#bradley bradshaw x named reader

[callsign-magnolia]

Love In The Dark // Ch. 2

Mature Content 18+

Summary: Iris never realized how much she truly depended on her eyesight until it was gone. But it never really stopped her, just another hurdle to jump over in life. Depending on people was never something she got used to, she still attempts to do things herself. Eventually, her roommate and best friend let's her down, but a tall, sandy brown haired aviator catches her.

Rooster x Blind!OC

Warnings: angst, alcohol, deception? I think that's it, if I missed any let me know!

Word Count: 3.7k

Chapter 1 | Masterlist

The next three weeks were awkward. Mandi avoided Iris like the plague and Iris didn't push her. "I still wish you had called me." Emily, Iris' assistant said as she sat on the opposite side of her desk. "I thought about it, but I knew Lucas was in bed." She scoffed. "Josh could've taken care of him if he woke up, or I could've sent Josh to get you. Just please don't take rides from strangers. It's dangerous for anyone, blind or not." Iris bit her lip. "Iris." Emily scolded. "Well he's not a stranger any more!" Emily looks at her in shock. "You still don't know him! What's his real name? Where does he work?" Iris stayed quiet because she didn't have the answers. “Exactly. He's still a stranger so if there is a next time, no matter how late it is, call me?" Iris huffed, sitting back in her executive chair. "Yes mom." She laughed at her just as a notification sounded on Iris' computer. "We have fifteen minutes till our meeting with the Lee's." Iris had just set out some water bottles when Emily brought the Lee's in. "Iris, this is Julia and Hank Lee.” Iris turned towards Emily and gave a wide smile. "Mister and Misses Lee." She took a single step forward and held out her hand. "It's wonderful to meet you." The calloused hand of Hank Lee met hers before the smaller and softer one of Julia. "Why don't we have a seat?" The couple nodded before remembering. "Of course." Hank said. They took their seats as Iris sat across from them. "I have to say, we were nervous to use you." Julia said, and Iris gave her a wide smile. "It's understandable.” They felt relieved at her words. "But we took so many chances with this house, and they've paid off. So we decided we wanted to take one with you." Iris nodded, excitement building in her chest. 

"Well, I really think you'll like what we came up with." Iris turned towards the screen as Emily used her laptop to cast the live prints onto the large tv. Hank and Julia's jaws dropped. "Wha-how. It's beautiful.” Julia gasped. "It's just what we imagined! How did you know?” Iris grinned at them. “You told me what you wanted. I just wrote it all down and I got an image in my head. I described it to Emily and she drew the blueprints. You talked about the house being in the middle of the woods and how you loved natural light so I wanted there to be plenty of windows.” Iris explained and Julia nodded. “You also have a semi open floor plan. So your kitchen is split from the living room, but you only have a divider, not a whole wall.” Iris told them and went over the rest of the floor plans. “We absolutely love it.” Julia said and Iris smiled at them. “I’m glad you do. We strive to ensure that you get everything you want out of these plans.” Emily nodded. “So if you like them, we can go into my office and get some paperwork filled out.” Emily said, standing and Iris joined her. “We’d love to.” Hank said and turned to Iris. “Thank you for making our dreams a reality.” He said, shaking Iris’ hand one last time. “I’m grateful you gave me the opportunity to do it.” She replied and they smiled at her. “This paperwork won’t take long. Follow me.” Emily said, leading the Lee’s out of the conference room. 

By the time Emily dropped Iris at home, she felt exhausted. She punched in the code to the door and walked in. She could hear Mandi in the kitchen so she made her way upstairs, opting to shower before she did anything else. She set her purse down and gathered some comfy clothes to take into the bathroom. As she stepped out of her room she heard footsteps. “Iris?” Mandi spoke, standing at the top of the stairs. “Yes?” Iris asked. “Um, I made dinner.” She said and Iris raised a brow in her direction. “Okay.” She said and Mandi sighed. “Can we talk at dinner?” She asked and Iris stilled for a moment before nodding. “Sure.” She said before disappearing into the bathroom, leaving Mandi standing alone in the hallway. After her shower Iris towel dried her hair before slipping into some pajamas and making her way downstairs. 

“Smells good.” She said as she slowly approached the kitchen. Mandi nodded, smiling at Iris as she pulled the pasta off the stove. “It’s your favorite.” Iris gave her a small smile, feeling very odd at their current situation. “Creamy Italian Sausage Pasta?” She asked and Mandi nodded. “Yeah, why don’t you go sit down. I’ve already put some wine on the table.” Iris nodded and made her way to the table. Once she sat down she slowly reached for the wine bottle, the cold glass meeting her hand as she wrapped her fingers around the neck of the bottle. She pulled her glass close, touching the bottle to the glass and turning it up. “Stop.” Mandi said and Iris smiled, stopping. “Did you let me pour your kind of glass or my kind of glass?” She asked. “Your kind. It’s practically full.” She said and Iris chuckled. Soon Mandi put food on their plates and they started eating. “I want to apologize.” Mandi interrupted and Iris stopped eating, a little surprised by Mandi’s words. “Thank you.” Iris said, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “It was very selfish and very wrong of me to do what I did, and to react the way I did as well.” She said and Iris sat there quietly, unsure of what to say. “You left me stranded, Mandi.” Iris said when she found her words. Mandi nodded, acknowledging her words. “I know, and Iris, you have no idea how bad I feel.” Mandi said and she saw Iris fold into herself. Mandi saw Iris do this many times in college and she knew she was losing Iris’ trust. “Let me make it up to you.” Mandi said catching Iris’ attention. “How?” Iris asked. “Jake, the guy I left with is having a barbecue tomorrow and he invited me.” She said and Iris sighed. “Invited you not me.” Iris specified. She didn’t want to be the person who crashed the party. She was not explicitly invited so she wouldn’t go. “Oh come on Iris! It’ll be fun and I’ll tell you what, I will text Jake right now and ask him.” Mandi said and Iris sighed. “As long as he says it’s okay.” Iris said, propping her chin on her fist. “You know how awkward it is when you aren’t invited.” Mandi thought back to college and all of the parties she crashed. But it was never awkward. Mandi grabbed her phone and text Jake quickly. She thought it would be a while before she heard from him but she was shocked when he texted her back immediately. 

‘I thought you said she was annoying?’ 

Mandi pursed her lips. She did say that, didn’t she. Iris did get on her nerves when she needed her, but that wasn’t often. Mandi really was a bad friend last weekend and she needed to make it up to Iris.

‘She can be. But she’s been down for a few days and I think it would make her feel better.’

They made small talk through dinner until Jake texted back. “He said it’s okay.” Mandi said, smiling at Iris who still looked uncomfortable. “What time do I need to be ready tomorrow?” She asked. “He said to be there by one, so like twelve-thirty.” Iris nodded, getting up and grabbing her plate. “Oh, I got it.” Mandi said, standing and taking the plate. “I can help you clean up.” Iris tried to offer but Mandi shook her head. “No, I got it.” She said and took the plate from Iris’ hands. “Okay. I’m just gonna go upstairs and dry my hair.” Mandi nodded, turning for the kitchen. “Okay! Goodnight!” She said and Iris headed upstairs. Iris thought about Mandi’s invite. Usually Mandi just went to these things alone. She’s invited Iris to these things before and she’s gone but it’s been a few years since that happened. Now they do their own things now, not needing to be with each other all the time anymore. So it felt odd that Mandi wanted her to go. After Iris dried her hair, she called Emily. “Hey.” Emily said and Iris flopped on her bed. “Tell me if this is weird.” Iris said and Emily chuckled. “Ooh! I love this game!” Emily said. “Mandi invited me to a barbecue tomorrow, hosted by the guy she left with when she abandoned me at that bar.” Iris was startled by the noise that came from the other side of the phone. “No way.” Iris nodded. “What did you say?” She asked and Iris sighed, climbing under her covers. “I told her I'd go.” She said and could practically feel the disappointment from the other side of the phone. “Really?” 

“Yeah, she texted him and everything and he said I could come.” Iris wanted to go, to give Mandi the chance to prove that Iris could trust her, but she also didn’t want to go, scared it would just be a repeat. “After last time I don’t know how I feel about you going out with her. I’m not your mom, and I can’t tell you what to do but please call me if you need me. I’d feel better knowing you would call me if something happened.” Emily said and Iris nodded. “I will.” She said. “I guess I’m gonna go to bed. The last few weeks have made me so exhausted, mentally and emotionally.” Iris said, rolling onto her back. “Okay, well keep me updated. I have your location so if you need me, I’ll come get you, okay?” Iris nodded. “Okay, goodnight Em.” With that they both hung up and Iris put her phone on the charger before laying on her back again. She faced the ceiling, nerves making her stomach roll. She would know nobody there besides Mandi, and if Mandi left her stranded again that was it. She would tell Mandi she’d have to find somewhere else to live. A part of Iris felt like she should’ve told Mandi that the first time, and maybe she should have, but she knew Mandi could be a good person. Mandi just had to prove it to her.

The next day, Iris made sure she was ready early. Denim shorts, a white tank top and a sage button down seemed good enough for a barbecue. It was simple and casual. Iris left her hair down, but made sure a clip was in her purse in case she got hot later. “Alexa, what time is it?” Iris asked and the device answered her. “The time is twelve oh five p.m.” She nodded, making sure she had her phone and everything before making her way downstairs to wait on Mandi. Mandi usually takes a while to get ready so Iris turned on the book she had been listening to to pass the time. Soon half an hour goes by of Iris sitting on the couch before Mandi finally makes her way downstairs. “Is that what you're wearing?” Mandi asked and Iris rolled her eyes before turning off her book and standing. “Is there a problem with what I’m wearing?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “No! It’s cute, just very casual.” Mandi said quickly. “Well what are you wearing?” Iris asked as she made her way towards the front door. “Oh, just a dress and some heels.” Typical Mandi. Always dressed to the nines wherever she goes.”Cute.” Iris said as Mandi grabbed her purse and followed after her. “Thanks.” With that they walked out the door and towards Mandi’s Infinity. 

Things felt like they were normal in the car. Like they were back to being best friends and Iris enjoyed it. It gave her hope that things could go back to how they were. Iris didn’t want to lose Mandi as a best friend, but she couldn’t keep her as one if she couldn’t trust her with something as simple as taking her home from a place she dragged her too. Once they arrived Iris slid out of the car, walking towards the front of the car to wait on Mandi. “You feeling okay?” Mandi asked as she walked towards Iris, gently linking her arm with Iris’. “A little nervous, but I’m okay for the most part.” Iris told her and Mandi nodded. “It’ll be okay.” She said, gently squeezing Iris’ arm as they walked up to the front door. Mandi could see in through the glass door and she noticed everyone was out back so she rang the doorbell. 

Within a few seconds, Jake’s head peeked out of the kitchen and smiled when he saw Mandi. He used a towel to wipe off his hands and walked towards the door. “Hey come on in.” He said as he pushed the glass door open. Mandi let Iris go in first before she followed. “Hi darlin’.” Jake said, leaning in and kissing Mandi’s cheek. “Hi Jake.” She said before turning to Iris. “Jake, this is my friend Iris. Iris, this is Jake.” Iris immediately stuck her hand out, allowing Jake to meet her in the middle. “It’s nice to meet you.” She said and he nodded, observing the girl who still had her sunglasses on. “It’s nice to meet you too.” He responded. “Well I’m just finishing up some of the food, everyone else is outside. I'll introduce you.” He said, leading Mandi and Iris out the back door and onto the large deck. “Hey guys, most of you probably remember Mandi.” He said and she waved as everyone greeted her. “And this is her roommate, Iris.” He said and Iris gave a small wave as well. “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be back.” With that, Jake turned around, kissing Mandi before he went back inside. “Hi guys.” Mandi said, walking with Iris over towards the long table where everyone else was. “Hey Mandi, good to see you're still around.” Coyote said as he pulled two chairs out. “Yeah, he can’t get rid of me that easily.” Mandi said. “So Iris, is it?” Coyote asked, catching the woman's attention. “Yeah and you are?” She asked, listening to his voice closely. “Javy, but everyone calls me Coyote.” He said and Iris held out her hand and he shook it. “Nice to meet you Coyote.” 

Everyone at the table introduced themselves and Iris listened very closely to their voices, hoping she could keep from mixing them up. So far she has pinpointed three women minus Mandi and many, many men. “I’m gonna go grab a drink, want anything?” Mandi asked Iris and she faced Mandi. Normally she’d be opposed to Mandi drinking, but Iris wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Um yeah, anything with vodka.” Mandi smiled at her and nodded before getting up and going inside. “So Iris, what do you do?” The woman who introduced herself as Halo asked. “Oh I have an interior design business.” She said and Penny sat up. “Really?” Penny asked and Iris nodded, facing her. “I do.” She said. “I have been considering remodeling my house and I have some ideas but I’ve been needing some help.” Penny said and she nodded. “Sure, just get with me later and I’ll give you my card and we can schedule an appointment.” She said. She didn’t want to tell everyone just yet that she was blind. She found that letting people get to know her before she told them was the better way to go. 

Rooster huffed as he pulled into Jake’s driveway. He had been here all of ten minutes before Jake asked him to go back out and get two bags of ice. Of course it was also a weekend where everyone else in southern California needed ice. Rooster hauled the two bags inside and glared at Jake as he walked into the kitchen. “I went to four different gas stations and three grocery stores for these bags of ice, so pay up.” He said as he set the bags in the two coolers Jake set out. Jake just laughed and pulled out his wallet, handing Rooster a twenty for the gas. “Thanks for getting them man, I really do appreciate it.” Rooster just nodded, stuffing the twenty into his own wallet. “Want me to put the beers in?” He asked and Jake nodded, "Do you mind?” Rooster shook his head and headed for the garage where he knew all the cases of beer were. “Oh, sorry!” A feminine voice said as he swung the door open and almost ran into her. Rooster stopped for a second and stared at the woman before it all clicked in his head. “Hey, you’re uh Mandi right?” He asked, stepping past her in the doorway. “Yeah, Rooster right?” He nodded. It was weird seeing her sober. But all he could think about was her roommate and how she just left her at the bar with no way home. “Yeah.” He muttered before turning away from her and grabbed the cases. 

When he walked back into the house he caught a glimpse of everyone on the back deck, and he froze when he saw a familiar face. “Who’s the other drink for?” Jake asked Mandi. “Iris. She said anything with vodka and she loves a good vodka soda.” She said as she made her drink. Bradley heard Iris’ name and his heart sped up. “What the hell?” He muttered to himself. “I thought she didn’t drink?” Jake asked and Mandi shook her head. “She does occasionally. It’s not something she does often so it’s nice to see her letting loose a little.” Mandi said as she started on her own drink. “As long as she doesn’t start clinging to you because I have plans for you later.” Jake said as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Rooster rolled his eyes at them before he looked back outside and saw Iris laughing at something Payback had said. “She won’t. She’ll relax, I’ll take her home and then I’ll come back.” Mandi said. “You could just get her an uber.” Jake said and Rooster scoffed to himself. “No. I left her stranded that night I went home with you, and this is me making it up to her.” She said and Jake sighed.

 “Well why don’t we go upstairs for like five minutes-” Bradley had heard enough and cut Jake off. “I don’t want to hear any of that.” He said, making a disgusted face at them. “I’m going to put the beers in the cooler and then go outside with everyone else.” He said, immediately pulling the beers out and putting them into the cooler. Once he was done he turned for the door but stopped and turned back to Mandi. “Can I have that?” He asked and she furrowed her brows. “Um why?” She asked, picking up the drink and holding it close. “It’s okay, darlin’. Rooster’s cool.” He said and Mandi visibly relaxed. “Wait, Rooster…” Mandi thought to herself, closing her eyes before she opened them and looked at him. “That’s right. You brought Iris home that night I left the bar with Jake.” She said and Jake turned to him. “What?” He asked, thoroughly confused. “I did.” Rooster bit back the venom he wanted to spew at her and Mandi could tell. “Um yeah, she’ll appreciate you bringing it to her.” She said, handing him the drink. “Thanks.” He muttered, turning for the back door. 

“Hangman is a great guy and he does like Mandi, he can just be real cock sure sometimes and he comes off as an asshole sometimes.” Phoenix said to Iris who nodded. Iris was asking about Jake because she wasn’t so sure about him. But Phoenix definitely made her feel better. Iris felt someone pull out the chair next to her and sit down. “One vodka soda extra lime for the lady.” Iris immediately recognized that voice. She could pinpoint it anywhere in a crowd because it was so distinct. She turned to face him, a large smile on her face. “Rooster.” She said and he smiled at her. “Hi I-oof.” He was caught off guard when she sat up, pulling him into a tight hug. He squeezed her back smelling her lavender and sage soap. “How’ve you been?” She asked, pulling away. “Good. Kind of kicking myself for not getting your number.” He said and he was glad she couldn’t see him because a blush crept up his neck, almost matching the one on her own cheeks. “Well you can definitely have my number.” She said and Rooster smiled at her. “I’m sorry, am I missing something here?” Phoenix asked and Rooster nodded. “The night Mandi left with Jake, Rooster took me back to my place since Mandi was supposed to be my ride.” She said and Phoenix’s eyebrows shot up, looking at Rooster. 

“Oh? And how did that go?” She asked. “Pretty good, he was sweet enough to wait till he heard me lock my door before walking away.” Iris said, her hand reaching out and resting on his arm and she grinned at him. Man, Rooster was so glad she couldn’t see what she was doing to him. “I didn’t think you heard that.” He admitted and Iris giggled at him. “Of course I heard it, and it was really sweet Rooster.” He’d been a mess the last three weeks, wondering how to get back in touch with her. He certainly didn’t want to show up at her house unannounced. “Um Rooster is my callsign in the navy. My name is actually Bradley. Bradley Bradshaw.” Iris laughed loudly as she slowly grabbed her drink from where he placed it in front of her. “Bradley Bradshaw? Did your parents want you to get picked on your whole life?” She asked before taking a sip and Rooster chuckled as he smiled. Oh yeah, he had to get her number.

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Taglist: @roosterforme @mygyn @kmc1989 @briseisgone @lyn-js @shanimallina87 @dizzybee03 @lilylilyyyyyy

[bratshaws]

through the hourglass 377. brb x oc

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SMUT! IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 PLEASE DO NOT READ!!!

a/n: EHE well(comments and reblogs are super welcome and encouraged!)

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: god so many. Rooster, office sex, Rooster is a kinky man and we are all here for it, Bea is also kinky for her husband. Both of them are just horny.

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

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/367/368/369/370/371/372/373/374/375/376

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“Roos!” she whispers harshly, looking around the cold, quiet base as he opens the back gate - the same one they entered through back when they dated. “Baby, is this a good idea?” he just smirks at her as the gate whirrs open weirdly quietly, considering it’s the middle of the night.

He is giddy, like a teenager, and he holds out his hand, “Come on.”

Beatrice hesitated for a moment, uncertainty flickering in her eyes as she glanced around the deserted base."Roos," she whispered again, her voice tinged with apprehension. "Are you sure about this? What if we get caught?"

Rooster's grin widened at Beatrice's concern, his eyes shining with excitement. "Don't worry, gorgeous," he reassured her, his voice low and teasing. "We'll be fine. Besides, it'll be just like old times."

“I was nervous back then too!” she says, then sighs, taking his outstretched hand, her fingers intertwining with his as he led her through the open gate and into the darkness beyond.

As they walked through the base, memories flooded back to Beatrice in a rush of emotions. She remembered the only time they did this, how important it was for him…and her obviously. She had no idea what he was planning. "Roos," Beatrice whispered, her voice filled with uncertainty. "I'm not sure about this. Maybe we should turn back."

Rooster stopped in his tracks, turning to face Beatrice with a reassuring smile. "Hey, it's okay," he murmured, his voice gentle. "We’ll be in my office.”

“...your…office?” she echoed, her voice filled with confusion. "What are we doing there?"

Rooster grinned mischievously, his eyes twinkling with something. "You'll see," he replied cryptically, taking Beatrice's hand once again and leading her towards the building where his office was located.

Rooster stopped in front of the door to his office, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He turned to face Beatrice, his eyes soft with affection. "Are you ready?" he asked, his voice filled with anticipation.

Beatrice nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. She had no idea what Rooster had planned, but she trusted him completely. "I'm ready," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

With a grin, Rooster pushed open the door to his office and gestured for Beatrice to enter. She stepped inside, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight before her.

It was just his office. Plain and simple.

“Oh.” she hears him locking the door, “Oh, I mean, it’s very nice.”

Rooster stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. "It is," he murmured, his voice filled with love as he kisses the side of her neck. "And we’re alone in it."

Beatrice couldn't help but blush at Rooster's closeness, her heart fluttering in her chest as she leaned back into his embrace. "Yes, we are," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rooster's hands trailed slowly down her arms, sending shivers down her spine as he kissed her neck. "I've been thinking about this moment for a long time," he admitted, his voice husky with desire. "Being alone with you, just like this"

Beatrice turned in Rooster's arms, her eyes meeting his "What did you have in mind?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.

Rooster smiled at Beatrice's question, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I thought we could …work on some fantasies…" he replied, his voice low and teasing. "If you want.”

“Oh?” Beatrice's heart skipped a beat at Rooster's suggestion, her cheeks flushing pink at the memory. "What sort of fantasies,LC?," she whispered

Rooster's smile softened as he looked into Beatrice's eyes. "You know…fantasies.”Rooster leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from Beatrice's. "Stuff I know you’ll like too," he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. "Because every moment with you is a gift."

Their lips met in a soft, tender kiss, igniting a fire that had been smoldering between them for years and never once stopped glowing. It was a kiss filled with love and passion, a promise of things to come. She moans in his mouth, hands cupping his jawline as he picks her up by the back of the legs.

She squeaks - no matter how often he did this, it’s still surprising nonetheless - and laughs in his mouth as he places her on his desk, pressing a trail of hot,open mouthed kisses from her lips to the curve of her jaw, his mustache tickling her skin, “Roos…” she gasps, feeling one of his large hands cupping up the softer part of her waist, then climbing up until he reaches her left breasts, brushing his thumb over the sensitive flesh.

Beatrice loved her husband, she loved Bradley so much..but sometimes his ideas neared crazy, “Roos,” his lips drag down the column of her throat and she gasps, “A-Ah, wait–” he stops, mouth on the hollow that connected to her collarbones, eyes flicking upwards, unmoving, “I…” she gasps, slowly tilting her head towards him ,”Is this…is this the idea…you had for a while?”

His lips smack on her skin as he pulls back, “Yes.”

“For how long.”

He purses his lips ���...a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“How long have we been dating?”

Her lips part in surprise because,well, that makes some sense. Her response however is swallowed up and turned into a quiet moan when his lips drag down to her cleavage. She has to fight back from being vocal because - what if someone is around or close by? Not that he’s going to complain, he does love when she’s vocal but if she’s not, he’s okay too.

He’s just that great.

“You know,” he sighs as he stands up, shrugging off his jacket and that crisp white shirt just clings to his arms, “I kept thinking of ways I could bring you in here, the first time you came here and brought everyone snacks? Fuck babe, took everything in me to not lock you inside.” he hums appreciatively as he runs his hands up and down her thick thighs, the movement lifting the dark fabric of her dress up to the crease of her thighs.

“It’d be strange to tell Mav about it.” she whispers.

Her husband just offers her a look, “Let’s not talk about Mav when I’m about to eat you out.” he says and she bites her lower lip in hopes to hold back a smile. She feels something poking her back and turns around enough to see a few pencils and pens right by her middle, benign careful to push it aside and not make it messy.

Rooster pushes her a bit further and she widens her eyes when she drops something, unsure what it was, “Relax,” he whispers, “It’s okay,we’re locked in here.”

“...wait so…there are people–Rooster!”

“Sssshhh…” he coos,kissing her lips and lying her down on the desk, his hand sliding down to her panties, feeling the lilac colored lace touch his fingertips as he brushed over her mound. She whimpered, canting her hips upwards for his touch, “This is going to be fun.”

“I-I don’t want you to g-get in trouble.”

“Hmmm,I won’t.” he says again, voice so deep it made her whole body vibrate. He nuzzles her chin with his nose, then pushes her panties’ crotch to the side to rub his middle and ring finger against her lower lips, not fully entering yet.

Beatrice moans, slapping a hand over her mouth as she watches him. He stops for a second, “Hold on.’ and he rolls his sleeve up to his elbow, “Better,we both know how messy this can get.” she can see the lines of muscle on his forearms, the dark blonde hair adorning his skin almost shining golden because of the faint moonlight.

He supports himself on the desk, dark eyes watching her expressions as his lower lip slides into his mouth. “You look so fucking good.” they dart all over her body, all over the flushed goodness that was her curves, “And you are still clothed.”

Not for long.

He slides his fingers inside her, eyebrows raising in amusement, “Oh,what is this?” he pushes his digits upwards as she gasps, “Already so,so wet for me. Always,right gorgeous?” she whimpers his name and nods,clenching the hand closest to her face while her eyes close. And truly, to say she was dripping it’d be an understatement. 

Thank god he didn’t have carpeted floors. 

But then again, he didn’t care about that right now.

He lets his gaze linger down her chest, seeing the dress still clinging to her skin in hopes to keep some of her body hidden…he didn’t want to rip it, but he also didn’t want to have her body away from his gaze. So, with his hand still between her legs, fingers moving in a slow,wave like motion, he whispered “Lift up your hips.” and she does, immediately, because not only that added extra pressure inside of her, but also helped her in removing her dress.

He smiles once she’s bare,well,partially, she still had her panties on, but the dress didn’t need a bra. And her breasts just moved as she breathed heavily, eyelids low and mouth flushed from biting so much ,”Perfect.” he pulls his fingers out just in time for Bea to whine loudly in complaint, but her whining was cut short when her legs were lifted.

Soon enough her crossed feet were touching his back and she lifted herself just enough to see him between her legs. Honestly if there was a better vision she didn’t know. 

God he was attractive.

He smirks, wasting no time in burying his tongue deep inside of her. Beatrice’s eyes rolled back, fingers twitched as she held onto the desk’s edge, white knuckled and all. Rooster’s deep,pleased groans when he began just made her whole body shudder. His tongue moved inside of her, then outside, then around her clit only to repeat it several times.

Rooster’s hair was so beautifully combed she almost felt bad for digging her fingers between the strands, but she knew he’d love it too.

Just a tug to his scalp and her husband was mush.

He groaned, openly and loudly, into her, making sure she could feel the way his voice shook her whole body and added to the pleasure of his tongue on her. Beatrice cries out in return, only to slap her hand over her mouth again “R-Rooster.” she bites her hand in hopes to control herself.

Her eyes widened as his hands cupped the underside of her thighs, pushing her forward, folding her over like a pretzel so her knees were touching the desk, right besides her ears. Beatrice’s breathing quickened because she could see so much of what was happening. She moans again,this time holding the opposite edge, trying so hard to keep her eyes open only for them to flutter shut at a languid lick from bottom to top.

He chuckles, pulling back with a wet smack, “Good?” she nods, “Come on, gorgeous, you gotta use your words.”

She furrows her brows, gasping out a ‘yes.’ as he kisses the crease of where her underwear and her actually sex meet, biting the elastic and letting it go accidentally, “Sorry,” he whispers when she lets out a quiet ‘ow’ “Maybe we should take this off,baby.”

“I-I’m okay with that.”

“Hmm,I’m sure you are, turn around for me?” He drops her legs so she can stand up - and Jesus he has to give a few steps back because seeing her, partially naked in his office, was the sexiest thing he had ever seen. She flips her hair to the side before thumbing the edges of her underwear and he watches as it rolls down, then snags between her thick thighs, only for it to fall at her feet again.

She kicks it aside, “Better?’

“Almost.” and his hand swoops down to her ass. The slap echoes around the room so hard she was sure someone else heard it. She cups her mouth to hold back the startled yelp and look back at Rooster with wide eyes, only for him to cup her jaw and smack a kiss to her lips – one that tasted just like her, “Now.” he smirks, tapping the area he just hit gently, “I got an idea.”

“A-Another one?”

“I’m full of ideas and if it was up to me we’d spend the whole night here, but,alas,” and he steps away and around the desk, settling on his chair. He leans back, spreading his legs just enough and she blinks at him, “...is this okay for you or–?”

“You want me to suck you under the desk,don’t you?”

His dick twitches, “Yeah.”

“I mean,” she tosses her hair to the side again, “I’m okay with it, I just wonder if you’ll be able to get any work done remembering I was under your desk.” she giggles when he groans, he hadn’t thought about that, “...Roos, is this really okay? I mean…I..I am happy with it,I just worry about you.”

And his horny gaze softened as he tilted his head, “...baby,c’mere.” he coos, tapping his lap, “C’mere, sit down.” she does and the contact of her naked flushed skin to his slacks was really good. He kisses her cheek, then her temple, before nuzzling her cheek, “I love that you worry so much about me.”

“Course I do.”

“But believe me, this is tame compared to some shit.”

“...oh.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have to go into detail.” she says, quickly sliding off his lap to kneel in front of his open legs. He stares down at her face between his legs and he has to hold himself to the best of his ability. “Besides,” she smiles, unbuckling his belt, “We’re busy here.” and he sighs happily, lifting his hips just enough for her to tug the pants down his legs, shoes were long forgotten as soon as they entered his office.

She bites her lower lip, hooking her fingers on the elastic of his black briefs - the fabric straining and stained because of him- gently pulling it down. He bobs out of it, leaking already and clearly begging for attention, “Oh.Well.” she smiles, scooting closer to him, closing her eyes as she kisses the underside, earning a shaky gasp from her husband. “So…what are your orders,LC?”

He snaps his head back down, eyes unfocused, “What?”

“Your orders.” she smiles, “What am I to do if you don’t tell me?’

Rooster’s pupils swallowed his irises and his mouth parted open ,”Fuck I love you so much.” he says breathlessly, then leans back on his chair even further, “I’ll leave it to you, I like being surprised,” and his brain was mud, he couldn’t focus on orders right now.

“Hmmmm…” she hums sweetly, wrapping her fingers around him and dragging her open mouth up and down his shaft, the warm breathing hitting the sensitive flesh. He tries to keep his eyes open but seeing her, under his desk, like how he wanted for so long…was almost too much. She smiles more, kissing his feverish skin again, licking her way up to the flushed tip and pecking it, with a wet smack.

Rooster clenches his teeth, “Fuck…baby I–holy shit!” she slides him into her mouth without worries, too many years of practice, she was no longer nervous around him and my god did she love to experiment. Rooster’s chest heaved as he tries to contain his moans, nails gripping his chair handles as Beatrice’s lips reach mid-length then slide back up.

Only to repeat once.

Twice.

Three times.

When her lips touched his navel,however, he was almost combusting. The muscles on his legs were quivering as he tried to calm himself down while still moving his hips to meet her face. He dared one look down and those green eyes, shining like stars with the flushed face as the background, just squinted at him. He sighs, one of his hands rubbing her cheek, “You still take my cock really well.” he groans, “Fuck,I’m glad you never lost the need to do it.”

Was he making sense?

Who knows?

He surely didn’t. He could feel himself about to snap, curling his fingers and clenching his teeth as Beatrice’s fingers touched between his navel and inner thigh, almost touching pressure points there, “F-Fucking h-hell…” he whispers/growls, “Fuck baby,if you keep up with this I’m going to fucking explode.”

She hums happily, popping him out of her mouth but still moving her hand up and down his length, “And you don’t want that?”

“As much as I love your mouth.” he grunts, “And I do…I still wanna fuck you on the desk.” she stops the movement, smiling up at him and crawling from under the desk. He is breathing hard, his shirt is sticking to his back and chest because of sweat. She slowly sits on the desk, then leans back so her breasts are popping out more, and parts her legs.

He mutters a ‘jesus christ’ before making a movement to pull off his shirt, “No,” she stops him, “Leave it on…I like it.” nevermind how hot he was, he didn’t care. He didn’t give a shit. If his wife liked it, hell he’d wear his fucking winter uniform,jsut for her. Her lips curl into a smile when he slams his mouth against hers, grabbing her left leg to prop the knee on his shoulder. 

That means she was folded, again, but partially, her free legs was hanging by the desk and she wasted no time in wrapping it around his defined hip bones. He smirks, nuzzling her nose, “Ready?” she nods, “That’s my girl.” he purrs, grabbing him by the base and slowly pushing it inside. Thank god their mouths are still touching, because the groan that left their throats was filthy…and the sound coming from their connection too, of course. 

She whimpers, looking down at where they joined while supporting herself with one of her arms. Beatrice just meets his gaze, eyes never leaving his as he starts to move. He was so beautiful, and so brave and strong and kind. She just wraps her arms around his neck to kiss him again, nevermind if that only made her leg hurt just a bit, she oculd handle it.

“Oh god.” she gasps, “It’s been…a while…” she mutters, “Fuck Roos.”

“A while?” he smirks, tilting his head, “I think I need to up my game, considering we fuck every two weeks…or whenever it works.” she just fumbles an apology, because she got obviously confused for obvious reasons. Rooster sighs,his hands on each side of her hips to have some leverage as his hips move.

But he had to admit, this one…was different. A good different. Considering where they were and how he had just been promoted too. “God, gorgeous.” he gasps, hips gently slapping against her inner thighs as he smiles, “Fuck I just love how snug you are. And wet. And nice…”

“R-Roos…”

“I’ve been dreaming of this for so long.” he continues, dragging his thrusts just so she cries out in frustration and ecstasy, digging her nails on his clothed shoulders, “Fuck, and you are okay with this – even if you are worried…fuck I’m so lucky.” 

She whimpers again,the leg on his shoulder clenches as she holds herself upwards. “R-Roos,god….I…”

“I can’t wait to come to work and always remember that you were here,” he sped his movements a bit, “Whispering my name,naked, wet, taking my dick so nicely.” and she gasps, slapping a hand over her mouth - her inside clenched. “And so good, like you always do…fuck you are perfect.”

Beatrice’s channel clenched again and a shaky hand was now between her teeth. Her knuckle was being bitten hard. “I’m going to make you cum so hard.” he smiles, pushing her back on the desk so she’s once again like a pretzel, his golden brown hair was sticking for his forehead and temples, “I’m going to make sure you’ll be all over.”

Her eyes widened and she could barely come up with a sentence, especially when he started to grind his navel against her clit. Beatrice’s eyes closed as her head leaned back, the soft smacking of skin on skin wasn’t as loud as it usually was…but it was enough. Rooster wasn’t going to last much longer, he knew that, he was well aware of how much power she had over him.

And he wouldn’t have any other way. He grunts, speeding up his thrusts, “Are you about to cum?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Good.” he says, “I think I’m going to cum all over you.” she laughs breathlessly, he always got mouthy when he was close, “Or in your mouth,” the image was almost too much, his eyes nearly rolling back,  “O-Or just inside, fuck…god…” 

It’s the one thrust that pushes her to the edge and Beatrice bites down on her palm, legs spasming as her orgasm hits with enough force to make her see stars. Rooster watches fascinated, mouth parting into a smirk as he goes after his own orgasm, “Fuck I love you so much.” 

“I love you too.” she whispers, cupping his face, “I’m so proud of you Roos.” that did it. He hunched over her and screamed into her shoulder, thrusting sporadically with his orgasm making all of his muscles melt as a wave of calm heat darts from his feet to his head. It’s like..he feels fuzzy, that’s the best way to describe it. 

Once he’s done, he lets her drop her leg down and they stay like that, immobile, trying to regain her breathing. Her hand comes up to touch his hair and he shudders, feeling her fingernails scratching his scalp, “...this was the best promotion gift ever.” he confesses,breathing hard and she laughs, just as breathlessly as he was.

[kittywillcutyou]

Top Gun Prompt(s):

Maverick has a dark-haired, green-eyed daughter who is a naval aviator just like her Dad, her (Ice)Pops, and her older brother, and her callsign is Shrike.

[onehoplessromantic]

Hello my fellow hopeless romantics and fan fiction addicts alike ~

if you’ve noticed a lack of activity (congrats ily) if not that’s fine cuz literally why would you.

i mentioned on sunday that a lot of big things are happening for me right now. i’m prepping myself for a lot of big changes.

BUT- that’s not what this announcement is for.

i understand i’ve been MIA for a few days but in between my life stuffs i have been prepping more content for y’all. (aka i have a shitload of top gun gifs waiting to be posted) but i’ve also got a huge announcement that will be posted as soon as i reach 50 followers (mainly cuz i need more reach for it to be successful)

biggest thing is that i want to say a HUGE THANK YOU to everyone in the past week as i’ve started actually posting here

the engagement has been insane and i really hope it keeps up

anywayssss, sorry for this long ass message

love y’all to bits

- Lee

ps. the book rec list is happeningggg

pps. don’t forget to sign up for my taglist

ⓒ onehopelessromantic, August 2024

[bamitzzsam]

Yet another full masterlist rec reblog. And goddamn is it GOOD.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ✮ ﾟ｡⋆ ☁︎⋆

𝙱𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚢 ‘𝚁𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛’ 𝙱𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚠

𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝙸 𝙲𝚊𝚗 𝚄𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎

Like I Can | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

After yet another bad date and tired of swiping on apps, the Dagger Squad steps in to help you out. Much to Rooster’s dismay.

Give Me Your Hand / Here Is My Heart (2 Part Series) (✫)

You and Bradley have been dating for a couple of months, and you’re tired of wondering what it would be like to be in his bed. You want to know.

That’s My Girl

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

I Like Your Cinema (✫)

Bradley wasn’t sure why you wanted to see the movie again, but when you’re tugging down his zipper things start to make a lot more sense.

Dream a Little Dream

After a long week away in Lemoore, all Bradley wants to do is come home to you. The only thing is, you’re just not where he expects to find you.

What’s in a Name? (✫)

Bradley really loves the way you say his name. At the grocery store. At the bar. In his bed.

Sweetest Devotion

Loving Bradley is the easiest thing you’ve ever done, but a slight mixup at the bakery leads to the sweetest of promises.

Days Like This

When your day goes from bad to terrible to worse, Bradley is there to help pick you back up.

In a Place Just Right

It’s your first year hosting Thanksgiving and Bradley can tell you’re a little nervous. He knows it’s going to be great because any holiday spent with you is already better than anything he could have imagined.

California Dreaming (a prequel to 'Like I Can’)

At sometime past 4am, the last thing you would have ever expected was to receive a call from Bradley Bradshaw. But time is a funny thing it feels like it might be running out.

Sun Stroke (a prequel to 'Like I Can’) (✫)

It’s been a few months since you’ve broken up with your boyfriend and moved to San Diego. When Rooster and his teammates introduce you to Dogfight football, you know you’ll never be the same again.

Between Friends (a ‘Like I Can’ AU) (✫)

Bradley and you don’t talk about that Spring Break. But a single question asked during a night out at the Hard Deck might just change things between the two of you forever.

𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜

I Find Myself Wanting || Delicate Sensibilities || Picture Perfect (a ‘Like I Can’ AU)

𝙾𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜

Bad Idea (✫)

All Bradley wanted was a fun night out, until he sees his ex. At his bar. With another man. Then he’s in the mood to make some bad decisions.

Bedside Manner

Your golden afternoon with the Daggers takes a turn for the worst when a game of dogfight football leaves you with a bleeding head and an aching heart.

Hey, Sailor (✫)

It’s Fleet Week and Rooster would rather be anywhere else. That’s is until a pretty thing in a sundress catches his eye and then suddenly things are looking up.

Wildest Dreams (✫) | Part 1 | Part 2 (complete, prequel to Hey, Sailor)

Never in your wildest dreams would you have expected to be waiting at a Naval hangar for a man you’d met two months ago during Fleet Week. Yet here you are.

Have Your Cake and Eat it T(w)o (✫)

It may be his birthday, but Bradley is set on making all of your fantasies come true.

Leave A Light On | vol. i | vol. ii (complete, 2 Part Series)

When Bradley had given you a key to his place, what he probably didn’t expect was to find you there at 2 am sitting at the piano you’d helped him find.

Up the Ante (✫) (rooster x reader x hangman)

Rooster had heard the whispers that had followed him and Hangman around for years. You, however, are more than happy to find out for yourself if all the rumors were true.

Call My Bluff (✫) (rooster x reader x hangman, a follow up to Up the Ante)

Rooster and Hangman have always attracted attention wherever they went, only now you’re starting to have a hard time ignoring it. You weren’t jealous, you couldn’t be. After all, they’re yours- at least for now.

Oh Christmas Tree

Bradley’s never been one to celebrate the holidays, that is until he met you. He’s excited to do everything, including getting his first very real Christmas tree.

Make You Mine This Season (sequel to Oh Christmas Tree)

After the perfect day out, you come home with a new accessory- just not the one you were hoping for.

Seeing Double (prequel to Oh Christmas Tree)

Costumeless and in a panic less than a couple of hours before you’re supposed to be meeting your boyfriend’s closest friends. You’re ready to call it quits when you’re suddenly hit with a burst of inspiration.

Are You Gonna Be My Girl?

It’s been a couple of months since the two of you have started hooking up. He takes the gamble and invites you to the yearly Halloween bash, but the only problem is that he can’t figure out what the hell you’re supposed to be. 

Save Your Midnights For Me

This year has been a lot. The only highlight is that you’ve been reunited with your summer crush- who still is just as handsome as ever. As the clock ticks down, you can’t help but wonder what the new year might have in store for you.

For the Plot

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

𝚁𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚝 ‘𝙱𝚘𝚋’ 𝙵𝚕𝚘𝚢𝚍

Make Me Your Masterpiece (✫)

Bob credits you for helping him find his new hobby. And when he asks if he can paint you, you find you quite like the idea of being his muse.

Extras:

Top Gun: Maverick Collage Wallpapers

(✫)- 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝

I do not consent to my work being copied, translated or published elsewhere.

Ageless and blank blogs will be blocked.

[geminiwritten]

playing games ; bradley 'rooster' bradshaw

fandom: top gun

pairing: bradley x reader

summary: you've been best friends with rooster for years and you're both obviously in love with each other, but he refuses to cross that line... until you accept some help from hangman and he takes the game just a little too far

notes: i don't want to say this sucks because i'm actually so proud of getting it done... i was severely burnt out the past week and struggling big time, so i really hope it's not terrible and y'all really enjoy! plus, the ending had me giggling and kicking my feet... as always, please let me know what you think, i love all the feedback (it honestly keeps me going)

warnings: swearing, italics, alcohol consumption, hangman is a bit of a dick but still lovable, kind of cheesy, description of injury and blood (very minor), and it gets a bit horny (18+ ONLY MDNI)! please let me know if i missed anything

word count: 17266

your callsign is chick

You’ve known Bradley Bradshaw since your first day at the academy, and he’s been ruining your life ever since.  

With his stupid sun-kissed skin and ridiculously perfect hair. Those damn pink lips, always curled into a soft smirk beneath that criminal moustache. And those big brown eyes—so deceptively innocent as they watch you, like they know you better than you know yourself. 

Even the way he speaks gets you hot. That low drawl in his voice, the way he stretches certain words, and—ugh—the way he says your name.  

He’s a walking, talking hazard to your health. Engineered in a lab and designed specifically to make your brain short-circuit. All he has to do is look at you, talk to you, flash that smug little smirk—just exist—and you’re malfunctioning.  

You want him like a shot of whiskey on a cold night. Need him more than air when you’re drowning. He’s everything you can’t have but can’t stop craving.  

And the worst part?  

You know he feels it too. That he wants you just as badly.  

But Bradley Bradshaw is too fucking scared to cross that line and risk everything for something real.

“Rooster!” Maverick calls across the tarmac. “This isn’t a photo shoot for Hot Pilots Weekly. Move your ass!” 

Laughter ripples through the squad—breathless but alive—as you all keep circling the cones on the concrete. Because today, Maverick decided push-ups just weren’t enough. Today, he wanted to torture his squad. 

“Don’t slow down, Bob,” Hondo says, stopwatch in hand by one of the cones. 

“I can’t see,” Bob huffs. “My glasses are fogging up.” 

“Must suck not being in peak physical condition,” Jake quips, picking up the pace to pass Bob and Mickey. 

You’re just a stride ahead—and seriously considering faking a faint so you can ditch this godforsaken flight suit. 

“Hey, little chick,” Jake says, falling into step beside you. “Lookin’ good.” 

“Save it, Bagman,” you mutter, breathless. “I’m not in the mood.” 

“See, you say that,” he says, that cocky grin still in place despite running for the past twenty minutes, “but your eyes are telling a different story.” 

You let out a huff—something between a laugh and a gasp for air. “God, you’re insufferable.” 

“But I’m wearing you down, right?” 

You roll your eyes. “You’re wearing my patience down.” 

“Alright, that’s enough!” Maverick calls. “Bring it in.” 

There’s a collective groan as everyone slows to a walk, dragging themselves toward him without an ounce of urgency—tugging off gloves and unzipping flight suits as they go. 

Maverick had made everyone run in full gear. He claims it’s conditioning, but you’re pretty sure it’s just because he’s evil—and possibly an undercover sadist. 

You fumble with your zipper, yanking it down before shrugging the suit off your shoulders and pulling your arms free. The rush of cool air against your skin is nothing short of divine, and you let out a soft moan without even meaning to. You don’t even care that you’re down to just a sports bra—since you ran out of clean undershirts this morning and had already resigned yourself to suffering. 

When you glance up from tying the sleeves of your suit around your waist, you catch Bradley staring. His wide brown eyes are locked on you, roaming over your bare skin like they have every right to. His face is flushed, lips parted, breath coming in quick gasps as he slows to a stop. Feet rooted to the ground, he just stares—clearly flustered—and somehow, you’re not convinced the run is entirely to blame. 

You walk right past him, lips twitching. “Thirsty, Bradshaw?” 

He clears his throat and falls into step beside you. “Hungry, actually.” 

“That so?” 

He nods. 

You arch a brow. “Anything in particular you’re craving?” 

His tongue darts between his lips as they curl into a slow smirk, his eyes dropping down your body. “Yeah,” he says, voice low. “Something I’ve been thinking about for a while.” 

You want to laugh—because yeah, it’s been a long fucking while—but instead, you press your lips together and shake your head. 

Maverick drones on about how maintaining your body is just as important as maintaining your jet before launching into an unhinged story about ‘back in his day’—but you’re barely listening. You can’t. Not with Bradley’s eyes flicking toward you every few seconds. Not with the way he’s standing so close, suit half off, his undershirt clinging to his body in ways you only wish you could. 

It’s downright criminal—the way he can still look this sinfully good after a full day of torture. No one should look like that after a gruelling workout. No one. 

“You’re all dismissed,” Maverick says, snapping your attention away from the little droplet of sweat sliding down the side of Bradley’s neck. “And don’t forget—my place at six.” 

“Oh, hell yeah,” Mickey grins, turning to Reuben beside him. “I’ve been thinking about a steak all damn week.” 

Reuben frowns. “Then why wouldn’t you just cook one for yourself?” 

“Don’t know how,” Mickey says with a shrug. 

Maverick chuckles as he turns away, Hondo falling into step beside him. 

The others continue roasting Mickey for his inability to cook a steak while you head for the locker rooms, eager to get the hell out of this damn suit and under the cool spray of a cold shower—something you need for more than one reason. 

You almost make it when a heavy pair of footsteps echo down the hall behind you, and you don’t need to turn around to know who it is. You recognise him just from the sound of his stride. Is that sad? 

“You trying to follow me into the shower now, Bradshaw?” 

He tips his head, lips curling into that crooked little half-smile. “Is that an offer?” 

You press your back to the women’s locker room door, nudging it open. “You know you’re always welcome.” 

A beat of silence stretches between you—electricity crackling softly in the air as you hold his gaze. Your lips are quirked in challenge; his cheeks flushed, eyes wide with want—even though you already know exactly what he’s about to do. 

He’s going to defuse the moment. Because he’s scared. 

“Raincheck,” he mutters, voice tight—almost strained—before clearing his throat. “I was going to ask if you wanted a lift tonight? To Mav’s.” 

“Oh.” You take half a step back into the locker room. “That’d be great.” 

He nods once. “Pick you up at ten to six.” 

“Can’t wait,” you say before turning sharply and pushing all the way through the door. 

You know it was just a joke—an offhand comment—but the little stab of disappointment still lands in your gut. You should be used to it by now. He’s been rejecting you for years. But it still stings. Especially when he’s looking at you like that—gaze hot and full of every emotion he refuses to name. 

Now you definitely need an ice-cold shower. 

Because for a moment, you let yourself imagine dragging Bradley into the locker room. Peeling off his flight suit. Tasting the sweat on his skin. Pressing him under the hot water, feeling his body move against yours—his hands, his mouth, his arms wrapped around you and his cock— 

“Ugh,” Natasha’s voice bounces off the tiled walls. “My ass is basically slow-roasting in this fucking suit. If I peel this thing off and hear a squelch, I’m retiring.” 

You snort a laugh as you pop open your locker. 

“You’re better than a cold shower,” you tell her, watching as she starts wriggling out of her suit. “Did you know that?” 

She narrows her eyes. “Gross. Were you daydreaming about Bradshaw again?” 

- 

Once a month, Maverick invites the whole squad over to his house for a barbecue. It’s a cute little tradition he started when the Dagger Squad was made a permanent unit based at North Island. He says it’s to keep morale up and make sure Bradley and Jake are always getting along—but you know it’s really just because he loves it. 

Your phone chimes just as you’re slipping your feet into your shoes. It’s a text from Bradley, announcing that he’s out the front of your apartment block. 

You grab a jacket—just in case—before heading out the door and turning sharply toward the fire stairs. You’ve refused to take the elevator ever since it broke down a couple months ago. It’s supposedly fixed now, but you’re not taking any chances. Those two hours you were stuck in there with your neighbour ‘Crabby Carl’ were some of the worst of your life. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming,” you chant to yourself as you bolt down the stairs. 

You shove the door open on the bottom level and breeze through the lobby, darting outside just as Bradley presses on his car’s horn. 

You stop abruptly at the passenger-side door, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. “You were barely waiting two minutes.” 

He looks like the embodiment of sin sitting behind the wheel of the Bronco—lust, to be exact. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear stick, he looks like he’s posing for some defence force recruitment ad created by horny graphic designers. He’s wearing a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt—one that shouldn’t look as good as it does, but of course it looks good on him—unbuttoned to his sternum, showing off a delicious stretch of sun-kissed skin that makes your mouth water. 

He tips his head forward, peering over the rim of his sunglasses. “You gonna keep staring or are you gonna hop in?” 

You roll your eyes and yank the door open, trying—and failing—not to blush. 

“Nice shirt,” you mutter. “Did you mug a tourist for it?” 

He chuckles as he flicks on the indicator. “Actually, this is vintage Bradshaw. And I know you love it.” 

You scoff, fighting the smile pulling at your lips. “Someone’s full of himself this evening.” 

His eyes cut toward you as the car stops at an intersection, a sharp smirk curling at his lips. “Jealous?” 

Your eyes widen. Your cheeks flame. Your breath catches in your throat. Did he seriously just ask if you’re jealous of him being... full of himself? 

The silence between you is thick with static, crackling dangerously as he holds your gaze—brown eyes lit with something reckless. Something sharp that steals the air from your lungs and makes you forget your own name. 

You’re used to flirting with Bradley—you’ve been doing it for years—but every now and then, he gets bold. No warning, no reason. Just a sudden shift in heat, like he lives to catch you off guard. 

The blaring of a car horn startles you both. Bradley’s cheeks flush as his head snaps forward, foot pressing quickly on the gas. 

The rest of the car ride is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the radio—but thankfully, Maverick’s place isn’t far from yours. It’s barely been ten minutes when Bradley pulls up to the curb in front of the small, sun-faded beach house. 

You try not to stare as he cuts the engine and pulls the key from the ignition, but it’s hard not to watch the way his shirt shifts. The way it falls open a little more as he leans forward. His skin is so golden, so warm—something you wouldn’t mind burning your fingertips on. 

“You alright?” 

Your eyes snap to his face, cheeks heating. “Yeah, sorry.” You quickly unbuckle your belt. “Zoned out.” 

He chuckles, pushing open the driver’s side door. “You know, it’s not polite to stare at someone’s tits.” 

“That so?” you ask, arching a brow as your lips curl into a half-smirk. “So the way you were looking at me after training today... what was that?” 

He ducks his head, fighting a smile as his hand tightens on the door handle. “Oh, that wasn’t polite at all.” 

Then he slips out of the car and shuts the door, leaving you to catch your breath—for the second damn time in less than twenty minutes. 

Once you finally remember how to breathe, you climb out and follow him up the front porch steps. He doesn’t bother knocking—just opens the screen door and turns the brass knob on the weathered oak door, pushing it open like it’s his own house. 

There are already voices inside—mostly bickering—and the clink and clang of pots, pans, and other cooking utensils. The kitchen sits at the very back of the house, just before a sliding set of double doors that open onto a spacious deck. 

It’s not a big house—it’s cozy—and you love it. From the worn wooden floorboards to the peeling wallpaper. It has so much charm, and so much potential to be the ultimate vintage beach shack. You always joke to Mav about leaving it to you in his will—and he usually fires back with something suggestive about leaving it to Bradley, so it will be yours someday. 

“You are not cooking,” Natasha’s voice echoes down the hall. “Last time you cooked, everything was beyond burnt.” 

“Well, the last time you cooked, the steaks were still mooing,” Jake fires back. 

“Mav, could you please tell Hangman that steak is supposed to be pink in the middle?” Nat says. 

“Mav, tell Phoenix to eat her weird, witchy, voodoo blood sacrifices in the privacy of her own home,” Jake retorts, his voice rising with every word. 

You snort quietly as you round the corner into the kitchen, just as Maverick lets out a long, exasperated sigh. 

“Would the both of you just shut the hell up?” he mutters, glancing up from where he’s unwrapping various cuts of meat. A smile curls across his face as he spots his two newest arrivals. “Rooster is cooking tonight.” 

Bradley sighs like he’s just been asked to scrub the barracks with a toothbrush, but he doesn’t argue. He just moves into the kitchen with easy familiarity, greeting the others like he hadn’t been with them all day, then starts helping his godfather unpack the barbecue haul. 

“Here,” Natasha says, sliding a beer toward you. “You’re going to need this. Seresin is in fine form tonight.” 

Jake’s head snaps toward you, his grin firmly in place. “I’m always in fine form, Phoenix.” 

You tip your head, furrowing your brow in faux confusion. “Didn’t I score higher than you on the last PRT?” 

“Actually,” Natasha cuts in, lips twitching, “I’m pretty sure we both did.” 

Jake’s smirk flickers, just slightly. “Those tests are rigged. They’re designed better for assessing female fitness.” 

“The U.S. military is more than eighty percent male,” you say flatly. “Why on earth would the tests be rigged in favour of women?” 

Reuben claps a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Face it, man. You’re not actually that fit. You just look it.” 

Jake’s eyes go wide. 

“You’re hot girl fit,” Natasha adds, her grin sharpening. 

“Oh my God,” you giggle. “That’s so true. You look good, but you’re not actually that good.” 

Jake’s gaze swings back to you, eyes sparkling. “Did you just say that I look good, little chick?” 

Your smile drops as you narrow your eyes. “You won’t be looking good with a broken nose if you keep calling me that.” 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Maverick sighs, stepping between you and Jake with a tray full of meat. “No violence indoors. If you want to fight, take it to the park across the road—and don’t mention my name if the cops come. They don’t like me very much.” 

Laughter ripples through the group as everyone starts moving outside. Maverick and Bradley take the meat trays while Bob, Natasha, and Jake gather bowls, plates, knives, and forks. You grab the tongs, spatula, and grill fork before following them out the back door and onto the deck. 

Javy, Mickey, and Reuben have already claimed spots around the large table. There are a few wicker lounge chairs that match the outdoor setting, and a couple of extra seats that have been pulled from Maverick’s indoor dining set. And at the far end of the deck is where the barbecue is—right next to the two-seater lounge that, somehow, you and Bradley always end up sharing. 

“Chick,” Maverick calls as you cross the deck. “You helping?” 

“Do I have a choice?” you ask, squeezing between the back of Mickey’s chair and the deck railing. 

Maverick shakes his head. “No, not really.” 

You roll your eyes as you reach the barbecue and Maverick gives you a quick pat on the shoulder before walking off, leaving you with Bradley. 

You set the cooking utensils down and turn to him with your hands clasped behind your back, standing as if at attention. “Reporting for duty, chef.” 

Bradley gives you that soft little half-smirk, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “Sure you’re ready for the barbecuing big leagues, baby bird?” 

You press your lips together, trying desperately to ignore the way your heart flutters at the nickname. It’s lame, and a little cheesy, but he’s been calling you that since flight school—since your very first real flight, when you admitted how nervous you were about getting in an actual jet. Instead of teasing you, he gave you some corny speech about flying the nest and somehow made you feel brave. From that day on, it just stuck. It even inspired your callsign—well, that and the fact that you apparently followed Rooster around like a lost chick... or so they said. 

You clear your throat, blinking away the dreamy haze in your eyes. “Trust me,” you say, fighting a smirk, “I know how to handle my meat.” 

Bradley rolls his eyes and turns back to the barbecue, but you don’t miss the way his cheeks flush pink. 

Once the grill is hot, you help him lay out the meat and stack the empty trays to the side. He spends a few seconds poking holes in the sausages and stabbing a few of the steaks—for God knows what reason—before shutting the lid and turning toward you with a smirk. 

“Would you rather let Hangman choose you a new callsign… or your next tattoo?” 

You cross your arms and lean a hip against the barbecue’s side shelf, tapping a finger against your bottom lip as you think. 

“Can I choose the size and placement of the tattoo?” you ask. 

Bradley shakes his head. “Nope.” 

“Alright, callsign then,” you decide. “It’s less permanent, and I don’t think he’s creative enough to come up with anything truly awful.” 

Bradley tips his head. “Fair.” 

He watches you for a moment while you take your time thinking of your own question, his eyes flicking—less than subtly—between your lips and your chest, the latter nicely highlighted by your crossed arms. 

Honestly, sometimes he’s the least subtle man alive. 

“Okay,” you say, uncrossing your arms to curb the distraction. “Would you rather tell Mav you dented his bike, or accidentally call him ‘Dad’ during a hop?” 

Bradley laughs and tips his head back. “Oh, definitely the ‘Dad’ thing. I could live with the embarrassment, but he wouldn’t let me live if I touched his precious bike.” 

You nod. “That’s true.” 

“Alright,” he says, returning his gaze to you. “Would you rather be stuck in a supply closet with Fanboy all night, or trapped out here on the deck?” 

You snort. “The deck, easily. I’m not surviving a night in a closet with anyone on this squad—and this deck has comfy lounges. It’s a no brainer.” 

He laughs again as he turns back to the grill, lifting the hood to check the sizzling meat. 

“Phoenix, want your steak flipped now?” he calls, without even glancing over his shoulder. 

“Yes, please,” she replies. 

You grab the tongs before he can and bump your hip against his, nudging him aside to lean forward and flip one of the steaks. Then you casually check the others, rotating the sausages just slightly, before stepping back and lowering the lid. 

You turn to face him, tongs pointed at his chest. “Would you rather only ever take cold showers, or have hot showers but you have to pick someone from the squad to join you?” 

His brows shoot up, a devilish smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he leans in, just a little. “Definitely the second option.” 

You narrow your eyes. “Who would you pick?” 

He leans in further. “That’s not part of the question.” 

You let out a flustered little breath as he winks and snatches the tongs right out of your hand. Then he leans back, watching you thoughtfully—clearly taking his time to come up with a question that will top yours. 

“Okay,” he says finally, brown eyes gleaming with mischief. “Would you rather have someone’s hands in your hair... or their teeth on your skin?” 

You choke on absolutely nothing. 

Your breath catches, warmth flooding your face and crawling down your throat. Your heart stutters, then pounds harder—so loud you’re almost positive he can hear it. 

“I—” You clear your throat, hard. “What kind of question is that?” 

He watches you too closely, eyes sparkling with amusement, and smirk firmly in place. He knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“Hypothetically, of course,” he says, way too innocently. 

You narrow your eyes. “Right. No ulterior motives?” 

His tongue slides across his bottom lip as he nods. 

“Alright.” You take a slow breath, gathering your composure. “Both are good... but if I had to choose?” You meet his eyes. “Teeth.” 

His gaze sharpens, hunger sparking behind his eyes. He licks his lips again, and it strikes like lightning behind your ribs, racing heat through you in a single, breathless flash. The space between you hums with tension, dense and electric, thick enough to taste like copper on your tongue. 

Then, without a word, he turns back and lifts the barbecue lid, using the tongs to rotate the sausages like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just set you on fire—and then dump a bucket of ice water on your head. 

The impromptu game of Would You Rather fizzles out fast—both of you too flustered to meet each other’s eyes after Bradley’s last question. Instead, you keep busy, setting out crockery and side dishes, and grabbing everyone another round of drinks before the meat is done. 

Once dinner is served, conversation quiets, replaced by the sound of cutlery and near-feral eating. Everyone is shovelling food into their mouths like they haven’t eaten in days—the fallout from Maverick’s full day of physical torture. 

You end up beside Bradley in the two-seater—because of course you do—and the air between you still feels heavy. Charged, almost. 

You’re used to tension with him—it’s been there for years—but lately, it feels different. More pressing. More electric. Like one spark could light a fire big enough to burn you both to ash. 

“So,” Maverick says, setting his knife and fork down on his empty plate, “I take it everyone’s attending the gala next weekend?” 

There’s a general hum of agreement and nods all around the table. 

“Do we have to wear dinner dress?” Mickey asks, talking around a mouthful of steak. 

Maverick shakes his head. “Command made it mess dress or formalwear—your choice.” He pauses, eyes sweeping pointedly across the group. “But if you don’t have a perfectly tailored tux, I’d recommend your uniform. It’s still black tie. And it’s our first event as an official elite squadron.” 

Natasha raises her fork like she’s in class. “If gowns count as formalwear for women, can the guys wear dresses too? Or are we sticking to gender-normative black tie?” 

Maverick drops his head into his hands and sighs, elbows braced on the table. “It’s the U.S. Navy, Phoenix. What do you think?” 

“Fair point,” she mutters, smirking as she stabs another piece of sausage. 

“Damn,” Reuben says. “I had the hottest little red number I’ve been dying to wear.” 

Mickey snorts—then chokes, coughing hard as laughter erupts around the table. His face turns beet red as he waves off concern and sputters into his drink. 

Bradley nudges your elbow. “You going?” 

You nod. 

He smirks. “Got a date?” 

You nearly drop your fork. “A date?” 

“Yeah,” he says with a soft chuckle, tipping his head the way he does when he’s about to tease you. “Do you know what that is? Or has it been so long you’ve forgotten?” 

You roll your eyes. “I know what a date is, Bradshaw. I just don’t know why I’d need one.” 

“Just thought maybe you’d want one,” he says, voice softer now, cheeks pink and eyes fixed on his plate. 

Your brows lift, pulse skipping as heat flickers low in your chest. Electricity crawls beneath your skin, lighting every nerve it touches. 

You should be used to this by now—used to him. But somehow, your body still responds to every little thing. Every glance. Every tease. Even when you know better. 

“You know,” you say, voice low, “if you want to ask a girl out, you usually have to say the words.” 

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, lips twitching, breath caught. It feels like the whole table has gone still—every pair of ears not-so-subtly tuned in to your conversation. 

Bradley clears his throat. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll keep it in mind.” 

Another bucket of ice water. You feel it crash over you like a wave, and you swear the whole squad exhales at once—like they’ve been holding their breath for you. 

Heat curls low in your belly, stoking that familiar, maddening frustration that only Bradley seems capable of lighting. It swells beneath your ribs, fierce and unwelcome, pushing out any room you had left for food or rational thought. 

You can feel it creeping into your cheeks too—heat and humiliation, tangled together. How he keeps building you up only to knock the breath from your lungs again... you don’t know why you keep letting him. 

You let your knife and fork clatter onto your plate as you stand abruptly, the scrape of your chair loud against the deck. The force of it jostles Bradley, but you don’t care. He glances up, brows drawn, gaze wide and confused—as if he has any right to be confused. 

You don’t meet his eyes. You can’t. Instead, you grab your plate and empty beer bottle with stiff fingers, turn on your heel, and stalk around the table with your jaw set tight. You don’t stop, don’t speak. Your gaze stays locked on the back door until you reach it, yank it open, and step inside—closing it behind you with more force than necessary. 

You take a deep breath and try to calm your erratic pulse before starting to clean up the kitchen and wash the dishes. Outside, Natasha and Bob begin clearing the table, bringing in armfuls of plates, bowls, and cutlery, stacking them beside the soapy sink you’re elbows-deep in. Bob offers to help, but you just shake your head and keep scrubbing. 

Once everything is washed, Maverick comes inside and grabs a spare dish towel. He doesn’t ask if he can help—nor should he, it’s his house—he just starts quietly drying and putting things away. 

After a few minutes of companionable silence—the only sounds the clink and scrape of dishes—Mav sighs and catches your eye. “So-” 

“Nope,” you cut in, shooting him a pointed look before turning to stash another plate. 

He frowns. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.” 

You pick up the—clean—grill fork and point it at him like a weapon. “You were absolutely about to make some wildly inappropriate comment about me and your emotionally constipated godson—who, by the way, you helped raise. So if you really want to crack open that Pandora’s box, we’re going to need a couch, a camera crew, and Dr. Phil front and centre. Because this is not a kitchen conversation, my dude. This is a full-blown televised intervention.” 

His lips twitch into an upside-down smirk, like he’s trying—and failing—not to let his amusement show. 

After a beat, he lifts a brow. “My dude?” 

“Sorry,” you mutter, focusing on drying the grill fork a little too thoroughly. “Got carried away.” 

He chuckles and picks up another sudsy bowl. “Look, you’re not wrong about him being a little… emotionally stunted.” 

You arch a brow but keep quiet. 

“But can you blame him?” he asks, slipping the bowl into the cupboard. 

“Would you prefer I blame you?” 

“What if we just leave blame out of it, yeah?” 

“Sure,” you deadpan, rolling your eyes. “Now, since you’re clearly not going to drop it, let’s hear some of that Maverick wisdom. What’ve you got? Inspirational quotes? Dating advice? Drugs?” 

He laughs—really laughs—this time. “Wow. You’re snarky when you’re frustrated.” 

You open your mouth to respond, but Jake’s voice cuts in. “And I hear she bites when she’s mad.” He steps through the back door, letting it click shut behind him as he holds up a fistful of empty beer bottles. “What’d I miss?” 

You roll your eyes and turn back to the waiting dishes. “Mav was just about to hand out some of his expert dating advice.” 

Jake gasps. “For free?” 

Maverick sighs. “I don’t know why I even try to be nice to you kids.” 

“Because you love us,” you say, flashing him your cheesiest grin. 

“Come on, then,” Jake urges. “I wanna hear this advice.” 

Mav clears his throat, leaning one hand against the bench and the other on his hip, still holding the towel. “All I was going to say is, there’s nothing wrong with a little forwardness. I, for one, think it’s great when women take the lead-” 

“Make me two,” Jake cuts in. 

“See?” Maverick says, gesturing vaguely at Jake. “Maybe you should just ask him out. Stop waiting for him to make the first move.” 

Jake’s brow furrows, his green eyes snapping toward you. “Who? Bradshaw?” 

You roll your eyes. Duh. 

“Oh, no,” he says quickly, laughing. “No, no, no. You can’t just ask Rooster out. Not after however many millennia you two have been pining over each other.” 

“Thanks, Hangman,” you mutter dryly. 

“I hate to break it to you, but asking Rooster out isn’t going to magically fix his ridiculous fear of commitment—” Jake pauses, glancing at Mav. “Shoutout to you for that one, Captain. Excellent work.” 

Maverick throws up his hands. “How is this all my fault?” 

Jake ignores him, turning back to you with sudden seriousness. “If you really want Bradshaw to do something about whatever it is you two have going on, you’re gonna have to convince him you’re not interested anymore.” 

You frown. “What? How would that help?” 

“Because,” Jake groans, like you’re the slowest student in his class, “he’s comfortable. He knows he’s got you wrapped around his finger. He’s not worried about losing you, so he’s taking his sweet, motherfucking time. But if he thinks he’s lost you—that he’s blown his shot—he might actually do something reckless like... I don’t know, kiss you.” 

Maverick’s curious gaze shifts your way. “Wait, you two have never even kissed?” 

You feel your face go hot. “Shut up.” 

“Then,” Jake continues, undeterred, “you make him prove he wants you. Really wants you.” 

Silence falls over the kitchen, thick with anticipation. Jake just watches you, that familiar glint of mischief dancing in his eyes, while Maverick glances between you both like he’s just tuned in to his favourite soap opera. 

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t tempted. Jake... has a point. But emotional warfare? Even for a cause like this? You’re not sure you can stomach that—especially when it’s someone you love. 

“No.” You shake your head like you can rattle the thought right out of your ears. “No way. It’s mean and manipulative. I’m not going to pretend I’m dating other people and just… ignore him—make him feel like crap—just to get him to admit he likes me.” 

Jake sighs and turns to the fridge. “Shame. ‘Cause it would’ve worked.” 

“I don’t care,” you say, picking up the last plate to dry. “I’m not messing with someone’s feelings like that.” 

He crouches down and starts tearing the cardboard from a fresh pack of beers. “Even though he messes with yours all the time?” 

You frown, stepping toward him. “He does not-” 

“Whoa,” Bradley says, walking in through the back door. “You three having your own party in here?” 

Jake stands, three beers in each hand. “Don’t be jealous, Rooster. I was just giving our little chick some dating advice.” 

Bradley’s eyebrows lift, his gaze sliding toward you. “Really?” 

You shoot him a flat look, then turn to Jake, eyes narrowed. “Advice I don’t want—or need.” 

He leans in with that signature smirk. “Not from where I’m standing, Chick.” Then he winks, nods at both Maverick and Bradley, and saunters out. 

Silence falls like a brick. No one moves. No one speaks. You’re painfully aware of Maverick across the kitchen and Bradley just a few feet away. It feels like you’ve been caught doing something wrong—except none of you were doing anything at all. 

Bradley glances at the empty beer bottles on the bench, then picks one up and squints at the label. “You know,” he says, turning it over in his hand, “I think they changed the recipe on these. Tastes different lately.” 

Neither you nor Maverick respond. 

Bradley shrugs and tosses the bottle into the recycling bin with a loud clatter. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. I just... can’t commit to a brand.” 

Maverick turns to him slowly and places a single, solemn pat on his shoulder—then walks out the back door, leaving the dishes behind. 

You bite your lip and shut your eyes, turning to the sink before Bradley can see the laugh bubbling up in your throat. 

Maybe Jake’s right. Maybe you do need to do something a little more drastic to help this man over his fear of commitment. 

The rest of the night unfolds like any other. You hang around drinking and talking for a few more hours. Maverick gets roasted for trying to say something ‘hip’, and Javy quietly sweeps every card game while Natasha accuses him—loudly—of being an undercover hustler. 

Eventually, Bob yawns and announces that he’s heading out—which signals the end for most of the squad since he drove them over—and Maverick agrees, muttering something about being too old for this. 

You all file out like it’s Thanksgiving at your parents’ house, offering your thanks to Maverick on your way out the door. Natasha is the first to slide into her car and peel off down the street, while Bob waits for Jake, Javy, Mickey, and Reuben to cram themselves into his car. 

You and Bradley are the last ones left on the street. Mav has already shut the door and flipped off the porch light, leaving you parked in the Bronco—roof off, as always—sitting in the dark beneath the stars. 

“So,” Bradley says, eyes somehow still sparkling even in the dark, “where to?” 

You tip your head back against the headrest and gaze up at the sky. “Take me to the stars,” you say, voice dramatically wistful. 

He chuckles as he turns the key, the engine rumbling to life. “You sure you’re ready for that kind of altitude?” 

You roll your head to the side, narrowing your eyes at him. “Maybe if you stopped circling and actually climbed, we’d find out.” 

He glances at you from the corner of his eye, lips quirking into a soft smile, but he doesn’t answer. He just presses down on the gas, pulling away from Maverick’s and heading in the direction of your place. 

The silence that settles between you is thick—almost uncomfortably so—charged like a storm building somewhere just out of sight. You want to break it with something sharp or sarcastic, like you usually would, but Jake’s words keep echoing in your head. Reminding you just how painfully right he’d been. 

“Okay,” Bradley says suddenly, clearing his throat. “Would you rather fight a hundred duck-sized Mavericks, or one Maverick-sized duck?” 

The question short-circuits your brain with how wildly it veers from your thoughts. 

“Um…” you blink out at the road ahead. “Probably the Maverick-sized duck. It wouldn’t be much bigger than an average duck anyway.” 

He snorts a laugh, tossing his head back just slightly. In the glow of the streetlights and the low-hanging moon, the sight of him steals the breath right from your lungs. You know he knows he’s good-looking—but you’re not sure he realises just how pretty he really is. 

With every flash of light overhead, the tips of his curls burn like molten bronze, while moonlight kisses his lips with silver and shadow—softening the edge of his smirk. Even in the dark, he radiates warmth, like his sun-kissed skin refuses to surrender the light. 

“Something on my face?” he asks, glancing at you for a beat before returning to the road. 

You shake your head. “No, you’re just…” 

He raises his brows, looking at you again with those curious, wide eyes. “I’m what?” 

“Pretty,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper as you quickly turn to stare out the windscreen. 

You immediately regret letting the word slip from your lips, but it’s too late. The car is blanketed in heavy silence—thick with something unspoken, or rather, something you shouldn’t have spoken—and crackling with nervous energy. Your nervous energy. 

Bradley’s smirk is gone. His brows are drawn and his eyes wide as he watches the road, jaw tight like he’s trying to work through an impossible equation in his head. His movements are stiff, deliberate—as if driving isn’t muscle memory anymore, but something he has to consciously remember how to do. 

It feels like hours before he pulls up to the curb outside your apartment block. You open the door with what has to be superhuman speed and slip out, mumbling a goodbye with your eyes locked on the lobby. But before you can even make it across the sidewalk, he’s in front of you. 

How the fuck did he move that fast? 

“What the fuck?” you blurt, a little harsher than you mean to, eyes flicking up to the man now blocking your path—standing way, way too close. 

“Sorry, I just—” He hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “Just wanted to say sorry. For before. At dinner.” 

You step back, needing space—because holy shit, the smell of his cologne, of his warm skin and coconut-scented hair wax, is making your whole nervous system short-circuit. 

You bump up against the Bronco. “It’s fine. Don’t be silly.” 

He takes a step forward, closing the gap again until there’s barely a breath between you. 

“No, it’s not. Everyone was listening and—and I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

You frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

His eyes meet yours, wide and full of every emotion you’ve been begging him to say out loud. 

“You know what it means.” 

You want to scream. You want to grab his face and shake him until he gets it. Until he understands how goddamn stupid he’s being. Because you know he cares. You know he loves you. But you can’t keep waiting around for him to get over whatever ridiculous fear he refuses to name. 

“Bradley,” you sigh, shoulders sagging. “Why are you—” 

Your breath catches. Your voice sticking in your throat as he leans in, one hand braced against the car behind you. His warmth, his scent—it all slams into you at once, wrapping around you like a weighted blanket full of static. 

“Bradley...” you whisper, your voice unsteady. 

Your eyes are locked on his mouth, watching his tongue slip slowly across his bottom lip as he searches your face—looking for something. Maybe he’s searching for a reason to move forward, or maybe he’s trying to find one to stop. You can’t tell. 

You just hope, more than anything, that he doesn’t pull away. 

His gaze drops to your mouth. 

“You drive me insane,” he murmurs, voice low, wrecked. 

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your heart is in your throat, beating so hard it almost hurts as he leans in just a fraction more. His nose brushes yours. His breath hits your lips. 

Is this it? 

But then—he stops. 

His forehead dips to yours, his eyes falling shut, and he exhales a shaky breath. 

“I can’t,” he whispers. “Not with you.” 

The words are barely there, like it hurts him to say them. 

And just like that, the moment shatters. 

You blink up at him, wide-eyed, the sting of heat rising to your cheeks—not from the near-kiss, but from the humiliation curling hot and sour in your gut. 

Before he can say anything else, you push off the car and shoulder past him, the night air slicing cold across your skin as you storm toward the lobby, jaw tight and chest burning. 

Your vision blurs with tears that wait until the second you step into the elevator to finally fall, streaking down your cheeks in warm, heavy drops. 

You don’t even care if the damn lift breaks down—at least then, you wouldn’t be the only one falling apart. 

- 

You take a deep breath, clutching a coffee cup in each hand like they’re your lifelines. Then, lifting one foot, you tap the toe of your sneaker against the door you’ve been staring at for the past five minutes—wondering whether you really want it to open. 

“Good morning, little chick,” Jake says, grinning from ear to ear as it swings open. 

You release the breath you’d been holding and hand over one of the cups. “Peace offering.” 

He lifts a brow. “Is this you grovelling?” 

“I don’t grovel.” 

He takes the cup and steps aside, motioning you in. “What about beg?” 

You roll your eyes as you walk past him, pleasantly surprised by the fresh, citrusy scent that greets you the second you step into the kitchen—the first room off the entry. 

“Wow, I’m impressed,” you mutter, raising your cup to your lips. 

Jake drops onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “What were you expecting?” 

“Shag carpet. Disco ball. Strobe lights. A shrine to yourself. And at least a dozen mirrors.” 

He snorts. “You’re just as bad as he is, you know that?” 

You pull out a stool and settle in, resting your elbows on the counter. “Who?” 

“The man you’re here to beg me to help you with.” 

You narrow your eyes. “I don’t beg.” You take another sip before setting the cup down with a sigh. “But... yes. I want help.” 

His smirk lifts higher. “What made you change your mind?” 

“Nothing,” you shoot back a little too fast. 

He just arches a brow and waits. 

“Fine,” you mutter. “When he dropped me home last night, he apologised for the whole ‘date to the gala’ thing over dinner. I told him it was fine. He got closer, leaned in. I thought he was going to kiss me, and then... nothing. He said he couldn’t do it. Not with me.” 

Jake frowns—not shocked or empathetic, just curious. “Not with you,” he echoes. “Specifically you.” 

You give him a flat stare. “Yes. Me. Thank you for really hammering that in.” 

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I wasn’t trying to rub it in. I mean... there’s something else, then. Something beyond his DEFCON-level commitment issues.” 

“So, it is just me?” you ask. “I’m too hideous or something?” 

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not like that. It’s probably the friendship.” 

“Oh, so I’m buried in the friendzone. Awesome.” 

Jake narrows his eyes at you. “Would you stop being such a cynic? I told you I’d help—so let me help.” 

You press your lips together and sit up straight, drawing an imaginary halo above your head. 

“Thank you,” he nods. “Now, I’m guessing the real problem is that he doesn’t want to ruin the friendship. I mean, sure, back in the academy and flight school, it was probably just bad timing. Then after deployment—separate deployments—you could both write it off as unrealistic. But now? Now it’s deeper. He’s not just scared of commitment. He’s scared of losing the one thing he really gives a damn about.” 

You tip your head, brow furrowed. 

Jake sighs. “You.” 

“Oh.” 

He takes a long sip of his coffee, eyes drifting across the kitchen like the cupboards might give him an answer. 

“We just have to figure out how to get him to believe you’re actually into me,” he says. 

Your eyes go wide. “Sorry, what? Into you?” 

His gaze snaps back to yours, amusement flickering. “Yes. Me. That’s the plan.” 

“You’re the plan?” you repeat, because your brain is still buffering. 

He nods. “Yes, I am the plan. You and me—together. That’s the play.” 

“Oh, he’ll never believe that,” you say. “Not in a million years.” 

Jake tips his cup, drains it, and drops it on the counter with a hollow thunk. “Would he believe you if you told him you were here right now? Hanging out with me on a Saturday morning?” 

You shake your head. “No.” 

“But you are,” he points out, brows raised. “So all we have to do is show him. We can’t just say it—we have to do it.” 

You pull back slightly, grimacing. 

“I don’t literally mean do it,” he sighs. “God, you act like I’m some uncontrollable savage.” 

You hide a smirk behind your cup, deciding not to poke the one person who might be your only hope. 

“Alright,” you say, setting your coffee down and straightening up again. “So, how do we show him?” 

- 

Jake isn’t just evil—he’s downright diabolical. 

You have no idea how he’s come up with so many ways to get under Bradley’s skin—though you suspect that pissing people off might just be one of his favourite pastimes. And damn, his ideas are good. You’re pretty sure Bradley will be ready to murder someone by the end of the week—if he even makes it that far. 

Right after your Saturday morning chat, Jake got to work. He started by taking a series of photos where you were just visible but not the focus. One in the kitchen, with you turned away so it’s hard to tell that it’s you. Another on the couch, your hand just barely in frame, resting on his leg. And one in the mirror—he claimed it was to show off a new beanie, but if you squint, you can spot your figure lounging on his bed in the background. 

Then it was your turn. With Jake’s help, you snapped a few subtle photos of your own—each one just blurry or cropped enough that someone would have to look twice to notice him. 

That night, he fired the first shot. He dropped the kitchen photo into the group chat with a totally fabricated caption about ‘white people taco night’—because he knew it would immediately set Mickey off. The plan worked. Within minutes, the chat was buzzing. Javy asked who the girl in the background was, but Mickey’s dramatic rant about authentic tacos made it easy to dodge the question. 

Still, the seed had been planted. 

On Sunday afternoon, Jake showed up at your place with a bag of his old clothes and a small bottle of cologne—the one he always wears. You hung out for a bit, fine-tuning your devious schedule for the week, before it was your turn to post in the chat. 

Yours had to be subtler. Jake having a girl over? Not unusual. But you? If it wasn’t Bradley in the photo, people would notice instantly. 

So you went simple. A picture of a mug of tea. Barely anything else in frame—just a sliver of the floor, a pair of regulation boots, and a bag that looked suspiciously like it was packed for an overnight stay. Keys resting neatly on top. 

You captioned it: ‘Look, Payback! Tea! And it doesn’t taste like jet fuel!’—a direct hit on the squad’s long-running inside joke about the time Natasha asked Reuben to make her tea, and it somehow tasted worse than kerosene. 

The chat exploded. Half of the messages were Reuben defending himself, and the other half—sparked by Natasha’s quickfire question about the boots—were trying to figure out who you had sleeping over. 

You played it cool—a few coy emojis, a couple of vague replies—and eventually, they moved on. But you knew better. The game had officially begun. 

And judging by how quiet Bradley had gone in the chat—especially after someone pointed out those boots were definitely too big to be yours—you were confident. 

He’d taken the bait. 

“You ready?” Jake asks, eyes sparkling like a kid on Christmas morning. 

You nod. Your mini-meltdown already happened this morning—second-guessing everything, wondering if this is too much, if it’ll backfire, if it makes you the bad guy. But then you remembered. You remembered the way Bradley has strung you along for years, the way his scent lingered on your skin that night, how close he got—closer than ever—just to leave you hanging. Again. And that’s when it clicked. This isn’t petty at all. This is justice. 

Because Bradley Bradshaw has had you twisted in knots for far too long. 

Now? You get to pull the strings. 

You walk beside Jake across the pool deck—barefoot, no pants, towel slung over your shoulder, and his shirt hanging loose over your swimsuit. 

Maverick booked a couple of pool lanes for swim training this morning. It’s not your favourite—unless the summer heat is brutal—and you don’t do it as often as you probably should, but at least he’s not making you wear your flight suits this time. 

Up ahead, the squad is already gathered at the edge of the pool, standing around in their swimmers while Maverick chats with Warlock down the other end. You and Jake are the last to arrive—exactly as planned. 

You force a smile as you get closer, eyes fixed on him no matter how badly they want to flick toward Bradley. 

“I’m just saying,” Jake grins, “if you’re going to steal my shirt, the least you can do is admit it looks better on me.” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Not everything is about you, Seresin. And for the record, I saw you in it yesterday—and I can confidently say it looks way better on me.” 

He chuckles, voice low but not too low. “Okay, fair. It does look pretty damn good.” 

When you finally glance away from him, your gaze lands on the squad—all of them wide-eyed, mouths hanging open. Every single one of them is staring, expressions caught somewhere between confusion and horror. 

Except Bradley. 

He looks... flustered. A little angry. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes—wide and flickering—are running up and down your body like they can’t decide whether they love or hate what they’re seeing. 

Natasha steps forward, brow furrowed and brown eyes wide. “What the hell is-” 

“Alright, aviators,” Maverick says, clapping his hands as he approaches the group. “Time to get out of the sky and into the water.” 

You let out a small breath of relief, grateful for his perfectly timed interruption that draws the squad’s attention away from you and cuts through the growing tension. 

“I’m not going easy on you today,” he continues, a wide smirk spreading across his face as he leads everyone toward the deep end of the pool. “We’ll warm up with a two-hundred metre freestyle, then hit kickboard drills and buoy pulls. After that, combat intervals, hypoxic training, rescue sims, gear swims, and finally—your favourite—the water tread challenge. Make it to the end without a complaint and you get to leave early. If you pass out? Two hundred push-ups to prove you're not too out of shape for my squad. Got it?” 

The collective energy dips—weighted down with dread for what’s to come—but everyone mumbles their understanding and heads toward the diving blocks. 

Swim training is always brutal, but today’s line-up of torture only reinforces what you’ve long suspected—Maverick really does enjoy watching you all suffer. 

Aside from sticking to your drills and doing what you’re supposed to do, there’s hardly a moment to interact with the rest of the squad. Your head is underwater for half the day, and when it’s not, it’s pounding. You catch the occasional glimpse of Jake’s cocky smirk or a cheeky wink, and a few curious—or maybe frustrated—looks from Bradley, but for the most part, no one has time to talk. Between drills, you're too busy catching your breath and stretching out your aching limbs to worry about anything else. 

By the time Maverick finally calls for cooldown, you’re seconds away from collapsing. You’ve nearly forgotten all about your little scheme with Jake—until he swims up beside you, just as you’re about to climb out of the pool. 

“Need a hand stretching?” he asks, eyes sparkling like he didn’t just endure six hours of hell. 

You raise a brow. “Is this you being a pest, or part of the-” 

“You think so little of me,” he sighs, stepping onto the bottom rung of the ladder right behind you. 

It’s way too intimate, especially considering you're still surrounded by your whole squad and half the base. But Jake doesn’t seem remotely bothered by pressing his wet, half-naked body up against yours. 

“Move it, little chick,” he says sarcastically. “You’re holdin’ up the line.” 

You roll your eyes and continue up the ladder, quickly padding across the pool’s tiled edge toward your towel and water bottle. 

He dries off beside you while you wrap yourself in your towel and squeeze the excess water from your hair, giving him a sceptical—almost dubious—look the whole time. 

“Talk to me,” he says, voice low. “You’ve got to at least pretend not to hate me if we want this to work.” 

“I don’t hate you,” you mutter into the mouth of your drink bottle before taking a swig. 

Jake gasps—full of faux shock, and eyes wide with dramatic flair. “Don’t let Rooster hear you say that. He’ll blow his carotid.” 

You roll your eyes and tuck the towel under your arm to keep it wrapped around your body. “I swear, the way you two talk about each other, anyone would think you’re jilted ex-lovers.” 

Jake chuckles softly. “And if I told you we were?” 

You lift a brow. “I’d ask for proof.” 

His grin turns wicked. “Would you join in?” 

You tip your head, fighting a smile. “Probably.” 

“I knew it,” he says, leaning in just a little. “You are into me. Even if you won’t admit it.” 

“Only your body,” you say, stepping closer and placing your palm flat against his bare chest. “I’d just have to make sure your mouth was too busy to piss me off.” 

His jaw nearly drops—if not for the devious smirk tugging at his lips. You wink, pat his chest once, then turn and walk toward the locker rooms… right past Bradley, who you know was listening to that entire conversation. 

You take a little longer than usual in the showers, letting the hot water soak into your skin and ease the aches in your exhausted muscles. You rinse your hair until it no longer feels rough and tangled from a day spent in over-chlorinated water, and you slide soap over your skin until it feels less itchy and tight. 

Then you turn off the water and spend a good few minutes drying yourself before slipping into some blissfully dry clothes. You pack up your things, sling your bag over your shoulder, and pull out your phone to check what all the buzzing had been about while you were busy getting dressed. 

Your heart jumps into overdrive when you open the group chat to see the mirror selfie of Jake in his beanie—the one with you just barely visible in the background. The conversation started with Mickey asking if anyone wanted to go to a new Mexican restaurant tomorrow night—you know, to taste authentic Mexican food. Most of the squad had quickly agreed, and then Jake sent the photo asking if the weather was too hot for him to wear his new beanie. 

Then the questions started. It isn’t obviously you in the photo, so most of the squad began asking who the girl is—clearly more interested in that than the beanie. Natasha asked if it was the same one from the kitchen photo, and Reuben said he thought so, since the hair looked the same. Then Javy piped up, offended he doesn’t know who his best friend is ‘dating’. All the while, Jake fielded the questions with sarcastic remarks and cocky quips. 

You roll your eyes and type a quick message: ‘Hangman… with the same girl twice? Nah. Couldn’t be.’ Then you hit send just as you step out of the locker room, turning the corner toward the pool deck and— 

The next thing you know, you’re on your ass. Your head is spinning, your ankle is throbbing, and there’s a slick smear of blood trailing down the side of your foot. 

“Shit,” you mutter. 

You must’ve slipped on the wet floor—judging by how your previously dry shorts are now soaking through—and sliced your foot on something during the fall. A cracked or uplifted tile, maybe. 

You bend your knee and lift your sore ankle off the ground, gently prodding at it with two fingers—only to wince at the sharp sting. The cut doesn’t look too deep, thankfully, but there’s already an unsightly pool of blood dripping off your heel and onto the ground. 

“Oh my God, are you okay?” Natasha rushes over, cutting short her conversation with an officer you don’t recognise. “I’m not going to laugh, because I can tell you’re hurt. But damn, that was a good fall.” 

You roll your eyes. “You can laugh, it’s fine.” 

Her lips twitch into a small smirk. “Can you stand?” 

“Not sure.” You try to flex your ankle, but it hurts too much—and it’s already swelling. “I don’t want to, just in case.” 

“Good idea. I’ll go get Rooster and we’ll take you to sickbay,” she says, turning on her heel. 

“No,” you say quickly, “not Rooster.” 

She frowns. 

“Get Hangman.” 

Her eyes go wide, full of questions as she looks at you in horror. “You want Hangman?” 

You nod. “Yes. Please. Just get Jake.” 

She stares at you for a moment, like you might be some evil clone of yourself. Then you lift your brows, and she shakes her head, muttering “Jake…” disgustedly as she turns and walks across the pool deck. 

A few minutes later, you see her walking back toward you with Jake on her heels. He actually looks concerned, and you’re not sure if it’s just excellent acting or the fact that maybe he’s not completely evil. 

“Trying to walk and chew gum at the same time, little chick?” he asks, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. 

You look up at him, trying not to wince at the throb in your ankle. “Slipped on these ridiculously unsafe tiles, actually. Might have to go legal on the U.S. Navy’s ass.” 

He chuckles softly and crouches beside you. “Don’t say that too loudly—you might get yourself into trouble.” Then he leans in to inspect your ankle. “Looks pretty gnarly. Might put you out of action for a few weeks.” 

“Yeah,” you sigh, shoulders sagging. “That was my first thought too.” 

He watches you for a moment—genuine worry flickering in his eyes—before sliding an arm around your waist and lifting you like you weigh nothing. “Come on,” he mutters. “Let’s get you to sickbay, see how long the sentence’ll be.” 

With Jake’s help, you’re up on one foot fairly easily. The rush of blood to your ankle makes you wince, but otherwise, you feel relatively steady in his arms. 

When you glance up, Natasha is watching with a deep-set scowl. Her brown eyes are so sharp, it feels like they’re cutting right through you. But if she’s looking for something ingenuine, she won’t find it—not this time. Because Jake actually seems worried about you right now, and his help is… surprisingly comforting. 

Even if, deep down, you’d still rather be in Bradley’s arms. 

“Can you tell Mav?” you ask Natasha. “Please.” 

She nods once before stepping aside to let you and Jake pass. But she doesn’t look happy about it, and you know you’re going to hear about this later. 

You lean into Jake as he guides you through the building—past the locker rooms, the trophy hall, and the little hire shop that always smells like feet. You’re just about to make it through the exit gate when—of all people—Bradley steps out of the guard’s office, a brand new swipe card in hand. 

“Holy shit,” he says, rushing toward you. “What happened? Are you okay?” 

He reaches out, like he expects you to drop Jake and fall into his arms. And God, you want to. But you don’t. Instead, you flinch a little and lean closer into Jake. 

“I’m alright,” you say, voice cool and indifferent. “I slipped. That’s all.” 

Bradley’s eyes widen, flicking between your face and Jake’s before settling on the way Jake’s arm is slung protectively around your waist. 

“Well… you have to go to sickbay,” Bradley says. “Do you want me to take you?” 

You shake your head. “I’m fine, Rooster. Jake’s got this.” 

Double whammy—using his callsign, which you rarely do unless you're teasing, and using Jake instead of Hangman. Yeah. That’ll sting. 

“Jake?” he echoes. 

“That’s what she said,” Jake cuts in, southern drawl thick and smug. “Told you not to sit too long on that perch, Rooster.” 

Bradley’s spine goes rigid, his expression shifting into the one you know he wears when he needs to shut people out. It’s stormy and unreadable—brows furrowed, jaw tight, lips pressed into a hard line. 

His eyes lock onto yours. “Hope you’re not grounded for too long.” 

Then he turns and walks away, shoulders stiff, fists clenched at his sides. 

He doesn’t even glance back. 

Not like you do—like you always do—eyes flicking over your shoulder while Jake walks you out. 

- 

One prime-time grade-two ankle sprain, six stitches, and four weeks on the ground. Great. And to top it off, you can’t get your foot wet for the next seventy-two hours. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay over?” Natasha asks, her voice crackling through the phone. 

“Nat, it’s fine,” you say. “It’s not like I’m totally crippled. I’ll be on crutches for a couple days, then I’ll be walking again.” 

“In a boot,” she adds, as sharp as an unimpressed parent. “You’re still injured. Don’t downplay it. How do you even plan on showering without getting it wet? You could slip and hurt yourself… again.” 

You roll your eyes and sit up on the couch, gaze glued to the muted TV. “I’m not going to shower on one leg. I’ll have a bath.” 

“And what if you accidentally drown?” 

You snort. “Seriously, Nat? I’m not a complete idiot. I can take a bath without drowning.” 

“I’m just worried about you,” she says. “You’ve been displaying some very self-destructive behaviours lately.” 

You lean back into the cushions, tipping your head against them to stare up at the ceiling. “That so? Like what?” 

She scoffs. “Oh, I don’t know. Like hanging out with Hangman alone.” 

Your eyes widen, panic licking up your spine. 

“That’s right,” she says. “I know it’s you in those photos he sent to the group chat. I’m not stupid. What I don’t know is why.” 

You take a deep breath, steadying your nerves. “Because we’re friends. Why does it matter if I hang out with him one-on-one? You and I hang out all the time.” 

You can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “That’s different. You and me, you and Bradley—hell, I wouldn’t even blink if it were you and Reuben. But Hangman? And in his apartment, no less? I know there’s more to it than you’re telling me.” 

“So what if there is?” 

The line goes quiet, and for a second, you wonder if it’s cut out. But then she sighs, heavy and frustrated. 

“It just doesn’t make sense,” she says. “You and Rooster-” 

“There is no me and Rooster,” you snap, sitting up straight. “This has nothing to do with him.” 

There's another beat of silence before she mutters, “Okay, fine. I’ll drop it.” 

“Good.” 

“Do you still want me to drop off the waterproof bandages?” 

“Yes, please. And—” you glance at the empty packet of sour worms on the coffee table, “can you bring me some snacks?” 

She lets out a soft laugh, the warmth in it helping to cut through the awkwardness. “Sure. What time should I come by?” 

“Whenever,” you say. “I’m going to take a bath and wash off the hospital smell, but you just tell me what works for you.” 

There’s a pause, but you can practically hear her thinking while you shuffle toward your crutches. 

“Have a bath first. I’ll swing by a bit later,” she decides. 

“Okay.” You grab a crutch and hoist yourself upright. “But give me at least an hour and a half. I don’t know how this bath is going to go.” 

“You sure you don’t want help? I’ve seen you naked plenty in the locker room.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’ll be fine, Nat. Promise. Just give me until eight—then you can come yell at me for being clumsy, as long as you bring snacks.” 

“Alright, Chick,” she says with a soft laugh. “Don’t drown.” 

“I’ll do my best,” you reply with a small smirk. 

She sighs again, full of exasperated affection, and then you both mutter a quick ‘love you’ before hanging up. 

You use your crutches to get to your bedroom and then into the ensuite. You start the bath before hopping around the small space to gather what you’ll need, setting everything on the vanity beside the tub—within reach. Then you head back to the bedroom and strip out of your clothes that reek of chlorine and antiseptic. 

Once the tub is full of steaming water and fluffy bubbles, you brace yourself on the vanity and the edge of the tub, using them to take your weight as you—not so gracefully—swing your good leg into the bath. Then you lower yourself slowly and awkwardly until you’re sitting, propping your injured foot up on the ledge—safe and dry—before sinking deeper into the bubbles. And God, it feels good. 

You sigh, letting the scalding water envelop you as your thoughts wander back to when you last saw Bradley. The look on his face when you’d all but told him to fuck off makes your heart squeeze and your breath catch. In all the years of your friendship, you’ve never been so flippant with him. You’ve never shut him out when you were hurt, never denied him the chance to be there for you. Because honestly? That man is your biggest comfort. He’s your favourite person—and your favourite feeling. And the guilt of making him feel like anything less wrecks you. 

The ding of your phone startles you out of your thoughts. You dry your hands quickly on a towel and reach for where you left it on the vanity. It’s just the group chat—Natasha and Jake updating the rest of the squad on what happened and how long you’ll be grounded. 

You smile at the sweet and goofy messages pouring in, then type a quick reply to reassure them that you’re fine. As you go to set your phone back on the vanity, you accidentally knock over your shampoo bottle... and it sets off a domino effect. 

The shampoo hits the conditioner, which hits your body wash, then your face wash, your face scrub—until every last product is clattering and rolling across the bathroom floor. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, gripping the edge of the tub as you watch them inch farther and farther out of reach. 

You start looking around for something—an idea, maybe—to help retrieve your scattered products, but then— 

“Hello?” 

Your heart leaps into your throat, heat rushing to your cheeks—and not just from the scalding bathwater. 

“Bradley?” you call, your voice cracking halfway through. 

You hear the front door shut, followed by the rustle of plastic bags. 

“Yeah,” he calls back. “It’s just me. Phoenix said you needed some stuff but she couldn’t make it so—” He pauses. “Wait, where are you?” 

“Um, I’m in the bath,” you reply, eyes snapping to the very open bathroom door. 

“Oh.” There’s a beat of silence. “D-Do you want me to just leave this stuff here... or?” 

You know Natasha did this on purpose, and you fully plan on killing her for it later. But right now, you could actually use the help. 

“Hang on,” you say, settling deeper into the water and gathering bubbles over your chest. “Can you—um—could you give me a hand?” 

You hear something clatter in the kitchen, like your words startled him into dropping whatever he was holding. 

“You want me... to come in there?” 

You sigh. “Yes, Bradley. Please. You won’t see anything—I just... I dropped my stuff and I can’t reach it.” 

“Okay,” he mutters, uncertain. 

Each footstep grows louder, heavier, your heartbeat matching the rhythm until it’s pounding behind your ribs, threatening to burst free. 

And then he appears in the doorway, and the breath leaves your lungs in one sharp exhale. 

It’s unfair how beautiful he is. How easily and effortlessly sexy he is, without even trying. 

He’s wearing a pair of old Naval Academy sweatpants and an oversized black shirt. His hair is mussed, cheeks flushed, and those big brown eyes are practically glowing. His lips part as he breathes, chest rising and falling just a little too fast. He looks flustered, confused, maybe even a little angry—but mostly... sad. 

“Hey,” you murmur, dragging your gaze from his face to the bottles scattered across the floor. “I knocked everything over.” 

He shakes his head and blinks hard before quickly crouching down. “I can see that.” 

He gathers all the bottles and lines them up on the vanity, keeping his eyes firmly on the task at hand—anywhere but on you, naked in the tub. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks, voice rough and a little strained. 

You shrug one shoulder, and it’s almost impossible for him not to notice the way the bubbles slide off your skin as it lifts above the waterline. 

“I’m okay,” you say. “The painkillers are still doing their thing, so I’ll probably feel worse in a few hours, but for now... I’m alright.” 

He nods, fixing his eyes back on the neat row of bottles like they’re the most important thing in the room. 

“I feel a bit awkward though,” you add with a small laugh. 

His gaze flicks to you, then back to the vanity, brows drawn like he’s fighting with himself. He looks torn—caught between reason and ruin—with no right answer. 

“Do you—I mean, I could—” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Did you want some help? It doesn’t have to be weird. I could just... help wash your hair and make sure you don’t slip getting out.” 

Your breath catches, heart thundering in your throat and robbing your brain of oxygen. 

He looks so vulnerable. So... nervous. You’ve never seen Bradley like this. He’s usually cool, confident—borderline cocky, though not like Jake. Sure, he gets awkward sometimes, and you’ve definitely seen him be uncool. But never like this. Never so visibly unsure of himself. 

“Okay,” you say, before the rational part of your brain can stop you. 

“Okay,” he echoes, cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red. 

He shifts quietly, moving to the end of the tub behind you. You hear the soft thud of his knees hitting the tile and you can feel the air shift with his closeness. The room is quiet—except for the gentle lapping of water, the drip of the leaky basin tap, and the thunder of your heartbeat in your ears. 

You don’t dare turn around. 

Not when you know he’s kneeling back there, barely a foot away, and you’re naked in a tub full of bubbles that feel more and more useless by the second. 

You hear him flip the shampoo cap open and squirt a generous amount of liquid into his palm. Then the soft friction of his hands rubbing together. 

And then he touches you. 

His fingers slide into your hair, spreading warmth across your scalp as he works the lather in. The first stroke is gentle. So careful. Like he’s scared to hurt you. Or scared of something else entirely. 

Then he finds his rhythm—stronger, more sure, fingertips dragging slow and deep through your hair, massaging the base of your skull with maddening focus. 

Your eyes flutter shut. 

His thumbs sweep behind your ears, along your nape, and it sends a pulse of heat right between your legs. You shift slightly, breath catching, and the water sloshes softly around you. You know he can hear it. You know he can see the way your spine arches and your shoulders bare themselves as you lean into his touch. 

You feel exposed. 

And you know he’s trying not to look. You know he's trying to be a gentleman—but he’s still a man, and you’re naked, and the steam in this bathroom is thick with tension. You can practically feel his eyes skimming over the curve of your neck, your slick shoulders, what little the bubbles don’t hide. 

He breathes heavier now. Not quite panting, but close. His fingers falter for just a second when your head tips back a little farther, throat stretching bare, water sliding lower on your chest. 

“Bradley…” you whisper. 

You don’t even know what you’re about to say. 

But he cuts in first—voice hoarse, like he’s choking on the words. “So… you and Hangman, huh?” 

Your whole body tenses. 

You blink, stunned. Your first instinct is to laugh. The second is to scream. The third is to climb out of the tub and straddle him until you make him eat his words—but you do none of those things. 

Instead, you turn your head just slightly, enough to murmur, “Are you really asking me about that right now?” 

He hesitates. 

“I just thought—” His voice breaks off. “I don’t know. I’m just curious... I guess.” 

You let out a short laugh—sharp and disbelieving—as you tilt your head just slightly, just enough for your voice to carry over your shoulder. 

“Yeah. I’ve been spending a little more time with him.” Your tone is sweet and deliberately casual—but it’s laced with something else. Something darker. Something dangerous. 

And then, as if you’re thinking out loud, you add under your breath, “He definitely wouldn’t be sitting behind me right now acting like he doesn’t want to get his hands on a lot more than just my hair.” 

Bradley goes still. 

You can hear the breath catch in his throat—feel the tension rise like a tide behind you. His hands freeze where they’re tangled in your wet strands, knuckles brushing the bare skin of your shoulder. The air between you is thick, heavy, charged. 

He doesn’t speak. 

You draw your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes fixed ahead as heat blooms under your skin and something inside you dares him to move. 

Come on, Bradshaw. 

“Yeah,” he mutters as his fingers begin to move again. “He probably wouldn’t.” 

The moment shatters—falling around you like glass, sharp and splintering, embedding in your skin. Your spine stiffens as you close your eyes, forcing a slow breath past the frustration clawing up your throat. You can’t yell at him. Not now. Not while he’s on his knees, helping you. Not just because he refuses to give in to his own damn needs. 

Needs you know are there—because five seconds ago, you would’ve sworn he was about to climb into the tub with you. 

But no. 

Bradley Bradshaw is still locked in his cage of commitment issues and unnamed excuses. Still holding the line no one asked him to. 

The silence stretches, thick as steam, humming with everything you both refuse to say. 

You feel the shift in his hands as he cups water and begins to rinse the shampoo from your hair, the heat running down your back in slow rivulets. His fingers trail through the strands, patient and careful, untangling and smoothing. Each pass makes your skin buzz. 

He doesn’t speak. 

And neither do you. 

But you can hear his breathing—shallow, uneven, just a little too fast. You know he’s trying not to look. You know because he hasn’t touched you anywhere he doesn’t absolutely have to. When his knuckles brush your shoulder again, it feels almost obscene. 

Once your hair is clean, he reaches for the conditioner. You close your eyes as he works it through—slick and warm—massaging your scalp, smoothing it through to your ends. His fingers graze your temple, your ear, the nape of your neck. 

It’s methodical. Careful. 

But it still feels like worship. 

And he still hasn’t said a word. 

When he’s done, he gives your hair one final rinse, quiet and efficient, then stands and wipes his hands on a towel. You expect him to bolt—mutter something and flee—but instead, he grabs a fresh towel and holds it out, eyes fixed on the far wall like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. 

“Here,” he says, voice rough. “Let me help.” 

You stand—slowly, cautiously—and his hand darts out to steady your elbow, instinctive and warm. He still doesn’t look. Not properly. His gaze stays down, jaw tight, throat bobbing. 

He wraps the towel around you, still avoiding your eyes, and lingers only long enough to make sure you won’t slip. 

And then he steps back, fists clenched at his sides like he’s holding himself together by a thread. 

“You good?” he asks, voice tight. 

You nod, arms locking the towel around your chest. “Yeah. Thanks for the... help.” 

He nods back, quick and stiff, eyes still looking everywhere but at you. “The first aid stuff is on the kitchen bench. Snacks too—your favourites. If you need anything... uh—” 

He backs out of the bathroom like he’s escaping, eyes finally flicking up to yours. “See you at work.” 

And then he’s gone. So fast you barely register it. 

When you turn to the mirror, you're surprised to find yourself crying—cheeks flushed, eyes rimmed red. You swipe at the tears, blurry and stupid, and grab your phone with trembling fingers. 

You pull up your text thread with Jake and type: ‘I don’t know if we should do this anymore.’ 

- 

“You let him what?” Jake’s eyes go wide, blueberry muffin frozen halfway to his mouth. “And he didn’t even-” 

You shake your head. 

“Not so much as a-” 

“Nothing,” you say, staring into your coffee as you stir lazily. “Barely even looked, let alone touched.” 

“My God...” Jake mutters around a mouthful of muffin. “The man has the restraint of a priest.” His eyes narrow, flashing toward you. “Are you sure he’s not a-” 

“He’s not a priest, Hangman.” 

He nods slowly. “Okay, so he’s an alien.” 

You just shrug and take a long sip of coffee. 

“Well, we can’t stop now,” Jake says, voice firm. “No way. He must be close—like, so close. If we play this right, we’ll have him eating out of your hand in no time.” 

“I don’t know,” you mutter. “It feels wrong. Like I’m forcing him into something.” 

Jake raises an eyebrow. “Kind of how he’s forcing you to stay ‘just friends’ even though you’re clearly in love with him?” 

You frown. “How are you so good at twisting things?” 

“Years of practice, little chick,” he grins wickedly, leaning his forearms on the table. “Now, let’s focus on finding you a drop-dead gorgeous dress for the gala.” 

You spend the rest of your Tuesday at the mall with Jake—thanks to an RDO from Maverick—shopping for a dress and a matching tie for him for the gala next weekend. It takes a bit longer than it should, thanks to your foot and crutches, but Jake is patient. He even lets you vent about Bradley, spilling some of the more intimate details you’d usually keep to yourself. 

When he drops you home, he promises to give you lifts to and from work all week, and even offers to take you to your doctor’s appointment later in the week. 

That night, Maverick calls to check in and fills you in on the light duties you’ll be able to do while staying off your foot. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but you’re grateful—you’d probably go insane being stuck at home. 

The rest of the week is relatively uneventful. You don’t spend much time around the squad, stuck doing menial admin tasks instead of flying, and Bradley is completely avoiding you. Not that you blame him. 

Natasha drops by your place once or twice, and on the nights she’s not there, Jake is—not just to scheme about Bradley but to help you out. He takes you to your doctor’s appointment where, thankfully, you get to hand back your crutches, then helps you get used to walking wonkily in the moonboot. 

Saturday night arrives before you’re ready, and suddenly the floor-length red gown you picked out a few days ago feels like way too much as it clings to your body. 

“I don’t know,” you mutter, even though it’s too late—you're in the car. “I feel a bit stupid.” 

Jake’s smirk hasn’t wavered since the moment he picked you up. “You don’t look stupid at all. You look incredible. I’m actually debating whether or not to let Rooster have you.” 

You roll your eyes. “Like you have a choice, Seresin.” 

“Oh, little chick,” he chuckles, eyes flicking toward you then back to the road. “If I decided I wanted you, you wouldn’t have a choice.” 

You scoff. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Bagman.” 

The drive isn’t nearly as long as you need it to be, and before you know it Jake is pulling up in front of the valet service. Your heart hammers in your chest—part nerves, part something else you can’t quite name. You smooth your dress again, feeling every inch the bold red against your skin, while Jake adjusts his tie with a cocky grin. 

Stepping out of the car, you instantly feel the weight of dozens of eyes—curious, impressed, maybe even a little jealous—tracking your every move as you walk toward the grand entrance. The gala’s ornate doors loom ahead, polished glass and shimmering chandeliers spilling warm light onto the stone steps. 

Inside, the room dazzles with opulence—sweeping staircases, crystal glasses clinking, a string quartet humming somewhere off to the side. You catch whispers as you move through the crowd, a low hum of “Is that…?” and “Holy shit…” 

Then you spot them—the squad, clustered near the bar. Maverick’s unmistakable frame stands out even in this sea of tuxedos and gowns, arms crossed, leaning casually but alert. His eyes flick to you with a brief nod—respect, approval, or maybe warning, you can’t tell. 

And then there’s Bradley. 

He’s leaning against the wall, jaw tight, eyes sharp as daggers. The tux fits him like a second skin, dark and sleek, every line tailored to perfection. The way the collar of his shirt presses just right against his neck makes your breath hitch. 

His gaze locks on you—cold, charged, and… undeniably magnetic. 

You swallow, your pulse roaring loud enough to drown out the music. Whatever else is going on, Bradley Bradshaw looks absolutely fucking delicious in a tuxedo. 

Jake practically has to drag you across the ballroom, and you lean into him a little more than you should—using his arm to steady yourself under Bradley’s unwavering stare. 

“Damn, Bagman,” Natasha says first, eyes trailing up and down Jake’s suit. “You clean up alright.” 

Jake brushes an imaginary speck of dust off his lapel. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Phoenix.” 

She just rolls her eyes and tips her champagne flute to her lips. 

“You look good, Chick,” Javy says with a smirk, beer bottle halfway to his mouth. 

You give him a soft smile. “Thanks.” 

“And for the record,” he adds, nodding toward the rest of the squad, “they’re all thinking it too, but they’re too nervous to say anything with the way Bradshaw’s watching you.” 

Bradley doesn’t even flinch. He’s still leaning against the wall, just a step away from the others but close enough to hear every word. His arms are crossed over his chest, biceps threatening to split the seams of his suit jacket, and his jaw is set tight. His eyes are glued to you—not your face, but your body—raking over every curve of the silky red fabric like no one else is in the room. 

“You know, Bradshaw,” Jake says, turning toward him, “you probably shouldn’t be lookin’ at another man’s date quite like that.” 

You roll your eyes. “Jake, don’t.” 

He glances down at you. “What? It’s true. He's being rude.” 

Before either of you can say anything else, Bradley is gone—disappearing into the crowd without a word, leaving the rest of the squad exchanging wide eyes and raised brows. 

Yeah. This isn’t awkward at all. 

You’re sitting on a stool at the edge of the room—a chair Jake found for you when you started complaining about your foot—watching people dance and mingle as you realise... you’re not quite sure what you’re doing anymore. 

This whole thing started because Bradley almost kissed you. Jake offered to help, to make him jealous, and you agreed to play along. But you’ve barely followed through, not with your injured foot getting in the way of every plan you had to tease him at work. 

So instead... all you’ve managed to do is nearly break your ankle, piss off your best friend, confuse your entire squad, and go on what is very clearly a date with Jake. Like, an actual date. Because tonight he’s been nothing but kind and attentive, making sure you’re okay and comfortable—even though Bradley is nowhere to be seen. 

How does any of this make sense? 

“Thirsty?” Jake asks, holding out another flute of champagne. 

You take it with a smile and tip half of it into your mouth. 

“Have you seen Bradley?” you ask. 

He shakes his head. “Not in the last ten minutes, but Javy said he spotted him at the bar with Reuben and Bob. I think he’s avoiding us.” 

“I don’t blame him,” you mutter. 

“I just don’t get it,” Jake sighs, leaning a shoulder against the wall. “He’s obviously irritated, and he obviously wants you. So how are we supposed to—” He cuts himself off, eyes going wide. “Oh my God. That’s it.” 

You frown. “What’s it?” 

His gaze snaps to you. “Don’t worry. This one’s on me. I’ll handle it.” 

“Jake—” you start, but he’s already gone. 

You slide off the stool and start weaving through the crowd. Your foot is aching, but not nearly as badly as your head—and neither is enough to stop you from finding Jake. The look in his eye had been downright devious. You have no idea what he’s planning. 

After a lap of the ballroom, you're drawn toward the back terrace. Fairy lights glitter in the trees, gauzy drapes billow across the tall windows, and pots of manicured flowers line the stone railing. It’s all so beautiful, so dreamy, you almost forget why you came out here. 

Almost. 

Until— 

“Alright, Rooster,” Jake’s voice cuts through the cold night air. “What’s your problem?” 

You quicken your pace along the side of the terrace, catching sight of Jake, casually leaning against a pillar. 

“Don’t start, Hangman,” Bradley replies. 

You can’t see him yet, but you can guess he’s slouched in the dark, probably with a drink in hand and a sour look on his face. 

“Too late,” Jake says. “You’ve been in a foul mood all week. Shooting daggers across the room all night. You got something to say, or are you just going to keep sulking like a coward?” 

Bradley exhales hard, frustrated. “Can we not do this here?” 

“Too late.” 

“I’m not avoiding you,” Bradley snaps. “But if you were smart, you’d walk away right now.” 

Jake chuckles—low and dry. “I’m not going anywhere, I’m-” 

“Jake,” you say, stepping beside him, wrapping your hand around his wrist. “Just leave it.” 

Bradley is exactly as you pictured him—leaning against the wall with a scowl—but his eyes don’t look angry. 

No. They look hurt. 

“I know this isn’t real,” he says, voice low but steady. 

Jake tilts his head. “Excuse me?” 

“This—whatever this thing is between you two. It’s not real. I know she’s not that stupid. I just don’t know why the two of you insist on playing games.” 

Jake’s lips curl into a devilish smirk. “It’s not a game, Bradshaw. And it sure as hell felt real the other night when she called me over.” 

Bradley blinks. His expression faltering as he pushes off the wall. 

Jake steps forward, voice quieter now—cutting and smug. “She called me right after that bath, you know. Must’ve still been feeling the heat. You’re a hell of a warm-up act.” 

Bradley goes still, face empty. His lips part as he stares at Jake, unblinking. But then something sharp flickers in his eyes—something dark and visceral—and his jaw tightens so hard you swear it might crack. 

“You’re lying,” he says, voice flat but lethal. 

Jake rolls his eyes, smirk unmoving. “Believe what you want. I’m just saying—maybe next time don’t leave the door half open unless you want someone else walking through it.” 

Bradley tenses like he’s about to pounce—face flushed, jaw tight, eyes wild—but something holds him back. You step in quickly, before that something disappears. 

“Hangman, seriously,” you say, palm against his chest. “You’re being an idiot.” 

“I’m not the idiot here,” Jake mutters. “Bradshaw’s the idiot for fumbling a girl like-” 

“Just shut up, Seresin,” Bradley growls. “She said-” 

“Oh my God,” you snap, throwing your hands up. “Both of you, shut up.” You turn to Jake. “You need to stop before you cause a real problem. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you’re going to blow the whole squad to pieces if you keep going.” 

Bradley scoffs. “Exactly-” 

“And you,” you whirl on him, eyes flashing, “you want to be mad? Then be mad. But don’t pretend I’m the only one who’s been playing games. For years you’ve begged me not to love you while doing nothing but showing me that you’re in love with me, too. And I waited. I gave you everything. For what? So you could push me away every damn time?” 

Your voice cracks—just a little. 

“And now that it looks like I might actually move on, you get all fucking huffy? You don’t get to do that. You don’t have the right. And you know what? If I wasn’t already so broken because of you, I might actually be into Jake. Because he’s nice. He’s considerate. Sure, he’s a cocky asshole—but he goes after what he wants. And it felt really fucking good to be wanted. Even if it was just a game.” 

You turn on your good foot and try to storm away. Your foot screams in protest, pain slicing with every step, but you don’t stop. Your eyes burn with unshed tears, barely held back—and you’re not sure how long they’ll stay put. 

You make it through the ballroom and out the front door, sliding into one of the taxis waiting at the curb. You pull out your phone and type a quick text to Natasha: ‘Tell Mav I had to leave. My foot.’ 

Then you cry. Quietly. Not messy or loud—just a few stray tears slipping down your cheeks. Frustration. Embarrassment. And a little heartbreak. 

Once the taxi pulls up at the curb outside your building, you pay, thank the driver, and slide out. Then you limp into the building, across the lobby, and press the button for the elevator. You’ve since mended your relationship with the lift—because stairs are a non-starter these days. 

By the time you reach your bedroom, your foot is absolutely throbbing. You quickly slip out of your dress, not even bothering to change the lacy matching underwear you—for some reason—decided to wear tonight, before pulling an old, oversized shirt over your head. Then you hobble into the kitchen and take a double dose of painkillers. 

The thought of having to go to work in less than two days makes your stomach twist. You’ve just royally embarrassed yourself—not just in front of your best friend, but your whole squad. And they’re not idiots. They’ll know exactly why you left. Now you get to walk back into work on Monday and deal with all the pitying looks. 

At least desk duty means you won’t have to see them as much. 

You drag yourself from the kitchen to the couch, collapsing into the cushions with a groan as you reach for the remote. After a few minutes of mindless scrolling through streaming apps, you settle on Pride & Prejudice—the Keira Knightley version, obviously. 

You lie back with your foot propped up on a stack of pillows, head turned toward the screen. But you barely make it to the part where Elizabeth visits a sick Jane at Netherfield when there’s a knock at your door. 

You’re not even sure you heard it at first. You sit up slightly, ears straining, eyes fixed on the front door. Another knock comes—louder this time, sharp and almost startling. 

You sigh, swinging your foot off the pillows, wincing as you push yourself upright and limp toward the door. 

You open it—and there he is. 

Bradley. 

His curls are a mess, like he’s been dragging his hands through them the whole way over. His tie is gone, his shirt is wrinkled, and there’s a wild, desperate look in his eyes—like if he blinks, you might disappear. 

“I know I should’ve called,” he says, voice hoarse. “I just... I didn’t think you’d answer.” 

You stare at him, heart hammering. He shifts, like he might bolt, and exhales hard—as if the words are fighting to escape faster than he can form them. 

“I’ve spent so long convincing myself I couldn’t have this. That I couldn’t have you. That it wouldn’t work, or it’d blow up, or I’d ruin you like I ruin everything that matters to me.” His jaw flexes. “But tonight, seeing you like that—watching you walk away like you were already gone—I couldn’t breathe.” 

Your throat tightens. 

“I’m scared,” he admits. “I’ve been scared this whole time. Of loving you, of losing you. I pushed you away because I thought it would hurt less than this. But I was wrong.” 

He takes a shaky breath and steps closer. 

“I love you. I’ve been in love with you for years. And if there’s even the smallest chance I haven’t screwed this up completely… I’m here. I’m yours. And I’m not going anywhere this time.” 

A beat of silence stretches between you—thick and electric. You’re toe to toe, just staring at each other, almost close enough to touch, tension crackling in the charged space between your bodies.  

“Well,” you say, arms crossing over your wildly beating heart. “That was dramatic.” 

He lets out a breathy laugh, completely wrecked. “Really? I just poured my heart out and that’s all you’ve got?” 

You shrug. “It was either that or I was going to tell you that you beat Mr. Darcy to the big speech. Although… as someone who’s seen Darcy’s speech more times than I should admit—I’m not sure you beat him in terms of drama. You needed to stutter more.” 

His brow furrows. “You’re watching Pride & Prejudice?” 

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Want to join? I know you love it.” 

His lips part, his chest still rising and falling a little too fast. Then his eyes drop to your chest—recognition flashing across his face. “Is that my shirt?” 

You glance down, heat flooding your cheeks. “Um, yeah. I think I stole it.” 

“Clearly,” he says, eyes sparkling. 

You roll your eyes. “Come in. Before my nosy neighbours call in a noise complaint.” 

You turn on your (good) heel and limp back toward the lounge, willing your face to cool and your heart to stop hammering. God, it’s taking everything in you not to jump his bones right now—especially with him looking like that in his deliciously dishevelled tux. 

“Just so we’re clear,” you say over your shoulder, voice laced with sincerity, “I didn’t call Jake after the bath. He didn’t come over. I’ve never even kissed him.” 

You don’t hear him move—just feel the sudden grip of his fingers wrapping around your wrist, warm and unshakable. He spins you around in one smooth motion, and you barely register the soft, wicked smirk curling on his lips before he pulls you into him, your body crashing against his like a wave. 

His mouth is on yours in a second—hungry, demanding, desperate. There’s no hesitation. No sweetness. Just years of pent-up tension snapping loose as he devours your lips like he’s been starving for them. He lets go of your wrist, both hands coming up to cup your face, holding you like he’s terrified you’ll vanish if he doesn’t. 

You gasp into him, fingers knotting in his shirt, and he groans like the sound is driving him insane. Then he moves—walking you backward until your lower back hits the kitchen counter, his hips pressing hard against yours. You feel the sharp edge of his need, the strength in his grip, the undeniable heat radiating between your bodies. 

And then—his hands slide down to the crease of your thighs, and you know what’s coming a heartbeat before it happens. 

“Bradley—” you breathe, but it’s too late. 

He lifts you clean off the ground and your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, your injured foot forgotten in the blur of heat and want and the feel of his body flush against yours. His hands grip your thighs, holding your weight like it’s nothing, before he sets you down on the bench. Then he grips your waist and deepens the kiss—hotter, deeper, more possessive than ever. 

You’re gasping when he finally pulls back, foreheads pressed together, his lips brushing yours as he murmurs, voice wrecked and reverent, “I know.” He kisses you again. “I know nothing happened with him.” 

You plant a hand on his chest, pushing him back even though every nerve in your body is begging to let him devour you. “Then why did you almost lose it?” 

His lips—puffy and thoroughly ravaged—curve into a sheepish smile. He drops his gaze to where his hands are gripping your waist like he’s terrified you’ll vanish. “Just the—the thought…” he mutters, voice rough and trembling with something darker. “The thought of you with anyone else… fuck, it drives me out of my goddamn mind.” 

You fight a smirk as your hand trails up his chest, slow and deliberate, until your fingers slip beneath his jaw and tilt his face back up. “Much better,” you murmur. “With the stuttering, I mean. Mr. Darcy would be proud.” 

He groans, more amused than annoyed, then crashes his mouth back onto yours. “You’re gonna be the death of me, baby bird.” 

A shiver rips through you as he grinds into you, the hard line of him thick and straining beneath his dress pants. It drags across the damp lace between your legs, lighting a fire low in your belly. 

His breath catches like a spark in dry grass when he looks down and realizes—at the same moment you remember—you’re not wearing pants. Just his shirt… and a very pretty, very intentional matching set beneath. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes, his fingers skimming the lace at your hips like he’s trying not to combust. His gaze snaps back to yours, pupils blown, voice suddenly hoarse. “Any restrictions on sexual activity with your injury?” he asks—clinical, but barely hanging on. 

You smile, toying with the soft hair at the back of his neck. “Pretty sure the doctor said I’m cleared. But I’m on light duties. So…” You lean in, lips brushing his ear as you whisper, “Strictly pillow princess stuff.” 

He groans low in his throat, burying his face in your neck like he needs to ground himself. “Christ. After making you wait this long, you’re owed a lifetime of pillow princess treatment.” 

“You’re not wrong,” you hum. 

With a soft laugh, he lifts you effortlessly and carries you to the bedroom—your giggles trailing behind like glitter. He sets you on the bed and drops to his knees, carefully undoing the straps and fixings of the boot like he’s unwrapping a priceless gift. It’s absurdly tender. The kind of intimacy that makes your chest ache. His fingers are gentle, reverent, and the only sound is your shared breathing and the faint scratch of shifting fabric. 

Then his hands glide up your thighs—slow and searing—raising goosebumps in their wake. He hooks his fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and draws it over your head, revealing skin and lace and everything he’s been aching for. 

His breath hitches. “Fuck,” he whispers, voice raw with awe. “I’m so in love with you.” 

You bite back the grin that threatens to split your face. “Then hurry up and show me,” you urge, cupping his face in your hands. 

He doesn’t hesitate. 

His mouth crashes into yours and he lays you back, moving you with practiced ease to the centre of the bed. He pauses for one breathless second—just enough to drink you in, to let his eyes drag over every inch of you. Then he’s on you. Everywhere. Lips, tongue, teeth, hands. Worshipping. Possessing. Making up for every second he waited, every moment he hesitated. 

And let’s just say… he starts making it up to you very well. 

Over. And over. And over again. 

END.

[muxshwriting]

family after all

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x wife!reader

Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x daughter!reader

summary: Pete sees his daughter for the first time in close to a decade at Top Gun only she’s not here for him || warnings: reunions, parental neglect, cutting parents off, slight angst, || word count: 1242 || masterlist

You were anxiously waiting at the gates to see Bradley the moment the carrier docks. As soon as you had the call that he was alive and alright, the stress coursing through your body finally had the chance to fade as your breathing eased. Your husband was alive and alright. He had survived the suicide mission the Navy had sent him into.

Bradley wouldn’t tell you more than that and you’d been so caught up in work that you hadn’t had the chance to fly over to San Diego to join him until two days before his mission flew. You had met none of his teammates and you highly doubted any of them knew about you, considering how Bradley liked to keep you private.

But as the carrier drew closer and you saw the landed planes on the deck, the San Diego sun sent a warmth through you instead of a jab through your skull. The other families waiting all cheered as they spotted servicemen waving from the side of the ship and you let yourself wave back, unable to spot Bradley but knowing he was there. Knowing was enough.

You watched as the naval officers all walked past you and families were reunited with their loved ones. Then the aviators came out, dressed in their uniforms and obviously cleaned up from the mission. Bradley was at the start, sunglasses glistening in the sun and his eyes scanning the crowd, looking for you.

As soon as he spotted you, he broke from his group and started running, a huge smile breaking onto his face. You step out of the crowd as he reaches you, sweeping you into his arms and holding you to his chest, breathing in your scent.

“Roo!”

“Baby!” He shouted back at you and refused to let you go, squeezing you again.

You finally pull away, fussing as you run your hands through his hair, visually checking him for any injuries he didn’t tell you about. “You’re okay?”

“We’re all okay. Everyone got out.” He hesitated, like he was something he was afraid to say. “Look, there’s something I didn’t tell you.”

“What? What is it?”

“I- I may have had a little detour running after Mav but-“

“A detour going after Mav? Maverick? Bradley.” You hardly used his full name but the situation demanded it. “That Maverick? Maverick Maverick?”

Bradley was suddenly very interested in his shoes as he nervously glanced around, trying to spot the man you were asking about. “Yeah…” He finally spotted Mav staring back at him, mouth wide open as he recognised the woman he was stood with.

In Mav’s mind, thoughts were travelling a mile a minute as he watched Bradley run towards his daughter and greet you with a kiss. It was only then that he spotted the ring on your finger and remembered the chain Bradley wore always tucked beneath his shirt.

You see where Bradley’s looking and see your father’s eyes staring into yours, the same eyes you haven’t seen in person since you graduated college. “Dad…”

He made his way over, eyes wide as he was still processing your presence. “Y/N? You’re with Rooster?”

“Are you okay? Roo said he had to run after you-“ You stop yourself, realising you don’t actually know what happened. “What actually happened?”

“Uh…” Mav rubbed a hand on his neck nervously. “My plane went down and Rooster came after me. He really saved my ass.”

“Right after he saved mine. It’s what my dad would’ve done.”

Silence hangs between you all as you try to process what’s actually happening. You’re married to Rooster. Rooster has been flying with your father. Your father is standing in front of you for the first time since college. Your father is finding out you and Rooster are married.

“You-“ Mav sounds choked up as he speaks. “You’re married.” He’s speaking to you, begging to reach out but afraid you’ll push him away.

He wouldn’t blame you for pushing him away, he deserved it. Throughout you’re whole childhood, you had reluctantly been pushed second to flying and Mav could never forgive himself for that. There was no way to replace the time of had missed and it took you until college to realise what love and affection you’d been missing out on.

You and Bradley had grown up side by side, your Dad having to leave you with Carol more than he’d like. From a young age, you barely spent a day without seeing that boy and he was the only face you wanted to see in the morning.

Through your teenage years, you’d grown past the awkwardness and finally confessed the lifelong love you felt for him and your relationship was bliss. Then, your father ruined the one good thing you had. He pulled Bradley’s papers for the Naval Academy and overnight, everything crumbled. In an instant, your only constant in life was missing and your father could offer no reason behind his actions.

There was a rage bubbling in your chest every time you looked at the man that was supposed to raise you. Instead, he had been too busy with his work, chasing a ghost of a man who’s family still cared about him. He parcelled you off to the Bradshaw’s and then ripped that family from you when you were in the final formative years of your life. You loved your father, yes, he was a good man. But he was the worst father you had ever met because he wasn’t really one in the first place.

After cutting you off, unintentionally, from Bradley, you moved away from college and slowly cut contact with your father and made your own way in the world. But your mind would constantly remind you of the world you used to have.

Then you run into Bradley in a packed bar and started talking. You had begged for his forgiveness, cried about your father in a drunken state and confessed that you never wanted to lose him again. Brad had held you close to him, whispering into your hair the whole night as you realised what you now had in the world.

There was no need for you to cling on to the spectre of your father that you had because you had Bradley and the chance to make more friends and make your own family for the future. You cut your father off, showing him the same care and attention he had showed you and although the guilt wrecked you, you had to pick yourself up and move on, for your own sake. If you had stayed clinging on to childish hopes, you would never be able to grow up.

“Yeah… I got married. It was nice, small. We had a courthouse wedding a week after Roo graduated Top Gun.” You tell him, hoping he won’t take it too personally.

Bradley loops his arm around you, not taking his eyes from you. “I should’ve told you Mav. But then Y/N couldn’t make it out until right before we left and I thought we should’ve told you together. But then I didn’t;t end up telling either of you.”

“It’s alright. I get it, completely.” Mav quickly replied. “I’m glad you’re happy kid.”

Neither of you could figure out who the last sentence was aimed at. But that’s because it was meant for both of you. Only now Bradley was as much his son as you were his daughter.

[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

[roosterforme]

I think he could have gone a lot worse lol

The Grateful Dad Part 2 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Bradley can't believe you and he are about to be parents. Just when he was getting used to the idea of how his life would be, the two of you get an unexpected surprise. And by your third trimester, when you make a promise to him and then break it, he's left to deal with some things in his own.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swears, smut and pregnancy

Length: 4900 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is an optional one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time!

Read Part 1! Check my profile for my masterlist

It didn't fully hit Bradley until the first time he noticed that soft swell of your belly. It seemed to sneak up on him, the way it took several months before it was noticeable. But once it was there, it was all he could think about. 

He was going to be a dad. And you were going to be a mom.

"Sugar," he whined that first day he noticed it. "You have a bump." You were lying in bed, trying to read as he pushed your tie dye shirt up a few more inches. "This wasn't here yesterday."

You set your book down and glanced to where his hands were resting gently on your belly. "I guess I do have a little bump," you replied softly, running your fingers through his hair as he kissed the spot just above your belly button. "My wool skirt is getting snug for work, but I thought I was just bloated."

Bradley was mesmerized. "Do you think it's a girl or a boy?" he asked, glancing up at you with a grin. 

"Do you really care?"

"Not at all." He kissed your bump and started humming his favorite Grateful Dead song. Bradley knew this was likely the only time you'd want to get pregnant. Your career was important to you, and you were already concerned about the baby coming before the end of your spring semester. You said you were going to have to take the following fall semester off from teaching, because you didn't want to let down the math majors at San Diego State University where you taught calculus. 

"You don't know how easy it is to love you," he sang to your belly before abruptly rolling over in bed. 

"Where are you going?" you asked him with a laugh. 

He grabbed his phone and opened his music app, mumbling, "The baby should get to hear the Grateful Dead perform it. Sounds better than when I sing."

He queued up the song and placed his phone near your belly as it started. "I don't know. I kind of like your version, Beer Boy," you promised, and he kissed your lips before pushing your shirt up high enough so he could see your tattoo of the song lyrics. 

"That's good, because I'll never stop singing it," he whispered, running his nose along your tattoo. He placed one hand gently on your belly and sang along.

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

"I'm so excited," Bradley whispered for the seventh time in five minutes. "I don't think I've ever been this excited before. I also kind of feel like I'm going to throw up."

"Relax," you whispered, taking his hand. If he was this bad today when you were getting a high definition ultrasound, maybe you didn't want him with you when you actually delivered the baby.

"I just want to see the bean," he mumbled, practically bouncing in the waiting room chair. 

You tried not to smile, because he actually looked a little pale and nervous. "We don't even get to find out the sex today."

"Yeah," he replied, exasperated, "but we get to see the bean, Sugar. Up close and personal."

When they called your name a minute later, Bradley jumped out of his seat and dragged you down the hallway. He paced around the first room while you had some blood drawn. And then he paced around the next room while you waited for the technician to come in.

"Why did they call us back if they weren't ready?" he grunted, eyeing you up and down as you sat on the exam table in a hospital gown. "This is taking for fucking ever."

"Watch your language in front of the baby," you scolded, and his eyes went wide.

"Shit, you're right. Oh, fuck. Damn it!" You were cracking up now as he sat down with his forehead resting on his palms. "I'll get better, I promise!" 

"You have about six more months to shape up your act." 

He thought about everything he had planned for the next six months. Buy a crib and a stroller. Put a car seat in the Bronco. Paint the extra bedroom. Put those little plastic safety things in all the outlets in the house. 

When the exam room door opened, he jumped to his feet as a woman in pink scrubs walked in. "Hi, I'm Elaine! Sorry for the long wait, but we were double checking your blood work," she said walking toward you.

"What's wrong with the blood work?" Bradley asked, his voice suddenly hoarse. The desire to throw up returned, and he was reaching backwards for the arm of the chair. 

"Nothing at all," she replied smoothly, helping you lay back on the table and opening the hospital gown. "A lot of different levels were elevated, so we wanted to be sure. But if you're ready to see the babies, then we can get started."

"Babies?" you and Bradley nearly shouted in unison as Elaine opened the software and turned on the gigantic monitor. 

"Yes," she replied with a smile. "You're having twins."

Bradley nearly collapsed back into the empty chair. "Holy shit. Holy shit, Sugar!"

"Twins?!" you asked Elaine. Bradley couldn't tell if you were excited about the idea or not, but he was thrilled. Two babies? In one go? This was better than getting a promotion at work. This was almost as good as his wedding day. Almost as exciting as when you and he reunited in Virginia after ten years apart.

When you reached out your hand toward him, Bradley rocketed out of his seat to get to you. "Are you happy?" he asked, lacing his fingers with yours and kissing your forehead. 

"I... I think so. I think I'm kind of shocked."

"Me, too. But in a very, very good way."

As the two of you watched the monitor while Elaine moved the wand around on your belly, Bradley's eyes filled with tears. He had never seen anything so sweet in his life. 

"Two little beans," you whispered, and Bradley watched you cry as you smiled. When he nodded, you added, "Yes, I'm happy."

But when Bradley got you settled at home, his apprehension started to creep in. You were clearly tired. You were the one growing the twin beans. He probably wasn't doing enough. As you slowly dozed off in bed wearing his old Grateful Dead shirt, he watched your lips part, soft breathing taking over. 

His thoughts drifted to his own parents. He could only remember how much pain his mom had been in before she died, and he could barely picture what his dad looked like unless he had a photo in his hand. 

Bradley could feel his heart rate pick up, the rapid pounding filling his ears started to make him feel crazy. He sat up in bed, trying to catch his breath. "Fuck," he muttered. He was going to mess this all up. He didn't know what he was doing. He couldn't remember his dad. And all he knew was that his mom somehow made him feel safe without really doing anything that he could model his behavior off of. Carole just made everything seem effortless, which was not helping him right now. 

He bolted out of bed, and then your eyes were open and focused on him. "What's wrong?" you asked groggily. "I need you to snuggle with me."

He studied your pretty face and your earnest expression. "What if I suck at being a dad?" he blurted out.

You set your head back down on the pillow and reached out for him with one hand. "You're good at everything else. You'll be good at this, too."

"But what if I'm not?" he demanded. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I barely even had a dad." He thought of the navy desk lamp and how he'd followed in his father's career path and how he somehow knew Nick had loved him. 

"You've never let me down yet, Beer Boy." Your soft words and the way you reached for his hands were enough to get him back into bed. And then his pulse returned to normal as you wrapped him up in your arms. This time he was dozing off before you were. 

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

Bradley went sprinting out of work at the beginning of lunchtime. If Maverick kept them one minute longer, Bradley would have earned himself some push-ups for insubordination. It was your anatomy ultrasound scan day, and now he was going to be late meeting you there.

"Fuck," he groaned as he yanked down the zipper of his flight suit a few inches as he pulled out into traffic. He was trying so hard to stop swearing, but days like this just called for the f word. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he growled, weaving around cars.

He wanted to know more about the twin beans. You and he had been talking about names, and he was beyond excited about everything. Last weekend he had painted the nursery a soft gray color and assembled two cribs. He even ordered a variety of matching tie dye onesies. Then you told him he did a great job and pushed him down on the floor on the new cloud shaped area rug in the nursery. His reward was getting to run his hands all over your round belly and tits while you rode him.

Bradley was in love with you and the babies, and being late today was making him upset. You were already on the exam table with the technician when the receptionist led him back to the room.

"Oh good, you're here," you sighed as he rushed toward you and grabbed your hand.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," he whispered, kissing your forehead and then your belly.

The technician smiled as Bradley knelt next to the table with his hand in yours. "Let's begin?" the technician asked. And when you nodded, he rubbed some gel on your belly and ran the wand slowly back and forth until those adorable beans were on the monitor just like last time.

"They got so big!" Bradley said, proud of how nicely they were growing.

"They are measuring right where they should be," the technician said, pausing the screen to take some pictures. "And I can tell you the sex for both of them if you want to know."

"Yes!" Bradley nearly shouted, looking up at your beautiful face as you laughed. "Please!"

"Okay, here we go."

It felt like an eternity as Bradley gripped your hand, waiting to be informed about what he was looking at on the screen. You were stroking his knuckles with your thumb, always so calm and analytical. 

He glanced at your face and watched you as the technician said, "Baby number one right here is not shy at all. He's waving hi."

"He?" Bradley was on his feet, trying to get closer to the screen. 

"Yes. A boy," the technician said.

"Another little Beer Boy in the making," you said before Bradley leaned down to kiss you.

He was sure he looked ridiculous as he said, "Nah, he'll be so much better than me. He's half you."

The way you smiled up at Bradley had him kneeling next to you again. "What about baby number two? Can we look at that bean now?" he asked, squeezing your hand. 

"Okay," the technician said, drawing Bradley's attention toward the screen again. "And baby number two...well she's trying to hide behind her brother, but there she is."

Bradley shouted, "Yes!" so loudly that you and the technician both jumped a little bit. "Oh my god, Sugar!"

"One of each," you whispered, covering your lips with your shaky fingers. 

"This is exactly what I was hoping for, but I didn't want to say it out loud," he whispered against your ear before kissing you all over your face. "Two little beans. One of each!"

You wrapped your arms around Bradley's neck and said. "You don't know how easy it is to love you."

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

"I'm not going to make it," you moaned, laying on the couch while Bradley made dinner while his phone rang. You were at the start of your third trimester. You were huge. You were always hungry. It was getting hard to stand up for your lectures that were longer than an hour. And Bradley was the only thing holding you together. 

"Fuck!" he suddenly shouted from the kitchen. 

"What's wrong?" you asked, lifting your head up from the cushion. When Bradley walked into the living room, his brow was pinched and he was eyeing you warily. "What?" you demanded, struggling to sit up.

He knelt in front of you and eased you into a seated position. "Sugar," he whispered, pleading with you. "I just got the call. A special mission."

Tears sprang to your eyes. "A deployment?"

"Yeah, baby. I'll be back before the due date."

You cried while his lips met your belly through your shirt. "But, Bradley," you sobbed, "I can't! You've been doing everything! I'm so exhausted, I can barely function! And what if they extend you? That did that last time!" 

Great big sobs wracked your body, and you started gasping for air. Soon you were close to hyperventilating, but Bradley got you into the bathroom just in time for you to throw up in the toilet. And then you curled up on the floor and looked up at him. Your voice was a harsh whisper as he rubbed your back. "I can't do this without you."

He looked distraught as he said, "I don't want you to have to. But Uncle Sam owns my ass."

You closed your eyes, dreading asking him for the mission details. So instead you whispered, "No, the beans and I own your ass. Uncle Sam just borrows you."

"You absolutely own my ass, Sugar," he replied softly, kissing your tear streaked cheeks and helping you get to your feet. "Let's try to eat dinner, and we can talk this through."

Bradley carried two plates of food to the dining room table where you had the perfect view of the glossy white doors he had used to propose to you. He had hung them up on the wall, turning them into the most beautiful work of former frat boy art you had ever seen. 

SUGAR 

WILL 

YOU 

MARRY 

ME?

You picked at your food as he filled you in on the missions plans. He was perfect. Your husband was perfect, and now you were scared you weren't going to be able to get through a month without him. And then you started to spiral, because if four weeks alone while you were pregnant felt too daunting, how would you manage twins while he was gone for months at a time?

"Beer Boy?" you whimpered. "I can't do this."

"Yes," he said adamantly, "you can. You're the strongest person I know."

You bit down hard on your lip as it quivered. "What if something happens to you? Or me? Or them?" Your voice broke, and once again, Bradley was collecting you into his arms and abandoning the dinner plates. You cried softly as he helped you out of your work clothes and into his old Grateful Dead shirt. And then you curled up in bed and watched him strip down to his underwear. 

You watched the flex of his muscles as he took the hideous, tie dyed Grateful Dad shirt out of his drawer and pulled it on. "Nothing's going to happen," he whispered as he got in bed beside you. "You'll wear your shirt, and I'll wear mine. And we'll think about each other the whole time I'm gone. And I'll hang up all the sexy photos I have of you plus the ultrasounds of the beans. And before you know it, I'll be back. And then the beans will be here. And then we'll actually be even more perfect than I ever thought possible."

You cried yourself to sleep in his arms, soaking up all of his beautiful words. 

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

Bradley's duffle bag was packed. He was leaving in the morning. You'd made him a little folder of copies of the ultrasound photos, and he'd added a few wedding photos as well. He laughed every time he looked at the photos from your Vegas wedding with Elvis. But right now, he felt like crying.

Somehow you were holding it together better than he was right now. "You coming to bed, Beer Boy?"

He zipped his bag closed and looked up to find you standing there in your navy blue bra and matching panties. Your tits looked bigger than ever, practically spilling over the lace cups. And your belly had gotten so big, your panties were tucked below your bump. He reached out for you, pulling you close so his nose met your belly.

"I want the two of you to be good for Mommy while I'm gone, okay?" he whispered, kissing and tickling you with his mustache. He was rewarded with your fingers in his hair and a kick from one of his twins. "I love my Sugar Babies."

You giggled and said, "I wonder if that was the jellybean or the spoonful of sugar that kicked you." Over the past few weeks, you had taken to giving the twins cute little candy related names, and Bradley couldn't get enough. 

He'd never get enough of you either. The way your fingers felt in his hair as he knelt in front of you. The sound of your voice when he closed his eyes. The warmth of your skin where he kissed you. 

"I'm gonna miss you," he whispered before he stood and followed you to bed. 

"I'll be there to pick you up four weeks from tomorrow," you promised, reaching back to unhook your bra. "I promise."

Bradley groaned loudly as you sank back into the pillows. "Your tits look delicious," he moaned, crawling across the bed to get to you. "Fucking huge."

"Watch your language in front of the babies," you whispered against his lips as he palmed your breasts and stroked your tattoos. "Daddy."

Bradley pulled your underwear down your legs and tossed them aside, running his fingers through your slick. "Bradley!" you gasped, your eyes following his every move as he brought his fingers up to his lips. 

"You look delicious, and you taste delicious," he told you, licking his fingers clean before you reached for his cock through his boxer shorts. You squeezed him, eliciting a strangled, needy noise, and he whined your name. 

And you let Bradley do whatever he wanted with a devilish little smile on your face and his name on your lips. You sucked his cock until he was panting, and then you leaned back with your hands on your chest. When he ran his wet length through the valley between your breasts, you urged him along.

"I want you to," you whispered as he titty fucked you. Your tongue darted out to taste him as he tried to go slow. But you looked and felt so good, he was already so far gone by the time he pulled away from you.

"I wanna make you feel good," he gasped as you pushed him onto his back. "As fucking good as you make me feel all the time."

He was treated to the sight of you awkwardly positioning him at your entrance as you had to work around your belly. And when you slid down around him with your perfect pussy, Bradley let his hands come to rest on your hips. Your body was wider now and impossibly sexy, and you rode him as you ran your fingers gently along your breasts. 

"I love you, Sugar," he whispered, running his knuckles along your clit until you were clenching. His other hand came to rest on your belly, and Bradley felt so connected to you, so in love with you, that he felt a tear leak from his eye as you came from him. And then he came inside you as he met you halfway for a kiss.

As you eventually started to doze off on his shoulder, still full of his cum, you whispered, "I love you too, Beer Boy."

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

Being away from the three of you was tedious at best. Bradley found it hard to pay attention to the things he was supposed to do. He knew the mission parameters inside and out, but he didn't take the time to think about how dangerous it was. There was no space left in his jumbled thoughts for anything except you.

Phoenix had promised to go to your appointments with you in his absence, and when he was allowed to call you, he listened intently to your updates 

"Jellybean boy is measuring a little bigger than our sweet girl, but they both looked good! Nice and strong according to the doctor. And I gained three more pounds, which is probably not ideal, but all the meals you made and froze for me are so yummy." 

And then he flew the special mission, set on making sure it went as flawlessly as possible. Determined to stay as safe as he could. Whatever it took to get back home to San Diego and his perfect little family. 

You were less than a month out from your due date now. And when Bradley arrived on the dock exactly four weeks after you'd sent him off with some filthy kisses, he was so excited to see you. See if you'd gotten bigger or had trouble walking now. He was excited to kneel down and talk to his twins. 

But when he turned his phone on, he was greeted with a voicemail message of your incoherent sobbing. He dropped his bag to the deck of the aircraft carrier as the sound of you crying met his ears. His heart sank to his stomach. You'd left him this message just a handful of hours ago, but when he tried to call you back as the ship was docking, you didn't answer. 

"Come on," he whispered, his voice harsh and filled with unshed tears. "Sugar." But still, you did not answer.

He could feel himself gasping for air. He promised you nothing was going to happen. He never broke his promises to you. Not even when he was twenty one years old and didn't understand the strength of the love he felt for you.

He was staring at his phone screen for a few seconds as tears filled his eyes before he realized he was receiving a call.

"Nat?" he asked, answering his best friend.

"I'm on the dock," she said simply. "I'll find you as you deboard. We're going to head right to the hospital."

"What happened to her?" he asked, clutching his own stomach, barely able to speak. "To them?"

"Early labor," was all she said. Then she sighed before repeating herself. "We'll head right to the hospital."

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

You weren't sure what was going on. All you knew was the intense amount of pain you were in was enough to make you throw up over and over again. When your water broke during your calculus lecture, you shouldn't have been surprised. You'd been feeling off all week. You tried to chalk it up to missing your husband, but it was more than that. 

After your water broke, you collapsed, only breaking the fall with your hands on the hard floor. You were pretty sure at least one of your wrists was broken, but nobody at the hospital was even slightly concerned about that. Not when they were trying to determine if your babies were okay. 

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you had to beg Natasha to leave you and pick Bradley up from the port on base after she met you at the hospital. You had been informed that the babies were fine, but you needed to deliver them now as you were running out of amniotic fluid. They would deliver the beans by cesarean section. They were going to put you under general anesthesia for it.

You cried as they prepared you for surgery. You were alone. Bradley was probably with Phoenix by now, but they wouldn't wait any longer. "Let's get started," your obstetrician said as you settled on your back with your battered wrists as your sides. 

"Okay," you agreed, crying as the drugs to put you under started to cloud your vision. 

"Sugar!" 

You laughed softly at the nurse to your left. "That sounded like my husband," you said with a giggle. Then you caught sight of Bradley running into the room in his khaki uniform, drenched in sweat. "It looks like him, too. Hi, Beer Boy," you said, still laughing as he rushed toward you.

"Sugar," he gasped, eyes wide. But they wouldn't let him touch you as you fell asleep.

Pain. You woke up in so much pain. Everything hurt. You were on your back and the room was dark and you could hear beeping. 

"Bradley?" you gasped, trying to sit up, but you couldn't. You started crying and calling his name, and then he was at your side.

"I'm here, Sugar," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "It's okay. I love you. You're just waking up again."

"Again?" you asked, completely confused. "Where are the beans?"

"In the nursery," he promised. "They've been in the nursery since yesterday when they were born." 

Your head was swimming with information and memories and fear as Bradley left you to turn on the dim hospital room lights. "They were born yesterday?" 

"Yes," he told you, making his way back over in his rumpled, wrinkly uniform. "And you had surgery on your left wrist today."

But you were starting to remember more now as your eyes settled on the white board across the room. The birth times and birth weights of the twins written in an unfamiliar scrawl. Baby A and Baby B were born just five minutes apart. You must have been on a lot of pain medication, because surely those were not the names you and Bradley had discussed?

You cleared your throat a few times, and then he was grabbing your cup of water and holding it so you could take a sip through the straw.

"Bradley," you started, but he stopped you with a kiss to your chapped lips.

"I'm so proud of you, Sugar," he said, letting his forehead come to rest against yours. "Do you have any idea how fucking amazing you are?" 

"But Beer Boy," you said, glancing at the names written on the board.

"The doctors said the kiddos are doing just fine, and when they wake up hungry in another hour or so, you'll be able to see them."

"But I-"

"And only your left wrist was broken. Your right one will heal on its own. And your abdominal incision will heal up great. And you'll be back to work after the fall term, no problem."

"Bradley!" you said loudly, realizing it was nearly three in the morning as you checked the clock before looking at the names again. "Did you go rogue and name the children without my approval?"

Your husband was silent now, and you could see his cheeks were a little red. "Just the middle names," he muttered softly. 

You sighed and read out loud from the board. "Emma Bean Bradshaw and Levi Garcia Bradshaw," you said slowly. "Really?"

He looked so sheepish as your gaze met his again. "I thought they sounded nice," he whispered, and you felt your lips curve into a smile.

"I love them," you said, swallowing hard. "Their names are perfect."

And then you were treated to your husband's lips and mustache as he kissed you all over your face until you were laughing. "I thought you were mad," he said with a sigh of relief.

"Not mad," you promised, letting him adjust your bed and get you more water. He flitted around the room for a few minutes, and then the door opened as two nurses pushed bassinets into the room, and you cried as you looked at your daughter and your son in their matching tie dyed onesies

Bradley picked Emma Bean up in his arms, and he gently held her out so you could give her a kiss. "Here she is. And check it out, Sugar. I've been feeding them and changing them since yesterday!" 

You marveled at how he held her and bent to coo at Levi Garcia at the same time. And then a moment later, he was sitting in the chair right next to you, feeding each baby a bottle as he sang his favorite Grateful Dead song. 

"Beer Boy," you said with a soft laugh. "You really are the Grateful Dad." 

He smiled at you and said, "I haven't been home yet to wash my hideous shirt, but one day soon we can all wear our tie dye together." 

You examined the cast on your left wrist and ran you right hand gingerly along your belly which felt horribly tender. "You're going to have to take care of all three of us when we go home."

"I'm up for the challenge," he promised immediately. "Nat's gonna help. And Bob will, too. And we'll be just fine. Better than fine."

Bradley stood carefully and set down Emma Bean, your tiny daughter, along your right side. Bradley didn't move as she snuggled up against you, rather he bent and let you kiss Levi's cheek. 

"We'll be perfect," you supplied, smiling at your son and daughter as you listened to your husband sing. 

"You don't know how easy it is to love you."

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

I couldn't leave Beer Boy hanging in his ugly Grateful Dad tee without letting him know how was having twins beans. And I just know he's going to take the best care of all three of them. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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[warnersister]

Personal Space

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x reader

Summary: you love your personal space. Unfortunately, Bradley also loves your personal space.

Pt. 2

You never understood why Bradley stuck around. Since the academy you’d preferred to stick to yourself; get your head down and get the job done. Especially with a surname like Mitchell. You didn’t want your father and grandfather’s reputation to negatively proceed you, and by the time people had put two and two together as to whom loins you came from: you’d made your own reputation so Maverick never made much of a difference to it.

But still, having dinner in the mess you’d sat down, when someone came and thudded down next to you and began eating themselves. “I’m Bradley” he said when you finally looked up at him. You raised a brow “Bradshaw?” You ask and he nods: you recognise him from the photos your dad pinned up in your two’s hanger. You hum “and you are?” He asks “not important.” You reply, deciding you’d lost your appetite and stood to clear your plate “good talk!” Bradley said, but you were already walking away.

He’d next encountered you when you were running around the academy, early morning; before any naval training would take place. He hummed and decided it was perfectly acceptable to interrupt your jaunt with his presence. “Hey! Up so early?” He asks as he tries to match your pace from a standstill “could ask you the same.” You reply bluntly “well I wanted to get a run in before-” “well there’s your answer.” You reply, cutting him off. “You run really quick.” He says as you try to keep your pace increasing to shake him off “goodbye, Bradshaw.” You say, pulling your sunglasses over your eyes and taking off at a pace he couldn’t sustain. He just stops and shakes his head smiling, you were funny.

Eventually, you’d both gotten up in the air and were quick to earn your callsigns “Rooster” and “Hen”. Bradley earned his because he was up before the chickens, you’d earned yours because the chicken kept fucking following you around like you were his mother. You were sat on the aircraft carrier, your trainee group learning how to land on a ship deck and you’d finally gotten a moment of peace that evening. You sat on the edge of the deck, feet dangling over the edge as you watched the sunset, not moving when you hear someone slip into the space between the barriers beside you.

“Oh look my chick is back.” You mumble sarcastically and Bradley laughs loudly at you. “You love me really” he says, looking at you as if he wanted to you agree with him “you seem to keep telling yourself that, don’t you?” You hum, turning to watch the sea lap against the grey metal. You can feel him fidgeting beside you, as if antsy to say something. “What?” You ask, finally turning to look at him. “What?” He repeats, looking at you with raised brows “you want to ask me something. You’re fidgeting.” You point out “so ask me or fuck off” you say, turning away again. “Your last name is Mitchell” he says and you roll your eyes “you can read and hear. Two things I’ve learnt today.” You huff, again, with sarcasm. “Are you related to Pete Mitchell?” He asks, looking at you and nearly holding his breath “you finally put two and two together?” You ask and he lets out the breath.

“Yeah, he’s my dad.” You say after a while “I was a whoopsie baby my mother didn’t want anything to do with” you tell him. “He used to fly with my dad.” Bradley almost whispers, voice just a few octaves above. “I know” you nod “he’s practically wallpapered all over our hanger.” You say “so are you” you eye him. “He pulled my papers” he says, again after a few moments of silence “I know” you say “do you know why?” He asks “yes.” You reply, and he could tell you weren’t going to elaborate. “Y’know I’m not a fan of your dad, but I really like you.” He says and you just look at him with a blank face. “Yup” you hum to yourself and he raises a brow “just as Mother Goose was described” you say, and Bradley’s face immediately lights up with a huge grin, stretching and arm around you and pulling you into his side.

“Get off me.” “Yup, yep, sorry.”

For your first deployment, the academy set it up that you’d at least be with one person from your training squadron, and today the list of names were coming out; they were scribbled on the back of a napkin and pinned to a notice board.

“1. Haywood & Solomons, 2. Hughes & Shelley & Omaha, 3. Cooper & Parker & Cromwell & Smith, 4. Bradshaw,” you crossed your fingers as someone read out the names, then yours was read alongside Bradley’s “oh for god’s sake” you grumble, turning to see Bradley practically jumping for joy. “This is great! Me and you, Hen!” Rooster cheers and you just stare at him “should’ve called you leech cause you’re acting like one. Calm down.” You instruct and he tries to chill out, but the cheeky smile on his face was indiminishagble.

He only became more unbearable then, with you every working hour, your wingman on the missions you’d fly, inseparable despite your complaints. “Where’s your boyfriend?” Hawk asked you, as he came to sit with you for lunch. You shush him loudly. “Woah woah I only asked where he was.” “Speak his name and he shows up. I’m trying to hide.” you say in a hushed voice “plus he isn’t my boyfriend” “sure” he scoffs but the daggers being shot into his head silenced him easily.

“Hey Hen! Hawk” Bradley greets as he sits down. You grunt and point an accusatory finger at Hawk “this is your fault, jackass” you say and he laughs at you, him and Bradley engage in conversation as you just eat, having learnt the skill of drowning him out. “What about you, Hen?” Hawk asked, drawing your attention away from your plate and up to the two men alongside you, you raise an eyebrow - letting them know you were insinuating that you weren’t listening to their conversation.

“Do you want a family?” He ask and you just nod “really?” Hawk asks “that’s cute, didn’t take you for a family gal” he jokes and you harshly kick his leg under the table “kids and everything?” He asks after the pain subsides. “Yup.” You say and Bradley hums “I didn’t know that” he says and you just look at him “you never asked.” You reply simply, and that was true: he hadn’t. He was quite prepared to spend the rest of existence chasing after you, whether that meant giving you your first kiss on your deathbeds.

The two of you even went to Top Gun together, training to be the finest naval aviators of them all. And boy, you two fought to be the best; tongue and teeth, blood sweat and tears, everything. The decision came down to one final dogfight. “May the best aviator win” Rooster jokes, sticking out a hand to you. You eye it and internally question if you were insane, before leaning up to peck his cheek. “Prepare to loose, chicken.” You say, leaving him frozen in his place while you head to your plane. That day, Bradley was seriously off his A-game, and you came out on top.

A Mitchell finally Top Gun.

“Congratulations!” Bradley says excitedly on graduation day when you victoriously lifted the trophy above your head. You turned to him and he leant down slightly - you weren’t stupid, you knew what he was intending to do. “Thank you, Brad.” You say, turning to walk over to where your father was stood - knowing that was probably the only time Bradley wouldn’t follow you. That was the first time you’d ever called him anything short of Bradley Bradshaw.

“I’m so proud of you honey” your dad says, hugging you tightly and you embrace him back, smiling widely “thank you, dad” you respond and he looks behind you where Bradley was stood a while back, watching the ordeal. “Is that-” “yes” you tell him and your dad just looks at you “I wouldn’t get all teary he follows me like a lost puppy” you grumble but he just grins “he’s a good kid, hon.” He says and you shake your head “he’s definitely something”

“So how does their relationship work?” Bob asks Hangman, watching Bradley talk your ear off and you just staring ahead into space, blankly. “You see Bobby my boy,” Jake begins “Hen loves her personal space” Bob nods “Rooster also loves Hen’s personal space.” Bob nods again, now understanding. “Haven’t they done everything together though?” He asks “I think it’s more the fact that Hen does something and Rooster just kinda goes with it” Phoenix said and Bob hums, as Bradley continues to converse one-sidedly with you.

“He means well” you hear from beside you as you stare out from the hanger, turning to see your honorary uncle Tom walking towards you, you run towards him as he embraces you tightly “hey Ice” you smile, sweetly. “Hey sweetheart” he croaks. “I mean what I said.” He states and you raise a brow “he means well” he nods towards the man doing his required push ups on the ground with Hondo. “I know, Ice.” You tell him. “No, I don’t think you do” he hums and you raise your eyebrows at him. “The kids in love with you. You’ve either got to let him in or tell him to get out.” He says, “you’re living together for goodness sake”. “It was cheaper” you argue “we both know the accommodation is subsidised.” He states, matter-of-factly, patting your shoulder as he turns to go talk to your dad when he walks into the room.

It was true, you and Bradley were sharing accommodation. “Hey Hen, they’ve offered us shared accommodation back in Miramar” Bradley says, coming over with a pamphlet. “Why?” You ask, taking it out of his hands. ‘Married couple accommodation’ it states and you raise your brows “you getting ahead of yourself, Bradshaw?” You ask and he shakes his head “the guy assumed our callsigns were cause we’re a couple” he tells you and you just hum. “Well I’d rather stay there than in an apartment.” You say simply, giving him back the leaflet and refocusing on the plane you were working on repairing. “Seriously?” He asks, voice overly hopeful. You look at him and shrug “just go get the damn house, Bradshaw. Before I change my mind!” You say and he grins, turning and breaking out into almost a jog to head to confirm your living situation.

You take a moment of hesitation, before loudly groaning and heading out onto the tarmac, getting down and doing push ups alongside Rooster. He turns his head and looks at you and you just raise your brows at him. “Hey honey” he grins “hello Bradley” he nudges your hip with his own. “I’ll drive us home.” You tell him, and he raises his eyebrows “Home?” He asks and you huff “okay, Bradley I will drive the two of us back to our shared accommodation that we accidentally got given.” You say and he laughs loudly “home sounded better.”

Then after the mission, the whole Dagger squad got permanently stationed in San Diego, other than deployment, so they urged the new additions to the base to buy their own properties closer to base rather than on it. You and Bradley were sat in the Hard Deck, a long time before it was open, the rest of the Daggers spending time on the beach while the two of you were scouring Bradley’s laptop for a property. Well, Bradley was.

How about this one? He turns his screen to you. You shake your head “I want grass in the garden. I want to plant flowers” you say as you point at the paved back of the house, explaining that it’s a waste of money to have it ripped out. Bradley nods “Mkay, garden” he says, moving back to look again.

“How about this one? Beach front, close to the running track for you. Only a walk from the Hard Deck. White picket fence, really” he hums, turning the laptop again “garden?” You ask and he nods “garden.” He nods with a grin. “Shall we go look?” You ask and he raises a brow at you. “You said it’s a walk from the hard deck. Let’s go.” You say, putting the address into your phone and immediately recognising the street name, Bradley quickly falling into step with you as you walk towards the property.

You look at it and place your hands on your hips. Bradley was right. Pretty damn perfect. “Can I help you?” A lady asks, walking outside of the house, clipboard in hand. “Oh no, we’d just seen this property online and wanted to take a look.” Bradley tells her. “Well I’ve had a no-show on a viewing. How’d you like to take a look?” She suggests, motioning to the open door. “Okay” you nod, following her into the house.

“Obviously the kitchen, living room, even a deck out back with a huge garden and high fences” she says nodding out the window and you hum. “Out the side there’s an entrance straight to the beach” she motions, then starts heading up the stairs “three bedrooms, attic space, bathroom” she says “I’m guessing it’s just you two at the moment?” She asks “oh we’re not-” Bradley begins “yes, just us.” You confirm, shutting him up. “Okay, so there’s a large room for your bed and then if any new additions are to join, you have the space for them” she smiles and leads you back out front.

“It’s not cheap, it’s California. So I understand if you’re not prepared to pay that much money, do you mind me asking what you do?” She asks “we’re naval aviators.” Bradley says “stationed here?” She asks and you both nod “ah! I get why you’re looking for a property here!” She says and Bradley looks at you. “I really like it, Roo.” You say, and Bradley has to stop his jaw hitting the floor at your nickname. “It’s your call, honey” he says and you look at the lady and smile as she offers her hand “we’ll take it.”

“How shall we split the payment?” You ask Bradley as you walk back to the Hard Deck after organising a meeting with the realtor to actually finalise all the kinks and bumps. “I don’t mind doing the down payment then we’ll take it in turn paying the loan” he suggests “we can get a joint bank account and do it that way” you say and he agrees as you settle back into your seats at the Hard Deck. “Where’ve you two been?” Hangman asks “we bought a house.”

One evening, after you were all moved in and were hanging out at the Hard Deck after a long day or routine flying, you were sat outside with Rooster; watching the sunset. “When are we getting married then?” You ask and he spits out his beer “what?” He asks, eyes wide and getting progressively more giddy. “Well we live together, we have a joint bank account, and Jake keeps telling me we’re practically married. So when are we getting married?” You ask as he hugs you tightly “whenever you want, baby” he says, kissing the top of your head and pulling a ring out of his pocket to get on his knee. “Will you marry me?” He asks and you raise a brow “didn’t I just say that?” You ask bluntly “just say yes, please” he begs and you nod “yes. Yes I will marry you, Bradley Bradshaw.” You confirm as he kisses your lips gently.

“Okay get off of me now.”

Pt. 2

[idkwhylou]

Trouble

Summary : You grew up on military bases, always under the shadow of your admiral father—and always just out of reach of the Navy boys you weren't supposed to want. But Bradley Bradshaw had always been different.

Bradley Bradshaw x f!reader/militarybrat!reader

Warnings : bad knowledge on military settings, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex (nothing graphic more suggestive), flirt, Hangman, no use of y/n, bit of angst ?, happy ending dw

Words : 6K

A/N : It's the first time I write for Bradley, actually this have been hidden in my drafts for too long soooo. Didn't check before posting, sorry for the mistakes

+ your last name is Andrews (not important I just named the admiral father like that so)

»» ─── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─── ««

Being a military brat wasn’t exactly a dream, but you’d learn to survive it with style.

Endless relocations, half-finished friendships, birthdays celebrated on video calls while your father was halfway around the world—Admiral Andrews always had bigger battles to fight. You grew up in hangars and on tarmacs, your lullabies was the roar of jet engines and the bark of orders through static-filled radios. Discipline was second nature. And so was pretending things didn’t hurt.

Still, it wasn’t all bad. They were…perks. 

Namely, the men.

They came and went like seasons—loud, fleeting, and always convinced they were unforgettable. Each one walked with the same cocksure strut, flight suits unzipped just enough to suggest ego rather than comfort, and eyes that burned with that reckless, high-altitude gleam. You learned fast—faster than you were probably supposed to—how to recognize the pattern. The polished charm they wore like a second skin.

You didn’t fall for it. Not once.

You watched, studied, catalogued the way they spoke when they thought they were being clever, the way their smiles sharpened when they were about to flirt. You learned how long it took them to show their tells—the subtle shift in tone, the not-so-innocent brush of an arm, the pause that lasted just a beat too long. They weren’t as mysterious as they thought or tried to pretend. They were pretty predictable actually.

But you never chased them. That, was the key.

You let them notice you instead—just enough to spark the thought, just enough to stay in their mind when the hangar got quiet. You were a test they didn’t realize they were failing. 

Every. Single. Time.

But your father had made it crystal clear from the start : “No navy men”. Which was funny, considering that’s all you were ever surrounded by. Anyway, the irony wasn’t lost on you and neither was the challenge. 

He thought keeping you on base and away from the navy bars meant keeping you safe. But the Admiral never realized that some of your favorite games were played right under his nose. You knew the base like the back of your hand—every shadow, every corner, every overlooked bench, every hangar edge where you could linger just out of sight. You didn’t need loud scenes or public displays. You had subtle smiles, quiet glances, late-night conversations shared against metal walls still warm from the day’s sun. 

Flirts came and went; a wink here, a stolen moment there. You kept things light and unattached. You weren’t naïve—you knew better than to fall for boys who wore dog tags. But God, it was so fun watching them fall just a little bit for you. 

Over the years you got really good at it. You learned how pilots saw you, how they move around girls, how they lie without meaning to. You recognized the ones who were all show, the ones who tried too hard, and the rare few who didn’t try at all. You knew how to draw attention without begging for it. 

And at first, they all tried.

When you were younger—barely out of high school but already too clever for your own good—the attention was constant. New recruits, cocky lieutenants, even a few seasoned officers too sure of their charm. They came at you like it was some unspoken initiation: flirt with the Admiral’s daughter, see how close you could get before it blew up in your face.

One did get close. Too close.

You’d spent the night tangled in Navy sheets and heat; a moment of rebellion that tasted too sweet to regret. It wasn’t love—just curiosity with hands and mouths, a quiet hunger you hadn’t realized you’d been carrying until it finally spilled over. He was older, confident in a way that didn’t feel forced, and for one night, you let yourself fall into the thrill of being wanted, seen—not as the Admiral’s daughter, but just as you.

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

But the morning did. You hadn’t even had time to slip your shirt back on when you heard the footsteps—sharp, purposeful, unmistakable. The door creaked open before you could speak, and there he was: your father, Admiral Andrews, jaw clenched so tight it looked carved from stone. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to actually. One look. One breath drawn through his nose. One flick of his eyes to the discarded uniform trousers on the floor. 

That was enough.

The silence that followed was deafening. He didn’t yell, didn’t bark orders. He simply turned and walked away with the kind of fury that came wrapped in control—and that was somehow worse. By the end of the week, the boy was gone. Transferred without explanation to another coast. Scrubbed clean from your world like he’d never been there. And no one said a word about it. 

Not your father. Not the guy. Not anyone. Not even you, because you knew it was best to keep your mouth shut if you didn’t want to end up in the same situation.

But the message was heard loud and clear across base. You were off-limits now. Untouchable. The Admiral’s daughter—marked. 

After that, most of them backed off. The stares were more cautious; they’d smile quickly, maybe toss a joke your way, but nobody dared get too close. Well, not unless they had a death wish—or a transfer request ready to go.

And you ? You adapted. The flirting became harmless, more performative—just enough to keep things fun.

And still, now and then, someone would forget. 

Some new recruit, fresh off a carrier and drunk on his own reflection, would mistake your easy grin for an invitation. Or maybe it was the way you leaned in when you laughed, the way you held eye contact just a breath too long. You knew the signals you sent. You just knew how to pull them back, too.

They’d catch on. Eventually. Maybe it was the way the older pilots watched you a little too closely, not with hunger but with caution. Maybe it was the subtle tension that snapped into place anytime your father’s name left someone’s mouth like it was a warning label: ‘Admiral Andrews’s daughter’.

And then there were the whispers. Low-voiced and half-believed, traded like ghost stories in locker rooms and smoke breaks. The one who got a guy sent away. Some were curious, others called it poison, most didn’t dare. But a few still tried: the ones too bold or too dumb to care, or maybe just the ones who didn’t know.

Which is why you noticed right away when someone didn’t get the memo.

That night at the Hard Deck, the music was low, the air buzzing with the usual mix of sweat and beer. You were nursing a drink more out of habit than thirst, letting the noise wash over you in waves. That’s when he showed up—Jake Seresin, golden boy swagger and all.

He didn’t look at you like someone warned him. He looked at you like a dare.

“Funny,” he said, leaning an elbow on the bar like he had all night to kill. “I come here a lot, and I don’t remember seeing you before. That feels like a personal tragedy.”

You turned to him, unimpressed but not dismissive. “Maybe I’m very good at not being noticed.”

Jake smiled slowly, eyes sweeping over you—not crude, but confident. “Not with a face like that.”

You snorted softly, swirling the rest of your drink. “Do those lines actually work, or are you just here to collect L’s ?”

He laughed, tilting his head. “Just here to see if lightning strikes. What’s your name ?”

You considered it for a beat too long. “Wouldn’t you rather guess ?”

Jake’s grin grew wider. “Trouble. Definitely trouble.”

You leaned in slightly, letting your shoulder brush his just enough to register. “Only for people who don’t know how to handle me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he drawled, “I specialize in handling.”

You raised an eyebrow, your expression unreadable but amused. “You sure ? You look more like someone who talks a big game and taps out when it gets interesting.”

His hand pressed to his chest in mock offense. “You wound me.”

“I’m just being cautious,” you replied, your voice silk over steel. “I’ve seen a lot of pilots walk in here thinking they’re bulletproof. Turns out, most of them flinch when the safety’s off.”

Jake chuckled, eyes narrowing slightly. “So you are military. I was betting civilian.”

“Does it matter ?” you asked, letting the question linger.

“Only if you outrank me.”

You smirked into your glass. “You have no idea.”

For a moment, the air between you was still—charged with the kind of tension that made everything slow down. Jake looked at you like he wanted to solve you. You looked at him like you’d already read the answer and were just waiting to see if he’d catch up.

From across the room, someone called his name but he didn’t move. Not yet. “Tell you what,” he said. “Let me buy you a drink. Worst case, you put me in my place and I go home with a bruised ego. Best case…”

You tilted your head. “Best case ?”

He leaned in, just a little. “You stop pretending you're not having fun.”

You didn’t answer right away, just held his gaze. Then, with a slow, calculated smile, you slid your almost empty glass toward him.

“I’ll take a whiskey,” you said. “Neat. No bullshit.”

Jake’s laugh was soft and genuine as he flagged down Penny. “Now that’s a girl after my own heart.”

He returned quickly with the drinks in hand, sliding yours across the table next to you like a magician revealing a card trick. “One whiskey, neat. No bullshit—just how you like it.”

You took it with a nod, your fingers brushing his for half a second. He was easy to look at—lean, tan, jawline too sharp for his own good. The kind of guy who probably had a mirror above his bed. But he was charming, you had to admit. There was something in the way he grinned at you like he already knew you were trouble and still wanted a bite. Maybe you’d give him one. Just a taste.

“You’re not so bad, Hangman,” you said, sipping your drink.

He perked up. “So you have heard of me.”

“Hard not to. The ego arrives five minutes before you do.”

Jake laughed. “That’s fair.”

You let the conversation drift, leaning back against the wall, letting his stories and confident smirks wash over you. It was easy to play this game. Familiar. Like slipping into old shoes—ones that still fit but didn’t take you anywhere new.

And then, the door swung open.

You didn’t look at first, still listening to Jake—he was mid-sentence about some dogfight in training—but then you felt it. A shift in the air. Your eyes flicked toward the entrance.

Bradley fucking Bradshaw.

He walked in like he didn’t need the room to notice him—and yet it did. He had that kind of quiet gravity, the kind that pulled attention without asking for. He wore one of those old Hawaiian shirts—sun-bleached and fraying a little at the edges, probably one of his dad’s—left unbuttoned, sleeves cuffed like it was second nature. A pair of aviators rested low on the bridge of his nose, catching the bar lights just enough to hide his eyes. In his hand, he still held the keys to his precious bronco, twirling them once around his finger like a nervous tic, though nothing about him looked uncertain. 

Jake was still talking, something about g-force and cocky teammates, but you weren’t hearing it anymore. You and Bradley had known each other for a while now. Enough to share inside jokes and glances that didn’t need words. He made space for you in conversations without trying. He remembered things you hadn’t realized you’d said. He was kind in a way that didn’t need an audience.

The blond said something and you nodded absently, but your eyes followed Bradley as he made his way toward the bar. Rooster hadn’t seen you yet, or maybe he had and was just taking his time. Either way, he walked with the ease of someone who didn’t have to prove anything. While Jake was all angles and spotlight, Bradley was all depth and quiet corners.

Hangman finally paused, catching your shift in attention. He followed your gaze and let out a short laugh, “Is it the porn ‘stache or the ugly shirt ?”

You blinked, snapped back. “What ?”

“Bradshaw,” Jake said, nodding toward him. “Didn’t peg you for the boy scout type.”

You shrugged and let out a soft chuckle, “I don’t have a type.”

Jake tilted his head, that ever-present smirk tugging at his mouth. “Sure you don’t. Rooster ? Really ? You’re goin’ soft on us sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, feigning boredom as you sipped your drink. “Bradley’s just a long-time friend.”

Hangman leaned in a little, elbow brushing the table as his voice dropped low. “Mm-hmm. Funny, because you don’t look at your other friends like that.”

You smirked. “What’s the matter ? You’re jealous ?”

His grin widened into something smug. “Jealous ? Please.” He gestured at himself. “Sweetheart, I’m not worried. ‘Cause let’s be honest—Rooster’s too busy thinking about the right thing to say. Me ?” He leaned in just a bit closer, voice smooth and low. “I actually know how to treat a girl like you.”

You raised an eyebrow, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “Oh yeah ? And what kind of girl is that, exactly ?”

His gaze flicked down briefly—too quickly to be respectful, too slowly to be innocent. “Smart mouth, sharp tongue… but you like a little danger. You want someone who doesn’t ask permission to touch, someone who knows when to talk… and when not to.”

You let out a soft laugh, but there was heat beneath it. “Wow. You rehearsed that one ?”

Jake’s grin turned lazy, cocky. “Sweetheart, that was the improv version.”

You leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing, teasing. “If I wanted a man who thought with his ego, I’d pick one with better stamina.”

His eyebrows lifted, that cocky smirk faltering just a second—then came back twice as bold. “You volunteering to test that theory ?”

You were about to say something sharp, something that might’ve made the temperature between you boil over, but a voice cut the moment clean in half. “Seresin.”

You didn’t have to look to know who it was. But you did.

Bradley stood there, calm as ever, jaw tight, that unreadable gaze flicking between you and Hangman. The keys to his Bronco hung loosely in his hand, the tension in his shoulders unmistakable. “Didn’t know we were giving lectures on respect tonight,” he added, his voice level, but unmistakably pointed.

Jake raised both hands in mock surrender, a laugh in his throat. “Easy, Rooster. We were just talkin’.”

“Sure you were,” Bradley said, gaze not leaving Jake’s face.

Hangman didn’t move, his grin just a fraction but his stance still confident, as if daring Bradley to push further. “So, what’s the real deal ? I’m not one to back off, you should know that Bradshaw.”

Bradley’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping low but steady, laced with quiet authority. “You remember Admiral Andrews, right ? You’ve got his sweet little girl right in front of you, idiot.” He took a slow step closer, his tone sharpened with warning. “So maybe think twice before you mess around with something you can’t afford to break.”

The blond blinked, the easy cockiness flickered for a moment, surprise crossing his features as Bradley’s words hit harder than he expected. He glanced at you, then back at Bradley, sensing the line he wasn’t meant to cross. You see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes—but he didn’t back down. You liked that.

“You think a name’s gonna scare me off ? I’m not like you chicken. Plus I don’t see her old man anywhere.” He smirked.

Bradley stepped forward just enough, his voice calm but firm, carrying the weight of authority. “Maybe not. But I’m the one standing between you and a whole lot of trouble. So why don’t you save us both the headache and walk away ?”

Jake let out a slow sigh, the fight draining out of him as he finally nodded. He looked at you and winked, “When he's done bothering you, you know where to find me sweetheart.”

You weren’t angry—Bradley did this all the time. Always stepping in, always cock-blocking you when you least expected it. It was almost infuriating how often he played the protective big brother role. But you knew it came from somewhere deeper. He wasn’t just interfering for the sake of it; he was looking out for you. You mattered to him, more than most people realized.

Bradley’s eyes softened as he looked at you, a quiet honesty in his voice. “I know it’s annoying. But you’ve got people watching your back—including me.”

You shook your head with a small laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Big brother mode activated. I get it.”

He nudged you gently with his elbow as you both moved toward the bar, where Penny was serving other patrons. “Come on,” he said. You followed him, feeling the familiar pull of comfort in his presence—someone who knew the real you, without pretense or judgment.

Bradley didn’t waste a second. He caught Penny’s eye and commanded, “Six shots of tequila Pen’.” He shot you a knowing look, his smirk softening just a little. He knew exactly how you liked it. 

Before you could even think about pulling out your wallet, he slid his card across the counter. “On me. Don’t even.”

You slid onto the stool next to him, the wood creaking softly beneath your weight. The air between you buzzed with a tension that had settled there years ago—familiar, low-burning. You barely had time to adjust your seat when Bradley, without a word or a glance, reached out and tugged your stool closer to him. It wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t gentle either—firm, like muscle memory, like this wasn’t the first time he’d wanted you that close.

You didn’t protest, you didn’t need to and absolutely didn’t want to. 

From across the bar, Penny slid the six shots in front of you with practiced ease. She arched a brow, smirking as her eyes flicked between the two of you. “Bradley,” she said, tone dry but affectionate, “keep an eye on her tonight, will you ? She’s trouble in my bar—and you’re the only one she actually listens to.” 

You rolled your eyes with a soft laugh, but didn’t deny it. And Bradley just smirked, like he already knew he’d be doing just that. Trouble, after all, had a way of finding the two of you. Or maybe you were just better at finding each other. You took the salt and pour some on your palm, Rooster stretched out his hand to you, so that you could put salt on his too. You, then, reached for the first glass without hesitation, fingers brushing the cool rim just as Bradley’s hand closed around his own. Your eyes met in the half-second, you raised your shot in a toast. 

“To trouble then.” You said, your smile lazy, knowing. 

He chuckled warmly under his breath as the clink of glass between you was soft, but it echoed—more than sound. You tipped yours back easily. The tequila was sharp at first, then smooth as you bite in your quarter of lemon. His gaze lingered a second too long on your mouth, as you lick your lips. 

You leaned your elbow on the bar, chin in hand, feeling your throat burning. “You’ve always got my back, haven’t you ?”

He gave a half-shrug, eyes flicking down to his empty glass. “Someone had to.” That was always the thing about Bradley—he didn’t posture. He didn’t need to. While others circled like moths to flame, trying too hard, talking too loud, he simply stayed. The only one who never looked at you like you were something to win or just a piece of meat.

You studied his profile for a beat—the strong jaw, the crease just forming between his brows. He looked like he always did: calm, grounded, the kind of calm that only made you more aware of your own pulse. His fingers tapped once against the bar, a quiet rhythm. Nervous ? No. Calculated for sure. Like he was trying not to look at you again, trying not to give too much away.

Then, without breaking the silence between you, he reached for the second shot. And slid yours toward you.

No words this time.

Just the soft scrape of glass across wood—and that heat blooming in your chest again, heavier this time. Not from the tequila. From the way his fingers brushed yours, just long enough to feel intentional and deliberate. 

For now.

You tilted your head, voice low and teasing. “What is it with you, Bradshaw ? You always this cautious, or just with me ?”

He gave a soft breath of a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You don’t make it easy.”

That was honest. A little too honest.

You clinked your glass to his again. “Good.”

The second shot burned a little deeper, less sweet and more heat. You didn’t look away this time. You let your eyes linger on him as you set your glass down with a quiet clink, and this time, he was already watching you.

But not in the way others did. There was nothing lazy or possessive in it, just that familiar, weighted gaze. 

“You ever think maybe I’m not trying to make it easy ?” you murmured, lips just shy of a smirk.

He didn’t answer right away. Just shifted slightly on his feet, as if trying to find steadier ground. “I think,” he said finally, “that you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“And I think,” you replied, leaning in just a little, “you’re still trying to pretend it doesn’t get to you.”

His mouth twitched, like he wanted to deny it, but couldn’t. Instead, he glanced away, jaw tight, hands folded in front of him like he needed somewhere to put the tension. “I can’t risk it,” he said under his breath. It wasn’t for effect. It wasn’t a line. It was a confession.

Your smile softened just a fraction. “Then why are you still sitting here, Brad ?”

That pulled his gaze back to you—harder this time, deeper. Something in it cracked, just slightly. And between you, the third shot sat untouched, waiting, as the tequila warmed your chest. Spread slow through your veins like liquid confidence. But Bradley’s eyes were too serious now.

“I’ve known you too long to fuck this up,” he said quietly, “You’re his daughter. You know what that means.”

And there it was; the sting. The salt no softening it at all and no smirk to hide behind.

Your smile faltered for half a second before you caught it, masked it in something lighter—your defense, always. “Well, good thing you’re not in uniform tonight. It doesn’t count then.”

You tried to make it sound like a joke. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. 

You leaned in, slow and unhurried, “So what’s your excuse now, Lieutenant ?”

But before you could get too close, he shifted. Enough to let the air slip between you again, enough to say nowithout the words. You froze for a beat, the rejection subtle but sharp in the places that mattered. He didn’t meet your eyes right away, his fingers tense against the wooden bar. 

“I don’t have a good reason,” he said at last, voice rougher now. “Only the right one.”

You didn’t flinch, but something in you pulled tight. Slowly, you leaned back, the teasing edge fading from your smile. Your fingers toyed with the rim of your empty glass, tracing a circle like it might give you answers. Right. Of course, it was the right reason. It always was with him. That was the problem.

“I forget sometimes,” you said quietly, your gaze fixed on the bar. 

He looked at you then—really looked—and there it was again, that quiet storm always behind his eyes. “I know what they see when they look at you. I’m not proud of how many I’ve wanted to punch for it.”

You huffed a breath, something like a laugh but thinner. “And here I thought you were the calm one.”

“I’m not calm when it comes to you.”

The confession dropped between you like a weight, and for a moment neither of you moved. The room felt too still. Too exposed. You turned, met his gaze again, your voice soft but steady. “Then don’t be. Just for tonight.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t look away either. And that silence said more than either of you were ready for. From behind the bar, Penny raised a brow and took discretely the two empty glasses—cutting through the moment like she knew. Of course she did.

You glanced down at it, then back at Bradley. “Last one,” you murmured. “You gonna let me drink alone ?”

His jaw flexed, but this time, he didn’t move away.

Bradley’s fingers wrapped around the last shot glass as he held your gaze. Then he tipped it back in one smooth motion. You watched his throat work as the tequila slid down, the way his eyes fluttered closed for just a beat—like he needed the burn to make a decision. Like he’d hoped the fire would settle something inside him.

But when he set the glass down, he didn’t say a word. Just pushed the rim gently toward the center of the bar and stood. No glance toward you. No smirk. No half-joke to soften the blow. Just the subtle clench of his jaw and the quiet scrape of wood as he stepped back from his stool.

Your breath caught. “Bradley—”

“I can’t,” he said, barely above a whisper. But it hit harder than if he’d shouted.

Then he turned and walked away. You sat frozen for a second, the heat of the liquor blooming in your chest, spreading too fast. Too deep. Penny didn’t say anything—just watched with that knowing look she always had, as if she’d seen a hundred near-misses like this before. You stared at the empty glass in front of you. Still warm. Still full of everything he didn’t say.

You stared at the empty space where he’d been, pulse thrumming beneath your skin like something trying to break loose. The tequila sat in front of you—untouched, waiting. Like a dare. 

You picked it up without thinking. “Fuck it,” you muttered under your breath, then knocked it back. The burn hit harder than the first two. Bit deeper. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was him—but the moment the glass hit the bar again, you were already sliding off the stool.

You pushed past the quiet hum of the Hard Deck, ignoring the knowing look Penny shot your way, ignoring Jake's low whistle behind you. All you could focus on was the sight of Bradley’s broad back, just slipping through the door, his frame half-lit by the hazy dusk spilling across the beach.

“Bradley !” you called, the wind catching your voice as you jogged after him.

He didn’t turn around at first. Not until you caught up, your hand brushing his arm, fingers curling. He stopped like he’d been struck. Then, slowly, he turned. His sweet brown eyes found yours in the dim light of the parking lot, a storm behind his quiet irises. You let your hand drop from his arm, but his warmth lingered on your skin like a brand. 

“Why do you always do that ?” you asked, voice lower now. “Push me away like I’m some damn risk you can’t afford.”

Bradley didn’t answer right away. He looked past you for a second, jaw tight, as if picking his words from a minefield. “Because you ae,” he said finally, “You’re an Admiral’s daughter. You’re trouble I can’t walk away from clean.”

You flinched, not from the words themselves but the truth behind them. “I’m not a fucking kid Brad.”

“I know that,” he said, eyes falling shut for a second, like he was trying to steady something inside him. He pinched his nose, “Trust me, I know.”

“Then stop acting like you don’t want this too !” you snapped. “You’re not wearing your uniform tonight. You’re not my babysitter. You’re just… you. And I’m just me.”

His eyes opened because of the sudden rise of your voice, “You think that makes it easier ?”. You didn’t respond and he sighed looking down, then he stepped forward, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body again. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“I’m not asking,” you said, tapping your head back to meet his gaze. “I’m telling you I’m right here. And I want you.”

Bradley’s hands twitched at his sides, and for a moment it looked like he might pull away again. But instead of retreating, he exhaled slowly, like he was holding himself back. His expression shifted in something sharp flickering in his eyes, frustration simmering just under the surface. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair as his voice edged harder. 

“You don’t get it,” he said tightly. “You think I can just pretend that your dad wouldn’t end my career the second he found out I even looked at you twice ?”

You sighed and then took a shaky breath, your voice defiant. “You think I care what my dad thinks ?” you scoffed, shaking your head. “Plus he likes you Bradley ! He trusts you and-”

He cut you off by letting out a bitter laugh, “Yeah,” he muttered, “because I’m not trying to fuck his daughter.”

The words hit hard—crude, sharp, and a little too honest. 

“This isn’t a game for me.” Your name escaped his lips so softly you almost forgot you were arguing. 

“I never said it was a game,” you said barely over a whisper. “But thanks for assuming I don’t understand.”

His jaw clenched. He looked away, down the road like it might offer an easier answer than what stood in front of him. “This is exactly why I walk away.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. “Right. Because walking away’s easier than actually admitting you care.”

That made him freeze. Just for a second. But it was enough.

He turned, keys still dangling in his hand, posture tense like he was ready to bolt.

Your heart squeezed.

You took a step forward, voice gentler now, cracking just a bit. “Bradley—wait.”

He stopped but didn’t turn. His shoulders stayed tense, his jaw locked as your words settled in the quiet between you.

“Can I just…” you hesitated. “Can I just have one thing ? One second. You don’t have to do anything else. Just let me… just let me have this.”

You stepped in slowly, cautiously, like approaching something wild that might bolt at any sudden movement. Your hand brushed his chest, fingers splaying gently over the fabric of his shirt. His heart was racing and so was yours.

“I don’t want to stay mad at you,” you said softly, searching his face. “I don’t want you to stay mad either.”

And then, without waiting for a yes—just holding your breath—you leaned up and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Slow, barely there. Lingering just long enough to make your heart break a little when you pulled back. It wasn’t about heat or seduction, it was something quieter; a confession. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d done it. There had been quiet moments over the years—late nights, stolen conversations, the way he’d look at you when he thought you weren’t looking—when you let yourself lean in and leave that barely-there kiss on the corner of his mouth. Just enough to remind him you saw him. Wanted him. Hoped he’d want you too.

And every time, Bradley would pull back with a small shake of his head, or a sharp sigh, or that carefully constructed silence that meant he was burying the thought before it could bloom.

But tonight… he didn’t move. He let you do it. He didn’t flinch or step away. He just stood there, breathing you in like it hurt, letting the moment happen. And that—more than anything—made your heart thud painfully in your chest.

You took a step back like you hadn’t just laid every card on the table. “That’s all,” you whispered.

Bradley exhaled, something raw and helpless in the sound. His eyes found yours—dark, unreadable—and then dropped to your lips. “You’re a real brat,” he muttered, almost like a prayer.

And before you could respond, he reached for you—fast, like the dam had finally cracked. One hand curled firmly around your waist, grounding you, while the other slid up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair like he needed to anchor himself. 

Then he pulled you in. 

His lips met yours, like he’d been fighting the pull for too long and finally, finally gave in. There was nothing hesitant about it, no more restraint, no more carefully measured distance. It was deep, consuming, years of tension unraveling in one breathless moment. He kissed you like he was starved for it, like every second he’d held back had only built the hunger. 

Bradley’s lips were deceptively soft, contrasting the sharp angles of his jaw and the rough edge he carried with him everywhere else. They were warm, shaped with a natural fullness that made every half-smile feel like a secret, every smirk a challenge. When he kissed you, they didn’t hesitate. There was no awkwardness, no uncertainty—just a grounded, confident pressure that spoke of restraint worn thin.

They tasted faintly of tequila and whatever gum he chewed out of habit, but underneath it was something that was just him ; clean, familiar, and dangerously addictive. And when they moved against yours, slow at first then deeper, there was a quiet intensity in them, like he'd been holding back for too long and finally let it slip.

When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing unsteady, like you’d knocked the wind out of him. His voice came low, hoarse and rough with everything he’d tried to bury.

“I should’ve known better than to think I’d ever be safe from trouble like you.”

“That’s why you love me.” You chuckled and gave him a quick peck, “And, don’t worry ‘bout my dad, I’ll take care of it.”

“If he sends me at the other end of the universe, you’d better follow me, you brat.” He teased, pinching your side playfully. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll follow you anywhere Bradshaw.” You kissed him again and you felt his body softening under your touch. 

[callsign-magnolia]

Love In The Dark // Ch. 1

Mature Content 18+

Summary: Iris never realized how much she truly depended on her eyesight until it was gone. But it never really stopped her, just another hurdle to jump over in life. Depending on people was never something she got used to, she still attempts to do things herself. Eventually, her roommate and best friend let's her down, but a tall, sandy brown haired aviator catches her.

Rooster x Blind!OC

Warnings: Being stranded, yelling, if I miss any let me know.

Word Count: 2.8k

Masterlist

The Hard Deck was a place where you could find all kinds of people. Pilots and civilians dancing around each other in the crowd attempting to keep their drinks upright. Penny loved her bar and she loved seeing fresh faces as well "What can I get you ladies?" She asked as she wiped the bar down. "I'll take a water, please?" The girl who crawled into the bar stool smiled at her and she returned it. She took notice how her tall blonde friend held her arm. "I'll take a tequila shot and a tequila sunrise." Penny nodded and turned to make the drinks. "You're driving." Mandi looked down at her friend in the barstool. "Oh calm down. Iris I'll be fine." That's what she said last time and Iris had to call an uber and fight her to get in it. "Here you are girls." Mandi slid the water to Iris until it barely bumped her hand. Iris drank smoothly as Mandi wandered off into the crowd. "What time do you wanna go home?" Iris asked to nobody. Iris didn't really want to be here. But Mandi mentioned how long it's been since they went out together and she felt bad and agreed. The only problem was, to Mandi, her nine o'clock is midnight. “Why don't you get up and mingle?" Penny asked. Iris turned to face her and Penny took notice of how the young woman's eyes never met hers.

"Oh, I'm fine here." Iris said. Mandi stood against the wall staring out at the sea of officers, as if she was a predator searching for her next prey. She clocked a tall blonde with a million dollar smile with a bunch of other officers at a pool table. She stared at him and as if he sensed her, he met her eye and she gave him a dazzling smile of her own, casting her eyes down to her drink feigning shyness. Jake watched her closely and as soon as her drink was gone, he made his move. He walked ever, head held high, shoulders back and she leaned back against the wall. "Hi," he greeted. Southern accent prominent. "Hi Cowboy." He placed his hand on the wall next to her head. "What's a pretty thing like you doing here all alone?" She bit her lip as she stirred her drink. "Just came out with my roommate." He raised a brow. "Doesn't explain why you're alone." She giggled at him, leaning closer. "I just had to step away from my roommate. She's what you could call co-dependent." He hummed. "So she's annoying." He deadpanned and Mandi shrugged. "Sometimes." He reached out taking her glass from her. "Let me buy you a drink?" She raised a brow at him. "I don't even know your name sailor." She saw his name badge. but she didn't have to let him know that. "Lieutenant Jake Seresin ma'am, and I'm an aviator." She raised her brows as he took her hand and tucked it in his elbows. "Wow, so you fly those really fast jets?" Mandi knew stroking his ego would land him right in the palm of her hand. "Yes. Yes I do." 

Penny raised a brow as the duo approached the bar. "Hello Penny dear.” She just smiled at him. "Bagman." She replied. Normally the name would bother him, but he had a gut feeling he knew how his evening would end, so he was unbothered. "Another drink for the lady." She nodded and took the glass. "Another water, dear?" She asked as she passed Iris. "Oh, no thank you." Anymore and she'd have to get up to go to the bathroom, and attempting to navigate the crowd was a task she wasn't up for. Mandi looked over at her roommate, Iris looked bored out of her mind, drawing shapes in the water that pooled on the bar top. Mandi thought she should probably check in with her, but she didn't want to step away from Jake. "Here you go.” Penny said as she slid the drink towards her. "Thanks Pen." He said. "No problem, Hangman." With that Jake led her towards his friends. Hours went by. Hours of teaching Mandi to play pool, her ass pressed flush against his crotch as he leaned over her. Making out in the shadows until he finally asked. "Come home with me?" she grinned and kissed him again. "I was starting to think you'd never ask." With that he paid their tabs and she met him at the door. Iris was bored and tired. Mandi hasn't checked in with her and she was ready to leave. 

"Excuse me? Penny?" The woman handed off the drink and turned to the girl. "What's up?" She asked. "Could you tell me what time it is?" Penny furrowed her brows at the girl. She looked at the clock behind her and back to Iris. "It's one a.m. We have thirty minutes till last call." Iris sighed. "Hey Penny!" A male voice startled Iris. "Oh, sorry. "Rooster said, looking down at the girl. "Ready to close?" Penny asked him. "I lost a game of pool to Phoenix so I have to pay hers too." She nodded and took his card. "Were you gonna ask me something else?" She asked as she ran Roosters card. "Um, have you seen my friend?" Penny looked to Rooster, a look of concern on her face. "Last I saw her, one of the aviators bought her a drink." Penny noticed Iris's eyes get glassy. "How many did Mandi have?" Penny felt bad, realizing she put the poor girl in a situation. "The one she bought and Hangman bought her five more." A tear of stress slipped down her cheek, she did not want to deal with a drunk Mandi. "Dammit." Iris muttered. "She was supposed to drive home. Now I have to get us a damn uber." Iris turned in the barstool. "Your friend Mandi? Is she tall? Blonde?" Truth be told, Iris has never seen Mandi to give a description but she does know she's tall and blonde. "Yeah." Rooster looked down at the girl whose eyes were glued to his sternum. "She left with my friend." He said as he rubbed the back of his neck. "What?" The worry in her voice caused his chest to ache. "How long ago?"

Mandi has done some shitty things but this was a new low. "About an hour and a half ago.” Iris huffed, pulling her phone out of her pocket and practically slamming it on the bar. Penny looked down at it just as a drunk patron came over. "PHONE ON THE BAR!" He yelled, "Penny! Ring the bell!" She glared at the man. "No. I'll be with you in just a minute." Iris turned to the man next to her before turning back to Penny. "What's he talking about?" Penny sighed. "We have a rule here. Disrespect a lady, the navy or put your phone on my bar, you buy a round.” Iris’ face fell as well as her gut. "I-I-I don't I didn't-" "I'm not gonna make you buy a round." She interrupted the stuttering girl. "Thank you." Iris pulled out a small wallet. "How much was Mandi's tab?" Penny shook her head. "Hangman already paid it." Iris let out a breath of relief. "At least one thing went right tonight." She stood from the bar stool, legs tingling from falling asleep. "I'm sorry. You were drinking water, so I assumed you were the DD." Iris shook her head.

"It's okay. You didn't know. I just don't drive." The Hard Deck was packed, bodies everywhere and Iris knew that. "Thanks for your help." She said to both of them before walking away. Penny and Rooster watched as she walked, keeping her hand out just enough to graze the barstools. She was going at a slow pace but just as she turned for the door she bumped into a guy. "Watch where the fuck you're going! Can you not see?" As if she was unfazed, Iris stepped around him, following a group of girls out the door. "Roaster? Will you go check on her? Something feels off about all of this." He nodded to Penny. "Just wait with her till she gets in her uber?" He shook his head, eyes never leaving the doors. "I'll give her a ride." Penny smiled at him." Thank you. Be careful." He left with an 'I will.’ and headed out the doors. 

Iris managed to press her back against the building. She dragged her finger along her phone screen until she found her uber app. Opening it she attempted to order a ride but she was so upset that she kept missing the button. "Hey, need a ride?" She turned around when she heard the same voice from inside the bar. "Uh no. I'll get home on my own." She said, turning back around. Rooster watched as she looked down at her phone, muttering something before she groaned. He took a few steps forward and noticed her tense up. "Seriously, let me give you a ride. Your roommate shouldn't have just left you here, and I feel kind of bad since she did leave with my friend." She thought about it, remembering that Penny addressed him as Rooster. "Promise you'll take me home?" She was nervous, and he could tell, so he offered her a smile. "Nowhere else but your front door." She sighed and shoved her phone in her pocket. "Okay, Rooster. I'll let you drive me home." Rooster just grinned and nodded, finally getting a good look at her beautiful eyes as she faced him. "Awesome. Follow me." 

He turned towards the Bronco, starting across the lot when he noticed she wasn't following. "Hey, my trucks this way." He said, and she slowly held out her hand. "Help me?" She asked. He furrowed his brows and walked closer, taking her small hand in his. "Sure. You okay?" She nodded and he led her over to the Bronco but he stopped when she saw her reach her hand out ahead of her, as if searching for the Bronco. "Hey, woah." He caught her as she almost tripped on a rock. "Sorry." She said, standing up straight. He let her go and watched her head swing around, as if looking for him when he's standing right in front of her. "Hey." She immediately faced him. "Can you not see?" He asked, keeping his tone gentle, not wanting her to assume he was making fun of her. "Um, no. I'm blind." Her voice was shaky. "Okay. Well let's get you in the truck and I'll get you home." She seemed relaxed by his reaction which made him smile down at her.

Even though she was glad Rooster reacted the way she did, she still sat against the passenger side door. Rooster just let the radio play until they pulled into the driveway of the address she gave him. "Okay, we're here. Stay there and I'll help you out.” She huffed. "I don't need help." She muttered and unbuckled. She pushed the door open and stepped onto the running board. "Here" Bradley held out his hand and she took it, feeling uneasy. "Thank you." She said, "I'll walk you to the door if you're okay with it." She nodded and he followed her to the door watching as she expertly unlocked the front door and sauntered in. "Thank you for the ride. Um, would you like something to drink?" She was looking at him and he finally got a good look at her. She was pretty, in a way that drew him in like a siren song. "Sure water is fine." She nodded and turned. Rooster worried she'd bump into a wall or even the furniture but she maneuvered around it all with a grace he's never seen. "You can have a seat on the couch if you want." He sat on the soft gray sectional and rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans. When she came back she tucked her foot under herself as she sat. "So, what questions do you have?" 

His eyes widened as he looked at her. "I- I don't have any questions." She gave him a look as if to say, ‘Yeaḥ right’. “I can answer any question you have. It doesn't bother me." She gave him a soft smile, almost encouraging him to ask questions. "Um, were you born blind?” Her smile grew and she giggled. "No. I went blind when I was seventeen." He raised his brows in surprise. "How?" He asked. "Meningitis. It was bad to say the least I nearly died." He stared at her. "When I started to get better, I noticed my eyesight worsening. Doctors said my ocular nerves were damaged beyond repair and we would have to wait and see how bad the damage would be." She seemed almost nonchalant about it. "Did they expect you to go totally blind?" She shook her head. "No, they actually said my chances for total blindness were slim. They expected some form of blindness but one day it was just gone." Bradley stared down at the water bottle resting against his leg. "Is it total darkness?" She nodded." "I can't even perceive light." Bradley felt a heaviness in the air and he didn't know what to say. 

"Sorry.” Iris started "That took a dark turn." Iris laughed and Rooster bit his lip. "You can laugh if you found it funny." He chuckled a little. "I didn't mean to put a damper on the mood." Bradley quickly shook his head. "No. You didn't." She smiled at him, leaning her head to rest on the back of the couch "Going blind isn't a light topic, Rooster. It's normal to feel sad." He watched as her eyelids slowly closed and struggled to open again. "It's late, I should get home." She hummed and nodded. "I'll walk you out." She trailed behind him slowly. He opened the door and she held the handle as he stepped out. He looked at her as she stood there. "Are you sure you're gonna be okay here alone?" She chuckled at him. "Rooster, I've been blind for almost thirteen years, and I know my way around the house." He held his hands up in defense ‘Okay, don't question the blind woman.’ he thought. “Good night Iris." She gave him a smile. "Good night, Rooster." After a second she closed the door and locked it. A moment later she heard his footsteps descending the stairs. She was surprised. He waited till he heard the door lock.

The next morning Iris awoke feeling completely exhausted. She dragged herself downstairs, seeking the warmth of a coffee mug. Once her mug was full she grabbed the milk and sugar, pouring just a little of each into it. As she took her first sip, the front door opened. "Mandi?" She called out. Mandi walked into the house, heels in hand, hair in a messy bun and no bra because she couldn't find it when she got out of Jake's bed. She groaned and rolled her eyes when she heard Iris's voice. "What?" She barked. Iris clenched her teeth and inhaled through her nose and out through her mouth. "Just making sure it was you." Iris leaned on the wall next to the kitchen. "Who else would it fucking be?" Iris felt her eye twitch in frustration. "Anyone who can pick a lock. What the hell is your problem?" She asked and Mandi Iooked at her incredulously. "My problem? I have a hangover from hell!" Iris didn't react to her yelling. Mandi was a raging bitch when she didn't feel good. "Well that's not my fault. So don't yell at me. Also, while I have you here, what the fuck was up with leaving me stranded at the bar last night?!"

Mandi rolled her eyes knowing Iris couldn't see. "Oh calm down. You made it home alive didn't you?" Then Mandi furrowed her brows. "How did you get home?" Iris scoffed. "One of your fuck buddies friends brought me home." Mandi's brows raised "Which one?" "Rooster" Iris blurted. Mandi remembered him. Him and Jake argued a bit. "Ooh, he's hot." Inis rolled her own eyes this time, not caring that Mandi saw. "I wouldn't know anything about that. But he is very sweet and very kind to bring me home after your stunt. You've done shitty things before Mandi. But this was the worst." Mandi just wanted to sleep but she knew Iris wouldn't drop it. "I don't see the problem!" Iris was baffled. "The problem is you abandoned me in a place I've never been before even if I was sighted, it's a shit thing to do!" Mandi threw her hands up. "I'm too hungover for this shit." Iris scowled at her. "Just walk away like you do every other conversation Mandi!" Mandi slammed the door to her room, making Iris flinch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @roosterforme @mygyn @kmc1989 @briseisgone @lyn-js @shanimallina87 @dizzybee03 @lilylilyyyyyy

[bratshaws]

through the hourglass 378. brb x oc

a/n: BABY BOOOOOOOY(comments and reblogs are super welcome and encouraged!)

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: just some suggestive stuff uwu

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

1/

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-

“You know.”

“Hm?”

“Your office is pretty nice.”

He smirks lazily, nuzzling her brown tresses before kissing her head. The two were still in there, partially clothed,coming down from their high, sitting on his chair, enjoying the silence. Honestly, she was surprised the two of them stayed, she half expected him to pick her up and carry her out but apparently her husband wanted to live dangerously, “I’m glad you approve of it.”

Beatrice snuggled closer into Rooster's embrace, feeling a sense of contentment wash over her. She traced lazy circles on his chest, her fingers dancing lightly over his skin as they enjoyed the quiet intimacy of the moment. “Nevermind its in a Naval base.”

Rooster chuckled softly, the sound reverberating through his chest as he held Beatrice close. "Yeah, I guess it's not your typical romantic getaway," he admitted, his voice tinged with amusement. "But it's our getaway, and that's all that matters."

Beatrice smiled up at Rooster, her eyes sparkling with love. "That's all that matters," she echoed, her voice soft and filled with affection.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, basking in each other's presence and the warmth of their love. The only sound in the room was the soft hum of the air conditioning, and the wind outside.

"Roos," she began, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest, "Do you ever think about... the future?"

Rooster's expression softened at Beatrice's question, his gaze turning thoughtful. "All the time," he admitted, his voice quiet. "I think about where we'll be in five, ten, twenty years from now. I think about our kids, and our future together."

"What do you see?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rooster's smile widened, "I see...us," he replied, his voice filled with certainty. "I see us growing old together, watching our kids grow up and start families of their own, if they want to. I see us traveling the world, experiencing new adventures together. I see us happy, content, and more in love than ever."

Beatrice felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, overcome with emotion at Rooster's words. "That sounds perfect," she whispered, “I think you’ll look great with graying hair.” he arches his brow in response, “In a silver fox type of way.”

"I'll hold you to that," he replied, his voice tinged with amusement. "And I think you'll look stunning with a few gray hairs of your own."

Beatrice rolled her eyes playfully, swatting him on the chest. "Flattery will get you nowhere," she teased, her voice filled with laughter.

Rooster leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Beatrice's ear. "Oh, I don't know about that," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "I think it's gotten me pretty far already."

Beatrice felt a shiver run down her spine at Rooster's words, her cheeks flushing pink as she leaned into his touch. "You are relentless.”

Rooster grinned, his eyes sparkling. "Only for you, gorgeous," he replied, "Only for you."

After a while, Beatrice spoke up again, her voice quiet. "Roos," she began, her fingers ceasing tracing patterns on his chest, "Do you think we should uh…” she pauses, “...go home now? It is…pretty late and we’re here,when we…shouldn’t be?”

Rooster's smile softened at Beatrice's question, his eyes filled with warmth as he looked at her. "You're right," he admitted, his voice gentle. "We probably should head home before someone notices we're here."

Beatrice nodded in agreement, feeling a pang of guilt at the thought of getting caught. "I don't want to cause any trouble," she murmured, “You know, for you…”

Rooster reached out to cup Beatrice's cheek, his touch gentle. "Hey, it's okay," he murmured, his voice filled with comfort. "We'll just slip out quietly and no one will be the wiser."

Beatrice smiled up at Rooster, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "...you know.” she begins as he hands her her dress, “You mentioned wanting to do this since we started dating.”

“Mhm.”

“What else did you plan?” she says as she pulls her panties up her legs, “Because we did come here once before we got married, and now we’re here after we got married and you are promoted…care to elaborate, LC?”

Rooster grinned mischievously at Beatrice's question, "Well, I do have a few more surprises up my sleeve," he admitted, his voice low and teasing. "But you'll just have to wait and see."

Beatrice raised an eyebrow at Rooster's cryptic response, her curiosity piqued. "Oh, really?" she replied,snapping the elastic over her hips. "And what might those surprises be, LC?"

Rooster hummed softly, leaning in closer to whisper in Beatrice's ear. "If I told you, they wouldn't be surprises anymore," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. "But I can promise you one thing: they'll be so worth the wait."

Beatrice felt a shiver run down her spine at Rooster's words, her heart racing like a horse. "I can't wait," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I love surprises."

Rooster grinned at Beatrice's enthusiasm, his eyes shining with affection. "I know you do," he replied, his voice filled with warmth. "And I can't wait to see the look on your face when you see what I have planned." and he slaps her bare ass enough to make her jump.

With that, and once both were completely dressed,Rooster took Beatrice's hand in his and led her out of the office, careful to avoid any prying eyes as they made their way through the base. “I still have no idea how you pulled this off.” she whispered, letting him guide her in the darkened hallways, “Did I mention I love how crazy you can be sometimes?”

Rooster chuckled softly, squeezing Beatrice's hand as they walked. "I'm just full of surprises, I guess," he replied,pecking her forehead. "And I'll take that as a compliment, thank you."

Beatrice smiled up at Rooster, her heart overflowing with love for him. "You're welcome," she replied, her voice warm and affectionate. "Also…doesn’t anyone…you know, wander around? Guards or something,” he takes her to another hallway, “That you know…guard the base?”

"Don't worry, gorgeous," he reassured her, "I know this base like the back of my hand. I'll make sure we don't run into any guards."

Beatrice nodded, çaughing nervously. "Good to know," she replied, letting him lead them along. "I'd hate to get caught sneaking around like a couple of teenagers."

Rooster chuckled softly, pulling Beatrice closer as they continued down the hallway. "Trust me," he murmured, "We'll be fine. Just stick close to me and follow my lead."

Beatrice smiled up at Rooster, her heart swelling with love for him. "I always do," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rooster's smile softened at Beatrice's words, his eyes shining with affection. "And I'm grateful for that," he replied, “Come on, the Bronco is close.”

“We parked it a few steps outside the base Roos, so no one would know we’re here.”

“Damn right, and no one will.” With that, Rooster pushed open the door to the base, the cool night air washing over them as they stepped outside. Beatrice followed closely behind him, her heart pounding in her chest as they made their way towards the outside.

As they reached the Bronco, Rooster unlocked the doors and helped Beatrice into the passenger seat. He slid into the driver's seat beside her, a grin plastered across his face.

"Mission accomplished," he said proudly, turning the key in the ignition and starting the engine. "Now, let's get out of here before anyone notices we're even here.”

She leans back, sinking on the seat, “Jesus that was intense,” her cheeks heat up, “I-I mean, all of it, but right now–now it was um…more,kind of,a bit.” she covers her face, “You are making me flustered!”

“Me?” he smirks, turning the engine on, “Well,sorry about that, gorgeous," he replied, his finally driving away from there. "I can't help it if you find me irresistible."

Beatrice peeked out from behind her hands, her cheeks still flushed pink. "Oh, please," she teased, her voice tinged with laughter. "You're just lucky I find your antics endearing."

Rooster grinned at Beatrice's response, feeling a rush of warmth flood his chest. "I'll take what I can get," he replied, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "Although, you know, that’s not what you called me after we were done–”

“Rooster.”

He chuckles like he just discovered the greatest way to make his wife blush even more, “You are just too precious.” he says, “Now, let’s all breathe because we gotta sleep so we can bring the kids home from your parents’ tomorrow.”

Beatrice nodded, her cheeks still flushed with embarrassment. "Right, of course," she replied,fanning herself a bit "We should get some rest before we have to pick up the kids."

Rooster nodded in agreement, his smile softening as he looked at Beatrice. "I'll drive us home," he offered, "You just relax and enjoy the ride."

Beatrice smiled gratefully at Rooster, feeling a wave of affection wash over her. "Thank you," she said sincerely, "That sounds lovely. I am pretty tired." she shifted her gaze towards him, “I wonder why.”

Rooster just smirked as he pulled out of the base and onto the deserted road, the Bronco humming softly as it glided along the pavement. Beatrice leaned back in her seat, her mind still reeling from the events of the evening.

She glanced over at him, her heart swelling with love for the man beside her. Not helping the warm smile on her face.Rooster caught her gaze and smiled, his eyes twinkling with affection. "What are you thinking about?" he asked softly, his voice filled with curiosity.

Beatrice smiled back at Rooster, her heart fluttering in her chest. "Just how lucky I am to have you," she replied honestly, her voice tinged with an amount of  emotion. "You always know how to make me feel…loved and cherished."

“I feel the same way about you," he murmured, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "You're my everything, Beatrice. I don't know what I'd do without you."

‘No I know but…you always…made me feel like that.” Beatrice felt tears prick at her eyes as she looked at Rooster, her heart overflowing with love for him. "I love you," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "More than anything in this world."

Rooster leaned over and pressed a tender kiss to Beatrice's lips, "I love you too," he “Loving you is my favorite thing in the world.”

“Favorite thing?”

“Yes ma’am.” he smiles, focusing on the road, “You are easy to love.”

Luckily, they pulled up to their house before she could blink - or maybe she napped a bit, she didn’t know-, the warm glow of the porch light welcomed them home. Rooster parked the Bronco and turned off the engine, turning to face Beatrice with a soft smile.

"We're home," he murmured, reaching over to take her hand in his. "And I couldn't be happier to be here with you."

Beatrice smiled back at Rooster, her heart swelling with love. "Me too," she replied, her voice filled with warmth. "Ughhh…I think you’ll have to carry me inside.”

Rooster chuckled at Beatrice's request,  dipping his head in reverence. "Of course, baby," he replied, his voice laced with affection. "Anything for you."

He climbed out of the Bronco and hurried around to Beatrice's side, opening the door for her and offering her his hand. Beatrice accepted his help graciously, allowing him to assist her out of the car and into his arms.

Rooster lifted Beatrice effortlessly, cradling her close to his chest as he carried her towards the front door. Beatrice wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head against his shoulder as they approached the porch, giggling like a school girl.

Rooster pushed open the front door with his foot, balancing Beatrice in his arms as he stepped inside. The warmth of the house enveloped them, and soon enough the three massive dogs came rushing and tumbling over each other to greet them, “Woah,okay,okay,” he shuts the door with his foot, “Precious cargo here,guys,calm down a bit.”

Beatrice giggled as their dogs swarmed around them, their tails wagging furiously as they licked Rooster's face and nuzzled against Beatrice's legs. "Looks like they missed us," she teased, reaching down to pet them lovingly.

Rooster chuckled, gently setting Beatrice down on her feet as he crouched down to give the dogs some attention. "They definitely did," he replied, scratching behind their ears as they nuzzled against him. "But I think they missed you more."

Beatrice smiled, feeling a rush of warmth flood her chest. "I missed them too," she admitted, running her fingers through their fur. "Big babies.”

Rooster nodded in agreement, his smile softening as he looked at Beatrice. "They sure are," he murmured, "And so are you."

“A big baby?”

“A baby. Mine.” he smirks, then inhales, ‘...I think we should sleep.”Rooster wrapped an arm around Beatrice's waist, pulling her close as they made their way into the stairs. The warm Beatrice smiled up at Rooster, her heart overflowing with love for him. "I agree," she replied, snuggling closer to him. “Carry me up the stairs?”

He smirks, pressing a kiss to her temple, “You bet.”

[callsign-mayhem]

heaven is a place on earth (b.b)

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female!Reader Word count: 4.6k CW: Smut and swearing. MINORS DNI.

A roller rink with the Daggers, a bet with Bradley Bradshaw, and a photo booth that’s about to get way too hot. Lose the game, make the move—neither one of you is backing down, especially when the stakes are so high.

Rollerskating was—of course—Mickey’s idea. Who else, at the ripe age of 32, would suggest it when faced with the question of what to do on a Friday night?

It had come about earlier in the week when Javy complained that he was bored of spending every Friday at The Hard Deck. At first, you were shocked to hear it, but the more you thought about it, the more you realised that you felt the same. The Hard Deck was great and would always be the Dagger Squad’s designated hangout spot, but you could do with a change.

Everybody agreed, but by Thursday night, there was still no plan for the following evening. Jake had suggested a country bar in the city, which you and Reuben had liked the sound of. Turns out, you were the only ones.

Natasha had suggested sushi, but you weren’t a fan and Mickey didn’t think it was exciting enough for your first Friday adventure away from The Hard Deck.

You were getting ready for bed when the text came through to the Dagger Squad group chat.

And that’s how you found yourself lacing up the old pair of skates you’d dug out from the back of your closet.

‘Since when do you own rollerskates?’ Jake retorted.

‘Since college.’ You replied. ‘I got a lot of use out of them. I had a friend who loved skating, and she forced me to buy a pair.’

Jake raised a brow. ‘Doesn’t match up with the version of you I have in my head.’

‘You’re just annoyed ‘cause I’m gonna show you up. Bet you’re shit at skating.’ You smirked.

Bradley, who was lacing up his own skates next to you, huffed a laugh. Jake’s shit-eating grin faltered. He was getting that look he always got when he challenged someone.

‘How hard can it be?’ He asked, full of fake bravado.

‘It’s harder than it looks.’ You told him.

‘Ten bucks says you fall on your ass before I do.’

You looked up at him and smirked, reaching your hand out so you could shake on it. ‘Oh, you’re so on.’

‘Material Girl’ by Madonna blasted through the overhead speakers, and disco lights spattered the rink with colour. The neon-coloured seats outside the rink were shaped like giant blobs of paint, and the Daggers were spread across three of them, getting ready to make total fools of themselves.

Bob shifted uneasily as he eyed his feet, trying to figure out how to stand up without sprawling flat out on the ground. You stood up easily and glided over to him, earning you a whistle from Reuben.

‘You okay, Bobby?’ You asked, even though you already knew the answer.

He offered you a weak smile. ‘I’ve never skated before.’

‘That’s okay, I’ll help.’

You held out both hands and he took them tentatively. His palms were slick with nervous sweat, and you had to swallow a laugh. It would only make him more nervous if he thought you were making fun of him.

‘Alright, on the count of three. One…two…’

And then you pulled him up. He couldn’t straighten his legs at first, and he wobbled a bit, but after a couple of seconds he was standing up straight and steady.

‘There you go.’ You praised. ‘Easy peasy.’

Nat, who was leaning against the edge of the rink waiting for everyone, clapped.

‘Now you’ve actually gotta move, Floyd.’ She called out.

Bob glanced at her nervously.

‘Ignore her. You fly in multi-million dollar jets every day, Bob. You can get yourself from here to the rink.’

Thankfully, this turned out to be precisely the right thing to say. You held on to one of his hands, and the two of you gently edged over to Nat. It took longer than it should have, but he was still upright by the time he got there, so you counted that as a win.

‘Well done.’ You beamed.

You were about to step out onto the rink when Mickey called out your name.

‘Can I get a ride, too? I’m stuck!’ He yelled.

You rolled your eyes. ‘This was your idea!’

‘Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I know how to skate!’

You whizzed over to where Mickey was standing. He smiled sheepishly as you took his hand and repeated the same steps you’d taken with Bob. Mickey almost fell over, but he was right by the rink by that point, so he grabbed the edge to stop it from happening.

Effortlessly, you spun around. ‘Okay, anybody else?’

Bradley rolled over almost as effortlessly as you had. He was wearing one of his more ‘out there’ Hawaiian shirts, and the pink flowers seemed to glow in the dark. Honestly, you were a bit gutted that he didn’t need your help—it would’ve been a good excuse to hold his hand.

He leaned down so you would be able to hear him. ‘Hangman needs help, but he’s too proud to admit it.’ Bradley murmured, his breath warm against the side of your neck.

You hoped he didn’t notice the goosebumps that broke out across your skin.

‘I wouldn’t help him even if he asked.’ You retorted.

Javy and Reuben managed to get over to the rink's edge without much trouble, but Jake was checking his phone one last time and ensuring it was secure in the pocket of his jeans.

‘What’re you waitin’ for, Hangman?’ You shouted.

He rolled his eyes, and you and Bradley both laughed.

Jake on roller skates reminded you of a baby deer that hadn’t learned to walk properly yet. You suspected you would be ten bucks richer in the next five minutes.

Madonna gave way to ‘Take On Me’ by Aha, and Bradley nudged your arm with his elbow.

‘I love this song, let’s get out there. Hangman will catch up.’

His smile and joyous energy were infectious, so you followed him onto the rink without a word, and without looking back at poor Jake who was stuck behind a group of kids who were skating better than he was.

‘It’s the carpet.’ You heard him say. ‘I’ll be fine once I get off the carpet.’

Reuben, Coyote, and Nat were right behind Bradley and you. You mistakenly thought it would be a while before any of them could catch up on you, but then Nat glided past you, her dark hair billowing out behind her.

‘Whoa, Phoenix! I thought you couldn’t skate!’ Bradley exclaimed.

She spun around, so she was rolling backwards. ‘I never said that. There are plenty of things you don’t know about me!’

She sped off. Reuben and Javy tried to catch up, but their glides weren’t long enough, and they wobbled a lot.

‘You’re shuffling, not skating.’ You instructed. ‘You need to push the tips of your toes into the floor and then push forward.’

They wore matching confused frowns, and you huffed in annoyance. ‘It’s hard to explain. Just watch my feet!’

When the song's chorus kicked in, you pushed off and started taking long strides across the rink. When you got close to the edge, you leaned to your left to get around the corner, and then picked up your speed. It felt like being 21 again, carefree and full of boundless energy.

By the time Mickey, Bob and Jake finally joined the rest of the squad on the rink, you'd done three loops.

Reuben and Javy watched you closely; before long, they were building their confidence. Bradley was skating next to them, watching you with an impressed smirk.

It was easily the most fun you’d had in months.

Especially when Jake got too cocky, sped up and went straight into the barrier around the rink. You felt it in your body when he smashed into the floor.

You got to him quickly and helped him back onto his feet.

‘Are you hurt?’ You asked.

‘Just my pride.’

You grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘In that case, you owe me ten dollars.’ You said, and then you were on your way again.

Nat was teaching Bob and Mickey the same technique you’d taught Javy and Reuben, who were now racing each other around the rink. You’d slowed down next to Bradley to watch the commotion that was sure to end in tears.

Not five seconds later, the same group of kids that had gotten in Jake’s way were right in their path. The pair of them were going way too fast to stop, and before you could shout, the whole lot of them were in a pile on the floor. Both you and Bradley doubled over in hysterics, unable to breathe properly.

You were laughing so hard that you almost fell over. Bradley grabbed your waist with his big, strong hands, steadying you immediately. The warmth of his touch through the skin-tight fabric of your tank top was something you doubted you’d be able to forget anytime soon.

‘Easy, sweetheart.’ He said gruffly.

Your heart pitter-pattered, loud and fast enough that you were sure he could hear it over ‘Heaven Is A Place On Earth.’ Your mind wandered to the other places you wouldn’t mind those hands being, and you were nearing dangerous territory. Like, not-being-able-to-look-Bradley-in-the-eye-without-kissing-him territory.

But then Mickey rolled up beside you, the rest of the Daggers in tow, demanding your hand. Apparently, there was a first time for everything, because suddenly, you’d all made one long link. A friendship link, as Mickey had so gleefully yelled. You were skating around the rink in one long chain, laughing and singing along to Belinda Carlisle. It was a neon-coloured, cotton-candy scented dream.

Nearly two hours passed. The time flew by so quickly that when someone announced over the intercom that the seven o'clock group had only 5 minutes left, you were genuinely gobsmacked.

‘There’s no way we’ve been here that long already!’ Mickey exclaimed.

‘I know right,’ you said, pretty bummed out. ‘We’re gonna have to come back, I really enjoyed tonight.’

Nat looped her arm through yours. ‘I think even Hangman enjoyed himself towards the end.’

Jake was in front of you, trying to learn how to skate backwards with Bradley, who kept catching your eye on purpose.

There had always been chemistry between you, but nothing had ever come of it. In actual fact, tonight was the most obvious the two of you had been about it.

Unfortunately, you didn’t have time to dwell on this too much, because you had to get off the rink. The group chatted happily as they removed their skates and put their shoes back on. Everybody else had rented skates, so you went outside to wait while they returned them.

After two hours of skating, the fresh air was a relief. Your skates were tied together, slung over your shoulder, and you closed your eyes and lifted your face to the sky, breathing deeply. A night with your squad always left you feeling whole in ways that alone time didn’t.

‘Y/N!’ Bradley called.

You turned around to find him standing in the doorway holding what appeared to be two beers.

‘There’s an arcade upstairs, and bowling. You comin’ back in?’

This wasn’t part of the plan, but you were happy that the night wasn’t over yet.

‘What, so I can kick your ass at every game?’ You teased.

Bradley cocked a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching as he suppressed a smirk. God, you wanted to kiss that stupid mouth.

‘How about we make a bet of our own?’ He said, watching as you strolled over to him.

You didn’t stop until you were right in front of him, close enough that if you stood on your tiptoes just slightly, your lips would be touching.

‘What do you have in mind?’

He stared at you intently, eyes dark with lust. His brief glance at your glossed lips was a dead giveaway. ‘First one to lose a game has to make the first move.’ He rasped.

You looked up at him through your eyelashes, and he released a short, exasperated breath.

‘Deal.’

Reuben, Javy, Bob and Mickey were locked into a serious game of bowling. You weren’t sure, but you thought they were playing for money. Nat and Jake were playing air hockey—rather viciously. After dumping your skates, you and Bradley set about choosing a game to play.

Mickey had really lucked-out by finding this place. The arcade was chock-full of different games and amusements—so many that you were overwhelmed by choices.

Bradley suggested Mortal Kombat, to which you politely declined. You counter-offered the race car sim, but Bradley wasn’t feeling it.

After playfully debating pros and cons for most of the games, the pair of you found yourself in front of Dance Dance Revolution.

There were so many pros for this one. For one, you kicked ass at DDR. For two, you would be in close proximity the entire time. You could accidentally trip him up or something.

Bradley shook his head slowly. ‘Uh-uh. Nope.’ He made a point of popping the ‘p’.

‘Why?’ You whined. ‘Please, it’ll be fun. Besides, I suck at this game so I’ll probably lose anyway.’ You lied.

Bradley eyed you suspiciously. Then, he got distracted and he trailed over your entire body. You might as well have been standing naked in front of him, for the way it made you feel.

He licked his bottom lip and you shivered. ‘Fine. Dance battle it is.’

You stepped onto the DDR platform, rolling your shoulders as the neon lights flickered over the screen. Bradley took the spot next to you, cracking his knuckles like he was about to go into battle.

He glanced over, that cocky smirk already tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘Think you can keep up with me, sweetheart?’ He teased, nudging your shoulder.

The machine beeped, the song selection flashing across the screen, and you scrolled through the options with deliberate slowness, dragging out the moment just to watch him fidget. His hands settled on his hips, chest rising and falling as he exhaled through his nose. Oh, he wants to win. Badly.

But when you finally picked a song and stepped back, Bradley leaned in—just enough for his breath to ghost over your cheek—and murmured, ‘Hope you don’t get too distracted.’

The countdown ticked down, and the first notes of the song exploded from the speakers. The arrows rolled up the screen, and you both moved in sync, feet tapping out the rhythm like it was second nature. You were laser-focused—at first. But then you glanced over, and Bradley was watching you, not the screen.

He was still nailing every step, his body moving effortlessly, but his eyes? They flickered over to yours, his smirk widening when he caught you looking. Oh, he was playing dirty.

‘You’re slowing down, sweetheart.’ He taunted over the pounding bass, his voice smug and dripping with amusement.

You gritted your teeth and snapped your gaze back to the screen, doubling down—faster steps. Perfect timing. Your score started climbing, matching his. But then—distraction struck back.

Bradley suddenly rolled his hips with the beat, his arms lifting slightly like he was actually dancing instead of just playing, and your brain stuttered.

‘Oh, come on.’ You huffed, missing an arrow.

His laughter was rich and victorious, but you didn’t have time to glare at him. The song kicked into high gear, the steps coming rapid-fire, and you forced yourself to focus, willing your feet to move faster, faster, until—

The screen flashed.

PLAYER TWO: GAME OVER.

Your heart sank as you realised what just happened. One tiny misstep, one moment of distraction, and—

Bradley whooped, punching the air. ‘And that, sweetheart, is game.’ He crowed, stepping off the platform with the swagger of a man who knew exactly what was coming next.

Your stomach flipped as he turned back to face you, grinning like the cat who got the cream. ‘You remember the bet, don’t you?’

Oh, you remembered.

And from the way he was looking at you—his lips slightly parted, his hands twitching at his sides like he was holding himself back—so did he.

You’d felt pretty confident up until about five seconds ago, and now the rug had been ripped out from under you. The DDR machine was in a poorly lit corner at the back of the arcade. Panicking slightly, you scanned your surroundings, trying to devise a plan. What if someone saw you? Were you supposed to kiss him?

Then your attention was snagged by the photo booth against the opposite wall. It was nestled between the back wall and a claw machine full of Jellycats. If this next part went well, you made a mental note to bring Bradley back here and make him win one for you.

Now you had a plan, your confidence was slowly trickling back in. After one more glance around the space to make sure none of the Daggers were watching, you grabbed Bradley’s hand and pulled him towards the photo booth.

‘Romantic.’ He quipped, a shit-eating grin to rival Jake’s plastered on his face.

If you thought DDR was close quarters, this was something else entirely. The bench was just big enough for the two of you.

You pushed the button to start it up, and prepared to pose for the first picture.

You knew the first one would be cute, because you and Bradley were both grinning like lovesick fools. As the countdown began for the second picture, your confidence finally hit max capacity…

Without giving yourself time to back out, you put your hand on the top of Bradley’s thigh and just before the camera snapped, you (not so) gently grabbed his dick. Now you were the one sporting the shit-eating grin, and Bradley’s head snapped towards you. That move had made him practically rabid.

You stared each other down, the countdown totally forgotten about. It didn’t matter, anyway. You were perfectly on time without even trying.

One minute, you were staring, and the next, Bradley was on you. Your hands were in his hair as he pulled you onto his lap and let both of his hands rest on your ass. The kiss was sloppy and frantic; you didn’t dare stop even though you were breathless. You’d been waiting a long time for this. You silently thanked your past self for choosing this little white tennis skirt. You could feel Bradley’s hard-on through your underwear.

His hands, which were on top of your skirt, now reached under so he was touching bare skin (another thank you to your past self for the pretty white thong). This only seemed to intensify the moment, because his lips moved to your neck. It was your turn to make noise when he began sucking on the sweet spot just below your earlobe. Honestly, you hadn’t meant for the moan to escape you, but it had, and he’d definitely heard it.

Bradley stopped only to tease you. ‘Oh, you like that do you?’

‘B-bradley.’ You breathed.

‘Okay, okay.’ He whispered. ‘I’ll carry on.’

And he did. You became a squirming, writhing mess on top of him, and he was eating it up. You’d lost the bet and you wanted to take some control back. While he was busy kissing your neck, you undid the button and zipper on his jeans, and reached in. You were sly and quick about it, and he barely had enough time to register what you were doing before you were palming his dick over his boxers.

Bradley’s breath caught in his throat as he tilted his head back up to look at you. His eyes were all pupil, and his cheeks were as red as the photo booth curtain. How was it possible for a man to be so fucking sexy and so adorable at the same time?

You had him right where you wanted him. Or so you’d thought. Stupidly, you found yourself getting distracted by the size of him, and that’s when he took two fingers and slipped them underneath the wet fabric separating you from him. All he had to do was make one stroke, and you were mewing in his lap.

‘Unless you want me to fuck you in this photobooth,’ you snapped. ‘You better cut that shit out.’

A deep, husky chuckle rolled through him, vibrating against your chest. You were half-joking, but he took your threat seriously. Adjusting slightly, he pulled his jeans down so they were at his knees, and then let you resume your former position. If you shimmied forward slightly, you’d be sitting directly on his dick, just his boxers and your flimsy underwear between you. Luckily for you, you didn’t have to decide whether to do that or not, because Bradley gripped your thighs and pulled you forward.

Dizzy with lust, you reached around and pulled his length from his boxers. Following your lead, he pulled your thong to the side, and slowly pushed two fingers deep into the heat of you. You bit back a moan that would have been far too loud, and his smirk was so frustrating that you had to cover his mouth with yours to hide it. He licked your bottom lip, and you let him taste you. It was a good distraction from the noises you were thinking about making.

‘I don’t have a condom.’ He whispered against your lips.

You were in such a state of ecstasy that you could barely get two words out. You just about managed to say one, which was simply ‘pill.’

He chuckled darkly again, and you tightened around his fingers. ‘Can you give me a full sentence, pretty girl? I need to make sure we’re both on the same page.’

He was being genuine, but he also couldn’t help himself. He added another finger and watched your eyes roll into the back of your head.

‘Sweet girl?’ He prompted.

You had a death grip on his bicep. ‘I’m. On. The. Pill.’ You said through gritted teeth.

‘See,’ he whispered, positioning himself beneath you. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’

‘I’m gonna get you back for that someday, Bradshaw.’

‘I look forward to it.’

His tip pressed against your entrance. Briefly, you wondered what would happen if one of the Daggers, or some random stranger, came down to this end of the arcade. But then you were sinking onto Bradley’s cock, and the worries just melted away. As he gripped your hips and to help you get a rhythm, the phrase ‘rearrange my guts’ took on a totally new meaning. You groaned, and Bradley captured your lips in a brief kiss.

‘Quiet, sweetheart.’

Something about his commanding tone made it harder to keep quiet. You bit down on your lip to keep from shouting his name at the top of your lungs.

You were having sex. With Bradley Bradshaw. In a photo booth.

If Bradley hadn’t suddenly grabbed your hips, lifted you slightly, and started thrusting up into you, you would’ve laughed.

‘Fuck,’ he stuttered. ‘You feel so good.’

You were close. You tightened around him and he groaned again—it was your new favourite sound.

‘I’m-’

‘Me too.’

And then both of you were coming. Hard. His head rolled back as he tipped over the edge and spilled into you. It felt like someone had used your nerve endings to light a match.

You rode out your highs together, and when you were spent, you let out a long, shaky breath.

‘Holy fuck.’ You said.

Bradley ran a hand through his hair. ‘Well, I hope you like souvenirs, baby, ‘cause we’re keeping those pictures.’

You laughed. ‘We should probably get out of here. We’ve been missing a while.’

He kissed you again, for good measure. ‘I need to ask you something.'

You cocked your head. ‘What?’

‘Was that a one time thing?’

‘I really, really hope not.’

Back at the bowling lanes, Jake and Nat had joined in the fun. When you and Bradley appeared, everybody turned. Jake grinned wickedly. You locked eyes with Bob and he diverted his gaze very quickly. Nat was glaring at Bradley like a disappointed mother. Mickey and Reuben both handed Javy twenty bucks. All of this happened over the course of five, extremely drawn-out seconds.

‘You two were gone a while.’ Nat pointed out, folding her arms.

You and Bradley glanced at each other, unsure how to approach this situation.

‘We were playing Dance Dance Revolution.’ You told her. ‘I lost a bet.’

‘Really.’ She droned, sounding almost bored.

Oh, she knew alright.

You scrambled for something to say, tried to ignore the heat of everyone’s eyes burning into you. It was like they could see your sinful act written all over you.

And the ground might as well have opened up and swallowed you whole when Nat said: ‘Take any nice pictures?’

A/N: Just a little one shot while I try to motivate myself to finish my WIPs. This is my first time writing smut, so if it sucks, go easy on me.

[sometimesanalice]

For the Plot

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

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Length: 7.7k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you wait.

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

And wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a decision to make.

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

Or you could stick around and see what happens next.

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

“It would,” he states, sincerely.

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

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

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

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

Unbelievable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To simply call him handsome would be an understatement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Trust me, you have plenty.”

And Bradley’s own smile gets even wider.

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

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

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

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

“I’ll allow it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take a sweet sip. “So.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.” It’s an almost purr.

“That’s my big move.”

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

“Am I going to get to see it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bradshaw!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You try not to preen at the compliment.

“The relentless type, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then they’re off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Double hit,” you declare.

“Dammit,” Jake curses.

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

“You sure?” you ask.

“Two hundred dollars sure,” he states.

You take it from him with a sly grin.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just put me out of my misery already.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“One of them,” you grin.

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

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

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

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

“Suck it, Selleck,” he rasps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰

𝐀𝐠𝐞: 𝟑𝟓

𝐉𝐨𝐛 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥: 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐚

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬: 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥

𝐙𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧: 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫

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

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

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

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

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

That one makes you laugh.

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

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

You don’t even have to think.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝?

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

Not now that you’ve met him.

Happy Hearts Day, friends! Thank you for reading!

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

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

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

[roosterforme]

SO wholesome. And Bradley is SO cute. And SO eager.

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: The collection of letters that Bradley received from the fourth grade class provides him with entertainment while deployed. He takes the time to answer their questions and send a package back to the United States via air mail. But he has your email address. He also has a bit of a crush and some questions himself.

Warnings: Fluff, language

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

A few days later, when Bradley was done with his training protocols for the day, he returned to his bunk with a different mission in mind. While he unzipped his flight suit, he eyed the box which was taking up most of his nightstand, and a smile found its way to his lips. He managed to find a notebook that nobody wanted along with a thick, padded envelope, and he was going to take the time to respond to the fourth graders who wrote to him. 

He'd spent hours poring over the letters, laughing at some of the questions from the kids and frequently picking up that one photo. He couldn't stop going back for more. For another look at you. Just one more look. Okay, this really was the last one. He had to toss it across the small room toward his duffel so he could focus on something other than your smile and the fact that he might have a tiny crush on a fourth grade teacher who knew absolutely nothing about him. Yet.

The note from Jayden was on the top, and Bradley opened it up and started to jot down a response.

Jayden,

It was so nice to hear from you and the rest of your class. To answer your pertinent questions, I am currently stationed on the USS Theodore Roosevelt. The most disgusting food in the mess hall is easily the cabbage rolls (which taste nothing like cabbage... or rolls). The best food in the mess hall is surprisingly the meatloaf. And yes, I would love to see a photo of your Cocker Spaniel. Please send one next time. I hope you're studying and doing your best in school.

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

The next note he decided to tackle was the one from Violet who had the tiniest handwriting he'd ever seen. The page had at least fifteen questions written out, but he decided to answer just a few for her. He had to squint as he skimmed through them again.

Violet,

You seem very inquisitive. That's a great quality to have, especially if you want to be a pilot someday. No, I did not attend the Naval Academy. I went to the University of Virginia. Yes, the Navy is way better than the Air Force. Yes, I can hold my breath underwater for three minutes. Yes, they actually made me do it. No, I don't think I could make it as a Navy SEAL. Yes, I have been staying hydrated and getting enough sun, thanks so much for asking. Keep studying hard, because you have a lot of school ahead of you before officer training.

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

Okay, so this was actually a lot of fun. Up next was a response to the note from Oliver, which made Bradley laugh every time he looked at it. 

Oliver,

Thank you so much for drawing the different Naval aircrafts for me. I hate to break it to you, but I actually do not fly the F-35 Lightning II. Yes, I know they look 'sickeningly cool'. Yes, I know it would be like 'slam dunking off the back of a dragon'. I guess I never knew I was jealous of those pilots until right now.... But I fly the equally cool if not quite as sickening looking F/A-18 Super Hornet. And yes, I would be more than happy to draw my own version of one for you. See below.

Lt. Bradley Bradshaw

The ten minutes he spent replicating his own aircraft to the best of his ability for Oliver churned out a pretty damn good result. He fished his phone out of the nightstand and took a picture to email to Nat when he had time, because she would find this whole thing amusing. Then he reached for the letters from Harrison, Nia and Jackie. He wrote his responses, and after a bit, he had a decent sized stack of letters all ready to go back to the fourth graders.

After a few more days, he worked his way through the entire class, and each kid would soon have a handwritten response on the way. He just needed to figure out what he wanted to say to you. The pretty teacher from the class photo that he now kept tucked in with his personal items. He worked on that one last, writing your full name at the top of the page and wishing you didn't go by the very non-specific Ms. which gave him zero clue as to whether or not you were married.

The package you sent was the nicest piece of deployment mail I have ever received. Thank you. I'm lucky it ended up in my hands. I'm impressed by how much all of your students have learned about aviation this year. I just hope I did them justice in regards to the questions they had for me.

I also hope you don't mind that I replied to each kid individually. They had some very amusing stories and questions, and I wanted to acknowledge all of them. But there was one question in particular that I was asked so many times, I thought I'd answer it here instead. My call sign is kind of a silly one, so it's okay if you all laugh. I go by Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, and my helmet is mostly red, yellow and black.

Your kids seem like a fun bunch, but I bet they keep you on your toes. Feel free to let them know they can write back to me again, but please include my name on the package this time. I don't know that I'd be lucky enough to have it fall into my hands again by chance. I'll just be here somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean for a few more months, ready to answer any questions you throw at me. Hope to hear back from you soon.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

The following day, he packed everything up and dropped it off with the rest of the ship's outgoing mail. There was a rumor that a helicopter would be coming to pick it up in the next day or two, and he wanted to make sure it got back to California and those fourth graders as soon as possible. On his way back to his bunk, Bradley stopped by the lounge to see if there was an iPad free, hoping to send a quick email or two. He was in luck. He also happened to have your email address memorized.

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

You yawned at your desk and checked the time on your computer. Within the next ten minutes, your classroom would go from silent solitude to mass chaos, so you took a minute to clear out your email inbox. You had a few messages from some parents and a reminder about Spirit Week from the superintendent. And a random piece of junk mail that must have slipped through the spam filters. You didn't know anyone with a US Navy email address, and you didn't know anyone named Bradley Bradshaw.

As you closed your laptop, you gasped and tried to pry it back open again as quickly as you could. The Navy! The package you sent a few weeks ago! Maybe it was someone writing back to your class! Of course it could just be someone saying they were sorry that they didn't have time to engage with your students, but you figured even that was better than nothing. 

"Come on," you whispered, entering your credentials again before your inbox reappeared on your screen. The email was just a few lines long, but it was addressed to you by name. You were smiling immediately as you read it.

I just wanted to let you know that I got the mail you sent to a deployed Naval Aviator. There's a package on its way to your school for your class. It should arrive in about a week or two. Your fourth graders provided me with several hours of entertainment, and I hope they find my answers to their many (and amusing) questions useful. Thanks for the laughs, and thanks for the photos, too. Can't tell you how much I've been enjoying them. Hope to hear from all of you again.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

You squealed and pumped your fists in the air. Someone actually got the box! And he actually responded! The other, older teachers thought you were just wasting your time when you deviated from the lesson plans a bit. Literally all of them said there was no way anyone would write back, even though you took the time to go through the proper channels at Top Gun on North Island. But now you could rub it in their faces, all thanks to Bradley Bradshaw who sounded like he'd had as much fun with this whole thing as your class had.

Then your day really started as Violet and Oliver burst into your classroom, calling out your name with excitement in their voices. The rest of your kids followed behind them, already asking about the plans for the day and what kind of adventure you'd be taking them on in each subject. 

When you clapped your hands twice and said, "Good morning," they all clapped and replied with their own greeting, and then they sat quietly with their gazes fixed on you. "Guess who I just got an email from!"

"The president!" 

"My grandma!"

"My Cocker Spaniel!"

"Oliver's grandma!"

You just shook your head and tried not to laugh as you said, "None of the above. But do you remember when we wrote and packed up those letters for a real aviator in the military to read?" Most of the kids nodded, so you added, "Well, he emailed us! And he sent us some mail that should arrive in about a week!"

And telling them that was a mistake. Because you didn't know a moment of peace after that. Every morning, you had kids rushing into the room to see if the promised piece of mail arrived yet. Every day you had to disappoint them, but you were finding yourself a little disappointed, too. You wanted to know what this Bradley Bradshaw guy sent back. 

You'd responded to his initial email letting him know you and the kids in your class were delighted to hear from him and that you would let him know when the mail he sent arrived at your school. He didn't respond, but you figured he was busy. Too busy to constantly muck about with your class while he was thousands of miles away on a deployment. 

And that was what left you standing at your desk with your mouth hanging open in awe when the padded envelope did finally arrive one morning. Because when you carefully cut it open, you found not just one letter to the class but individual handwritten notes, one for each child.

"Wow," you whispered, pulling the note with your name written on the top out of the stack. This man seemed humble and sweet, and his letter made you laugh in more than one spot as you read through it. Then you read it again. He sounded apologetic about responding to each individual kid, but you felt like your insides were melting. Who would do that? Who would take the time to give individual attention to a bunch of nine and ten year olds besides you? And you were technically getting paid to do it. 

Bradley Bradshaw seemed willing to continue to engage with your kids, and you weren't going to stop him. Because starting that morning, he became something of a legend to your class. A celebrity. A real lieutenant in the Navy replied to all of their silly questions, and their love of aviation just grew from there. You figured you were going to have to keep your lesson plans going a bit longer while their faces lit up as you walked around the room and handed them each their notes. You had taken the time to skim them beforehand, often laughing at his sense of humor which seemed to jump off the pages.

"Can we write back to him?" Jayden asked as everyone read their notes from Lieutenant Bradshaw. "I have more questions."

You smiled and nodded. "Yes, you may write back to him." Then you postponed your geology lesson until the next day and let them spend the next forty minutes writing some followup letters. You took some pictures of them diligently toiling away at their desks, excitement on their faces. Then you bit your lip and sat down at your own desk.

As you started to construct an email letting him know the envelope had arrived, your thoughts drifted to what he might be like. Humble and sweet, for sure. But he also made it a point to tell you that the box from your class was the best piece of mail he'd ever received while deployed. Maybe he was a little bit lonely. Maybe he was single. Maybe he was stationed on the west coast. Your thoughts started to get ahead of you, and it was hard to reel them in when you imagined him excited to see another email from you. Smiling when he was handed another box from your class during mail call.

Dear Lt Bradley Bradshaw,

We got the envelope from you today, and my kids are absolutely thrilled! I'm not sure if you know how hard it can be to wrangle eighteen fourth graders all at one time, but they are currently sitting quietly and working on new letters for you to read. Once again, please don't feel obligated to continue correspondence if you're too busy. I'm sure you have other people you could be writing to who want your attention as well. I just wanted you to know they are overjoyed that a Naval officer took the time to answer their questions about aviation.

I have attached some photos as proof that they are sitting still. Thanks again for making their day.

You signed your name at the bottom the way you always would from your work email account, and then you attached the photos. After a brief debate about adding the selfie you took with Violet where most of your face was visible, you decided to just go for it. Adding it to the mix wouldn't hurt anything. It wasn't like this semi mystery man would be up all night thinking about you. 

But you found that you were still thinking about him when you went home to your silent house and made dinner that evening. Maybe he was a little bit lonely, but maybe you were, too.

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

It was amazing how infrequently Bradley found himself thinking about Vanessa. He was busier now with his duties picking up a bit more as his deployment wore on, but even when he was tired and in his bunk at night, his thoughts seldom settled on her like he was afraid they might. He didn't miss her or her half-hearted emails, and he wasn't craving the connection of reunion sex with her. 

Instead, he was thinking about what a group of fourth graders were learning about this week and what their cute teacher was up to. It had been a few days since you emailed him, letting him know that his package was delivered to your school. You made it sound like the kids were excited that he sent it in the first place, and when he really thought about it, he supposed some officers would have just eaten the snacks and tossed the notes in the trash.

He didn't reply to the email yet, still thrown off a bit by the pictures you attached. Your classroom was vibrant, and the kids were absorbed as they worked on more notes for him to read whenever they happened to be delivered to the carrier. But the photo with you in it held his attention longer than it should have. The fact that you were working at a school that was just a handful of miles from his damn house made him feel warm.

But what would he do about it? What could he do about it? Nothing. He didn't want you to think he was creepy. He still knew essentially nothing else about you. The only thing he could do was keep it friendly if not professional. Unless of course you did something to push the boundaries of conversation into a more personal realm. God, if you did....he didn't think he would be able to handle it. 

The next day, when he was heading out on deck to talk to the mechanics who were doing regular maintenance on the aircrafts, he took his phone. "Hey, you mind if I take a few photos of some of the engine parts? I want to send them to a class of fourth graders who will think it's cool."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant," the head mechanic replied. Then he smiled and asked, "You dating a teacher?"

Well. Wouldn't that be something? Bradley would never run out of curious pen pals. He would always have some fourth graders to take interesting photos for and to send notes to. He'd always have a classroom to visit as soon as he got home from a deployment.

He couldn't help but picture you as the teacher.

"Nothing like that," he replied, his voice a little gravelly. "Just writing to some kids who are learning about aviation."

After dinner, when he had a chance to use an iPad in the lounge, he did his best to put together a response to your email that would at least hint at the curiosity he felt. 

If all it takes is mail from three thousand miles away to get your class to sit quietly, then I should probably be writing to you every day. But I'm sure you're a great teacher. That's a given considering how much your students learned and shared with me. And I can assure you that I'm more than happy to take the time to write to your class. And you. Please don't think I feel obligated, because I do not. I want to.

I have attached a few pictures of some F/A-18 engine components as well as some of my cockpit controls. Each photo is labeled, but please let me know if you have any questions.

It was nice hearing from you.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw 

As soon as he hit send, he wanted to kick himself. Should he have included a photo of his face like you had twice now? Or did he already sound too desperate to hear from you and your class again?

"Shit," he muttered, looking around the lounge as if there was going to be someone here proficient in the art of getting to know a fourth grade teacher without sounding stupid. But it was too late now. All he could do was wait for the next mail call or hope you decided to write back to his ramblings by the next time he checked his email. 

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

You were going to have to scrape your jaw off the floor. You had no idea what this man's face even looked like, but his hands were... something else. And his thighs... well, they were pretty great, too. It must have been too long since you got laid, because you were sitting at your desk in your classroom staring at the set of photos in your inbox, currently unable to look away from his right hand. It was wrapped around the throttle of his aircraft. It was elegant with attractive veins and rough calluses. You were sure that you were supposed to be focusing on the cockpit controls, but all you could see was that hand and his thick, muscular thighs below.

The next photo was no better for you. He was holding up his helmet with his call sign Rooster emblazoned across the front, and you were able to see his left ring finger. There was no wedding band. There was no evidence of an outline where a wedding band would belong. There was just his big, strong hand.

You whimpered softly while your students worked on their math tests. You couldn't help it as you took one last look before logging out of your email account. And now you needed to know if his face matched the very attractive image you had in your mind. 

When Jayden called your name, you rocketed to your feet like you'd been caught red handed. "Yes?" you squeaked, your voice sounding higher pitched than usual.

"I'm done with my test. May I have the hall pass and use the restroom?"

You handed it to him as the rest of your class finished working through the math problems. A few minutes later, when you collected the papers from them, Violet asked, "When is Lieutenant Bradshaw going to write back to us?"

It had only been a few days since you mailed him the second box of notes and some more snacks, but it made you happy that they were all so invested in learning more from him. 

"It will probably be a few weeks before we get anything in the mail. However... he did email me some pictures of engine and cockpit parts from the aircraft carrier for me to share with you guys." When you looked around the room, the kids were on the edges of their seats, excited expressions on their faces. With a laugh you added, "I was going to wait until tomorrow and use the projector to show them all to you, but if you're very well behaved for the rest of the afternoon, maybe I could pull them up on my computer for you to see them today."

Not two hours later, you were just as excited as the kids were to look at the photos... again. As they crowded around your desk, you opened up the first one of the cockpit to a barrage of questions. 

"Is that really his jet?"

"Is that the throttle?"

"What do all the buttons do?"

"Was this right before he flew it?"

Once again you were distracted, but you managed to click over to the next photo, and the kids gasped in delight. 

"His helmet is so cool!"

"It says Rooster!"

"That's his call sign!"

"Red is my favorite color!"

You just smiled softly and laughed. "Should we go ahead and start working on another list of questions for him?" you asked as you slowly scrolled through the rest of the pictures. "He said we can write back to him as much as we want to." When everyone cheered, you handed Oliver a marker and pointed to the board at the front of the classroom. "Let's start making a list."

You listened to all of your students call out questions for Bradley while Oliver wrote them down. Then Violet asked, "Can he send us a picture of his whole jet? From the outside of it?"

You cleared your throat and added, "Maybe he could get someone else to take the picture so he could stand in front of it. For size comparison."

Violet nodded, but you knew you were a fraud. Sure, it would be great for the kids to understand just how massive the F/A-18s were compared to an actual person, but you were the one who wanted to see all of Bradley. You were itching for it now. 

Later that night, you drank most of a bottle of wine and did something you promised yourself you'd never do. You logged into your work email account after nine o'clock. You skipped over the handful of unread emails from parents and clicked on the icon to compose a new message. With your liquid courage goading you on, you typed up a response to Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw and hit send before you could think twice.

Thank you for the photos. They were very enlightening. We especially liked the ones where you were showing off your cockpit. Or I did, anyway. The kids liked all of them and started on another list of questions for you. Good luck getting rid of us now. 

We were wondering if you could have someone take a picture of you standing in front of your jet. For size comparison purposes. And also because my students would like to know what you look like. Hearing from you makes our day even better.

You couldn't believe how forward you were being with this man who you'd never even met in person, but you fell asleep thinking about his hands and what they might be capable of.

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

This Bradley makes me swoon. I've never wanted to be a fourth grade teacher so badly in my life. There is something that's starting to blossom between them even though they haven't even met in person. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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