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[ittybxttykxttytxtty]

This rom-com bullshit is what i live for, Bradley. So shush. 😭

I WANT SOMEONE BADLY

INCLUDES -> bradley "rooster" bradshaw x fem!reader WARNINGS -> jealousy, pining, alcohol, bradley is an idiot (lovingly) WORD COUNT -> 4.7k SUMMARY -> bradley has long since been the designated performer for the daggers, and that's no different when he's jealous, pining, and well past tipsy.

NOTES -> i've been sitting on this for so long but here she finally is <3 it's a little corny, and a little trope-y, but i had a blast writing it. the songs are "layla" by derek & the dominos and "i want someone badly" by jeff buckley! originally the first song was going to be "slow hand" by the pointer sisters if anyone wants to give that one a listen, too. as always: comments & rbs are much appreciated, and my asks are open!

it's been a year now since the mission from hell, and everyone is scattered across the continent. hangman and coyote are stationed out in the midwest, bob and phoenix are in south carolina, and everyone else has found a new crew.

you and bradley have been lucky enough to stay stationed in san diego. bradley, of course, is still flying with the navy, while you spend your days teaching at top gun. safe to say, the two of you have stayed close between the occasional movie night, brunches with mav, and beach days—when you have a day off anyways. when you don't, bradley finds a way to visit you at top gun despite it.

it isn't easy to coordinate yearly leave among the rest of the crew, but when they finally manage it during the dead of summer, the hard deck is already full of life. people crowd around the bar and the tables, chatting and laughing over the music.

bradley catches the wide grins on mav and penny's faces when they see the daggers walking in, ready to wreak havoc. their smiles only grow wider when the group pulls mav into a group hug, bradley leading the charge.

it's the first time in a long time that they're all in the same place at the same time, and hell if it isn't making people nostalgic. there's some classic rock song from mav's old piloting days ringing through the jukebox. hangman has, predictably, started up a betting pool around the billiards table, dragging mickey, javy, and a reluctant bob with him. the others hover in their own circles, leaving you, natasha, and bradley to catch up at one of the high tops.

it's been exciting talking to her again after so many months have passed. she and bob have been stationed out in south carolina, and it comes with story after story about the antics that the two of them get up to—well, more like the ones natasha pulls bob into.

by the time you decide to get more drinks for the three of you, your stomach is aching from laughter.

bradley just watches as you wander up to the bar. he takes in the sway of your hips, your easy confidence, all of it.

"still haven't done anything about that, then?" natasha asks, leveling a deeply accusatory look at him.

"about what?"

"rooster, you can't be serious." when he looks at her incredulously, she bursts into laughter. "oh, come on, you two have been dancing around each other for a year now! we all see it."

his ears go pink. "that's not-"

"oh, don't you deny it. i have eyes."

"i am serious!" bradley is sure you have no interest. it's been a year—more than that if you include your time at top gun together and a few sparse meetings between that and the big reunion last year—and he's been quietly pining all the while. if there was even a chance with you, he would have taken it by now.

"whatever you say," she replies, her head turning to you.

and when bradley follows suit, he sees you standing all-too close to a man at the bar. he's tall, classically handsome—all in all, the kind of guy you'd expect to see in a rom-com—and he stands so close that his arm is nearly brushing yours. you laugh and smile at something he says, and the hand he puts on your arm sends a chill through bradley. it sinks like a pit in his stomach, churning through the several beers he's had and their subsequent buzz.

the chill turns into a sickening haze when he sees the man pass you a napkin that surely has his number on it.

"told you so," bradley mutters, turning away to face the game of eight-ball that jake is still running. the clattering of the balls and the cheers are more than enough to drown out the pulse roaring in his ears.

he entirely misses your polite rejection, the way you nod your head back to the team, and the hop in your step when you finally turn to bring the drinks back.

"ugh, sorry i took so long. poor penny is still teaching mav to make cocktails," you say with a laugh when you return. you hand them their beers with little ceremony, before following bradley's eye line. "bagman still running the betting pool?"

"you know it," bradley replies, keeping his eyes locked ahead of him. the thought of seeing that man's number in your hand makes his palms sweat.

"you'd think he'd learn that bob kicks his ass every time." that makes bradley and natasha laugh. "his entire job is aiming a laser at a tiny pinprick, pool is no big deal."

"and yet, he insists on betting against him," nat sighs.

the night continues with more drinks, more pool, and more stories from their deployments. jake tells some story about his greatest exploits—which javy quickly interrupts by informing the entire team just how spectacularly jake fumbled only a week later. the team laughs, and it's back to business as usual.

eventually, javy and jake push bradley to the piano, insisting he play something good—citing the first time they were all at the hard deck together. nostalgia is one hell of a drug after a few beers. he warms up, hammering down a few notes and a glissando into an opening chord.

the bar's attention is caught on him and the piano. a handful of older couples immediately recognize the song, standing to dance—which would include penny and mav if they weren't manning the bar. but they sway to the song, mav against penny's back with his arms around her waist. he whispers something in her ear that makes her laugh.

"what'll you do when you get lonely and nobody's waiting by your side?"

your eyes are stuck on bradley, too. his glasses sit comfortably on the end of his nose, his standard patterned button up is open, and he bleeds a confidence so easy that it's impossible to take your eyes off him. he looks good doing what he loves, and he knows it. and maybe there's some self-satisfied part of him deep down that's pleased to see how he's stolen you're attention.

"you've been running and hiding much too long you know it's just your foolish pride."

as he ramps up to the chorus, the bar is ready to sing along with him. "layla," they all cheer, you included.

"you've got me on my knees"

his eyes drift over to yours for just a fraction of a second, his wide grin splitting even wider before he flits his gaze away to where natasha, bob, and mickey are all shouting the lyrics. well, natasha and mickey shout the lyrics at bob, while he sort of mumbles them quietly, embarrassed by the attention.

it's only a few minutes of bradley performing, but with the pressure of your eyes on him, it feels like an eternity. he's not sure he's ever been more aware of who he's looking at when he sings. there's a woman who has sidled up to the piano, singing every lyric with tequila on her breath, and it takes everything in him not to roll his eyes at her and find yours in the crowd.

he finishes the song with one final, dramatic chord, and the bar erupts into cheers. his eyes lock onto yours and you tip your drink toward him like a salute, whooping along with the rest of the bar. you gesture to the space next to him with a raised brow, and he turns to see the same woman from before leaning against the piano with a nearly empty cocktail glass in her hand.

she introduces herself, but bradley's mind is elsewhere. his eyes scan the space you were just in to find you gone. were you really playing wingman just now? the woman is saying something about his hands, but bradley can't care less, not with your apparent disappearing act. he excuses himself politely, ignoring her pout and the way her friends urge her to find another guy to hit on.

people are packed tightly around him, patting him on the back and clapping for him. he smiles politely in return. the longer he searches for you the more concerned he gets. you aren't by the bar or with the rest of the team by the pool table. hell, he doesn't even find you by the jukebox despite the ever changing cycle of music it goes through.

when he finally takes a step outside, he sees you sitting at the stairs leading down to the beach. it's a lot quieter outside, with the chaos and noise of the hard deck trapped within its walls. you're mindlessly twirling your drink in your glass.

"nice playing in there," you say with a glance over your shoulder.

"thanks," he says simply, taking a seat next to you. his glasses hang from the neckline of his old, white tank. the silence between you is thick, and right when he's going to break it by saying something that'll probably be stupid, you interrupt.

"no luck with that girl?" bradley is taken aback.

"what?" your eyes stay focused on the beach in front of you. the crash of every wave is steady and familiar.

"she spent the entire song singing at you, rooster," you tap your shoulder against his in what's supposed to be a playful gesture, but it falls flat.

"oh, yeah," he responds dumbly, "dunno, she's not really my type." he nearly winces as he hears himself say it.

you fall silent again, and bradley joins you in it. it's not uncomfortable, necessarily, but it's heavy. there's so much more he wants to say. that she's not his type because you are, because he's spent a year looking into your eyes, laughing at your jokes, going warm when your hands touch him. that he's spent a year wishing he could say something to you without messing what you have up.

it took ages for you two to get to where you are with the easy banter and the quiet movie nights. the two of you have spent long enough laughing about your almost-rivalry back in your top gun days that he knows you care about this friendship just as much as he does. and the last thing he wants to do is lose that by running his mouth.

"i should get going," you say. "i have to prep for next week's classes."

bradley watches as you leave for a second time that night, mumbling a quiet goodbye after you.

-

on leave, the team spends time exploring san diego again. they go to wine and beer tastings, try new cafes and restaurants, and even find the time to hike through the torrey pines natural reserve—that one is bob's request, and boy, does it deliver. it has the entire team winded by the end of it—except, miraculously, for bob, who brought a camera to take pictures with. 

but bradley's favorite, of course, is the afternoon they spend at the beach in front of the hard deck. dogfight football is up and running the minute people put their bags down. jake just can’t resist the urge to goad people on, so bradley gets wrapped up in the competition, too. initially, it's shirts versus skins, but with the hot san diego sun beating down, everyone is stripped to their trunks pretty quickly, not that it does much to dissuade the heat from tearing through them.

all the while, you're trapped at top gun teaching classes until later in the day. bradley's not even sure you'll be able to make it with the way things have been going with the new class of pilots. so, he puts you out of his mind, focusing on the game at hand—and how badly he wants to knock jake down on his ass just to teach him a lesson about talking shit.

when penny brings out lemonade for everyone, the sun is still bright overhead and unbearably hot. bradley's skin is sticky with sweat, and he holds the icy glass to his cheek with a sigh. sitting on his towel with the drink in his hand is easily the best decision he’s made all day. natasha takes no time in jogging over to him with a smug grin.

"saw you chase the love of your life outside after layla the other night," she sips on her lemonade like it proves something.

"she's not the love of my life-"

"oh, yeah? then why do you follow her around like a lost puppy?" he doesn't have a response for that and clears his throat, trying to pretend that his ears aren't burning. "she totally dug it."

"nat, she tried to set me up with another girl. i got wing-manned." the memory of your raised eyebrow and the way you asked if he had any luck with her make his stomach churn.

natasha snorts. "oh, please, if she was actually wing-manning you, she wouldn't have run outside to avoid the aftermath." bradley tries to formulate some kind of intelligent response, but gets cut off by natasha perking up. "speak of the devil!"

bradley turns to see you walking over with your towel in hand. he tries not to stare, god, he tries. but you're wearing a button up you borrowed from him months ago, and it's open over your bathing suit. there's something about that and the shorts you're wearing that makes the blush spread from his ears to his cheeks and down his neck. you look unfairly good in his clothes.

"all good things i hope!" you reply with a smile so bright bradley swears you've stolen the sun for yourself. natasha is quick to pull you into a hug—one that you're ready to reciprocate.

"rooster was just telling me how much he misses you," she nudges him, and he has to fight the urge to strangle natasha.

"it's only been a week, bradshaw, missing me that bad already?" you toss down your beach towel and sit next to him, still laughing at her words.

he tries to play it off with a shrug. "what can i say? i've been spoiled." natasha gives you a cryptic look that he can't decipher. as a matter of fact, he doesn't even get the chance to try before jake is calling everyone to the shoreline for a rematch. half the beach groans, complaining about the heat, and the other half start up their goading once more.

“c’mon, rooster, afraid of getting your ass handed to you?” jake calls, tossing the football in the air in a way so cocky only he could manage it.

you laugh when natasha drags him over to jake, already placing a pair of sunglasses over your eyes to sit and watch from afar. he shrugs apologetically at you. "get his ass, bradshaw!" you cheer.

-

the game only officially ends when the sun starts to set. it's been on and off for the rest of the afternoon, with people taking breaks to swim and cool off throughout. somehow, you and bradley never quite end up in the same place at the same time. it isn't until everyone is packed back into the hard deck that you get the chance to talk properly.

the two of you sit at a high top by the end of the pool table, drinks in hand once more as the team's usual chaos unfolds around you. it’s like a do-over of the week before: the betting pool going strong around the billiards table, the same old rock songs playing through the jukebox, and you and bradley tucked into a corner of your own.

"i thought you said you weren't going to make it today," he prompts, looking at you over his beer.

"that was before the admiral interrupted with some group punishment for breaking the hard deck," you say with a laugh.

"oh, you've got a maverick, then?" he nods his head over to where mav is desperately trying to wipe down a spill on the bar top that he no doubt caused.

"something like that," you reply, "there's always some kind of rivalry at top gun, but these two..." bradley laughs at your grimace.

"no worse than us, i hope." he taps his bottle against your glass in a mock toast.

"bradley, they are so much worse." he watches you launch into some story about your students, your smile echoed on his face.

and so conversation flows along with the drinks, the two of you wrapped up in your own world until jake—being the bastard he is—interrupts to drag bradley away to the billiards table. for a second time that day, bradley is pulled away from you against his will.

he is going to tear jake to shreds for this, beers be damned.

he relishes in your cheers whenever he knocks the stripes into the pockets. until your attention is taken from him, that is.

somehow, between his turn and the next, the same man from the weekend before has found his way to the table bradley left you at. he's taken up bradley's seat and is apparently content to just chat you up without any care for the rest of the crew observing this newcomer to their night out. even bob is prickling at his presence.

and if bradley breaks when the next game starts with a little more force than strictly necessary, no one says anything about it. if he plays a little harder, if he's a little snappier, every time he looks over and that man is closer to you, then quite frankly, it isn't anyone's business but his.

he drops his cue on the table and marches off to get another drink when he sees you lean in to hear the guy better. he hears jake call after him, but he pays him no heed. god, he needs another beer if he's going to put up with this tonight, too.

mav gets bradley a drink with a raised eyebrow. "trouble with the girl?" mav asks, nodding over to where you're sitting.

"how'd you-"

"bradley, i've known you since you were a kid," he responds like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "just say something."

"it's not that simple, mav, she's..." bradley trails off. perfect? is that what he means? unattainable? uninterested? he takes a long swig from his beer, a comfortable buzz settling in his chest. whether that's the beer or the thought of you, he's not sure.

"if you want to keep pining, that's on you." mav shrugs. "but take it from me, doing something about it is better than nothing."

"now you're playing wingman?" mav scoffs at that, but it doesn't have any heat.

"i'm trying to play dad, but whatever works for you, kid."

bradley goes quiet and lets mav get to the other patrons asking for drinks—which he is almost certainly going to ask penny for help with. he watches as they dance around each other gracefully, like despite mav's inexperience behind a bar, he knows exactly where penny's going to move. he watches the gentle hand that mav puts on her waist, and christ, he's in deep. all he can think about is you.

he thinks back to that movie night you had a few months ago. the two of you maneuvered around your small kitchen making popcorn and hot chocolate. he had pulled the same stunt—a hand on your waist to guide you out of his way. a hand that you hadn't pulled away from. he remembers the warmth of you next to him and your smile when you finally got to curl up on the couch with a warm mug and an oversized bowl of popcorn between you.

he thinks about the brunches you've had with mav and penny, and how they almost felt like dates. you had made a joke about getting introduced to the parents so soon, and the tips of bradley's ears had gone warm. if he were introducing you as his girlfriend, it would have gone spectacularly. you hit it off with mav immediately, somehow. even though you technically had met him before at top gun, there was a difference between captain pete “maverick” mitchell and mav, the closest thing bradley has to a father—even if he’d never outright say it to mav’s face. but getting that man friendly outside of a plane-related situation was a feat he could have kissed you for.

he thinks to last week. the grin on your face when he looked at you while he was playing, while he sang at you—no, sang to you.

and that's precisely where the too-loud, too-tipsy, only slightly jealous part of bradley's mind kicks straight into overdrive. he slams back the rest of his beer and takes a glance over his shoulder to where you're sitting. the man still sits across from you, but like you sense him looking, your eyes meet his with a concerned furrow to your brow. he's not sure how long he's been standing at the bar, but based on the look you give him, it's been long enough.

he turns and marches over to the jukebox, unplugging it unceremoniously. the bar lurches into a chorus of groans until bradley takes a seat at the piano.

"now i-" he starts, his voice ringing into the near silent bar.

"i want someone badly"

the first chord he strikes on the piano summons a round of whoops from the pool table.

"got a girl here tonight, want someone new"

he pretends not to notice the way your attention is focused on him again, pretends that the heat on his face is from beer and beer alone. his head is down, intent on staring holes into the piano keys. couples around the bar are starting to sway together, and he dreads the thought of you getting up with the guy you've found. he's sure that the man is offering you a hand right about now, that you'll take it, and bradley will have to walk off to drown his wounds with another drink.

"'cause i, i cry all over madly don't do anything, do it for me."

the daggers have found themselves by the piano, arms thrown over shoulders and swaying. they sing along and it's a small comfort in a sea of strangers. he hears natasha's voice above all, singing the lyrics with a passion that she always carries with her when he does this.

"i wanna know am i sure that i have your love?"

and that's when bradley figures it's a good idea to look out into the crowd that's around him. it's cruel how easily he can find your eyes amongst the throng. you stand a ways away from him, alone and glowing under the warm lights of the hard deck. your mouth is slightly parted, but he can't figure out if its shock or something else. and then there's that look in your eye. he'd almost believe you're in love with him.

or maybe bradley's just drunk.

"if you're leaving, just make sure it's right now i want someone badly"

the crowd cheers when he hits a high note, but his eyes are locked on the way your jaw clamps shut.

"could it be true that someone is you?"

the final chord rings out along with varied forms of praise from those around him. natasha asks him a question, but he's already on his way outside before he can hear it properly. adrenaline is crackling through him viciously, bringing a shake to his hand that he hasn't felt since he first started training in the flight sims.

he sits on the steps of the hard deck with a thud. the porch is blessedly empty, leaving him to process exactly what he just did. the cool ocean breeze is doing wonders to sober him up. or maybe that's the dread pooling in his stomach. he can't tell anymore.

did he seriously just fucking serenade you? what kind of rom-com bullshit-

"you um, you played really well in there." your voice, gentle and soothing, pulls him from his spiral, and his head whips around to face you.

"thanks," he replies shortly, and his tone makes himself wince. there’s a distinct sense of deja-vu that hits bradley suddenly, like he’s entered some fucked up kind of parallel universe. the two of you stand awkwardly on opposite ends of the deck. your hands fidget, and tomorrow, bradley will surely blame the beers on the way his eyes linger on them.

it takes you another moment to move toward him, taking a seat by his side. you're so close that he can smell your perfume over the breeze, and isn't that just the cruelest trick yet? that he can't reach over to you and kiss you breathless, that he can't hold your hand in his. instead, he just sits miserably next to you, reliving his own stupid idea to play jeff buckley in the hard deck.

man, if he's thinking like this, he must really be gone.

"was that-" your voice cracks, "nat said i should come out and talk to you."

"of course she did." he picks at the corners of his nails.

"she said that was for me." your voice is indecipherable, and bradley's not sure he can stomach looking you in the eye right now.

he sighs, running a hand down his face. it's too hot out, now. the cool breeze from before has been sucked away by your presence.

"i just didn't want to see you with him, anymore," he mutters. there's another horrible, tense silence between you, and it's not one that he's in any rush to break.

"was that what this was? jealousy?" your voice is impossibly small.

"no, i-" jealousy made it sound like he had any kind of claim over you. jealousy sounded like he thought he had a chance at keeping the careful balance of his sanity and your friendship.

"so you sing that for all the girls in there, then?" you press, and in a world where he isn't head over heels for you, it would have been infuriating.

it still is infuriating, and bradley can't help but laugh.

"no, god, no." his laugh is shaky and a little dejected. he finally turns to face you, trying his damnedest to suck in every anxiety he has about this. he thinks, quite possibly, that this is the only time tonight he's been grateful for the alcohol.

that same heavy silence fills the air between you.

your eyes are wide when he looks at you, filled with something unreadable and maybe a bit of hope. his eyes flit between yours, and maybe, just for a moment, they linger on how your lips are upturned ever so slightly.

"just kiss me already, bradley."

and he does. by god, he does, and it's like a breath of fresh air. your lips are soft against his, and if it's a little clumsy, he doesn't mind. not when his hand is on your cheek, and yours is in his hair, and you taste like heaven on earth. the kiss lasts a lifetime, or it feels that way to bradley, anyways. it's the entire year he's spent wishing to be by your side wrapped into one small moment.

when you finally pull away from him, the two of you are panting. your foreheads rest against each other, and bradley can't seem to get his hands off you. the same one stays on your cheek and rubs small circles while the other is tentative against your waist. he's nearly giddy at holding you so close.

"you have any idea how long i've been waiting for you to do that?" you ask.

"probably about as long as i have," he replies with a hoarse voice.

"didn't think you were interested." you give him an incredulous look when he starts laughing, but that only makes him laugh harder.

"i should've listened to natasha so long ago." at that, you join him, head tilted back, and laugh into the sky. it's a long moment where the two of you giggle like schoolgirls outside the hard deck, and bradley wouldn't change it for the world. "think anyone will notice if we leave?"

you think for a moment and reply, "nat definitely will."

"she'll consider it a win." and that sends another round of laughs through you both.

the next morning, the team makes a plan to get brunch at a little cafe nearby, and if they notice that you and bradley arrive together and sit just a bit too close, no one says anything about it.

no one except for natasha, that is.

she finally catches a moment with bradley alone when people are saying their goodbyes.

"you finally did something about your pining?" she asks, a grin already spreading across her face.

bradley shrugs, but the smile he dons is telling, and the gentle kiss he places against your temple when you walk over to him, even more so.

[ittybxttykxttytxtty]

I want him so bad 🫠

Rooster wasn't for you. You were opposites in so many ways - he was an extrovert to your introvert. The center of attention to your wallflower. You weren't interested in a one night stand, and he couldn't offer more. So his volunteering to help with Friendsgiving was just a friendly gesture after you returned from a deployment...right?

Word count: 7.8K

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“Just a minute!” you called, swiping a strand of hair from your face. The knocking stopped, and you quickly washed the flour from your hands, drying them on the towel thrown over your shoulder while heading to the door.

And there, standing on your front step as the sun started to rise, was Bradley. His normally styled curls were sleep-mussed, his grey t-shirt clinging to his arms and untucked from his Navy PT sweatpants. The smile on his face grew as he took you in - sweatpants, a baggy sweatshirt dotted with flour, fuzzy socks, and not a stitch of makeup. The difference from your normally put-together appearance was stark. “Morning, Duch.”

“You’re late.” Laughing, he held up a bag of microwavable frozen corn.

“Had to turn around when I forgot my contribution.” Rolling your eyes, you stepped back to let him in, watching to ensure he removed his shoes before following you into the kitchen.

“The turkey’s already thawed and in the sink. I just need you to clean it out, and I can take it from there.” Bradley nodded, tossing you the corn before going to the kitchen. You put it in the freezer and walked to the downstairs bathroom to wash your hands before resuming your spot at the counter, picking up your bread lame and staring at the unbaked loaf. A part of you wanted to do a simple score, knowing that it would just be eaten, but the hostess in you demanded a more intricate design. The indecision tore at you. To buy time, you sprinkled the top with more rice flour. 

“Can you get me the trashcan?” Bradley asked, and you nodded, quickly abandoning your project. After you set it beside him and pulled off the cover, he tossed the netting and plastic. You couldn’t help but notice his biceps flex as he shifted the turkey. But you shrunk back when he reached into the cavity and pulled out the giblets and gravy package, shaking your head at his raised eyebrow. He discarded them as you braced yourself, nose scrunching when he removed the neck. “You alright there, Duch?” he teased. 

“Gross.” 

“It’s just a turkey neck,” he said, holding it closer to you. You jumped back.

“I will throat punch you if you touch me with that.” He laughed, edging it closer, and you raised a fist. There was a reason a condition of you hosting everyone for Friendsgiving was someone else cleaning the turkey.

“Didn’t take you for being squeamish.” 

“You would be, too, if your grandpa chased you around the house with it when you were a kid, and you had to lock yourself in a bathroom to escape.” At his barked laugh, you shook your head. “I told that to my ex, and he thought it was funny to put it in his zipper and chase me around the house with it. If floppy dick isn’t attractive, a turkey neck sure as shit isn’t.” 

Bradley choked on a laugh. For as prim and proper as you were at times - hence the callsign Duchess - you sometimes reminded everyone that you also had a military sense of humor. “Maybe you just haven’t seen the right ‘floppy dick,’” he smirked, dropping the neck into the trash. 

Shrugging, you glanced away from him when the oven beeped, alerting that it was preheated. “You’re right. Bob probably has a pretty one.” A rosy flush crept up his cheeks as he turned back to the turkey and forced a laugh. Bradley didn’t want to hear that you were thinking about Bob’s dick. “Put it in this afterward, and I’ll dry it.” After dropping the roasting pan beside him, you rewashed your hands.

Standing in front of your bread, you bit your lip to keep from giggling as you contemplated scoring a dick into the dough but decided to go with a traditional wheat stalk. To your surprise, he grabbed the roll of paper towels by the sink and patted the turkey dry, even the cavity. As you removed the Dutch oven from the preheated oven, he tied up the trash bag and took it out. After putting the bread into the oven, you set the timer and moved to the sink, glancing at Bradley when he came back in. Standing beside you, he reached for the soap and lowered the water temperature before scrubbing his hands. Removing the hand towel from your shoulder, you draped it over his after drying your hands. “Thanks,” he murmured. 

“Thanks for taking care of the turkey.” Standing by the island, you crouched to retrieve a cutting board. The sound of other cabinets closing made you peek over the countertop to see him rooting through the overhead storage. “Are you looking for something?” 

“Coffee mugs.” Biting back a retort about making himself comfortable, you pointed to the right of the stove. You bit your tongue when he grabbed two mugs - including your favorite - and went to the wet bar where the full pot was finished brewing. Placing the cutting board on the counter, you grabbed a knife from the block and were surprised to see a mug of coffee beside your workstation. Murmuring your thanks, you grabbed the creamer from the fridge along with packages of herbs and butter. “What are you making?” Bradley asked.

“A marinade since I didn’t brine the turkey.” 

“You want a hand?” 

“I’ve got it,” you said automatically. “I’ve got a schedule.” He didn’t need to know that you were already behind after falling asleep on the couch early last night and forgetting to set your alarm. And he definitely didn’t need to know that you’d only been awake for 20 minutes before he arrived. If you put your head down and focused, everything would still be ready to eat at the agreed-upon 3:00 PM. Some of your time to get yourself ready would just have to be sacrificed. For some reason, you’d insisted that everyone dress nicely for Friendsgiving. Wearing a uniform almost every day didn’t give you any opportunities to dress up, and sometimes it felt nice to wear something other than jeans and a t-shirt. 

Setting your tablet up, you navigated through the bookmarked recipes and rinsed the herbs before pulling them from the stems. Bradley leaned against the counter beside you and sipped his coffee while glancing around the kitchen. Seeing him relaxing there, one leg crossed over the other and looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, made something flutter in your chest. 

“You know, you could have saved a lot of time if you’d just agreed to let Hangman fry the turkey.”

That made you snort. “I just finished my renovations - the last thing I want is for my house to burn down.” It had taken months to get your home exactly how you wanted it. After twelve years in the Navy, you were ready to put down some roots, and buying a home had seemed like the smart thing to do. Living in a construction zone for the last year hadn’t been fun, but a well-timed deployment meant you weren’t there for the worst of it. The results were worth the pain, and you’d jumped at the chance to host when you got back and realized most of the squad had no plans for Thanksgiving. You couldn’t wait for them to see the changes in the Craftsman that had been a definite fixer-upper when you purchased it. The kitchen had been completely gutted and replaced with double ovens and quartz countertops, and the smaller kitchen island had been moved and changed to a wet bar with a wine fridge, replaced with an oversized one. The popcorn texture was scraped from the ceiling throughout the house, the floors redone, and the walls painted. The primary bath had been updated with a large soaker tub and walk-in shower, and you loved the giant closet. The guest bathrooms still needed work, as did the yard, but those were projects for later. 

“It looks good, Duch,” he said softly, gaze holding yours for a long moment. You felt those inconvenient butterflies again and shoved them aside, dropping your eyes to the cutting board. Bradley wasn’t for you. You were too different - he enjoyed nights out at the bar, while you liked to spend time at home. He liked being the center of attention while you preferred to blend into the background. Besides, he didn’t seem much like a relationship guy, given the number of flings he had at the Hard Deck, while the idea of casual dating gave you hives. Pushing away from the counter, Bradley reached under the sink for a trashbag, putting it into the can before washing his hands. He moved closer, nose twitching slightly at the scent of rosemary, and braced his big hands on the countertop beside you. “Alright, what can I do?” 

“You don’t - ”

“Lemme help.” His eyes met yours, smiling when you sighed. 

“Fine. The meat injector is in here,” you said, bumping one of the drawer handles with your hip. “And I’ll need the chicken stock from the pantry.” Pouring the stock, herbs, and a couple of sticks of butter into a stockpan, you handed Bradley a silicone spatula and told him to stir. You rolled your lips together to keep from smiling when he pulled his phone from his pocket and watched videos of turkey injections before declaring he would be in charge of it. Reluctantly, you agreed. Once the marinade had cooled, the bird was given a second drying, you had finished the coffee, and Bradley had rewatched the video three times, it was time. He studied the turkey through narrowed eyes as you tried not to laugh. “You want to - ”

“Ah!”

“The breast and thighs - ”

“I’m doing it, Duch,” he cut you off. 

“Well, remember that if it turns out dry.” The unimpressed look Bradley shot you made you grin as you put your chin in your hand and motioned for him to proceed. The tip of his tongue poked through his lips as he filled the injector and hovered the needle over the turkey. His eyes darted to you, and you raised an eyebrow. “You can tap out at any time, Rooster.” Instead of replying, he pierced the meat and pushed down on the plunger. You couldn’t help but laugh when he yelped, marinade spraying in his face after pushing too hard. But when he reached to wipe it away, you caught his hands. “Don’t put turkey germs all over your face,” you scoffed, towing him toward the sink. You held his chin while cleaning his face with wet paper towels. 

“Now you’re just messing with me,” he chuckled when you scrubbed his mustache, but he didn’t pull away. His breath was hot on your hand, and his smile soft when you reached up to dab away a speck of garlic in his eyebrow. Balling up the paper towel, you shook your head. 

“Wash your face with soap to make sure you don’t get salmonella. Cyclone’ll kill me if you’re out with food poisoning.” Turning on the water, you ensured it was warm before getting a clean washcloth. The oven timer beeped as you dug through the linen closet, and you hurried back into the kitchen, throwing the towel on the sink beside him and grabbing the pot holders to take out your bread. Once it was on the wire rack to cool, you moved to the turkey. 

“What’re you doing?” Bradley demanded, turning while drying his face. 

“Taking over.” You gasped when he closed the space between you in a few strides, wrapped his arm around your waist, and lifted you away from the counter. “Bradshaw! What the hell?”

“Told you I’m doing it,” he chuckled in your ear. Once back on your feet, you spun in his hold and stared at him. Butterflies erupted in your stomach at his cocky smirk. 

“Fine, but if you waste more of my marinade, you’re out of my kitchen.”

“Deal.” 

Thankfully, there were no further incidents, but you kept a close eye on him while slicing up a loaf of bread you’d baked two days before and let go stale for stuffing. After covering the roasting tray with tin foil, the bird went back into the fridge to rest for a few hours. “Thanks, Rooster. I guess I’ll see you later?”

“What else can I do?” 

“You don’t - ” 

“I want to help. I haven’t…” his eyes dropped to the floor as he shrugged. “I never got to do this before. My mom and I would always go to my cousin’s for Thanksgiving before she died, and it always seemed kinda fun.” 

Everyone on the squad knew that Bradley’s parents had passed when he was young. He didn’t mention them often, but you noticed he’d get quiet sometimes when people talked about their families. So his volunteering the information felt important, and glancing at the clock showed that you were still behind schedule. “Fine.”

“Yeah?” he asked, excitement flashing in his eyes. 

“Don’t look so happy - you’re doing prep work. You can peel potatoes, assemble the veggie tray, and roast the garlic. I need to work on sides and desserts.” 

And he did. Bradley followed your instructions, grimacing while peeling potatoes over the trash can until you took out a plastic bag and put it in the sink for him to do it there. You kept an eye on him as he cut the spuds into uniform pieces after explaining that they wouldn’t cook evenly for the mashed potatoes, somewhat worried that he would cut himself. Rather than deal with the onions, you delegated the task and tried not to laugh at his near-constant sniffles and swipes at his watery eyes as you diced peppers. Once you dug out the hand-me-down crystal platters, he arranged the veggies you’d prepped the night before while making pies. Dips were mixed, and cans of olives and bottles of pickles were opened and drained before being plated.

Other than bumping into one another when going for the fridge at the same time, it wasn’t too bad sharing the kitchen. The coffee pot was quickly emptied, and Bradley brewed another between shredding blocks of cheese. You sang along with your playlists, his deep voice joining on a few songs while teasing you about others. When you sang about karma being a kink, he watched your hips sway at the sink, clenching his jaw when you sang a breathy ‘oh god.’ 

He slid the roasting tray into the oven when the turkey was rested and ready to cook. “Now what?” he asked, turning to look at you. 

“Now we keep an eye on it for about four hours. Baste and re-inject it every hour or so,” you shrugged. A glance at his watch showed it would be almost 2:00 PM by the time it was ready. As though realizing it would still be hours before eating, his stomach grumbled its discontent. He blushed when you smirked. “I guess the least I can do is make my sous chef breakfast. Get the muffins and butter from the fridge for me.”  

“Did you make these?” he asked, setting the containers beside you as you heated a skillet on the stove.

“I did - family tradition is grilled muffins on Thanksgiving morning. You okay with blueberry?” At his nod, you started slicing muffins in half. Rather than giving you space, Bradley stayed at your elbow. A comfortable silence fell, broken only by sizzling butter. His gaze met yours when you glanced up at him, and a smile tugged at his mouth. 

An image of reaching up to bury your fingers in his messy curls and tugging his mouth down to meet yours flashed through your mind. Your fingers twitched with the urge to do it, eyes drifting to his mouth and lingering there for a moment too long. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and you forced yourself to look away, heat creeping into your face. 

You nearly jumped out of your skin when he reached up to shift a strand of hair that had fallen from your messy bun. “I’m glad you're back, Duch,” he said, voice slightly raspy. 

Forcing a laugh, you plated two muffins and handed them to him. “Everyone misses the mom friend of the group when she’s deployed.” Your eyes darted to his stomach when it growled again, just in time to see the front of his sweats twitch. Pretending you didn’t see it, you nodded to the living room. “The parade is recording if you want to watch it.” 

Bradley opened his mouth as though he would say something before taking the apparent dismissal. Alone in the kitchen, you touched your cheek and felt warm skin. With a deep breath, you grilled yourself a muffin as the sound of the broadcasters came from the living room. After topping up your coffee, you joined him. He sprawled on one end of the couch, plate balanced on a thigh as he sipped his coffee. Sitting on the opposite side, you crossed your legs and let out a soft groan. Only a couple of hours standing in the kitchen and your back was already starting to protest. “What else do you have to do this morning?” he asked after a moment.

Mentally running through your list, you sighed. “I need to do some cleaning and get into the attic. I’ll start cooking a bit closer to noon, so things just have to be warmed up.”

“What do you need from the attic?” 

“My nice china. My parents bought my sister and I sets for our hope chests when we were kids.”

“What’s a hope chest?”

“You know, stuff you’d need once you get married?” When his eyebrows shot up, you shrugged. “They weren’t really serious about it - it was more of a joke. But, every once in a while, they’d buy something for us and put it away for when we were older and say it was for our hope chest.” Taking a bite of muffin, you gave him a sad smile, “Mine’s more of a ‘hopeless’ chest,’ though. I guess they finally gave up on me getting married because they gave it to me when they sold their house and moved closer to the grandkids. I figured I’d get it out and use it instead of having it sit in the cardboard boxes it’s been in for over two decades.” Something passed over Bradley’s face but disappeared in an instant. Wanting to change the subject, you asked, “What do you usually do for Thanksgiving?”

“Nothing. It’s just another Thursday.” When you frowned, he lifted a shoulder. “A couple of times, I went to the Officer’s Club, or someone would invite me over. But most of the time, I just make myself a turkey sandwich and catch up on sleep. What about you?”

“If I’m not with my family, then this. When I first commissioned, I went to the O-Club with some friends but missed cooking and hanging out. And you know how hard it is to go home for the holidays.” He nodded even though he didn’t. Bradley never asked for the time off unless he was dating someone who insisted on it. With no family to visit, he was happy to volunteer when there was reduced manning and allow others to take leave. “So I invited a couple of people from my squad over, and that was that.” 

“It’s a lot of work.”

“It is,” you agreed. “But it’s worth it.” Bradley’s fingers curled around his plate and in his sweatpants, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath. When he shifted forward, you quickly stood and reached out your hand for his empty plate. “Do you want another one?” Shaking his head, he stood and took your plate. 

“Do you?” Swallowing hard, you shook your head and watched him walk back into the kitchen. Biting back a groan, you gave yourself a moment to collect yourself. Things had been…different… since you’d gotten home. And as much as you enjoyed these quiet moments alone with Bradley, it also stung. You’d thought the time away would help, but as soon as you were back, it was like no time had passed. He was still there, partnering for foosball in the Ready Room and coaxing you to go to the Hard Deck. Making sure that you sat next to him in briefings. Offering to look at your car when it made a noise.

Friends. That’s what friends do for each other. After all, he did the same for Nat. 

Collecting the empty coffee mugs, you followed him to the kitchen and watched as Bradley cleaned up the mess and set it in the sink. “Don’t feel like you have to stick around, Rooster. I can handle getting everything ready.” 

“I’m happy to help if you want me here. I’d just sit at my house watching TV and wait to come back if I went home.” 

Chewing the inside of your lip, you bit back a wave of want. “Don’t think this gets you out of the dress code,” you replied, forcing your voice to be cool while allowing your eyes to run the length of him. “I’m serious - slacks and button-downs, not sweats.” 

Laughing, he snapped a salute. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure I run home and change to pass your inspection.” 

The rest of the morning was a blur, punctuated by moments of stark clarity. 

Bradley’s hands on your waist as you climbed down the attic stairs. 

Biceps flexing as he carried your Christmas tree to a spare bedroom to set up tomorrow.

His elbow bumping yours as he dried the china and set it aside.  

The look of concentration on his face when he basted and injected the turkey again.

His body passing close to yours as he emptied the dishwasher and you assembled dishes.

Just after noon, he went home to get ready while you showered. People were due to arrive around 1:30 PM, and you were back on schedule with your unexpected assistant. 

Sooner than you expected, there was a knock at the door. Groaning, you capped your mascara, shimmied into your black sheath cocktail dress, and went to answer it. Bradley stood on the porch, having changed into a pair of slacks and one of his nicer Hawaiian shirts, hands in his pockets. Folded over his arm was a coat, and he grinned at you when he caught you looking at it. “Wasn’t sure if I would pass inspection without a sports coat,” he chuckled, allowing his gaze to rake over you. A flush rose on your cheeks as you reached behind yourself to pull up the dress zipper. It caught just above the top of your thong.  “You look… you’re fine.” Chuckling, he shook his head. 

“Turn around, Duch.” After a beat, you stepped back to allow him inside and did as he said.

“There’s a hook and eye at the top,” you said and inhaled sharply when you felt his fingers brush the back of your neck. The smell of his cologne enveloped you, and you bit back a moan when his hand moved to your lower back and tugged the zipper up. After a beat, you turned to face him and were surprised by how close he was. His mouth curved into a smile as he looked down at you, hand resting on your waist. 

“You look fine, too,” he said softly. Your hands itched to move to his chest. Bradley’s eyes drifted to your lips, and your breath caught as his fingers flexed around you. If asked, you would have sworn you felt the lightest pressure pulling you closer - but then someone knocked on the door. Stepping out of his hold, you smoothed your hair down and ignored the brief moment his hands hung in suspension before being shoved back into his pockets. 

“I came early to see if you needed a hand,” Phoenix said when you opened the door. In her hands was a tray, and she’d also chosen a cocktail dress for the occasion. Her normally tied-back hair was loose around her shoulders. 

“Hey,” you smiled, hoping that you weren’t blushing. Nat’s eyes shifted over your shoulders and narrowed slightly. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Same as you - seeing of Duch needed help.”

“He’s been here all morning,” you blurted out, flushing when both sets of eyes landed on you. “He’s taking care of the turkey.” 

“The guy who hates cooking is in charge of the main dish?” Nat smirked. “Probably would have been better letting Hangman fry it.”

“He’s being supervised,” you assured, glancing over your shoulder to see him rolling his eyes. Stepping back to let Nat into the house, you accidentally bumped into Bradley, who held your hips to steady you. Quickly moving away from his touch, you took the tray from her and motioned for them to follow you into the kitchen. “I haven’t had a chance to put any drinks out, but there’s some coffee left and wine chilling. I still need to make the cocktails, but there’s also soda and flavored water.” The two followed you, exchanging a look that you missed.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, Bradley tossed his coat onto the wet bar and moved to the oven, flipping on the light to check the turkey before glancing at his watch. “I need to do the last basting, right?” 

“It’s about that time,” you agreed, glancing at the clock. Digging through a drawer, you pulled out an apron and put it on, crossing the strings behind your back before tying them in a bow across your stomach. You thought you heard a murmured ‘Jesus Christ’ when you turned around to see him holding the pot holders. 

You could feel Nat watching as you worked together to remove the turkey and then return it to the oven, popping olives into her mouth and smirking. “Looks like you guys have it down,” she said. “Don’t need my help at all.”

“Nope,” Bradley said, drowning out your, “You can feel free to relax.” 

“Might as well do something since I’m here,” she shrugged, pushing off her elbows. “What can I do?” 

And so, with a third set of hands, you set them to making large batches of seasonal cocktails while you cut the bread you’d made that morning, covering it with slices of brie and dried cranberries before drizzling it with honey. A quick scroll through your schedule gave you the times to start cooking, and you preheated the second oven.

The house slowly filled as more of the squad arrived. Countertops were quickly covered with their contributions - thankfully, more than beer and wine, and only a few sides repeated -  and you mentally shifted your schedule to accommodate the additional dishes.

Mav, Penny, and Amelia were the last to arrive, with her new bartender, Georgia, in tow. Penny had asked you if she could invite her, given that the woman was new to the area and didn’t have anywhere else to spend the holiday. You’d replied with, “The more, the merrier,” just like you had for everyone else’s requests to bring a guest. 

But you regretted that sentiment when you saw how she zeroed in on Bradley, staying close to him while you worked in the kitchen. The few times you broke away to mingle - showing off your renovated home, making sure that everyone’s glasses were topped off and that they didn’t need anything - you saw her hanging off his arm, giving him a simpering smile that set your teeth on edge. And, while she’d adhered to the dress code, you weren’t exactly thrilled to see that her breasts were nearly spilling out of her low-cut dress. 

“You need anything, Duchess?” Payback asked, setting down the pitcher of spiced ginger pear and bourbon. 

“I’m good,” you replied, wiping your hands on the dish rag thrown over your shoulder and blowing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Turkey should be done in a few minutes; once it rests, we can eat.” 

“Thanks for doing this,” he said, glancing over at your full house. Aviators were sprawled across your living room and spilled out into the backyard. It was exactly what you’d hoped for when redesigning the house - plenty of space to comfortably entertain. 

“I’m happy to, Payback,” you smiled, allowing him to pull you in for a hug. “Beats having a quiet house for the holidays.” 

“Want me to get the turkey out for you?” 

“I’ve got it covered,” a voice said behind you, and you couldn’t help but wonder about Bradley's slightly sharp tone as you pulled away from the hug. 

“Got it,” Payback replied, raising an eyebrow and lifting his hands. “Let me know if you need anything, Duch.” Squaring your shoulders, you turned to face the man behind you and forced a smile. 

“I’ll clear off a spot on the stove for you to put the pan, and then we’ll let it sit for half an hour.” 

“Then it’ll be done?”

“Then you’ll have officially made your first turkey,” you nodded. When the timer went off, Bradley quickly pulled the bird from the oven and set it on the stove, closely inspecting his work. 

“Does it look right?”

“Yes, relax.”

“Did you make it?” a smokey voice asked, and you felt your shoulders rise. Glancing at Georgia, you saw Bradley’s eyes dart between you.

“He did,” you answered, smiling at the woman. 

“I just followed her directions,” he replied. 

“It looks great!” Georgia giggled. Forcing a smile, you undid the apron strings and pulled it off before excusing yourself. You could feel eyes on you as you walked down the hallway to your bedroom and shut the door, retreating to your en suite.

After washing your hands for the millionth time, you quickly applied lotion while examining your appearance in the mirror. Compared to Georgia, you looked matronly with your hair pulled back and a higher neckline. Sure, your dress was classy - somewhat tight and falling just above your knees - but not attention-grabbing. 

Not that you were trying to grab anyone’s attention.

A knock on your bedroom door startled you, and you peeked out to call, “Who is it?”

“Rooster.” Glancing back in the mirror, you saw your cheeks were slightly pink and scowled at your reflection.

“Get it together,” you hissed before turning off the light and going to open the door. And there he was, smiling down at you.

“Your phone was going off,” he said, holding up your cell. When your eyes flitted toward it, the device unlocked to show your family group chat was going off. Taking it from him, you swiped up to see videos and pictures. A smile crept onto your mouth as you clicked the first and heard your older sister’s voice.

“Guess what?” she said before tossing a card down and throwing her hands up. Cheers and laughs broke out, and you could hear your nephew complaining as your grandmother said, “Looks like Mom won!”

The camera panned to show your other nephew licking whipped cream off his pie, utterly unfazed by the family now pounding on the table in a drumroll. Catching Bradley’s interested expression, you moved so he could see the screen. Scrolling through the other videos, you watched your mom roll down a hill with the boys and your dad holding a glass of wine with your brother-in-law. The sight made your heart clench, and you sighed. Being away from family on the holidays was the worst. Thankfully, they all understood that your job didn’t always give you the flexibility to be with them.

“Looks like a fun group.”

“They are. I’m glad I get to spend Christmas with them.” He nodded, a flicker of sadness and something else in his eyes. “What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Mav’s already told me I’m spending it with him and Penny.”

“Sounds like fun.” You knew a complicated dynamic existed there but didn’t want to pry. His shoulder lifted, eyes drifting to your now dark phone. And that’s when you recognized the look on his face - longing. “Hey, you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” When he saw your unconvinced expression, he sighed. “Holidays kind of suck when you don’t have family.” 

“I’m sorry, Bradley.” Something in his expression changed when you said his name and reached out to touch his arm. His eyes darted from your hand to your face, and you quickly pulled away. But he was faster, catching your fingers and holding tightly. Your breath caught with the intensity of his gaze, and he stepped into your room. His breath was warm on your face when you refused to retreat. Lifting your chin, you saw his throat bob when he swallowed.  

“Hey, there’s a timer going off,” Bob called down the hall. 

“Be right there,” you yelled back, pushing lightly against Bradley’s chest and forcing space between you. But when you tried to shake off his hand, he held fast. “I need to go, or something will burn,” you breathed. Reluctantly, he nodded and released you. 

You’d already removed the green bean casserole and macaroni and cheese from the oven when Bradley reappeared. Unsurprisingly, Georgia glued herself to his side as he sipped his drink. Though you could feel him looking at you, you refused to meet his gaze. 

When everything was ready, you looked over your kitchen and nodded approvingly. When the guys offered to carve the turkey, you turned them all down and delegated that task to Bradley.  “He earned it,” you said, glancing at him before busying yourself with opening another bottle of wine. With Coyote and Fanboy at his elbows critiquing his cuts, you steered clear of that part of the kitchen and chatted with Penny while pulling out silverware. 

Hangman refused to let you go around the room and tell people that food was ready, instead pulling out a chair and helping you stand on it before whistling loudly to get everyone’s attention. “Dinner’s served!” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder, his arm around your hips to keep you steady. “Thank you for bringing something, and please help yourself. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone - I’m glad I get to spend it with you.” Lifting your wine glass, you took a quick sip and laughed when Hangman lifted you off the chair to set you back on the floor. 

Choosing to wait until your guests had a plate, you leaned against the wet bar and smiled tiredly, watching your hard work be devoured. There weren’t enough chairs for everyone at the table, so the group spread into the living room. You took a few pictures and sent them to your family. 

Someone stepped in front of you, pulling your attention from your phone. “You’re not gonna eat?” Bradley asked. 

“Just waiting for the line to clear,” you replied, forcing a nonchalant tone. The corner of his mouth twitched as he shook his head. 

“Come on, Duch.” His fingers curled around yours, drawing you from the counter and into the line. Grabbing one of the smaller salad plates, you let him push you in front of him, taking small amounts of almost every dish while he served himself larger portions. After topping up your wine, you walked to the living room and felt him behind you, ignoring Georgia's attempt to get his attention. He motioned for you to take the last spot on the couch and sat on the floor. “Jesus,” he moaned after taking the first bite of turkey.

“Mmmm,” you agreed. “You did a good job.”

“Who would have thought the guy who made the barracks evacuate after he burned ramen would make a good turkey,” Nat smirked. Bradley flipped her off, unable to keep the proud grin off his face. 

Dessert was eaten, and the last bottle of wine finished before 7:00 PM. The house felt quiet as it slowly emptied, and you hugged everyone goodbye. Already, tentative plans for a Christmas party formed even as you fought off a yawn. After assuring Penny that you were fine cleaning up, she left with Mav and Amelia in tow. 

Which left only Bradley. 

The sound of running water drew you back into the kitchen, and you paused in the doorway at the sight of him rinsing silverware and loading the dishwasher, a hand towel thrown over his shoulder. “I can take care of that,” you said quickly. Bradley glanced at you and shook his head.

“Relax, I’ve got it. Can the plates go in here, or do they need to be hand-washed?”

“They can go in there.” Ignoring the order, you walked around the house, picked up empty glasses and forgotten dishes, and set them by the sink. Donning your apron, you surveyed the leftovers, “Did you want any of this?”

“Yeah, I’ll take a plate.” Nodding, you started to put the food away. Thankfully, there wasn’t a lot left. Everyone had been happy to take leftovers, and you were glad you’d had the forethought to buy containers for them to keep. 

The silence was comfortable, and you were stifling yawns with the back of your hand. Between the turkey, wine, and lack of sleep the night before, you were ready to change back into comfy clothes and pass out. Without prompting, Bradley started to cut up what was left of the turkey, placing some in the containers you’d portioned for him before putting the rest in the fridge. You started the dishwasher when it was full and wiped down counters. After tossing the rest of the turkey, he took the trash out.

When the door swung shut, you took the opportunity to stretch, moaning when your back popped before bending at the waist and letting your arms dangle. As much as you enjoyed hosting, your body took a beating, being on your feet all day. You would definitely need to invest in some mats to make the kitchen floor more comfortable before your next full day of cooking. 

Even when the door opened, you felt too good stretching to stand up straight. You heard Bradley chuckle and then the sound of water running, followed by the snap of a trashbag being shaken out. Finally, you stood and threw out a hand to steady yourself when the world spun. Hands wrapped around your hips and drew you closer. “You okay, honey?” 

The term of endearment caught you off-guard and had clearly slipped out by the flush on Bradley’s cheeks. “Honey?” you echoed, quirking a brow.

“Duchess,” he corrected. 

“Rooster.” Your hands rested on his forearms, feeling the muscles flex as his fingers clenched around your hips. Taking a deep breath, you felt your chest brush his. His lips quirked into a wry smile. “What?” 

“Just waiting for something to interrupt.” At your questioning look, he chuckled. “Been trying to kiss you all day, and something always gets in the way.” 

“What?” you breathed, shock written across your face. 

“Been thinkin’ about kissing you since that night at the Hard Deck, actually.” 

“T-the Hard Deck?”

“Yup. Before you deployed.” Heat rushed to your face at the memory - or lack thereof - of your going away party. There had been one too many shots, and you had a vague recollection of Bradley driving the Bronco. Of him telling you not to throw up while he helped Nat into her apartment before taking you home. Half carrying you to bed and making sure you had water and medicine - warm hands on your face and a raspy laugh.  

“When I was drunk?”

“When you told me you liked me.” Mortified, you felt a sudden flush of heat and tried to pull away, but he held firm. “But that you didn’t think I was a relationship guy.” 

“Roo - ”

“I am. A relationship guy,” he clarified, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “For the right woman.” Your mouth was dry, unable to force out a single word. “I was gonna say something before you left, but you avoided me. And then you were gone for three months.”

“I… you messaged me.” 

“Wasn’t exactly something I wanted to say over email,” Bradley chuckled. “I like you too.” 

“What about Georgia?”

That drew him up short, and a confused look crossed his face. “The bartender?” 

“Yeah. She… I mean, she’s clearly interested. And more your type.” Groaning, he leaned down to rest his forehead on yours.

“Honey, I’m not interested in her. And she’s not… ask Nat. She’s been on my case about my” - he lifted a hand to make air quotes - “‘hoe phase’ since I got out here.” That drew a snort from you, and Bradley pulled away to smile at you bashfully. “Gimme a chance, Duch.” 

Hesitating a moment, you took another deep breath and gave the butterflies in your stomach free rein. Hands shaking, you wrapped your arms around his neck and nodded, unable to keep from matching his smile. 

Moving slowly, as though afraid to spook you, Bradley leaned down and brushed his nose to yours. “As much as this is doin’ things for me,” he said softly, pulling at the apron strings tied at your stomach, “I think we’re done in the kitchen tonight.” Biting your lip, you could only nod, leaning away as he tugged it over your head, balled the apron up, and tossed it behind you. With his hands back on your hips, he walked you backward and lifted you onto the counter, stepping between your knees. “This alright?” 

“Yeah,” you whispered, allowing yourself to reach out and run a hand through his curls. Bradley's eyes closed when you lightly scratched his scalp, and he swayed closer. His breath ghosted over your lips and - 

“Fucking Christ,” he groaned when his phone started to buzz. You jumped, feeling the vibration against your shin, and laughed as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck. Your breath caught, feeling his lips on your throat. When he reached into his pocket and scowled down at the screen, you saw Nat’s name before he sent the call to voicemail. 

Leaving the phone on the counter, he smirked and guided your legs around his waist as your arms went around his neck. His hands cupped your ass as he lifted you. In the doorway to the kitchen, he paused long enough for you to slap the walls until the lights turned off before walking toward the couch and lowering himself onto it. Your knees dug into the cushion on either side of him, forcing the hem of your dress higher. 

From this angle, he had to look up at you. Hands migrated from your ass to thighs, callouses lightly scraping and fingertips darting under the fabric to trace shapes on your skin and drag the hem higher. Lightly, you ran your thumb along the scars on his chin before ghosting over the ones on his cheek that had always intrigued you. A moan rumbled from his throat as he followed your touch, mustache tickling the delicate skin of your wrist. Blushing, you wondered how it would feel on your inner thighs. He chuckled, kissing your cheek, “What’re you thinking that’s got you red?” 

Rather than answer, you turned and kissed him - just a light brush of your lips against his that seemed to catch him off-guard. You stared at one another for a long moment until he guided you closer. His mustache prickled, not unpleasantly but different, when he kissed you again. It was sweet and unhurried, a direct contradiction to the hardness you felt straining against his zipper. 

Pulling away, you smiled tentatively down at him, seeing the remnants of your lipstick on his mouth. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and you leaned forward to press your lips to them. “Hi,” you said softly.

“Hey.” 

“You like me?” 

“Yeah. You like me?” 

Rather than reply, you captured his lips again. “Drunk words,” you said between kisses, “are sober thoughts.” He barked a laugh before tugging you closer and licking into your mouth. 

“Shoulda said something earlier,” he chided, gripping your ass tightly. “Coulda been doing this for a long time.” 

“Blame the tequila.” The word came out as a moan when he trailed kisses down your neck, and you felt him smile. 

“Thank god for tequila,” he mumbled, nuzzling your breasts and making you grind down on him. Bradley caught your hands when your fingers trailed down his chest to tug at his shirt. “Nuh-uh, honey. Gonna take you on a couple of dates before we get to that.”

“What?” 

“No more ‘hoe phase.’” 

“Maybe just one more night?” That made him laugh again as he shook his head.

“No, Duch. Wanna do this right with you.” 

“I’ve heard the stories. I know you would.” When you rocked against him, he pinned your hand at your lower back and stilled you with a hand on your hip. He growled your name and smirked when your thighs clenched.

“Liked that, huh?” he teased. “Ms. Prim and Proper Duchess likes to be bossed around?” Heat flooded your face, and he chuckled again. Without warning, he stood, and you squeaked, trying to keep from falling. But he held you steady and set you on your feet, towering over you. “Can I stay over?” You didn’t hesitate in nodding, and his kiss was rough before he pulled away and swatted your ass. “Go get ready for bed while I lock up.” 

When you emerged from the bathroom, face cleaned and in your panties and a tank top, Bradley was lying in the middle of your bed in just his boxers. Groaning, he looked at you and shook his head. “Where are those sweats from this morning?” 

“You want me to wear sweats to bed?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe and raising an eyebrow. His hand drifted down to his hard cock, squeezing lightly. “You’ve seen me in less at the beach.”

“Trying to do this right, honey.” Rolling your eyes, you walked to your dresser and pulled on sweatpants before digging out a pair of fuzzy socks. He laughed when you tossed them at his head, setting them aside as you circled the bed to lie beside him. Quickly, he pinned you beneath him, settling in the cradle of your thighs. As he licked into your mouth, you felt his hips rolling against yours. “Still too damn sexy,” he murmured against your lips. 

“Housewife lingerie does it for you?” you teased, running your hands through his hair. Rather than answer, he looped an arm under your knee and drew it up, allowing you to feel him better. “Fuck.”

“Not tonight.” 

And, unfortunately, he was true to his word. Anytime your hands strayed to his boxers, he pinned them over your head, seemingly content to tease and kiss all night. 

Eventually, though, you could no longer keep from yawning. After setting his alarm - Bradley was on duty in the morning while you’d taken the day off - he tucked you against him, your back to his chest. His cock pressed against your ass as he kissed your shoulder, hand slipping under your shirt to brush the underside of your breast. Sighing, he murmered, “Best Thanksgiving I’ve had in a long time.” 

You couldn’t help but agree.

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

Author's Note: Do I think that Bradley has a raging domesticity kink? Possibly.

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[ittybxttykxttytxtty]

Gave My Heart (In Sweet Surrender)

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x f!reader

Summary: Bradley meets his future wife one night at The Hard Deck.

Inspiration: Such a Night- Elvis Presley

Warnings: Alcohol mentions, tooth-rotting fluff

A/N: I haven’t written for Bradley outside of the roommates AU before but I rewatched the movie and was possessed by the idea of falling immediately head over heels for him…started writing it, had a breakdown, bon appétit

There was only a little relief from the bustling crowds in making it up to the bar of the Hard Deck, half of Fightertown having seemingly decided it was the place to be that Friday night. That had certainly been your colleague’s hopes for the notoriously naval bar when she had planned the date and time of her leaving night out- or to use her own words, “I’m not leaving Fightertown without bagging a sailor first”.

She knew what she wanted, you would give her that.

The bartender was busy on the other side of the bar so you made yourself as comfortable as you could to stake out your spot, leaning your elbows on the polished wood. You hadn’t taken any notice of the person you had ended up beside until the bartender focussed her ever-shifting attention on him and his voice- surprisingly and deliciously deep- cut through the general chaos of the bar like a hot knife through butter.

“Another round for everyone, thanks, Penny.” He glanced to his left and caught your own interested glance, brought on by his voice, and a slow, easy grin lifted his lips beneath a dark moustache that should not have looked as good as it did. “Hi there.”

You didn’t have it in you- or perhaps you had too many pink gins in you- to be embarrassed at being caught.

“Hi.”

You were shameless as you got a good look at him.

Nicely styled brown hair that had the look of having been lightened by the sun. Dark eyes that promised trouble in the best way. That immaculate moustache that wouldn’t have looked good on anyone else, you were certain, and the full pink lips beneath that looked oh-so-kissable. Tanned skin with a couple of silvery scars. Broad shoulders and biceps that looked all the better for being clad in a cream and sage-green Hawaiian shirt which- again- would not have looked anywhere near good on anyone else, especially without the tight white tank top and sinfully well-fitting jeans that completed his outfit.

He looked good…and he was looking right back at you.

If the lazy grin on those gorgeous lips was anything to go by, he liked what he saw.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” he commented, turning fully to face you, leaning one elbow on the bar.

You willed yourself not to look at his bicep again and maintain eye contact.

“Mm, I haven’t been before. One of the girls I work with wanted to have her leaving night at a Navy bar.”

He nodded in understanding, something like amusement in his eyes.

“And how’s that going?”

You turned away from him to face the room at large, nodding towards the group you had left near the jukebox.

“See that woman over there?”

He stepped closer, slightly behind you, to follow your gaze.

“The one wearing the sailor’s hat?” he asked.

You bit your lip at the feeling of his chest almost pressed to your back and his lips close to your ear- it had certainly been a move on his part, and a smooth one at that- and nodded in confirmation.

“She’s the one beside her, wearing the sailor.”

He let out a surprised burst of laughter and you turned back to face him again with a grin, both of you now closer together and neither of you seeming to mind at all.

“Looks like she won’t mind waiting a little longer for that next round.”

Your grin widened.

“It’s like you read my mind. So, who are you here with?”

He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by a shout of:

“Rooster! We getting that round or what?”

You raised your eyebrows, surprised, when he turned in the direction of the speaker and lifted a hand in acknowledgment.

“Rooster?” you repeated in confusion. He didn’t look like a rooster.

He groaned.

“Bradley,” he corrected you, turning to collect the tray of drinks that neither of you had noticed appearing on the bar beside you. “And I will be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

He waited for your nod to confirm that you wouldn’t leave before disappearing into the crowd with the tray, and it made your heart beat faster than any man you’d just met should have been able to cause. There was something so alluring about him, a pull in your belly that told you that you were meant to meet him that night.

Blaming the pink gin for that fairytale-esque feeling, you quickly ordered another whilst you waited on him returning.

On the other side of the room, a group of naval aviators was left thoroughly confused by their friend unceremoniously depositing their next round of drinks on their table with the announcement that he would see them later- that he was busy talking to his future wife- before disappearing back to the bar.

He returned to his spot in the stool beside you- the one that you had not-so-subtly saved for him with your bag- just as the bartender slid your fresh drink over to you.

“Put it on my tab, Penny, and another for me please.” He turned back to you and grinned. “I missed you.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. It was ridiculous; he was ridiculous. Still, you clinked your glass against his beer bottle and let him rest his foot on the base of your stool to keep it steady for you.

“Alright, Bradley. Explain Rooster.”

The conversation flowed as easily as the drinks from there on. He told you about his job as a naval aviator without being boastful- even if his chest did swell a little with pride when you admitted to being impressed. He listened avidly when you told him about your job, shaking his head when you downplayed it as not being as exciting as his own and asking genuinely interested questions.

And then there were the touches.

Flirtatious and respectful, things you hadn’t seen simultaneously in a man in…you weren’t sure ever. His hand on your waist to steady you when another patron bumped into you, that same hand never leaving the spot, its thumb stroking softly without roaming. It was addictive.

Had anyone asked you, you would have said that you and Bradley were the only two people in the bar long before the bartender cleared her throat pointedly to inform you both with a knowing grin that that was in fact true.

Your eyes widened in surprise as you pulled your phone from your bag to see that it was after 1am, the time displayed above a stack of texts from your girlfriends- each of them saying something along the lines of “get it, girl!!”.

“Can I walk you out?” Bradley asked, offering you his hand to help you down from your stool.

You missed his touch almost as soon as your hand left his, but once again he seemed to read your mind as his hand found the small of your back on the way out of the bar.

The coastal chill in the night air was pleasantly cool on your cheeks, warmed by the gin and the company.

“This was a much better night than I was expecting,” you told him, and he grinned.

“Yeah? Me too.”

You weren’t quite sure where to go next, but he had that covered too.

“Can I take you out for breakfast tomorrow? Well, today,” he clarified with a self-deprecating chuckle, “I really wanna see you again.”

You bit your lip to restrain the Cheshire Cat grin that threatened to take over your face.

“I’d like that. Shall we say ten? I’m not much of a morning person.”

“I’m liking you a lot so far this morning.”

There was no holding your grin back after that. Unable to resist, you leaned in to close the gap for a kiss, eyes fluttering closed in anticipation.

To your surprise, he leaned back out of your reach.

For a second, your stomach swooped unpleasantly, worried that somehow after everything you had read the moment wrong, but then that damned grin was back on his face.

“Uh-uh. I don’t kiss on the first date.”

You laughed in disbelief- and more than a little relief.

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly serious. And our second date isn’t for another-” He pulled back to look at his watch. “-nine hours. You’ll just have to wait, gorgeous.”

He raised his hand to flag down a passing taxi for you, and even that was attractive.

“Text me when you’re home safe, yeah?” he asked, the genuine care in his voice just making you want him more as the taxi drew up beside you both.

“And you,” you told him.

He grinned.

“I’m a big boy, honey. I’ll be just fine.”

The poor taxi driver was going to get a hell of a show if he kept talking like that. You were surprised your legs didn’t give out as you slipped under Bradley’s arm into the back of the taxi, noticing the way he held the door open until he had seen you fasten your seatbelt.

“I’ll see you soon,” he told you with a wink before closing the door.

As the taxi peeled away from the kerb, you let your head fall back against the headrest and a smile spread across your lips. You were vaguely aware of the taxi driver asking if you had had a good night, and your thoughts were immediately consumed by twinkling dark eyes and kissable lips and that stupid moustache. The driver was certainly only making small talk but you couldn’t help the giddy sigh that fell from your lips.

“It was such a night.”

[ittybxttykxttytxtty]

I kinda need this as a romcom. I couldn't stop giggling and shit.

"You Can Call Me Whatever the Fuck You Want."

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Warnings: maybe like two swear words

Notes: Sequel to "Mr. CHiPs." Fluff, flirting. 3k words.

Main Masterlist

You grin widely in triumph when you notice his face heat up but he’s all confidence when he responds, “I’ve just made up my mind.” “What’s that?” “You can call me whatever the fuck you want.”

Strolling into the bar, Bradley can’t help but glance around the room to check for you, despite knowing he was earlier than the time he gave you. The building was mostly empty, and he decided that none of the patrons were nearly beautiful enough to have been you.

Behind the counter cleaning glasses, Penny calls him over, “You’re here early.”

“I’m meeting someone.”

“Ahhh yeah,” she nods “that girl that told you to get lost last night?”

“That’s the one. And she didn’t tell me to get lost,” he gives her a pointed look.

Bradley pulls out a barstool and as soon as he’s settled, glues his eyes to the door. Penny smirks, shaking her head at his expense. Bradley’s sweet and he means the world to Pete, and she wants the best for him too. It’s nice seeing him act a little lovesick after all the weekend flings she’s seen him go through, but she just hopes the girl is worth it.

“Can I get you anything while you wait?” She offers.

His eyes don’t leave the door as he answers, “Yeah, sure. Wouldn’t hurt to take the edge off.”

“And might as well start now, you know, in case she doesn’t show.”

Bradley faces her, utterly sure of himself. “Oh, she’ll show.”

But when he looks back at the door, his face falters, revealing just a little of the insecurity that hides beneath. This is unusual for him, asking a girl out on a real date. Even though he told you that wasn’t what it was, well… that was really just as much of an excuse for him as it was for you. If he didn’t think of tonight as a real date, maybe his nerves would calm down. The minutes tick by and eventually his heart stops beating so hard as his attention is drawn to the little tv in the corner, playing the game.

The door creaks open followed by a warm gust of air. Reminded of why he’s there again, Bradley jerks his head away from the TV to see you standing in the doorway.

There you are. He can’t believe you came. You’re wearing the same jeans as last night, and you’ve got a light flannel-type overshirt to protect against the evening air as it quickly cools down outside. You looked cute. And you seem confident as you make eye contact with him across the bar.

“She came,” the surprise slips from his voice.

“I thought you knew she was coming,” Penny pokes fun at him, but Bradley’s already left his chair to greet you at the door.

You pull your sunglasses off and smile at him. He’s enamored by your wide smile and the way your eyes crinkle. He also can’t help a self-satisfied smirk when he catches you raking your eyes up and down his body. You’re halted in place and a little short-breathed watching him saunter confidently towards you. He doesn’t stop until he’s close enough that your hips are just a hand’s width away. Bradley’s itching to rest his hands over your hips but decides against it. The smell of his cologne is making you just a little light-headed.

He gazes down at you. “Y/n. You came.”

Your name coming from his voice swept you back to last night, when you were practically in his arms. It sends a shockwave through you. Was that sultry voice really talking to you? You can feel heat creeping up your neck.

Stay strong.

Despite your best efforts, your voice cracks slightly when you reply, “I guess your pitch worked.”

Bradley lets his hand just barely graze your hip, though you catch the hesitation in it when he quickly pulls it away.

“Good.” Just now noticing how close he’s standing to you, he clears his throat and backs up a step.

“Can I get you a drink?” He asks in a normal tone, snapping you out of your mustache induced daze, reminding you that you’re in a public place.

“You promised this wouldn’t be a date.”

He playfully rolls his eyes at you. “It’s just a curtesy, sweetheart.”

You purse your lips in an effort not to smile at the nickname he’s quickly adopted for you. You concede and he leads you up to the bar. “What are we drinking?”

“Heineken.”

There’s a glint in his eye and he openly smiles at the realization that he was right - you were perfect.

“Two Heinekens, please, Penny.”

A dark-haired woman serving the bar gives a shit-eating grin to Bradley.

“Sure thing, Rooster.” She pries the tops off and hands them over and leans across the counter.

“So, you gonna introduce me to your friend here?”

“Penny, this is y/n. Y/n, Penny,” he says while handing you your drink.

“Nice to meet you, y/n. And don’t worry about Rooster, he’ll treat you right.” You laugh and look over at Bradley, his embarrassment made evident by his quickly reddening face. Penny leans closer to you, conspiratorially, “And if he doesn’t, you let me know. I’ll take care of him for you.” She winks.

You’re smiling and laughing as you thank her for her offer and the beer. Bradley gently grabs your hand to pull you away as he sarcastically replies, “Yeah, thanks a lot, Pen. We’re gonna go over there now.”

You can’t stop giggling as he leads you to a table in the corner. “Okay, I’d keep coming here just for her.”

He laughs, shrugging, “Hey, as long as you keep coming back.”

Bradley can’t get enough of your laughter. He’s never had a hard time getting girls to laugh, but it was never nearly this satisfying. He’d tell flirty jokes, keeping some girl giggly and flirty, while knowing full well that he could probably say just about anything, and they’d happily drag him home. Tag chasers would clock the uniform, and the rest was too easy. And he’s not naïve, Bradley knows being 6’1” and fit helps. He’s amusingly learned that the mustache doesn’t hurt either. But right now, there are no hidden intentions. He wants to keep you laughing because every time you flash him that grin, he gets giddy inside. He thinks that adorable laugh might just be music to his ears.

Once you’re comfortable in your seat, you bring up what you couldn’t stop thinking about all morning. Well, one of the many things you couldn’t stop thinking about.

“You know, you didn’t have to do that. Pay for our drinks last night.”

He smiles. “Yeah, but it made a real good impression, didn’t it?”

You laugh. “I don’t know about that, but it showed you have dedication.”

“Same thing.”

“Well, thank you, anyways. I wouldn’t have let my friends get so tipsy if I knew you grabbed the tab.”

He shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

You’ve entered dangerous territory where you don’t really know what to say next. Bradley doesn’t seem to mind the silence, looking content as ever just looking at you. His gaze is making your face heat up again. You gotta get yourself under control, but honestly, you’re just not used to someone looking at you with so much… attentiveness.

“So, why was she calling you Rooster?” You say, gesturing to Penny at the bar. You pretend not to catch her watching you out the corner of her eye.

“It’s my callsign.”

“Callsign? What do you do that you have a callsign?”

Not trying at all to hide his smirk, he takes a sip of his beer. “I’m a fighter pilot.”

And obviously aware of the effect that information has on women, you think to yourself.

“You must be very disciplined.”

Bradley thinks for a moment. No one’s said that to him yet. At least not a pretty girl. He quickly thinks through all the ways it could be taken as flirtatious. But you’re not looking at him like that, like there’s an innuendo behind your words. You look interested.

“Because I’m in the Navy?”

“Well, yeah, but also because you don’t just get that job on a whim. How long have you wanted to be a pilot?”

He smiles, and it’s one of the most genuine smiles you’ve seen. For a moment his eyes drift behind you, nostalgia written all over his face, before coming back to rest on yours again. There’s a tension that leaves his body. You knew from your first meeting that he liked to show off, but your question seems to have grabbed him by the hand and pulled him down to settle into a place more comfortable. Somewhere that he felt confident without having to show off. It’s as if you’ve just told him “at ease.”

“My whole life. My dad was one”

“That’s amazing. I think it’s so cool when people know their whole life what they want to do. And then do it.”

“It took a lot of work, I won’t lie.” You laugh with him.

“I admire that.” You’re glowing at him and Bradley can’t help but bask in it. You scrunch your face slightly, thinking of something. “What should I call you?” He grins at you.

“What sounds better to you?”

You lean over the table, resting your head on your fist, contemplating. Slowly and purposefully, you pronounce his name. “Bradley.” He waits patiently for the next one. “Rooster.” Then, with a smirk that you’re honestly trying really hard to hide, you carefully say, in your best bedroom voice, “Lieutenant.”

You grin widely in triumph when you notice his face heat up but he’s all confidence when he responds, “I’ve just made up my mind.”

“What’s that?”

“You can call me whatever the fuck you want.”

…

The rest of the evening could be considered a perfect date. Sure, a few more beers helped to loosen you both up, but they couldn’t take all the credit for the giddiness you felt every time his mustache twitched over his little all-knowing smirk, or the comfortability between you as you shared about yourselves, and the warmth that spread through your whole body once he got more confident resting an arm around your shoulder.

You asked him about his dad and listened to Bradley admiringly talk about his father. You got the impression they must be very close. It wasn’t until after Bradley pointed behind you to a wall filled with pictures of Navy people saying, “In Memoriam” that you realized he had died. And then it clicked that that’s where he had looked when you first asked him about being a pilot.

“How old were you?”

“Six.”

So young. You barely even remember middle school.

“You really kept him alive.”

“No, my mom did. And all his buddies.”

Naturally, you asked about his mother. This time, he told you right away that she had passed from cancer shortly after he graduated college. You did your best to hide most of the sympathy you felt, not wanting to make him feel pitied.

The mood lightened when he noticed a crew of people walk in and called them over. You recognized them as being the same group that hung around him last night. You were glad for it. Not that you didn’t want to talk about his parents, but you felt bad making him relive both of their deaths right after each other.

You couldn’t help but be shy as he introduced you to people he was so clearly close with. You can’t say you’ve ever gotten so familiar with someone’s personal life on a first date- sorry, wait – before even having a first date. You shoved Bradley and laughed out loud when one of his friends asked about who his date was.

“She’s just a friend, Hangman. We haven’t started dating yet.”

Hangman gives you a smirk, though you know he’s not being serious. “So, it’s alright then if I ask her out?”

“No!”

The evening comfortably moved from your more serious topics to easy sarcasm and banter while you watched Bradley play pool with his friends. Not just banter with him, but all of them. It was nice to experience both his fun side and his ability to have a serious conversation. It was also encouraging to know he seemed to have stand-up friends. Between those encouraging signs and the sight of his very nicely fitting jeans when he leaned over the pool table, these thoughts were making you mushier and mushier every time he looked at you. You had to remind yourself you just met this man. Who knew who he could turn out to be. But then he offered you the pool cue, and when you said you weren’t very good, he said, “That’s alright sweetheart, I’ll help you.” And when he wrapped his big arms around you to help steady your aim, your mind was too fuzzy to remember anything about being cautious.

As the night carried on one of his friends, Coyote, you learned – honestly, thank god for callsigns because they were so much easier to remember than actual names – asked Bradley if he was going to sing tonight. Bradley declined, to your surprise.

“Not tonight, man.”

“Aw come on, you’re not gonna show off for me?” You begged.

“And leave you by yourself, free for anybody to pick up? I don’t think so. You’re still single, you know. I gotta keep an eye on you until we’re official," he says, shooting you a wink.

In sober circumstances, you’d be blushing like crazy, but the alcohol in your system made you grin widely and drop your forehead to his shoulder. He laughs, wrapping his arm around you tighter and continues his conversation with his friends, like your head on his shoulder is a natural staple that everyone should be used to.

…

Smiling and giggling, Bradley leads you out of the bar. You don’t know what time it is, and you don’t remember where you parked. You’re really not that tipsy, but you just can’t pull yourself away from leaning on him. He’s looking down at you, enamored with how you’ve wrapped your arms around his, fully leaning into him; at your hair, scratching his cheek; at your fingers interlaced so tightly with his.

“Oh shit! I almost forgot!”

“What?” You turn to look up at him, confused at his outburst.

“To ask you out!”

“Hah!” you laugh, playfully shoving him away. “You’re serious!”

“Of course I am, honey. Did you doubt me?” He clears his throat, taking another step back from you, before holding out his hand. “Excuse me, ma’am,”

You have to turn away for a moment from embarrassment and laughter. Regaining yourself, you hold out your hand to him. Just like the night before, his hand encompasses yours entirely. It's warm and a little sweaty, also like last night. You smile at the thought. You find yourself wanting it all over you.

“I’m Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw, and I was watching you in the bar all night,” he continues, “and I just had to tell you, I’m real hung up on you.” You’re blushing harder than you think you ever have in your life.

“Could I take you out to dinner sometime? Maybe get your number?”

You light up in excitement as you remember something. Yes, you came prepared. Reaching into your pocket, you triumphantly pull out a sharpie, leaving Bradley to look at you in confusion.

“Lieutenant, I would love to give you my number.” You gesture for his hand. Realization hits him and he lets out a laugh but gives you his hand without hesitation.

“Old school, huh?”

You smirk. “Here’s the secret,” you explain, uncapping the sharpie “every day you’re gonna look at this and remember me writing it on you.”

He steps closer to you and reaches his other hand around your hips. “That’s a good tactic," he whispers in your ear.

“Mhm.”

Suddenly you stop right before the marker makes contact with the back of his hand.

“Will you get in trouble for having marker on your hand?”

You’re adorable. And practical.

“Maybe you should write it on my arm.”

You nod seriously and get back to the very important task at hand. Ever so carefully, you write out your number on his forearm, afterwards, gently patting his hand and giving it back to him. He doesn’t know why, but Bradley’s enthralled by the action. You stand in silence for a moment, content in just taking each other’s presence in.

“Can I walk you to your car?”

You sigh dramatically at having to tear your eyes away from him, earning a laugh from Bradley. Once you find and reach your car, you make no moves to grab your keys. You can’t stop looking at the smile on his face.

“You need help there, sweetheart?”

“No,” you roll your eyes, finally unclipping your keys from your belt loop. But you still hesitate to unlock your car. You turn to face him where he’s patiently waiting for you. All of a sudden, you feel shy, but you grab his hands anyways. Biting your lip, you slowly pull him into you, pressing yourself against your car. Bradley dips his head down, stopping just before reaching your lips. You’re waiting. Holding your breath. Feeling every bit of pressure of his fingers gently pressed into your sides. Then he smiles.

“Sorry honey, that’s a first date activity.” He leans away, though still holding you to your car. Your head falls back with a groan and your knees go weak, forcing him to hold you up, making Bradley laugh at your exasperation.

“Some might even say a second date activity.” You glare at him. He just keeps giving you that cocky grin. “You know, if I remember correctly, last night you thought I was a Navy skeeze.”

You gasp out loud, laughing at his words, but you can’t deny, he wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Fine,” you give in, fingers hooked through his belt loops, trying to pull him even closer, “You proved yourself very nicely tonight, Rooster.” He smirks at your use of his callsign. It’s cute coming from your lips.

He takes a step back when you gently push him away. “Let’s see if you can keep it up.”

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[ittybxttykxttytxtty]

The banter between these two. 😂

Mr. CHiPs

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x gn!reader

Warnings: swearing, drinking

Notes: flirting, meet cute but also slow burn. Reader thinks Bradley is an ass. Who happens to have a good-looking ass. 3.2k words. And for those who don’t know: CHiPs (California Highway Patrol) is a classic and very cheesy 70‘s cop show.

Read the sequel here: "You Can Call Me Whatever the Fuck You Want"

Main Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are soo so so appreciated. You can look at any post and see the staggering difference in likes vs reblogs. If you ever ask yourself, "why doesn’t this particular author/post get more likes?" Well, it’s because no one is spreading their work. Thank you so much for reading! I hope you like ��️

"Bradley laughs. You love it when men laugh like that. Their whole body "guffaws" and his is so close to yours, that it’s like his amusement is a tangible thing that you can feel pressing up against you."

Fleet Week. The Hard Deck’s busiest time of year. The bar room is packed to the brim with sailors and those unabashedly admiring said sailors. It’s late enough in the evening that most of the more family-orientated crowd have left and the ones who remain really only have one thing on their mind, which was simply to have a good time. Chatter, laughter, and drunken, out of tune singing fills the air that’s already thick with body heat and sweat.

The jukebox has been keeping a steady stream of hits playing, either classic glam rock or good ol’ 90’s country, and if it’s not doing that, then someone was smashing keys on the upright in the corner. One of the players actually hasn't been so bad. He seemed to be playing a real song, with a steady beat and everything. His deep, confident voice sang all the lyrics, rather than just the chorus 50 times over like his drunk predecessors. Curious to see who the talent was, you glanced away from your friends to see what was – the first thought that came to your mind, even if it was a little outdated – quite a strapping man, adorned with a very sweaty, flamboyant, Hawaiian shirt and a 70’s porn stache. You admired his easy smile as he sang, and the crowd that he had effortlessly drawn up. In fact, you half noticed that a few people had cheered when he approached the piano to begin with, as opposed to the groans in reaction to every other would-be performer. A regular, you supposed, and no doubt, a favorite.

His rousing performance ends, and he stands up, getting lost in the crowd of his friends. The bar quiets down - if you could call 70+ people all trying to get it on quiet - and you turn back to your own party. You take a swig of your Heineken, only to remember you’d finished it before getting distracted by Mr. CHiPs over there on the piano. Damn.

“I’m gonna grab another!” you yell across the table, motioning to your empty bottle. “Anybody want anything?”

A few drink orders are yelled back, and you nod your head and slide off the bench. Squeezing your way through the crowd, you give up on polite “excuse me”s after about the third try. When you finally make it to the counter, standing right there, leaning against the bar with his elbows supporting him, is Mr. ChiPs himself. As if he’s been waiting for you to arrive this whole time.

Bradley just happens to be looking your way when you break through the crowd. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up with what his eyes are seeing and when it does, his beer is halted halfway up to his mouth. As soon as he sees you, he knows there’s nothing else in this bar worth replacing your sight with.

Up close, it’s easier to notice – or impossible not to notice – how his loose-fitting Hawaiian shirt actually fits him quite snugly around the arms. And a style of aviators you haven’t seen anyone wear in decades hangs on his undershirt, drawing the gaze to some very nicely tanned skin. The way that tanned chest is pushed back and his long legs are stretched out is almost like he’s displaying himself. You smirk at the thought. It takes a special kind of confidence to play like he did earlier, seemingly sober enough, and he evidently brings the same confidence in the way he dresses and carries himself. You probably shouldn’t have shown your admiration so plainly though, because the moment you break free from the crowd into the little bubble cleared around him, his eyes are on you, a smirk playing across his lips. It halts you for a moment as you make eye contact, but you keep moving towards the bar, set on your mission. He scoots over to give you some room to make your order, eyes never straying from you while he takes a healthy swig of his own green bottle.

Bradley somewhat registers that you ordered his own choice of beer, but he’s not sure if it’s for you or one of your friends. He tucks the information away anyways, silently hoping it’s for you. Because wouldn’t that just be perfect?

His rapt attention is not exactly easy to ignore. You turn your head and have to look up a little to match his gaze. Oh, the 70’s porn stache. The cop stache, the slut stache, you’ve been given so many names. How many women have fallen before you? His rests before a prominent Roman nose. The combination gives a fun, yet authoritative presence. Call it a “business in the front, party in the back” vibe. You liked it.

“Can I help you?” It’s so loud, you can barely hear yourself enough to know if it comes out irritated or playful. You’re not really sure what you were going for anyways, if you’re being honest.

He takes another drink, his focus not leaving you for an instant.

“Are you offering?” He smirks, so blatantly looking you up and down, you might as well have been naked.

You inwardly sigh. Never meet your heroes.

“I’m offering to help with a lot of things you wouldn’t like until the pain meds kicked in,” you say, this time with a lot more deadpan. The group behind him, all wearing uniforms, is the same that sang along with him at the piano. They all let out a collective “ooooh” as they jeer and cringe at his obvious strike-out. The smirk is wiped off his face, but it’s replaced with a look of intrigue, rather than dejection. But you don’t take time to dwell on it as you turn away to shuffle further down the busy bar, still waiting on your drinks.

A hand lightly grabs your shoulder, enough to make you spin around and shout a firm, “hey!”

It's him again, his hands immediately going to the air in surrender. He waits a moment to make sure you aren’t too mad before speaking. You’ll admit, those big brown eyes do put on a good puppy dog face.

“Would you believe me if I told you that was probably the sleeziest pick-up line I’ve ever used?”

“You obviously thought it’d work,” you counter.

He simply shrugs his shoulders and takes a drink, not denying anything. Yes, he did think it would work. Until he remembered too late that there was a certain type of woman you probably shouldn’t be using pick-up lines on at all. He thought that type of woman was usually what they would call a “keeper.”

“Yeah, but now I know it doesn’t. So will you give me a second chance?”

You laugh. “Why would I do that?”

Before he can reply, the bartender pulls your attention, and you move to grab your drinks. As soon as you turn away from him, he wants to get your eyes back in his line of sight. The sweet smell of his sweat makes you turn your head towards him again. He’s sidled up to your right side, arm holding his weight against the bar top, though he’s not blocking you in.

“Because I’m actually a nice guy?” He offers with eyebrows raised, almost like it’s a question he wants you to answer.

You cringe. “And there’s the second worst pick-up line you’ve ever used.”

He looks genuinely confused and a little offended. More offended than when you turned him down the first time.

“What’s wrong with that?”

Rolling your eyes and laughing, you answer, “You know, self-proclaimed nice guys?”

By the look on his face, he clearly doesn’t know, and it’s kind of cute. Maybe you spend too much time online.

“’But I’m such a nice guy!’” You mimic, “’Won’t you give me a chance?’ And then they end up being even bigger assholes than everyone else?"

Oh, yeah, them. Bradley stops himself from rolling his eyes, so that you don’t think it’s directed towards you. He’s surprisingly serious when he says, “I’m not like that.”

In a manner he decides is much more befitting of his mother’s son, he switches his beer to his left hand and holds out his right one over the counter in front of you.

“I’m Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw.” His voice grows even stronger stating his name and rank. Maintaining unwavering eye contact, he continues, “You look really nice tonight. Can I buy you a drink?”

God, what are you supposed to do now? That was unexpectedly hot. When you think of the rank “Lieutenant," the Bradley Bradshaw next to you is not exactly the image you’d conjure up. At least, not in the state and dress he’s in now. But as soon as he says the words, you see it. It becomes easy to imagine the starch uniform fitting across those broad, commanding shoulders. And the fact that he carries that quiet authority around with him, even when he’s dressed like Magnum PI… yeah… that introduction did things for you.

You smile at Bradley and take his hand. Bradley likes your hand. He thinks it fits very nicely in his own. And he’s endeared to the firm grip you’ve got on him; he hates it when women think he’ll like them more for acting “weaker than.”

You think his hands are very warm – a little sweaty, very firm (you hate it when guys purposefully give you a soft handshake), and very calloused. A fleeting notion that, no doubt, they’re very useful also crosses your mind. But unfortunately for your love life, you’re not as weak as that, even if his line was pretty deserving.

“God, I wish that worked on me,” you say, removing your hand from his.

You expect him to look dejected or offended again, or at the very least confused, but you’re a little taken aback by the look of genuine curiosity that flits across his features.

“Then why doesn’t it?” He asks. He ducks his head in towards yours and consequently, his body follows, enveloping that side of you quite nicely. Leaning in this close to you presents Bradley with the sweet and intoxicating smell of your hair. He’s not complaining, though he does have to work harder to pay attention to your answer.

You think for a moment, a little amused by his question, before answering. “I’m cursed with this thing I’ve been told is ‘wisdom beyond my years.’”

Bradley laughs. You love it when men laugh like that. Their whole body "guffaws" and his is so close to yours that it’s like his amusement is a tangible thing that you can feel pressing up against you.

“Ohhh,” he nods in understanding. “So, you’re a downer?”

A laugh escapes you. “No-oo,” you emphasize. “I just don’t do one-night stands with strangers.”

“Hah!” he scoffs. “Now who’s a sleaze? I didn’t say anything about a one-night stand, I just offered to buy you a drink.”

You roll your eyes, though somewhat playfully, and give him an all-too knowing look. Bradley knows that look. A painfully endearing smile slowly spreads across his face in response. You thought you saw right through him, but if only you knew how serious he could be when he wanted something. Bradley wasn’t about to lie to himself, or you. You were hot and he did want to get his hands on you. He wanted you in his bed, but he had a gut feeling that for you, he could wait a very long time for that.

Conceding, he says, “But you’re not dumb enough to believe that.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement, one that he’d place all his bets on: that you’re too smart for him.

You can’t help your own smile after that, and you really don’t feel ashamed at all by openly staring at him now. “He’s self-aware!” you praise to no one, and it makes Bradley laugh.

“Okay, I get it.” He nods his head affirmingly. “You’re looking for the real deal. I respect that,” he assures. “It’s just my bad luck that tonight happens to be probably one of the worst nights to meet someone, unless you’re looking for a one-night stand. I don’t blame you for not taking me seriously.” He shrugs and spreads his hands out like it’s obvious that it has nothing to do with him and he’s resigned himself to the fact that he really has no control over the matter. Then he looks around with a faked scandalous expression and motions to the chaotic room. “I wouldn’t either, in this environment,” he says, insinuating the degeneracy of the crowd.

A very charming performer. He knows how to turn things around in his favor, you’ll give him that.

His attention turns back to you. “So how 'bout this: we make it fair for the both of us. Tonight’s the last night of Fleet Week. Come back here tomorrow, earlier this time,” he hesitates, picking a time, “say around six – and it’ll be a lot quieter. Better for a real conversation.” He finishes his pitch and you’re left shaking your head in wonder.

“What a gentleman! You’re offering me a real conversation before getting into my pants?”

“That’s not at all what I’m doing!” He defends himself adamantly and you can tell you’re finally starting to break his patience. “Don’t you see, I’m putting the ball in your court here, sweetheart. Meet me here to tomorrow, you can get to know me for as long as you want, and then you can decide if I’m worth going on a real date with.”

…Not a bad tactic. And you didn’t miss the pet name either. Were you into that? Maybe you were into that. You let yourself think about his offer for a moment and Bradley intently watches you do so.

“Soo.. tomorrow wouldn’t be a date?” You question.

He shrugs. “Call it a preliminary.”

You chuckle. “Alright,” you say, giving in just a little. Then a thought crosses your mind. One that’s so obvious, it makes you feel dumb for playing along with him for so long.

“So, since you have to wait a whole day for me, who are you gonna take home tonight?”

Bradley falters, clearly not expecting your accusation, but he doesn’t back down from the challenge. Instead, he smiles.

“You’re just gonna have to trust me, sweetheart.” You don’t look too thrilled about that idea. “I know,” he says, “It’s a cruel world.”

A moment passes while you both try to size each other up. Bradley thinks he might actually win.

“I like you,” you finally admit.

Bradley’s heart jumps a beat. You seem like you’re about to agree, though maybe hesitantly. Bradley can work with a hesitant yes. It’s still a yes, after all. You try to ignore how adorable it is that he lights up at your words. But if he thinks you’re playing hard to get on him, then he has no idea how hard you can be on yourself.

“So I’d hate to see you too upset if you end up spending your evening alone, sitting on a barstool.”

And just like that, the light’s out. His shoulders drop as if he’s physically deflated at your rejection. But Bradley’s no push over, so he stands up straight, his endearingly serious demeanor back again. Oh yeah, don’t worry, he heard you loud and clear: “Trust you, huh? Don’t get your hopes up, cowboy.”

And you’re walking away. You don’t even give him a second glance.

A firm hand not so gently lands on his shoulder, jolting Bradley back to the present.

“I won’t lie, Rooster, that was painful to watch,” Jake says beside him. Bradley shoots him a “fuck you” glare.

“Thanks, man, that’s real comforting.”

Jake merely shrugs and takes a drink from his bottle. “Hey – better luck next time, right?” Then he walks away, leaving Bradley to scoff and turn to the bar. The audacity of that man, honestly.

Fuck, that was way harder than it should’ve been, especially to end in complete mission failure.

Wait.

What a fucking dumbass, he completely forgot to ask you. No wonder you never took him seriously.

Third time’s the charm.

Bradley leaves his beer at the bar and pushes his way through the other naval men and women. He spots you just as you’re about to sit down at your friends’ table.

“Hey, wait!” At this point, his baritone voice is easily recognizable to you as it carries over the din of the room. It stops you in your tracks, and you turn to face him. Bradley ignores the oh-so-intrigued faces of your friends as they look between you and this strange, hot man. He takes a couple more steps forward, just close enough that no one is going to walk between you.

“What’s your name?” It completely slipped his mind to ask. He didn’t need to know your name when you were standing so close to him, inhabiting all of his senses. Why would he need to call you anything when you were everything?

You’re not really sure why, but shouting your name for everyone to hear just wouldn’t be… polite? Was that the right word? So, you set down you and your friend’s drinks, and with a purposefulness not necessarily intended, walked right up to Bradley. Whether you were considered tall or short didn’t really matter next to him, because you had to crane your head up anyways, unless you just wanted to press up against him and inhale his chest. Which, you kind of did. But now wasn’t the time. He dipped his head, so as to hear you better. He placed his hands firmly on either side of your hips and drew you closer - so as to hear you better, obviously.

Intimate. That was the word you were looking for. Yelling your name across the room lacked the intimacy that, standing just inches away from Bradley, you now felt necessary.

His nose was brushing right up against your hair, the tickle of it mixed with the smell of your shampoo making him dizzy. The breath of your softly spoken name in his ear almost had him on his knees, and maybe his grasp on your hips got just a little tighter in an attempt to stay standing. He pulled back slightly and smiled.

“It was nice meeting you tonight, y/n. I like your name.”

You smiled. “Thanks.” You then backed out of his grasp, his hands gently falling away from you. “It was nice meeting you too, Lieutenant Bradshaw. Have a good night.”

He watched as you sat down, and he smiled when you blushed at your friend’s harassing questions.

Okay, he would get his hopes up. Just a little.

Back at the bar, he calls to Penny.

"See that table over there?" He points to you. "Their tab’s on me."

Penny laughs, “Just don’t go broke trying to be Romeo.”

“She’ll be worth it, I promise.”

---

“Who. Was. That?” Everyone sat in silence, waiting for your answer. You looked to your side, but he was gone. Sucked into his own group of people again.

“It doesn’t matter.”

A groan emitted from the whole table. They’d known you long enough to be fed up with your self-sabotage.

“Really! I’m never gonna see him again.”

——

Taglist:

@theastrokat

@joonunivrs

@gaychaosgremlin

@possessthestars

[ittybxttykxttytxtty]

When Are You Gonna Come Down

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Aftercare; implied rough sex, but no sex is shown; implied lack of previous aftercare; nonsexual nudity; fluff; not beta-read

Summary: "Let's get you cleaned up," He urges against your skin. "C'mon."

You hesitate before you nod, scooching toward the edge of the bed. Bradley gets up with you, taking hold of your hand and guiding you down the hall. You follow, blinking a little blearily.

You're usually in your car by now. You're usually pulling over to take a deep breath, to calm yourself down, to settle.

"Slow down."

"I'm fine."

"Just hang on—"

You don't heed his order, already sitting up—and nearly falling back as your head spins. Your gut swoops with panic as you brace your hands on the bed, sucking in a nervous breath.

"Holy crap," You mumble.

"I told you." He's chuckling, but it isn't a mean sound. Bradley scoots closer to you, gathering you back against his chest and easing you to lay down. You sag back against him, head still throbbing as stars crowd your eyes.

"You always in such a hurry afterward?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," You grumble.

"I would, for next time. May tie you down, head it off at the pass."

"I'd like to see you try."

"I'm in the Navy, sweatpea. I can tie a mean knot."

You can't help but smile a little as he gently smooths beads of sweat back from your forehead, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"You alright?" He asks. "You want something to eat or drink?"

"I should go."

"Wait a little bit." His hand slides down, smoothing down the slope of your shoulder. "Just...Come down properly, huh? I'm not gonna send you out all wired."

"I'm used to it."

It falls out of your mouth, and it's chased by harrowing silence. His fingers never waiver in their tender stroking of your skin.

"You shouldn't be," He finally murmurs. "You shouldn't split so fast."

"It's normal."

"It's not right."

"I can handle it."

"...I don't mean to be rude," He hedges, "But you just tried to get off of my bed and nearly dropped back down immediately."

"I'm just a little lightheaded."

"I know. I was rough."

"I wasn't complaining."

"I know." He leans into it. You can't see his eye roll, but you can hear it. You open your mouth to argue again, but he lowers his head, dotting your neck with tender kisses. You let your eyes slide closed, feeling yourself become putty in his arms. He carefully props the two of you up after a few minutes. You draw in a nervous breath, waiting for your head to spin, for the room to tip sideways…But it never comes.

"Feelin' alright?" He murmurs.

"Mhm."

"Let's get you cleaned up," He urges against your skin. "C'mon."

You hesitate before you nod, scooching toward the edge of the bed again. Bradley gets up with you, taking hold of your hand and guiding you down the hall. You follow, blinking a little blearily.

You're usually in your car by now. You're usually pulling over to take a deep breath, to calm yourself down, to settle. You follow Bradley into the bathroom, leaning against the counter as he starts the shower up. He glances at you now and again, seeming to want to check on you before he draws you takes you by the hand, leading you into the stall. You sigh at the feeling of the warm spray, tipping your head under the stream and feeling yourself relax further. Bradley curls up behind you, dropping kisses to your shoulders before he takes hold of the soap. It's a moment before you feel him smoothing your hands over your back. You brace your slightly-shaking arms against the tiled walls, relaxing as Bradley cleans your body reverently.

You reach for the soap, determined to do the same, but—

"Nn-nn," He hums, smoothing his hands along your arms until he's intertwining your fingers. "This is about you."

It makes you shiver. The brush of his lips, and his steady, sweat insistence.

"You took me so well, you know that?" He murmurs against the shell of your ear. "So fucking sweet, baby. You felt so fucking good."

The praise melts over you like warm butter. You whimper softly, fingers against his.

"Took care of me, just like I needed," He adds, giving your hands a squeeze. "Now it's my turn to take care of you."

--

You think that it'll end at the shower—that Bradley will shove some clothes at you and nudge you out to your car with a kiss. But there you are, sitting at the counter, wearing your underwear and one of his old t-shirts, and chowing down on the best damn grilled cheese you've ever had. Before you can completely finish the first one, Bradley's tipping another one onto your plate. You glance up guiltily, but he just smiles, turning back to the stove.

"You can have it," You offer.

"Nu-uh," He waves you off. "That's yours. I'll make another one."

"...You don't have to be this nice, you know."

"This isn't a have to, this is a want to. Although," He glances at you over his shoulder, "If you're that used to taking it and no one taking care of you afterward, that's not okay."

"I don't do it a lot," You shrug, "But when I do, it's just, like...I don't know. It's quick. I don't think about it."

"That why you're so used to running?"

"I guess."

Bradley glances back toward you, and you hurriedly look down, taking up the grilled cheese and stuffing a bite into your mouth.

"Does running feel good?"

"...Not really," You mumble around the food.

"Then don't run next time."

"I didn't run this time."

"You tried to."

He's got you there. You raise your thumb, sucking a few crumbs and melted butter off before you glance at Bradley again. You find him watching you with gentle curiosity.

"...I'll let up once you finish that," He nods to the grilled cheese and the glass of water beside your plate. You consider, looking down at the plate and poking a few crumbs.

"Is it okay if I sleep here?" You ask.

You don't dare meet his eye. You hear turn the stove off, and the sound is chased by the steady padding of his feet. You feel the heat of him at your side, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him place a hand against the counter.

And then—he presses a tender kiss to your cheek. Your eyes slip shut, lips pulling with a smile as he murmurs,

"More than okay with it, sweetpea."

"You're a real romantic, Bradshaw. And you know what," You hold up the rest of the sandwich. "This grilled cheese isn't half-bad."

[ittybxttykxttytxtty]

Kinktober Day 19

Day Eighteen | 🌹Kinktober Masterlist🌹 | Day Twenty

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting with ANY of these Kinktober prompts will be blocked

Warnings: Somnophilia; Bradley 'I Eat Pussy for My Own Pleasure' Bradshaw; anal sex; anal plug; safe sex; vaginal fingering

“Missed you.” He’d grumbled it the last time he was home, the words pressed against your shoulder as he cuddled up against your back. “Wanted you last night.” 

Bradley had felt you shift to eye his head, and he smiled when he’d felt your hand smooth over his hip, curling almost shyly in the fabric of his boxers. 

“You could’ve woken me up,” You’d pointed out. 

“You looked so peaceful.” 

“...You could’ve had me anyway.” 

The offer had stunned him as much then as it did now. But you’d reassured him time and time again that you wanted him to. You’d cuddled up against his chest before he’d gone on his latest deployment, hooked your hands in the fabric of his jacket and held his eye as you’d murmured, 

“Remember, if you get home, and you need me…” You’d leaned up, ghosting your lips over his, ignoring the whoops and whistles of his team as they waited for him, “Then take me.” 

He stands at the foot of your bed now.

You’re so still, breathing steadily. He shrugs his jacket off, hanging it over the back of your vanity chair. His boots were toed off when he reached the front door, not wanting to track the dust and grime of the road into your apartment. His tongue slicks over his dry lips as he takes a step closer to the bed.

He reaches down, sliding his hand over his chest before curling his fingers around the soft hem of his t-shirt and drawing it up and off. Bradley takes a couple of steps closer to the bed before he reaches out, hooking the fabric of the sheet covering your body. He lifts it, feather-light, and tugs it away. He hisses softly at the sight of you, his hand dropping to massage his cock through his pants. Goddamn. He’d told you that he’d be back late, if he was able to make it back that night at all—but that had been a crapshoot for the last four nights. Had you spent the last few nights sleeping naked, just in case? 

Bradley shoves his pants and underwear off, nudging them away before he gingerly climbs over you. He reaches out, gently trailing his fingers over the soft skin of your belly as his gaze travels up over your breasts, over the line of your neck, and up to your serene expression. He keeps his eyes fixed steadily on your face as he dips his head, pressing a kiss to the swell of your breast. He brushes his lips over the smooth skin, sighing softly as he catches on the scent of your lotion and perfume. He turns his head to nuzzle the valley between your breasts, drawing in a deep, heady breath of the scent. Bradley tips his head, trailing his lips over your other breast. His heart pounds in his chest as he gently traces around your nipple with his tongue. He goes still as you shift beneath him a little, then settle. He repeats the pattern again then laps broadly across it, swirling and daring to suck lightly as it pebbles. He leans back just a little, blowing cooly over the wetted skin, and smiling as you shift again, a gentle sigh falling from your lips. 

Bradley scooches down, grinding his cock against the sheets as he gently palms your thighs to spread them. He leans in, gently sliding his tongue over your folds. His eyelids flutter as he swipes his tongue from side to side, burying his face fully between your thighs. He groans softly, unable to help himself. He lowers his hand to his cock, jacking it with a luxurious slowness as he licks and laps at your cunt. He can taste you as you become more and more aroused. Goddamn, he needs this. He smooths his hand from your thigh, trailing lower to slip beneath your ass, tipping you up. He stills when he feels something brush against his palm. He draws back, heart leaping in his throat as he tries to get a better look at you in the dim light. You didn’t…Did you?

Bradley slips his finger further down, sliding his thumb along the cool base of the plug tucked snugly in your ass. He stutters a groan, hips jolting in his hand as he presses his face into your thigh. 

“Fuck,” He breathes, “You filthy little thing.” 

Brradley leans over, slowly tugging open the drawer on the bedside table, wincing as it makes a slight creaking noise. He glances toward your face, ensuring that you’re still asleep before drawing out a condom and a bottle of lube. He leans back, wary of rocking the bed as he kneels up and gently props your thighs up with his. He rolls the condom on and lubes his cock, jacking himself slowly as he reaches down, gently drawing the plug from where it’s nestled in your ass. He takes his time, watching with bated breath as you shift, your lips parting with a whimper. He sets the plug aside, lining his cock up and gently brushing it against your hole. You grind forward, and he bites his lip harshly as the head of his cock presses into your opening. The feeling makes him swear out a groan, sinking deeper and deeper into your clenching heat. 

Bradley rolls his hips slowly, panting softly as he watches your expression shift. Your body arches up against his, your hands sliding along the sheets until they find his. He watches your brow furrow, hears your breathing deepen for a moment before you moan softly. Your groggy eyes open, a smile curling your lips as you smooth your hands up and over his arms. 

“You’re home,” You sigh sleepily. Bradley presses closer, catching your lips in a heated kiss as his thrusts become more frenzied. 

“Baby,” He growls against your lips, “Needed you.”  The sound of his hips hammering against yours cut through your shared moans. “You plug yourself up just for me? Hmm?” He urges, “Hoping I’d come in and use your cute little ass?” 

“Mhm,” You nod, fisting your hand in his hair, “Been doing it for three days, Bradley—Wanted to be ready for you.” 

Bradley’s hand snakes between your thighs, swiping through your juices and toying with your tender clit. You whimper as the sensation shoots through you, your thighs twitching against his. You use your grip on his hair to drag him in for another kiss, nearly biting his tongue as he sinks two fingers into your slick pussy. 

“Fuck,” He mumbles against your lips. “You’ll take it any way you can get it, won’t you.” 

“Only for you, Bradley,” You insist, driving your hips up against him. “Played with myself when I stretched earlier.” 

“Oh yeah?” He smiles, “What were you thinking about?” 

“I—I listened to that voice note you sent me a few weeks ago,” You admit shyly. “The—The one of you…You know—” 

“Jacking my cock and moaning your name?” Bradley goads. Your face goes hot at his candor, and you nod, unable to summon up the proper words as Bradley grinds his palm against your clit. You sigh, letting your head fall back against the pillows as Bradley’s lips lower to your breasts, peppering them with kisses and slick sucks. Your orgasm wells up slowly, but you chase the feeling, knowing that Bradley can feel you getting closer and closer. 

“Go on,” He insists, lifting his head, “Cum on my cock, baby—Fuck, I wanna feel you tighten up on me—Look at you,” He groans as your head tips from side to side, eyes squeezing shut as you push into your pleasure, “Taking what you want and giving me everything I need—You’re so fucking perfect, baby—Come on—Fuck that’s it.” 

Bradley pistons his fingers and hips into yours as your orgasm washes over you, clenching around him as his name falls from your lips. He isn’t far behind, slipping his fingers from your still-throbbing cunt and sucking them between his lips. He cums with your name and taste on his tongue, hips pounding as he spills into the condom. He swallows roughly, bracing himself over you as he slows. He gently draws out of you, leaning in just long enough to give you a tender kiss before he gets off of the bed. You watch him go, trailing your fingers over your thoroughly used body, and sighing as you swipe your fingertips across your sticky, puffy cunt. 

Bradley returns a few moments later with a washcloth in his hand, and you let him clean and direct you the way he likes. He lobs the washcloth into the hamper once he’s done, climbing into the bed behind you and curling his arms around your middle. He buries his face between your shoulder blades, and you squirm a little as his mustache brushes against your skin. You sigh softly, letting your still-heavy eyelids slip closed. You smooth your hand over his forearm, intertwining your fingers and sighing happily. 

“Welcome home, Bradley.”

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @phoenixhalliwell ; @wild-rose-35 ; @daisyslibrary ; @informally-liz ; @andrastesflamingtitties ; @muchacha-encabronada ; @nerdygirl0414 ; @elen-aranel ; @ohbee-whatcanyoube ; @kmc1989; @quietpainter ; @thedreadandthefugitivemind ; @kaletastrophes ; @nyx2021 ; @thatesqcrush ; @shanimallina87 ; @adarasforest ; @s-u-t ; @silversprings-mp3 ; @senawashere

[ittybxttykxttytxtty]

thinking about professor bradshaw's wedding to english teacher and how they'd have to invite the senior class from her first year (namely maisie)

[ittybxttykxttytxtty]

guys, i cant 🥹🩷

now i see daylight (bradley bradshaw x reader professor au)

part of my professor bradshaw drabble collection

The one where Bradley takes Florence to work so you can get some sleep.

“And you're sure about this?” You ask, duvet pooled around your waist as you cradle Florence to your chest. She gurgles happily, fist coming up to wrap around your little finger.

“I'm sure. It'll be totally fine.”

You love your daughter. More than anything. But you're running on three months of barely any sleep. During the day she's angelic, at night she'll refuse to sleep unless she's in your arms or Bradley's.

It's been a tough habit to break - even tougher now that Bradley's back at work. He needs the rest, so you've been taking the night shifts. It was fine at first - you were able to catch a couple of naps while she was sleeping during the day.

But it's starting to catch up with you. Bradley noticed it first. The way you manage to fall asleep during every single movie the two of you start. How you've been neglecting yourself in favour of Florence.

So - he has a solution. Put Florence in her baby sling, and take her to work. He's got all seniors on a Tuesday - easy classes with kids who work hard anyway.

They've all been asking to see her, and you need some uninterrupted sleep. It's a win-win.

“What if she cries the whole day?”

“She won't. When has she ever done that before?”

“She might start today.”

“Give her some credit honey, she's half you. She'll be fine.”

“She's also half you,” You reply, sticking your tongue out. “The first thing I ever heard about you, even before meeting you, was that you were notoriously grumpy.”

“That's a gross exaggeration.”

“Well I know that now. But someone had to get that idea from somewhere.”

Gently, he reaches down to take her from your arms, fixing her into the carrier strapped to his chest. “Worst comes to worst, I can leave the kids with work and come back home. But it won't come to that.”

“If she doesn't settle you could call, and I can come get her.”

Bradley nods, but he already knows he won't be doing that. As much as he helps around the house and with Florence, he wasn't the one who gave birth to her - he didn't have to do any of the healing that you did.

You need your sleep, and if he can make that happen for you, he will.

***

Florence Bradshaw very quickly becomes the star of Elderwood. Between his colleagues and kids, everyone wants to talk to her.

It works out for the best. By the time Bradley's ready to teach, she's exhausted from all the socialising, and happy to curl up in her sling, sound asleep against the rhythm of Bradley's heart.

Voices are lowered and doors close softly, and she sleeps the entire way through Medieval History. He feeds her at break, and she's more alert for his Modern History classes, before crying through Classics.

The seniors don't mind. They're supposed to be presenting their final projects today, so are immensely grateful to Professor Bradshaw's daughter for pushing it back.

Classics would usually be your domain, but he picked it up this year to give you a lighter timetable.

At lunch he pops her into her pram, and walks her a little bit to sooth her, stopping to grab a sandwich from the cafeteria. She's an angel for his afternoon classes.

***

When Bradley and Flo make it back to the house, you’re still out cold. Thankfully, Florence is easily persuaded to go down in her crib, making only a slight fuss before settling.

Bradley kicks off his shoes, and heads for the bedroom, pausing in the doorway to watch you for a minute. You're sprawled out, more on his pillow than your own, and you look so peaceful.

He pulls his jumper over his head, and makes his way over, being careful not to jostle you as he slides under the covers.

He presses his lips to your shoulder, arm snaking round your front.

“Hey daddy,” You murmur, the rasp in your voice going straight through him as you turn. You look so pretty like this. Sure, you’re tired, and neither of you have had a full night's sleep in months - but he'll never get tired of having you in his bed, waking up with you every morning.

He lets out a low groan. “You need to stop doing that,” He replies, as he pulls you close to him, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“Doing what?” You grin, as Bradley digs his fingers into your side, tickling lightly.

“I thought you said it was stupid.”

“That was before I watched you carry her out of the hospital in her car seat. It really did something for me. If I wasn't 72 hours post-partum I'd have let you knock me up again then and there. Doesn't seem like such a bad nickname anymore.”

“You're incorrigible,” He breathes.

“Yeah, but you love me anyway. She sleeping?”

He nods, hand moving to push the stray hair from your face. “We took a walk in the park after class - the fresh air always knocks her out.”

“How was she in class?”

“Cried during classics - but the rest of the day she was fine. The kids all liked seeing her, she was happy to let them hold her.”

“That's good, I'm glad.” Sometimes you worry that she doesn't get enough socialisation for a baby of her age. You and Bradley don't have any family around, and outside of a few teacher friends from the school, it's largely just the three of you. You're glad she's been able to be around some kids, see some new people.

“You get some sleep?”

“I think I was asleep before the door had fully closed,” You murmur, fighting back a yawn.

“Well, I reckon we've got about an hour before she surfaces again - we could sleep, or we could…?” He trails off, eyebrow raised expectantly.

“How about, you make it really quick, and then we sleep afterwards.” As much good as the sleep today did you, it hasn't managed to undo the months of tiredness. “And you need to get a condom. I'm not doing this again for a long time. We can talk once she starts school.”

He laughs, and nods. “Got it. No more babies.”

Florence, as if sensing your need for rest, stays asleep for another two hours. It's the first time in a long while that all three of you have been asleep at the same time.

taglist - @cherrycola27 @gretagerwigsmuse @withahappyrefrain @seitmai @impossibleblizzardstudentposts @translatemunson @anniearmitage @shamelessghostwagonwobbler

[ittybxttykxttytxtty]

Maisie.....you absolute legend.

you've got the love (a professor bradshaw drabble)

bradley's convinced you're having a girl - you're less sure // masterlist

“How’re my girls doing?” Bradley asks, hand immediately dropping to your barely-there bump as he presses a kiss to your hairline.

“We’re fine - a little queasy during classics, but on the whole much better than last month,” You hum, smile wide as you look up at him. He’s so pretty. Sometimes you can’t believe how lucky you are to have him like this. Every morning, waking up with his arms wrapped round you, stealing all of his heat in the cold Vermont winters. “But my money’s still on boy.”

“Oh, she’s a girl,” Bradley scoffs, leading you through the corridors down to the cafeteria.

“Yeah? And did she tell you that herself?”

“She did actually. I had a dream about little Florence Bradshaw. I hate to break it to you, but she’s a total daddy’s girl already. You might have better luck with the next one.”

“The next one?” You raise an eyebrow. “How about we get through this one first?”

You’re not even sixteen weeks yet. Plus you decided to leave the gender a surprise, although Bradley's already having doubts about that decision. Five months is ages away.

Everything aside, it's altogether too soon to be talking about baby number two. Your sister had two within a year of each other and was miserable until they started school. You'd rather wait a few years, enjoy being a family of three.

“Well, we decided on a Florence and a Henry. Or an Ophelia, if we go two-for-two on the girls.”

“We might not even be one-for-one on the girls!”

“You want to bet on it?" Bradley flashes you a grin, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. He's nothing if not competitive. "Make things interesting? How about, if Florence is a girl, which she is, then I get to choose her middle name, with no vetoes. If she's a boy, which she isn't, you can choose the middle name.”

Truthfully, you're not convinced one way or another what gender the baby is. As long as they're healthy, you don't mind. And you know Bradley will love whoever they turn out to be with his entire heart.

But part of you hopes he gets his girl. He grew up with just his mom, you know he's got female cousins, and he's admitted himself that he'd know what to do with a daughter more than a son.

Bradley Bradshaw, the father to a little baby girl. If someone had told you when you first started that he was going to turn out to be the love of your life, your husband and the father of your child, you'd have laughed and said that there was no way he would look twice at you. He was so out of your league, with his soft brown eyes that crinkled every time he laughed and the way he was totally and utterly gone for all of his students. He cared so much for everybody, and you considered yourself lucky that he showed that side of himself to you.

Five years on, three years married, you're happier than you've ever been in your life. Bradley's never once wavered, never given you any reason to doubt him, and you find yourself falling more and more in love with him every day.

He's a wonderful husband, and you know he'll be the best father. To Florence or Henry.

Of course, he's a little smug when Florence is born five months later - it's only after you've sufficiently recovered, after he's told you a hundred times how strong and incredible you are for bringing her into the world, that he throws the 'I told you she was a girl' in your direction. The way your daughter settles for him within minutes every time she fusses, you figure he might be right about the daddy's girl thing too.

"So? What's her middle name?" You ask, gently stroking her cheek as she sleeps in your arms. "I swear to god if it's stupid-"

"Maisie," He says immediately, and you smile. Maisie Ellis, one of Bradley's former pupils, was the entire reason the two of you were together. It had taken copious meddling and some well-placed mistletoe, but when she'd come to your wedding a couple of years ago she'd made a joke about naming your first child after her. She was living in New York now, a pretty successful writer. Bradley bought all the magazines she was featured in.

You'd totally forgotten about her comment. It appears Bradley didn't.

"Florence Maisie Bradshaw," You murmur, eyes shining slightly.

"Not stupid."

"Very not stupid."

a/n - okay sooo this isn't the holdovers fic (later in the week i promise!!) but i did have this in my drafts and decided to finish it since i had a day off. tagging the people who were interested in the holdovers fic!

@sparkles121127 @anniearmitage @withahappyrefrain @gretagerwigsmuse @impossibleblizzardstudentposts @need-4-speeed @oreio444 @rascallyrascals @bobby-r2d2-floyd @moofilms @shamelessghostwagonwobbler @translatemunson @mini-bee-bee @emmaridleyyyy @seitmai @startrekfangirl2233-writes

[ittybxttykxttytxtty]

“Well, my mom and dad passed away when I was younger, so I don’t really have that much family. My godfather lives in California, but he’s on holiday this year.”

..... Anyways, here's wonderwall.

holding over (a bradley bradshaw x reader professor au)

Navigating relationships in your thirties is hard enough at the best of times. And Bradley really, really wants to make this one work. But with three kids depending on him over the holidays, taking you out on a proper date has to take a backseat. That's not going to stop him from trying to make your first Christmas together special in other ways.

warnings: nothing! but this blog is 18+

professor bradshaw masterlist

Bradley stares at the group of students before him. Caleb Rogers, Lena Schemmenti, and Becca Martin. He knows Caleb and Becca well - Caleb is in his senior class, while Becca’s in his new freshman group. He’s not familiar with Lena, the youngest - she’s only just turned eight, and is still in junior school.

Bradley doesn’t understand how anyone could leave a child of any age alone on Christmas, let alone one so young. He can’t imagine having a daughter and not wanting to spend every possible second with her.

The school is already basically shut down for winter, leaving just one dormitory, the dining hall, and the kitchens with power. He’d moved his things into the teachers’ quarter yesterday, where the live-in tutors stayed. The tiny apartment makes him eternally grateful for his house down the road.

“So, uh, what do we do now?” Caleb asks.

An excellent question. “Well… everyone should probably get unpacked, and then we can have dinner? And then I have Monopoly for afterwards.”

Caleb and Becca look less than thrilled at that prospect, but Lena looks ecstatic, so that’s enough for him. He receives a few nods, and everyone clears out.

“Mr Bradshaw?” Lena asks, wringing her hands together as she stands in the doorway of her room.

“Yeah?”

“Why aren’t you with your family for Christmas?”

Oh. Going straight in for the hard-hitters on day one. “Well, my mom and dad passed away when I was younger, so I don’t really have that much family. My godfather lives in California, but he’s on holiday this year.” Not that he’s upset. He loves Maverick, but he’s spent every Christmas since he was eighteen with him. This year, he has you on his mind.

“My mommy’s on holiday too. Jamaica.”

“Well, why don’t we think of this like a holiday? You’re in a different dorm, you get to stay with some of the big kids, and we’ll make it as fun as possible, alright?”

She nods, offering him a toothy smile before disappearing into her bedroom.

***

When the doorbell goes just after seven, Bradley practically leaps out of his seat. You’d told him you’d stop by at some point, and he’d been beginning to think you’d forgotten. Or maybe you just didn’t want to.

He’s so glad you’re here. He’s pretty sure the kids are sick of him already.

He opens the door, and is greeted with an armful of boxes. Somewhere behind the pile, you stand, desperately trying to keep it all balanced.

“What’s all this?” Bradley asks, immediately starting to offload the boxes into his own arms.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” You breeze, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. “I wanted to make dessert, and then I burned the cake, and then I had to start again, and then it got so late I had to suck it up and go to the store-”

“You didn’t have to do any of that,” Bradley insists, leading you to the kitchen to put the boxes out on the counter.

“I wanted to. I feel so bad, none of them spending Christmas with their families.”

“You’re not spending Christmas with your family,” He points out.

“Yeah, but I have you.” You’re so simple and upfront about it that it makes his chest ache. “Gotta count for something, right?”

“Not very much,” He replies, and you laugh.

“You’re selling yourself short, Bradshaw. Now, I was promised some kids and a game of Monopoly.”

***

“If anyone needs anything you know where to find me!” Bradley calls, as he clicks the overhead lights off.

You stand at the end of the hall, leaning against the door to the kitchen as you watch on.

“You sound like their dad,” You grin, reaching out to draw him in by the collar of his shirt.

“Thank you for tonight,” He murmurs, resting his hands on your waist as he guides you towards his suite. “They like having you around, I think.”

“They’re good kids. I like being around.”

“Just the kids? Nothing else?” Bradley quirks an eyebrow, spinning you round so you’re walking backwards. He walks you through the door, as you drape your arms across his shoulders.

“I suppose there might be this one history teacher that keeps me coming back.”

“Yeah? What’s he like?”

“Well, he’s really tall. Like, almost freakish. Bit of a nerd-” Bradley lets out a scoff, but doesn’t protest. “-but in a hot way. Secretly has the biggest soft spot for all of his kids, even though he’d deny it until he was blue in the face.”

“He sounds like a real catch.”

“He is, but I wouldn’t want it to go to his head, you know? Can’t let him know all my secrets too soon - got to keep him wanting more.”

There’s no danger of that. Bradley wants more. He wants as much as you’re willing to give him. Instead of replying, he dips his head and kisses you softly. You sigh into it, hands cupping his cheeks.

He deepens it, arm pulling you closer as the other tangles in your hair. It lasts for a few more seconds before he pulls back, resting his forehead against yours.

“It’s not that I don’t want to-”

“I know-”

“Because I really like you. I just don’t want the first time to be… like this. Here. And one of the kids might need me-”

“It’s okay, Bradley,” You smile, leaning into his touch slightly. “I’d be more concerned if you were up for sex right now. It’ll happen when it happens.”

“I promise I’ll make it up to you-”

“You’re very sweet. Truly. But I don't want to traumatise the children any more than you do.”

“I have a VHS of It's A Wonderful Life? If you wanted to stay for a bit.”

please stay

“Yeah,” You murmur, brushing your lips along his jaw softly. “That sounds nice.”

It takes all the willpower in the world but eventually the two of you separate, and Bradley gets the TV set up as you make hot chocolate. Soon, you're pressed up against his side, head resting on his shoulder as the movie starts.

Before long you're sniffling, and Bradley glances over amused.

“What?”

“This isn’t even the bit people cry at!”

“Oh, so now I’m only allowed to cry at the bits other people cry at?” You raise an eyebrow, and Bradley laughs.

“I’m just surprised. Thought you’d be tougher than that.”

***

“I should really get going,” You finally whisper as the credits roll, hand reaching out to turn Bradley’s face towards you. His eyes are soft, warm and inviting, and if it weren’t for the group of kids along the hall, you’re not sure anything would be able to convince you to leave him. As it stands, you aren’t up for starting rumours about you and Professor Bradshaw before next semester even begins. They’ll come soon enough. No need to add fuel to the fire.

“It’s dark out,” Bradley frowns. Shit. He should’ve thought of that. He can’t leave the kids to walk you home, but the idea of you walking home by yourself doesn’t appeal to him either. He wonders briefly if you could just stay over, and try to convince the children you’re an early riser and arrived before they woke up. “Maybe I could wake Caleb up, he’s seventeen so-”

“Bradley,” You cut him off, biting back a laugh as you lean in to kiss him. “It’s a five minute walk. I’ll be okay. You can practically see my house from here. Let the kids sleep.” You stand, and stretch, before gathering your things. Bradley stands too, wringing his hands slightly as he watches on.

“You’ll call me when you get home? Let me know you got back safe?” He asks, and you’re very glad to be facing away from him, so that he can’t see the heat rising to your cheeks. It’s dizzying. You haven’t even been out on an official date yet, and he’s already outdoing your ex-boyfriend.

“Yes, Bradley. I will call you in five minutes, because it’s the shortest walk in the world.”

He ignores the sarcasm. “Good. Because if you don’t, I’m waking the kids up and we’re all coming to check.”

“I'd like to laugh, but I fully believe you'd do it.”

“And you’re coming back tomorrow?” If it was anyone else, Bradley would be embarrassed at this kind of display so early on. But he really, really likes you, and the idea of you spending the Christmas holidays alone bothers him more than it should.

“Only if you’re not sick of me yet.”

“I could never get sick of you.” He doesn’t mean to say that. Not really. He’s thought it, thought things far more serious than that, things that he’s sure would make you run for the hills, but he hasn’t verbalised any of them.

When your smile widens, he breathes a sigh of relief. “Don’t speak too soon, Bradshaw. We’ve still got three more weeks of this.”

***

You're so engrossed in your game of chess with Becca that you don't even realise the flurry of snow beginning.

It's only four, and there's at least a foot already, with no signs of stopping. You suppose you should've expected it - it's only a few days until Christmas.

“Maybe if I cut across to the gym? Go the long way round?” You muse, frowning out at the grounds, now under at least a foot of snow. With the board games and then dinner in the dining hall, none of you had even realised just how bad the snow had gotten.

Bradley shakes his head. “The path’s on a slope, if there’s any ice it’ll be lethal.”

“I’m sure it would be fine if I go now-”

“You should just stay here,” Lena says solemnly, reaching out to take your hand. You squeeze it lightly, smiling down at her.

Before you can reply, Bradley interjects. “Maybe you should. If you go home now, you might get snowed in there. At least here you’ve got company. And we’ve got a back-up generator.”

“You could stay in my room!”

“That’s very sweet, Lena, but I’m not sure we’d both fit in the bed. I can stay in one of the spare rooms.”

Seemingly appeased, she turns on her heel and heads back down the hall.

“About that,” Bradley begins, shutting the doors behind you. “They only power the rooms that we tell them we’ll be using. So, the kid’s rooms… and mine.”

You sigh. “Of course they do.”

“I could take the couch in the lounge-”

“Don’t be ridiculous-”

“Guys,” A voice interjects from behind you. You both whip round to see Caleb standing there, looking less than impressed. “Just share the room. You’re not exactly subtle.”

Bradley’s first instinct is to argue, yours is to flush. But before either of you can form a sentence, Caleb holds his hand up. “Just please don’t have sex. The walls here are thin.”

“Caleb!” Bradley warns, but the teenager just laughs.

“What? I see the way you look at each other. It’s kind of disgusting.”

“We won't be having sex,” You begin, before Bradley starts spluttering. “What?” You say, when his eyes widen. “Don't tell me you're one of those guys who doesn't believe in talking about sex.”

“I don't believe in talking about sex with students-”

“I was just clearing the air!”

Caleb rolls his eyes, ready to interrupt again. “Can we please stop talking about this?”

“Right. Yeah, of course,” You murmur, heat rising to your cheeks. “Let's just forget this ever happened, okay?”

Nods from everyone, and you split off in different directions. Caleb to his room, Bradley to his, and you to the kitchen.

***

“These look absolutely ridiculous,” You grumble, emerging from the bathroom in a pair of plaid pyjamas that tent you entirely. Normally, you’d settle for just a t-shirt, but even with the heating, it’s still freezing in the dormitories.

“I think you make it work,” Bradley replies, desperately trying to hold back a laugh as he glances up from his book.

“I think you’re a liar.” You grab your own book - or, more accurately, Bradley’s book that you're borrowing - and settle down beside him. You keep a slight distance - acutely aware that you’re both in your place of work and responsible for the five kids down the corridor. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined our first night in bed together.”

“No, me neither,” Bradley throws a glance in your direction. “I was thinking candles, a record playing, and way less clothes.”

“You're telling me the plaid doesn't turn you on?”

“I think it's in the best interest of both of our jobs if I don't answer that.” Truthfully, he does think it's hot. You in his clothes? Even if they are his ugliest pyjamas, and you're only wearing them because they're also the smallest, he can't say he hasn't been thinking about it. Thinking about when he can have you in his own home, far away from children and teenagers.

January feels so far away.

You read until you find your eyes drooping, the exercise from earlier finally catching up with you.

“You want to go to sleep?” Bradley asks, laying his book down.

“Please,” You nod, yawning.

He nods, and reaches over the flip the switch, plunging the room into darkness. The two of you lie in silence, unsure of what to say. This… thing, whatever it may be, is still in its absolute earliest stages. And if it doesn’t work out, it has the potential to screw up the best job you’ve ever had.

“Are we dating?” You finally ask, eyes fixed on the ceiling as you shiver slightly. You don’t want to see his expression, in case you’ve read everything wrong.

“Uh, I was working under the assumption that we were. Unless of course you have a problem with that-”

“No, god no-”

“Because I’m happy with anything you want to do-”

“I haven’t seen anyone else since before the Christmas party.”

“No, me neither.” It’s been far longer than that for him, but that’s beside the point.

“I actually kind of haven’t been on a date in a year,” You admit, and Bradley snorts.

“Try two.”

“No way have you not been out on a date in two years,” You scoff. “I saw three teachers hit on you in my first week.”

“It’s all surface level,” Bradley dismisses. “They don’t mean anything by it.”

That's not strictly true. There were teachers in your department who’d spent many a breaktime theorising about Bradley’s love life, and if they thought they had a chance with him. A few days before the Christmas break, you’d been tempted to chime in.

“Actually the moustache doesn’t scratch. It’s quite soft.”

Maybe next semester. Once people started to clock on to you both.

“You’d be surprised.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You can hear the amusement in his voice.

“Bradley. You know how you look.”

“I actually don't. I'd really like you to tell me.” Okay, now he's definitely grinning.

“That feels like a date two or three conversation.”

The silence falls again, this time far more comfortable.

“You’re cold,” Bradley murmurs, after one too many shivers.

“I’m fine,” You insist, tucking your hands into your armpits, as Bradley rolls his eyes.

“Come here.” He doesn’t give you time to protest, instead wrapping an arm around your waist and drawing you to him. His chest is pressed to your back, the solid plane of his muscles reminding you what he so often hides behind shirts and wool jumpers. “Is this okay?”

“It’s okay,” You breathe, lacing your fingers through his. He’s radiating warmth.

“I'm glad you're here. Don't like the idea of you being home alone in this weather.”

“You’re a very sweet man, Bradley Bradshaw. Despite everything I've heard to the contrary.”

“It’s only for you, honey.”

“I don’t believe that for a second. Deep down you're a big softie.”

***

The next morning, the first thing you register is the solid weight on top of you. Somehow, over the course of the night, Bradley's managed to manoeuvre himself entirely on top of you. His head is resting on your chest, the tiniest patch of drool staining your - no, his - pyjamas. His leg is splayed across you, meaning you bear the weight of his entire torso.

It's not the most comfortable position in the world, but he also looks so peaceful. So you suck it up, and gently massage his scalp with your fingers, smiling when he lets out a soft groan. He adjusts in his sleep, managing to put even more weight on top of you, and you wince slightly.

But oh you're so far gone for him.

So far gone for his warm brown eyes, how they light up whenever he's talking about history. So far gone for the way he stays late every night tutoring the kids that need it. So far gone because he's drooled on you before he's taken you out on a date, and you've still never been more infatuated with someone.

Eventually he starts to stir, eyes fluttering open. “Hey,” He rasps, before realising where he is. “Shit,” He murmurs, rolling off immediately. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No,” You laugh. “Drooled on me a little, but I can forgive that.”

“Oh god,” He groans. “That’s so embarrassing.”

“It’s sweet!” You protest. “You’re sweet.”

“You keep saying that, but I’m not believing it.”

***

You clock Lena's sniffling far before Bradley does. She’s looking down at her dinner, lip wobbling dangerously as everyone chats round her. You’re on your feet straight away, a gentle hand on her shoulder as you lead her out to the hallway.

“What’s wrong, sweet girl?” You murmur, crouching down to her level. Bradley excuses himself and follows, shutting the dining room door behind him.

“I-I miss my mommy,” She whimpers, tears spilling over.

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry,” You murmur, pulling her in for a hug. “I know it’s hard being without her at Christmas. Have you called her recently?”

She shakes her head. “She said it’s too expensive.”

“Well, because it’s Christmas, why don’t we give her a little call? I can pay it for you. Do you want to do that?” You glance up at Bradley, eyes worried.

“I’m sure she misses you very much,” Bradley adds, getting down on her level.

Lena nods, clearly unconvinced.

“How about we go give her a call now, and then we can call her tomorrow too? Wish her a Merry Christmas?”

“Alright.”

“Okay then, sweetheart. You can come with me to the phone, and Mr Bradshaw will keep the other two away, give you some privacy.”

***

Christmas morning goes far better than Bradley could have ever imagined. You turn up at 7am on the dot, with an armful of presents to match the ones he bought the week before term ended. When the kids get up, they may not have their parents, but they have a few gifts to open. Sure, most of them end up being books, but it’s the thought that counts.

You spend the afternoon playing board games, tucked into Bradley’s side as Becca destroys everyone at Cluedo time and time again.

Lena has a little sniffle at dinnertime, but it’s promptly squashed by Bradley piggybacking her round the gym - your heart swells as her giggles echo round the halls.

Finally, they’re all in bed, and you and Bradley have the place to yourselves. He takes your hand, pulling you towards his living room.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” You insist, as you head down the hallway towards his apartment. You’d given him an annotated copy of The Great Gatsby, a book he’d mentioned he wanted to read again. You loved it and taught it almost every year, so you figured he might like a new copy, with some extra thoughts.

“You got me something!” He guides you inside, and produces a very well-wrapped parcel.

“Thank you,” You murmur, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. You gently pull at the paper, carefully to avoid tears. Inside, sits the prettiest book you've ever seen. A folio society copy of The Odyssey - the book you're teaching the seniors after Christmas. You’d told him your plans to teach it right back when the two of you first became friends. You don’t think you’ve mentioned it since.

“Oh Bradley,” You breathe, stroking the spine gently. “It’s beautiful. But it's too much. Where did you even find this?”

“Doesn't matter.” Hours of calling round all the bookstores he knew.

“I love it. Really,” You whisper sincerely, reaching an arm out to hug him. I love you.

He kisses the top of your head. “Not the first Christmas I had in mind, but I think we did a pretty good job.”

“Yeah. I think we can top it next year though.”

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[ittybxttykxttytxtty]

You just know Maisie's senses were tingling, she knows. 😅

This is far too cute!!!!!!

like real people do - part two.

(bradley bradshaw x reader professor!au)

synopsis: you and bradley have become friends, but his senior class are convinced there's something more to it. so they decide to take matters into their own hands

warnings: female reader, shorter than bradley and described as having hair, other than that nothing! just fluff

part one

You and Professor Bradshaw were in love. Maisie was sure of it. Knew it deep in her bones. She just wasn't sure either of you knew it yet. A smart girl, she'd get into whatever college she wanted. Her senior year was for relaxing, revelling in the hard work of her past self. So naturally she turned her energy over to match-making.

The other seniors were more than happy to help out, if only for the sense of camaraderie. Not since the great snow drift of two years ago has a year-group been so united.

The two of you had taken to eating lunch together every day, although being much more coy about your seating choices - opting for a booth in the corner where students were unable to overhear. It didn't stop them from trying though. At least five times every period, a senior would wander over, either asking questions you were positive they already knew the answer to, or just stopping by for a chat.

In all honesty, you assumed the girls had a crush on Bradley. It had to be a fairly common occurrence, hundreds of teenagers with little contact with the outside world. You thought it was sweet, unable to believe Bradley's reputation of being short-tempered and prickly. He seemed to have such a genuine affection for these kids, even if it was hidden under some grumpiness. There were far worse people to be infatuated with.

"Oh my god, it was the worst experience of my life," You laugh one lunch, two months into term, as you reach out and grab a fry from Bradley's plate. "Thoroughly squashed any acting ambitions, I'll tell you that."

"It can't have been that bad," Bradley insists. "I'm sure you made an excellent Blanche."

"I was seventeen, still had braces, and was covered in acne," You deadpan.

"You can interpret that character in lots of different ways!" Bradley tries to reason, and you let out a snort.

"Not that way-"

"I think there's really something to be said for a seventeen year old Blanche. Some commentary on how society treats women or something. Like..." He pauses to think for a second. "You being seventeen reflects how Blanche feels on the inside, young and alone."

"I appreciate the effort you're putting in here, but it's okay to admit I was miscast," You grin.

Before he can respond, Maisie Ellis appears at the table, looking at you both expectantly.

"You play piano, right?" She asks, directed at Bradley.

"Uh, yeah? Why?"

"And you play guitar?" This time to you.

"In college, not for a while-"

"Great! We need you both to be in the band for Carrie."

She's about to walk off, but Bradley stops her, confusion etched onto his face. "Maisie! What? I didn't even know you guys were doing Carrie."

"It's our winter musical," She replies. "And Principal Simpson said we have to do the music ourselves."

"Why aren't you asking the music teachers?" You ask.

"We have. Mr Floyd's playing bass, and Mr Machado's playing drums. But no one's free for guitar or piano."

"I don't know about this-" "Maisie, I haven't played guitar in a long time-"

"Please? Please please please?" She begs, eyes boring deep into your soul. "They said they'll cancel the whole show if we can't sort it out. And I'm Sue! That's such a good part!"

You glance at Bradley, who just shrugs and sighs, "Alright, we'll do it."

"Thank you thank you thank you!" She squeals. "Rehearsals start next week. In the theatre, Monday after class!"

With that, she's gone. "Looks like I need to get my guitar out," You murmur.

"If you wanted to get back into acting, maybe they'd let you play Carrie's mom. You know, if you're still into age inappropriate roles-"

"Shut up," You groan, as Bradley just laughs.

***

Against all the odds, Carrie is a resounding success. It's not as difficult as you thought it would be to pick the guitar back up, and you get on well with Bob and Javy, two of the music teachers.

It's closing night, and you're waiting for Bradley to arrive with the flowers. Thirty bouquets, to be exact. One for every cast member, ensemble and main. It had been Bradley's idea, but it had taken a lot of organising to get that many flowers so last minute.

The cast are still backstage, coming down from their high, when you and Bradley begin to shuttle them in. Maisie, as ever, is the first to notice.

"You guys got us flowers?" She exclaims, before rushing over to help.

"Just a little well done, for the musical-" You explain, as you and Bradley are crowded by students. Within minutes, the flowers are handed out, and thank-yous exchanged.

"You can both play for Phantom in April too!" One senior shouts, and everyone else nods in agreement.

Bradley's first instinct is to protest, but then he catches your eyes, and feels his smile grow. "Yeah, okay. Only because it's your last show."

"Are you both coming to the Christmas party next week?"

Bradley hadn't been planning on it. He was already spending the holidays here, he wasn't too thrilled about the idea of giving up yet another evening. But when he sees you nod, his own body betrays him, and he finds himself nodding too.

***

You should've known that something was up when Caleb insisted that Professor Bradshaw needed help at the annual Christmas party. You follow him into the school's ballroom, coincidentally at the same time Daisy Adams is trying to leave it. Wires are crossed, shoulders are bumped, and you find yourself reaching out for something, anything, to keep you upright. Anything happens to come in the form of Bradley's bicep, as he stands talking to another senior. Turning at the last possible second, his hands find a place on your hips as he keeps you on your feet.

"I am so sorry," You begin to apologise profusely, voice trailing off slightly as you stand back up again. His hands are still on your waist, while you continue to grip his forearms. "Hi," You murmur. He looks good. Really good. His curls are out, one hanging down over his eye slightly. God, he looks like Clark Kent.

"Hey," He replies, eyes softening. He's about to speak again when Maisie interrupts, pointing above both your heads.

"Mistletoe!" She exclaims, grinning as the other seniors begin to take note. And she's right. Conveniently, hanging right above you and Bradley, is a considerable amount of mistletoe.

You and Bradley release each other, trying not to meet his gaze as the heat rises to your cheeks.

"Come on guys," You implore, giving them as stern a look as you can muster after three glasses of champagne.

"You have to do it! It's tradition!" Maisie protests. "And it's five years bad luck if you don't-"

"I really don't think that's true," You reply, raising an eyebrow.

"I mean," Bradley begins. "Five years is a long time."

You're surprised he's humouring them. But when you turn back to him, and see the earnest expression in his eyes, you have to fight to stay upright for a totally different reason.

"They'll keep bothering us until we do it," He reasons, voice quiet. "Unless you don't want me to-"

"No!" Your voice comes out far too quickly, and you mentally kick yourself. "No, it's fine. You're right."

Bradley smiles again, and leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. You're sure you're imagining it, but he lingers ever so slightly, moustache tickling before he moves away. "Alright you guys, scram," He turns back to the students. A few start to protest about the location of the kiss, but he holds a hand up. "Anyone still in this room in ten seconds has to write me a paper on Victorian era England over Christmas break."

As expected, they clear out pretty quickly, leaving just you, Bradley, and some of the younger kids milling about.

"What is up with them?" You ask, gaze following the retreating students. "This isn't what they're usually like, right?"

"No, this is new." His eyes trail down your dress while you're distracted, deep red with little bows at the straps. "You look really nice."

"Oh, thank you - it's nice to be able to feel like a human for once."

"I know that feeling," Bradley nods. "You want more champagne?"

"Yes please," You nod. "What are your plans for Christmas?"

"I'm holding over this year," He replies. "Staying with the kids who can't go home, for whatever reason."

"That's really sweet, Bradley. I'm sure they all appreciate it."

"I don't really mind. My parents have both passed, so it's not like I've got loads of family to go to."

The nonchalance in his tone makes your heart hurt. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know."

"It's alright. It was a long time ago now." His gaze wanders, for a moment, before he's looking back at you. "What about you?"

"Nothing, really. My parents are visiting my sister, but it just wasn't in the budget for me this year."

"You'll be here?" You nod, and he continues. "Well, you're welcome around anytime. I can't promise how good the company will be, given it's currently me and five students, but the offer stands. I'll be making Christmas dinner if that sways you in any way."

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to impose-"

"Trust me, you wouldn't - besides, it would be nice to have someone over the age of sixteen around."

You think for a second. "That would be really lovely."

***

The hours pass, and you feel your limbs beginning to ache. It had been a long day, teaching before rushing home to get ready, taking just a little bit extra care than usual.

"I think I'm gonna head home," You finally murmur into Bradley's ear. "I have a 9am with freshmen tomorrow."

You turn to go, but feel his arm on yours. "Wait! It's dark out. You live on Maple right? I'll walk you, it's on my way."

"You really don't have to-" You begin, but Bradley's already moving towards the coat rack. Truthfully, Bradley's social battery hit zero about an hour ago, but he was determined to stick the night out.

He grabs his own, before frowning. "You didn't bring a coat?"

Your smile is slightly guilty. "Forgot." And it's true. A jacket had not been your top priority when your lipstick was too bright, your eyeliner wasn't even, and your hair wouldn't curl properly. Really, it was a miracle you were here at all.

"It's thirty-five degrees!"

"Guess we better walk quick then?"

***

Despite your protests, his coat is immediately draped over your shoulders as the two of you step out into the lane leading to Elderwood's local village. You glance back up at the school, eyes widening when they land on one of the dormitory windows, packed to the brim with seniors.

"Uh, I don't want to freak you out, but it appears we have an audience," You say, pulling Bradley's coat slightly tighter around your shoulders.

"It's kind of sweet, how much they like you already," Bradley says, tossing a look back towards the window, fighting a smile when the seniors disperse immediately.

"Me? No, it's absolutely you."

"I've been here for seven years, if it was me this would've happened years ago."

The two of you continue walking, out of sight of the school. The street is lightly covered in snow, something the kids had been very excited about this morning. "I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit here. I'd put money on you having at least a few admirers."

Bradley's breath catches in his throat, and he lets out an almost-cough, almost-laugh. "Admirers?"

"Come on, Bradley. You're a young guy, working in a boarding school, and I mean, you look like that-" Your voice cuts off. Why the hell did you just say that? "Sorry, that was way out of line-"

"It's fine." His voice is soft, almost impossibly so, and you realise he's stopped walking. You turn around, as he points upwards. "It's snowing again."

The corner of your mouth ticks up. He's right. It's already beginning to sit in his curls, flecking with whites and greys. His head tilted up to the sky, eyes closed, you've never seen anyone more beautiful. When he looks back at you, his moustache is dusted with snow.

On instinct, you step forward, and bring your thumb up to his face, to brush the snow away. You go to move your hand away, but his own comes up and stops you, keeping your hand pressed against his cheek. He leans into the touch slightly, eyes closing again.

"Your moustache was snowy," You whisper.

"Did it look really stupid?"

"Only a little," You laugh, and then suddenly his lips are pressed to yours, and your free hand is tangling in his shirt, his hands circling your waist. He lets out a sigh into the kiss, tongue tracing the seam of your mouth. It's like he's able to anticipate every move you're going to make, always one step ahead. It's tender, until it's not, Bradley's coat dropping to the ground as he pulls you in closer.

Finally, he pulls back, forehead resting against yours as he breathes heavily. "That's what I wanted to do under the mistletoe."

You're beaming. In any other circumstances you'd feel silly - it was only a first kiss, after all. A good one, but ultimately, just a kiss. But something deep in your gut tells you that this may have been your last first.

a/n - thank you so much for reading!! please ignore the fact that it is now january and pretend it's still christmas pls and thanks. double fic day (sort of, i also posted a one by one character introduction)! i don't have any further plans for these two at the moment, but will take requests/asks.

[ittybxttykxttytxtty]

Hehehehhehe....

like real people do (bradley bradshaw x reader professor!au)

just a lil one-shot for the end of the year that i wrote ages ago and forgot about! currently undecided on if i'll be doing more in this universe, so i'll leave it as standalone for now

synopsis: usually strict and formidable, professor bradshaw seems to be softening, after a decade of teaching. his senior class have a theory that it has something to do with the pretty new english teacher down the hall.

warnings: female reader, shorter than bradley, other than that nothing! just fluff

It was well known amongst the students at Elderwood that Professor Bradshaw was tough. Not harsh, per se, but he had incredibly high standards, and held each and every student to them. Deadlines could not be extended, reading had to be done thoroughly, and only those with true determination were ever able to achieve the top grades in his classes.

His reputation far preceded him, and yet he was still one of the most popular teachers in the school. His history lessons were full of colour and intrigue, rarely sticking to the assigned course specifications. He taught what the students wanted, what they were interested in, and they loved him for it.

His current senior class had been with him since freshman year. They were well accustomed to his moods and whims, the last minute pop quizzes and essays assigned on random topics. Building a rapport had taken some time, and they were all planning on making the most of their final classes with him.

Professor Bradshaw was ultimately, predictable. If you were willing to work hard, you'd get by fine. One can only imagine the confusion faced by the class one September morning, when they'd been due to present their reports on a book of their choice that they'd read over summer. Yet, the lesson had begun like any other.

Only towards the end of the class, did anyone speak up. Everyone had been convinced that he was just building up to the reports.

"Sir?" Maisie Ellis began, raising her hand. "We were supposed to do our presentations this period?"

"Hm?" Bradley replied, absent-mindedly looking up from the stack of papers on his desk. "Oh. Right. I forgot. Take another week to polish them up, and we'll come back to it on Thursday the 1st."

If Bradley glanced up at that moment, he would be faced with a sea of slack jaws and wide eyes. Professor Bradshaw did not forget anything. Once in a previous year there had been a fire drill during his class, and he'd made them do their presentations outside in the freezing cold so as not to miss any learning time. He'd been known to write to students while they were on holiday, so as to remind them of re-sits and summer school dates.

"Maybe he's dying."

"Principal Simpson finally laid him off after years of not sticking to the curriculum-"

"I bet he got laid last night-"

"Ew! Don't be so gross-"

After much discussion over lunch, the students come to the conclusion that it must have been a fluke. Everyone forgets things sometimes, right? It doesn't have to mean anything.

Until they got their first paper of the year back, and not a single person failed. Professor Bradshaw liked to scare his class into working harder right at the beginning, and always failed at least a quarter. It had been that way for years. Never before in Elderwood's history had the full class passed the first paper of the year. And they checked diligently, reaching out to all of Bradley's former pupils that they could find. It was an anomaly.

Elderwood, a small boarding school in the middle of nowhere. What could possibly be more interesting to a bunch of bored seniors than trying to work out the reason for Professor Bradshaw's sudden change in behaviour?

Maisie's the first one to begin to put the puzzle pieces together. It starts with the weekly assemblies. Usually not one to even attend, he's now present for every single one, sitting in the front row. Right next to the school's newest English teacher.

***

You're late to lunch. It hadn't been your fault. One of your students, Daisy had lost a necklace that was very sentimental to her, so the two of you had spent half an hour on your hands and knees in the class looking for it, only to eventually find it tucked into her notebook. Unfortunately for you, the school cafeteria only serves food for the first half hour of the break. Try as you might, sprinting across campus, you don't quite make it in time.

"Shit," You curse under your breath, watching as the shutters close with a bang. Well, no lunch for you today.

"Y/N?"

You spin round at the voice, eyes landing on Bradley Bradshaw, the history professor whose class was two doors down from yours. He was the head of the department, and far more attractive than he had any right to be. You'd managed to minimise your interactions with him thus far, for fear of totally embarrassing yourself. "Bradley! Hi."

"I have an extra slice, if you want," He offers, holding up his plate. "It's just plain cheese, but it's better than nothing."

"Oh, no, I couldn't-"

"Please? It'll be going to waste otherwise." His gaze is intent, and even if you'd just eaten twelve pizzas in a row, you know you'd say yes, to appease him.

"Thanks," You smile gratefully, sliding into the booth across from him. "You're a life-saver. Daisy Adams lost a necklace, and it took us ages to find it."

Bradley pushes the plate to you, and grins. "I distinctly remember looking for at least two rings, a bracelet, and an earring for that girl in sophomore year. Jewellery just doesn't seem to agree with her."

You let out a laugh, and dig in to the pizza. "Good to know."

"You're uh, you're teaching Grapes of Wrath this year, right?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"It was in a memo at one point, I think," Bradley replies. Totally untrue. He'd asked one of his freshmen what book they were studying that semester, the day after he met you. "I've actually got a first edition of it at home."

"No way," You gasp. "That's insanely cool. Where'd you get it?"

"A secondhand bookstore in New York actually. The Lost Bookstore? It's just off seventh."

"I used to go there all the time!" You exclaim. "Small world. I lived there for a couple of years after I graduated."

"There's nothing like New York in winter," Bradley muses. "But uh, I could bring the book in, if you wanted to see it? Or you could come over one night, or whatever's easiest. Obviously I know you're really busy-"

"I'd love to. Really." You smile.

Little do either of you realise, that in the booth behind you both, Maisie Ellis and her best friend Clara are hanging onto every word being said.

***

"I'm telling you guys, he's into Professor L/N. He was like, falling over himself to flirt with her at lunch yesterday."

"But, she's so... nice. And he's him," Caleb Rogers replies. "Nah. I don't see it."

"When they get married you're all going to look so stupid," Maisie insists.

At Professor Bradshaw's entrance, the class falls silent. While he'd apparently mellowed in recent weeks, the seniors weren't exactly eager for him to overhear them gossiping about his personal life.

***

"Maisie, you do not have to get Professor Bradshaw," You insist, taking a few steps back from the blackboard. "It's just- it's just a spider. I can totally handle it."

The queasiness on your face says otherwise, and truthfully, Maisie wants it gone too. That thing is massive. Way bigger than the autumn ones normally are. You only had a couple of students for your Literature of the American South class, and it seemed that all of them were entirely incapable of spider-catching.

You fetch a cup from your cupboard, and stand by your desk, trying to foster some strength to deal with it.

"Don't worry about it! I'll just go grab him!" With that, Maisie's gone, before you can protest further. Great. That's just what you need. Bradley realising that you're utterly crippled by a spider.

"Sir?" Maisie asks, sticking her head into his empty classroom. He's sitting at his desk, presumably grading.

"Maisie? What's wrong?"

"Professor L/N needs help. Spider." Maisie's positive if she'd said any other teacher's name, that Bradley would've subjected her to significant grumbling before eventually getting up to help. Instead, he stands immediately, and follows her through to your room. Not a single word of protest. Interesting.

Inside, you're still standing a healthy distance from the board, having made exactly no progress from your starting position. You glance at him apologetically. "I told her I had it, but I really don't think I do."

Bradley laughs. "It's okay. I'm happy to help."

You hand the cup over gratefully, and take several more steps away from the spider, throwing Maisie a look. Within seconds, the intruder is caught, and deposited out the window.

"You made that look far easier than it felt," You reply, rubbing the back of your neck, well aware that the entire class's eyes were glued to the two of you. "Thank you."

"No problem," Bradley smiles, and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks. God, even your own body's working against you. "There are worse things to be than designated spider catcher."

He goes to move exactly as you go to step back to your desk, and the two of you end up standing right in each other's way, almost nose to nose. Well, it would be nose to nose if he wasn't so tall. More nose to chest.

"Sorry," You say, an awkward laugh escaping as the two of you try to sidestep each other, failing miserably.

"My fault," He insists, hand brushing your waist as he finally steps round. "Call me if you have any more unwanted visitors."

He throws you one last smile, before he's out in the corridor, and you take a seat back at your desk, trying desperately to remember what you were talking about pre-spider.

"Okay, maybe they are into each other," Caleb whispers, leaning over to Maisie's desk.

Maisie just grins. "Told you."

part two

a/n - thank you for reading!! i wrote this pre-executive decisions, and found it in my word today, so you can have it now that it's edited! i really love these two, so would be open to continuing it in future ig? unsure haha

[ittybxttykxttytxtty]

Everything about this is perfect. But this?

“Tell him you’ve been cooped up at sea and haven’t felt another human’s touch in months. Channel the eighties porn star you stole that moustache from. Ask him if he wants to find out why they call you Rooster. I don’t care what you do, just buy us enough time for her setting spray to dry!”

It altered me somehow.

When Bridesmaid Met Bradley

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x f!reader

Summary: Being your best friend’s maid of honour brings a lot into your life- bachelorette planning, dress fittings, and debt mainly- but, perhaps most importantly, it brings an unexpected partner-in-crime in the form of the best man, Bradley Bradshaw.

Warnings: Wedding day shenanigans, a homophobic relative who gets what she deserves, alcohol, swearing, brief reference to the current USA political climate

A/N: Strap in for a ride on the Rooster romcom rollercoaster!

You had only cried twice so far, which you thought was respectable for the morning of your childhood best friend’s wedding. You could even argue that the second cry didn’t count, considering that it had been provoked by overhearing the mother of the bride humming Slipping Through My Fingers by ABBA as she helped Katie into her wedding dress.

Anyone who didn’t well up at that didn’t have a heart.

Seeing the girl you’d known since the two of you were in nappies in her wedding dress, ready to marry her soulmate, was a bittersweet kind of happiness. Natasha was the perfect partner for Katie and you knew that they were going to have the happiest life together. There was just a tiny, bitter, niggling part of you that felt painfully aware of how your own love life was lacking in comparison.

The air in the bridal suite was thick with hairspray and excitement, and you resisted the urge to check just once more that the little flower girl definitely had her spare inhaler concealed in her basket. Careful in your heels, you joined Katie in front of the mirror, slipping your hand into hers and squeezing.

“You look so beautiful,” you told her, both of you smiling at each other in the mirror. A bride in white and a maid of honour in navy blue smiled back at you both, and for a moment you swore you saw the little girls playing dress-up that the two of you used to be.

“So do you,” she answered earnestly, “You’re my something blue.”

You groaned dramatically.

“You’re so lucky Natasha loves you even with your corny jokes.”

The two of you dissolved into giggles, interrupted only by an insistent knock at the door. Katie’s smile vanished as you both recognised the rhythm, her joy replaced by nerves in a second as Julian, the well-meaning but intense MC, stuck his head around the door.

“Let’s get this show on the road, ladies! The guests are waiting!”

You glared at him before he ducked out of the room again, seeing the telltale threat of emotional tears in Katie’s perfectly made-up eyes.

“Oh my god, I’m getting married,” she whispered, as though it was the first time she was realising it. There had been several of those moments that morning, each ending in tears that had been carefully dried, however this was the first one since Katie’s makeup had been done.

And the wedding was due to start in five minutes.

You could see her starting to spiral and knew that five minutes were not going to cut it. Thinking on the spot, you set off purposefully for the door.

“Where are you going?” Katie asked frantically as her mother held a tissue under her eyes and encouraged her to tip her head back.

“Buying you time.”

The room where Natasha and her half of the wedding party were getting ready was at the other end of the corridor from where you and Katie had set up camp. Knocking, you prayed that your plan would work.

The door swung open and you were greeted by a man who looked like a Ken doll in his Navy propaganda era. Tanned skin, blond hair, and a shockingly white grin- he was the kind of man you were annoyed at yourself for finding attractive because it was so obvious.

“Well, hello, Miss,” he drawled.

Yeah, he wouldn’t do for this.

“Could I borrow Bradley?” you asked hopefully.

You had only met Bradley Bradshaw, Natasha’s best man, twice- once at the engagement party, and last night at the rehearsal dinner. Handsome, confident, and extremely loyal to his friends, you hoped that he would be the best man for this task as well.

“Rooster! The maid of honour wants you!”

You rolled your eyes at the man in front of you’s wording, and a second later your jaw was dropping as Bradley stepped out into the hallway.

He was wearing the exact same dress whites as the blond bombshell that had answered the door, but they looked even better on him. His sun-kissed dark hair was perfectly tousled, his skin looking even more deliciously tanned against the crisp white of his uniform, and he filled out the shirt and trousers sinfully well.

“Everything okay?” he asked, leaning in the doorway in a way that had you fighting the instinct to swoon. Maybe if you swooned he would catch you in those arms-

“I need you,” you blurted out, and his eyebrows raised in surprise, “I mean, Katie needs you.”

Frowning, he pulled the door shut behind him so that no one inside the room would overhear your conversation. In doing so, he stepped closer to you and you forced yourself to look up from his chest.

“What’s going on?”

“Katie needs her makeup saved because she keeps crying- happy tears, by the way- and the MC keeps rushing us. I have a plan to buy us some time, but I need you to make it work,” you told him, “I can explain on the way?”

He hummed, straightening up.

“Lead the way.”

“Wait, why me?”

You sighed in frustration after explaining your plan around the corner from where the MC was close to pacing a hole in the foyer carpet.

“What part wasn’t clear?” you whispered harshly.

“Why can’t you flirt with him?” he asked, perplexed. You fixed him with an unamused look.

“Bradley, that is a gay man. I don’t think I’m his type.”

“But I don’t know how to flirt with a guy!” he protested, sounding genuinely ashamed of the gap in his expertise.

You rolled your eyes, the prospect of the hair stylist’s wrath the only thing keeping you from tearing your hair out. Settling instead for a calming inhale and exhale that would have made your therapist proud, you settled your hands on his shoulders and began to slowly back him towards the corner.

“Tell him you’ve been cooped up at sea and haven’t felt another human’s touch in months. Channel the eighties porn star you stole that moustache from. Ask him if he wants to find out why they call you Rooster. I don’t care what you do, just buy us enough time for her setting spray to dry!”

With that, you shoved him unceremoniously around the corner.

Barely a minute later, Bradley sidled back around the corner, looking dejected. You straightened up, staring at him in disbelief.

“Don’t tell me he’s straight.”

“Yeah, no, he’s definitely gay. At least, he was until I spoke to him. I may have put him off men for good.”

“Oh.” You rolled your lips together to try and suppress your laughter, but it was in vain. “Did you use the-”

“Yes, I used the Rooster line.”

“Well, you better hope Katie’s makeup is set, otherwise I’ll be sending you back for round two.”

Miraculously, Katie was ready to go in the time it took for Bradley to unsuccessfully flirt with Julian- who kept giving him sympathetic smiles as you all gathered outside the wedding hall. Natasha was ready and waiting inside the hall, and Katie’s excitement had finally dried her tears.

As you carefully arranged Katie’s train on the floor where she was positioned behind the bridesmaids and brides-boys (as you’d been reliably informed was the title of Natasha’s friends’ group chat), you overheard Bradley talking to Jack, Natasha’s nephew and the ring-bearer.

“If you wear your tie, I’ll take you up in my plane.”

“I’ve already been up in Aunt Tasha’s plane.”

Bradley shot you a helpless look, and you sighed and went to join him in crouching in front of the little boy.

“Jack, I will give you ten dollars if you keep your tie on until the end of the ceremony,” you offered.

Jack fiddled with the end of his tie as he pondered your offer.

“Hmm…twenty and it’s a deal.”

Your eyes widened and Bradley choked on air beside you.

“You’re seven years old, what do you need twenty dollars for?” you asked incredulously.

“Savings! My mom says you’re never too young to start building a healthy credit score.”

You felt as though you were close to also doubling as Katie’s something old as you tried to process the words you’d just heard come out of the same mouth you’d been trying to keep from eating the corsages just half an hour earlier.

“Building a healthy- oh my god, just take the twenty and keep your tie on.”

“Pleasure doing business with you!” Jack said chirpily.

You and Bradley left the little conman in order to take your positions at the head of the procession before the doors, Bradley offering you his arm gallantly. You had to remind yourself there was nothing but ceremony behind the gesture, and that it was inappropriate to squeeze his bicep in awe.

“That kid is either gonna be a supervillain or the President one day,” you commented, looking over your shoulder and watching bitterly as Jack folded your twenty into his pocket. Bradley snorted.

“You can be both these days. Just look at-”

“Don’t say his name, we have to try and look happy and hopeful for the photographer.”

“You’re right.” He took a deep breath and fixed a bright smile on his face. “The Democrats are gonna get back in and we’re all gonna be fine.”

You patted his chest sympathetically.

“That’s the spirit, big guy.”

The two of you stopped talking abruptly as Julian shushed you both with a glare, shepherding everyone into their positions and reminding each and every one of you to smile.

“I’ve served under Admirals less pushy than this guy,” Bradley murmured in your ear as the procession music started, and you just barely managed not to snort in amusement. His moustache twitched as he grinned at your reaction. “Oh, and here.”

You looked at him in confusion as the doors opened to the wedding hall; he was offering you a spare pocket square.

“What’s this for?”

“I have a hunch you’re a crier.”

You just had time to hide the pocket square in your bouquet before Julian was all but shoving the two of you to start walking down the aisle.

The ceremony passed in a blur, Natasha and Katie both absolute visions in their white dresses. True to his word- and your bribe- Jack kept his tie on throughout the whole affair and only yawned once.

You dabbed subtly at your eyes as Katie said her vows, mouthing a “thank you” at Bradley when he caught your eye and grinned. You blamed the butterflies that burst into flight in your belly at his answering wink on the champagne at breakfast.

It would have been easy to let your heart get carried away at being held in Bradley Bradshaw’s arms while a corny Ed Sheeran love song played. You could so easily have melted into his strong arms, gotten addicted to the feeling of his hands on your waist, but you reminded yourself firmly that it was tradition for the best man to dance with the maid of honour.

He was just following tradition.

It meant nothing.

“We made a pretty good team today.”

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t realise he had spoken at first, not until you felt him looking at you. You swallowed, trying not to dwell on how close together your faces were.

“We did.”

His thumb rubbed over your waist gently and you wished so badly that this wasn’t the end of being in each other’s lives. After today, you would see each other once a year if you were lucky, maybe with a few glimpses into each other’s lives on social media. It had you feeling like Cinderella at the ball.

Once your sparkly shoes came off at midnight, you’d lose your handsome prince.

“I was thinking-”

You didn’t get to find out what Bradley was thinking because Jack chose that moment to barrel into your legs and ask you to dance with him. For a second, you swore that you saw disappointment flashing across his face, but then he was smiling.

“Enjoy your dance,” he said, releasing your hand and heading off to the bar.

You watched him go, trying not to think too hard about what he had been about to say.

A couple of hours into the reception, you were sitting on a stone bench outside the venue, getting some air. The summer evening air was starting to cool and you welcomed the brief respite from the loud music and sticky warmth of the ballroom.

The sound of gravel crunching under feet had you looking up to see Bradley approaching with a glass of champagne in each hand.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

You shuffled over to make room for him, and he handed you one of the champagne flutes.

“Cheers.”

The silence between the two of you was comfortable- surprisingly comfortable, for how little you knew each other.

A gentle breeze blew and you rubbed your bare arm without thinking, feeling goosebumps appearing there.

“Are you cold?” Bradley asked in concern.

Before you could say a word, he was setting his glass down and shrugging out of his uniform jacket to drape it carefully around your shoulders. The heavy, starched material was warm from his body heat and the lingering scent of his aftershave had you tempted to bury your nose in the collar.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, your mouth suddenly dry despite the champagne.

His hands lingered for just a second longer than necessary, making sure that the jacket was secure on your shoulder.

“I don’t think I actually said earlier…you look beautiful.”

Your lips parted in surprise.

“You don’t scrub up too badly yourself.”

He chuckled at that.

“What were you going to say earlier?” you surprised yourself by asking him before you could chicken out, “Before-”

“Before our future President stole you away from me?”

You giggled at that.

“Yeah. Then.”

He turned slightly more to face you.

“I was gonna ask if maybe we could keep seeing each other after this? It’s been really fun, being your sidekick today.”

The giddiness you felt at that couldn’t be blamed on the champagne. You opened your mouth to tell him that you absolutely wanted that, but then you spotted an unfortunately familiar face in the distance over his shoulder.

“Oh fuck no.”

His eyes widened in alarm at the aggression in your tone.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise I was misinterpreting this-”

You scrambled to save the situation whilst keeping a careful eye on the person approaching the venue entrance, getting to your feet.

“No, no! We are absolutely coming back to this conversation and I plan on kissing the life out of you, but we have an emergency on our hands.”

He looked utterly bewildered, getting to his feet alongside you.

“You’re gonna kiss me? Wait, what’s the emergency?”

“Thoroughly, but stay focussed, Lieutenant. That-” You pointed to the storm cloud in heels approaching the venue entrance. “-is Katie’s Aunt Angela. The most homophobic bitch of a woman you’ve ever met.”

He whirled around to see who you were pointing at, frowning at the sight.

“I’m assuming she wasn’t invited?”

“No the fuck she wasn’t. Hold my drink.”

He took your glass as soon as you held it out to him.

“Okay- wait, where are you going?” he asked in confusion as you strode off like a woman on a mission towards the entrance.

“Angela!”

His eyes widened as you called out to the woman with unmistakeable anger, and he hastily set your drink down to jog after you before you could commit a crime…unassisted.

Five minutes later, you slid nonchalantly into the seat besides Katie where she was watching Natasha dance with her parents.

“Having fun?” you asked innocently.

She eyed you suspiciously and you continued to smile as though butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.

“I’m going to choose to ignore the fact that I just saw Bradley pass the window with what looked like my Aunt Angela over his shoulder.”

Your smile didn’t falter.

“I would appreciate that. I can’t answer questions about that without a lawyer present,” you told her primly.

She rolled her eyes with a grin.

“In that case, can I ask about what you currently have on your shoulders and how it looks very much like it was Navy-issued?” she asked, the smug look on her face telling you that she knew exactly who the jacket belonged to.

“…I want my lawyer.”

Most people had gone home or gone off to their rooms for the night, but you were still sat at one of the tables at the edge of the room, sipping from a glass of cool water. Your heels were abandoned on the empty chair beside you, and you watched fondly as Natasha and Katie swayed together on the otherwise empty dance floor, incandescently happy in their own little bubble.

“We have another emergency.”

You looked up in surprise to see Bradley standing behind you- you hadn’t seen him in hours. His jacket was now draped over the back of your chair.

“What’s wrong? Shit, is Angela back-”

“No, no, she’s not coming back. She’s too scared you’re gonna deck her- which, by the way, I was rooting for you.”

You rolled your eyes at him but couldn’t quite hide the amused twitch of your lips.

“Wait, so what’s the emergency?”

He slid into the seat not occupied by your shoes and looked at you seriously, facing you with his arm resting on the back of your chair.

“This really beautiful bridesmaid promised to, quote, kiss the life out of me earlier, and here I am, alive and un-kissed.”

You laughed in disbelief, your pulse not settling even as you realised there was no real emergency.

“That’s devastating.”

“Tragic, really,” he agreed, grinning at you.

“It’s verging on Shakespearean.”

He whistled lowly.

“I love it when you talk brainy to me.”

The surprised giggle you let out should have been embarrassing but the way he was grinning at you had you not caring at all.

“At ease, sailor.”

“It’s Lieutenant Commander, actually,” he corrected smoothly.

“That…should not be as attractive as I’m finding it right now.”

He grinned, shifting closer to you.

“It’s only fair. You’ve been walking around, all gorgeous and smart and funny, all day. I never stood a chance.”

“All’s fair in love and war,” you quipped, the breathiness of your own voice surprising you. You blamed the proximity, and his words, and his face.

He groaned at that and it took all of your willpower not to squeeze your thighs together.

“Again with the smartness? You’re killing me here, honey.”

Emboldened, you reached out to trace your finger along his jawline, feeling a little thrill at the way it slackened at such a light touch from you. His eyes kept flitting to your lips.

“You gonna kiss me about it, Lieutenant Commander?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He kissed like he danced, confidently, holding you close, as though you were something precious. One of his hands cupped your cheek, respectful of your hairstyle, and the other found your waist to bring you closer. His moustache was surprisingly soft against your upper lip, his lips plush and soft and so very giving against yours.

When he finally pulled away, you couldn’t resist chasing his lips for just one more taste; you could feel him smiling into that kiss.

“I knew it,” he whispered.

“What?” you asked in confusion, your mind made foggy by his kisses.

“Kissing you was worth the wait,” he said simply, as though it was obvious.

Oh, you were in trouble.

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I believe this whole heartedly with my full chest

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Inshallah he will be stirred into a fine fry

A delicious meal