips. He tilted his head back, allowing himself to relish in the burn down the back of his throat.

He told her what happened—all of it. 

The booth on New Year's Eve. Why Hangman was at the Hard Deck on a Friday afternoon when the rest of the Squad was elsewhere. At the hospital. How he hesitated to leave Sadie's hospital room, turning back around only to see Hangman with his arms wrapped tightly around Liz in an intimate manner.  

Alyssa listened the best she could, as much as she wanted to pick up one of her cookbooks and whack him over the head at his stupidity. She, instead, stared down at her tea, biting her lip as she resisted the urge to butt in. It was clear Bradley had nobody to talk to about how he felt about all this.

He had bottled this up for far too long, and she knew if she did anything to make him stop, he'd never come to her or trust her again.

But Alyssa didn't know if it was out of pity or a reaction to his sheer idiocy when she poured him a second drink when he got to the fight—being invited to dinner. Hangman interacting with Liz. Sadie curled so tightly into his side as she slept. It didn't make sense how he suddenly fit in with the two of them. So when Sadie asked to be excused, he saw his opportunity to get the answers he so desperately wanted. He had followed her inside, wanting to find out what she knew.

Only he never made it.

Because the door to Liz's bedroom was left wide open, and the presence of a bag lying open next to the bed was enough. He had seen that bag enough times on deployments to know it was Jake's.

Bradley saw red; its presence confirmed every single lie Liz had told him, every aversion or subject change when answering his questions. She had lied to him, and he felt betrayed. Storming out of her hallway, he saw Jake talking with Nat, Liz's name on his lips. 

Nothing else mattered when he stormed down her hallway, Bradley shouting in Jake's face. Jake had pushed him back. Nat got between the two of them. Then Liz appeared, and her concern for Sadie was more important than the reason why he might be yelling. 

Bradley couldn't stop rambling, recounting each yell, each shout, that echoed in Liz’s front hallway. It was like someone turned on a tap and broke the handle, Bradley hardly stopping to breathe. The whole team had known and defended the relationship. It would have been one thing for Liz to have lied and slept with him; it was another to find Jake’s bag in her room and verbal confirmation it was more than just a tumble in the sheets.

And Liz, so furious, ripping into him. How she backed him into an imaginary corner, opened him up piece by piece, and got him on the edge of admitting his friction with Jake, with his involvement with her, was more than an extension of their professional rivalry. 

Bringing up his father. His mother. 

He couldn't even look Alyssa in the eye when he told her what he said to Liz. The gasp was enough, reminding him of the damage he wrought. And Sadie, who had been watching, who stepped out from behind Bob while clearly in pain, gripping Hangman’s leg and demanding he leave. 

Alyssa couldn't help but smile into her mug when Bradley told her Sadie had kicked him out. By the time he had finished his story, Bradley was out of breath, tipping back the rest of his whiskey in one angry gulp.

"Well, that's fucked up."

"That she choose Hangman?"

"Not her, you, you fucking idiot!" Reaching over her island, she pushed him hard on his shoulder. "Liz isn't like that!

Bradley gripped his glass precariously by the tips of his fingers, dangling it back and forth while staring into the empty glass, preparing himself for the verbal punishment he knew he deserved.

"Seriously, why the hell would you say something like that, Bradley? Heaven forbid we need to change your last name to Bradshit."

He rolled his eyes. "Nice."

"You deserve it! God, you're worse than most of the kids in Will's class!"

"His bag was right there!"

"Because fucking Tyler!" She shouted. "I didn't hear you offering to stay with them! Liz feels the safest when she's with people, you damn well know this!"

He did know it. Liz wouldn’t have survived if he and Nat had not volunteered to go with her when Ridley passed away.

Alyssa was angry at him. Rightly so, in her opinion. She couldn't even look him in the face, turning to walk away and place her mug in her kitchen sink when she spat, "I know you and Jake don't see eye to eye on things, but you're not Liz's keeper. If she wants to date him, let alone fuck him, then stay the hell out of her way."

It’s unusual for Bradley to be this silent, especially when he was the one being discussed, always willing to pitch in and be a storyteller. Or when there was a large crowd, especially at the hard deck, he’d find a way or sit at the piano, turning everyone's heads to be the centre of their attention.

Alyssa thought maybe he was contemplating the consequences of his actions when she added, “Liz might be shit at handling her emotions, but she’d never put Sadie at risk. Why the hell would you compare her to your mom?”

She knows she’s rambling. Raging even. And yet, Bradley hasn’t said a word. She sighs, knowing Bradley would continue with the silent treatment if she continued yelling at him like this.

Turning around, Bradley had his back to her, head hanging low as he leaned against the counter. Then the first jolt racked his body, and Alyssa realized he was crying. 

"Bradley..." she cooed softly. Leaving her mug on the counter, she slid her hand along the cool surface as she walked, settling herself next to Bradley by leaning upon the granite and balancing herself against her hands.

 Standing beside him, she realized just how much bigger he was than her, towering over her with broad shoulders and biceps almost the size of her head. And looking down at both of their hands, side by side, she knew without a doubt his entire hand would engulf hers. However, she's never felt small in her life standing next to a man, let alone next to a complicated one such as Bradley.

"I'm going to tell you something. Something Liz would kill me for, but you need to know."

Bradley turns his head at her voice, still keeping it low, hoping she couldn't see his tears. Alyssa sighs once before admitting, "Liz is a virgin, Bradley. She hasn't slept with anyone. And Jake knows this."

It doesn't come as a surprise to Bradley that she knew. But he still shakes his head. He really was the last to know everything.

"You knew. Like everyone else."

"I'm her friend, Bradley," she rolled her eyes. "Of course, I knew."

She saw it coming a mile away. If it wasn't the night at the Hard Deck, it was Jake picking up Sadie from school. And Sadie's attempts at matchmaking, but Bradley didn't need to know that.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" he asks, voice cumbersome.

"Because you've only seen what you've wanted to see."

“What I’m seeing now after hearing that is Liz being heartbroken when she gives him her first time and he leaves her.”

"Why are you so caught up on the idea that Jake is going to leave her?" she asks heatedly, ignoring his comment. "Don't you think he would have run for the fucking hills by this point, given everything that has happened?"

Her line of questioning was logical, and it only made it worse for Bradley. Because he couldn't come up with any response to counter her that wouldn’t sound childish. Yet, he still couldn't help but recite the words, "He's not good for them."

"And you aren't?" she scoffed. "Cause it's sure as hell not looking that way. Not if Sadie has to kick you out."

Clearly, that had been the wrong thing to say. He sniffled, biting his lip as a fresh wave of tears made their way down his face at the memory. This time, Alyssa does see his face and is suddenly filled with guilt for being so harsh.

"Bradley," she said his name softly, taking him into her arms. He folded into her, glass clinking on the countertop as he turned, letting it go to bracket his arms across her upper back and burying his head into the corner of her neck.

Alyssa slowly rubbed up and down his spine, shushing him similarly to how she'd comforted Will after a nightmare. Bradley's hot tears were trailing under the hem of her rob as he whimpered quietly, and she couldn't help but place a comforting kiss on his cheek.

He had clearly reached his breaking point.

"You can tell me what's wrong," she whispered gently into his ear. "You don't have to go through whatever this is alone, Roo."

His grip on her lessened, but he didn't let her go. Lifting his head, he shuttered out a breath, hand sliding down her back until it rested against her hip. She felt the warm air caressing her face, finding herself tilting her head just a little, her nose rubbing alongside his.

His moustache tickled her upper lip as Bradley opened his mouth slightly as she slid her hand across his side and up to his chest, flat against his pec. The air was thick and hot, and she wasn't sure whether it was tension or anticipation flooding her stomach.

But then Bradley pressed his lips to hers ever so delicately, a light graze of skin upon skin, and Alyssa froze. Her brain was still trying to register the touch of his lips upon hers when he started to deepen the kiss, moving his mouth more firmly against hers. Then it became a desperate kiss, all teeth and tongue, Bradley gripping her tighter as if she'd float away. 

But as soon as she whimpered in the kiss, he pulled back with a harsh pant, shocked at his actions. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice low and hoarse, letting her go. "I shouldn't have."

His back hits the edge of the island as he steps away from her, forcing himself to grip the edge so he doesn’t reach out and touch her. It's not enough distance for Alyssa to lose her grip on his shirt, holding it tight to balance herself.

Yes, maybe he shouldn't have kissed her while he was so strung up on his emotions. But she also knew if Bradley didn't admit to himself what was really bothering him soon, it might be too late the next time something happened like this.

Because if there was one thing she absolutely knew about Bradley, it was that he never understood the weight of his actions, nor did he acknowledge the consequences until it was too late, blinded by the anger and the hurt of his own feelings.

He needed to calm down, and he needed to now. And if that kiss was any indication, she knew just how to do it.

Alyssa slowly let her hand fall from Bradley's chest as she sauntered away, walking toward her bedroom. She had left the door open, intending to return with her cup of tea after her shower and a good book before he had shown up. Bradley's eyes followed her curiously but with worry, thinking she was horrified at his actions.

But she stopped halfway inside her room.

And let her robe drop to the floor.

His breath hitched. She had been wearing absolutely nothing underneath, and Bradley's knuckles whitened on the counter as he took in the curve of her naked back.

Alyssa slyly looked over her shoulder, eyes inciting him to join her. Bradley's never left her as he pushed himself away from the island, each step slow and steady. She watched him stalk forward out of the corner of her eye, anticipation and pure want starting to build in the pit of her stomach.

Calloused hands lightly grabbed her hips, fingers sliding across her stomach. Alyssa hummed as Bradley's breath warmed her neck, smelling the remnants of his whisky as her hand gently held his wrist.

He breathed against the shell of her ear hotly. "Can I fuck you?"

She leaned back against him, head turning to rasp against his mouth, "Why the hell did I drop my robe for you?"

Bradley is on her instantly, desperately moulding his lips to hers, moaning against her mouth. His hand tightened across her stomach as Alyssa reached behind his head, carting her fingers through his hair. She's still gripping his wrist, nails biting into his skin as he starts sliding his hand downwards, cupping her core.

He tastes whiskey and honey on his tongue, tracing it along the inside of her mouth. Alyssa moans against his lips when Bradley’s fingers slide down and spread her open, clit burning with the exposure to the cool air. She pulls away but hover’s her mouth over his, harsh pants echoing in the space between them. 

There’s some quick retort forming in her mind, ready to egg him on into following through. But it dies before she even manages to voice it.

His pointer finger is rubbing tight, firm circles against her clit, and she gasps, mouth falling away from Bradley’s as she wobbles, legs on the verge of giving out. He doesn’t stop, encouraged by her reaction to keep going, even sliding down to gather some of her wetness on the pad of his finger before returning to his previous task. 

Suddenly, his other hand slides up from her hip and across her torso to grip one of her breasts. His hold is tight, almost rough, as he pulls her against his front.

She feels like she is on display this way, Bradley caressing and groping her body as if she was being made into one of those marble Greek statues featured at a museum. An artist watching how each flick of his hand and accompanying pant twisted her body, or how a particular twist of his hand caused her hips to clash backwards into his.

It was too much. In a second, Alyssa turned in Bradley's tight hold, reaching up to hold either side of his neck to press a desperate kiss to his lips. Bradley matches her with the same intensity, working his tongue into her mouth as he takes hold of the skin at her hip.

His chest is being racked with harsh pants as he walks her backwards, a single hand on her neck. Her knees hit the edge of her bed, and she falters. Bradley tilts them both forward, making them fall into the bed. Alyssa lands with a single bounce, Bradley slotting his thigh between her legs with the movement and catching himself above her with each hand on either side of her head.

Staring up at him, she can see the pure want in his eyes. The desperation as he takes her in lying underneath him. Slowly, he lowers himself down, grinding his denim-covered thigh purposely into her bare cunt. Panting at the feeling, she slid her hands across his abs under his shirt, feeling the sculpted muscles ripple under her touch before she felt him press his forehead to hers, hot breath filling the space between their mouths.

He doesn't kiss her. Bradley purposely avoids her lips, his hot breath warming her skin as he makes his way down her body, deliberately pausing whenever he exhales. Each is long, heavy, and lewd - at the curve of her neck, above her breast, around her nipple. The further down he went, the greater Alyssa tugged at her comforter, both hands gripping the fabric as if she'd float away.

And then he pauses when he reaches her cunt, grasping the bend of her knees and pushing them open. She parts her legs willingly, slightly unsure of his intentions but hoping to god it involved an orgasm or two.

When his fingers move to part her folds, Alyssa's eyes widen. Holding her open, Bradley dove in, licking firm strips up her folds before his mouth enclosed her clit, hands holding her hips still and keeping her against his mouth as he sucked.

He's relentless, moaning into her with deep rumbles that vibrate against her clit, a wanton cry of his name crawling deep from within her chest at the sensations it caused. Bradley lets her go with a wet sound, only to hook two fingers and ease them into her, his tongue following in kind.

Alyssa tightens around his fingers and whimpers at the roughness of his tongue and how he's frantically lapping at her. Like he was in a desert, and she was the only source of water.

She can’t help but slide her hand into his hair, gripping the short strands in a vice grip to tug him closer. But instead, he manages to pull back a few inches only to breathe out, “You taste so fucking sweet.”

Her body jolts at the praise, Bradley back to licking at her with long broad strokes, tongue darting up every so often to nudge at her clit. His fingers press hard against her g-spot while the other brackets across her stomach, holding her hips down as she buckles them into his mouth. Till she feels the tightening in her stomach, and she knows she’s close.

“Fuck Bradley, I’m so close,’ she sobs.

“Cum for me,” he snarls in one breath. “Prove how much you want me.”

Alyssa never knew she needed to know the answer to the question of whether or not someone could orgasm from hearing someone’s voice. If it hadn’t been for how he was working her, she was damn sure he would have confirmed it by saying those words to her alone. 

Because she was shaking, sparks flying across her body and her legs clamping down around Bradley’s head as she reached her peak. His fingers eased in their rhythm, working her through the aftermath as he took her in. 

Back arched. Head gasping into her pillow and her hands gripping the sheets. Chest heaving. All because of him. And it caused desperation to grow within his chest as he sat back, placing his hand on her thigh in silent comfort. 

When her pleasure finally levelled out, Alyssa looked down at Bradley between her thighs, his eyes blown wide and desperate, staring up at her.

It’s the tiniest of nods from Alyssa that makes him move. He stands, the sound of a zipper and a buckle being undone, of heavy fabric hitting the floor, and a rhythmic clink of his dog tags as he removes his shirt. Then he's crawling on the bed over her, pressing kisses up her stomach, sucking her breast into his mouth and licking a path up from the centre of her chest to her collarbone.

There’s a quick brush of his hand against the inside of her thigh before he’s reaching for his cock, rubbing the tip against her entrance. She tilts her head back into her pillow, moaning at the feeling. Bradley follows her, panting as he seeks out her mouth.

"Do you want this?" he gasps around her lips. "Do you want me?"

She smiles. "Me letting you eat me out wasn't enough consent for you?"

Bradley doesn't laugh at her quip. Instead, he presses forward just a bit, the head of his cock just barely slipping inside. She whimpers, fingernails digging into his back.

"I said," he grunts out a little more firmly. "Do you want me?"

She doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her give in. Turning her head, she gasps into his mouth, "Just shut up and fuck me, Brad-shit."

In two seconds, Bradley growls, pushing his cock the rest of the way in, making Alyssa mewl.

He's big. Bigger than anything she's ever had before, and it takes her a moment to adjust. She's grateful Bradley is giving her that chance. He looks unhinged, holding himself above her, his face red, an angry vein protruding from his forehead.

Yet, despite the wrecked look on his face, he starts thrusting slowly when she grips his shoulder, small shifts of his hips that have her whimpering at the feel of his cock sliding in and out of her.

She cannot help but think he is going too slow.

“More,” she whines, wriggling underneath him.  

“More?” he asked through a rough gasp. “More of what?”

Bowing his head, Bradley kisses a path down between her breasts, hand bunching one in his grasp before taking the nipple into his mouth. He sucks, tongue darting around the peak before letting it go with a loud pop.

“More of this?” he accentuates with a hard thrust that has her gasping into his mouth, and he cannot help but kiss her once. Twice.

"More of my lips on yours?" he uttered throatily, trailing his lips down the outline of her jaw to the soft skin behind her ear. "More of my teeth marking you up?"

All of that, she thinks to herself as the fire builds in her stomach and the sounds of wet slaps fill the room.

"No," he grunts thickly. "It's not any of those things. It's me, isn't it?"

Bradley doesn't give her the option of replying, suddenly sitting back on his haunches and seizing her hips. She fell further down the bed as he tugged, arms dropping beside her head as he started to pick up the pace.

"It's me you want," he growls. "Me thrusting into you. Me making you feel this way. Me making you feel wanted. Me fucking you. Isn't it?"

She doesn't answer him, too enthralled by the feeling of him to manage to voice a single word. So he stops, letting go of one hip to lean forward on the bed and roar, "Isn't it!?"

“Yes, you,” she whimpers, finally allowing herself to give in to him. “All of you. I want all of you, Bradley.”

A growl escapes Bradley’s body, his eyes turning feral. His thrusts lose any semblance of rhythm as he begins to rock into her with wild abandon.

There is nothing slow or gentle to Bradley's movements, dragging out each reaction he could from her. He's gripping her tightly as he sets his pace with harsh, fast strokes, her breath catching in her throat. She's sure she is going on a hunt for several interestingly shaped bruises across her body in the morning. But she didn't care.

Not when Bradley was pounding into her like it was his last night alive.

Not when he was holding her wrists down on to the bed.

Not when he was suddenly over her, biting up her neck, only to take her ear lobe into his mouth and suck, when his hands were grabbing at her skin, and his cock was hitting all the right places.

Where?" he grunts, the sound vibrating in her ear. It's then she realizes the two of them were so caught up in the pleasure that neither one of them stopped to consider protection. It doesn't change her answer, though.

"Inside," she turns to gasp into his mouth. "Safe."

Her words trigger something in Bradley's mind. His pace increases in a desperate need to finish. His hand lets go of her wrist in favour of sliding down between their bodies, going straight for her clit and drawing figure eights as he thrusts, and Alssya digs her nails into his back at the added pleasure. 

Bradley collapses, shuttering out a chat of fucks and digging his head into her collarbone as he drops his entire weight onto her. Alyssa curled her legs up, locking them around his waist, hands digging into his shoulder blades as she wailed at the intensity.

Then, he's cumming, hands gripping the underside of her shoulders, pulling her even further onto his length as he fills her with a groan, mouth hanging open by the side of her neck. Alyssa squeals, the sound muffled by her teeth biting down on his shoulder, legs tightening around his waist as she follows him over the edge, clamping down on him hard and milking him for all he's worth.

It's quiet in her bedroom, save for their shared gasps of breath and her wall clock ticking away the seconds. There’s a haze filling the room, making everything and anything impossible. Bradley hasn't let her go, sagging his weight down into her, keeping her pinned to the bed.

She should feel suffocated. Maybe even a little gross. The both of them are covered in slick, and sweat, and she’s sure both of their releases are smearing the insides of her thighs, leaking onto her sheets as she uncurls them from around his waist.

But it's in the haze she finally sees her chance. Bradley’s mind would be calm enough now, maybe less resistant to finally admitting the reason he was so upset. Because while Jake, Liz and Sadie were at the root of the issue, they were only the scapegoat for something much deeper.

"She had every right to kick you out, Bradley," she panted, stroking the back of his head. "Sadie was right. You were being a bully."

Bradley rolls off of her as soon as she finishes her sentence, Alyssa hissing as he pulls out. She’s sore, her core aching at the absence of his cock, but it doesn’t stop her from following him, laying a hand on his chest as he rests on his back.

She was done with the harsh remarks over glasses of whiskey. Bradley needed nothing but the truth.

"I know Liz hurt your feelings, Bradley, but there's more to this than not liking the fact Liz is dating Hangman."

He went to get out of bed, but Alyssa managed to swing her leg over, trapping him under. Groaning with the ache in her cunt, she placed her hands firmly on his chest. "Nope. You're not running from this."

"Lyssa..." he protests, halting at her weight, hands gripping the sheets on either side of her bare legs. A part of him realizes she did this on purpose, making him fall into bed with her so he'd be more compliant, more vulnerable. But another part wants to give in to her, a smaller part desperately crying out to be heard.

It's why he stops, his back collapsing into her headboard as she settles herself on top of him. Because right now, he's at the center of her attention, and she's fighting for him to stay.

“Hush,” she chimes back.

"Hangman is not a good guy. He's arrogant, selfish, and reckless... He's.."

"None of those things to Liz and Sadie," she interrupted him. "Would you call what he did for Sadie leaving her out to dry? How he listened to Liz, handcuffed to the floor, telling him to leave her?" 

Bradley knows she's right. But it doesn't stop him from biting his lip and avoiding her eyes. It makes Alyssa grab the side of his face, pulling his head up. Bradley lets her but closes his eyes, not ready for the words he knows she's about to say. 

"Look at me, Bradley." 

He makes a noise of protest, his face scrunching up in a last-ditch attempt at refusal. But Alyssa's grip on his face remains firm, gentle and absolute. 

"Roo, look at me," she tries again, this time softer.  “What is the real reason you are upset?”

He opens his eyes, confusion written across his face. "I told you."

She shook her head. "You told me the what and the how. You didn't tell me the why."

Bradley didn't say anything, choosing to stare at the clock behind her head. It encouraged her to continue with her point. "Jake hangs people out to dry. Liz is too good-hearted. Sadie and her will be hurt. We know all this. But it's more than that with you, Roo."

She knows Bradley has given up on escaping when he lets her gently stroke her fingers across his brow in a comforting manner. “I think this has less to do with Liz dating or sleeping with Jake and more about Sadie. But not in the way you've been making us believe.”

As her fingers slid down the side of his face, she pressed on. "I also think Liz was right when she said this has to do with your mom."

Her acknowledgement of his mom is softer than Liz's outburst. And unlike that time, it doesn't hurt as much when she brings it up. But it doesn't stop him from flexing his grip on her bare legs, subconsciously knowing she's getting closer and closer to uncovering the truth.

"Because if it were any other person who Liz decided to date, you wouldn't be reacting as hard as you are right now. Because with every reason you've given me for being upset, they all have one thing in common, "She pauses, a pensive look on her face, before she asks," What is it about the Navy that's making you act this way?"

Bradley knows he's finally been caught.

Whether he wanted to or not, Alyssa wasn’t going to let this go. He could easily get up, push her off, and walk out the door. Continue to bury the weight of the fear that's haunted him all of his life.

But he doesn't want to.

Alyssa looks at him in a way that tells him nothing he would say would change her opinion of him. That, for every fault and bad decision he's ever made, his fear wouldn't make her run away. And unlike the Daggers, who stood with Hangman in the aftermath of his outburst, he gets the feeling Alyssa would be the one to stand with him, even if she disagreed with his actions.

So for the first time since Jake was invited to that first Saturday Night, Bradley decides to be honest.

Maybe even to himself.

Sighing once, Bradley reaches for the Dog Tags lying in the middle of his chest. Hooking his thumb around the balled chain, he slid it down till the three thin pieces of metal sat in the palm of his hand. He’s staring down at them, and Alyssa follows his gaze. 

It takes her a second, but she realizes he added the third tag. She’s seen enough of the military men gracing the beach, let alone divorcing one, to know there were only supposed to be two. 

“Do you know why they give us dog tags?” he asks her without looking up. Alyssa nods with a sallow, cupping the underside of Bradley’s hand holding the precious metal. “If something happens, they can identify you.”

“Do you know why they give us two?” 

She does—two dog tags, one to take and one to leave. 

And suddenly, everything about Bradley’s reaction to his fight with Liz makes sense. Bradley was protecting Sadie from the circumstances of Jake's very possible someday. Protecting Liz from suffering through the grief of losing another person she loved dearly.

Because there’s no question whose name graced that third tag hanging around Bradley’s neck. 

She reaches with her free hand, picking up the tag not connected to the others. The metal is old, withered and roughed up. But she can still make out the name imprinted on one side as she flips it over.  

Nick "Goose" Bradshaw. 

Bradley’s father.  

“Mav was flying when my dad hit the canopy of their plane. They didn’t need to identify him but took the tag anyway,” he sniffed, tears making their way down his face. “Mav didn’t give two shits about rules back then when he swiped it. Still doesn’t.” 

Unhooking his thumb from the chain, Bradley twisted his hand, gently taking hold of Alyssa’s wrist as she held his father’s tag. “It’s all we have left when we burn in. All that remains.”

He lets her wrist go in favour of grasping the tag, Alyssa delicately letting it go when she realizes he wants to hold it. Holding the tag between his two fingers, he held it up in front of his face.

"I grew up watching my mom cry over this dog tag, whether it was around her neck or hanging on the mirror of her vanity. And I tried to help her. But her grief was just too much."

He lets the tag fall back to his chest, watching it go, keeping his gaze downward.

"When Liz's sister passed away, she shut down. Sadie knew it too," his eyes glaze over as he remembers finding Sadie pulling at strains of grass. "I found her in Liz's backyard a few weeks after we brought her home. She was trying to hide away because she didn't want Liz to know she was struggling to accept her mom was gone - because Liz had been trying her damn hardest not to cave, and Sadie knew, so she felt she had to do the same."

He shakes his head, trying to remove the memory from his head. Alyssa reached up to stroke along his shoulder and up and down his arm, hoping he would find the strength to continue.

"Jake flies like he has nothing to lose," he states through a harsh pant. "He's reckless and doesn't think about anyone else but himself. And in our line of work?" he scoffs. "He doesn't realize he has everything to lose now. At first, it was about trying to protect Liz and Sadie from him. From his reputation and cause, well, he's an asshole."

Bradley chuckles to himself softly, thinking back to the day on the soccer field. "Liz had no idea what was coming for her when Hangman returned from Texas. He went through every single female bartender Penny hired, and within a week, they were gone. I wasn't going to see Liz fall to the same fate. Even though she said she could handle it, I needed to be there for her."

Alyssa sees her chance to speak amongst his reminiscing, stating something she desperately knows to be true. "Because she cares. More than any average person."

Bradley closes his eyes and smiles softly, nodding once.

And Sadie?" he laughed. "I wasn't expecting her to invite him to own of our Saturday nights, to her hike, which none of unless had the privilege of. And it dawned on me it wasn't just Liz who needed I needed to protect."

His tears are back, tracking down the outside of his face, and Alssya doesn't resist the urge to wipe them away, cradling his cheek.

"I see so much of myself in her, Lyssa," he whimpers. "She has the whole world on her shoulders." He still has his eyes closed, tilting his head back to her ceiling, knocking his head against the headboard.

"But being in the Navy? It's a fucking death sentence. A promise." Bradley opens his eyes but doesn't look at her face, fixating on the tattoo on her collarbone, the small cursive font spelling out her Son's name. "When I say I'm mad at Liz, Mad at the fact they are together, I'm scared for the future Sade will have to bare. Because one day, it will be Sadie trying to pick Liz up from the bathroom floor, dealing with her own grief, wondering if she is enough."

Alyssa cannot help her silent tears hearing Bradley's story. She cannot imagine the weight he had to carry growing up or how fast he had to grow up. She's not surprised he would be drawing comparisons between himself and Sadie, both of them being dealt almost the same shitty hand in life.

She often thought about Will and what he might go through should Bradley's description of a possible someday happen to her ex-husband.

But in projecting his own emotional trauma, Bradley is missing something. He usually always does, too caught up in his initial hurt to see the bigger picture. Because never once in his explanation did he mention where he fits into all this.

She has a good idea why.

There are no scathing remarks, unkind words or judgments when Bradley finally decides to look at her. Instead, Alyssa looks sad, biting her lip as she gently reaches out to stroke his brow.

"Whose to say Sadie won't mourn you too?"

Her question guts him. So much so that Bradley breaks, his chin dropping to his chest as the first sob worked its way up his throat. Because the image is being painted so vividly in his mind.

It's not Ridley Sadie's crying over in that backyard, and it's not his hand she's holding while standing over her mother's grave. He can see her looking down at him, trembling lip as she grips Liz's hand.

It's not Ridley's death she's grieving. Or even Hangman's.

It's his.

"It's too late for that now," he manages to say through tears. "What I said, what I implied..."

Alssya smiles sadly, brushing away some of his tears, knowing Bradley would still harbour feelings of hatred towards Jake. "The both of them are going to forgive you. They just need time."

"Who is to say they won't?"

He says it so dejectedly that Alyssa feels she can't do anything else but take his face between her hands and place her forehead to his.

"Sadie doesn't pick favourites. She loves everyone equally," she explained, and Bradley knew she meant he was never a risk of losing Sadie's love. "And Liz... Well, you're family, Bradley. They are always going to need you."

Bradley shook his head, urging Alyssa to say something that cracked and glued his heart back together within the same sentence.

"You're never going to be unwanted, Bradley Bradshaw."

A weight, buried so deep, lifted from Bradley's chest. A burden he knew he'd been carrying since childhood but hadn't acknowledged until the aftermath of Mav pulling his papers. Because Maverick was one of the very few people Bradley had in his life supporting him when his mother passed away. And in one second, his support system was gone.

Once Bradley did get into the Navy, he spent the better half of his Naval career burying his feelings under the hatred he felt for Pete. He avoided every instance or mention of the man if he could help it. Then he was called back to Top Gun. Forced to confront every single thing he had spent years ignoring.

The aftermath of the Urainium mission brought back his support system. It brought him Liz, who showed up at the bar one day with a friendly smile and an interest in hearing everyone's stories as she poured them a drink from behind Penny's bar, never once treating them any differently because they were in the Navy, flirting with death each time they went up in the air.

Bradley couldn’t remember the last time someone had treated him like that. He was worth her time; he was worth being her friend.

It also brought him Sadie, who took one look within seconds of meeting him and decided he was someone she wanted in her life. Her struggle with grief led him to believe that maybe everything he went through could be used to help this ten-year-old girl and her aunt get through it. It gave him purpose.

And his burden lessened.

Then Hangman returned from Texas, waltzing in months after Liz's sister passed away and Sadie had firmly cemented herself into all their lives. Suddenly, the progress he had made meant nothing.

Because Sadie inviting Hangman to that Saturday night triggered Bradley in ways he didn't know he could be, bringing him back to the days and nights, he'd sit with his mom as she tried to process her grief, wondering if he could help her. If he was doing enough or if his presence only reminded her of his father.

But Bradley cannot deny the truth behind Alyssa's words. He was so caught up in worrying, projecting his fears onto Liz and Sadie, he had failed to recognize it for what it was.

When the day came that Hangman did leave them out to dry or his someday came where he burned in, Bradley swore he would try to be there for them. In the way he was there when Liz's Sister passed away. 

Because Bradley was no longer haunted by the ghosts of his past, wondering if he had done enough. If he tried hard enough.

Alyssa reminded him that he was wanted.

Worth it.

And in some ways, even loved.

Reaching up, he grasped one of her wrists gently, turning his head to place a soft kiss on her skin. "I should have come to you sooner, Lyssa."

"Yeah, well, when you have to compete against Urusula on the blacktop for your attention," she shrugged, playing off the hidden meaning behind her words. But Bradley caught on, smirking as he rolled them over, trapping Alyssa underneath him and going straight for her neck.

"She's got nothing on you," he murmured, kissing the soft spot below her ear. Alyssa smiled coyly, stroking her free hand up the bare skin of his arm. "Oh really? Your tendency to gravitate towards her whenever you pick Sadie up says otherwise, full of Brad-shit."

"Have you seen those nails?" he remarked, grazing his moschate up the side of her neck. Alyssa threw her head back, nails scratching down his back. 

"A fighter pilot, risking his life and daring greatly in the face of danger, brought to his knees by the head of the P.T.A. and her manicured nails," she laughed, feeling the bristles tickle her skin. "How terrifying."

"Terrified," he remarked, pressing kiss after kiss down her neck. "Utterly terrifying."

Trailing down to her chest, Bradley took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking hard and letting it go with a pop before whispering huskily, "But you? I think I'll take my chances."

Wrapping her legs around Bradley's waist, Alyssa pressed herself up against his hardening length, lifting her mouth to his ear to remark teasingly, "Why don't you prove it, Lieutenant Bradshaw?"

He did.

Many times over that night.

Are you all going to be mad at me because Rooster got some after what he did? 😬👀 It's not all sunshine and rainbows about his opinion regarding Jake, though.

Part 14 of DTDT might be a little bit longer. I've been battling a really bad stomach bug, and the weather where I live has been great for producing migraines. So that's the reason for the delay.

Hopefully, soon!

Wickett ;)

Tag List for DTDT:

@blue-aconite @tinytotontheoversizedpony @djs8891 @caitsymichelle13 @startrekfangirl2233

@mayhemmanaged @ereardon @dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby

@phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447 @fulla02 @blckgrl-sunflower @mizzzpink @ohgodnotagainn

@bubblegumbeautyqueen @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @lynnestra44 @memoriesat30 @penwieldingdreamer @mxlanciia

@bradleybeachbabe @bobby-r2d2-floyd @lavenderbradshaw @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @dakotakazansky

@keyrani @craftytrashprincess @hisredheadedgoddess28 @abzidabzy @seitmai

For those who found this and are interested in checking out the story this one shot is based on, check out the below:

Masterlist For Damn Those Dog Tags

[alexluvsskittlez]

I hope they explode

[desire-mona]

if this aint neil perry

[overly-distressed-mouse]

Oh my god guys I think I'm actually managing to make a largely happy Renga playlist that is (except for a bit of debatably devastating Ricky Montgomery songs) not insanely angsty :0

Like I can listen to it and just be happy for them and they can be happy and gay and everything's great :0

[homiro]

Easier to use version. We'll be having the summoning circle every day, as usual. And y'all better show up for day two because "Motivational Songs to Play at Work" is hard to book. Link for the app.

And the roast app verdict:

Link for this one. (it's for joking purposes, it's not actually roasting your music tastes and I personally find it funny). It agrees, though, see? Everyone should go see Motivational Songs to Play at Work live.

Making this a tag game. Feel free to tag more people and keep it going or just post your results and tag nobody. No limit or minimum for tagging, either.

My tags under the cut.

Tagging some of my cherished mutuals: @merry-andrews (ily and I'm sorry I've been out of it), @valkaryah (true homie, you can show it to me in private ily), @szivtalan (feel free to ignore, bro), @cowboylikedean (we don't talk much but I appreciate you), @babyboyblueberry (I'm curious bro feel free to ignore. this goes for everyone honestly), @hkbs-world (I never forgot you 💛💙), @normal-thoughts-official (so, makaka, show us the cringe freedom), @ratty9boy (hey, lil bro), @gold-ringe (you're an angel), @likkida (du komst in meinen zweiten Tag!), @stardustdaemon (we been here a long time, fam), and @xxohmycaptainxx (oldest still remaining mutual. seen it all and still stayed. hope you're well).

Hope everyone is well, really. Take my virtual high five, low-five, fist bump, hip bump, whatever suits you. You're all stars.

[cherrymoonvol6]

pain and suffering on planet earth

[6txndrunks]

work got me feeling like hell is going to feel like heaven

[xyl4-4444]

Dj Sour Eyesore doodledump ☣🎧👁️

BONUS!!!

Wip

[beatcroc]

this time im really gonna do it <-block the term spotify/ spotify wrapped and anyone whos fucking using it

[socialbunny]

guys look at this ask i got yesterday

anyways have u guys ever heard this shit? give it a listen song of the summer fr

[seventh-district]

this song ain’t got no right to be scratchin’ my brain as much as it does