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hangmanssunnies · 2 years ago

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Ask Me Anything, I'll Give You Everything

Summary: Every morning, you wake up and wonder if today will be the day? The day the love of your life breaks up with you. The only probable solution you can come up with is to force the issue. It seems like a simple plan; after all, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw has never made it a secret that he doesn't like brats.

Pairings: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem! Reader

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Word count: 10k (phew, I'm sorry.)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Bradley is a consent king, BDSM dynamics, P in V, Aftercare, talking about feelings, Healthy Relationships, Communication, Daddy Kink but only a tiny bit, gratuitous use of pet names

Authors Note: No use of Y/N. Will I ever be able to write normal smut? Absolutely not. I have been working on this for weeks. I love Bradbrad so much y'all. I hope you enjoy this! My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts and tags are always appreciated as well! I love reading through them. Also, can we please talk about Miles’ hands in this gif ( am losing my mind)?

When you started dating Bradley Bradshaw, you knew he would be gone a lot. He had made that clear early on, so you could never claim it was a surprise. Bradley was also very aware of the realities of what his absences were like for you. It was because of that, that when he was home, he lived by a simple practice; he had to make sure that your relationship was perfect. He had (wanted) to make everything so amazing you would be able to get through whatever next stint you had to go without him present.

You were perfectly independent when he was gone. However, when you got to be with him and were together, it was like you could finally relax. You could mention something in passing, and Bradley would ensure it gets done. Even better, more often than not, you didn't have to mention anything. Bradley took the initiative; he would just do things you needed without you saying anything, anticipating your needs.

It was the little things with him. He broke open the crab shells and pulled out the meat for you when the legs were delivered to the table. Your favorite snack would start to run low, and it would be replaced the next time you checked. You couldn't remember the last time you went to Ulta; the bathroom's necessities, lotion, soaps, and moisturizer were always stocked. Bradley would bring home surprise flowers and make you dinner for no reason other than he wanted to. Love letters would show up in your mailbox or under your pillow. None of it was something you had to ask for.

Bradley was romantic, funny, heartfelt, and genuine, indeed the best man you had ever met. However, something felt different in the last few weeks since he had been home. Bradley still went through all the motions, but you felt something off. It sometimes felt like he was just going through a routine, like there weren't the right emotions behind the actions anymore.

Even with sex, something didn't feel quite right. While Bradley still made sure that you would always find satisfactory endings, he didn't hold you as long. The way he touched you just didn't feel the same or right. It worked under your skin and into the box of insecurities you kept in your chest. It was an insecurity that ran itself rampant.

You were not a brat. You simply didn't label yourself that way when it came to your relationship. However, that was mostly because you had never needed to be a brat in your relationship before. You did what you were told, you were a good girl, and it was natural. It was easy because Bradley had always taken care of you. Rooster liked to take care of you. And you not wanting to brat was always fine and dandy because Bradley didn't like brats. That being said, you hadn't been feeling very taken care of lately.

It wasn't that you needed, or really wanted, Bradley to be perfect, but you did want to be taken care of. You had become so worked up about it that you were sensitive to every little thing Bradley did, analyzing it in your head. You had halfway convinced yourself that Bradley was staying with you out of obligation and that he was just waiting for the right time to break it off with you.

Tonight you are at the bar with some of your friends. Bradley wraps an arm around your waist. It was a natural movement, something he has done hundreds of times. However, you slowly shift until his hand falls off your waistline. He didn't notice at first until a song or two passed. Then there is that weight again. You clench your teeth, trying to not let any frustration show on your face.

You firmly grip Bradley's wrist, feeling his arm muscles flex tighter under your fingers. The touch makes him angle his head down to look at you.

"Baby?" He poses it as a soft question, but it just irks you more. How dare he call you any pet names right now? His fingers dug just the slightest bit into your skin.

"Don't touch me," you mutter angrily, pulling harder on Bradley's hand. His face is so full of hurt and confusion enough that you almost feel bad for your actions. His arm immediately moves away, and he even went as far as taking a step away from you.

You could tell he was reeling. Your eyes watch as he makes an excuse to the group, none the wiser of the moment that just passed between you. He goes to the bar and waits next to it. Your eyes drift to him occasionally. You catch him taking a tequila shot, something somewhat out of character for him. He liked to stick to old fashions and beers. And his eyes still haven't strayed from you.

Even as he made his way back to y'all's group from the bar. Bradley's sunglasses once again covering his eyes, like it was the middle of the day on the beach, even though it was the middle of the night in a bar. You feel the weight of his gaze, though, constantly straying to you.

Two hours later, everyone makes their way out of the bar, calling their various Uber's and rides home.

Neither of you had drunk much tonight, and after his shot, the only thing you saw Brad drink was water while you sipped a seltzer. You find the Bronco's keys in your purse and start to make your way towards the driver's side. However, Bradley beats you there, leaning against the door. Brad opens his palm, facing up, looking at you expectantly.

"Keys?"

"I'll drive home," you tell him, closing your hands tighter around the keys.

"No, I'm going to be driving home," He says, not moving in the slightest, still waiting for his keys.

You clench your jaw in annoyance and narrow your eyes. "I didn't do any shots tonight. So, I will drive home."

"I did one shot, had two beers, not even IPAs, and then only drank water. You had several hard seltzers and no water or food. We both know I have a higher tolerance for alcohol, baby," He explains to you. He isn't condescending about it either, just stating it all like facts. One of his eyebrows raised high at your attitude.

"I'm driving," you say again, a harder edge in your voice.

Bradley stands up to his full height until he is glaring down at you, "I will be driving home, or we are taking an Uber. Your pick, princess."

You are so tempted to pull out your phone and order an Uber for the both of you. However, after staring into Bradley's eyes and seeing their absolute clarity, you relent, dropping the key in his waiting palm.

You start walking to the car's passenger side, and Bradley shadows you there. He never touches you, but you can feel his warmth radiating off of him, inches from yourself. He opens the door for you and holds out a hand, offering to help you into the Bronco.

You ignore his offered hand, pulling yourself up into the seat by yourself. Not even looking at Bradley as he pulls your seat belt and hands it to you to buckle up. He didn't move from his spot until he heard the click of the belt. He waits for the kiss you usually press to his lips or cheek after getting in the car. He must have noticed that it wasn't coming because he was closing the door a few moments later and making his way back to the driver's side.

You watch Bradley walk in front of the hood of the car. He pulls his hand through that sandy brown hair so it is all askew. You don't shift your gaze from looking forward when he rounds the edge of the hood. You are tempted to look, though, when he takes an abnormally long time before he opens the door and slides into the driver's seat.

The silence in the cab is reverberating between you. Bradley reaches to adjust the volume on the radio at the exact moment you do. Your hands almost brush, but he quickly jerks his hand back before it touches yours. It seems he is taking your words to heart about not touching you.

"Are you feeling okay, princess?" His deep voice asks you.

And there is the obvious answer, that you are not okay. That everything in you is screaming a little bit. How you feel like Bradley is days away from leaving you, not just to fly his planes. That he doesn't love you anymore, that you are too much work to take care of, that he will ask you to leave.

And it must be taxing. It must be a lot of work for someone like him to have to take care of you, with all of his own problems. Shouldn't you step up and take better care of him so that he doesn't ask you to go? Take care of him by driving home from the bar or not bothering him with your problems when you are burning for some of his attention. But you feel like you are on thin ice already. Telling him you aren't okay is too high of a risk when it could just push him further away from you.

"I'm fine."

His fingers drum against the steering wheel at your response. You take a moment to study his side profile. Bradley is visibly agitated. He has a look of concentration on his face like a complex problem is laid out before him.

"Since when do you lie to me?" Bradley asks you.

"I'm not lying to you! I'm fine."

"Okay, then hold my hand." He pronounces the words slowly and clearly, before presenting his right hand. His thick, calloused fingers are spread slightly, waiting.

"No." You snap your eyes away from him and his hand, back to the road in front of you.

"Hold my hand," Bradley repeats, his voice dropping even lower. It's a tone you know; this isn't a request but a demand.

"You can't make me," You stubbornly say back to him.

Bradley audibly gasps. You haven't ever dared challenge him like that before.

"You aren't being a very good girl right now, princess."

"Maybe I'm not. Maybe you don't deserve a good girl right now." The words fall out of your mouth before you know what you're saying.

"I don't like brats, baby,"

"Oh, good to know you don't like me," you say, heart clenching in your chest. It was a sort of a setup, but right now, it seemed like an undeniable reality that Bradley didn't like you anymore.

"Don't you dare put words in my mouth like that," Bradley's voice has a thinly veiled fury that you have never heard before. It causes gooseflesh to erupt along your skin.

"That is what you said!" Part of you stinging. What you really wanted from him right now was reassurances. Instead, you feel the only option is to keep pushing the point.

"So you are being a brat on purpose." He muses. The anger is a little less present in his voice but still there.

"Why?" He asks you when you don't say anything. You cross your arms over your chest and chew on your lip, bouncing your leg.

"I asked you a question." He reminds you. Then he rephrases the question for you. "Why are you being a bad girl, princess?"

"You don't deserve a good girl," you remind him as if there is an important distinction.

"I see," he says slowly. "And why don't I deserve a good girl?"

The words you want to say die on your tongue about how he hasn't been taking care of you. That you feel like maybe you aren't enough for him. That if you were enough, he would take care of you like he used to. It's some fragile emotion in you, one you don't entirely know how to voice.

The why plagues you. You suddenly realize that Bradley does deserve a good girl. You just can't be that person. This isn't even a him problem. It's a you problem that you are trying to make him fix. It isn't his responsibility to fix, though.

"You do deserve a good girl Bradley. That someone just isn't me," you finally say.

"What the fuck does that mean?" The anger is back again.

"I think it's pretty self-explanatory."

"Well, it's not. So, how about you spell it out for me?"

If you try to explain anything to him right now, you will burst into tears, so you bite your tongue instead. Silently begging for the drive and this conversation to end. You are only a few blocks away from your home.

You hear Bradley take a deep, measured breath and your eyes snap to him again. Even in the dark of the cab, you can see the light flush up his neck and face that he gets when he is angry, making his scars stand out more prominently.

You are unbuckling your seat belt before Rooster fully parks the car in the driveway.

"Do not get out of this car until we finish this conversation," Bradley warns you in that same low voice.

You are not listening, though, and isn't that the whole point of being a brat? The door is popped open seconds after his warning. You make a mad dash towards the front door.

You hear the Bronco's door slamming and Bradley growling out your name behind you.

You have only just passed the entryway threshold when he catches up with you. His frame seems extra tall and intimidating when he looms over you like this.

"So you don't want to have a conversation, and you don't want to listen. Is that right, princess?"

He still respects your wish to not be touched, but his hands are on either side of your head. He has you caged against the entry hallway. Nowhere is his body brushing yours, but the heat radiating off him almost feels like he is. The smell of his cologne wafts around you. You are so surrounded by him that it's hard for you to remember that he asked another question. Finally, you shake your head slowly.

"If you keep acting like a brat and don't use your words, I'm going to treat you like a brat." Bradley is telling you this as a warning. His words light something in you, though, and you push roughly against his chest, trying to get him away from you.

"I'm not in the mood, Bradley." You growl out. You duck under one of his arms, needing space to think and breath.

"You don't get to not be in the mood," Bradley growls back. That has you rounding back at him, fury filling you.

"I don't get to say no?" You ask. Your voice is equally as upset as his. He seems to calm down a bit at your words. You watch him take a deep breath, following the motions of his inhale and a heavy audible sigh on the exhale.

"Of course, you can. I am not a fan of how you are twisting my words tonight. I meant it as. You don't get to say no to talking to me." His eyes don't stray from yours, and you see the concern in their depths.

"I deserve to know why you are not fine, and you are acting like a brat."

There was the phrasing again, deserve. It rubbed you all the wrong ways, and you set your stance, bringing yourself up to your full height, glaring into Bradley's eyes.

"If you don't want me, and can't handle me as a brat, maybe you just aren't cut out to be my Dom, Brad."

What was that TikTok sound that was popular for a while? Something about how people who can raise a single eyebrow are automatically brat tamers. The moment you saw the eyebrow raise Bradley is giving you. You knew you were fucked.

"You have two choices: go to our room and lock the door, and I will see you in the morning. Or you better be naked and on our bed by the time I make my way to our room, princess. If I find you any other way, you will be in more trouble than you already are."

He grabs the purse that dropped to the ground without you even noticing. Then Bradley hangs it on the proper hook before he digs in his pocket, pulling out his keys and wallet. He glances at you and once again raises that eyebrow.

"You want to go to bed willingly before I make you." You are speed walking through the house to the master bedroom moments later.

You strip mostly naked before perching on the edge of the bed, waiting for him. Only leaving on your panties.

Bradley takes his sweet time getting to you. You hear him walking throughout the house: in the laundry room, swapping loads of laundry, and briefly in the kitchen, the fridge opening and closing.

When he finally gets to the bedroom, he doesn’t even acknowledge you at first. You lift your eyes, watching him set a tumbler of water on your side of the bed. Then making his way to his side and putting down his own water bottle he liked to take to bed.

You quickly lower your eyes when you see him glance towards where you are sitting. Bradley is standing in front of you a second later.

“Are you going to let me touch you now, baby?” He asks you playfully, teasingly.

You think about it for a moment, and you are surprised that he is patiently waiting for your answer. Finally, you nod slowly. Bradley’s hand lifts your chin, so you look up at him. His touch is surprisingly gentle and light.

“Use your words. I have heard this mouth throw around all kinds of things tonight. I think you can manage a yes or no.” He squeezes your chin in between his fingers, then just slightly.

“Yes.” You whisper.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, you can touch me.”

His hand slips lower and wraps around your throat. It’s a loose hold but serves as an anchor point. Your breath catches when he gives your throat the tiniest squeeze. More a twitch of his hand than anything else.

With his hand directing you, he pushes you back until you are arching and angled to still hold eye contact. He holds you there for a long moment, his eyes tracing your face, then lower to take in your whole body.

He lets go of your neck, and without his steady hand, you find yourself falling back on the bed. Brad doesn’t make any move after that. He just stares down at you, taking you in.

“What am I going to do with you, princess?” He finally asks you in that rough voice.

“I think you need a reminder of why you should be a good girl for me. And why you don’t want to be a brat.” His fingers ghosted over your thighs in a slow motion. Then, when they reach your hip, they drag back down to your knees again.

“But,” he continues on, dragging out the word. “You are just so damn pretty almost makes me want to forgive you.” When his hands reach your hips for the second time, he grips them and flips you over.

You gasp in surprise at the action with your face and belly pressed into the bed. You try to lift yourself further up, but one of Bradley’s hands is pressing down on your back.

“Brats get punished, baby. Is that what you want from me? To punish you?” He asks you. You slowly shake your head no into the mattress but don’t say anything otherwise.

Bradley tsks at you, and in the same breath, the hand that wasn’t holding you down smacks your ass. It isn’t the hardest Bradley has ever spanked you, but it was hard for the first one. It makes your skin instantly sting, and your whole body jolts forward.

You flex your legs that are still hanging off the side of the bed, trying to find purchase on the ground.

One of the many beautiful things about Bradley Bradshaw was that he could manhandle you any which way as if you were no more than a rag doll. It is something you never really had the experience of with any partner before him. Bradley repositions you so you are sprawled in his lap over his thighs.

He is still fully dressed from the bar. Your knees are pressed into the ground, and your ass is on display.

He gently rubs where he has already smacked you. You stare down at the ground in front of you, examining the grain in the hardwood floor. Bradley’s hand comes down and smacks your ass again. You groan in response.

“How are you doing, baby?” He asks you, rubbing soothing circles again. His hand feels cool against the skin that is already inflamed.

You continue refusing to answer him though, preferring to take whatever punishment he will give you in silence. Bradley’s hand comes down hard a moment later, the slap it makes against your skin echoing in the room.

“Not talking to me is not an option. I thought we already established that,” Rooster growls out.

You receive retribution with another spank when you keep your mouth closed tight. You can’t help but let out the barest of whimpers after that one.

“What was that, baby?” He asks you, his tone soft again.

“How many?” You whisper. You half expect another spank at the action and tense your body waiting for the impact. Instead, Bradly stays steady, rubbing your cheeks. His other hand comes forward to push your hair behind your ear, so he has a better view of your face.

“How many do you think you deserve, princess?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him.

He hums, looking down the bridge of his nose at you while deliberating.

“How many have you had already?” he asks.

Hesitantly, you raise your hand and show him four fingers. You immediately receive another spank. This time lower on your cheek cresting the back top of your thighs. It is significantly softer than the other ones you have received tonight.

“This is your last warning, baby. I won’t ask you to use your words again.”

You take a few shallow breaths, trying to even out your body that is going haywire.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Bradley nods his head, approving your words.

“How many are you at, baby?”

“Five,” you supply, still unable to get out more than a whisper.

“And how many do you think you deserve? How many does my little brat need to learn her place?”

“I don’t know.”

Bradley sighs at your response like he has some great burden.

“That’s not up to bratty princesses to decide, is it?”

“No, Sir,” you whimper back.

“No,” he agrees. “That’s for me to decide. I get to decide because I’m in charge.” He punctuates the sentence with a spank.

“I am your Dom, Princess.” Spank.

“If you want to be a brat or a baby, then I am your Daddy,” He gives you another spank, so hard this time that you jolt forward, sighing an odd mix between a whimper and hiss.

“But any way you want to look at it, any way you behave. You are mine.” Spank.

“Do you understand?” Bradley asks you slowly. His hand that is pressed into the center of your back drifts down lower, tracing soothing circles.

“Yes. I understand.”

“Good,” he whispers and spanks you again.

You do whimper this time, loudly. You let one of your hands grip the edge of the Hawaiian shirt Rooster is still is wearing, working it in-between your fingers.

“How many was that?”

“Ten,” you tell him shakily.

“Five more.” He says then.

“Five?” You gasp, clutching the fabric in your hands tighter. You turn to look at him, abandoning the floor in front of you.

“Yes, because I told you to be naked. And you still have these lacy little panties on. Don’t you?”

“I’m sorry, Sir. I forgot them.”

“No, you are smarter than to forget something like that. Aren’t you, baby?” He coos the question to you. “You were choosing to be bratty.”

Rooster's eyes are more black than any other color with how wide his pupils are blown. That flush of anger, more lust than anything now, staining his skin. His eyes meet yours, and his tongue darts to wet his lips, dragging a little on his mustache. You break eye contact with him and stare at the floor again, ready to accept the punishment.

“I want you to count them.” He tells you

Smack, your ass stings again, but it’s mainly from the flesh already being abused. “Eleven.”

Smack. It is intentional, you know; these blows are significantly less painful than the previous ones.

“Twelve,” you choke out.

Thirteen and fourteen come in rapid succession. You almost aren’t able to get the numbers out in-between.

“Only one more princess, you are taking it so well. Can you do one more?” He asks you.

“Yes,” you confirm.

When Bradley smacks your ass for the final time, you gasp and clench your thighs together.

He leaves you there for a moment to calm down, but it’s not long until he pulls you back up and stares at your face, searching.

“You took that like a very good girl,” he praises you.

He leans forward, ready to ghost his lips over yours. However, you are still too raw and in your head. So, you turn your face just enough to the side that Bradley’s lips catch the edge of your mouth instead.

He pulls back from you and narrows his eyes. You only blink back, your tongue darting out to lick your lips. He leans in to kiss you again, and you once again turn away. A rumble of displeasure falls from his chest at your actions.

“You still haven’t learned your lesson, baby?” Bradley questions you.

Bradley pushes you down onto your knees, then. He starts to shrug off his Hawaiian over shirt, but you risk raising from your knees to stop him.

You lean into his space and ghost your lips over the edge of one of his ears. Even with you standing and him sitting on the edge of the bed, he feels so tall. Your hands trace over his arms and down his chest slightly to catch the shirt’s open edge and push it back off his shoulders.

Maybe there were ways you could take care of Bradley, too, at least in the bedroom.

You drag your hands down his chest to start lifting his wife beater, and you briefly let your nails run along his abs and shoulders. As soon as it pulls free, you throw it away from the bed, vaguely in the direction of the laundry hamper.

Bradley is watching you with wide eyes, his mouth just slightly ajar. You graze your lower lip with your teeth, feasting on the sight of him shirtless.

“So handsome,” you utter. You are rewarded for the compliment with the small pleased smile that splits his face.

It inspires you to lean forward, kissing the scar on his chin, then the ones on his neck. Lower you nibble in random places and trace the lines of his chest with your tongue.

“Do not tease me,” he growls at you.

So, you shift back on your heels for him. Then audibly whining as your still raw skin makes contact with your calves. You bounce forward, so you are more upright, the weight more on your knees than on your ass and calves.

Bradley unbuckles his pants, and you help pull them down his legs. Your hands get lost along the way again, tracing his muscular thighs. You circle his knee caps slowly before shoving the jeans and boxers out of the way. Tracing back up his calves to pull off the graphic socks with little roosters and planes on them, a gift from his last birthday.

And there is Bradley’s hard cock; he is the perfect size. You simply admire him for a moment as he situates himself on the edge of the bed again.

“Maybe your mouth will want to do more talking once I fuck it.” Bradley muses out loud. He is cupping your jaw, lifting your eyes to look at him instead of his cock.

His thick thumb presses to your lips, and you open your mouth for it. Sucking on it, your tongue tracing the pad of the digit.

Bradley groans and withdraws his thumb. You don’t let it go easily, though, sucking harder as he tries to retreat and just barely grazing it with your teeth. He cups the side of your head to steady you then.

You lean forward, kitty licking the tip of his dick. Lapping it a few times, you are tempted to continue on the teasing path. As you start to consider it, though, Bradley’s hand is heavy on the back of your head, pressing you forward the tiniest bit. It reminds you that this was supposed to be a punishment.

You open your mouth more, taking him into your mouth.

Bradley groans and you wrap one hand tight around his ankle, grounding yourself. Your other hand settles on his thigh. He lets you start at your own pace, slowly sliding more of him into your mouth. You build a rhythm, relaxing your throat. When he reaches the back of your throat, you start to pull back, but Bradley lightly bucks his hips forward as you do.

You can’t help but gag slightly since you aren’t prepared for it. You instinctually try and draw back and are stopped. Bradley’s hand threads into your hair, giving it a tug. That makes a moan vibrate in your throat. Your moan reverberates right through him, ringing up his spine until it’s echoed out of his own mouth.

He holds you there in place, mouth full, not moving and not letting you move either. So you wait, anticipation sitting in your stomach. He is heavy and hot in your mouth as you wait.

You lift your eyes to meet his. Bradley’s eyes are molten, and his jaw is set. When your gazes meet, and he raises that same eyebrow again. As he smirks down at you, he shifts his hips in a small movement. The thrusts get longer until he is fucking into your mouth.

He keeps up until he has a steady rhythm. Your jaw starts to ache slightly, and not for the first time, you curse Bradley’s stamina and sex drive. Of course, there were many explanations for it: being a pilot, his diet, being a sex god, genetics, how often he fucks you, just because he was Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw. Whatever the explanation, it doesn’t matter as he abuses your mouth.

You finally start to see signs that tell you he is close. The way his thighs start to quiver a little more than normal. How he is just a little too far gone to have consistency in how hard he is pulling your hair; almost slack for one thrust, and then your roots are stinging a thrust or two later.

You trace the hand you have on his thigh, gliding it over his fine leg hair until you’re cupping his balls.

“Fuck,” he hisses into the air, and you flash your eyes upward again to try and glance at his face. His eyes are squeezed closed, and a bead of sweat is sliding down his neck.

You gently start to massage his balls and squeeze your hand still wrapped around his ankle tightly. Dirty praise falls from his mouth.

“My little bratty slut.” He tells you, hitting the back of your throat and drawing back again.

“Are you going to be good? Can you take it all?” Bradley asks you, his voice low and ragged, broken up slightly by panting.

You moan in your throat and squeeze his ankle tight in a way of telling him yes. When he next hits the back of your throat, he pushes further, drawing you down to the base of his dick. Then, moaning loudly, he cums down your throat. You swallow it down in gulps, well acquainted with the taste.

“So good, princess.” He tells you, pulling out of your mouth. You open and close your jaw a few times before resting your head on Bradley’s thigh. His fingers pull through your hair, working through the knots he finds and massaging your scalp.

“So good,” you repeat back to him, turning your head enough to mouth a soft kiss against his leg and close your eyes for a minute.

“How are you doing, princess?” He asks, checking in with you. You hum contently at first while you decide.

“I’m wet.” You decide to tell him.

“Show me how wet, princess,” He responds. His hands grip your arms, helping pull you up into the bed, and getting you situated in the middle.

You reach out and adjust the pillows to your liking before leaning back against them. Bradley opens your legs and traces his thumb across the seam of your panties. You roll your hips forward into his thumb when he starts tracing your clit. Then he pulls them off you, exposing your pussy to him.

He brings your panties up to his nose, inhaling deeply, before throwing them over his shoulder. The sight makes you moan and clench around nothing. Bradley leans forward, and you finally allow him to kiss you.

His lips move slowly against yours. His tongue licks into your mouth, tasting himself there. You wrap one of your legs against Bradley’s hip, trying to urge him close to you. However, he reaches to the side of the bed and starts rummaging.

You break the kiss to see what he is reaching for. When his hand emerges with a vibrator. He pressed it in between your thighs. You jerk, The toy feeling cold against your heated skin.

He leaves it there while drawing you into another kiss. Bradley’s teeth sink into your lower lip, making you inhale through your nose sharply. He clicks the power button, and the vibrator comes alive on the lowest setting.

The room fills with the sound of muffled buzzing, kissing, and the breaths you manage to steal. While you sloppily make out, Bradley doesn’t move or adjust the vibrator once.

Giving you a hard kiss Bradley pulls away, trailing kisses down your neck. He sucks hard on your collarbone, biting it to solidify the hickey. His mustache only tickles a little bit going down your chest, where he latches onto one of your nipples.

He moves the vibrator so that it is pressed against your clit. You sigh at the stimulation and grip the sheets on either side of you in each hand. Next, Bradley moves to your other nipple, nibbling at it.

He eventually pulls away from you, leaning back, turning up the vibrator to a higher setting, and working it against you. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” Bradley says, eyes trained on the motion of the toy.

"Please, Brad," you beg him, grinding your hips into the toy.

"Brad?" He pulls the toy away from you, and you groan at the loss.

"Sir," you correct yourself. Bradley rewards you by allowing the vibrator to touch you again but doesn't put any pressure on it. Heat is burning at your core, and you feel raw want for him seeping out of yourself. You toss your head back in frustration with him.

"Sir, please," you beg again, but don't get results this time.

"Sir," you pant out when Bradley's hand holds your hips still, forcing you to just endure his teasing.

"I need you, Daddy," You say next, and that does inspire something in him. He smirks and squeezes your hips.

"Pretty words, princess. Tell Daddy what you need."

And fuck, what didn't you need from Bradley Bradshaw? You need everything from him. You need his cock inside you. You need his body sweaty and sticky against yours. You need to have bruises in the shape of his mouth and fingers tomorrow. You need him to fuck your brains out. You need him to hold you and love you. You need him to make you his.

You whine, not sure how to put it into words. Bradley always knew what you wanted and needed from him, so now that he wanted you to say it, you weren't sure what to actually ask for.

"Fuck me," you tell him. Bradley pushes the vibrator into you then, and you clench around the intrusion. He slowly starts pumping it into you, but it isn't enough.

"Like this?" He sweetly asks you.

The vibrations from the toy radiate through your cunt, making you cry out. Bradley makes sure to angle it just right, and when your moans get a little too much, he starts to pull it out of you. Then repeating the maddening process over again. Finally, you dig your nails into the forearm holding the vibrator.

"No, please. You know what I need." You tell him, sticking out your lip and meeting his eyes with your own, giving him a pleading look.

"That's right," he nods to your words. "I do know what you need, baby. You need me to pound the brat out of your pussy too," he declares.

He pulls the toy out of you, turning it off and setting it to the side. He lines you up with his cock. Bradley pushes into you slowly, then not stopping the motion until you are stretched around him, groins pressing flush together.

He splays his hand wide across on your lower belly, pressing down, which makes you clench around him. You drop a knee to the side and wrap the other leg around his waist. Bradley uses the additional room you provide him to push himself deeper into you.

"You are so tight," he moans. He angles his thumb so that it presses against your clit. Bradley swirls it in a slow circle while pulling his cock out of you at almost the same pace. You feel like you might lose your mind at this rate.

"You fill me up so good," you groan out.

"You like it when I touch you, baby?" He asks you.

"Yes," you pant out in quick response. You hope it will get him to touch you more. Bradley doesn't disappoint. He starts to mouth at your skin and speeds up his rhythm.

"Don't forget it," Bradley tells you, following the statement with a hard bite.

He fucks you harder until you are both dripping with sweat. Your hips are canting up, meeting his every thrust. You feel the muscles in your legs and abdomen quivering right on the edge, waiting to come.

Then, the blunt edge of his nail catches your clit where he is rubbing you. The gentle scrape is enough to send you creeping over the edge and coming. You spasm around Bradley, gasping, a moan catching and breaking in the back of your throat.

He keeps fucking you but slows down to short deep thrusts until you are less blissed out. You focus your gaze on him, admiring the concentration set in his features. The heavy weight of his body pressing into yours.

You smash your mouth against Bradley's. You thread a hand into his short curls pulling him as close to you as you can. His thumb retreats from touching your clit, but he is still balls deep in you.

The kissing starts to get dirtier. His tongue teasing yours, dominating your mouth. You are still sensitive from your orgasm and actually, pull your hips back from his so he isn't pressed so deeply in you. Bradley follows your lead and pulls even further out, so just the head of his dick is inside you.

When your mouths separate for breath, you pant into his mouth, only centimeters apart. You flick your tongue out, licking your bottom lip and letting it graze against the texture of his mustache and plush upper lip. Moans spill from his throat, making you feel a little proud of what you have accomplished.

You feel the burn inside you growing again, already so much closer after the last orgasm. Bradley's cock remains shallow, thrusting into you at a leisurely pace like he is in no hurry to do anything else.

"I thought you were going to fuck me with your fat cock, Sir," you whine to him. His rhythm stutters, and he comes to a grinding halt in you. Bradley's eyes snap open. He is clearly shocked to hear your little taunt.

He pulls out of you entirely, making you whimper at the loss. He flips you on your belly again, pulling your hips up to meet his. He slides back into you in a long hard stroke. Bradley presses you firmly into the bed, the side of your face smashing into the pillows.

"Take it then," Bradley says, not relenting for even a moment to speak the words. At this angle, the head of his cock repeatedly hits your cervix. It punches the breath out of you each time.

Your legs are shaking, and you rut against him. You are desperate with the build up of your second orgasm, but it feels too far out of reach. You whine and resist the hold of his hand, pinning you down. That prompts him to push you harder into the mattress.

"Just like that, princess," He moans loudly for you, his pace faltering just slightly, letting you know he is close. You are close too. You feel like you are on fire. Your skin feels like it's attached to you too tight.

"Need more, need you," you beg him. Bradley listens. He doesn't go faster, but he thrusts into you harder. Each snap of his hips brings you closer to ecstasy. Wrapping his hand around your throat, he pulls you back against his chest.

Bradley is the only thing you can process now. How his chest feels with its quick rise and falls against your back. How his large hand grips your throat, a steady, reassuring hold. How hot his breath is against your ear in short puffs and grunts. The way his hips grind into yours with a slight twist every time he bottoms out. How his other hand grips your waist hard, fingertips pressed into you, making indented flesh, like you might slip away from him.

"How's that, princess?" He asks.

"So good, you're so good." You chant for him as much as you can with your oxygen restricted. Desperate for something to grip, you dig your nails into the side of his thigh.

Bradley groans, lowering his head where he bites into your shoulder. The tinge of pain and how he snaps his hips is all it takes. You are falling over the edge again. The tension wound tight in your core, flooding out of you and into your body.

Bradley spills into you a few thrusts later. Your body still shaking and your walls still occasionally fluttering around him in you. He rolls his hips into you a few more times and relaxes the tight hold he had on your hips and neck. He is praising you and pressing soft open mouth kisses anywhere he can reach.

He gently pulls out of you. It's an immediately empty feeling that your body wasn't prepared for after spending so much time stuffed full of him. You collapse forward into the mattress again with jelly legs. You are exhausted.

Bradley gives you water that he brought earlier. He presses yet another gentle kiss to your forehead before getting up from the bed. You hear him mutter something, but your brain is too fried to process it.

The moment Bradley is out of the room, though, you start to panic. The emotions rise from deep in your chest and feel like they are going to strangle you, making it hard to breathe.

You take a few shaky breaths before all of it bubbles to a boil, and tears stream down your face. Then, it only takes a few more breaths before they become full on sobs wracking your whole body.

You wrap your arms around yourself and hiccup, trying desperately to stop the tears and the emotions flooding your system, but nothing seems to be working.

You had only been crying a minute or two before Bradley was back in the doorway. Seeing the state you are in, he rushes over to your side, tossing the pajamas, towels, and sheets he had stacked in his arms to the side.

"Baby, what's wrong?" He asks you. His voice is steady and slow, still raw from moaning your name. Bradley does so well in situations like this; he always keeps a level head. A source of steadiness and care. You briefly start to consider if that's one of the reasons he is such a fantastic pilot.

Bradley repeats the question to you, and you flinch. Not a small flinch but a whole body flinch, expecting another spank to be delivered. It doesn't come; there is only Bradley, slowly rubbing your arms in an up and down motion trying to soothe you. He is making small shushing noises.

You shift closer to him. Wrapping your arms around his neck and cling to him tight. You were almost in a fetal position with your legs pressed close to your chest. Bradley was quick on the uptake. He shifts, so he is leaning back against y'all's headboard.

His arms wrap around your naked body, holding you close to his chest.

"Tighter, please," you finally managed to request. Your fingers dig just a little bit into the skin of his neck. Bradley instantly flexes his arms, squeezing you a little tighter and a little closer to him.

"Take your breaths with me, baby." You hear him mutter, but you can't do it. The sobs wracking your body are still too much.

At least this time, you don't flinch waiting for punishment when you can't follow directions. Bradley starts to rock you back and forth, still making soothing noises, reminding you to breathe or following his own deep breaths.

"I can't," you finally manage to gasp out between sobs. One of Bradley's arms unwraps from you to cradle your head, his thumb tracing smooth lines over your jaw and occasionally sweeping down your neck.

"I got you, princess," he says, and you know it's true.

You adjust your grip on him so that your arms wrap around his narrow waist, and you press your face almost harshly into the juncture of his shoulder and neck. You just breathe him in then, finally feeling some of the panic that had a vice grip on your throat release. The heavy feeling in your chest eases, allowing you to take deeper breaths.

After too much effort, you can finally match his breathing. The moment you start to praise fills your ears from the deep rumble in his chest.

"That's it, baby. You are so good for me." You process what he is saying, and the tears streaming down your face subside until they are only occasional, not constant.

"Bradley," you whisper, mouthing the words into his neck more than anything else.

"Yes, baby? What do you need?"

"Do you love me?"

"Of course," his answer is instantaneous, without doubt, or hesitancy.

"Am I not good to you?" You ask him, closing your eyes and pressing your face into his neck again, unwilling to see any kind of reaction he might have to your words.

"You are good to me, princess," he reassures you, but you feel the muscles in his arms tense where he is holding you.

"Is this because I called you a brat?" He asks.

"I didn't mean to be a brat." You defend yourself slightly. You release one of the arms holding him to you desperately and instead bring it closer so that you can trace the scars littering his neck and chest within reach for you.

"I know you didn't mean to be a brat."

"I know you don't like brats."

"I don't," he agrees. "But I love you, so it's okay."

More tears leak out of your eyes hearing him say that, and you have to suck in another ragged deep breath so you don't sob again.

"If you love me, and I'm good to you. Then why don't you like taking care of me anymore?" You finally manage to push out. The motive behind all your actions and your insecurities is laid out in-between you.

The words sit there in the tiny space you've left between you. They taste like when you forget to brush your teeth after going out drinking, sitting sour heavy in your mouth. You cringe at how they almost sound like an accusation against Bradley, against the most amazing man you have ever met. You instantly want to take them back, wishing you had kept them inside, put them into the lock box, and left them there.

It's Bradley's breath that catches this time. You hear it as much as you feel it under you. His muscles freeze under and around you. You wait. Wait for his exhale. Wait for his muscles to relax, for him to unwind, and reassurances and excuses to follow.

You are waiting too long. Bradley is completely frozen. You resist his hold on you, only willing and able to move away far enough from his grasp to scan his face. He is looking forward towards the far wall of your room. His eyes dart back and forth rapidly like he is reading a document.

"Bradley?" His name inspires a reaction, which is somewhat of a comfort. He sucks in a few rapid breaths. His gaze flashes down to meet yours, and you are briefly consumed by the depths of it before he looks away back to the far wall.

Bradley slowly relaxes, except for his arms around you. He crushes you close to his chest, not tighter than when you started crying, but nearly.

"I haven't been taking care of you?" He finally asks you. It's a detached, distant tone of voice that you don't recognize from Bradley.

You can't say anything now. You already regret the words and don't want to dig into them further. If you could rewind and go back to just a few minutes ago before you said them, you would. Bradley waits; he doesn't push you for an answer and doesn't punish you for not giving him one this time. He doesn't let go of you either.

You decide to lie to him and shove your raw feelings into a box. You prepare to tell him how, of course, you've felt taken care of. You didn't know what you were even saying. They were just more bratty words, but he beats you to the punch.

"You're right. I don't deserve a good girl like you."

"You do. You are amazing, Bradley."

"Please don't lie to me, princess." He gruffly tells you. Your heart clenches hard in your chest.

"It's not a lie." You stroke the side of his neck, trying to provide comfort. "You are the best man I've ever met."

He scoffs hearing that. "Not if I haven't been taking care of you. Then I hardly even deserve to be called a man at all."

"I'm a grown woman. I don't need a man to take care of me. My hormones are probably just out of wack. That's where all this came from. Can we chalk it up to that and leave it?"

"I know you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. You have to do it every time I leave. But you shouldn't have to when I am here. Plus, I'm not just any man."

"Please, Bradley. I promise it doesn't matter."

"Of course, it matters! How you feel will always matter to me."

You sigh into his neck. The emotions in you pull so tight you know that if this conversation continues, you will likely break into tears again.

"What do you need to hear for this to be better?"

"I need what I always need. I need honesty and the truth."

"You won't let me take it back, will you?"

"No. I need you to tell me how you feel."

"I feel like you don't enjoy taking care of me anymore." You start, repeating what you already had said. You wait for him to say something, but he stays quietly listening, so you continue.

"I feel like you are days away from breaking up with me. Sometimes, I feel like you would rather be anywhere but dealing with me. I feel like I'm a chore. I feel like I won't be your girlfriend by the time you next ship off. It feels like you are just waiting for the right moment, doing what you must until it's the right time or convenient to end it."

You pause to take a deep breath. Waiting for him to say something now.

"Fuck," Bradley sighs the word. It is under his breath, and you hear it only because you are cuddled so close to him. "That couldn't be further from the truth for me, baby. But you are right about something. I have no intention for you to be my girlfriend by the time I have to go again. I'm hoping you will be much more than that."

You have never felt your heart plummet and then rise again within such a short span of time. You are consumed with the need to see his face. You struggle against Bradley's arms holding you, wiggling until he lets you go. You climb out of his embrace and lie down on your side, motioning for him to do the same. Bradley lowers himself down on the bed until he is lying parallel to you.

You pull him closer until various parts of you are still brushing, but you can stare at his face now. You reach up, cupping his cheek, and stare into his eyes like they hold the answers to the universe. You briefly consider that maybe they do.

"I need examples," Bradley utters as his arm slings across your waist.

"It's stupid, Bradley. My own made up insecurities over tiny things that aren't real."

"It's not stupid. I want to know. We can only put these insecurities to rest if we acknowledge them. And, so, I can make sure I'm not hurting you. I would never intentionally hurt you," Bradley says with conviction.

You sigh and trace the scar on his chin for a long moment trying to think of examples. "Last week, you didn't kiss me when you got home from the store. And sometimes you talk about our house like, it's just a temporary place, not our home."

"Baby, this is just a temporary place. I could get restationed any day."

"It's not about the actual house Bradley. It's about me. I know you'll get restationed at some point, or we will finally buy our own place. But when you talk about it like that, I sometimes feel like I'm not your home." The final sentence comes out in a broken whisper.

Bradley's hand that is on your hip digs into the flesh hard. It makes you whine a little bit, more from the surprise of the grip than anything else.

"You are the only thing I have to come home to. I don't care if we live here, in the back of the Bronco, or in a cardboard box. It wouldn't matter to me. You are my home, baby. I ain't got no one else." He searches your eyes like he is looking for something when he says those words. But, he must eventually find it because the edge of his lip quirks up he relaxes his hand again.

"I'll work on that," he promises you. "And I'll try not to forget any more kisses. If I do, I want you to stop me, no matter what's going on, and ask me if I forgot something. If you ever want kisses, baby, I am always more than happy to oblige."

You take him up on the offer right then and there, leaning forward and sealing your lips against his. It's a slow and tender kiss. The kind that you only have when someone knows you entirely. When Bradley pulls away, he leaves his forehead pressed against yours.

"What are some other things?" He whispers the question.

"You let me go to my last doctor's appointment alone," you say, trying to scrounge your mind for more random examples.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think you would want me to be at your gynecologist appointment."

"You just didn't even offer. It's not like anyone in the world is more acquainted with my vagina than you and me." You laugh even saying the words, the heavy feeling in your chest finally subsiding. Bradley joins you, letting out a few chuckles. You hadn't actually wanted him to come to the appointment, but it was more about the point of him wanting to go.

"I'll be at the next one," he promises you.

"I don't actually want you to go," you start to tell him, but he cuts you off.

"No takes backs, princess. If I am here, I will be at the appointment. Your birth control and uterine health are very important to me." You laugh at him shaking your head at his silliness.

"What else?" Bradley asks you again.

"I don't have anything else I can think of right now," you tell him honestly.

"And when you think of some. What are you going to do?"

"I'll let you know," you say, but it's not in a convincing tone.

"Thank you. That's all I ever want, is for you to talk to me. I can't help or fix things if I don't know what's wrong."

"You are just so perfect. The thought of bothering you to ask for more... it feels selfish."

"It's not selfish," he reassures you kindly. "I would do anything for you. I want to do everything for you."

"I love you, Bradley," you tell him, kissing and pulling him close to your body. He kisses you back, his devotion for you bleeding into every movement of his mouth and how his hand starts to caress your side.

You try to hold him to you when he pulls away this time. But he just tsks his tongue at you, giving you a goofy smile.

"I need to change the sheets. You need to pee. And we should probably shower."

He moves to lift you up in his arms, but you squirm, pouting until he drops you back on the bed.

"Princess, I thought we were done with being bratty." He groans out, but there is no real bite in his words, especially not with how he is smiling at you.

"I think I might like being bratty sometimes." You tease him, spreading your sore body out for him like an invite.

He scoops you into his arms again, ignoring your wiggles, walking towards the bathroom. "That's okay, princess. I like spanking you to teach you a lesson."

You hide your grin in his neck until he sets you down gently on the bathroom counter. Bradley starts the shower so it can warm up. Then he heads back to the bedroom to change the sheets, but not before giving you a pointed look.

He is already back in your bedroom when you call after him, your voice still feeling a little horse. "Lieutenant Bradshaw?"

"Yes, Ma'am?" He calls back.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

He literally sprints back into the bathroom, which makes you giggle. Rooster comes to a little sliding stop on one of the floor mats in front of you. One of his large hands cups the back of your head and the other holds your cheek. You part your mouth in anticipation, but he kisses your forehead first. Then each one of your eyes and nose.

"My love," he sighs the words, giving you a wide grin before finally kissing your mouth.

The phrase bounces around your head a few times before making its way into your chest and settling warmly there, starting to blossom. You were his, and he was yours. Sometimes things can just be simple like that.

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