#rooster x OC

[simpforrooster]

actually, it’s captain.

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x f!reader

summary: request for @kpopgirlbtssvt. rooster’s girl is hit on by Top Gun students.

t/w: touch her, you d i e trope. cursing. mentions of alcohol.

Rooster leans against the bar, laughing at something Penny tells him. His jeans hang low on his hips, and he’s wearing the Hawaiian shirt you bought him for his birthday.

Rooster’s hand slaps the bar as he continues to howl. Penny and Mav exchange a look. Maverick murmurs something to Penny. Your guess would be “it wasn’t that funny.”

You throw back the rest of your drink. As your glass returns to the table, a group of men circle you, all clad in khaki. Must be new Top Gun recruits.

“What’s a pretty little gal like you sittin’ here alone for?” one of them asks you, his accent very similar to Hangman’s.

“Mind if we join ya?” the second asks. Before you can reply, two of the slide in across from you, while the one who spoke first sits next to you. His burly arm comes up around your shoulder. You stiffen under him, feeling small.

And not in the way you feel with Rooster. He makes you feel small, protected, but also empowered. This guy has a hold on you like he’s claiming you. Telling every other guy in the bar he plans on taking you home.

“This here’s Crane and Sorry,” he points to the two in front of you. “And you can call me Pleasure. As in, it’s a pleasure to meet you. As in, the way all ladies feel after a night with me.” He winks. He actually winks.

Your brain is so shocked, you can’t form words. You should take this guy’s arm and bend it behind your back, the way your dad taught you. You should give him on of your grade-a verbal lashings.

But you don’t. The sheer audacity of this man has you frozen.

You try to make eye contact with Rooster, but Pleasure’s frame blocks your view.

“Get your hands off my girlfriend, asshole.” Rooster’s voice makes a relieved breath come from your mouth. His tone of voice would make anyone run for the hills, but it leaves you full of wanting.

Pleasure chuckles, meeting Rooster’s gaze. “Actually, it’s Lieutenant.”

Crane and Sorry exchange an amused look. Rooster’s face is set in a hard line. He reaches for Pleasure’s bicep, ripping him from the booth.

“I said to get your hands off my girlfriend, asshole.” Rooster is a whole head taller than the aviator that just had himself draped on you.

“Shouldn’t leave your girl all alone, dick.” Pleasure tells him, bowing up. Rooster’s mouth pulls up on the left, giving him one of his infamous cocky smirks. Second only to Hangman’s.

“Actually, it’s Captain. And I hope to God you’re in one of my classes. Lieutenant.”

At this, you see Pleasure audibly gulp, knowing he’s fucked up. Rooster still has a death grip on his arm.

“Come on, man. Make my day,” the words come out laced with venom.

Before things can get out of hand, you hop out of the booth and high tail it to Penny. Quickly giving her a synopsis, she rings the bell, signaling these guys need to be thrown out. Hangman, Omaha, and Coyote each grab one of the guys and drag them to the exit.

Rooster joins you at the bar, taking your face in his hands. Those brown eyes roam over you, searching.

Your hands come up to cradle his face, “Roos, I’m fine.”

“When I saw him draped over you, I saw red. Nobody touches my girl.” He leans down to place a kiss against your temple. Rooster’s words have your toes curling in your shoes. You’ve never seen this side of him.

You lower your hands to his shoulders, threading one of them in his curly hair that’s definitely longer than Military regulation.

“You’re the only one I want touching me,” you murmur in his ear, your face flushing.

“Yeah?” he murmurs back.

Not trusting your voice to not come out completely needy, you nod.

“Come on, guys. Quit being disgusting,” Maverick says to the two of you, feigning gagging.

Penny pops his hand over the bar, eliciting a laugh from him.

Rooster ignores him, placing a deep kiss onto your mouth.

“Take me home, baby,” you say, taking in those brown eyes.

“I don’t know, pretty girl, I don’t think I can get further than the Bronco,” he winks.

masterlist.

[imthebadguyyy]

guilty as sin?

pairing : bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader

fandom : top gun

series : the tortured poets department

synopsis : what if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh only in my mind?

warnings : smut

a/n : on a major rooster kick right now so all his fics are coming out first!! happy reading! plus this is my FAVOURITE song on the album.

my boredom's bone deep...

The familiar hum of chatter and clinking glasses filled the Hard Deck as you leaned against the bar, nursing your drink. Your squadron mates were engaged in a spirited game of pool, their laughter and banter echoing through the room. Despite the lively atmosphere, you found yourself detached, your mind wandering to more tantalizing thoughts.

Your gaze drifted to Bradley, who was standing across the room, effortlessly charismatic as always. His aviator sunglasses perched on his nose even indoors, a casual grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He was engrossed in a conversation with Phoenix, but you couldn't tear your eyes away.

You imagined running your hands through his tousled hair, feeling the soft strands slip between your fingers. The way his muscles would flex under your touch, his strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. Your breath hitched at the thought, a flush rising to your cheeks.

Bradley's eyes flickered to you, and for a moment, you wondered if he could read your mind. He raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. You quickly averted your gaze, pretending to be interested in your drink, but the image of him lingered in your mind.

The thought of his hands roaming your body sent a shiver down your spine. You imagined the roughness of his calloused palms against your skin, the heat of his breath on your neck. Your heart raced as you pictured the two of you in a secluded corner of the bar, his lips trailing a line of fire down your throat, his body pressing against yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

You could almost hear his low, husky voice whispering in your ear, saying things that made your knees weak. The thought of him murmuring your name in that deep, commanding tone sent a thrill through you, making your pulse quicken.

"Hey, you okay?" Phoenix's voice snapped you back to reality. You turned to see her looking at you with a curious expression.

"Yeah, just... lost in thought," you replied, forcing a smile.

Before she could probe further, Bradley approached, his presence commanding your attention. "Need another drink?" he asked, his voice sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You nodded, handing him your empty glass. As he took it from you, his fingers brushed yours, a simple touch that felt electric. "Thanks," you managed to say, your voice sounding a little breathless even to your own ears.

He smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Anytime," he said, his voice low and smooth. He turned to head back to the bar, and you watched him go, unable to stop the explicit thoughts that continued to dance in your mind.

As the night wore on, you couldn't help but steal glances at Bradley, each look intensifying your desire. You wondered if he could feel the same pull, if he was just as affected by the charged atmosphere between you. The thought that he might be daydreaming about you in the same way sent a rush of heat through your body.

The Hard Deck was buzzing with energy, but all you could think about was Bradley and the way he made you feel. You knew that tonight, your dreams would be filled with him, and you couldn't wait for the day those fantasies might become reality.

what if he's written mine on my upper thigh only in my mind?

The hum of the aircraft engines had long since faded, replaced by the soft rustling of sheets and the gentle sound of your breathing. You lay in your bunk, exhausted from a day of flying, quickly slipping into a deep sleep.

The world around you was soft and warm, the room dimly lit by the golden glow of a bedside lamp. You found yourself in a spacious bed, surrounded by soft, crisp sheets that smelled faintly of Bradley's cologne. The room was quiet, save for the sound of your quiet laughter and the low, melodious chuckles coming from Bradley beside you.

He was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, gazing at you with those mesmerizing eyes. His hair was tousled, his face relaxed, and a mischievous smile played on his lips. You felt a flutter of excitement in your chest, a thrill of anticipation as he leaned in closer.

His lips brushed against yours, soft and warm, sending sparks of electricity through your body. You giggled against his mouth, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, becoming more passionate, more intense, until you were both breathless and laughing.

Bradley's hand trailed down your side, his touch gentle and teasing. He pulled back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with an intensity that made your heart race. "You're mine," he whispered, his voice low and possessive, sending a shiver down your spine.

You felt his fingers on your skin, tracing delicate patterns on your upper thigh. Slowly, deliberately, he spelled out the word "mine" with his fingertip, the sensation making your skin tingle and your breath hitch. Each letter was a promise, a declaration that made your heart swell with desire and longing.

You laughed softly, the sound filled with happiness and contentment. Bradley's eyes sparkled with amusement and something deeper, something that made you feel cherished and adored. He leaned in again, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate, a kiss that made you feel like you were the center of his universe.

His hands slowly moved lower, spreading your thighs apart, lips slowly trailing down your body in a heated trail, kissing your chest, your tummy, your belly button, one hand wrapping softly around your throat, all the way to your hips...

Just as the he was reaching the juncture between your thighs, you jolted awake. The abruptness of reality hit you like a cold splash of water. Your heart was pounding, your skin flushed and warm. The darkness of your bunk contrasted sharply with the golden glow of the dream, the laughter and intimacy replaced by the quiet hum of the sleeping quarters.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. The dream had felt so real, so vivid, that you could almost still feel Bradley's touch on your thigh, his lips on yours. The memory of his whispered words echoed in your mind, making your skin tingle with the aftershocks of the dream.

You rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling, your mind replaying every moment of the dream. The feelings it had stirred within you were undeniable, and you knew that the next time you saw Bradley, it would be impossible to look at him without remembering the way his touch had made you feel.

With a sigh, you closed your eyes, hoping that sleep would take you back to that dream, back to Bradley's arms, back to the warmth and laughter that had felt so right.

messy top lip kiss, how I long for our trysts...

The sun was high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the beach as you and the rest of the squad gathered for a spirited game of volleyball. The laughter and competitive banter filled the air, mingling with the sound of crashing waves and the calls of seagulls. Maverick was in top form, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the game, while everyone else was enjoying the carefree atmosphere.

Bradley stood out among the group, his shirt discarded, revealing a toned, sun-kissed torso that glistened with sweat. He moved with a grace and power that drew your eyes to him, unable to look away. His aviator sunglasses reflected the bright sunlight, giving him an air of effortless coolness.

As the game progressed, you found it harder and harder to focus on the ball. You had opted to just lay on the same after playing for a while, settling on the blue blanket phoenix had got for you, sipping on a glass of fresh watermelon juice, lounging with Omaha on the beach. Instead, your eyes followed Bradley, admiring the way his muscles flexed with each movement, the way he ran across the sand with such confidence and ease. Every time he jumped to spike the ball, you felt a flutter in your chest, your breath catching in your throat.

His abs glistened with sweat as he chest bumped Payback, muscles rippling in his back like waves, denim shorts slung low on his hips, so tight fitting they looked like they were painted onto his legs.

At one point, Bradley looked your way and flashed you a brilliant smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Your jaw dropped slightly, mesmerized by the sight. His tanned skin, the way the sun highlighted every defined line of his body, left you feeling flustered and warm.

Bob sidled up to you, noticing your slack-jawed stare. "Cherry, stop drooling over him. You'll catch flies in your mouth," he teased, a playful smirk on his face.

You snapped your mouth shut, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I wasn't—" you started to protest, but Bob's knowing look silenced you. He chuckled and jogged back to his position, leaving you to your thoughts.

Your mind wandered, slipping into a daydream where the volleyball game faded away, and it was just you and Bradley on the beach. The sound of the waves became a soothing backdrop as he walked toward you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

He reached out, his hand warm as it cupped your cheek. "I've been waiting for this," he murmured, his voice low and filled with promise. You felt a shiver of anticipation run through you as he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate.

It was a messy top lip kiss, the kind that left you breathless and craving more. His lips were soft and demanding, moving against yours with a fervor that made your knees weak. You felt his hand slide to the small of your back, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until you were lost in the sensation of him.

The kiss led to more, each touch and caress igniting a fire within you. You imagined the two of you tangled in each other's arms, exploring and discovering every inch of skin. His fingers tracing patterns along your spine, his lips traveling from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses.

It left you flushed and yearning, the volleyball game and your surroundings forgotten. All you could think about was Bradley, and the way he made you feel with just a look, a touch, a kiss.

A sudden cheer from your teammates brought you back to reality, and you realized you had missed the last few plays of the game. Bradley was laughing with Maverick, his eyes bright with triumph. He glanced your way again, catching your gaze, and for a moment, it felt like he could see the daydreams playing out in your mind.

He licked his pink lips, thumb running over his moustache. You clenched your thighs, instantly thinking about how good it would feel, his face nestled between your legs, lips trailing kisses all over your throbbing core...

You quickly looked away, hoping your flushed cheeks didn't give you away. But even as the game continued, your thoughts kept drifting back to those imagined moments with Bradley, the feel of his lips on yours, the warmth of his touch, and the undeniable connection that left you longing for more.

these fatal fantasies, giving way to laboured breath.. 

All you could think about was his warm wet tongue sliding up your folds and then his long fingers curling inside you. You imagined his lips on your clit, sucking so harshly it made filthy noises. Your heart was racing as your slid your finger up your folds and began rubbing your clit as your other hand and cupped your breasts, and then pinching and twisting your hard nipples.

Quickly, you slide your finger into your dripping hole and then adding in another one to feel full. You pictured Bradley's cock ramming in and out of you so rough and so fast. You imagined his warm cum filling up your walls. 

Your fingers sped up against your clit, moaning as the image of Bradley licking your pussy flooded your vision. "Fuck! Rooster!" You groaned, hips rising and falling as you chased your high.

"Oh fuck! Shit!" You moaned, hips arching high as you rubbed the sensitive nub faster, head slamming back against your pillow, hips stuttering as your orgasm hit you like a freight train.

Your chest heaved, thighs glistening and breath coming laboured as you panted, eyes shut as you inhaled deep breaths of air.

"Fuck me..." You muttered as you slowly sat up. Looking at the time, you cursed when you realised you had to meet the other at the hard deck in half an hour.

someone told me, theres no such thing as bad thoughts ..

How could you face Bradley now, knowing the explicit fantasies that had consumed your mind? Shaking off the feeling, you decided to head to the Hard Deck, hoping the lively atmosphere would distract you and help you regain your composure.

The bar was already bustling with your squadron mates when you arrived. Maverick, Phoenix, Bob, and Bradley were gathered around, engaged in animated conversations and laughter. You could see Hangman, Coyote, Payback and Fanboy playing a game of cards again. You approached the group, trying to appear casual, but you felt as guilty as sin, unable to meet Bradley's eyes.

You slid onto a stool at the bar, your gaze fixed on your drink. Phoenix noticed your uncharacteristic quietness and sidled up to you, concern etched on her face. "Hey, you okay?" she asked, her voice low enough that only you could hear.

You forced a smile, nodding slightly. "Yeah, just tired."

Phoenix studied you for a moment before a knowing look crossed her face. She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's perfectly fine to have feelings, you know. There's no such thing as bad thoughts"

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked down, embarrassed at how transparent you seemed. Phoenix gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Seriously, just talk to him."

You glanced up, following Phoenix's gaze to where Bradley stood, laughing with Maverick. He looked over, his eyes locking onto yours, a hint of concern in his expression. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly looked away, the intensity of your earlier fantasies making it hard to think straight.

"Go on," Phoenix encouraged softly. "He cares about you. Just talk to him."

Taking a deep breath, you nodded. You knew she was right. Avoiding Bradley wouldn't solve anything, and the guilt and embarrassment would only fester if you didn't confront your feelings.

Mustering your courage, you stood up and made your way over to Bradley. He turned to you, his smile softening as you approached. "Hey," he said, his voice warm and inviting.

"Hey," you replied, trying to steady your racing heart. "Can we talk for a minute?"

Bradley's expression grew serious, and he nodded, leading you to a quieter corner of the bar. "What's on your mind?" he asked, his concern evident.

You hesitated, the words tangled in your throat. But the supportive look in his eyes gave you the strength to continue. "I... I've been thinking a lot about you," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "And it's been driving me a little crazy."

Bradley's eyebrows raised in surprise, but a slow smile spread across his face. "You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "I've been thinking about you, too."

The weight of your earlier guilt began to lift, replaced by a sense of relief and excitement. "Really?" you asked, unable to hide the hopeful note in your voice.

"Really," he confirmed, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. "How about we get out of here and talk somewhere quieter?"

You nodded, your heart soaring as you followed him out of the bar. As you walked side by side, the tension and uncertainty melted away, replaced by the thrill of new possibilities and the promise of something real and meaningful.

my bedsheets are ablaze, I've screamed his name...

"rooster!fuck!” You screamed out, your toes curling beneath you as bradley continued to flick his tongue over your folds at a ridiculously fast pace.

The room was hot, both your bodies sweating in a tangled mess. Bradley pressed your body firmly down, whilst he kept your legs around his head - trapping him to the spot he desired so much. He kept your hips pressed down with one arm and the other was being used to pump his fingers, unforgivingly, into you. You weren’t able to focus on anything apart from the endless, relentless pleasure he was giving you.

Your fingers tugged against the soft waves of his hair, which made him moan and send vibrations all over your pussy and through your heat. The sounds that filled the room were unholy and wet and downright filthy.

His tongue persistently lapped at your folds, using his fingers to reach the spots inside of you that had you seeing heaven on earth. His tongue felt so good and his fingers even better.

But goddamn that moustache.

All you could feel was the tickle of prickly hair rubbing against your oh so sensitive clit, stroking  it as he moved his face. His movements were so wild and quick that each time he moved let you feel his moustache. Each time he moved a different direction your pussy caught against the hairs and dragged against your skin, causing you to moan out in pleasure. Bradley knew exactly what he was doing. He was filthy and you absolutely loved it.

His fingers pumped harder, curling to reach your favourite and most sensitive spots and his tongue moved faster as you began to reach your high. It didn’t take much for him, with the moustache, to bring you to your release and rooster definitely got off on that. He loved when his moustache got coated in your juices and he could taste it hours later, where he hadn’t quite cleaned himself properly. It was tormenting in a way though, because one taste of you had him on his knees begging for more - he wouldn’t even care if you were beyond spent.

He pulled away to look up at you with endless adoration, and you felt his hot breath fan against your even hotter pussy. . He looked so lustful, eyes blown wide and dark. He was a different man right now - one on a mission to make you scream his name. 

He kept straight eye contact with you as his moustache glistened with a coating of your juices, his eyes remained locked to yours as he ran his tongue over his lips and upper moustache hairs, tasting you without being face deep in you. You groaned at the sight, before deciding you wanted in on the action too.

Leaning up and forwards you smashed your lips on to his, moaning as you tasted  yourself on his lips.  It was divine.  His bristly hairs tickled your upper lips and you hummed at the sensual sensation. He pulled away when he realised you were enjoying this too much, not wanting to distract himself, or you, from giving you the release you so deserved.

"You can kiss me senseless after i’ve devoured you, baby.” He kissed your lips once more and then pushed you back down and reattached himself to your soaking pussy. You cried out at the contact, not believing you ever thought you’d be able to go without the feeling. Nothing would ever compare to this. To him.

“Roo!" You moaned his name in pleasure and returned your hands to his hair, pushing him further into you.

His tongue moved inside of your folds in angles you never knew existed, making your toes curl and your tummy flutter with excitement. You felt your release so close. His fingers entered - one, two, three - and found the right pace to have you completely defenceless below him. You were his to toy and play with, that much Bradley knew. Like this, you were a bowl of jello in his arms, allowing him to tease and pleasure you how he’d like to - with the trust that you’d stop him if he went too far.

“You gonna come for me baby angel?” He rhetorically asked, knowing you were only a few more pumps away from your release.

“Yes, yes just for you.” You gasped as he quickened the pace of his fingers and designated his attention to your pulsing clit.

“Come on then. I won’t tell you twice.” The way the hairs of his moustache moved from his words against yourclit sent you over the edge.

The fucking moustache.

You arched your back and screamed out as he kept pumping his fingers through your release. You grasped onto your breast, needing something to release your frustration into. God you felt unholy and dirty. You felt fucking amazing. Your breathing was laboured and Bradley spent the rest of your high lapping your folds and around your cunt, drinking up every last drop of your release. He couldn’t get enough of you. He would never.

“Can you kiss me now?” You quietly asked and you felt his presence suddenly hover above you, his moustache absolutely covered with your juices. He wore them with pride. He raised his eyebrows at you, hovering just above your lips. “Please?” You stressed and who was he to deny that pouting face of yours. Who was he to deny you his moustache?

I choose you and me, religiously...

The restaurant was bathed in soft, ambient light, creating an atmosphere of elegance and romance. The clink of fine china and the murmur of quiet conversation provided a soothing backdrop as you sat across from Bradley at a candlelit table. The upscale, intimate setting was perfect, and you couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement and anticipation.

You were wearing a silky satin red dress that clung to your curves and shimmered in the candlelight. Bradley looked dashing in his tailored suit, his eyes never leaving you as he smiled warmly across the table. The evening had been a whirlwind of the finest food and wine, each course more exquisite than the last.

As the waiter poured another glass of rich, velvety wine, Bradley reached across the table, taking your hand in his. His touch was warm and reassuring, sending a thrill through you.

"You look stunning tonight," he said softly, his voice filled with admiration. "I can't take my eyes off you."

You blushed, the heat rising to your cheeks as you smiled at him. "Thank you. You look pretty amazing yourself."

The dinner continued with laughter and light conversation, but you could sense that Bradley had something on his mind. As the dessert was served—an indulgent chocolate fondant that melted in your mouth—he took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours with a seriousness that made your heart skip a beat.

"I've been thinking a lot about us," he began, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand. "About how much you've come to mean to me."

Your heart raced, and you held your breath, waiting for him to continue.

"I never expected to fall this hard, this fast," he admitted, his voice filled with raw emotion. "But here I am, completely and utterly in love with you."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you listened, your heart swelling with happiness.

"I choose you and me religiously," he said, his voice unwavering. "Every day, in every way, I choose us. Because with you, I've found something real, something worth holding on to."

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, and Bradley reached out, gently wiping it away with his thumb. His eyes were filled with love and sincerity, and you knew that this moment, this man, was everything you had ever dreamed of.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I love you so much."

Bradley stood up, moving around the table to kneel beside you. He took both your hands in his, looking up at you with a smile that made your heart melt. "Then let's make a promise," he said, his voice steady and sure. "To always choose each other, no matter what."

You nodded, unable to find the words as your emotions overwhelmed you. He leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. It was a kiss that spoke of promises and a future filled with love.

As you pulled away, you looked into his eyes, seeing the same love and commitment reflected back at you. "I promise," you said softly, your voice filled with conviction.

Bradley smiled, his eyes shining with happiness. "Then let's toast to us," he said, raising his glass. "To love, to promises, and to choosing each other, always."

You clinked your glass against his, the sound a beautiful reminder of the bond you shared. As you sipped your wine, you felt a sense of peace and contentment settle over you. With Bradley by your side, you knew that you had found your perfect match, and you were ready to face whatever the future held, together.

what if i roll the stone away?

The squad had gathered at the hangar for a relaxed evening, the familiar scent of jet fuel and the hum of aircraft providing a comforting backdrop. Hangman, Bob, Coyote, Phoenix, Payback, and Fanboy were all there, sharing stories and laughter after a long day of training. You and Bradley were part of the group, but your mind was elsewhere, consumed by the secret you were carrying.

You and Bradley had been secretly dating for a while now. The relationship was a source of joy and excitement, but the thought of revealing it to the squad filled you with nervous anticipation. You worried about how it might change the dynamics within your tight-knit group. Yet, tonight felt different. A sense of determination had been building within you, and you knew it was time to share your happiness with your friends.

As the evening progressed, you laughed and chatted with the others, but your mind kept drifting to Bradley. He caught your eye several times, his reassuring smile giving you the strength you needed. You knew he was ready to support you, no matter what.

Finally, you decided it was time. You excused yourself, mentioning you needed to check something by your jet. The squad continued their conversation, but Bradley's eyes followed you, filled with a mix of curiosity and encouragement.

You walked towards the edge of the hangar, the cool night air calming your nerves. Before you disappeared, you turned back to face the group. Bradley stood up, sensing that something significant was about to happen.

With your heart pounding, you walked back to him, your determination solidifying with each step. The squad’s chatter quieted as they noticed your serious expression. You stopped in front of Bradley, taking a deep breath. Without a word, you leaned in and kissed him, a tender yet passionate kiss that conveyed all the love and connection you felt.

When you pulled back, you were met with a chorus of surprised exclamations.

"Whaaas?" Hangman exclaimed, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief.

"No way!" Fanboy said, a grin spreading across his face.

"Well, I'll be damned," Coyote muttered, shaking his head with a smile.

Phoenix looked at you, her eyes wide with surprise but quickly turning into a warm, approving smile. Bob's mouth hung open, but he quickly composed himself, giving you a thumbs-up.

Payback just laughed, slapping Bradley on the back. "About time!"

Feeling a rush of relief and exhilaration, you looked around at your friends, their reactions a mixture of shock, amusement, and support. Bradley wrapped an arm around your shoulders, his smile beaming with pride.

"I guess the cat's out of the bag," he said, his voice filled with affection.

Phoenix stepped forward, giving you a hug. "I’m happy for you guys. Seriously, it’s about time you both found some happiness."

Hangman chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, this explains a lot. Congrats, you two."

As the initial surprise faded, the group quickly accepted the new dynamic. The conversation shifted to teasing and light-hearted jokes, but there was an undercurrent of genuine happiness and support for you and Bradley.

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders, the anxiety of keeping your relationship a secret melting away. With Bradley by your side and the unwavering support of your friends, you knew that everything would be okay.

Later, as you headed to check on your jet one last time, you glanced back at Bradley, who was watching you with a proud, loving expression. You blew him a kiss, feeling lighter and happier than you had in a long time.

a/n : i adored writing this!! i hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!! as always, comments likes reblogs feedback etc is always appreciated 🤍

TAGS

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[bradshawsvinyl]

Begin Again Part Two

As a first grade teacher, you couldn’t help but fall for your sweet student and her very attractive Navy fighter pilot father.

Part One. Part Three.

Bradley could not believe his ears. He was pretty sure if he looked into a mirror his face would be tomato red. He had never felt more humbled in his life.

“I’m not sure where she got that from,” Bradley awkwardly laughed. “You know how kids are. They get confused sometimes. Right Tara?”

“But Daddy,” Tara started. “You told Aunt Phoenix that my teacher was…”

“Well,” Bradley said while looking at you. “We have to um get going. See you tomorrow Ms. Y/L/N.” He practically dragged Tara out of your classroom.

You politely smiled and waved. “Bye Tara! Bye Mr. Bradshaw!” You said.

Bradley and Tara leaving meant you finally had some time to yourself. You wondered if Tara was telling the truth. Bradley was right. You did know how kids are. Maybe Tara overheard Bradley’s conversation and got confused. That had to be why she said that.

The next day on base, Bradley practically ran to Phoenix. “What do I do? Phoenix please help me,” He begged.

Phoenix began walking towards the on base locker rooms. “Bradshaw, what the hell is up with you?”

Bradley made quick steps to keep up with Phoenix. “Yesterday, when I went to pick up Tara, she walked up to her teacher and told her that I think she’s pretty,” he said with a hint of embarrassment in his voice.

“Yikes Rooster,” Phoenix replied. “I don’t even think I can help you get out of that one.” She said before bursting into laughter.

“Phoenix please. What should I say to her today? Should I just ignore her or what? You’re the girl here, you have to have something I can do.” Bradley said, voice laced with desperation.

“Look Bradley,” Phoenix said seriously. “Just be honest with her. Tell her that what Tara said is true and that you meant no harm by it. I don’t know what else to say.”

Bradley sighed, said goodbye to Phoenix, and did the walk of shame to his Ford Bronco. It was time to pick up Tara again. It was time to see you again.

At school, Tara was the last person to be picked up again. You led her inside of your classroom and patiently waited for her father to arrive. At four o clock, he knocked on your door.

“Daddy,” Tara yelled while running to Bradley.

“Hi sweetie!” He said while giving her a hug. “Hi Ms Y/L/N.” He said with a polite wave in your direction.

“Hi Mr. Bradshaw.” You said politely. “Before you go, I just wanted to remind you that drop off is at 3 o'clock.”

“Crap,” he said while letting go of Tara. “Sorry. I’m a single dad and sometimes it’s hard to transport Tara from place to place. I fly planes for the Navy so my schedule isn’t very lenient.”

“It’s okay Mr. Bradshaw.” You said while smiling at him. “I have no problem keeping Tara after school for a few hours if it would help you.”

“That would mean a lot as long as it’s not an inconvenience to you.” He said. Bradley couldn’t believe you had offered to watch Tara for him. Finding someone he trusted to watch Tara while he was at work could be hard. Not only were you nice to look at, you were also just nice. “You can just call me Bradley by the way.”

“I’m Y/N then,” you said while holding your hand out for him to shake. “I’m happy to help you. I know it’s only the third day of school but Tara is one of my best students so far.” You said with a wide smile in Tara’s direction.

“Thank you so much.” He smiled while grabbing Tara’s backpack and jacket. “Oh.” He said while turning around to face you again. He quickly ran his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes before quickly opening them again. “About what Tara said yesterday,” he started. “I did say you were attractive in confidence to my friend. She must have overheard and I’m really sorry if this makes things awkward now, but I just wanted you to know the truth,” he rambled on, “But um yeah I apologize.” He said while running his fingers through his hair again.

“All is forgotten,” you said. “And for the record, you’re not too bad yourself.” You said, slightly blushing.

Bradley grinned. He couldn’t believe his ears. “I should probably give you my number,” he said while pulling out his phone. “You know since you’re going to be staying with Tara for a while after school.”

“Right.” You said taking his phone and typing in your number. “I’ll see you tomorrow Tara.” You waved. “Bye Bradley!”

When you checked your phone after getting home and showering you saw a message from an unknown number.

Hey, it's Bradley. I can’t wait to see more of you. And thanks again for helping with Tara.

You put your phone down and smiled. Then you thought of what to say to Bradley.

Happy to help! See you tomorrow.

You couldn’t wait to see more of Bradley either.

Authors note: I love writing these characters! Please let me know if you want part three. Happy Reading!

-Willow 🩷

[glossgojo]

picture perfect guy

rooster x afab!reader | 2.5k words

summary: it’s not like you ever forget your boyfriend is strong but seeing it so blatantly displayed makes you dizzy

cw: 18+ MDNI, smut, strength k!nk (?), sweat k!nk (if u squint), size k!nk, man-handling, no protection don’t be like them, p in v, reader is down bad, secret relationship, big d!ck rooster, he’s just big in general, shorter reader, reader works in the navy, lowkey power dynamics where reader is higher up, rank k!nk, pet names (girl, baby, etc), fuck the army in more ways than one

you heard what happened in the simulation, working at top gun meant that the pilot training was of utmost importance. no one knew about your relationship and you wanted to keep it that way until the mission ended.

you made your way to the tarmac, wanting to see your boyfriend and your friends doing their punishment. in fairness as maverick’s right hand you had valid reason to make sure they did as told. your boots hitting the sweltering pavement as you made out your boyfriend doing push ups. you were sure his hands were burning up and his body was screaming from exhaustion, you grew closer seeing hondo watching them. you did your best to pay equal attention to phoenix and bob but failed completely as you heard rooster grunting. sweat beaded down his forehead and his skin shined under the sun, a sheen of perspiration on his muscular arms. you swallowed down hard, tearing your gaze from him as you looked to hondo for a count, he looked at you with a wry look and yelled out, “150.”

“i can take over, it’s hot as hell out here.” you elbowed him, he shot you a smile before counting once more and giving you an appreciative nod of the head. your eyes quickly returned to rooster. he grunted once more, moving up and down only looking up when you yelled out the next number. his furrowed brows and glare dissipated like a lovestruck puppy as he met your eyes, you shook your head to dissuade him, to try and make his response less obvious. luckily you turned to find hondo already walking away. bob and phoenix were too busy fighting the ache in their arms to notice or care. it wasn’t like you were the best actors in the world, hangman made countless jokes at the expense of both of you until you reminded him of your rank. you continued counting not missing how bradley’s eyes never seemed to leave you. he was sneaking glances as much as he could, even craning his head as you walked towards bob when you noticed him slacking off. “eyes forward rooster,” you didn’t have to look at him to see his eyes squarely planted on your ass.

you knew your boyfriend was strong, but times like this reminded you just how strong. your rooster, your bradley was mostly gentle with you. when you first started dating you had no idea just how his training affected him, even saying that you were too heavy to sit on his lap. you still remember his slightly offended expression as he tugged you onto his lap and said, “baby i could bench two of you, are you trying to hurt my feelings?” his words, just like they did the first time he said it, made your stomach drop and your thighs squeeze together. you wanted him so badly, wanted him to break you. you knew you were being unfair, the man was 165 push-ups deep in the sweltering california heat. it didn’t stop your greedy eyes from raking over his frame once again, his back muscles bulging through his black shirt as he strained them. you felt your heartbeat pick up and move south. this was torture, for all parties involved. you unbuttoned a few buttons of your uniform, it was lower than you’d usually wear in the base but the only person who had their eyes on you was bradley. the remaining push-ups went as well as they could’ve, all three lieutenants struggling against their bodies grunting and groaning as they struggled through. when it was finally over bob collapsed to the ground, welcoming the hot pavement against his skin. phoenix and rooster shakily stood. you told them both good work, offering bob a hand up which he refused. “just need to catch my breath.” you nodded and threw him a water bottle from the cooler nearby. rooster and phoenix helped themselves to the drinks. phoenix said something about needing to wash up which you nodded dumbly at not really listening when your stupidly handsome boyfriend was drinking down water like his life depended on it, water dribbling down his chin. your eyes tracked the drops as they ran down his neck and under his shirt, you so badly wanted to lick them off, feel the cool liquid against your lips but most importantly feel skin on yours. you felt an inexplicable urge to just lick him clean, you’d blame it on the heat. your entire body burned with a need for him, to taste him to drink him in, to have him. bradley groaned as he finished off his bottle, your mouth slightly agape when he caught your stare and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. his eyes flashed from confusion to all knowing, he could practically feel the desire radiating off you.

“lieutenant bradshaw, are you done for the day?” you should’ve known the answer, he was under your jurisdiction after all, but your mind couldn’t recall anything about today besides his arms and back. bradley licked his lips, feeling himself grow half-hard at the use of his rank. his breath was shallow as he spoke next.

“i’ll be leaving in 15 minutes after i shower.” his eyes flick down to your opened collar you’d forgotten about that until his wide brown eyes seemed to get wider at the sight. you buttoned up, noticing the small pout to his lips. it truly was a miracle the entire base didn’t know due to how obvious your boyfriend was.

“what a coincidence so will i.” you said, shooting him a small smile before heading off towards the base. you heard him running up to your side, following you back inside.

15 minutes later exactly, you found bradley waiting for you next to his truck. he opened the door for you and you put your hand over his as you entered. you both agreed after almost being caught in your office not to do anything physical on the base. that meant as soon as you were off the base, his hand slid onto your bare thigh, you’d changed into a sundress just like he changed into shorts and his usual hawaiian shirt. you were already so desperate for him, his rough large hand covered your thigh and you squirmed in your seat. the drive to bradley and your’s place felt longer than usual, neither of you breaking the silence. after what felt like years you both entered your home, tugging bradley to you by his shirt, your lips finding his as you leaned up onto your toes. he gasped into your mouth, his mustache tickling against you, his arms encircled your waist and you moaned at the feeling. his arms had driven you insane all day and now they were squeezing you like you were nothing. bradley pulled back at the noise, shocked at how you were so gone from a kiss alone, not knowing your train of thought. you leaned back, moving your arms from around his neck to touch his arms, you trailed them up and down feeling the muscle there as bradley watched you, slowly piecing the puzzle together.

“is my girl all worked up from watching me work-out?” his voice was hushed, heavy with want and you felt heat surge between your thighs as he aptly deduced what had you so dizzy.

“you’re so strong, so big, God bradley.” your hands trailed up his arms, to the broadness of his shoulders, traveled to his back to feel the raw power there too. bradley couldn’t help but let that comment get to head as he took in your dazed expression and smirked. at times like this he wondered how he got so lucky. he pulled you closer, his arms tightening around your waist as your chest pressed against his. he could feel all of you now, you could feel his hard-on against your stomach. you looked up at his eyes, finally tearing them away from his body. you whimpered as he lifted you clean off the floor, not even flinching or breaking eye contact. you were a doll in his hold, propped up so he could get a good look at you, finally eye level with him. your breathing got shallower, and bradley had confirmed all he needed to know, hauling you over his shoulder and carrying you to the bedroom.

bradley easily threw you on the bed, stealing the air from your lungs as you crawled up the bed. he pulled his shirt off, his tank to go next, only his dog tags against his bare toned chest. your cheeks flushed as his gaze met yours, his eyes dark with lust, pupils blown wide surrounded by hazel. you were sure you weren’t any different. “pretty, always so fucking pretty.” he murmured, in a daze just like you, wrapping a hand on your ankle and pulling you towards him, at the edge of your bed. his strength, the way he easily threw you around, made your thighs clench and bradley didn’t miss it this time. smirking as he hovered over you, pulling you by the back of your head to kiss him. he pulled back only to kiss your neck, then your collarbone, before he was pushing your sleeve down, ripping the seam in the process, making you hiss. too fucking strong and too fucking desperate for you, you were choking back a moan but didn’t want to egg him on.

“roo! i like this dress.” you gasped as he continued to kiss you, unwavered by your torn sleeve. you half wondered if you could sew it up, your thought being cut off when his teeth scraped against the top of your breast.

“i’ll buy you a new one doll.” you whined in response as he pulled the front of your dress down, cupping your breasts over your bra. you pushed at his chest, not even moving him but he moved back as you pulled the dress over your head. he quickly unclasped your bra and his kisses turned to bites, one hand kneading one breast as the other teased your nipple. his lips bit and sucked at each nipple, blowing air on it to make it even more sensitive. meanwhile you were bucking under his hold, begging for more, begging for him to touch you.

“please bradley, please,” your pleas were falling on dead ears as he sucked and pinned you down. you had to pull out the big guns. “please lieutenant bradshaw touch me.” his eyes snapped back to your face, his teeth dragging off your tender nipple.

“i’m touching you now.” his hands were circling your waist, keeping you in place. his tone was teasing, he knew what you needed but he wanted you to beg.

“please just fuck me.” and that’s all it took, bradley never was one for dragging things out. you both were already aching for each other. he lifted you up and instead of pushing you further up, he was lifting you clean off the bed, to stand. you legs wrapped around his waist and his hands lifted you up by the underside of your thighs. you looked at him to try and understand what he was doing until one hand left your thigh and you heard his fly unzip. he was gonna fuck you while standing, while supporting your entire weight. you were sure you had soaked through your underwear, bradley would know anyways since his member was freed and poking against your clothed entrance. bradley pushed your underwear to the side, it made you feel even filthier than you did now. bradley cursed under his breath, rubbing his head against you, collecting the slick there and coating his member with it. you whined and twitched as his tip caught against your clit. you’d start dripping on your hardwood floor if he didn’t fuck you already.

“ready baby?” you nodded enthusiastically with hooded eyes, one of your hands playing with his chain as he pushed the tip in. you gasped at the stretch, no matter how many times he fucked you, you’d never get used to how fucking big he was. he stretched you wide and filled you all the way up. he slowly pushed in, letting you adjust like always. you pressed a kiss to his lips as you looked down with a slight nod for him to move.

maybe you shouldn’t have made your newfound affinity for his strength so blatant, because bradley lifted you up and plunged you back down so viciously you saw stars. his tip bruised your cervix and you swear you could feel the veins on his cock stamp your walls. you were clenching around him, the sounds of your slick pouring out of you and the slap of skin against skin filled the room making your head spin. bradley never let up his pace, his breathing growing shallow as he used like a sex toy. “fuck bradley, s-so deep.” you whined out, leaning your forehead against his. you felt his was wet with sweat and you clenched at the memory of him from earlier today. you watched a bead of sweat roll down the side of his head and this time you caught it with your tongue. bradley lost any self control he was holding onto at that.

“you’re killing me baby.” his pace grew brutal, turning you into a babbling mess as he began thrusting up while still hammering you on his cock. you grabbed onto his hair, grabbed his arms his shoulders, dug your nails into his back and clawed, anything you could do to ground yourself. nothing stopped the earth-shattering pleasure from washing over you in waves. everything felt sensitive, your nipples erect as they ground against him from every thrust. you felt yourself close and you knew bradley was too, could feel him tensing up under you. with one final thrust, he came inside filling you past the brim, his cum mixed with yours leaking out the side. you came with him, twitching in his hold as he fucked you both through it, milking him for all he had. he never moved you off as he walked you both to bed, lying you down, spooning you from behind. the angle let him stay inside, not letting anything leak, just like you both liked.

“so the push-ups huh?” bradley whispered against the shell of your ear, pulling your underwear off finally and hugging you closer. his dick going even deeper.

“uh huh, you looked too damn good lieutenant.” at the mention of his rank, you felt his dick twitch and you couldn’t stop the giggle from escaping your lips. you both were insatiable. it wasn’t long before you were worked up again, bradley filling you up and proving just how strong he was all over again.

a/n: possibly my filthiest one-shot to date? that can easily be beaten but something about sweaty bradley bradshaw makes me FERAL…. i will not be taking questions ab it <3

[heartsofminds]

and the songbirds are singing like they know the score - part i.

"If Bradley squints his eyes, he can still make out the little five-year-old that he once knew who thought that he put the stars in the sky and cried when she found out that Jake’s real name wasn’t Hangman." or Quincy Bradshaw is growing up and no one knows what to do about it; especially Bradley.

a/n: in light of father's day, enjoy part one to bradley's precocious daughter making a re-appearance and jake seresin being reasonable for once. part two will be posted soon! the angst will be resolved, don't you worry!

It happens in between the end credits and the black fade-out screen. 

The piercing sound of the phone ringing snaps you and your husband out of your near comatose states on the couch, seemingly entranced by Molly Ringwald’s whining (which only she can get away with because she’s fucking Molly Ringwald, of course) for the entirety of Sixteen Candles. 

“Holy shit,” Bradley swallows, leaning up to sit entirely straight. His movements jostle you, causing you to wince at your cheek unsticking from its glued spot on his right pec. 

You smack your lips and sigh, trying to wake yourself up. The obnoxiously mechanical sound the phone makes causes your ears a subtle pain, and you silently curse your husband for refusing to remove the landline phone that sits glued to your kitchen wall. 

“It serves a purpose,” he had reasoned. “Don’t kill my dream of having a rotary phone.” 

And the conversation of uninstalling a 1970s landline phone from your new house was lost in the abyss of cardboard boxes and cheerios on the floor from your then beyond spunky and energetic three-year-old daughter. 

So while it sticks out like an eyesore amongst your “lived-in” and perfectly curated home, you often forget it’s there... except on occasions like this when the sporadic ringing shakes your eardrums and tightens the ever-present rubberband around your temples in the worst way possible. 

Bradley sits with his elbows on his knees, almost trying to muster up the strength to deal with the nuisance of the ringing phone. He sits for a second and sighs before hearing your body shift. 

You smush your face into a pillow; the constant ringing making you want to tear your hair out by the second. 

“Bradley!” you whine. He pats the part of your calf uncovered by your shared throw blanket with an unspoken tenderness. 

“Sorry,” he timidly apologizes. 

He stands up; his left knee making an impressive “crack” before swiping his phone off the coffee table on his way to the kitchen. 

You turn the TV off and lie in the complete darkness of your living room. The illumination of the moonlight through the glass windowed door in your kitchen shines its way to the floor in front of your couch. You have half the mind to yell to your husband to close the blinds that line the backdoor before your voice catches in your throat. 

No one ever calls the landline. Very few people even have the phone number for the landline outside of Maverick and a few close family friends. Besides, anyone who needed to reach you had your cell phone numbers anyway. 

So who the actual fuck is calling your landline at 11 PM on a Thursday? 

You hear Bradley yank the phone from its place on the wall and exhale with a huff. After sixteen years of being together, you know that huff is his tell of being annoyed. 

“Hello?” he gruffly answers. His irritation makes the question sound more like a monotonous statement. 

“Bradshaw –” 

Jake Seresin is on the other end of the line. You can recognize his voice from the other room with his cadence even though you’re not on the phone with him. Having “mom ears” does that to a person, you suppose. 

“Why the fuck are you calling my house at 11 PM?” Bradley snaps. 

You’re wondering the same thing, but you’ll have to talk to him about being so rude and huffy. Jake may actually need something, after all. 

“Well, you weren’t answering your fucking cell and neither was your wife so I had to do something.” 

Bradley rolls his eyes and looks back into the darkened living room. He’s been more on edge about you lately. 

“You can’t miss me that fucking much to be spamming my phone with calls,” he sighs and leans his back up against the wall. He notices the open blinds on the back door and walks to close them before he’s yanked back by the phone cord. 

“Don’t cream your pants. I don’t like you that much.” 

Bradley lets out a soft snort in amusement before he remembers that he’s supposed to be annoyed. He opens his mouth to ask Jake what exactly it is that’s so damn important and can’t wait until tomorrow morning when he’s beaten to it. 

“I have Quincy here in the passenger seat and she’s beyond unwell.” 

The statement sends Bradley into panic mode instantly. His voice catches in his throat and he can’t recall a moment he’s had where he’s felt like he’s had to force the breath out of himself like this. 

He lets out something between a huff, a cough, and a wheeze before remembering he can’t make a huge show of himself right now because it’ll also throw you into panic mode. 

“What the fuck do you mean she’s not well? Jake, where the fuck are you?” he whispers into the phone, trying to cover his mouth as much as possible so you can’t even read his lips if you tried. “Is she okay? What’s –” 

It doesn’t take a genius to know that Bradley is panicking. Even Bradley’s beyond intoxicated and passed out seventeen-year-old daughter sitting in the passenger seat of Jake’s truck could piece together that her father is nothing but a raging ball of anxiety at the moment, and Jake is positive that his friend is growing another patch of gray hair as the seconds pass. 

“Oh. . .fuck, I guess I should’ve phrased that better,” Jake admits. His truck comes to a halt at a spotlight and he glances over at his goddaughter. “She’s fine. She’s drunk as shit right now, but I’m on the way to drop her at yours.”

Bradley can feel the obnoxious orange ball of anxiety inside of him shift to a tumultuous rage-induced scarlett. His hand tightens around the phone cord and he has to stop himself before he yanks it out of the wall. He’s gotten angry like this before, but it never was angled toward his daughter. 

Never toward his sweet, precious girl. Never toward his amazing Quincy. 

But she knows the rules (and she chose to break them) and she knows what was told to her (and she snuck out anyway) and she knows that it’s dangerous to be that drunk (but yet she’s passed out in Jake’s truck). 

And if that isn’t both nerve-wracking and frustrating, Bradley doesn’t know what is. 

“Put her on the phone,” he speaks lowly. 

Jake gulps, knowing that he’s in one of those moods. Bradley doesn’t express anger as often as he expresses annoyance, but an angry Bradley is never someone he wants to be around. And from the way that Quincy made it sound when she called him to come get her from some random party in the middle of nowhere thirty-five minutes away from her house at 11 PM on a school night, he knows her ass is being had tomorrow morning by both you and Bradley. 

There’s absolutely no way his goddaughter is coming out of this unscathed. 

“Dude, she’s obliterated right now and I think you talking to her is just gonna make it worse.” 

“And I don’t give a fuck. I said, put her on the fucking phone now.” 

Jake shakes his head and rolls his eyes as Quincy begins to stir next to him in her seat. He’s always been the person she’s called whenever she was in trouble. He always got the first hug whenever she was brought around. He’s always been her source of comfort outside of her parents and he’s never minded it because being around her is easy. 

It was easy to carry her around whenever she asked when she was little. It was easy to give in and let her sit in the cockpit of his grounded aircraft with him and let her play with the buttons when her dad and Papa Mav refused. It was easy to pick her up from school at midday and take her to lunch. It was easy to bring her back gifts from wherever he was deployed and even easier picking them out because she’s a sucker for meaningless trinkets. 

It was easy to be her godfather and she’s a smart and relatively easy kid, but Jake has never been prepared for this part. 

Because doing what’s best for her is hard, and he realizes that when he can feel his friend wanting to put him through a wall over the phone. 

“No,” he speaks and he can hear Bradley let out a small gasp at the denial of his request, “She fucked up bad, Bradley. I’m sure she knows and you can have it out with her tomorrow morning, but right now, she’s not in any place to be screamed at and made to feel worse. You’re her dad and m’not tryin’ to take that away from you –” 

Bradley scoffs, “What exactly do you fuckin’ know about raising kids, Jake? Huh?” 

Jake grimaces and decides to take the brute of Bradley’s anger. Better him than Quincy, he figures. Besides, he knows Bradley doesn’t mean any of it. . . At least he hopes he doesn’t. 

“You obviously can’t be a dad because you just wanna have fun and dick around all the fucking time. Buying them fuckin’ candy and letting them off scott-free doesn’t do shit. You don’t have what it takes to raise a fucking person.” 

Jake doesn’t know why, but part of him gets that prickly feeling in his chest. Usually, every insult rolls off his shoulders into oblivion and he gets off on making people angry and being able to put on the facade that he really couldn’t give a damn if he tried.

But this one hurts because he knows that Bradley is right in some regard. 

He’s a runner and he lets people down. He’s nearing fifty (and God, he never thought he ever would) and has never even bothered to settle down. And he’s made peace with himself a long time ago that he doesn’t deserve a wife or a family or kids because he would never be able to love them more than he loves himself; more than he loves his career. 

To hear one of your closest friends admit that to you openly, to know that someone outside of you sees it too, makes his heart stop momentarily and forces him to feel the ache of the words meant to stab him in the chest. 

“I understand,” he swallows. He knows arguing with Bradley isn’t the right thing to do at the moment and never will be. “I’m still not putting her on the phone. We will be at your house shortly.” 

The line goes dead and Bradley is overcome with a wave of anger that drowns him like a tsunami. He knows what he said was shitty and that he has no right to do that to someone who he considers a close friend, but he just can’t help himself. 

He knows no allies when it comes to his daughter. 

The sound of the plastic phone slamming into its rightful place on the wall alarms you and part of your heart hurts for Jake. 

Jake has no concept of boundaries and has no limit to the absurdities that he often commits, but Jake also has the biggest heart that gets overshadowed by his equally big ego. You know the words uttered to him by your husband have knocked him down in ways Bradley isn’t the slightest bit aware of, and you start to silently cry for him because you know he won’t do it for himself. 

You force yourself up from your deepened spot on the couch and waddle your way to Bradley in the kitchen. The tears streaming down your face only fuel your need to make it right and to stand up for Jake and his quietly hurt feelings. 

You don’t know the full of what happened, but you heard enough to know that no one deserves to be spoken to that way. Bradley is upset (and he seemingly always has this cloud of gloom hanging over his head), but that gives him no right to be so cruel. 

The mama bear feelings are only amplified by the thirty-nine-week bump on your frontside making you tilt forward more than you usually do. Jake is a big boy and you know he can handle himself and that this situation has nothing to do with you, per se, but the lack of kindness surrounding you currently is stuffy, and you’d do anything to break the barrier to actually breathe. 

You try and stifle your cries and wipe your starry eyes before you approach your husband; silently cursing how cold your feet are and longing for the day when you can put your socks back on yourself independently. 

He stands with his hands against the wall and his head drooped between them. It’s a look of defeat; a showcase of hopelessness and frustration mixed into a burly mess of indigo and violets from the moonlight and dark sky peeping into your kitchen windows. Despite the darkness surrounding him, you can see the pink flush on the back of Bradley’s ears that has traveled to the tops of his shoulder blades. 

The anger is rampant and on the verge of explosion. Seeing your sweet Bradley like this is a sight rarer than a double rainbow. Part of you knows you shouldn’t poke the bear, but Bradley knows he shouldn’t speak to people like that. Compromising your morals is something you’ve never let yourself do and being bone tired and thirty-nine weeks pregnant is not going to change that. 

Something’s gotta give, and you decide that it’s going to be you. 

His head pops up the second he senses your presence. He knows that something is off with you after your lack of announcement. His home and heart had been preoccupied by two of the most chatty (and rather heavy-footed) women for the past sixteen and a half years. Silence is not welcomed in abundance in the Bradshaw household.

As if he didn’t have to suck in his sharp breath of frustration seconds prior, he turns to you and opens his arms. The darkness hides your tears and aggravation, but he knows that it stands next to you as an unwelcome visitor. 

Part of you wants to indulge, but an overwhelming portion of you houses irritation that won’t let you bite. 

This night was supposed to be one of peace and tranquility. You’re coming up on week three of rest allocated by your maternity leave and you finally feel like the walls in your house aren’t closing in on you. Bradley’s light load of scheduled hops and paperwork has helped with giving you company earlier in the afternoons before you have to make room for your second daughter. The way that she’s sitting on your bladder and constantly kicking your ribs in the middle of the night throws the hope that she’ll be calm and sweet out of the window and opens the door to the reality that she’ll be a carbon copy of her older sister. 

“What’s wrong?” you grumble, sending Bradley a scowl. You ignore his open arms and head to the fridge. You slam the carton of orange juice down on the counter and swing open the cabinet door to grab yourself a glass. 

Bradley furrows his eyebrows in confusion and lowers his arms in defeat. His feet drag him closer to you subconsciously. The thought that you moved away from him because you wanted space doesn’t cross his mind. 

“Nothing,” he leans his hip against the countertop, eyes scanning the thin stream of juice being poured into the glass. His nose wrinkles as you flash your eyebrows at him. That was always his tell of hiding something. 

He knows you can clock it. He just really doesn’t want to argue right now. 

You take a gulp from your glass while rolling your eyes. “Don’t lie to me. I know it was Jake.” 

“Doesn’t mean something is wrong.” His shoulders slump before he closes the refrigerator door. You had been extra forgetful in this stage of your pregnancy. 

Your lips mouth a reflexive, “Thank you” before you huff. Being lied to was something you never appreciated; especially when you know how bad Bradley is at doing it. Besides, you know that he knows you have heard quite a bit. The pointlessness of his actions starts a kindling of rage in your belly. 

“Well, that’s funny because you’re telling Jake he doesn’t know how to be a parent over the phone?” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

His spine straightens and his cheeks spill a baby pink hue that starts to spread to the tips of his ears. You think he looks just like your daughter even though you can’t see the fullness of his face. Your eyes start to twinkle before you remember that you’re pissed at him. The serious face holds a standstill. 

“Don’t play dumb. Do I need to say the exact words for it to ring a bell? ‘You don’t have what it takes to raise a fuckin’ person.’ Seriously, Bradley? What the fuck is your problem?” 

He winces at the agitation in your voice. Hearing it being said by someone other than him makes him realize how fucked up he was to say it; let alone even think about saying it to someone as dear to him and your family as Jake. Your hands heavily place the glass in the metal bottom of the kitchen sink and your heavy footsteps storm past him back to the living room. 

Bradley reaches out to grab your wrist and spins you to look at him. His hands envelop yours and place them flat on his chest. He sighs before dropping his head as if he was a puppy that had just gotten scolded. 

“You’re right,” his eyes scan your face but refuse to peer into your own, “I have no right to talk to people like that.” 

You let him hold you as your annoyance shifts to a denotation of shocked nerves that leave your heart sprinting like crazy in your chest for air. You’ve always been somewhat easy to work up, but your nerves have been oversensitive as of late. 

Penny and your mother call it your mother’s intuition maturing, but you like to call it a nuisance. Although the first baby you’ll be giving birth to will make her way earthside in a few short weeks, your first baby will always be the chunky eleven-month-old with blotchy pink cheeks and abundant sass you met on Halloween sixteen years ago. 

Bradley’s steady hand rubbing soothing circles on your back does little to help you differentiate the present and the imaginary. You aren’t sure how much time has passed or if his soft caresses continue on your spine, but you’re damn sure of what your gut is telling you. 

Something is wrong. Something is wrong. Something is wrong. 

“Is she okay?” you ask him. 

The words uttered make the world stop turning for the millisecond it took you to speak. 

You know deep in your heart that she’s not okay; that she hasn’t been for a while. Your bright and bubbly baby turned angsty and moody Senior in high school had happened overnight, it seems. What was once excited chatter at the dinner table about school and friends and club soccer and yearbook committee soon became absent, and the sound of silence from a missing spot at the dining table with you and Bradley had become the norm. 

It became extremely noticeable in the last few weeks of her Senior year; calls of truancy being made to your home phone and numerous talks about possible grounding if she didn’t get her act together becoming more and more frequent. 

Her attendance sucks but her grades remain stellar, so the idea of punishing her falls flat on its face whenever it gets brought up. You both have always known how intelligent your daughter is. You just wish she didn’t know it so well to know that you and her father are bluffing. 

And to be totally truthful, preparing for a new and unexpected baby hadn’t been part of the plan. You know that you’re not Quincy’s mother in any sense of the word, but you’re her mom and have been for as long as she can remember. Looking for your face in the school pick-up line and at soccer games and honor roll assemblies had always been her normal, and the fact that she had to share that with something embryonic (as she would call it) that hadn’t even graced real outside world oxygen (again, Quincy vernacular) was not something on her bingo card for her Senior year of high school. 

Your absences from these things, the things that are important to her but she’s far too stubborn to admit how much they actually mean out loud, were felt this year. She was raised understanding and kind but has inherited the sensitivity of her father’s heart. You know how much this entire pregnancy has deeply hurt her, and the guilt swallows you whole. 

The abyss of her unverbalized pain looms like a fog in every corner of your mind. Guilt has a funny way of turning all emotions into its twin. 

“I mean, yes? But she’s in for it once she steps foot in this house,” he grumbles. The meteoric thumping of his heart in his chest soothes you, but you know that the adrenaline pumping through his veins to move the muscle at lightning speed is sourced in anger. 

“So she called Jake?” 

Bradley scoffs. Your face is buried in his chest, but you know his huff of annoyance was accompanied by an eye roll. 

“Tried to use him as her ‘get out of jail free’ card. Knows that shit doesn’t work so I don’t even know why she did that.” 

You stifle a laugh and pull back to look at him. “I’m sorry I was so mean earlier. Didn’t mean it,” you whisper and he grins. Apologies have never been your strong suit. He would argue that you’re more stubborn than your daughter and Maverick in that regard.

“I’m sorry I was such a dick. Know you don’t like when I get like that.” 

There’s no need for acceptance. You have him wholeheartedly the same way he has you. Verbally accepting each other’s apologies has long been a thing of the past; especially when you feel like you share each other in ways that no one else on Earth would be able to understand; two halves of a whole – husband and wife. 

Your hand lightly taps his chest before you scoot past him to return back to the living room. From the digital numbers of the oven light in the kitchen, you know that it’s nearing midnight. You and Bradley had never been “good sleepers” (and now that you’re thinking about it, neither is Quincy), but you figure that you should get as much sleep as you’re still allowed. God knows that the new baby will be all Bradshaw and will probably be the worst sleeper too. 

Bradley hears your heavy footsteps trudge up to the bedroom and the soft suction of the door frame signifying that you’re about to lay down for the night. He wants nothing more than to join you and revel in the peace; remind himself to breathe and of simpler times when it was just you and him, but it had never just been you and him because it was always you and him and Quincy. 

The ache in his stomach returns at the thought. He has to put himself back in the mindset to put his foot down and let his daughter know that what she had done was incredibly unacceptable. 

It’s not like he’s mad at her for choosing to act her age for once. 

He had always worried himself sick after parent-teacher conferences because all of her teachers would comment on how mature his daughter was, but how that maturity often caused her to isolate herself. She had always been bright but at the expense of never wanting to play imaginary games with her classmates because she didn’t see the point in “pretending.” He had always thought that it was his fault; that exposing your baby to the History Channel and retired veteran chatter at the bar during the day made her not like other kids. 

And it’s not like he wanted her to be a certain way or that he was scared of her being “weird” or that she wasn’t living up the the expectation of what he thought having a kid would be like. 

Bradley had just wanted her to be kind and to feel loved, and he knows from experience that it’s hard living life when you don’t feel like the former nor do you ever feel the support from the latter. He knows a life of isolation and a sharp tongue that spears a bleeding heart. The last thing he ever wanted was for his daughter to know the same. 

Nevertheless, he’s still angry. Angry? Enraged? Pissed? 

Disappointed. 

Bradley had seen the signs as much as you have of your daughter’s downward spiral through the duration of the school year. He ignored the phone calls of truancy and let them go to voicemail and held his breath and his tongue when she answered a question he asked her a little too harshly. He ignored the attitude and the slamming of doors and the glow of her bedside lamp being on well past 2 AM most nights. 

Bradley ignored all of it because confronting it and her made it real, and facing the reality that she’s growing up and will no longer need him is something that he will never be prepared to do. 

He takes deep breaths and grabs his water bottle off the counter, unscrewing the top and taking colossal sips. His therapist had given him a printed list of techniques years ago to help him manage his anxiety. If he can’t control the speed of Jake’s truck driving down the interstate to his house, he can control the pace of the icy chugs sliding down his throat. 

Bradley wipes his mouth with the back of his arm and places the metal water bottle down on the counter. He paces back and forth before he realizes that pacing always makes him more anxious. His feet carry him back to the living room where he sits on the edge of the couch and balances his elbows on the tops of his thighs. 

All that can be heard is the subtle tick of the large wall clock hanging above the mantle and the soft buzz of cicadas in the backyard. The silence is cut in half by blinding headlights beaming their way through the curtains that line the front window and the roar of an engine. 

He doesn’t jump up to unlock the door like he usually would. His thoughts are still maniacally bouncing around his skull like a ten-cent bouncy ball. Besides, he doesn’t even know if he dares to face Jake after he had spoken so horribly to him such a short time ago. 

The old Bradley, the one who was still hurting and lonely with no wife or kids or family, wouldn’t have given a damn. Fuck Jake and fuck everyone else. 

But this Bradley, the one who is a dad and a husband and a friend and a son, gives a damn and he gives such a big one that he feels nauseous. 

The headlights flick off and the engine is killed. The silence that resumes is so instantaneous that he can almost fool himself into believing that everything is normal. That his daughter is upstairs fast asleep in her room and that her godfather is fifteen minutes away at his own house. He prays Jake won’t knock on the door and disturb it again. Jake never knocked on the door anyway, so he might luck out, he figures. 

But Bradley underestimates how nervous Jake is about this whole thing and soon enough, the sound of his friend’s knuckles rapping on the dark green wood that is the entity of his front door. 

He holds his breath as he opens it. 

He sees Jake, twenty years older than when they finally put their past behind them and became friends, and then he sees his daughter, meek and saddened and slightly drunk. 

If Bradley squints his eyes, he can still make out the little five-year-old that he once knew who thought that he put the stars in the sky and cried when she found out that Jake’s real name wasn’t Hangman. 

The Leemoore sweatshirt she has on is three sizes too big and does little to make her look like a high school partygoer, so he knows she has a riskier top beneath it. There’s no doubt Jake probably made a pit stop at his house to give it to her before bringing her home. 

Jake knows that Bradley hates secrets, so her sneaking out and also having a second secret wardrobe stashed beneath the floorboards under her bed would not make for a welcome guest upon her coming home after getting busted. The sweatshirt at least bought her a little time. 

“Hey,” Jake speaks, finally slicing the tension with a greeting. His left arm is looped through his goddaughter’s and she leans on him heavily to prevent herself from falling. 

“Hey,” Bradley says back. His face is stern. Jake knows he means business. 

“I’m sure this isn’t how you wanted to see me next.” Even though Jake is kind of pissed and anxious, there still remains a glimmer of humor within him. The complaint of many ex-girlfriends had always been how he never took anything seriously (and his serious lack of commitment too, but that’s an issue for another time), and he knows that it’s a blessing and a curse.

“Yeah, no kidding.” 

Bradley grabs his daughter’s free arm and helps Jake maneuver her inside over the steep ledge of the front door and to the asylum of the living room couch. 

Quincy’s eyes are wide open and her brain is moving in slow motion; scanning her surroundings but not being able to focus on one thing before her eyes are caught by the presence of another. She had never been drunk before in her life and the copious amounts of vomit that had spewed out of her mouth tonight discouraged her from trying to speak. Any thought of opening her mouth made the muscle memory of puking prevail. 

The rational part of her brain knows that her father wants to wring her neck, but she silently prides herself on calling Jake and kind of doing the right thing (even though she knows the right thing was not sneaking out and getting fucked up on a Thursday, to begin with). Her dad will forgive her and spending time with Jake was always fun. She just vows to make sure that she’ll never puke in front of him again because he turned green at the sight of her hunched over on the side of the road. 

Quincy lands on the couch with an incredible lack of grace. She bounces and almost slips off again, but sticks her foot out to help support her. Her vision is blurred before she focuses on the sight of her dad with the deepest frown on his face and his hands on his hips. Her eyes follow a horizontal line next to him and see Jake worrying his lip in between his teeth. A hiccup falls out of her mouth and she rushes to close it before her body can register a solution to the nausea plaguing her currently. 

The silence between the three of them is unforgiving and she can’t remember a time where she had felt so. . .embarassed. 

Here she is, about to get the scolding of her life in front of one of the adults she admires the most. All she had ever wanted was to be seen as a grown-up and it’s clear to her now that the men in front of her think anything but that. 

“You got anything to say?” Bradley huffs. His glare sharpens the more he takes in his daughter’s appearance. 

The silence he’s met with kindles a fire in his belly that shifts the anxiety he feels to the beginning of an obnoxious anger. 

Quincy can’t answer verbally because she knows she’ll throw up. She can’t shake her head to answer him either. The room is spinning and the spiraling shadow cast by her vision will undoubtedly make her throw up too. She can’t even feel her lips and anything she has to say will not be an answer worthy of her dad’s appreciation. She fucked up big time and now she has to reap what she’s sown. 

Her dad scoffs. The room inflates with tension from all three of the living room’s occupants. Quincy closes her eyes. Jake holds his breath. Bradley bawls his hand into a fist. 

Here it comes. 

Bradley opens his mouth; words like venom sitting on the tip of his tongue. Quincy closes her eyes and braces herself for the yelling that she knows is coming. 

“Hey, let’s table it for tomorrow. Yeah?” 

If Jake wasn’t already her favorite, now he certainly is. 

Bradley turns to him. His cheeks are tomato red and his wrath sitting in the base of his throat. He has half the mind to come unglued on him before he remembers the pit of guilt from earlier. The putrid watery feeling of guilt dampens his vocal chords. His sentences dig a grave in his voicebox. 

Jake is right. 

His daughter can barely sit up straight and you’re upstairs trying to sleep. There’s no point in waking the entire house and having a one-sided screaming match with someone who will only have the faintest memory of what happened the next morning. 

Bradley lets out a hefty breath of air that he hadn’t even realized he was holding in. Jake claps him on the shoulder in silent praise for his decision to drop it. Never would he have ever thought that Jake Seresin of all people would be the one discouraging him from being a total hothead. 

“Thanks for bringing her home, man. Sorry about – you know –” he attempts to apologize. Apologies to you rolled off his tongue like water rolled off waterfalls. They just didn’t have that effect when it came to other people who weren’t you. 

“Don’t sweat it. Wouldn’t be stickin’ around if I took half the shit you say to heart.” 

It’s not funny but Bradley laughs. He doesn’t know if it’s a feeble attempt at repairing the hurt he had done earlier or if it’s to absolve some of the fury that was sitting unleashed in the room, but he’s never been more thankful for Jake in that moment. 

Bradley starts to walk Jake to the front door and back out to his truck. Despite being the flashiest and cockiest person he knows, Jake has had the same car for close to twenty years. The silver F-150 had seen many drunk Bradleys and many drunk yous. He just wished that his daughter wouldn’t have been a passenger on the faux “drunk bus” too. 

He’ll never admit it, but part of him is jealous that Quincy called Jake instead of him. He wants to classify the feeling as betrayal, but he knows that it’s just envy. He knows that he would’ve called Maverick at this age instead of his mom. It’s a teenage rite of passage and nothing personal. 

“Look, it’s late and I know you’re pissed but she did the right thing. The party got busted, you know. And she uh – her friends were drinking, like a lot, and wanted her to get in the car with them,” Jake pauses, making sure Bradley is hearing the case of positives he’s building for Quincy, “She said no and then she called me.” 

Bradley nods his head and the tension in his shoulders starts to relax bit by bit. He’s oddly comforted by his daughter’s morality despite committing the precipice of what makes up an immoral teenager to get herself in this damn situation anyway. 

“Most kids don’t do that and I know she isn’t most kids so uh – don’t go too hard on her tomorrow?” 

The open door of the truck makes a high-pitched dinging noise as Jake’s legs sit half situated on the seat and halfway steady on the ground. The soft yellow light emitting from the streetlights tints the world in a sepia hue. 

“Can’t promise that. She’s in some serious shit.” 

Jake chuckles. “Serious shit or not, that’s still your baby. She needs you more than you think, you know.” 

The car door is shut and the engine is cranked. Bradley pats the hollowed metal of the truck as a “goodnight and goodbye” send-off as Jake backs out of his driveway and into the street. He watches as he rounds the corner to the stop sign before the image of his friend’s truck draws smaller and smaller and smaller until the image is microscopic. 

Bradley finds his way back inside and sees his daughter lying on her side with a throw blanket swallowing her figure. 

He heads into the kitchen to grab her a glass of water and some Advil to set on the coffee table. Bradley doesn’t recall being hungover so much as just sick to his fucking stomach the first time he drank, but he leaves it for her just in case. His eyes catch the bottom cabinet that houses the popcorn buckets and mixing bowls and grabs the largest one to serve as her “catch-all” puke bucket for the night. 

As he settles everything and makes his journey upstairs to your shared bedroom, he hears the wet wretch of what cannot be mistaken for vomiting. His heart harbors empathy for his little girl, but his brain garners no sympathy for her. Some sick part of him is glad that she’s throwing up because it’s a consequence that he doesn’t have to impose on her. She had done it to herself. 

“That’s what I thought."

He turns off the bedside lamp as he lays down next to you. You don’t stir from your deep sleep. The house is finally quiet and everything as is it should be. 

Bradley just doesn’t like the fact that this kind of peace is tainted with the fact that Quincy is growing up and that there is nothing he can do to stop it. 

[topguncortez]

Race Against the Clock - B. Bradshaw

whumptober masterlist || main masterlist

prompt: finding old messages

synopsis: Dragon had made a promise to herself at young age to never be in a relationship, but all that changed when she met Bradley. Now, years later, she is wondering if she made the right choice to give up that promise.

warnings: infidelity, verbal abuse, childhood trauma, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of infant death, cursing, religious trauma, religious abuse.

word count: 2.2k

Dragon could remember the first time her parents got into a fight. She was six years old, Natasha ten. They had been playing in the treehouse in the backyard that their dad had built for them. They would play in that treehouse for hours on end, until their mother had to all but force them in the house for dinner and to take a bath. Dragon loved that tree house, it was the one place she felt like she could get away from everything. She had been at the highest point in the treehouse, when she heard her mother’s loud voice. 

“Were you with her again!” Her mother yelled. 

“I didn’t come home just to get yelled at!” Her father yelled back. 

“You never come home! And when you do, you smell like her!” 

“She doesn’t fucking yell at me like you do!” 

The next thing she heard was the loud smashing of glass, and Natasha’s loud footsteps as she ran up to her. Dragon stared at her older sister with wide eyes, panic and fear filling her small body. Natasha, at that point, was no stranger to hearing the loud yells and the breaking of items, wrapped her arms around her sister. 

“It’s okay,” Natasha pleaded, “No one got hurt. Momma is just upset.” 

That day was a day that had stayed engrained in Dragon’s mind. She became more privy to the snarky comments and the small arguments between her parents. They also became worse at hiding their spats behind the closed door of their bedroom. The older Dragon got, the less they seemed to care about airing their dirty laundry to their girls. Dragon had always wondered who the “she” is that was the root of all their problems. It wasn’t until Dragon was 15, that she finally saw who “she” was. It was also that day that Dragon asked her mother why she stayed with her father, if she knew he was cheating on her. 

“Because the church frowns on divorce,” Her mother muttered as she made dinner. 

“The church also frowns on adultery,” Dragon retorted. 

Her mother sighed, putting the spatula down on the counter. She wiped her hands and turned towards her youngest, rebellious, daughter, “Your dad is. . . he’s flawed but he’s a good man. He doesn’t hurt me. He takes care of us, he takes care of you. It would be much worse if I left him.” 

Dragon had made a promise to herself, right then and there as she watched her mother prepare dinner for her father, that she would never be in a loveless relationship. Hell, Dragon told herself she was never going to be in a relationship. Her mother wasn’t perfect by any means, but she didn’t deserve to be treated like this. She didn’t deserve to be so scared of the Church’s retaliation for her getting a divorce that she had to stay with a man who cheated on her constantly. Dragon made a promise that she wasn’t going to abide by the Church’s rules and stay where she was disrespected. 

But all that changed when she met Bradley. All through the later part of high school and college, and even into flight school, Dragon had never had a boyfriend. Her promise didn’t stop her from going out and having the occasional one night stand, or situationship. She was just too scared to fall into the trap that her mother fell into. Dragon had done all she could to keep her partners at an arm’s length away, never letting them see the real her. . .until she met Bradley. 

At first, she hated him. She hated Bradley Bradshaw and how quickly he had her opening up to him. They had been at Top Gun together, the first time. There was just something about the older guy in her class that had her wanting to be around him. Maybe it was the cool guy persona he tried to pass off. Maybe it was the big baby cow eyes and the ears that stuck out. Or maybe it was that he saw her as a competitor and not just a girl in the class. It was also the first time they had ever hooked up. Neither one of them would admit it, and they still denied it to this day that something happened the first time they were at Top Gun. 

After that, they went their separate ways, Dragon up to Lemoore and Bradley to Pensacola. Every so often, if their paths crossed, they would find a bar to meet up at, or the solace of a barracks room. Then, they were both assigned to the Uranium Mission, along with Dragon’s older sister, Phoenix. It was the first time Dragon and Phoenix had been in the same assignment, and it was like oil and water. The two sisters fought constantly, trying to outdo one another to make it on the team. Dragon didn't make it for the final team, but she was assigned as a spare, Phoenix did make the cut. Dragon never knew what it was like to face fear until she heard Bradley try to eject from the back of a stolen f-14. Sitting on the tarmac knowing she couldn’t do anything until she was told. The moment Bradley’s feet got back on the ground, she rushed to him, both of them holding on to one another tightly. And that was yet another thing, neither one of them would admit to. 

It wasn’t until a couple of months after the Uranium Mission that they both stopped messing around with each other, and realized that they were just more than friends. They had both been permanently assigned to the North Island Daggers, then tension, both stressful and sexual, could be cut by a knife between the two of them. It was only a matter of time, until they both caved under the pressure, and admitted to their feelings. 

“For fucks sake!” Dragon yelled, slamming the door open to the male latrine, following Bradley in, “You don’t get to just boss me around and act like you don’t know who the fuck I am!” 

“Actually, Lieutenant,” Bradley sassed, putting his hands on his hips, “That’s how rank structure works.” 

“Oh fucking blow me!” Dragon rolled her eyes, “I can’t fucking believe I am falling for a guy who acts like a pompous ass when his uncle calls him out for getting a fucking question wrong.” 

“And I can’t believe I’m falling for a girl who acts like a brat every time they aren’t rewarded for something.” 

They both stared at each other wide eyed for a moment, their admission sinking in. 

“You like me?” Dragon asked, a blush and a smirk on her face. 

“Yeah,” Bradley huffed, “Against my better fucking judgement, I fucking like you, Dragon. A lot.” 

Dragon swallowed thickly, “Well, I like you too. . . against my better fucking judgement,” Bradley chuckled and looked at her. His eyes softened as he took in her stance, her arms crossed defensively over her chest, but her eyes were full of vulnerability. He knew just how much that statement scared her. He knew that this was the one thing she had been scared of for all her life, “Don’t fuck me over, Bradshaw.” 

“I would never dream of it, Trace.” 

Nearly four years later, Dragon and Bradley had found themselves married, and planning for their own family. They had been lucky to be named the godparents of the Seresin kids, and even had a furbaby of their own, but their family still felt incomplete. Bradley had never wanted kids before he met Dragon, he was always too scared of leaving someone behind like his father had left him and his mom. But just like Dragon, Bradley’s priorities had changed and so did his wishes for his life. 

It hadn’t been an easy road, Dragon had been diagnosed with infertility within their first year of marriage. They had tried nearly every natural remedy that they could to try and conceive, from tracking her cycle to natural herbs and teas. They had been lucky twice, but both pregnancies had ended in heartbreak. They had finally decided it was time to try an in-vitro method to creating a family. They thought it was going to be easy, the doctor made it sound like it was easy. However, it was quite the opposite of what they imagined. 

Dragon’s eyes scanned the clock above the wall for what felt like the tenth time in the past half hour. Bradley had told her he was getting drinks with the guys after work. It was only four o’clock when he sent that message, now it was almost midnight and he hadn’t come home yet. Dragon tried her best to not be one of those wives; the ones who stayed up texting and calling their husbands until they came home. Bradley would always text her if he was going to be later than he anticipated, but there had been a shift in him in the past couple of weeks. There had been a shift in both of them in the past couple of weeks. 

“Baby,” Bradley sighed as he leaned against the doorframe, “That was Jake.” 

“Mhm,” Dragon nodded, not looking up from the book she was reading. 

“They uh. . . they lost their baby.” 

Dragon paused her reading, her eyes glancing up at her husband before looking back at the pages of her book, “That’s too bad.” 

Bradley’s eye brows furrowed as he looked at her, “Yeah. . . He called and asked if maybe you could come talk to Y/N, she’s really going through it right now.” 

Dragon didn’t say anything as she chewed on her bottom lip. She was never really the one for the hugs and the feelings and the ‘let me make you feel better’ type of stuff. She put her book mark on her page and shut her book, looking up at her husband. 

“I don’t know how to do that,” Dragon simply said, and Bradley could see she was telling the truth, “And if I’m being honest. . . I don’t really want to be the one to comfort her.”

“Baby,” Bradley said, sitting down next to her. 

Tears welled up in her eyes, as she blinked them away, “If my own wounds weren’t so fresh, I would be the first one over there. But we just buried a baby, Bradley. I can’t be the one who goes over there. I can’t.” 

“Okay,” He said, placing a kiss on her forehead. 

“Maybe you can?” Dragon offered, looking up at him, “I mean, you have a better relationship with the two of them. You could be there for both of them.” 

The sound of the garage door opening pulled Dragon from her thoughts. She pulled the cardigan on her body tighter as the sound of their dog’s paws bounded towards the door to greet Bradley as he walked in. Bradley stopped and petted their dog for a moment, before walking into the kitchen, shocked to see his wife still awake. 

“What are you doing up?” Bradley asked. 

“Waiting for you,” Dragon answered. 

“I told you that I was with-” 

“No you weren’t,” Dragon shook her head. Bradley’s eye brows furrowed, “You never signed out of your icloud on my laptop. I saw the messages between you and Y/N,” Dragon let out a self-deprecating laugh, “I found the one where she said ‘can you come over? I need you’.” 

“Baby-” 

“Why the fuck is she asking you to come over?” 

“It’s not like that.” 

Dragon laughed, shaking her head as if she had truly lost it, “Are you fucking kidding me? Some woman texts you asking you to come over cause she needs you and you’re telling me ‘it’s not like that’.” 

“It’s not!” 

“Then tell me what it is.” 

“It’s just. . .” Bradley ran a hand down his face, “Jake isn’t helping her. He doesn’t know how to process this. She needs someone who can process this.” 

“And you’re the one who can help process this.” 

“Yeah,” Bradley nodded. Dragon’s eyes narrowed on him, searching his face and frame for any indignation that he was lying, but she knew he was telling her the truth. Still, there was a part of her, that small part that made a promise to herself all those years ago, that was telling her otherwise. 

“Bradley, just tell. . . tell me the truth,” Dragon pleaded, running her fingers over her temples. 

“Nothing happened between us,” Bradley said sternly. 

“Then why the fuck is she messaging you at three in the morning asking you to come over! And why did you go!” Dragon snapped, tears running down her face, “I mean what in the actual fuck, Bradley.” 

“It’s not like that,” Bradley huffed, running a hand down his face, “I love you, Grace. And I love only you. You have been the only good in my life for so fucking long.” 

Dragon shook her head, “Then why do you run to her when she comes calling?” 

“Because she needs me.” 

Dragon chuckled, shaking her head, while Bradley hung his in defeat, “Yeah well maybe Y/N should worry less about ‘needing’ you and more about what her husband is doing.” 

Bradley’s head snapped up as he looked at his wife, “What do you mean? What the hell does that mean?” 

Dragon bit her lip, knowing she already said too much, but knew she had to tell him. With a sigh, Dragon admitted, “Jake is cheating on her.”

taglist: @damrlova @shanimallina87 @mygyn @cherrycola27 @sio-ina-bottle @seitmai @topgun-imagines @bradleybeachbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @xoxabs88xox @atarmychick007 @munsonswhore86 @happypopcornprincess @sophiaslastbraincell @bradswolfe @fandom-princess-forevermore @angelbabyange @genius2050 @lovelywiseprincess @krismdavis @eternallyvenus @dakotakazansky @pono-pura-vida @callsignartemis @starberryhorse @carsgeek24 @daggersquadphantom @gspenc @els-marvelvsp @nyx2021 @t0kyoreveng3rs @frazie99 @spencvrr @kmc1989 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @malindacath @senawashere @bradshawsprincess

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[ash5monster01]

Do you want me?

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x FemReader

Warnings: angst, fluff

Summary: As a girl who had often been single and found herself in crappy relationships, it’s hard to get into a new relationship without knowing the full intentions of the other. So when Rooster starts to show his attraction in more physical ways it’s hard to just let it slide. (just a short little blurb but I relate very much to it considering most men who kiss me go for other girls anyways, so I wanted to make Rooster a comfort character)

word count: 744

Masterlist

If you were being completely honest you weren’t sure when your relationship with Rooster had turned into something more. First it was simple, just friends. Then touches started to linger, eyes began to stare, and compliments meant so much more. So here you were, sat on the couch of his apartment, watching a movie you had seen a hundred times, as he popped a fresh bag of popcorn. The flirting had been going on long enough now that both of you were aware of the attraction, so when Rooster came back he wasn’t so shy about sitting directly next to you. His arm wrapped around the back of your spot on the couch.

“We can watch something else” he told you, his face so close it was almost hard to breath. For the first time since you guys had started flirting you felt the panic set in. It had been a long time since you had kissed someone and it actually mean something. Rooster took your silence as a different answer though. “Unless you don’t want to watch a movie?”

“Sorry” your apology was pathetic because there was nothing to apologize for. “I was stuck in thought”

“Oh yeah, about what?” the suggestive smirk on Roosters face brought a red tint to your cheeks. You had never been shy to men flirting but you knew you deserved more than what you had in the past and with how confusing this whole new relationship had been, how were you to know his true intentions?

“Wouldn’t you like to know” you teased nudging your shoulder into his chest now that he had turned his body to face you a bit more.

“I would because if it’s about me kissing you then that’s what I was thinking about too” you felt your heart sink and you wish you hadn’t been so disappointed by men in the past and this moment would be much more exciting than depressing for you. Rooster could sense this change in your demeanor and he pushed some hair behind your ear. “We also don’t have to if you don’t want to”

“It’s not that” you sighed pressing your face into your hands. You felt so silly and dumb but it had been so long since you had actually felt wanted and even then it was just a feeling.

“You can tell me Y/N” he liked you, more than he thought he did, and he wanted this to be perfect. But if you were having second thoughts he didn’t want to get too attached.

“It’s just if you kiss me it has to be because you want to kiss me. I can’t pretend that being just some other girl, another checkmark on a long list of ladies satisfies me. If we do this, if I open up to you, I’m making sure I’m not wasting my time on a guy who has other options that he knows he would choose over me. I have to be the only choice because I’m so tired of being disappointed” Rooster had not expected this response and he felt his heart ache at the fact someone amazing as you had never been treated the way you should be.

“Y/N I don’t even have another option in mind. To be perfectly honest with you my feelings for you snuck up on me. But right here, right now, you are the only girl I want on my couch. And you are definitely the only girl I want to kiss” your heart began to pound at this confession. But it also continued to hammer against your chest because this almost guaranteed he was going to be kissing you.

“Promise?” you whispered, the anticipation now killing you.

“I promise” he told you before pressing his lips against yours. His mustache scratched your face but you could care less because it didn’t even compare to how amazing his plump lips felt against yours. Now that you knew he wanted this as much as you it felt like you could breathe. The taste of his cherry lips was better than you had imagined and he quickly pressed a firm hand into your back, pushing you further into him. Who cared about the movie now because this was so much better than anything else in this world.

“Yeah, I don’t want to watch the movie anymore” you said as you pulled away and he grinned before closing the gap between you once more.

[writing-until-i-drop]

Sneak Peek At "A Stepdad For Christmas"

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x single mom! femOC

we've still got so much Jake and Daisy to get through before we meet Olivia and Bonnie but here's a little something

“Look at the eye candy,” Olivia’s fifteen-year-old daughter Bonnie tilted down her heart-shaped shades to get a better look at some Navy men out for a shirtless jog.

“Honey, everyone in uniform is too old for you. As in illegal, too old for you.” She whined then slowly turned to look at her mom with an evil grin, one that Olivia knew did not bode well for her. 

“Mom, I just figured out what I want for Christmas.” Christmas was always a big deal for them and Bonnie always gave her mom a bullet point and color-coded list of what she wanted. But never this early in the year.

“It’s July-”

“I want a hot stepdad,” Olivia debated crashing the car. Only for a split second but still. It would be easier and God would forgive her. He knew what he did when he made teenage daughters. 

“No.” 

“C’mon, Mom. You and dad boinked once to get me and that was it. We share a wall, I know there’s been no one else.” 

“What did I do to deserve this?” Olivia pleaded with whatever God was laughing at her. 

“You helped a gay man con his homophobic father into leaving him millions in inheritance,” Bonnie deadpanned. “That’s why I’m like this.” Olivia rolled her blue eyes, the same blue eyes that were looking back at her in the passenger seat. “But back to it, you need to get laid and I need something that’ll make all the girls want to hang out with the new girl. So hot stepdad, get me one.” 

Olivia was ready to threaten her daughter’s life in the most loving way possible when she caught a glimpse of a man in a khaki uniform climbing out of a blue, vintage Bronco. He was absolutely stunning, a specimen of tanned skin, muscles, and wavy hair that made Olivia suddenly feel very patriotic as he slid off a pair of tinted aviators. Do I have a thing for mustaches? She had never found them attractive before but this mystery man’s mustache was definitely working for her. 

“We’ll see what Santa can do.” Like he heard her, the man turned and caught her eye, winking. Olivia’s cheeks burned, a warmth spreading through her. She might have been married to a gay man who had a string of secret boyfriends but between raising Bonnie and keeping up appearances with Henry in public, she had never “cheated.” 

“Mom, the light’s green,” Bonnie smacked her arm. “We should get coffee before stopping at Aunt Pen’s.” Olivia hummed in acknowledgement, maneuvering to the directions the GPS was dictating over the speaker, her mind consumed with thoughts of mustached men in Navy uniforms. Well. One man in particular. 

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[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

The Forgotten Nest - Rooster

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw / Mitchell!OC (Cora)

Word Count: 3.1k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Past Unplanned Teenage Pregnancy; Angst; Absent Father Figures; The 'He Didn't Know About the Pregnancy' Trope; Repeating Trauma Cycles (Teen Pregnancy, Absent Parents, etc.); Crying; Carole Would Be Disappointed; Named Mitchell Daughter OC (Cora) and Named Mitchell-Bradshaw Son (Nickie)

Summary: Years ago, Rooster left Cora Mitchell's life when her dad pulled his papers. And, unknowingly, he left behind something other than just his toothbrush.

A.N. There are references to a previous unplanned teenage pregnancy (between two eighteen-year-olds) in this fic. There won't be any flashback scenes to the pregnancy, but the references are still there, so if that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.

Master List

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Epilogue

Rooster walked out of the admiral’s office with his new orders clutched carefully in his hand. He kept his head held high as he walked through the narrow halls of the USS Gerald R. Ford, heading for his quarters to pack his bag and prepare to fly back to US soil. To Top Gun. To Miramar.

The Californian town had a lot of memories—some of the best and some of the worst of his life. It was the town where he lost his dad before he truly understood the gravity of it all. It was also the town where he spent his later years of high school after his mom died. Where he learned how to drive, where he graduated high school, where he had all of his firsts with a girl—now woman—whom he hadn’t seen since he stormed out of her life.

Cora Mitchell. Maverick’s daughter.

As a result of some poor decisions at nineteen, Maverick ended up with daughter only a few months younger than Bradley. Cora’s mom wanted nothing to do with her and even though Maverick was far from fit to be a father, he would have preferred falling down 100 flights of stairs than letting his child go into foster care.

Carole quickly offered to help raise Cora and help Maverick out. And as his mom used to call them, they were built in best friends. And in the later years of high school, they were a lot more than that. Sneaking into each other’s beds and spending the nights together was fairly regular and easy for them to pull off with Maverick’s bedroom on another floor.

Of course, then Maverick pulled his papers and then he left that life, and Cora, behind completely.

Rooster entered his room and shut the door behind him, heading for his bunk. His roommate wasn’t in, still doing drills with the rest of their squad, leaving Rooster alone with his thoughts. He opened the folder again, reading over the orders once more before he found his gaze shifting. Pulling out his personal bag, Rooster reached into one of the smaller pockets and pulled out a small photo preserved in laminate.

It was from a photo booth at Bradley’s senior prom. Cora sat on his lap, beaming at the camera as Rooster pressed a kiss to her cheek.

It was stupid to still be this curious about what Cora was doing with her life. After all, he was the one who broke up with her and stormed out of her life, saying all kinds of nasty things that he regretted the second that he said them. And he had to admit that he had scrolled through social media, trying to find a glimpse into her life, to no significant results.

All he knew was that she took some time off after high school and eventually graduated from nursing school. He assumed that she was still working as a nurse. And he knew that she now lived in or around Miramar. He didn’t have the guts to try and contact her when he was in town for Top Gun the first time around.

But maybe this new, and probably highly dangerous, mission would finally give him the kick in the ass to try and make things right with Cora. Even if it was just a simple apology, like a small ‘sorry,’ it would take away some of the guilt that ate away at his stomach every single time that he remembered her crestfallen expression and calls for him to come back.

Tucking the photo back into his bag, Rooster stood up and started to pack, letting his mind wander to what Cora’s life looked like now.

~~~~~

“Nicholas Peter Mitchell!” Cora thundered, marching towards the stairs, still dressed in her scrubs from work. “Get your butt down here now!”

Cora was only partially pleased to hear her son scrambling around, undoubtedly in the middle of some kind of panic due to her tone. She tapped her foot, able to picture her son’s exact expression of fear. She would have preferred that he simply told her ahead of time because then they could deal with it together, but he forced her hand by hiding it.

The sound of a door opening and a soft pattern of footsteps caused Cora to pick her head up. Her eyes narrowed when her son, Nickie, poked his head out from behind the wall with a sheepish smile. She shook her head when his expression gave away the fact that he knew exactly why she was upset. And that only caused her migraine to intensify.

“Hey, Mom. Did you have a good shift?” Nickie asked kindly, stepping out from behind the wall. “And did I mention that I love you and that you look more beautiful than usual today?”

Nickie, or simply Nick to his friends, was far from her twin. His hair was a light brown and curled at the end. His eyes were big and light brown, like someone she knew well in the past. The shape of his head and his cheekbones that were starting to emerge from the baby fat came from her side of the family, but the slope of his nose reinforced his father’s influence on his features.

But his sheepish, mischievous smile was definitely a Mitchell trait. Undoubtedly.

“When were you going to tell me that you got a speeding ticket?” Cora questioned, eerily calm despite her earlier yelling. “Today? Tomorrow? Next week? Never?”

“Mom, I already paid it off—”

“—When were you going to tell me?” Cora demanded, not amused. When Nickie fumbled for a response, Cora straightened up. “You have had your license for a month and you’ve already gotten a speeding ticket, Nickie. That’s not funny. You clearly do not understand that your car and your license are privileges, not rights.”

“It was at that speed trap under that highway pass on the way to school,” Nickie tried to explain, but Cora was not going to give him an inch of the moral high ground.

“I do not care where you got the ticket. I care that you were reckless behind the wheel of a motor vehicle. I care that you got a speeding ticket and now it’s on your record. And I care that you hid this whole thing from me.” Cora sighed, placing her hands on her hips and shaking her head at her son. “How much was it, Nickie?”

“Thirty bucks,” Nickie replied quietly.

“Well, then I think that thirty is an appropriate number of days to not need your car. And a good number of days to think about the importance of following traffic laws,” Cora stated, folding her arms over her chest. “Where are your keys?”

Nickie sighed and walked downstairs to grab his keys from the countertop. He quickly returned to his mother’s side and placed them into her open hand without a fight. Cora closed her hand and shoved the keys into her pocket.

“I’m serious, Nickie,” she stated softly, causing the teenager to turn back to her with doe eyes. “I don’t want you getting hurt. And speeding around, especially on these roads where there’s a thousand pedestrians and everything—it’s not safe. For you or anyone else.”

“I know, Mom. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for having the maturity to realize that it was your bill to pay,” Cora offered her son in return, her tough exterior cracking just a bit. She rubbed her face tiredly. “And that’s probably what I get for letting your grandfather teach you how to drive.” Letting out a sigh, Cora dropped her hand from her face and turned back to Nickie. “How’s your homework coming?”

“Mostly done. I’ve got a test tomorrow.”

“Good.” Cora set her purse and the mail down on the countertop. “I’ll get started on dinner after I take a shower. Work on your homework and I’ll call you when I’m done.”

Cora walked into her bedroom and made a beeline for her on suite bathroom. Throwing her scrubs into her specified scrubs laundry bin, Cora quickly washed up from a long day at work. She changed into some comfortable clothes and a Navy sweatshirt before heading to the kitchen to start on dinner. The sun started to set in the distance as Cora waited for the chicken to cook.

The distinct sound of a Kawasaki caused her to look up from the oven, frowning with surprise. Walking over to the front windows, Cora was shocked to see her dad pulling into the driveway.

“What the—” Cora walked over and opened the front door, stepping out onto her front porch. “Dad? What are you doing here?”

“I thought that I would drop by since I was in town,” Maverick replied, setting up his kickstand and getting off his bike.

“Why are you in town? Not that I’m not happy to see you,” Cora added on, walking down to greet him. Maverick picked up the bag that he strapped to the back of his bike and pulled his daughter into a hug. But when she felt him wince, she instantly pulled back with a sharp, knowing look. “What happened now? What did you do this time?”

“Is that dinner that I smell?” Maverick asked, redirecting the conversation.

“You’re not getting out of this conversation,” Cora warned him, turning for her home and pulling the door open. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not twenty anymore? And could you at least wear a helmet once in a while?”

“Mom, who are you talking to?” Nickie yelled from upstairs.

“Your grandfather decided to drop by. Randomly,” Cora called back to her son.

A second later, there were a set of rapid footsteps echoing down the hall before Nickie appeared at the top of the stairs. His grin was immediately wide, showing the likeness between him and his grandfather, before Nickie hurried down the rest of the stairs to greet his grandfather.

“What are you doing in town?” Nickie asked, jogging over to Maverick.

“Well, I thought that it was a good idea to visit my favorite kid and grandkid once in a while,” Maverick joked, pulling Nickie into a hug despite his aching ribs

“Pops, I’m your only grandkid,” Nickie pointed out, frowning slightly.

“Still counts.” Maverick stared up at Nickie, jokingly inspecting him. “Did you get taller since the last time that I saw you? You look taller.”

“Maybe you’re just shrinking,” Nickie quipped, causing Maverick to turn to Cora.

“Don’t look at me,” Cora replied, gesturing to her own short stature. “Nickie over here got about three generations worth of height.”

Or, rather, he just had other genes to pull from when it came to height. And the men on the other side of Nickie’s family were all at least six feet tall, like Nickie was quickly shaping up to be. But not a single Mitchell in that household was going to bring that up.

Once dinner was finished cooking, the three Mitchells set the table and sat around, chatting and catching up since the last time that Maverick was in Miramar.

“I thought that you said that you wouldn’t be done with that project for a while,” Nickie stated, turning to his grandfather.

“Well, plans change,” Maverick replied noncommittally, glancing down at his plate.

“Because they were actually changed or because you felt the need to change them?” Cora deadpanned, cutting into her chicken.

“There might have been some . . . minor scheduling changes.”

“So, you’re not just visiting then,” Cora deduced, reaching for her drink. How she wished that it was wine instead of water.

“How long are you in Miramar for then?” Nickie asked excitedly, reminding Maverick painfully so of Bradley as a teenager.

“A few weeks. Somewhere around a month.”

“For what?”

“That’s classified,” Maverick replied, causing Nickie and Cora to roll their eyes in seemingly practiced sync. “I’d tell you, but—”

“—But then you’d have to kill us, yeah, we know, Gramps.”

“How’s school then? Still swimming and everything?” Maverick asked Nickie, changing the subject.

“It’s good. Swim doesn’t start for a few more weeks, but I’m trying to train before it. But I think I’m going to have to focus on running.”

“Why? Something wrong with the car?” Maverick questioned, looking concerned.

“No, just the driver,” Cora replied, setting down her utensils. “Nickie got a speeding ticket.”

“How bad?” Maverick asked, earning a sharp look from Cora. “I mean, that’s bad, Nickie. Don’t do it again. You have to get a little bit more driving experience before you start speeding.”

Cora sighed, holding her head in her hand for a moment as Nickie hid a smile behind his mouth. Maverick shot Nickie a joking smile before straightening up in his seat.

“But you’re doing good in school, Nickie?”

“Pretty well. Pre-calc is kicking my butt, but I think it’s supposed to get better.”

“Well, don’t be afraid to enjoy your teenage years a bit. Don’t go rushing off to try and grow up before your time,” Maverick replied, glancing over at his daughter for a moment. “Besides, I thought that you were going to try out for the surf team.”

“They want me to,” Nickie agreed, taking a bite of his dinner. “Mom’s a little scared to let me do it.”

“I just think that baseball is safer,” Cora replied softly, reaching for her drink. “Besides, between swim and water polo, you’re going to turn into a prune, Nickie. Not to mention that you go out sailing with Penny and Amelia all the time.”

“I just like the water, Mom,” Nickie stated, missing the pained expression on Cora’s face. “And besides, the baseball coach is an asshole.”

“Language,” Cora stressed, causing Maverick to chuckle.

~~~~~

After dinner, Nickie excused himself to finish up his homework. Cora and Maverick worked together to clean up after dinner and to set up the spare room for Maverick to sleep in while he was in town. But after the finished up the housekeeping, the father and daughter sat out on the back porch. Cora poured herself a glass of wine for the conversation and brought Maverick a beer.

“So, why are you really in town?” Cora asked, sitting down.

“Ice called me in,” Maverick stated, causing Cora to grow more serious instantly. “It’s a mission.”

“And not just any mission . . . is it?” Cora questioned, though she already knew the answer.

Ice wouldn’t have called Maverick in for just your run of the mill mission. This was a serious mission, that was certain. And that instantly caused Cora’s blood pressure to spike in an instant. Ice wouldn’t have called Maverick in unless it was something bordering on a suicide mission.

“No, it’s not,” Maverick agreed, nodding solemnly.

He looked away from his daughter for a moment, a rock settling in his stomach. It had been sitting there since a familiar face flashed on the screen in that conference room. But he knew that he had to unload it sooner rather than later.

To say that Maverick’s perspective on Rooster was complicated did not quite do it justice.

On one hand, as Cora’s father and Nickie’s grandfather, there was nothing that Maverick wanted to do more than to grab Rooster by his ear and give him the lecture of the century about responsibility and putting his personal emotions to the side to be a man and a father. Hell, if it was any other boy who did that to Cora, Maverick would have strapped him to the outside of the Darkstar and done a couple laps around the Earth.

But, on the other, as Goose’s wingman and the man who tried to raise Rooster, Maverick wanted Rooster nowhere near Miramar or this mission. Hell, Maverick did what he could to make sure that Rooster stayed as far away from a cockpit as possible. And that side of Maverick just wanted Rooster back in his life, safe and far from danger.

But being Cora’s father and Nickie’s grandfather was always the side that won out in the end.

“There’s something else,” Maverick began, causing Cora’s eyebrows to furrow with concern. “He’s involved in the mission.” Cora noticeably tensed up as Maverick added, “He’s here.”

“In Miramar?” Cora asked quietly, earning a nod from her dad. Sighing, she held her head in her hands for a moment. “Fuck.”

“Did you tell Nickie—”

“—No,” Cora interjected, cutting Maverick off. “No, I didn’t.” Not . . . not the whole story." She stared out at the backyard, out at the little swing set that Maverick and Ice built for Nickie on a warm afternoon so many years ago. “He’s supposed to be out in the middle of the Atlantic right now.”

“And I’m supposed to be in the Mojave.”

Nickie sat with his back to the wall, silently listening in on his mom’s conversation with his grandfather. He knew that it was wrong and he knew that he was already on thin ice with the speeding ticket, but he knew that his mom and his grandfather went outside to talk where he couldn’t hear them. But his mom always seemed to forget that the bathroom window was right above the patio.

“Have you seen him yet?” Cora inquired quietly, causing Maverick to nod slowly.

“Yeah, I did. Briefly. At the Hard Deck.”

“Did he see you?”

“I don’t think so, no,” Maverick replied, shaking his head.

Cora let out another sigh and held her head in her hands again. Maverick quickly got up from his seat, setting aside his beer and pulling his daughter into a tight hug. Cora latched onto her dad, trying to calm herself down and not shed anymore tears over Bradley Bradshaw.

But she failed. Just like she did the last thousand times.

Nickie clenched his eyes shut and curled his hands into fists. His mom was the strongest person that he knew. Life threw a thousand things at her and she somehow always managed to keep herself and him on their feet. But the second that anyone brought up his dad, she always flipped a switch.

She always broke down or went into absolute survival mode until something else snapped her out of it.

Nickie stopped asking about his dad when he overheard his mom sobbing to Penny in the middle of the night about how his dad still wouldn’t return her calls. It happened years ago, nearly a decade now, but it was still fresh in his mind. Burned there for the rest of his life. And, well, if his dad couldn’t even give his mom three seconds of his life, then Nickie wouldn’t give him an ounce of energy either.

And, hell, Nickie was a mama’s boy. And anyone who made his mom cry was dead to him. Dad or not, the fucker who never showed up for him or his mom was dead to Nicholas Peter Mitchell.

Whoever the hell he was.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Epilogue

[notroosterbradshaw]

warm blood

about: a few drinks at everyone’s favourite bar. you’re home, it’s been a few very cold months at sea. he warms you to your bones each time you see him. but it’s sadly just not meant to be. 

word count: 5.6k

warnings: angst, language, vivid thots of smut if you have an over-active imagination.

The sound that escaped Rooster’s lips as you dragged your nails through his unruly sun-kissed curls had you cackling. A feral growl that started at his boots, so low that when released, he almost didn’t recognise himself. “Rooster Bradshaw, you need a girlfriend,” you decided.

His side-eye to you was legendary and he sighed dramatically. “I don’t need a girlfriend; I just need to get laid,” he clarified, realising just how pitiful he sounded and then adding softly when you ceased your ministrations, “Please don’t stop. That feels so fuckin’ good. It’s like the most physical contact I’ve had in...” he mumbled, his honey-coloured eyes fluttering closed and took a deep, satisfied pull of his beer. God, how long had it been? He didn’t want to admit to himself, let alone you, how long it’d been since someone had touched him like that.

You sighed and let go of him to scamper onto the bar. A quiet Tuesday night, if it were the weekend, the place would be pulsating, but you had plenty of space to lay some affection on Rooster without the bullshit that could generally come with it and it definitely seemed like he needed it…

You spread your legs modestly (as your jeans would allow) and held out your hands open in welcome. Without a question of hesitance, he stepped to you as you turned him away from you and continued to press your fingertips into his scalp with the added leverage of this new height. His strong shoulders dropped, completely melting with your touch.

“Jesus Christ, that’s good,” he murmured quietly, crossing his arms across his chest, his head lolling forward. “And you decided to be a naval aviator?” he teased. “Your hands could have been better used in much better ways.”

“Ha,” you muttered behind him. “Don’t get smart. I have generous fingers. You need me more than I need you right now.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he replied.

Whispered close to him, you said, “This must be the longest dry spell you’ve ever had,” you reckoned.

He nudged his ear closer to your breath and shrugged lightly. “Fuckin’ feels like it,” he said dismally.

“How long?” you dared ask.

“It’s goin’ with me to the grave, don’t ask stupid questions,” he muttered dryly in reply as you tried to hide your grin and reached for a sip of your own beer. He turned back to you, stepping out of your grasp and putting a respectful distance between your bodies, the moment passed. You crossed your legs at the ankles properly as he made a face; he’d let pretences lie and would never admit he hadn’t been satisfied sexually since... “Maybe you’re right, I just need a girlfriend.”

Sure, he’d had a lot of sex and lots recently, a healthy amount. Probably more than most. But these days, nothing was fulfilling him. He was desperate to find a connection with someone that just wasn’t happening. Women on platters, and he didn’t know how to strike out even on his worst night. Everyone would cum and have the time of their lives. But it was never enough for Rooster to want to see them again.

“Rooster, you have no trouble finding someone to fuck… why are you so off your game?”

“Dunno,” was his simple answer.

“Well, why don’t you go drag all the ladies in with a song or something?” you suggested, hoping to perk him up, ever his cheerleader, although it was fairly dead. He shook his head and honestly, he didn’t need to sit at the piano to have all eyes on him. At any point of the night, you’d look up and find some poor soul caught staring and trapped in the web of Lieutenant Commander Bradley Bradshaw and the authority he easily demanded.

“Naw,” he didn’t feel like the spectacle tonight.

“Want me to wing woman for you?” you offered in finality. “Babe on the other side of the bar. Pretty smile, curvy...” You chewed your own lip. “Very cute.”

“You’d do that?” he asked, following your gaze and kudos to you, you knew his type, all right.

“Of course. I can’t deal with you when you’re being a whiny little bitch. If it means you get your cock wet, I’m here for you, pal,” you roughly smacked his rosy cheek, and he laughed, clutching the sting as you asked him how you looked, propping yourself off the sticky bar and he steadied you.

He gave you a once over, a fond glance in his dark eyes. “Beautiful, but are you trying to get laid, or am I?” he pondered.

“I swore off your kind as a New Year’s resolution. I want the year to myself,” you grandstanded, and he chuckled.

“You’ll be begging for sex soon enough,” he straightened and took another long slug of his beer. “I know you. I know what you need,” his voice dropped a little lower, easing his lean frame against the bar.

Your eyes met his and honestly… he probably knew exactly what you needed, what you craved and deserved and as a few beats passed, his eyes daringly never left yours. His face remained passive, daring you to play his little game.

“You know what I let you know,” you weren’t sure how to play his words off so you finished your beer. But really? You hated how right he was. He’d been the only one to get a read on you when you first landed yourself in his seminar a year or so back. “I’ve got toys, I’ve got fingers,” you reminded him, reaching for him with jazz hands as he licked back his grin, growing wider by the second.

“You fuckin’ deviant,” he breathed. It was untrue, but he loved to goad you… and you loved when he teased you too. Just a little too much.

“Hey. If I want to find someone to share my time with, I won’t hesitate to break my resolution. They’re made to be broken, aren’t they?” you shrugged flippantly, blood searing under your skin.

He nodded, not disagreeing. “Yeah, well… I’m sick of my hands,” he admitted dismally as you took the hand that rested on his quad and cupped it on your own. He laughed quietly and gripped your palm back. “I just miss the warmth, you know?”

Pressing the back of his warm, strong hand to your cheek, he laughed again as you gave him the biggest doe eyes with the dreamiest, forced smile, and he sighed. Each touch, each glance, each comment was just another link to how fucking good your friendship was and although the Navy had an odd way to keep you separated, your friendship trumped responsibility.

“Don’t start. Knock it off immediately,” he told you sternly. He could fall for those eyes in a heartbeat so it was best you put them away. You prayed desperately for him one day to give in to the heat and make that move past that imaginary line you had drawn.

Moving back to your seat like a scorned child, you didn’t give up. It could be one of your worst qualities at the best of times. Never knowing when to just shut up. “No, tell me exactly what you miss. Tell me what you need.” You settled in. You would love to know what turned Rooster Bradshaw on. He wasn’t like the other guys – he kept his conquests quiet. Lowkey. Sure, you knew when he was in the game, he made no secret of his intentions. But gee, he always seemed more complicated than an easy fuck kinda guy. “I want to know.”

“You don’t need to hear about any of that stuff,” he rolled his eyes and retrieved his hand, stuffing it back in his jeans pocket where it was safe and sound. “Trust me, you’ll be just like me soon enough,” he warned.

“Look, if you get to a point you’re absolutely desperate, blue from top to toe, I’ll drop my standards for a night and give you a night you won’t forget, okay, big guy?” you tried to bite back the laugh that bubbled under the surface and you weren’t remotely surprised he gave you the bird in response. “You’re just lazy. Go drop a line on any woman in here, and I guarantee, she will be putty in your hands.” You’d know.

It seemed like such a nut-up or shut-up order, Rooster knew he had no choice but to follow through. Standing to his height and adjusting to his posture, he mumbled, “Fine,” he stole your fresh beer as you protested and wandered around the bar, stopping before the gorgeous woman, who if truth be told, was exactly his usual type, you’d pointed out only moments earlier. Well, what was expected to be his type - that glint in her eye that told him he wouldn’t have to work too hard to get her number either. 

“Hey hey, look who’s back on dry land!” Natasha grinned, giving you a gentle side hug and ordering a drink. “When you’d sneak in, partner?”

“About half an hour ago. Your buddy cornered me first,” you explained as Natasha replaced the beer in your palm. “How’s he been?” you asked softly.

“Okay,” she shrugged. “Usual. Broody.”

“He was telling me he was lonely,” the word didn’t roll off your tongue easily even if it was something so synonymous with Rooster’s character.

“Shit, really?” Natasha raised her bottle as you nodded. “Anything to be wary of?”

“Don’t think so. You know how he is,” you told her, and she knew. Only Bradley Bradshaw could be so lucky as to always have you and Natasha Trace in his corner. “Oh, look,” you said as he nodded to you gratefully across the bar, and you winked back. “There he is - back in the saddle with absolutely little to no effort on his behalf. Well done, Rooster,” you said bored and just the teeniest bit sarcastic. “Bra-vo.”

“Please, if you had the chance, you wouldn’t share him,” Natasha righted you, smirking behind the pull of her beer.

“What can I do?” you admitted, thinking the idea had crossed your mind once, twice or every night since you’d met him about what it might be like to be the object of Rooster Bradshaw’s affections. C’mon, you weren’t immune to him. In fact, it was anything but -

“Please, he almost came in his jeans as you played with his hair before.”

“What?” you and Natasha yelped as Jake sidled up to you, grinning.

“You were playing with his hair?” Natasha asked, raising a curious eyebrow. “Oh, wow,” her tone told her everything she was thinking and none of it was approving.

“Hold that thought,” you hissed at her as she raised her palms for mercy, a small smile burgeoning on her lips. “And, fuck off, Bagman. Isn’t there some pathetic 21-year-old looking to be treated like shit for a few weeks while you string her on?” you muttered. Jake made a face.

“I’m just sayin’… wouldn’t be the worst thing if you guys tested the waters. See if there’s any sexual chemistry. Might even make Rooster a tolerable human being but it is behaviour like that that’ll get you both kicked out of the Navy.” Jake added as you threw a few loose salted peanuts at him. “Hey, I’m allergic!” he feigned, dusting himself off as he wandered off with a snicker, pleased he’d managed to rile you up with, really, very little effort on his behalf.

“I’m only learning he’s allergic to peanuts now?” you muttered to yourself.

“He is so fuckin’ toxic,” Natasha sighed. Toxic, realistic, honest. There was a lot to be said about Jake Seresin and his perception of the world. But you also kind of loved his lack of filter and how he called it as he saw it. Bit like yourself, he just had his head shoved far further up his own ass than you did… mostly.

“It’s actually his most likeable attribute,” you reckoned with a tease, tossing more peanuts across the bar after him for good measure. He made a face but was completely unaffected.

“But he doesn’t make a terrible point…” she continued as you both looked towards the other side of the bar, watching Rooster and the ease he roped his conquest in. Lick of the lips, make sure those golden biceps were bulging, aviators sliding gently down his nose as he gazed down at her… wait, there you go. She easily took the bait and nervously pushed the glasses up as he huffed a small chuckle at her moxie. He pulled his phone from his pocket a few moments later and handed it to her, clearly asking for her number. You had to give her kudos – she resisted his charms for about 1.6 seconds.

“Don’t be like that,” you begged.

“Like what?”

“Trying to encourage this. I’m dumb enough for him as it is.”

Nat gave you a tight-lipped smile and apologised. She understood, dear lord, she understood how you felt and while she could tease you unmercifully about it, she knew this wasn’t a passing crush for you. She gave her attention back to Rooster and muttered, “It’s like a car accident but I can’t look away.”

“Good for him,” you muffled, wrapping your lips around the bottle and taking a deep slug as she nudged you.

“Remember why you swore off all sex and relationships this year,” she said softly. “The purge.”

“This purge is for good,” you reminded yourself, saying it a few times like a mantra. Pity you didn’t believe it in the slightest. “You’re remarkably light tonight.”

She shrugged modestly and went into the small, very necessary details about her afternoon delight. “Don’t you miss the intimacy though?”

“Natasha, I know I made my bed and have to sleep in it, but I miss everything. I just want to come home and fall into someone’s strong arms, ground me, remind me I’m safe again until the motion of the waves stops rocking me.”

Natasha looked at you fondly. “That is actually quite poetic.”

You sipped your beer, pushed out an exhale and added drily, “Then get absolutely pounded on every surface of the house until I’m weeping.”

She cackled. “That’s my girl.”

“I got off the boat today... had the biggest plans. Wine, new rose toy I was dreaming about for the last three months... motherfucker needed to be charged.”

“You got two hands,” Phoenix reminded you just as Rooster had.

“Every night at sea, Phoenix,” you reminded her. And she knew. Dear God, did Natasha Trace know. “Every night.”

“Penny, can we get a coupla rounds of tequila here, please? Our girl is going through it,” Natasha smiled at the pretty bar owner who winked in the affirmative. You away from Rooster although Natasha motioned in his direction. “So, how was he when he saw you?”

“That slow grin… ” you said low and only for her ears. “The way he moves to his feet is a fuckin’ sin. He looked so good, I think I probably stumbled,” you cursed yourself.

“Sea legs,” Natasha patted your wrist and tried to make you feel better.

“Sure,” you shrugged flippantly. “Three months away did absolutely nothing to shut this little crush down.”

“That’s what you’re going with? Little crush,” Natasha repeated with a snort as Penny put a series of shots before you and took one quickly with you and Natasha between patrons.

“Little crush?” Rooster’s hands were on your shoulders, his strong palms massaging your tense shoulders, thumbs pressing into the nape of your neck and every ounce of tension drained from your being as he poked his face into your intimate twosome, a curious grin on his face as you and she straightened up quickly, turning to face him and he released his grasp on you. “Who has a little crush?” he asked, remarkably perkier than he was ten minutes earlier.

“You’re still here?” you asked him. “Thought you’d be on your way to - ”

“Amelie’s,” he supplied.

“That’s quite sweet actually,” you noted as he nodded, amused, almost like you couldn’t imagine a more beautiful name being found in a place like The Hard Deck. “Amelie’s house…”

“We said we’d meet up a bit later,” he shrugged, catching Penny’s attention for another round. “Been a while since we were all together. We missed ya, kid,” he told you as he snuck a shot. Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Well, here I am,” you forced a grin as he mirrored yours and it spread as wide on his handsome features.

“Yep. You sure are. Back where you belong,” he said as the air around you changed, and Natasha would be lying to say she’d never felt more like a third wheel in her life. She watched you watch the other, it was almost like you were daring the other to look away first. She could feel whatever it was between the two of you and knew that it was much deeper than either of you would admit. Well, she knew exactly how you felt. With Bob back in Lemoore with his family and Natasha needing another partner, you had been brought in and the PR party the Navy had with you as an all-female team? Sheesh.

She also knew how much you would risk everything to be with him. She’d never outwardly encouraged it, but she could see how hard you both fought to keep your desire for the other in check. He did better at trying to conceal it, but it was written all over your face. You looked at him like he hung the moon.

“Wanna get really drunk tonight?” you asked him, wrapping an arm around Natasha’s shoulder.

“Hey, don’t rope me into your hangovers,” Natasha tried as you covered her mouth with your free hand.

“Hush, love,” you tutted her. “You’re either with us or against us.”

She pursed her lips as you and Rooster grinned widely at her. “…you two will be the death of me.”

Cheering together that you’d drawn her with such little effort on your behalf, Rooster laughed. “Yeah, kinda think it’s a good night to get messy.”

“Natasha Trace, line ‘em up,” you instructed as she begrudgingly nodded, and Rooster rubbed his hands with glee.

“I am not good,” you told Rooster a few hours later. Rooster could readily agree that neither was he. Natasha and the rest of the team had bailed a while ago, leaving you together at the bar. “I really have to go.”

“Yeah, I know,” he replied. “Getting drunk wasn’t going to help you get over any exhaustion.”

“I haven’t slept in…” you squinted at your watch. “Wow, 36 hours. My bed is going to be so good tonight,” Bed, bed, bed. “Oh shit, Amelie!” you exclaimed, sipping your ice water. “Wasn’t she waiting for you?”

He shrugged. “Five minutes of pleasure there, three hours here with you and our friends. I know where I’d rather be.”

“Five minutes, dude,” you giggled quietly. You didn’t believe it for a second.

“I didn’t exactly see forever with her, Jesus,” he muttered, licking back a smirk of his own.

“I would never believe that anyway.”

“Thank you,” he finally let a giggle bubble out. “And you shouldn’t.”

“Did you at least text her? You were interested three hours ago…”

“I think she put her number into my phone wrong,” he lied so easily it was almost disappointing.

“Rooooster,” you dragged out.

He shrugged. “So what? Changed my mind,” he said simply.

“Hey, you two,” Penny sniped, pulling your attention from each other. “You either get a cloth and start cleaning up or you think about getting outta here, so you don’t have numbers in your system in the morning,” she warned. The bar had long since rang the last call and you were the last patrons standing – but also, on the plus side for Penny, probably the evening’s highest paying.

“Sorry, Penny. Lemme pay,” Rooster said, getting his credit card from his wallet and tossing it on the gummed-up bench. She grinned and slid the card back across the bar as Rooster protested.

“Hangman took a chunk of the bill off earlier. I’ll let you two get away with a few freebies if you lock the door on the way out?”

“Oops,” you said, picking yourself up and stretching. “We will,” you said as you collected your belongings. “Sorry again.”

She gave a gentle nod as you headed for the door. “Someone will be,” she whispered to herself solemnly.

“I’d better walk you home, I guess,” Rooster said, waving goodnight and following you a careful distance away.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said as he opened the door for you and let you out into the cooler night air. The liquor in your system swept a series of goose pimples break out as the breeze off the ocean breeze hit your skin. You shivered instinctively.

“You good?” he asked.

“Yes, Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw, I’m perfectly fine,” you answered, rolling your eyes and inhaling the sea air. “You think I’d get sick of it, right?” you asked with a grin.

He didn’t even need you to explain yourself. “Never,” because he understood the feeling implicitly.

“Never,” you repeated as he nodded towards the beach, following the path to your place.

You walked in a comfortable silence for a while and before you realised it, your villa was before you. “Here we are. I actually can’t wait to get to sleep in my own bed.”

He grinned. “One that doesn’t rock.”

“Not tonight it won’t,” you said glumly, taking his comment as a double entendre as he giggled quietly even though he was probably being purely innocent in his commentary, following you to the door. You struggled with the key for a few moments before he carefully nudged you aside and remedied the situation at hand.

The door opened and he sighed. Relieved, disappointed, he didn’t know. “I’ll see you tomorrow, huh?”

“I am off until next week,” you told him. God knows you needed it.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he reiterated with a gentle smile, but if he meant the bar, you couldn’t fathom backing up from the eventual hangover tomorrow was sure to bring. It filled you with dread.

“Yessir,” you mumbled as you stared at the other for a moment. So much to say that would always remain silent. For any other two people in the universe, right now you would be taking those last steps closer, lips tenderly brushing the others and seeing if the kiss was right. He would lay his strong, calloused palms on your hips, squeezing you closer to rest your body against his and you would willingly encourage the kiss -

Yet here you were, taking that next step in the other direction to go to bed alone, without even the slightest touch to say goodnight; no whisper of a whiskey-laced caress to dare cross your lips. And all you really wanted was to take his hand and guide him to your room that he’d never seen the inside of, strip him down, and explore the body he worked so hard on perfecting. Let him discover your body with his hands, with his lips, his tongue. Find out what made you call his name out in the dark.  

See what made the other make sounds that you only dreamed about, that you only thought he made in the throes of fucking, limited only to when the groans of pleasure he’d make when he found out how wet you really were for him and how well, til then, you’d hidden it from him.

How wild you willed him to be, reckless when he stopped holding himself back, the guttural, primal movements of his strong body as he slammed into you, touching every piece of naked skin within his grasp. How his tongue would devour yours and his kisses not missing a beat, working in perfect tandem with the rhythm of his hips –

“Where you at, sunshine?” he asked with a peaked dark brow, waving a palm in front of your face. Jesus Christ, how long had you been fantasising while he was standing right before you?! “Looks like it’s time for bed, kiddo.”

You huffed an embarrassed laugh. “Definitely,” you agreed, blame it on months at sea, blame it on the alcohol. Get you inside alone immediately if not sooner. Put this sexual frustration to bed once and for all. “Goodnight, Rooster. Thanks for walking me back.”

“Lieutenant,” he gave a gentle wave as you forced a smile and closed the door before you did something incredibly stupid… like drag your superior officer in and do things that would certainly dishonourably discharge you (or both of you), suspend your pay or worst, confinement for two years. You didn’t know which one scared you the most.

But you were pretty sure the feelings you had for Rooster were the worst of a bad bunch.

And you were whipping the door open again as you saw him heading back towards the street. “Rooster,” you said as he paused. “Bradley...” you repeated, a name you rarely called him, but Lieutenant Commander was certainly not how you wanted to get his attention at 2am in the middle of the street.

He looked at you and back to your house, confused. “You okay? What’s going on?” The concern in his voice was evident.

“No, no. I’m honestly fine,” you reassured him. “I just need you to know how stupid I am,” spit it out, your brain (and heart) screamed. He laughed quietly.

“What are you talking about?”

You stayed silent and you could tell he was growing uncomfortable. He was adorable and so terribly clueless. “Rooster, I was being honest before.”

He frowned and shrugged, nothing standing out to him that he was to recall. “I mean, I’d hope so. But what, exactly?”

You inhaled sharply. “Earlier tonight, I wasn’t kidding... I will be there for you anytime you need me. In any way...” you took in his face as it began to dawn on him what you were insinuating. “You need me. A friend, wingman, a confident... whatever.”

He swallowed roughly. “Oh.”

You let go of him. “It’s all so easy when we’re away from each other, but then I see you and all I can think about is how good we are together and how good we could be...”

“Jesus...” he muttered quietly, rubbing his tired face but his gaze remained hard on you, unbelieving. “How drunk are you?” he wanted to blame the alcohol now too.

“Sober enough to know this had to come out eventually. I can’t just be one of the boys anymore, not with the way you make me feel. I think about you all the time,” you took a breath and repeated, “All the time.”

He took your wrists and dragged you back to your front stoop. He trapped you against the door and caged you under his strong arms, hoping you’d go in and pretend what you were announcing wasn’t tangible. He drew in a shaky breath, but he didn’t dare touch you. You could feel the heat radiating off his golden skin and the way his tongue ran over his full lips. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I can’t keep it in anymore. Because you need to know that if you want me, I’ll be waiting.”

“How long has this been going on?” he asked quietly. “How long have you felt like this?”

“Since my first seminar. Was this stupid moustache,” you confided as he flushed and laughed incredulously to himself, this couldn’t be real. “And I know I’ve probably ruined our friendship, completely tested the boundaries of professionalism and you probably hate me – ”

“Hate you?” he repeated, grimacing. “In no world could I ever hate you, kid.”

“Really?” you asked, a hopeful flutter in your heart. “I know this isn’t what you were expecting, and believe me… I didn’t want to feel this way, I just… I just can’t seem to stop,” the sheer frustration evident in your voice and he could viscerally feel your discontentment. “It’s supposed to go away when we’re on the job. I went away for fuckin’ months, and I see you tonight,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. “And in my fuckin’ brain was convinced I was over it.”

“Your heart?” he asked quietly.

“Didn’t agree,” you confided, embarrassed. Quiet. Ashamed. Tortured.

He sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping. Nothing you were saying made sense, not when he knew he felt exactly the same and every day did everything in his power to try and pretend his feelings for you didn’t exist. “Kid – ”

“I know I’ve ruined our friendship. I know I’m putting everything we have at stake, whether it’s personal or professional, and I’m sorry, but I’m about to burst,” you wanted to yell.

“Hey, hey,” he soothed, “Calm down. I know... I know,” he said softly. He desperately wanted to give just one reassuring nudge but knew every touch could be construed as something else, and Bradley Bradshaw had never felt so torn in two before.

“You know?” you asked, a spark of hope lurching in your heart.

“There is something here, you know there is,” his voice was so low. “But what way is there around it? It’s a lose-lose situation. I’m your superior.”

“Trust me, I’m well aware of that,” your sweet, pained voice was so sombre, it was haunting him. For so long, he’d denied how he’d felt; he had to. You were his direct report, he was your teacher, and you were his dutiful student. And it wasn’t intentional that he felt how he did because he did everything in his power to push any of the nonsensical feelings away, he begged to be sent OS, anything to resist the temptation… but the temptation of what you made him feel - alive - was the hardest to shake and he missed the feeling whenever you were away.

“I don’t know what else I can say - ” he tried.

“I think of you when I touch myself, Rooster,” you grasped his shirt and you saw him swallow roughly. You went for the big guns… you were spiralling and desperate. But it certainly was no word of a lie.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he took that step closer but dared not touch you in return, his palms almost pressing their indent into your front door. He feared if took another step and felt you were against him, he would give in and risk everything. “…tell me more,” he begged. “Please. What do you see?”

“Really?” you asked softly. 

“I need... I need to know,” his voice was so low, you felt it to your bones.

Your hands rose to his rest on his pecs, his muscles reacting under your touch, his head lolling closer, lips so close but like magnets, they kept a safe distance repelled. “It always comes back to me goin’ down on you. The sounds I imagine you make, hard and hot in my mouth. How you taste,” you felt the heat radiate through your body, but now you’d started you weren’t sure that you could stop… and you weren’t sure Rooster wanted you to either.

“Do you want to find out?” he said, voice gravelly, standing over you, millimetre by excruciating millimetre, he crept closer. He had never been so uncomfortable, but never so close to needing the relief you were placing right in his palms.

“Do you?” you challenged, your knuckles grazing his abs hard and tense under his shirt, coming to rest on his hips, your fingertips tracing the seams on his belt. His eyes drifted closed and tried to find his resolve. You must have been challenging him, there was no other recourse for this. Your banter together was notorious... but this was testing the limits of your friendship.

That imaginary line was non-existent now. There was no turning back.

“You’re bullshitin’ me, I know you are,” he said, and it hurt to admit, his breathing heavy and uncontrolled. Desire radiated through him and he now knew, he wouldn’t be able to go back to a place where this wasn’t happening.

“Rooster,” you took that step he couldn’t, bodies flush against the other. “That woman, Amelie, she won’t please you the way I will. Let me show you how good we can be together,” you pleaded softly.

“You're my friend...” his brain just couldn��t function; it couldn’t comprehend these words you were telling him. Words he’d wanted to hear you say since you shared that first small grin, seated proudly beside Phoenix. You’d share so many near misses together that actually getting to this made him wonder if he was dreaming. “I’m your commanding officer.” It all came down to this.

But you couldn’t hear his defences and asked, “Have you never thought of me the same way I think of you?”

His dark eyes burned deeply into yours and without a hint of a lie, he replied, “You know I have,” it was barely audible, when he added, “You know. You know I want you, kid… Everyone does.” And that was the problem for all involved. 

“Then don’t worry about the next notch in the bedpost… and let me show you what you’re missing.”

He breathed, the whiskey on his tongue swirling and you were desperate to taste it.

“Say it. Say what you’re thinking.”

He raised his eyes to yours, his strong hand reaching for the door handle behind you. “One night. No rules. Tomorrow, we will never speak of this again,” he turned the knob and the door opened. He gently grasped your wrist as he led you inside and at that moment, you knew every facet of your life was irrevocably changed.

A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x

[multifan2022]

Used to be yours #2

I just want to thank anyone who has stuck around to read this.. I posted PART 1 on January 18th!! So with my deepest apologize i give you part 2 164 days later .. I hope you all love it. 

That night after a few hours that honestly felt too short spent with Mav and Henley, you had been trying to get ready to go to the club Phoenix was insisting on going to. Key word was try, because you didn't make it further than your panties before your husband was palming your breasts and pushing them back down. Did you understand? Yes. Did you put up any type of argument? State how you would be late? No.. Absolutely not. Because if there was anything you knew, it was Bradley was just as thorough in the bedroom as he was in the sky. And it had been months since you had been in front of each other, and there was really no better way to celebrate your alone time. 

You're already thinking about how Nix is going to make comments about the beard burn on your neck and chest as Bradley continues to kiss his way down your stomach. His teeth sinking into the extra meat of your thigh as he looked up at you. When his tongue ran up your slit you both moaned together. Bradley was the only man you had ever met that would admit that he absolutely loved eating his woman out. Not that you had been with anyone besides him and Hangman. But you had overheard conversations he had with guys on random deployments while on facetime or calls. Or listened to him recount a story here or there. He was 100% down to tell people his second favorite place in the world was between your thighs. 

It was everything from the way you tasted and sounded, to the way his fingers dug into the flesh of your legs as he held them apart. Honestly it was the same for you, the feeling of said fingers digging into you was great. The way his beautiful hair felt fisted in your hand, wonderful. How his moans as you gasp, clench or pull his hair, would vibrate through you, perfect. You swore there was no one luckier on the planet than you. So now as he went to town feasting on you like a man dying of thirst, you scolded yourself for speaking. 

“The beard is new.. Not really Navy regulation.” 

Bradley chuckled and pulled his mouth away just a little, replacing his tongue with his finger as he looked up at you. He could see that you were questioning yourself as to why you said that. “Do you really wanna talk about Navy regulations right now Babe?” You shook your head, laughing lightly “Your right.” It caught both you and Bradley off guard when your hand wrapped into his hair and you all but shoved his face back into your pussy. The filthy moan he let out, the way his fingers dug into your thighs as you held his face where you needed him sent your confidence skyrocketing.  Riding his face until you were ready to let go, before riding his cock too. 

~~

That's how you ended up at the club a good hour after Nix and what was, unfortunately, shaping up to be the others of the dagger squad. Natasha and her girlfriend Steph can't stop raving over how good the lace body con tank top and black jeans you decided to wear look on you. For now you had a silky black shirt over it, but the club was warm and you were already starting to get hot.  Normally you would be gushing back about whatever they have on, or saying thank you an embarrassing amount of times. Because no amount of love from Rooster can make up for spending years being told you would never be good enough. Normally you also wouldn't be absolutely brain dead and drooling over your husband. Because honestly what gave this man the right to look so fucking hot?

His hair was still slightly wet from his shower, showing off exactly how curly it truly is as it hung just right. His beard really shouldn't have looked as good as you thought it did, and sure some would disagree but they are wrong. His shirt was unbuttoned just far enough to be obscenely hot, showing off his chest hair and two necklaces. Both plain chains but one was his fathers and one had been gifted to him by Henley. The offensive shirt was white, black and pink with gray designs in the white boxes. The shit litterally hung off him in a way that screams fuck me. He was completely oblivious to every woman that stared at him as he made his way back towards you from the bar. 

He noticed the way your eyes tracked over him as Nat shook her head smiling and said something about being on the dance floor. In his hands he had two shots each, one hand held his favorite shots. He handed you one of the kamikaze shots and sat the other two down. Shooting those back you stuck your tongue out at him. You preferred sweeter drinks but never complained for real, it was all in fun. “I know, I know.. I got us these to wash those down with. They are vodka jolly rancher shots, got you a blue raspberry.” He said as he smiled at you, taking those shots back to before he grabbed your hand and followed Nat and Steph. 

~~

An hour later when Jake and Javy were walking in you didn't notice. “Love tonight” The David Guetta party remix was blaring and you were jumping and dancing with the girls. Bradley hadn't even noticed until they settled at the bar next to him. Javy clapped him on the back in greeting as the bartender started their tabs and took more drink orders. “I didn't think you would be here! Figured you would be too busy with your lady.” Jake said, turning to look at Rooster who clenched his jaw and nodded. “I took care of things before and will do so again later I'm sure.. Not like she's going anywhere, we bought a house on base so her and our daughter are staying.” 

Again Jake and Javy shared a look, “Man you got a wife AND a daughter. How did none of us know?” Bradley shrugged apologetically at Javy as the bartender sat a beer and a frozen strawberry margarita in front of him. “It's gonna cause some tension.. So I kept it to myself, and wasn't expecting to stay, ya know.. But I better get this back to her so she can drink it while it's frozen..” Bradley was thankful to have an exit, he really didn't want to be away from you when you realized Jake was here. He didn't care that he left the two men confused and watching after him. “Why is it gonna cause problems?” Javy said almost not realizing it was out loud until Jake shrugged. But as Rooster made it back to his table, and the ladies made it back, it all clicked for Jake. 

“What the fuck..” He said as he watched a familiar y/h/c woman slide up next to Rooster, sitting down in his lap with an ease that screamed comfort. He watched the way your head tilted down just a little to listen as Bradley whispered in your ear. He could see the way you tensed from across the club. The way you went to move your head but Bradleys big hands grabbed your chin and shook his head while smiling. The way you leaned in and pressed your lips to his before keeping your back to Jake and sipping on your drink. Javy looked between his best friend who was about to shatter the glass his old fashioned was in, and the couple in question. Before he could ask, Jake answered “Thats Y/n..” 

Javys jaw almost hit the bartop, “Like Y/n, Y/N? Long lost love Y/n? The one who got away Y/n? Y/n..” Jake held his hand up quickly cutting off whatever long tangent Javy was about to go on. Nodding he watched as Roosters hand explored your body from your perch on his lap. He knew he shouldn't but he found his body walking towards the table you guys were sitting at. When he slid into the seat and put an arm behind Phoenix she scoffed and looked at Rooster with that look on her face that says she's shocked by his audacity. 

Jake's eyes were on your face as you watched Bradley, who watched Jake. “So Rooster.. Gonna introduce us to your… Wife..” The word felt like it stuck in his throat as his eyes trailed down your neck and over what he could see of your body. You could feel his eyes on you, and honestly it made you want to hit him. Turning you leaned slightly over the table to shake Javys hand and introduce yourself. That's when the questions started, Javy knew who you were to Jake, now he wanted to know how that rolled over to Bradley. “Where did you guys meet? How long have you been together? How old is your daughter? When can I meet her, can I be Uncle Yote?” 

Everyone chuckled slightly at his enthusiasm. As an only child to a single mother, he loved anytime his family expanded even a little. Your fingers twirled Bradleys hair a bit as you answered, you knew you were probably going to hurt someone's feelings. Unfortunately for that person, you didn't really care. “Bradley and I met at his tap out ceremony. I was there to see someone else, but instead met the love of my life.” Jake watched, a sick feeling in his stomach as Bradley smiled softly at you and kissed your jaw. “Our daughter, Henley is nine and sure? I kinda figure eventually MOST of you will be like an aunt or uncle to her. Tasha is already Auntie Nix so it wont be that big of a deal.” Jake did the math quickly, shaking his head as he took a sip of his drink before speaking. “Damn Bradshaw, Ive always joked about you staying on your perch, guess you jumped off pretty quick for this one..” 

Your head snapped to the side to glare at him in a way that made him want to sink into his seat. “What the hell does that mean, Hangman.” The way you sneered at his call sign made his skin crawl, he didn't figure you would be happy to see him, but he was starting to get the feeling that maybe you hated him. His brain racked as he tried to recall when the last time you spoke was. And when he did, he opened his mouth and proceeded to continue digging his hole deeper. “Sweets, listen.. Had I known Bradshaw was your baby daddy, I wouldn't have said what I said.. It was immature, I'm sorry.” 

He missed the way Bradleys hand tightened around his beer at the pet name. His eyes only on yours, when you were younger all he had to ever do was apologize and bat his eyes at you and bam. Forgiven. 

Now though, you looked like you could skin him and use him as a rug. 

The chuckle that came from you was not filled with mirth, it was filled with disdain and hatred as you tried to calm yourself. Your hand in Bradley's hair, and his on your back were the only things keeping you grounded at the moment. When you looked back at Jake there was a coldness in your eyes that he had never seen before. Your tone was frosty as you spoke, “Bradley is her father, but unfortunately biologically she shares DNA with someone else.. And that person.. Well let's just say he isn't worth wasting my breath over.. He left me out to dry.. He is dead to me.” 

The others at the table were shocked, well besides Nat who was thrilled that you were finally getting to say your piece. She had spent many nights, mostly tipsy ones, encouraging this with the hopes that she would get to witness it one day. When the music changed and you stood she stood as well, pulling her girl with you both as you announced you were going to go dance. Bradley was smirking down at the table as he moved your empty glass to the side and pushed the condensation around on the table. Javy felt like he was missing huge pieces of information, Jake did too. 

Jake was doing everything he could to not demand more answers. He wanted to know everything that went wrong, every side step he should've taken. Every argument he should have walked away from, even the ones he should've pushed harder on. He wanted to ask which part of his behavior had pushed you so far away. Jake Hangman Seresin wanted to know everything he needed to not do again if there was ever a possible chance you would be with him again. 

Meanwhile Bradley was loving how torn down the blond looked. Not that he was happy someone else was hurting, just happy that he knew you were getting what you needed. This would help make you happier. This was part of what you needed to heal from Jake and be able to completely move on. But even with all that happiness stirring around in him, old habits die hard. With that in mind he couldn't help but make small jabs at the man. So he leaned back and spread his arms and legs while allowing his head to fall to his shoulder. 

Both Javy and Jake could tell he wanted to say something, but it seemed like he got lost for just a moment. And he did, the moment his eyes found you smiling and dancing with the girls, it was like everything slowed down. Everything in his universe was attached to you in some way. He would never be able to dig deep enough into himself to cut you out completely. The beautiful, thick woman dancing in front of him was his world. The moon, the stars and every galaxy out there. But he forced himself to look away and at one of the few people he actually had real, true negative feelings for. 

“I guess I should thank you Hangman.” He said with a side smirk and slight edge to his voice. He could see the anger and confusion boiling in Jakes eyes as he wondered where he would go with this. Chuckling lightly Bradley continues “Well, had you not been such a selfish prick and ditched her, after begging her to come, at our academy graduation I wouldve never met her… Hell she would probably be married to you. So thank you, for leaving her hangin.” Bradley chuckled once again while tipping his beer bottle towards Jake. 

Javy was shocked, he had never heard this part. Just that you and Jake had fallen out of touch. So to find out in reality, Jake had ditched you and then spent years complaining about how he loved and missed you? He turns to start asking his own questions but stops when he notices his best friends face. Jake has turned red from the neck up, his jaw is clenched to tightly Javy wouldnt be surprised if he cracked a tooth. The bottle in Jakes hand is held so tightly its liable to crack. 

Its taking every ounce of self control that Jake has to not throw himself over the table. He already wanted to rip Bradleys arms off and beat him with them. But now it was worse. Jake wanted to not only beat Bradley until he couldnt move anymore, but he wanted to show Bradley. Show Bradley that maybe.. Just maybe a piece of you had always been waiting for him to come back. That maybe Jake had a fighting chance in a race he didnt even know was happening. 

Just as he went to answer, a redhead came up and practically threw herself in Jakes lap. “Hey there.. If I wear that hat, can I ride you cowboy?”  Jake had never been so turned off in his life. It wasnt the woman in his lap, shes gorgeous and any night before this Jake wouldve spewed off something charming and taken her in the bathroom or maybe in his truck. But he was physically having a hard time not shoving her off his lap. It felt wrong to do in front of you in a way that didnt make sense to him. 

He had no problem parading girls in front of you when he was younger. Girls back home all threw high school, he always took someone different to each dance, both proms. It was never you. He had both you and Jade when he was in the Academy. Jade thought you were just the pathetic girl in town he took pity on.  That you had this silly little high school crush on him, and Jake only entertained it because he pitied you. While none of that came from his mouth, Jake never disagreed. It was an easy way to get away with having his cake and eating it too. 

Especially because you didn't even know Jade existed. 

“SO.. Anyways.. I'm gonna go dance with my wife.. Have a nice night guys.” Bradley practically ran from the table, he was half hard just from listening to you tell Hangman how you felt. There was never any doubt in his head that you would leave him for Jake, but the reassurance was alway nice. The other part was that you never really got worked up like that, so to see you angry was hot. Bradley was suddenly happy that Nix had wanted to come to this club. This club that had ladies dancing on private stages in the corners. This club that had expensive, but semi-private rooms in the back for… Activities. 

Earned it by The Weeknd came on just as he reached you, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you back into him. It was natural to wrap one arm back and around his neck as the other rested on his arm. “God, that was so hot baby.” His voice was deep and raspy as he ground against you, letting you feel just how hot he thought it was. You just wanted to focus on being back with him, Jake needed to go back to the furthest recesses of your mind where he belonged. So you turned around, wrapping both arms around his neck as the two of you danced with each other. He kept one hand on your hip or lower back at all times, ensuring that you couldn't pull away from him. 

He wanted to feel you as close as he could, until that wasn't enough and he brought his mouth down on yours. It was a filthy and debauched kind of kiss, the kind that others saw and thought “Wow save it for the bedroom” but here, in this kinda sketchy club nobody cared. Well besides the blond standing across the room, it didn't matter that Jake had that girl pressed up against him talking. He didn't even catch her begging him to get a room in the back. If he was honest he couldnt even remember if he asked for her name. He wanted to march over to you and  tell you that he had loved you for as long as he could remember. That he was stupid and young and let you walk away but thought you would always find your way back to each other. 

He wanted to tell you that he didn't care that you had a child, that he would love your daughter like his own. Jake wanted to tell you how he visited your fathers grave every time he went home, paid someone to make sure it stayed clean. That he looked for you, asked people if they knew where you were every single time he went home. He looked everywhere for you.. But now as he watched you bite your bottom lip and start pulling your husband back towards a hallway that he hadn't noticed, he knew it was too late. His mind processed that you were so far gone from him, that he probably wouldn't even be able to salvage a friendship. 

But his heart was unable to hear, “Where's that hallway go?” He asked cutting off the woman in front of him. He didn't even know what she had been talking about, part of him felt bad, but the more prevalent part couldn't care. The redhead turned and giggled, saying she would tell him after they had one more drink. Even though it only took ten minutes for that drink to happen, it was ten minutes too long when she finally answered him. Semi-private rooms she said.. Rooms people used to have sex in a kind of private but still open way. His mind was exploding, he couldn't imagine his best friend, the one who blushed when someone asked to kiss her, having sex where others could see her. But as the redhead whose name he couldn't be bothered to figure out now pulled him back towards the hall, he came to the realization that he probably doesn't know you anymore. 

He didn't pay any attention to the hostess charging his card. Didn't pay any attention to the rules she was reading out loud. He didn't care about the girl that was giggling and hanging on him as they started walking. All he could focus on was looking threw the sheer colored curtains as they passed rooms with couples or groups in varying positions. It wasn't until they walked into a room and the woman shoved him down onto the couch that he found you. 

In the ‘room’ directly across from his. 

~

~

~

~

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[simpforrooster]

someone like me.

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x f!reader

summary: rooster gets jealous at the attention the bartender keeps giving you.

t/w: mentions of alcohol

“Can I get you another?” the bartender asks you.

You’re seated next to your best friend, Bradley Bradshaw. Callsign, Rooster. Jake talked the squad into heading to the town over for line dancing.

The bartender in question was definitely easy on the eyes, and had been meeting your gaze all evening. You answered his smirks with a few of yours, before returning your attention back to Bradley.

You raise a brow at Bradley, silently asking him if you aught to continue drinking. He answers with a quick shrug of his shoulder.

“Why not,” you tell the man.

A few moments later, he places an appletini in front of you. “On the house,” he smiles.

Your cheeks redden. As he walks away, Bradley chuckles.

“Got somethin’ to say, Bradshaw?” You turn in your seat towards your friend.

“Oh come on, y/n. You and I both know what he’s doing.” If you didn’t know better, you’d think Rooster was a little jealous.

But you do know better. You and Roos are nothing but friends. Something you’re still coming to terms with.

Of course you felt an immediate attraction to him the first time you met. He peered over his Ray Bans at you and gave you the most delicious smirk you’d ever seen. It was like something out of a romance novel.

But he’s never made a move.

“Are you jealous, Rooster?” you ask. Rooster quickly diverts his eyes.

“Of course not,” he says to the counter. The hand holding his beer tightens around the neck causing the veins in his biceps to appear.

Before your mind can go to places fit for a smutty romance, Rooster speaks. “I just don’t think he’s your type is all.”

“I’m sorry?”

Rooster shrugs a broad shoulder. Mischief sparkles in his eyes underneath the neon. He brings his beer up to his mouth, taking a long swig. Some residual beer hangs back on those lips, and it takes everything in you to not reach out and trace your thumb along the line.

“Well, you can’t leave me hanging. What’s my type? My love life certainly isn’t booming.”

Rooster’s hand falls onto the stool, in between your legs. Never taking his eyes from yours, he pulls your stool until it hits yours. The heat from his hand radiates. His legs have you trapped in, his broad thighs on the outside of yours. He still hasn’t moved his hand from your stool.

Your breath hitches at how he’s pinned you in. He hears it and answers with a smirk. A smirk identical to the one he gave you that first day.

A thoughtful look falls on his handsome face. He casually shrugs, feigning casualness.

“I just thought you’d always fall for someone like me,” he says. As the words leave his mouth, that false confidence is replaced with the look of boy afraid of being rejected.

You slide forward on your stool, almost into Rooster’s lap. One hand finds purchase in his sandy hair, and the other grips the wrist of the hand that was on the stool. Not giving it a second thought, you bring your mouth to his.

Pulling back slightly, you whisper, “Looks like you thought right.”

Rooster smiles against your lips and pulls you in for another kiss. Pulling back, you begin to place kisses along his neck. Rooster flags the bartender down.

“I need to close our tabs please,” he tells him. You don’t stop your kisses to see the look on his face, but you know Rooster is relishing in it. Rooster tosses a hundred onto the bar. “Keep the change, pal.”

Rooster gives the bartender a wink, and grabs your hand, pulling you out the bar and toward his Bronco.

masterlist.

a/n: i’m baaaackkkkkk. thanks for hanging with me through all my hiatuses! i hope yall like this quick little fic!

[ereardon]

The Stranger [Bradley Bradshaw x OC]

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw left an impression — after finding him naked and passed out after a night of drinking in your front yard, he’s anxious to never see you again in his life and relive the embarrassment. But there’s something about him you just can’t let go. He’s a project, and you hate to admit you love a fixer upper. Bradley is hesitant to let you in, but you’re persistent. Is he making a massive mistake?

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x OC

A/N: This is a sneak peek of an unfinished WIP!

You were pouring your morning coffee, Cracker Barrel mug in one hand and coffee pot in the other, when you spotted him through the edge of the front window. 

The sun was just beginning to rise, peeling back the darkness from the night before, and you spotted what could only be an arm flung across the green grass of your front lawn. 

Stepping out onto the deck, you squinted. The grass was wet from the rain shower that had hit in the early morning and the street was eerily quiet. You looked around. There were no cars parked nearby. 

And yet, somehow there was a fully nude man lying face down on your lawn. 

You put the cup of coffee down gently, slid off your slippers and tiptoed tentatively down the path and onto the grass, bending down to see if you were about to call the cops with a homicide investigation. And then you watched his chest rise with a breath and you sighed out, hand on your heart. 

“Thank God,” you muttered. You stood back up and took him in. He was tall, or long considering he was just laying there in the grass. Curled brown hair, tanned and incredibly muscular arms, back and legs. And a nice fucking ass if you did say so. Leaning back down, you tapped his shoulder. “Um, hi?” 

The man groaned but remained on his stomach so you circled your fingers around his upper arm and shook harder. 

“Hello? Excuse me.” 

“Shit,” the guy groaned, rolling over and flopping onto his back, giving you a clear view of his package. Your eyes went wide, but you couldn’t tear yourself away. He also had a perfect six pack, but you were staring a bit south of the border. He rubbed his eyes and finally looked up at you. “Who are you?” 

“I’m Caroline,” you said, crossing your arms. “And you’re naked, by the way.” 

“Fuck,” he said, scrambling to cover himself and then wincing in pain, one hand coming up to his head. 

You shook your head and sighed, uncrossing your arms and shrugging off your blue robe. “Here, put this on.” 

He stood and accepted it, tying it around his waist but it was tight. “Thanks.” 

“Come inside,” you said, turning on a heel and heading back toward the walk. “You can take a shower if you want. Call someone to come get you.” 

He followed you, head hung. “Where am I?”

You grabbed the coffee mug you had deserted on the steps and opened the door. “You’re on Miguel Ave. A few blocks from the golf course.” 

He nodded and stepped inside. You pointed up the stairs. “Take a left at the top of the stairs. Guest bath is the third door on the right. There should be towels and a bigger robe if you need it.” 

He stepped onto the stairs and then turned around, giving you a quizzical look. “Why are you being so nice to me? I’m a stranger. I’m a naked stranger.” 

You laughed. “You think I haven’t seen my fair share of drunk idiots? I went to Tulane. I knew what happened to you the minute I saw you.” 

He simply nodded and ascended the stairs. You chuckled and walked into the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, there were cautious footsteps in the hallway beyond the kitchen and you turned around to see the guy from the lawn wearing your ex’s old flannel robe, his dark hair damp but clean. He had a mustache and a uniquely handsome face. You wouldn’t have immediately called him attractive if it wasn’t for how he carried himself. Even hungover and wearing a bathrobe in a stranger’s home, he had a charisma you could sense through his walk alone. 

“Take a seat,” you said, motioning to the dining table and he nodded, sitting down. You slid a cup of water and a cup of juice over, and then a mug of coffee and a plate of bacon. “Do you eat meat?” 

He chuckled and grabbed a slice. “Definitely.” 

“Good,” you said, returning to the stove and pulling off the pan of eggs, dropping some scrambled eggs into a dish and walking over to the table, taking the seat at the end and pushing one bowl of eggs over to him. “So, remember anything yet?”

He lifted a forkful of eggs to his mouth, chewed thoughtfully. “Bits and pieces. I want to say it involved a dare and a bottle of Jack Daniels.” 

You laughed and took a sip of coffee. “God, how old are you?” 

He smiled and you realized just how attractive of a smile it was. “I’m Bradley,” he said. 

You nodded. 

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” he asked. 

“I told you outside?” 

He shook his head. “Fuck, sorry.” 

“Caroline,” you offered and he smiled. 

“Caroline,” he repeated. “Nice name.” 

You leaned back in the chair. “Do you need to borrow my phone?” He nodded and you unlocked your phone, sliding it across. You didn’t even realize until he stared at the home screen for a moment that it was still a picture of your ex and his dog. 

“Boyfriend?” he asked, lifting the phone into his large hands and scrolling for the dial pad. 

You shook your head. “Not anymore. I keep forgetting to change it.” 

He nodded carefully and hit a few buttons, bringing the phone up to his ear. “Bob, hey, it’s Rooster. Listen, I uh, I need a ride. Yeah, one second.” He pulled the phone away. “What’s your address?” 

“4502 Miguel Ave.”

He repeated the address into the phone. “Oh, and bring me some clothes, please.” You heard laughing on the other end of the line before he hung up. He slid the phone back to you. “Thanks. He should be here in fifteen minutes.” 

“So which is it?” 

He squinted at you. 

“You introduced yourself to me as Bradley, but whoever Bob is, and he has a great laugh by the way, apparently knows you as Rooster.” You slid your eyes over him. “Are you a stripper?”

“What?” he asked aghast and you laughed, taking a sip of coffee. 

“Cool if you are, no judgment here.” 

He shook his head, biting off another piece of bacon. “I’m a pilot. It’s a callsign. A sort of nickname.” 

“Pilot, huh?” 

[bradshawsvinyl]

Begin Again Part Three

As a first grade teacher, you couldn’t help but fall for your sweet student and her very attractive Navy fighter pilot father.

part one. part two.

Bradley woke up the next morning feeling hopeful. It had been a long time since he had felt so attracted to someone. He knew you were Tara’s teacher and that both put you in a weird spot but he couldn’t help himself.

After getting Tara ready for school and dropping her off, he made the drive to base. He wanted to talk to Phoenix about what he should do next. Pursuing you could put both him and Tara in an awkward position and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He was Tara’s father before anything else and if starting something with you would be harmful to Tara in any way, he would just have to push his feelings aside.

“Nat,” Bradley called out as he saw her across the hallway.

“Rooster. Hey,” Phoenix replied when she spotted him. “How are things going with the hot teacher?”

“I gave her my number yesterday. She’s helping me out with Tara after school until I get off work.” Bradley said, blushing.

“No way Bradshaw,” Phoenix said excitedly. Phoenix was Bradley’s best friend and at the end of the day, she wanted what was best for him. It had been so long since she had seen Bradley try to pursue a woman for more than one night. She knew his feelings were genuine.

“Yeah,” Bradley said smiling. “I’ve never felt this way before. I barely know her but I just feel a connection. I think she feels it too.”

“You should ask her out.” Phoenix thought out loud.

“No way,” Bradley said while running his fingers through his hair. “I can’t do that. What if she says no? I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t ask.” Phoenix said, staring at a distressed Bradley. “Just try. What’s the worst that could happen?”

After his conversation with Phoenix, Bradley started thinking to himself. What was the worst that could happen? If you said no to his advances, he could live with that. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.

As he went to pick up Tara from school, he decided to make a quick trip to the local grocery store to pick up some flowers. He figured it would be a nice gesture regardless of whether you chose to go out with him or not. He truly did appreciate all your help with Tara.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Tara asked as you both sat together and colored.

“No.” You said while coloring a picture of a butterfly.

“My daddy could be your boyfriend.” Tara replied not even looking up from the page she was covering. “He doesn’t have a girlfriend but he tells Aunt Phoenix that he wants one all the time.”

Just as Tara finished her sentence, Bradley knocked on your open door. “Hey ladies.” He said jokingly at the sight of you and Tara.

Tara did her usual routine of running up to Bradley and hugging him while excitedly telling him about her day. You sat back and began cleaning up your classroom and packing up your bag for the day.

Bradley told Tara to start grabbing her belongings while he walked over to you. “I wanted to give these to you.” He said, holding out the flowers he purchased for you earlier. “As a thank you for all your help with Tara. It means a lot.”

You grabbed the flowers and mumbled a quick thank you to Bradley while smiling and blushing.

“I wanted to ask you something too,” Bradley started. “I have a sitter for Tara on Saturday night. There’s a small bar by my house that we could hang out at if you’re interested.” Bradley let out a short breath. The ball was now in your court.

“I’d love to.” You replied a little too quickly.

“Great.” Bradley said. “I’ll text you the details. See you on Saturday,” he said while giving you a small wink. He held Tara’s hand and led her outside of your classroom.

Once he had left, you silently celebrated. Bradley and you were going on a date. You had never felt so excited.

[laracrofted]

knee deep in the passenger seat

synopsis: nora and bradley meet again that one time. set five-ish years before baby, i’m high octane.

pairing: bradley bradshaw x nora rogers (oc)

warnings: 18+, minors and ageless blogs dni, explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral sex, semi-public sex), slight age gap (six years), alcohol consumption, vomiting. rooster is slutty (affectionate) and also, a little sad. (wc: 5.4K)

note: i wrote this in october 2022 and just never posted it anywhere lol 💙 but since it's alexa's birthday, i'm opening the vault for her special day. happy birthday, alexa, you're nora's biggest fan except for me!

tags: @theharddeck @bradshawsbitch @hangmanbrainrot @startrekfangirl2233 @kandierteveilchen @lostinwonderland314 @hangmanscoming @t-nd-rfoot @sometimesanalice @dempy @mlibbydp @bellaireland1981 @clancycucumber230 @kmc1989 @averagereader35 @eli2447 @filmflux @bethbunnyy @callsignspark @kajjaka @roosterbruiser @djs8891 @gretagerwigsmuse

An orange September moon is barely visible in the darkness, and Nora has probably overdone it.

Things… could be worse, she reasons, maybe not much worse but still.

No one’s in immediate danger of passing out in the crunch of early autumn leaves or worse, peeing on the side of the deserted middle-of-nowhere road and getting slapped in the face with a public intoxication fine. 

She’s seen worse, probably been worse. 

However, Nora must admit that on a scale of unshakable steel to blow-up man outside of a small town car dealership, she is starting to feel a bit like a day-old helium balloon with a pin-hole leak; limbs bending and sagging and dragging in strange ways. 

Nothing sounds more appealing that crumpling in a pile of sparkles and limbs until Aunt Charlie comes out to scrape her from the damp pavement and drag her home. 

Also, she might puke.

That all depends on how the last shot of Tito’s lands in her stomach and given that Nora can smell rubbing alcohol in her nostrils with every hiccuping breath, she doesn’t love her chances. 

How did you get here, Rogers? You’re a grown 24 year-old woman. 

She ponders, contemplates, does all of those good and meditative action verbs. 

She spent four whole years watching the future Academy Award winners and nepotism babies of the world do lines off a dirty bathroom counter in a shoebox Greenwich apartment. An small close-friends-and-family-members-only retirement party for a renowned Naval Caption should’ve been a breeze.

She’s an adult now. Mostly.

She is smart and more than capable and – 

“An absolute sucker for an open bar,” Nora finishes out loud and with an irritated exhale, shakes a sharp piece of gravel loose from her heel, reflecting on her earlier decision to match a six-foot-something Naval aviator drink-for-drink, shot-for-shot. Idiot. 

Who cares if said Naval aviator looked like an abandoned puppy all alone at the pool table, all big brown eyes and broad shoulders, looking all…  sexy and wounded and sad.

She should’ve known better. She does. 

Over her shoulder, Nora aims a glare at Bradley Bradshaw, who in that moment, wobbles around a No Parking sign, loses his balance, and overcorrects so sharply that he almost ends up flat on his ass in the road. 

They’re a pair of idiots, then. 

And Nora really can’t assign out all of the blame.

No one forced her to order that one drink too many that pushed her over the edge… and the one after that. 

No one held her mouth open and poured the shots down her throat.

Although…

She does have a distinct memory of when Bradley caught one of her wrists in a hand large enough to hold both of them and gently bumped the rim of the souvenir shot glass against her bottom lip until Nora smiled and opened her mouth for him, which will probably make her blush in the morning.

She reasons that Bradley can be shoulder a little bit of the blame. He does have the shoulders for it. 

Since Bradley is also providing her only reprieve for the night – a safe haven, far from the oldies music and probing Is being a filmmaker really a career nowadays? questions –  Nora has already forgiven him in her mind.

Cars are parked all along the side of the road, late arrivals and overflow who couldn’t squeeze in the small parking lot in front of the dive, and as Nora weaves between the Go Navy! and Proud Veteran bumper stickers, a faded blue Bronco appears in the not-so-far distance, shining in the sparse moonlight like a beacon.

A beacon of hope… and air conditioning. 

She looks over her shoulder again to confirm that Bradley hasn’t collapsed and is still making good progress. He is swaying a little, like an anchored boat on a passing wake, but seems generally fine.

She makes a run for it. 

Under her feet, the grass is still wet from a recent storm and slippery, but Nora only slips twice. And after the second time almost causes her to lose a heel in the waterlogged ground, she goes barefoot for the last stretch, heels dangling from a bent finger, shimmering in the blue darkness like miniature disco balls. 

A beep-beep echoes across the humid air, damp enough to feel like a cloying fog, as Bradley unlocks the Bronco, and Nora calls, “Shotgun!” over her shoulder and smiling vaguely at the disembodied laugh that comes from the darkness, all but sags onto the seat.

She resists the urge to curl up like a cat and doze, like the Bronco has a built-in memory foam mattress and not a not even that comfortable brown leather bench seat. 

She leans back, relaxed, and lets everything slip from her slightly sweat-damp grip, dropping her purse and shoes, not bothering to check where anything ends up. She’ll worry about it later.

Right now, Nora is just grateful to sit a seat with a back for once.  

A door opens, and Nora cracks one eye open for pure self-preservation, checking to make sure it is Bradley and not some sort of Friday the 13th slasher. 

“I was promised AC,” Nora complains, pushing damp strands of pale blonde from her sweaty forehead, cursing her decision to ever get bangs and also not to grow them out in the colder months. 

“Give me a second, Rogers.” 

But Bradley almost immediately reaches over and cranks the ignition.

Cool air blasts from the vents, and Nora could actually cry.

Basking, Nora doesn’t pay attention as Bradley rustles around outside, shrugging off his suit jacket and tossing it into the back, and hauls himself one-handed into the front. She’s serene and blessedly, rapidly cooling down. 

For a moment, Nora and Bradley are both silent, simply luxuriating. 

She’s the one to break the silence.

“God, I think I want to marry the person who invented modern air conditioning… or like, offer them  mind-blowing sex.” 

“Want to have sex?” 

 “No, I said – ” 

“No, I heard you.” His grin gleams in the greenish light from the radio, turned all the way down on some local station. “My question wasn’t related. Mind-blowing?” 

She blinks in his general direction, and in the dim glow, Nora can make him out well enough. His white dress shirt is gone, probably in the back with his jacket, leaving him in an undershirt that is straining over his slightly sunburned biceps. 

He looks perfectly casual.

Like Bradley’s asked to grab some drunk food.

“Rewind. Did you just ask me to have sex with you like…?” Nora wracks her brain for an apt comparison. “Like, we ran into each other at a coffee shop and you’re asking if I want to share a table with you? We’re both here, so might as well?” 

He chokes on a laugh, scrubbing a hand over the bottom half of his face to hide a shit-eating grin. Nora narrows her eyes, and Bradley makes an aggressive throat clearing noise.

“Yes.” 

A pause.

“No.”

Another longer pause.

“Is there a right answer to this question?” 

Jesus Christ. 

Nora exhales a disbelieving laugh. And then, entertains the idea. 

It isn’t a great one. For several reasons.

Reason 1: Aunt Charlie was good friends with Carole Bradshaw, which is the only reason Nora even knows him. Charlie watched him grow up and so, carries a certain fondness for him. 

A fondness that might be more than slightly tainted if lovable Bradley Bradshaw has sweaty and depraved sex with her niece in a parked car, outside of a retirement party where Charlie herself is currently in attendance. 

(He didn’t explicitly mention depraved, but Nora kind of gets that vibe from him.)

Reason 2: See above.

But… Nora considers, What if Charlie didn’t find out? What then?

He’s a good looking man, she can’t deny that. Humidity curls his hair around his ears, and Bradley’s got these puppy dog eyes that promise all kinds of trouble, a sharp edge of mirth underneath. 

He looks… good.

He’s what? Six years older than her? That’s nothing.

A guy like him… could probably snap her in half, all broad shoulders and massive arms. 

She’s always had a thing for arms.

And Nora hasn’t gotten laid in a while. She’s been busy, assisting and pitching and writing and running around Manhattan for drinks and meetings and interviews and – 

It’s a bad idea.

It’s not a good idea.

It’s… not the worst idea.

“Sure, yeah,” Nora finds herself saying. “We could have sex.” 

This all really started when Aunt Charlie got the invite in the mail a month ago.

As a former Top Gun instructor and current Department of Defense superstar, Charlie Blackwood got a lot of invites. She got invited to weddings, baby showers, medal ceremonies, and lately, lots and lots of retirement parties.

She declined most of them, but Nora knew Charlie had a soft spot for Top Gun graduates who’d been in her class and gone on to have long and prosperous careers with Naval Aviation. 

And when Mr. Charlotte Blackwood couldn’t make it to a party for one reason or another and Nora was free for the weekend, she was the designated back-up plus one.

An opportunity to get all dressed up for a night in some glamorous Washington D.C. ballroom, sipping free drinks and chatting up some silver fox Naval Admiral’s cute, much more age appropriate nephew? Sign her up.

She might not have been quite so eager if Charlie had told Nora earlier that Captain Leonard Wolfe had opted for a more... down-to-earth approach. 

It was a classic dive, raucous, intimate, and covered in a film of grease and grim that made Nora regard the slight cloudiness of the Dirty Shirley with suspicion. A free drink is a free drink. She shrugged and accepted the drink with a closed lip smile, plucking a cherry from the carbonation and popping it into her mouth. 

Chewing, Nora looked for a quick getaway and instead, found a familiar face.

Dressed in a respectable shirt and well-fitting slacks, golden from his latest deployment, Bradley Bradshaw was all alone next to the pool table, scraping chalk across the cue with a vacant expression, looking miles from here. 

Nora sidled over and leaned against the pool table. 

“Bradley Bradshaw,” Nora said coolly, mixing in the grenadine with a stirring straw and sipping from the end. Pure saccharine sweetness… and a very prominent aftertaste of bottom-shelf vodka. “Look at you in your dress shoes.” She playfully nudged the side of his shiny black shoe. “I haven’t seen you at one of these in a while. You been in hiding or just hiding from me?” 

He stiffened, ever so slightly, but Bradley inclined his head with a smile.

“Never, Rogers,” Bradley replied, holding his hand over his heart like an oath. “Who would hide from someone who looks as beautiful as you do in that dress?” His gaze might as well have been a caress, drinking in the silver of the dress. 

She did a small spin, even though Bradley didn’t ask, shimmering in the dim light of the dive bar like an errant disco ball, a shooting star that’s wandered down to the surface and gotten lost. 

“Just between us…” Nora leaned in. “I’m worried I’m a little overdressed.” 

His smile widened. “You definitely are. You kind of look like an asshole.” 

She gaped at him, and Bradley laughed at her surprised expression, but something about the sound was strangely hollow, a copy of a copy.

He sounded off, and Nora frowned.

“You okay?” Nora asked slowly, not wanting to cross a line or impose. He could’ve been waiting for someone when Nora came over. “I can leave you alone, go find some hot young Lieutenant who’ll fetch my drinks all night.”

She was rewarded with a small smile, and Bradley shook his head, almost too quickly. “Stay. Sorry, I’m just… I think I need another drink in me.” His gaze dropped. “You play pool?” 

She shrugged. “I prefer darts.” 

“Well, I don’t,” Bradley said simply, short and almost rude. He cushioned the words with a crooked grin, looking more like the Bradley Bradshaw that Nora knew. “Rack ‘em while I get us another round? What’re you drinking, darling?” 

“Dirty Shirley.” He made a pained face. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not coming over there and ordering it for you. A grown man like you can order a Dirty Shirley for a woman at a bar.”

“You might be scarier than my old CO.” And when Nora raised her brows, Bradley surrendered with open palms. “I’m going, I’m going.” 

His dark eyes shine with amusement as Bradley looks at Nora.

“Don’t pull a muscle with all that enthusiasm, darling.” 

She resists the urge to smack him. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“What?” And for his part, Bradley does look genuinely confused. 

“Oh my god, Bradley!” Nora groans, crossing her arms over her chest, which has the effect of dragging an already low neckline even lower. His eyes follow not so subtly. “You are the one who was like, Let’s have sex to kill time or whatever, and all of the sudden, I’m expected to what? Set the mood?” 

Her exasperation sweetens into something simpering and mocking, and Nora bats her lashes. “Touch me with your big, strong, capable Naval aviator hands, Lieutenant Bradshaw, or I’ll – ”  

Neither of them find out what Nora would do.

He slides across the seat in a heartbeat and swallows her words with an enthusiastic kiss, crowding her back against the window, warm against the bare skin exposed in the low back of the dress. 

Before Nora can do much more than pant into his mouth, Bradley is pulling her from the seat with his strong hands and sets her down in his lap, grasping her waist in a firm grip, holding her against him.

His shirt is soft to the touch, and Nora smooths her palms over his shoulders, over his arms, caught and confined in the fabric. Impatient, she pulls at the hem, and Bradley is more than happy to take the hint. 

Getting him out of the shirt probably would go a whole lot smoother if Bradley wasn’t so tall and Nora wasn’t so on top of him, but after some determined fumbling and awkward maneuvering – Bradley smacks the ceiling twice and nearly knocks her out of his lap once – he manages to wrestle it onto the dash, cursing the whole way there.

Nora giggles. 

She’s still giggling when Bradley catches her chin, gaze warm with mirth and want, and pulls her into another long and slightly sloppy kiss. He is hard underneath her, and Nora feels lighter than air with a hand on the back of his neck, making encouraging sounds against his mouth.

He reaches under the dress, skimming a rough palm over the back of her exposed thigh, and Nora pulls back.

“Hold on,” she says, breathless.

She nods pointedly at the windshield.

He needs a second to catch up. 

“It’s dark out,” Bradley reassures, smoothing his thumb up and down the side of her neck. “And I parked down the street. No one’s gonna see.” 

Fingers curl around her thigh, easing her back down on his – 

She shakes her head, firm and unmoving. “Someone could have their flashlight on on their way to their car. And if Charlie has to hear about this from some drunk Admiral, I will die of embarrassment and bring you down with me.” A cool smirk. “What else’ve you got for me, Bradshaw?” 

“Right…” Bradley pauses. “Back seat?” 

They’d only made it through a few games before some older Naval officers – around the same age as Captain Wolfe – claimed the next one, but by then, Nora and Bradley were already several drinks in. 

Having an open bar meant that drinks became both a prize and a forfeit. 

She went in search of water – because, yeah, wow – while Bradley slumped on the nearest stool and watched the older Naval aviators set up their game.

And when Nora returned, waters in hand, Bradley had that same look on his face, a strange forlorn expression.

He glanced over as Nora sat down, and asked suddenly, “Wanna know why I stopped going to these?”

Honestly, all Nora really wanted was to drink some water and maybe check to see if the kitchen serves nachos and not puke tonight. 

She gulped down most of the water in one long pull and wiped the back of her across her mouth, probably smearing lip gloss all across her chin and mouth. It was all she could do not to let out of undignified cough. 

Another glass sat between them, but Bradley didn’t move to pick it up.

Sensing that Bradley was waiting for an answer, Nora offered a quick, “Sure, Bradshaw,” and slowly pushed at the water glass, feeling a little like a cat about to push it from the surface, until Bradley’s hand closed around it.

Between the music and the loud buzz of conversation, Bradley’s sigh was barely audible. He started, slowly, “Mom and I used to get invited to shit like this all the time when I was a kid, and starting out, I loved it. It was cool, getting to be around all these cool older guys who’re actual fighter pilots and have so many cool stories. It wasn’t really my mom’s scene – not without my dad, but I’d go with…” 

A pained expression flashed across his face, a mixture of anger and hatred and hurt, raw and deep and jagged, and Nora could fill in the blanks. 

He’d gone with Maverick. 

He continued, “But after a while, I realized I only got invited because I was a Gold Star kid. People felt sorry for me. Look at the sad kid with the dead dad. Made me feel like shit, you know? And now, I’m a Lieutenant. I might not’ve gone to the Academy like Hangman – ” 

He spat out the name with such venom that Nora’s lips parted automatically to ask who that was, but Bradley was on a roll now. 

“But I ended up in the same damn place as them. I’ve earned my spot.” 

An abrupt belch jolted him, and Bradley drained the water in a long continuous swallow that made Nora raise her eyebrows. 

“Guys like them,” Bradley nodded at the men who were now in the middle of nine ball game, gaze unfocused. “Guys like Wolfman look at me, and it’s like they’re looking at a fucking ghost. It’s almost worse.” His voice broke ever so slightly.

She pretended not to notice, sparing him, and Nora rubbed at a pinched spot in her chest.

She used to love it when she was younger, preening at every you look so much like your mom, scouring the scrapbooks and seeing a familiar smile on a face that wasn’t her own on the wrinkled pages. 

After Mom died, Nora kind of hated her own reflection, hated the uncanny feeling that someone was looking at her and not seeing her but a copy of a copy of someone else. 

She’s made peace with it since then. Eventually. 

And in a less inebriated state, Nora might’ve been able to articulate something, anything that might be a half-decent bit of wisdom, paraphrased from years and years of painful self-awareness and therapy. 

Right now, all Nora could do was reach for his nearest shoulder and give him a good solid poke, all muscle, and say, all gentleness, “You don’t feel like a ghost to me, Bradshaw.” 

Smiling sadly, Nora eased back, but Bradley caught her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, a silent thank you that couldn’t push through the emotion swimming in his sad eyes. 

A beat passed.

And Bradley stood abruptly, nearly knocking his stool over. 

“You want to do a shot? Wolfman’s buying.”  

When Nora nods, Bradley springs into action.

Guiding Nora over the seat, a careful hand resting on the nape of her neck to keep her from hitting the ceiling. Stepping out, then back in because Bradley is far too tall and wide to clamber over the bench. 

He is well-practiced, probably from doing this before.  

She is alone for a split second, bathed in the sound of the chirping crickets and her own shallow breaths. Fabric brushes against her back, resting on something that might be his shirt. 

Bradley pops the door open and is on her again, quick as lightning, and Nora doesn’t care anymore. She welcomes the weight of him, the press of his torso against hers, the hunger in his grasping hands. 

He’s a damn good kisser, coaxing her lips open and slipping his tongue into her mouth again, nipping at her bottom lip. He cups her face with large hands, scraping a thumb across her pulse point, and Nora sinks lower and lower into the heat, all fuzzy around the edges from alcohol and him. 

All she can think is more more more, now now now, and Bradley reads her mind. 

He breaks from the kiss, abruptly dropping his mouth to her shoulder and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the freckle there. He sounds half-asleep, voice low and thick with desire. 

Bradley mutters, “Sit up,” against her throat and slides onto his knees. 

That can’t be comfortable, Nora thinks absently. He is super tall, which also means long legs, and as spacious as the Bronco is – 

Nora lets out an embarrassing half-shriek when Bradley tugs her forward without warning, hooking her knees over his shoulders, settling between her parted thighs with a grin. 

She is still wearing her dress, rustling and glittering in the inky darkness with every breath, but Bradley doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to get her naked. 

“Eating me out in the backseat of your car when I already agreed to have sex with you?” Nora jokes, a little breathless, a little embarrassed by that. Warmth flutters in the pit of her stomach at her own words, at the implication of it. Has it really been that long? “Can’t decide if you’re a gentleman or a slut.” 

Teeth gleam in the dark, and Bradley sucks a bruise into the inside of her thigh, blowing a cool breath over the spot. She holds back a shiver. 

“Who said I’m down here to eat you out? Kinda presumptuous of you, Rogers.” 

She rolls her eyes and smacks at his shoulder, catching the broad edge with an open palm. It probably hurts her more than him, and Bradley shakes with restrained laughter, which only makes her want to smack him again. Makes her want to tell him to get up or get on with it sometime tonight.  

She has a comeback, a good one, but Bradley doesn’t even give her the chance to get it out. He leans in and presses his mouth between her thighs, running his tongue against the seam of her through the underwear. 

Nora lets out something between a cough and a gasp, throwing her head back against the seat, arching into him. She might’ve choked on the breath, had anything still remained in her lungs to choke on. 

Everything flees the moment that Bradley finds the growing wet spot in the center of the fabric with his tongue. It’s barely anything, a tease, and yet, Nora is already quivering in his arms. 

“You okay up there?” 

His voice is unbearably smug, and Nora is having a little trouble remembering that really great comeback from earlier.

“It’s been… I’ve been… Shut the fuck up.” 

Hot breath ghosts across the damp strip of fabric as Bradley laughs, and on instinct, Nora jolts away from him. He keeps her there with a flex of his biceps, reaching up to tap a placating palm against her stomach, then down to find the edge of her underwear. 

He shimmies them halfway down her thighs, then realizes the obvious issue with this plan. It’ll be impossible to get them off in this position. There isn’t enough room. 

A suspiciously long pause, and Nora feels the elastic pull tight against her thigh.

“Rip my underwear,” Nora threatens, one hand grabbing at his hair in warning, “and I’m getting out of this car.”

“S’not what I was doing,” Bradley insists, almost petulant, but instantly, Nora feels the pressure ease. 

Curls brush the sensitive skin of her inner thighs as Bradley ducks back into position, abandoning her underwear around her knees. He winds his arms back around her legs, flexing his muscles, and with a bend of his wrist, skims through the wetness there, brushing against her clit with his thumb.

“Fuck,” Bradley swears. “You’re so wet.” 

And in hindsight, maybe Nora spent too much time wondering about the slight possibility that Charlie could find out about this and not enough time worrying about the very real possibility that Charlie would probably call Bradley a well-mannered young man in the future, and Nora would have to look her in the eye. 

When did Charlie want to leave again?

Nora cranes her neck, aiming for casual and can almost see the…

“Are you trying to check the time right now?” 

Fuck. She shuts her eyes tight.

“What? No. Do you always talk this much?” 

He must realize that Nora was, in fact, trying to check the time because Bradley dives back in without hesitation – and without mercy, licking a long stripe up her cunt and easing his middle finger into her at the same time. He licks her again, tongue flat and searching, spreading her open, circling her clit with sloppy enthusiasm. 

“Oh my god,” Nora murmurs breathlessly, winding her fingers tighter in his hair, starting to tremble around him. “Bradley.” 

It’s the most uncomfortable position. Her legs burn, bent awkwardly over his too-big shoulders, and Nora can feel the muscles straining, threatening to cramp and spasm, but Bradley is eating her out with abandon. 

And Nora is so so close. It’s dizzying. 

“What do you need?” Bradley asks, raising his head, mouth slick with saliva and her, eyes bright. “You need me to…” 

She shushes him impatiently, and Bradley laughs. 

He sinks back down, running his tongue back and forth in a pattern that makes her see stars, and Nora is gone, coming with a gasping moan. 

She goes boneless in the aftermath, slumping sideways on the seat, leaving Bradley to maneuver out of the trap of her legs and underwear without any help. He manages well enough, keeping the quiet cursing to a minimum as Nora stares at the ceiling and catches her breath. 

He reaches into the front seat, popping open the glove compartment and rustling around. She closes her eyes, reopening them when Bradley tugs her panties all the way off her legs, now with the room to do so. He tosses the fabric to the side, banishing them to the same bottomless pit as her heels. 

“You decide yet?” Bradley asks. He wipes at his wet mouth with the back of his forearm, setting down his hand right next to her head and leaning in, and Nora can see the slight tremble to the muscle. 

“I already said I’d have sex with you, asshole. Give me a second.” 

He barks a laugh. “Not that. The other thing. Am I gentleman or a slut?” 

“Hmmm…” Nora spies the square of plastic clutched in his fist, narrowing her eyes in the dark to make it out. Her voice is a little hoarse. She could use another glass of water right about now. “Do you keep a box of condoms in your glove compartment?” 

“Always good to be prepared.” 

“Slut. Hands down.” 

His amused exhale warms her neck as Bradley nudges her head to the side, pressing kisses in a path down her exposed throat. He pauses for too long again, as if considering the risk and reward of sucking a bruise into her skin, and Nora digs her nails into his bicep in warning. 

“If I’m such a slut,” Bradley whispers against her throat, nosing under her chin to get her to tilt her head back further, “what does that make you, huh?” 

She smirks. “Charitable.” 

He freezes in place, breath puffing against her neck, and Nora has to hold back her laugh.

Bradley spots the wide grin on her face, the mischief dancing in her blue eyes, and laughs. Low, in a way that promises retribution. “Charitable… Fuck you, Rogers.” 

“Well, yeah. Did I come all the way back here for nothing?” 

He shakes his head, laughing under his breath, and unbuckles his belt, freeing himself from his boxers to slip the condom on. 

“Wait,” Nora says, tapping at his shoulder. He freezes in place. “My neck is cramping. Let me get on top.” 

Nora sinks down on him, head dropping back at the sensation. 

Time blurs from there, a languid hue of stuttered breaths and soft, drawn-out moans and murmured words. Her dress is pooled around her waist, and Bradley turns his attention to her breasts, first with his fingers, then with his mouth.

She alternates between grasping the head rest and the strong line of his shoulder, rocking down on him. 

“You feel so good, so fucking good,” Bradley moans. somewhere in the middle, brushing sweat-dampened strands out of her face. “Does that feel good?” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the curve of her shoulder, then behind her ear, licks a long stripe across her skin. 

Half-drowned in sensation, Nora can do nothing but nod, slack-jawed, giving her answers in the form of kisses pressed to the underside of his jaw, fingernails lightly scraping across his bulging forearms. And in the interlacing of her fingers between his, right at the end, when Nora comes undone again and Bradley follows her over the edge, spilling into the condom. 

He pulls out, sprawling across the back seat, and Nora follows him down, resting her head in the crook of his arm. They are still breathing heavily, coming down from their highs when Nora’s stomach gives a twisted pinch.

“What’d you think? Better than someone getting a drink for you?” 

“I think I’m gonna throw up.” 

“Well… You seemed to be enjoying yourself a minute ago.”

“No, Bradley,” Nora says, sitting upright, which makes her vision cartwheel. “The Tito’s.” 

His eyes grow wide in understanding, and Bradley flings the door open, just in time for Nora to lean out and vomit over the side of the Bronco. His loud laugh is cut short, and then Nora hears a stuttered “Oh god,” and the unmistakable sound of the other door opening and liquid hitting the pavement. 

And as Nora pulls up the straps of her dress and wiped her mouth, she spots her shoe under the passenger’s side seat. “You know, Bradley.” She leans forward and fishes it out, holding it up to the light. “I think I should probably stop going to these parties too.” 

He offers her a thumbs-up over his shoulder, then throws up again. 

Later, once Nora has cleaned up and tugged her clothes back into place and accepted the plastic water bottle that Bradley tracked down in the trunk, she sits on the back bumper of Aunt Charlie’s car and waits.

She is smoking a drunk cigarette, bummed from an older Naval Admiral who was standing outside the bar, and watching the moon when Charlie wanders out of the party, not even a lipstick smudge out of place. 

“Where did you run off to tonight?” Charlie asks on the drive home, and as soon as Nora starts to tell her the abridged truth, that she was with Bradley, Charlie adds, “And before you answer, I do feel inclined to point out the huge hickey on your neck.” 

Nora screw her eyes shut. Goddammit Bradley.

“Now I don’t think I should answer that question.” 

Charlie sighs. “You’re an adult, Nora, and I know I can’t really say anything without sounding like a hypocrite after Pete, but please don’t start dating someone I used to teach.” 

Nora exhales a laugh, leaning her forehead against the cool glass of the window, fogging with her breath. Her gaze is skyward, unfocused, watching the stars blink and out of existence between the clouds. 

After a moment, Nora says, “Since I have no plans to date a Naval aviator, I think I’m safe. No danger there.” 

Her phone buzzes against her leg. 

Bradley Bradshaw: Always a pleasure, Rogers ;)

Bradley Bradshaw: Don’t be a stranger.

Nora holds her phone tight in her hand and tries not to smile. 

end note: i don't know how many biho readers actually care about bradley and nora, but i love the context that this one shot gives to their friendship, so i hope you did too! 🩵 likes are always appreciated, but comments and reblogs make my whole day. i love hearing from y'all.

read the series

[beyondthesefourwalls]

Keep It Undercover

Summary: You and Bradley had shared a few beautiful weeks together, years after first meeting. You had been content with leaving it as a beautiful, delicious memory; something that could have been, if the stars would have aligned. Only now he was stationed in Fightertown permanently, and while he didn’t know what exactly that meant for the two of you long term, he knew what he wanted. He didn’t care about your age or that you outranked him. After all, he had always liked his girls a little bit older. 

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: Smut. Language, Bradley with an older woman which is a warning in and of itself. Secret relationship, maybe?

Word Count: 4.4K

Notes: Written for @roosterforme's '80s Rocktober challenge using the song Your Love by The Outfield. I've been wanting to write this dynamic for MONTHS and am so excited to finally do it!

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“We shouldn’t be doing this here.” 

Bradley nodded his agreement, even as he nearly ripped your uniform shirt in his haste to unbutton it and get it off of you. He pressed his lips to yours in a desperate, messy kiss. “I know that. But here we are.” 

You groaned against his mouth. “We should stop.” But even as you said it, you were undoing his belt and slipping your hand into his service khakis. He cursed when you squeezed his erection through his briefs and pushed you back into the desk, the stapler teetering on the edge of the mahogany before crashing to the ground. 

You were right. You absolutely should stop. Bradley hadn’t even come in here for this. He had just wanted to see you. To maybe surprise you if you didn’t already know he was coming. And you hadn’t, and the look on your face when he knocked on your door had been everything he could have wanted. But it had been weeks since he had been able to get his hands on you, and things had escalated once you were in the same room, and now that he was here - 

A sharp knock on the door echoed in the room, and you pushed him off of you so quickly that he almost tripped. He grabbed onto the chair in front of the desk to stop himself from hitting the floor.  

“Commander? Your next meeting is here.” 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you muttered under your breath, hastily buttoning your uniform shirt back up and smoothing back the regulation bun your hair was kept in. You gestured for him to right himself with a frantic hand, your eyes urgent. “Hurry up!” 

Bradley could have screamed. He had been so close. So close. 

But instead he groaned in defeat and zipped his pants back up. He hissed in discomfort, still half hard, and despite your embarrassment at almost getting caught and your absolute unwillingness to risk doing so, he thought he saw a small smirk curve on those gorgeous lips of yours. 

“This is your fault,” he said pointedly, and you shrugged a shoulder as you turned to walk away from him. His arm shot out before you could get far. Your skin was soft and smooth under his where he gripped your bicep and hauled you close to him.  Before you could protest, he pressed a firm kiss to your lips. Your eyes were narrowed when he pulled away, and Bradley couldn’t help the smirk that spread across his face. He released you and took a step back even as you pushed him away, no real effort in the shove. “Am I dismissed?”

The look on your face was unimpressed, but he saw the muscle in your cheek twitch. You rolled your eyes and pointed at the door as you settled into your office chair. “Get out of my office, Lieutenant. And send in my next meeting.” 

He turned on his heel with a silent chuckle. His hand was on the doorknob when you called his name. He froze, glancing over his shoulder at you. You had let the professional mask slip, your bottom lip drawn between your teeth. You were quiet for a beat, and then you let yourself smile at him - soft and gentle and enough to make his heart skip a beat. And then your words sent it racing. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

He had been content to leave the room, but now he wanted to kiss you again. He crossed the room with large, quick strides. You barely had time to gasp before he was rounding your desk and cupping your face in his big hands, leaning down. It was over as quickly as it started, but he gave himself a half a moment to breathe you in, his nose nudging against yours. 

“Me too, Commander.” 

___

Bradley tried not to be obvious as he watched you from across the bar. You were nursing a beer that he knew was your favorite. Just like he knew it tasted better on your tongue than it did from the glass. He had found that fact out the last time the two of you were in the Hard Deck at the same time, and he hoped tonight would end up just the same. 

He had clocked you as soon as you walked through the doors, and his eyes had been trailing after you ever since. You were sitting with a few of your fellow officers. Your hair was down, loose and kind of wild in a way that drove him crazy. Your low cut black shirt hugged your chest, and you were in jeans so tight he thought maybe they were painted on. He knew he wasn’t the only one looking, but he wondered, hoped, you had changed your clothes after work with him in mind. 

You turned your head to scan the bar and paused when your eyes landed on him. You looked away quickly, but not before your eyes raked over him from head to toe. He saw the way you shifted in your seat and smirked as he took a sip of his beer. 

“I hope you’re not thinking of going down that road again.” 

He was so focused on you that Nat’s voice came as a surprise to him as she slid onto the bar stool beside him, and Bradley felt a flash of panic go through him at her words. There was no way she should know about that. You were careful last time around, and today was the first time Bradley had seen you since arriving back in California. When he turned to her, his best friend’s face was drawn into a sneer that didn’t hide her judgment for a moment. She wasn’t looking at him though, and he followed her gaze with wide eyes. He let out a silent sigh of relief when he realized it wasn’t you who she was glaring at. As his heart rate slowed, he felt his own mouth twist into a frown at the sight of who was sitting a few tables away from you.

“Josie? Absolutely not, Nat. Come on. You should know better.”  

She snickered into her beer bottle and took a long pull of it, giving him a pointed look. “And I would hope you would too.” 

Bradley wanted to tell her that it wasn’t his ex-girlfriend who he was looking at. But doing that would probably give both of you away, and that wasn’t something that had been addressed yet. He wasn’t sure where you stood on the matter, and he wasn’t going to make that decision for you. So instead, he rolled his eyes and brought his beer to his lips. “Noted,” he mumbled before taking a sip. He took another quick glance in your direction, just in time to see you laugh at something one of the people at your table said, throwing your head back. God, you were so beautiful. He had thought that from the very first moment that he saw you, over five years ago now. 

For all intents and purposes, Bradley should have no idea who you were. You weren’t an aviator, nor one of the engineers he worked with on occasion. You were an Intelligence Specialist, interacting mostly with officer’s above his paygrade, just as you were yourself. It was his first stint at Top Gun, and ironically, he had been trying to get away from Josie herself. A fellow aviator, they were in a weird on-again-off-again cycle, and he had been dodging the blonde for the majority of the evening after training. He had narrowly avoided her cornering him in the recreation room and had taken a wrong turn on the way back to his barracks. He found himself in an unfamiliar stretch of hallway, paused in front of a door as he looked around to try and figure out where he was and what his chances of running into the one he had been trying to escape if he turned and came back the way he started when a throat cleared behind him. 

“Can I help you, Lieutenant?” 

Bradley had just recently been promoted, and was barely used to the title or the new bars on his shoulder, but he whipped around at the voice. That was the first time he had laid eyes on you. He had scrambled for an excuse, catching sight of the name on the door he was standing in front of and claiming he was waiting for a meeting with the Lieutenant Commander assigned to that office. You had simply raised an eyebrow, and when Bradley allowed himself to glance down, he realized both the rank and name on the placard on the door matched those on your uniform. He had blushed so hard he could almost still feel the heat all these years later. 

“Want to try again?” you had asked. And he wasn’t sure if it was his embarrassment or his nerves, or simply the way you looked at him that made him feel like he could be honest, but the next thing he knew, he was telling you exactly why he had wandered down that hallway. To his surprise, you had simply laughed. The amusement was written all over your face, and with a glance over your shoulder to see if anyone else was coming down the hallway, you nodded your head to your open office door. “Go on. You can hide in here.” 

Hiding in your office had turned into over an hour of playful banter and conversation, which had turned into him coming back the next night, and the one after that, too. You were older than he was by almost a decade, but it didn’t bother him in the slightest. It was refreshing, talking to someone who matched or exceeded his maturity and intelligence. He was older than the majority of his peers who had all graduated from the academy, the difference small but sometimes stark, and you were a breath of fresh air in so many ways.   

But you outranked him, and more than that, you had a ring on your finger. So nothing had happened, even though he wished it did. He had said goodbye to you after he got his trophy with a smile on his face and the thought of never seeing you again. When he was called back to Top Gun last month, still a Lieutenant but on the verge of Lieutenant Commander, he couldn’t resist purposely going down that incorrect hallway. The rank on the office placard had increased, and the name had changed. But you were still there behind the desk, only lacking jewelry on your left hand and with a different last name printed on your name tag. The wedding picture on your desk was absent. 

You had remembered who he was, and jokingly asked if he was running away from his girlfriend again. He had smirked and asked if he could still hide away with you if there was nothing or no one he was running from. Conversation was just as easy with you then as it had been before, and he found himself coming back. 

He kissed you a week later, right there in your office. And then the next night after you ran into each other at the Hard Deck, you asked him to come home with you. What followed was a whirlwind two weeks, filled with take out and movies from your couch some nights, and laughing and dancing around the kitchen as you cooked together for the others. To top it all off was the most intimate, mind blowing sex he had ever had in his life. You were passionate and mature and not afraid to ask for what you wanted or tell him what to do, and it was addicting. You were addicting. 

You kept inviting him back, and he kept coming. You were the picture of professionalism during the day, your paths never crossing. He knew how it would look for you. You were a commanding officer, and he was there on a mission. And while you didn’t interact with him directly, you did interact with some of his superiors. The optics weren’t great. When you added in your concern of your age, even if it wasn’t one of his, it was best for both of you to keep it all behind locked doors and under covers, which was exactly what you did. You were the first stop he made after he was back on solid ground after the mission that had brought him there to begin with, and he had spent every day with you until he had returned to Virginia. 

His last night in California, tangled together in the sheets of your bed, you had whispered to him that you wished things could be different. But both of you had been content with leaving your time together as a beautiful, delicious memory. Something that could have been, if the stars would have aligned. 

Now he was stationed in Fightertown permanently, and while he didn’t know what exactly that meant for the two of you long term, he knew what he wanted. And that started with getting you alone again. 

The next time he glanced in your direction, you were standing to leave, draping your bag on your shoulder. You waved your goodbyes to your friends and headed in his direction and for a silly moment, his heart started beating faster in anticipation, thinking maybe you were coming to him. But you only met his eyes for a moment and gave him the smallest of smiles when you passed where he was sitting. It took everything in him not to reach out to touch you, or to turn his head and watch you leave. Instead, he took another sip of his beer, trying to concentrate on his friend's words instead of his own thoughts. Hangman and Coyote joined them at the bar right when Bradley’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Nat was going on about apartment hunting being a pain in the ass as he dug it out of his jeans. His heart started beating faster when he saw your name on the screen. 

My door will be unlocked for the next thirty minutes. Come over. 

Bradley downed the rest of his beer, tossing a goodbye over his shoulder as he threw down enough cash to cover his tab. As he climbed into the Bronco and gunned it out of the parking lot, he remembered the last time you were together - the way your body felt against his, the sounds you made when he touched you just right. He couldn't wait to feel you again.

By the time he pulled up in front of the cookie cutter house you called your own, he was already half hard at the memories. You had left the front door unlocked, just as you promised. He slipped inside, silently shutting and locking it behind him. He toed his shoes off and didn’t waste any extra time before making his way upstairs. A soft flickering of light from the room at the end of the hallway beckoned him, and the soft vanilla scent in the air became stronger the closer he got. 

As he crossed the threshold into your bedroom, he saw you illuminated by candlelight, lounging on the mattress against the mountain of pillows you kept. You were wearing nothing but a sinfully matching set of deep red lace. The soft glow of the flames cast shadows across your exposed skin and accentuated the curves of your body. Your hair was still down and wild like it had been at the bar, but you had taken your makeup off, revealing any imperfections that the foundation and blush kept hidden. It endeared him to you even more. 

Against the silk sheets on your bed, you looked like a goddess.

He went to take a step in your direction, but a single shake of your head had him pausing where he was. You smirked at him like a Cheshire cat. 

“Take your clothes off,” you purred, and Bradley couldn’t help but groan. 

“Is that an order, Commander?”

Even as he asked, he was yanking his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and white tshirt off, quickly followed by his jeans that were suddenly feeling too tight. You raised a sharp eyebrow and glanced down before meeting his eyes again. 

“All of it. Lieutenant.” 

Bradley smirked as he did as you asked, commanded, pushing his navy blue briefs to the ground and kicking them away. His thick cock slapped against his stomach and he stood there naked in front of you as you licked your lips, eyes trailing over him, humming in what he hoped was appreciation. The silence was heavy with lust and anticipation for what was to come. Finally, you spread your legs and beckoned him closer with a crook of your finger. 

Bradley didn't need any further invitation. He crossed the distance to the bed in a few quick strides, climbing onto the mattress and crawling until he was hovering over top of you. 

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi there.” A shudder rippled through you as ducked his head to press a kiss to your neck, gently licking at the skin, and you tilted your head to give him better access. “You’re here.” 

He picked his head up to meet your eyes, only for a second, before he leaned down to kiss you. He coaxed your lips apart and teased your tongue with his, and he was right in his earlier assumption that the beer you had been drinking would still taste better coming from you. You wrapped your legs around his hips and threaded your fingers through his hair while your other hand scraped down his back, and he shivered as he pulled his mouth from yours, nipping at your bottom lip as he went. 

“I am,” he affirmed. Your eyes were a shade darker, your lips swollen and parted. “What are you going to do with me?” 

You took the challenge for what it was just like he hoped you would. You tightened your legs around him, and suddenly he found himself lying on his back with you straddling him. He groaned when you shifted in a way that made his hard length slide between your center. You were separated by the thinnest scrap of lace, but he could feel how hot and wet you were. 

You repeated the motion, and Bradley took a moment to admire the way you looked on top of him. Your eyes were hooded with desire, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. Your hair was wild in just the way he loved it. You were still wearing that sinful red bra, your chest heaving with every breath you took, and he didn't waste another moment before he trailed his hands up your back, unhooking the lace with ease and tugging it off your body so that you were completely exposed for him. He knew it wasn't something you would have done on your own, your own insecurity about the natural changes in your body the older that you got something you had shared with him during one of the late nights you shared. But fuck, you were so beautiful, he almost couldn't handle it. He told you so now, too, and your whole body trembled in response to his words. 

You leant forward so your breasts were pushed up against his chest, your hard nipples rubbing against his own. He cupped the back of your neck and captured your lips with his. For a moment, he allowed himself just to kiss you. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, exploring greedily. But he knew it wasn't enough for either of you. He wanted to be everywhere at once - under your skin, in your mouth, between your legs, inside of you. Like you knew exactly what he was thinking, you trailed your lips across his cheek. You nipped at his ear before you spoke against it, your words sending a shudder through him. "Fuck me, Lieutenant." 

He moved his hands down to your full hips, gripping them and lifting you just high enough so you could grip his length and position it at your entrance with one hand while you pushed your panties to the side with the other. Then you slid down slowly, enveloping him inch by inch. Your breath hitched, and he groaned deeply at the sensation of finally being inside you again. 

"Oh, god, yes," you murmured, your voice rough with want. Your hands trailed down his chest, fingertips dragging along his skin, leaving red marks in your wake. You rose up until only his flushed, swollen head was left inside you. Then you slammed back down, and you both moaned at the sensation of his cock bottoming out inside of you. You repeated the movement, your motions getting quicker with every thrust. You gripped him hard as your body rocked against his and he rubbed against your g-spot. He could feel your walls start to flutter around him. The small noises that escaped your lips drove him crazy. He loved the way you sounded, so desperate for what he was giving you.

He gripped your hips, moving you up and down as he thrust up into you. You met his eyes as you rode him, your gaze heated and devoid of anything save for pure desire. “Fuck, Bradley. You make me feel so good.” 

With a growl, he rolled you onto your back, slamming his mouth against yours. Your hands tangled in his hair as he pistoned his hips and your walls started to clench around him with your orgasm. He kept thrusting until the last twitch of your walls was gone, and only then did he allow himself to come. You moaned into his mouth as he spilled himself deep inside you, his hips stilling. When he pulled away, your lips were red and swollen, and your chest was heaving. You ran your hands over his back as he pressed his face into your neck. 

You were both quiet for a while until he eventually pressed a kiss to your sweat damp skin and gently pulled out of you and rolled to the side. He laid down next to you, and you turned to lie on your side. You propped your head up on your hand and smiled at him.

“Hi,” you whispered. Bradley laughed lightly, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“Hi there.” 

You stared at him, and he didn’t shy away from looking right back. The flickering candlelight danced across your face, enhancing the natural beauty you possessed. 

He reached out and brushed some of that wild hair of yours away from your face before gently tracing his fingertips down along the curve of your jaw. You sighed softly and closed your eyes, like you were reveling in his touch. He liked you the most like this, he thought. Bare and soft, not hiding anything away. Just for him. 

"What are you thinking?" Bradley whispered in a low voice, still tracing patterns along your smooth skin with his rough fingertips. Your eyes fluttered open slowly to look at him, a small smile on your lips. 

“That I’m too old for you,” you said, and Bradley couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. The smirk that curled at your lips let him know you were half joking, but he also knew it was something that you thought about. It was an insecurity of yours that didn’t quite make sense to him, because your age was something he couldn’t care less about. Truthfully, it made you that much more attractive to him. 

“I’ve always liked my girls a little bit older,” he quipped back, letting his hand drop to rest on your naked hip. He squeezed gently, loving the feel of your skin beneath his touch. At the same time, you let out a breath of laughter and you rolled your eyes, and then silence settled over the two of you again. He knew there was something else, and he gave you the time to work through whatever was going through that beautiful head of yours. Your eyes never left his; he wondered if you could see into him like he thought you could - in a way that no one else has really ever been able to.  

Slowly, you reached up to cup his cheek in your hand, just like he had been doing moments prior. It was like you were both trying to ground yourselves and memorize each other. Your thumb rubbed over the faded scars he had carried for so long, and then ghosted over his still kiss swollen lips. “Think we can figure this out?” you asked quietly. His eyebrows knit together for just a moment before they relaxed, a long sigh leaving him. He scooted closer to you on the mattress, near enough to feel your breath on his skin and your body heat radiating onto him. He grabbed your hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of your palm, and then the pulse point at the center of your wrist. 

“I want to,” he admitted quietly. You drew your bottom lip between your teeth, but he thought he saw a smile growing. The pulse he was tracing on your wrist quickened beneath his fingertips. “You?” 

You leaned forward, and he met you halfway. The kiss was soft and sweet, and you lingered once you broke away, letting your forehead rest against his. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you flush against him. Your fingers threaded through the curls on the back of his head, and you nodded. 

“I want to,” you whispered. Your breath ghosted over his face when you exhaled. You looked hopeful when your eyes opened to look into his again. “Can that be enough for now?” 

He didn’t know how to explain what he was feeling; he had never been the best with words. But he could feel it in his chest that this could be worth it. All the complications that would come with work and rank and everything else could be made so simple by the way you made him feel. 

“Yeah,” he finally breathed out, and you pressed yourself closer, nuzzling against him. “That can be enough.”  

---------

Main Masterlist

Notes: Thanks to Mak and Em for all of their help with this one! Appreciate you both so much🖤

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