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roosterforme · 3 months ago

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Mail Call | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After a long and illustrious Naval career, Bradley was used to months spent on an aircraft carrier. Nothing ever felt quite as good as a letter from home. He thought he knew what to expect this time, but you always made things more exciting.

Warnings: adult language, masturbation, horny love letter

Length: 2500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

Bradley had been in the Navy long enough to know when to expect a mail call. Maybe it was intuition or a sixth sense, but after so many years of deployments, he was certain. When he woke up on Tuesday, something told him to start getting excited. There would be a box with his name written in a familiar scrawl in his hands soon. "Commander Bradshaw." He turned to see a petty officer jogging along the interior corridor of the aircraft carrier with a clipboard in hand. "Sir, here's your schedule for the day." Bradley grunted and skimmed the sheet as he made his way up to the tower. The lightness he felt mere moments ago was replaced by annoyance. Back-to-back meetings filled every inch of the sheet, including a meeting that was scheduled for after dinner.

"Damn it," he muttered, taking the stairs two at a time. His plan to collect his parcel, enjoy a meal, and then head to his private bunk to read the letter was dashed. But he was still convinced that a Comanche helicopter would touch down on deck at some point this afternoon if the weather permitted. He'd get his mail when he could. He needed to wait a little longer to hear from you, which would make him grouchy in the interim.When he pushed open the heavy door to the tower, he greeted the collection of older officers by uttering just one word. "Admirals."

They all greeted him in response with a chorus of overworked voices, and then another clipboard was thrust into his hand. Attached to this one was a sheet detailing the flight schedules for the day, and sure enough, a smile curled along his lips below his mustache when he saw that a Comanche was slated to arrive at 1500 hours with the note US Airmail Transport.

God, a letter from you was sounding better by the minute. Your tone would be soft. You'd tell him how much you missed him. There would be something in there from-

"Commander Bradshaw. Let's get started with your pilots."

His musings were cut short, and he sighed before slipping the offered headset into place and testing out the comms. He was in charge of the training exercises for this deployment, and he needed to keep his mind clear so he could keep his aviators safe. It would do him no good to be focused on what might be happening back at home. He could read about it later.

But as the day wore on, the sky darkened, and storm clouds painted the horizon. When he called his team back to the carrier and watched them land one at a time, he asked the admirals, "Should we check in with the mail transport? It seems to have gone off schedule."

Lightning cut across the sky just as the comms crackled to life with a new voice. "This is Comanche. We're coming in low from the east, trying to avoid the rain. Are we clear to make a quick landing in seventeen minutes?"

Bradley listened to the air traffic team guide the helicopter in, and sure enough, the landing was low and loud, followed by another crack of lightning. He watched from his high vantage point as a team ran out in boots and rain slickers to collect bin after bin of mail, and now his hands were itching again. He could already feel the familiar weight of the box packed with his favorite snacks and some handmade artwork.

"Commander, you'll be late to meet with the pilots."

Bradley was once again yanked from his daydream of being at home where it was warm and dry and cozy, and he was faced with the prospect of having to duck outside into the storm to get to the meeting rooms on time.

The first gust of wind had him shivering and wishing he could grab his mail directly from the helicopter and head back to his bunk. The second gust left him cursing under his breath. He had to go lecture all of these young pilots about where they needed to improve before they could fly their mission, and he just didn't have the energy for it.

"Work now, reward later," he told himself, taking a deep breath and picturing your smile. That was enough to get him through the meetings. It was enough to get him back to his small office where he wrote up his notes for the day. It was even enough to get him all the way to the narrow hallway where the mail was being sorted.

But now there was a massive fucking line of officers in uniform waiting for the same thing he was. And to top it off, his stomach was growling. He could bail out of line, eat dinner, and come back later, hoping there was still someone there to disperse the mail before they closed up shop for the night. But it wasn't worth the risk. He'd be happy to skip dinner in favor of mail from you. It wasn't even a question in his mind.

When he finally reached the window and the rows of alphabetized bins, he told the officer in charge, "Bradshaw, Bradley," and then waited quite impatiently to have an ordinary looking cardboard box thrust into his hands. But his heart leapt with joy as soon as he held it and saw your handwriting. "Thank you."

The box felt a little lighter than usual. Maybe you didn't have time to load it up with as many snacks as you usually did. He hated leaving you for weeks and months at a time to deal with everything at home on your own. He loved being at home for the day to day grind. Loved it. But there was something unique about seeing how much things changed while he was gone.

He shook the box a little bit, curiosity getting the best of him. He passed the cafeteria and ran like a child to get back to his bunk as quickly as he could where he set the box down and tore into it. When he saw the three envelopes on top, he had to fight back his tears and take a deep breath.

He carefully picked up the envelope that said Daddy in purple crayon and opened it up to find several coloring sheets and a note written in light pink crayon that was a little hard to read.

Daddy,

I lost my first toooth. The toooth fairee took it. I got a glittery doller. I drew you the toooth and the fairee.

Love, Wren

Bradley found the corresponding page with a drawing of the tooth along with the tooth fairy. His daughter also wrote her name all over the back of the paper in every color crayon imaginable which made him smile. He read her note again before carefully placing it on his nightstand, and then he picked up the envelope that said Dad in black pen.

Dad,

When are you coming home? Fourth grade is so boring. We are learning how to write in cursive, but I already know how. Mom doesn't make the homework as fun as you do. Don't tell her I said that.

Actually everything is better when you're at home. I had a good report card, so mom let me get a skateboard. I covered it in bird stickers. I can almost stand on it for three seconds. Soccer tryouts are next week, and mom promised to take a video so you can watch it later. When are you coming home again? I'll make sure she doesn't delete the video.

Wren drew you a tooth fairy, but it looks like a demon. So then I started to try to draw the tooth fairy, and it looks really cool. It's on the back of the page. Please write back and tell us when you're coming home.

Love, Hawk

His son's version of the tooth fairy did look pretty cool, and now Bradley was cracking up as he took a second look at the one his daughter drew. Yeah, it was a bit frightening. He set both notes aside, finally ready to read what you had written to him. The third envelope said Bradley in your familiar handwriting, but his heart lurched into his belly. Instead of the thick envelope filled with page after page that he usually received from you, this one was light. His brow creased in concern as he opened it up to reveal just one sheet.

Bradley,

We miss you. The kids are mostly holding it together, but we're waiting until we know your return date to start a countdown. You know how much Wren cries when the countdown goes on for too long. Honestly, it makes me want to cry, too.

I could write you a novel about work and school and how much I miss you, but I thought it might just be more fun to show you. I got a little carried away with the camera a few nights ago when I couldn't sleep. I was too hot, and your pillow still smells like you. It smelled so good. I started thinking about what you and I will do when you get home. Then I couldn't stop. I literally could not stop touching myself, Bradley.

It never feels as good without you, but I do think some of the photos portray just how vivid my imagination was that night. Like I said, I got carried away.

Let us know when you'll be home.

Love, Your horny wife

Bradley immediately started digging through the box, and he soon realized you'd only included a thin layer of his favorite snacks. He scooped them out onto his bed and was left with some Polaroids. A lot of Polaroids.

"Holy shit," he whispered under his breath, reaching in and pulling out a photo of you wearing nothing but a tiny lace thong in his favorite shade of blue. He loved that thing. He loved taking it off of you. Your arm was covering your breasts in the photo, but that was okay. He had a vivid imagination.

Oh, but you didn't leave him hanging at all. The next one he grabbed was you sprawled out in bed, tits on full display, thong present and accounted for. You were biting down on your lip, and he could almost hear you moan. Your nipples were hard and looked just like they did after he had them in his mouth.

"God damn it, Baby. You're killing me." He missed his family. He missed being at home. But right now, all he could think about was fucking the absolute shit out of his wife.

Now he was looking at a beautiful shot of just your face, eyes closed, lips parted in pleasure. That was followed up by you bending over in the thong. And then one where you had your nose buried in his pillow.

There were so many photos, he was getting dizzy. And he was hard. He took a few seconds to unzip his khaki uniform pants while his eyes searched through the photos still inside the box. "Damn," he groaned, wrapping his right hand around his cock while he picked up one of the photos with his left.

You were straddling his pillow in your underwear. Literally grinding your pussy against it. Back arched, tits front and center, riding his pillow like it was his face. He really wished it was.

"Okay, Baby," he murmured, picking up another one while he stroked himself. Your hand was inside your thong. Another one where your blue thong was pulled to the side, showing off your pussy. Another one where you had two fingers knuckle-deep inside yourself. Another one where you were licking your wet fingers.

When he reached blindly into the box again, his hand connected with something softer next to the Polaroids. To his absolute delight, his fingers wrapped around that bit of fabric that he recognized right away. The blue thong. His cock jumped in excitement as he raised your panties slowly from the box and brought them all the way to his face. He knew. He knew you hadn't washed it. He just fucking knew this little thing was put in the box directly after you came all over it and dragged it down your soft legs.

His mouth watered as he pressed it to his nose. Eyes squeezed shut, he inhaled the scent of your arousal. He moaned your name. He could practically taste you as he rutted into his own hand. Bradley inhaled and exhaled your smell, running the lace along his nose, mustache and lips. The fabric was soft on his face, and he could picture you teasing him with it.

He would do anything to have you right now. He wanted you bent over the end of the bed, sobbing and begging him to go harder. He wanted your sweet voice in his ear. He wanted you on your knees. He wanted to bury his face in your pussy until you screamed.

"Jesus Christ," he whined, panting as he jerked himself off. All he could smell was you. It smelled like home and being in love. He couldn't get enough as he rubbed your thong all over his face before lowering it down to his cock. The lace felt exquisite as he ached with need. The fabric glided along in his hand, creating a friction that left him groaning.

He jerked himself off slowly, trying to make it last as long as he could, but the Polaroids were all he could see, and your pussy was all he could smell. He came all over your thong, ribbons of white decorating it while he held onto the wall for support.

"Oh, fuck," he whispered, voice harsh as he drained every drop onto the lace. He held the sticky mess in his hand and huffed out a surprised laugh. From thousands of miles away, you did this to him. This was different from the mail he usually received from you, but he wasn't complaining. He got a nice update on what was happening at home plus a lot more than he bargained for.

Bradley walked into his tiny bathroom and draped your thong over the sink faucet before washing his hands. Maybe he'd have time to grab some dinner before returning to his bunk to write back to you, Hawk, and Wren. He had so much to say. Especially to you. He'd set himself up in bed with one of his clipboards and tell you all about what you made him do.

"Oh, shit," he told his reflection in the mirror as he thought about his clipboard again. "Fuck!"

He had one more meeting left. Starting in just minutes. He eased his cock back into his pants, still zipping up as he left his bunk. Then he walked while discreetly trying to tuck his shirt in and straighten out his uniform.

The further he got from your wrecked underwear, the more he realized he could still smell you. He was going to be able to smell you all night. This was going to be a painfully long meeting. And the letter he wrote to you later was going to be as dirty as your underwear.

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

Thanks for reading! It's been a while since I posted a Bradley one-shot, and this one was hanging out in my drafts for a bit. Much love for a DILF. Hope you enjoy your Valentine's Day as much as Bradley enjoyed his mail!

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firstoccupier · 24 days ago

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Philippine Navy's Response to Chinese Warships: Key Insights

Rising Tensions in the West Philippine Sea: What’s Happening? The situation in the West Philippine Sea is becoming more serious as tensions rise between the Philippines and China. Recently, the Philippine Navy announced that they spotted a large group of Chinese warships near the northern coast of Luzon. This news comes amid concerns about China’s actions in the region, which many believe…

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at-the-end-of-days · 2 years ago

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Looks like China has completed their “exercise.”

I can’t say I care for how little THIS exercise was reported on, for the sheer size alone, when it seems every other “exercise” received more than ample coverage.

I mean, this was all I found on the matter. That the exercise ended Friday at 6 am, and it was absolutely huge.

How are we to take this if not that China is doing test runs for war? Testing the waters to see how the world reacts, much like it ran that air balloon over the US?

I think it would concern me LESS if there was just as much coverage of it as the other incidents. Why was this one hidden under a rug?

#ww3 #China naval exercise #Taiwan #world war 3 #link

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probablyasocialecologist · 2 years ago

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Despite Sparta’s reputation for superior fighting, Spartan armies were as likely to lose battles as to win them, especially against peer opponents such as other Greek city-states. Sparta defeated Athens in the Peloponnesian War—but only by accepting Persian money to do it, reopening the door to Persian influence in the Aegean, which Greek victories at Plataea and Salamis nearly a century early had closed. Famous Spartan victories at Plataea and Mantinea were matched by consequential defeats at Pylos, Arginusae, and ultimately Leuctra. That last defeat at Leuctra, delivered by Thebes a mere 33 years after Sparta’s triumph over Athens, broke the back of Spartan power permanently, reducing Sparta to the status of a second-class power from which it never recovered. Sparta was one of the largest Greek city-states in the classical period, yet it struggled to achieve meaningful political objectives; the result of Spartan arms abroad was mostly failure. Sparta was particularly poor at logistics; while Athens could maintain armies across the Eastern Mediterranean, Sparta repeatedly struggled to keep an army in the field even within Greece. Indeed, Sparta spent the entirety of the initial phase of the Peloponnesian War, the Archidamian War (431-421 B.C.), failing to solve the basic logistical problem of operating long term in Attica, less than 150 miles overland from Sparta and just a few days on foot from the nearest friendly major port and market, Corinth. The Spartans were at best tactically and strategically uncreative. Tactically, Sparta employed the phalanx, a close-order shield and spear formation. But while elements of the hoplite phalanx are often presented in popular culture as uniquely Spartan, the formation and its equipment were common among the Greeks from at least the early fifth century, if not earlier. And beyond the phalanx, the Spartans were not innovators, slow to experiment with new tactics, combined arms, and naval operations. Instead, Spartan leaders consistently tried to solve their military problems with pitched hoplite battles. Spartan efforts to compel friendship by hoplite battle were particularly unsuccessful, as with the failed Spartan efforts to compel Corinth to rejoin the Spartan-led Peloponnesian League by force during the Corinthian War. Sparta’s military mediocrity seems inexplicable given the city-state’s popular reputation as a highly militarized society, but modern scholarship has shown that this, too, is mostly a mirage. The agoge, Sparta’s rearing system for citizen boys, frequently represented in popular culture as akin to an intense military bootcamp, in fact included no arms training or military drills and was primarily designed to instill obedience and conformity rather than skill at arms or tactics. In order to instill that obedience, the older boys were encouraged to police the younger boys with violence, with the result that even in adulthood Spartan citizens were liable to settle disputes with their fists, a tendency that predictably made them poor diplomats. But while Sparta’s military performance was merely mediocre, no better or worse than its Greek neighbors, Spartan politics makes it an exceptionally bad example for citizens or soldiers in a modern free society. Modern scholars continue to debate the degree to which ancient Sparta exercised a unique tyranny of the state over the lives of individual Spartan citizens. However, the Spartan citizenry represented only a tiny minority of people in Sparta, likely never more than 15 percent, including women of citizen status (who could not vote or hold office). Instead, the vast majority of people in Sparta, between 65 and 85 percent, were enslaved helots. (The remainder of the population was confined to Sparta’s bewildering array of noncitizen underclasses.) The figure is staggering, far higher than any other ancient Mediterranean state or, for instance, the antebellum American South, rightly termed a slave society with a third of its people enslaved.

#sparta #ancient history #greek history

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withahappyrefrain · 5 months ago

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Ok hear me out. I just saw your 60 Meet Cutes list and, I know you already technically kind of wrote a fic about Bob being high off his meds after a training exercise puts him in the hospital. But I saw #5) A is a doctor/nurse treating B for an injury, but B won't stop flirting, and all I can think of is Bobby high of his rocker following an injury/surgery after a training exercise gone wrong and all he keeps doing is flirt with his doctor. And the dagger squad was visiting him post-surgery and they’re all cackling from the normally quiet Bob rizzing up his doctor. And then maybe that’s how he meets his wife 😂

Working at the Naval Medical Center meant several things.

One, there would always be patients. Whether it was the soldiers themselves or their family. Primary care, immediate care, your workplace did it all.

Second, no injury was too abnormal. A patient’s needs could range from needing a sling due to falling in the middle of bootcamp to delivering a baby.

Third and most importantly, don’t fall for a patient. The chances of them being married were high, plus it made things complicated.

You were doing a great job at following all three. Until today.

Lieutenant Commander Robert Floyd was a WSO for the Navy. He and his pilot had to eject from their jet during training due to a bird strike. While he got out of the jet okay, it was the landing that got him. His left arm was definitely sprained and he had a fractured rib. Combined with all the bruising that littered his left side, needless to say he was in a lot of pain. Thankfully, he didn’t need surgery, but he did need quite the cocktail of pain medication.

No amount of bruising could hide his handsome face. It was the first thing you noticed when you walked into his room. His long lashes fanned his face. Faded freckles scattered across his face and neck, like constellations. You had seen him before, visiting other pilots and checking in on their family members. Even spoke to him a few times when he asked how they were doing. But never anything in depth.

When he was first brought in, he was barely conscious. You had explained to him what was happening, that they were putting him under to do a full body inspection. He had looked up at you with those big blue eyes and God, he was just so cute. You could admire how cute a patient was, nothing wrong with that, right?

At the sound of the door opening, his eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes bluer than sapphires.

“Hi Mr. Floyd. Are you doing alright?” Your voice was lithe and gentle, he was still waking up after all. He mumbled something in response.

“What was that Mr. Floyd?” Moving closer, you hoped you could hear him better. It totally wasn’t to admire how cute he was. No, not at all.

“’m Bob,” His words were slow, but clearer, “Mr. Floyd’s my dad.”

“Bob it is,” you couldn’t help but giggle, “I’m just checking in on you, see if the medication is working. I’m going to help you sit up, alright?”

Bob nodded, his eyes never leaving your face. Placing your chart down on the nightstand, you gingerly helped him sit up, just enough to do your job.

“This is an important day f’me,” there was a slight twang, complimenting the richness of his voice.

“Oh really now?” Already, you were creating a list of possibilities; birthday, partner’s birthday, anniversary-

“Yeah. Not every day you’re touched by an angel,” a soft, droopy smile graced his face as he looked up at you.

Oh.

It was far from the first time a patient had flirted with you. But it was the first time it had sent a warm rush throughout your body.

“That’s um, very kind of you Mr. Floyd-”

“Bob,” he corrected.

“That’s very kind of you Bob. But I’m no angel. I’m actually about to do some things that may hurt,” you warned.

Bob was quite coherent while you checked his vitals. He answered all your questions with great ease, even had some questions for you. It felt more like a first date than checking a patient-

No, you couldn't think like that.

“Alright Bob, it's time to check your injuries. Let me know if any of the places I touch cause me pain,” you warned.

His brows furrowed in concern, “But I…I haven't taken you out to dinner yet.”

Holy shit, he was darling.

You began at his shoulders. He watched your nimble fingers move about. “You don’t have a ring,” he stated. Probably should have asked that before referencing taking you on a date but again. Meds.

“Um no, I don’t.” Usually pain medication would cause some patients to be blunt, to make odd statements. Usually, you could ignore it and continue on with your responsibilities.

“Well that’s stupid. How has someone not married you yet?” Just ignore him, just keep working.

“Well,” you laughed nervously, “That is a whole can of worms that I doubt you want open. Does it hurt here Bob?”

“No. But how has someone not married you yet? You’re so sweet and smart and patient, also funny too. I still laugh when I think about how you told Jake to sit down and shut up a few months ago. What am I not getting?”

“Well,” you sighed, “For starters, I work long and unusual hours.”

“So do I,” He replied. His body was deceivingly muscular, smooth and firm. Not even a hospital gown could hide it and holy crap, that was so inappropriate.

“So as a result, not a lot of people see me as dateable. I also just moved to the area less than a year ago and it’s been hard finding people,” you confessed, trying to swallow the bitter pill as you moved to his arms. It was easier since you had his huge biceps to focus on.

“Well, those people are stupid. If you care about someone, you’d make it work.”

“I wish more people thought like that. How is it here? Any pain?” You slightly dug your fingers into his sides, watching his face for any reaction. Bob Floyd either had a high pain tolerance or he was high as balls. You guessed it was the latter, given how he could barely shake his head.

“Is there any part of your body that’s in pain Bob?” You asked, fighting the urge to push back the strands of sandy brown hair that had fallen over his forehead. Bob nodded and grabbed your hand. He placed it over his heart.

“Your-your heart?” Panic rose in your voice, if he was experiencing pain in his chest, that meant you needed to alert the cardiologist and the-

“Doesn’t so much as hurt. Just starts beating real fast whenever I see you. I also forget how to breathe when I see ya too, but I know that’s due to your beauty,” He explained, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

Without breaking eye contact, he brought your hand up to his mouth and kissed your wrist. His lips were soft and warm. You were a goner. Yes, it was all slightly cheesy and it totally worked. You prayed he couldn’t tell that you were flustered, that your body felt warm all over, that butterflies were exploding in your stomach.

“Since when the fuck do you have game Bobby?” You were thankful for the voice that interrupted. Turning around, you saw a group of pilots standing at the doorway, holding cards and flowers.

“Um, are you friends of Lieutenant Floyd?” Even your voice was shaky, the professional composure that always got you compliments in med school now completely gone.

“We’re friends, and I apologize for my coworker’s outburst,” You recognized the mustached pilot, having seen him a few months ago when his wife delivered their first child. Lieutenant Bradshaw.

“Oh please, I know you’re just as shocked as I am to see Bob finally making a move on the woman he’s been crushing on for months,” The blonde pilot retorted, completely oblivious to the glares he was receiving from the other pilots.

“I said I was waiting for the right time!” Bob hadn’t let go of your hand, “I know it should have been sooner. I’m sorry.”

“Um, Lieutenant Floyd isn’t ready for visitors yet. Could you please move to the waiting area?” Letting go of Bob’s hand caused him to form an adorable pout with his pink lips.

Once the group has gotten out of your hair, you look around the room, frazzled. Grabbing his chart, you began checking things off.

“Alright, minimal pain though we’ll check again later when your medication has worn off. Heart rate is normal, as is your blood pressure and-”

“I'm sorry,” looking up, there was Bob with a concerned expression written all over his face.

“Oh Mr. Floyd, you're fine. I know you're on a lot of different medications and that causes people to act-”

“I shouldn't have waited so long to talk to you. Was just so nervous because you're so beautiful and kind.”

Good lord, this man was going to be the death of you. The fact he was so sweet, so endearing when he said all these things. It didn't feel sleazy, it felt genuine.

But it couldn't be that. It was due to the medicine. So you'd just have to play along.

“Don't worry about it Bob. There's always tomorrow. Or, in your case, three days after tomorrow.” The comment got a laugh out of Bob, revealing a melodic giggle.

“You mean it? I can ask you out after I rest?” His eyes were now full of hope and excitement.

Nodding, you decided to not add if you remember it. Once the pain medication had worn off, Bob wouldn't remember a thing.

But his friends mentioned a crush that had been developing long before today.

Maybe…..

*************

“I am so sorry.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, surprised to find Bob sitting up in the hospital bed, face redder than a tomato.

“Um, good morning Bob! How are we feeling today?” You walked over to the bed, looking at his vitals.

“Mortified. The way I acted towards you yesterday was so…..God, I'm so embarrassed,” he buried his face into his hands, “If I've- scratch that, I know I offended you yesterday. I made you so uncomfortable and I'm so sorry.”

You thought about his friends’ words, what they said when you came out of the room.

“Yeah, he’s usually not that….bold. But honestly, good for him, he’s been pining after you for months.”

“Without all those meds, he’s still sweet. Just not as talkative.”

Bob continued to ramble, failing to notice how you were using the clipboard to hide a huge grin, “My momma would be so ashamed of me right now. My sisters would be smacking me upside the head. You’re a doctor and a darn good one at that and I just acted like such a…..why are you smiling?”

“Because I think you’re cute. Like super, incredibly cute. I've thought that ever since I saw you here four months ago to check on Lieutenant Garcia.” Your confession made Bob's eyes widen.

“And I was hoping that after you’ve had your three days of mandated rest, maybe we could go out to dinner?” You paused, “Now that I think about it, we should wait four to five days. I’d feel really bad if I caused a patient to reinjure himself.”

A slightly crooked and small smile appeared on Bob’s face, “Do you like Italian food?”

#my writing #bob floyd #robert bob floyd #robert floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd oneshot #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd x y/n #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x you

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