#rooster bradshaw x fem!reader

[katsu28]

return to sender

pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader

summary: you’ve been getting your neighbor’s mail for the past few months and you were okay with it, but now came a time to finally talk to him about it 

warnings: light swearing, neighbors meet cute, bradley's biceps bc god damn they deserve a warning of their own (2.5k)

navigation

The first time you got someone else’s mail, you didn’t think anything of it. Bradley Bradshaw, it said, 1987 Pennsylvania Court. That was a few doors down from your place, and they were just letters, you could just drop them off in his mailbox the next time you went out. No big deal, it was just one time. 

Then one time became twice, which eventually turned into a third, fourth, fifth time, and so on. Letters soon became bigger envelopes, which didn’t actually fit into his mail slot. 

So you started dropping them on his doorstep, leaving them for him to find the next time he left the house. Knocking on his door and giving him his mail seemed like it would be too much of an endeavor for your poor social skills, because you’d seen Bradley Bradshaw around from afar sometimes, but you’d never said a word to him. No, he was big and tall and scary looking, and as much as you hated to pass judgment on people you didn’t actually know, probably a jerk. 

So yeah, sticking them in his mailbox, leaving them at his door and hightailing it out of there was the best option for everyone. It meant you didn’t have to confront him and tell him that his mail was being sent to the wrong apartment, and he didn’t have to waste his time talking to you. Win win for both of you. 

That all went out the window today, when you opened your door to see the biggest box you’d ever laid eyes on sitting on your welcome mat, the mailing address on the top flap spelling out none other than motherfucking Bradley Bradshaw in large, bold letters. Upon trying to lift it, you very quickly found that you couldn’t even get it to budge more than an inch. 

Looks like you were going to have to talk to Bradley after all. 

After giving yourself a pep talk (and hyping yourself up and going through all the things that could possibly go wrong) you marched your way over to his place, practicing what you were going to say to him the whole way. 

You exhaled one last sharp breath through your mouth, licking your lips nervously before knocking on his door, once, twice, a third time. Faint footsteps came from inside, the clicking of the lock a few seconds after, then the door swung open. 

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the person standing in front of you. It was Bradley, of course, but up close for the first time. For once, you could see him in his entirety, and holy fuck was he hot. Clad in a plain t-shirt and a pair of shorts, he looked unfairly good—a far cry from you in your stretched out leggings and frayed sweatshirt from fucking college. He was tall and broad and tan and about a dozen other words you couldn’t even think of right now, not when all you could do was barely control your reaction to seeing him. You wouldn’t be at all surprised if there was a ‘loading, please wait’ signal flashing above your head. 

His gaze landed on you hovering awkwardly on his doorstep, offering you a polite smile. “Hi, can I help you with something?” 

“Hi. I live a few doors down from here and I think there’s been some sort of mistake with the post office, because I’ve been getting your mail for the past few months.” You blurted, pressing your lips together right after the words left your mouth. Way to ease into it, loser! 

Bradley’s eyebrow’s furrowed, mouth turning down into a confused sort of frown. “Uh…no, I don’t think so? My mail’s been getting here just fine everyday.” 

“Yeah, I know. I’ve been dropping it off in your mailbox every time I get it.”  

His eyes widened, mouth dropping open the tiniest bit in…was that shock? Surprise? Possibly guilt? Maybe a mixture of all three. “Shit, really?” You nodded. “Oh god, I’m sorry, I didn’t even—I didn’t notice.” 

Honestly, you were expecting him to be a dick about it, but here he was, apologizing for something that he couldn’t have even known was happening all this time. It was throwing you for a loop, because you’d built him up in your head to be kinda mean and scary, but he was actually really nice. 

“Um. It’s—it’s okay. Just thought I should let you know.” 

“I guess I should be thanking you then.” He smiled warmly, and you had to fight the urge to turn tail and run. Bradley Bradshaw had the kind of smile that had the power to throw your whole plan out the window. 

See, you’d banked this entire interaction on him being an asshole. You’d tell him to come get his package, he’d do it, somehow fix the whole mail delivery problem, and then you’d never have to talk to him again. Problems solved, no reason for you to have to take this any further. 

Except he wasn’t an asshole at all, which made you feel like an asshole. 

“I’m Bradley, by the way,” He offered, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Which you already knew, ‘cause you’ve been getting my mail for months. I never got your name though?” 

“Y/N.” You replied, shifting your weight to your other foot. He repeated it, bobbing his head in acknowledgment. Hearing your name come off his lips was…well, the only way you could describe it was weird. It sounded somehow better than you’d heard it come out of anyone else’s mouth. “Right, so that’s not actually what I came over here for. Well, it was to tell you about the mail thing, but also something else. You’ve got a giant package.” Your face burned lava hot as you realized what you said and what it sounded like you were saying (two very different things, by the way). 

Bradley coughed abruptly, choking on his own breath at your words. He pounded on his chest a few times to recover before speaking. “I’m sorry?” 

“Your mail—a really big box. Sent to my apartment. Again!” You exclaimed, attempting to salvage your dignity and this downhill spiraling conversation. You could see Bradley was trying to keep his composure so as to not make you feel any more mortified than he could clearly see you were, but he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. He’d brought up a hand to rub at his mustache, effectively covering most of his mouth, but the beginnings of a smirk curled the edges of it, his eyes glinting in barely contained amusement at your blunder. “There’s a giant box that belongs to you on my doorstep and I can’t move it, so can you just…” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll come grab it.” He nodded quickly, grabbing his keys and stepping outside. He shut the door behind him, gesturing for you to go first. “Lead the way.” 

You started the walk back to your place in dead silence, keeping your eyes trained on the sidewalk so you wouldn’t have to say anything to Bradley. You’d rather stew in your own humiliation and impending misery than initiate another conversation. Or think about how attractive he was, but that was besides the point. Totally, completely irrelevant. 

It was going pretty well, but then, he spoke. “So, when did you move into your place? I can’t say that I’ve seen you around here much.” 

He was trying to make small talk, you could tell. Probably to avoid having to dwell on the very awkward situation from moments prior. And as much as you didn’t want to make any more of a fool out of yourself than you already had, it would’ve been rude not to answer. 

“Been here a few years. I keep to myself mostly though.” Mainly to avoid situations like this. 

“Ah yeah, I’m usually not here too often. My job takes me a lot of different places, so I’m typically gone for months at a time.” He replied casually, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“Long business trips?” 

“Sorta. I’m Navy. Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw, naval aviator—at your service.” Navy, interesting. Now you were wondering how those broad shoulders fit into a jet. 

“So you zoom around in the skies for a living?” 

“It’s a little more than that, but yeah, pretty much,” He snorted, said broad shoulders shaking with laughter. Damnit, even his laugh was endearing. It was getting harder and harder for you to justify making this thing with Bradley a one off. “Maybe I could take you up in my jet one day, give you a taste of what flying free feels like.” 

Was he…flirting with you right now? 

You finally looked at him, raising a curious eyebrow. “Really?” 

“Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s extremely against the rules. I can’t do that, I don’t—I don’t know why I said that.” Bradley admitted, offering you a rather embarrassed smile. 

You didn’t know how to respond to that, but good thing you’d arrived back at your place right at that minute, the huge box on your doormat instantly distracting him. 

“No way! I’ve been waiting for this thing for ages!” He exclaimed, squatting down to run his hand along the cardboard. He turned to you, eyes alight with pure joy. “You wanna know what it is?” 

You didn’t feel like you really needed to know, but from the way Bradley was beaming at you, you found yourself actually growing a little interested. “What is it?” 

“This fancy new coffee machine one of my buddies has been raving about. Apparently it’s supposed to brew like, the best coffee ever. I really think he might be exaggerating a bit, but Hangman’s fairly reliable when it comes to cool things.” 

Your brow raised in curiosity. “Hangman?” 

“His callsign. Mine’s Rooster.” Weird, but somehow it seemed very fitting. 

Bradley hefted the box into his arms with ease, resting it on a raised knee as he attempted to get his arms around it. His biceps bulged with the effort, and you had to make a conscious effort to avert your gaze. God, those things had to be bigger than your head. 

“Thank you again for dropping off my mail all this time, you really didn’t have to.” He said earnestly, fighting another smirk. Oh, he definitely caught you looking.

“I didn’t mind.” You replied quickly, feeling your face grow warm again. “Thought they might be important things. Naval aviator paperwork, maybe.” 

“Right. Well, I’ll let you get on with your day,” Bradley chuckled. He shifted the box a little higher up in his arms, and you looked anywhere else to stop your eyes slipping to his flexing biceps yet again. “But hey, if you ever wanted to chat or hang out or something since we’re neighbors, feel free to swing by. We could try out this coffee machine, see if it’s worth the fortune I spent on it.” 

You hesitated in your response. You knew it wasn’t anything serious, just some coffee between two neighbors, but the weight of it hung heavy in the air. Did you really want to make this more than a one time thing? 

Bradley was really goddamn nice, and as pathetic as it might’ve sounded, just that was enough to make your answer lean towards yes. But he didn’t need to know that yet. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to pressure you for a response right this very minute, so you just nodded. 

“I’ll keep that in mind. It was nice to meet you, Rooster.” You were slightly teasing him about his callsign, but it didn’t look like he minded one bit. One side of his mouth lifted into a smile, dimples on full display. 

“Call me Bradley,” He insisted, brown eyes not unlike the coffee he was offering up boring into yours. “Please.” 

“Okay. Bradley.” He looked pleased at that. “See you around, I guess.” 

“I sure hope so.” 

-------

It was weird how frequently you did start to see Bradley around after that. You’d stopped getting his mail, but sometimes you’d catch a glimpse of him through your window on one of his daily runs, and a lot of the time you somehow left the house or came home at the same time, which resulted in more conversations with each other. 

He’d always go out of his way to say hi or good morning to you when he spotted you, even if you had your head down or your earbuds in, and one time he even scared the living shit out of you by tapping your shoulder when you were looking for your car keys in your bag. Turns out you’d somehow dropped them near his car (which you didn’t even know was his car), and he was on his way out too when he spotted them. 

Things like this happened so often, you began to get used to Bradley. Talking to him became easier, less nerve wracking. It got to a point where you even started to look forward to seeing him out and about, because your interactions always ended up leaving you in a better mood. He was funny, charismatic as hell, and definitely easy on the eyes, and as much as you were afraid to admit it at first, you started to like him a little more than you knew you should’ve. Part of you thought that he might like you too, but you just weren’t sure. 

Yeah, he was a little flirty with you, but you just chalked that up to it being part of his personality. No way he was actually serious about it. That was just who Bradley Bradshaw was. 

Or so you thought.

The answer to your wonders came in the form of a stack of your mail in your mailbox one day a few weeks after the whole giant package fiasco. There was a sticky note attached to the top one, a message scrawled across the paper in small, messy letters. 

These were mixed in with my mail today. My my, how the tables have turned. Here’s my number in case the post office decides to make this a new thing. - Bradley 

You had to hand it to him—Bradley sure knew how to make his mark. You smiled to yourself, phone in hand, fingers entering his number and tapping out a message before you could even take a second to dwell on it. 

y/n: that offer for coffee still on the table by any chance? 

You set it face down on the kitchen counter the moment after you pressed send, walking away from it like that would quell your nerves as you waited for Bradley’s response. But really, what was the likelihood that he was going to see your message in the next—

Ding.

It was pathetic how fast you bolted back to the kitchen to snatch up your phone. 

Bradley: Absolutely. Tomorrow at noon sound okay?

y/n: sounds perfect

Unbeknownst to you, Bradley had also been waiting anxiously for your text, digging his phone out of his pocket the second he felt it buzz, hoping his not-so-subtle way of slipping you his number wasn't too forward of him. He couldn’t help the stupid grin that stretched his lips as his eyes read your text over and over again. It would be perfect. 

Now if he could only figure out how to actually work the goddamn coffee machine, it would be even better. 

[almightyellie]

baby, i'm yours

in which you and bradley are in the same major and you're completely unaware of how much he adores you.

pairing is frat!bradley bradshaw x fem!reader

word count is 5.5k

author says stem major rooster supremacy <3

you should watch out for drinking, college au, language, party settings, mention of puking

title song is baby i'm yours // arctic monkey

bradley has never been the type to pine.

he had never been one for coveting from a distance, and why would he? bradley had grown up fighting for what he wanted. he had grown with an admirable, if not appalling, amount of confidence. bradley bradshaw had walked with a swagger that simply couldn’t be learned, and for the most part, it had gotten him what he wanted. sure, every once in a while he had to fight a little harder to get the girl, but he always got them in the end. until you.

you aren’t his type, that’s for sure, but something about you is impossible to shake. he’s spent at least three semesters staring at you from opposite ends of lecture halls, and maybe he likes you because you’re not his type. you seem conscientious, dedicated, and entirely uninterested.

it hurts the ego, sure, but bradley isn’t one to give up so easily. after all, you’ve only spoken once and he really hadn’t put his best foot forward. he should have known better, really, because you might be the only one in a nine am lecture who seems genuinely eager to understand enzyme kinetics. the idea of a frat party wouldn’t have interested you, and the offhanded invitation in the campus bookstore was met with a predictably tight smile and a, “yeah, maybe. thanks for the invite.” it’s the most polite blow-off he’s ever received.

that was august. now, spinning into the end of october, he’s been so embarrassed by his complete failure to accurately gauge your interests that he hasn’t even bothered to try again. he’s losing his nerve; more importantly, jake is convinced that bradley’s losing his masculinity. not that bradley has ever given a second thought to what jake thinks; he’s pretty sure that he could count all of jake’s iq points on his fingers, so he rarely gives weight to his opinion. 

and yet, he can’t let it go. he can’t stop watching you from across the room, wondering what you would do if he sat next to you. wondering if you ever watched him, too. wondering if you realized how, with one measly conversation under your belt, you’ve entirely captivated bradley bradshaw.

the virtue of having such a large student group in your major is that group projects aren’t a concern. it was one of the things you had so looked forward to when you were working through your generals, the idea of doing your own work on your own time, without the opinions of anyone else. and it’s a little isolating, somehow, that you can sit in two lectures a day, five days a week, with a hundred people each, and not say a word to anyone but callie. 

next to you, she pays little attention to the lecture, doodling in her notebook and scrolling through her phone. where you had been tirelessly devoted to your academics, callie had found a way to succeed without even trying. you take notes out of necessity, but it seemed like she picked up the information just as well by only half-listening to the lecture. as you scribble notes down in your notebook, your best friend nudges your elbow and tilts her phone toward you to show you a text. 

nat: halloween party @ pike on friday

nat: bob said the door’s open to everyone

you frown, spinning your pencil between your fingers and shaking your head. callie groans quietly, leaning in to whisper. “come on, it won’t be that bad.”

and no, it probably wouldn’t be. you had never been to the parties they were always pushing, but they couldn’t be terrible if nat and callie were there; further, anywhere nat was, so was bob, who you entirely adored. it wasn’t that you had no interest in the parties; you, more than any of your friends, needed to let loose. but even after three years, you couldn’t stand the idea of having to market yourself to your peers; why would you meet new people when you had already found your family?

“pike is full of dorks and nerds,” callie continues. “it probably won’t even be that busy.”

you shrug, and callie grins. the text that she sends into the group chat rings in on your laptop.

cal: we’re there!

your heart leaps into your throat when nat pushes you forward gently. both callie and natasha had assured you that the party likely wouldn’t have been too crowded. bob is just as surprised as you, whispering to nat, “have you ever seen it this packed?”

the four of you can barely move through the living room and you look over bob’s shoulder, ignoring the unhappy way your stomach churns. from the way callie had talked about it, you hadn’t thought it would be like this. heat hits you like a wall every time you walk into a new room and you’re already overwhelmed, between the endless stream of conversations and the pounding music pumping through the walls. 

bob spots reuben in the kitchen, and, already drunk, he greets all of you eagerly. it’s overfamiliar but not entirely unwelcome. you’ll take any little bit of comfort you can get right now, and though you’ve only met reuben a few times, the hug he pulls you into is enough to calm you, even if just barely. 

“where is everyone?” bob asks over the music, clapping his friend on the back, and reuben blinks hard. 

“i think seresin and mickey are in the basement.”

a cheer rises through the crowd as someone pushes through the doorway into the kitchen and reuben’s attention is entirely lost. he’s vaguely familiar, somehow, with the kind of honey brunet hair that makes you wonder if it’s entirely natural and a smile that’s contagious. he drops two cases of beer, stacked on top of one another, onto the already crowded island, and callie leans into you and nat. 

“who is that?”

bob laughs and nat raises a brow. you’re glad that she asked because you know him, you think. a little more selfishly, something about him naturally draws you in; he has the same undeniable charisma that you think all frat boys must possess to a certain extent. it rarely works on you, and maybe it wouldn’t work if he turned it on you, but watching him greet everyone around him, passing out beers with compliments and laughter makes you a little giddy the same way all blooming attractions do, with a turn of the stomach at the end of the realization.

“that’s brad,” bob answers. you snort, because of course, his name was brad. “bradshaw!” 

brad spins his head in your direction with a wide grin, a smile that only grows when he catches sight of bob, brows raising at the sight of him surrounded by the three of you. “hey, bobby!”

bob’s cheeks flush and for a moment, you watch him for any sign of discomfort, but he only laughs and pushes all of you toward the island. 

“y’all want a drink?” brad asks, eyes lingering on yours, and without a second thought, you nod along with your friends. 

you listen as well as you can to the conversation between the two men as brad hands bob a beer and asks callie whether she’d prefer a beer or a seltzer. she preens, asking for a beer, and he hands her one back with a polite smile. you watch him ask nat the same question, wracking your brain to figure out where you had seen him. maybe you had served him at work. it wasn’t out of the question that you might have been in a gen ed class together in your first year, but you don’t think it’s either of those. when he trains his eyes on you, you're more confused than ever because you’re sure you would have remembered someone like this.

“and for you?” he asks, voice soft despite the oppressive noise around you.

“seltzer, please,” you respond quickly. he grins at you and you hate the nervous flip of your stomach, thrilled and terrified to have his attention, to be on the receiving end of that smile. 

news of the fresh cases has spread around the house and guests are crushing into the kitchen to get their hands on a new drink before they’re gone. at first, you hadn’t minded the crowd as much as you thought you would, but now you’re overwhelmed, so you pat callie’s hand and lean in close. “i think m’gonna step outside, okay?”

she pulls back, brow creased in worry, and says, “are you okay? do you want me to come?”

and you know she will, which you appreciate, but you also know that she just caught sight of the blond that has sauntered into the kitchen—exactly her type—and you don’t want her to miss her shot. “i’m okay! i’ll be right back.”

as you force your way through the crowd, cold can in hand, you wonder why you showed up in the first place. it’s not your scene, not even a little, and you had spent the last three years avoiding places exactly like this. foolishly, you hope that maybe the crowd will thin out the later it gets, but you know that’s not really how these kinds of things work. 

the door from the kitchen to the backyard opens inward, which is a struggle when the couple behind the door only glares at you for attempting to open it. frustrated, you open your mouth to ask them to move, but a large hand from behind you reaches for the doorknob, and the man’s face softens at the sight of whoever’s behind you. 

you glance over your shoulder and there’s brad, his chest brushing against your shoulder. he smiles genially at the couple, nodding at them. “hey, man, how are you?”

you don’t listen to the response because brad twists the doorknob for you, opening the door just enough for you to slip out. you aren’t sure he does it for you, exactly, but you’re grateful either way. the october night, especially compared to the sweaty, booming house, is a welcome and refreshing change, one that nearly forces you to take a deep breath. it’s considerably less crowded outside, and you lean against the vibrating siding of the house, glancing sideways when brad slips out of the door and closes it behind him.

for a moment, he looks across the backyard like he’s looking for something, but you interrupt him when you breathe out sharply, tugging your jacket closer. finally, he turns to look at you, and his face melts into the easiest smile you’ve ever seen. you’re not conscious of the way you smile back, pleased to see him pleased, and he leans against the wall beside you.

“hi.”

you look at him, half appalled and half intrigued, because brad is handsome. even if he wasn’t, he has the kind of inherent charm that makes up for physical deficiency, and you would think that someone so handsome might have a better way to flirt than saying ‘hi.’

it occurs to you suddenly that he’s flirting. he’s flirting with you. you feel a sudden warmth creeping from the pit of your stomach, rising to your skin and making you feel a little flushed. “hi.”

he holds out a hand in a formal handshake and you can’t help yourself. you chuckle a little, allowing him to take your hand. “i’m brad.”

you purse your lips and shake his hand. “...brad.”

he tilts his head knowingly, eyes mirthful. “yes?”

with a grin at him, you pull your hand back, rocking on your heels. “that’s just such a frat boy name.”

and he laughs, so loud and warm that suddenly it feels like august, pressing his hand to his abdomen. you watch him appreciatively, endeared to the way his cheeks flush, the way his shoulders shake. his eyes are still crinkled with delight when his laughter slows and he says, “then you can call me bradley.”

your grin shines stronger. “i like bradley.” you offer your name, and he sticks a hand into his pocket. he’s cute, undeniably, and every once in a while, someone will pass by and clap him on the shoulder, greeting him with a ‘hey, man!’ or an excited call of his name. for some reason, seeing how liked he is makes you like him even more. he greets everyone back—remembers their names and everything—and the smile on his face is so genuine that it takes you aback.

bradley is easier to talk to than you had expected, not that you had expected much. he briefly talks about his mother when you ask, answers a couple of questions about what he does outside of academics, but he seems more invested in asking you any questions than offering information. you’re right in the middle of a tangent about one of your classes when you ask, “what’s your major, again?”

he thumbs the tab of his can. “biochem,” he nods, and you grin.

“me, too!” you respond eagerly, and he laughs, seeming a little bashful.

“yeah, i know,” he responds easily. “we’re in a lot of classes together, i think.” he doesn’t think, he knows, but the last thing bradley wants to do now that you’re warming up to him is come off as some weirdo who spends all his time watching you instead of his lectures. your face brightens with recognition, and he smiles softly. “i also tried—and failed—to flirt with you in the bookstore at the beginning of the semester, but…” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. that was supposed to be the silent part, but part of him hopes that you might remember him, no matter how poorly he had done then. he thinks he’s doing pretty well now.

you blanch, covering your mouth with your hand, and bradley could kick himself. “oh, my god. bradley, i’m so sorry! i can’t believe i forgot about that,” you lament, and he laughs with a tinge of self-deprecation.

“i really think it’s better that you did,” he soothes, and then you giggle and all is restored. he’s back in good standing, his washout from the bookstore entirely balanced. he’s all too aware of the tiny step you take in his direction, one that he’s not sure you’ve even noticed yourself. it comforts him, lets him know that right now, you’re closer to the same page than you’ve ever been, and that alone makes his heart begin to pound.

“well, i still feel bad,” you admit, and he shrugs. 

“rejection is healthy for the ego,” he excuses.

it seems like it’s something he actually believes, which makes your chest sticky with unbridled affection. “you don’t seem like the kind of guy who experiences a lot of rejection.”

he flushes and you know you’re right, but it doesn’t annoy you. he’s nothing you would have assumed him to be; he isn’t arrogant or lewd, doesn’t push you to drink and hasn’t asked you to his room. the surprise is almost sweeter than the realization that bradley is the kind of guy you could like, silly name aside.

bradley can’t believe his luck; he hadn’t gotten you here, but someone had, and he’s thrilled. he’s grateful. he reaches for you, fingers hesitating, but he folds down the collar of your jean jacket, and he can’t contain himself when you smile at him. you’re vulnerable, open with him, and bradley can read the signs. he’s giddy, because you’re finally looking at him, laughing with him, and bradley thinks that this—you are better than any way he had ever imagined you. 

“bradley bradshaw,” you murmur, rolling your eyes playfully. “you aren’t entirely insufferable.”

he guffaws, fingers tightening around his empty beer can. he’s been out of his drink for nearly half an hour, but he can’t pull himself from you. “wow, i’m honored.”

you play it up, turning away from him to look out across the backyard. the two of you are so close that your shoulder brushes his chest, and warmth races through his body at the contact. a large hand settles in the dip of the small of your back, and you pretend that it doesn’t make you want to shiver. “you should be. i’m very hard to please.”

and bradley’s stomach flips, fingers tightening around his empty can once again. “i’m sure i could figure it out.”

a surprised laugh forces its way out of you and he snorts. “dude.”

he grins, tapping his empty can against yours. this is going well, better than he thought it would. “you want another drink?”

you look at him, a pleased smile pushing at your cheeks. “yes, please.”

he’ll give you a moment alone, in part because he really does need another drink, but mostly because if there ever were a time to work up the courage to ask you out, it would be right now. he grabs your can, flashing you a sweet smile before he slips inside. 

the second his back is turned, you can’t tamp down your smile, your ears burning. at this point, you don’t even care if he’s stringing you along. you like him. he makes you laugh, and he had been willing to admit that he had his foot in his mouth when he had approached you at the beginning of the semester. then, you had assumed the same of him that you had when you’d met again: that he was cocky, that he was a stereotypical frat boy. but now, he’s laughing at himself the same way you are, humbled and sweet.

the kitchen door opens, and you turn to greet him, but it’s nat. you smile warmly, leaning against the wall. “hey.”

“hey,” she breathes. “you’ve been out here the whole time?”

you shrug, sticking your hands in the pockets of your jacket. “yeah. you guys having fun?”

nat rolls her eyes with a huff. “yeah, about that. we gotta get callie home.”

worry washes over you, forcing out the lovesick warmth that had overtaken you and leaving you with a bitter chill. “what happened?”

she shakes her head, the toe of her boot rubbing out a cigarette butt someone has thrown on the back porch. “she got into a pissing contest with that guy she was flirting with,” nat grunts. “you know how she is. anyway, she’s in the backseat.”

and you shouldn’t be surprised, because yeah, you know callie. she can’t let a challenge go, and you’re amazed it hasn’t given her alcohol poisoning yet. taking care of her while drunk is like second nature after so many years of friendship, and you had figured that the night would end like this, anyway. but you hadn’t anticipated bradley. you want to take care of your best friend, but you don’t want to leave behind the lovely flush that bradley has given you.

nat notices your pause and frowns. “you okay?” you step to the side and peek into the window. bradley stands, pretty and flushed in the kitchen, his beer in one hand and a different flavor of your seltzer in another. god, you don’t want to leave him behind. you want to stay, soaking up his warmth, his attention, and you want to kiss him, and maybe you want to spend the night with him. you watch him laugh in the kitchen, goading one of the other party guests, his charisma radiating even through the window. everyone around him laughs, smiles up at him, falls into his encouragement to keep drinking, keep having fun, and you recognize the look on their faces. it’s the look that you’ve been wearing for the last hour talking to him.

you sigh and turn back to nat. “yeah, m’good. let’s get her home.”

your friend hesitates, but you smile and nod. bradley charms everyone around him; you’re sure that you’re no different. he has everyone falling at his feet. he makes people feel special; it’s the kind of guy he is, and you like that about him, but that’s all it is. 

you let nat drag you through the side yard and around the front to bob’s car, and you try not to let yourself think about bradley on the ride home.

bradley, still laughing at javy’s insistence on body shots, slips out the backdoor, can in each hand. the crowd pushes the door closed behind him, and his belly is still flipping when he turns to where you should be. where you were. he frowns, confused, and he hates the way his stomach swoops when he looks across the yard and can’t see you. tucking his beer in the crook of his elbow, he shoves his way back into the kitchen.

“reub!” he calls over the noise, and his friend beams at him. “where’s bob?”

reuben, drunk and thrilled, responds, “man, he just left!”

a sinking realization makes bradley wilt, his shoulders dropping, and bradley knows that you’re gone, too.

callie glares unhappily at the glass bob has set before her. “i’m literally going to puke.”

he gives her a look, unimpressed with her dramatics. “it goes down smoother than you’d think.”

“does it come up smooth, too?”

you don’t blame her, really. you had never tasted bob’s hangover cure, but it looks exactly like what you cleaned out of his backseat last night. no, you wouldn’t want any part of it, either, but he swore by it. nat drops a straw in the thick mixture, and callie groans but begins drinking it obediently.

“so,” nat starts, sitting across from you at the table. “how was your night?”

you feel your cheeks warm but you shrug casually, resting your chin on your water bottle. “fine. how was yours?”

“you disappeared,” she responds, ignoring your question, and you roll your eyes goodnaturedly.

“i did not ‘disappear.’ i was exactly where i said i was all night.”

nat narrows her eyes at you, and when you look at bob, you see his lips quirked in the tiniest smile. “brad followed you out,” he notes, and you stare back at him, trying to keep your face blank.

you don’t want to feel giddy about bradley, not when you know he was just being nice. the last thing you want to do is give bob any indication that bradley has gotten under your skin; you know bob. you love bob, but he’s observant, and though he would never tell a secret on purpose, you know better than anyone that sometimes the truth just slips out of him. “he did.”

callie perks up a little, straw still in her mouth when she asks, “you and brad?”

“no,” you insist. “we just talked for a few minutes.”

nat smirks, leaning onto her elbows. “did you like him?”

“he was nice.”

“that’s not what i asked,” she pushes, and you huff.

you want to hold it close to your chest. it’s embarrassing to admit that you had allowed bradley to make you feel so special, that he had wooed you without even trying. but the idea of lying to your best friends makes you sweat a little. natasha would find out anyway, and then you’d be in for it. “i mean…yeah, i guess.”

“that’s a yes,” bob celebrates, and you frown. 

your best friends share a pleased look and you harrumph. “what does it matter, anyway? he’s just some…random frat guy. probably would end up being an asshole, anyway.”

bob shakes his head, filling one of your mugs with coffee for himself. “nah, brad’s cool. he’s nice.”

you level a glare at bob. “regardless. the last thing i need right now is to develop feelings for some guy that everyone else is already in love with.” and bob doesn’t argue, doesn’t deny the fact that bradley has everyone falling at his feet. you shrug, taking a sip of your water. “he’s cool, i guess. but i don’t have time for that.”

callie wrinkles her nose in your direction, clearly a little annoyed. “but you like him.”

you purse your lips. “so?”

she sighs, holding her cup of sludge with both hands as she leans back into her seat. “tell him.” it’s such a callie thing to say. she had never second-guessed herself. she had never needed to. but you weren’t callie. you weren’t perfect, reliable callie. such confidence had never come to you the way it has to her. if you were callie, the kind of person that people were drawn to—the same way they were drawn to bradley—you might tell him. but you weren’t. you were just you.

you lean back into your chair, avoiding your friends’ eyes, and for a minute, you pretend that you are like callie, and it’s a comforting thought.

similarly, bradley and mickey look at each other across the kitchen island. “so…you didn’t kiss her.”

“no,” bradley says, tired.

“and you didn’t ask her out?”

“no.”

mickey looks at him, head tilted curiously. “but why?”

“because she left, you idiot,” javy rolls his eyes. “you aren’t even listening.”

“i am!” he insists, glaring at javy. “i just don’t understand. brad, you’re the clincher.” 

bradley has been running over the events of the night before until he can’t hold it in anymore. he had hoped his roommates would be helpful, but javy is disinterested, mickey is entirely unhelpful, and jake had shuffled away five minutes into the conversation to fall asleep on the couch. “i don’t know, man, i thought it was going great. she seemed like she was interested, you know? 

mickey shrugs. “whatever, dude. you said you have some classes together? just catch her on campus and ask her out.”

“mickey, did it ever occur to you that she left because she didn’t like me?” bradley stresses, and his roommate rolls his eyes. 

“bradley, have you ever considered that you only like this girl because she's the first one who doesn’t like you?”

bradley sits with this for a moment. he had an ego, that was for sure, and he had chased a lot of girls who didn’t want him just to change their minds. the thrill was always in the chase. at least, it had been, because the longer bradley thinks about it, the more he thinks that he had found just as much thrill watching you across lecture halls as he ever had chasing other girls. he had been just as eager to get you a drink and make you laugh as he had to take other girls to bed. everything is heightened with you. no, the thrill wasn’t in chasing you. this had gone on so much longer than that. long before he ever found out that you had no interest in him.

“no,” bradley decides. “no, man, it’s not like that. i really like her.”

mickey shrugs like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “okay, then tell her. what’s the worst that can happen?”

you avoid looking at bradley throughout class. right as it had begun, you had made the mistake of searching for him, and the second that you laid eyes on him, it felt like a burn. over the weekend, you had come to terms with the fact that yeah, you did like bradley. that didn’t mean you had to like it. you would put your head down, get through the semester, and pray that you didn’t have any classes together next semester. and that’s fine. it’s fine. 

your notes, like your thoughts, are scrambled. they barely make sense to you, and when callie glances in your direction, her face twists at the sight of your notebook. “dude, what the fuck?”

“stop,” you insist, trying to hide the way your shoulders shake in a laugh. “it’s functional.”

“bro, it’s incomprehensible.”

“fuck off,” you laugh, elbowing her. 

she giggles, pressing a hand to her chest. you’re grateful when your professor releases class early, because callie’s jeering is getting a little too close to heckling for your taste. she can’t control her volume, this you know, and usually it’s fine, but more than usual, you’re trying to fly under the radar today.

you both shrug on your coats, pack your bags, and slip from the lecture hall. you think you’re in the clear, that you’ve successfully avoided bradley, who exited on the opposite side of the lecture hall, not that you were looking. but you hear your name from only a few feet behind just as you and callie reach the external doors. it’s far enough away, crowded enough in the rush of your classmates that you might be able to pretend you didn’t hear it, but he calls you again and you know that the guilt will haunt you if you don’t at least say hi.

your best friend grins when you turn and offer bradley a tight smile. “hey, bradley.”

“hey,” he breathes, and you hate him because he’s so much cuter in daylight than he ever was under the porch light of the frat house. it makes you sick. “i’m glad i caught up to you. can we talk?”

your inner monologue screeches to a halt and starts shrieking, but you nod and turn to callie. “i’ll catch up?”

she smirks at the two of you. “i won’t hold my breath.”

“callie,” you hiss, but bradley laughs and you feel—despite your embarrassment—that her comment is hopeful, not teasing. 

she waves goodbye and heads on her way. you and bradley, standing against the late autumn chill, stand in silence for only a beat before he says, “i lost you at the party.”

your lips twist in a way that’s unbearably endearing to him and you hook your thumb over your shoulder. “callie got sick, we had to take her home.”

bradley grins, looking after her. “oh, that callie.” you look at him, half-suspicious, but you have an almost knowing smile growing on your face. “my roommate hasn’t stopped talking about her since friday.”

“jake?” you hazard a guess, and bradley nods. a contemplative sigh fills the space between you before you say, “yeah, trust me. we’ve heard a lot about him, too.”

you expect some banter, at least, about his roommate. from what callie has told you, you’re certain that bradley has some stories to share about him, or at least a funny quip, but he’s got a one track mind. “um…right. well, i would have liked to…say bye.”

for a long moment, the two of you look at one another in silence. you get the sense that bradley doesn’t spend a great deal of time being vulnerable like this, even if he’s just giving you the barest hint of what happens underneath, and you have to wonder: why is he sharing this with you? what is he doing? 

“no, yeah. you just looked like you were having fun inside, i didn’t think you’d really notice.” and god, you hate how pathetic that sounds, and you hate the way his shoulders deflate, and you hate the way you’re butchering this right now. “i just didn’t want to bother you, was all.” 

“you wouldn’t have bothered me,” he responds immediately. 

he’s so cute that looking at him hurts, and you feel that pressure build up in your chest, packed so tightly that you have to say something. “bradley—”

“i’m sorry,” he says, voice sweet and a little scratchy. he holds eye contact so firmly that it almost makes you shiver, both of you ignoring the other students around you. “i’m sorry if i was too pushy, or if i made you uncomfortable.”

“you didn’t,” you assure. “you weren’t. not at all.” he nods once.

bradley feels like the earth could swallow him right now and it could only help the situation. he’s embarrassed, but he tries not to show it. after mickey’s rare moment of mental clarity, bradley knows that now is the moment. he’d missed his chance before. fumbled his opportunity already. he didn’t want to do that again. “listen…i’ve been watching you across classrooms for like, four semesters. i think you’re really pretty,” he admits, voice steady despite the increasing flush on his cheeks. “and you’re funny and interesting and smart and i want to get to know you, because i really like you.” you blanch, mouth parted in the cutest little o he’s ever seen. “if you aren’t interested, i get it. we can just be friends.”

you pause, taking a moment to process his words when he cuts in again.

“or if you don’t want to be friends, you can totally tell me to fuck off and i will literally never bother you again,” he rambles, nodding decisively.

and it happens at the worst time, really. this is not the time to start giggling, but you can’t help yourself. you’re a little giddy and a little entertained, but mostly you’re caught up in him. caught up in the way this boy you haven’t stopped thinking about for the last three days has, apparently, spent the last two years admiring you. this sweet boy, who makes you laugh and makes you think, who makes you feel special and interesting and wanted. 

“bradley, you don’t get rejected a lot, do you?”

bradley’s lips pucker, trying to hide his nerves from you. whatever you had to say, he wanted to hear it. no matter what. “no, i don't.”

you take a step toward him, grateful for the heat that rolls off his body, and you smile at him softly. “well, best not to break your record, then.”

bradley bradshaw isn’t the type to pine. until he is. 

and it’s worth every second.

[familyvideostevie]

october fifteenth

day fifteen: bradley "rooster" bradshaw after a hookup, you and bradley spend an unexpected night together | friends to lovers, only one bed, 18+, mdni, fem!reader, sex, porn WITH plot | 3.7k detailed content warnings: fem!reader, rooster jacks off in the shower, dirty talk, mentioned oral (m receiving, f receiving, doesn't happen on the page), fingering, p in v sex)

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was meant to be much easier.

A full day of driving: San Diego to Napa in 10 hours, if you’re lucky. But Bradley is a good driver and it was cheaper than flying this time of year if you split gas and you really thought it would be fine. That’s what you told yourself.

“Fucking Nat,” you mutter, inaudible over the pounding of the rain on the windshield. Of course she had to have her fucking birthday party — which is really just a party with the other aviators and you — in Napa, of all places. Of course she’d suggest you and Bradley drive together.

Of fucking course.

“I think we’re going to have to call it,” Bradley says. He’s white knuckling the wheel, which can’t be a good sign considering he flies million dollar jets for a living. “This isn’t going to get any better and I’m worried we’ll get stranded if we wait too long to pull off.”

It really is pouring. It started a half hour ago and hasn’t let up since. And now it’s dark and you can barely see in front of you with the headlights on.

“Yeah, okay.”

He pulls off at the next exit — you think you’re somewhere south of San Francisco, maybe near Carmel? You look for a motel on your phone as the car crawls down the empty exit ramp.

“There’s a Days Inn in .5 miles if you turn…right?” you tell him. “That work?” Bradley doesn’t look at you, eyes focused on the road. His jaw is tense.

“Is that okay for you?” You’re not sure what he’s implying. At this point, you don’t really care where you stop as long as you do.

“Cheap is fine,” you say. “I just want to sleep.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up for just a second. “Me too. Maybe we can order food, or something. I’m starved.” He’s always hungry.

“Okay.”

Rooster is a good guy. You know it, everyone knows it. Nat knows you have a bit of a thing for him, which is why you’re in this car. What she doesn’t know is that you and Bradley…got drunk at the last Hard Deck theme night and made out in the bathroom. You had his tongue in your mouth and your legs around his waist and his hand on your breast and you felt him through your thin shorts and. Well. What Nat doesn’t know is you remember all of it in excruciating detail, the sounds he made, the way he groaned your name, his hands on your skin, and Bradley, it seems, remembers none of it. He has not called you or brought it up since.

Is that bad? Not really. Maybe he doesn’t remember. You were both pretty drunk, though you distinctly remember him asking you Are you sure? as he hoisted you onto the bathroom counter. But whatever. Maybe he regrets it and is saving face because you’re all friends and it would make things awkward, especially before Nat’s big weekend. Maybe he doesn’t like you at all and he’s embarrassed. You’re not about to ask him and find out when you still have hours on the road together.

The Days Inn is a typical California motel — doors on the outside, mercifully covered by an overhang. Rooster parks as close to the reception office as he can. “I’ll go get rooms and then park wherever they are,” he tells you. “Stay here?”

“Not going anywhere.” Neither of you have raincoats so he just takes a deep breath and then shoves the door open and makes a run for it. You sigh.

God damn. He really was a good kisser. Sitting next to him for the last few hours hasn’t been awkward, not really, but you’ve had to stop yourself from staring. At his chorded forearms, the tan expanse of his neck. His hands, the memory of them pressing into your hips hard enough to bruise, his thumb rubbing your nipple through your shirt that night —

Fuck. He’s been nothing but nice to you, which somehow makes it worse. He ghosted you, maybe without knowing, and all you want to do is touch him. It’s driving you insane.

The car door opens and you jump a little, eyes flying open. You hadn’t realized you’d closed them.

“Sorry,” Bradley says. “Good news and bad news.” He turns in his seat so he’s facing you as much as he can. He shivers a little. He must be cold. “They have…a room,” he says slowly. “And it’s, uh, only one bed. A queen.”

“Oh,” you say. You can’t think of a single other word.

“Yeah,” he continues. He runs a hand through his wet hair. “She said that everyone is booked up because of the storm. I got the room, but I can tell her we don’t want it and we can keep driving if you want, find somewhere else around here. Or I can just sleep on the floor, obviously, but I don’t want you to —”

“It’s okay,” you interrupt. “Bradley, it’s fine. No big deal. We can share the room and the bed.” He blinks and you look anywhere but his face. “It isn’t safe to keep driving and we’re both tired and need something to eat.” The bed, though…you’re not sure what to think of your offer but it’s too late to take it back now.

He nods once, a sharp jerk of his chin. A drop of water runs down his nose. “Okay.” He drives around to the back of the hotel and parks in front of what you assume is your room. “Ready?”

You grab your bags from the back seat and throw open the door, hopping out and running the few feet until you’re under the overhang. Only a few seconds and you still feel like you’re soaked.

Bradley unlocks the door with an rusty key on a blue tag and gestures for you to go in. “There’s a local pizza place that’ll deliver in this,” he says, locking the door behind you. “At least the reception lady thinks so. I have their number and I can call them?”

You keep talking to each other in questions, like you’re both unsure of yourselves. It’s…strange. You put your stuff down on the — yep, one — bed and sit, toeing off your wet shoes.

“Whatever you want is fine.” You shiver. “I’m cold so I’m going to, uh, take a shower. Unless you want to?” A question again.

Bradley shakes his head. “No, you go. Get warm. I’ll go after.”

You grab the first comfortable and dry thing from your bag you can find and bring it into the bathroom with you. Fuck. How are you going to do this?

The shower does wonders to warm you up but you can hear Bradley’s voice through the wall, low and steady as he talks to the pizza place. Your hand drifts down your stomach, ghosts between your legs before you yank it away. No. Get it together. You’re friends.

Enough of that. You towel off and put on your clothes only to find that you…didn’t bring your shorts into the bathroom with you. You stare at your underwear and t-shirt hopelessly as if it’ll make them appear. “Are you fucking kidding me,” you say. You could use your hair towel and wear it like a skirt but your hair is wet and your t-shirt is white and the only other towel in here is for Bradley. “This cannot be real,” you tell your reflection.

Nothing to be done, it seems. You’re going to have to go out there in only a t-shirt that barely hangs past your ass.

So you do. Bradley clears his throat. You glance at him and he shifts in the chair he’s in at the tiny table. “Pizza should be here soon,” he says, gruffly. His eyes don’t seem to know where to land. “I’m going to shower.”

He’s up and through the door before you can say anything. “Okay, then,” you mutter. You dig in your bag for your sleep shorts and…can’t find any. Great. You’re going to share a bed with him in only a t-shirt.

Someone rings the doorbell and you abandon all pretense and take the towel from your head and wrap it around your waist. The peephole reveals it to be the pizza, so you open the door and a teenager hands it to you without a word and runs back to his car.

“Thanks!” you call. You set it on the table and hear the shower still running. “Pizza’s here!” you yell through the wall.

Bradley makes a noise that sounds like a curse. “Go ahead!” he shouts back.

“Fine,” you say to the empty room. “Don’t mind if I do.” You crack open the box and see that he’s gotten all the stuff you like. You have no idea how he knows that.

You’ve had two pieces by the time he comes out. It’s like a fucking porno the way the door opens and steam rushes out to reveal Bradley, shirtless and damp, a towel wrapped around his waist. The temperature of the room seems to shoot up exponentially.

You fist one hand in the towel you’ve draped across your lap and don’t even try to look away. “Forgot my clothes out here,” he mutters. You don’t say anything. You watch the muscles of his back flex, watch the water drip down his shoulder blades. You can see the v of his hips, the hair that disappears under the towel.

You wonder how big his dick is.

Good god. Cut it out.

He rifles through his own bag and you watch that, too. You swallow and press a palm to your cheek. God, you’re flustered. There’s no way you can sleep next to him like this. You have to face it head on.

“Bradley,” you say. Your voice is lower than you’d expected.

“Yeah?” He doesn’t turn around.

“Do you remember that night at the Hard Deck?”

He stills for just a second, so quick that you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t staring at him.

“Which one? We’re there a lot.”

Okay, that’s it. You stand, leaving the towel on the chair as you walk across the scratchy carpet to stand right behind him.

“C’mon,” you say, serious now. “You know that I’m talking about.”

He turns around and seems a little startled to see you so close. His eyes rake down your form and linger on your bare legs before snapping up to your face.

“Do you remember it?” he asks. His hands are fists at his sides.

You are getting frustrated. “Well, I’m asking, aren’t I? Why haven’t we talked about it?”

“You were drunk!” he says, exasperated. He runs his hands through his hair, biceps flexing in a way that makes you press your thighs together even tighter. “I took advantage of you!”

The laugh that comes out of you is like a bark. “You did not,” you say. “You didn’t, Bradley, I remember it all and I wanted it all.” It’s true. You were drunk, but if anything it gave you the courage to rub your ass against him on the dance floor, to take his hand and drag him to the bathrooms, to read his blown pupils for desire.

He looks stressed. “Nat said you were throwing up like, twenty minutes later!”

You wince. Yeah, that did happen, but that was on you. “That was an ill-timed shot and too many chicken wings,” you admit.

Bradley tips his head back and stares at the ceiling, sighing your name. You want to lick the vein in his neck.

You reach out and put your palm on his bare abdomen. His muscles contract and you feel it as well as see it. He might be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. “If you want to forget it, just tell me,” you say softly. “If it was a mistake or your embarrassed to have done it with me—”

His hand circles your wrist. “No,” he says firmly. “No.” Softer this time. “I don’t regret it. It wasn’t…I—” He takes a breath that you feel. “I just thought I fucked it all up.”

“Fucked what all up?” The air in the room is still hot but it’s like time has stopped. Like nothing apart from you two matters.

“My chance with you,” he says softly. Bradley looks at you, pupils blown but with such a raw expression it takes your breath away. This man is so much more than he appears.

“Oh,” you breathe. “No, I don’t think you did.” He couldn’t. You don’t know what it would feel like to not want him.

He releases your wrist and reaches for your face, his wide palms settling on your jaw. You close your eyes and wait for him to commit, wait for him to finish what he started, and he does. His lips are light on yours at first but once you press back it turns into something firmer. You wrap your arms around his neck and his hands move, one sliding under your shirt to grab your bare hip and the other winding in your hair.

The kiss turns messy, tongues and teeth until his lips trail down your neck. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since that night,” he pants, nipping and soothing with his tongue.

“I’ve wanted more than that,” you gasp. You grasp his biceps for dear life.

“Oh yeah?” His fingers brush the bottom of your breast. “If it’s a competition, I’m winning,” he rasps in your ear. “I had to jack off in the shower just now after you came out here in a t-shirt.”

You groan. You actually groan at his words. You slide one hand down his damp skin until you find the edge of the towel still around his waist. “Can I?”

“Yes,” he hisses. You tug on it and it gives, falling to the ground at your feet. You look down and find his cock already hard, ruddy and weeping, demanding your attention.

“See how badly I want you?” Bradley backs you up until your knees hit the bed and you sit down suddenly. And there he is, naked head to toe, chest flushed and heaving and all you’ve done is kiss. You get an eye full — he’s big, no surprise there — as he takes himself in hand and strokes, eyes fluttering shut. Your clench around nothing. He’s going to ruin you.

“Let me do that,” you say. Maybe he’ll let you suck him off. You can imagine his weight on your tongue, his hands in your hair as you gag around him.

“Won’t last long,” he pants. “Next time.”

Next time. That sounds nice. You scoot back on the bed, shoving your bag to the floor, and pull off your shirt. It goes flying somewhere that doesn’t matter. Bradley groans, stroking himself slowly as he watches you. “Look at you,” he says. “Better than I imagined.”

He goes back to his bag to dig through it a bit desperately and you stretch out on the bed. It he doesn’t touch you soon you might die. You spread your legs wide and look down to find a wet spot on your panties. Fuck. He’s hardly touched you and you’re soaked.

Your fingers work their way under the damp material and you run them through your folds and sigh with pleasure, eyes fluttering. “What did you imagine?” you ask.

“All sorts of things,” he says. “I’m very creative.” He makes a triumphant noise and holds up a condom. His eyes narrow when he sees what you’re doing on the bed. “Fuck. I —” He swallows. His cock twitches. “Do you want to?”

“Oh, I want you to fuck me, Bradley.” His nostrils flare. “Like, right now.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters. He saunters over to the bed looking better than your best wet dream. “You have no idea how goddamn good you look right now. Can you take those off for me, sweetheart?”

The pet name coincides with the pads of your fingers brushing your clit and you moan. Right now, you’re pretty sure you will do anything he asks of you. You pull your panties off and toss them.

“Spread for me,” he says. You do and he puts his hands on the insides of your thighs and just looks. It makes you a little shy but you also feel…powerful. There is hunger in his gaze, raw want and desire. He licks his lips and strokes your skin. “Here’s my plan,” he says.

You throw an arm over your eyes. Always a man with a plan.

“I’m going to fuck you with my fingers first,” he says. His fingertips trail up your thigh and you squirm. One of them brushes your clit ever so slightly. “And then I’ll fuck you properly until you scream.” His thumb presses down on it. You keen, high and long. Bradley ignores it. “And then we’ll eat more pizza and then I’ll have desert.”

His hands disappear and you whine. “Do I get some, too?” Bradley laughs and despite the situation, the filthy, filthy things he’s saying, it sounds genuine. You pull your arm away to look at him. He tosses the condom on the bedside table.

“You get whatever you want, sweetheart.”

He kneels on the bed, crawls up your body and kisses you deeply. You feel him hot and hard against your stomach. “Does that sound good?”

You nod. “Get to it, Lieutenant.”

He groans like you’ve touched him. Bradley kisses you firmly, his mustache scratchy in the most delicious way as he licks into your mouth. One of his hands pays attention your nipples and the other slips down your stomach to your folds.

“God,” he says against your jaw. “You’re so wet.” He circles your clit a few times before pressing one finger inside you. You know right away it’s not enough. You fist one hand in the sheets and the other in his hair. “Prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen. All for me.”

“More,” you groan. “More, please.” You think he might tease you but he obeys right away, giving you another one as he starts to fuck you with them. You’re so wet that it’s making filthy noises as you writhe under his touch.

If you had more presence of mind you’d try to make it good for him, too, jerk him or at least pay him some kind of attention, but you’re barely hanging on. He ruts against your thigh as your pleasure builds.

You grab for him desperately, bringing his face as close as you can get it. “Fuck me,” you say. “Please, Bradley.”

Your plea seems to undo him. “Yeah?”

You nod frantically. He pulls away and you try to catch your breath as he tears open the condom and rolls it on. You keep your legs spread and he settles back between them, hands on your thighs as he looks at you again. “You’re so beautiful,” he says.

“That’s nice.” You arch your back. “Please fuck me now.”

He laughs again. His chest is flushed and damp, eyes bright and pupils blown. “Okay, sweetheart.”

He drags the head of his cock through your folds a few times before hitching one of your legs around his hip and pressing into you slowly, slowly, slowly.

“Talk to me,” he gasps.

He’s big, but you want him so badly that the stretch comes easy. It feels incredible. “Keep going, I—” It’s like you can feel every inch of him. Every vein, every ridge. You could lie here with his cock inside you forever. “God, how big are you?”

He laughs but it’s a rasp and a groan all in one. “Almost done, baby.”

“Baby,” you mock. You love it.

Bradley presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Hush.”

Just when you’re starting to think that maybe you can’t take him, he bottoms out and you’re both panting.

He steadies himself over you and you hook your ankles behind his back and roll your hips.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “This might not go as long as I’d hoped.”

“Fine with me so long as you get going.” He presses his forehead to yours and starts to move, his hips going slow and then faster when you urge. His cock drags along your walls as he gets impossibly deep with every thrust. One of his huge hands presses into your side hard enough to bruise and you hold on for dear life.

The rain is probably still pounding outside but you don’t hear it over the smacking of his balls against your skin, the sound of your slick, your combined moans.

“God, you feel so good,” he pants, breath hot on your face. “Taking all of me, so tight—” He kisses you but it’s more like a desperate press of his mouth to yours.

“Bradley,” you manage. “Bradley I—” All words seem too far away, so you settle for chanting his name, your nails digging into his back.

“C’mon, baby,” he says. “So close, so close, yeah? Lemme feel you.”

One of his hands rubs roughly at your clit, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter and you can only get out one last gasp of his name before it snaps and you jerk in his hold, back arching and cunt spasming around him, clenching over and over.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, just like that, oh shit —” And then he’s chanting your name in a punched out voice and his thrusts become erratic. You come down from your high just as he begins his, body stilling above you as he thrusts, once, twice, then shudders.

He pulls out of you and flops to your side. You’re both sweaty and panting.

Bradley’s hand reaches blindly until he finds yours and kisses the back of it.

“Can I take you out?” he says. “When we get back?”

He just fucked you within an inch of your life and he’s asking you on a date?

You laugh, exhausted and thrilled. “Sure, Bradley.”

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here! promptober masterlist, find all fics under #fvspromptober23

[senawashere]

Carolina?

Summary: Who is Carolina? Is she the other woman? And why Bradley is talking about her in his sleep?

A/n: I wrote this like 2 or 3 years ago for another character and i wanted to post again🤭

Warnings: tooth rutting fluff actually. Maybe a bit angst. And a bit smutt at the end. Hehehehe.

Bradley always talked in his sleep,most of life. So you were ok with it. But one night,everything chances.

You slowly wake up to a chill in the air, realizing that Bradley has closed most of the windows once again, as usual.

The room is dark, and the digital clock on your nightstand shows 4:28; you've only been asleep for four hours.

As you turn to the side, you see Bradley curled up in the blankets, lying on his side with his back turned to you. You approach him, pulling the blanket closer for warmth, and snuggle up to your husband, wrapping your arm around his abdomen. You drift back to sleep with you melting in his embrace, emitting a low, soft purr from his curled lips.

He feels so warm and resilient against you that you bury your face into his back, inhaling his scent, placing a few kisses on his shoulder blades before laying your head on the pillow. You hear Bradley's gentle murmurs as he returns to his dreams. When you open your eyes, you lift your head slightly, leaning towards him in hopes of understanding what he's saying, but his words are jumbled.

"Brad?" you whisper, wondering if he's about to wake up.

"Baby..." he murmurs, and then you hear something inconsistent.

"I'm here," you say softly, kissing his shoulder. He usually calls you "baby," so you assume he's talking to you.

"Baby... My baby..." he repeats, and as you smile at the thought of him dreaming about you, everything shatters with a single word.

"Carolina... Carolina, baby… my…girl"

Wait a second, who is Carolina?

It wakes you up faster than an alarm. As you sit up, looking at your still-sleeping husband, talking about someone named Carolina in his dreams, you're left puzzled. You don't know anyone by that name, so she must be someone Bradley knows, and that's concerning.

"Carolina... beautiful..." the words spill from his lips, almost inaudible but piercing your ears like a punch to the chest.

Lately, he's been so confused, but you haven't thought much about it, attributing it to all the work he put into his job and getting promoted. However, now you see it in a different light.

And yes you know his mother’s name is Carol but the problem is Carol and Carolina are not the same.

Or are they? No probably not.

Could Bradley be spending time with another woman? The thought of him cheating on you didn't cross your mind. Everything seemed so perfect; you were planning the moving somewhere else next summer, and he didn't seem regretful of his decision to marry you.

But then who is Carolina? And if she invaded his dreams, how important could she be? More important than you? It made your stomatch flip.

Afterward, you struggled to sleep, tossing and turning in bed for hours.

Bradley stops talking afterward, turning his face up, and while you lie awake next to him, going through every possible theory in your mind, he simply sleeps peacefully, unaware of your racing thoughts. As the sun begins to rise on the horizon, you're already out of bed, perched on a kitchen stool with your laptop, hoping to find a clue Bradley left behind as you delve into the history.

But what if he's really doing this? If he's cheating on you, he wouldn't be foolish enough to get caught like this. Right?

You make tea and reluctantly check his socials that he follows almost everyone he knows. You hate stalking your husband with the thought of him cheating on you but now you want to know if something strange is happening. Unfortunately, or fortunately, nothing suspicious comes up. Most of the accounts are from people who works with, either with people you know,his old friends, or his family members and some of his dads old friends.

No sign of another woman.

That’s good. Right?

Bradley wakes up to an empty bed. It's strange that you're not cuddling him or holding onto him like a koala bear. He blinks his swollen eyes a few times, adjusting to the low light, and straightens the other side of the bed where your body used to rest. Since the room isn't even that cold, he knows you've been up for a while.

Yawning and rubbing his eyes, he throws on a sweatshirt and slowly exits the room, sliding his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He notices you immediately, curled up on the edge of the couch, looking out of the window. Your forehead is creased, indicating something is bothering you.

"Hey, honey, the bed was cold without you," he murmurs, walking towards you with slow steps, sitting beside you on the couch near the window.

You look at him, your jaw clenched,on verge of tears and even though you didn't want to start like this, the truth about the morning overwhelms you.

"Who is Carolina?"

Confusion is evident on his face. It's not the kind of thing that someone doesn't know what or who is being talked about. Carolina is a real person, and Bradley knows exactly who she is.

"What's this about now?" he asks, leaning back, putting some distance between you two, his arm dropping over the back of the couch,confusion is clearly visible all over his face.

"Do you know anyone named Carolina?" you push, narrowing your eyes.

"I do... well, I mean... it's not what you think honey really..."

"You talk in your sleep, Bradley."

"What?" his eyes widen.

"You often murmur incoherently, but last night, you kept repeating the name Carolina, and... you even called her baby. You called her baby! You only call me baby. "

The revelation dawns on him as you watch, and he takes a slow breath, exhaling gently. This is going to be more complicated than you anticipated.

"I'm telling you, but promise not to think I've lost my mind, okay?"

"You're scaring me, Bradley," you breathe out. "Tell me. Please."

"Okay, okay," he says, inhaling deeply and then nodding slightly. "Do you remember... the day when we thought you might be pregnant, about like five months ago?"

"Of course, I remember," you nod,biting your lip.

Your period was late, and you had vomited in the morning. Bradley had taken a test, and you both sat on the cold tile floor of the bathroom, waiting for the results. It came back negative.

You felt relieved, but a part of you wondered how it would have been if you were pregnant. Something in your head told you it wouldn't have been a big deal, but the timing wasn't right because you two were just about to get married and it would have been nice to get married first before having a baby.

"A few days after that... I had a dream."

"A dream?" You furrow your brows, unsure where this is going.

"Yeah. It was about you and me, and... we had a baby. A little girl. It wasn't something crazy; you were breastfeeding her in our bed, and I was watching you, and then I was holding her, rocking her to sleep and she was sleeping in my arms... It felt real, and when I woke up... I felt like something was missing."

You listen to him carefully, your lower lip tense, and your heart pounding in your chest.

"Since then, I've been having similar dreams. At least twice a week. Always the same baby, always with you inside, but we do different things. Sometimes we bathe her,sometimes we play tickling,sometimes we walk in the park, and sometimes she sleeps in a stroller... Once my mom and dad were in it and one time I saw Mav and Penny too, God, it felt so real," he confesses with a shaky breath. "The last few times, we didn't even have her with us. We gave her a name."

"Carolina? Her name is Carolina?" you softly ask, pushing yourself closer to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Yes. She looks a lot like you, but her eyes are like mine. A perfect mix of both of us, and... I couldn't shake it off. Sometimes I wake up after a dream, and I feel like something has been taken away from us, it feels so real,I miss her even though I don't know her."

"Why didn't you tell me about these dreams, Baby?" you whisper, placing a small kiss on his shoulder.

"It felt super foolish, and I didn't know how it would make you feel. I knew we talked about trying for a baby after the wedding, and I thought bringing it up would upset you," he shrugs, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead.

As you sit on the couch, silence falls between you two, your head resting on his chest, his arms around you. This wasn't the outcome you expected. None of your theories came close to the truth Bradley just revealed.

"I was thinking about the same thing...for a while." you say.

"About what?"

"About having a baby. If the test had come back positive, how would it have been?"

"And...?" He leans back to look into your eyes.

"I wouldn't have aborted it," you admit honestly, and Bradley takes a slow breath, gently kissing your forehead. "Do you want to... start trying for a baby before we talk about,Bradley?"

"It can wait," he replies, looking as if he's afraid to say something that might upset you. "If we continue what we're doing, it's okay..."

"But I want to know what you want, Bradley. Tell me."

He takes a deep breath, running his tongue over his lips before speaking.

"I think I want it." The way your heart explodes at his words is undeniable. Realizing that he feels exactly the same way now brings tears to your eyes.

"It would probably mean a blow to the squad if we start now and succeed," you laugh, watching his eyes glimmer.

"That would be the best thing that ever happened," he chuckles, confessing, "just the thought of going on adventures while our baby grows under your heart... God, I could just cry just thinking about it."

"So," you grin, slyly teasing him as you hold his chin with one hand. "Carolina?"

"It could be something else if it's a boy."

"I like it," you murmur, nodding. "We can add it to the list. But before we start making lists, we should probably start trying for a baby, don't you think?"

He doesn't need more encouragement. As you both laugh and kiss, you find yourselves in your bedroom in an instant, clothes flying off as you fall onto the bed. Giving him a passionate kiss before he undresses you, you can't help but whisper, "I love you."

Ekkkk full of cuteness🥹🥹

I'm tagging people who might be interested:@ohtobeleah @sebsxphia @callsigns-haze @sailor-aviator @sorchathered @greenorangevioletgrass @teacupsandtopgun @roosterforme @floydsglasses @lyn-js @bradshawssugarbaby @torchflies @its-dee-lovely @its-the-pilot @friedchips94 @bradshawsbaby @hardballoonlove @perfectprettypisces @topguncortez @hangmanapologist @bradshawsbaddie @shanimallina87 @djs8891 @themusingofagothicsoul @the-romanian-is-bae @mamachasesmayhem @jessicab1991 @iefitzgerald-blog @charcole-grey @waterriseslew @desert-fern @promisingyounglady

[bruisedboys]

bradley bradshaw x fem!reader — you’re worried about what bradley will think of your new haircut.

mutual pining, pre-relationship, fluff (very self indulgent since I got my hair cut this week xoxo)

You were feeling good about your new haircut yesterday, when it was freshly cut and styled and so super soft. Today is different. You know you look different and you can help but think different is bad.

You rake a hand through your short hair. “Does my hair look bad?”

Natasha and Bob both give you twin looks of incredulity. It’s not the first time you’ve asked it tonight. They’ve brought you along to the Hard Deck for a night of drinks with their friends and you can’t stop fussing over your hair. You won’t admit to them it’s because you’re harbouring a massive crush on one of their squad members and you’re worried he’ll think you look awful.

“It looks fine,” Natasha tells you, again, not for the first time. “You look pretty. Right, Bob?”

Bob hums, tapping his fingers on the wooden tabletop. “You look great, Y/N.” He gives you a look from behind his glasses. Confusion, a bit of suspicion. “Why are you worrying so much, anyway?”

Your heart stutters. “I’m not—“

“Phoenix, Bob!” Jake Seresin appears seemingly out of nowhere, sidling up to your table with all the charm of a prince. His eyes land on you and your new hair and he grins. “And Y/N. Looking good, sugar.”

He winks at you. He’s a huge flirt and you’d definitely be into him if it weren’t for another certain aviator.

You smile at him. “Thanks, Jake.”

The others, Payback and Fanboy, file in behind him. They both notice and compliment your hair, which is a good sign. Still, you know who’s coming next and you can’t help but curl in on yourself, taking a sip of your drink so you don’t have to see him as he approaches.

“Hey, guys!” Bradley Bradshaw appears, stupid Hawaiian shirt, sunglasses, moustache, golden skin and all. He’s tucking his glasses into his shirt so he doesn’t see you at first. “Hey— woah, Y/N.”

He stops short when he sees you. You lower your drink slowly, heart in your throat. Your knee bounces underneath the table.

“Hi, Bradley,” you say.

Bradley blinks. Blinks again. “Hi. Hey. I— you cut your hair.”

He says it like he’s never heard of a haircut before. You smile unsurely.

“I did,” you say, pushing a lock behind your ear as if that will help your case. “Is it bad?”

“Bad? No, it’s— it really suits you,” he says. If you’re not mistaken, he’s stuttering. Not only that, but unless you’re imagining it, he’s blushing. He stares at you, completely unaware of anything or anyone else, golden cheeks tinged pink. “You look really pretty.”

Your turn to blush. Heat flares behind your cheeks, burning into your smile. Pretty, he called you. “Thanks, Brad.”

Bradley seems to come back into himself, a lopsided grin creeping onto his face. He shoves his hands into his jeans pockets and smiles at you. “Hey, you’re welcome. Just tell me next time so I don’t have a heart attack, okay?”

What’s that supposed to mean? You open your mouth to say something, you don’t know what, but Jake’s southern drawl interrupts you.

“Bradshaw!” Both you and Bradley turn to see Jake at the pool table with the rest of the boys. “Stop flirting with Y/N and get over here so I can beat you. Again.”

Bradley rolls his eyes. “He’s lying, I won last week. I’ll be back, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

You weren’t planning to. He flashes you a dazzling smile and then you watch him go, your heart thrumming with the sort of electricity you can’t ignore. You think you might burst. He’d called you pretty, said you’d given him a heart attack. You feel like your own heart’s about to give out, too.

Across the table, Bradley now well out of earshot, Natasha wiggles her eyebrows at you.

“Oh,” she says slyly. “Now I get why you were so worried about your hair.”

You groan and bury your burning face in your drink again. “Please shut up, Nat.”

You have a feeling she won’t.

[luveline]

you're writing for bradley!! i am so so excited!! could i request just some domestic fluff with shy!reader and bradley? maybe her coming home from a long day and he's just the perfect boyfriend with a glass of wine and a hug ready for her? love u gorgeous 💗

thank you for requesting, babe, I absolutely adored writing this and him, let me known if you have any more!! —bradley helps you feel better after a bad, long day with wine and a multitude of hugs. fem!reader 1k

You push into your apartment, a ground floor slotting of sandblown terracotta tiles and wooden shutters weakened by termites, and pause. There's something wrong, a humming sound. 

You take a step back toward the door and slide your phone from your pocket. 

Hi Bradley, where are you? I think somebody has been in my apartment. Should I worry? you text him. You've continued a streak of politeness with him even now, too shy to dip into the familiarity you feel when he's holding you close over the phone. You follow it up quickly. Don't worry, I'm sure it's okay. Do you know what time you'll be coming over? Any time is OK.

"It's me!" Bradley calls with an easy chuckle. Couch springs creak as he jumps up, and a second later he appears in the living room doorway with a frankly breathtaking grin, shoving his cell into his pocket. "I'm coming over right now. Holy shit, would you look at you?" 

You hold your bag closer to your side, hair not nearly as neat as it started that morning, the day's chaos etched into the small wrinkles either side of your eyes. "Me?" 

When he smiles, it's all white top teeth and joy. For someone who's been through so much, and who works so hard, he's a shaken bottle of fizzy happiness whenever the moment allows —you barely have time to put your bag next to the rack of shoes (and there, his shoes you must've missed toed off and perfectly aligned with your sandy flip flops) when he's crossing the hall in quick strides and pulling you into an ecstatic embrace. 

"Hey," he says, kissing your cheek, moustache not scratchy but far from soft. It rubs a wonky trail as he kisses without goal. Kiss on your nose, your cheek, close enough to your eye to make you cringe and back away. 

"Hi, Brad," you say breathlessly. 

You need time to prepare yourself for seeing him usually, his sudden closeness catching you off guard. You struggle to make any sense of how much he likes you, but you've given up denying his attention. You want it too badly. 

He doesn't stall at your obvious (embarrassing) flustering; he doubles down. His arms like steel cords behind your shoulders, Bradley noses at the side of your face, his breath warm on your cheek as he says, "Sorry, I thought surprising you might be nice, but I didn't think about your nerves." 

"My nerves," you say. 

"Your bad nerves. You're flighty." He gives it another press, the straight line of his nose digging into your cheek before he pulls away. 

Bradley doesn't give you time to miss his arms around you. He makes for the kitchen, notices you aren't following, and grabs your hand. Tugging, he takes you into the kitchen and elbows open your refrigerator, revealing a better sight than what you'd seen this morning. 

"I had to go out again when I saw your fridge," he says, ducking down to push aside what looks like the makings of your favourite meal to unearth a pretty bottle of red. "Sweetheart, when you said you had a shitty breakfast, I was picturing, like, half a grapefruit. Did you eat anything?" 

He only knows what you'd texted him, shitty breakfast code for the found half of a cereal bar in your jacket. 

You don't like to text Bradley too much in case you put him off, but today was bad, and you know he doesn't mind. He'd told you so only a few days ago. His hand full of your stomach, hot under the collar, you can't remember what you'd been talking about initially, your memory intricately busy remembering the planes of his tightly muscled torso and the feeling of his weight atop you, but suddenly he'd been leaning down, brown eyes pleading. "You can talk to me," he'd said. "About anything. I want to hear it. You know that, right?"

So you texted him somewhere around lunch time and had been delighted to find him puttering around doing a whole lot of nothing. He's been keeping himself busy on leave, staying fit, helping your elderly upstairs neighbour put together her new chest of drawers between half marathons and surfing, regular dreamboat stuff. 

I think I'm having a bad day, you'd said. What are you up to, Brad? Can I still see you tonight? 

Why do you act like I'm not obsessed with you? he'd text back immediately. Kidding. Kind of. What's wrong? Can I bring you lunch? 

Raincheck on lunch? I don't think I'll have time. I'll explain later if that's OK. Miss you. 

Miss you too, baby. I wanna hear all about it tonight.

You blink up from his hands to find him staring at you worriedly. You're in your own head, exhausted and a little muddled after such a long day, and he clearly doesn't like it. 

"Is wine gonna make you feel worse?" he asks, tapping your thigh with his knuckles. 

"Definitely not," you say.

"Before dinner?" 

Your smile turns sheepish. You want the wine much more than the dinner, but if you get both, you won't complain. 

He leans back against the fridge, arms crossed, the neck of the wine bottle held precariously in a confident hand. "Sure you're okay?" he asks. 

"I will be." You take a brave step forward and look up into his face. It's difficult to grasp what it is he sees in you when he's like something out of a movie, all brains, brawn, and bleeding heart. You don't get it, but he wants you, and he's here. "Thanks for coming over, Bradley." 

"This shtick again?" he asks, raising his brows. 

"This shtick again," you repeat, grinning at the implication. 

He hooks your ankle with his. "Thanking me for coming over is like thanking a fish for swimming. Couldn't stop myself if I wanted to." 

Your laugh is a wheeze. Brad does you the generosity of pretending you've made a more intelligible sound and pulls you in for a one-armed hug, rubbing a rough up and down into your side. It's such a nice feeling to be tucked up under his arm that you can almost forget how badly you want a glass of wine. 

"Want the big glasses from the top shelf?" Bradley asks knowingly. 

"Yes. Please." 

[astyrial]

casanova captain bradley bradshaw x fem!reader (fluff) synopsis: there's a new pilot in town word count: 1.4k warnings: drinking, c/s = callsign  masterlist | requests are open

    it's your third day in san diego, well really, on the naval air station north island base. there isn't much you know of the area, let alone the local bars and restaurants. however, a name catches your attention upon hearing so many of your colleagues discuss it during a training activity. the hard deck, a well known bar for many navy officers, seems rather welcoming to newcomers. 

  so, in an attempt to integrate yourself into the area (despite the anxiety ridding your veins), you decide to make your way down there. in an outfit that doesn't exactly exude 'naval officer', you jump onto your electric bike and ride through the base's gate. the streets are packed for the evening, leaving you to take your time. 

  you park your bike, buckling your helmet to the seat. the sky is filled with sea salt smells and clouds that roll across the ocean. a soft sigh passes your lips as you look around for a second. the hard deck's parking lot is nearly filled with cars and motorcycles, a few people still packing into the building. 

  your brain rattles with whether or not you should head inside, however, that little voice telling you to go for it, overrules the common sense. just as another car pulls into the parking lot, you make your way into the building. it's nearly packed full with only a few open spots still at the bar.

  in an attempt to grab yourself a drink, you weave through the crowd and make your way to the bar. the bartender is moving back and forth between people and pouring more beer. she has a rather soft and sweet smile on her face despite the rush. you take a seat on one of the stools and grab your wallet. 

  after freeing herself from hoards of navy officers and college students, she finally catches you across the bar. "you're new here," is the first thing she says, something that you never would've imagined she would know.

  "sharp eyes, it's my first week at the base."

  "well, aren't you lucky then, because your first drink is on me. i nearly never forget my patrons, so, what'll you have darling?" she- penny, as her name tag suggests, leans against the bar's wood paneling.

  you raise your eyebrows in surprise, shrugging your shoulders. drinking was never a huge thing within your family, something you never quite got into, "um, how about you pick your favorite beer, and i will have that! thank you."

  penny clearly takes a liking to your short 'thank you', her warm smile becoming a little more genuine. you wait for a minute as she looks over the selection, your eyes looking around nervously at the crowd. a couple of the officers were in your class earlier in the day. meanwhile most of the patrons were completely absent from your memory.

  what doesn't help is someone grabbing the free seat beside you, his cologne strong. it wafts through the air until it reaches your nose. you turn away for a second, trying to breathe in a semblance of fresh air. when you turn back, penny is making her way over, two beers in hand.

  "one for you and one for the regular," she sets them down, your eyes looking over at the so called 'regular'.

  the first thing you notice is the bright hawaiian shirt and the prominent mustache lining his upper lip. he looks over at you as well, however, his eyes return to the bottle in front of him rather quickly. you nod slightly, giving penny a smile to show your thanks. she takes a few steps away to catch another person asking for a drink.

  you take a quick drink from the bottle and wonder if coming was the best decision. you have no one to talk to, and you certainly don't know what to do as you awkwardly drink. plus, a lot of people at bars are not exactly people you tend to-

  "good beer choice, usually the pretty ladies go for something a little different. are you navy or something?" his whole body turns so that it's facing you. 

  you finally get a good look at him when you turn as well, your eyebrow raised in surprise. mostly surprise that he suspects you're navy and is still hitting on you in a packed bar. "i am, how about you get rid of the pretty and then we can talk more," his dark eyes staring right back at yours.

  he shrugs, taking another drink from his glass, a smile still on his face. there's a bit about him that seems so intriguing to you, and quite attractive as well. his light tan, the clear muscles beneath his shirt, the cocky smile on his face. 

  "well, i only say things that are true, i can't go around lying now," the man gains a small smile out of you, you bring your drink up to attempt to hide it, "i have a reputation to keep up here."

  you tilt your head, your eyes open wide. "right... such a gentleman. so, mr. hawaiian shirt, you navy too? or you just hoping you can get away with hitting on a navy officer in a building full of navy officers?" it's your turn to give a somewhat cocky smile, trying to add to the somewhat playful banter.

  "i am, rooster, bradley, at your service," he does a small two-finger wave, giving you his callsign first.

  "oh, you're one of the ones who took down that uranium plant a few months ago... my name is c/s, y/n. you're a hell of a pilot, shit at flirting though, i'll say that," your smile suddenly becomes rather wide, your arms crossing in front of your chest.

  bradley brings a hand to his chest is fake surprise, his mouth turned into a frown. he leans back some and shakes his head. he closes his eyes as though he's attempting to fight tears, "oh i'm so wounded, i can't believe you would say such a thing. i am absolutely not shit at flirting, trust me."

  "i'm the one you are flirting with, and i say you are," you roll your eyes at the well-known pilot, unable to rid yourself of your smile, "plus only one of us is trying to pick up someone at a bar."

  "your smile says otherwise..."

  "excuse me? my smile says otherwise? sure, rooster, keep thinking that," instantly, you're biting your lips, trying to hide the smile that wouldn't disappear. 

  bradley shrugs, crinkling his nose, his hand quickly reaching for a small napkin resting on the counter. "well, in case it's not just in my mind, here's my phone number. or perhaps i'll just have to run into you around the base," he slides it towards you, not losing eye contact. 

  a ring of butterflies cause a sense of nausea in your stomach, unable to know what to say to him. you grab it off of the counter and brush your hand against his. "just taking this to throw it away at home, don't wanna leave it here to be penny's problem. or any other girl's," you stuff the napkin into your back pocket. 

  "right, i wouldn't want it to be any other girls' problems either..." bradley's eyes stay trained on yours, meanwhile, his hand grabbing his beer for another drink. 

  before you can say anything else to the casanova captain, someone is walking up to the two of you, swinging his arm over bradley's shoulder. the man is around the same age, a toothpick between his lips, and a badge sits on his shirt with the name 'seresin' imprinted. he looks you up and down, a stupid smile on his lips. 

  "so this is why you decided to abandon our pool game, slick," the seresin guy holds out his hand for you to grab, looking confident as you've ever seen. 

  you grab it, being quick to pull your hand away and return it to the counter. he furrows his eyebrows, seemingly confused by your actions to close him off. you can only conclude that this doesn't normally happen to him and that you're a phenomenon in his life. 

  "well, i should probably get going, i have an early morning. it was nice to meet you bradley, maybe i'll see you around. i personally enjoy a good morning jog," you give him a quick wink, looking up at seresin a moment later, "see you around too, seresin."

  it was this moment that really made bradley realize that you were definitely going to be using that number that he gave you.

[fandoms--fluff]

Hcs for being Natasha “Phoenix’s” sister from top gun?

Being Phoenix's Sister Headcannons

She's five years older than you but holds that over you from time to time

You met Bradley and Jake after her Top Gun class graduation

Bradley treats you as his own little sister

And Hangman annoys you to no end, to which you annoy him right back

You've also got a flying license, you're just not a naval aviator

Nat and Bradley taught you how to fly an F-14 in sligjt combat, that was a week after their top gun grad.

Under no circumstances does Phe let you use the stove or the oven. She barely let's you use the microwave without her watch when she's state side

^Which is fair, considering the amount of fires you've had to extinguish

You live off a bunch if vending machine food at the top gun base

And that's how you met your sister's CO, Pete Mitchell, for the special detachment her, Bradly and jackass (aka Jake) were called back for. He caught you kicking the vending machine since it stopped half way through, not dropping the bag of chips you paid for.

To which you guys had a pretty good conversation together, forgetting to mention you're not an actual aviator.

He didn't learn about who you are until after the suicide mission. He saw you and Nat huh each other tightly after everyone got back state side, on the beach. Everyone was relaxing on the beach after the huge excitement that had happened.

Nat introduced you to him as her little sister, and you chuckled as his mouth gaped in surprise.

Everyone watches as you throw one of the footballs they brought at Hangman after him insulting your sister.

^Bradley giving you a fistbump and Nat sighs while trying to hide her smile.

You, Nat and Halo have a big sleepover movie night, just the three of you girls. Halo taking a liking to you, seeing a lot of Nat in you.

You 'borrow' a bunch of Nat's navy sweaters and wear them around the base and the Hard Deck, seeing how many people will belive that you're in the Navy.

You and Penny become good friends at the bar

^you learn some (a lot of) dirt on Maverick from her

Bradley explains to you about his relationship with Maverick and you may or may not have smacked him upside the head about how he cut connection with the man

^to which he agreed he deserved

The whole dagger squad now treat you as their baby sister and you can't go anywhere without 'protection' aka one of them.

You love your big sister to death, when you were younger you wanted to be just like her. Strong, loyal, pretty and much more.

Amelia and you become good friends, you like a mentor to her and teaching her about different flight maneuvers with model planes, everything you learnt from Nat and Bradley...and maybe....maybe Jake.

[vxntagedior]

brown butter cookies

summary | baking started to become bradley's coping mechanism after the uranium mission

pairing | bradley bradshaw x fem!reader

warning | angst, fluff, mentions of the mission, PTSD

word count | 1.0k

Bradley could have died that day and he still couldn’t comprehend that. Flying back to San Diego, Bradley couldn’t talk to anyone, not even Maverick. All he had thought about when his plane was going down was you. 

He didn’t have many memories of his dad but the most vivid ones were when officers had come to their house, telling his mom about the news and next his dad’s funeral, remembering how Maverick had presented the folded flag to him. 

Since that, he didn’t want that to happen to you, he didn’t want you to feel the way his mother did when his dad died, how she barely went out some days, the light leaving her body. 

You were waiting at the base when they came back, you and Penny waiting in the parking lot. Seeing the squad make their way out, Maverick already running towards Penny, you saw Bradley slugging himself behind Mav. 

Scared out of your mind, you ran towards your husband, happy that he was back home but wondering where the damage was done. 

“B.” You whispered, cupping his cheeks. Sniffling, Bradley started to cry, wrapping his arms around you, pushing his face further and further into your neck. Your eyes were wide, Bradley had never been like this after any mission, you stayed quiet, hugging him tightly. 

“C’mon let’s go home.” That seemed to get him out of your touch, wiping away his tears, letting you guide him to the bronco. Sitting in the driver's seat, you looked over at Bradley who just broke down into tears. 

“Bradley!” You called out, seeing his chest heaving, seeing that he wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. “B, can you hear me.”

“I almost died.” He choked out, turning his head towards you, “I almost died and all I thought about was you being alone.”

You couldn’t help but tear up, that was always your biggest fear, hearing that Bradley never back from a mission. Leaning over the console, you wiped away his tears, kissing him softly. Bradley cried softly, resting your forehead against his. 

Driving home, you held onto his hand the entire time pulling into the driveway, Bradley let out a shuddering sigh. 

The navy had given the team 2 weeks off, and gave you the number of the therapist on base. The two of you talked it over and agreed on going twice a week.

Soon the mission had been 2 months ago, the dagger squad now staying at TOP GUN. 

One thing he learned at therapy was finding an activity outside of his job. Bradley tried sports, volunteering, and soon found out it was baking. 

Carole had always made the best cookies when he was little, and passed down the recipe to him before she passed, something he just kept in one of her boxes. 

Coming home from work, it was warm inside the house, warmer than usual and smelt amazon. 

“B, what are you making? It smells wonderful.” You gushed walking into the kitchen, “Oh my!”

Cookies were everywhere, on every counter space that was available. Bradley was standing over the sink, the hand mixer on, not hearing you come in. 

“Hey.” He smiled, seeing you walking. Letting out a snort, you saw the apron that was yours around him, covered in flour and sugar. “I made cookies.”

“For the squad.” You probably had to guess there were at least 5 dozen cookies cooling down. 

“Why?” You asked, grabbing one off the cooling rack, “These are so good!”

“My therapist said that I should find an activity or a hobby.” He shrugged. Bradley never talked to you about his sessions, not that he had too but it seemed like it was making progress because you hadn’t seen him so calm and happy since the mission. 

“And their brown butter cookies, some with chocolate chips and with a little salt on top.” He answered. “It was my mom's recipe, I found them in her boxes and I made a batch and then ended up spending the rest of the afternoon making them.”

“I didn’t know you were such a good baker.” You smiled, taking another cookie. “You should make brownies next.”

Coming into work the next few days, Bradley came with boxes and boxes full of cookies giving them to the squad, letting them just assume that it was you who were making them. He didn’t really talk about his PTSD he still had, the nightmares, staying up all night because he’s scared that if he’d go to sleep he wouldn’t wake up. 

Maverick was probably the closest to know what was happening with Bradley, somewhat in the same position as him, his near death experience, but wasn’t his first nor will it be his last. 

“It tastes exactly like your moms.” Maverick commented as they started fixing up one of the F-14s. Bradley let out a small smile, happy that he remembered and that the two of them started to mend their relationship.

“It feels nice.” Bradley hummed, “Makes me forget about everything, and now Y/n wants me to make more desserts now.”

“You're gonna be a PTA dad in the future.” Maverick snorted, “Bringing treats for all the parties.”

“Shut up!” He huffed. 

-

“Try.” He offered you a piece, soon enough, baking became a normal thing for Bradley now, making something new every couple of days. “Hangman’s mom sent me her recipe for lemon bars.”

“Hangman's mom.” You were amused, “Since when did you talk to her?”

“You don’t need to know who I talk to.” He said playfully. “And anyways, Hangman gave her number, apparently he heard about my new found talent and wanted some.”

“You might need to start charging now, this is turning into a side business.” You took another bite of the bar, “I think you were a baker in your past life.”

“Hey, if being an aviator ever comes to an end, I’ll own a bakery.” He smiled, slightly liking the idea. 

“Gonna name it after me?” You let out a breathy laugh. 

“Name it after my girls.” He said adamantly, “You and my mom.”

fin.

[siempre-bucky]

Piano

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Wife!Reader

Summary: You and Bradley get a moment alone during a Navy event in a lone room, or Bradley fucks you on a piano.

wc: 3.3k

warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY, oral (fem receiving), p in v penetrative sex, praise, creampie, brief spanking

It wasn’t often that Rooster stood in the corner during a Navy event. Typically he would be in the center of it all, talking up admirals and having a good time with his squadron—especially if the event was for him and his team. The aviator was starting to feel the weight of this “press tour” as Maverick called it. Sleepless nights from the red-eye flights, hopping from one event to another that the Navy put on after the uranium mission, and having to retell the story of saving Maverick's life. Tonight Bradley stood back, leaning up against the mahogany bar, and made the typical small talk with the nosey bartender. 

He still smiled and kindly spoke with the higher-ranking members of the Navy as they approached. The last thing he ever wanted to appear to be was ungrateful, it was far from the truth. Bradley still teared up as a medal was placed on his chest and beamed with pride as his team praised his heroism during the mission. Rooster wasn’t ungrateful, he was just tired. 

The party was still in full swing, the ballroom was as lively as it could be while the band played in the corner. Everyone seemed occupied, he noted mentally as his eyes scanned the room. Picking up his glass of whiskey, Bradley checked his surroundings once more before taking his leave to wander the hallways. 

He marveled at the ornate golden ceilings, often asking how’d they manage to book an expensive place like this and occasionally taking a sip of his drink as he looked at the paintings that lined the wall. Soon enough he found himself under a chandelier looking in at a darkly lit room, but what caught his attention was the beautiful black piano in the center of the room. 

It was begging to be played. Bradley’s fingers twitched. 

The heels of his dress shoes echoed as he entered the smaller ballroom, the wall lamps flickered as he crossed the floor. Bradley sat his glass on the top of the instrument with a small clink before sitting down in front of it. “Hello,” he greeted as his fingers gently grazed the cold white keys. 

Bradley did a small wiggle to get comfortable on the piano bench, his spine straightening while a deep exhale left his lips. The piano was perfectly in tune, his lips lifting into a soft smile as his fingers danced along the keys. The song he played was fitting for the grand setting, it was classical, unlike the songs he’d play at the Hard Deck. His childhood piano teacher would’ve been proud; he only knew the song because you loved it. 

Music filled the small space, echoes dancing wall to wall. Bradley wasn’t sure how much time had passed, his mind felt clear for the first time in weeks. He didn’t care to check his watch and he ignored the vibrations coming from his pocket. “I knew I’d find you here,” a voice chuckled from the doorway—he couldn’t ignore that voice. A voice filled with light and sweetness, the first voice he heard when he woke up and the last one he heard as it soothed him to sleep. 

Bradley’s fingers left the keys, leaving a sour note in their wake. He rotated in his seat and was thankful the dark lighting concealed the lovesick smile on his face. You were leaning against the door frame, your maroon satin dress glowed in the golden light of the chandeliers and wall lamps. “How’d you know?” he asked. 

“I like that song,” you responded matter-of-factly, peeling yourself off the wall and slowly making your way over to him. Bradley gulped as he watched your hips move side to side, the light that hit your dress moving with every step, his eyes trained on your frame. “You’re missing the party.” 

“I just needed a break,” he sighed, the tiredness evident in his voice. You quickly took notice as his face came into view, he needed a week's worth of sleep and a serious vacation. “I’ll come back with you.” 

Instantly you shook your head, “No, no,” you giggled, setting your champagne flute on the piano, “Mav and Hangman aren’t passing up the chance to talk all their ears off.” 

Bradley chuckled and let his hands fall into his lap comfortably. “What about you, honey?” 

“Ah,” you dismissed with a wave of your hand, your hip pressed against the wood, “I’m sure they don’t want to hear about some aviator in reserve. No action, no fun story,” you smiled at him, raising your eyebrows and smirking, bringing your glass of champagne to your painted lips. 

“You could tell them about the way you kissed me after I came back,” he teased. Heat began to run up your neck, your legs crossing. You remember it all too well: pinning him up against the warm jet and kissing him with every ounce of fervor you could muster. 

You snorted and rolled your eyes, “Would you like some company, or would you like me to leave you be?” you asked him softly, changing the subject. 

The aviator thought about it for a moment, his eyes swiveling between the glossy keys and you. It wasn’t a decision he needed to think about for long. He pushed with the balls of his feet and slid to the edge of the bench, “Have a seat, baby,” he urged, motioning to the empty seat beside him on the bench. 

Taking your seat, you hum in delight as you wrapped your arms around his suit jacket-clad arm and nuzzled the side of your head into his shoulder. You slightly moved with him as he brought his hands up to the keys, leaning over to kiss the crown of your head. Giggling as his mustache tickled your scalp, you playfully slapped his arm and moved in closer to his body. “What can I play you this evening, Lieutenant Bradshaw?” he asked happily. 

A smile graced your lips, letting your eyes flutter to a  close. “Anything as long it's not Great Balls of Fire, Lieutenant Bradshaw,” you told him, the playfulness unmistakable in your tone of voice. 

He playfully groaned in return and played something as soft as you. The music was enough to soothe you but it was the way his muscles felt against your hands that kept you awake. It was a shame he covered his arms with that suit jacket, at least he wore the tighter white dress shirt underneath. 

The music came to a slow stop, Bradley's eyes slowly moving from the instrument and down to your lap. He felt his fingers beginning to struggle as he saw how the satin was riding up in your lap, your pretty thighs exposed for him. 

His fingertips were suddenly aching for something besides the cold keys of the piano. You slowly sat up, your eyes narrowing in confusion as to why he stopped. Bradley remained wordless as he pivoted and pressed the tip of his nose to the spot on your jaw that was just below your ear. A shiver ran down your spine as he made a path along your jawline with the soft drag of his nose, followed by the tickles of his freshly trimmed mustache, and finished with burning kisses. 

"You look beautiful tonight," he praised, his lips going lower towards the side of your neck. A breath hitched in your throat as his finger moved the thin strap of your dress to the side and kissed your bare shoulder. 

"Hmm," you hummed, "Do I?" You questioned him, placing one of your hands on his thigh and moving it upward. 

"The most beautiful woman in the world," he told you in between kisses, the rasp in his deep voice was enough to make you drop to your knees, but Bradley had other plans. 

He stood up from the bench, a low hum coming from his throat as he noticed how you 'humphed' after his lips left your skin. Bradley helped you stand up, grabbing your hips and lifting you up onto the top of the piano. You kicked off your high heels and wrapped your legs around his waist to draw him closer. His arms caged you in while your hands ran up his lapels before wrapping them around his neck. 

"Here?" You panted as his lips found yours, the sound of desperate smacking sending waves of pleasure to your core. 

"Here," he responded firmly. Rooster's hands started at the sides of your knees, the warmth spread as he moved him upward, passed the cold satin fabric, and gripped your plush hips. 

"Bradley," you moaned as you pulled back, his name falling off your lips like silk. His tongue swiped along his lower lips, ridding his lips of the flavored lip gloss that transferred. In one swift motion, the aviator kissed you with his tongue clashing against yours and slid his fingers under the band of your panties.

"Lift, baby," he told you as his lips left you once more. You complied and raised your hips to allow him to remove the thin piece of fabric. You gasped as he lowered himself, his fingers dragging your panties down at an antagonizing slow pace. The want inside and outside of you was building, his warm hazel eyes stared into yours. He placed them in his pocket and began to place kisses on your calf. 

"Don't tease me," you whined, reaching out to grip at his hair. He kissed higher and higher on your already trembling legs until he stood up straight, smiling down at you. He took a step back, his eyes slowly looking down at your frame. 

“I don’t plan to, baby,” he hummed as he crossed the room to close the door, flicking the golden lock. You squeaked at its soft echo. Bradley started to walk back over to the piano, shedding himself of his suit jacket and letting it and his undone tie fall to the floor. You leaned back on your elbows, watching how his body made its way over to you; the subtle movements of his hips and the want in his eyes in the dark lighting made you squirm. There was no way that man should’ve been that hot. 

 He got close once again, slotting himself in between your legs and attaching his lips to your collarbone. His large hands found your lower back as you arched up towards his torso, fingertips creating little fires on your warm skin. “You’re teasing,” you smirked as your eyes followed his head while he planted long kisses across your chest. 

“I’m worshiping,” he countered. 

It took everything Bradley had to go slow. His self-control was weakening with every breathy moan escaping your swollen lips, the tent in his pants restricting his movement and begging for release. His kisses went lower, using his chin to pull down the front of your already low neckline before placing sloppy wet kisses in the valley of your breasts. “Bradley,” you mewled, feeling the wetness in between your thighs. 

“We have time,” he rasped out, nearly breathless. His hands moved and the burning flames followed around the sides of your waist until he managed to push you onto your back. You sucked in a breath as your head fell back, chin tilting upward. Looking up at the painted ceiling, you could see your faint reflection in the Plexiglass that protected the art. It was an out-of-body experience to watch your husband sit on the bench and pull your pussy to his face. 

“So fucking pretty,” he groaned out, two of his fingers pulling apart your glistening folds. His touch sent a shockwave through your system, your hands slamming down onto the piano. “So wet and all because of me.” You rolled your hips, the tip of his nose making brief contact with your clit. 

“All for you,” you whispered followed by a pathetic moan, your eyes trained to the top of his head. 

“The pictures I have of you for when I’m away don’t do you justice, honey,” he praised before flattening his tongue over your mound. Bradley pressed his thumb over your swollen bundle of nerves while his tongue unhurriedly traced every curve of your folds. Your orgasm was slowly building, but still feeling miles away as you dragged your fingernails along the wood. Every so often, his chest would run into the keys, the notes playing in tandem with your moans. He took his time eating you out like it was the first time, memorizing every inch of your pussy and how you reacted to his touches. 

“My clit, Bradley, please,” you whimpered, nails digging deeper, “please.” 

Rooster responded with action, his lips wrapped around your clit with a firm suck. His hands held you by the hips, pressing you hard into the piano's surface to keep you still. His small grunts and moans sent the vibrations right where you needed them the most, your clit was absolutely throbbing as he licked and sucked like it was his favorite treat. He felt his stomach tighten, his own orgasm approaching. 

“Need to be inside you,” he panted as he finally managed to pull away. You nodded meekly and whined as the cold hair hit your core but his words only made your legs spread for him further. He closed the fallboard and grabbed you by your waist, maneuvering them so that he could grab you by the ass to gently lower you. “Are you comfortable?” he asked as he kissed your neck, removing his hands to undo his belt. 

No. You weren’t comfortable, a piano was definitely now on the list of the most uncomfortable places your husband fucked you. The sight in front of you made the back pain and fear of slipping worth it; he stood there with his dress shirt unbuttoned, his pants hanging off his hips, his adonis belt on full display for your eyes. His glistening chest made you clench around nothing. You wanted him inside you more than wanting off the piano. You nodded.

Your head rolled to the side as he pulled out his leaking cock, the swollen red tip made your legs spread even more. Knitting your eyebrows, your fingers found your clit and rubbed in fast circles as he prepped himself.  “You’re teasing me,” he chuckled as he spat into his hand, bringing it lower to stroke his length, listening to your soft moans.

“I’m worshiping,” you repeated his words from earlier. 

Bradley lunged forward and kissed the smirk right off your face, pumping his cock faster. He dragged his cock through your folds, teasingly slapping it on your clit and making your hips buck into him. “Ready for me?” he asked you as he pulled away, his lips still ghosting over yours. 

“Please,” you muttered, wrapping your arms around his neck for support. Your lips fell open as the head pushed into you, feeling every single inch as his thick cock filled you. The pain of his stretch was dull, the pleasure coming to the surface. “Move, Bradley.” 

His lust-blown eyes looked into yours for one more final piece of consent. Your eyes were just as dark as his, and the beads of sweat on your forehead made your skin look so pretty to him. It was painstaking the way he slowly moved his length out of you, your wetness coating the shaft. You could feel the ridge around his head tease your entrance as he pushed back in. “Takin’ me so well, sweetheart,” he praised as the tip brushed your cervix. 

“Fuck me, baby,” you mewled, your nails creating angry red lines along his shoulder blades, “want you to cum in me so bad.” 

You always knew how to push his buttons and say the right things to make his brain go numb with only your dirty words giving him clarity. A harsh smack to your ass followed by a pathetic moan brought him back to reality. He pistoned his hips, his pelvis bumping into your clit every now and then. 

The piano began to slide jaggedly in response to Bradley’s harsh thrusts, one of your hands flying backward to grip the top of the instrument. He loved the way your tits bounced at each thrust, selfishly he took one of your nipples in his mouth and sucked hard while his hands brought your legs higher onto his waist. 

“I feel you clenching, honey,” he moaned as he released you with a wet pop. “Gonna be a good girl and cum for me, cum all over the piano?” 

“Yes, yes, yes—I’ll be good. Fuck, Bradley,” you whined, his thumb pressing on your clit to bring you closer to the edge. “I-I’m gonna cum.” 

“Cum for me,” he grunted, rubbing circles onto your clit fervently, his hips matching the pace of his thumb. With a ragged cry, your pussy clenched around him as your orgasm washed over you like a strong wave. Crashing over and over until you were delirious. 

Your blissed-out expression and tight clenching brought Bradley to the precipice, leaning forward to bite down on your shoulder. A string of muffled curses left his lips as his warm cum coated your walls. “Fuck, that was so good,” he whispered, his arms wrapping around you to hold you close to his chest. 

Little moans left your lips as you lovingly kissed the scars on his neck, quietly praising him for how good he made you feel. “I love you,” you sighed, trying to catch your breath. 

Bradley kissed your forehead and looked at the aftermath, taking in your needs. He quickly passed you the flute of champagne that managed to survive the movement. “I love you so much,” he answered, watching you shakingly finish your drink. You placed the empty glass back on the top of the piano and gently pushed him away, shuttering at the emptiness. 

He helped you down, chuckling as you collided into his chest. You let him fix your dress and dab away the mix of yours and his sweat on your chest with his pocket square. “Still pretty?” you joked as you put your heels back on, watching as he buttoned his shirt and tucked it back into his dress pants. 

He looked up at you through his lashes, his red face deepening a few shades. You were beautiful to him all the time, no matter what scenario and no matter what you wore. There was just something about you in the afterglow. He wished he could picture it and frame it on the wall. Bradley Bradshaw was simply captivated by you. “Beautiful, not pretty, beautiful,” he stated, holding his hand out for you. You took it gladly and let him kiss you softly, giggling at his mustache tickling your upper lip. 

You were halfway out of the room when you squeezed his hand, “I’m gonna need my underwear back.” 

“Do you think so? Knowing they’re right there in my pocket will help keep my mind occupied when they talk to me.” 

You hummed and stopped him, holding out your free hand, “Do you want all those admirals to see your cum drip down my legs?” you raised your eyebrows and tilted your chin upward. He narrowed his eyes, staring at you for a brief moment before giving in and handing you your panties. “That’s what I thought,” you chuckled as you slipped them back on. 

Bradley opened the door and rejoined your hands, slowly walking down the hallway and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. You soaked up every word and leaned into him, scrunching your nose at his cheesy words.

He managed to survive the small talk and old stories from his superiors, and he ignored the knowing looks from Phoenix and Hanman before you finally successfully begged Maverick to release him from the Navy’s grip for the evening. “Take him home, he looked like he had a long night,” Pete chuckled. 

You smirked. “Oh, I will.”

[katsu28]

hi Kait!! might i be able to request "Black Dahlia - a lie" with Bradley bradshaw pleaseeee thank you!

ngl i think i got a little too carried away with this but man oh man did i have fun, pls enjoy!

black dahlia: a lie, bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader, rooster is a total simp, 2.3k

Rooster had a staring problem. Sometimes he spaced out in the middle of a training debrief without realizing he was looking straight at Phoenix the whole time, sometimes his furrowed brows made Maverick think he was angry at something when in reality he was just focused. Sometimes he creeped random people out because he just…didn’t know he was staring. 

But most times, the unsuspecting focus of his staring was you. There was just something about you that had his eyes searching for you in every room he entered, drew his eyes to you every time you entered. He just couldn’t help it. Everything about you, from the way you laughed, to the way that you said his name, to the way your eyes sparkled when you smiled at him. Even the way you elbowed him in the ribs when he made a terrible joke had him hooked on you. 

And you had no idea. 

“Rooster. Rooster, you didn't laugh at my—what are you even looking at?” Hangman sounded deflated, but once his eyes tracked Rooster’s line of sight to you he knew what was going on in that feathery nicknamed brain of his friend. He’d known it pretty much all along. It was an unspoken thing, but he knew. Everyone knew. Everyone except you, apparently. 

“Oh, I see it now. You don’t like my jokes as much as you like Y/N.”

Rooster tore his gaze from where you were chatting with Penny at the bar to see Hangman with his hands on his hips, looking entirely too smug. “Sorry, what?” His ears had picked up the blond man’s jest, but surely he’d heard it wrong. 

“There’s no shame in admitting it. You have a crush on her.” 

“I’m not ashamed, I’m just—” 

“So you do have a crush!” 

Rooster scowled, brows pinching in the middle as he gripped the neck of his beer a little tighter. “I’m a grown man, I don’t have a crush.” 

“So you’re in love.” 

“What? No, I’m not—we’re…friends, that’s it.” 

“You’re a terrible liar, Bradshaw.” Phoenix cut in, poking him in the gut with the end of her pool cue. “Cut the shit and let us know how you really feel.” 

There really wasn’t any way out of this other than to tell the truth, so he sighed. “Okay, so maybe—just maybe—I might possibly have some feelings for Y/N.” 

“Yeah, and those feelings are called love,” Hangman said smugly, an ever present smirk gracing his face once again. He wasn’t wrong. He was actually right on the money, but Rooster would be damned if he let that son of a bitch know he was right. 

“Screw you, Hangman. I’m not talking about this anymore.” 

He thought he must’ve sounded more serious than he’d intended, because Hangman actually shut up for once, zipping his lips with an imaginary key before miming throwing it over his shoulder. Phoenix just nodded, knowing well enough not to push her luck with the subject. 

Nothing about the conversation was mentioned the rest of the night, especially not when you’d made your way back over to the group of them and stayed for a while. Rooster almost forgot about it until a few days later. 

Flight training had let out for the day a little later than usual, nearing half past seven when the pilots were finally trailing into the parking lot to go home. 

“Up for a round at the Hard Deck, fellas?” Hangman offered. There were a few mumbled declines to the invitation scattered amongst the squad and he looked disappointed. Leave it to Hangman to still have energy for a beer after the grueling day they’d all just had. 

Rooster had half a mind to say no too. All he wanted to do was go home and sit on the couch and probably do nothing for the rest of the night, that’s how tired he was. He wandered towards where he’d parked the Bronco this morning, getting almost halfway there when he heard Hangman’s voice again. 

“Phoenix, c’mon, I know you’ll do me a solid this time. I’ll buy. I’ll even let you win at pool!” 

“No can do, Bagman, I’m in a time crunch—gotta get to Y/N’s house.” 

Upon hearing your name, Rooster froze, willing himself to walk away, but his curiosity won out very quickly. He turned around as casually as he could, hiking his duffel a little higher on his shoulder. “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah, she’s fine. She asked to borrow a necklace for her date tonight, so I gotta pop over there before she heads out.” Phoenix shrugged, patting her jacket pocket. Rooster couldn’t help the way his eyebrows flew up in surprise and she noticed, knowing smile already gracing her lips. “Everything okay with you, Bradshaw?” 

“Fine. It’s, uh—no, yeah everything’s good.” He mumbled, clearing his throat. Hangman coughed from behind him, sounding suspiciously like ‘bullshit’, but Rooster paid him no mind. He was more focused on the fact you were going on a date with someone else. Someone that wasn’t him. 

Then again, who the fuck did he think he was, having some kind of bullshit thoughts about who you went out with. He had no right, he knew that. But that didn’t stop him from feeling like he’d just been punched in the gut. 

“Hey, why don’t I drop it off for you?” He blurted, pressing his lips into a thin smile. Phoenix looked confused. He was confused at himself too, honestly. What the hell was he doing? “I just, I mean your place is the opposite way and I’m gonna pass her neighborhood anyways, so…I can do it.” Now she looked amused. 

“Since when did you get all helpful and shit?” 

“Pretty sure I’ve always been helpful.” 

“You sure there’s no other reason why you’re volunteering to see her? None at all? Maybe one starting with L and rhyming with shove?” Hangman chimed in, grinning wickedly. Phoenix nodded in agreement, her smile now mirroring his. 

“I’ll shove you, Hangman. Shut up.” Rooster said sharply. He turned his gaze back to Phoenix. “No. No other reason. I’ll drop it off on my way home and that’s it.” 

It was a bold faced lie and he knew his friends saw right through it, but he didn’t really care. 

“Okay. Suit yourself.” She shrugged, fishing the necklace out of her pocket and pouring it into his outstretched hand. “Would ya look at that, Bagman? Looks like I’m free to beat you at pool after all.” 

“I’m not buying you a beer anymore, that was a one time offer and it’s expired,” Hangman protested, much to Phoenix’s chagrin because she scoffed. 

“Like hell it has! You promised a free beer and a win, I expect you to deliver. But make an effort to play fair, don’t just throw the game ‘cause that wouldn’t be a good look for me.” 

Rooster could hear their bickering until he hopped into his car, but he peeled out of the parking lot in a blink, on the move to you. 

He didn’t have a wisp of a plan in his mind when he pulled to a stop in front of your place. His hands shook where they were clenched around the steering wheel and he was sweating a little bit, but he had no idea what he was going to say to you. He just knew he needed to say something. 

Five minutes and countless unhelpful self pep talks later, Rooster was finally ringing the doorbell, necklace in his pocket but still no clearer on what his end goal was. His mind went even more blank when you opened the door, because shit, you were breathtaking. 

You had on a pretty dress in his favorite color and you were adjusting the strap of your heel when you laid eyes on him standing on your doorstep. Putting aside the confusion on your face at the sight of him and not Phoenix, Rooster would rank this as one of his favorite moments ever. 

“Bradley?” You sounded concerned, nose crinkled to match. “What are you doing here?” 

“Uh…” He trailed off, probably sounding completely stupid as he blinked at you dumbfoundedly. You said his name again, a little louder this time, and he snapped out of it. 

He dug around in his pocket clumsily until his fingers closed around the delicate chain and pulled it out, letting it dangle from his hand as he held it out. “Nat asked me to swing this by on my way home from base.” He didn’t want to tell you it was actually him who insisted on being the one to save the day. That would sound too weird, maybe even borderline creepy. 

Your eyes lit up at the sight of your awaited necklace and you beamed, beckoning him into your front hallway. “You’re the sweetest, Bradley. Thank you so much, you really didn’t have to detour.” 

“S’no problem. What’s a few more minutes on the road to help a friend?” 

“Maybe a few more minutes.” You said sheepishly, looking a tad embarrassed. “D’you—would you mind helping me put it on? I’ve never been good at clasping them on my own.” 

“Oh! Uh, yeah. Sure.” He moved behind you, trying not to inhale too sharply when you moved your hair off your neck. God, all he wanted to do was whirl you around and kiss you. Instead, he decided to make some small talk to get his mind out of where it shouldn’t have been in the first place. “So…you’re going on a date. With who? Maybe I know ‘em.” 

“Probably not. He’s not Navy, I met him at the gym a few weeks ago. His name’s Vinny. He’s a boxer.” 

Vinny. Sounded like an asshole name. 

“Didn’t know boxers were your type.” He said casually, working deftly to latch the tiny hook. 

“Yeah?” You sounded amused. “And what exactly do you think my type is?” 

Me, he wanted to say. But he held his tongue, instead opting for a noise of nonchalance. 

“That’s a shame. Would’ve thought you of all people would know.” 

“Why?” 

“You’ve always seemed to know me best.” You said simply. Rooster’s fingers fumbled the clasp in surprise. “When I’m down, you always know how to make me smile. When I’m upset, you seem to know exactly what’ll help. You know everything I like, everything I hate. You know me like the back of your hand. How is that?” 

“I…pay attention.” 

“So that means you know Hangman’s favorite song? Fanboy’s comfort movie? What about Phoenix and Bob’s secret handshake?” You weren’t facing him, so he had no idea if you were being serious or not, but he was stumped. 

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, brain scrambling for any shred of an excuse for not knowing any of those answers. He paid attention, yes, but only to you. Rooster’s fingers brushed along your bare shoulder softly in lieu of a response, too tender of a moment for two friends to be sharing. 

“Don’t go.” He breathed. You froze, and Rooster swore it was the longest few seconds in his life. But then you turned around, wide eyes searching for his. Your lips parted like you were about to say something, but he shook his head, inhaling a shaky breath. “Don’t go on that date.” 

“Why?” Your voice was impossibly quiet, so much so that he wouldn’t have heard you say anything at all had you not been this close to each other. 

“Because when Phoenix mentioned it, I felt like I’d just done an inverted dive. And not in a good way, I’m talking about the ‘I’m about to puke’ feeling. Because I can’t stop thinking about you even though I should be thinking about anything else, because I don’t know what I’d do if we weren’t friends. Because I don’t wanna be just friends anymore.” Rooster admitted, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. He was too far in now to quit and run away with his tail between his legs. This was happening, whether it was a good idea or not. “Because…I’m in love with you.” 

You just blinked at him slowly, processing his words the best you could. He could practically see the wheels turning in your head, and it did nothing to quell the ball of nerves turning over in the pit of his stomach. 

Forget what he was feeling earlier—this was definitely the longest few seconds of his life. It felt more like an eternity. 

He was about to apologize, to say sorry for dumping out his feelings for you right before you were about to go on a date with someone else, but you beat him to the punch with something much, much better. 

You grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and you kissed him. Hard. 

More surprised than anything, it took him a beat to register what was actually happening, but his hands slid around your waist to splay across your back when it finally sunk in. He backed you against the nearest wall, but took special care in slipping a hand behind your head so it didn’t bounce off it, all while never letting his mouth leave yours. Your hands found their way to his broad shoulders, roaming around the expanse of flexed muscle shifting under your palms. 

It wasn’t the perfect kiss. It was clumsy and messy and a little overexcited, but it was perfect to Rooster. He could only hope you were thinking the same. 

He finally (albeit reluctantly) pulled away a bit, just enough to give you some air. “What do you think? Are you—does this mean what I think it means?” 

You smiled, linking your hands behind his neck. “I think…I’ve come down with a nasty case of food poisoning and I need to cancel my date.” You said softly.

Rooster nodded solemnly. “And I think I should stay. Y’know, in case you need anything during this awful bout of said food poisoning.” 

“That’s a good idea.”

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[coffeeandbatboys]

To Be Loved (Bradley Bradshaw x fem!reader)

When your family treats you badly, Rooster doesn't like it and take a a stand.

Warnings: bad parenting, neglect, verbal abuse.

All it was supposed to be was a relaxing, tension-free summer afternoon barbeque. You would finally introduce Bradley to your family, eat, and leave.

But it wasn't all that simple.

"Guys, this is Bradley." You said nervously, standing next to the handsome man you called yours.

Your step dad moved forward to shake his hand. "Nice to meet you, son."

You grimaced at the level of comfort he had using the term.

Your mom smiled. "Welcome to the family, Bradley. Care for something to drink? There's some stuff in the garage fridge."

He nodded politely with a tiny smile.

"Thank you, ma'am."

He looked at you tentatively as if to make sure you'd be okay. You gave him a weak smile in response. It was once he left the room that your step dad tore into you.

"The Navy, really? You're both in the Navy? Come on. We wanted you to be something more...simple. Maybe a lawyer or a doctor. And as for who you're going to date—"

"Excuse me?" You scoffed. "Since when are my life choices yours to make? You're not even my dad."

"Y/N!" Your mom gasped.

You stood your ground, calm yet angry.

"I am laying my life on the line to protect this country. What I do and who I am with is not your decision anymore."

Your step dad bristled with rage. "I raised you! You ungrateful brat. We set aside college funds for you and you turned around and threw it all out the window."

"Hey, I've heard enough. Stop talking to her like she's a child."

You turned to see Bradley in the doorway with his arms crossed, a question in his eyes.

You nodded softly.

"I think we're done here."

As you strode towards him and took his hand, you turned around to face them once again.

"In case you hadn't realized, there's a reason you didn't know about the wedding."

You didn't miss the shock on their faces before you turned to walk out the door.

Now sitting in the Bronco, you were silent and still a little hot from your rage.

"Everything you've told me could not prepare me enough for what I just heard."

"They've never been able to let me go. The only reason I agreed to come is that all I want is some semblance of a happy family. Not whatever the hell that was."

Bradley's jaw set contemplatively. The Bronco's wheels roared loudly underneath you on the highway.

And before you knew it, you were pulling into a familiar Captain's home.

"Why are we at Mav's?"

Bradley opened his door kissed your temple.

"Just wait a second. I'll be right back."

Soon, both men came out of the hangar and you got out of the car. Maverick gave you a look; not of pity, but of sympathy.

And then he pulled you into a hug.

You could tell he needed to say something.

"I can't always be your dad, but know that if you need, I'm right here."

Your eyes started to well up, and you hugged him a little tighter. "Thanks, Mav."

Once you pulled away, Bradley was by your side again, an arm wrapped around your waist.

"You know I love you. We all do. You've always got another family with us."

You craned your neck to smile at him.

"I love you too, and thanks for having my back."

He held you a little closer.

"Anytime, babe. I'm your wingman."

[bespinnn]

Y/N: In my defense I was left unsupervised.

Maverick: Wasn't Rooster with you?

Rooster: In my defense, I was also left unsupervised.

[ouralcohol]

Let You In

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x fem!reader 

Summary: what happens when Bradley finally lets you in?

Tags: angst, lots of angst, 18+, allusions to sex, soft, maybe some fluff if you squint your eyeballs

Author’s note: I saw a gif and immediately got inspired. Some people inspired this too... enjoy... comments and reblogs make the world go 'round.

This was the first time you had done this with him. You didn't think that you would have gotten this far with him if you were being honest with yourself. Bradley Bradshaw always had a line of women lined up around the corner whenever he was in town. The reason you knew this was because for as long as you could remember, he always had some kind of arm candy with him whenever he went to the local bar while he was in his hometown of Virginia Beach.

From the last couple of years that you had known him, you never thought that you would get here. More specifically, get here with him. You had always wondered what it would be like to be with him underneath the sheets. Anyone that had eyeballs and a sense of taste would agree. So, what had changed? What had made the line between friends to… whatever this was, blur? You weren't exactly sure, perhaps it had to do with his near death experience? Or was it your signature sundress that you happened to wear every time he strolled in?

The dress was bunched up somewhere on his apartment floor right now… not that it mattered. What mattered was that you were here with him.

Out of all the girls he could have chosen-- he chose you.

You never asked him how long he was here, but you did notice that he was coming around to the bar more frequently. The fact of the matter was that Bradley was good, he was very good in bed. The naval aviator had made you see stars in a manner that you never seen them before. Everything was different with him.

There was some faint music that hit your ears. You stirred from your slumber as your hands rubbed the tiredness from your eyes. This had been one of the most restful sleeps you had gotten in a long time. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Stress was never your friend and you hated it. However, on this particular night, you had slept like a rock. It took you a couple of seconds for your brain to register where you were. The surroundings were not familiar, but you felt at ease. The photo frame on the nightstand made you smile as the moonlight shone upon the frame.

You were in Bradley's bed in his Virginia home. You noted the owner was missing. Ah, so that must be the source of the music, your brain thought as you looed around for your underwear. And idea sparked as your eyes saw that one of his Hawaiian shirts was also on the floor. Contrary to popular belief, you had come to find out that he only owned four, maybe five shirts in total. Your hands grabbed it as you ever so carefully slipped it on, afraid to wrinkle it even more. You didn't even bother to button the oversized shirt. It didn't reveal anything-- maybe some side boobage, but rare if that. Your feet carried you out into the hallway and walk closer to where the music was coming from. The melody that was playing was very different from the lively jigs that the common folk were so attuned to. It was a much slower and softer tune, melancholy even. Curiosity filled you as you inched closer, the music getting louder.

There were many sides to Bradley. People only saw what they wanted to see. People only heard what they wanted to hear. Everyone saw him as an energetic, happy-go-lucky kind of guy, but there were fleeting moments where you happened to glance his way and he was staring off into space for a brief second-- lost in his own thoughts. You never made any mention of it as it wasn't your place to ask. You were friends, but you didn't feel like he was comfortable enough to let himself be a certain way with you.

You being you, wanted to know everything about him. You wouldn't lie to yourself and say that you weren't infatuated, because you were. Every girl at the bar was infatuated with him whenever he walked in. The music factor was a bonus and caused them to leave their tongues hanging out. The way some women gawked at him was incredible. You didn't understand how you could feel this way toward someone that you hardly knew. If you only knew.

Once you had stepped into the small open space and saw his broad shoulders hunched over the piano, your body instantly relaxed. You hadn't realized that you had been nervous, your heart beginning to hammer in your chest with anticipation. You should have known what to expect, but you didn't know exactly what was in store. It's not like you slept with every guy… and it only made you wonder how many girls he had brought home. Seeing his fingers touch the keys so fluidly reminded you just how skilled he had been a few hours ago while making you see heaven on Earth. He wasn't wearing much, only his boxers-- he didn't even have to try to do anything and he looked so handsome. With his locks a little messy, but still so good that made you want to run your fingers through his hair like you had done a while ago.

The image floated in your mind which made you squeeze your thighs together before making your way to where he was sitting down. You had your hands behind your walk while you stood next to the piano. Bradley immediately noticed you, his eyes stuck on your face as his fingers continued to move across the keys so effortlessly-- a softer tune now, "Sorry if I woke you up." Bradley uttered. "Couldn't sleep?" You asked suddenly feeling shy, exposed even. You felt like you were invading his personal intimacy with his piano. Bradley Bradshaw's eyes did not stray from yours, not even for a second. His fingers came to a slow stop-- the ringing of the notes lingering in the air.

The thick tension that caused all of this to happen between you both, had returned. It enveloped you and him in an imaginary bubble. You swallowed thickly as you felt his hand circle around your wrist to bring you in front of him. Your body was encased between him and his piano. Bradley's big strong hands held you in place, eyes still locked on yours. "No. I can never sleep anymore." The pilot whispered to you. You let out a slow breath. He was letting you in. "May I?" You gently queried as you brought your hand up to his face. Bradley nodded, "Close your eyes." You told him with a quiet voice. He did as you asked without hesitation, his body tensing.

You shifted your body slightly-- hitting some random keys in the process so you could have better access to him. You placed your index finger on his neck and ran down his scar ever so delicately. Some would say it was a featherlight touch, you just didn't want to overwhelm him with the sensory that was going on. He wasn't a porcelain doll by any means, but you also felt like he didn't let people touch sensitive areas that reminded him of his past. Bradley inhaled sharply and you hesitated for a split second before continuing. Moments that only took seconds felt like a complete eternity to you, maybe for him too. Everything happened in slow motion for you. The area surrounding you both dissolved and you felt like you were floating and all of time had stood still with Bradley in front of you. Once you finished tracing that scar, you transitioned to the ones on his chin. The contrast of your soft skin against the stubble of his was making your insides melt. You noticed that Bradley was very still. A part of you wanted to tell him that it was okay, that it was just you. However, something inside you refrained you from doing so, though, a little voice in the back of your head was telling you that this silence was exactly what he needed. You took your index finger back and used your pinky to touch the scar on his lower cheek near his mouth. Then the one near his ear. The pilot let out a shaky breath through his mouth, as he opened his eyes, still fixated on yours. Your heart was going a mile a minute, hand slightly shaking from the sensation that this caused you.

He was giving you a tender look, almost like he could finally breathe again. "Moonbeam." He said, "Bradley." You responded with your hands still on his face. The nickname had stuck after a second meeting, something he had never clarified with you. It wasn't common, and you didn't question him. You waited for him to speak, for him to say anything.

He turned his head face down and pressed his forehead against your abdomen, the grip on your hips tightening as he said something that you couldn't make out. "What?" You gasped before you could stop yourself. You felt the air he was breathing linger in your lower abdomen, as he spoke a little louder, "You make me feel less lonely." Once your brain registered the words that had been told, you wondered if he had brought anyone here. "Oh?" You queried him, hopefully not pushing him too much. Bradley picked his head up again as he looked back up at your face, "I don't bring people here. There's so much… but.. with you.. things feel easier." He managed to say, his voice slow and even. You could tell this was taking a toll, but you waited calmly. Your heart was instantly breaking and re-stitching itself as the words echoed in your brain.

Bradley Bradshaw was a sweet man. Bradley Bradshaw was someone that deserved to be love just like anyone else. Your thumb began to caress this cheek as he inhaled again, breathing you in, taking all of you and getting drunk from your scent alone. "I'm the first person you bring here?" You asked unable to stop yourself as your other hand went to the other side, now cupping his face. He nodded slightly, "I'm always moving about, but you've been the one consistent person here in Virginia… the bar is consistent, I wasn't expecting you to be there every time either." Perhaps, that was the catalyst of this all. You were usually there with friends, but tonight had been different. You were alone. Bradley was alone. Two people alone together was better than one.

This man was telling you everything with his body language, and you were listening very intently. "How are you feeling now?" You asked curiously as your lips pressed to his forehead. Your body began to feel at ease as his words continued to flow out of his mouth, "At ease." A scrunched up smile filled his features as you let out a soft laugh. The next movement surprised you, causing you to sit back on the keys while Bradley stood up, towering over your body as his hands went down to the hem of his shirt and dipped under to touch the soft flesh that was your skin. You blinked a couple of times as you said, "Why moonbeam?" You sputtered out, almost unable to form a coherent sentence. The pilot then brought his forehead to the crook of your neck, "…it's stupid." He whispered against your skin, causing goosebumps to rise and an involuntary shiver to go down your spine. "It's not stupid if I like it.." You remarked as your hands fell to your sides, your head tilting back to allow him more access your hair falling behind you cascading on top of the piano. "Whenever I leave for a mission or I'm gone for a tour… I just look at the moon and think of you." A shy boy spoke to you, but you didn't care, "You think of me?" You queried him again. The questions were pouring out of you now. You didn't know when you would get another chance like this and you would take it with everything you had.

His head snapped up to meet your gaze again, his hazel eyes boring into your own. Bradley then grabbed your hand and placed it over the erection in his boxers, a gasp leaving your mouth, "Don't you see what you do to me? How could I not think of you?" He asked, sounding equally as shocked as you were in asking, "I don't know, Bradley. Tonight was our first time together.. and I was just never sure, I guess." A small shrug followed your words, but you couldn't think anymore as he fiercely grabbed you by the hips and set you down on top of the piano before his hand wrapped around your neck. Your lips made a little oh face as his index finger trailed ever so slowly down the front of your body, between the fabric that was his shirt. You felt yourself arch your back in response to his advance while closing your eyes, thinking of the bliss that he was going to cause you again.

Your feet hit another set of random keys as you planted them on there, his mouth on your belly button while he distinctly said, "Make me forget again. Give me euphoria." Bradley Bradshaw told you. You frantically nodded as his hands pulled down your panties. You got the sensation of the cool air, but didn't budge.

Your questions would be answered later. For now. You would get lost with him in the bliss that you both created when two lonely souls met.

This was were you belonged.

[senawashere]

We're on this together...(Chapter VI)

Bradley Bradshaw x Fem!Wife!Reader

Summary: Stupid kids.

Little note: Carol and Nick is still alive.

Warnings: Infertility,mentions of miscarrige,mentions of hospital,mentions of getting pregnant,mentiones of ivf.Use of alcohol,arguing,use of bad languange. Not so angsty anymore🥹

July 22, 2022:

It was almost six weeks later that Bradley became suspicious.

They both hadn’t spent much time together since the last time, and he wanted to make up for lost time with his wife. So he decided to take a day off and make breakfast while you were still in bed.

He whistles as he makes the pancakes, turning around every now and then to check the coffee on the stove the way you like it. He puts the missing dishes on the tray, completing the breakfast you’ve been making for years; maple syrup, coffee, pancakes, hash browns, and toast.

He jots down the note, “I’ll always love you :).”

He hears you coming down the stairs and mentally prides himself on his perfect timing, quickly organizing everything and turning toward the door frame that separates the kitchen from the living room.

You enter the scene as he scratches his tangled nest of hair and tries to adjust the pj's that have been tossing and turning throughout the night, his face is imprinted with pillows and Bradley feels like he’s going to faint from how beautiful his wife is.

“Good morning, my love.”

“Hm.” You just smile, you don’t like talking to anyone when you’re barely awake and he knows that so he doesn’t force you.

You open your eyes and stop in your tracks when you see your breakfast, looking at your husband with a small smile and a blush on his face.

“Oh, Bradley!”

“It’s been a long time since we had breakfast together.” He mutters and you settle between his legs (you sat down so you could eat with him) and walk over to him to take his face in your hands, placing small kisses on his sparsely stubbled face and lips.

You sit down and the two of you start eating, chatting from time to time.

He looked proud of himself as he watched you eat pancakes with maple syrup, but you tasted the coffee and spit it back into the cup.

"Hey! Why did you do that?" He asks you with a hurt expression on his face.

"I'm sorry honey, but it tastes awful." 

You reply with a grimace as you pour yourself a glass of apple juice to drink it all down.

Bradley takes your coffee from you and takes a sip; it tastes perfectly normal, very good if he has to admit, but he decides to leave you alone and let you continue with a glass of apple juice.

You were happily continuing to eat, of course, until you popped a small piece of egg yolk into your mouth.

Bradley doesn’t have time to complain when you’re throwing up in the sink anyway.

He quickly drops his coffee and walks over to you, grabbing your hair and patting your back until you pull yourself together, wiping your face with the sleeve of his shirt as he looks at you.

“I don’t feel so good.” You mumbled with a pout that made Bradley’s heart ache.

“It’s okay, honey.” He pulls you into his chest. “Why don’t you lie down? I’ll put everything aside and join you as soon as I can.”

You nod and look into his eyes. “I’m sorry I messed this up.”

He smiles sadly as he brushes his sweaty hair from his forehead. “You didn’t mess anything up, to be honest, I was really looking forward to staying in bed with you.”

You leave and ten minutes pass while Bradley gets breakfast, maybe saving it for later. He’s washing the cups when he notices something while one of them drying in the sink.

He picks up his phone with his half-dried hands and opens the conversation he had with his mother a week ago.

"Everything is fine honey. Your cousin is pregnant and can't handle eggs and coffee so we're taking care of her now. Kisses, honey, I love you and Y/N!! 💕💞😘"

Eggs and coffee.

Eggs.

Coffee.

He grips the marble countertop as he tries to catch his breath.

Could it be..?

God, he's going to faint at the thought.

He couldn’t believe he had such a good memory to remember such a mundane message between his mother and him.

You run your hand over your face as you trie to come back to reality if she’s pregnant…or not..

Damn it, you can’t think straight, and if it wasn’t for Duke jumping on the counter and barking in your face, then you’d still be going crazy.

You turn off the faucet and run upstairs, ignoring Bradley's fuzzy nerves as he enters your shared bedroom, you stare at him in fear.

“Take a pregnancy test.” That’s all he says, and you get out of bed in confusion.

“What?” You ask, approaching him. “Are you okay? You look pale.” You cup his face.

“Yeah, yeah.” He responds excitedly, letting you examine his face.

“Just, please, you have to.”

“Okay, I’ll do it and you’ll calm down.” He looks into your eyes and nods. “Come on.”

Bradley can barely control himself as you pee on four sticks to make sure, wandering the bathroom and bedroom until you come out.

“We need to wait five minutes, do you want to explain what’s going on?”

You both sit on the bed and hold his hands to comfort him, which does the trick.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy, but do you remember when my mom told me Marienne was pregnant and couldn’t stand eggs nor coffee?”

“Yeah.” You answer, and your eyes widen in understanding. “Oh my god. What do you think..”

“I don’t know.” Bradley shakes his head, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “I don’t know.”

The minutes pass and the both of you gets crazier and crazier; You feel like you're going to tear your hair out in desperation, and Bradley wants to throw up again for the tenth time as he playes with his rings.

There has to be something else, he doesn’t even know how to take care of babies, was it his paternal instinct? no, this is stupid, maybe he’s not going to be a father and he’s just going crazy.

He’s an idiot, now your hopes are up and he doesn't want to have to see the look of disappointment on your perfect face again.

So lost in his thoughts that he doesn't notice you get up from behind him to re-enter the bathroom, slowly reappearing with four tests in your hands, unable to take your eyes off them as you mumble;

“Positive.”

Bradley raised his head as soon as he heard you, his eyes met your now teary ones and he stood up, approaching you, ypu are showing him all the positive lines that showed your baby growing inside you. His fucking wife is pregnant.

You put them down and throw yourself into your husband's arms, clinging to each other, making you both fall backwards onto the bed.

You cry into Bradley's chest while he cries into yours.

You feel like you're going to faint from the tears and sobs pouring out of both of your bodies, a tremendous happiness fills your entire body as millions of things go through your head. Same for him too.

Bradley talks to pregnant women's bellies, Bradley holds a small chubby baby, Bradley plays the piano with a small child, Bradley rocks a baby, Bradley and your babies will be like this.

Sooner or later, it would all come true.

Meanwhile, Bradley is still crying as if he's never cried in his life, you're sitting with him in your arms and he moves his hands between them to rest on your belly. "There's a baby inside," he says, his voice breaking.

You laugh and lean your forehead against his. "There's a baby inside."

Both of you look at each other, your eyes fill with tears and you both start laughing, you kiss, ignoring the salty taste of teardrops. You kiss, trying to convey everything that cannot be expressed in words to each other, but now there is someone who proves that their love is possible.

"A perfect blend of us,there it is." Bradley's and yours belly felt like there were fireworks inside. He can't wait to sing and play the piano to his love's growing belly, to hold that tiny hand.

He just can't wait.

"I love you." He sees the tears continue to flow down your cheeks as you part your lips. "I love you Bradley, we did it."

"We did it." He repeats, squeezing your waist between his hands. "We did it, we're having a baby, I told you."

"I can't believe you found out because I threw up your breakfast."

"Because you would never throw up something I make, I'm an incredible chef."

Both laugh again and Bradley flips both of you over, laying you between him and the bed, laughing at the kisses he spreads across your face, neck, and lifting the robe slightly to reveal the soft skin of your belly. 

It was keeping his baby warm in there.

Duke seems to notice the happiness that is coming from the room, he climbs into bed and cuddles up to his mother’s chest, who is happily caressing Bradley's hair and cheeck's.

Bradley kisses the area on your belly as you stroke Duke's scalp, and his tears continue to flow when he sees you talking to Duke about the baby.

He whispers something, but you and maybe someone else can hear him clearly.

“Welcome home, baby. You are already loved.”

“Yeah, I always wanted to have your stupid children.”

THEY MADE IT🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

I'm tagging people who might be interested:@ohtobeleah @sebsxphia @callsign-fox @greenorangevioletgrass @roosterforme @teacupsandtopgun @floydsglasses @lyn-js @its-dee-lovely @its-the-pilot @friedchips94 @hardballoonlove @topguncortez @bradshawsbaddie @shanimallina87 @djs8891 @themusingofagothicsoul @promisingyounglady @the-romanian-is-bae @mamachasesmayhem @jessicab1991 @iefitzgerald-blog @charcole-grey @waterriseslew @desert-fern @eternalsams @callsigns-haze @promisingyounglady @els-marvelvsp @cevansbaby-dove @atarmychick007 if you are not comfortable please tell me!!

[bruisedboys]

hello!!! i saw that you write for bradley and i’m OVER THE MOON RN. could i possibly request a hurt/comfort fic with a shy!plus size! reader combo? maybe a first date scenario where bradley is super late to said date and reader thinks he stood her up or asked her out as a joke so she goes home super embarrassed like “why did i think i could be w him in the first place??” bradley is devastated because he’s liked this girl for so long and he just blew it but he’s able to get her back in the end 🤩 please and thank you!!

hello angel!! thank u so so much for the sweet request, I hope it’s okay! mwah

bradley bradshaw x shy!fem!plus-size!reader cw for body insecurities

You stare at yourself in the mirror, miserable. You haven’t cried yet, but the way your stomach looks in this top might be your breaking point. You’d actually felt pretty, earlier in the evening, all dolled up in your new clothes. But then you’d waited an agonising 45 minutes at the restaurant for Bradley to show up, only to realise he wasn’t coming and you’d made a complete fool of yourself. Now you just feel ugly and so, so embarrassed.

Why would he even want me? You think, glaring at your body in the mirror. You lift your top and squeeze a handful of your soft stomach cruelly, half wishing you could rip it clean off. He probably asked you as a joke, you suppose. And you were stupid enough to buy into it.

A single, hot tear rolls down the slope of your cheek.

You’re wiping at it angrily when there’s a loud, sharp knock on your door. You flinch. It’s enough to scare you out of your miserable state, at least. You freeze, thinking maybe if you ignore it, whoever it is will leave you alone.

“Y/N?”

Bradley? You recognise his voice immediately and your heart climbs to your throat. What is he doing here? Did he not just stand you up? Is he here to antagonise you further? You creep out into the entryway, where Bradley’s voice is clearer. He bangs on the door again.

“Y/N, honey,” he’s saying. He sounds stressed and a little desperate. “I know you probably hate me right now, but please would you come to the door? I really need to talk to you.”

You feel as though an invisible force is pulling you towards the door, towards Bradley. You don’t know why on earth you do it, but you lift a hand and open the door.

Bradley stands on your doorstep, in jeans and a nice linen shirt that doesn’t have an ugly Hawaiian print, for once. His aviators hang from the collar. He’s still strikingly handsome even though you’re upset with him.

“Y/N,” he breathes out. He lowers his fist from where he’d been rapping on your poor door. “Hey. Hi.”

You shift on your socked feet and grip the door handle like it’s your lifeline. “Hello.”

Bradley gives you a look akin to devastation. “Listen, honey. I’m so, so sorry about our date. I got caught up at work, and then my car wouldn’t start, so I had to— hey, are you crying?”

Unfortunately, you are. Why now? You think to yourself. Warm, salty tears spill over your lower lashes against your will. You scrub at your cheeks harshly. Bradley frowns at you.

“Hey. Hey, don’t.” He steps forward and takes your wrists in his hands. He encourages your hands from your face and replaces them with his own, thumbs swiping at your hot tears. He’s a hundred times more gentle than you had been.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” he says softly. “I feel like such a dick … I’ve had a crush on you for ages and ages and now I’ve made you cry.” He pulls you into a hug and gives a self deprecating sort of laugh, rubbing your back in quick, smooth sweeps. “What kind of loser am I?”

You sniffle. His hug is overwhelmingly warm. You feel a bit dumbfounded, and wonder if you’ve heard him right.

“You—“ you swallow around the lump in your throat and pull back out of his arms. “You have a crush on me?”

Bradley gives you a look of confusion, his hands on your shoulders. “Well, yeah, honey,” he says. His brings his thumb up to swipe at a tear collecting in the corner of your eye. “That’s why I asked you out.”

You blink at him. So … it wasn’t a joke? He didn’t do it to make fun of you? “I— are you serious?”

Bradley frowns at you. His eyebrows pinch in the middle. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Well, that’s the big question, isn’t it? You draw a shaky breath. “I don’t know, I guess because I’m not— I mean, I’m not really like other girls, Brad.”

Bradley continues to look even more confused than before. “So?” He asks, incredulous. “That’s why I like you so much, babe.”

What? This is not how you thought this would go. Why isn’t he getting it?

“But— but I’m big,” you say, feeling a bit sick. You don’t like to call yourself big, you know it doesn’t matter, but it’s the only way to make Bradley understand. “I don’t have a nice body. And. And I’m too quiet. I thought maybe you didn’t turn up because …”

You trail off. Because I’m fat. Because I’m shy. Because you’re lean and handsome and I’m nowhere near to being in your league. All things you’ve been thinking since he didn’t show up to your date. You don’t say them out loud, but they hang in the air between you and Bradley like burning hot stars anyway.

Bradley stares at you hard. You feel the heat of your confession on your neck, your cheeks.

“Honey,” he says, serious and sweet simultaneously. “Sweet girl. I’m so sorry I made you feel that way.”

You duck your head. The way he’s looking at you is too much. If he keeps this up you’ll be a puddle in seconds.

“It’s not your fault,” you say quietly. It’s not. Really, it’s your own for assuming the worst of him.

“Doesn’t matter,” Bradley says firmly. “I upset you, didn’t I? I’m really sorry.” He slides his hand under your chin. You know you have more pudge there than another girl would. And yet, you find you don’t mind his touch as much as you feared you would. “Would you look at me?”

Shy, you tilt your head up with the help of his gentle hand until you’re meeting his eyes. You’re struck, suddenly, by how close he is.

Bradley smiles. He’s so, so handsome you almost feel sick by it.

“I really like you,” he says, earnest. “So much. I don’t mind that your body is different. Everyone’s body is different, isn’t it? It’s not a bad thing, and I happen to really like how you look. You’re beautiful exactly the way you are.”

You blink rapidly. Your chest feels like it’s on fire. You don’t think you’ve ever been spoken to in such an honest tone, with such lovely words. It sets you aflame from the inside out. You’re melting, a lovesick puddle of a girl.

“I don’t mind that you’re quiet, either,” he says, and somehow he’s just getting lovelier by the second, and you can’t believe you ever thought he had ill intentions when he’s being so achingly kind to you. “I think I talk quite enough for the both of us, don’t you?”

You laugh, breathless. You’re hyper aware of his hand on your face, of his chest where it’s inches from yours. Normally you’d feel self conscious with another person so close to you, your insecurities on display in full. With Bradley, and the way he’s looking at you, soft brown eyes and a kind smile, you feel special. A flower blooms in your chest, rearing towards Bradley like he’s the sun.

“I’m so sorry for ruining our first date,” Bradley says in a low voice. He brings a hand to your waist. You feel his heat through your clothes. He’s touching you like you’re something precious, like porcelain or starlight. “Do you think you could give me another chance?”

Well, when he asks like that, you know you couldn’t say no even if you wanted to.