#rooster fluff

[vivwritesfics]

Ignorance Is Kind

Seven months ago Bradley Bradshaw attended a barbecue hosted by Jake Seresin. Seven months ago Bradley met a girl at said barbecue. Seven months ago Bradley railed her.

And here she was at Jakes next barbecue, even months pregnant.

2.5K

Warnings: smut, fingering, marking, light degrading, unprotected sex, pregnancy

Bradley Bradshaw x Seresin!Reader

"Come to my barbecue," Jake Seresin insisted as he spoke to his little sister on the phone. "You owe him that much."

From the other end of the phone, he heard her release a sigh. "Jake, c'mon," she said. "Leave it alone. If I wanted him to know, I would have told him," she muttered.

"You know I don't like him either," Jake replied. "But he deserves to know. Plus, I want to see you."

She couldn't admit that Jake was right. And still, some small part of her wanted to resist. "Fine," she finally agreed. "But just because I wanna see you, too."

Jake let out a cheer, one that had his sister laughing. "Brilliant," he said. "I'll go and get the spare room ready for you!"

"Jakey," she said before he put the phone down. "Can you get some pickles and potato chips?"

"Of course I can," Jake replied. "Anything else?"

"Maybe some ice cream?"

Jake let out a laugh. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said and got him ready to run out to the store.

***

The last time Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw had gone to one of Jake Seresin's barbecue, things hadn't gone too well. Or they'd gone exceptionally well, depending on who you ask.

Bradley hadn't expected to meet a pretty girl at Jakes barbecue. He hadn't expected to bump into somebody as he walked away from the drinks cooler, a beer in his hand. His free hand settled on her waist as he steadied her.

"You okay?" Bradley asked her, stooping ever so slightly to look into her eyes.

She nodded her head and swallowed. "Yeah, uhm, yes. Yeah, I'm fine," she said and offered him a sweet smile. Bradley didn't think he had ever seen something so sweet.

He hadn't meant to spend the entire barbecue chatting up Jake Seresin's little sister. In his defense, he didn't realise that she was Jake's sister. He got her drinks when she ran out and brought over a selection of food from the barbecue.

The thing about Bradley was that he was irresistibly charming. She held herself back for most of the barbecue, waiting until Jake found himself distracted by some pretty thing that 'wanted to see the way he grilled'.

And as soon as Jake was distracted, she slipped into Roosters lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm staying at Jakes tonight," she muttered and she slowly moved in his lap.

Even as disappointment crossed his face, Bradley kept a tight grip on her waist. He shifted slightly and her eyes closed as she let out a whimper. "I think you should come up to my room with me," she whispered as she buried her face against his neck, kissing and nipping at his skin.

Bradley couldn't stop the shiver from running down his spine. "Who are you?" He asked through a breath.

The way she moved against him now, her hands running through his hair, Bradley had to get her inside. He didn't care about who she might have been to Jake in that moment, he just wanted to be sliding his cock through her folds and watch as her eyes rolled back.

She hopped off of his lap. The sun was setting and Jakes guests were still eating, but neither of them cared much. If anybody noticed them sneaking into the house, they didn't say anything.

She led Bradley up to the spare bedroom. He'd stayed in it a few times before, but that wasn't what he was thinking about as she pushed the door shut and popped her the button on her shorts.

Bradley salivated as she walked towards, hips swaying from side to side. She pushed him back onto the bed. Bradley could have resisted, but he allowed himself to fall back onto the bed. His hands touched her sides, drifted beneath her shirt as she climbed on top of him and attached her lips to his.

Bradley's hands cradled the back of her head, holding her close as moved her lips against his own. He'd let her lead, for now.

When her tongue began to explore her mouth, Bradley decided that he had had enough. He flipped her over, his thumbs brushing over her stomach as he pressed his lips to her own. She let out a whine from the back of her throat as his lips moved across her jaw and down to her neck. He sucked dark purple bruises into her skin, not caring for who would see them in the morning. She moaned out, nails against his back, not quite scratching the skin.

She pulled her shirt off and threw it to one side. Bradley immediately moved down her chest, lips against the supple flesh that wasn't covered by her bra. "Take it off," he commanded as he kissed down her stomach, making his way towards her shorts.

She did as he asked and unclasped her bra. The moment she pulled it away from her body, Bradley's lips were around her nipple, sucking as his hands pushed her shorts down her legs.

She whined and moaned, nails finally digging into his skin. Bradley couldn't stop his own moan as he released her nipple.

With her shorts pushed all the way down her legs, Bradley unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it to the floor. He got to his knees and gripped her thighs, dragging her to the end of the bed.

The first touch of his lips against her thigh had flames igniting through her body. She cried out, reaching for something to grab onto. But Bradley stopped her. He wrapped his fingers around her wrists as he lifted them above her head. "Keep them there, pretty girl," he said and kissed her again.

Bradley travelled back down to where she needed him. He nudged her legs apart with one hand, the other working to free his length from the confines of his jeans. He ran a single finger through her folds and a desperate whine left her lips. "Fuck!" She cried, hands coming back down.

But then Bradley pulled away completely. Desperate tears ran down her cheeks as she put her hands back above her head, just as he had told her to.

He pushed his finger through her folds, brushing over her clit. She jolted her body but Bradley kept going, pushing a single digit into her hole. "Please!" She cried, immediately rolling her hips against his hand.

"So fucking needy." He let out a low chuckle, finger completely still inside of her. "Humping my hand like a little slut." He withdrew his finger and pushed it back in, a second one accompanying it.

Bradley's thumb brushes against her hip as he used his other hand to stretch her out. She rode his fingers desperately, babbling incoherently. "Please, please, please," she cried, but Bradley could barely understand her.

"What do you need, pretty girl?"

"You!" She cried through a gasp. "I need you."

Her thighs were drenched when Bradley pulled his fingers out of her. He pushed down his jeans and climbed on top of her yet again.

Bradley reattached his lips to her own. Her hands were around his shoulders as she drew in quick breath. "Ready, pretty girl?" He asked and she nodded quickly, desperately.

She looked down, looking at what he was working with. Her lips drew in a gasp as she saw just how big he was.

Bradley pushed himself through her folds. It was slowly and gentle. Every time her breath hitched, Bradley kissed her. But the way he filled her, it was all consuming. She couldn't concentrate on anything other than the way his cock filled her.

He bottomed out with a grunt, his forehead against her own. "Fuck," she hissed, eyes squeezed shut. Nothing had ever made her feel like this, certainly not the other people she had slept with over the years. No, there was just him and nobody else. He was the only thought that entered her mind.

Slowly, he began rolling his hips. Her legs locked around his hips as he rocked his hips against her own. His cock pushed through her folds again and again, his pace building. "That's it, pretty girl," he grunted. "Feel so good."

Every nerve in her body was on fire. Her back arched from the bed, chest pressing against his own. The lines on his back that her nails were creating, Bradley couldn't wait to show them off.

His lips swallowed her moans, her desperate cries. She rolled her hips against his own as he hit every single spot inside of her.

"Fuck," she whispered as she pulled away. But Bradley swallowed it, his lips against her own.

Her walls clenched around him and Bradley squeezed his eyes shut, pulling away from her lips to press his forehead against her own. His breath came out in short puffs, grunts leaving his lips. "I'm gonna..."

But she couldn't even finish her sentence. Her legs tightened around his mid section, holding him close as she came around his cock. Bradley kept going. He pressed himself as close to her as he could get as his thrusts grew sloppy. "Shit," he hissed, her walls still squeezing him.

When Bradley came he slumped forward, his arms barely holding him up on top of her. His cum painted her walls and he kissed her one last time. Sweetly, deeply, slowly. It was nothing like the way he had just fucked her, nothing like the way he had sent pleasure crashing over her.

Bradley pulled out and laid on the bed beside her. His hand was resting on his chest as he stared at the ceiling above him. "That was... amazing," he said through gasps, turning his head towards her.

She sat up. On shaking legs she grabbed a shirt and a pair of pyjama shorts. "Where are you going?" Bradley asked as he watched her move towards the bedroom door.

"I'm gonna shower," she said and pulled the door open.

"Want me to come with you?"

She shook her head and Bradley felt himself deflate.

But that was seven months ago. He hadn't even gotten her name, but she was the best fuck he'd ever had. Bradley thought about her often. Whenever he picked someone up from The Hard Deck, he couldn't help but think of her.

When Jake invited him to another barbecue, seven months after he'd last seen pretty girl, as he had been calling her, Bradley jumped at the chance.

He was unable to stop himself from arriving to the barbecue early. The only one there before him was Bob. Bradley got himself a drink from the cooler and sat himself down as he waited for the rest of the guests to arrive.

Every time somebody walked through Jakes back door and out into his garden, Bradley couldn't stop himself from growing hopeful. It wasn't her. He started to think it would never be her.

He didn't know that she was in the spare bedroom, hand on her swollen stomach as she looked down at the barbecue bellow. She'd seen him the moment he walked in, moustache and hawaiian shirt the same as the day they'd met. She immediately remembered why she had found him attractive in the first place.

She had promised Jake she'd he at his barbecue, but something kept her in the spare room. Fucking pregnancy hormones. But she was craving potato chips. Potato chips that Jake had put outside.

Mustering all of her courage, she slipped on her shoes and made her way outside.

Nobody was looking at her, but she couldn't help feeling exposed as she stepped into the garden. Even in the sunshine she wore loose pants, a tank top hugging her seven month bump.

Bradley didn't notice her as he sipped his beer. He had long since given up looking for her. It seemed as though she wasn't coming.

But then she walked in front of him.

"Pretty girl!" Bradley said through a gasp as he stood up.

She completely froze up. "Shit," she squeaked and turned around. "Hi," she said, giving a small, awkward wave.

"Hey-"

But then Bradley spotted it. Well, how could he not? Her bump was huge; she looked ready to explode. "Wow," he said, swallowing nerves. "You look... different."

"Save it," she said and walked away, going to sit with Bob, Natasha and their potato chips. (She didn't know them any better than she knew Bradley, didn't even knew their names, but she needed to get away from him).

Bradley downed his beer. In two gulps it was gone. He placed it down onto the table behind him and strode over to Jake at the barbecue.

"Is it mine?"

"Huh?" Jake asked as he looked away from the barbecue. "What the fuck are you on about?"

Bradley's nostrils flared as he looked at her across the garden, watched her as she got acquainted with Bob and Natasha. "You know what the fuck I'm on about," he said. "Is the baby mine?"

Jake let out a dry laugh. "That baby is a Seresin and that's all that matters."

"So it's yours," Bradley said, his voice defeated.

Immediately Jake began to fake barf. He clutched his stomach as he pretended to throw up onto the grass. "Gross, Rooster. That's my fucking sister." He turned the sausages. "Yes, you're the babies father. Happy?"

No Bradley wasn't happy. He walked away from the barbecue, instead striding over to her. When Bob met his eyes, saw the fury in them, he stood up and pulled Natasha with him, leaving Bradley alone with the woman he had gotten pregnant.

"Jake is your brother," he said as he sat in the seat Bob once occupied. "You didn't tell me that."

"You didn't ask," she replied bitterly as she placed a potato chip between her teeth.

Bradley couldn't stop himself from staring at her bump. Fuck, she looked incredible. He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to look in her eyes. "Jake said its mine."

"It's not an it," she spat. "He's a boy. And he's mine."

"But I am the father, right? Like, without my sperm you wouldn't have been able to get pregnant, right?" He challenged. It was taking everything he had to not let himself get frustrated.

She picked at her nails. "I suppose so," she mumbled and laid her hand against her bump.

"Were you never going to tell me?"

She sucked in a breath and looked up at the blue sky above her. "You were a one night stand, somebody who's name I didn't know," she said. "How was I supposed to find you? And, what was I supposed to say? 'Oh hey, remember that girl you slept with at Jakes barbecue? Well I'm pregnant. By the way, whats your name?'"

Bradley sucked in a breath. She wasn't right and, by the look on her face, she knew it. But there was nothing they could do to change it now. Instead, he held his hand out towards her. "My names Bradley," he said as she placed her hand in his. "What's yours?"

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Hotter Than Texas | Part I

(unofficially: Brother's Worst Enemy)

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Alrighty y'all, this is for everyone who has so patiently waited for me to make this a thing XD Not sure if I could squeeze a whole series out of this one but we shall see. Maybe at least a part 2. Enjoy!

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.

Aka it's a road trip, strap in.

CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)

The mission is simple. Collect Seresin Junior from the train station near the main gate of the base and deliver said cargo to the Seresin homestead in Eastern Texas on his way to Atlanta, Georgia for a long overdue visit with his grandparents. It isn’t rocket science. It sure as hell doesn’t hold a candle to the canyon run he pulled off just the other month. And yet, Bradley’s drumming his fingers anxiously on the hood of his Bronco as he leans into its frame, waiting on the trolley from downtown San Diego.

While Jake and Bradley have recently made peace after their longstanding cold war, Bradley isn’t exactly thrilled to meet another one of his kind. Besides, he isn’t one for small talk, and the prospect of spending the next two days with a complete stranger is downright daunting. He prefers music to conversation and he’s hoping that his road trip companion won’t be offended when he turns up the radio and forgets there’s anybody else in the car.

When Hangman had asked for the favor, he assured Bradley that he was his last choice – which wasn’t exactly a compliment, but Bradley appreciated the gesture, nonetheless. By the end of the term, there was nobody from their squadron left on base except Bradley, and he would be heading east anyway, might as well provide shuttle service while he’s at it.

As the trolley whistles into the station, Bradley pushes off his car and straightens his back, watching the tinted windows as they zip by, a blur at first and then gradually separating as the trolley comes to a stop.

Bradley leaves his car to walk around the fence, not quite sure how he’s going to be greeting a person he’s never before seen, but it’s not like he’s going to fashion a sign for the occasion. He sticks his hands into his pockets, the breeze picking up his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt like a parachute before it starts whipping around his torso in the wind tunnel on the platform.

He glances around at the commuters stepping off the trolley, trying to pick out the blondes that might resemble his colleague, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns his head, just as you say, “Rooster, right?”

He blinks at you, slightly disoriented. You look nothing like Hangman, thank fuck, because Bradley can’t take his eyes off you and, as inappropriate as this reaction is, it would make it that much worse if you did. He gives you a sideways grin. “What gave me away?” he says.

“My brother told me to find the dorkiest guy at the station,” you respond, grinning at him.

Bradley chuckles. “So, you’re walking to Texas, then,” he says, stepping around you.

You laugh, struggling to redirect the wheels of your suitcase.

Bradley bends down to grab the handle. “I can take that,” he says, tucking away the retractable bar and lifting it off the ground by the strap.

“Thanks,” you say, cringing slightly as Bradley lifts the luggage as though you’re embarrassed by its weight.

But after the countless exercise drills over the years, Bradley hardly notices that it’s heavy. In fact, he could probably carry it over his head. He eyes you inconspicuously as you fall in step with him, wondering if perhaps that might impress you – not that he wants to impress you.

“Actually, he said I couldn’t miss you because you’d be a head taller than everyone else, and probably wearing a very bright shirt.”

Bradley looks over at you with a grin. “Hopefully I didn’t disappoint?”

You eye his shirt flapping in the breeze. “I found you, didn’t I?”

Bradley lifts your suitcase into the trunk of his car and walks around to open your door for you.

You give him a suspicious look. “Thanks,” you say.

Bradley nods at you, offering a hand to help you in. Once you’re seated, he shuts the door behind you and exhales unsteadily the kind of sigh that often accompanies a guilty conscience. There’s no way he could possibly get entangled in a mess of this magnitude. And a colossal mess it would become if he were to develop any sort of soft spot for his recent enemy’s baby sister. Bradley, being a sensible, mature adult, understands this unequivocally. But, when he rounds the car and climbs into the driver’s seat next to you, the notion that he’s not allowed under any circumstances to find you attractive flies right out his rolled down window.

This is because you’re already tuning the radio like you own the place and because you smell like a goddess. Bradley has no clue whether it’s your hair or your perfume or your goddamn essence that’s permeated his upholstery in under ten seconds, but whatever it is, he certainly wouldn’t mind smelling it on his sheets in the morning.

Fuck. He’s fucking fucked.

“This alright?” you ask casually, as if you didn’t just hijack a stranger’s radio.

He cringes at the stereo; he’ll have to work on your taste in music. “Got your seatbelt on?” he asks as he pulls out.

You turn around in your seat and pull on the seatbelt.

Bradley promptly hits the breaks and you lurch forward slightly, the seatbelt in your hand getting stuck on its way out. He looks over at you with an air of seriousness despite the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The seatbelt should be the first thing you do when you enter a vehicle.” Not fiddle with the radio, he adds silently.

You raise your eyebrows at him in amusement. “Okay, dad.”

Bradley nearly shudders at your response. He’s probably a good ten years older than you, so, really, while dad might be stretching it, you’re not too far off. “Keep up that attitude and you’ll be listening to Metallica the whole way home.”

You smirk at him. “I like Metallica, so joke’s on you, bud.”

Bradley starts driving again. “If you like Metallica, then why are we listening to this trash?”

Your jaw drops and you reach for the volume dial to turn up the song. “How dare you?”

Bradley rolls his eyes. Something tells him he’s in for a wild ride.

…

About two hours later, Bradley pulls into a small gas station just past the border into Arizona.

“Want something to eat?” he asks, leaning across the console to pop his glove compartment and pull out his wallet. “Or drink?”

You purse your lips. “I could go for a coffee.”

“How do you like it?” he asks.

“With a pinch of salt.”

Bradley gapes at you. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

You snort. “I’m not joking. You should try it! Cuts the bitterness in half, my friend.”

Bradley cringes. “The bitterness is why I drink it.”

You shake your head and declare wisely, “You’ll see.”

“That you’re a nutcase?” Bradley mutters under his breath as he exits the car. He jogs over to the convenience store, determinedly blocking out the seductive quality of your persuasive tone. You could probably convince him to drink a pint of his own urine if you set your mind to it.

Bradley drums impatiently on the counter, waiting for the clerk to finish restocking one of the shelves with chips. While he’s waiting, he glances out to check on you as if you’re a child under his charge. You’ve stepped out of the Bronco to stretch your legs and Bradley doesn’t like the way the two guys in the convertible in behind are eyeing you.

Bradley cranes his neck to check on the clerk’s progress and lets out a stifled sigh. When he looks back outside, he sees that one of the men has approached you and, well, Bradley isn’t about to wait to see what happens next. He drops a bill on the counter and calls out, “Keep the change,” to the clerk before practically slamming his way through the doors with the coffees in his hands.

Why it bothers him that some random dude might want your number is not of consequence. What matters is that Bradley gets rid of this asswipe before you start enjoying his company.

He strides confidently past the man chatting you up and stops right in between you and him, handing you a coffee.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he cautions moodily, not entirely sure how to go about handling a situation in which, objectively speaking, he has no real authority.

You meet his gaze with a small smile. “You don’t say,” you respond with all the sultriness of a blazing, desert sun.

Bradley’s gaze remains unwaveringly on you as he unhooks a pair of Ray-Bans from the neck of his muscle shirt and slides them over his eyes. “Ready to go?” he asks in a level tone, hoping he can avoid what is bound to be an unpleasant interaction with the man still standing behind him.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the man speaks up. “Didn’t realize you were with someone, honey.”

Bradley keeps his eyes on yours for several moments longer, trying his best not to show the irritation he feels at the way this rando just called you ‘honey’. Reluctantly, he turns to face him, wondering what in the world he could say that wouldn’t make him sound jealous as fuck.

But before Bradley could speak, you slide casually into his side, leaning on him like it’s the most natural thing. “That’s just fine,” you say to the man. “No harm, no foul.”

Bradley looks down at your head as it nestles into his shoulder and then lifts his arm to let you move in closer. Trying to play it cool, he skims the tips of his fingers across your lower back, which is warm and feels like the perfect place to rest his hand.

Convertible guy promptly departs, and Bradley is left standing in an embrace with the one person on the entire planet for whom he should never catch feelings, at a derelict gas station on the outskirts of arid Yuma, Arizona, and the heat is really starting to get to him. Slowly, you start to peel yourself away and Bradley, sensing your withdrawal, drops his hand and recoils from you like you’ve burnt him.

Did it feel nice pretending you were his girl? Sure did. Is he going to erase it from his memory and never let himself so much as shake your hand again? Absolutely.

Read Part 2

Tag List

I’ll be tagging the rest in the comments probably tomorrow!

@joaquinwhorres

@katiemcrae

@sehnsuchts-trunken

@toomuchfluffs

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@lonelywitchv2

@callsign-jupiter

@rosiahills22

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@mattyskies

@desert-fern

@catsandbooksandstuff

@Topguncultleader

@avengers-fixation

[simpforrooster]

actually, it’s captain.

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x f!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” he murmurs back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[notroosterbradshaw]

Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home)

about: Bradley's home just before the turn of midnight. After 15+ Christmases together, it's just sometimes lovely to reminisce about life before the babies wake and the madness ensues.

word count: 6k

warnings: nsfw 18+, language, pure fluff, smut.

a/n: I haven't had a lot of time to put this together the way I would have liked, I will quietly edit after xmas to put some more time into this... hopefully. otherwise, please enjoy and have yourself a merry little something if you feel that way inclined x

masterlist.

It was so late. 

Bradley was so late.

A late arrival to base, mandatory debrief, it was a shitshow of delay after delay from his three-month deployment but coming home to see the house dark, he knew you’d given up and headed to bed. “Fuck,” he muttered to himself, quietly dropping his duffel bag at the front door but ears pricked up to hear Christmas music – Eagles, Please Come Home for Christmas – and he could swear, you singing gently with Don Henley. The sweetest sound even if you were the first to admit your voice was reminiscent of nails on a blackboard.

Untrue. It was like pure honey from the hive and he couldn’t get enough.

Chewing his lip in anticipation as he quietly unlaced his boots, he wandered into the dim living room, only lit by the glow of the fading white lights on the tree and carefully curated tea lights flickering on the fireplace. But he couldn’t interrupt the revelry as you danced gently around the tree you were trimming, one hand adjusting a decoration, the glass piano that once belonged to his old man, and a balloon of Pinot Noir in the other. He watched as you took a delicate sip, the floor around the tree littered with beautifully wrapped gifts and the stockings full of candies and odds and ends.

It really was a picture. You curated magic.

If he knew you, and he knew you so well, the tree would have been up on Thanksgiving evening and perfected every night until now, Christmas Eve. So beautiful in what little you wore, one of his many threadbare old Navy tees and maybe some undies underneath for modesty, or maybe not, he hoped. The reflection of the lights danced against your bare skin on display that had him swallow rough, and like most instances in your presence, hard. So hard. Three months without your touch, taste and sweet voice hard.

“Hi,” Bradley said finally, as you jolted slightly and looked in his direction, a smile growing on your face as he made his way to you, steadfast as he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his forehead against yours. 

“Hi,” you said simply, even though you had a thousand things you wanted to tell him. “Merry Christmas, Bradley,” you said as he smiled softly at you, grasping your cheek in his calloused palm and searching your face intently – looking for anything that may have changed, confident in his recall he could never forget one feature on your divine face. 

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t think you’d make it,” you confided delicately. And honestly? Neither did he. 

He looked at his watch. “With moments to spare,” he said, amber eyes dancing mischievously. “God, I missed you,” he breathed, your delicate perfume grounding him, ridding away his sea legs. “May I?” he nodded towards the wine in your hand, and you gratefully passed it to him. “Like this,” he told you. “Glass for me?”

You made a face. “Like, six hours ago… maybe?” 

He grinned. “That good, huh?”

“I’m sorry, but you were so late.”

“So late,” he mocked, bobbing to put the glass on the coffee table.   

“And yet you still haven’t kissed me,” you mumbled.

He huffed a gentle laugh and did exactly what was expected of him. Three months away from your soft lips, and sparkling eyes as he pulled you closer to him with a firm hand on your lower back. Three months of fantasising what this moment would feel like even though it had happened dozens of times before. How slick your tongue was against his and it reminded him of the soft-spoken, even shy freshman he met in college in his sophomore year. The first time your eyes met in the dorm hall as you dragged your suitcases behind you, looking for room numbers and coming up short. So small in the ocean of chaos.

Bradley had no reason to go over and ask if he could help you. Leave the conversation with friends about, he reckoned, the Phillies… Countless students were struggling with the same problems, but you? Magnetic. No one else mattered, it was like no one else in the universe existed. And still… now? Aside from your beautiful daughters, maybe no one else did either.

That’s how Bradley Bradshaw’s kiss made you feel after all these years. The man who could have any woman he wanted, and those who still felt entitled to try and sway his attention on the infrequent nights out you shared. 

And just like the boy you fell in love with, his firm hands skimmed the fabric of the tee. You felt a warm palm against your hip and drift to your thigh and of course, his intended destination, against your bare ass – “Perfect,” he breathed against your lips.

You weren’t sure when he’d started dancing with you, his hips slowly guiding you to whatever song was in the background, now you weren’t so sure because all there was was him.

As he kissed and moved you, he whispered if his girls were asleep… that no one was about to wander in from their bedroom. And as much as he wanted to see his babies, his gorgeous girls, he needed their mother more and he would eagerly see them tomorrow morning.  

“Upstairs,” you told him, and he knew that meant homecoming was less raucous than it was when you were both a little young and dumber. No fucking on the couch or your back pressed up against the wall, your thigh in his calloused palm and his slacks dropped to his ankles the second he walked in. Those days were gone, greeting each other so much softer.

You weren’t entirely surprised when his hand smoothed from your side and drifted between your thighs to your delicate core. He tenderly pressed his soft lips into your pulse as his long, slender index finger tenderly skimmed the smooth skin of your pussy. “You feel good,” he breathed gently, so conscious of his voice raising and bringing the kids’ attention downstairs. “I want you. I’ve missed you, sweetheart,” he moved to your lips again and he kissed you the way he did when you first started seeing each other. The way his tongue flicked against your lip, tracing with an edge of demand as you gave in, willingly falling under his spell and kissing him back with the same ferocity.

His strong thigh pressed against your core, and you gasped against his lips, the rough material of his uniform making you heady as he tilted you that little further to almost ride him. 

“Not here,” you told him, guiding his pout to your mouth and leading him by the hand to your bedroom, the master bed, your sanctuary and sometimes the loneliest room in the world when Bradley was away. 

Bradley wasn’t surprised to see a few candles lit in the bedroom either. As you got older, your need for romance seemed to have crept through with the solitude that came along with a husband who served and two little girls who ran you off your feet every day. Bradley, a romantic at heart, unleashed some of the sweetest things that had ever happened to you. He was always big on flowers, and planning sweet dates but physical touch was his love language. 

He was a hand holder, he liked that you were the right height he could rest his lips against your temple and kiss you when close, skilled hands and massage. But it all meant so little in comparison to him holding you tightly in his arms. Something over the years you missed dearly when he was absent, you never felt safer than feeling his warm palm pressed into your lower back, the way his brawny arm would curl around your waist and tuck you into his side.

You were the other’s missing piece and so lucky to have met each other so early in life. 

“Too young to fall in love, too young to get married,” Bradley reiterated all the things you heard all those years ago. “Too young to start a family.”

“They may have been right about the last part.” At 23 and in over your head with a newborn and a husband dedicating his career to defending the country was one thing, it was one of the hardest things you’d ever thrown yourself into, leaving family to move where Bradley’s job required. The other military wives took you under their wing, (s)mothering where they could. And you were so proud of all of Bradley’s achievements, but it didn’t cure the sad nights of solitude once the kids went to bed, and you had time to think about how hard it all is to do alone. 

Bradley huffed a laugh into your ear. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t change anything now.” 

“They never thought we’d last,” you rolled your eyes like you did every time you two embarked on this quiet joke that was now at everyone else who didn’t believe expense.  

“Like I told you. From the moment I met you, it was forever,” he pulled you towards the bed, lightly tossing you towards the pillows with little effort on his behalf, you gave him a look as you adjusted against the soft pillows. “Was I wrong?”

“You’ve been very convincing,” you teased as he playfully rolled his eyes.

“In what way?” he played along.

“Well, you’re a wonderful father.”

He hummed, as he began on the buttons of his shirt. How were you supposed to continue when he was playing a strategic game of rendering his wife speechless? After 15 or so years, his body was more impressive now than the day you met him. It was almost criminal. 

When you met him, a gangly 21-year-old boy who was endeavouring to improve himself, prepare himself for the rigours of being a pilot for the navy. Gym, protein shakes, gym, school. It had been quite a development, watching Bradley grow into the man he is today.

…and you got to reap every single benefit. 

“Just a good dad? Shit…”

“An amazing father and from what I can gather, a pretty fantastic leader.” 

“Captain, Mrs Bradshaw,” he corrected. “But I’ll overlook it this time.” 

You rolled your eyes again, watching his nimble fingers get to the last button and push back the material to – disappointing. An undershirt. He tossed his shirt at you gently, his cologne wafting over your senses. “How many layers you got there, Captain Bradshaw?” 

Eyebrow raised; he kept your gaze as he stripped the second layer that kept you from his golden skin. “Better?”

You didn’t hide your shallow breath. Because yes, your man was only getting finer as he got older. The precision of his well-defined muscles glowing by candlelight, the smattering of freckles across his shoulders and broad chest, abs, abdominals, abs – they seemed to go on and your favourite, his Adonis belt. May as well have been named the Bradley Belt for all you cared, because his was spectacular. You reached the familiar logo of his boxer briefs and slender hips. The snail trail that led to the jackpot. “Better,” you confirmed as he moved to his belt, slacks and zip. “More,” you replied. “I’m practically naked here.”

Bradley’s lip quirked. “I think that tee you’re wearing is at least 10 years old.”

“Sue me, it smells like you when you’re away,” you sniped as he winked cheekily and stepped out of his dropped pants, approaching the bed. 

“I hope you’ve washed it after three months.”

Three months. But yes, you’d begrudgingly washed it. But it was still nice to be wrapped up in something that belonged to him when it wasn’t his arms to keep you safe. “Would have been better if you were here…”

“I know, sweetheart,” he sighed, making his way to the bed and crawling over to you, resting his cheek on your breast, tightening a grasp around your waist. “God, I missed you.”

Smoothing his curls, you tenderly kissed his temple. “No way as much as I did, Bradley.” 

“Were the girls good?” 

“They had their moments, but they’re nearly teenagers…”

“I can’t believe I’m gonna have to start fending dudes off at the door,” Bradley pinched the bridge of his nose, not wanting to believe his baby girls were growing so quickly. Violet was in Grade 7 and Olivia Grade 5. It was hard to miss so much of their lives and sometimes felt like lifetimes between his time at home. But he’d reconciled he would do more time on dry land this year, taking up a training facilitator role on base for new Top Gun recruits. You’d spoken about it for so long and now it looked like he was getting his opportunity to make Friday night basketball games, and swimming on Saturday mornings and whatever else was expected of him. 

“Not long now,” you had to agree but as much as you wanted to tell him everything he’d missed that couldn’t be fit into the couple of minutes you managed to get him every once in a while, you were so desperate for your husband, you didn’t want to play the polite game. “Bradley?”

He hummed again. 

“I want you.” 

Looking up at you, he ran his slick tongue over his top lip. “Well, ma’am, I guess I’d better get to work, huh?” his grin was wet, and he reached to kiss you, so tender and sweet but you knew it was laced with so much more as he rolled you beneath him, propping himself on an elbow and using his free palm to raise your thigh over his hip. His kisses were so good, and you knew you were a keening mess for him… when weren’t you?  

Gasping into his mouth as he lightly walked his fingers to your core, he was bold and spread your lips, taking your arousal, sticky and warm, he pressed your clit and started to rub, just so to relax you. You melted beneath him. After all these years, he knew exactly how to make you a bag of bones. He didn’t need to ask as he pressed his long index finger in, never once breaking the kiss, just increasing the intensity. 

Making out with Bradley while he fingered you. He was going old school. Those days before you slept with him, you’d be tangled together on your shitty single bed, grinding against the other. The first time he dared touch you, how he asked so sweetly if he could try and make you cum, to finger you. When you gave him a shaky yes in reply and opened your legs to him as he slid his long fingers under the waist of your tights, his soft eyes reassuring the panic that washed over you, kissing you tenderly and promising against your lips that he’d stop if you wanted him too. You told him you wanted to because he was Bradley and you’d never met anyone like him, you’d never felt the things he was making you feel. Maybe you had something to prove – to him, to you? You weren’t sure but as Bradley’s big hands slowly tugged your tights down your legs, carelessly discarding them and seeing those pretty pink undies soaked through with your excitement, he breathed, scared he’d cum before he’d touched you. He dared to sweep your undies to the side, your pretty pussy bare and glistening for him. 

He did that, he made you that wet, he thought proudly. He was so excited and popped the button on his jeans, needing to relieve some friction and moved to coax you under his arm, his nose nuzzling against yours. 

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable or if I need to stop,” he breathed, his gentle rasp calming you as you softly gripped his wrist. 

This wasn’t the first time you’d done this, but with Bradley, it was like you’d never been touched before. He ignited sparks in you that you’d never felt before, no one else’s fingers did this… not even your own. 

“You’re beautiful,” he told you as you pulled a pillow over your eyes, so shy, so bashful. He tossed away the pillow and kissed you, his hand tracing down the side of your body and index finger gathering your excitement to coat your labia and clit. He started slow and asked if you touched yourself or if you had toys. And yes, you had a vibrator that gave you a pretty good impression of what you liked but this was already wildly exceeding anything the vibe brought to the table. “Do you like this?” he was so considerate and when you hitched a breath and told him ‘faster’, the keenness to learn you clouded over and his façade darkened, turned on by you telling him what you liked and he slid another finger into you, trying not to blow his load as you started to cry out, his thumb passing on your thrumming clit and shamed, you held back how much you really wanted to come alive for him.

You knew you couldn’t bite back your moans of pleasure, and as he laughed into your skin, he reached and lifted your sweater and bra, dragging his mouth down to your pretty tits, lapping and licking and sucking as you started the shudder below him. You clawed at his wrist that was buried within you and grinding against you as he toyed with your tits more, kneading and sucking harder. He was gonna blow his load before you even touched him. 

“Oh, Bradley,” your voice was so sweet as you fucked into his hand, quivering and sensitive and wet and desperate as you came. Everything all at once. 

“You’re so sexy,” he crooned with his deep rasp. “I’ve never seen someone cum like this…” He kissed you deeply as you felt the last bursts of electricity flow through your body before flopping into the mattress and urgently pushing his fingers away, too sensitive. He smiled against your lips and told you it was okay, he loved seeing you lose control. 

After you’d cum, and you nervously asked him if you could give him a hand job to return the favour or whatever, he knew he was in love. Young and dumb and no one could tell him differently. How he got to his back and watched as you drag his jeans off and pull down his boxers, his cock so hard, weeping precum. “Tell me if I hurt you,” you mumbled, the most nervous you’d been. “Or if you don’t like it.” 

“You could never hurt me,” he hissed as you used both soft hands to wrap around his length. “That is so fuckin’ good, baby,” he managed, head sinking back into your fluffy pillows, imagining if he was to die tomorrow, he’d die happy. And as he wrapped his hand around yours, showing you the tempo he preferred, he almost came as your wet mouth wrapped around the head of his cock without warning. “Oh, shit,” he hissed unprepared, trying not to fuck your face, his hips wild. He had never been so turned on. 

He’d dated and slept with a few girls, and had a few blowjobs but nothing, nothing felt like this, and he buried his big hands into your hair, massaging and encouraging you as best he could. He screeched a warning he was coming and to take your mouth away if you didn’t want to taste him. When you didn’t relinquish your sweet mouth on him, he came hard in the back of your throat and you swallowed the salty flavour of him down, he pulled you to him and kissed you deeply, telling you he thought he was in love and, silently, he hoped you were too. 

“That was the best head I ever had,” he peered up. “And you’ve never given a blow job before?” he was suspicious. You shook your head bashfully, but also excited he was so happy with your attempt, and you vowed you’d only get better if it brought out this reaction in him. “Feel free any time you wanna practice,” he almost laughed, falling back against the headrest of the bed.

A few hours later, as Bradley pounded into you, you’d be lying if you didn’t feel nostalgic, recalling the first time you had sex with him. It never felt like plain old missionary with him, he tucked you in close and you’d wrap your calves around his hamstrings, keeping him close as he whispered filth in your ear. 

You knew you’d bled, and you were begging not noticeably. You didn’t want that embarrassment, even if the towel caught it. Overall, it wasn’t a painful experience, Bradley had done everything to relax you, the slick of the lube reducing any real friction and he’d gone down on you before he’d even taken off his jeans. “You have the prettiest pussy, baby,” he told you as you shuddered beneath him and he continued fucking you with his fingers until you pushed his face away, so sensitive. “Okay, okay,” he cooed to you, trailing wet kisses up your naked body, exposed wholly to him. 

It had been a very fun few weeks, lots of kissing, touching, and making the other cum and sneaky sleepovers but when you told him you were ready to have sex – with him – your first – Bradley couldn’t believe his luck. He couldn’t believe you would be interested in him, you were so sweet, and kind, and pretty. So sexy and he hoped, all for him. He hadn’t met anyone who he felt so connected to. He worried he was trying too hard to force something that wasn’t there, but as he slowly pushed into you, gloved cock long and girthy, stretching you and you sighed into his ear to tell him how good it felt and that you thought you were falling in love with him, everything stopped.

His hips, lips and heart froze as he must have misheard words he was desperate to return but far too timid to do so. 

“Remember the days we’d be in bed all day and just fuck and laugh. Order takeout and fuck again?” Bradley said between the rolls of his hips. “I wanna be able to do that again,” he groaned in your ear as you fuckingthrobbed around him, so close as you clenched. “I’m gonna take you away in the New Year. You, me, the Maldives. Private villa and all that good lovin’ we deserve.”

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you giggled against him, excited for him and the prospect that you would spend some uninterrupted time together and you rose to meet his thrusts, spurring him on with your enthusiasm. He felt so good: strong, rough and as the head of his cock hit your G-spot, a step closer to orgasm – heaven, he wasn’t sure. He knew your body like it was his, and he brought his fingers between your bodies, brushing against your pained clit as your back arched and his tongue swirled around your nipple. He sucked on the delicate skin, as you began to quake and grunted low, your warm, slick pussy. “Yes, Bradley,” you encouraged. 

“Your pretty cunt was made for me,” he murmured in your ear and that was it, you felt the quakes start in your toes, the muscles in your tummy start to coil and your pussy started to throb around his cock, your entire body on fire with desire for your sexy husband. “Yes, baby,” Bradley kissed you deeply, trying to concentrate on his thrusts but it was impossible as he made you feel so goddamn good. He raised your thigh to get that little rougher and you moaned, the gush fell between you both and he grunted, not giving you a moment of respite, chasing his orgasm. You fell back, completely spent as he laughed darkly, his cock rocking into you again, wrapping his palm around your waist and pulling you back to him. “So close, don’t give up on me now, sweetheart. You’re so fuckin’ wet.”

“Too sensitive,” you whined to him. “Cum, Bradley,” you begged.

It was low and powerful, the feral groan that met your demands. His hips sped up, desperate for release. He couldn’t hold back anymore and as your nails pierced the tanned skin on his back, he came with a low groan and fucked more unruly thrusts into you before collapsing above you, kissing you wildly. He gasped, completely spent, still in you without intent to move. “Gonna need to burn the bed,” he uttered to you as you barely managed a reply. It was fucking like that you missed so desperately when he was away. 

“That was incredible,” you said, kissing some sweat on his brow away. “I love you.” 

He chuckled into your skin, pressing kisses into your pulse. “I love you, baby,” he was a dream, this man. “Good job, team,” he raised his palm for a limp high-five, both spent. 

“Roll the dice,” you reiterate to Bradley. “If we get pregnant, great. If we don’t…”

“It’s you and me and we are great with that,” Bradley answered with the faintest glint of hope in his shining honey eyes. Was this happening? Was Bradley about to get the family he’d been missing for so long?!

But in the back of the afterglow of lovemaking as husband and wife, you’d told him you’d go off birth control after your honeymoon if he wanted to try for a baby so soon. You didn’t want it to be immediate, you wanted to enjoy being married and the fun that came with it. And Bradley wholeheartedly agreed. 

Bradley was so determined to rise through the ranks, that you didn’t want to detract him any more than you might have but you were young and in love and when you found out you were pregnant with your first baby, a girl to be named Violet. The thing was, you were only hoping to be a newlywed once - marriage wasn't as big a thing for you as it was for Bradley so the drama of it all (even as intimate as it was for you was a one-time deal). And even babies. But even he admitted he wouldn't have the first idea of how to do it since his dad wasn't around when he was growing up and Maverick wasn't exactly a glowing example of fatherhood. 

He was a smitten young man. A beautiful wife, and a gorgeous little girl waiting at home for him while he served his country and continued slowly but surely through the ranks, getting a reputation as Rooster, slow into the fight.

Or Rooster, and the size of his cock, you’d joked quietly one evening. The way he seemed so scandalised and as the devil crept into his gold eyes, the grin behind his growing moustache was seen to be believed. Not many people knew that about the version of it, you shared, and when you’d learned he’d been adorned with it, whoever gave him the callsign would rue the day of the double entendre. One of life’s funny coincidences and Bradley wouldn’t wipe the devious smile off his face when you’d christened him with it.

When Violet was three, you found out Olivia was going to come into the world punching. Now both tweens and the baby-making days were well behind you both, you felt like you were starting to live your lives again, not bogged down with school runs, weeknight ballet, gymnastics, basketball, softball, soccer and whatever else they were desperate to try. Both athletic like their father, you felt like a taxi when Bradley was away, running the girls from one thing to the next, the sweet solace sometimes found when both girls were away from home at sleepovers and the like.

They were the nights you couldn’t wait to introduce to Bradley. A date night, Jesus, wine on the couch uninterrupted for a drop-off or pick up to what was for dinner or “Mama, I have an assignment due tomorrow and I haven’t started.”

Recalling when your period was late after about two cycles after going off birth control, you kind of hoped it was the drama of irregular periods and what it brought. It was why you went on the pill in the first place in your teens. 

But there was something different while you channel surfed and Bradley cooked in the kitchen. A strange cramping in your tummy. Not unbearable, but noticeable as you sat up, a little perplexed. It was too early for a period and you weren’t ovulating. Popping up, you joined Bradley in the kitchen, wrapping your arms around his hips to kiss between his shoulder blades. He smiled, turning back for a quick peck before you quietly excused yourself to do a pregnancy test. And you weren’t entirely surprised when it revealed you were 1-2 weeks pregnant. And you weren’t entirely surprised when you showed him the positive pregnancy test after dinner that still certainly said PREGNANT in fat, bold letters.

“It tells you how many weeks?” Bradley was astonished. 

“Clever, huh?” you said quietly. Bradley watched you, he looked at the test, begging it wasn’t about to flash NOT PREGNANT and he’d read incorrectly – but he gazed back at you. Unreadable at best, erring on the side of too quiet. Reserved, he had trouble reading you sometimes, and this was one he'd need you to talk through. He needed to know exactly what was going on through your head. 

“You good?” he asked softly, grasping the test in his strong palm. It was so small, but it held his world in his grip. He put the test down to caress your jaw, forcing your gaze to him. “Baby…” his fingers light as they had sunk into the hair at the nape of your neck. “Sweetheart,” he called to you. 

“I think I am. It’s just… quick," you surrender, falling into his sound touch. And he was due to leave within weeks. You were 23, you had only just found the job of your dreams -

“It is quick,” Bradley agreed, kissing your hair. “Is it too quick?”

“Maybe…” you admitted as he pressed a kiss into your temple and wrapped his strong arms around you. He felt so warm and so protective as he held you without question, you really couldn’t imagine life without him right there. What if something happened on tour, what if - 

“If it’s too soon, that’s okay," he said softly. 

You looked up at him, trying to placate your growing fear. What if he never came home? “I just thought we’d have more time maybe.”

He bit back his smile and sighed. “Sweetheart, is this what you want? If you're not ready - if you have changed your mind - ”

“I’m not sure.”

He nodded. “That’s okay.”

Well, it wasn’t – it was a choice you’d actively made together. To make love, to make a baby. The liberty of changing your mind seemed so incredibly unfair to you and Bradley after you were both so sure this was what you wanted. “I think I just need some time,” you admitted, cutting him off. “Just to get used to it all happening.”

Bradley softened. He in no way felt like it was his place to speak. He could not hold you and whisper that whatever you decided was okay, and he would support you with anything you decided. 

“What if this is our only chance?” You asked quietly. “What if - ” You shut your mouth and the guilt of the situation started to overwhelm you, Bradley chose to remain mute. “Would you hate me?”

“No. Oh sweetheart,” he kissed your hair. “But I would never live with myself if I forced you to do something you weren’t ready for. Come,” he took your hands and led you to the bedroom. He helped you take off your clothes and change into your oversized nightie, his large palm lingering gently over your abdomen for just a second longer than he should have… his baby in your soft belly. 

He pulled back the duvet and patted your pillow. You snuck under the cold sheets and he climbed in after you, the scorching skin of his chest against your back. His fingertips traced your hip, slowly drawing his name on your skin. "If you don't want to do this, it's okay. But it's still something you'll need to consider..."

"I want this," you were able to say, but it was easier with him not boring his eyes into yours. He kissed your shoulder and nuzzled the nape of your neck. “I think…”

"I love you," he said so softly you almost didn't hear him. “I won't let you do this alone. Whatever you decide, I’m right there with you.” 

But with a belly of arms and legs and your sheepish husband standing before you a few months later, you screeched, "You're getting deployed?" you looked at Bradley, eyes wild, six months of baby belly all that separated you. His head fell back.

"I know."

"You know?" you mimicked sarcastically, spoiled for months of your husband home with flight and combat training simulations and he finds himself deployed as you enter your final trimester. "Bradley, you'll be away for the birth of your daughter." 

"I know..." he said a little meeker. He was sick about this conversation. Sick. 

"Did you not put in the leave paperwork?"

"Of course I did,” he did, he did. Didn’t he? Shit, he doubted himself for one second but in this instance knew beggars couldn’t be choosers and he had his leave approved, but he also had his orders and he was so close really getting into it.

His career was on such a sheer trajectory, his head was swimming with its force. 

“Is anyone going with you?”

"Payback, Phoenix," he confirmed softly. 

“Will you be home for Christmas?”

He nodded. “Yes,” he stepped towards you, his large palms sinking into the round belly under his grasp, tickling the stretching skin. You sighed and collapsed into his hold. 

“I’m just scared. The birth is one thing… but I can’t raise our baby on my own,” you said, the fear in your voice evident.

“And I’d never let you,” he whispered into your hair. 

"If you see one ounce of action, I swear, don't dare come home." 

He nodded. Dear God, he knew. 

“Come on, Mama, give it to me,” Bradley urged as he held your ribs, thumbs toying with your nipples, that delicate roll of your hips grinding down on him as the sun started to rise. Neither of you slept even though you were both exhausted, you wanted to ground yourselves together before the madness of the day commenced. Between lovemaking, different positions and so much mess, you just chatted quietly, catching the other up on what they missed, knowing full well you would be next to useless for the lunch Penny was putting on with Mav (you were flying out in a few days to spend New Year with your parents). “Look at you, as sexy as the day I met you,” he continued, chewing his lower lip – he was close but we wouldn’t cum until you did. “Pretty little thing.”

Bradley had leaned into the whole encouragement during sex – and you will credit him for bringing out a wilder side you never knew you had in you – his voice still made your stomach flip flop and how off, give him everything he deserved in your shared pleasure and more.

“Mama, is Daddy home?” you heard a screech from upstairs. Olivia. Daddy’s girl. “His bag is at the door!” A prompise Bradley had always made his girls was he would wake them even if it was the dead of night to reassure them he was home.

Last night… he did not.

Bradley’s eyes flicked open as you paused above him, knowing your girls were unlikely to burst in but also… Dad was home and maybe, just maybe they were likely to run in excitedly. He rolled you off him quickly and you landed with such a lack of grace that he snorted and he tossed his tee at you, hitting you square in the face. He scoffed another chuckle as he reached for his discarded boxer briefs and stood to height, still hard but if you knew him, visualising the worst of the worst to settle. “I’m home. I’ll be right out, just need to hit the bathroom, girls,” he carefully called back, starting for the door and snuck a look back at you. “You got five minutes; I know I can’t hold those two wildcats back from a tree with presents under it.”

You nodded with a grin as you pulled the shirt over your head and moved towards the en suite but not before changing direction and stopping him before he went to see his girls and pulling an old Lakers singlet over his – god, so many golden muscles. “Merry Christmas, Bradley,” you tenderly traced an ab or eight and he smiled, bending to kiss you. “Last night was so good. Been a while since we had a night like that.”

He chuckled lightly against your lips. Pride evident, he shrugged. “I miss the days we’d fuck for hours,” he sighed, low. “We’re going away, just you and me. Okay?”

“I can’t wait, handsome,” you told him as he kissed you again -

“Dad?” Violet now. 

“At ease, Captain,” you told him as he playfully did as instructed, kissed your forehead softly and let the reign of terror commence, greeting his darling girls after months apart with excited hugs, kisses and giggles.

“I missed my girls,” you heard Bradley rumble. And it was always the same, the way he’d swallow back the emotion of seeing how much he’d missed. “You two have to stop growing, okay?”

“Or you could stop traveling,” Olivia said, often quite vocal about how often her dad was away.

Hearing your name as you straightened in front of the mirror a few minutes later, brushing your mussed hair and impatient with the slight burn Bradley’s moustache caused on your upper lip (pussy and thighs but that was a tale for another day), you wrapped yourself in your light gown. You breathed and headed to the living room to start your Christmas morning, your girls perched in front of the tree, the lights still fading in and out after a night left on, and your husband safe and sound on the couch. He winked, the happiest man on the planet with his three girls, everything exactly where it belonged.

Even last night’s half-full wine glass.

[ddejavvu]

Riding rooster and like you’re lost in pleasure cause ofc he’s proving his callsign true and it’s like you guys are using the pullout method so he’s like getting prepared to switch positions soon so he can slip out and then bam you squeeze him just right and he’s a goner.

this post is 18+, minors dni.

You've always complained when Bradley came home sweaty from a run, but it doesn't seem as bad now that your face is shoved in it. Your nose prods into his neck and your open mouth pants against his collarbone, tongue darting out to suckle a patch of his sweat-soaked skin when you remember to do something other than just drool.

Rooster's big. Really, really big, if you had to assign him a pornstar screen name, it would be the same as his callsign. Not much of your brainpower can be committed to any rational thought, not when you're using the last of it to lap at his neck and raise and lower your hips over his own. He's backed up against the headboard of your bed, in the same position that you'd found him in when you'd gotten home. You'd practically jumped him, and it's why you're riding him now; you never even bothered to change positions.

Bradley feels his dick twitch as your cunt sinks over it once more, wet warmth enveloping the most sensitive part of him. It feels like you're sucking him in, like your pussy is so greedy for his sex that it's trying to swallow him. He lets out a guttural groan, hands tightening over your hips as you pump them up and down on his dick.

"Babe," He groans, tapping your hips, "Oh, fuck- Babe, let's move, m'kay? Let's-" Bradley feels you tense at his warning, and your cunt follows suit. You clench around him, trapping his cock between your thighs like a vice, and the coil below his belly bursts with no warning.

"Oh- shit!' Bradley grunts, head thunking against the headboard behind him as you suck hard at a patch of skin on his neck. He can't stop himself from cumming inside of you, and for once, it's his thighs that are trembling, not yours. The feeling of his cum spurting inside of you only eggs on your own orgasm, and you're chasing it fervently, quickening your pace and only making things more pleasurable for Bradley as you milk him dry.

"Fuck," He pants, when your hips begin to slow, and you slowly melt over him in a heap of sweaty exhaustion, "Babe, I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cum in you. I- I'm clean, I swear, but we should-"

You reach up, gripping his jaw tight in your hand and yanking his face down so that his chin touches his chest. Your head is resting an inch from it and you close the gap, leading with your tongue as you kiss the living daylights out of him.

You pant and groan into the kiss, feral sounds that, if he hadn't just cum inside of you, would finish him off. When you finally part, tongue having swept over his own until his vision went dark, there's a string of drool that connects the two of you.

"I don't care," You pant, hips grinding slowly down onto Bradley's own, "I- I'll get a plan B or something, just- do it again, please."

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

Honey, I’m Home - Rooster

Pairing: Rooster / Wife!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

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

Warnings: Kids; Talk of Pregnancy but Not Actually; Excessive Fluff

Summary: Rooster comes home from work and takes care of his family.

Master List

Rooster was always cautious about the idea of getting married and having kids. When he lost his mom, he pictured having a big family of his own one day. In a way, to recreate the family that he lost. But then adulthood caught up with him and insecurity creeped in. After everything that happened in his childhood, he knew the risks that came with being a naval aviator. He knew what could happen.

But there was no way that he could just let the woman who would go on to become his wife get seduced by some other unworthy sucker. He had to put a ring on her finger. There was no other option. And five years, a wedding, two kids, and a thousand other things in between, there was nothing that Rooster would have done differently.

Except marrying her the night that they met, perhaps.

And returning home after work, Bradley assumed that he would walk into Alex living out his whole terrible two phase even though he was now three while poor baby Nickie cried in the background. Bradley knew that his wife was exhausted. He knew that she was stressed. And he tried to pick up where he could.

But today, he was surprised to return to a quiet house. There was no screaming or crying. Neither the dishwasher nor the washing machine were running. And neither was the TV. Bradley walked further into the house, genuinely wondering if everyone was home when he finally spotted his family.

Nickie was asleep in his bassinet, little fists up by his head just in case if someone tried to wake him up, so that he could give them a smack. His wife laid with her head resting on her arm. Alex laid on his back with his head resting against her chest and his mouth wide open.

Bradley paused, taking more careful steps forward. He didn’t want to risk waking anyone up. They all needed their sleep.

Carefully slipping away, Bradley changed out of his uniform and into a tank top and shorts before moving around the bedroom. Picking up clothes and cleaning the attached bathroom, Bradley tried to help where he could. And when he was finished there, he headed into the kid’s bedrooms to clean up there as well.

He knew that something as small as cleaning up the toys on Alex’s floor would make his wife’s day easier and he tried to do as many small tasks as he could without the risk of waking any of them up. Running a load of laundry, Bradley walked into the living room to check on his family. With everyone still asleep, Bradley kept moving through the rooms in the house.

Checking his watch, Bradley had to assume that it was probably a better idea to just get takeout rather than risk waking his family up by moving the pots and pans around. Carefully grabbing his keys, he headed out to his car. Half an hour later, he returned with food from his wife’s favorite restaurant and slowly crept into the living room again. Everyone was still asleep, but the smell of food seemed to finally rouse his wife.

Picking up her head, she blinked blurrily and squinted towards the kitchen. She sat up a bit before she realized the position that she was in with Alex resting his head against her chest. Rooster walked over to his wife instead, both of them knowing better than to risk waking Alex. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her lips in greeting before pulling away.

“Have a good nap?” he asked softly.

“Seems like it,” she yawned, looking down at Alex with a small smile. “I can’t even remember how we ended up here.”

“I bought dinner. Your favorite.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, resting her head against her arm again as she stared up at her husband. “I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

“They’re a handful.”

“You think?” she replied softly, causing Bradley to grin.

She hummed to herself before Alex started to stir against her chest. After a couple moments, he eventually woke up, whining as he rubbed his eyes dramatically.

“Hey, Bubba, are you hungry?” Rooster questioned, gently picking Alex up.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, curling up against Rooster’s shoulder.

“Alright, let’s get you some food and then back to bed, okay?”

Bradley helped Alex eat his food and once he gave Alex some water to wash it down, got him changed and into bed before Alex could fully wake up and cause a ruckus. Nickie stirred a bit but it didn’t take too much more to settle him to sleep in his crib.

And for the first time in a long time, Bradley and his wife actually sat down and ate dinner together. Just the two of them.

“I almost forgot what this was like,” she mused, reaching for her glass. “It’s been so long since it was just the two of us.”

“You know, maybe I can rope Mav into watching them for a weekend. We’ll go to a nice hotel or rent a house. And just spend the weekend in bed together.”

She shot him a look and playfully threw a scrunched up napkin at his face. Shaking her head, she reached for her glass again.

“Only if you promise to not knock me up again so soon after Nickie,” she stated. “You’ve had that look in your eye like you want another one.”

“I would eventually like another one. Hopefully a girl,” Rooster conceded, though he shot you a reassuring smile. “But you’re the quarterback. You make the final call.”

“I’ll keep you in mind for later,” you told him.

Rooster jokingly made the phone symbol with his hand and mouthed, ‘call me,’ to which you dramatically winked back.

The two of you finished your dinner together before heading up to your room. You took a quick shower while Rooster checked up on Nickie, whose bassinet was set up next to your bed. Rooster was waiting with the blanket pulled back for you. Slipping in beside your husband, you let him pull you to his chest. You were out in about fifteen seconds, still exhausted, and Rooster chuckled to himself when you started to snore, since you insisted that you never ever snored.

Rooster was about to fall asleep himself when there was a light tap on the door. Picking his head up, Rooster gently maneuvered you over so that he could slip out of bed. He walked over to the door and pulled it open to reveal Alex with his blankie in the hallway.

“Can I sleep with you and Mommy?”

“Come here, Bubba,” Rooster urged, scooping him up.

Pressing a kiss to Alex’s head, Rooster carried him over to the bed. Rooster set his son down on the bed and Alex quickly suctioned himself into Rooster’s wife’s side. Rooster brushed his son’s hair with his hand before he climbed back into bed and got himself comfortable. Smiling as he looked over at his family, Rooster rolled over and went to bed.

[hellosmuttydarling]

Shower Time

Summary: Walking into the wrong place, at the wrong time, seems to work out in your and Rooster's favor. In which, some private time in the shower turns into something far better.

Warnings: Smut, masturbation, oral sex, fantasizing. MINORS DNI.

Rooster wiped the sweat off his face with his towel as he entered the locker room. He could hear the shower running already and realized with a small flash of annoyance that it would mean he'd have to wait. He sat on the bench next to his locker and was about to pop in his headphones when he heard a sound.

A moan, to be exact. Rooster froze as he heard another one coming from the direction of the showers. When he stopped and listened, he realized that it was definitely a moan and a very distinct moan of pleasure. Only one person could be in that shower right now, making sounds like that.

You. Something had been between you two since you'd met on the first day of training; chemistry mixed with the competitiveness of the training made for a very frustrating relationship, but he couldn't help but be attracted to you. You were gorgeous and a great pilot but beyond infuriating.

The next moan left no doubt of what you were doing in there, and he could feel the heat washing over his body, his dick already hardening in his athletic shorts. His hands gripped the bench so hard that his knuckles turned white, and with each succeeding sound you made, all he could think about was how badly he wanted to walk over there.

"Bradley…" the moan was quiet and breathless. If he hadn't had all of his focus on what was going on over in that shower, he might have missed it. His decision was made instantly; he stood up, dropping his things onto the bench and peeling his shirt off before he stalked over to the shower.

The sight of you simultaneously took his breath away and also turned him into a man possessed; there was no way he was leaving this shower without fucking you senseless. You were standing there, naked and soaking wet, the water from the shower pouring down your body, following all of your curves, with your legs slightly spread and your hand in between them, circling your clit with your thumb as you fucked yourself with your fingers.

You were oblivious to the fact that Rooster was even there. The tension and flirting from the last week and a half had driven you crazy all night till you found yourself at the gym on base at 5:30 am, trying desperately to let off some steam. It almost worked until Bradley Bradshaw, of all people, walked in and, before long, was glistening with sweat, his breath coming out in hard, short bursts. All you could think about was seeing him like this but in a completely different setting, with far fewer clothes, and instead of lifting weights, he'd be lifting you.

It became too much when paired with the heated looks between you two, so you bailed back to the locker room, planning on taking a very long, icy cold shower before training.

You didn't know how you ended up here, getting yourself off to the same dirty thoughts you'd had while watching him work out. You did know two things: First, you desperately needed a release, and second, you were almost there.

Your fingers were delving in and out of your folds, your other hand playing with your breasts, when the voice you last expected to hear came from way too close, and your eyes snapped open.

"Want some help with that, honey?"

Fuck.

There was no use in covering up; you knew he'd already seen your entire naked body and that he'd seen what you were just doing. He'd almost certainly heard you moaning his name, too.

Fuuuuuuck.

"You could have at least let me cum before interrupting me, Bradshaw." You did your best to sound nonchalant, and luckily, your face was already flushed, so he wouldn't be able to see the heat of embarrassment rising to your cheeks.

"Bradshaw, huh? Just a second ago, it was Bradley." He sauntered over to you, and you looked him up and down, taking in his incredibly delicious shirtless form.

"I'd call you Bradley again if you hadn't just ruined my orgasm." He finally reached you, stepped into your personal space, and backed you up until you were pressed against the cold tile of the shower. One of his hands came up to rest on the wall next to your head, and the other came to rest on your bare hip, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin. Your traitorous, dirty mind sending thoughts of what that would feel like somewhere else.

"I'm sorry. How about I make it up to you?" He'd leaned down so that your lips were a breath away from meeting his.

"And how are you planning to do that?"

"I'll show you right now if you'll let me." Bradley was ever the gentleman.

You didn't say anything in response, answering instead by pulling him in for a heated kiss. Kissing him was everything you'd hoped and dreamed it would be. He was a phenomenal kisser, clearly experienced, and while you hated to admit it, clearly dominated you in every delicious aspect.

There was no point in wasting time when he already knew you'd been about to cum at the thought of him. The hand on your hip quickly moved to your thigh to lift your leg and hook it around his hip so he could be closer to you.

You could feel how hard he was, even through the shorts he was still wearing; his cock was pressed against your stomach. You trailed your hand down his chest to his stomach, dipping just slightly underneath the waistband, enough to tease him just a little bit. His abs contracted under your touch, and his fists clenched at his sides. What little clothes he wore were quickly getting drenched under the shower spray, but he didn't seem to care at all.

You broke apart for air, and he immediately went for your neck, kissing and biting his way down; you moaned as he got to just the right spot. Hearing your reaction, he doubled down with a hard suck, sure to leave a bruise, but at that moment, you didn't care.

Your hand went into his shorts, grasping his dick firmly, and marveled at the size. You couldn't see it, but fuck could you feel it, and goddamn, did you want it inside you. His head dropped to your shoulder as you started to pump his length with your hand, a quiet groan escaping him.

"Fuck," It took all his willpower to stop you, pulling your hand away from him. "I believe I owe you something."

"Yes, you do." Before you could blink, he dropped to his knees in front of you, pulling your thigh up over his shoulder and slowly kissing his way up your thigh.

"What were you picturing? When you moaned my name?" He said as he inched higher, his positively sinful brown eyes locked on yours. Had his eyes always been this dark?

"Not this," he bit down lightly at the most sensitive part of your inner thigh. "You, inside me. My legs were on your shoulders as you fucked me against the wall, hard."

As a reward for answering his question, he finally moved right where you wanted him. He used his hand to separate your folds, and then his mouth was on your clit, his tongue starting slowly and softly before starting to work up his rhythm.

You were a mess of moaning and pleading. Rooster ate you out like a fucking professional, listening to every intake of breath and every moan, having quickly learned what you liked and how to use it to get you undone, and fast.

"Holy fuck," Soon, two of his fingers joined his efforts, delving inside you, matching the pace of his tongue. "Goddamn, Bradley…"

You knew there was no way you would last like this, not with how amazing he was making your body feel. You were practically seeing stars and were begging him not to stop. A true testament to his experience, he didn't slow down or speed up, knowing how close you were. He maintained the speed and rhythm that was already driving you crazy.

"Bradley… I'm going to cum…" You looked down at him, kneeling in front of you, leg thrown over his shoulder, dark eyes locked on yours, as he ate you out like he was on a fucking mission. The sight alone had you starting to fall over the edge, but when his fingers curled and hit just the right spot, you plummeted head-first into her orgasm. "Fuck!"

Another testament to his experience, he knew exactly what to do to prolong your orgasm without ruining it, leaving you a shaking, moaning mess. Soon, though, your flesh became far too sensitive, and you pulled him up to kiss him. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his mustache. You'd never been a big mustache girl, but on him, you loved it.

"Please tell me that you're going to fuck me now," you all but whined when you pulled apart. The answering smirk on his face promised delightful things.

"Your wish is my command," He pushed his shorts and underwear down his legs and kicked them to the side, and you finally got your first look at his hard cock. You thought it was big before when you'd felt it, but now you could see that it was huge, and for a second, you worried it might not even fit, but you decided that you didn't care. "Come here."

You obliged, wrapping your arms around his neck as he brought your lips back together and picked you up in one fluid motion. Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, and from the new position, you could feel the tip of his dick rubbing against you, and all you could think about was that you needed more. He pushed you back into the wall before pausing to look at you.

"Are you sure?" You both knew that after this, there would be no going back to how it used to be.

"Yes." It was all the confirmation he needed, pushing into you gently but firmly. You couldn't help but gasp at the intrusion, feeling mildly like you were being split in half, but it was both slightly painful and exquisite because you had never felt this full before. Your gasp was met with a deep moan from Rooster as he seated himself to the hilt.

"You're so fucking tight," He gave you a second to adjust, and when you nodded, he withdrew almost completely, just to bury himself nice and deep. He swallowed your moan with a kiss, your tongues battling for dominance as he fucked you slowly.

Soon that familiar pressure was building up slowly in your body, and you knew that when you came, you were going to cum hard.

"Hold on to me." You nodded, not able to form words as he shifted your legs from his waist to having the crook of your knees slung over his elbows, changing the angle and allowing him even deeper. With his next thrust, you almost screamed but managed to choke it down.

In this new position, he set a grueling pace, fucking you hard and fast, with you doing your damnedest to not be too loud, but the way he was fucking you made that incredibly difficult. You were getting so close to reaching that peak again when the door to the locker room opened and slammed shut. 

The two of you froze instantly, not wanting to be caught in a more than compromised position but unable to separate without making quite a bit of noise. You could make out a few muffled voices belonging to some of your squadmates but had no idea what they were saying. Someone must have noticed Rooster's things on the bench because soon they called out to him.

"Rooster? That you?" Fanboy called from far too close for comfort. The only bit of luck that seemed to be on your side was that even if one of them came into the showers, they wouldn't see any part of you besides your arms and legs, as opposed to the unobstructed view they'd have of Rooster's incredible ass and chiseled back.

"Yeah." His dick was still hard and practically pulsing inside you. Your brain and body were currently fighting a desperate battle over wanting to finish what they'd started but not wanting to be caught fucking on base, in the locker room, right before training.

"We're going to grab breakfast. Are you in?"

"Yeah, I'll, uh, meet you there."

"Sounds good." The voices drift further away, and you both hear the door again open and shut. Your head fell onto his shoulder, and you released the breath you'd held.

"It is, apparently, not my morning." You said against his skin, and he responded with a dry chuckle.

"Not mine, either." You gasped slightly as he gently pulled out and set you back on solid ground. You pulled away from him and took in his face for a second, the tensing in his jaw and darkened eyes. He was the picture of annoyance, and you were positive your face mirrored his.

"I'm going to get out of here before we risk being discovered, for real this time," you leaned up and kissed him one last time, purposefully keeping it short, not wanting to be any more sexually frustrated than you already were. "Come find me later?"

"You got it, honey." You rinsed off and headed out of the shower, ignoring every part of you that wanted to say fuck it and turn around.

[jupitercomet]

Teddy

summary - All the people he cares about call him by a nickname, so he doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that you won’t. Especially because it’s so obvious that you have one.

It takes a night out celebrating your friend’s graduation, lots of alcohol, and Bradley’s eyes looking into yours as he gently takes your makeup off for you to finally reveal your nickname to him.

or

How Bradley got his name.

warnings - age gap relationship (Bradley is 38, reader is 25), language, mentions of drinking, brief mention of painkillers

word count - 1.4k

I’m back at it again with the Bradley = bear agenda (and my emotional support stuffed animal agenda) - bugs

i ain’t worried ‘bout it

As strange as it sounded at his age of 38, Bradley was used to people calling him by a nickname. Mainly it’s “Rooster”, a callsign he took a sense of pride in because it was his and he earned it. Sometimes it’s “Brad” or “Brad Brad”, that was usually when Natasha or Jake felt like teasing him—somewhat endearingly Mickey calls him “Brad Brad” entirely unironically and Bradley doesn’t have the heart to tell him it’s a stupid nickname. But really, it was “Rooster”.

And he didn’t realize how much he’d grown used to being called “Rooster” until the day you flat out refused.

“There’s no way I’m calling you that,” you almost laugh, popping a grape into your mouth as you and Bradley both sit over a fruit cup, a muffin, and two coffees in a Starbucks.

Bradley furrows his brows. “Why not?”

“Why not— That’s like if I called you ‘Cock’,” you scoff through a pineapple chunk. “You want me to call you ‘Cock’?”

“I would prefer it if you didn’t, thank you.” 

You swallow. “I rest my case. I’ll call you ‘Chicken’ maybe—but only if I’m making fun of you.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” Bradley reaches for a chunk of honeydew. He knows by now to eat it, you hate melon. “But seriously, what’s wrong with ‘Rooster’?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it, but I’m not a pilot or your coworker. It’s not my nickname,” you shrug. In the middle of a Starbucks, Bradley finally wonders if he’d even want you to call him “Rooster”. Maybe he was just so used to people calling him something, that he never really thought about why they call him it in the first place.

“That… makes sense.”

“I know it does, Chicken.”

So you didn’t call him “Rooster”. Bradley doesn’t think you’ve ever called him “Rooster”, but there are times—really only when your defenses are down—that it seems like you want to call him something else. You mumble it sleepily, or when you’re distracted, in a voice that’s too quiet for Bradley to pick up. 

He doesn’t understand why you don’t just say it. Bradley calls you a plethora of nicknames from “princess” to “pretty girl”, but mainly “honey” because he remembers that’s what his parents called each other. Maybe he’s sentimental, but he likes to think the two of you have a “honey” kind of love. You’ve called him “babe” a couple times—unfortunately, “Chicken” also stuck—but for whatever reason you don’t really call him by nicknames.

And Bradley doesn’t know why it bothers him so much, but it does. Because all the people he cares about call him by a nickname, so he doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that you won’t. Especially because it’s so obvious that you have one. 

It takes a night out celebrating your friend’s graduation, lots of alcohol, and Bradley’s eyes looking into yours as he gently takes your makeup off for you to finally reveal your nickname to him.

“You look just like him,” you’re smiling dopily as Bradley wipes at your cheeks with a cloth.

Bradley hums offhandedly. “Look like who, honey?”

“You—” Bradley’s actions are stopped when your hands cup his cheeks and squish them together. “You have his eyes. That was the first thing I thought when I saw you. That you have his eyes.”

“What do you mean, honey?” Bradley words come out muffled through his squished lips and you continue to ramble on about some mysterious “him” that Bradley looks like.

“You remind me of him too, so much,” you nod along to yourself, ignoring Bradley’s furrowed brows. “Like when we sleep. Just like him.”

Bradley really tried not to jump to conclusions, but when he tucks you into bed and you let out a sleepy “I love you, Teddy” it feels like there was no other conclusion to jump to. Because how else could he interpret the way you told him that he reminds you of another man while also calling him another man’s name when you said you loved him? 

He went to sleep filled with dread about the next morning and woke up with that lingering pit in his stomach as you let out a low groan next to him. The small smile you give him in response to the water and painkillers he left for you the night before did nothing to calm his nerves either and he swallows thickly.

“Hey, can we… talk?”

You gulp down the last of the water, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I mean, I feel like shit right now, but sure.”

Bradley can’t even bring himself to laugh, shooting you a weak smile before clearing his throat. “Um, last night, you, uh, said some things. You— You told me that I look like some guy and that I remind you of him and… and you called me ‘Teddy’.” Bradley watches as your expression morphs into one of sheer mortification. “If I’m like a rebound or something, that’s fine—I mean, it’s not fine. It’s actually really not fine—but I’d rather you just tell me now.”

When Bradley finishes, you’re covering your face with your hands to muffle a loud groan. “This is so fucking embarrassing.”

“Listen, I’m really trying to understand—”

“I was talking about a stuffed animal, Bradley.” Your words cause Bradley’s mouth to snap shut and, though you clearly look flustered, you’re finally able to look him in the eye. “You remind me of my teddy bear.”

Bradley blinks. “I— What?”

“I have this—God, this is so embarrassing—I have this teddy bear that I’ve had since I was a little kid and I can’t sleep without it. And the first time I spent the night here, I was super nervous because I didn’t bring him because who brings a teddy bear to a date? So I was worried I wouldn’t be able to sleep, but then we were cuddling and I actually slept really well. And you kinda look like him—I mean your eyes do—so… I was talking about a teddy bear,” you finish with a wince. As you had been rambling, your hands had crept farther back up your face until you were hiding behind your fingers again.

“I remind you of your teddy bear?” Bradley checks and you nod bashfully. “And that’s why you called me ‘Teddy’? Not because you’re in love with another guy?” You shake your head, squirming under his gaze as he just stares at you.

“You’re so fucking cute.” Suddenly, Bradley lunges forward, essentially tackling you to the bed as he kisses you with bruising lips. He swallows your squeak of surprise, his hands slipping under the worn shirt of his he put on you the night before.

His fingers brush against your sides and you wriggle with a laugh. “Bradley, that tickles!”

“That’s not my name, honey,” Bradley’s lips have moved to cover your face in kisses and he gently nips your cheek. “I’m not stoppin’ until you say my name.” 

Bradley’s tickling intensifies—now that it’s on purpose—and you light up with giggles. “Okay, okay, I’ll— Please, Teddy!”

Bradley grins widely, relaxing his fingers against your sides as you catch your breath. He kisses you again, but it’s more gentle this time, humming in content when your fingers weave through his hair. When he pulls away, he can’t help but grin again, and he flops onto the mattress next to you.

“You should bring him next time you spend the night.”

“Pooh Bear?” You turn to look at Bradley before clarifying, “That’s his name. He doesn’t look anything like Winnie the Pooh, I was just obsessed with the movies as a kid.”

Bradley smiles at your explanation, his large hand brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Then, yeah, bring Pooh Bear next time.”

“Why?”

“Well, I’m takin’ over his job of taking care of you. He’d probably feel better if he met me and knew that he had nothing to worry about.” Bradley’s hand travels down to your hip and he plays with the hem of your shirt that’s ridden up.

A smile slowly grows on your face.

“—Or, if he’s so jealous that I have to fight him, I wanna see what I’m up against. Ya know, size him up before I make him eat his own stuffing.”

I don’t have a taglist but feel free to follow my library @jupitercometgold​​ if you want to be notified when I post

[waklman]

Headache #2

summary: whipped bf bradley. thats all.

pairing: bradley bradshaw x reader

warnings: 18+ blog in general.

a/n: domestic blurb, fluff, and slight suggestive themes.

word count: 1.9k

Bradley jolts at the first shrilling ring of his alarm.

Before his brain could even start to function, he instinctively cradles your head closer against his naked chest, making sure to cup a hand over your ear, attempting to muffle the sound. 

You begin to stir, feeling Bradley stretch over you to shut off the blaring alarm. 

Hearing you suck in a long breath, he retracts his body from yours—giving you room to stretch your stiff muscles.

But before he could fully give you space, Bradley feels you reach for his hand—with a demanding noise emanating from your throat. 

He smiles at your cranky state, and wordlessly grabs the small of your back and hip, helping you twist your middle until a loud crack of your back is heard from under the sheets. 

Bradley snorts, hearing a shameless moan leave your lips, satisfied by the relief he brought you. 

“Mm, that feel good honey? 

In reaction, your mouth starts to salivate at the sound of his morning voice, which always fell an octave lower than his usual tone. You swallow back the drool that begins to pool.

Suddenly feeling more awake, you turn to fully face him–eagerly wiping at your eyes to see his face. 

Bradley has a lovesick look in his eyes as he closely watches your eyes flutter open to look up at him.

You two take a moment to bask in the silence—smiling as you assess eachother’s bedheads, still recovering from just waking up so early. 

You notice that Bradley's soft curls are currently resting on his forehead, which makes him look even more boyishly handsome this morning.

Feeling shy under his gaze, you throw yourself into his arms and Bradley gladly catches you–though you cause his back to crash against the headboard with a thud.

Knowing how bad your guilty conscience can get, Bradley press a gentle kiss to the side of your head to let you know he was unharmed, before you could start feeling guilty for hurting him. He places another lingering kiss on your hair line, just for good measure.

Recently, you had been waking up hours earlier than you normally would, simply because Bradley mentioned once that he would love to have you implanted in his 6am morning routine.

“You ready?” he asks, feeling you move to tuck your face into the crook of his neck.

He smiles softly as you readily wrap your legs around his waist, causing your tank top to ride up your back as you adjust yourself in his lap. 

Bradley takes that as a yes, deciding to swiftly move you both off the bed, holding you up with one arm as the other reaches down to pull the sheets back—a failed attempt at making your bed look neater. 

He feels so warm against your exposed skin, that you feel yourself being lulled back into a state of drowsiness again.

Bradley begins to take soft steps towards the bathroom until the lovesick feeling from earlier returns—smacking him right in his chest when he feels you breathe softly against his neck. His mind briefly wanders off to his parents—Nick and Carole Bradshaw, hoping that they see how happy he is to wake up in the morning now. 

Bradley now stands still, looking between the bathroom light switch and a vanilla candle—ultimately deciding on lighting the candle so you’re not hit with the harsh white light above you. 

He softly pats your butt, alerting you that you’re now in the bathroom, but you don’t answer him. 

Bradley curiously dips you—allowing the back of your thighs to hit the cold surface of the bathroom vanity. You squirm in his arms, awoken by the goosebumps that scatter across your skin. In a rush of panic, you climb higher up his torso to avoid being placed onto the countertop again.

“Baby, I can’t brush my teeth with you clung to my chest,” he gently rubs your back, hand reaching under your cotton tank top. 

He frowns hearing you let out a disappointed sigh. Bradley watches in guilt as you untangle from him—legs loosely falling from his waist, allowing your feet drop to the cold floor. 

You hide your pout from view, leaning your forehead softly against his stomach—so he could only see the top of your head.  

Bradley casts his gaze down on you as he brings his hands down to pinch your hips—while his mind quickly searches for a solution.

“You wanna get on my back instead, sweet girl?” Bradley is laying it on thick with the pet names this morning, making your stomach swirl with butterflies.

You’re too swayed by how sweet Bradley’s being with you to pretend to hold out on his offer. 

Not wasting a second, you scatter to stand behind him–stretching your arms to reach his neck as he lowers himself so you can latch onto his back. 

“There you go,” he reaches his arm under one of your thighs, securing you in place.

You decide to distract him in various ways as he begins to brush his teeth, because why not?

Bradley’s face is completely flushed as you go from biting his ear to whispering all the dirty things you want to do to him with the most innocent smile on your face, all while making eye contact with him through the mirror as he urgently brushes his teeth.

After a full minute and a half of brushing is up—a rule enforced by you, Bradley rushes to rinse his mouth, leaning down to reach the sink—and you don’t lessen his arousal because you begin to place deliberate kisses behind his ear and across his jawline. 

He quickly swipes the water leaking from his chin with the back of his hand, almost tripping over his own feet as he turns around so you could hop off his back to sit onto the bathroom countertop.

“Hi. Ready for skincare?” you casually ask, as if you weren’t dedicating the last few minutes towards riling him up. 

He blinks, facing you with the most emotionless face you've ever seen him pull. You blink back, mirroring his blank expression. 

You break first, sputtering a laugh—weakly grabbing for him to move closer as tears of laughter prick your eyes. Bradley moves to stand between your thighs, tongue poking his cheek, trying not to break from your infectious laughter. 

“You’re so not funny,” he scoffs. 

“Aww c’mon Stinkybutt,” you poke at his ribs with a moisturizer bottle in hand, wiping away your tears with your other hand.

“Can you ever be nice to me? Does that even count as a nice pet name?” He whines, scrunching his face.

“Would you rather me call you Hangman?” You raise a brow at him, squeezing out a dime sized drop of moisturizer onto his forehead.

“I’ll take Stinkybutt,” he sighs, closing his eyes as you rub the product into his skin. 

“That’s what I thought,” you nod.

“Now stay still Stinkybutt, you need sunscreen next.”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

“Stinky…butt?” Bob stutters.

“What?” Bradley asks bewildered, unsure if he heard the fellow pilot correctly.

“That’s what your tag says, Stinkybutt.” Phoenix speaks up for Bob, with an amused grin sitting on her face. 

Bradley quickly opens his locker to access the mirror inside. 

And there it was. A pink sticky note labeled “Stinkybutt<3” which you sneakily slapped onto his chest—while you were giving him a goodbye kiss, sitting proudly on his flight suit.

Bradley swipes his hand over his face, reaching for his phone next.

“Really?” he texts you—eye twitching as your text bubble appears immediately after. 

Headache #2: 

Hey. I gave you options, Hangman or Stinkybutt. 🤷‍♀️

BradBrad:

text u later, headache #1 just got here.

Headache #2:

..who?

note: yes, jake is headache #1 in bradley's phone.

thank you for reading, and as always-reblogs are greatly appreciated!

join my taglist here or follow me on @waklman-library & turn on notifs there to be notified when i post!

[vivwritesfics]

Curious what if we switch the roles 👀

Cowboy Rooster and Pilot Reader,

Also hope you have a good day:)

-🐎

So I haven't made the reader a pilot, but I hope you still like it love

Alsooooo I started writing a whole ass cowboy Bob fic and it's all I can think about

Bradley had been riding up to his father's fishing cabin since he was a boy. His mom took him up there every summer when he was growing up.

The walls were littered with pictures of his parents, of his dad and his best friend on their fishing trips. Growing up Bradley's mom used to tell him stories about his father, about what happened on those fishing trips he took with Mav.

When his mother died, Bradley stopped riding up to the cabin. He had no reason to now she was gone,nobody special to take up there.

But then he met her. He caught her eye from across the bar, she claimed that it was his moustache and ancient cowboy hat that made him stand out. Rooster took her home that night.

And then the next night.

And then the next morning she was riding on the back of Texas, her arms wrapped around his waist as he took her around the property. It was almost like she hadn't left since.

Bradley took her to the fishing cabin. He didn't ride up like he did when he was a kid, instead taking her in his truck. His hand was on her thigh for the entire drive.

When Bradley got to the cabin, he couldn't help but apologise for how dusty everything was. But she didn’t care as she pulled him onto the bed, pulled him on top of her abd wrapped her legs around him.

Bradley took his hat off and cradled her head, deepening the kiss. It would have been a miracle if the ancient bed made it through the night.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Hotter Than Texas | Part II

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

A/N: I'm so excited that y'all loved the first part! Thanks for your enthusiasm, you rock <3

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.

Aka it's a road trip, strap in.

CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)

WC: 2000+

Part I | Masterlist

“I’m getting hungry.”

Bradley glances at the restaurant sign as he passes it on the interstate, suppressing a sigh. He usually skips lunch on long trips so he can arrive at his destination before nightfall. “I’ll get off at the next exit,” he says.

“Will you?” you exclaim excitedly, as though he’s offered to catch and cook your next meal himself.

Bradley chuckles mildly. “Well, I’m not going to let you starve.”

“You’re so sweet,” you reply, and Bradley eyes you with a grin because he’s about eighty percent certain you’re being facetious.

“What’re are you in the mood for?” he asks as he gets on the off-ramp.

“Something greasy and very bad for my heart.”

Bradley lets out a small laugh. What’s bad for his heart is you sitting next to him being all cute for the next twenty hours straight.

He pulls into the lot of a little diner just off the highway and parks his car while you flip down your sun visor to glance at your reflection in the mirror. “How do I look?” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

Bradley tries not to examine you directly and instead just glances in your vicinity. “Better than the truckers, I bet,” he comments, noticing the row of semis at the back of the lot.

You give him an unimpressed look and then push open your door. “I sure hope they have French toast.”

“I thought you wanted something greasy,” Bradley says, walking around the front of the Bronco to join you.

“I want options,” you state, marching forth toward the front doors.

Bradley strides ahead and pulls the door open for you. He can’t say he isn’t looking forward to having a sit-down meal with you, like it’s a date or something. And, as much as he hates to admit it, he’s almost thrilled at the prospect of the other patrons assuming the two of you are a couple.

You walk through the open door and Bradley stalls for a moment, trying to clear his head. He shouldn’t even be thinking about that sort of nonsense. He and Hangman have enough issues without adding Bradley’s crush on his baby sister to the mix. They’ve just begun to mend their bumpy – to say the least – relationship, and Jake would sure as shit not appreciate his colleague developing feelings for his younger sibling.

“You comin’, sugar?” you call from inside.

Bradley, who’s clearly taken too long of a beat, glances at you in a bit of a daze. He’s sure you just called him ‘sugar’ and that has utterly thrown him. He enters after you and gives the hostess a look that he hopes might resemble a polite smile. But his face feels hot and numb at the same time, so he can’t be sure.

…

“I think I’ll get the pancakes,” you muse, flipping through the menu leisurely.

Bradley smiles at you when you’re not looking. “Want to share some things?”

You glance up at him happily. “Can we?”

Bradley chuckles. “Why not? I could go for a pancake. What else should we get?”

Your eyes light up and you instantly refer back to the menu. “Fried pickles.”

Bradley cringes but he’s still amused. “Those’ll go great with the pancakes.”

“I agree,” you respond without a hint of sarcasm. “Chili?” you continue. “Or tacos?”

“Why not both?” Bradley shrugs.

You give him a serious look. “That’s just crazy talk.”

Bradley laughs. “You’re right, what was I thinking?”

“I sort of want some pie, though.”

Bradley closes his menu and leans forward into the table. “I’ve already thought of that,” he mutters under his breath, as though he’s about to divulge a secret. You lean in too, your bright eyes blinking up at him eagerly. “We’ll get one for the road,” he whispers.

You gasp. “You’re a genius!”

Bradley chuckles, leaning back in his seat proudly. “I won’t deny that.”

…

When the server arrives to take your orders, you let Bradley do the talking, but chime in with little requests now and again; onions on the home fries, maple syrup for the bacon, sour cream in the chili. And Bradley can’t help but delight in the fact that, every time you think of something, you tap his hand that's resting on the table, ‘oohing’ with excitement.

Bradley eyes you with a smile once the server departs. “Maple syrup for the bacon?”

You wave a hand at him. “You’ll see.”

Bradley shakes his head with a smirk. “Not on my bacon.”

“Yeah, my brother warned me that you’re a bit of a square.”

Bradley raises his eyebrows and scoffs. “Your brother said what?”

You grin at him mischievously. “Don’t worry, I can make up my own mind.”

“Your brother warned me that you’re a bully,” Bradley replies, his smile only getting wider. “And, coming from Hangman, that’s saying something.”

You let out a peal of laughter so exuberant that several faces turn to look in your direction.

“Don’t worry,” he adds when your laughter partially subsides. “I can make up my own mind.”

“And?” you ask with soaring eyebrows. “Have you?”

Bradley hesitates for a moment and then decides to respond in a cheeky manner to avoid any awkwardness. “Not just yet,” he says with a chuckle.

You reach out and lightly smack his forearm. “Stop!”

“I’m joking,” Bradley concedes, grabbing your hand before you can strike him again. “It’s not like you’ve ever hit me to get your way,” he says pointedly.

You shake your head with a smirk and withdraw your hand.

…

“Everything was delicious,” you gush to the waitress as she clears the table. “We had such a wonderful time!”

“Glad to hear that, dear,” the waitress gives you a smile and then winks at Bradley, as though she’s in on some scheme with him.

Bradley furrows his eyebrows in amusement as she walks away and then digs into his pocket for his wallet. “My treat,” he says when you reach for your purse.

“No way!” you exclaim. “You’re already giving me a ride. The least I could do is feed you.”

“You don’t have to do anything. I’m happy to be your ride.”

“I insist,” you declare.

“I insist harder,” Bradley presses, laying down several bills onto the receipt tray.

You gaze at him pensively and finally slide your wallet back into your purse. “So, you’re stubborn,” you note.

“So, you’re observant,” he remarks.

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Thanks for lunch, Rooster.”

…

Back on the road, you offer Bradley a turn with the radio, muttering something about not wanting to be a bully by hogging the music. He can tell you’ve said it in jest, but he still wants to make sure he hasn’t offended you.

“You know I don’t think you’re a bully, right?” he says, glancing between your face and the road several times.

You eye him playfully. “Well, give it a minute.”

Bradley chuckles. “It’s getting dark,” he notes after a little while. He was hoping to get farther on the first day, but the prospect of maybe spending an extra day with you on the road doesn’t seem nearly as daunting as it might have in the morning. “Want to stop for the night?”

“I can drive if you want,” you offer.

Naturally, Bradley overthinks your response. He wonders if maybe you’ve had enough of him and would prefer to get to Texas as soon as possible. “No, no,” he responds. “I can drive. I just thought you might be tired.”

“From sitting?” you quip.

Bradley gives you a flat look. “It’s been a long day.”

You shrug. “It flew by.”

That sets his mind at ease somewhat. A day doesn’t fly by unless you’re having a good time. “I think we should stop,” he says.

“Alright,” you respond, “let’s stop.”

…

“You two lovebirds want the mountain or city view?” the hotel’s front desk clerk enquires with a beam.

Bradley is about to explain that the two of you will, in fact, require separate rooms because you are the absolute opposite of lovebirds, when you respond with, “Mountain, please.”

The clerk hands you a key and Bradley follows you down the hall mutely, with both of your suitcases in tow. He’s not about to dispute your decision to share a room, despite knowing that it’s exactly what he swore he’d avoid doing the moment he laid eyes on you.

You open the door and enter, holding it open for Bradley so that he can bring in the luggage. He sets it down gingerly by the door and straightens his back to look around. The are two double beds against the wall and a large window with a spectacular view of the Santa Catalina range.

You flop down on one of the beds with a contented sigh. “You know what, darlin’? I am tired.”

Bradley watches you climb further up the bed and rest your head on one of the pillows. He’s used to you calling him all sorts of terms of endearment at this point, but it still warms his heart each and every time you do. “No dinner tonight, sweetheart?” he responds, adopting your speaking style on a trial basis.

You lift your head from the pillow. “Let’s just order in?”

You seem unfazed by the fact that Bradley just called you sweetheart. Meanwhile, he’s nearly thrown up from the anxiety it’s caused him. He resolves not to call you that – or any other overly-friendly name – ever again. “Yeah, we can do that,” he responds casually. “Pizza?”

You nod. “With barbeque chicken.”

“You got it.”

…

“Did you always want to be an aviator?” you ask, taking a bit of pizza while dusting crumbs off the bedspread.

The two of you are sitting cross-legged atop one of the beds with the open pizza box between you. Bradley grabs another slice. “Pretty much.” He doesn’t really want to get into specifics, because that means being vulnerable, a state which Bradley does not much enjoy.

“Interesting.”

“What about you?” he asks. “What are you studying?”

“Math.”

Bradley nearly chokes. For some reason, he expected something less cerebral. “Are you going to be an accountant, or something?” he asks with a smirk.

You frown slightly. “I sure hope not.”

“Well, what do you want to be?”

“A good person,” you respond thoughtfully.

Bradley lowers his pizza and stares at you. “You are a good person,” he says hoarsely.

You shrug. “I have my days.”

“I mean, I don’t know you very well,” Bradley reasons. “But you seem great. Much better than your brother.”

You laugh and lower your gaze. “Aren’t you a sweetheart?” you say warmly.

Bradley can feel his heart pounding like a double bass drum. The only sweetheart in this room is you and he can hardly keep that to himself. To think that you might be doubting your own integrity is affecting Bradley on a near-physical level. “You’re a good person. Anybody who tells you otherwise is an idiot,” he states.

You smile, still looking downward. “Thanks.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

You place your half-eaten slice of pizza back into the box and fall back into the pillows, sighing dramatically. “I’m stuffed!”

Bradley, who’s just taken his final bite, mutters around the crust in his mouth. “Me too.” He closes the pizza box and picks it up to set it onto the floor by the bed. Then, he moves to the other bed and lies down on his back with a weary exhale.

“Hey, Rooster,” you call from your bed.

“Hmm?”

“Are you a good pilot?”

Bradley turns onto his side to face you. “I think so.”

“My brother said you were just alright,” you say.

Bradley snorts and throws a pillow at you. You laugh and then stuff the pillow in between your knees. “Joke’s on you, I’m keeping this.”

Bradley adjusts his second pillow under his head and mutters, “You’re welcome.”

“Tomorrow you can choose what you want to listen to,” you say.

Bradley chuckles. What he wants to listen to more than anything is probably you.

“Hey, Rooster,” you say quietly.

“Hmm?”

“Is there any pie left?”

Tag List

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[simpforrooster]

to the left.

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x f!reader

summary: fun little christmasy one-shot. rooster helps decorate

t/w: allusions of smut

“A little to the left,” you call from the mound of plush blankets on the couch.

Rooster’s shoulders slump momentarily in defeat before straightening the star on the tree.

You study the star, tilting your head to the left, then the right. “I think it needs to go back to the right.”

Rooster tilts it back the way he had it mere seconds ago. His fit arm is stretched to the top of the tree. A small sliver of his abs peek beneath the green henley he wears. The plaid pajama pants (that match yours) hang low on his hips.

“I don’t know, Roos. Back to the left”

At this, Roosted lets an exasperated sigh. His hand falls from the tree and lands on his hip, extinguishing that small sliver of skin. He shoots you a look.

“I’m beginning to think you’re pulling my leg.”

You shake your head vigorously, widening your eyes in feign innocence. You point to the tree. “To the left!”

Rooster starts on you, abandoning the tree. He hovers over you, placing all hand on either side of you. The back of the couch holds his weight off you, but you want nothing more than to have him drape himself over you.

“This left?” he asks, placing a kiss under your left ear. Butterflies fill your stomach as he brings his brown eyes to yours. You audibly gulp, causing one of his brows to arch.

“Or was it the right?” he murmurs, kissing under you right ear.

He smiles into your neck, right against your racing pulse. “I can’t believe I do that to you.”

“Oh, please,” you scoff, your voice coming about breathless.

You slip your hands around his neck, and into his hair. You trail a line of kisses up his neck and along his jaw. His breath hitches in the back of his throat, and suddenly, you know exactly what he means.

Knowing you have the same effect on Rooster that he does you thrills you in more ways than one.

“C’mere,” he murmurs in your ear, pulling you from the couch. Once he has you on your feet, his arms wrap tightly around your waist. Tugging you flush against his body, he leans down and takes your lips in his. Every part of you flairs to life. As his hands slide from your waist to your hips, you can’t help but feel just what you do to him.

Rooster’s hands slide around your ass, hoisting you up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“Can the tree wait?” he whispers against your jaw, walking the two of you back to your room.

a/n: i’m bbbbaaaacccckkk

[notroosterbradshaw]

about: just some smut to fend off jetlag. i love sleepy Bradley, I make no excuses that I feel he does his best work in the early hours of the day. This was supposed to be a drabble… it’s not anymore. Sorry.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: nsfw 18+, language, pure fluff, smut.

masterlist.

The morning after the night before when Bradley met your family for the first time, you'd flown across the world to surprise your dad for his birthday and really, it luckily coincided with Bradley's time off. When you mentioned heading home for your old man's special day that usually kicked off your family's holiday season, you almost fell out of your seat when he said maybe it was time he met the fam face-to-face, not just making small talk over FaceTime. It almost didn’t seem fair that he was subjected to meeting everyone this way, but alas… here you were the next morning, jet lag kicking in while wrapped protectively in Bradley’s strong, golden arms and washed in the relief your family fucking loved him. You weren't overly surprised. 

Bradley's quiet, unassuming charm was just who your mum wanted you to end up with, he was into golf and surfing, so your dad and brothers thought he was the bee's knees. Your sister on the other hand... 

You had to fend her off more than you would have liked. You were confident in your relationship with Bradley, knowing he'd never allow anything to happen. "You're coming across a little desperate," you hissed after one or two drinks, which mortified her, and she apologised, admitting she was just happy to finally get to meet the guy who'd swept you off your feet. "Yes, my feet," you reminded her. When she pointed out how possessive you sounded, you didn't deny it. But she got it and gave you space for the rest of the evening. 

Ahh, sisters. 

Bradley felt your body writhe in the gentlest of movements against his and he sighed. Sleep hadn’t come easy for either of you and compounded with the food and booze you’d indulged in the day before, neither of you slept much. “You okay, sweetheart?” he whispered at God-knows-what-o’clock. 

“What time is it?” You asked softly.

“I dunno, baby. Sun is barely rising,” he admitted. “Can’t hear a peep in the house.”

Which was nice because yesterday was intense. Everyone was so excited to meet your new American boyfriend (fairly, it’d been about eight months, give or take with a few deployments), the incredibly handsome navy pilot whom you’d met one evening at a naval bar while travelling. You’d caught his eyes behind his sunglasses while he played the piano, the crowd around him as swept away with him as you were. The first half-smile in your direction, as he sang, had done you over in a way not one single person on the planet had before. 

He'd charmed you instantly. He still charmed you constantly. 

“Did you get any sleep?” you asked, biting back a yawn.

“Not really,” he peppered tender kisses into your shoulder blade and smiled into your skin as you pressed back into him, the oh-so-quiet moan made for his ears only waking him from his dreaded fog as well. “I’ll try and get a kip somewhere today. That fuckin’ flight murdered me.” 

“You were happy to fly economy,” you muttered. “I know you’re used to tight quarters, but fuck Bradley. It was 15 hours." 

“I know, I know I fucked up. I was looking at upgrades overnight. I’ll use my discount and stuff; we can do it flying home.”

“You sure?”

“Sue me for wanting to save a buck,” he sighed, with a tired, deep chuckle. “Flight was so full; people may as well have been sitting on the wings.”

“It’s Christmas. People travel.”

“You don't say,” he affectionately gripped your waist, rolling you to him and kissed you. “Good morning, I think," he nuzzled your nose against his and asked if you wanted some water or anything.

You shook your head, rolling back and snuggling into him as he adjusted his arms around you again, his nose buried in your hair. "I think Dad is gonna expect you for at least nine holes today." 

"I think so, yeah. Grill me and make sure I'm good enough for his little girl.” He murmured and if he was honest, he was the teeniest bit nervous. He’d never really been in relationships long enough to meet families… and who would he introduce anyone to, except for Mav?

"I think you'll be fine."

"He probably wouldn't be if he knew what a deviant I've turned his smart, beautiful baby girl into.”

You giggled quietly as you could feel the soft ends of his moustache curve into a smirk against the nape of your neck. "He'd send you back on the first flight to LA."

"I would believe that," he said softly. 

"I think yesterday went really well, Bradley," you confided quietly to him.

"You think? I was on my very best behaviour," he teased you.

"Yes, you were," you admitted. Not that he ever wasn't. Bradley was instilled with a remarkable set of manners. He was chivalrous and courteous to a fault, incredibly sweet and at times, pensive, even shy. Almost make believe that you were lucky enough to share his time. You wriggled back against him, and you could feel the hard-on straining through his boxer briefs. "Down, boy." 

"Can't help it," he sighed. "You know what you do to me with that ass. I know what you want. You're not that transparent."

You bit back your pleased smile as his wandering hands travelled down your side, fingertips toying with the hem of his old Navy tee that was now your bed shirt. At home, you were nude sleepers. At your parents' home during the holidays? You showed decorum and respect and you both hated it, preferring skin-on-skin of the other but alas, anyone could walk in at any time. 

“Have a thought about how we might be able to fuck this jetlag off…” 

“Oh, yeah?” at this point, you’d do anything and with Bradley’s travel for work, you hoped maybe he might have some insight. You had planned to just power through and try not to be the world’s most exhausted asshole. 

"You just move your thigh a little this way..." he murmured, his palm cupping your hamstring and you pressed back into him, grinning softly. “And I just slide up in here – ”

“Confident of you, don’t you think?”

“You’re always wet for me,” he whispered against your skin. “Unless you deny it.”

“Never…” you told him, reaching back to wrap an arm around his strong neck. “I just can't keep it down with you. Why didn’t you convince me to get the AirBnb?”

He loved how vocal you were during sex. Your moans, the hisses, the way you'd bite your lip when you were so close. That groan as you came, or the little squeal when you were too sensitive was burned into his brain as his favourite sounds in the world. 

"Just lemme hold you then, it's okay, sweetheart," he grumbled. “I’ll live if you can.” 

“Asshole,” you muttered as he chuckled. 

“Do you want a blowjob?” You nervously offered, turning back to him and he looped your thigh over his hip and perched you above him with such little effort on his behalf - you loved how strong he was but you knew what was waiting for you, Bradley made no secret he was turned on and you loved that you were able to have him on a knife-edge at all times. 

The one per cent, he’s told you once before. 

You’re so sweet to him as you slowly dragged your hand into the waistband of his boxer briefs, revealing more and more skin, cock springing free, slapping against his toned, tanned Adonis belt. Long, thick and dripping with precum already and he almost blushed at how eager he was.

“I’ll never say no,” he replied, “And I know you might be uncomfortable here. Your dad is right across the hall, baby."

“But my daddy is right here…” you immediately corrected him, and he smiled darkly to himself. You didn't use that term lightly, you couldn’t nfi fed to him he had the ability to bring out your innermost feral when you least expected it and he would do his utmost to encourage it (if you were comfortable). 

“Jesus,” his head was swirling, trying to keep calm and not blow his load the second you bared your tongue to him but there was absolutely nothing sweet about it. He was a preening mess when you went down on him. The night you'd told him you weren't overly experienced in blow jobs was the greatest night of his life, coaching you through what he liked and watching you perfect your generous technique time and time again. 

These days, you loved giving Bradley head. He gave you confidence, he made you feel sexy and not like it was only about him on the receiving end. He’s whispered and encouraged, and when it all got too much, he told you he was close. He was neither here nor there on the whole spit or swallow thing… until you and your preference but he was never left empty-handed.

"Shh," you hissed. "Not a sound." 

That one thing you did for him that absolutely made him come undone. And he'd bury his face in your pussy all day if you allowed him to show you how fucking grateful, he was for all the pleasure you presented him. Your sweet, tight wetness that he would eagerly drown himself in if you’d let him. 

Your honeyed tongue delicately tasted the flawless head of his cock, lapping up the precum as Bradley's eyes rolled back into his head and his big hands reached to knot into your hair as you went to work, swirling your tongue and looking up with your big, scheming eyes, knowing you had him at his most precarious. 

He was a weapon in his training, his mind and body were always primed to do what was asked of him, but you were the exception and it scared and excited him.

He could feel himself getting so close to painting the back of that beautiful mouth, and while it pained him to say it, the way your eyes softened told him he’d made the right choice. “Come on, baby, I want you.” 

You gently pulled away and asked, “You don’t want me to finish?”

“No, I wanna fuck, baby. Watch you lose control.” 

“Okay,” you said, your soft hand trading with your warm mouth to tenderly pump and tease him. 

“Gimme a sec. I don't have condoms close,” he whispered. “They're in my luggage.”

"Just pull out, sweetheart," you enticed him, wanting to feel all of him. It was so infrequent you fucked without protection, and of course, you both preferred it that way but after a pregnancy scare (or not, neither of you was really sure) a few months back, you'd both decided to stop tempting fate and ensuring there was a stash of condoms at his place, your place... the goddamn Bronco – Bradley understood that it was your body and you didn’t want to be on the pill. A condom was the least he could do, and he knew it. 

Bradley helped you move up his body and rest you above him. "Are you sure?" he kissed you, your gleaming teeth lightly stinging into his bottom lip with an affectionate nip. 

“I trust you,” you told him. "Cum where you need...”

Truth be told, he wanted to cum deep, but he licked back a wet smile and he moved to his knees to pull his navy tee over your head, bearing your beautiful breasts to him, full, round, nipples begging for attention. “On your back, baby,” he urged, guiding you under him, anticipating how wet you were for him, legs splaying open unashamed. He rested the head of his cock on your weeping cunt, his fingers spreading your bare lips and sweeping your slick across your clit, fascinated by that little peep of desperation from you. Your head fell back against the pillows, bliss sweeping through you as he sweetly pressed one finger into you. “Drippin’,” he reported, pressing in another finger and his thumb rubbing tenderly against your throbbing clit. “Gonna gush for me?” 

You probably would, Bradley’s ability to drag absolutely everything out of you blew your mind each time. “Need your cock. Fill me up, Bradley.” 

Pushing in, one delicious inch by delicious inch, licking his full lips as your back curved to take him as deeply as possible. He buried his face in your breasts, holding one in his calloused palm, eyes fluttering closed as he traced, left wet, open-mouthed kissed and tenderly bit the other, and the groan you let you made him clamp his palm over your mouth. “You’re so wet, baby,” he stared deeply into your eyes as he evened his breath with the first few rolls of his slender hips. "But you're gonna wake your parents if you don’t control yourself."

"Let them fuckin' hear," you muttered behind your hand (you’d die if they heard you though) as he chuckled and began his ruthless assault on your senses, one thrust at a time. 

"You're too good to me," Bradley reminded you in disbelief.  

"All for you," you confided, as you watched the beads of sweat break across his brow as you dug your nails into his well-worked traps, willingly knowing it would leave a mark courtesy of your fresh manicure. You raised your hips to meet his deep, plunging thrusts, fucking into you strong and deep. He felt incredible, you don't think anyone had loved on you as Bradley Bradshaw could. So thorough, and never one to leave you hanging. 

Too long, too sore? He'd pause and tenderly withdraw to hold you, reassuring you that it was fine, and your comfort was paramount. Too sensitive after coming too hard, he'd give you time to recover, finding other ways to bring you pleasure.

It was nice to be considered in your relationship, in your sex life especially. In the past, you'd been made to feel like a machine, if you didn't cum, partners still could, and you'd just deal with it. For a long time, that stuck with you and having someone consider you like Bradley would almost seem too good to be true at the start. 

But that consideration never lapsed. He was make-believe and you fucking hoped if this man and everything he brought to you was a dream that you’d never, ever wake up. 

Desperate to keep himself controlled, Bradley reached for the headboard of your old bed, gripping it for dear life as he tried so damn hard to avoid coming. He loved fucking you raw, and since birth control was completely your choice, you two had to stop playing this dangerous game. Because one day? It would beat you both.

"I need to cum, Bradley," you whined to him as he nodded, chewing his lower lip, and putting your delicate fingers in your mouth, not losing his rhythm. He knew. He knew how close you were. 

"Lemme see you touch yourself, baby. Get those fingers - " he gasped as you clenched around him. "Get 'em nice and wet and play with that sweet, tight pussy. Lemme see you fall apart.”

Before, language like that would embarrass you, but with Bradley, it only spurred you on. It was incredible the ways he’d helped you grow and mature as a friend, partner and lover. As instructed, and in the low early morning light, Bradley’s breath hitched, watching you touch yourself and you couldn’t help it, the beat of his cock against your g-spot, your fingers pressing rough circles into your clit and you started to come. 

“Yes, baby. Yes,” he urged, moving his mouth to your ear, whispering his sweet encouragement. “You feel so good, just a little mo – ” he forced his mouth against yours, kissing your pleasure to him, to keep the noise down. He wrapped his hand under your hip, lifting your waist to push harder into you as you trembled below him, your pussy clutching his cock, spasming as he shuddered against your lips. “Yes, baby.”

“Jesus, Bradley, fuck me,” you begged as his hips speed up like a piston, thrusting hard into your swollen, sensitive pussy, his hand clutching yours away from your strained clit and pressing intensely in your place, hoping to drag your orgasm out and as you fell, lifeless, back against the squishy pillows, pussy pulsating, Bradley grunted low he was coming and after his final few thrusts, he quickly withdrew and unloaded, stroking himself until he was spent, pearly ribbons of cum decorating your belly and breasts. 

He collapsed beside you, taking your cheeks in his face and kissing you wildly. “I love you. I love you, baby,” he kissed you again, and though you were spent, you returned his affections, because truly… you loved Bradley Bradshaw with your entire being. It was going to take a lot to change that. “Are you okay?” he asked, chest still heaving as he breathed, his pointer finger tracing through the mess he made on you.

“I’m good, sweetheart,” you assured him as he gave you one last, final kiss.

“Think that helped with your jetlag?” he teased.

“Makes me want another round,” you admitted as he chuckled and raised an eyebrow. 

“Of course you do,” he pressed a kiss into your pulse and lifted his lips back to yours, holding you close and just like horny teenagers, enjoying making out for a few moments in the afterglow. “Where’s that shirt gone?” he asked, peering over the side of the bed, and cleaning you up. “Jackson Pollack painting here.”

“Be less proud,” you told him as he snorted.

“Yes, ma’am,” he pressed another kiss to your lips. “Sure you’re okay?”

“Perfect, but let me go pee,” you whispered as Bradley kissed you long and deep, he nodded into the kiss but was not quite ready to leave you leave him. 

“Go, clean up, baby,” he helped you up from the bed, your legs precarious and meandering like Bambi. “Careful,” he sighed, wistfully. But he knew it already, you were thoroughly fucked, just how he liked it. 

A few hours later and thankfully, a few more hours of sleep, your alarm woke you, the sun much higher in the sky and the heat of the day starting to rise. You’d showered and told him to come down when he was ready, you’d help your Mum with some brekky.

“You want eggs?”

“Anything,” Bradley admitted. “Famished.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” you cupped his face in your palms and kissed him lightly. “Don’t rush.”

“Okay,” he gave a small grin but didn’t much feel like lingering. After a quick shower, he dressed, annoyed he didn't pack any golf gear, at minimum the shoes that you gave him grief for every time he wore them, but maybe he'd treat himself and buy some at the course today. He rifled through his bag, clutching the velvet box in his palm tightly, convinced more than ever that this was real, this was happening and soon, he'd hope to have you wearing his mother's engagement ring too. 

Slapping on his CVN-71 cap, he knew you went a bit feral when he perched it backward. May as well leave you with good thoughts while he was out and about, asking your old man for your hand on the golf course. And if it went badly, it was also something to identify him when the authorities found him if your dad said no. 

[ddejavvu]

Rooster as a girl dad PLEASE. that’s it, that’s the request

"Mister Sparkleface," Bradley huffs, pointing accusatorily at the stuffed pony sitting lopsided against the wall, "You stand accused today of tripping miss Caroline Bradshaw, sending her tumbling down the stairs and scraping her knees. Do you have anything to say for yourself towards these charges?"

Caroline watches with misty eyes, snuggled into your chest while Bradley leans forwards across the coffee table to stare down the offending stuffy.

"I call forth my first piece of evidence," Bradley decides after a moment of silence. "Exhibit A."

He turns to lift the blanket off of your daughter's knees, revealing two band-aids and red patches of skin. She sniffles as the cold air hits her boo-boos, and he brushes his thumb over one of the bandages in apology.

"I see unmistakable evidence of your guilt," He showcases her band-aids to the guilty toy, "This behavior is unacceptable, Miss Caroline is a princess and any act of violence against her will be considered treason. Are the judges ready to deliberate?"

He turns to you, and raises his brows. You nod vigorously, Caroline mirroring you from her spot in your lap.

"Okay," Bradley leans in, huddling so that Mister Sparkleface can't hear you. He can't help himself, pressing a kiss to his daughter's forehead, then your own, "What are we thinking?"

"Guilty." You spout, covering Caroline with the blanket again, "I mean, look at him. It's written all over his face."

A quick glance thrown at Sparkleface reveals two beaded eyes, and a sewn-on smile. Bradley nods, "You're right. And even if he's not guilty of tripping her, he made Miss Caroline cry," He reaches out to swoop a tear away from beneath her eye, "That's evidence enough for me."

"He's guilty," Caroline pipes up, sniffling weakly, "He should have to spend the night in the toybox."

"That punishment seems fair and gracious, my lady." You applaud your daughter, and she gives you a goofy grin in response, "You are a kind Princess."

"Guilty." Bradley barks at the pony, pounding a remote against the wooden surface of the coffee table. "But- oh, there's another case on trial today."

"Another," You gasp, holding Caroline tighter, "Who is the accused?"

"Miss Caroline Bradshaw!" Bradley reveals, and Caroline gawps at him, "For leaving Mister Sparkleface on the stairs when explicitly asked to pick him up!"

"Oh, dear." You lament, nudging her out of your lap, "Do you have anything to say for yourself, Miss Bradshaw?"

"No!" She giggles, shrieking with full-blown laughter when Bradley snatches her up from where she's trying to wriggle back into your lap. He plucks her pony stuffy from the ground, placing her in his spot instead, "No, Dada, I'm not guilty!"

"Let the record show that at eight-fifty-seven last night," Bradley boasts, peering down at his 'record' that is just the instruction manual for a set of outdoor lights, "Miss Bradshaw was instructed to pick up all of her toys, and put them away. Not only that, but numerous times we have asked her to keep her toys off of the stairs, because they are a tripping hazard."

You gasp dramatically, "No!"

"Yes!" Bradley roars, and Caroline nearly hits her head against the floor from how hard she erupts into laughter at his dramatics, "Her punishment is the same as Sparkleface's. A night in the toybox for each."

He surges forwards, around the coffee table to scoop her up again. Her sweet laughter is muffled into the fabric of his sweatshirt as he treks over to her toybox, lifting the lid and lowering her in carefully.

"No, no! No Dada," She squeals, nearly buried by stuffed animals that she sinks into, "I'm not a toy! I can't be in the toybox!"

"Oh? Where should you go then, jellybean?" He props his chin on the side of the toybox, kissing her forehead where she lays amidst her playthings.

"Um, I should go to bed. But-! But not now," She explains, brain working furiously to figure out a punishment for herself that isn't really a punishment, "Um, later than normal. Like, like ten."

"Hmm, interesting. You should be punished by getting to stay up later than normal?"

"Yeah," She nods vigorously, "Um, because- because I don't like the tv you guys watch. So I won't have fun staying up."

"I think," Bradley chuckles, helping her out of the toybox and cradling her in his lap, "You should go to bed earlier. Like, five."

"Five!" You gasp, "Oh, show her mercy, Judge!"

"Hmm, alright." Bradley grumbles, "Nine it is. Normal time. But, Miss Bradshaw needs to put Mister Sparkleface away. And the Barbie bike that's by the front door, unless she wants her Uncle Jake to step on it with his giant feet."

The prospect scares her, and she lunges out of his lap to collect her toys, "I'm going!"

"Good job, Judge." You chuckle, standing behind him where he's still kneeling at the toybox and tipping his chin up. He grins, letting you guide him where you're holding beneath his chin to kiss him. It's an upside-down kiss, and you have to nearly fold yourself in half to make it work, but it's worth it. You don't hear the tiny feet smacking the wood floor until it's too late, and Caroline's disgusted voice rings throughout the house.

"Miss Mama and Mister Dada! You are guilty for kissing!"

[feralforfrank]

hey ☺️

the only thing on my mind is rooster shaving his mustache for whatever reason and gf reader is upset ! silly little blurb i luv ur writing muah

the stache incident.

BRADLEY 'ROOSTER' BRADSHAW X GN!READER

cw fluffy drabble ig :) NON-DESCRIPTIVE READER.

a/n ANON!!! ILY THANK YOU FOR READING MY STUFF <3333333 much love to you, MWAH!

masterlist | taglist

You're shocked, heartbroken, in shambles, you name it. The grocery bag almost slips from your fingers when you hear the horrid sound of the electric razor from the bathroom. You place the bags on the counter before practically running inside.

You want to douse your eyes with gasoline when you see the damage. Bradley had been mentioning here and there that he wanted to shave his moustache just to see how he'd look without it. You'd forbade such talk inside the house, and he chuckled before dropping the subject.

But what seemed to be your biggest fear was becoming your new reality. With your keys clutched in one hand, the other holding on for dear life at the door frame, you watch your dear boyfriend shave the last of his moustache over the sink.

He hasn't noticed you yet. Music is playing from his phone, but you can't bring yourself to recognise the tune. This situation is way too tragic. When the buzzing sound stops emanating from the vile machine, Bradley finally turns around, having heard your panting.

"Babe, this isn't what it looks like." He speaks with hesitation and guilt.

"What did you do?" Your every word is punctuated.

Bradley opens his mouth but closes it, and you shake your head expectantly. "Well?"

"I-I was trimming it, and Din here," he looks at your cat, laying on the floor as if he's the criminal here, "came between my legs and scared me, and I moved my hand, and I shaved more than I should. It didn't look good anymore."

You scoff, pushing yourself off the doorway and turning to walk to your bedroom. Not once did you believe Bradley.

"Babe? Baby, c'mon!"

"I am not talking to you, hairless cat."

You hear him chuckle. "Hey, it's not that bad!" Bradley follows you into the bedroom.

"Never said it was." You shrug, taking your shirt off.

He's behind you in seconds, kissing your neck, his hands encircling your waist and pulling you closer. "You called me a hairless cat."

"Don't have a problem with cats. I own one." You pause, looking up. "Now, I got another one! Hm! Look at that!"

"Hey!" Bradley blows a breath where your jawline meets your ear, causing you to shiver.

You spend a few seconds like this, his hands around you, your back pressed against his smooth shirtless chest, face buried in your neck. Feels weird without the stache.

"So, you don't like it?" You realise you've spoken aloud when he questions you.

You shake your head. "I think you look attractive either way." You turn to Bradley, never escaping his grasp. 

"I'm only joking. You look like a baby. It's adorable!"

Bradley looks offended. "Well, in that case, I am letting it grow and never shaving it ever again."

You grab the back of his head, kissing where he used to have perfectly trimmed hair. The spot is soft and smooth as a baby's butt.

You can't help but smile. 

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[jupitercomet]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐑𝐮𝐧

summary - Bradley Bradshaw has one goal as he finishes his junior year of college - get Makayla Cunningham to be his girlfriend. Because Makayla Cunningham is exactly the kind of girl a guy like Bradley Bradshaw deserves. There's just one problem, Makayla is adamant that Bradley is a bad boyfriend. If he wants to win her over, Bradley has to prove he can keep a girlfriend of Makayla's choosing for the entire summer. It's just his luck that girl is his little sister's best friend.

warnings - college au, frat boy Bradley (Bradley’s frat is completely fictional and in no way meant to reference any existing frats), language, fluff, angst, light smut, Bradley is 22 and reader is 19, no use of y/n, Bradley is 6'6" because I said so, chapter specific

this blog is 18+, minors please do not interact

last updated - 8/16/23

main series;

chapter one chapter two chapter three chapter four chapter five chapter six chapter seven chapter eight chapter nine chapter ten chapter eleven chapter twelve chapter thirteen chapter fourteen ...

extra;

blurb one makayla face claim bradley mood board everyone's major playlist

spin-offs;

the real thing (a jake seresin spin-off) the what if (a bob floyd spin-off)

join my Bradley Bradshaw taglist here or follow my library @jupitercometgold