#and neither does Bradley

[wngmn]

Something about Bradley driving the Bronco with one hand on the wheel and the other on Jake's thigh makes me go absolutely feral

[unlawfulchaos]

Ice: OK Bradley, let's go through your homework. Which class first?

7 year old Bradley: Maths first, we're doing adding.

Ice, looking at the worksheet: Right. So if Mav has 16 cans of diet coke-

Bradley: Why does Mav have 16 cans of diet coke?

Mav, struggling to carry 16 cans of diet coke into the kitchen: None of your business, Baby Goose.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Gentle

Pairing: Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x Reader

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

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

Length: 3.6K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d been grateful for that last night. 

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

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

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

“You should’ve told me.” 

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t ask.” 

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

“Yeah, it does. I figured—” 

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

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

“You should’ve told me.” 

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

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

“You should’ve told me—” 

“Lower your voice.” 

“I would’ve been more gentle.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I did—” Small wonder, “But—” 

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

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

-- 

“Get in.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Shoes off, Bradshaw.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

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

“Water.” 

“You hungry?” 

“No.” 

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

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

“Could’ve told me afterward.”

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

“You tell ‘em it was me?” 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

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

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

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

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

“No.” 

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

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

“Where’s your room.” 

-- 

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

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

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

“But—” 

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

You just have to piss him off a little. 

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

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

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

“Face me.” 

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

“Get on the bed.” 

You sit, and wait.

“Lie down.” 

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

“Don’t play dumb,” He warns. “Go on.” 

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

“Hands up.” 

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

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

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

“Bradley—” 

“Hush.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bradley–”

“Quiet—”

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

“Just—” 

“I want more, Bradley, ‘m so—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Br-Bradley—” 

“Gimme another one.” 

-- 

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

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

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

“Y’alright?” 

“I think so,” You mumble. 

“Give it a minute.” 

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

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

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

“Slow down,” He chuckles. 

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

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

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

“That’s not what tonight was?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tag list:

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

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

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

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

@winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 @nominalnebula

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Brother's Best Friend - Part 12

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: Trying to get back into these two. Did we miss them?

Summary: The trials and tribulations of falling for your brother's best friend.

CW: mild angst, swearing, fluff

WC: 2600+

Part 1 | Masterlist

“So…” Jake pauses and purses his lips to suppress a mischievous smile. “When did you start liking me?”

You look down at your lap where his head has been resting for the last five minutes. “Did I tell you I like you?”

Jake meets your gaze and snorts. He reaches up to take your hand off the keyboard of your laptop and brings it down over his chest. “Indirectly,” he admits.

You roll your eyes, recalling when you had expressed to Bradley – in Jake’s presence – how ‘your guy’ makes you feel. You pull your hand out of his grasp and look back up at the screen in front of you. “I have to work, Jake.”

“You’re too hardworking,” Jake responds with a whine.

You shake your head with a grin. “Such a dreadful habit, I know. I’m working on it – wait. Damn, I see what you mean –”

Jake starts chuckling and his head tickles your bare thighs. “You’re so fucking cute.”

You press your lips together as your smile broadens. “When did you start liking me?” you ask.

Jake releases a heavy sigh and sits up. “Alright, enough chitchat. Get to work.”

You watch him rise to his feet and make his way into the kitchen, curious why he so abruptly decided to change the subject. “Got any plans this weekend?” you ask casually, wondering if he’ll finally ask you out on a date. The two of you have been sneaking around for a while, but your only outings together have been with Bradley, so you couldn’t even hold hands. Thus far, you’ve assumed that Jake is just waiting for the right moment to speak with Bradley before the two of you make your relationship official but, as time goes on, you become increasingly skeptical that Jake actually intends to come clean.

Jake shrugs. “Not really. Just hangin’ with your bro.”

You try your best not to frown. “Sounds fun.”

Jake walks back over to you and sets a bowl of strawberries on the table by your laptop. You glance up at him inquisitively and he responds with, “You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

You give him a smile. “Neither have you.”

He nods. “Which is how I know you’re hungry.”

“Thanks,” you say. “As soon as I’m through with this part, I’ll move all this shit and we can have some lunch.” You gesture at the pile of literature currently cluttering your workspace.

Jake takes a seat adjacent to you at the table and lets out another sigh. “I don’t know,” he says.

You shift your gaze from your computer to look in his direction. “Don’t know what? If you want lunch?” You pick up a strawberry and pop it into your mouth.

Jake is observing you carefully and you stop chewing because the attention makes you uncomfortable. “I don’t know when…” he says, pausing as though he isn’t sure how to continue. “When, uh… I don’t know at what point” – he exhales sharply – “I have no clue when I f – when I started to see you as more than just Bradley’s sister. As more than a friend.”

You raise your eyebrows at him, your mouth still full of half-chewed strawberry.

“I think I just realized, at one point, that I’d rather spend time with you than with anyone else,” he admits.

You finish chewing awkwardly before responding with, “Huh.”

Jake stares at you expectantly, as though you should have something to add.

But you’re not really sure what to say. You’ve been crushing on Jake for an embarrassingly long time and he does not have clearance for that kind of classified intel, especially since his interest in you is far more recent. What does he want, anyway? A pat on the back for finally figuring it out?

“Your turn,” he says, clearing his throat and leaning back in his chair with an air of confidence.

You purse your lips as though you’re in thought. “Not sure,” you say vaguely.

Jake narrows his eyes. “Not sure? Or don’t want to say?”

You meet his gaze tentatively. “I probably liked you before you liked me.”

Jake watches you with a slight grin. “In that case, you were very good at hiding it.”

…

You arrive at the pub already slightly tipsy after pre-drinking at your friend’s house. In fact, you’re drunk enough to not give two shits that Jake has, once again, decided to spend his Saturday night with Bradley. This time, he didn’t even invite you along.

Once inside, you head straight for the bar; no sense in wasting time waiting for a table. You grab a drink and take a look around the crowded establishment. That’s when you see him.

Jake fucking Seresin is sitting at a table near the back – not with your brother. You stare at him – and his female companion – in horror for a few moments, letting the scene sink in. Wondering if you’re in the wrong for being shocked. Are the two of you even exclusive? This has never actually been discussed. But one thing is certain: Jake lied, which makes you sick to your stomach.

You slide off your barstool and, cocktail in hand, you make your way to the little table in the back where your supposed boyfriend – or whatever he is – sits entertaining another woman. It’s not long before Jake notices your presence because you’re making quite a spectacle on your way over as you furiously skirt every person in your path.

Jake looks uncomfortable and that satisfies you greatly. “Hey,” he says when you arrive.

You gape at him. “Hey?” you exclaim in outrage.

“Uh,” Jake stalls for a moment. He turns to his date and says, “This is Bradley’s sister.”

The woman opposite Jake smiles at you but you’re too busy glaring at Jake to acknowledge her. “That’s all you want to say about me?”

Jake watches you pointedly. “What else do you want me to say about you?” He looks back at his date and lets out a nervous chuckle.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Seresin?” you shriek, slamming your stemmed glass onto their table so aggressively that your sour apple martini splashes over the rim.

Jake jerks back to avoid getting wet and then looks up at you in alarm. “What’s the matter with you?”

You shake your head at him in disappointment and then turn abruptly to leave. You expect Jake to grab your hand, or follow you out, but he does neither. In fact, you make it all the way back to the bar before you realize that Jake is not even looking in your direction. You see him laughing together with his female friend, as though they both just witnessed something absurd and worthy of repeating in the future for a good chuckle.

“Hey, isn’t that your brother’s aviator buddy?” your friend says, nodding toward the back of the pub.

You roll your eyes and then turn toward the bar, realizing you left your drink at Jake’s table.

“He’s kind of hot,” you friend continues. “But he’s got fuckboy written all over him.”

You close your eyes and sigh. You have nobody to blame but yourself. You know Jake. What in the world made you think he would become a different person if he were with you?

…

The following day, you wake up past noon with a debilitating migraine. You hear Bradley and Jake’s voices drift up from the kitchen and groan. You’re not in the mood to face Jake after the events of the previous evening. You ended up going home shortly after confronting him and you have no idea where he ended up. Probably in bed, and probably not alone.

You get dressed unhurriedly, dizzy from the pain and, on your way downstairs, you grip the banister tightly just in case. The kitchen is excruciatingly bright, and you cringe upon entering, shielding your face from the open window like a vampire.

“Oh, hey sleepyhead!” your brother greets you.

You grunt in response and head straight for the coffee pot. “Is this fresh?” you ask.

“Nope!” Bradley replies cheerily.

You pour yourself a mug anyway and put it in the microwave, turning to face the two of them while your coffee warms.

Jake meets your gaze with a stoic expression.

“How was your night?” Bradley asks with a grin, clearly seeing that you’re hungover.

“Fine,” you say monotonously.

Bradley raises his eyebrows. “It’s the enthusiasm for me,” he says with a smirk, looking over at Jake.

Jake, however, ignores him and grabs his jacket from the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “You ’bout ready, Bradshaw? I ain’t got all day.”

“Alright, alright,” Bradley says. “Let me get my stuff.”

Bradley jogs over to the staircase and runs up to grab his duffel bag. Meanwhile, you are deliberately avoiding Jake’s gaze as you lean your back into the kitchen counter. Jake stuffs his hands into his pockets and is also not looking at you. When Bradley returns a few minutes later, disrupting the silence with a melodic whistling, the two of you have not moved an inch from where you’d been standing when he left. Even though the microwave has beeped at you twice.

“What’s with you two?” he asks, pausing in the doorway.

“Nothing,” Jake responds curtly. “Let’s go.”

Bradley glances between the two of you. “Okay,” he says slowly, his gaze lingering on you in particular. “See you later, sis,” he says.

You wave a distracted hand in his direction and head for the couch with your coffee, nearly bumping into Jake as you cross paths because neither of you is looking at the other.

“Sorry,” Jake mutters, stepping aside to let you pass. His hand goes up instinctively to guide you but he catches himself before letting it rest on your arm.

“It’s fine,” you say, wavering slightly on the spot. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment and press a couple of fingers into your temple.

“You okay?” he asks, his eyebrows converging as he tries to catch your gaze.

“I said I’m fine.” You sigh, trying to walk around him.

“Seresin, you coming, or what?” Bradley calls from the foyer.

Jake hesitates as you finally pass him, and then yells back. “I’ll meet you there!”

Bradley waits a moment as though he’s still trying to figure out what’s going on. Then you hear the front door open and Bradley shout, “Don’t be late!” as he exits the house.

Jake trails after you into the living room and, when you lower yourself onto the couch, he crouches down in front of you, placing a hand on your knee. “Migraine?” he asks.

You nod slowly so as not to exacerbate the pain.

Jake’s hand gives your leg a soft squeeze. “Have you eaten?”

You cringe. “Please don’t talk to me about food right now,” you beg.

“Did you take anything?”

You shake your head. “I’m out.”

Jake gets to his feet. “I’ll go pick up some meds for you,” he says.

You glance up at him miserably. “You’re going to be late.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he responds, already on his way out.

…

Jake returns not ten minutes later with your medication and a bag full of snacks. “I heard dark chocolate is good for migraines,” he says, holding out a block for you as you swallow your pills.

“I’m not hungry, Jake,” you say weakly, closing your eyes and lying back down on the couch.

Jake sighs, sitting down on the floor beside you and starting to unwrap the chocolate. “You need to eat something,” he says, breaking off a piece. “I also have gummy worms and popcorn.”

You open your eyes. “I love gummy worms,” you whisper.

Jake grins. “I know,” he whispers back.

You take the chocolate square from his hand and he busies himself with opening the bag of gummy worms while you let the chocolate melt in your mouth. A moment later, he hands you a gummy worm and you stick it between your teeth and bite. “Oh my god, it’s so good,” you moan. The motion of chewing helps alleviate some of the pain in your temple and you sigh blissfully, closing your eyes.

Jake leans his back into the wall adjacent the couch and pops a gummy worm into his mouth. For a while, the two of you sit in silence. Then, he says, “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” you say.

Jake shakes his head and you can sense his irritation without even looking at him. “This isn’t going to work if you don’t trust me.”

You turn to give him a flat look. “Would you trust you, Seresin?”

Jake squares his jaw. “I have never given you a reason not to trust me.”

“You lied to me! You said you were meeting Bradley!”

“I was! He was running late.”

You watch him sourly. “And you just happened to pick up a girl while you were waiting?”

Jake returns your bitter glare. “Is that actually what you think?”

“I don’t know what to think,” you say, sitting upright to look him in the eye. “You weren't exactly forthcoming with an explanation.”

Jake sets the gummy worms on the couch and gets to his feet. “The girl was there for Bradley. He was running late. End of story.”

“You couldn’t tell me that yesterday?”

“She’s seeing Bradley! And he doesn’t know about us. It’s not like I can say, ‘Oh, by the way, I’m actually dating your boyfriend’s little sister and that’s why she’s acting like a nutcase. Brb.’”

You fold your arms, sulking. Did you consider the possibility that the woman Jake was sitting with wasn’t his date? Briefly. But you were already annoyed with Jake and that, combined with your less than sober state, was apparently a recipe for disaster. “I guess I don’t trust you,” you say with a shrug, even though this statement isn’t altogether true.

Jake places his hands on his hips, exhaling slowly. “Why?” he asks, sounding exasperated.

You stay silent and continue to brood.

Jake pinches the bridge of his nose and grimaces as though this conversation is wearing him out. Then, he lets out another sigh and crouches before you again, trying to catch your gaze as he places his hands in your lap, palms up. “Why?” he asks calmly, waiting for you to join hands with him.

You do. “Well, why would I?” you say quietly, hesitating before you continue. “What is this, even? What are we? Do you know? Because I don’t.”

Jake’s eyebrows knit together. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, why haven’t you told Bradley yet? Is it because you’re not sure you want to make this official? Is it because it’s just a fling so why bother?” You cringe inwardly, hating how insecure you sound.

Jake stares at you in wonder, as though this line of thinking has never even crossed his mind.

“Like, are we even exclusive?”

Jake’s eyes widen and he blinks at you in awe. “We fucking better be,” he retorts, his hold on your hands tightening slightly.

“Well, how would I know that?” you exclaim.

Jake brings his hands up to his face and rubs his eyes. “Jesus fuck, how would you not know that?”

You scoff at him. “Because you’ve never once been in an exclusive relationship! Not while I’ve known you, anyway. Do you even know how?”

Jake’s hands slide down his face and stay over his mouth as he gapes at you. When his hands finally drop back into your lap, you can see that he’s got a small smile on his face. “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he says finally.

You lower your gaze, not exactly comforted considering he still has not addressed your main concern: Bradley.

Jake stands up and pulls you up off the couch. He puts his arms around you and you rest your head against one of his giant shoulders, allowing him to cradle you lovingly.

“Why haven’t you told Bradley?” you mutter into his shirt.

Jake pulls away from you and runs a hand through his hair uneasily. “I’m scared, Baby B,” he admits. “I’m scared he’s gonna make me choose.”

Read Part 13

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[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 20 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley's patience pays off in the form of finally getting to be intimate with his wife. Neither of you quite know how to handle Rose's first day of daycare, and a simple email reminds him of something long forgotten.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, lactation kink, smut, DILF Roo

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

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

When Bradley set the alarm on his phone for exactly six weeks after Rose was born, he meant it as a joke more than anything else. There wasn't a day where the two of you weren't both up between midnight and one in the morning, feeding and burping the baby so she could make it through the rest of the night. You were just pulling an old tee shirt over your lovely tits and getting back in bed when the alarm started blaring. 

"Wait, did we forget to do something?" you asked. "What's the alarm for?"

Bradley held his phone up for you to take a look. The alarm was titled My wife is exactly 6 weeks postpartum. You rolled onto your side, cackling with laughter. 

"It's not funny, Baby Girl. I've been waiting for this moment for a long time." He snuggled under the covers and said, "I'm ready to get my world rocked whenever you feel like rocking it, so you just let me know."

Bradley held out his arm so you could get cozy and curl up on his chest, and you were there in an instant. But your hand was resting lower on his abs than usual. His eyes were closed when he felt your lips ghost along his cheek on their way to kiss him. "Why not right now?"

Your words were accompanied by your hand sliding lower, and Bradley grunted your name. "Are you serious?" It was late, but he was already in the mood, cock getting hard as you nudged him with your knee. "Please be serious." 

He swore your voice was the hottest thing he'd ever heard as you whispered, "I'm serious," before slipping your hand inside his boxer briefs. He was bouncing against your palm, eager for your touch, and of course you didn't disappoint. Your fingers wrapped around his cock as you gasped. "You're really ready to go."

Six weeks didn't seem so bad in theory. He'd been separated from you for longer lengths of time for deployments in the past, but this had been so much worse. You were always right in front of him in various states of undress with milk dripping from your tits. How was he supposed to be normal now?

He was sweating as he whispered, "I'm always ready to go for you." You met his gaze, licked your lips and leaned down to suck on his cock, but he had to stop you. He wouldn't last ten seconds in this state. "No, no, no, please," he rasped, tugging on you gently until you were straddling his waist and your lips were hovering over his. "I really want to feel your pussy."

Your lips brushed against his as you said, "Whatever you want, Roo," while his cock hung out of his underwear and tapped against your core. You ducked your head and rubbed your wetness against his tip as you murmured, "I just hope this still feels good for you."

Before he could respond, you guided yourself down around him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, colors dancing behind his eyelids. You bottomed out with your soft hands braced against his chest, and he had to hold you in place by your hips as he panted, "Holy shit." He opened his eyes to find you perched atop him with an apprehensive look on your face while his cock was buried deep in your pussy. "There's a strong possibility I'm going to finish in less than a minute. Just putting that out there right now."

You shrugged and asked, "But does it feel good?"

God, he wanted to reassure you that you were still the only thing he needed, but all he could do was guide you along slowly with his hands gripping your hips and moan, "Your pussy feels like heaven." Instantly, your mouth was on his neck, sucking a mark into his skin as you bounced up and down on his cock. "Oh, fuck!"

"I don't care how fast you cum," you whispered before licking his ear. "I just want it to be good for you."

The thing was, the worst day with you was still better than any day with anyone else, and sex was the same way. It was never not good. It was always what he wanted.

Just as he got one big hand on your ass and managed to roll you onto your back, he realized it was pretty much all over. He also reminded himself that a creampie was completely out of the question right now as he held your ankles up in the air and watched his cock slip in and out of your pussy while you giggled and moaned.

"Roo," you crooned softly, pulling that tee shirt up to reveal your enlarged tits, and Bradley had to yank himself free of your body with a snap of his hips. Barely in time, he jerked off onto your belly, and then you guided him closer by his shoulders and kissed him. "Wow. That was fast. You're never like this after a long deployment."

He knew he was blushing as he grunted, "I tried to warn you. Deployments are different somehow." 

You kissed him between his sentences and played with his hair. "How are they different?"

He ran his nose along your cheek and whispered, "It's like, I've got some residual anger in my veins when I return home after they kept me away from you for so long. But after Rosie was born, it was all pure happiness. Nothing was going to hold back that orgasm, no matter what I did. You've been here with me the whole time, tempting me with little snacks like blowjobs and riding my leg, but I couldn't have the whole fucking meal until now."

"You're ridiculous," you giggled as he moved lower down your body, smiling at his cum on your rooster tattoo.

"I actually thought that was a pretty good analogy," he whispered before kissing your clit, and your giggles immediately faded into a whimper. "Now let me have dessert."

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

"Should we buy condoms?" you asked, making a shopping list on Sunday morning while Bradley flew Rose around the island like she was a fighter jet. You were heading back to work tomorrow, and Rose was starting daycare, and you wanted to have everything you'd need for the next week so you didn't have to keep running to the store.

Bradley paused and gave you a disgusted look. "Sweetheart. We don't use condoms. We used a condom exactly one time. The very first time we had sex. Since then, we haven't used condoms. Ever."

"It was just a suggestion," you said, holding up your hands in surrender.

"I don't want us to use condoms."

"I hear you, loud and clear," you told him, crossing that item off the shopping list immediately. "Then I guess I should fill my prescription for birth control."

Bradley lifted Rose a little higher and zoomed her around again before he said, "Only if you want to."

Now you were giving him a concerned look. "If you don't want to use condoms, then we need to do something."

He dipped Rose down almost to the floor before lifting her back up again and kissing her cheek. "We had sex about ten times in the past two days. I can just keep pulling out." Your silence eventually had him turning to look at you as he cradled the baby against his chest. "What?"

"That's just a ticking time bomb, Bradley. I'll pick up the pill tomorrow after work."

Then you spent the rest of the evening pumping and nursing Rose until it felt like your breasts were going to fall off. Bradley put her down in her crib while you packed two work lunches for the first time in what felt like ages. You got everything lined up on the counter for the morning, already a little antsy about running late for your first day back.

"You coming?"

Bradley was reaching for your hand as you plugged the iPad in on the counter so your parents could look at Rose essentially doing nothing and yet freak out about it over FaceTime for an hour tomorrow night.

"Yeah, I'm coming."

You thought he meant he was ready for bed, but he lured you into the bathroom where the tub was full and there were candles lit on the vanity.

"I thought we could take a bath together," he murmured, and you immediately started to undress. You hadn't taken a bath in months, and Bradley laughed as you practically dove into the water. He eased himself down into the tub with you, and you wrapped yourself around him. "So this was a good idea then?"

"The best idea," you sighed. "I missed this."

You could feel his lips on your forehead and hair as he stroked his rough fingers down your back beneath the water. "Are you excited to go back to work?"

"Mmhmm," you hummed. "Kind of missed Bickel and the lab, and I think I left a mess of folders on my desk that I forgot to clean up."

He was silent for a few seconds, the only sound was Tramp's claws tapping the tile as he walked around. "I'm a little nervous about Rose being in daycare."

"She'll be with Jeremiah," you reminded him. "I've heard so many good things about the daycare, Roo." You kissed along his Adam's apple and whispered, "But I love that you're nervous. You're such a good dad."

He groaned softly. "Just want my girls safe and happy."

"I just want my husband safe and happy."

Bradley tilted his head back and looked at you through narrowed eyes. He had his hands on your waist as he said, "I feel pretty safe right now. Happy, too. But you know what would make me even happier?"

Slowly, you eased your body away from his and straddled his hips beneath the water. "I think I do know," you whispered, reaching for his hands and guiding them up to your breasts. You were tired and sore, but his eyes positively lit up as he gave you a little squeeze.

A droplet of milk formed on your nipple as Bradley moaned, "You're too good to me." Then his lips met your nipple, swirling around as he sucked on you. 

Maybe he wasn't the only one with the lactation kink. You threaded your fingers in his hair, tugging softly and whispering, "You're such a good daddy," until you were aching with need as his mouth grew more demanding. You held out as long as you could while he drained you, but eventually you whimpered his name, and he met your gaze.

"Where are you going?" he asked as you started to stand, licking your lips.

All you told him was, "Get ready to pull out again," before the two of you ended up fucking on the bath mat on the floor.

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

"Jesus," Bradley groaned when he climbed out of bed the next morning. His knees and back felt like he got hit by a bus as he watched you prance across the room as Rose started crying down the hall. "Fuck."

You straightened your glasses and asked, "What's wrong with you?"

"I'm almost thirty-eight," he replied, voice raspy from sleep. "I'm definitely too old to be having sex on the bathroom floor."

"You didn't complain about it at all last night when it was happening."

He watched you walk out of the room as he stretched. "Well, you got me there," he muttered to himself. A minute later, he wandered into the nursery where you were already feeding Rose, and he gave you both a kiss before going to the kitchen to start the coffee. He made you some avocado toast and inhaled a bowl of cereal, and then he burped the baby and got her dressed so you could eat.

"You're just so fucking cute," he whispered, kissing her bare belly as she cooed. "My god, you're adorable. You better behave for your first day of daycare. No flirting with all the little boys."

Then it really hit him that his daughter would be in daycare all day instead of with you. Once she was dressed, he picked her up and snuggled her against his chest as tears burned his eyes. Maybe it would be better if he called in sick today instead of having her start daycare the same day you went back to your lab. He felt strangely guilty about someone else playing with her all day.

"Bradley? You're not dressed yet."

You were standing in the doorway when he turned, and he was actually relieved to see you weren't wearing the maternity tent. "You look hot," he whispered, eyeing up your snug pants as you tucked your shirt in.

You groaned. "I need to lose like fifteen pounds. It looks lumpy." He wanted to argue with you, but you immediately said, "Get dressed so we aren't late."

Rose was just snuggling up for her post breakfast nap as he said, "I'm thinking about staying home today."

"No," you said, voice firm. "I knew you were going to do this, and I love you very much for it, but we need to get into our new work routine, and that includes daycare for Rose."

Bradley pouted as you pried the baby out of his hands and pushed him with your knee until he left the room. He got dressed and carried all of Rose's gear out to the red Bronco while you buckled her in. Then he buckled you in as well, and the three of you were on your way to base.

"I hate this," he muttered. "I should probably just retire."

"You can't," you told him calmly as he approached the guard gates. "You need another four years and two months to get your pension."

But you were all talk, because when the time came to actually leave Rose, you had tears in your eyes and one tracking along your cheek as you kissed her. Bradley wrapped both of you in a hug as you whispered, "Okay. I think you should retire, Roo."

He sighed and rubbed soft circles against your back as you finally let one of the daycare instructors take Rose, and then he silently walked you to your office door where you hugged him until he would almost certainly be late getting to the tower.

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

"You're back," Cat said, voice laced with relief as you walked into the lab with your computer. 

"I'm back," you sighed. "Rose is in daycare."

To your extreme embarrassment, you started sobbing with your laptop slipping from your fingers. Cat took it and set it down on the counter and collected you in a hug, and you let yourself cry on her shoulder.

"I don't even know why I'm sad," you gasped. "I was looking forward to coming back to work."

"Mom hormones are stupid," Cat whispered. "And unpredictable. Just go with it."

So you did. You let yourself feel guilty and angry and confused until your tears tapered off. At least Bradley was feeling similarly today, and you knew it. Eventually you wiped at your cheeks on your own, but your breasts were already hurting again which made you realize Rose would need a bottle soon. You were sad you weren't the one who would be feeding her. You were going to have to pump in your office alone, and that made you even sadder.

"If there's an issue, someone from the daycare will call you," Cat said smoothly. "And you can always stop by at lunchtime to check on her."

You nodded and finally turned your computer on. "I know. It's just weird to be here when she's not."

"Try to enjoy the baby phase. Pretty soon you'll be looking for a reliable babysitter for nights and weekends just like I am," Cat murmured, sitting down next to you at her computer.

"Nope. I'm never going out again," you said, making her laugh. "What do you need a sitter for?"

She was silent for a few seconds, and you knew her well enough now to know you shouldn't press. You waited her out while you wiped your final stray tears away and entered your credentials into your computer. "I need someone to watch Jer for my promotion ceremony."

You gasped. "Lieutenant Commander?"

"Yeah. This Saturday."

"Why didn't you text me? We can watch him!"

"Well... I need a sitter for some additional evenings, too." Her dark eyes were more vulnerable than usual. "Jer and I are moving in with Jake. And I need time to pack our things. I just decided yesterday."

You had to stifle a scream as you gaped at her, wide eyed. This is exactly what Jake wanted, but you'd been afraid he'd never get it. He wanted the marriage, the step-dad duties, all of it, and this seemed like a step in that direction. But Cat was so stubborn, you forced yourself to remain calm right now. 

"Well, Lieutenant Commander Coleman, Bradley and I are available if you'd like to drop Jeremiah off at our house on Saturday."

"I'll keep that in mind," she muttered, typing away on her computer with a smile on her face.

By lunchtime, you were so antsy to see what Rose was up to, you were practically running toward the daycare building with your sandwich in your hands. If you ate while you checked on her, you'd be able to make it back in time for your group meeting. But someone else was rushing for the double doors at the same time, and you bumped into a firm body.

"I'm so sorry," you said, looking up at him before bursting into laughter when you recognized your own husband.

"You couldn't wait until the end of the day either?" he asked, ushering you inside, slightly out of breath.

"No," you confirmed, "I couldn't. Like I can't stop wondering what she's doing? And did she finish her bottles? Is she still hungry? Did she nap?"

Bradley groaned before kissing you hard on the lips. "That's exactly how I've been feeling all day."

When one of the daycare teachers opened the door and asked if she could help you with something, both of you blurted out at the same time, "We want to see our daughter."

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

Bradley thought you both did pretty well today. You and he made it almost four hours before having to run over to check on Rose, and now he was taking the fastest shower he could in the locker room so he could go back and pick her up for the evening.

"There's my Nugget," he said with a sigh as soon as he picked her up from the play mat where she was having tummy time. He swore she smiled as soon as he kissed her soft cheek, and he snuggled her against his chest.

"Do you want to put her in the stroller?" the woman who ran the program asked him, but he shook his head.

"I like holding her," he whispered, giving Rose one more kiss before picking up the diaper bag and stroller in his free hand. You told him you'd meet him at the Bronco, so he very carefully made his way there with his daughter cradled in one arm. The parking garage was clearing out, and he set everything on the asphalt so he could unlock the doors.

He looked up when he heard your voice, only to find you running down the aisle toward Jake's car where the other man was also unlocking his doors. You threw your arms around him, and Jake caught you in his embrace. Bradley was not even slightly concerned at the high pitched screech you let out as he buckled Rose carefully into her car seat, wrapping his fingers around her tiny hand and giving her a little kiss.

Then he tossed everything else into the back and waited for you while he checked the messages on his phone. Most of the emails were just junk, but he did see an ad for Mother's Day.

"Oh. Shit." He hadn't celebrated that holiday since he was in high school. Other than signing whichever card you picked out for your own mom before you mailed it, he hadn't given the holiday any thought at all. And that was sad, because it was an important one. "Rosie, we need to do something special for Mommy," he muttered. "We can talk about it later, okay? Shh, here she comes."

"Roo!" you gasped, running for his arms the way you had Jake's, but unlike Jake, he got a kiss. "Guess what Cat told me today."

He leaned down for another kiss, making you smile before he said, "She and Jeremiah came to their senses, and they're leaving Jake?"

"No! They're moving in with him!"

"That poor woman," Bradley muttered, wrapping his arms around you just as Jake drove past, flipping him off before waving. "She could do so much better."

"Be nice, Bradley."

But he wasn't really listening any longer as you ran your hand down along his abs and patted the top of his gym shorts. Then suddenly your hand was gone as you climbed in the backseat with Rose and said, "I think I'll ride back here with her."

He took the seat belt from your hand and frowned. "Who's going to keep me company then?" But you ignored him in favor of the baby, and he couldn't blame you one bit.

"I missed you today," you told her, tickling her cheek as you leaned in to kiss her forehead, and Bradley buckled your seatbelt. When he started driving, you said, "Don't forget to stop at the pharmacy so I can pick up my birth control."

"Absolutely," he replied, relieved you seemed to have dropped the condom conversation. "And when we get home, we can test it out before I make dinner."

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

He gets a max score for being eager, but he loses points for thinking he could handle the bathroom floor. I need him to make Mother's Day so special in the next chapter. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 21

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[cap-winter-barnes]

He's A Loser Pt.2 (Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader)

Part One - Thank you for all the love on this one guys. A lot of you wanted a Part 2, so here it is...

Y/N is Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw’s little sister and he’s finally introduced her to the rest of Dagger Squad. What neither of them anticipated was them both have an instant attraction, despite Bradley’s best efforts, the inevitable still happens.

Warnings: swearing, jealous Rooster, flirty Hangman

Buy Me A Coffee | Commissions Open

"So are you going to kiss me or not Hangman?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then what are you waiting for, Lieutenant?" Jake groans as you bite your lip and not wanting to waste a second longer discussing something he's wanted to do since the moment you stepped into the room, he pulls you closer.

His grip tightens on your waist as he brings your body flush against his own. You let out a gasp as your chests press together and your heart flutters as he grins down at you. With his free hand, he tips your chin so you're looking him in the eye and you swear you fall right there for Jake Seresin. Your brother's worst enemy, his competition - the man he told you to stay away from. But the heart wants what the heart wants.

As Jake brings his lips to yours in a searing kiss, you've never been happier. You can taste the whisky on his tongue as he kisses you, each time your teeth knock together you both let out an exhale of laughter. Jake's grip on your waist tightens as you run a hand through his hair, your other hand fisting the front of his uniform. Neither of you want to break for air as Jake brings both hands upwards to cup your face as he presses his lips harder against yours.

"Why don't we go somewhere a little quieter, Baby Bradshaw?"

He pulls away, his thumb dropping to pull your bottom lip down as you gaze at him with glazed, doe eyes. At a loss for words you nod, drunk on his kiss, drunk of him. With a chaste kiss to your forehead, Jake grabs you by the hand and begins to lead you through the crowd of Navy personnel, not worried about who sees.

You keep your fingers tightly wrapped around his own as you trail behind him, giggling like a teenager with excitement. Jake can hardly contain the smile on his face as he leads you towards the bathrooms.

"Really, Hangman?" The only response you receive is a wink in your direction.

"Trust me, Baby Girl. Okay?" The look of longing on his face has you weak at the knees and your heart racing. You squeeze his hand tighter, putting your trust in him entirely. "You really think you're big brother would let me live if I took you back to base?" He scoffed at the thought. "I'm safer keeping you inside this building... Until he comes to terms with the fact," he pulls you quickly towards him, his other hand coming down to grip your ass-cheek over your dress, the hem hiking up at the movement, "that you're all mine, darlin'."

You have never felt more turned on in your life than in this moment with Jake 'Hangman' Seresin in the doorway to the only bathroom in The Hard Deck! You push him backwards into the door, kissing him as you both enter the dimly lit bathroom. Once the door has closed behind the both of you, Jake is quick to spin you both around until your back is pressed into the edge of the basin counter.

Neither of you waste any time as you grapple with the buttons on his shirt, untucking it from his trousers and pushing it off of his shoulders. You take a second to admire the toned muscles of his arms and shoulders, a brief glance to his clothed torso, his white undershirt tight against his tanned skin. "Like what you see, Baby Girl."

"Oh yes, Hangman. You look good."

"That's because I am good. I'm very good, Princess."

In one swift motion, Jake has you sitting on the counter, legs wrapped around his waist. "And I'm going to show you just how good I am, darlin'." You push yourself against him, desperate to feel your body against his, albeit in a public bathroom. As Jake begins to lift your skirt up to your waist, you hear the dread sound of commotion outside the bathroom door.

"Jake, please tell me yo-"

"What the fuck is going on here?"

And you swear you could die right on the spot. There stands your big brother, Bradley. He is visibly pouring with intoxicated rage. "Get your hands of my sister, Bagman."

"Bra-"

"Stay out of it, Y/N!"

Jake gently settles your dress back down, lowering you to the ground, making sure you're steady on your feet before he take a protective step in front of you.

"Rooster, we're grown adults. So let's act like 'em."

You place a gentle hand on Jake's bare arm as you wait for the ensuing storm.

"That's my baby sister, so get your goddamn hands off of her!"

"And what if she doesn't want me to take my hands off of her?!"

Buy Me A Coffee | Commissions Open

A/N: There will be a Part 3 - let me know what you think of this one guys.

[mikeymagee]

Sam Wilson: Double Consciousness

One thing I love about Black superheroes is that they all (in their own ways) celebrate different aspects of the Black experience.

T'challa, in the first Black Panther film represented Afro-futurism and Pan-Africanism.

Shuri, in Wakanda Forever, represented Black grief and the pain of loss.

Luke Cage represented African American pride and resilience

Tyrone from Cloak and Dagger represented the fear of living as a Black person in a white dominated space.

Miles Morales in Into the Spider-Verse, represented the creation of an individual identity (he even uses his graffiti skills to paint his own Spiderman suit). Each hero represented a specific aspect of the Black experience.

But Sam Wilson has always occupied a specific space that (until this moment) had yet to be filled. Sam Wilson, as an African American man, and as an African American Captain America, represents double consciousness.

(Potential Spoilers after the cut)

Double Consciousness, in this context, is a term that was coined by WEB Du Bois in his book The Souls of Black Folk in which he states that:

"It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one's self through the eyes of others, of measuring one's soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. One ever feels his two-ness,—an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder. The history of the American Negro is the history of this strife – this longing to attain self-conscious manhood, to merge his double self into a better and truer self. In this merging he wishes neither of the older selves to be lost. He does not wish to Africanize America, for America has too much to teach the world and Africa. He wouldn't bleach his Negro blood in a flood of white Americanism, for he knows that Negro blood has a message for the world. He simply wishes to make it possible for a man to be both a Negro and an American without being cursed and spit upon by his fellows, without having the doors of opportunity closed roughly in his face"

In essence, to be a Black American is to be a creature of two warring worlds, and it also means that the Black American must be ever aware at the fact that every move we make is not only going to be used to judge our character, but also the character of every other Black American. And Sam Wilson is aware of that fact.

In both The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Sam brings up the fact that he knows the world is watching him and hating him simply for being a Black man who represents the United States. When Sam is juxtaposed against Isaiah Bradley, another Black Captain America who the country abandoned, Sam is reminded of how this country has always treated Black men and women.

And, sadly enough, Sam could also be looking at his own future. During Brave New World, Sam is ever honorable, ever compassionate and ever empathetic to everyone around him (even when their actions do not warrant Sam's kindness). Because, once again, Sam is aware that his actions (whether negative or positive) will have a greater impact on more than just himself. And that kind of pressure can lead to bitterness. It can wear a body down.

Sam states:

"Because if I’m not on point, I feel like I’ve let down everyone who is fighting for a seat at that table.”

Isaiah Bradley has always had a rocky relationship with the US, just like all African Americans have, So it makes sense to me that Sam Wilson may also be thinking about Isaiah each time he picks up the shield. When African Americans create something (be it a movie, or a tv show, or a play) that centers on the Black experience, there is an added pressure to overperform to prove the validity of the project and the validity of Black narratives. When The Wiz, a film that was originally going to be seen as "The First Black Classic" bombed in 1978, many Hollywood producers and film historians credited that film's failure as the reason why Black-led franchises are/were seen as box office poison for so long. Even with the success of 2018's Black Panther film, there are still people who're gun shy about centering Black narratives in the mainstream. So, if Sam Wilson were to fail as being Captain America, or if Sam Wilson were to represent himself in a way that is less admirable, it would have an effect on Isaiah's legacy, it would have an effect on Joaquin, it would have an effect on (potentially) Isaiah's grandson.

And even still, during the prison scenes in BNW, when Isaiah is locked away and Sam comes to visit him, Isaiah states:

"The last thing I want is for any of this ugliness to touch you."

Within the MCU Isaiah and Sam's stories are linked. Not just through the fact that Sam brought Isaiah's story out into the light, but also because they are both Black men who have held the mantel of Captain America, and whether they like it or not, their destinies with that legacy are intertwined. One will affect the other. They are each other's keeper.

Sam Wilson, rather through happenstance or fate, is the embodiment of Double Consciousness. Luke Cage, in both his comic book series and his Netflix show, was free to exist as a person outside of the white gaze. He could be angry, sad, fearful, etc, and not have to worry about how his actions would affect the larger community outside of Harlem. Sam Wilson does not have the luxury. So, when Sam is faced with a microaggression (such as being called "Son" by Ross), he is forced to hold his tongue. Sam Wilson is expected to react with kindness and decorum in the midst danger or disrespect, not because he can't fight back, but because he knows how the weight of his actions will affect those who look like him.

And Sam Wilson, a Black man without the soldier serum, is still expected to do everything that Steve Rogers (and to a lesser extent John Walker) do. Sam Wilson must do twice as much work with half as many resources. And if that's not the embodiment of the African American experience, I'm not sure what is. Many African American genres of music were created out of necessity and transferring what knowledge we could salvage onto new instruments. In short, African Americans had to improvise with the tools they were already given and create something new. Jazz and Blues was created because Black slaves were not allowed to use drums, so those rhythmic patterns were transposed onto guitars and horns.

Sam is expected to carry a large amount of physical labor (simply fighting as a human being without the serum clearly takes a toll). But he's also expected to do a lot of emotional labor as well. Through BNW Sam acts more as an ambassador for the US than a soldier. It is canon that in the MCU Sam speaks English, Spanish, Arabic and Japanese and he uses those skills to extend diplomacy to other nations and other people. In BNW, it was Sam who was responsible for deescalating international tensions with Japan, and it was Sam who managed to avoid a war through peaceful negotiation rather than war mongering (as Ross wanted to do). Even during the fight with Red Hulk, Sam had to resort to other means to achieve results (something that Steve or John Walker would've just brute forced their way through). Even while Sam was being shot at in the air, he never lost his cool because (like many African Americans) he is not afforded that privilege. John Walker, in TFATWS is allowed to murder and stain the shield with blood, but no one would ever say that white men like Walker are the problem with America. Yet Sam (and Isaiah) are far too familiar with the fact that a Black man screwing up will result in the judgement of everything that is associated with Blackness and Black people. So, they must find solutions without the use of violence. Sam must be diplomatic when the easier solution would be violence. Sam must be able to communicate with others on their own turf or in their own language during tense situations (like when he spoke Japanese to the fighter pilots).

Sam Wilson does not have the serum, but he does have wings. So, he adapted. Sam Wilson does not have the super strength needed to work the shield the same way Steve does, so Sam adapted and improvised. Just like Jazz music, Sam Wilson turned a perceived fault into a creative strength. He had to use his linguistic skills, his counseling skills, his flight capabilities, psychology and his boundless optimism to do the impossible.

A very hurting thing for Black Americans - to feel that we can't love our enemies. People forget what a great tradition we have as African-Americans in the practice of forgiveness and compassion. And if we neglect that tradition, we suffer.

-Bell Hooks

The fact of the matter remains, Sam Wilson embodies so many aspects of the African American experience, even when he doesn't mean to. Compassion. Improvisation. And the constant idea that this country can choose its better angels. In a way, Sam Wilson occupies a space that Luke Cage, T'challa, Shuri, and even Erik Killmonger cannot. It is a piece of the African American experience that takes a slug in the face and still gets right back up. The Black American tradition of making the impossible a reality through nothing but sheer force of will. Steve Rogers might have been the one to say the words "I can do this all day," but Sam Wilson lives them.

And he comes from a centuries old tradition of people who have been living them.

[indybob]

Idk why but early to mid forties hangster has been stuck in my head and they won’t leave me alone. I’m thinking they’ve been married for going on ten years, they adopted two kids, a pair of siblings, a girl and a boy. The first few years are difficult at first, but they both get promoted beyond flying, and Jake is still so in love with his job, though Bradley is less so.

After a long and difficult conversation, Bradley decides to retire from the Navy after 20 years. He misses flying, and he finds that he genuinely would rather help raise the kids, so he becomes a sort of stay at home dad. He gets his penchant, healthcare, and all those other benefits for himself, Jake, and their kids, while Jake continues to rank up to a two star admiral.

Bradley lasts about three months in “retirement” before he applies to be an instructor at a local flight school, deciding that his fighter jet days are in the past, but his love for flight will never fade. He picks up a few students throughout the year as a sort of part time passion job. Something to do for fun while the kids are at school all day and his husband is at work.

It works out great because not only does Bradley have something to do, but he finds he has a knack for teaching and that it brings him just as much joy, if not even more, than flying fighter jets. It becomes the best compromise for himself and Jake so one of them can be at home a little more consistently with the kids, and neither one of them has to give up their dreams.

And, well, nothing fills Jake’s heart with love quite like seeing his husband so happy.

[dearsnow]

HOW THEY REACT TO YOU GETTING HURT

- headcanons for how the top gun maverick characters react to you, their s/o, being wounded. (top gun maverick x gn!reader, fluff, slight suggestive sentences but you can ignore them)

a/n - bob kisses your wounds because he’s a sweetheart, the rest kiss your wounds because it’s an excuse to kiss you— they are not the same!! but anyways enjoy this silly set of headcanons <3

INCLUDES: Robert “Bob” Floyd, Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, Jake “Hangman” Seresin, Natasha “Phoenix” Trace

For the first time in a while, BOB is furious. At himself, but furious nonetheless. When you were walking around town, hand in hand, he accidentally tripped you, sending you knees-first into the pavement. He immediately dropped down on his knees and made sure you were okay. When you assured him you were, he gently helped you to your feet and wiped the stray gravel away from your legs. They were a bit skinned and raw, bleeding just slightly, and he mentally punched himself. “I’m so sorry! I never meant to do that, geez, I’m way too clumsy.” Ever the caretaker, though, he has a solution. “Here, get on my back, honey. Don’t worry, I got you. Let’s go home so I can get you some neosporin and band-aids.”

ROOSTER is always careful yet confident with his movements, so when he feels your foot under his after he steps down unnecessarily hard, his eyes widen and he pulls back. “Did I just step on you? Shit, baby, I’m sorry.” Your wince is the only thing he needs to see before he’s kissing you on the forehead and apologizing more. “Sorry,” kiss, “sorry,” kiss, “really sorry,” kiss, “even more sorry,” kiss. He gets you giggling before you can even think to be mad at him— not like you ever could be, anyways. He always treats making you happy like his life’s only goal, not that you mind. You especially don’t mind when he presses a final kiss to your forehead and promises to make it up to you later.

When you show up to your date with HANGMAN, you have a slight limp, which he notices immediately. “What happened to you, hot stuff?” When you explain that you twisted your ankle while walking from your car to the restaurant, he almost laughs. “Really? Well then, that’s just an excuse for me to do this,” he grins, picking you up bridal style. He’s not too worried, because in the ten seconds you spent explaining your predicament to him, he noticed that your ankle was neither red nor swollen, most likely just tender. And yes, he does carry you for the rest of the night. Both of you can feel people staring at you, but when his strong hands are holding up your body and his lips are on yours, you can’t find it in yourself to care.

You’re stirring pasta sauce on your fresh, clean stovetop when your pot slips in your grip, causing the side of your hand to directly touch the scorching metal. You pull back immediately at the pain, hissing slightly. PHOENIX looks over her shoulder, putting down her knife. “You good?” When you tell her you are, in fact, not super good, she immediately turns the sink on cold and holds your hand under the running water. She presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head. “Got too hot, hm? That’s how I feel when you’re next to me.” You laugh, and she intwines your fingers with hers, still in the sink. “Keep it steady for me while I finish up the cooking, got it?” She whispers in your ear. You give a mock salute and she shakes her head, still smiling. Despite your best efforts, she doesn’t let you do any more work for the rest of the night; not even when the cooking is done.

[bloatedandalone04]

Midnight Rain

➪the one where bradley is the best boyfriend you could ever ask for, but even he can’t fully erase the bad memories of your last relationship.

Warnings: fluff, smut, angst, oral (f receiving), mentions/descriptions of bad past relationships, mentions of abuse, past abuse, toxic ex, trauma?, bad coping habits, arguments, crying, swearing

Word Count: 3.6k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Bradley Bradshaw is the love of your life. 

While you had no plans of ever leaving him, you still knew that no other love you could ever have will live up to him. 

He completely flipped your world upside down and opened your eyes to everything you thought you knew about love. Well, turns out you knew nothing about it before. 

He showed you with every sentence, with every word and action that he loved you and cared so deeply for you, neither of you knew what to do with it. 

It was almost overwhelming. 

Almost. 

It was nearing ten in the morning, and you probably would have slept for even longer if it weren’t for the way Bradley was softly pressing kisses to the skin of your bare shoulder. 

The quiet moan you let out had him grinning and pulling you against him so your back was pressed to his chest, and his arms enclosed around you as he murmured, “Happy birthday, baby,” deeply next to your ear. 

His morning voice had you moaning again as you kept your eyes closed and reached a hand behind you to grab hold of his hair. You blindly guide him into a kiss that had him releasing a content hum before pulling away. “It’s just another day,” you mumble before burying your face back in your pillow. “Sleep with me for a bit longer.”

Really, you hadn’t been sleeping for long. He had kept you up well into the early hours of the morning in the best way he knew how to. So you couldn’t be blamed for wanting to stay in bed with him, but in a different way this time. 

Bradley laughed quietly and pushed your hair away from your neck so he could lean in and kiss along your skin. “Not a chance,” he muttered. “Today's my favorite holiday.”

You scoff but are powerless to stop the smile from taking over your face. “My birthday is not a holiday,”

But he just shuts you up with another kiss to your lips. This one was deeper than the last, and when Bradley rolled you onto your back, you opened your legs and allowed him to settle his body in between them. “It's the most important day of the year,” he said against your mouth. “The love of my life was born on this day, twenty nine years ago.”

You cover your face with your hands and groan. “Don’t remind me how old I am,”

Now it was Bradley’s turn to scoff. “Are you forgetting that I’m four and a half years older than you?” He asked and took both your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head on the pillow. “Now, will you let me go down on you before taking you out for breakfast?” 

You blush and nod almost instantly, any and all ounces of sleep disappearing from your body. “Is this my birthday present?” You ask, already breathless from the way he keeps your hands pinned as he kisses his way down your body. 

“No,” he answered as he used his free hand to pull back the sheets that were covering your naked body. “Tell me, baby, are you sore from last night?”

He was referring to the way he fucked you for hours last night as if he hadn’t seen you in months, when in reality he’s been home from deployment for over two weeks now. 

Still, Bradley wasn’t a slacker in bed. He wasn’t satisfied until you were, and if that meant railing you until two in the morning, then that’s fine by him. 

“Just a bit,” you reply and bite down on your lip when he hums and leans in to gently run his tongue down your folds. Your body jolts when he does it again, and the small smirk he wore had you whining. “Feels good.”

Bradley made a noise of approval and began to circle your clit with the tip of his tongue. You bend your knees so your feet are planted on the bed at either side of his shoulders, and you push up against his hand. 

He lets go of your wrists and almost immediately your hands find home in his hair. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he practically begged, not wanting to ever push you past your limits and provide you with discomfort rather than pleasure. 

“Okay,” you breathe, knowing he would stop if you didn’t give him a verbal response, and you would probably cry if he did. 

Bradley was amazing at eating you out, and he left you craving more and more each time. The first time he did it, back on the third date, you were left clinging onto his bedsheets and crying out so all his neighbors could hear. You were embarrassed about it a while after, but Bradley was all over you for the rest of the night, successfully pushing your worries and insecurities aside. 

In fact, the last time you felt super insecure about yourself was about two years ago, just before your second date with him. He’s made you feel like the most important person in his life ever since then, so you had no reason to feel like you weren’t good enough around him.

“Oh, God,” you moaned when he worked you open with his fingers until you were taking them to the knuckle. He wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you closer to his face and pretty much buries himself in you. 

He enjoyed this as much as you do, and that much was obvious with every stroke of his tongue as he got you off with his mouth and fingers. 

You were a panting mess when he pulled away and kissed you deeply, and were lightheaded when he tugged you off his bed and towards the bathroom, where he had you stay still as he washed your body in the shower. 

You were still reeling from the morning’s events when Bradley guided you into the Hard Deck later. Your fingers were loosely laced with his as both your friends and his wished you a happy birthday. 

Phoenix was staring at your necklace that Bradley had given you just before you arrived, and she teased him for branding you as his own with the simple ‘B’ that was attached to the chain, but you both knew that she was probably your biggest supporter. 

Nat had actually been the one to give him enough confidence to ask you out, and that was something she proudly held over his head since it worked out extremely well for him. 

As the night went on, you got a bit bored of the music coming from the jukebox, and Bradley took it upon himself to unplug it and sit down at the piano. He pulled you onto his lap and reached around you to begin playing the chords of your favorite song that turned into the birthday song towards the end. 

You blushed and turned to bury your face against his neck as he kissed your forehead, not used to the attention being solely on you for so long. 

Before Bradley came into your life, you were in a pretty rough place. You had just gotten out of a bad relationship a few months prior to meeting him, and you thought you would’ve needed at least a few years to move on from what you endured from your ex, but you were proven wrong. 

Bradley tried his best to make you forget about your pathetic excuse of an ex boyfriend, who laid his hands on you more than once in the three years you were with him. 

You felt stupid for staying with a man who very clearly didn’t love you, but back then you felt like it was as good as it was gonna get. 

Oh, how wrong you were. Bradley was very good at proving just how wrong you are about a lot of things regarding your ex. 

“Happy birthday,” Bradley said for the fifth time since waking you up. His lips were peppering kisses all along your skin as he pressed his body close to yours against the railing outside the Hard Deck. 

“Thank you,” came your breathy reply as his lips trailed all over your neck. “This is probably the best birthday I’ve had in a while. Well, this one and my last two, all thanks to you. You make everything better.”

Bradley pulled away with a smile and caressed your jaw with his fingers. “You make everything better, too, baby. I can’t remember who I was without you,” he confessed and leaned down to kiss the side of your head. “A prick, probably.”

You shake your head and jump up, the way he effortlessly caught you making you feel a bit light headed. You were sure you would never get over how strong he is. “You weren’t a prick, Bradley,” you say and kiss all over his face. “I know you weren’t. You’re far too kind and sweet and caring to be a prick.”

He grinned up at you and secured his arms around your middle as you cling onto his shoulders. “I think you’re the sweet one,” he mumbled and began walking towards the parking lot. “Let me take you home?”

You practically moaned at his question and nod, kissing him multiple times before pulling away. “Please, take me home,” 

-

Tears burned your eyes as you used the key Bradley gave you to unlock his front door. 

You had the worst day possible at work, and it only got worse the more you thought about it. Everything that could’ve possibly gone wrong did, and you felt like you were on the verge of a full on breakdown. 

Swiping furiously at your eyes, you try to blink away the oncoming tears as you drop your key into your bag and set it down near the door. 

You just wanted Bradley. After a terrible fucking day, all you wanted was your sweet and far too caring for his own good boyfriend. 

And it seemed like you were getting him. “Baby?” He called out from the kitchen. “Is that you?”

You were a bit scared to try out your voice, since you spent the whole twenty minute drive here sobbing. “Yeah,” you weakly say back, cringing at your hoarse voice. 

A silence followed your response, and a few seconds go by before you hear Bradley’s footsteps near the doorway. “Baby?” He said again, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you keep your back turned to him. “What’s wrong?”

You bite down on your lip as you prepare yourself to allow your boyfriend to see you in this state. Turning to face him, you dig your nails into your palms and shrug, watching as his eyes widen and he tosses the dish towel he was using to dry his hands somewhere behind him. 

“Hey,” he rasped, taking one stride towards you and wrapping you up in his arms. “What’s wrong? What happened, baby?” 

“Bradley,” you cried as you pressed your face against his chest. “Today’s been terrible.” 

He cradled the back of your head with one hand while his other ran up and down your back. “Why?” He softly asked. “What happened?” 

Your body shook against his, unstoppable tears flowing down your scrunched up face. “Everything went wrong,” you sobbed, leaning into your boyfriend’s touch when he used his thumb to wipe away your tears. “Mandy forgot to get the presentation ready for today, and when it was time to go up and deliver it, I was the one who got blamed for it.”

Mandy was your slacking co-worker, and she’s made problems for you many times in the past. That was just one of the reasons Bradley strongly disliked her. 

That and the way she always flirts with him whenever he goes with you to your work parties, despite him arriving with you under his arm. 

“I had my things ready, I was prepared, and she completely threw me under the fucking bus,” you continued, finding a small bit of comfort in the way Bradley ran his hand up your back until it began massaging your shoulder. “I got screamed at in front of everybody, and she just laughed. She laughed, Bradley.”

He scoffed, “Yeah, well, I never liked her, so I’m not surprised,” he muttered. “And I’ve never liked your choice of work, you’re surrounded by fucking idiots there that take advantage of you.”

You stay quiet as you let him gently rock you back and forth, and already you are feeling better now that you are with him. 

“I’m sorry you had such a bad day, sweet girl,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head as your cries quieted down. “What can I do to make it better?”

You shake your head, placing your hands on his biceps and pressing yourself closer to him. “You’ve already done it, Bradley,” you whisper, closing your eyes as the weight of the day comes crashing down onto you. “Just being with you is enough.”

 Bradley kissed your head again and abandoned whatever task he was doing in the kitchen as he guided you towards his living room. “Let me take care of you,” he requested in a quiet voice, gesturing for you to sit down on the couch. “Do you want me to make you something?”

You shake your head and lay back on the pillows he had scattered on the couch, one of the few things he had around that made the house look lived in. “I just want you,” you pathetically answer, even though you knew he would never think you were that. “I want to lay with you.”

Bradley nodded and leaned down, caressing your jaw in both hands as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Okay,” he mumbled. “I gotta go turn the oven off, then I’ll come lay with you, okay? We can put a movie on or something.”

You nod in agreement, and he leaves the room, picking up the dish towel on the way back to the kitchen. He was back in under a minute, and then he was gently laying down on top of you, careful to not put too much of his body weight on you. 

Honestly, you wouldn’t care. You wanted him to crush you with his weight right now, you were so desperate to feel that he was with you at the moment. 

Bradley wraps his arms around you and presses his face against the side of your neck as he whispers, “I love you,” 

You bury your nose in his shirt, inhaling the intoxicating scent that only belonged to Bradley. “I love you, too,” you say back, leaning into the way he peppered kisses all along the skin of your neck. 

-

“I can’t believe you right now,” Bradley muttered as he threw his keys onto the table next to the front door. 

You stay silent as you hover near the still open door, your eyes guarded and your fingers picking at the skin around your nails. 

At your lack of response, Bradley turned to you with a huff, lifting his arms in a quick shrug. “Well? Are you going to say anything?”

You chew on your lip as you meet his eyes. “What do you want me to say?”

He lets out a humorless laugh as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “What do I want you to say? What do I want you to say,” he echoed, dropping his hand abruptly afterwards. “I want you to explain to me why I had to basically carry you out of that fucking restaurant because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

Your smart remark dies on your tongue and you quickly look away as you feel the heat rush to your face. 

Bradley was beyond pissed at you right now, and you suppose he had the right to be, but you hated fighting with him. You always tried to avoid getting into arguments, because you were both stubborn and it didn’t make it easy to win said arguments, though you both tried to every time. 

“What? Got nothing to say now?” He mocked and shrugged off his jacket, leaving him in just a dark button up and his jeans. “You couldn’t stop talking when we were out, and now you can’t seem to give me a simple response.”

You huff and dig your nails deeper into your palms, and you watch as his eyes narrow at it. “I’m embarrassed, Bradley,” you mutter and he laughs.

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” he grunted and ran a hand through his hair, his gaze dropping back down to your hands as you pierce the top layer of your skin. “Okay, baby, stop that.”

You furrow your brows then realize he was talking about the way you were scratching up your palms, and you drop your hands with a loud sigh. “I can’t help it, Bradley,” you say, closing the door loudly behind you before turning back to him. “It’s how I cope with this kind of thing.”

Bradley’s eyes narrowed again and he placed his hands on his hips. “How you cope? No, that’s how you coped when you were with your piece of shit ex,” he nearly growled. “You cope with me by talking things through.”

“I’m embarrassed, Bradley, I don’t want to talk-”

“Well, tough!” He cut you off, making you shut up as he took a step towards you. “That’s what you and I do; we talk. I don’t yell at you or degrade you or get in your space and-”

He lifted his hand and you were powerless to stop the quiet cry that left your lips as you cowered away from him. Realistically, you knew he wasn’t going to hit you like your body reacted to, and when you looked over at him and saw the look of horror on his face, his hand tangled in his hair, it just confirmed it.

Flashbacks to when your ex would hit you during heated arguments flicker through your head, and you feel your whole body tense up at the cruel reminder of who you had wasted too many years of your life with.

It was almost scary how quiet it had become. Your involuntary reaction had quite literally knocked the wind out of him and left him speechless for a few seconds before he regained his sense of voice. 

“Hit you,” he finished what he was going to say and you squeezed your eyes shut as you didn’t want to see the look of pure guilt he was giving you. “Baby, did you think…you thought…that I was-”

“No,” you instantly answer and shake your head. “I swear, I wasn’t thinking that. It’s just, I was…You were talking about it and I started thinking about it and I just…I had no control over that. I’m sorry. I know you would never.”

“I would never,” he echoed and you opened your eyes to see his pained expression. 

“I know,” you say quickly, walking over to him but keeping your hands to yourself. Bradley looked nervous and on edge and like he wanted to touch you but was holding off on doing so. You knew what kind of thoughts were probably running through his head, the comparisons and regret, and you wanted to put a stop to all of it. 

He was not your ex, and he was nowhere near being anything like him. You knew that, and he knew that, he just needed a reminder. 

“I know you would never hurt me,” you say and reach down to take his bigger hand in both of yours. You press his palm against your face and lean into his hesitant touch, looking up at him with a sad smile. “You’re not him, Bradley. You’re nothing like him. You’re everything, Bradley. I love you.”

“You’re everything,” he said back and your words must’ve been enough for him to feel like he could hold you right now as he took you into his arms and pressed you tight against his chest. “You’re everything to me, Y/n. I love you so much, baby. I promise, I’ll never hurt you, I’ll never do anything to make you feel like I ever could. I could never, sweet girl.”

You nod and wrap your arms around his middle. “I know,” you whisper and bury your face in his shirt while he pressed multiple kisses to the top of your head. “I’m sorry I reacted like that.”

“Don’t ever apologize to me,” he rasped, holding you tightly against him. “Not when it comes to something like this. I’m so sorry I brought back those memories. That’s the last thing I ever want to do, especially over something so fucking stupid like what happened at dinner. God, baby, I’m just so sorry. I love you.”

“I love you,” you say back and bunch up his shirt. “It’s okay, Bradley. We’re okay.”

“We’re more than okay, sweet girl,” he murmured, pulling away just to be able to kiss you properly. You kiss him back and melt into the way he held you as if you were the single most important thing in his life. “We’re everything, you’re everything. I’ll do better, okay? I promise.”

You wanted to assure him further and say that he already was doing everything right, but he was too far in his own head right now, you knew he just needed to be with you. And that was fine, because you needed to be with him just as much. 

So instead of going back to the conversation of dinner, you take his hand in yours and pull him towards his bedroom, where you kick off your heels and guide him into bed with you.

Then you held each other for hours, still dressed in your formal outfits and not caring a single bit about the wrinkles you knew would form on your clothes.

[the-ace-with-spades]

(another unfinished post i found on the way to glasgow - that was the longest train ride in my life - I'm sorry in advance)

When Ice finally passes away, at the age of 73, in his sleep, Bradley moves Mav into their house the same day.

He gets the call in the morning, while trying to simultaneously cook Jake's breakfast and try to make their daughter put on a rain jacket. It's not Mav, but someone from the hospital. Jake doesn't know this — Bradley's face twitches only for a second and then he's back to the nagging, relaxing tone and telling their daughter it's raining and it won't stop. Jake only finds out when he comes back home from the school drop-off and Mav is already there on their couch. Jake doesn't even get the full explanation until that night, just a quick, "Ice passed away overnight."

There's only their three youngest living with them at the time — their 18-year-old daughter who attends UC San Diego, and their 15-year-old son who is still in high school, and their 7-year-old daughter — so Mav takes one of the vacant bedrooms.

The first few nights, Bradley sleeps in the same bed with him. Neither of them looks like they get much sleep. They don't really eat, either, just drink coffee and nibble on the crackers.

The kids start coming back home, and their oldest helps Jake arrange most of the things for the funeral, at least for the first few days. Mav is... numb, not really there, and Jake understands — he would, too, if he woke up one day and his husband died in his sleep next to him. Bradley is silent, mostly, the way he usually rambles to fill out the silence, the way he hums, the way he sings at any given time when there are no words spoken, it's all gone and Jake doesn't know how to fill out the silence either, how to ask, how to make it better without asking.

Bradley doesn't cry, or at least not the way he knows Mav does — he can see Mav's red eyes every morning — but there's something empty in his gaze, in the way his eyes follow Mav and in the way he melts whenever Mav is around, always close, always brushing against him. Mav spaces out a lot, doesn't talk much, doesn't—well, doesn't do much. Every time he tries to help with something, paperwork, the funeral arrangements, the hospital bills, even just sorting out the kids' school leave or Jake's own work leave, he fumbles a bit, not really able to focus on anything for long, and it's like his mind is completely scrambled. Jake doesn't know how to help him — doesn't know if they even can.

The kids, well, did not take it well, as expected. The oldest two try to be brave and help Jake with everything, keep the house going, but their youngest daughter doesn't really understand why her pops isn't back, the middle kids don't understand why now — Ice was in remission, in good health, would go hiking with them once a month, play with them in the backyard, talking about plans for the future with them, nothing that would tell them to expect their pops passing away. Mav and Ice had taken care of all of them for years, while Jake and Bradley were still deployable, and helping out as much as they could. Ice was a huge part of their lives, since the very beginning.

Bradley is certainly not doing any better but one couldn't be able to tell if they didn't know him well enough. He's always been more for packing his feelings into a tight neat box, compartmentalizing until there is too much and it all overflows in some explosive way. His focus is mostly on Mav and the kids, trusting Jake to take care of anything he can't.

Jake can't even ask him how he's doing until the night before the funeral.

Mav tells Bradley he wants to be alone that night and Bradley lands in their bedroom.

He acts normal — checks the kids are in bed, checks on Mav, prepares stuff for breakfast in the morning, has a shower. Only when he sits down in their bed, their dress blues, cleaned and pressed sitting on the hangers hooked up on their wardrobe, right in front of him—only then he freezes, a blank stare still on the uniforms.

Jake sits down next to him on the bed. "Talk to me, Bradley."

"I knew it was going to happen at some point, I just," "I just thought we would have a few more years."

Bradley sleeps curled up on his chest — he sleeps the whole night, soundlessly, and Jake is almost settled.

Almost. Mav is a couple doors down, alone.

Ice's been—had been retired many years now, but he had been high enough in the ranks that the Navy still insists on making a military funeral. Jake tried to take away as much of the flashy bullshit as possible, but there are still things leftover — the sailors with the flag, the flyover. But there's no one who wasn't close with the family at the ceremony, there's no speeches, and no one tries to hand either Mav or Bradley a flag.

The wake has an even smaller amount of people, all packed in their house — Mav hasn't been at his own house since — and thanks to Slider, mostly, and his 'the bastard wouldn't want us to mope around', it's less sad and quiet.

Mav eats two slices of cake, which is the most Jake's seen him eat since, and even laughs at some stories about Ice people are exchanging.

Ice had a good life. A big family. A big happy family that loved him.

But life goes on without him. Jake goes back to work first, then the kids have to go back to school, then Bradley has to back to work. After a couple of days alone at their house, Mav starts bringing up moving back to his own house.

He's not really doing great. He's still quiet, still spaces out more often than not, still forgets himself sometimes, still freezes whenever he tries to say something and the we he uses is one person short. He's—lifeless, for a lack of better word, and seems like he's noticing it now that Bradley isn't with him most of the waking hours.

"That is our home," Mav tells them. "I can't abandon it forever, I'd be abandoning him, too, if I—"

Jake—Jake gets it. He doesn't like it, but he gets it.

Bradley's been fielding off any suggestions of Mav moving out but he's pretty sure that soon Mav is going to pack his stuff and up and leave without asking for permission.

"If he wants to move back home, we can't exactly hold him here. against his will."

"Jake," Bradley says. "I feel like—if we let Mav go back there alone, he's going to die of a broken heart and I won't have either of them anymore."

"Sweetheart—"

"I know it's selfish," he interrupts, "but I can't lose him, too. Not now."

Jake can't make Mav stay with them — so he finds the best solution he can and instead, they all move in with Mav. Hell with it, he's going to try to get everyone to live their lives to the end. They'd done it before, Mav, Ice, Bradley, Jake and their two kids under one roof, when their oldest two were their only two kids.

The two of them and two of their youngest; two of their kids move into their house so they don't have to sell it.

Mav lives on. They try to occupy his mind by throwing their youngest at him — ask him to take her to school, pick her up from school, take her to her gymnastics class, do her homework with her, teach her how to play piano. The other kids pick up on it, too, and their high schoolers would wrap Mav into doing math workbooks with them, or ask him to drive them to their friends' house, and the kids that have moved out ask Mav to go to lunch together or call him to ask him things about car and house repairs that don't exist.

Mav gets brighter every day. Never as bright as before, but no longer so numb.

Their daughter ends up never moving out and so do they.

They all get older but Mav holds up pretty well. He does break his hip when trying to wash the windows, had a limp and terrible back ache ever since, had to stop driving because he can't see shit, had to stop piloting even sooner, and his memory is also shit, but Jake is pretty sure his cholesterol is lower than his own and he has better blood pressure than Bradley. Bradley and Mav are the ones cooking after all, Jake is the one eating all the tasty but not healthiest food, and Mav's life revolves around spoiling his cute great-grandkids and Bradley's is filled with the constant stress of managing Navy's top flying school.

For his ninetieth birthday, Mav flies a fighter jet as a passenger, the oldest person to ever do that — his youngest granddaughter is the one to take him up in the air, a junior grade lieutenant herself. They have a birthday party held at their house, Mav falls asleep in the armchair, Bradley makes fun of him and promptly falls asleep on the couch, too. Jake loves them both so much and still kind of can't believe he has this — house full of grown-up kids and grandkids of his own, his graying husband of over thirty years, his father-in-law coming to an age he wanted to see his mother at.

They're cleaning up, their two daughters who still don't have kids and didn't need to go home helping, and Mav tells them he's going to get some fresh air on their veranda. "I've got a terrible headache," is all he says.

Half an hour passes, they've packed all the clean and dirty dishes, and Bradley huffs to himself. "He fell asleep on the bench again, didn't he," and goes outside.

Bradley shouts for him in less than a minute. The ambulance is there in eight. Within the half-hour and a CT scan in the hospital, the neurologist tells them Mav is too far gone to survive the day. Within six hours, every single person from their family has come to say goodbye. When they pass the seven hours mark, Jake stands up from the plastic chair behind Bradley — he's not about to tell Bradley he should rest, but he's been holding Mav's hand since the minute they admitted Mav to the ward and hasn't eaten or drunk anything all day. He tells him he'll go grab them a coffee and bagels and gets a little nod and a smile.

Jake comes back twenty minutes later and Bradley doesn't even look up from where he's gripping Mav's hand.

"Can you get the nurse for me?"

[0mg-bird]

Sister’s Mister (Pt 2) ~B. Bradshaw x Seresin!Sister Reader

Summary: The after effects of being with the girl he wasn’t supposed to touch are going to be the reason Bradley loses his mind.

Warning: Language, 18+ content, smut

A/n: Part Two of Sister’s Mister, read part one here.

One week and four days.

That’s how long it’s been since Bradley seen you.

There’s been a buzz under his skin ever since, like he’s in a constant state of brain fog. He gets up in the mornings, takes a cold shower and thinks of reaching out, but he never does and neither do you.

He tells himself this is for the better, one time didn’t too much damage, Hangman never found out, he was in the clear.

But…

Bradley stalks your social media pages, his search history is full of your name followed by magazine names and name brands that are associated with your face. He seriously contemplates going to an Urgent Care, believing you might have drugged him. Anyone mentions your name and he lets out a shaky breath. He can’t even look Hangman in the eye.

And just when he thinks he’s officially detoxed, you show up at the Hard Deck.

He’s only half a beer down, but the second you rush through the front doors, he’s chugging it down and going to order another.

Hair wavy from the curlers they were in earlier, your relaxed outfit doesn’t match your crazed mood.

With a huff, you come to join the aviators.

“I am so sorry I’m late.” You immediately apologize as you greet everyone. Turning to your brother, he watches in amusement as you explain yourself.

“The shoot ran way later than expected, hair and makeup was a disaster, half the team bailed, the set manager was freaking out, I’m pretty sure I got a sunburn. As soon as they got the final shots, some of the girls wanted to get a bite to eat, that turned into a few glasses of champagne. Now, I’m here. Hi.” You rush with your words, though they end when Jake hugs you.

“Poor little model girl.” He fakes a pout.

From the bar, Bradley procrastinates on taking his beer and going back to the group that has their attention on you. His foot taps on the floor as he finds the courage, soon he takes a breath and just pushes himself forward.

Immediately, your eyes find him.

It’s like the ache you’ve had ever since you left his arms is gone.

The entirety of moments following are all just glances shared back and forth. The warm bar scene really isn’t doing you any favors, neither is it for him. You clip your hair up, your shirt slides off your shoulder as you lean over the pool table, winning a bet you made with Coyote.

A few more drinks come and go, music is flowing, you’re swaying next to the jukebox and Bradley is at war with his mind and heart.

At some point, Phoenix slides her way beside him, watching him stare off in your direction as you fight with Jake over which song to play next.

“That’s a poison you don’t want to pick, Bradshaw.” She says, making him snap his eyes away.

He shakes his head, trying to deny anything but Nat looks up at him with a pointed face.

“Here’s a tip, if you don’t want Hangman to find out you want his little sister, don’t eye fuck her.” She says, patting his chest.

Bradley sighs. “Don’t say anything about this.”

“What? I’m not gonna get you killed.” She laughs, not helping his guilty mind any.

As you sift past bodies, making your way to the secluded bathroom in the back of the bar, his eyes are tracking your every step. And as his mind is screaming at him to just forget about you, he trails after you.

The stall clanks as you come out to wash your hands, then you lean against the sink and sigh.

It feels like you’re on fire and he hasn’t even touched you. You could feel those brown eyes on you, it was suffocating. He looked too good, his voice was so smooth and he didn’t even speak to you.

He hasn’t called in a week and four days.

You remind yourself of that fact and try to get your head straight.

Drying your hands, you decide you’ll tell everyone goodbye and be on your way. It was getting late anyway, you could go back to your house, take a shower, get in bed and watch some tv. That was safe, you’d be able to control yourself.

Head on straight now, you open the bathroom door and immediately forget the entire safe plan you just made.

Bradley stands there, looking at you with round brown eyes, lips parted slightly. “Hi.” He greets, not knowing there’s a fire lit in your stomach.

“Hi.” You smile.

So much for a conversation, the two of you just stand with a heated silence before you have the urge to speak.

“H-How are you? How have you been?”

He wants to laugh at your effort to remain normal.

“Me? I’ve been acting a fool since you left.” He says in utter transparency, making your brows furrow slightly.

“Makes me wish you would’ve called and told me.” You state with an awkward laugh, tucking your hair behind your ear.

Bradley looks half confused and half surprised.

“I didn’t call because I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to or not…you never called either, so…” He looks away almost bashfully, but he tries to mask his look with one of manly stoicism.

Now you really are taken back. Slightly shaking your head, a dry chuckle leaves your lips.

“Bradley…you never gave me your number. I was waiting for you to call.” You say, making him snap his head back to you.

He’s an idiot.

Of course he is.

“I’m…damn it, I’m sorry sweetheart.” He laughs at himself and scratches the back of his neck. “God, I’m an idiot.”

“No you aren’t.” You say, stepping closer.

“This entire time I could’ve been talking to you- even though it’s still not the best idea-”

You reach out, hand on his jaw as you lean up to kiss him. He immediately silences, pressing his lips back to yours, softly savoring you.

After a moment, with his hands on your waist, you pull back. Hand slipping up to his hair, you don’t miss the way his eyes flutter shut for a moment.

“I’ve thought about you every day, since.” You whisper, watching his eyes pull back open, a shade darker.

“I’m going to get myself in trouble.” He says, fingers flexing before gripping your hips a little tighter.

“You’re already this far in, what’s the harm in more?” You question.

He internally groans. Because what was the harm in more? He wanted it so badly, all he can hope for is to see you every day until you leave. He’ll take you out, all of his free time could be given to you.

All he had to do is follow your lead.

“We could go back to my place.” You offer quietly, smiling as he kisses you once more.

“Meet me outside by my car.” He says with a sly grin.

And that’s what you do. Going back to the group, you say goodnight to everyone, telling your brother that you’re getting a ride home and you’ll see him for lunch tomorrow.

Then you calmly step out into the night air and lean against the Bronco.

After five minutes, Bradley is coming to find you.

You bite your lower lip, containing your giddy laugh as he helps you into the passenger seat.

Hand on your thigh, you direct him to the seaside rental. It’s almost like you’re in a cloud of deja vu, the way the two of you fall into the house, tangled together, all hot and feverish. It’s the same way you two were before.

He blindly shuts the door behind him before turning and pushing you up against the wall. His mouth on your neck has you breathing hard, has your hands pushing his shirt up.

“Bedroom.” You pant. “Bedroom is down the hall.”

Immediately he pulls you from the wall, heated hands lifting you from the ground. Your legs wrap around his waist, he supports you by both hands gripping your ass.

“Fuck, I’ve been thinking about this everyday.” You admit, arms around his neck, tongue in his mouth.

Bradley groans. “You can’t say things like that, baby.”

His pleading tone shoots arousal through you.

“Why not?” You ask dumbly, getting backed through the bedroom door. “Not sure you can handle the truth?”

Clothes get scattered onto the ground, your urgent in your actions, yanking his belt open and unzipping his jeans. He unhooks your bra in one fluid motion and tosses it behind him, laying you flat on your back, against the bed. He trails that skilled tongue of his over your sensitive breasts. He places open mouthed kisses down your chest and over your stomach.

“I don’t think I can leave you again after this.” He claims as he yanks your underwear down.

“Then don’t.” You say, meeting his eyes as he comes back up to you.

He leans down and kisses you slowly, a different change of pace. You moan into his mouth as his fingers run between your thighs, finding how wet you are.

“You have to mean that.” He whispers in a rough tone.

“I do.” You gasp as he sinks two fingers into you slowly. Your hand grips the back of his head. “I mean it, Bradley.”

His erection twitches in his boxers.

He can’t help the marks he sucks into your collar bones, he thinks he might just lose it when you kiss him with an urgent need, biting his bottom lip.

“Don’t make me wait.” You say. “I want to feel you inside me, please.”

The realization hits him.

“I don’t have a condom.” He says.

“I’m on birth control.” You breathe, hands already trying to tug his boxers down.

The idea of being inside of you. Raw. It has him pulling his drenched fingers from you and sucking them clean. He lets you tug the fabric down, lets you run your palm over him a few times before he practically shoves you back, needing to feel the way you’ll wrap warmly around him.

He brushes your hair out of your face, cradles your jaw as he slowly pushes into you.

You groan breathlessly, head digging into the pillow as he stretches you perfectly.

“Fuck.” He curses under his breath. “You feel so fucking good.”

A moan tumbles from your lips as he hits an enticing spot inside of you. His hand runs down your thigh and grabs the back of your knee, kissing you as he hooks that leg around his waist, giving him more room to slowly thrust against you.

You let out a giggle, utterly relieved at the pleasure of him dragging back and forth against your walls.

“You’re so addicting.” He admits, pulling out of you almost completely before sinking back in.

The sound of your wetness grows as he speeds up, it has you gripping onto his wide shoulders.

“That’s it.” You praise. “Like that.”

He grows a drunk smirk. “Yeah? You like it like this? You love how I hit it so deep and good?”

“Yes- ah, Bradley.” You gasp as he makes his thrusts more pointed.

“Good. I love it when you take it so good, fuck, you’re such a good girl.”

Your lips tremble at the praise, eyes falling shut as you pant. His lips to the skin of your neck, the bristle of his mustache makes you shiver. He moans against you at the way you maintain a grip around him.

“Bradley.” You whine, begging him to push harder.

He does, of course he does, he’ll do anything if you keep calling his name like that. Your free hand grips the sheets while the other is in his hair or trailing your nails across his back. His movement jolts you, shakes you closer to the headboard and you couldn’t be more thrilled.

“There you go, baby.” He coos, thumb trailing over your parted lips. “You want it like this, huh?” He asks as he spreads you wider, giving him the space he needs to fuck into your tight cunt.

“Mhm. Fuck, you’re so deep.”

You keep saying those dirty words and all he wants to do is pound into you until your screaming. It’s one tweak he makes, one adjustment of his hips, your hips, that has you gasping out. He knows he’s hitting the right spot when your nails dig into his shoulder.

“Bradley- please- feels so good like this.” You cry out, muscles tightening as your orgasm starts to build.

“Shit, you’re gonna make me come.” He breathes, finding your open mouth.

Your pants are heavy, your voice hoarse as you whimper his name over and over, it makes his head swim and his dick twitch inside of you.

You can’t even kiss back at this point, you’re too lost in the hot feeling blooming in your stomach.

“Please say I can finish inside you.” He pleads, gripping your hips as you try and arch off the bed.

“Yes! You can- need to feel it- I’m so close.”

“I know, I know.” He comforts, grunting as he fucks into you, trying to get the two of you closer.

Completely incoherent words come from you, your face buries in his neck, lips sucking his skin to stop the noises you want to loudly whine. The tension builds and builds, your heels dig into the matress and then you’re falling over the edge.

Your body goes rigid, your grip on him tightens as he fucks you through the orgasm. You’re coming with a shaky moan, your eyes blown completely wide as the feeling takes ahold of you.

“There it is, that’s it.” Bradley praises. “I’m so close, I’m going to come.” He curses, your name coming from him like a prayer.

His rhythm falters as he pushes deep inside of you one last time and he finishes, body going numb.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck yes.” He praises, watching how your body shakes under him.

He grips your thighs as he sits back, watching with amazement as he finally pulls out and sees the mess the two of you made together. It’s a sight that’s going to be on his mind forever.

It’s in that moment of bliss, when you’re entering earth’s atmosphere again, that a pleased smile sits on your sleepy lips. Bradley lays beside you, an arm over his eyes as he takes deep breaths.

“Hey…” He blindly reaches for you when you don’t speak or move. “You still with me?”

You try to move some part of your body but it all feels too heavy at the moment.

“Mhmm.” Is all you groan, eyes casted on the ceiling as your vision becomes clear again. Your mind is completely drunk and woozy, the only thing you can do is put your hand over his that rests on your thigh.

This feeling is intoxicating beyond a lustful level, that’s something you know for sure.

- - - -

The windows are open to let the night breeze in, and the sound of the ocean is calming as you pull your messy hair up into an odd shaped bun. Both of you half dressed, Bradley groans as he pushes his face into the pillow. You let your eyes trace over the shape of his back muscles as they contort, then you lean forward, running your hands over his bare skin. As you lean to press your lips to his shoulder blades, he turns his head to the side to show his goofy smile.

“You staying the night?” You ask, voice low as you kiss his skin.

“I was planning on it, unless you’re gonna kick me out.” He mumbles.

You lean towards his face. “I think I’ll keep you around for now.” You tease.

Bradley chuckles, then shifts onto his side, his strong arms dragging you against him. Those sleepy brown eyes of his look into yours, all warm and meaningful and it doesn’t scare you.

“What are you doing Sunday?” He asks in an intimate tone since you’re just inches away.

You hum. “Not sure…but I could probably fit you into my schedule.”

He rolls his eyes, moving to bury his face in your neck. As he kisses your delicate skin, he mumbles his words.

“I was thinking I’d like to take you out on a date, but if Gucci calls and needs your pretty face, I understand.”

You laugh, pulling him back in fear he’ll suffocate against you. “I’d love a proper date.”

Now he gives you an all out grin and nods. “Okay, that sounds good.”

Pressing your lips to his, the two of you nestle together in your bedroom kingdom, wrapped in the covers and each other’s scent. You fall soundly asleep first, laid on his chest, and Bradley looks down at you and screws his eyes shut.

He was so screwed. So unbelievably screwed.

This was something that wasn’t his, and now he is set to make it his.

Even if it just might kill him.

[sometimesanalice]

I Like Your Cinema

Synopsis: Bradley wasn’t sure why you wanted to see the movie again, especially when neither one of you had particularly liked it the first time you’d seen it together. But when you’re tugging down his zipper, things start to make a lot more sense.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw X Female Reader

Length: 6K

Warnings: Unapologetic Smut (minors dni)

(author's note: this fic is set in the 'Like I Can Universe', but can be read on it's own! )

Bradley wasn’t expecting to find himself rolling up to the mostly empty movie theater parking lot at 11am on a sunny Saturday morning. But here he was.

He’d had to exercise more self-control than he knew he was capable of when you’d all but skipped out his front door wearing the tightest pair of jeans he’d ever seen. It was all he could do to follow after you to the Bronco, his eyes glued to all of your denim clad curves, instead of pulling you right back into bed with him like he wanted to.

In the passenger’s seat next to him, you’re surprisingly upbeat for someone who was only running off of two cups of coffee instead of the usual three you needed to become a semblance of a functional human being. You’d happily hummed along to the songs playing on the radio the whole ride to the theater.

The two of you had already seen the movie a few weeks ago. It had been fine, but they’d clearly used the funniest moments in the trailer as a way to get people in the seats. It wasn’t one he was particularly interested in seeing again in theaters, but he’d never been good at refusing you. Not when he was younger and certainly not now. So if you wanted to see it he’d be there seated right next to you, just the way he liked to be.

Although Bradley was still trying to remember just when last night it was that the two of you had talked about going to see a matinee showing of it again. He can only guess that it must have slipped his mind after the way you’d come on his mouth.

Less than an hour ago you were hustling him into the shower, he was thinking he was about to get lucky until you’d told him to hurry up or the two of you would be late.

“Wait, late for what, kid?” he’d asked confused. To his knowledge other than meeting up with Mav and Penny for dinner later that night, your Saturday was wonderfully free of plans.

He was getting used to having more morning of waking up with you than less. In his bed, in your bed. There was nothing he like more than feeling all your warm skin under his palm before the sun was up. After so many years on hard beds, it was your softness he was always seeking out still half asleep before getting up for the day.

He’s learned so many things about you from a lifetime of friendship, but he’s only had a couple of months learning what makes you sigh and gasp and keen and come.

It was one thing to know that you weren’t a morning person, regardless of how much you claimed you to be one, and another to see your adorably sleepy pout first thing in the morning with the pillow crease still etched on your cheek.

Bradley liked knowing what your preferred brand of toothpaste was and how many steps were in your bedtime routine. For as well as he’s always known you, there was so much more to discover and he was loving every new bit of you he got to uncover.

He liked your cozy apartment filled with all your pretty things and framed pictures on the walls. He’d never thought of getting a rug for in front of the sink in the kitchen until he was doing the dishes one night at your place, that night he’d ordered one for himself. However, he’d rather see your impressive shoe collection next to his minimal assortment of boots and sneakers in the closet of his condo.

More often than not, you were coming to his place with a tote bag full of your things, spare clothes and travel sized products. He didn’t want you to feel like a visitor passing through, he wanted to be your home. He was still working out how to ask you to move in with him, but he’ll figure it out. He always does.

He wanted more mornings, more nights, more days with you.

“For the movie,” you’d said slowly, looking at him deliberately. Tilting your head at him like his confusion was confusing you.

“Sweet girl, what movie? When did we talk about this? I literally don’t remember.”

The exasperated sigh that came out of you would have been funny if he hadn’t been wracking his brain trying to catch up with something he didn’t realize he was missing to begin with.

“Bradley, come on,” you huffed, petulantly, “We talked about it before bed last night. You said you’d come with me, I already bought the tickets for it.” You wiggle your phone at him like it’ll somehow help to jog his memory.

Well, that explains it. You’d done a number on him last night.

“Last night, huh?” he smirked, grabbing your hips and pulling you to him, “Was this before or after I coaxed you into sitting on my face?” Bradley chuckled at the bashful look that coasted over your face as you shoved at his shoulder lightly, but he’d just tugged you in closer, “Awh, c’mon, don’t get shy on me. It was hot.”

He liked being the one that gets to make you all flustered.

You just shook your head at him, not taking the bait, “It was after.”

“Well if it was after then you can’t blame me for not retaining that conversation.  You should know by now that you can’t hold me to whatever comes out of my mouth when I’m still pussy dru-”

“Don’t be crass,” you’d tutted at him, tugging at the hem of his worn Navy shirt.

He slides his thumbs under your shirt, letting them skim over the soft skin above your underwear, “We both know how much you like this mouth, especially when it’s ‘crass’.”

You’d hummed at him- admitting nothing, denying nothing - before a mischievous grin overtook your face, “That’s a good a tidbit to know though, seems like the kind of thing that could work in my favor for the future.”

Those dimples would be the end of him.

“Troublemaker,” he’d said, pulling off his shirt and dropping it onto the bathroom floor.

You weren’t subtle about the way you checked him out, “What are you going to do about it?”

The sweatpants came off next and your eyes weren’t anywhere near his face when he replied, “Come get in the shower with me and I’ll show you real quick.”

You’d sauntered up to him slowly. And for a moment he thought you were going to reach for his cock, instead you’d grabbed a fluffy white towel and pressed it into his chest, “Not going to happen, Bradshaw. We’ve got a date with seats F9 and F10 in 40 minutes. Chop-chop, pretty boy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Although, it didn’t stop him from snapping the towel at your ass when you’d spun away in your triumph.

He’s given up trying to remember the conversation from the night before or when you bought the tickets because you are happily tugging him towards the doors to the theater and he’d do just about anything to see the pretty curve of your smile.

Including seeing the action comedy that had one too many explosion sequences and a car that ends up in space for whatever reason.

The last time he made a fuss about you not letting him be the one to buy something for the two of you, you’d given him a look that had nearly pinned him to the damn wall and then said: “Don’t be a caveman. It’s not the 1950’s, I am allowed buy you things too.”

He’d hate to be called anti-feminist, so he was trying to get better about letting you pamper him in your own ways. But that didn’t stop him from trying to be the first one to reach for a credit card every chance he got. You were his girl and he couldn’t help himself.

Bradley opens the door for you and is hit with the smell of freshly popped popcorn. He looks down at you in time to watch as your nose scrunches the same way it always has in all the years that he’s known you.

Once the tickets on your phone are scanned by the yawning teen at the podium in the lobby entry, you’re lacing your fingers between his again, “Let’s get some snacks.”

“How are you even hungry right now?” He’d made the two of you a big breakfast to recoup some energy after being thoroughly worn out by you last night. So he doesn’t know how you even have junk food on the brain right now.

“We’re at the movie theater, Bradley, we’re legally required to get something with some Red Dye 40 and an obscene amount of sugar in it.”

“My bad, you’re right.”

“Of course, I am,” you preen.

He huffs an amused laugh as you lead him to concessions stand. It’s early enough that there’s only one person working the counter. The two of you get in line behind the family with three small kids who have their faces and little hands pressed against the glass display with all the colorful boxes of candies excitedly making their selections.

Bradley is watching as you mull over the choices on the flat screen TVs displaying the theaters offerings, your lips quirked to the side deep in thought. As he watches you, it dawns on him that the two of you will have plenty of time after the movie to run a few errands before they meet Mav and Penny for dinner.

“Hey, I was thinking about getting for a new dresser. I think mine might be too small now that all my things are here in San Diego now. If you’re up for it afterwards, do you want to come help me pick one out? Anything outside of IKEA is bit outside my area of expertise.”

With your help over the last few months, he’s been picking up a few new things to make his place feel more like a home and less like something temporary. Like some throw pillow for the couch, some nicer towels for the bathroom that all match. All little things but he liked that your fingerprints were all over his place even when you weren’t there with him.

“Oh yeah?” you say as you turn your face to look up at him, eyes alight with interest, “I’d be happy to, it’ll be fun! I can think of at least 5 places off the top of my head. You’re in good hands, trust me.”

“Don’t I know it,” he winks and drops a kiss on your cheek.

When it’s your turn to order you get a Cherry Coke for yourself and a Root Beer for him. Along with a bag of gummy bears, a box of Milk Duds, and a packet of Red Vines. But it’s your final request that surprises him.

“Oh, and a large popcorn, please,” you say with a smile.

He peers down at you quizzically, “But you hate popcorn.”

“What are you talking about? No, I don’t.” He just gives you a skeptical lift of his eyebrow. “Ok, maybe in the past,” you allow, with a little nonchalant shrug of your shoulder, “But today I want some, it sounds good.”

Bradley has never in his life seen you eat anything other than the homemade stuff from on a stovetop, but at the determined tip of your chin he isn’t about to press it. You’ve always been the type of girl who knows what she wants. And gets it.

“Whatever you want, kid,” he says handing over his credit card to the girl behind the counter. Feeling more than a little pleased with himself as she swipes it since you’re still trying to reach for your wallet in your purse.  

You smile and shake your head at him as you press that overly large bucket of popcorn into his chest for him to take, it’s shiny and yellow with artificial butter. You grab a stack of the thin, single-ply napkins and stuff them into your purse before grabbing the rest of the goods from off the fingerprint covered counter.

He trails after you popping a few salty buttery pieces into his mouth, admiring the curve of your ass in those jeans. His own personal preshow entertainment.

The seats you had grabbed were to the left side in the very back row of one of the smaller theaters that are usually reserved for movies about to hit on-demand and streaming services. Bradley can’t say he’s too surprised that the zoom kaboom movie isn’t going to have a long theatrical run.

It doesn’t escape his notice the way you set his drink in the cup holder on the left side of his assigned seat, your own soda going into the cup holder on your right before you settle into your own seat. It’s the little things you do for him, like putting his cup on his dominant side or stocking the fridge at your place with his favorite beer, that make him fall more and more for you every day.

The two of you get competitive when the movie trivia segment plays. You’re a split second faster than him blurting out Matt Damon in Ocean’s Twelve and securing your win against him. Your victory shimmy in your seat is cut short when a man comes walking down the aisle heading towards the front row of the theater.

Bradley plays a couple rounds of the beer pong game on his phone that you always tease him about in between eating handfuls of popcorn waiting for the lights to dim and the movie to start. He offers you the bucket, but you press it back towards him and tell him you’ll have some later.

He thinks he catches the movie app with the seating chart from the corner of his eye, but you’re probably just closing it out from using it to get the tickets scanned earlier. But you’re more fidgety than normal. It’s only after he clocks you pulling your phone for the third time that he asks, “You seem antsy, you ok?”

“I’m just excited to see the movie again,” you reply, putting your phone on airplane mode and tucking it back into your purse.

“I didn’t realize you liked it so much.”

“Well, I did. I think you’ll like it more this time too, it takes at least two watches to catch all the nuances.”

“I didn’t realize a Kevin Hart movie could have so many layers,” he jokes as the lights turn down.

“You shush, it’s starting.”

As the opening sequence plays, you push up the armrest between the two of you to lean your head on his shoulder, curling into him as much as you can. When you rest your hand on his stomach he decides this might be his new favorite way to spend a Saturday morning, with you pressed against him in a darkened room and breathing in the smell of your shampoo.

Bradley isn’t surprised in the least when you turn down his offer of popcorn again 20 minutes later when it’s revealed the best friend in the movie is actually a rogue CIA agent. He smirks to himself when you push until its resting on top of the thigh furthest away from you. He couldn’t wait to tease you about it after the movie was over.

As the movie builds to the first big action sequence, your hand slowly slides lower down his stomach. It’s all he can to do try and focus on the movie in hopes of distracting himself from getting a hard-on like some horny teenager rather than the grown ass man that he is.

But then right as the chase scene through the crowded streets of London starts, you’re popping open the button on his jeans and tugging down his zipper.

And then you’re pulling out his now very hard cock.

“Oh, shit.”

Your delicate fingers are teasing along the length of him with a featherlight touch. He couldn’t care less about the half a million-dollar car on screen that’s on its way to the junkyard with the way it’s getting destroyed, and is entirely enthralled by the way your hand looks loosely wrapped around his cock as you toy with him.

“This ok?” you ask quietly, in a way that has him wanting to flutter his eyes closed. Your thumb sweeps slowly along under the flare of his head in the way you know he likes.

He’s always been a bit adventurous, he likes the adrenaline rush both in the air and on the ground, and he was learning you were too. You’d never come so quick for him as you did the night in the parking lot of the Hard Deck when the fire alarm went off unexpectedly causing everyone to start flooding out as you were riding his cock in the driver’s seat of the Bronco.

Bradley had never been more thankful to have arrived late enough that he’d had to park on the other side of the dumpsters. The only person who was allowed to see you undone and unraveled was him.

“So fucking ok, sweet girl,” he rasps as soundlessly as he can. The one other person in the theater with them is quite a few rows ahead of them, but he wasn’t about to give away what was going on in the back row of Auditorium 17 at the AMC Chula Vista 10.

“Shh, don’t you know talking during a movie is rude, Bradley?” you whisper into the shell of his ear. And god does he want to laugh, but he has to grit his teeth together to hold back the moan he’s desperate to release when you more firmly grasp him in your hand.

He already knows that is something that’s going to keep him occupied on those nights the two of you spend apart. Something to dream about on a cramped bunk bed on a carrier in the middle of the ocean when he is thousands of miles away from you.

You and your pleased smile and your hand on his cock.

There’s no way he could have prepared himself for the way you lean over him and lick up the length of him with a broad stroke of your tongue.

You’ve got one hand at the base of him and the other braced on his thigh supporting you. He’s clutching at the rim of that damn bucket of popcorn like it’s a lifeline as you drop wet, open mouthed kisses along his cock.

His pulse is thrumming in his throat and he can’t quite remember how to push the air out of his lungs. He’s had years of learning specialized breathing techniques and it all flies out of his mind at the stroke of your hand and the bob of your head and the swirl of your tongue.

Bradley is desperate to see you face, there’s nothing he loves more than looking into your eyes when you’re treating him to your perfect mouth. It’s not possible at this angle, but he gathers your hair into his fist so that he can see your lips stretched around him. He’s not guiding your motions, he just wants a better look at you. Even in the dimly lit auditorium, he can see how spit-slicked you’ve gotten him.

You’re taking as much of him as you can, with each dip of your head more and more of him disappears into your hot mouth.

And when he hits the back of your throat he nearly loses his mind.

“Jesus,” he curses up to the ceiling, throwing his head back and trying not to pant. Thankfully in time with some explosion on screen and he knows without a doubt that you’d done it at that moment on purpose.

You pull off of him and the string of spit glinting between your lips and his cock is going to fuel his one-handed fodder for the next month. He watches in rapt until its pulled taut enough to break. Your lips are shiny and wet, there’s a satisfied smile on your face as you take him in, still pumping him with your hand.

Your teeth graze his earlobe, and goosebumps erupt along his forearms. Your words hushed so that only he could hear them. Only meant for him. “God, Bradley, you’re so good to me. You’ve always been so good to me.”

“Sweet girl,” he whispers, roughly. His chest is tight with his sheer want of you.

You kiss his cheek, “Just enjoy the movie, Bradley.” Your hand is gliding up and down his shaft easily, your thumb skimming over his sensitive head on every upstroke.

Your tongue dips out to lave at the divot at the base of his neck and you nudge him with your nose in a silent request. He leans his head back along the red velvet seat and angles himself away to give you all the access to column of his throat. With his eyes tightly squeezed closed, every touch feels that much more heightened to him. Your hot breath on his throat is at stark contrast to the air conditioning wafting through the auditorium.

The feel of your lips mouthing and sucking and licking along him is worth any shit he’d get if he goes onto base on Monday wearing your handiwork on his neck. He’d do those extra push-ups with pride.

He looks down to where your hand is working him in smooth strokes, your fingertips not touching until they reach the from ridge of the head of his cock. He knows he’s not small by any means, but in your hands he looks huge.

It feels so wrong and so right. The movie is loud enough to cover any slick sounds your hand is making and the other person is far enough away that there’s no way the two of you will be caught, not above the surround sound of screeching tires on pavement and the shattering of glass.

Your lips graze his ear, “You always know just what I need and what to say. You make feel so seen and so special.” With every generous word, his heart hammers harder and harder against his ribs. Your sweet voice and your hand working his cock have him dizzy with need. “And it’s not just me. I don’t miss the way you check to see if anyone else needs a drink before you go to get another one or the way you’re always the first to help when someone needs an extra set of hands. It’s so hot the way you take care of everyone.”

Bradley’s face feels warm, he’s sure he’s flushed pink. He’s trying to keep his breathing under control, but you’re making it difficult for him. He’s never shied away from the praise that comes with his career, he’s worked and sacrificed for that. But with you, he never wants to stop earning it from you.

“You’re so damn handsome,” you hum, your lips brushing over one of the scars on his neck, the ones he’s never told you the full story about just how he got them. “I’ve never been so desperate for someone before, I want you all the time. I didn’t know it could be like this, Bradley. I lo-like you so much.”

He breathes your name unevenly.

He didn’t realize how hungry he was for those three words from you until just now. He’s loved you his whole life, in the affectionate way that friends do, but it’s been increasingly clear to him over these last few months that he is also in love with you.

Bradley already knew he was never going to feel the same way about anyone else the way he feels about you.

He’s never felt more himself than he does with you. You know the best parts of him and the worst, you’ve been there and seen it all. He doesn’t have to just be Rooster or Lieutenant Bradshaw all the time. He can just be.

It’s never been like this for him before either. He’s always orbited around your sun, but now you’re his whole universe.

He loses himself to the sound of your voice and pretty praise, soft and low, and to the feel of your lips and tongue on his skin as you work his cock in the way that he knows is going to have him seeing stars soon.

Bradley can feel your grin against his neck right before you drag your teeth down the column of his throat, “No one has ever fucked me as good as you do. I’ve never come so hard as I do with you.” 

He has to swallow down the groan that almost escapes him as he jerks into your hand as a tidal wave of masculine pride crashes into him.

Damn right you do.

You are his girl.

He knows your body. He knows you.

His. His. His.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

A cough from the front of the auditorium startles the both of you. The tension makes his throat tight, but when it’s followed by a sniffle rather than a second more pointed noise, the two of you know you’re safe to continue.

“Bradley.” He can hear the request in the way you say his name. With no minimal effort, he cracks his eyes open and turns his head to you. Half of your pretty face is illuminated by the movie playing in front of the two of you.

Holding his gaze, you slowly stick your shiny, pink tongue out to him and he almost comes on the spot.

He can see the playful dare in your eyes and the wicked curve of the corners of your mouth around your waiting tongue.

You know exactly what you are doing to him. A menace, his favorite menace.

His favorite person.

Bradley leans over and cups your jaw in his hand, his thumb skimming along your cheek right before he spits into your open mouth.

You let him admire his handiwork for a moment and then you wink at him.

It’s in that instant that he knows he’s played right into your winning hand because you’re leaning back down over his cock and letting the combination of his spit and yours drip right on to the top of him.

The two of you watch as the thick dribble slowly slides off and down, down guided by the thick vein along the length of him.

When it reaches the base of his cock, your mouth is chasing after it as you take him right down to the hilt.

His stomach and thighs are tensing with the strain of holding himself back when you hollow your cheeks around him. He almost doesn’t want to give in just yet, but the feel of your soft lips and the firm strokes of your hand on him is just too good.

That pressure that has been steadily building behind his bellybutton is too hard to ignore. He’s so close now. You must be able to tell he’s right there too because you’re humming around him in that way that makes his lower stomach and inner thighs coil in anticipation. He reaches for your leg, driven by the overwhelming need to touch you. Bradley can feel all your soothing warmth through your painted on jeans under his palm.

And with a tricky twist of your wrist at the base of his cock as you tongue at the firm ridge of him, he spills into your perfect mouth as you finish him off.

Bradley’s mind goes blank with pleasure as it hits him like a sucker punch. 

It’s intense. It’s a rush. It’s all because of you.

Spent and sated he melts further into the comfortable movie theater seat as you clean what cum you couldn’t swallow with your tongue, laving at him until you were content before tucking him back into his boxer briefs.

He doesn’t know how he made it through that without sending that giant bucket of popcorn to the floor, but the rim of it is noticeable crumbled on one side. He balances it on his leg as he adjusts himself and rebuttons his jeans.

When he looks over at you, you’re popping a Milk Dud into your mouth like a prize for a job well done. And you grin widely at him.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, affectionately pulling you back to him. He kisses the top of your head as you tuck yourself into his chest, that box of candy clutched in your hand.

The rest of the movie passes in a hazy blur as his heartrate returns to normal while he plays with the ends of your hair.

He tries offering you the popcorn again, but once again you push it away. This time he does laugh and you tilt your head up and press a soft kiss at the base of his throat. He can’t help but smile to himself every time you hold up one of the chocolate-covered caramel candies up for him to eat, your eyes never leaving the screen.

And this time, he’s not even annoyed when they misidentify the Immelmann Turn for a Barrel Roll Attack. Although how they got a Pontiac Fiero airborne is still beyond him.  

When the man in the front row leaves as the credits start rolling he turns to you, “Well, you were right, sweet girl. I think that might be my new favorite movie.”  

Your smile is beaming, but your laugh is even brighter.

He still can’t believe that just happened, but he’s already planning to preorder the damn collector’s edition Blu-ray the second he can. “Can I ask what brought that on?”

“You keep trying to get handsy with me at the library, but you know I can’t desecrate the books. Knowledge is power, Bradley. But I figured this was something you might like too.”

“Are you telling me you brought me here for the sole purpose of getting me off in the back row, kid?

“I am and I did,” you preen.

Bradley chuckles and leans over for a kiss. It’s soft and sweet.

He pulls away and looks into your eyes, grinning he asks, “So you like me, huh?” He knows he’s probably pressing his luck, but he’s willing to take a gamble if it means he gets to hear that from you again.

You press you lips together trying to fight back your own smile, “I’m not saying those three words to you for the first time after blowing you in the back row of an AMC, Bradshaw.”

“Is it just the AMC then?” he teases, setting his bucket of popcorn to the side before pulling you into his lap. Your knees balanced on the seats to either side of him as you settle on him, “Because we could hit up a Regal if that’s more your speed. Or-”

“Bradley,” you laugh, trying to cover his mouth with your hand.

He catches it in his and presses a quick kiss to your palm, “And what if I told you I like you too? Would that change anything?”

It’s no secret what he really means. He knows what almost slipped out of your mouth. But if you’re not quite ready to say it then he can be patient. You’re more than worth the wait.

Bradley sees the way your eyes light up and the way your smile gets even wider only a sliver of a second before you’re ducking down to eagerly kiss him.

For a moment he feels like he is a teenager again, making out with his girlfriend in the back of a movie theater without anyone around. Wild and reckless and carefree.

Your hands slide up his chest and into his hair, your nails on his scalp have him sinking further into the seat. His hands grip your ass, just like the way he’s by dying to touch you since he saw you in them this morning. He takes advantage of your gasp to slide his tongue against yours. He didn’t know that happiness tasted like the Cherry Coke you had been sipping on, but it does and he can’t get enough of it.

He probably would have kept on kissing you if it were for the pointed clearly of a throat that has the two of you flying apart like you’ve both been electrocuted. The teen standing in the aisle just awkwardly lifts up the broom and dust pan.

You bite your lip to keep from giggling at getting caught as you scramble off of his lap collecting your things, hastily shoving the candy back in your purse and babbling a sorry, sorry that he personally didn’t think sounded too terribly apologetic. He’s quick to follow your lead, checking his pockets to make sure he still had his wallet and keys, not forgetting to grab that large cardboard popcorn bucket as you head for the double doors to the auditorium.

The two of you manage to keep it together until the swinging door closes behind and then you’re bursting out into a fit of laughter in the hallway.

“Oh my god, Bradley, I’m mortified,” you giggle into his chest, “We can never come back here.”

“Nah, I’m sure that’s not the first time that kid has busted people for necking in the back row. Plus this is the best reviewed AMC in the area,” he says with a grin, dropping his arm over your shoulders. “Hey, I’ve still got at least half a bucket of popcorn left should we make it a double feature? I’m more than happy to return the favor. Those jeans of yours might make it a little difficult, but I’m up for the challenge.” He gives you a playfully suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Maybe next time,” you grin, reaching up and threading your fingers through his to tug him towards the exit. “I am worried we might be arrested for public indecency if we stay here a second longer.”

He tosses the popcorn bucket into the trash as the two of you pass by the concession stand on your way out.

“Ok, kid, but I have to know, why did you order the biggest size they had if you weren’t going to eat it too? We both know you hate movie theater popcorn.”

“You’re not allowed to tease me if I tell you.”

“I promise not to tease you,” he says holding open the door for you.

“I thought it might help to block any potential wandering eyes,” you admit, blushingly, “Just in case, there was any last-minute Kevin Hart super fans who wanted to go to a matinee first thing in the morning.”

He tips his head back and laughs, “She’s smart and pretty.”

“And you like me for it,” you say, squeezing his hand in yours.

“Oh, I more than like you for it, sweet girl,” he confirms.

Any other plans he had for the day are forgotten when you press him against the Bronco for another thorough kiss.

It was a miracle the two of you weren’t late meeting Penny and Mav later that night.

He still wants to get a new dresser, he wants you to have a place to put things in his home. But if his girlfriend wants to spend the rest of their Saturday in bed together, who is he to deny you.

Not when he knows you like him.

You don’t make him wait long to hear it though.

They are the first three words he heard out of your mouth the next morning.

And it is without a doubt the best thing he’s ever heard in his life.

Nothing has ever felt as easy or as right to him as it does saying it back to you against your smiling lips.

I love you I love you I love you I love you

Shout out to the AMC Chula Vista 10! They're the real MVP here. Bradley and Sweet Girl definitely return, and the next time she wears a dress 🤗

A big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for being the ultimate hype girl, I know when the vibes are right when the ALL CAPS come out. Ames (@laracrofted) you saved the day with the color edit for the banner, thank you! And Elle (@callsignspark), you know what you did and I thank you for letting me join you on the 'spit in my mouth' agenda, haha!

If you enjoyed these two, you can read their story from the start here!

You can read my other stories here!

Tag list:

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

[tgmsunmontue]

You look like a bad idea... 1/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - based on this idea here. Bradley is not a naval aviator. Canon deaths (it starts at Ice's funeral). Addiction and alcoholism (and recovery) mentions.

PART ONE

                Jake watches the proceedings with a sense of polite disinterest. He didn’t know Admiral Kazansky personally, is here because it’s expected of him. He’d rather be flying, training, suspects he’s not the only one. They’re on a time crunch. However, he also knows that without Maverick there to push them that extra little bit then there likely not much point. So here they all are.

                The only thing that’s breaking up the boredom is watching the… son? of Admiral Kazansky. He’s an attractive man, looks at ease in his finely tailored suit and Jake wonders what his story is. He’s listed under children of Admiral Kazansky, but doesn’t have the same last name; then again neither did either of the daughters. Blended family is what Jake would put money on. A first marriage or child out of wedlock wasn’t mentioned in the eulogy at all, but he supposes that probably would have been bad taste.

                So Jake is enjoying watching him. He’s interesting to watch, accepting condolences from the brass and other funeral attendees. He seems to know most people here and again Jake wonders what his story is. Then the guy’s eyes fall on Phoenix and they light-up, a brief moment of sunshine in his otherwise sombre expression and Jake supposes it is his dad’s funeral.

                However, making a play for someone seems a little… crass. And if Trace is his type, then Jake definitely isn’t going to make a play. But holy shit. Trace is smiling back. Putting her plate down and just… He always knew Trace had balls, but watching her now, sauntering over to the guy like she… oh. Going in for a hug. Which he’s returning.

                Right.

                Okay then.

                So they clearly know each other, heads bent toward each other and talking quietly, now equally sad expressions on their faces. Then Trace is hugging Admiral Kazansky’s wife even harder. Rather than answering any of his questions it throws up a dozen more. The guy, Bradley, catches him watching and Jake simply nods his head in acknowledgement, not sure what else he can do. He lets his eyes slip away, makes small talk with some of the other squadron members, passes his condolences on to Maverick who grips him in a tight hug.

                Weird.

                Maverick gives each of the other Dagger Squadron members the same treatment and he’s not sure if that makes it more or less weird. Regardless, Trace is rejoining them, and Maverick has a few more words to say to her and they’re too quiet for Jake to hear, but she’s nodding and he’s even more intrigued now, and she accepts the hug from Maverick with more grace than the rest of them.

                “Phoenix…”

                “Hangman…”

                “You know the family?”

                The way her lips twist tells him she definitely does and is trying to figure out what to share with him. Jake waits, knows people love to fill silences and spill their secrets.

                “Sarah is my aunt. My mother’s sister.”

                “So… Admiral Kazansky was your uncle.”

                “Yes.”

                “I’m sorry for your loss…”

                She looks surprised at his words and Jake keeps his expression carefully blank, because do people really think he’s that much of an asshole he’d make light of someone dying? Or not care? Maybe he needs to dial down his attitude just a little. At least with the people he likes. Or can tolerate. He’s never been one to suffer fools, but hell, this is getting dire.

                “Thanks… he was…”

                “Sick. Yeah. Doesn’t make it any easier. All it does is give you time to say goodbye…” Jake says, and his jaw tenses, hopes like hell she doesn’t start asking if he’s got experience. Doesn’t want to ever answer those types of questions. “What’s his story? Your cousin, right? Bradley?”

                She glances to where he’s looking, where Bradley is standing talking to yet another Admiral, looking perfectly at ease. Jake supposes he probably grew up around them.

                “Don’t even think about it. He’s… I love him. But he’s a fucking mess in everything but his professional life. Just… stay away if you know what’s good for you.”

                Hmm.

                Hell.

                It’s like she doesn’t know him at all.

PART TWO

[notroosterbradshaw]

about: just some smut to fend off jetlag. i love sleepy Bradley, I make no excuses that I feel he does his best work in the early hours of the day. This was supposed to be a drabble… it’s not anymore. Sorry.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: nsfw 18+, language, pure fluff, smut.

masterlist.

The morning after the night before when Bradley met your family for the first time, you'd flown across the world to surprise your dad for his birthday and really, it luckily coincided with Bradley's time off. When you mentioned heading home for your old man's special day that usually kicked off your family's holiday season, you almost fell out of your seat when he said maybe it was time he met the fam face-to-face, not just making small talk over FaceTime. It almost didn’t seem fair that he was subjected to meeting everyone this way, but alas… here you were the next morning, jet lag kicking in while wrapped protectively in Bradley’s strong, golden arms and washed in the relief your family fucking loved him. You weren't overly surprised. 

Bradley's quiet, unassuming charm was just who your mum wanted you to end up with, he was into golf and surfing, so your dad and brothers thought he was the bee's knees. Your sister on the other hand... 

You had to fend her off more than you would have liked. You were confident in your relationship with Bradley, knowing he'd never allow anything to happen. "You're coming across a little desperate," you hissed after one or two drinks, which mortified her, and she apologised, admitting she was just happy to finally get to meet the guy who'd swept you off your feet. "Yes, my feet," you reminded her. When she pointed out how possessive you sounded, you didn't deny it. But she got it and gave you space for the rest of the evening. 

Ahh, sisters. 

Bradley felt your body writhe in the gentlest of movements against his and he sighed. Sleep hadn’t come easy for either of you and compounded with the food and booze you’d indulged in the day before, neither of you slept much. “You okay, sweetheart?” he whispered at God-knows-what-o’clock. 

“What time is it?” You asked softly.

“I dunno, baby. Sun is barely rising,” he admitted. “Can’t hear a peep in the house.”

Which was nice because yesterday was intense. Everyone was so excited to meet your new American boyfriend (fairly, it’d been about eight months, give or take with a few deployments), the incredibly handsome navy pilot whom you’d met one evening at a naval bar while travelling. You’d caught his eyes behind his sunglasses while he played the piano, the crowd around him as swept away with him as you were. The first half-smile in your direction, as he sang, had done you over in a way not one single person on the planet had before. 

He'd charmed you instantly. He still charmed you constantly. 

“Did you get any sleep?” you asked, biting back a yawn.

“Not really,” he peppered tender kisses into your shoulder blade and smiled into your skin as you pressed back into him, the oh-so-quiet moan made for his ears only waking him from his dreaded fog as well. “I’ll try and get a kip somewhere today. That fuckin’ flight murdered me.” 

“You were happy to fly economy,” you muttered. “I know you’re used to tight quarters, but fuck Bradley. It was 15 hours." 

“I know, I know I fucked up. I was looking at upgrades overnight. I’ll use my discount and stuff; we can do it flying home.”

“You sure?”

“Sue me for wanting to save a buck,” he sighed, with a tired, deep chuckle. “Flight was so full; people may as well have been sitting on the wings.”

“It’s Christmas. People travel.”

“You don't say,” he affectionately gripped your waist, rolling you to him and kissed you. “Good morning, I think," he nuzzled your nose against his and asked if you wanted some water or anything.

You shook your head, rolling back and snuggling into him as he adjusted his arms around you again, his nose buried in your hair. "I think Dad is gonna expect you for at least nine holes today." 

"I think so, yeah. Grill me and make sure I'm good enough for his little girl.” He murmured and if he was honest, he was the teeniest bit nervous. He’d never really been in relationships long enough to meet families… and who would he introduce anyone to, except for Mav?

"I think you'll be fine."

"He probably wouldn't be if he knew what a deviant I've turned his smart, beautiful baby girl into.”

You giggled quietly as you could feel the soft ends of his moustache curve into a smirk against the nape of your neck. "He'd send you back on the first flight to LA."

"I would believe that," he said softly. 

"I think yesterday went really well, Bradley," you confided quietly to him.

"You think? I was on my very best behaviour," he teased you.

"Yes, you were," you admitted. Not that he ever wasn't. Bradley was instilled with a remarkable set of manners. He was chivalrous and courteous to a fault, incredibly sweet and at times, pensive, even shy. Almost make believe that you were lucky enough to share his time. You wriggled back against him, and you could feel the hard-on straining through his boxer briefs. "Down, boy." 

"Can't help it," he sighed. "You know what you do to me with that ass. I know what you want. You're not that transparent."

You bit back your pleased smile as his wandering hands travelled down your side, fingertips toying with the hem of his old Navy tee that was now your bed shirt. At home, you were nude sleepers. At your parents' home during the holidays? You showed decorum and respect and you both hated it, preferring skin-on-skin of the other but alas, anyone could walk in at any time. 

“Have a thought about how we might be able to fuck this jetlag off…” 

“Oh, yeah?” at this point, you’d do anything and with Bradley’s travel for work, you hoped maybe he might have some insight. You had planned to just power through and try not to be the world’s most exhausted asshole. 

"You just move your thigh a little this way..." he murmured, his palm cupping your hamstring and you pressed back into him, grinning softly. “And I just slide up in here – ”

“Confident of you, don’t you think?”

“You’re always wet for me,” he whispered against your skin. “Unless you deny it.”

“Never…” you told him, reaching back to wrap an arm around his strong neck. “I just can't keep it down with you. Why didn’t you convince me to get the AirBnb?”

He loved how vocal you were during sex. Your moans, the hisses, the way you'd bite your lip when you were so close. That groan as you came, or the little squeal when you were too sensitive was burned into his brain as his favourite sounds in the world. 

"Just lemme hold you then, it's okay, sweetheart," he grumbled. “I’ll live if you can.” 

“Asshole,” you muttered as he chuckled. 

“Do you want a blowjob?” You nervously offered, turning back to him and he looped your thigh over his hip and perched you above him with such little effort on his behalf - you loved how strong he was but you knew what was waiting for you, Bradley made no secret he was turned on and you loved that you were able to have him on a knife-edge at all times. 

The one per cent, he’s told you once before. 

You’re so sweet to him as you slowly dragged your hand into the waistband of his boxer briefs, revealing more and more skin, cock springing free, slapping against his toned, tanned Adonis belt. Long, thick and dripping with precum already and he almost blushed at how eager he was.

“I’ll never say no,” he replied, “And I know you might be uncomfortable here. Your dad is right across the hall, baby."

“But my daddy is right here…” you immediately corrected him, and he smiled darkly to himself. You didn't use that term lightly, you couldn’t nfi fed to him he had the ability to bring out your innermost feral when you least expected it and he would do his utmost to encourage it (if you were comfortable). 

“Jesus,” his head was swirling, trying to keep calm and not blow his load the second you bared your tongue to him but there was absolutely nothing sweet about it. He was a preening mess when you went down on him. The night you'd told him you weren't overly experienced in blow jobs was the greatest night of his life, coaching you through what he liked and watching you perfect your generous technique time and time again. 

These days, you loved giving Bradley head. He gave you confidence, he made you feel sexy and not like it was only about him on the receiving end. He’s whispered and encouraged, and when it all got too much, he told you he was close. He was neither here nor there on the whole spit or swallow thing… until you and your preference but he was never left empty-handed.

"Shh," you hissed. "Not a sound." 

That one thing you did for him that absolutely made him come undone. And he'd bury his face in your pussy all day if you allowed him to show you how fucking grateful, he was for all the pleasure you presented him. Your sweet, tight wetness that he would eagerly drown himself in if you’d let him. 

Your honeyed tongue delicately tasted the flawless head of his cock, lapping up the precum as Bradley's eyes rolled back into his head and his big hands reached to knot into your hair as you went to work, swirling your tongue and looking up with your big, scheming eyes, knowing you had him at his most precarious. 

He was a weapon in his training, his mind and body were always primed to do what was asked of him, but you were the exception and it scared and excited him.

He could feel himself getting so close to painting the back of that beautiful mouth, and while it pained him to say it, the way your eyes softened told him he’d made the right choice. “Come on, baby, I want you.” 

You gently pulled away and asked, “You don’t want me to finish?”

“No, I wanna fuck, baby. Watch you lose control.” 

“Okay,” you said, your soft hand trading with your warm mouth to tenderly pump and tease him. 

“Gimme a sec. I don't have condoms close,” he whispered. “They're in my luggage.”

"Just pull out, sweetheart," you enticed him, wanting to feel all of him. It was so infrequent you fucked without protection, and of course, you both preferred it that way but after a pregnancy scare (or not, neither of you was really sure) a few months back, you'd both decided to stop tempting fate and ensuring there was a stash of condoms at his place, your place... the goddamn Bronco – Bradley understood that it was your body and you didn’t want to be on the pill. A condom was the least he could do, and he knew it. 

Bradley helped you move up his body and rest you above him. "Are you sure?" he kissed you, your gleaming teeth lightly stinging into his bottom lip with an affectionate nip. 

“I trust you,” you told him. "Cum where you need...”

Truth be told, he wanted to cum deep, but he licked back a wet smile and he moved to his knees to pull his navy tee over your head, bearing your beautiful breasts to him, full, round, nipples begging for attention. “On your back, baby,” he urged, guiding you under him, anticipating how wet you were for him, legs splaying open unashamed. He rested the head of his cock on your weeping cunt, his fingers spreading your bare lips and sweeping your slick across your clit, fascinated by that little peep of desperation from you. Your head fell back against the pillows, bliss sweeping through you as he sweetly pressed one finger into you. “Drippin’,” he reported, pressing in another finger and his thumb rubbing tenderly against your throbbing clit. “Gonna gush for me?” 

You probably would, Bradley’s ability to drag absolutely everything out of you blew your mind each time. “Need your cock. Fill me up, Bradley.” 

Pushing in, one delicious inch by delicious inch, licking his full lips as your back curved to take him as deeply as possible. He buried his face in your breasts, holding one in his calloused palm, eyes fluttering closed as he traced, left wet, open-mouthed kissed and tenderly bit the other, and the groan you let you made him clamp his palm over your mouth. “You’re so wet, baby,” he stared deeply into your eyes as he evened his breath with the first few rolls of his slender hips. "But you're gonna wake your parents if you don’t control yourself."

"Let them fuckin' hear," you muttered behind your hand (you’d die if they heard you though) as he chuckled and began his ruthless assault on your senses, one thrust at a time. 

"You're too good to me," Bradley reminded you in disbelief.  

"All for you," you confided, as you watched the beads of sweat break across his brow as you dug your nails into his well-worked traps, willingly knowing it would leave a mark courtesy of your fresh manicure. You raised your hips to meet his deep, plunging thrusts, fucking into you strong and deep. He felt incredible, you don't think anyone had loved on you as Bradley Bradshaw could. So thorough, and never one to leave you hanging. 

Too long, too sore? He'd pause and tenderly withdraw to hold you, reassuring you that it was fine, and your comfort was paramount. Too sensitive after coming too hard, he'd give you time to recover, finding other ways to bring you pleasure.

It was nice to be considered in your relationship, in your sex life especially. In the past, you'd been made to feel like a machine, if you didn't cum, partners still could, and you'd just deal with it. For a long time, that stuck with you and having someone consider you like Bradley would almost seem too good to be true at the start. 

But that consideration never lapsed. He was make-believe and you fucking hoped if this man and everything he brought to you was a dream that you’d never, ever wake up. 

Desperate to keep himself controlled, Bradley reached for the headboard of your old bed, gripping it for dear life as he tried so damn hard to avoid coming. He loved fucking you raw, and since birth control was completely your choice, you two had to stop playing this dangerous game. Because one day? It would beat you both.

"I need to cum, Bradley," you whined to him as he nodded, chewing his lower lip, and putting your delicate fingers in your mouth, not losing his rhythm. He knew. He knew how close you were. 

"Lemme see you touch yourself, baby. Get those fingers - " he gasped as you clenched around him. "Get 'em nice and wet and play with that sweet, tight pussy. Lemme see you fall apart.”

Before, language like that would embarrass you, but with Bradley, it only spurred you on. It was incredible the ways he’d helped you grow and mature as a friend, partner and lover. As instructed, and in the low early morning light, Bradley’s breath hitched, watching you touch yourself and you couldn’t help it, the beat of his cock against your g-spot, your fingers pressing rough circles into your clit and you started to come. 

“Yes, baby. Yes,” he urged, moving his mouth to your ear, whispering his sweet encouragement. “You feel so good, just a little mo – ” he forced his mouth against yours, kissing your pleasure to him, to keep the noise down. He wrapped his hand under your hip, lifting your waist to push harder into you as you trembled below him, your pussy clutching his cock, spasming as he shuddered against your lips. “Yes, baby.”

“Jesus, Bradley, fuck me,” you begged as his hips speed up like a piston, thrusting hard into your swollen, sensitive pussy, his hand clutching yours away from your strained clit and pressing intensely in your place, hoping to drag your orgasm out and as you fell, lifeless, back against the squishy pillows, pussy pulsating, Bradley grunted low he was coming and after his final few thrusts, he quickly withdrew and unloaded, stroking himself until he was spent, pearly ribbons of cum decorating your belly and breasts. 

He collapsed beside you, taking your cheeks in his face and kissing you wildly. “I love you. I love you, baby,” he kissed you again, and though you were spent, you returned his affections, because truly… you loved Bradley Bradshaw with your entire being. It was going to take a lot to change that. “Are you okay?” he asked, chest still heaving as he breathed, his pointer finger tracing through the mess he made on you.

“I’m good, sweetheart,” you assured him as he gave you one last, final kiss.

“Think that helped with your jetlag?” he teased.

“Makes me want another round,” you admitted as he chuckled and raised an eyebrow. 

“Of course you do,” he pressed a kiss into your pulse and lifted his lips back to yours, holding you close and just like horny teenagers, enjoying making out for a few moments in the afterglow. “Where’s that shirt gone?” he asked, peering over the side of the bed, and cleaning you up. “Jackson Pollack painting here.”

“Be less proud,” you told him as he snorted.

“Yes, ma’am,” he pressed another kiss to your lips. “Sure you’re okay?”

“Perfect, but let me go pee,” you whispered as Bradley kissed you long and deep, he nodded into the kiss but was not quite ready to leave you leave him. 

“Go, clean up, baby,” he helped you up from the bed, your legs precarious and meandering like Bambi. “Careful,” he sighed, wistfully. But he knew it already, you were thoroughly fucked, just how he liked it. 

A few hours later and thankfully, a few more hours of sleep, your alarm woke you, the sun much higher in the sky and the heat of the day starting to rise. You’d showered and told him to come down when he was ready, you’d help your Mum with some brekky.

“You want eggs?”

“Anything,” Bradley admitted. “Famished.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” you cupped his face in your palms and kissed him lightly. “Don’t rush.”

“Okay,” he gave a small grin but didn’t much feel like lingering. After a quick shower, he dressed, annoyed he didn't pack any golf gear, at minimum the shoes that you gave him grief for every time he wore them, but maybe he'd treat himself and buy some at the course today. He rifled through his bag, clutching the velvet box in his palm tightly, convinced more than ever that this was real, this was happening and soon, he'd hope to have you wearing his mother's engagement ring too. 

Slapping on his CVN-71 cap, he knew you went a bit feral when he perched it backward. May as well leave you with good thoughts while he was out and about, asking your old man for your hand on the golf course. And if it went badly, it was also something to identify him when the authorities found him if your dad said no. 

[merlinmylove]

I always find it so funny (in a heartbreaking way) when Arthur says “why didn’t you tell me?”

like dude ??

Merlin’s entire existence is outlawed

he was born a crime

how could he have, especially if Uther was still alive?

I understand Arthur feels betrayed and hurt because Merlin didn’t trust him but cmon let’s look at the show

Merlin has been sent to the stocks and the dungeons for being late with breakfast and missing laundry — what would the punishment be if he told the Crown Prince he was a traitor to the kingdom? Banishment, death, or worse? And what if Uther found out?

I don’t think Arthur would’ve killed Merlin, but he would’ve sent him away or hated himself for harbouring a sorcerer — he’s now a hypocrite for putting one person above the law while his father burns druid children

Gaius would’ve been hanged by association, and his mother killed for having concealed a dragonlord (let alone giving birth to another one)

Gwen was arrested twice on suspicion of sorcery, and Uther ordered her pyre built — the only reason she didn’t burn is because 1.Morgana spoke in her favour and, 2. Another sorcerer took the blame

(I love arthur so much but why does he never consider the fact that the love of his life and future queen, was almost innocently executed twice because there is no way of confirming she didn’t use magic — because how does one prove a negative?)

And I doubt Gwen is the first and only person to be falsely accused of sorcery, but she’s the one of few who had friends in high places who were willing to defy the King in order to save her life

If a Kings word is law then why even bother with a trial?

We’ve seen several times that Witchfinders or Druid catchers can steal people (probably citizens from other kingdoms) and earn a living by selling them to the King of Camelot

(and i don’t belive for a second every one of them had magic or were druids. Besides, the whole court now believes the witchfinder to be a fraud, so why does no one think about the future people accused of magic — how does one prove it?)

Mordred was hunted throughout the kingdom for a week simply for being born a druid (neither the King nor Arthur had any way of knowing if he actually had magic, he was simply guilty for existing within the borders of Camelot)

(Arthur risked everything in order to save the little druid boy — i wish this was spoken about more in the show but alas. Also, Gaius mentioned that Uther drowned several children — why does no one in the show discuss this? Does Arthur not know?

We know he feels immense guilt and grief over the raid in the druid camp he led and he did atone for it. I love Bradley’s acting in that scene, his voice breaks as he accepts the reality of what he has been apart of

Merlin saw all this. He lived all of it. How could he have told Arthur he had magic and expected a good outcome? He wanted to, multiple times — but the risk of banishment was too great.

But what about after Arthur is King? How could Merlin tell Arthur he has magic after Uther dies from magic, Morgana has gone mad from magic, and Aggrevaine betrayed him? Merlin could not bring himself to add more betrayal and heartbreak onto Arthur

I adore when fanfic discusses these aspects of the show and actually talks in detail about the horror Uther caused for over 20 years

Make Arthur think for himself and come to terms with what his father did, and also what his own legacy now is

Make Mordred, Morgana, Gaius, and Merlin talk about the horrors of the purge, and the the fear of living under Uthers rule

Make Gwen speak of what she experienced when she, and her father, were wrongly accused of a crime they didn’t commit — they were going to burn innocently, just like those children Uther killed

By Uthers logic Magic corrupts. It is a power one seeks out and must be studied. It is an evil — if that is the case then why did he allow Gaius to remain at court, and privately attend the king and his children? Surely Gaius would be corrupted by now…unless magic does not always corrupt…

I want Arthur to ask himself these questions— why was Gaius (the Kings friend) allowed to stay alive if he simply promised not to use magic again? Why were those innocent druid children not given the same choice?

Arthur asks himself several times if Magic is always evil, or if it can be used for good — and some times it’s almost successful, but in the end it’s like a catch 22 — Arthur sees (mostly) magic being used for evil so therefore it must be evil

I don’t want Merlin to be angry with Arthur or to have a screaming match with him — but I do love when Merlin passively aggressively sets the record straight

The canon answer he gives is “you would’ve chopped my head off” is perfect in my opinion because YES death always a possibility

Especially if Uther found out

(i don’t think Merlin is entirely blameless of course, he could’ve tried harder to sow the seed of doubt in arthur’s mind that maybe magic is not always evil — like after morgause or when arthur requested magic to heal his father, or when magic saves gwens life)

(if only merlin was braver, if only gaius was bolder, if only aggrevaine didn’t betray him, if only gwen spoke up, if only if only if only)

i love these boys so much and i love the angst and arthur’s heartbreak is so painful and merlin’s guilt is all-consuming

thank god for fanfic lol

but anyways this is my rant because i’m bored at my family christmas dinner so