#rooster bradshaw x female reader

[roosterforme]

Pink Christmas Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley just wants to make Christmas special for your daughter, and he's nervous he might have blown his cover as Santa. As Christmas Eve approaches, he pulls out all the stops for the two of you. But will you let him give Ellie everything from her wishlist?

Warnings: Fluff, language, single mom reader, mentions of loss of spouse

Length: 7000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Pink Christmas masterlist. Check out my masterlist for more! Banner by @mak-32. Written for @bellaireland1981 Winter RomCom Challenge

Once you started kissing Bradley, everything came back to you. Fingers in his soft hair, your body pressed to his, and his tongue softly caressing yours. You knew just what to do, and you didn't want to stop. When his big hands came to rest on your back, you couldn't even remember why you'd been nervous in the first place.

Your thumb found the rough stubble and slightly raised scars on his cheek at the same time you heard your front door knob rattling. When you pulled away from Bradley's lips, you looked up at his handsome face and smiled, completely distracted as your daughter let herself inside. You pulled free from Bradley's warm embrace just as you heard Ellie ask him, "Who are you?"

Bradley licked his lips as he examined your face with his pretty brown eyes. Then he turned his full attention to your child. "Are you Ellie?" he asked, and when she nodded and set her backpack down, he reached out to shake her hand. "My name's Bradley. I'm a handyman from the North Pole."

"A handyman?" she asked, shaking his hand firmly. "What does that mean?"

"Means Santa sent me here to set up your pink tree, because he got a little busy this week," he replied so smoothly, you almost believed him yourself. 

Ellie gasped and looked past him into the living room. "Santa got my tree!" she gushed. "Mommy!"

"Yeah," you replied with a laugh. "Santa really knows what he's doing."

Bradley looked at you with a little bit of a blush coloring his face, and you were shocked to find that you instinctively wanted to reach for his hand and kiss that pretty shade of pink on his cheeks. You barely managed to stop yourself as he took a step toward you. 

"That was close," he muttered, watching Ellie run her hands along all of the ornaments that she could reach. But you were still busy looking at him, because his response to your daughter was what had you melting inside. He had a soft smile on his lips as he laughed. "I think she likes her tree."

You rubbed your fingers along the back of his hand, and his gaze met yours immediately before falling to your lips. "I think so, too."

He nodded toward the door. "I should go," he said slowly. You didn't know how to tell him that for some reason you knew your house would feel too empty if he left right now. When Ellie spoke up, you could have hugged her for her brilliant idea. 

"Mommy, is Bradley allowed to stay for pizza?"

You let go of his hand as Ellie came back over with one of the pink heart ornaments. Then you and she both looked up at him as he asked, "Am I allowed to stay?" He looked a bit like a wayward puppy as he added, "I love pizza."

Your heart swelled at the idea of him in your house a little longer, maybe sharing a few more secret touches. "Of course you can stay."

Ellie reached out and took him by the hand, dragging him toward her playroom, and he went willingly as she asked, "Do they have pizza at the North Pole? Which one of Santa's elves is your favorite? I liked Phoenix the best, but I liked grumpy Hangman, too."

Her voice faded as she rambled on, and you could hear Bradley laughing. Then you were alone in the pink glow of the tree as it grew darker outside, and you took your phone out to order pizza just like you always did on Friday nights. But for the first time in a long time, you couldn't stop smiling. 

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"I've never played dolls before," Bradley said as Ellie picked one up to brush its hair. 

"That's okay," she replied, handing him a different doll. "I'll show you how. It's not really that hard. Just brush her hair and make her look pretty for the party we're taking them to."

Bradley grunted and picked up one of the toy brushes. "I think I can handle that."

A few minutes later, he was very into coordinating which outfit his doll was going to wear to the birthday party they were going to be attending. "How does this look?" he asked her, and she handed him a pink ribbon. 

"She needs a bow in her hair."

"Right," he muttered, and he tried a few times, but his fingers seemed to be too big to get it right. 

As he was struggling with it, Ellie paused what she was doing and said, "You seem really familiar."

"Do I?" he asked cautiously, still fighting the bow and hoping she didn't immediately realize that he was in fact Santa Claus. 

She was quiet for a beat before she said, "I think you remind me of my dad." Bradley's eyes met hers, but she didn't look sad or upset, just resigned. "He was good at dolls, too. But not tying the bows."

Then Bradley felt your hand on his shoulder as you said, "Do you need a hand?" He nodded and passed the doll to you, watching as you made it look so easy to tie the perfect bow. "Pizza will be here soon," you said softly, handing the doll back to him. 

"Thanks," he whispered, still surprised by your daughter's words. Somehow it didn't make him feel nervous or weird to be compared to your late husband. But it did come with a sense of responsibility of sorts. He already ordered Ellie her pink art kit, but he found himself just wanting to spend time with the two of you. The kisses had been one thing, but playing dolls and eating pizza seemed natural as well.

When the food arrived, Bradley hopped up and tried to pay for it, but you'd already put it on your credit card. So he snatched your wallet out of your hand and pulled tip money out of his own for the delivery guy. And if he was able to get his arms around you in the process and press a soft kiss to your cheek, it was just a bonus for him. Then he watched you cut a slice of pizza in half for your daughter as you tried to hide your smile from him. 

"Where did the flowers come from?" Ellie asked, pointing at the big bouquet and the smaller one. 

"Santa sent them with me," he replied, picking up the small one so she could smell them. "He told me that you and your mom both like pink."

"Santa knows everything," she said as she nodded, and Bradley smiled down at her. "I want to eat by the tree," she insisted when you handed her a plate and a juice box. 

"Yeah," Bradley agreed as he picked out some slices of pizza. "Me too." So you handed him a juice box as well, and he followed Ellie back to the living room with a smile. The three of you sat on the floor in a little circle next to the tree, and Bradley regaled the two of you with made up stories about the North Pole. Ellie was in stitches, and you bit your lip every time she laughed, your smile absolutely infectious. 

Bradley ended up eating Ellie's pizza crust as you cleaned up the plates, and he knew it was time for him to leave. It was late. But he was nervous he wouldn't see you before Christmas Eve when he planned to come by as Santa. 

"Mommy, can Bradley come back and look at Christmas lights with us?"

You paused as Bradley stood up next to the pink tree, and then you said, "Ellie, I'm not even sure where to go for that in San Diego."

"I could ask Santa," Bradley blurted out. "I'm sure he'd know the best spots in any city to see Christmas lights."

"Yeah!" Ellie agreed. "Santa would know!"

You only hesitated for a second before you said, "Only if it's not going to take up too much of your time."

Bradley patted Ellie on the head and said, "I can make time for that. Let me get back to the North Pole and ask Santa where the best lights are. Thanks for teaching me how to play dolls." Then he met your gaze and said, "And thanks for the pizza."

"It's our pleasure," you told him, echoing his own words from the other day. 

He swallowed hard; the urge to lean in and kiss you was so strong. He fought it though, because he knew he had another excuse to see you both again soon. Then he forced himself toward the door. "I'll be in touch," he promised, and when he opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch, he noticed Ellie's gaze settle on his Bronco, a look of curiosity on her face.

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You were a mess the rest of the weekend, texting Bradley late into the night on both Friday and Saturday after Ellie was in bed. You found yourself continually peeking at the selfie he sent you like a kid trying to find their Christmas presents early. He was just that damn good looking.

More importantly, he was sweet. He had invited you and your daughter to join him on a drive down to Imperial Beach to look at lights on Tuesday night, and of course you'd immediately agreed. 

Ellie and I wouldn't miss it.

Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: I'll pick you up at six. I already have a little treat for the ride.

You giggled and flopped down on your bed, eyeing your wedding photo across the room. "I really like him," you said out loud with a grin. Then you texted Bradley back.

What kind of treat?

He must have been holding his phone, his response came that quickly.

Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: Something pretty and sweet, just like you. I absolutely can't get you off of my mind. Not that I'm trying very hard.

"Okay," you said out loud, finding it easier to give yourself a little pep talk when he got you flustered like this. "You can do this. Be cool."

I thought you looked cute in your Santa beard, but your real mustache is even better.

There. Flirtatious but not too much. A solid response. You gave yourself a little pat on the shoulder. But then he upped the ante just a tiny bit by sending a selfie of him blushing. You groaned, because his mustache was immaculate, and you wanted to get your lips all over his cheeks and see if you could make his blush deepen.

Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: I've been thinking about our first kiss on repeat. When Santa shows up on Christmas Eve, are you going to kiss him, too?

You laughed as you texted him back.

Yes. I think I have a crush on both of you.

Then you got yourself into bed, knowing it would feel like a very long wait for Tuesday night to arrive, but you fell asleep with a smile on your lips when he wrote back.

Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: Then I feel doubly lucky.

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It was honestly a good thing you had so much to do for work, because it took your mind off of your nerves. But when Tuesday evening finally arrived, your hands were shaking as you tried to get ready in front of your bathroom mirror. You kept looking at the most recent text in your thread with Bradley, and it was bringing out your anxious energy. It was a simple message with a photo attached, but now you were second guessing everything. 

Bradley 'Santa' Bradshaw: I hope I look good in pink.

He did. He looked fantastic in his pink and black floral print shirt. That wasn't the issue. It was your daughter's words echoing through your mind as she stood in the bathroom doorway that had you rattled.

"Hey, Mommy? Is Bradley going to be your boyfriend?"

You looked at her as you tried to put on some lip gloss. "Do you want him to be?"

"Maybe," she replied, eyes narrowing a bit. "I just need to do a little more research and make sure he's the one I asked for."

You almost laughed. You would have if you weren't so nervous. "What kind of research? And what do you mean the one you asked for?"

Ellie just shrugged in response. "I'll take care of it. You look pretty, Mommy."

Your throat felt tight as you swallowed against the thing that was really bothering you and whispered, "If Bradley ever does become my boyfriend, he's not going to replace the memory of your dad. Understand?"

Ellie nodded and sighed sadly. "I understand. But you said he's not coming back."

"He's not," you confirmed softly. The sharp, stabbing pangs of sadness had dulled a bit over time, however you still felt one now. But you'd also spend days doing some soul searching over the fact that you knew you were attracted to everything about Bradley. You didn't feel as hesitant around him as you thought you would after losing your husband. After more than a year alone with Ellie, you felt like this could be something.

Then your daughter helped you push your thoughts aside as she said, "Bradley was pretty good at playing dolls, and I could teach him how to be even better. And he looked like he was good at holding your hand."

"Oh," you gasped, setting your makeup aside. You didn't think she'd seen that, but she didn't seem upset in the least about it. "Yeah... he was good at it."

"Is it almost time to go look at lights?" she asked you just as your doorbell rang.

"Oh god," you groaned softly, butterflies and unidentified nerves erupting inside you. What if you did something stupid tonight? What if you didn't even know what to talk about?

"He's here!" Ellie called as she ran for the front door with you right behind her. And when she swung the door open wide, there he was in his pink shirt with a bright smile on his face and two, oversized pink candy canes in one hand. 

"Hey, Ellie," he replied easily as she beamed up at him. Then he looked at you and his smile faltered a bit. He swallowed, and it took him a few seconds to greet you. When he did, it was just one raspy word. "Hi."

"Hi," you replied softly, and the butterflies were still going wild, but the nerves were replaced with longing. "Bradley."

Ellie was reaching for the candy canes, and he patted the top of her head, but he was still looking at you. "Hi," he repeated, and you couldn't help but laugh. "See, talking to you in person is way better than texting, even though you take all the thoughts out of my brain and all the words out of my mouth."

You ducked your head to the side and covered your embarrassingly large grin with your hands as Ellie asked, "Are these for my mom and me? Santa's usually the one who brings us pink treats."

"Oh," Bradley replied, "well, these ones are from me. I hope that's okay. I saw these fancy candy canes at the North Pole sweet shop and thought of the two of you."

Ellie was already unwrapping hers, and Bradley held the other one up right in front of his chest with a grin, coaxing you closer. "Thank you for the treats. And for taking us to look at lights," you said, letting your fingers meet his as you took your candy cane. 

"It's my pleasure."

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

Bradley didn't know really how booster seats worked, but you moved one from your car to his Bronco, and then Ellie climbed in. 

"Are we ready to look at lights?" he asked as he started the engine. 

"Yes!" she replied from the backseat. "Did Santa tell you the best place to go?"

"He absolutely did. And he remembered that you liked pink, so I'm thinking there might be a special surprise for you."

"Special surprise?" you asked from next to him in the front seat. It had been so long since he'd had even one passenger let alone two. When your fingers came creeping across the leather seat, he reached for your tentative hand and held it tight in his. 

"It's a surprise for you, too," he promised, hoping you had no idea what the grand finale of the drive through light show was going to be. 

You laced the fingers of your left hand with his right, and Bradley had to take a calming breath. He hadn't felt this strongly about someone in a long time, and he just met you. But his brain had already been filling in the blanks of how good it might feel to be around you the longer he got to know you, because the chemistry was definitely there. 

He glanced at your profile at a red light and reached with his left hand to turn on the radio to the station that was playing Christmas music. Then he pulled your hand a little closer to him as the light turned green, and he could see you smiling out of the corner of his eye. "How's that candy cane?" he asked Ellie, glancing in the rearview mirror. 

"Good! It tastes like cotton candy."

"Do you like cotton candy?" he asked, noting you were still holding your treat in your right hand.

"All kids like cotton candy!" Ellie squealed with a laugh.

"I like cotton candy. Does that make me a kid?" he asked her as he turned left toward the beach, the darkest streaks of pink and purple running along the horizon behind the setting sun.

She giggled in delight and so did you. "No, you're too big," Ellie told him. "Nice try."

"Harsh," Bradley muttered as he made another turn, and then the enormous light display along the beach came into view. "Okay, here we are." He turned your way as he pulled up to the kiosk to pay, saying, "I'm going to need my hand back."

You immediately pulled your hand away from him and hurriedly said, "No problem," as he reached for his wallet. 

He chuckled and said, "It's coming right back to you once I pay, so don't get too comfy."

"Oh, I can pay!" you tried to insist as you scrambled for your bag on the floor by your feet, giving Bradley enough time to hand over some cash and pull through the gate toward the light displays. 

"Absolutely not," he said as you gave up and tossed your bag back to the floor. "Now where did your hand go?"

You turned to look at him before glancing back at Ellie who was mesmerized by the lights all around the Bronco. "Right here." And then Bradley felt your hand slip into his grasp where it already felt like it belonged. 

"That's better."

He barely took his foot off the brake pedal to keep coasting forward behind the car in front of him, and he hummed along to the music on the radio. Ellie's commentary from the backseat was pretty amusing with her occasional interjections of "Frosty!" and "Rudolph!" 

The light display was massive, and there was a long line of cars in front of them, which was great. Bradley didn't want to rush taking the two of you back home again. Especially not when you leaned in a little closer to him and whispered, "Thanks for this. She's having a great time."

Bradley came to a stop in front of a lit up display of ice skating penguins and turned to face you. "So am I. Been having a pretty great time since I met the two of you."

You whimpered, and Bradley squeezed your hand a little tighter as he fought the desire to lean in closer and kiss you. Then you whispered his name, and he nearly lost the battle. "Bradley. Are you still going to want to see us after Christmas?"

When he opened his mouth to tell you he wanted to see you every day, Ellie gasped in the backseat. "It looks like Santa's sleigh!"

Bradley turned to face forward, and sure enough, Santa's sleigh was just ahead, and the other cars had started to move up as well. "Sure does," he replied to her as he coasted forward so she could see. Now you were looking at the lights as well, and Bradley watched all the colors dance across your face. When you tilted your head to look at him, he said, "I'm going to want to see you as much as you'll let me."

A soft smile curled along your lips as he kept moving the Bronco forward. You didn't respond, but your fingers laced with his again, and Bradley could feel your thumb stroking along his. He took that as a pretty good sign, and then you and Ellie both started to laugh at the same time.

"Hey," Bradley said when he saw them, too. "A bunch of pink flamingos for my two pink loving girls."

"I love them!" Ellie gushed, clapping her hands as Bradley pulled up between two light displays of hundreds of flamingos wearing Santa hats. "So much pink!"

Then your lips were on his cheek before brushing back toward his ear, and he had to stop the Bronco again as your hand grazed his knee. "This is the best," you laughed softly. 

If you wanted to, he'd bring you both back tomorrow and the next night and the night after that. He wanted to watch your face illuminated by the pink lights as you bit your lip and smiled. He wanted to hear Ellie's laughter from the backseat while she sang Jingle Bells. 

Bradley moved the Bronco as slowly as he could so you could enjoy the flamingos for as long as possible. Then he drove through fake snow being blasted at all of the cars which somehow made him feel like he was back in Virginia again.

"I do not miss the snow," you told him, cradling his hand like you did this all the time. He very carefully pulled back out onto the road using one hand, because the last thing he wanted was to let go of you. 

"But Mommy, what if it's snowing at the North Pole?" Ellie asked. "How will we visit Bradley?"

Shit. He didn't know what to say, because he didn't want to confuse her or mess this up. "Maybe after the busy holiday, Santa will let me spend a little more time in San Diego so you don't have to brave the snow again."

Ellie hummed skeptically from the backseat as Bradley wound his way back through the neighborhoods on the outskirts of the city. "Yeah... that might work," she replied. "I'm going to have to stay up on Christmas Eve and have a conversation with Santa."

"I'll remind him to bring his A game," Bradley muttered. "Now let me drop the two of you off since you still have school tomorrow."

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You watched Bradley lift Ellie out of his Bronco, and then he moved her booster seat back to your car for you. When he walked both of you up to the porch, he had his hand at the middle of your back, his fingers teasing at your waist in the cool, night air. When you approached the front door, however, he knelt down in front of Ellie and asked, "Did you have fun?"

"Yes!"

"Should I tell Santa that was a good light display?"

"Yes!"

"Did you like the flamingos?"

"So much!" Then she flung her arms around his neck and said, "Thank you." The fact that your daughter seemed perpetually happy around this man whether he was dressed as Santa or just being himself had you nervously wiping your palms along your jeans.

"You're welcome. I'll see you soon?" he asked, patting the top of her head as he stood, eyeing you as he asked the question. 

"Yes," you answered quickly as you opened the front door. You paused once Ellie walked inside, and you turned toward her. "Start getting ready for bed. I'll be up in just a minute."

"Okay. Bye, Bradley."

"Bye, Ellie," he replied with a laugh, but you were already pulling the door closed, leaving you and him alone on the porch together. 

"Hey, I had a great time-" he began, but you cut him off when you lunged for him. You couldn't help it. Bradley caught you in his big arms, and wrapped you up tight against him as he grinned. "-with you tonight."

Your fingers were tangled in his soft curls as your lips mashed against his, but even with you pressed right up to his body in desperation, he was a gentleman. His hands were splayed across your back, rubbing up and down, slowly bunching the fabric of your shirt.

"Me too," you promised between kisses, nodding slightly as you nibbled on his lip. He hummed softly as your hand drifted down to the back of his neck, and he deepened the kiss. His tongue tasted sweet, and you felt beautiful and desirable when you were with him.

But you broke the kiss and whispered, "I need to get Ellie in bed."

"Right. Right." He was still holding you close, still slowly rubbing your back with his hands. And then you kissed him one more time, because you needed to. It was soft and perfect just like Friday when you helped him decorate the tree. "I'll see you soon," he whispered as his nose grazed your cheek.

You felt your whole body tingle as he pressed one more slightly rougher kiss to your lips before turning back to his Bronco. You had to fight the urge to chase him down for more, waving like an idiot as he pulled away instead. There were just a few more days until Christmas, and you wondered if it would be too forward of you to tell him that he's the only thing you wanted for yourself this year.

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Bradley took a deep breath as he pulled on his red flight suit and grabbed his matching hat and white beard. It was getting late for Ellie to still be awake, but you'd promised him it was okay to stop by around 9:30. He wasn't quite sure what to expect, but he hoped she was still excited to see Santa. 

With Christmas music playing and wrapped gifts on the front seat, Bradley spent the drive over trying to decide how to explain to your daughter that he was the same person when he was dressed as Santa and when he was just himself. Just Bradley. And then he started to get antsy. Just Bradley. He didn't have much to offer to either of you. Just a guy who occasionally got deployed and suddenly liked the color pink.

When he parked in front of your place, he sat for a minute, afraid he was going to do or say the wrong thing. If Ellie still believed in the magic of Santa Claus, he didn't want to take that from her. He glanced toward your front window and saw movement. The two of you were dancing in front of the lit up pink tree, and a smile found its way to his face. 

"Just be Santa," he said out loud, snatching up the presents and closing the door behind him. 

With his beard and hat securely in place, he knocked and immediately heard Ellie squeal. "It's Santa! I just know it!"

And then she was there, swinging the door open so quickly, Bradley was surprised it stayed on the hinges. "Merry Christmas," he greeted, getting the wind knocked out of him by the five year old launching herself at him and by how cute both of you looked in your matching pink snowflake pajamas. 

"Santa!" Ellie gushed, reaching for his hand to lead him inside. "We made you some heart shaped cookies with icing!"

"I love that," he replied, but his eyes were stuck on you. Bradley could just tell you'd welcome a kiss from him right now, and he wanted to give you one, but instead he followed you over to the tree.

"Cookies and some hot chocolate," you told him, picking up a plate of sweets and that same mug he drank from last week. "Just for you, Santa."

Bradley set down the presents, including the art kit filled with every shade of pink paint anyone could possibly want. That's when he noticed that instead of eating the pink candy cane he gave you on Tuesday night, you'd hung it on one of the tree branches. He was already smiling when he saw the little box with a gift tag next to his boot that said "TO: SANTA. FROM: ELLIE."

"This is for me?" he asked, bending to pick it up. 

Ellie nodded, looking up at him hopefully. "I made you something."

"Well then I'm sure I'll love it," he replied. 

He was just starting to unwrap his gift when Ellie turned toward you and asked, "Mommy, would it be okay if I talk to Santa alone for a minute?"

Bradley's fingers stilled as you nodded and softly said, "I'll just go sit on the steps." You bent to kiss the top of Ellie's head before smiling softly at Bradley, and then you were gone. And he was alone with a child who was eyeing him with such curiosity, it made his heart beat a little faster.

Ellie tugged on his hand until he was kneeling, and then she leaned in a little closer. Bradley felt like he was under a microscope as she examined him, but then she smiled. 

"You were a very convincing fake Santa. But after you brought the tree over, I knew it was you right away, Bradley." 

"You did?" he asked, heart plummeting as her words washed over him. If he just ruined Santa Claus for this adorable little girl, he didn't know what he'd do with himself. 

"Yeah. I figured out that you were the same guy since both Santa and Bradley drive the same car and have the same voice."

Oh, shit. His eyes went wide as she pulled his beard down below his chin and smiled at him. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't actually intend to lie to you about being a North Pole handyman."

"I know," she said, taking his gift from his hand and opening it up for him. Inside the box were two Christmas ornaments. They were made out of construction paper with popsicle sticks glued to look like pictures in frames, and there were ribbons attached to the top so they could be hung. 

"Ellie," he whispered, taking them both out of the box to inspect them more closely in the soft, pink light. She'd taken the time to draw pictures on both of them. The first one said ELLIE and had a well drawn F/A-18 and some elves along with a pink candy cane and three flamingos. The other ornament said SANTA and was complete with pink flowers, a pink tree and a picture of a man. "Is that supposed to be me?" he asked her softly.

"Yeah. But just you, Bradley. Not really Santa."

"Thanks," he muttered, not sure how to tell a five year old that this was perhaps the best gift he'd ever received in his adult life.

But now she was standing with her hands on her hips. "I need to know what happened when you went to talk to the real Santa after the air show. And don't lie to me this time."

"What do you mean?" he asked, heart beating faster again.

"Since you got permission to dress as a pretend Santa for kids like me at the air show, you get to sometimes talk to the real Santa Claus, right?"

Oh. Maybe he hadn't completely fucked this up after all. "Of course. That's how it works when you get chosen to be a Santa representative."

"Yeah," she said, nodding like a CEO closing a business deal. "That's what I thought."

"You're a very smart kid," he told her with a smile, but clearly she wasn't quite finished with him yet. 

"So? What happened when you talked to him? Did Santa know you'd be perfect? Is that why you kept coming back to our house to see my mom?"

"Perfect?" he asked cautiously.

She grinned at him as she said, "Yeah. The perfect boyfriend for my mom. The one I asked for."

Bradley was speechless. That's what he wanted to be. Your boyfriend. Maybe more than that someday. His eyes roamed Ellie's face, so innocent in the way she still believed there was magic here. But maybe there actually was. "Yes. That's exactly what happened, Kiddo. I went to meet with Santa, and I told him what was on your wishlist. And I told him how important it was that you got everything you wanted since you're always on the nice list."

She clapped her hands and bobbed up and down. "And he knew you'd be the perfect boyfriend?"

"Yeah," Bradley said, throat tight with emotion. "He knew I'd fall for your mom and you and the color pink and just all of it."

She hugged him tight, and he scooped her up and hung both homemade ornaments on the pink tree. "Merry Christmas," she whispered.

"Merry Christmas," he replied. "Think it's okay if I talk to your mom now?"

She nodded, and he carried her to the stairs where you were sitting with your own mug of hot chocolate waiting for them. "You ready for bed, Ellie?" you asked, looking between your daughter and Bradley with his beard down below his chin with some concern. 

Then Ellie kissed his cheek and said, "Goodnight, Bradley," as he set her down on the steps next to you. 

"Night, Ellie," he replied, and he watched her kiss you too before climbing the stairs and going into a room that was lit by the soft glow of a nightlight. And then you and he were alone, and you were sliding over to make room on the step next to you.

Your hesitant smile made him a little lightheaded as you asked, "So she knows you're Santa from the air show?"

He chuckled softly. "Something like that. But don't worry, she still knows that the real Santa exists. She's got quite the imagination."

"Yeah, I don't think I'll ever have to worry about that," you replied, setting down your mug and reaching for his hand. It was the easy way you laced your fingers with his once again that spurred him on. You were grinning as he leaned in to kiss you, his white beard tickling your chin. "Hi, Santa," you whispered against his lips, and he just knew this was how it was supposed to be.

When he pulled away from you with a smile of his own, he said, "There's something I need to tell you. About the day we met."

Your brow creased in concern, and he leaned in to kiss you there as you asked, "What about the day we met?"

He wanted to be delicate with you and take his time. It's what you deserved. You and Ellie both. But he also wanted to once again make his feelings crystal clear for you. "That first day, at the air show... when I took Ellie up to sit in my jet, she asked for a pink tree and an art kit with pink paint." Bradley paused, stroking his rough fingers along your soft cheek before he added, "But she also asked Santa to bring a boyfriend for you."

You gasped. "She did? My five year old asked Santa to bring me a boyfriend?" You buried your face in your hands and groaned softly. "That's so embarrassing."

Bradley gently peeled your fingers away from your face as you grimaced at him, but he just laughed. "It's not embarrassing. It's sweet." He waited until you were looking at him again, even though you were nibbling on your lip a little anxiously. "And the thing is... somehow, I think it's supposed to be me."

When your lips parted on a soft sound, your face looked hopeful, and Bradley squeezed your hand as you barely whispered, "You?"

"Yeah. Me," he told you with a little laugh. "I'm nothing special, but I'm hoping you'll let me give Ellie everything she wants for Christmas?"

You slowly climbed onto his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck, your eyes bright and sincere. "You want to be my boyfriend?"

"Desperately," he promised. "And I'm not trying to replace Ellie's dad, and we can do this at whatever pace works for the two of you. But I think this was meant to be."

And then you were smiling against his lips and kissing him as he held you on the steps. You laughed as you pushed your fingers through his hair, sending his red hat down the stairs followed by his beard.

"Then I guess Ellie can have everything from her wish list."

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

One year later....

"The tree looks beautiful," Ellie said, hanging up the two ornaments she made last year as you and Bradley each sipped mugs of hot chocolate. The pink Christmas tree stood tall and proud in the same spot it had occupied until February, when you finally convinced her it had to come down after Valentine's Day. 

Bradley had gone overboard, perhaps even more so than last year, coming home from work a few hours ago on Christmas Eve with more pink ornaments for your daughter to add to her collection. 

"You're spoiling us," you told your boyfriend, and you watched a grin bloom on his lips. But maybe you were spoiling him back just as much. This year, you and Ellie had on matching pink pajamas covered in gingerbread cookies, and Bradley had coordinating pants to wear with his white undershirt. It felt good to have him here, like he was always meant to step in when he did. 

"I love spoiling you," he whispered, taking your empty mug and collecting you in his arms. "I love spoiling both my girls."

You and he took things slow at first. He spent the night with you last Christmas Eve, his limbs tangled up with yours in your bed. But your clothing had stayed on, and his lips never went further south than your neck. After that, you fumbled your way through a few dates with him; sometimes Ellie joined the two of you, and sometimes she stayed with Bradley's best friend and former elf, Natasha. But you quickly learned that you hadn't forgotten how to be with someone intimately. All you needed was the right someone who would let you realize that for yourself.

Bradley moved in with you a few months ago, and you hadn't looked back. He was becoming an expert at playing dolls with Ellie, and he made both of you so happy, sometimes your face hurt from smiling so much. He wasn't a replacement, and he wasn't an improvement, but he was something you knew you couldn't live without now.

"Hey, I almost forgot," he murmured. "I grabbed two more things on my way home today. I'll be right back." 

When he left the living room, you walked over to Ellie and kissed the top of her head. "I'm really happy we got Bradley for Christmas last year," she said, making you laugh.

"Me too. It's a good thing you asked Santa to bring him for me."

She looked up at you with wide eyes and a little smirk. "Just wait until you find out what I asked for this year."

You looked down at her with an amused smile. "What did you ask for this year?"

But she was distracted now as Bradley came back in with a soft smile on his lips and two small pink boxes. He knelt down in front of Ellie and handed her the bigger one, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Kiddo," he whispered.

"Merry Christmas," she told him, and when she opened the box, you gasped. 

"Bradley."

He got your daughter a rose gold necklace with a pink diamond charm, and Ellie squealed in delight when she saw it. "It's so pretty!"

"Just like you," he said, taking it out of the box and clasping it around her neck. She wrapped one hand around the charm and smiled as Bradley turned to look up at you. "I got something for your mom, too."

At first, when he handed you the smaller box, you were convinced it was a necklace to match Ellie's. But then you met his eyes, and you knew it wasn't. Your heart was racing as you looked at him, fingers shaking with anticipation as he said, "I love you. So much. The last year with you has been magical, and I want to be here forever."

You glanced at Ellie, and she was all bright smiles as she bounced up and down as you opened the box. "Oh," you gasped, because it was the prettiest pink ring. And it did match her necklace.

When you looked up from the box and met his eyes, he asked you something that you already knew the answer to. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes!"

You held the box tight as he stood and spun you around the room in his arms, his soft laughter filling your heart as Ellie loudly cheered, "I asked Santa for a husband for my mom!"

You laughed as Bradley smothered your face in kisses, and then he pulled the ring free before tossing the box aside. As he slid the rose gold and pink diamond ring onto your finger, he grinned and said, "Santa never disappoints."

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

Happy holidays! I hope Santa Bradley brings you everything from your wishlist! Thanks @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @thedroneranger @cherrycola27

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[sugarcoated-lame]

Life’s A Beach | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Single Dad!Bradley x Reader

This is the second installment of my single dad Bradley miniseries | part one | library blog

Summary: A few weeks have passed since meeting Bradley and Caroline, and what better way to spend time with the adorable father-daughter duo again than a day at the beach?

WC: 6K

Warnings: all of my works are 18+ minors DNI, shirtlessbradleyshirtlessbradleyshirtlessbradley, reader wears a bikini but there are no descriptions of body size/shape, mentions of food/eating, mutual pining, like one tiny mention of smut towards the end if you squint, I don’t really think there’s much else this is literally just straight up fluff, dilf Bradley just being the absolute sweetest, this part is much longer than the first bc I already had it written and then couldn’t help myself from adding almost 3k words while editing oops, once again I suck at titles and summaries :)

a/n: the header for this chapter was my first attempt at making a mood board, I hope y’all like it :) I love Dadley Dadshaw™️ and little Caroline so much, I couldn’t stop smiling while writing this chapter of pure fluff! If you enjoy it, please comment/reblog feedback is always appreciated. Thank you for reading! <3

•

•

You’re checking yourself in the mirror for probably the twentieth time when your phone buzzes with a text alerting you that Bradley is outside. You’d spent an embarrassing amount of time this morning trying on countless swimsuits in an attempt to find the perfect one.

It’s a sunny Saturday afternoon and with Bradley having the day off, and Caroline done with school for the weekend, he’d invited you to join them for a day at the beach. Since meeting them at the mall a few weeks ago when you’d helped reunite the father-daughter duo after the little girl had gotten lost, you’d maintained pretty regular communication.

The two of you had been texting almost daily, chatting about your days and getting to know each other a little better, and you were delighted to find out that Bradley did not, in fact, have a wife. He’d send you silly pictures of him and Caroline that never failed to make you smile even after a shitty day, and left you wondering how someone could still be so attractive while making the stupidest faces. 

He told you a bit about his job — as not just a pilot like his daughter had told you when you met, but a fighter pilot, a naval aviator — and you told him about yours. You talked about your respective hobbies, favorite movies and your tastes in music among other things. Anything and everything that had come to mind, really.

Talking to Bradley was always easy. And there was definitely a bit of flirting. Okay, maybe a lot of flirting.

You’d also talk to Caroline too. She and Bradley had FaceTimed you a few times over the weeks and she’d update you all about how she was enjoying preschool so far, telling you that her daddy cried when he dropped her off on her first day — though, Bradley insists that he didn't — and about the new friends she’s made, before always asking when she’d get to see you again. You’d promised her, soon.

You’ve been pretty swamped with work, but you’re excited — if not a little anxious — to see them again. Though you hadn’t gotten another chance to see Bradley in person since that first day at the mall, your crush on him had grown exponentially. He was funny, charming, an amazing father to the sweetest little girl, and not to mention incredibly good looking.

Even through an iPhone camera, Bradley always looked so effortlessly gorgeous, his boyish smile and pretty eyes never failing to give you butterflies. You’d have to actively try not to swoon all the times he’d called you ‘sweetheart’ or said you looked pretty over FaceTime. 

You could tell the mustached man liked you too, if his shameless flirting was anything to go by. He was too charming for his own good and he never seemed to fail to paint a blush on your cheeks. So, you want to make sure you look good when you join him and his daughter at the beach today.

You’d settled on a black bikini, the longline triangle top big enough to cover you up with enough cleavage to still be sexy, and the bottoms a little high waisted, the side strings pulled up high on your hips to accentuate your curves. You’d let your hair fall loose and flowing, and put on a light dusting of makeup.

After receiving Bradley’s text, you quickly throw on a matching black cover-up that ties at the front, your favorite pair of shorts and some flip flops, grabbing your bag and heading out the door.

Bradley’s waiting for you, leaned up against the side of his classic blue Bronco in a white and baby blue floral Hawaiian shirt — which you’ve learned over the last few weeks that he seems to own quite an array of, a pair of dark gray swim trunks that show off his muscular calves, and a pair of aviators shielding his eyes from the early afternoon sun.

His tanned features only seem to glow in the bright light of the sun, and as you watch Bradley’s face light up with a grin when he sees you, sandy curls blowing in the slight breeze, you have to clench your teeth to keep your jaw from dropping. God, he’s gorgeous.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

Bradley pulls you into a hug as soon as you reach him, and you happily wrap your arms around him. Inhaling his delicious scent and relishing in his warmth as you tell him that you’re doing good, before asking how he’s been too.

“I’ve been good, thanks. You look beautiful.” Bradley compliments you with a growing smirk once he releases you. You’re going to have to get used to the blush that seems to permanently reside over your cheeks whenever you are in his presence.

“You look– good too…” You trail off shyly, lips lifting into a sheepish grin as you push back some strands of hair that had blown in your face from the breeze, looking down at your sandal-clad feet. 

Flirting with Bradley was much easier over text. You’re just thankful that his eyes are currently covered by his sunglasses, unsure if you’d be able to handle his deep, honeyed gaze on you right now without your knees buckling.

Bradley chuckles at your shyness, he loves how easily he can make you flush.

“Come on, I know someone is very excited to see you.” He places a gentle hand at the small of your back and leads you to the passenger side of the Bronco, opening the door for you. Your skin tingles with warmth where his hand had touched you as you climb into the passenger seat and Bradley closes the door for you.

Immediately upon entering the truck, you’re met with a high-pitched yell of your name. You turn around to see Caroline, all tucked into her car seat, sandy curls tied up in pigtails, and a tiny pair of aviator sunglasses that match her dad’s over her eyes. She really is Bradley's mini-me and you don’t think she could get any cuter.

“Hey, sweet pea!” She’d told you when you called her that on one of your FaceTime calls that that was her favorite nickname because peas are her favorite vegetable.

“You ready for a beach day?” You inquire happily, to which Caroline replies with a toothy grin and excited squeals of affirmation. She lifts her little aviators up onto the top of her head as she talks excitedly to you, while Bradley chuckles and begins to drive.

The two of you spend the entire drive to the beach chatting animatedly, Bradley chiming in here and there, but mostly just enjoying listening to the way you happily field the kind of questions and roundabout rambling that can only come from a four-year old. 

He swears that his heart is going to explode out of his chest seeing how great you are with his daughter. How much Caroline already seems to love you, and how much you seem to love her too.

*** 

Upon arriving at the beach and finding a spot for the Bronco in the moderately crowded lot, Bradley quickly leaps out of the driver’s side to open your door for you, eliciting a bashful smile and quiet ‘thanks’ from you as he takes your hand in his much larger one to help you down.

When your feet are safely on the ground and he’s closed the door behind you, Bradley makes his way to the back door to help Caroline — who is bouncing her little legs and practically vibrating with excitement – out of her car seat. 

The three of you make your way up to the beach, Bradley carrying a large cooler that he procured from the trunk. And while you try your hardest to not drool over his impressive arms, you hold a large tote that’s filled to the brim with a blanket, towels, Caroline’s countless beach toys, and an umbrella sticking out of the top in one hand, and Caroline’s smaller hand in your free one. 

It’s only a short walk, and the second your feet touch the sand, Caroline’s little hand releases yours as she bounds ahead of you and her father in search of a good spot to set up.

Bradley lets out an exasperated sigh and lifts up his sunglasses, sharp eyes trained ahead to follow his daughter’s bouncing pigtails as she runs along the busy beach. “God, she’s really gotta stop doing that.”

Holding back a giggle — because you know firsthand that Caroline wandering off is a fairly common occurrence — you look up at Bradley with a sympathetic pout.

“Yeah, but if she didn’t do that, you never would’ve met me.” You shrug matter-of-factly, lips tugging up at the corner on their own accord. 

Bradley can’t help but chuckle at that. 

“I guess that’s true,” the playful smirk growing on your face draws a matching one onto his lips. “But, sooner or later, she’s gonna give her old man a heart attack.”

You join him in his laughter as you continue walking toward the empty spot where you see Caroline has stopped, bouncing on her feet and waiting for the two of you with an adorable toothy grin. 

“You’re not that old.” With a playful roll of your eyes, you lightly smack his shoulder.

Once everything is set up – the blanket laid out along the sand and held down at the corners by the heavy cooler and the tote, the large beach umbrella creating a nice bit of shade, and Caroline’s various toys already scattered about — Bradley kicks off his flip flops and reaches up to begin unbuttoning his Hawaiian shirt. Dropping his aviators onto the blanket along with it, leaving him in just his dark gray swim shorts with his torso bare. 

Whoa. You thought he was hot with his clothes on, but you nearly went into shock upon seeing him without them. You knew Bradley was obviously in shape — you could see that even under the Hawaiian shirts and soft looking Navy tees he always wore over Facetime – but you didn’t know he was that muscular.

All golden skin and rippling muscles, broad shoulders and strong arms. Almost ridiculously toned abs and thick thighs leading down to shapely legs, Bradley looked like he was sculpted by the gods. Though he was a father, he certainly did not have a ‘dad bod’. You guessed that his elite naval training must be to thank for that.

In the hopes of distracting yourself — and to stop yourself from frothing at the mouth over Bradley’s physique, you decide to focus on applying the sunscreen that you also found in Bradley’s beach bag. You remove your cover-up and shimmy out of your shorts, already enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun blanketing the newly exposed skin.

Holy shit, Bradley has to stop himself from saying out loud as he catches a view of you in your bikini. 

The way that the black fabric fits your body perfectly, just a hint of your plush breasts visible in the triangle top and the high-cut bottoms with little strings that cinch in at your waist accentuating your curves in all the right places, has Bradley’s heart beating faster and his cheeks heating up with a flush that he knows is not just a product of the bright sun. 

He feels like he might start drooling at any moment as he takes in the sight of your skin – so much skin, and he wants to know if it would feel as soft as it looks, under his fingertips.

He watches in awe as you begin to apply your sunscreen, delicate hands smoothing over planes of skin, and Bradley wishes he could replace them with his own. He needs to stop ogling you before his swim trunks begin to show the evidence of just how much you’re affecting him.

When you’re finished lathering yourself in sunscreen, Bradley’s heart starts clenching in his chest for a whole different reason as you offer to help Caroline apply hers. She accepts your offer without hesitation, head nodding a mile a minute and that big grin that never fails to make Bradley’s heart melt on her sweet little face, and he swears she’s never taken to anyone — not even the Dagger Squad — so quickly.

He gazes on, eyes with wide adoration as you kneel down to meet his daughter’s height, gently – and oh so patiently – rubbing the cream onto the baby-soft skin of her arms and legs as she jumps and squirms around, her golden brown curls bouncing, the impatient four-year old ready to take off like a tornado down the beach. 

Bradley can’t help but admire the sweet smile that overtakes your face and your soft laugh as Caroline scrunches up her adorable little button nose while you apply the sunscreen to her face, and he swears his heart grows three times its size when he hears the giggles bubbling out of his little girl’s mouth as you playfully pinch her nose and let her know that you’re done.

“What do we say, Caroline?” Bradley asks his daughter before she has a chance to run off in her excitement. His tone is slightly stern and his hands are on his hips, though a smirk is tugging at the corner of his lips as he squints against the bright sun to look at his daughter who returns his gaze with a wide-eyed, almost caught-out expression.

“Thank you!” Caroline turns back to you and wraps her arms around your neck in a quick hug that makes your heart melt. 

Before you can hug her back, she races over to her dad and hugs her arms around his hips, her little head resting on his taut belly as she looks up at him with those big, brown puppy dog eyes that rival his own. 

“Can we go in the ocean, Daddy?” 

When Bradley lovingly strokes the crown of her head and grins down at her, you swear you could cry from how adorable the two of them are. “Of course we can, Bug.”

Then, Bradley lifts his little girl off the sand – and she looks so tiny in his arms – and you can’t help but giggle at the two of them as he leans down to blow raspberries on Caroline’s tummy through the fabric of her ruffly lilac bathing suit, high-pitched squeals and shrieking giggles leaving her as she flails in his hold, breathlessly yelling, “Daddy, stop!” while he continues to tickle her.

“Alright, alright. I’m done.” Bradley chuckles, only stopping when one of Caroline’s flailing limbs nearly hits him in the face. He presses a kiss to one of her flushed cheeks, and then the two of them are looking at you with matching grins. 

“You comin’, sweetheart?” The term of endearment makes your heart flutter. You glance between the two of them, holding back a laugh at the four-year old that’s buzzing with excitement in her father’s arms.

“I think I’m just gonna relax here for a bit and soak up some sun, but you two go ahead!” 

Bradley looks down to where you sit on the beach blanket with an appraising look as you smile at the two of them, a hand hovering above your squinting eyes to shield them from the sun, and you could swear you catch his eyes trailing down the line of your body for just a second before returning to yours. “You sure?”

“Yeah, you two go! Enjoy some father-daughter time.” You nod, a pretty smile on your face, and the playful wink you send his daughter has Bradley’s swim trunks feeling the slightest bit tighter again. Yeah, maybe a few minutes apart from you would do him some good.

Little does Bradley know, your reasoning for staying back is similar to his for not arguing with that. You need a moment to yourself to refrain from doing something stupid – like trying to lick his abs or climb him like a tree – if you have to be up close to him and his gorgeous body for one more second.

You relax onto the blanket, your face hidden under the shade of the umbrella as you watch Bradley take off toward the ocean with Caroline still in his arms, the little girl giggling the whole way there. 

You watch on adoringly as Bradley plays with his daughter, chasing her around on the wet sand and scooping her up in his strong arms, spinning her around and dunking her partially into the water. The two of them run through the waves, splashing each other, all smiles and laughs the entire time. 

In just the brief time that you’ve known them, it’s very easy to see that Bradley’s daughter is his whole world.

When they return a while later, Caroline sprints ahead of her dad to reach you on the blanket where you’re already waiting with a smile to hand her her beach towel that has cute little frogs printed all over it. 

Bradley reaches the two of you a few moments later and your arm freezes mid-air as you reach up to hand him a towel as well, too distracted to even ogle over his glistening, wet skin as you notice the red shade that’s beginning to take over the skin of his cheeks and his broad shoulders. 

“Bradley, you’re all red! Did you put on any sunscreen?” You question with a breathy laugh, though Bradley can see the concern in your eyes as he takes the towel from your outstretched hand and begins to dry the water droplets on his tanned skin.

Before he can respond that he had, Caroline chimes in. “Daddy says he burns if he even looks at the sun!” She exclaims through her giggles.

You laugh along with her for a moment before fixing him with that cute, sympathetic pout again that makes Bradley’s heart flutter in his chest.

Before he knows it, you’re reaching into the beach bag for the tube of sunscreen and standing to be closer to his height – though he’s still got quite a few inches on you. 

“Here, let me-” You squeeze some of the sunscreen out onto your fingers, and then your delicate hands are working the cream into the skin of Bradley’s face and his cheeks are, again, warming even more and not because of the sun. 

His skin tingles where your light touch had been, and Bradley thanks whatever gods are out there that Caroline jumps in and insists that you build a sandcastle with her before you get a chance to start working the sunscreen onto his shoulders. He doesn’t know that he could handle you touching him any longer without saying or doing something stupid.

“Thanks, sweetheart. I think I can take it from here.” Bradley’s tone is flirty as he holds a hand out for the tube of sunblock, fingers grazing yours, and his lips turn up in a smirk at the flush developing on your own cheeks as you nod back at him. And he can’t suppress the quiet chuckle at the stumble in your steps as you make your way back over to Caroline to get to work on your sandcastle. 

After applying the sunscreen to his own shoulders, Bradley sits down in the sand to join you and his daughter. 

“Daddy! We’re building the world’s biggest sandcastle!” Caroline exclaims, filling up her bucket with sand. “It’s gonna be bigger than you!”

Bradley lets out a throaty laugh, “Yeah, I’ll bet!” He looks to you and the two of you grin at each other conspiratorially. “Can I help?”

Once the three of you have built – and demolished, a la Caroline jumping straight onto it – the “biggest sandcastle she’s ever seen”, she and Bradley convince you to get in the water with them. 

You all play a game of tag in the shallows, Bradley stopping to lift his daughter out of the water every so often when there was a large wave, before you and Caroline decide to gang up on Bradley to splash him with salty seawater until he’s soaked and looking at the two of you with a pout that you want to kiss right off of his lips. 

Then, Bradley’s pout quickly morphs into a mischief-filled grin, a matching one growing on his daughter’s face as you look between them, the two of them seeming to have a sort of silent conversation. 

“What are you-” Before you can finish asking the question, you let out a yelp as a strong pair of arms wraps around your waist and lifts you into the air, both Bradley and Caroline laughing like hyenas as the four-year old begins splashing you with water, and you can’t help but laugh along with them as you squirm under Bradley’s very strong grip. 

All too soon, Bradley’s arms are releasing you, but he keeps a steadying hand on your waist as he settles you back onto your feet. His whiskey-hued eyes peering into yours and you can only gaze back, left a bit breathless, your skin set alight with butterflies where his large palm had been even when he’s no longer touching you. 

“Daddy, I’m hungry!” Caroline announces, tension in the air dissipating as she jumps up and down between the two of you, tugging on the hem of her dad’s swim trunks. 

You can breathe again as Bradley chuckles at her and finally shifts his gaze away from you, pushing back some of the wet curls that are stuck to her forehead. “Yeah, me too. Lead the way, Bug.”

The three of you make your way back up to your little setup on the beach, the little girl tugging you along with a hand wrapped in yours. 

Bradley produces a few little packs of apple slices and the three sandwiches he’d packed earlier that morning from the cooler, peanut butter and jelly – Caroline’s favorite, as you’ve learned over your many facetime calls with the father-daughter duo and giggled at the four-year old’s jelly-covered face, where you let them know they were one of your favorites too. 

“Bon appetit.” Bradley chuckles, holding out one of the plastic wrapped, diagonally cut sandwiches to you, a slightly sheepish smile coming over his mustached lips. “I know it’s not much, but-” 

You cut him off with a shake of your head before he can finish his statement, and meet him with a sincere grin. “It’s perfect.”

He hands Caroline the one sandwich that has the crusts cut off and a packet of apple slices, and then pulls out an ice cold bottle of water for each of you, and a juicebox for his daughter. 

While Caroline sweetly asks you to put the straw into her juicebox for her, Bradley pulls out one last thing from the cooler that has your heart leaping in your chest when you turn to notice him place something down in front of you. 

A bottle of your favorite iced tea. Something you’d never explicitly mentioned to him, but that Bradley had noticed you always seemed to be drinking on your video calls with them. It’s such a simple gesture, and yet you feel like you could cry at the sweetness of it. 

Bradley’s chest swells with pride as you pin him with a bright smile, eyes full of adoration. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Bradley sends you a wink that sends your heart into overdrive as he takes a bite out of his sandwich. 

Bradley admires the two of you as he sits and eats his PB&J. His daughter is once again talking at you a mile a minute in that adorable, roundabout way that only little kids do as you follow along enthusiastically with a smile, you gently wiping jelly from Caroline’s face with a wet napkin and making sure that she drinks her water when you notice her cheeks getting a bit flushed.

“Just like her daddy.” He listens to you tell Caroline with a playful shake of your head, and the wink you send in his direction has Bradley swearing internally that he’s going to die, and he can’t help but think that he’d be more than happy to do this all the time. 

After spending a while longer on the beach – you and Bradley sat on the large blanket chatting and watching Caroline play and build her own little castles with her pail and shovel, the three of you jumping in the water one more time, and you hiding your snickers behind your hand while Bradley tries to convince Caroline that it is not a good idea to bury him in the sand – the sun is just beginning to set. 

And though he doesn’t want this day to end, Bradley decides it’s time to head home when he notices his four-year old rubbing her eyes and starting to yawn every couple of minutes.

You help him pack everything up and then the three of you make the trek back to the car, Caroline half asleep on her dad’s broad shoulders, while you walk close by Bradley’s side in a peaceful silence.

Caroline falls asleep almost instantly once Bradley gets her settled into the Bronco in her car seat, and you can’t help but coo at the adorable little girl when you turn back to look at her from the passenger seat. 

The drive back to your apartment is a peaceful one, the sun still setting and bathing everything it touches in its dying golden glow — including Bradley — and you find it hard not to stare at his exquisite side profile as he bops his head along to the classic songs that play quietly from the radio as the two of you chat idly, low enough to not wake up the sleeping little girl in the backseat.

When the Bronco comes to a stop in front of your apartment, the sky has almost fully darkened and neither you or Bradley move for a long few moments, neither one of you really wanting to say goodbye, not quite ready for this perfect day to end yet.

Bradley clears his throat and turns his gaze to you with that boyish, mustached grin that sends butterflies coursing through your system and the smile you meet him with is an easy one. 

“Thank you for coming today,” Bradley’s voice is quiet, raspy and deep and heat pools in your tummy as he continues to speak. “Caroline had a blast. She really likes you.”

His statement has you glancing back at the sleepy four-year old and beaming with adoration when you turn back to reply, “I really like her too. And, I had a great time. Thanks for inviting me.” 

Bradley’s smile turns more playful as he nods his head, his honey brown eyes peering deep into your own as he quietly speaks again. “I really like you too.” 

With the pulsing in your ears from your heart practically beating out of your chest, it takes you a few long seconds to reply and all you can manage to get out is a whispered “Yeah, me too…” 

Your voice trails off and and your smile turns sheepish, gaze tilted down toward your lap to hide the obvious flush you know is blooming on your cheeks.

Bradley’s grin only broadens, eyes full of mirth at your sudden shyness.

“Can I walk you to your door?” His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine and you don’t really trust yours to be steady with him looking at you like that, so you simply nod in response. 

After Bradley checks behind him to see that his daughter is still sleeping soundly in the backseat, he unbuckles his seatbelt and quietly hops out of the Bronco. He quickly makes his way over to the passenger side to open the door for you and help you down from his truck.

With one last look through the window at Caroline, Bradley locks up the Bronco and you begin the short walk to your door. The two of you are trailing along the concrete path slowly, Bradley’s palm hovering at the small of your back to guide you and warming your skin through the thin fabric of your cover-up. 

You hesitate when you reach your front door, leaning your back against the hardwood to face Bradley, still not quite ready to cut your time with him short. 

Peering up at him through your lashes, you thank Bradley before letting him know again, “I really had a great time today.”

“Yeah, me too, sweetheart.” You could swear he’s really trying to kill you every time he uses that nickname. “We should definitely do this again sometime.” 

Your voices are both still quiet, as if to not disturb the peaceful, but intense atmosphere that’s built around the two of you.

“Yes, we should.” You nod your head, bottom lip caught between your teeth as Bradley’s eyes peers into yours, pools of molten honey searching your expression. 

Whatever he’s looking for, he seems to find it. One of his big hands reaches up to cup your cheek, large palm splaying across the smooth skin and long fingers reaching into your hair, and he loves the way you instantly lean into his warm touch. 

Bradley just admires you for a long moment, his heavy gaze trailing down from your pretty eyes to your plush lips, further to where your chest is rapidly rising up and down under your sheer cover-up as your breath quickens, and then back up again to see the look of want in your dilated eyes. 

When he can no longer take the tension that’s been building up between you all day, Bradley takes a step closer, leaving only a few inches between the two of you. He leans down and the hand on your cheek guides your lips up to meet his in a kiss that’s sweet, but firm, and all-consuming. 

Your lips move softly against his, one of your hands lifting up to wrap around the wrist of his hand that still cups your face. His pulse under your fingertips grounding you as you sigh into the kiss, and you think you could get lost in him. 

His lips, gentle and languid as they press against your own, the hairs of his mustache tickling your skin, and the comforting scent of him surrounding you — the spicy cologne that still lingers on his clothes, a hint of sweat mixed with the fresh, beachy scent from a day spent on the sand and sea, and something that’s just Bradley.  

When Bradley deepens the kiss, lips moving more fervently against your own, your resulting whimper has him crowding you against the door, no longer an inch of space left between your bodies as his broad chest presses against yours, his free hand coming to grip at your waist.  

Bradley’s tongue trails the seam of your lips, begging for entrance that you grant him without resistance, swallowing his deep groan as your free hand reaches up to his hair. Your fingers tangle into the strands, his waves extra defined from the salty sea water, fluffy from the beach and now, you. 

As your tongue glides along with his, Bradley’s strong hands now both squeeze at your waist, trailing down your sides until they reach the backs of your thighs. He effortlessly lifts you into his strong arms, never breaking the kiss, and your legs wrap around his waist as the weight of his body presses you harder into your front door. 

Things continue on like this — for minutes or hours, you’re not quite sure as you completely lose yourself in the feeling of Bradley’s kiss — only getting deeper, hungrier, more frenzied. Your lips never parting from Bradley’s despite the burning that’s beginning to grow in your lungs, thighs clenching around his hips in search of even a hint of friction to curb the arousal that’s building in your core.  

Bradley finally pulls away when the lack of oxygen gets to be too much. Your lips chase his, the little whimper you send him when his mouth is no longer on yours, going straight to his cock that’s pressed against your hip, straining against his already-tight swim trunks, and his head is spinning from the way your lips trail down to press gentle kisses to his jaw. 

He wishes he could take you inside your apartment — to your bed, and he would have, but it’s then that he remembers his four year-old daughter is asleep in the backseat of his car. 

Bradley’s forehead presses against your own and he breathes in deep before exhaling a deep sigh to steady himself. After pressing one last peck to your lips, he sets your feet back down on the ground. He takes a step back to look at you, hands hesitating to leave your waist as he doesn’t want to stop touching you yet.

Your expression is dazed, lips are swollen and eyes blown wide, your heaving chest matching his own as you take the oxygen back into your lungs, and Bradley can’t help but pull you in one last time with a hand on the back of your neck to kiss you breathless — again.

When he pulls away this time, Bradley hardly gives himself a moment to catch his breath before he pants out, “Can I please take you on a date?”

You nod your head near-frantically and you laugh just as breathlessly. “I was starting to think you’d never ask.”

Bradley chuckles, gazing down at you in adoration, his thumb that reaches up to caress your cheek and his next words draw a blush to your cheeks. 

“Believe me, I’ve wanted to for weeks. Since the first day that we met you.”

You turn your head to press a sweet kiss to Bradley’s thumb. 

“You could have. I definitely would’ve said yes.” You reply with a bashful smile.

“Yeah, I’m a bit off my game. I haven’t really done this in a while if I’m being honest.” Bradley admits a little sheepishly and you nod along, encouraging him to continue. 

“I haven’t dated much since Caroline. She’s kinda become my whole world.” He scratches the back of his neck, feeling a bit awkward and hoping you don’t think that’s pathetic.

You take his hand in yours and smile at Bradley, eyes shining bright in what can only be described as admiration. 

“You’re an amazing father, Bradley. You're so dedicated to Caroline and that’s one of the things I love most about you.”

You give his hand a gentle squeeze as you gaze up at him, leaning up on your tiptoes to place a gentle kiss on his sun-reddened cheek. “And I definitely want to go out with you.”

“Thank god.” The pair of you let out relieved laughs at his words. Bradley’s hands reach out for your waist once again. “Come here.”

Bradley leaves you with one more passionate kiss that ends way too quickly for either of your liking and a ‘Goodnight, sweetheart’ that paints a blush on your cheeks.

After making sure that you’re safely inside your apartment, Bradley strides back to the Bronco, unable to wipe the grin from his lips. With a glance in the rearview mirror at his baby girl still sound asleep in her car seat, he begins the short journey back to their home, a goofy smile on his face for the entirety of the drive as he thinks about how he’s going to take you on the perfect date.

•

•

•

Thank you for reading! x

Don't forget to comment/reblog if you enjoyed, feedback is always appreciated! I've got one more part planned for this little series, it's not written yet but I hope to get it out to you guys soon <3

tag list: @wkndwlff @sebsxphia @chaoticassidy @dempy @ohgodnotagainn @shanimallina87 @mavrellover91 @memoriesat30 @that-bitch-bri @classyunknownlover @hisredheadedgoddess28 @foreverrandomwritings @lt-spork @princess76179 @gigisimsonmars @kidd3ath @averyhotchner @sammyrenae68 @tv-fanatic18 @one-sweet-gubler @kmc1989 @avengersfan25 @fictionalmenloversblog @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @praline357 @girlsclub2004 @misshoneypaper @diorrfairy

also tagging some people who reblogged/commented on part one: @bitter-post-millennial @rhettabbotts @hangmanssunnies @milestomaverick @becks-things @indynerdgirl @perfectprettypisces @annathesillyfriend @southpawbitch @colourfulsuitwonderland @wildxwidow @roger-that-cap @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist @valhallaas @mayari-tala @teacupsandtopgun @dorothychxca @fangirlvoice @jjenjoysthings @kmc1989 @rosiahills22 @je-suis-prest-rachel

[bloatedandalone04]

Greatest Fan of your Life

➪the one where you get your wisdom teeth removed and bradley takes care of you.

Warnings: fluff, mentions of a bad past dental experience, mentions of teeth being removed...because, you know, mentions of blood, anesthesia, use of an iv, mentions of not eating properly, reader is going through it, bradley being the best boyfriend ever, literally wrote this because i just had three of my wisdom teeth removed and needed some comfort

Word Count: 5.3k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

You were nervously chewing on your bottom lip as you glanced up at the sign of the best dental office in San Diego. As you read over the sign a couple of times, Bradley reached over from his place behind the wheel and grabbed your hand. “How are you feeling?” 

Tearing your eyes off the logo that resembled a tooth, you give him a weary smile. “I’m nervous,” you state the obvious in a quiet voice.

Bradley raised your hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it before rubbing soothing circles on your knuckles with his thumb. “You’re going to be fine, pretty girl,” he said in hopes to provide you with some much needed comfort. “I’m going to be waiting right here when it’s over, and then we’ll go home and I’ll cater to your every need.”

You give him another smile and lean over to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “I like the sound of that,” you murmur and he smiles back before placing another quick kiss to your mouth.

“Do you want me to go in with you?” He asks when he saw you reach for the handle.

“Please,”

And with that one word Bradley was hopping out of the Bronco and grabbing your hand as you both walked up to the door. He could feel just how tense you were and he wished there was something he could do to ease your nerves, even a little bit. He knew there was nothing he could say or do to help you, as having anything done to your mouth, from a filling to a simple clean, made you beyond nervous.

You had never liked the dentist, ever since you were a kid and they had to hold you down while extracting a tooth that was no good. They hadn’t given you enough freezing for it to numb properly, so you felt pretty much everything. Safe to say you never went back to that dentist office.

Maybe that was why you had waited so long to make an appointment to have your wisdom teeth removed. You were told back when you were twenty one that you should get them extracted as soon as possible, but that was ten years ago, and you still hadn’t booked the appointment. 

You were fine, for the most part, up until a few weeks ago. You were barely able to chew tough foods because your gums ached beyond words, and you had resorted to drinking shakes to get you through the day. That was fine, until Bradley noticed you had lost a concerning amount of weight due to the lack of actual food you were getting into your body. 

He went ahead and booked the appointment for you pretty much instantly after that. He had to sweet talk the lady on the other line, who was insisting that it should be you who was making the appointment, but she eventually gave in when he told her about your fear of the dentist. 

Bradley still wasn’t sure how he had gotten away with that, but he was grateful nonetheless, even if you didn’t talk to him for the rest of the day after he informed you of your upcoming extractions.

While you were upset and scared, you were also glad you would be able to go back to eating solid foods in about a week after today. 

That positive still didn’t help tune out all the negatives you were feeling. 

As you walked up to the front desk of the office, you didn’t loosen your hold on Bradley’s hand once, not even when the lady behind the desk handed you a clipboard with papers you needed to sign since this was your first time in this office. 

You both sat in the waiting room, and you were shaking so badly you were afraid your writing was so messy that you’d have to ask for a new page. With a nervous glance up at your boyfriend, he just pressed a kiss to the side of your head and took the clipboard from you, filling out your information for you. Most he knew off by heart, thankfully, and he handed it back to you so you could scribble down your signature at the bottom of the page. 

It was only a few minutes after he handed the board back to the lady when your name was called. Bradley could tell that you were beginning to freak out once again, so he took your hand and walked with you over to where the procedure will be done. 

“You’re going to be fine,” he assured you, his hands tilting your head up so he could press a soft kiss to your lips. “It’ll take an hour at the most, and then we’ll be back home.”

You just nodded and allowed him to kiss your forehead. “I love you,”

“I love you, too,” and he watched as you were guided into the room by the assistant. 

You hesitantly sat down on the chair and kept your eyes on the blank wall in front of you. Off to your left were various paintings, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look over at them, despite them probably being there to calm down the patients. You were so nervous, you couldn’t even voice your opinions on the decor of the waiting room. This was by far the most elegant dentist office you had ever seen in your life. 

The assistant took a seat next to you and began wiping down your forearm, and you began mentally preparing yourself for the eventual puncture of the IV. “How are we doing?” She asked softly. “Are you nervous?”

You give her a tight smile as she tosses the wipe into the trash can. “Is it that obvious?” 

“Only a little bit,” she teased as the Doctor came in. “Your boyfriend mentioned that you have had some pretty tough times in the past regarding previous procedures. I want you to know that you have nothing to be afraid of. It’ll be over before you know it.”

You nod at her as the Doctor gently picked up the IV. “Hi, Y/n,” he smiled at you. “I’m Doctor Brown.”

“Hi,” you nearly whisper back.

He asked you the standard questions, like; are you taking any medication currently, are you a smoker, is there a chance you’re pregnant, when was the last time you had something to eat or drink. All that fun stuff you were barely able to answer.

“I’m going to insert the IV now, okay?” He asked and waited until you gave him verbal consent before gently piercing your skin with the needle. He looked at the fluid bag before sitting down on the other side of you and grabbing gloves. “I hear this is your first time with us, is that correct?”

You nod as he adjusts the chair so you are laying back. “It is,”

 “And you have a reliable ride home?”

You nod again. “Yeah, my boyfriend,” you answer, wondering when exactly you were supposed to start feeling sleepy. 

The assistant, whose name tag read Alia Clark, grabbed her own gloves as she asked, “What does your boyfriend do?” 

“He’s in the navy,” you mumble with a small smile. “He’s an aviator.”

“Oh, wow,” she replied and smiled down at you before checking over your chart. “And what is his name?”

For some reason, that took you a bit longer to answer as you felt your eyes begin to feel heavy. “Bradley,” you were finally able to say. “His name is Bradley, but he also goes by his call sign, Rooster.”

“Rooster, huh?” Doctor Brown hums and you were only able to nod as you felt your eyes close.

“Don’t worry, Y/n,” you hear Alia say. “You will be back with Bradley, or Rooster, in no time.”

And that was all the assurance you needed before you let yourself fall asleep.

-

Bradley wishes he was able to stay in the room with you, but he knew he couldn’t, so he finally made his way back out to the Bronco once he saw the Doctor enter your room. 

Once he was back behind the wheel, he sighed as he had an hour of time to kill. 

He had taken the week off work, after informing Mav of your fear of the dentist. The older man seemed to have taken pity on you as he had no problem letting Bradley skip this week to look after you. 

As he began to wait, he pulled out his phone and typed a quick message to you, knowing you wouldn’t see it or read it until you were back home. You told him beforehand to take your phone away from you until the effects of the IV wore off completely, nervous that you would embarrass yourself if you were to go on it in your drug induced haze.

After typing out a sappy little message, Bradley ended it with a simple red heart before sending it, hearing the buzz of your phone from where it was on the center console.

He debated on whether or not he wanted to stay in the parking lot the whole time, or run out to the store to get some things that would help make the next few days easier for you. 

He reluctantly chose the second option, as he knew you wouldn’t want him to leave your side once you were back home. 

Bradley drove to the nearest store and bought a few packs of pudding, apple sauce, ginger ale, yogurt and even some more of those shakes you had been living off of, something he was still mad about as he hated the way you turned to practically starving yourself to avoid this appointment, before stopping by the pharmacy to pick up more painkillers. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t the smallest bit excited to be the one taking care of you. Usually it was the other way around, with you being the one to look after him every time he returned home from his deployments. Whether that be with making him his favorite foods, giving him some much needed massages or simply just laying with him in bed for a few hours, it all made the welcome home much nicer than it would have been if he was still living alone and single. 

This time he got to be the one to look after you, and he couldn’t wait to cater to your every need. He couldn’t wait to spend the whole week with you, even though you would most likely be miserable and uncomfortable due to the pain in your mouth. Still, he would do his best to make things better for you. 

Your surgery should be over soon, so with twenty minutes left on the timer he set for himself on his phone, he drove back to the dental office and was back to waiting for you. 

He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to go in and wait for you inside, or if they’ll call him to come walk you out, but he decided to go in a bit early, anyway, and wait for you in the waiting room. 

Bradley remembered when he got his wisdom teeth removed, back when he was still a teen. He remembered just how uncomfortable he was during the recovery days, and how he didn’t really have anyone to look after him. He got his aunt to drive him there and home, and she stayed with him for a few hours after the surgery, but eventually had to return to her own home. 

He had to stick to sucking on popsicles and protein shakes until he was feeling well enough to go back to eating normal food. 

He was completely on his own back then, and he’d make sure that wasn’t the case with you. 

A few minutes go by, and when he heard the assistant call his name, he paused the latest newscast that he was watching on his phone and pocketed it before standing up. “How is she?” He asked as Alia getsured for the lady behind the desk to ring up the receipt. “How’d it go?”

Alia smiled at his multiple questions as she watched him insert his credit card into the machine. “It went well,” she answered and gave him another smile when he slipped the card back into his wallet and took the receipt from the receptionist. “She’s just resting now, but is able to go home since most of the anesthesia has worn off.”

He nodded and followed her back to where you were. She stepped aside as he entered the room and found you still laying on the chair, your eyes barely open as you stared blankly at the TV that was hung from the ceiling. “Hi, pretty girl,” 

At the sound of your boyfriend’s voice, you look over and tear up. “I don’t look pretty right now,” you mumble and try to avoid moving the cotton pads that were stuck to either side of your mouth.

Bradley hushed you and quickly walked around the chair so he could press his lips to your forehead. Your mouth and cheeks were swollen, and he could see a bit of blood on your bottom lip, but other than that, he still thought you were the prettiest girl he had ever seen. “You do,” he said and grabbed your hand when you reached it out to him, careful to not touch the bandage from where the IV was inserted. “Mouth full of gauze and all.”

“You’re Rooster, I’m assuming?” Doctor Brown asked as he held a few pages of paper in his hand.

“She told you my call sign, huh?” Bradley shook his head while you avoided eye contact with him and instead decided to stare at the wall.

“She was the perfect patient,” 

Bradley looked over at you and gently rubbed circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. “I believe it,”

Doctor Brown went over what exactly he and Alia did to you, before handing him a small bag that held antibiotics inside. The whole time you remained silent as you tried not to cry in front of the Doctor and assistant, squeezing Bradley’s hand whenever you felt the pain beginning to form. 

“She should be okay now,” the Doctor finished with a smile at the two of you. “There should be no more pain from having them in. If there is still a bit of discomfort after about two weeks, come back in and we’ll check up on the healing process.”

“Sounds good,” Bradley answered and gently pulled you up from the chair. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” you mutter as he guides you back towards the exit, with him carrying most of your body weight. He led you back out to the Bronco and helped put your seatbelt on before he was getting in on the drivers side. 

“I know this will be hard for you to do,” he began, checking you over once more before putting the car in reverse and beginning to back out of the parking space. He puts his right hand on the back of your headrest and gives you a teasing smile before continuing, “But I looked it up and Google says you shouldn’t talk too much. It might interrupt the healing process.”

Despite him really wanting to hear all the odd things you’d say in your daze, he didn’t want you paying the price later by having a sore throat.

You send him a dirty look and raise your brow, as if to say, really?

He just winks at you after taking off his aviators and reaching over to gently place them over your eyes, sacrificing his own in hopes you would appreciate the gesture since you had forgotten your own during your rush to leave this morning. It was nearing the afternoon, so the sun was shining down on the both of you, but he would deal with it to make you more comfortable. 

He was right about you appreciating it, as you give him a closed mouth smile, your cheeks puffed out due to the gauze. “Tell you what,” he says as he pulls out onto the main road, his right hand instinctively reaching over to trace random shapes onto the skin of your thigh. He keeps his left one on the wheel as he glances over at you, seeing your eyes already on him from behind the glasses. “Once we get home and you rest for a few hours, maybe we can go out and get milkshakes if you’re feeling up to it. Might help with the soreness.”

You instantly perk up at that and nod, grabbing his hand and bringing it up to your mouth. Bradley held back a laugh at your attempt to kiss the back of his hand, your lips clearly still numb as you couldn’t seem to get them to move properly. 

He just gave you a grin when you looked over at him in defeat. 

-

The swelling had gotten worse as the time went on, and your throat was dry beyond words. Bradley had guided you towards the couch as soon as you got home, flipping the TV onto one of your favorite shows and making sure you were comfortable before he was leaving to tidy up the small mess you had made in the bedroom a few hours earlier, when you couldn’t decide what to wear and had thrown multiple articles of clothing onto the floor. 

Within minutes he was back at your side, your head resting on his lap as you stared at the screen of the TV. Bradley ran his fingers through your hair as you both watched the show, listening to your uneven breaths as you fought back grunts of pain. 

He looked down and gently held your chin in between his fingers, squinting down at you as you opened your mouth. “I think it might be time to change the gauze, baby,” he murmurs and you wince in at the thought of seeing the bloody cotton leave your mouth. 

Bradley gently sits you up before reaching over and grabbing the bag from the dentist and pulling out a fresh set of gauze. 

After damping them with water, he sets them aside before mumbling a quiet, “Come here,” and he watches as you lean towards him and slowly open your mouth. Bradley caresses your jaw with one hand and uses the other to slowly pull out the bloodied gauze. He does it one by one, murmuring a soft, “I’m sorry,” when he sees the tears form in your eyes. He places both pieces of gauze on the palm of his hand before handing you the clean ones. 

He sits with you until you’ve successfully placed the new cotton into your mouth, and then stands up to throw away the blood filled ones. 

Once Bradley returns back to the living room, you move over and give him space to sit down before laying your head in his lap again and trying to focus on the show instead of the throbbing in your mouth. 

With your head still feeling fuzzy and the feeling of your boyfriend’s fingers running through your hair again, you give yourself a bit of relief and fall asleep. 

When you woke up alone a few hours later, you noticed that Bradley had left the TV on and had also put your phone on the coffee table beside you. You could hear him doing something in the kitchen as you reached for it, and knowing him, he was probably making something to eat as his stomach was like a bottomless pit. 

You sat up with a groan, still a bit groggy from the anesthesia, and unlocked your phone. Instantly, you were met with a couple of texts from your friends and family, and you smiled as you read them. 

Mom: I heard from Bradley that it went well and you’re resting now. Call me when you’re feeling up to it. Love you x

Nat: I told you that there was nothing to be scared of. Have fun being stuck with Rooster for a week ;) Text me when you can!

But the one that had you smiling a little bit more was the one from Bradley.

Bradley ♡: I love you, pretty girl. I promise I will be there with you as soon as it’s done. I’m all yours for the next week, and after that. 

You send him a heart emoji back, then realize that the gauzes are all soggy in your mouth, and you once again had to hold back a gag as you leaned over to put your phone back down.

When you bite too hard down on your cheek through the cotton, you wince and accidentally drop your phone onto the floor. It landed on the rug with a thud, and you heard the sounds coming from the kitchen stop. 

Seconds later Bradley was standing in the doorway to the living room, a cloth in his hands and he was still chewing something as he asked, “Are you okay?”

You give him a thumbs up before pointing down at your phone. 

He looks at it and shakes his head as he tosses the cloth back into the kitchen to find later, before crossing the room and picking up the device. “I knew giving you back your phone would be a bad idea,” he teased as he sat down next to you and gently ran his fingers along your still swollen jaw. “How are you feeling?” 

You shrugged and blinked away the remaining sleep from your eyes. “Dry,” you said and wince at how raspy your voice sounded. 

Bradley nodded, murmuring a quiet, “Okay,” as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “Do you feel like trying to drink something?”

You look up at him with a small smile. “Milkshake?” 

He laughs and kisses your forehead. “We can go get milkshakes,” he says as he gently tugs on your lower lip with his thumb. “But first we need to change those again.”

You groan as he helps remove the stained gauze from your mouth again and wonder how he wasn’t grossed out by holding them in his hand. You supposed he’s seen and done worse, and he’s not exactly new to having your saliva on him.

He uses his free hand to grasp your chin between his fingers and tilts your head so the lamp next to the couch was able to shine somewhat into your mouth. “It doesn’t seem to be bleeding much right now,” he hums and stands up to toss the gauze away. “Do you want to see how it goes without them for a bit? Just until you get something into you. If it starts to bleed again after the shakes, I’ll help you put new ones in.”

You agree instantly, happy to be rid of the uncomfortable cotton for at least a little while. After he throws the used gauze out, he returns back to the living room with his keys and phone in one of his hands, the other free for you to hold as he held it out to you. 

He pulls you off the couch and guides you back out to the Bronco, making sure to grab the bag that holds the gauze and meds that you would need to take afterwards. He knew it would be an early night as the medicine would most likely make you sleepy again, and that was why he waited until it was nearing eight before taking you out for milkshakes, so you could go back home and go to bed at a reasonable time. 

Bradley couldn’t do much for your discomfort, but he could sure as hell keep your sleep schedule on track. 

You leaned your head against the window as he drove into town, your eyes hazy as you listened to his quiet humming of the song that played on the radio. “I like your singing,” you murmur as you look at all the lit up shops that passed by. “You should do it more often.”

Bradley laughed from beside you as he pulled into the drive thru. “I sing all the time for you, baby,”

“I know,” you say and lift your head, looking over at him while he eyed all the flavors to choose from. “But I can never get enough of you, you know that.”

He lifted his hand and ran his knuckles along the bone of your cheek, admiring the way your pretty face looked in the dim lighting of the Bronco. “The feeling is mutual,” he grinned at you when you turned your head to place a kiss to the back of his hand. “What kind are you wanting to get?”

You hum as you lean over the center console, reading over the various flavors. “Strawberry,” you decide and run your nose along the sharp angle of his jaw. “Please.”

After ordering two shakes, and asking for a spoon, Bradley pulled into one of the many available parking spaces. He pulled off the lid of your shake and stuck the plastic spoon in it before handing it over to you. 

He watched you carefully as he sipped on his own shake, holding back a laugh at how puffy your face is. Of course, you saw him shift out of the corner of your eye and turn to him with a raised brow. “Sorry,” he grinned and set his shake down in the cup holder. “You look like a chipmunk.”

You just shake your head at him and slurp on the spoon, waiting until the cold substance dripped down your throat before saying, “You’re laughing at me,” you state and hear him snort and cover his mouth. “I’m in pain and you’re laughing at me.”

That just made him laugh harder, and you found yourself smiling at the sound. “I’m sorry,” he says and reaches over to gently caress your swollen cheek. “You still look as hot as ever.”

You roll your eyes and bring another spoonful of the milkshake to your lips. “Liar,”

“I mean it,” he promised, running his fingers over your jaw in a feather light touch before pulling away. “You’re the sexiest chipmunk I’ve ever seen, baby.”

When you laugh loudly, you wince immediately after, and Bradley quickly decides that you’d most definitely be a lot more comfortable at home. 

“Alright, I think we should get going. Are you okay to…eat that while I drive?” He asked as he sipped on his chocolate shake. You wave him off and take a much smaller amount on the spoon, knowing that Bradley would go off on you for spilling anything in his precious Bronco, but you also knew he’d wait until after you were feeling better. The thought had a warm feeling spreading all over your body, as did his next words, “Okay, we’ll head home. You should take one of the antibiotics, first.”

You agree, and he holds your shake as you take the pill into your mouth. After rummaging around in the back with his free hand, Bradley hands you a warm water bottle, and he puts a reminder in his head to put the bottle in the fridge once he got home. 

“Okay?” He asked when you took back your milkshake. 

You nodded and have him a half smile, “It’s probably going to make me tired,”

“I know, that’s a good thing. You should be pretty tired by the time we get back home, and then you can go to bed and sleep off a bit of the pain,” he pointed out as he put the Bronco in reverse. Before he actually started moving, he gave you a serious look. “Do not spill that shake, pretty girl.”

You laugh quietly and give him a side glance as you sipped a bit of the milkshake from the cup.

“I mean it, baby,” he was only half serious in his warning as he started the short ride back home, one hand on the wheel while his other one held his plastic cup. “That cute face will only get you so far.”

You just shake your head and lean over to press a kiss to his cheek that you couldn’t feel yourself do. Your lips were still numb, so you were really trying to be as careful as possible with not spilling your milkshake. 

Luckily, you arrived back home without letting a drop hit a single spot in the interior of his Bronco, and Bradley gave you a chocolate tasting kiss as a reward as he led you back up to the house. 

Once you were in your room, he helped dress you in one of his shirts and sweats. After concluding that the bleeding had stopped, he decided there was no need to shove move gauze into your mouth, as that would most likely make it start to bleed again. 

He pulled back the covers and sat down next to you, smiling down at your emotionless face and tired eyes. “You doing okay?” He asked as he brushed away some of your hair. 

“Yeah,” you mumbled, taking his hand in yours and trying to kiss it. He just grinned at your attempt. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Bradley leaned down and kissed your forehead gently. “I always will, you know that,” you nodded as he pulled away and stood up. “Do you want an ice pack for the night? Might help with the swelling.”

After thinking about it, you nod and wait for him to return back into the room with the ice pack. He wrapped it in a dish towel and gently placed it against your jaw before stripping down into just his boxer briefs. 

He settles down in bed behind you, hesitant to touch you at the moment in case you needed space. When you just laughed quietly and grabbed his hand so you could wrap his arm around your waist, he inched closer to you and allowed you to rest the ice pack between his shoulder and your jaw. He was glad he put the towel around it, but he also wouldn’t have minded having to feel it unwrapped against his bare shoulder. He’d suck it up for you. 

“I love you, pretty girl,” he murmured and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I love you,” you mumbled back, snuggling closer to him as the effects of the antibiotics began taking over your body. 

As Bradley held you while you slept, he felt glad that he was the one you wanted to look after you. He loved you beyond words and he felt as though this was the beginning of his attempts to even out the balance in your relationship. It was you who constantly looked after him, and though he loved it, he also felt guilty that there weren’t many occasions where he was the one who looked after you. 

After spending the day taking care of your every need and being the one person you wanted to see you vulnerable, he decided that after this he would put more effort into showing you how much he appreciated and adored you. 

He was ready to move onto a new chapter in his life with you by his side, if the small box tucked away in his box of collectable cards was anything to go by. 

All he had to do was hope you’d say yes.

[callsigns-haze]

I created a mood board for my adorable friend @roosterforme for her series Old Habits Die Hard. It's an incredible, remarkable, stunning series.

In the bustling corridors of college life, Bradley, known amongst his peers as the quintessential "fuckboy," found himself unexpectedly captivated by a girl whose presence seemed to shimmer with an aura of genuine sincerity. She was unlike anyone he had encountered before, her demeanor exuding a quiet confidence that belied her unassuming nature.

Despite his reputation as a charmer, Bradley couldn't shake the feeling of vulnerability that enveloped him whenever she was near. As they spent more time together, Bradley found himself gradually lowering his defenses. He shared his fears, his insecurities, his darkest secrets—all the while marveling at her ability to accept him, flaws and all, without judgment or hesitation.

Through her eyes, Bradley saw himself not as the "fuckboy" the world had labeled him, but as a flawed yet inherently worthy individual deserving of love and redemption. And in that realization, he knew that he had found something worth fighting for.

"Does it not bother you?" She pulls him in closer and whispers, "Beer boy, I love you for who you are."

[jaidens]

could i request a bradley bradshaw fic inspired by the song “timeless” by taylor swift? the line “and u were headed off to fight in the war, you still would’ve been mine we would’ve been timeless” reminds me so much of him 😀

you were headed off to fight in the war, you still would've been mine we would've been timeless

pairing [s] : bradley bradshaw x reader

warning [s] : none

a/n [s] : requests are open! ty for the request

When the letter came into the mailbox, underneath junk mail and scattered bills, sat the United States Navy Fighter Weapons School letter.

It made you cover your mouth and shake your head, as you hear Bradley throwing baseballs outside in the backyard. Giggles and laughing that peer from your daughter and her friend that came over.

It would have killed Bradley to know he had to leave once more. After a successful mission, Bradley told you what he had to do. The Navy was offering him the job as an instructor for the fleets. However, coincidentally, you had given birth and he was on paternity leave for those weeks, successfully missing the letters.

Now, there was no way to get out of it.

Walking over to Bradley, seeing him shirtless as he helps Nick get his pitching position correctly.

“Bradley,” You call, attempting to get just his attention. “Bradley!”

Bradley flips his view from Nick to you, eyebrows crossing together in worry. “Yeah, honey?”

“Can I talk to you? Privately.” Bradley nods and follows you into the house. You sit down at the couch and there sits the letter, as you burn your eyes at it. Bradley looks, understandably, worried as he sits next to you and lets his hand fall against yours. “I was looking through the mail today. And—and I saw this.” Picking up the letter and handing it to him, you cover your face and you see Bradley read the paper.

He opens it with his thumb and pulls out the folded paper. Bradley reads it and says the other part aloud. “...and in reasonable consideration, we will see you on the 1st day of September.”

Bradley drops the paper against the wooden coffee table. His hand goes to cover his mouth as he stares at the paper. “That’s tomorrow. The damn Navy decided to tell me this today, when I'm leaving tomorrow.” He can't look at you.

“We’ll get ice cream tonight, let the kids stay up, and we'll write you notes to look at. You'll be fine.” You scoot closer to your husband, hand holding onto his, and you lay your head against his shoulder.

“I know. It just really sucks. Six months away from my babies, you, my whole life is out here.” Bradley turns his head to look at you, eyes welling with dangerous tears that fall when be blinks.

“We’ll be fine. Everything will work out.” You comfort and you hug him. The gentle feeling of him as he wraps around you tightly.

—

The day comes at 11:30 in the morning. Bradley is standing there, holding his bag against his shoulder as he is practically crying. Nick holds on tightly to his dad's leg and Caroline is in his arms as she kisses his cheeks.

“I'll be home before you guys know it.” Bradley says to Caroline and Nick while he kisses her head softly. The warm San Diego air is pulling you back to your car and in the AC, but you can't leave Bradley for all that you pull. “Swear.”

“I’m gonna miss you. Don't get hooked on any bar girls. Still mine honey." You hear the sound of the plane starting and you hit his chest. “You come home to me you hear that?” You lay against him as he sets Caroline down. He pulls you into his arms and kisses you.

“Swear I'll come home to you. No bar girl is gonna take me away from you. You don't get stolen either honey.” You laugh with him and steal kisses from him. His lips envelop you as they begin to call any pilots to the ship. “I’ll see you honey." He grabs his stuff off the ground and he starts walking towards everyone.

“You come home to me, Bradshaw!”

“I will honey! Swear on my dead body I will.”

[pisupsala]

Of All The Stars in The Sky | 19 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 8.8k

Index | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19

Library

Chapter 19 - It Had to Be You

“Do you feel… strange?” Emil phrases the question awkwardly. “Since the war, I mean.”

You pause and look up from the mushroom you had been inspecting before popping it out of the ground with your knife and placing it in the wicker basket on your arm. You nod.

Strange is a good word for it. You just don’t know if the world has become estranged or you. 

It’s late autumn and still pleasantly warm. The sun is low, but your heavy white cable-knitted sweater is still a bit too warm. You haven’t spoken to Emil since you marched out of the hospital last June, so you were surprised when you received a letter from an estate in the northern mountains with an invitation to visit. It had your old address on it, but your downstairs neighbor forwarded it to you.

“I can’t be in the city anymore,” He admits with difficulty, eyes trained firmly on the forest path before you. His stance is casual, hands in pockets of his dark green pants, in stark contrast to his near-wavering tone. Emil left the army abruptly, and this is the closest he’s come to admit as to why. The tranquility of the forest and the smell of pine and moss are soothing. “It’s too… busy. Too many people, you know?”

“I understand,” You reply softly. Too many people, no oversight, and blocked escape paths. “I don’t feel like I really have a place anymore.”

“Yeah…” 

Silence falls as you walk, looking around for more mushrooms. It’s only the two of you and the sounds of the forest. 

“Are you still waiting?” He doesn’t elaborate. There is no need to. Your hand automatically moves to the pocket of your gray slacks. The metal of the bracelet is cool and familiar.

“I’m not sure if I’m waiting or just stuck,” You admit, smiling sadly. You should have given up by now. 

For years, you thought everything was on hold temporarily, and you’d return to your life, classes, and books after the war. But you came to the realization you are not that person anymore. It’s a version of you that stayed behind on that dreary September day in 1939; you just didn’t realize until everything and everyone else returned. And now you’ve lost that; you no longer know where your place is. You’re not even really sure of who you are anymore. 

The only time you were reminded of the person you once were, which made you believe that you still existed, was with Bradley. He so skillfully unwrapped you to the barest essentials. But when you go looking now, there’s nothing left – like it was only a fleeting illusion that existed between the two of you, a flash of a chemical reaction before it all went up in smoke.

It’s like you’re in stasis. Again.

“Do you still hope?” There is no bitterness or accusation in the question.

“Hope?” You croak out. Of course, you still hope. It’s just becoming harder to believe by the day. The world has changed, and Bradley has probably changed with it. You don’t think you could blame him—not really. Not after what you’ve become. You blink rapidly a few times. “It mostly hurts.”

It’s a more honest admission than you would typically make. But who else could yet tell?

“I’m sorry,” Emil mumbles, aimlessly kicking a pine cone down the small path. 

“Times have changed. For the better, I might add,” You shake your head with a chuckle as you move your wicker basket to your right hand, balling your left hand in a fist, trying to stop it from shaking. “And people changed with it. That’s okay.” 

You slow down your pace, looking at Emil. “It has to be, you know?” You say urgently like you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him.

“I suppose we both got left behind in more ways than one,” He sighs before meeting your gaze. “I always believed you, of all people, were destined for more, Anya.”

“Maybe some version of me was,” You chuckle dryly, playfully bumping him with your elbow, holding out the basket to him. Emil takes it without argument. “Don’t you think we’ve had enough adventure for a lifetime?”

He laughs, a small, genuine laugh. Finally, you’re unsure if you can forgive Emil for planting those seeds of doubt in your head about Bradley. Maybe one day you’ll be grateful. Perhaps you never fully believed what Bradley told you, and you’re mad at Emil for voicing what you had been too afraid to confront. But whatever he said, whatever you sniped in return — he’s still your friend. Brother in arms. 

“You’d be content with just being a housekeeper?” He asks, almost incredulously. Just a few years ago, you would have been offended by the question—because of course not. You were going to travel the world and become a diplomat, a writer, an explorer. Now, you only count the steps from your home to the tram stop.

“Are you content with just being a gamekeeper?” You counter without malice. Emil doesn’t react. “Maybe we both deserve some peace, in whichever form.” 

“I hope you find your peace, Anya.” Emil looks at you sadly. “You more than anyone.” 

Peace.

The city is cleaned up quickly, but the splatter of blood, the agonizing screams, and the explosions have become indelible in your mind's eye. It’s like a ghostly shadow wrapping around the bustling city. Maybe Emil could see it, too. Perhaps that’s why he couldn’t stay.

Was the city like this before the war? Were you part of that crowd? Why can’t you go back? 

You’re moving through life without purpose, just getting by. It’s enough. 

Right?

You live a quiet, frugal life. You dutifully add to your monthly savings, but it’s a slow undertaking. Your salary is okay, all things considered, but traveling to the United States is expensive — and you’d need to get to a port city first. And that’s just travel. You need money for hotels, food, and a visa — it makes your head spin when you think about it. It’s that sliver of a dream that keeps you going. So you just keep your head down.

You don’t question Mrs. Parker’s particular requests; even though you figured out pretty quickly, she puts a lot of stock in seeing hard work and effort over results. You don’t question why Mrs. Parker appears craftier than her husband, the ambassador. You especially don’t question why the ambassador and his wife sleep in separate rooms. You clean them all the same.

And then there is Loretta. Beautiful, young Miss Lo. She came with silken blonde curls, bright green eyes, and trunks of dresses from exquisite fabrics on a gap year. You don’t question that she seems more interested in parties, men, and dancing than anything else. But you recognize the insatiable hunger recognition: being great at your work. And Miss Lo is excellent at being fun, young, and beautiful. And not a single man in the long parade of officers and dignitaries visiting would disagree.

Deep inside, you know you don’t question it because if you did, you’d have to see the lingering envy in you for what it is. So you just keep your head down.

Almost a year passes. You’ve hemmed and re-hemmed more dressed than you count, scrubbed more stains from delicate fabrics than you care to identify, sweeping piles upon piles of ashes from the marble floors. 

If anything, you are an excellent seamstress now, especially considering how awful you were at most handwork, like knitting. Miss Lo caused you plenty of practice, and your roommates were gratefully making use of your offer to mend and tailor what they needed. But you’ve had enough of your dresses that needed tailoring — raising necklines, adding collars, and sometimes even adding new sleeves. Anything that would keep prying away from the scarred skin that your ever-longer hair could not hide.

You’re in stasis.

It’s May again. It’s a year since the war has ended, and it’s a beautiful day — warm, with a gentle breeze swaying the blooming trees. In a few days, you turn 27, although you’ve not celebrated your birthday… well, since Eva last baked you a small cake. That’s four years ago now.

It still hurts. It’s like every memory is now overgrown with thorns, the edges irreparably singed by the fire. Eva. Your parents. Bradley. It still hurts, and it will probably never stop hurting. Like your shoulder aches and hand shakes after a long day after a long day of work. Like your head is always buzzing, the ceaseless noise in your ear painfully keeps you awake. You long for the morning you wake up and finally accept that this is it. None of them are coming back. You will never be whole again. When waves finally wash you away, and you’ll see them again. Like in that dream, on that beach, when for a moment nothing hurt.

Standing at the back of the tram, a bucket full of beautifully arranged bouquets wedged between your foot and the wall, you are entirely focused on the leather-bound booklet in your hand, tapping the back of the small pencil against your lips. You try to scratch the itch in your brain by doing crossword puzzles. Your dad bought you all those newspapers, after all.

Maybe you’ll even get good at doing crosswords, finally.

You don’t need to pay attention to where you are going; you’ve taken this route hundreds of times. You know where you are just by a glance from the corner of your eye. You recognize the shape of the buildings, the way that the sun hits the street, the gait of the tall figure walking out of the train station -

You swing your head around so hard your forehead rams into the window with a dull crack. You see stars for a moment, colors melting into each other in strange shapes. When your vision returns, the tram has already turned a corner. Ignoring the stares around you, your hand flies into your pocket, dropping your pencil. It rolls away between the legs of the other passengers, but you pay it no mind. You are trying to catch your breath. The metal loops around your fingers, but it scarcely brings you comfort. 

Your bored brain must be hallucinating; the cruel sun must be playing tricks on you; your poor heart must be dreaming. 

Because of the tiniest second, you could have sworn you saw Bradley walk out of the station.

***

Dear Captain Bradshaw,

I am writing to you in response to your repeated inquiries to the International Red Cross about Anna Sokolova, born December 25, 1919, in Prague. No person matching that name and birthdate has been found in our records of wounded, dead, or missing in Czechoslovakia. The IRC has also been unable to confirm Ms. Sokolova’s current whereabouts with any local authorities due to a lack of records.

I hope to have sufficiently informed you. Please understand that at the time of writing, our resources are stretched, and we regret to inform you that we cannot further assist you on this case.

Bradley must have read the letter a hundred times before crumpling it up in frustration and jamming it into the side pocket of his duffle bag. It’s all coming down to this last-ditch attempt. Getting to Europe was actually surprisingly easy — Cyclone seemed more than pleased that Bradley had decided to follow his advice and take a desk post in Nuremberg. By the end of January 1946, Bradley was making his way back across the Atlantic.

However, getting a liberty pass was more difficult, especially a week pass for international travel. Bradley had called in about every single favor he could, signing on to stay an additional month in Germany, ultimately getting Mav to pull some strings for him. It’s May by the time he finally boards a train east, restless in his seat, looking out the window, waiting for when he will eventually see something he recognizes. Something, anything, will make all the puzzle places fall in place again and show him a path to you. 

Bradley desperately hoped that everything would fall into place when he got off the train. That he would remember. 

But in the back of the large black car that was waiting for him, zipping through the city, everything is just a blur. 

It makes him uneasy. Nervous. 

It’s like that moment of take-off; the second the wheels leave the carrier runway, there’s nothing but dark water beneath him. In that fraction of a second, his stomach drops — what am I even doing here?

Meeting his hosts does little to calm the mounting anxiety he feels. The ambassador’s residence is a grand villa surrounded by a beautiful garden overlooking the city. In the distance, the river glitters happily in the sunlight; the fruit trees are in fragrant bloom, colorful bunches of lilac in pink, blue, and purple color the city. The ambassador himself is almost unremarkable in stature as well as demeanor. Mrs. Parker appraises him with a sharp look and a too-kind smile. The daughter bats her eyelashes a little too hard for it to be genuinely demure; her perfectly sweet smile is a little too well-practiced, not a wrinkle on her pretty dress, not a hair out of place. 

Behind them stand two maids in matching dark dresses and white aprons, with blank, borderline bored looks. After exchanging pleasantries, one of the maids leads him wordlessly up the grand staircase. Red carpet on marble. Gold latches on the windows.

It all seems very… formal, considering Bradley is not here on business. But when he received his travel visa, it came with an invitation to stay. It seemed rude to decline. Now Bradley is starting to regret not doing so anyway. Something about the house and these people is making him uneasy. It’s making his head hurt like he’s even more out of place here than anywhere else in the world.

Walking into the large sunny guestroom, a fresh flower arrangement in the vase on the dresser, Bradley closes his eyes for a moment. You once said May was your favorite time in the city because you liked how everything bloomed. Breathing in deeply, trying to gather his thoughts, floral notes hit his nose. There’s something familiar in the air. 

He can smell your soap.

Bradley drops his duffle bag; it crashes on the carpeted floor. The smell, the tiniest hint that lingers, is making his stomach lurch like at take-off. God, it’s like your ghost is in the air, dancing around him, evading him every step. Bradley screws his eyes shut, balling his hands into fists. He wants to remember. 

Every route you showed him. 

Every street corner he kissed you on.

Even that goddamn small room tucked away behind the hidden servant's entrance.

Your steps echo around him, running up the stairs, coming closer and closer. Suddenly, his heart was beating so fast, and his breath was coming out, heaving, somewhere between panic and elation. Before he can pinpoint where the footsteps are coming from, they disappear. A door closes. Silence.

You are haunting him.

***

Eyes closed, blouse sleeves rolled up, cigarette dangling loosely between your lips, you’re lounging on the old, creaky wooden chair outside the kitchen entrance. The empty bucket sits at your feet. Your new red and blue plaid coat hangs from the chair. It’s quiet. The sun feels pleasant. Behind your closed lids, you see the shadows of the trees move in the breeze. Inside, you hear the cook pottering around the kitchen, whistling.

It’s such an odd day. Despite the gorgeous weather, you have that foreboding feeling, like when a storm is brewing — not a cloud in the sky, but you feel how the air pressure suddenly drops. Your forehead still stings. 

It’s ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous. Eva would have already set you straight. If not for her, your mom would have. You thought you saw Bradley in a flash, in a flicker of shadow, and your heart soared with such force that you nearly knocked yourself out, falling over to catch another glimpse of his ghost. How incredibly pathetic. 

The pit in your stomach is there again. The consuming darkness expands through your flesh and bones again. You managed to keep it at bay all this time, simply not admitting it was eating away at you. But the split second of your dream leaking into reality broke the dam.

Men like Bradley don’t wait for a girl for three years. They don’t need to. Men like Bradley sure as shit don’t settle for jumped-up little schoolgirls that dropped out of college. Why would they? And men like Bradley, you swallow heavily, have no use for a broken and burned body like yours. You have nothing to offer him.

You knew this. But it was your mistake to make, you tell yourself again. You thought you accepted that. Logically and rationally, it shouldn’t hurt like this. Your hand sneaks into your coat pocket again, the tip of your finger just brushing against the nameplate. It brings you no comfort — instead, you feel so much more aware of the pit in your stomach. 

What would Bradley say if he knew you still had it in your pocket? He would probably make fun of you and tease you for falling for him so hard, still pining despite your constant protests as if he would remember. He never gave it to you to keep. He flung it at you. You just never gave it back, and Bradley never asked for it.

You screw your eyes shut tighter for a second, exhaling deeply. It’s Sunday, your day off, and you should be enjoying yourself. Not pondering the maybes of life long passed. Moreover, you shouldn’t be at the residence today — you’re only here to drop off the flowers for the guestroom because the florist forgot to deliver them. Which you did, and then you bolted through the servant’s entrance to the back of the house.  

So why do you hear someone calling your name?

You wonder how much longer you can pretend not to hear and just bask in the sun a bit longer. The rapid footsteps approaching spell the end of your moment of quiet. Sitting up, rolling down your sleeves, and brushing the carefully styled curls back into place, framing the left side of your face.

“Annie!” 

You wince. You hate that name.

Smiling broadly, Julie comes bursting out of the house. Her red hair is like a flame. Unceremoniously, she sits herself down in the doorway, legs stretched in front of her, toeing her neat black lacquered shoes off.

Automatically, you hand her your cigarette holder and a box of matches, which she gratefully accepts.

“Don’t sit on the floor, Julie,” You say in way of greeting. “You’ll get your dress dirty.”

She ignores you, stretching languidly.

“Did you take a peek at the new house guest?” She asks instead, a devilish look on her face.

“Do I ever?” You reply, ashing your cigarette absentmindedly. You ensure everything runs smoothly behind the scenes: the rooms look beautiful, not a crinkled sheet or speck of dust, magically laundered clothes each morning, fresh flowers. But it’s not your job to serve drinks or dinner. 

It was hiding away in the shadows that once protected you. The shadows that wrapped their branches around you, through you, rooting you into place.

“He had Miss Lo on the ceiling with one look,” she continues, giddy. “This is promising to be such an entertaining week!”

“Oh please,” you close your eyes again, leaning back. “Nothing will happen. Miss Lo will simper, fawn, and complain, Mrs. Parker will loom over every step we make, and then the ambassador and his guest will probably burn a hole in the smoking room curtains again.”

Julie snorts. 

“I get her, though,” she adds thoughtfully. “Miss Lo, I mean.”

You shoot her a skeptical look.

“What, you never have a little daydream about one of those handsome officers sweeping you off your feet?”

“Me?” You gesture vaguely at your face. “Hardly,” you lie. 

“Especially you,” Julie continues, undeterred. Your mouth sets in a hard line. “You pine.”

“I don’t,” Annoyance is seeping through your voice.

“Yeah, you do. When you think no one is looking, when you’re working, it’s like your eyes glaze over. You’re pining for someone,” She’s pointing her index finger at you playfully. You roll your eyes.

“You know you could just tell me, right?” She presses, a little too eager. “You’re inviting all the gossip because you never tell us anything,”

“It’s annoying when Miss Lo does it, but it’s rude coming from you, Julie,” You cut her off sharply. Your head still hurts, and your ear feels heavy like it’s full of water. 

You could talk about Bradley. There is no reason to keep it a secret anymore — the danger has passed. Once, you were waiting for the time when your great wartime romance would only be a story lovingly recounted over too many wines. 

You could talk about what happened in those final days of the war. You were hardly the only one that came home broken in more ways than one. You thought that one day you’d look back at everything that happened, everything that you did, and feel some pride. 

But it just hurts. And that hurt is all you have left. It’s yours to suffer because you convince yourself it’s the only way you are sure everything that happened was real: the good and the bad. 

“You’re doing it again, Anya,” Julie takes a long drag from her cigarette, mercifully dropping the horrid new nickname bestowed on you by Mrs. Parker. You shoot her a long-suffering look.

“You know what they say, right?” Julie says calmly, legs stretched before her, languishing in the sun. “The best way to get over a man is to get under another one.”

You start laughing, despite yourself. You don’t know what has suddenly gotten into you. Maybe the shadows had become too cold and lonely for you to handle. 

Maybe you finally allowed yourself to break free from your stasis. 

Maybe you really stopped believing Bradley would ever come back to you. 

Maybe you are ready to admit you never truly believed it in the first place.

The music is too loud. Your head is spinning — not from the collision, but from the white wine spritz going down too quickly. Why are you in a club on Sunday night? Why is it so busy? Someone is talking to you. You can see his mouth move, shaping the words, but you cannot hear his voice. It simply disappears in the wave of dissonant sounds. Julie is dancing. You see flashes of her red hair twirl in and out of sight. 

It’s the creeping realization that you shouldn’t be here. 

The room moves in strange waves. Fingers wrap around your chin. You want to stumble back, but your back is against a wall. Were you here the whole time? Nervously, you brush your fingers through your hair, ensuring the curls framing your face's left side are still in place. Another hand brushes them away again. You wish you could melt through the wall. The puffs of breath against your skin tell you he’s whispering something in your ear. 

“Leave me alone,” You try.

You can’t hear your own words. You can’t hear the fucking words. Panic is bubbling up now. The grip on your chin is painful — you jerk your head away, throwing up your arms to create a shield between yourself and the hulking mass hovering over you. It doesn’t have the intended effect. The moment you think you’ve made an escape for yourself, he closes in on you more. 

The hand threading through your hair yanks your head back painfully. You are sure that you screamed out. But it’s like the sound disappeared into the void. Maybe you only screamed in your head. His lips crash roughly into yours. Every action elicits a reaction — whenever you pull away, he pulls you back in closer.

It’s like a switch flips in your head. For a few seconds, the surge of adrenaline sharpens your vision again—the wave of noise stills.  You stop struggling.

You know where you are.

Your wine glass is on the table, on your right-hand side. Your fingers sneak towards it, gripping the stem tightly. You have one shot at this. He is taller than you, heavier. You don’t stand a chance in a fair fight.

That’s okay. You won’t fight fair.

Shattering the bell of the glass on the side of the table shocks him enough to break off the kiss. The shock changes to wide-eyed horror when the sharp edge of the wine glass is pressed against his jugular. You use the moment to switch positions. It’s almost comical how meekly the man allows himself to get pushed against the wall.

You want to say something clever. But it’s like your tongue is paralyzed. 

This is your chance. You need to get out before people start noticing you are poised to stab someone in the neck. 

Stay in your shadow.

You are halfway down the street in the pitch dark night when you realize you are still holding the broken wine glass. The fine shards have made your fingers bleed. You stumble to a halt. The world is spinning uncomfortably again.

Why are you holding that glass? Where is your coat? Your purse?

Fuck. Fuck. 

You don’t care about the coat. You don’t care about the purse or anything in it. Everything is replaceable. 

 A broken sob escapes you. 

You care about that fucking bracelet in your pocket. It’s the one thing you can’t make yourself leave behind. You let out a scream from frustration. A window slams shut somewhere.

Why can’t you move on? Why are you allowing Bradley — fucking Rooster — who is not even fucking here, that you haven’t seen or heard from in the three years, who spent the better part of two months sweet-talking you into bed with him when he could have fucking died, who fucked with you, your head and heart so thoroughly in just six short days, and you let him, why are you still allowing him all this power over you? Why can’t you just let him go already?

You will yourself forward, but your feet won’t move. 

You’re in stasis.

Tears streaming down your face, broken wine glass in your bloodied hand, you are sure you look as unhinged as you feel. Turning around, you march back to the club.

You will get back what’s yours. 

You will get what was promised to you. 

And you’ll do it your fucking self. 

***

Looking at the picture he tore from Life, Bradley tries to determine if the church spires in the background are the same ones he’s looking at now. Has he been here before? Did you ever take him through this part of the city? It’s frustrating how little he seems to remember and how hard it is to recall the things he was so sure were branded onto his brain.

That place, the villa, was messing with his head. Something there was putting him on edge like he had to be on the lookout the whole time. It was almost like he was expecting to turn a corner, open a door, walk into any room, and find you there. He barely made it through the one night there before the anxiety became too overwhelming, and he packed his bag and checked into a hotel. 

It settled some of his anxiety, but it didn’t help Bradley remember anything. Instead, he snaps a picture of the church. He got a new camera so he can play the part of tourist fully, but he mostly hopes someday, somehow, something will click in his brain again, and he’ll find his way to you. As of today, he has five days to find you in this maze of a city before he needs to get back to Germany and finish his assignment there. After that, there is no telling how long it will be before Bradley gets another chance to come to Europe.

He has to find you.

“Rooster!”

Alarmed, Bradley turns around, stuffing the picture back into his wallet. He’s not sure if he should be relieved or annoyed at the person calling his name. 

“Bradley Bradshaw, as I live and breathe,” Jake Seresin saunters to Bradley, grinning widely. Bradley closes his eyes for a moment, cursing. Of all the people in this city, he had to run into Bagman. A Bagman that looks and smells like he just rolled out of a bar, no less, his RAF uniform jacket unbuttoned, tie loose, cover askew. 

“What on earth are you doing here?” Jake asks, attempting to fix his hair by running his hand through it several times, just making it stick out worse. “Did you miss me so much you came to see me on my home turf?” He adds arrogantly, still smiling like the devil.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Seresin,” Bradley retorts flatly. “I didn’t come to see you, and right now, I’m not sure I want to be seen with you,”

“You’re such a stick in the mud, lieutenant,” Jake drawls sarcastically.

“It’s captain,” It shouldn’t feel so good to Bradley to lord his rank over Hangman, who is still a lieutenant. But of course, Hangman only responds with a deliberately poorly executed salute to Bradley. 

“I know a good watering hole near here,” Jake says offhandedly as he searches his pockets, only to pull out an empty carton of cigarettes, crush it, and stuff it back in his pocket — if it’s supposed to be an invitation, it sure as hell doesn’t sound like one. “You can buy me a drink and tell me what you’re doing here.” 

“It’s 11 in the morning, Hangman,”

“When in Rome and all that,” He waves Bradley’s protests away. 

Bradley hates the idea. Absolutely hates it. But what if. What if Bagman, of all people, could actually help him? 

“Fine,” Bradley tries to sound indifferent. “I’ll buy you a drink, but you have to help me with something,”

The broad smile on Jake’s face at the mention of Bradley needing his help has Bradley convinced that this is all one big mistake. 

Bradley still thinks Jake is arrogant and annoying at best, but he begrudgingly appreciates him tagging along. Jake seems to be at least somewhat genuinely interested in helping him, and he cleans up quite well. Bradley needs a guide and someone who speaks the language, even when that guide is more interested in catching the eye of as many girls as possible in his flashy uniform, adorned with medals for bravery and the highest orders of service. It’s not that Jake didn’t fairly deserve those—Bradley still thinks he’s an absolute madman, both in the air and on the ground. A madman with his heart in the right place, however.

And he can hardly blame Jake for using his uniform to charm the local ladies—Bradley has done the exact same many times. But he’s only looking for one lady to charm again.

“I’m sure even you thought of this before, but are you sure you have her real name?” Jake asks conversationally as they walk across the bridge over the Vltava. 

He has four days to find you. Yesterday Jake was of relatively little actual help, and somewhere, it pains Bradley that the first and only person that he has spoken to about you, is Jake fucking Seresin. Bradley couldn’t tell Jake all the details, but he put together the details. He thinks that by now he has seen every part of the city in the last two days, but he still hasn’t found you.

“I know her first name is Anna—everyone consistently referred to her as Anya, though,” Bradley replies, looking around. A little tug in his heart. Carefully, he thinks he sees something familiar when you connect the first two pieces of a puzzle.  Bradley remembers the bridge, with the golden ornamented columns at either end. He remembers your teasing smile as you helped him practice the pronunciation.  He walked past it with you so many times, the national theater behind them.

“Yeah, people do that here.” Jake shrugs. “It’s a common nickname to a very common first name, though.”

“As for her last name—I know for a fact, her initials are A.S.” Bradley continues. “She gave me her handkerchief with her initials embroidered on it and a little bird. Sokol, for falcon.”

“Sure, her last would be Sokolova.” Jake interjects, bored. “But,” he continues, lighting a cigarette. “Have you considered that, even if her initials are A.S., she could have a different first name? Alzhbyeta, Alitse, Anastasia, Alena—I mean, if I had to pick a cover name, I would probably pick the most bog-standard first name in the whole country, too.” 

Bradley knows Jake is inferring it will be next to impossible to find you. They walk along the colorful buildings along the water—Bradley feels like he’s walked this route a million times in his dreams, and the moment he waited for is finally here. He knows exactly where to go without being able to explain which turn to take.

“I grew up near here.” Jake suddenly pipes up as he walks next to Bradley, looking around the stately buildings. “My mother still lives around here,”

“Anya said she grew up here too.” Bradley’s heart is beating loudly. Maybe asking Hangman for help was a good idea after all. “Do you think there’s a chance you might have known her?”

Jake shrugs, eyeing the girls walking down the opposite side of the street. Bradley describes what you look like; you were in your sophomore year in university in 1939.

“She could be my age,” Jake admits flatly. “But there were at least five girls named Anna that could roughly fit your description in my cohort in high school—if she even went to the same school as I did. And I don’t remember what they went to college for.” 

Jake is not the most encouraging companion, but Bradley’s heart still skips a beat as he sees the familiar street. It’s all slotting into place now. The row of yellow, white, pink, and green. The statues look down at the entrance. He speeds up his pace, Jake jogging behind him.

Bradley quickly scans the names next to the doorbells before moving on to the next one, Jake hot on his tail. 

“Bradshaw, listen.” Jake puts a hand on his shoulder, face concerned. It’s strange to see him so serious suddenly. “I grew up in the next building over,” He gestures at the yellow building at the end of the block. “I don’t remember a family called Sokol living in one of these buildings.” 

“Fuck.” Bradley mumbles as he pulls out your handkerchief from the inner pocket of his jacket. He traces the stitching of your initials. Was it really all a ruse? Did you never truly believe he’d come back for you? Were you just playing out a role in the end?

Jake glances down before clearing his throat awkwardly. “Can I see that?”

Bradley hands it to him wordlessly, tucking his hands in his pockets. Did he not tell you enough times? Did you forget or simply stop believing? Did you never believe him in the first place, and were you only happy to dream with him? The fact that he had spun so many girls so many tales over the years this might finally be his comeuppance. 

All the dark thoughts he had tried to keep at bay have broken through. He would be crazy not to consider that you might not have gotten married in the meantime or still living in the same place. You were never going to wait for him. Why would you? He knew he was right when he saw your real smile, and you could see everyone wrapped around your little finger, and you did the same thing so effortlessly with him. And he’s more and more sure you could have a devoted husband now, maybe a baby. And you’re happy. Without him.

You never told him your last name. You really didn’t mean for him to find you after the war. 

“Bradshaw, I cannot believe I have to tell you this.” Jake sounds like he’s holding in laughter, breaking Bradley out of his reverie and thrusting the neatly folded fabric back into his line of vision. “This,” He jabs at the embroidered corner. “Is not a fucking S with a little bird,” He bursts out laughing.

“Wai- what?” Bradley forcefully grabs the handkerchief, looking at it intently, like it now contains some new information.

“Did she tell you it was an S with a little bird?” Jake asks, barely able to contain himself.

“No, no…” Bradley is sunk in thought. “I just… I just thought Anya was awful at embroidering.” He mumbles.

Jake absolutely loses it at that, doubling over in laughter. An old lady looks out of her opened window, staring both men down judgmentally. When Jake finally stops laughing, he tries to catch his breath to explain how this could be funny.

“So, it’s not an S,” Bradley asks impatiently. “Then what — Hangman, get a grip! — What is it?” 

“It’s a Sh,” He replies simply, rubbing his face and giggling. “It’s a completely different letter.” 

Bradley stands rooted to the ground, speechless, as Jake keeps laughing.

“You know what would be even more hilarious?” Jake is leaning his forearm against the building, hand covering his eyes with his hand as his shoulder shakes from laughing. “If this whole time, you had been actually talking about Anna Shafrankova, my neighbor who tutored me in high school.”

“They say it’s a small world,” He takes a deep breath, wiping the tears from his eyes. “But man, that would actually be really weird.”

“Jesus fucking Christ…” Bradley throws himself against the wall, closing his eyes. He feels the sun shine warmly on his face. The gears in his head turn, overheating. He tries to desperately remember every bit of information you shared with him, sometimes offhandedly. As a child, you were scared of ghosts and explored the passageways between buildings with other neighborhood kids. Jake must have been one of them. The arrogant classmate who went to flight school and then disappeared. Was that also Jake?

“Was she scared of ghosts?” Bradley ventures carefully. Suddenly, Jake’s laughter evaporates, and he’s looking at Bradley with astonishment. “When exploring the buildings, as kids, she told me she was scared of the ghosts haunting the servant stairwell,”

“What the…” The look on Jake’s face is confirmation enough. Bradley is sure of it. They are talking about the same person: you. This means, embarrassingly, that Bradley now actually knows less about you than he thought. Those identity papers had been fake. 

“Was her birthday on Christmas?” 

Jake actually looks confused for a moment. “No,” He ventures carefully. “I’m pretty sure it was sometime in summer — we used to go swimming in the reservoir lake and build camp fires for her birthday, so definitely not in winter.” 

Those papers had been very fake, indeed. It’s both a relief and a setback. 

“Come on, let’s see if old Shafrankova is home,” Jake announces, clapping Bradley on his back. “After that, you can buy me a drink or ten, and I want an invitation to the wedding.” 

Bradley follows Jake in a daze to the green house – you always took him out of another exit, so Bradley never knew which building you lived in. Or which apartment for that matter?

“There’s a different name on 2B now.” Jake comments. “But maybe she left a forwarding address.”

Jake is playing up his natural charm to the lady of the house, who is blushing furiously, answering his questions. Bradley looks around. You never talked much about your home or family. The apartment is light and spacious, with high ceilings and hardwood floors. It’s ornately furnished. What was it like to grow up here? You always seemed humble, never complaining about the conditions you found yourself in, from sleeping on the floor to eating old dry bread. But to live here, surely your family must have been well off, solidly middle-class.

You were well-educated; that should probably have been a hint of your background. But Bradley thought you were just determined. Because you had proven time and time again in the short time he knew you that you had determination and discipline in spades.

“Come on, let’s go.” Jake motions him out, and the lady of the house waves at them with a dreamy look in her eye.

“What did you learn?” Bradley can’t contain his curiosity.

“She didn’t leave a forwarding address,” Jake grumbles. “The lady said Shafrankova sold everything and disappeared.”

Jake hesitates suddenly, eyeing Bradley wearily.

“She said that she only saw Shafrankova once.” He says, choosing his words carefully. “She said she looked… scarred.”

Bradley stops mid-descended on the stairs.

“Scarred, how?” He asks sharply. The vision from his dream, blood gushing from your head, the smell of burning flesh, your face contorted in a voiceless scream, flashes through his head.

Jake shrugs. “She didn’t elaborate. She only said it was a waste of such a lovely face.”

Bradley feels the blood drain from his face. Someone hurt you. Someone came after you. His mind keeps flashing back to when he looked out the train window. What if he wasn’t misremembering? What if it was really someone dragging you off the platform by force? What if you had been arrested? Locked up?

What if that dream really had been more than just a dream?

He tries to find solace in the idea that you aren’t dead. That picture in Life, with his bracelet, must have been you, and if the new tenant saw you, you must have survived the uprising. But you got hurt. And he’s getting the sinking feeling it’s because of him.

“I need to find her.” He utters, panicked.

“That’s the idea,” Jake replies in a bored tone again. “But let’s figure out a plan first. I know a good bar near.”

Dragging his feet, Bradley follows Jake down the street. All the progress they made today was for naught in the end. He is no closer to actually finding you; he only knows where you are not. Time is ticking, and tomorrow, he needs to spend the whole evening as a dinner guest of the ambassador.

“Hey, cheer up,” Hangman turns to look at Bradley with that exact shit-eating grin that never spells anything good out of his mouth. “If you don’t find her by Saturday, I’ll happily introduce you to another Anna,”

***

Mrs. Parker likes to see effort over results. Even though the windows in the smoking room are squeaky clean — the room hadn’t been used since it was cleaned just a week prior — she won’t be satisfied until she has seen you scrub everything and sweat on your brow. She is always particular, but now she is doing it to punish you.

A searing headache and repeated nightmares that kept you bedbound until yesterday. You couldn’t sleep, you couldn’t stay awake. You just lay there, tears streaming down your face. 

And from what you had heard, the houseguest suddenly left without a real explanation. It’s not your fault, but Mrs. Parker needs to get rid of her frustration somewhere.

You hate washing windows. You hate it even more when someone hovers over you. But dinner is in an hour and a half, and Mrs. Parker is getting nervous. You don’t bother to ask if important guests are coming; they are all important. Decorated, distinguished, loud, and drunk.

The big windows of the smoking room on the second floor open outward into the beautiful garden of the villa on the hill, the city sprawling below it. The sun is low, and the blue sky slowly colors pink and orange. You wish you could take a moment to enjoy it rather than scrubbing nonexistent dirt from the window sill and listening to Mrs. Parker going through what appears to be a nervous breakdown as she zooms through the room.

“Annie, make sure that there is fresh ice here before dinner ends,”

“Yes, ma’am,” You reply lightly.

“Annie, this tablecloth has a gray sheen; please replace it and rewash it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” You reply dutifully as you strain to reach the top of the window with your cleaning cloth.

“Annie, Annie, these flowers look like they are wilting. Are you sure they are fresh?”

You look over your shoulder at the vase Mrs. Parker is holding. Wilting is a strong word.

“I’ll replace them with fresh cuts before them men arrive after dinner, ma’am,” You assure her, although you doubt they will notice the difference or care.

“Oh, Annie, I need to go check on dinner,” Mrs. Parker dramatizes. She grasps you by the shoulder as you stand by the open window, the long sleeves of your dark work dress awkwardly rolled up, sweat prickling on your forehead, and sopping cloth in your hand, slowly dripping onto the hardwood floor. “You’re the only one I can trust,” She implores you. “You’ll help me, won’t you?”

She’s asking you like she’s not paying you to do this.

“Of course,” You smile politely. “Don’t worry about it, ma’am.” 

You sigh deeply when you hear the door click close, returning to the open window. You plop the rag back into the metal bucket on the window sill, wiping your hands on your apron as you look out over the garden. The blooming colors, the sweet smells — it’s really at its most beautiful right now. The apple tree is so full of blossoms it’s almost completely white. The rose bushes have come in beautifully again in pink, red, and yellow. The lavender is abundant.

When you hear the high-pitched giggle, you step back from the window, averting your gaze. Miss Lo is strolling through the garden with tonight’s guest, showing him the lush surroundings and stunning view. You busy yourself with changing the allegedly grayish tablecloth and taking the perfectly fine flowers out of the vase. 

You can hear Miss Lo’s melodic voice, although you cannot make out any words. Envy is searing through you like a red-hot iron. Today, you just can’t take it. Resolutely, you march back to the window, expressly not looking at the two figures slowly walking down the garden path in the sunset. As you reach the window latch, you plant your left hand on the window sill to keep yourself stead.

The windows are so unnecessarily large you have to strain to reach far enough — your fingertips barely touch the handle. As you put more weight on your left arm, leaning forward, you feel the pain building in your shoulder.

Just a little further.

Finally, you get a grip on the handle, but it’s like a bomb bursts in your left shoulder. Your elbow buckles from the sudden wave of pain, colliding with the metal bucket that you stupidly left on the window sill. Time almost slows to a crawl as you grab your left arm, pressing it against your chest to stop it from violently shaking, and you watch in partial fascination, partial horror as the metal bucket is no longer standing on the window sill but rather tortuously slowly is sailing down to the patio. 

You scrunch up your face and hold your breath in preparation for the screech and clang of the metal against the stone, still standing in the window, looking down at the inevitable chaos below you. 

The impact echoes, drawing out your mortification. You close your eyes in frustration.

The high-pitched girlish scream is several orders of magnitude louder than the bucket hitting the stone patio.

Shit. Fucking shit. Miss Lo.

Hesitantly, you open your eyes, still frozen in the open window. You don’t see the bucket and the soapy water sloshed over the stones. You don’t see Miss Lo in her evening dress and glittering jewelry, her face etched in horror, clinging to her companion. Everything has disappeared, melting away in the background.

Because on the garden path leading up to the house, in a resplendent white Navy uniform, looking right at you, is Bradley.

You can’t breathe. You can’t think. Bradley pulls his arm away from Miss Lo, shaking her off almost rudely. He’s still staring at you like he’s just seen a ghost. As he takes one step forward, you take a step back. With one last look, you start running. 

In the war, you left small parts of yourself scattered. A version, a part of you, stayed on that square in front of the university between the bodies of your classmates. Another part of you broke off in that mountain cabin when you first aimed a gun at another person. Bradley chipped off and pocketed so many bits of you, and oh, how gladly you let him. Finding Eva’s murdered body in the stairwell of your apartment cracked deep into your soul. When you shot Jan, you didn’t feel anything; you were already so broken, but more bits of the person that you once were died there that day. The explosions, the bodies, the blood, the shots—they cling to the wreckage of your former self.

As you stand at the top of the stairs, tugging your sleeve down out of habit, you’ve never been more acutely aware of how incomplete you truly are. There is nothing but debris left of the girl Bradley met that day in that barn. You are surprised he even recognizes you.

He is looking up at you in wonder from the bottom of the stairs. Hurriedly, clumsily, he grabs his cover off his head, holding it in his hands almost nervously, unsure what to do next. The black pit in your stomach is still there — you are so afraid that the look of wonder will disappear forever when he sees you up close. Despite your heart beating as much in fear as in excitement, your feet start moving down the stairs of their own accord, going faster and faster. Every broken piece of you rattles like broken china with every step, the sound becoming deafening the closer you get. 

Bradley is running up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. His brain is going a mile a minute: you look exactly like he remembers, but also different. Still beautiful, so much more beautiful than in his memories. Your hair is different than he remembers— longer for sure, but he could swear you used to wear it parted to the right rather than the left. The long-sleeved, high-collared, dark charcoal dress looks severe on you in the light summer weather.

You almost crash into him as you race down the stairs. You grab onto his uniform jacket to steady yourself, your face automatically moving to his, only just stopping yourself short. His scars have faded, although you can still see the raised ridges on his skin. There is no way he cannot see yours now. His arm is wrapped around your waist, holding you flush against him. His warm hazel eyes roam over your face, unreadable. You hesitate, averting your gaze. 

Maybe you’ve changed too much. Maybe there’s really nothing left of the person Bradley once knew. He can probably see that now. Maybe this Bradley is not the one you remember anymore. His fingers graze the damaged skin along your hairline. Swallowing dryly, you look up at him.

He’s smirking at you, eyes twinkling. 

How you hate that cocky smile. How you’ve missed it. Seeing it again, feeling him again, is so overwhelming you feel your poor heart might give out. You tighten your grip on him, pulling yourself closer, as if you’re scared he’s going to turn to smoke in your arms, or, worse, push you away.

But Bradley moves his face closer to you, his mouth only a fraction away from yours. You can feel his warm breath on your face. You can feel his heartbeat under your fingers.

“Do it, you coward,” He whispers.

He sees the flash of anger in your eyes. How dare he use your own words against you? But it has the intended effect. It’s all you need to hear. You kiss him, arms wrapping around his neck, barely giving him a moment to recover from your ferocity, slanting your mouth against his, begging him to let you deepen the kiss. Bradley allows you without hesitation, easily catching your weight as you fall into him. Your body still fits so perfectly against his.

This is what it should have felt like, Bradley realizes. Coming home, finally closing the long chapter of war. He had been chasing this feeling: the benevolent calm, the warm intimacy.

Home is where the heart is, and that was always in your arms. 

note | good things come to those who wait. Also, this chapter has some of the earliest scenes that I actually wrote over a year ago, and those were the exact things that kept me awake the whole night when I came up with this story. Which is more than a year ago, actually. God, I hope the payoff is really going to be worth it hahahaha. Thanks for sticking by me, still. There was actually a full chapter of material before this, titled Blue Skies. But I cut a lot of stuff out to start moving the story a bit faster, mostly because I really want to write this finally!

taglist |@katieshook02 |@gretagerwigsmuse |@yanak324 | @helplesslydevoted | @benhardysdrumstick | @chaoticversion | @cherrycola27 | @roosterschanelslut | @notroosterbradshaw | @eli2447 | @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog | @m-1234 | @phoenix1388 | @galaxy-moon | @indigomaegrimm | @annathewitch | @kmc1989

[withahappyrefrain]

Lay Down the Line

Summary: When Bradley acts up, you quickly reel him back in. 

Warnings: SUB!BRADLEY, dominant!reader, teasing, hair pulling, female masturbation, fem receiving oral, rank kink, dirty talk, language, subtle voyeurism if you look closely?

Notes: This was for the amazing @jadore-andor for our Dicked Down December event. There is no one else I’d rather write this for and I’m so glad you enjoyed it!

To say you were pissed was an understatement. 

It wasn't that you disliked your boyfriend's touch. One of your favorite things about Bradley was how affectionate he was. He expressed his love for you through gentle touches, arms that always lingered on your waist, his head always resting on your shoulder. 

You would never complain about that. Nor would you ever complain about how he expressed his want through touch; through fingertips gracing up to the apex of your thigh, brushing over your clothed cunt, all while the hairs of his mustache brushed against your neck, teeth nipping at your jawline. 

But could the man not keep it in his fucking pants for three hours? 

Just three hours. That would have been enough time for y'all to have gone to Penny's annual Christmas party at the Hard Deck, stay for a few rounds of pool and beers, then go home to fuck each other's brains out. 

You kept telling him that; that you weren't leaving him high and dry, that you definitely weren't teasing him (as he claimed) from wearing a simple dress paired with a Santa hat (seriously it wasn't even close to being the shortest dress you owned). 

At first, his behavior was cute. Bradley's desperate hands, grabbing whatever part of your body he could, his mouth pressing quick little kisses along your neck and jawline as you tried to finish applying your makeup. 

That was why you weren't angry that you two were five minutes late to Penny's party. 

But then instead of getting out of the car after you two had parked at the Hard Deck, Bradley decided it would be a great idea to instead attach his lips to your neck while his hands grabbing your chest through the fabric of your dress. 

"Brad-Bradley. We have to go inside," your hands jerked at the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to pull him away. Not that it worked. If anything, it encouraged Bradley to continue marking you up, biting the tops of your breasts. 

No, what got him to finally stop was fucking Hangman, knocking on the passenger window as he yelled something about public indecency. 

Sure, Bagman's girlfriend promptly told him to shut the fuck and he listened (for the most part). Still wasn't any less embarrassing walking into the bar with your neck littered in bite marks. 

A couple of glasses later and you were almost ready to forgive him. You walked up to him while he was playing pool, a drink in your hand as a peace offering. 

"Thanks doll," you playfully rolled your eyes at the nickname, trying to fight the warmth that was flushing your cheeks. 

But it was never just a term of endearment from Bradley. Oh no. He had to do more, be a showman. 

Which was how you ended up having his body pressed against yours, lips captured in a searing kiss, as his large hands went up your dress to squeeze your ass. 

"Hey! Bob has his kids here, keep it PG!" Payback yelled, motioning to Bob's one year old twins. 

You tried to shove Bradley away, who kept his arm firmly wrapped around your waist as he flashed those big hazel eyes at you, doing his very best to look like an innocent puppy. 

Fine. If Bradley wants to play, then you would play with him. 

"I'll be in the car," you told him after using the bathroom, quickly stuffing something into the front pocket of his Hawaiian shirt. 

The anger you carried was palatable as you quickly walked up to your house. 

You didn't need to say anything else. All he had to do was reach into the pocket and feel the lacey fabric of your panties and the message was received. 

Bradley's face upon finding you in the backseat of the Bronco, buckled up and ready to go was hilarious. He looked so confused, like a lost little puppy. 

"Are you gonna drive or just stare?" You asked, arms and legs crossed. He could wait, given how he had his fill of you already. 

Bradley looked at you through the rear view mirror as you two drove home, the only sound was that of Elton John playing softly. 

"Your eyes should be on the road," you told him, his hazel eyes meeting yours in the mirror. 

"I can multitask," He smirked. 

"Good to know." 

Slowly, you uncrossed your legs, spreading them across the leather seats, just enough that he could see the hint of your cunt in the rear view mirror, but not enough that he would be able to touch you by reaching his arm behind. 

"Eyes on the road, Bradshaw," you reminded him as your fingers softly raked over the skin of your thighs, inching closer to the space in-between your legs. 

It was difficult to hold back a chuckle when Bradley let out a small huff to signal his disapproval. So instead, you just smirked. 

It was cute he still thought he was in control. 

Your back arched at the sensation of your fingers brushing against your slicked folds. Bradley's eyes darted back to the mirror upon hearing the small gasp that had escaped your lips. 

"I can pull-" 

"Keep driving Lieutenant," your voice was sharp and demanding. It went straight to Bradley's cock, which was already half hard and had been ever since he saw you in that sundress. 

Your fingers dip through your folds again, this time brushing against your clit. The movement caused a small but satisfied moan to fall from your lips. 

Bradley's grip on the steering wheel visibly tightened, shifting in his seat to give him some relief. 

How visibly frustrated he was getting was what gave you the confidence to push two fingers into your entrance. It didn't stretch you out the same way Bradley's fingers did, but he didn't need to know that right now. 

"Babe, please. I'm sorry, I can pull over and show you-" 

"I said keep driving." 

One hand gripped the nearby armrest as your fingers scissored against your walls, stretching you out and giving you the sense of fullness you always craved. You leaned forward, the action causing the fabric to strain against your breasts. 

When you opened your eyes, you found yourself facing Bradley, who had turned so that he could face you from the passenger seat.

You looked ahead, finding the car at a red light.

Looking back at your boyfriend, you simply grinned as you inserted a third finger inside of you, a low moan falling from your lips. 

Your fingers thrusted against that sweet spot, the one that made you see stars as your eyelids flutter, the one that Bradley was always able to find with great speed and ease. 

Again, he didn't need to know that right now. 

Instead, you just threw your head back, a loan groan trailing from your mouth as your thumb drew circles on your clit. Making eye contact was what he wanted, because it would make him think he had a hand in getting you off. 

That's not what you wanted, because it wasn't what he needed. Bradley needed to be reminded that you could get off pretty damn well without him. 

He needed to remember his place. 

The loud, sudden honk from the car behind you interrupted your ministrations. Your eyes snapped open, Bradley's still on you. 

"Light is green," you sneered, "You should go." 

For a moment he stayed still. Briefly, you wondered if he was going to stay there or find the nearest parking lot. 

Instead, he just turned around and continued driving. 

"Good boy." You didn't have to see Bradley to watch the effect your words had on him. By now, you knew how that phrase went straight to his cock, how it made him squirm, how it made his ruddy cheeks somehow even more red. 

As more jolts of pleasure surged through your body, your voice increased in pitch, the whines filling up the car. Could he hear how wet you were? Could he hear the lewd squelching that occurred every time your fingers thrusted into your entrance? 

Given that the radio was turned off, you were quite certain that the answer was a resounding yes.

All it did was encourage you to continue. You got off on seeing him squirm in his seat, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. Those pleading hazel eyes kept going back and forth between the road and the mirror to watch you. 

"Keep your eyes on the road," you smirked, "Don't worry Lieutenant, I'll make sure you can hear me." 

It was that pathetic whimper he let out as his eyes went back to the road that got you going. You replayed that noise over and over in your head as you thrust your fingers in a toe-curling rhythm. 

"Baby….please." 

There it was. That delicious whine as he begged you to wait, that you two were almost home and he could touch you, make you feel so good. That he was sorry and would do anything to make it up to you. 

You threw your head back as your orgasm washed over you, sending a surge of white hot pleasure all over your body. Gripping the armrest, you rocked your body against your fingers, prolonging your pleasure as much as possible. 

It wasn't until you opened your eyes that you realized the car had stopped moving. 

The passenger door was open and standing there was Bradley with his nostrils flaring, his erection straining against his jeans. 

You slowly pulled your fingers out, your slick practically glistening in the golden hour lighting. 

Slowly, you brought your fingers to your mouth, licking them clean one digit at a time, your eyes on Bradley the whole time. 

He was the first one to break eye contact, moving to the side so you could get out. 

"Aren't you sweet?" You cooed, getting out of the car. The tips of his ears were bright red as you traced a finger over his cheek, gently gliding over the scars he had received from several missions back. 

You titled his chin downwards, making it easier for you to press your lips against his. A whine escaped from Bradley's mouth upon feeling your lips parted, allowing him to get a taste of you. 

That was all he deserved right now. 

Before he could get too greedy, too eager, you stepped away, breaking the kiss. 

"Why don't we get inside so you can show me that you can actually be a good boy and listen?" You didn't have to say anymore. Bradley knew. 

He fucked up. And if he wanted any chance to come in the next few days, he'd need to fix it sooner rather than later. 

Which is why he found himself in the living room, on his knees. 

You slowly walked towards him, making a show of swaying your hips. 

For a brief moment, a smile grazed his face, causing one to adorn your features as well. You had to look away, out of fear if you kept staring, you would begin to giggle, breaking the façade. 

You loved how he could always make you laugh, but that wasn't what either of you needed right now. 

So instead your fingers gripped the hem of your dress, slowly raising it up to reveal your cunt to him. 

Bradley just looked up at you, those hazel orbs wide and apologetic. 

Shrugging, you asked him, "I made a mess. Can you help me clean it up?" 

He simply nodded, slowly leaning his head towards your core, his eyes remaining on you to ensure he was following directions. 

"Go on Bradley, be a good boy for me." 

With your grip in his sun kissed hair tightening, he dove in between your legs, tongue lapping at your soaked folds. 

You tilted your head back in pleasure, your free hand gripping the back of the couch for support. 

The hairs of his mustache brushed against your clit, sending another jolt of pleasure as his tongue dove into your entrance, determined to get every last drop. 

A large hand trailed up your leg, inching towards the apex of your thigh. 

"Did I say you could do that?" Bradley whined upon you pulling at his hair, pulling his face away from your cunt. 

"Answer me Lieutenant," you spat his title. In here, his title doesn't mean jack shit, something he loved that he would only ever admit to you. 

"N-No. I just wanna feel ya baby. Make ya feel good-" his sentence was cut short by another sharp tug of his hair. 

"Oh, you'll make me feel good. But you can do that with just your tongue, right baby?" 

You can see the turmoil in his eyes. He certainly had the strength to hold you down and take control. 

But that's not what he wanted. 

"Y-yes ma'am." The title sent heat straight to your core. 

You guided his mouth back to your aching cunt, letting out a sigh of relief when his lips attached themselves to your clit. His hands gripped the backs of your trembling thighs, keeping you in place. 

"Oh, Bradley." The use of his name, using that sweet, pretty whimper of yours, made his cock ache. The moan he let out against your cunt sent vibrations up your spine, pushing you closer to that edge. 

The band in your stomach continued to tightened, inching closer and closer to snapping. You just needed a little more, just a little. 

"B-be a good boy and use y-your fingers," your voice was shaky as you instructed him. 

Your mouth betrayed you by letting out a loud gasp as two of his fingers curled against your sensitive walls. Bradley's smirk burned into your skin, satisfied by the noises he was drawing out of you. 

You braced yourself for a snarky comment, one that would result in you pulling his face away from your core. 

But instead, he continued to thrust his fingers in and out of your aching core, his tongue alternating between licking and sucking your clit. 

Good boy. 

Your fingernails gripped his shoulders, digging into his exposed skin. He didn't mind, he loved any marks from you that he could get. He'd wear them with pride, happy to let everyone else know how well you treated him. 

"Want me to come all over your pretty face?" Bradley whimpered at your question, nodding his head as best as he could as his tongue continued its ministrations on your cunt. 

His face was one of pure confusion when you yanked him away from your legs. It was cute, the way his eyes searched your face for some kind of explanation. 

You used your other hand to trace the features of his face. 

"You did so good baby," you praised, "But I think I'd rather come on your cock. Whatcha think about that?" 

Bradley nodded eagerly, quickly standing up so he could carry you, bridal style, to your shared bedroom. 

In the short walk, his lips pressed against your neck, mumbling thank you's in between light kisses. 

You just smiled, playing with the hair that was at the nape of his neck. 

It was cute that he thought he was going to come anytime soon. 

[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 30 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley's excitement over the first set of ultrasound photos is unparalleled. He has never been so happy and so overwhelmed in his life, but at times he feels ill equipped to process everything that's happening. And the last thing he wants is to make you feel like he's growing tired of you.

Warnings: Swearing, smut, pregnancy topics, doctors, angst, fluff

Length: 6600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

Bradley wanted to be able to explain it to you, but he wasn't really sure he could. Sitting in the waiting room with you and anticipating an ultrasound to see the baby was honestly more than he ever thought he could have. You were more than he ever thought he deserved, and you wanted him anyway. But a baby? 

He barely had a baseline to build off of. His dad died when he was young enough that he only had a handful of fleeting memories. The sound of a laugh. Two big hands lifting him up when he fell. A lullaby sung softly as he drifted off to sleep. Besides the photos that you and he collected from his storage unit and the stories his mom recounted when he was younger, that's all he had.

But he could practically hear his mom telling him how excited Nick Bradshaw was to be a dad. Bradley could remember the joy in her voice whenever she told him about the way she would catch father and son goofing off together. She was adamant that Bradley cried almost nonstop the first day his dad was gone for a deployment. And now Bradley desperately wished he could remember these little details that made up their relationship. Because soon, god willing, he was going to be on the other side of things: the parent who loves goofing off and singing, but who also gets deployed and causes tears to fall.

It was all too overwhelming for him to put into words, but as he laced his fingers with yours, he knew he didn't have to figure out how to do everything all at once. 

"Are you nervous?" you asked.

Bradley looked at your open expression and immediately felt better. Talking through things and sharing his thoughts was the best way to keep from driving himself crazy while also letting you know how important you were. "Excited," he replied, kissing your cheek and ear. "Just really fucking excited. I've been thinking... about starting a notebook. Kind of for the baby? Like how sometimes I like to write down what I'm thinking and feeling for myself."

He still felt silly at times for sharing the notebooks with you, but you nodded with a little smile on your lips. "I love your deployment notebooks. I love what you wrote about me."

He reached for you and kissed you without hesitation. "I think I want the baby to be able to read about how much I was looking forward to meeting them. When they're older, I mean. They can read about how I feel like my heart is going to pound out of my chest right now. And how I can't wait to hold them and give them a name. All about how much I love their mom."

Bradley let you bury your face against his neck. It didn't feel like you were hiding from him so much as giving him a taste of the kind of response he'd get if the two of you were alone. "I like that idea." You kissed the side of his neck and said, "I adore you, Roo. You'll be the best daddy."

Bradley almost laughed when you jolted in your seat after the nurse called your name. "Come on back, you two," she said with a smile. "Hopefully mom and dad can leave with some new family photos."

"Holy shit," Bradley replied, palms suddenly sweaty. Baby photos. He was on his feet in an instant, ready to go. And maybe this was what his dad felt like. Perhaps his parents didn't know what they were doing either, but rather they just counted themselves lucky to go along for the ride. He wished one of them had left him a notebook.

You were smiling up at him as he reached for your hand again, and your fingers felt sure and steady all wrapped up with his. "I'm excited, too," you whispered, answering your own question from earlier while he ran his thumb along your rings. "And maybe a little nervous."

"I'm right here," he promised as the two of you followed the nurse into a room filled with equipment. "I'm not going anywhere."

He kissed you and then begrudgingly let go of your hand when the nurse gave you a hospital gown to change into. As she left the room with the promise that your doctor would be in shortly, Bradley dragged his palms across his khaki covered thighs as he sat down and watched you change. Even though you were suffering from near constant nausea, he thought you looked incredible. Your face was glowing, and you kept looking at him with adoration in your eyes. 

"Jesus," he grunted when you removed your bra. Was it possible that today he was the hornier one for once? "Sweetheart. Your tits," he whispered as he ran a hand over his face while you giggled. "Unreal." Then your underwear went sliding down your legs, and he reached down to help you out of them. "Hand me the gown," he told you as he folded your underwear across his knee.

You slipped into the gown when he held it open for you, and then you stood between his legs while he secured the ties and kissed you through the fabric. Your laughter filled the small room, and when the doctor walked in, she found you sitting on Bradley's lap while he ran his knuckles gently across your belly. 

"I'm Dr. Morris," she said, shaking hands with you as you stood and then reaching for Bradley's. "I love it when partners show up for appointments, too. It's a lot more fun."

He watched Dr. Morris help you up onto the table, immediately missing your warm body next to his. "I plan on being here for every appointment unless I'm deployed." Your smile faltered a little bit at his words, so he added, "And even then, I'd steal a jet and fly in for a few hours. This is that important to me."

Your smile was restored and then some. Bradley scooted the chair a little closer when you reached for his hand as Dr. Morris started to ask you some questions and enter them into the software. "Do you recall when you last menstruated? I'd like to calculate a due date assuming we find a healthy fetus."

Once you told her the date of your last period, Bradley blurted out, "Why wouldn't it be healthy?"

Now he had two pairs of eyes on him as you squeezed his sweaty hand. "It's very early," Dr. Morris said. "Complications are more likely to occur in the first trimester than in the second or third. And your wife is just between seven and eight weeks along based on her cycle."

"Oh," Bradley said, swallowing hard. You'd tried to tell him all of this information before, letting him know it was too early to inform your parents or Nat or any of your other friends. But it felt somehow wrong coming from someone else. He didn't like this information when it was laid out before him in the exam room. 

"It's okay, Roo," you told him, a sweet smile still on your face. So he nodded and watched your lips and the curve of your cheek as you answered a few more questions and asked about prenatal vitamins.

Then eventually Dr. Morris said the only words Bradley really wanted to hear right now. "Let's see what we can find with the ultrasound."

He was sitting on the edge of his seat, elbow leaning on the exam table as he gripped your hand for dear life. As excited as he'd been, now he was on the verge of being sick. What if he'd been too rough with you in bed? What if the football at the beach really did hit you in the wrong spot? What if all of the vomiting had been worse than either of you considered?

One thing was for certain. Bradley was going to love you no matter what, until his dying day. So he held onto your hand and kissed your knuckles as Dr. Morris squeezed lube onto a wand that looked a bit like one of the vibrators you had at home. "Is that for the ultrasound?" he asked, watching you spread your legs wider. 

"Yes," the doctor replied, and a huge computer monitor lit up. "We need to get really up close at this stage to be able to see anything, so we're doing a transvaginal ultrasound today. The ones you're thinking of that use a paddle on the belly will come later."

"Right," he replied, and as soon as she slipped the wand inside you, he watched you purse your lips in slight discomfort. "You okay, Sweetheart?" he whispered, eyes glued to your face for any sign of pain. But your pinched expression melted away, and your lips parted softly as you sighed and stared at the computer monitor. 

"Oh. Oh, Bradley! Look!"

When he turned toward the screen, he slowly stood as you pulled his hand closer to your body and held it with both of yours. Everything looked a little fuzzy at first, just some gray and black shapes. But then a cute little bean started to take shape as Dr. Morris adjusted the wand, and Bradley rasped, "Is that the baby?"

"Yes," she replied evenly, also watching the monitor. "And everything looks great."

Warmth spread through his entire body as Bradley huffed out a laugh while you giggled. He wasn't sure if his hand was shaking or if it was yours, but he leaned down and kissed your wrists before finding your lips with his. "That's our baby," he whispered, kissing you once more.

"It's adorable," you said, smiling nonstop. "Like a little bean, or a chicken nugget."

Bradley leaned on the table, keeping as close to you as he could. "I'm already so in love." He could feel tears in his eyes as Dr. Morris froze the screen. "Is it over?" he asked in a slight panic. In all honesty, he could happily spend the rest of the day right here with you and the baby, and he wasn't prepared to say goodbye yet.

"Just capturing some images," she reassured him. "Baby's first picture."

"Oh my god," Bradley groaned softly, and you ran your fingers through his hair as he ducked his head against your shoulder. "That's the first picture, Baby Girl."

"The baby looks just like you, Roo," you told him with a laugh, and he kissed you until the doctor cleared her throat.

"Let's see what we can find if we zoom in a little more."

With rapt attention once again, Bradley stared at the screen. It looked like the baby was bouncing around a bit, wiggling to an unknown song. "Is that movement good?" he asked. "And what's that little flickering spot?"

"Very good," she replied. "And the flickering is the heartbeat."

"The heartbeat?" That was inexplicably what threw him over the edge as a tear managed to squeeze its way down his cheek when he blinked. "Holy shit."

He just let his head rest against your chest and basked in the feel of your fingers in his hair as you whispered, "I love you." Bradley had no idea if you were talking to him or the baby. Or maybe both. Or maybe you loved Dr. Morris, because in this moment he certainly did as she snapped more photos. Maybe you loved everything right now just like he did.

"I love you, too."

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

Bradley was falling apart as you ran your fingertips along his scarred cheek. Or perhaps he was completely keeping it together. You weren't really sure. He had some tears in his eyes even though he was smiling, and the two of you were holding onto each other. 

"Do you want to listen to the heartbeat as well?" Dr. Morris asked, and the two of you responded at the same time. 

"Yes!"

She laughed and adjusted the ultrasound wand inside you which was actually extremely uncomfortable, but you were starting to think Bradley would cry harder when she removed it. And then you heard it. Dr. Morris adjusted something on the control panel, and set a device on your belly, and you could hear the heartbeat. 

"Why is it so fast?" Bradley asked, squeezing your hand. "That's like really fast."

Now your heartbeat was picking up, but Dr. Morris said, "One hundred and fifty two beats per minute. That's perfectly where it should be."

"Oh, okay," Bradley sighed, eyes transfixed on the monitor. "That's good then. That's a strong Bradshaw heartbeat right there. Can you take another picture? The nugget looks really cute like that."

You laughed and reached for him when she eventually shut off the equipment and removed the wand. At Bradley's request, she printed out enough copies of each image that you'd be able to give them to your parents, all of your friends and even Bradley's cousin Brenda in Virginia. 

"This seems like overkill," you whispered as the printer just kept going and going.

"It's not," he promised. "I need all of them to wallpaper my locker and fill my helmet bag. Just a bunch of pictures of you and now the baby, too."

"We'll get more ultrasound photos at the next appointment. And the next one after that," you reminded him. 

"Good. We'll have enough to wallpaper at home, too." Eased himself back down into the chair as you sat up a little bit while Dr. Morris cleaned up her workstation. 

"When is the due date?" you asked suddenly. 

"March 24th," she replied, and you and Bradley shared a smile. "Do either of you have any other questions for me?" she asked as she handed a massive stack of ultrasound photos to your husband who looked like he just won the lottery. 

"When can we find out if it's a girl or a boy?" he asked, looking through the images with a crooked little grin on his face. 

"In the second trimester," she assured him. "You'll make a special appointment for an anatomy scan."

You cleared your throat and said, "So... I've been really quite... I'm sure it's the hormones and everything, but I've been extremely aroused for the past few weeks." Bradley gave you a wide eyed look as you asked, "Basically, I want my husband around the clock right now, and I want to know if that's normal?"

He let out a strangled choking sound, and his cheeks started to flush pink as Dr. Morris said, "That's totally normal. Have at it."

You pressed your lips together before you quickly asked, "And rough is okay? Like pretty rough."

"Yep," she replied, completely unfazed by your words as Bradley looked like he wanted to run out of the room with his stack of baby pictures. "Anything else?"

A smile crept to your lips, one that Bradley would have probably found alarming if he were looking anywhere else except the door at the moment. "Actually, yes. I do have one more question for you, Dr. Morris. Based on the size of the baby and the date of my last period, can you tell me when you think the baby was conceived?"

"Sure," she replied, turning the monitor back on and scrolling through all of the information in your electronic file. 

"You did not just ask her that," Bradley whispered, his voice deep with annoyance and maybe a little bit of desire as you grinned at him and bit your lip. 

"I would say you probably conceived right around June 27th."

You squealed with delight as Bradley groaned. "Thank you so much, Dr. Morris. We'll see you again in a few weeks."

When she left the room, you hopped off the table and started to untie your gown, pausing to pump your fist in the air while Bradley held his forehead in his hand. "Okay, okay. You win," he whined as he laughed. "You win."

"I told you the baby was conceived in the Honda!"

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

Later that night, Bradley kept reminding himself that Dr. Morris said rough sex was okay. That seemed to be the only way you wanted it as you got on all fours on the bed and said, "Fuck me hard, Daddy." And Bradley was never going to be one to deny his wife anything she asked for. 

Beads of sweat were rolling down his face, occasionally dripping onto your back as he leaned over you. He was panting next to your ear as he went as hard as he could, fucking you until your knees buckled and he had to hold you up. "You know, I used to have a wife who liked it sweet sometimes. I wonder what happened to her?"

"You knocked her up," you gasped as he rubbed your clit with his fingers. 

Fuck, he was getting close, and your words were not helping in the least. "Come on, Baby Girl. Come for Daddy." 

A few more swipes of his fingers and a little more dirty talk, and you were coming. Holy hell, you were coming hard, which was a good thing, because Bradley needed a break. You released an unholy moan as your legs gave out again, and this time, he let you sink down to the bed as he grabbed his cock in time to come all over your ass and your back. 

"Roo," you gasped as he painted you up, and you met his eyes over your shoulder. "That's so fucking hot!"

"I'm glad you think so," he grunted before he sprawled out on the bed next to you on his back. "I got nothing left in the tank, Sweetheart. Do not ask me for more tonight."

You crawled over to kiss his sweaty face and whispered, "You did so good," as you patted his abs adoringly. "You're already the world's best Daddy." Then you leaned down and cleaned his cum from the head of his cock with your tongue, and Bradley moaned as you climbed out of bed. "I'm going to shower and get ready for bed."

He raised his hand in a wave or surrender, he wasn't quite sure which. Forty-five minutes of nailing you until you screamed his name was the most intense workout he'd had in weeks. He needed to hit his home gym in the garage a little harder. Maybe he could invite Jake over to lift weights with him, and then he could sneak away and take a nap while you and Jake had one of your gossip sessions. That actually sounded pretty great.

Bradley managed to get out of bed long enough to let Tramp out and brush his teeth. By that point, you were getting out of the shower and drying yourself off,  humming and sighing softly. 

"I know what you're trying to do," he said with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. "And it's not gonna work."

You looked at him with one eyebrow raised as you ran the towel across your chest. "I'm sorry. What exactly am I trying to do that's not going to work?"

He spit out his toothpaste and rinsed his mouth, sending a glare at you in the mirror. "Look at your fucking tits, Sweetheart. Now you're just flaunting them."

"I'm literally just standing here."

He shook his head and kissed your forehead as he walked past. "You know what you did."

When you slipped in bed next to him, he pulled you close while you laughed softly. You were wearing nothing except for his old UVA shirt, and when you curled up next to him, he pushed you gently onto your back. Then he yanked the shirt up and shimmied under the covers so his lips were next to your tummy. 

He kissed up and down your side before laying with his cheek on your hip and one hand on your belly. "Listen kid, I don't know what you're doing in there, but I need you to chill, okay? Someday soon, you'll get to see how pretty and perfect your mommy is. Yes, I think about her all day long. Yes, I love her, but I can only take so much. Your old man is an old man."

You lifted up the covers, and Bradley felt your fingers in his hair. "No, you're not."

He kissed the spot just below your belly button before returning to his pillow. "I'll be close to thirty-eight when this little nugget arrives."

"That's not old."

When you curled up on him this time, he collected you in his arms. If you were surprised by his words, you didn't let on. "My dad died when he was twenty-nine. My mom died when she was forty-two. You're a bit younger than me, not that I mind. But my age is something I think about a lot. I'm older than all my friends. I like to be prepared for things before I jump into them. I like to feel out my surroundings. Except when it comes to you, apparently."

You snuggled in a little closer, voice soft as you asked, "What do you mean?"

Bradley kissed your fingers before lacing them with his in the dark bedroom. "I was all in with you as soon as you looked at me. Zero hesitation. No turning back."

You buried your face in his chest and moaned. "You can't just talk about me like that. It makes me insane for you," came your muffled voice, and Bradley laughed. 

"I guess I never had any hesitation about us having kids either. And I'm just saying... it's nice to have time to think about the baby before the baby actually gets here. But I'm also in my head a lot right now about my parents and how much more flying I've got left in me and how I don't actually know how the fuck to take care of a baby."

"Bradley!" Your voice was scolding as you propped yourself up on him. "We're a team. And I wouldn't lie to you. You're not old, and I'm pretty sure nobody actually knows how to take care of a baby until they have one in front of them. Then you just kind of do it, I guess. The fact that you are so excited about this pregnancy is at least half of what's turning me on so much. You will be the best dad imaginable, because you love me so well, and I don't doubt you have more of that to give."

He was exhausted, and your words settled over him like something he could physically feel. "I really am so excited. Today felt like a dream. I just want to cover the whole house in the ultrasound photos, and I can't wait to get another smaller paper airplane tattoo."

He felt your fingers trace his tattoo in the darkness. You knew exactly where it was without guidance just like he knew exactly where yours was. "You'll get it right here? With the baby's name on it?"

"Yeah," he whispered, starting to feel like he was going to doze off.

"I have a question," you said, and he squeezed your hand softly. "Earlier you asked when we can find out if it's a boy or a girl."

He smiled at the hesitation in your voice. "What's your question?"

Bradley could feel your heartbeat against his body, and he thought about how he had been able to see and hear what the baby was doing just a few hours ago. The beautiful sound of that rapid heartbeat that belonged to his child. 

"Do you care? If it's a boy or a girl?"

"No," he answered honestly. "Not one bit. I just care that it's ours."

"Me too. I'm happy either way." Your words sounded soft and dreamy, and he believed them.

"I love you both. Now let the old man sleep."

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

The rest of the week felt like a bit of a reality check. You tried taking the prenatal vitamins from Dr. Morris, but you threw them back up almost instantly every single time. "Just skip them," Bradley said on Friday morning as you threw up in the toilet when you were trying to get dressed for work. 

"I can't," you practically wailed. "They are supposed to keep me healthy so I can keep the baby healthy." You looked up at him from where you were sitting on the floor.

He sighed and checked the time. "Why don't you just stay home today? You're looking pretty green, and it's Friday anyway. Text Bickel."

Anger flared inside you. He was standing there looking nice and tidy in his khakis while you were on the floor turning yours into a wrinkly mess. And the reason for that was the fact that you had to deal with all of this shit. He just got to enjoy your libido while being excited about the baby. You really didn't want to start resenting him right now when you were leaving for Maryland soon.

"I can't just skip work on a whim like what I'm doing isn't important," you snapped. "I'm trying to get my presentation ready for Annapolis, in case you forgot you offered to help me with that."

He was on his knees in an instant with your chin in his hand. "Hey, that's not what I meant. I just don't want you overexerting yourself, especially since your work is important and you'll be traveling soon."

You still felt bitchy, even though he made you peanut butter crackers and took Tramp for a walk while you stayed curled up in bed for an extra twenty minutes. "That's right. I'll be gone for a week. I'm sure you're looking forward to having a break from the near constant sex."

You used the vanity to pull yourself to your feet while your stomach lurched, even though he was holding his hand out to help you. "Look at me," he demanded without touching you at all. You didn't want to, but you shifted your gaze to his face as he stood too. "If you really think that's true, then we have a serious problem. I'm going to assume that you feel the need to take your nausea out on me, and that's fine. I don't really mind. That's what I'm here for. But do not accuse me of ever wanting to be separated from you."

You pressed your lips together and just nodded as he leaned down to kiss your cheek. You didn't want to be away from him either, but you felt another wave of sickness rolling through your body.

"I need to go, Sweetheart. I'll stop and get you some of those ginger pills on my way home. Maybe they'll help. I love you."

After he left, you threw up again and fought the urge to throw the bottle of prenatal vitamins across the bathroom. Even now you were horny enough that you considered climbing back in bed with your vibrator to take the edge off, but you knew nothing would be as good as the real thing. And you'd have to apologize to Bradley before you could have that, and it would undoubtedly make you cry when you did. 

When you finally made your way back out to the kitchen, you found more peanut butter crackers arranged on a plate in the shape of a heart with one of the ultrasound photos next to it. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you tried to call your husband, but it went to voicemail. You listened to his raspy voice before ending the call and texting him instead.

I'm sorry. If you want Marry Me Rooster for dinner, pick up some chicken along with the ginger pills.

After you tucked the ultrasound picture in the new Bronco, you spent your whole morning sitting quietly with Cat, the two of you going over each presentation slide with a fine tooth comb. "Is that calculation correct?" she asked, pulling out a calculator. 

"It fucking better be. I did it myself. Months ago."

She looked at you with wide eyes. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you lied, anxious that Bradley hadn't responded to your text. Two days ago, you were having the absolute time of your life with Dr. Morris, and now you wanted to scream. "Can we just finish this?" you said through gritted teeth as Cat checked your math which was obviously done correctly. 

"That's what we're working on," she said smoothly, using her mom voice on you and making your nerves prickle. "Finishing the slides so we can spend next week practicing and getting our notes in order for all of these meetings and cocktail receptions."

The last thing you wanted to do right now was pretend you were drinking alcohol while trying not to vomit. Nothing about this trip to Annapolis seemed appealing. And you didn't want to have to try to hide your pregnancy from your parents if you drove to see them one night. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" Cat asked, and you had to steel your spine as you nodded. 

"I'm perfect." There was no point in making her mad at you when the two of you would be in close quarters for several days, so you rolled your shoulders and got back to work.

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

Asking Jake if he wanted to workout actually wasn't the best idea Bradley had come up with recently. It would be nice to have someone to spot for him at the weight bench, but if you were making his favorite dinner, he'd rather spend the time with you. 

"Fuck," he groaned as Jake followed him to the grocery store on his way home. Apparently he needed protein powder and didn't mind that Bradley had to stop for chicken. Of course now he had to try to discreetly grab the ginger pills that you wanted to try for your nausea. 

It ended up being easier than he thought since Jake took fifteen minutes to decide which flavor of protein powder he wanted. He was still looking at them when Bradley went back to that aisle. "Are you almost done?"

Jake shot him a nasty look from where he was squatting at the bottom shelf. "Listen, it would go faster if I didn't get hit on constantly when I'm wearing my uniform."

Bradley rolled his eyes so hard, he was afraid he'd get a migraine. "Keep it in your fucking pants. I'll meet you at my house."

Jake grabbed a container and followed him to the registers. When they passed a hot sauce display, he grabbed one and handed it to Bradley. "Get this for Angel, and maybe you'll get laid. Sounds like you need it."

"It's literally the last thing I need," he mumbled, but paid for it anyway along with the ginger and the chicken. When Bradley slid his credit card back in his wallet, he saw the corner of the ultrasound image he had tucked in there last night. He unfolded it and took a peek as Jake paid for his powder. You were everything. And the baby was everything. And he should have been a little more patient with you this morning. 

"You coming?" Jake asked, and Bradley shoved the nugget photo back inside his wallet before slipping it into his pocket. 

You were already home, and Bradley parked the blue Bronco next to the red one. Jake came careening into the driveway, stopping about two inches from the back of the new Bronco. "Show her a little respect, okay?"

Jake snorted as he climbed out. "You literally fucked the other car to bits. I didn't do shit."

Bradley groaned as he walked inside with Jake on his heels. The first thing he saw was you in the kitchen, feeding Tramp a treat. You had on some skin tight yoga pants and a little shirt without a bra, and you turned to him and said, "Can we talk?" He opened his mouth to tell you that you could have any damn thing you wanted, and then you said, "Hi, Jake," with a look of surprise on your face. "I didn't know you were coming over."

"Hey, Angel," Jake crooned, walking into the kitchen and pulling you in for a tight hug. Shit, Bradley forgot to text you and let you know he wasn't going to be alone. "Didn't see you at lunch today."

"I worked through lunch," you replied, your eyes on Bradley. "Are you staying for dinner?"

"Nah, just going to lift weights out in the garage with Rooster for a bit. I'll be out of your hair after that."

"You can stay if you want," you told him, but he was already heading toward the hallway bathroom with his gym bag. "Why didn't you tell me he was coming over?" you whispered. "I'm not even wearing underwear, and you left one of the ultrasound photos on the fridge."

Bradley quickly pulled it down and stuck it in the freezer on his way to get to you. "I'm sorry. I meant to text you, but then I got in the Bronco and forgot." Tears welled up in your eyes; he should be used to this by now, but he was not. "If you're horny, I'll take care of you as soon as Jake leaves."

You scoffed at him. "It's not that. I don't just want that. I wanted to talk. You're not just a gigantic, walking dick to me."

Jake cleared his throat, and you and Bradley both turned to see him standing there in his gym clothes. "I'll meet you out in the garage," he said with a smirk. "Take your time."

"I'll just be a minute," Bradley called over his shoulder, but you'd already started to open the chicken he set on the counter. "Do you want to talk now?"

"No." Great. You were giving him one word answers now. 

"Would you like me to get changed and get out of your hair?"

"Yes."

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

As soon as Bradley walked through the sliding glass door and headed for the garage, you broke out in tears. What the fuck was your problem? You didn't mind if Jake was here or if he stayed for dinner. You didn't want to completely discourage Bradley from hanging up the nugget photo. You just couldn't control your emotions, and you had zero patience today. And you couldn't stop running to the bathroom to pee. 

You decided to fill up some travel mugs with water and take them out to the guys to smooth things over. Tramp ran around in the grass as you walked across the yard, and you could already hear the two of them talking over their playlist as you approached the doorway. 

"Is Angel's ass bigger now?" Jake asked, pointing to the dirty calendar that Bradley hung on the wall and strategically covered part of with a post-it note.

Your husband shook his head. "Stop staring at my calendar," he replied as he added weight to one side of the bar. "And stop talking about my wife's ass."

"She's in a feisty mood today. You probably didn't even need that hot sauce to get laid, old man." Based on Jake's response, you were pretty sure neither of them had seen you in the doorway yet as you stood there awkwardly. 

Bradley's brow creased. "She's been a real handful, actually."

Jake hooted with laughter. "In the bedroom? Never mind, I don't want to know."

It took Bradley a few seconds to respond. "Can we talk about anything else other than my wife? Please? Literally any other topic would be great."

You turned on your heel and carried the waters back toward the house as soon as you heard Jake say, "Speaking of asses, you know who has a great one..."

They were out there for a full hour. You made what turned out to be perhaps the most incredible looking batch of Marry Me Rooster of your life while you stewed. Even your husband was already sick of you. Soon you'd gain so much pregnancy weight, your ass would probably be enormous. He'd probably have to close his eyes just to have sex with you. 

You froze as you were putting the chicken onto a plate. What if he couldn't stand the sight of you with a belly at all? All stretched out and weird? Bradley had probably glorified it in his mind, but you knew it wasn't going to be all that appealing when you were nine months along in the middle of March with stretch marks galore. You were already bloated enough that Jake noticed.

You were turning and looking down at your body when they both came walking back inside, out of breath. "Smells good in here. Are these for us?" Bradley asked, pointing at the waters on the island. 

"Yes," you whispered, afraid to meet his eyes. As soon as you heard his voice, you were horny again, but you didn't want to keep forcing him to have sex with you just because you couldn't help yourself.

Jake kissed you on the cheek, and when you told him he was welcome to stay for dinner, he said, "I'll take a raincheck. See you for golf on Sunday, Rooster," and headed out to his car.

"Do you think you can eat dinner?" Bradley asked you softly. When you turned away from him and nodded, he said, "You didn't have to wait for me if you were hungry. Do you want me to shower first?"

You burst into tears once again. "I don't know if I'm hungry. I don't ever know. Sometimes I just grow up. And I can't stop fucking crying! And I don't want you to be so sick of me that you'd rather talk about literally anything else with Jake, including someone else's ass."

"Whoa, whoa," he said quietly, spinning you around again. "I don't want to talk about anything else besides you, Sweetheart."

You shook your head and covered your eyes with your hands. "I tried to bring the waters outside. I heard you."

When you were pulled snug against his sweaty shirt, you felt slightly better. "Baby Girl. I was not about to get into a conversation with Jake about how I can barely keep up with you in bed. In order to keep my pride intact, I would at least want him to know you're pregnant if I'm admitting that you're wearing me out." He kissed the top of your head over and over.

"It feels like you're getting sick of me," you sobbed softly. "And you brought me hot sauce even though I can't eat it right now, and that made me so sad."

"I couldn't be less sick of you if I tried. I just needed to keep Jake off my back rather than let slip that you're pregnant, so I got the hot sauce. And it's completely my fault I forgot to tell you he was coming over, but I had a lot on my mind today."

"Like what?" you asked, inhaling how delicious he smelled even compared to the dinner you made.

"Like possible baby names and the look and feel of your pussy when I fuck you. Do you need me right now? Because I'm ready to go when you want me."

"So badly," you squeaked. "I'm sorry, Roo."

"Don't ever apologize again for wanting to have sex with me. I will be the one to apologize if I don't last as long as you need me to."

You nodded against him. "Well then I'll apologize for having a bad attitude."

"Do you need me to fuck the attitude out of you?" 

"Yes, sir."

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

Imagine how excited he'll be holding that baby in his beefy arms. Just stay calm, sweet Roo. The hormones won't last forever. Up next, we're going to Annapolis. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 31

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@wintercap89

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@chaoticassidy

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

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@noz4a2

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@little-wiseone

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@thedroneranger

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@horseslovers2016

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@local-spidey

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@mygyn

[sugarcoated-lame]

Lost and Found | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader | Sneak Peek*

Just a little snippet that nobody asked for from my single dad Bradley fic :) ❤️

Summary: When Bradley’s four-year old daughter goes missing during a trip to the mall, he doesn’t expect to find himself so taken with the pretty stranger who helps her find her way back to him.

…

You’re walking through the busy mall with a couple of bags in hand, all finished with your shopping and ready to head home when you see her.

A little girl — tiny really, she can’t be older than five — with curls a golden shade bordering on both blonde and brown, standing by the bottom of the escalator, alone.

Playing with her little fingers as she looks around the crowd aimlessly with unshed tears in her big, brown eyes. The scared look on her adorable little face breaks your heart, and you know you can’t leave before making sure she’s okay.

You approach her slowly, as if she were a frightened animal that might bolt at any moment, speaking softly so as not to scare her any further. “Hey, honey. Are you alright?”

The look she gives you was a shy one, eyes widening before she looks down at her light-up sneakers and shakes her head.

You can tell the little girl is apprehensive about talking to a stranger — smart. Kneeling down to be at her eye-level before speaking again, and setting your shopping bags down at your sides, you tell her your name and ask for hers.

“I’m Caroline.” Her voice is sweet and shy, a near-whisper as she chances a glance up at you, eyes still shining with tears when she lifts her head.

•

•

*UPDATE: The full story is up now! <3

Part 2 is also up !!

taglist: @wkndwlff @sebsxphia @chaoticassidy @dempy @ohgodnotagainn @shanimallina87 @mavrellover91 @memoriesat30 @that-bitch-bri @classyunknownlover @hisredheadedgoddess28 @foreverrandomwritings

Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed! :)

Tagging a few others who may be interested ❤️: @hangmanssunnies @rhettabbotts @sunlightmurdock @rosiahills22 @gigisimsonmars @becks-things @teacupsandtopgun

[astraljedi]

Bewitched (Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw)

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x OC

Author's note: This is a re-upload of an old fic/idea I posted months ago and rewrote. If you have any requests for anyone in the dagger squad, request are always open! Also, this is pure fiction, this isn't going to be 100% accurate and it's just for fun. Enjoy!

This is basically an enemies to lovers fic. It will contain a lot of smut, angst, mention of death, and spoilers for the Top Gun movies.

Warnings: Just some cursing and fighting. Spoilers for both movies.

Many people knew who Sadie was and the well-known family name she carried. When Sadie was a child, she was her dad's little shadow. Tom always had a feeling that Sadie would follow in his footsteps just by the way her face would light up every time they arrived at the base. How she always paid attention to him when he explained anything about the planes and the power they carried.

And on the weekends, after Sadie had all her homework done, her parents would let her join her Godfather, Pete, to work on his project plane. In the end, if the hard work paid off, Pete would take her on a quick little joy ride while the sun sat. Sadie cherished those moments with Maverick, he wasn't able to be with her every weekend working on the planes because of work, but when he had the chance, he wouldn't hesitate to let Tom know he would stop by to pick her up. 

Even though most people knew Sadie from her father and her close relationship with Pete, she built her current reputation by herself.

Sadie was determined, carefree, and maybe too charismatic. She was the type who would make anyone feel welcome and part of a team. She wasn't all about letting someone feel left out of the group. And everyone loved her; it was impossible not to. But, like her godfather, Sadie could be reckless, and, Sadie always craved the need for adrenaline. 

When Sadie got called in for TOPGUN, she wasn't surprised. She knew the type of pilot she was and that her hard work was paying off. The little girl who always hid behind her father's figure would've been jumping in excitement like a lunatic. She wanted to make that little girl proud. 

"I'm going to TOPGUN," Sadie announced to Pete suddenly while at his garage one Saturday morning. Maverick was visiting for a few days before he had to leave again for a mission to Iraq. But she needed to see him and deliver the news in person before leaving later that day. Maverick's eyes widen, immediately pulling her into a hug. "I hope you and dad could be there for my graduation."

"Me too, kiddo."

On Monday, Sadie arrived, and there were a few people with their claimed seats chatting away in different groups. "That's Iceman's daughter over there." Sadie turned her head to see a dark-haired woman pointing her out to the two other guys in the group.

"I heard a rumor from someone that she broke into the control tower after hours and threw a graduation party after the ceremony." One of the boys mentioned. 

"C'mon, Coyote. Do you believe those stupid rumors?" The woman spoke again, chuckling at Coyote. "But, if it's true and I had her last name, I would've done the same or worse." 

"I also heard some captains and other lieutenants are placing bets on who will end up top of the class," Coyote began. "You think you can beat Iceman's daughter, Hangman?" Coyote said, mocking Hangman.

"Oh, please." Hangman scoffed. "We all know she's here because who's going to turn away Iceman's daughter?" 

"I'm here because of the same reason all you are. I'm a damn good pilot." Sadie interrupted, standing in front of Hangman. "It's okay to admit you're intimidated, but that doesn't mean I'll go easy on you." 

Hangman chuckled, causing the little wooden toothpick between his lips to fidget. "I like you already," Hangman announced, patting Sadie's petite shoulder before grabbing a seat on the table next to her. "Let's see if that ego stands a chance up in the air." 

"Hi, I'm Phoenix, by the way." The black-haired woman introduced herself, extending her palm to Sadie's. Phoenix completely ignoring Hangman's last comment about Sadie. 

"I'm Hex, and you must be Coyote." Sadie chuckled at Coyote.

"Why do they call you Hex?" Coyote asked timidly, grabbing a seat next to Hagman.

"You'll find that out later," Sadie smirked. Phoenix patted the empty chair, gesturing to Sadie to sit down right next to her.

 “It’s nice having another woman here, too much testosterone in one place”. Sadie looked around the class full of unfamiliar faces, except one. She recognized that face from a picture Maverick had framed in the garage of Bradley’s graduation from the Naval Academy. Her dad mentioned something about his relationship with Maverick, but she never had the whole story. She did ask Maverick once about him, curious why he had Bradley's picture in his garage but never talked about him. Maverick gave her a vague answer, but she didn't push more on the topic once she saw his eyes flooded with tears. 

“That’s Rooster over there, he’s tense but he’s one of the good ones,” Phoenix whispered, noticing Sadie’s staring. “You’ll like him.” 

Rooster looked up from his hands, a bit nervous, only to meet Sadie’s stare. Embarrassed about getting caught, she turned her attention to the front of the class to the empty podium. “I’m not sure about that,” Sadie muttered to herself as the class was ordered to stand. 

After the little introduction from their instructor, the teams headed out to grab the rest of their gear and head out to their planes. The first day was nothing but relaxing. Phoenix and Hex were paired in the same group against Hangman for the first round of dog fighting. But with no surprise, Phoenix and Hex managed to take down Hangman's plane and his ego with it. "Oh, I like flying with you, Hex," Phoenix confessed once they were on land again. 

"Hex, you'll be the target this time against Rooster and Hangman after the next team lands." The instructor informed Sadie, looking up from his clipboard. Hex nodded, heading back to her plane. 

"Give 'em' hell, Hex!" Phoenix shouted at her before Sadie made it back to her F18. 

Up in the air, Hangman and Rooster were bickering, Hangman teasing him about his call sign and whatnot. "Hangman, do you see her?" Rooster asked, trying to change the subject while looking around for the target. 

"Is she even here?" Hangman groaned impatiently. He was still bitter from the previous round.

"Been here the whole time, boys." Hex chuckled as her plane flew up vertically between the two planes. A little trick she picked up from Maverick.

"Jesus!" Rooster shrieked, not expecting her to come from below them. 

"Are you guys done gossiping? or do you need a little more time before I take both of you down?" Hex gloated, disappearing from their sight again. Hex lays low and far from them. Hex preferred to stay low on her target; she liked to sneak up on them. Especially when they only looked up and to their sides. 

"Gloating doesn't look good on you, sweetheart," Hangman replied, signaling something to Rooster. "How about a bet? Whoever loses, buys the winner's drinks for the whole night." 

"It's a deal, blondie," Hex didn't hesitate at the chance of a good bet. Increasing her speed, Hex flew away above the pilots, catching them off guard again. "You just made a deal with the devil." 

Hangman increased his height and speed, leaving Rooster behind without a word. And that was Hangman, who never knew how to work as a team. Rooster increased his speed, following Hangman but staying below him. "Hangman, she's on your nose." Rooster was a team player; he liked playing it safe and sticking to the rules. And now, he was stuck with the most competitive duo on the air. 

"Oh, I see her," Hangman smirked, his fingertips leveling the lock on her plane. "I don't drink the cheap beer, by the way," Hangman said, a bit too cocky. When Hangman was about to lock, Hex increased her speed and lowered altitude just enough to pass underneath Hangman's plane by the hair, leaving his aircraft shaking unexpectedly. Hangman cursed loudly, losing his focus from the turbulence. Hangman cursed under his breath, ascending the plane, and leaving Rooster behind. 

Before Rooster could react, he lost her from his sight once again. Rooster looked down; all he saw was the blurry terrain underneath them. It was a bit too quiet. Hex tried to maintain the same speed as Rooster, camouflaging herself upside down from his plane. "Rooster, I think you should do a little maintenance underneath your plane." Hex chuckled, Rooster's eyes darting back down. Hex flew from underneath him and switched to the top of his plane, upside down still. "Bye, Rooster." Hex waved at him. Rooster glared at her, his cheeks turning red from the growing anger, recognizing the little trick she was pulling off.

Rooster was about to increase his altitude, but Hex swooshed underneath him twice. Hex spun around his plane, putting him in a trance. After the third spin, she pulled the brakes, jerking her plane right behind him while he was still looking for her underneath him. Hex centered the target on Rooster's plane and locked it successfully on him. "And that's a hit." 

"Fuck!" Rooster cursed loudly, hitting the cockpit's glass. 

Hex couldn't help but smirk; she got under his skin. But, she didn't forget about Hangman, how he completely flew away and left his wingman alone. Leaving Rooster with his loss, Hex increased her altitude again and searched for the remaining aviator. 

"Rooster, do you have a sighting of Hex?" Hangman asked through the com but was met with silence instead. "Rooster?" He called again while Hex successfully slipped underneath his plane as she did with Rooster. 

"He's dead, Hangman." Hex said, switching her plane right side up. Hangman didn't even have a clue she was so close to him. Hex mocked him. The plan was going smoothly, and Hangman didn't suspect a thing. 

Hex spun around his plane twice the same way she did with Rooster. Hangman pulled the brakes as she aligned her plane to his nose before she dipped underneath him swiftly and settled behind him. The dial tone from the lock blared like crazy through Hangman's plane and the radio back at the base while he was in a complete daze about what had happened. He didn't even have a moment to react to her maneuvers. "By the way, I don’t drink cheap beer, Hangman."

After landing back at base, everyone else was already changing from their gear into their casual clothing to head out for the afternoon. Some were tired, but others were ready to head out to the bar after a long day. Especially Hex, she was craving those beers Hangman owed her. 

Surrounding the pool table at The Hard Deck, Hangman handed Hex a second beer while the group chatted about Hex's trick during the exercise. "So that's why they call you Hex," Coyote announced before taking a sip of his beer.

"It's like getting them under a spell, bewitched," Hex added, taking a sip from her beer, which tasted like a sweet victory. Sadie looked around the bar searching for Rooster and spotted him on the porch that led to the beach behind the bar. "I'll be right back." 

Phoenix and Coyote watched her walk outside where Rooster was moping around the patio outside. "Was it just me that sensed tension between those two earlier?" Coyote speculated, looking at Phoenix. 

"I sensed it, but I didn't want to say anything," Phoenix confirmed his suspicions as they watched Rooster and Hex’s interaction from inside the bar.

"Hey, are you okay?" Hex asked, her palms gripping the neck of the beer bottle. 

Rooster gulped down his beer and didn't turn around to look at her. "I'm fine," Rooster stated dryly towards her. 

"Why are you mad?" Sadie probed, stepping in front of him to catch his eyes. His tall figure shadowed her, hiding from the curious eyes of her new pilot friends in the bar. His eyes were blank, lost and he didn’t dare to look at her. He kept his eyes glued to the waves behind her. "Rooster, please." 

"I don't like you, and I don't want to get to know you. Can you get that through your brain?" Rooster snapped, slamming his beer bottle to the wooden table at his right. "You are a dangerous pilot! Eventually, you'll get someone killed with your stupid tricks."

"What is wrong with you?" Hex raised her voice, pushing her index finger to his hard chest. "I came out here because I truly wanted to be friends, especially if we're going to be here for the next nine weeks in training," Hex added, pushing him again. "You can mope around and play the victim or grow a pair of balls and act like a decent person because newsflash, buddy, you're going to see and hear about me for the rest of your life,"

Rooster was stunned as he watched her walk back inside the bar. “He’s such an ass.” Sadie cursed, taking a sip from her beer as the group of pilots stared at her confused. 

“I can handle nine weeks”, he tried to convince himself. Rooster hoped he didn't have to see her again. She acted so much like Maverick; she needed to be reckless and always have the last word, like him. 

For the following weeks, Hex avoided Rooster around the base and at the bar. She didn't even look at him, but he looked at her the whole time. Her presence pissed him off. He worked hard to get where he was, even when Maverick backtracked his career for about four years by pulling his papers. And she, the one who had everything handed to her, also had to have TOPGUN. 

Needless to say, the following weeks were going to be long for the whole team. 

There wasn't a doubt that Sadie would end up being top of her graduating class at TOPGUN with her astounding skills. She wanted her father and Maverick to be proud of her, but without them, she wouldn't have found her true calling. Also, she wanted to see Hangman's face when they announced her name instead of his. 

Unfortunately, Maverick was still deployed and couldn't make it to her grad ceremony, but he managed to deliver some flowers back to her parent's house. But deep down, she knew it wasn't the best for Maverick to be present, especially with Rooster graduating third in his class. Or would have it been better? 

[smaptain-smerica]

Beauty School Dropout MASTER LIST

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V

[plentyoffandoms]

Main Masterlist ♡ Top Gun Maverick Masterlist ♡ Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw Masterlist ♡ For You Masterlist

Just like all my other stories, this has not been proofread, but please enjoy.

Warnings: Some swearing. Hope you all like it.

Also please don't come at me for not knowing Naval terms or their training. This is just fiction.

Gifs & photos do not belong to me.

Rooster's POV:

I had to force myself to sleep, even though my thoughts were keeping me awake. My mind was playing out the different outcomes.

We get there too late.

One of the other men are dead.

Nick is dead. Nick is so badly hurt that he can't come back from it.

YN hurt or dead.

Or myself dying. I can handle getting hurt, but I am not ready to leave this world yet.

I have no idea how much sleep I actually got but I woke up to Bob shaking me awake. He didn't say anything, which I am grateful for.

I didn't have long to get ready and to actually stuff food down my throat, but as I was sitting there, about to eat what little food I could, I realised I forgot my coffee and when I looked at the line, I groaned.

The line was long and I knew if I got back in it, I wouldn't have time to eat, but I heard the chair next to me get pulled back and a cup of coffee was placed in front of me.

I looked up and saw the tired but gorgeous face of YN smiling down at me. "You are a life saver YN." I said to her as she down next to me. I kissed her cheek quickly.

"I made it a double-double if that is how you still like it." She said.

"Yes, thank you." I took a sip of the hot coffee and instantly relaxed. I put the cup down and put my arm on the back of her chair and ate with my other hand.

We sat there in silence, just eating. Not wanting to really think about what we will be seeing later on.

But Phantom sat down across from us and looked between us and opened his big mouth.

"You two okay over there?"

"I'm as good as I can be Alan." YN said. I didn't reply as I was still chewing my food.

"What are you gonna do if he isn't okay?" He asked.

"Alan..." I warned. I know he wasn't intentionally trying to be an asshole, but this isn't the time or place for this.

I know he got in shit for what happened between him, YN and I. I just have no idea what his punishment was.

"I really don't want to think about that. I want all four of them to be okay." YN told him.

"But you have to look at it realistically. He may be," He didn't get to finish. YN stood up and slammed her hand on the table.

"Shut your fucking mouth. You have no idea what the hell we have been going through. No one here does. It isn't your child being tortured. It isn't your child that you are rescuing today. Those three men that are with him are his brothers and I watched them grow. Even if one of them dies, I will feel like I failed not only them but their families."

Alan went to say something but one look from me, he changed his mind.

I stood up and grabbed our plates and cups. "Let's go sit with Angel and the others yeah?" She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself down.

"Yes, that sounds good."

The two of us left Alan at the table. No one sat with him and he left not long after that.

Pete and Mike came in, informing us it was time to head out. We all stood up and went out separate ways to get to our stations.

I took a step but I felt YN place her hand on my arm. I turned to look at her. "Come back to me Bradshaw."

I didn't even hesitate, I pulled her into my arms and captured her lips in mine, pouring my heart and soul into this one kiss.

"You come back to me LN." I said as we broke apart.

"I'll do my best." She said.

YN's POV

"Let's go you two." My brother screamed. I rolled my eyes at that. No matter how much we grown, he will always be protective.

Bradley and I went our separate ways. I ran to the jeep and got in next to Mike.

"Only you two could fall in love again when there are pressing matters to attend." He said as we started to drive.

"The love has always been there big brother. Just two stubborn people is what we are." Angel snorted at that.

"I'll let you tell Dad when we get back to the states." Mike told me in a teasing manner.

"I wouldn't be shocked if he isn't on his way here. He still has connections." I said.

We went quiet after that. Looking out, watching and trying to listen for anything out of the ordinary.

We are a part of a small convoy. Our vehicle is in the middle. I started to get nervous the closer and closer we got to the compound.

I could hear our men and women in the sky, flying towards them, trying to distract them. Hoping that our Intel was right and that they were running out of ammunition.

We got informed that we were close and to be ready. I took a few deep breaths trying to calm myself.

"You know when Mom and Dad told me that I was going to be a big brother, I was angry."

"What?" Why is he telling me this now?

"I was angry her whole pregnancy and I actually threw a massive fit when Dad tried to get me to the hospital to meet you."

"Okay?"

"But the moment I laid my eyes on you, I knew I had to protect you through everything."

"You have Mike."

"I know and I want you to know that even after everything our Parents ever gave us, the greatest gift our parents ever gave me was you."

"Mike," He cut me off.

"What I am trying to say is, do not fucking die on me YN LN."

"As long as you don't die one me Michael LN."

I could hear over the comms that we have breached the gate.

Nick 'Sparrow' Bradshaw's POV:

Kyle, Jamal, Matteo and I were waiting with baited breath. We have no idea when help will be coming or if they will even reach us.

I hope they do before one of them come and take us all out.

We didn't have to wait for long. We could hear the screaming and the shouting as every single person started to run to their stations.

There was a knock on the door and we heard what sounded like a key being turned. Jamal was ready to charge at the guy and tackle him to the ground, when we noticed that it was one of the guys helping us.

"Let's go." He waved his arms at us. Kyle and Matteo stood up and got in their positions at either end of me and grabbed the blankets that they are going to use to get me out of here.

I can't walk yet. In the beginning I had no idea why I was their main target for torture, but all I heard was Bradshaw and LN one day as they were wiping my back.

On the count of three, they lifted me up and started to follow the man. Jamal was the last one.

I could hear the fighting going on outside. It was muffled, but we all knew that at any moment the fighting can make their way to us.

I heard footsteps and then the sound of a gun going off. I turned my head to where I thought the noise was coming from. I couldn't see all that well.

The beatings have been so bad that both my eyes are practically swollen shut.

"What is going on?"

"Guy came running at us. Darius shot him." Kyle said.

"Darius?"

"That is me." Came a new voice. The name sounds familiar, as does the voice. No it can't be.

"Darius Rezk?"

"Was waiting for you to figure it out Nick."

Darius is one of my Uncle Mike's bestfriends. They grew up together basically. They were Navy Brats. He was even one of his best men at the wedding.

I was going to say something when we heard more footsteps coming our way. The Five of us stayed quiet.

Then I heard it.

"Is that...no it can't be." Kyle said clearly confused.

"I think it is." Matteo said, also confused.

"It's my Mom." I said. "Start whistling. She can find us." I tried to whistle but my lip was swollen.

The four of them did their best at whistling the Andy Griffith theme song, but she heard it.

I heard her running towards us. Stopping and whistling and them whistling back. I could hear other footsteps as well.

We waited with baited breath as we could hear them getting closer.

"Guys?" We heard from around the corner.

"We found them. Bring a stretcher. I repeat, we found them and bring a stretcher." Uncle Mike?

I was placed on the ground gently as we were told to relax. "But what about.." Jamal trailed off.

"They have either been taken or been killed. We have checked every where." My Mom said as she brought something to my mouth.

Water.

I drank as much as I could.

Rooster's POV:

"We found them. Bring a stretcher. I repeat We found them and bring a stretcher." I heard Mike say over the comms.

"Yes!" I called out. I have no idea how they will be, but they have been found.

We kept firing until we got told to head back. I didn't want too. I wanted to land and rush inside.

"That is an order Rooster. You will see them soon." I was told by Pete, but as I was about to head back, I heard Mike again and what he said had me screaming out in agony.

"YN has been shot. I repeat YN has been shot."

Part 5 ◇ Part 7

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[pisupsala]

Of All The Stars in The Sky | 18 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 9.4k

Index | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18

Library

Chapter 18: You Keep Coming Back Like A Song

Sometimes, it’s like a high-pitched whine breaking through radio static.

Sometimes, it’s a rumble, like water in a big pot coming to a rolling boil.

Other times, it sounds just like an air raid alarm, like a time capsule breaking open of that moment of chaos and screams before all the sound suddenly falls still.

And then it’s back to that strange buzz, or fizz, like gas escaping from a poorly sealed beer bottle.

But it’s always there.

They tell you, you are lucky. 

You didn’t die, and the war is over.

Gently, you brush your hair, trying to ignore how distorted and distant the sound of the teeth of the comb sound as they glide through the strands. It almost disappears in the permanent noise in your left ear. Experimentally, you rub your fingers over the shell of your ear; you just want to assure yourself regularly that you can still hear something from that side. It feels odd. You can feel your touch but can barely hear your fingers rubbing against the skin. It’s like the touch is disembodied from the rest of you like it’s not really happening. It’s hard to describe the sensation of hearing loss: it feels like your ear is stuffed full of cotton wool, both dulling your hearing and filling your head with constant noise.

You feel strange in your own body. 

The fabric of the light blue summer dress sits uncomfortably on your skin. It’s the first time in almost two months you are not wearing something like a hospital gown. The bandages are finally gone. Only a few plasters remain to cover the slowest healing wounds at the creases on your left wrist, neck, and waist. They pull strangely on your painful skin; they feel awkward under the fitted cut of the dress. 

They said you were lucky.

The layers of clothing, your trusty, threadbare green coat, and the way you landed on your side protected you from the fire raining down. Or part of you, at least. You feel anything but lucky when you catch your reflection in the window. Hell, you’re not even sure if you want to stare endlessly at your reflection, pick apart every way you’ve changed, or look away and pretend what you can’t see isn’t there for a little longer.

Your wrist is the only part you can actually see — the skin is an angry patchwork, wrapping all the way around, crawling up your underarm as if the flames spilled down your sleeve. 

You know that the parts you can’t see are worse just because of how much they hurt. Your left shoulder, up the junction of your neck to your hairline, all the way down to your hip: the skin pulls and burns with every move, and the nerves and tendons scream like they are in overdrive when you make the wrong move. When the bandages first came off, you skimmed the skin on your neck with careful fingers. On the right, the skin feels like it always did — on the left, it’s like a flame licked its way up around your jaw, stopping just short of your temple. A chunk of your hair has been scorched away on the nape of your neck, making for a strange wobble in your hairline.

You never considered yourself terribly vain, but you burst into tears the first time you looked in the mirror in the bathroom. With shaking hands, you peeled off your gown, only to reveal what seemed to be never-ending, angry, red, and bumpy scars down your left side. Scalded, melted, torched. You hurried to get dressed again, sobbing. You’ve still barely scraped together the courage to see how badly scarred you really are.

On your nightstand, bottles of ointment, thick cream, and pain relief, a new daily regime. You have enough to start a shop, you think bitterly. But you are lucky, they tell you. The pain will lessen, and the scars will fade — all you need is time and patience, medicine, and physical therapy. 

And accept that you will never hear silence again.

Accept that your body doesn’t really feel like yours anymore.

Accept that the world has moved on without you.

“Excited to go home?” Emil walks in just as you button up your cardigan. It’s too warm to wear a cardigan in summer, but nevertheless, you tug down your left sleeve as you turn to greet him. He’s wearing a new uniform — sharply cut, shining chevrons. His hair is combed neatly. Emil doesn't look anything like the rugged and sullen partisan fighter you met years ago, except for his eyes. There is a weariness in them, a sadness almost. 

In the hazy hospital days, where your heart and soul spent endless days on a sunny beach dreaming about a life with Bradley, Emil dutifully visited you like one of his war buddies. While he brought them cigarettes and brandy, he brought you flowers on your birthday. He would sit with you and softly tell you about what was happening outside. 

It’s over. The war is over. We made it, Anya. Aren’t we lucky?

“More than ready,” You reply, smiling.  “I’ve been packed for hours.”

A small suitcase sits on the neatly made bed. It’s deceptively heavy — while you don’t have many clothes or personal effects here, everything that you had on you in the explosion was beyond saving a disposed — the thick glass jars of ointment and cream add a lot of weight.

“I’ve been meaning to speak to you about something,” Emil starts. He looks strangely guarded. He avoids your gaze as he pulls out a chair, not saying anything. You take it as a cue to sit down on the bed across from him, your legs dangling off the side, even though he doesn’t say anything or make any sort of gesture. 

You shift uncomfortably, your dress pulling on the plaster on your waist. Emil is staring at his fingernails. Swearing softly, you try to find a comfortable position, pushing yourself further back up on the bed. You can feel the muscle twitch in your left shoulder. As you lift your left hand, a slight tremor courses through it from the strain of leaning on it. It’s gone in a few seconds, but the dull pain remains. 

You don’t prompt Emil to speak, just looking at him expectantly as, after a few minutes, he finally looks up at you. 

“I wasn’t sure if I wanted to bring this up,” His voice is monotone. “But I suppose you have a right to it.”

Another silence falls. There’s a tension in the air.

You raise an eyebrow, following his movements with a skeptical look on your face. Emil reaches into his pocket, taking something out in his balled fist. Wordlessly, he flicks something in your direction. Quickly, you cradle your hands, the flicker of silver catching your eye as it falls. The familiar weight that lands in your palm is a comfort you had almost forgotten about. You thought it got lost. You thought you’d never see it again.

Bradley’s bracelet is blackened by the flames, dirt, and what looks to be dried blood marring the once shiny silver. You trace your thumb over the nameplate, every bump, and ridge exactly as you remember — it’s like a weight is lifting off your shoulders. You can’t keep the fond smile breaking out over your face as you realize it’s Bradley's birthday today. 

It’s June 27th, 1945.

Your heart feels full of hope. Like suddenly, everything you’ve been waiting for and dreaming of is so much closer. The war is over. You made it. Aren’t you lucky?

“Jesus Christ, Anya,” Emil sounds pained. “You’re not really -” He trails off as you look up. Emil stares at you, somewhere between disbelief and anger. You quickly wipe the smile off your face, staring back impassively as you quickly tuck the bracelet away in your closed palm, crossing your arms as if to hide the evidence.

“I’m not really what?” You counter, voice forcibly light. Emil rubs his hands over his face in frustration.

“I really didn’t peg you for being this naive,” He grinds out. You purse your lips, offended, but wait to reply. “You’re actually in love with him.” Emil accuses you.

You scoff, fingers tightening around the bracelet. Instinctively, you want to deny it, even if only because Emil makes it sound like a crime. But the words stick in your throat, and your heart wrenches. You are in love with Bradley; you have been all along. You’ve never said it. Not to him — you’ve barely only admitted it to yourself. Somewhere, wrapped in warm, hazy dreams, wrapped in the fantasy of Bradley, it was all so clear. The words came so easily.

Instead, you roll your eyes deliberately. Theatrically. You scoff, but can’t get the lie out of your mouth. It’s a transparent tactic; it's pathetic, really. 

But you’ll be damned if you admit you’re in love with Bradley while Emil is staring at you in wide-eyed disappointment. 

“What did Bradshaw promise you?” Emil’s voice is frosty. The temperature in the room drops to sub-zero from his tone.

“Excuse me?” You blink.

“What did he promise you?” His tone suddenly turns sardonic. “That he’ll come back for you? Take you flying? Take you with him to America - marry you?”

Your heart sinks.

“What do you take me for?” You bite out. It’s a feeble defense. You know you don’t stand a chance when you see a flicker of sympathy in Emil’s eyes, but it disappears in a blink. The pinpoint accuracy hurts more than you’d like to admit. The words reverberate down your bones, and you hate to admit it’s shaking your resolve. How many times has Bradley said those exact words? How many girls has he promised the exact same thing? A shiver involuntarily, like your body is physically trying to rid you of the thought.

“Do you think he’s coming back for you, Anya?” He spits out. “Do you really, truly believe that?” You can’t help but flinch at the acid in his voice. But your face pulls into an angry scowl. What does Emil know? Who is he to judge? He only met Bradley once. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” You reply overly arrogantly, trying to get some sort of upper hand in the situation. Wrapping your feelings in a shield of lies and diversion is the only way to keep them yours. 

“The ridiculous thing is you running around a war zone with an American identification bracelet on your wrist.” What do you think would have happened if you were captured? What if the Soviets found you with that on your wrist? You’d be halfway to a Gulag right now.” Emil is raising his voice with every word, thundering at you— he shoots up from his chair, unable to stay seated under the intensity of his anger.  Behind him, a stern-looking nurse looks through the door opening before turning wide-eyed and leaving without saying a word. You refuse to be intimidated by Emil’s posturing while he continues to yell at you: “Seriously, Anya, it’s like you’ve taken leave of all your fucking senses!” 

“But none of that happened, did it?” You counter, slowly rising to match his volume to cut off his tirade. The bracelet's metal is cutting into your palm; you are clutching it so tightly. “And now you’re suddenly trading in what-ifs? That’s rich. What if I got arrested with Bradl- Bradshaw?” You almost stumble over his name; embarrassment prickles down your neck, but you don’t let it deter you. “What if they had found the documents and weapons during that raid — that I stole for you and your cause — what would have happened to me then? They killed Eva for less.” You seethe. “You didn’t seem so concerned then.” 

You were left alone to deal with all that.

Emil looks pained at the mention of Eva and sighs deeply, momentarily deflated, heavily sitting back down again. Your heart is racing. He restarts, more gently, more pensive this time, trying to drive home his point. “I’ve known many men like Bradshaw. I served with plenty of them. The uniform, the charm — so completely aware of it.” He pauses momentarily as if to gather his thoughts, his eyes darting about the wall behind you. “And I’ve seen many brilliant, pretty, young girls, just like you, not stand a chance once they got into the crosshairs.”

“You make it sound like I was a puppet getting my strings pulled,” You assert bitterly, not ready to forgive his outburst so easily. “The choice was mine — I made the first move.”

“The fact you think that gave you the upper hand is just proof of how naive you are.” He easily dismisses you. Again.

“Oh, fuck you.” You exclaim, exasperated. “You are so dead set on casting me as the poor fool in this that you will completely erase my decisions. If —” You swallow heavily. “If I believed Bradshaw, it’s because I chose to. I took every step in his direction of my own volition.”

Emil opens his mouth, frowning deeply. You raise your voice, refusing to allow him to cut in.

“If it was stupid or naive; if it was all just a mistake — then it was my mistake to make.” You’re not even sure you’re telling Emil or yourself. “And don’t you dare forget: no matter what I did or chose to believe, the mission was a success. I got him out.” You are struggling to catch your breath, adrenaline hot in your veins. But the words keep pouring out. “You can sit here and judge me all you want, berate me if you need to — whatever makes you feel better. Whatever makes you feel less guilty. But don’t delude yourself into thinking I need lessons in character judgment from you.”

A painful silence falls the moment the words leave your mouth. That’s below the belt. It’s petty. It’s heartless. Jan was Emil’s friend before he was his subordinate in the army before he was his brother-in-arms in the resistance. Before he betrayed everyone. 

The silence drags on, and the ringing in your ear makes you feel off-kilter. You shake your head, trying to shrug off the noise, but it doesn’t help.

“I’m sorry.” Emil finally admits, with difficulty—his face wrenches in pain. You look away in embarrassment, finally uncrossing your arms, awkwardly pulling your left sleeve further over your wrist in a futile attempt to cover more of the scars. “I should have never allowed you to get pulled into the resistance this deeply,” He looks at you sadly as you blanch. Your heartbeat slows as ice pours into your stomach. “I should have never made the decision to leave Bradshaw in your care.”  

Taking a shaky breath, you wait for Emil to continue.

“I feel responsible for what happened to you — for what you had to do,” He swallows dryly. “You were too young, too inexperienced. You just hid it so goddamn well because you are too clever for your own good. Because you throw yourself at things which such confidence and conviction.” Emil shakes his head, the lingering frustration still evident in his movements. “I should have seen through it and sent you home.”

You blink away the tears that start burning in your eyes. It will just never be enough, will it? After everything that happened to you. After everything you did. Emil will never be able to see you as anything more than the little sister figure that tagged along, someone to project his guilt onto. He’s done terrible things. So have you. He’s made bad decisions. God knows you have. And still, he dismisses you without a second thought. 

You will never be his equal. 

The war is over, and as far as you are concerned, so is this conversation. You’ve spent the past years of your life in service of a greater cause, in the shadow of greater men. There is no glory for you at the end. But you got what you wanted, didn’t you? The war is over. You are free. Aren’t you lucky? Getting up, you brush down your dress to straighten it with your free hand, Bradley’s bracelet looped around the shaking fingers of your left hand. 

“Things didn’t quite turn out as I hoped,” A small, sad smile pulls at the corner of your mouth as you vaguely gesture at the left side of your face. “But do me a favor, Emil…” You take a deep breath to steady your shaking voice. “Don’t pity me, please.”

You’ll fight him at every turn if you have to, but you don’t think you can handle his pity. Or anyone’s. You don’t want it. Grabbing your suitcase from the bed, you finally look back up at Emil.

“I’ll see myself home,” your voice is even and polite. “Thank you for coming by and for returning my bracelet. I appreciate it.” With that, you brush past him to the door.

“Do you understand that whatever Bradshaw told you, he tells every girl?” All anger has dissipated from Emil’s voice, yet it does nothing to soften the blow of his words. “If he’s still alive, he has long forgotten about you.”

He just has to get the last jab in; lord your moments of weakness over you as if it will suddenly change your mind. As if it will undo anything. How petty. 

You turn and stare at Emil for a moment, the corner of your mouth still quirked up. Anything you will say now will undoubtedly betray how much his words hurt you. Reacting in any way will just validate his anger and your deepest fears. What if Bradley died? What if he forgot? What if he just stopped caring?

What if he never really cared in the first place?

It’s probably the coward’s way out. But you just turn on your heel and leave, gait steady, head held high.

The screeching in your ear resonates through your whole body now, rattling your bones and making your hands shake. 

But you won’t stop now.

***

It’s Christmas by the time Bradley finally sets foot stateside again. The journey home almost felt longer than the war itself. 

Everything is like it was before. Everything about coming home is oddly familiar. Many things changed, but so many things remained the same. The fat cat in the bar just off base was still mean; the diner still had the same menu, and every street looked just like before. The Christmas party on base is exactly like before he left: full of cheer, alcohol, and off-key signing. 

Maybe Bradley just sees the world with different eyes now. Everything shifted. Imperceptibly almost. But just enough to make him feel like he doesn’t quite fit anymore, like the place he carved out for himself in all those years of training, partying, and flying suddenly doesn’t fit him anymore. It pinches, it irritates. Bradley can’t seem to get comfortable. He really thought the feeling would leave once he finally got home.

At least now he sleeps. It’s enough to get him through the day. He still wanders around at night. He thought getting out of the claustrophobic confines of the boat would make the unease pass. That being home would make him forget the powerlessness he felt locked away in the small room. That the blood, the explosions, and the horrors would fade. But it’s only in the early morning sunrise, as he aimlessly meanders over the base or past the waterfront, just as the first beams of sun creep over the horizon, Bradley finds moments of solace. It’s quiet. The sky is clear, with only stars and clouds as far as the eye can see. 

No planes, no explosions. No fiery trails marring the horizon, no black smoke obscuring the first light.

It’s those strange early hours; Bradley feels he can breathe freely. Even just for a moment, he can relax. The cold air doesn’t bother him; rather, it soothes him. If time could stop, Bradley wishes it would be right then, and he could stay in the fleeting moments of daybreak forever.

But the world never stops turning, twisting painfully around him. The moment is gone, but the memories, everything he’d like to forget, anchor him in place. Alone.

And he feels his loneliness more than ever at Christmas. It had never been his favorite time of year since he was an orphan. Sure, his father’s friends and the Navy always ensured he had somewhere to go. There was always something to do. But the time of year never felt special to him anymore, rather an obligation at best.

The officer’s mess is decorated with loud tinsel — it’s obnoxious in its volume — the flickering reflections cast over the whole room. When Bradley closes his eyes, it almost looks like flak explosions during nighttime. Quick flashes of yellow, the rumble of explosions shaking the air around him. His grip tightens on the dinner fork. He blinks rapidly. Like a record speeding up, the cheery Christmas music is suddenly back; Mav’s voice is loud next to him, the smell of the dinner spread wafting through the air.

Dropping his fork a little too loudly, although the clang against the porcelain plate barely attracts any attention, Bradley slumps back in his chair. His wine glass is full again, the mess staff making sure no one runs dry. It’s Christmas, after all. 

That also makes it your birthday. Bradley takes a too-big gulp of his wine to stop the feeling of guilt bubbling up. Your handkerchief is safely tucked away in his footlocker, together with the things dearest to him. He doesn’t feel worthy of carrying it around anymore; he feels like he tainted the luck you bestowed on him. He doesn’t deserve it. But he also doesn’t want to — can’t — let you go.

“Rooster? Rooster!” Mav’s hand claps on his shoulder, pulling Bradley out of his miserable spiral. “Mrs. Simpson wants to know your plans now that you are home,” He half-whispers. 

“Oh,” Bradley looks up at the kindly lady sitting across the table from him, a smile on her face. In contrast, Admiral Simpson, of course, sat next to his wife, is staring him down. “Truthfully, I haven’t had much time to think about it yet, ma’am,” Bradley admits politely.

“Beau told me you started left for the war as a lieutenant, and now you are a decorated captain,” Mrs. Simpson inquires conversationally. “Surely, you have your choice of assignments.”

“I think I need some time to adjust and enjoy being back,” Bradley replies, plastering a smile on his face, refraining from taking another too-large drink from his wine. He never thought he’d get to this point — it just simply didn’t really occur to him to think this far ahead. After the war. But it’s bizarre not to have orders on stand-by, alarms going off, and scrambling jets all hours of the day. Where does he go from here?

“With his flight hours and experience, the test center in Nevada would be a great option for Rooster,” Mav adds his two cents. Mrs. Simpson nods with interest. “If he were to actually apply,” He shoots Bradley a look. “He could be in the air in the latest jet before the year is out.”

Bradley bites his tongue. Mav always does this. Still does this. His decisiveness and insight make him a great leader in the air but a shitty de-facto father figure. It’s not that Nevada would probably be a bad move for Bradley. But Mav completely takes out of the equation that Bradley might not want to go. And now he throws it out there in front of Simpson, Bradley’s superior officer.

“Rooster has proven himself as a pilot,” Simpson agrees. “He has the stack to back it up,” He adds jokingly to his wife, motioning to the rows of service ribbons pinned to Bradley’s dark blue uniform jacket. She titters.

“But I will respectfully disagree with Maverick,” Simpson’s tone has an edge to it now — there’s no secret that those two don’t really see eye to eye on most things. “Being a test pilot is exciting, but if you want to advance your career in the Navy, there are more valuable assignments.”  His sharp gaze settles on Bradley. “You should take this time to prove those battlefield commissions in non-combat. Hone your skills as an officer. Become a real leader.” 

Bradley wants to reply, but another voice cuts in before he can open his mouth. 

“I think you should consider settling down, Rooster,” Penny leans forward, past Mav, looking at him with a teasing smile. Mrs. Simpson makes noises of agreement. Pete and Simpson take a drink in unison, not taking any chances of arguing with their respective wives.

“I don’t know…” Bradley starts laughing. “First, I’d like to enjoy my first Christmas home in almost four years,” He raises his glass, hoping to change the subject quickly.

If only it were that easy.

Mav clinks his glass against Bradley’s. “Nevada — think about it,” He urges, voice low, probably hoping Penny won’t hear him. 

“The base in Nevada is out in the desert,” Penny complains, clearly overhearing Mav’s comment, turning to Mrs. Simpson for support. “Can you imagine? Nothing for around for miles — you need a weekend pass just to make it to the nearest city!” 

“That’s awful!” She agrees. “How is he supposed to meet anyone there?” She asks, turning to her husband.

“It’s a base, not a social scene, dear,” Simpson tries to do away with the whole conversation about settling down and Nevada, putting his hand on his wife’s shoulder before turning to Bradley. “The trial at Nuremberg has started recently. If you are ready to cut your teeth on red tape and navigate brass politics, Rooster, that is the place to be now.” 

Nuremberg? Germany? Europe? 

He could go back to Europe? 

Bradley takes a deep breath to steady himself from the onslaught of thoughts that are suddenly cropping up. He hadn’t even dared to entertain the thought of taking up a post in Europe again. His fingers itch. 

“You’d send him away again, Admiral?” Penny pipes up. “Bradley only just got back stateside.”

“Pen, darling,” Pete tries to cut her off gently. Although meant well, it’s not really appropriate to discuss. Serving in the Navy means going where the Navy tells you to, when the Navy tells you so. It’s the life they signed up for.

“No, Pete,” She waves her hand dismissively, eager to finish her thought. “Bradley,” Penny now turns to him, expression earnest. She’s worried about him. Simpson, who was just about to take a bite of his rapidly cooling slice of Christmas ham, is letting his fork hover awkwardly somewhere en route from his plate to his mouth in bemusement. “Think about it. Not even you will meet anyone in Nevada,” She continues. “And by God, don’t even think about Europe right now.” 

“Why not?” Simpson asks, genuinely surprised.

“Who is he going to meet in Germany, Beau?” His wife admonishes.

Where in the conversation did they agree he wanted to settle down? 

“An admiral’s daughter, maybe,” Pete jokes under his breath. Simpson coughs awkwardly to disguise his chuckle. Penny is glaring daggers at Pete now.

Bradley downs the rest of his wine in one go. He expects one of his superiors around him to comment on his table manners, but they seem to forgive him, considering the circumstances. 

“Excuse me,” He says a little louder than necessary, effectively ending the conversation as he gets up. “Admiral, Mav, ladies,” He nods politely before forcing a smile on his face, tone joking. “If we are going to discuss my personal life to this level of detail, I think I need something a little stronger from the bar.” 

With that, he saunters away. Posture relaxed, and pace unhurried, like he isn’t bothered in the slightest. He even playfully winks at Penny as he passes. But with every step, the ice in his stomach becomes colder — burning a hole through his bones.

Sipping on a whiskey at the bar smoking his second cigarette in quick succession, Bradley tries to get his thoughts into order before returning to the table. Everyone has an opinion on what he should do. If it weren’t for daily formation, PT, and inspections, Bradley truthfully would have no idea how to fill his days. Thinking about his future seems so overwhelming. Until recently, he wasn’t sure he’d even make it home alive. 

Now, his head feels full from the alcohol and agony. Nevada, Nuremberg, settling down. How can he explain that the only person he would settle down with is someone he was never supposed to meet in a country where he was never supposed to be and he hasn’t seen or spoken to in two and a half years? 

How can he explain that you are the only person he is sure he’d ever marry?

He doesn’t even know for sure you are still alive. He has no idea if you moved on in the meantime. Maybe you were never going to wait for him. 

It’s all too much to think about. He waves at the barman for another round as he presses his cigarette butt into the ashtray. Rubbing his eyes, Bradley tries to summon the energy to be sociable again before dessert is served.

“Hey, Rooster?” 

Tiredly, he looks up. Penny walks up to him, looking a little apprehensive. He nods in acknowledgment as he takes another drink from his freshly served whiskey. She slides onto the barstool next to him. Bradley automatically signals for another drink. Within less than twenty seconds, the barman slides another whiskey in front of Penny. Her gloved hand picks at the napkin for a moment. 

“I’m sorry, Bradley,” She starts.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” He replies automatically, smiling at her, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s a tension in his shoulders. Penny has known him for so long, that she sees right through it.

“I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that,” She continues, honestly. “It was just a bit of fun.”

“It’s okay, honestly.” He dismisses her apology easily, clinking his glass against her instead, signaling to take a drink, and all will be forgiven. “It’s nice to have someone worry about me in my old age.” He jokes, the corner of his eyes crinkling, shoulders relaxing just a bit.

“The old age of 31?” Penny retorts, taking a small sip.

“I’m surprised I’m not graying yet,” Bradley adds dryly.

“You’re not a young upstart lieutenant anymore,” She jokes, lightly hitting his shoulder, before her face turns earnest again. “I’m so proud of you,” She adds softly. “And so happy you came back to us. Pete thinks so, too.”

They sit in silence for a moment.

“The war is over, Bradley,” Penny continues in that same soft tone. “It’s a good time to start thinking about the future. Your future in the Navy and beyond that.”

“You’re right, but I -” Bradley hesitates. He plays with his lighter between his fingers. He can’t talk about it. He shakes his head. “I don’t know if that’s for me, Pen.” 

“It took Pete all too long to figure that out, although he’ll probably never admit that to you,” Penny’s voice is low, wistful. Her pain is evident. “Don’t go down that path, Bradley — it’s lonely. Follow your heart.”

“That’s easier said than done,” Bradley chuckles dryly. If he could follow his heart, he’d be on the first boat back to Europe if he could follow his heart.

“If it were easy, everyone would do it,” Penny winks at him as she flips open her cigarette case. Bradley offers her a light. “You already beat all the odds; you’ve already proven yourself over and over in the air. Forget about your next professional milestone for a moment.  It’s time to show yourself some kindness, Bradley.” Penny exhales a cloud of smoke, a kind smile on her face again. 

Bradley hesitates, swirling his drink before emptying it. Show himself kindness? Kindness to himself would be to forget everything that keeps him awake at night. Forget the horrors, forget the noise, forget you.

“I think they’re serving dessert.” Bradley pushes his empty glass away, offering his arm to Penny with a smile. 

Maybe he just hates himself so much that he won’t allow himself to forget. The swirling memories, the echo of your voice, the glimmer in your eye — it’s like shards of glass under his skin. If he were to pull out every single one, he’d bleed to death.

***

The haphazard pile of magazines is balancing precariously on the off-white side table. There is barely anyone in the sterile-looking waiting room; a few fellow officers are trying to make themselves comfortable on the hard wooden chairs, staring out the window, playing with a lighter after going through a pack of cigarettes, or just napping. The only real movement is the assistant, sometimes breezing through the room, everyone perking up for a moment, but she leaves without saying anything.

Getting a medical evaluation is the most tedious process in the Navy. Sure, it’s nice to have at least a place to sit in a quiet room as an officer rather than waiting in the overcrowded halls with the enlisted, but it doesn’t make it any less goddamn tedious. Bradley stretches his legs in front of him, trying to find a position where the back of the chair is not digging into every part of his flesh. He’s been here for an hour already. His appointment was 45 minutes ago. It’s a gray afternoon in late February 1946.

Bradley unthinkingly grabs the top magazine from the pile to alleviate some crushing tedium. He leafs through it, not really registering anything. Just going through the motions of doing something. He grabs the next. And another one. 

Only five minutes have passed.

Bradley sighs and reaches for the next magazine on the top of the pile. Life Magazine. He starts leafing through it again, skimming the large pages full of pictures. Nothing sticks.

Victory in Europe.

The large letters are emblazoned over the large picture spread. It is the first thing that Bradley really notices. He slows down, scanning the pictures more carefully despite not wanting to. What starts with pictures of people celebrating will inevitably turn into a report of the horror of the final days of the war. Bradley has seen enough of that. The images of the camps, the burned and bombed-out cities, turn his stomach. He can feel, smell, and hear them right through the ink on the page. 

It’s like his vision is glazed over as he goes through the motions — flip the page, move his eyes across, flip the page, move his eyes across, flip the page, move his eyes — no, flip back.

Bradley’s heart suddenly beats so hard he almost gasps for breath. On that page is a small picture—strangely familiar spires and towers on a skyline, thick clouds of smoke. In the foreground, a wounded man, clothes torn and splattered in blood, is being lifted into a truck on a makeshift stretcher. Chaos frames the man like in a Renaissance painting: the smoke, the people yelling, gesticulating. But it’s not that. It’s none of that. It’s the smallest thing. Negligible even.

At the bottom of the frame, right at the corner, a small hand is holding onto the stretcher: a ratty coat sleeve, the hem unraveling. The picture is black and white, but Bradley knows that the coat is that exact shade of moss green. But it’s not even that. Just above that sleeve, a bracelet peeks out. A chain too chunky, plain, and loose for any piece of jewelry on a wrist so fine. A round plate at the center of the chain, its weight pulling the chain slightly askew — it’s too small to tell if there is anything written on there. But Bradley doesn’t need to see it. Because he knows what it says; after all, it’s his.

It’s like a weight has lifted off his shoulders. You were alive. Feverishly, Bradley’s eyes fly over the text. You were alive on May 7th, 1945. 

You were alive a day before the capitulation of Germany. He tries to calm himself down enough to read the whole text, trying to find any other clue — anything about you. It’s hard to stay seated; Bradley feels like he should be moving, pacing, doing something. It’s the most energy he has had since his last combat flight. His leg is bouncing, trying to release some of the sudden surge of energy. It’s getting him annoyed looks. Folding the magazine over, Bradley uses his free hand to rub over his face, trying to focus on the words swimming in his vision.

“Moments before disaster: the old city of Prague goes up in flames after final air raid. The Red Cross reports… major loss of life…site of the picture leveled.”

The text is going in and out of focus before him. Whatever levity he just felt, the crushing weight of reality is coming back tenfold. Bradley’s leg stills again as he tries to understand. He tries to reason. You wouldn’t have died. You would have found a way out. You would do something clever, have an escape. 

His stomach churns. The dream. V.E. Day.

Were you really saying goodbye?

He thinks of you bathed in the sunlight. So soft, so free.

Unceremoniously, Bradley shoots up from this chair, tearing the page from the magazine before quickly folding it and tucking it in his pocket. He ignores the sounds of protest around him, ignoring his name finally being called by the doctor’s assistant as he decisively walks out of the building.

He doesn’t know where to go or what to do, but he doesn’t want to feel this pain now.

***

There are a few things Natasha hates. 

Cold coffee.

Wet socks.

The way her new uniform heels pinch before they are broken in.

Dragging her drunk lug of a best friend from a bar in broad daylight on a Tuesday before his chain of command finds out while it’s her goddamn afternoon off. 

Rooster has changed since he came back from the war. Sometimes, it’s almost imperceptible. He still sings, jokes, and basks in every sort of attention he can get. Girls orbit him as they have always done, and he smiles and flirts — but then it’s like the light in his eyes flickers, like a darkness is trying to claw its way up in him. 

Sometimes, it’s like night and day. Rooster was never reckless, erring on the side of overthinking and, if anything, choosing to stay put rather than take an uncalculated risk. But now, he seems to oscillate between apathy and what Natasha can only describe as stupidity. Today falls firmly in the stupidity category. 

The bar just off base is every bit as dirty and seedy during the day as it is at night. A drunken sailor stumbles out. Natasha is unimpressed. Serving with the Women Air Service Pilots during the war, she has learned that the uniform on a man means very little indeed. She has undergone the same flight training as her male peers, has plenty of flight hours, and has worn the uniform. Despite that, she never got the same respect. Which was, in the most unpleasant way, eye-opening. 

For all his faults and skirt-chasing ways, Rooster was one of the few male aviators who would speak to Natasha and her colleagues as equals.

Impatiently, she pushes into the bar, ignoring the several pairs of eyes looking at her hungrily. She glances at the bartender, the person who called her, and he just nods at her.

At the far end of the bar is Rooster. He’s hunched over, forehead resting on his hand, shielding his eyes from the world around him. How long has he been here? His khaki uniform shirt is wrinkled, liquid from his glass sloshed around his elbows on the bar, and his hair messy, like he had been running his hands through it in frustration. 

Natasha slows her pace. It’s not the happy-drunk Rooster that just tired himself out, outshining everyone in the room. 

He looks like he is grieving. 

“Hey, Rooster,” Natasha pokes his shoulder. He jerks but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge her. “Get up,” She encourages him, worried about his unnaturally quiet state. Bradley still doesn’t acknowledge her. Natasha is not in the mood for this — she will not spend her afternoon off cajoling a grown man having a drunk sulk into going home. Swiping Bradley’s car keys off the bar and stuffing them in her coat pocket, she grabs Bradley’s cover, forcefully planting it on his head.

That finally gets a reaction out of him, although it’s only a grunt. “Get up, Captain,” She hisses at him. When Bradley finally looks up, she immediately pushes his sunglasses on his face.

“Ow!” He exclaims, followed by a string of incoherent curses. Natasha makes most of the momentum, grabbing Bradley by the elbow and practically dragging him off the bar stool and out of the bar. She can’t stop — if Rooster gets it in his head, he doesn’t want to go, she can’t kid herself — there’s no way she’s making him go physically. So she’ll have to use shock-and-awe tactics at least to get a stumbling drunk Bradley to his car.

“God! Rooster!” Natasha is getting increasingly annoyed as he stumbles, nearly taking them both down. She will rip him a new one if he rips her new nylons. “Can you get it together for five fucking seconds?”

She’s this close to just dumping him at the base gate and having the duty take care of him. “Get in the fucking car,” She hisses, pushing him forward. Thankfully, he was predictable enough to just park behind the bar.

Bradley, completely uncoordinated, slams straight into the car. He groans in pain, leaning heavily against the passenger door. Natasha rolls her eyes as she makes her way to the driver’s side and unlocks the doors. She watches Rooster attempt to fold himself into the car, long limbs flailing. It would be funny if she weren’t so mad. When he finally sits down, Rooster burps so hard that Natasha flinches back at the off chance he is about to throw up — thank god it’s his car.

“You done?” She snipes at him. “Or do you need to hurl up that whole bottle of whiskey first?”

“Fuck you,” Rooster croaks out, leaning back, eyes closed. 

“Oh look, it speaks!” Natasha mocks as she sticks the key into the ignition. The engine roars to life. “So, care to explain? Or do you prefer to wallow in your shitty drunkenness in silence?” Rooster doesn’t reply. Natasha didn’t expect him to. Bradley is really good at pretending he wears his heart on his sleeve — but when things get too real, he clams up. She’s known him long enough now to understand he’s hurting. She’s also known him long enough she knows he won’t talk about it until it stops hurting, which may very well be never.

“Anya called me a shit drunk,” Rooster suddenly blurts out.

Natasha stares at him in disbelief. Is this about some girl? All this over some girl? “Well, she was right,” She scoffs, unsure what else to say.

“I never told her I love her,”

Bradley’s voice is soft, and for a moment, Natasha isn’t sure she heard him correctly. Killing the engine, she turns to face him, mouth hanging open. Rooster is staring off into the distance, a lost look on his face. 

“I left her… there,” He sighs heavily. “I had to — but I could have said it. I don’t even know why… I just didn’t.”

The sentences are coming out disjointed, but his voice is earnest. Natasha is stunned into silence. 

“And now I’ll never see her again,” Bradley’s voice is uncharacteristically small.

“Why?” Natasha is confused. Rooster is actually so out of sorts about a girl, the vague and dramatic statements — he is suddenly like a lovesick puppy. Rooster has been in love, he’s been heartbroken, and he has grieved. Part of him is always grieving. But this is… different. New. Raw.

“I can’t talk about it,” He groans. “About anything — Anya, that — that place. And I’m so scared… I will forget everything about her. She will forget about me. Fuck!”

His sudden exclamation makes Natasha flinch.

“I’m an idiot. I should have told her — that I love her — when I had the chance.” Bradley slumps forward, forehead on the dashboard.

“Rooster, Ro - Bradley!” Natasha shakes his shoulder urgently. He can’t fall asleep now. “Who is Anya? Where is that place?”

“I can’t tell you!” Bradley’s fist lands on the dashboard loudly as he pushes himself back. “I can’t tell anyone, ever.” He hesitates as if he’s already said too much. 

“What did you do?” Natasha’s voice is quiet, barely concealing her horror. 

“I fell in love when I shouldn’t have,” He grinds out. “With someone I knew I couldn’t have.”

“Jesus Christ,” Natasha mumbles under her breath. “So, what — Rooster got into Rooster trouble?” She asks icily. This is the strangest drunk mood she’s ever seen him in.

“Something like that.” 

“But then the tables turned?” Natasha shakes her head, voice softer. Rooster just nods in reply, leaning back again, eyes closed. It’s hard to be really sympathetic to her best friend in this situation — for every broken heart he left behind, Rooster always got away unscathed. If it hurt, he never let on. And if the girl crying in the ladies' room were anything to go by, there were a lot of broken hearts. But still.

Natasha has known Bradley for long enough. She’s seen him in the deepest stages of grief, consumed by anger at the world around him. Bradley lost so much — and because of that, he allowed so little to really get to him. Let alone admit that anything got to him in the first place. Rely on Rooster to always have a joke or a throwaway line ready to defuse the situation. 

“I’m sorry, Rooster,” Natasha finally concedes as she starts the car again, shaking her head. “You’ll get over it.”

***

“Dropped out of college, no typing certification, no secretarial experience…” Sharp blue eyes framed by thin golden reading glasses peer over the paper of your neatly written resume. You straighten your posture, although you could possibly not sit any straighter. Your gray dress starkly contrasts the colorful, tastefully decorated room. The floral sofa you’re sitting on is pretty but anything but comfortable. It’s stuffy in the room and strangely dusty. With every move, the specks of dust flutter through the air in the thousands. 

“Why should I hire you as the ambassador’s personal secretary?” The question is not unkind, to be expected at an interview, but the meaning is not lost on you. Why are you even here?

“I am a quick study, I work hard,” You explain levelly, hands neatly folded in your lap. The high collar of your dress itches against your neck. “I may not have the certifications and diplomas, but I have the work ethic — you’ll see on my resume, that I worked...” 

You trail off. The middle-aged woman sitting actress from you, not looking at you as you speak, stares at your resume unimpressed. You swallow. 

“I worked all through the war to support myself and my parents.”

The woman sighs, finally putting the paper away on the low coffee table between you.

“I’ll be honest with you, miss S-…” Her flickers to your resume again.

“Anna is fine, please.” You interject politely. 

“Anna.” Mrs. Parker echoes. “I will be honest — I invited you for an interview because your letter was well written. Better than most, more qualified candidates. You also have a commendation letter from the president for your service to the republic during the war. It has me intrigued.”

Oh. 

So you’re here just to be gawked at rather than seriously being considered for the job?

“And now that I see you…” Mrs. Parker’s gaze lingers on the left side of your face. “Well, let’s just say that you’re not likely to attract my husband’s wandering eyes,” She clicks her tongue. “That’s a good thing, trust me.” She adds under her breath. You strain to hear the comment. 

You don’t flinch. You don’t fidget or move. You’ve heard it all before by now. The scars on your face slowly become lighter — they’re not as red as they once were, but they are there. They will always be there; no careful curl framing your face or fashionable veil will fully obscure it. At least Mrs. Parker is blunt about it, you suppose. Most people just stare.

“You’re a tough cookie.” She continues with a smile. “I like that. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

“What would you like to know?” You inquire.

“Why did you drop out of college?” Mrs. Parker comes straight to the point.

“Because the Nazi regime closed all universities in 1939,” You reply stoically.

“Allow me to rephrase: why aren’t you going back?” She retorts immediately, fidgeting mindlessly with her pearl necklace. Mrs. Parker looks like a lady of leisure — fancy clothes, expensive jewelry — but it’s clear she’s a sharp mind. “The semester has barely started; surely you are still admissible.” Mrs. Parker’s gold-framed glasses glint in the September sunlight.

“It’s not for me anymore,” You answer simply. Of course, re-enrolled the moment you could. You just couldn’t even make it through the first week. Maybe you’ve built it up too much in your head. But sitting through lectures and sifting through political theory just left you feeling hollow. It was too busy. Too noisy. Too strange.

“What do your parents think about that?”

You blink. At 26, you didn’t expect that question to come up at a job interview.

“My parents are dead, Mrs. Parker.” You reply softly, blinking against all the dust in the air. You don’t really listen to the apologies and commiserations. You’ve heard them all by now.

When you told Emil that things hadn’t exactly turned out how you hoped, you could have never dreamed about the situation you found yourself in now. When you got home that sunny day in June, the pile of overdue bills and notices on your doorstep should have been the first hint that something was deeply wrong. You sent your parents money, but your father always took care of all the bills and rent. Everyone that you called was relieved and surprised that you were alive. But no one had heard from your parents since April 1945.

As the SS were withdrawing from the Red Army advance, they razed villages, burned crops, and executed whole families without prejudice. Your tiny, defenseless ancestral village was wiped off the map in less than one afternoon. The house you grew up in was no more than a pile of ashes. Not even the trees that you climbed as a child still stood. The place you once knew so well is now an alien landscape. 

There were no bodies to bury. There was no church to hold the funeral mass. There was not even a graveyard anymore. 

You commissioned a small memorial stone for your parents to sit at what once was the gate to your beloved garden and called the priest from the neighboring parish to say a few words. It’s all you could afford.

That’s the next dump on your ever-growing pile of shit. With a lawyer for a father in a high government position before the war, you never exactly had money troubles. But you were in the hospital for two months, and you still need physical therapy and treatment. The large family apartment is more than you can afford. Whatever money your father left you, whatever hasn’t gone up literally in flames with your childhood home, you’ve had to sink into paying off your debts.

It’s ultimately, ironically, you suppose, what brings you to the residence of the U.S. ambassador and why the ambassador’s wife seems to be grilling you for her own amusement. You need a job, but you can’t do physical labor. At this point, you would have jumped at the chance to go back to a factory if you had to.

You’ve already sold almost everything you still owned in the apartment, except for two trunks of personal items and heirlooms you couldn’t bear to part with. When you were younger, you thought you’d probably be married by 26, not living four to a room in a dorm with other working girls. 

Things didn’t turn out exactly as you hoped. But you suppose that’s also freeing. 

There’s only one thing you want. 

That dream. 

Bradley and the beach.

“Well,” Mrs. Parker recovers smoothly. “I think you can handle me being honest with you, Anna,”

You nod.

“You’re not getting the secretary job,” She announces curtly. You didn’t expect to. “But I require someone with good English, and I see you’ve worked as a cleaner before.”

You hold your breath, plucking at your left sleeve and pulling it down out of habit.

“This place is a nightmare.” She fumes, waving her hand around theatrically. Dust swirls violently. “No one has lived here since 1938, and it shows. But I can’t get the maids hired to do the job properly — I’m not sure if they don’t understand me or just don’t listen.” 

You wait for Mrs. Parker to continue, trying to breathe lightly to stop yourself from inhaling all the dust. “I’m opening a head housekeeper position.” She glances at you as she finally stops wafting new waves of dust around her. “You seem to have a good head on your shoulders, and your English is excellent. I encourage you to apply.” Trust your gut.

“Then consider this my application,” You reply immediately, motioning to your resume on the table. Head housekeeper is not what you came here for. You shouldn’t be doing any physically strenuous activities, let alone manual labor. The nerves and tendons in your left shoulder and wrist were damaged. When you put too much pressure on it or move it too much, painful tremors incapacitate your whole arm.

“How is your sewing?” Mrs. Parker inquires, tone businesslike. 

“Excellent.” You lie. You are awful at handiwork, but you will sew till your fingers bleed if it means you get this job.

“Perfect — my daughter will be joining on our posting here, and she tends to be demanding about the hems of her dresses,” Mrs. Parker leans back as if to signal that the formalities are over. “And I am particular about the necklines,” She adds, almost offhandedly.

“Understood,” You reply. “When do I start?”

Mrs. Parkers bursts out laughing, clapping her hands in delight. You crack a small smile in response. You really hope that was the right move. 

“Come by tomorrow to pick up your uniform and discuss salary.” She replies, still laughing. “You can start right away, and get all this goddamn dust out of the house.”

That night, when you are in your tiny dorm bed, you think of that beach — it calms you: the summer sun, the soft sand, and the salty breeze. But when you think about Bradley, you get a sinking feeling in your stomach.

You are not naive. It’s been three years. Emil was most likely correct — if Bradley is still alive, he’s probably forgotten about you and moved on. 

It’s perhaps for the better. The thought hurts, but you try to get used to it.

You can’t fool yourself into thinking, you wouldn't even dare to dream, that Bradley would still want you. 

Who would?

It doesn’t matter. He deserves to be happy, even if that’s without you. Tears prickle behind our closed eyes. You will get used to this feeling. Accept the things you cannot change and seize what you can.

You can go to Virginia Beach. Even if you can’t find Bradley, even if he doesn’t want you anymore, it won’t matter. You just want to feel it once more. It doesn’t matter that it was a dream or a delusion — it was the real in your heart and the happiest you’ve ever felt. 

Maybe you’ll finally find something you've been missing there. 

Maybe you’ll let the ocean wash you away. 

Maybe you’ll finally find some peace there.

note | ffff i caught TWO separate strains of the flu since the new year and holy shit it took me out. still here though. thanks for reading and reblogging!

taglist |@katieshook02 |@gretagerwigsmuse |@yanak324 | @helplesslydevoted | @benhardysdrumstick | @chaoticversion | @cherrycola27 | @roosterschanelslut | @notroosterbradshaw | @eli2447 | @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog | @m-1234 | @phoenix1388 | @galaxy-moon | @indigomaegrimm | @annathewitch | @kmc1989

[venombby]

OKAY so my app crashed when i was reading a fic and i can’t find it now

it was a ex rooster x reader, they called the dagger squad the avengers, reader got stationed in Hawaii but got hurt and was back to top gun after being cleared ???

that’s all i remember, it’s all fuzzy since i was just starting to read it but PLEASE help me

*** UPDATE ***

IT’S MISSION ACCOMPLISHED BY @fandomxpreferences

THANK YOU @forever-sleepy-sloth