#the reaction shot when rooster gets shot down

[chaosinstigator]

it’s been a year since last I saw it and my immediate reaction is still oh my god get a fucking room already

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 14 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: The guys and Nat pull through with something big for your baby shower. Bradley can't get enough of your body, and then he gets the biggest surprise of all.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, oral sex, adult language, lactation kink, pregnancy topics

Length: 6000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"I told you this would be a shitstorm," Bradley muttered quietly before taking a sip of his mimosa. Nat did her best to decorate the Hard Deck for the baby shower, and she even wore a dress for the occasion. But most of the attendees were the guys who decided to show up in essentially their gym clothes. In fact, the only one who looked halfway decent was Jake, probably because Cat told him what to wear.

"I don't mind this shitstorm," you told him, kissing his cheek as you picked up your orange juice. Jimmy was bartending since Penny was technically a shower guest, and he kept filling up your juice and making sure you were eating the snacks. Next time Bradley saw him on a regular night, he'd make sure to leave a big tip.

"What the hell?" Bradley groaned as Javy arrived and dropped another case of beer off on the gift table. "Even I know that pregnant women can't have alcohol. What in the actual hell is wrong with these people?"

You shot a glare in his direction before you stepped away to hug Javy. You had on another one of those bodycon dresses, and Bradley knew for a fact you weren't wearing any underwear. Not a single thread of it. Just that sexy, stretchy pink dress squeezing your curves like he wanted to be doing. Javy's hand slid a little low on your back for his liking, and he raised one unamused eyebrow before you stepped away.

God, he was so fucking cranky today. He still maintained that Valentine's Day was stupid, because he loved you every day, all the time. Last year he took you to that weird hotel with the hot sauce vending machine, which was fun, but he didn't need a special occasion to do anything. Having Rose's shower on the holiday should have given it more meaning, but he was irritable. 

He knew this day would come toward the end of your pregnancy, but last night, you fell asleep while he was going down on you. And this morning when you woke up, you didn't say a word about it. Like you'd completely forgotten. Then you put on that pink dress and made yourself look all cute for the baby shower, but he could tell you were tired. The exhaustion hit you like a ton of bricks after the trip to Mexico, just when Bradley became accustomed to having sex multiple times per day. Just when you were more glowing than ever.

"Bradshaw," Jake drawled, the sound alone grating on Bradley's nerves. "Did someone piss in your mimosa?"

The stupid smirk on his face made Bradley roll his eyes. "There are two dozen people here, and I'm your best option for someone to annoy?"

Jake laughed merrily in response. "Oh, Rooster. You're always going to be my top pick. Your reactions alone are priceless. Don't tell me you've got cold feet about the baby? You can't unfuck Angel. You know that, right?"

"Jesus, you're annoying," he muttered under his breath. "It has nothing to do with that." But he kind of wanted to pout. Or get a blowjob from you. That would probably make it better. "I'm excited for the baby. Obviously."

Jake shook his head. "Then may I suggest you put a smile on your face before you upset your wife? Let her have a good day. Also, she looks hot pregnant."

"Why are you even looking at her?" he mumbled before he walked over to you. It wasn't your fault that you were exhausted and achy with delectable tits. It wasn't your fault that you fell asleep last night, even though you could have definitely held on for five more minutes so he wasn't second guessing himself now. 

"Hey," he whispered, wrapping his arms around you from behind and letting his chin rest on your shoulder. "Having fun?" he asked as the final few guests arrived. Another case of beer and a bottle of champagne ended up with the rest of the gifts when Reuben walked in. "What is wrong with these men?"

Your laughter was light as you said, "I think it's kind of charming how clueless they are. I'm not sure why we even bothered to make a gift registry. Also, can you just tell me why you're pouting, Roo?"

He shrugged against your back as he ran his palm slowly up and down your belly, hoping to feel the Nugget kick. She seemed to be running out of room in there at this point, and the kicks were harder to feel. And maybe that was part of it, too. He was used to not only your horny ass on him 24/7, but he was used to his daughter greeting him when he talked to her.

"Does this have anything to do with me falling asleep while you were giving me head?"

Bradley's eyes went wide. "Sweetheart, do you really have to announce it to the whole place? If it wasn't any good, then it wasn't any good, but you know I'll try to make it up to you later."

"Stop it," you said with another laugh as you turned to face him. You were too beautiful. All he wanted to do was make you happy. "I've been trying to think of a way to make it up to you."

"I wasn't even sure you remembered falling asleep like that," he whispered.

You ran our hand down along his cheek as your belly bumped against his abs. "I'm sorry, Bradley. I couldn't stay awake for another second last night. Rose is requiring a lot more sleep now. I think we need to mess around earlier in the day. Oh! Maybe we can mess around in one of the Broncos this afternoon! You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah," he replied, unable to keep a smile from his lips. "I'd like that."

You kissed his lips softly and ran your thumb along his mustache, leaving him wanting more. "As soon as this shitshow is over, I'm all yours."

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

"Thanks," you told Reuben as you patted the case of beer he bought for you. "So thoughtful."

"Oh, there's a gift card taped on the side, too," he told you with a smile. And sure enough, when you turned it around to look, you found it. A gift card to the liquor mart in Coronado.

"Thank you so much," you told him with a smile as you tried to figure out why everyone brought so much alcohol. "Just out of curiosity, why do you think I need this much beer and fifty dollars worth of booze?"

The guys all burst out laughing. "Because you have to live with Rooster!" Javy shouted, earning a swift middle finger from your husband. Then you started laughing, and even Nat, who looked fed up with all of them, had to hide her smile.

"We were wondering when you were going to ask," Jake said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out another gift card. "This is from us. For real this time. Congratulations."

He placed it in your hand, and tears filled your vision. Javy, Mickey, Reuben and Jake had all scribbled their names on the paper envelope, and someone had written Bob's on there even though he was still deployed. "It's for Amazon, for a thousand dollars," you whispered, afraid you were going to start actively crying.

"We heard diapers are expensive," Reuben said as he shoved chips and spinach dip into his mouth.

"We heard babies are expensive," Javy added.

"Babies are definitely expensive," Cat called out from the other side of the bar.

Bradley wrapped his arm around your shoulders, and you buried your face in his chest as he said, "I'm not going to apologize for flipping you off, because I'm sure you deserved it for something, but thank you."

After a few deep breaths, inhaling the comforting scent of your husband, you looked up at everyone and said a very watery, "Thank you."

There was another card from Maria and Cam attached to a high chair, and Cat picked out a onesie that said Future Aviator. Maverick and Penny bought every bath accessory a baby could ever need, and then you were left with an enormous gift bag that Mickey was handing off with a bright smile on his face. 

"You got us something else?" you asked, bewildered since he already contributed to the hefty gift card. But when you looked inside, everything was blue. Blue bibs and outfits and crib sheets. Blue everything.

"We're having a girl," Bradley told him with a furrowed brow.

"What?" Mickey asked as he turned to look at Nat. "You said they were having a boy!"

She scoffed. "I never said that."

"You said the baby's name is Ambrose!"

Nat was rubbing her temples as she looked up at the ceiling. "I said the baby's name is Rose. It's a girl."

"Ohhhh. That's why we got Rooster a box of pink cigars," Mickey said, nodding as if that made sense as he handed you a gift receipt.

"You just ruined the last surprise," Javy complained, hitting Mickey on the back of the head with a cigar box before giving it to Bradley. "Save some of those for next time we go golfing."

You watched your husband hug everyone in turn as he held onto the cigars and the gift card. And you didn't even mind that you'd probably need to exchange most of the stuff Mickey picked out. Everything was actually pretty perfect. It was chaotic, for sure. The guys ate all of the elaborate hors d'oeuvres that Nat picked out like it was a bag of Doritos, and you started crying again when Cam and Maria kissed your cheeks at the same time. But nothing prepared you for what Natasha said when you and Bradley insisted on helping her clean up at the end.

"I didn't really get anything for Rose, because I don't know what she likes yet. But I wanted to make everything easier for you both, so expect a ton of diapers and wipes to be delivered to your house this week." She pulled two wrapped boxes out from behind the bar as she said, "And these are for you."

"Nat," Bradley said, trying to push the boxes away. "You weren't supposed to get us anything at all. You threw us a fucking baby shower! It's too much!"

You watched her press her lips together for a few seconds before she whispered, "You're my best friend, Soul Sister. I never imagined I would ever see you as happy as you are now. Just take the fucking gifts. They're personalized, so I can't return them."

Bradley gave your hip a little squeeze before handing you the boxes, and then he pulled Nat in for a hug which lasted all of three seconds before she shook her head. "God, you're the worst. Just open them," she muttered, trying to pretend like she wasn't crying.

Your emotions were all over the place. You were happy and excited and horny and everything all at once. And you loved Natasha, but you weren't expecting her to pick out something so simple yet so perfectly beautiful. You unwrapped your box while Bradley opened his, and then you were both holding up luxuriously fluffy white cotton robes. Across the back of yours was stitched Rose's Mom in beautiful rose colored thread, and there was a rose embroidered on the front in the same color. Bradley's was the same but larger with Rose's Dad on the back. You slipped it on over your pink dress and did a little spin.

"This is beautiful," you whispered while Bradley put his on as well.

When you hugged her, she said, "I don't want either of you looking frumpy while you're taking care of my goddaughter."

While you hadn't given extensive thought to the honorary titles, you knew she would fit the role perfectly. You smiled and nodded. "You're absolutely right."

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

"Nat would be disgusted," Bradley said with a smile as he led you out to your quiet driveway later in the afternoon. The sky was a little dark from the storm clouds moving in, but it was still light enough out that he knew he needed to be cautious. He opened the back door of the blue Bronco and helped you in, and he was careful to help you keep yourself covered as you climbed in wearing nothing but your new robe. He tightened the sash on his, holding the front closed with one hand, and he followed you in.

"Roo," you whispered with a giggle. "I can see your cock."

He closed the door behind him and let the robe fall completely open, and soon you were yanking the sash so you could see all of him. Of course he was already hard and bobbing in excitement. "I'm pretty sure she intended for these to be worn over pajamas or underwear or something."

You just shrugged and straddled his lap, and told him, "I like it this way." You kissed his cheek while he cock was nestled up against your pussy, and he groaned in pleasure. "I'm sorry I fell asleep last night. I've been thinking about this moment all day. Wanting to make it up to you."

He felt a little bad for being so frustrated earlier, and he intended to say so, but then you pulled at the sash of your own robe, and he was treated to the sight of your swollen tits. When you shifted on his lap, they swayed ever so slightly, and he made a feral sound before leaning in to taste them. "Jesus," he moaned as he ran his nose around your breast. "So fucking warm." 

He sucked gently on your nipple while you played with his hair, hoping that the neighbors couldn't see through the line of trees into the Bronco. You tasted as good as you smelled, and he was salivating just knowing your milk would be coming in soon. Soft whimpers escaped you as he nibbled gently before sucking on you again, and you wiggled your hips until his tip was inside you. He slid his hands along the sides of your belly, and you gave him a little clench.

"Just a few more weeks, Daddy," you whispered, taking him deeper as he ran his tongue all over your chest. "Oh, you're such a good Daddy."

"Fuck," he growled, easing you back along the seat and hovering above you. "I thought this was gonna be sweet," he muttered, pistoning his cock into you, making your tits bounce. "But you're too hot."

You were whining his name, hands scrambling around for something to hold on to as he fucked you. "You don't have to be sweet, Roo. I like it rough."

"I know you do," he grunted kissing along your neck and palming your breast as he let you have it a little harder. "You're everything."

Eventually, like clockwork, his steady movements and whispered sentiments had you close. He let his hand cup your clit, his thumb stroking softly as he fucked you with sharp, strong strokes, and his other hand settled on your neck. You came instantly, your back arching, belly rising up to bump him.

"Bradley!" you screamed, and he glanced up to see if anyone was nearby. 

"Shh, Sweetheart," he coaxed, sinking his cock into your spasming pussy over and over until he couldn't take another second. "Oh, God." He pushed himself deep and dipped his thumb between your lips to keep you quieter, and he came and came. His balls were tight as he filled you, letting your body suck everything out of him that he had to give until he was a little dizzy. "Holy hell."

Your lips and tongue worked at his thumb as you lay there beneath him placidly. He kissed your nose and the perfect curve of your cheek before sitting up with his cock still inside you. You looked beautiful with your dainty rooster tattoo and your hard nipples, and when he withdrew slowly, he ran his fingers along your most intimate parts, collecting his cum.

"I hope the robes are machine washable," you whispered as you sat up, letting his cum dribble onto the fabric as you licked at his messy fingers. 

You had his cum on your lips, and your gaze was glued to his as he whispered, "Happy Valentine's Day, Baby Girl."

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

Later that week, you were climbing into bed while Bradley was adding to the Nugget Notebook. He was reading softly out loud as he wrote, and you were trying to enjoy yourself, but you didn't feel great.

"Hey, Rosie," he muttered with a smile. "Mommy's belly is looking enormous these days, and that means you'll be here soon. I don't think I've ever been this excited before. Nine months is a long time to build up this anticipation, and I'm ready to meet you. Your nursery is finished. We even had your baby shower the other day. All we're missing now is our little girl."

"That's sweet," you whispered, trying to get your stomach ache under control, but a second later, you jumped out of bed and ran for the bathroom. "Oh no," you groaned before emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet.

Bradley was pounding across the floor right behind you, and you felt his hands on your back as you threw up even more. "What's wrong?" he asked, rubbing small circles. "What do you need me to do?"

"I don't know," you wailed, wiping sweat from your brow. "I feel awful. It started a few hours ago."

"Shit," he muttered, helping you lay down on the cold, tile floor. "Why didn't you say anything before?" He got to his feet and immediately had the blood pressure cuff on you while you closed your eyes and tried to get your heart rate to calm down. "Your blood pressure is low," he whispered. "This is inconsistent. It's been on the higher side."

Your mind was swirling with information as you tried to sit up, but Bradley was already on his phone. "What are you doing?"

"Calling Dr. Morris. Just lay still, Sweetheart." He rolled a towel up and tucked it under your head while Rose squirmed.

You did as you were told, because you were suddenly so tired, you couldn't think. You started to doze on the floor as Bradley spoke with someone. You only had four more weeks to go, but you felt like this was the beginning of the end. You just wanted to get the rest of this pregnancy over with as soon as possible. As you pulled the towel over your eyes to block out the light, your head started pounding. And when Bradley checked your blood pressure a second time, you heard him sigh.

"It's a lot higher now," he told whomever was on the phone. "Yes... yes... no... okay." A few seconds later, he was laying down next to you with one strong arm wrapped around your body. He kissed your ear and whispered, "They said it could be normal for this late in your pregnancy. The last month can get rough again, but we'll keep an eye on everything. If you don't feel a little bit better by the morning, I'll take you to get checked out."

You swallowed hard. "But you're supposed to be teaching tomorrow. Remember?"

He wanted to try his hand at flight instruction. He'd been talking about it for months. There would be fewer deployments if he thought it was a good fit for him, and Maverick was giving him the opportunity fill in on occasion now for an opening in the future.

"I don't care about that," he replied easily. "Let me get you girls back in bed."

Eventually you fell asleep while he rubbed your back. You could make it a few more weeks. Probably.

You felt a tiny bit better as the days wore on, but you were exhausted and achy. Your feet started to get puffy and swollen, and you could barely make it through a day at work.

"Are you almost ready to come out?" you asked your own belly in early March. 

But Bradley shook his head and got down in his knees in the middle of cooking dinner. "Absolutely not," he whispered. "You stay in there as long as you can, Rosie." He looked up at you with wide, brown eyes. "We're all doing great. Preeclampsia is under control again. You look incredible. I'm holding down the fort. That Nugget needs to stay put."

"I'm so tired," you whined. "My mom keeps saying I need to rest now before she's born, but I can't. I can barely sleep, and I always feel like I'm on the verge of throwing up again. And I'm just so fucking tired, Bradley."

"I know," he whispered, letting his cheek rest on your enormous belly. You were handily the largest pregnant woman you'd ever seen in your life, and you swore you got bigger by the day. "I'm taking care of as much as I can so you don't have to."

You started crying. "I feel disgusting. Everything hurts. My tits feel like they're on fire. My back feels like that time I woke up hanging halfway off the bed when I was drunk after my bachelorette party. My face is broken out, and I'm hungry."

Bradley sent you to the table with a bowl of homemade soup and spent thirty minutes trying to coax you to start your maternity leave early. But what were you supposed to do with your time if you were at home? Worry about the baby? Eat until you gained another ten pounds? Get frustrated that you can't sleep?

"No," you said, shaking your head. "I like going to work. I want to go to work."

He ran his hand along his face and asked, "Are we still doing maternity pictures on Sunday?"

"Yeah," you whispered, annoyed that you had scheduled it so late in your pregnancy, but you wanted to have some photos taken while you were still pregnant for his birthday calendar. He told you ages ago that was something he'd enjoy, and at least your breasts looked pretty nice at the moment. "I need you to meet me at the beach after you're done playing golf."

"There's no way I'm going golfing, Sweetheart."

"You have to. You promised the guys you'd smoke those pink cigars with them. And you'll look adorable in the photos with your cheeks all flushed from your outing."

He rolled his eyes and grouched as he walked away. "We'll see," he mumbled. "We'll just see."

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

Bradley was sipping pink champagne from the bottle and smoking a cigar in the golf cart, and he had to admit you were right for making him come today. You were miserable now. Sometimes when he touched you, he saw you wince. The last time you and he had sex was in the backseat of the blue Bronco a month ago. He kept telling you it was okay, but you cornered him this morning when he was trying to shave around his mustache, and you gave him a blowjob.

He was still thinking about his cock sliding expertly along between your lips when Jake lit up a cigar next to him. "You're almost there old man. More responsibility than you've ever had before."

Bradley grunted in response. "I'm ready. Can't wait to meet her." He couldn't stop thinking about passing along his last name and his mom's name to a new generation. If he never met you, he was sure he'd never be at this point now, but you made everything so exciting for him. "My Nugget."

Jake smirked in response. "Feel free to call me crying a few weeks after she's born when you need a break."

"Okay. Like you're some sort of baby professional," he muttered before taking another sip of champagne. "You weren't around when Jeremiah was a newborn."

"Well, I'm around now," Jake replied with a hard edge to his voice. "And I intend to keep it that way. Been thinking about proposing."

Bradley looked him in the eye and asked, "You think she'll say yes?"

While he looked just as cocky as ever, there was something unsure in his eyes. "How could anyone say no?"

Bradley shrugged in response. "I could say no to you all day long."

"You're not a woman."

"My wife told you no as well."

Jake glared at him before laughing. "Aren't you supposed to be getting photos taken or something? We've got two more holes to finish up."

"Yeah," Bradley grunted in response, ready to get out of here and get back to you. "Javy! Let's go!"

Javy was practicing his swing while smoking his own pink cigar, and that fact that Reuben was filling in with his thirty-four handicap and chugging champagne made Bradley really miss Bob. They all wound along the pathway toward the seventeenth green. Bradley got par on both holes and handily beat the other three, and then he ended up getting changed in his Bronco to head to the beach.

He was supposed to meet you and the photographer who had made both of his dirty Baby Girl calendars at a very specific spot on a very specific beach up near Oceanside, and when he arrived, you were topless.

"Jesus," he moaned, watching you cover your tits with your hands as you spun to face him.

"You're early!" you complained as he glanced along the deserted stretch of sand.

"I don't see the issue," he told you, closing the distance until he could kiss you. His eyes drifted down to your chest as he asked, "What are you doing, Sweetheart? Dirty maternity pictures?"

The photographer snorted as you shook your head. "Don't worry about it, Roo. It's for a special project," you said, leaning up to kiss his cheek. He desperately wanted to grab at you, but the two of you weren't alone, and he didn't want to make you wince again.

"I love special projects," he whispered, a little concerned that he might get hard as you dropped your hands and took your top back from the photographer with a thank you.

Then he was subjected to two hours of photos. Two hours of being posed and prodded while sand blew in his face. Two hours of being told he was only allowed to touch you in a specific way.

"Wouldn't it be better to take photos after Rose is here?" he mused when he was finally allowed to just watch you pose alone with your hands on your belly.

"Oh, don't worry about that. We'll have another round of pictures with her, too," you informed him.

"Great."

It was one thing to enjoy pictures of you, but Bradley wasn't a very good photography subject. He got tired of smiling after about three minutes. Honestly, he'd probably smile a lot more with his tiny daughter in his arms at home instead of on the beach where the wind was kicking up.

"We're just about done," the photographer informed him, but he knew what he wanted.

"Can we get a few with the sun setting where we aren't posed at all?" he asked.

You were standing with the waves rolling up around your toes as you asked, "What did you have in mind?"

He reached for you and pulled you close, one big hand coming up to your cheek as he said, "Maybe something like this." Then he kissed you just like he always would, and his other hand found your belly. "I love you," he murmured, and you kissed him harder. Your arms were around his neck like it was your very first kiss, and he couldn't stop smiling. 

He honestly forgot there was anyone else there at all until she said, "These look perfect."

He was still smiling as his forehead came to rest against yours. "Of course they do. I'm with my girls."

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

As the month of March wore on and the days grew hotter again, you were getting more uncomfortable by the hour. Your due date was fast approaching, and you felt like you lived at Dr. Morris's office now. They were constantly taking urine samples and blood samples, and when they finally sent you home on March twentieth with a cotton ball and a bandaid on your arm, you pouted at Bradley as he drove.

"Can we stop and get some ice cream?" you asked. "I was really good during my appointment."

"You were so good, Baby Girl," he crooned playfully, giving your thigh a squeeze. "I'll get you some ice cream."

He stopped at the super secret little ice cream spot near base, and you sat on a bench together with double scoop cones. Bradley's tongue was a major distraction as he licked along his strawberry and raspberry scoops, and you had to try to keep up before your treat melted everywhere. 

When he kissed your cheek, his lips were cold as he said, "You're too slow," before stealing a huge lick from your scoops. "You're dripping onto your shirt."

"No, I'm not," you insisted. You hadn't felt anything dribble onto your outfit, but when you glanced down, there was a damp spot on your shirt. Your brow furrowed, wondering how that could be, and then you gasped. "Oh. Ohhh. Are my nipples leaking?" you asked softly, handing him your cone and trying to discreetly look down your shirt.

"Oh my god," he groaned loudly, ice creams forgotten as he tried to get a peek, too. "Please tell me the answer is yes."

You bit your lip as you pulled your tank top and snug sports bra away from your tender breasts, ready to moan from the pain and pleasurable sensations. "They are," you gasped. When you looked up into his brown eyes, there was ice cream dripping onto both of his hands, and his lips were parted in awe. "Do you want to go home?"

He grunted something unintelligible, and you watched him inhale the rest of his ice cream. The fact that he let you eat something so messy in his Bronco was almost unfathomable, but he buckled you in and sprinted around to the driver's side while you held your cone. His cheeks were bright red in the setting sunlight, and he drove a bit faster than he usually ever did, his knee bobbing in anticipation.

As you licked at your cone and rubbed a hand on your tender belly, you sweetly asked, "What exactly do you want to do when we get home, Roo?"

He glanced over at you several times, pupils blown wide, before he rasped, "I need to taste you."

"Bradley," you moaned, squeezing your thighs together as he pulled into the driveway. "Please. I want you to."

"Fuck," he grunted, shifting into park and running back around to get you. He tossed your cone over his shoulder onto the grass, and he didn't complain when you wrapped your sticky fingers around his neck. He hauled you inside and took a seat on the couch with his legs spread wide and his erection bobbing in his gym shorts. "Show me, please," he begged, and you started to strip off your shirt. When you peeled off your bra as well, his eyes went even wider, and he took you gently by the hips until you were straddling his waist. 

"Jesus Christ," he whispered, eyes darting from your face to your breasts as a small bead of your breast milk dripped from your nipple. His fingers flexed on your hips and he whimpered.

"Go ahead," you coaxed, running your fingers through his hair. You were completely mesmerized by how badly he wanted this, and when he ran his tongue along your nipple before sucking gently, you whined.

He released you with a pop as your aching belly rested against him, and the possessive look in his eyes left you breathless. You guided him closer again with your hand at the back of his head, and this time, he didn't stop. He sucked and laved, lapping up your milk and buried his face in your breasts. You were leaking from both sides now, and he didn't let a single drop go to waste. He ran his nose and his fingers through it, tasting you on his skin as well as your own.

"You're so fucking warm," he whispered reverently. "And sweet. Oh my god, Baby Girl. Oh my god." Then his flat tongue swiped out for another taste. You let him keep going, loving the feel of his mouth and mustache, almost soothing you. By the time you pulled his cock free from his shorts, his tip was bright and angry looking, and after two pumps in your hand, he came all over both of you. Your leggings and his clothing were covered, but he was still lapping at your nipples, cheeks rosy and pupils wide.

"Daddy," you whispered, pulling away as you started to feel a little overstimulated and dizzy. "That was so hot."

He sank back against the couch, looking around like he was surprised to find the mess he just made. "Oh. Fuck. I'm sorry," he whispered, chest rising and falling with each deep breath. "I'll clean you up."

But you were laughing softly. "You got so carried away."

"I know," he groaned. "Your magic tits are killing me."

You whimpered and let him help you stand, and then you took him with you to get a shower. He didn't lick them again, but his hands were right there and his eyes were hazy as he looked you up and down.

"You're obsessed. What are you going to do when I'm no longer pregnant?"

His eyes lit up. "Well, I'll be delighted. Both of my girls will be here. And it's not like I wasn't obsessed with you before you were pregnant."

"Hmm, I suppose you're right." But as you climbed into bed, completely exhausted, you smirked as Bradley wrote a few paragraphs in the Nugget Notebook. You were wearing nursing pads now, but you came up with a little plan for the following day.

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

Bradley left base a little late. He was honestly so thankful that Maverick was giving him an opportunity to help teach the newest batch of aviators to arrive at Top Gun, but it was a lot of extra work that he wasn't used to. He drove home with a folder of things he needed to take a look at, but all he could really think about was your tits. Big, round, warm, perfect.

He hadn't seen you all day, but he blushed every time he thought about how he blew his load everywhere last night. He was also a little afraid he might do it again if you let him loose on your lactating nipples. Jesus, how was he supposed to function now that he knew what you tasted like?

Anxiously, he ran his fingers through his hair. Okay, so he knew he needed it. If you were home already, he'd just ask you nicely if he could get in there before he cooked dinner. And to his delight, he saw your Bronco in the driveway when he drove down the street.

"Excellent," he muttered, trying to waddle up the walkway with a semi erect cock in his khakis. Ah, but you knew him so well. You knew he was going to be a mess all the time now. When he walked inside, you were standing there in the living room topless. He could barely see your lace panties for the size of your belly, but you were smiling as a droplet of your milk formed on your left nipple.

"Hi, Daddy," you greeted playfully, and he took two steps into the room before the look on your face changed from smiley to shocked. "Oh!" you gasped, looking down at your feet and taking a step backwards. "I think... oh my god. I think I just wet myself!"

Bradley's eyes went wide as he dropped everything he was holding. "Sweetheart. I think your water broke."

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

She's coming!!! Rosie!! I'm so damn excited! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 15

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[sehnsuchts-trunken]

Rooster At 5, Bradley At Night

Bradley Bradshaw x Penny’s niece!reader 10k words (.....yes. 10k. i know)

summary: You've been hooking up with Bradley for three weeks now. You're also hooking up with him tonight.

a/n: this is pure smut. honestly pure smut. 18+ i will now list all the things that you have to look out for. first and foremost i have NEVER written smut before dont kill me pls im trying my best. ok so

name kink, rank kink, choking, unprotected sex (dont be like them, just know theyve had the conversation nothing bad will happen), oral sex!fem receiving, dom bradley, some "good girl" because i am a sucker for that, in general a lot of talking because bradley is A TALKER!!!!!!, a little strength kink? is that a thing? and a shit ton of begging

this can be read as a stand-alone most definitely, but is set in the same universe as "Tuesday Night" and “Not A Coincidence” and "Take Me On A Joyride" so maybe give those a read too?

top gun masterlist

You were behind the bar this evening, a rag in your hands as you wiped down the sticky wooden top for the bazillionth time and hummed along to the music coming from the jukebox. You were behind the bar most evenings, pouring beer and rum and whiskey and mixing cocktails (occasionally taking some sips of your own), smiling and laughing and flirting with customers left and right.

For the past few months now, the most regular of those costumers had been the Dagger squad.

They'd shown up here one random evening and hadn't left since. And it didn't seem like any of them would any time soon.

Not that you wanted them to, oh no. You had grown so close in so little time that it was scary at this point.

"Settle a bet for us, Junior."

Jake slid up to the bar as if it was second nature, putting an empty bottle of beer in front of him and resting one elbow next to it. You looked up at him and smiled, threw your rag over your shoulder and grabbed the bottle, condensation dripping down onto your fingertips. Rooster came up right behind him and your smile deepened even further.

"Hit me, Bagman", you challenged, set two full bottles on the bar top and then rested your forearms against the edge.

Jake grinned at you as he raised his beer in a toast.

"If you had to get with one of us tonight, who'd you get with?"

You didn't even flinch.

"Bradshaw", you said, quick like a shot, and watched Jake's face fall like he'd expected a different answer with just a tiny bit of amusement. You glanced at Rooster, who had already been looking at you, and whose only reaction to the fact that you were literally talking about sleeping with him was a small quirk of his lips.

"Bradshaw? Are you kidding? You- I'll give you a second to think about it, Junior. Don't you wanna think about it for a second?", Jake asked, regaining his facade, letting a tinge of his accent slip as he leaned in and winked at you. "You know, actually think about it. Imagine it. Picture it. Visualise it."

You decided to give him the satisfaction. So you pushed back from the bar top, crossed your arms, raised your eyebrows and eyed the two of them up and down - just because you could, just for the fun of it. Jake was in his usual jeans and shirt, leaning in with a self-assured grin and his hand wrapped around his beer bottle. Bradley was wearing one of those Hawaiian shirts that fit snugly on his bicep, his sunglasses tucked into the collar of the white top underneath, hair on the practically perfect side of unruly and his eyes fixed on yours so intensely that you had to bite down on your tongue for a moment there.

You counted to five.

"Bradshaw", you said again, dropped your arms and grabbed the rag from your shoulder. Jake's lips parted and a betrayed sort of gasp left his mouth before he started complaining - you shook your head and stepped over to the next customer and only allowed yourself to grin when you'd turned away, out of his sight.

You wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

You still didn't know whether to be surprised at this "bet" the both of them had made. You were pretty sure anyway that Jake had been the driving force in that. You knew the two of them well enough by now to not only be aware of their.... you could only call it a rivalry, really, but also of Jake's weird, warped sense of mischief. Maybe he had some narcissism problem or maybe some old trauma response. Who cared? Not you. It made for entertainment every night you were behind the bar. And also every night you were in front of the bar, drinking and dancing with the squad. You loved him, you really did. But definitely not enough to not put a stop to his ego whenever you could.

And if that way was by flaunting how very platonically you felt about him (because he was a self-named womanizer and couldn't understand how anyone could possibly not be attracted to him), you would.

...

It was 2am when Penny told you to pack your things and go. Most of the bar was empty already, except for three or four small groups of people, but those she could manage alone. Usually, maybe, you'd have declined, but tonight....

Well.

Jake had found someone to hook up with after his earlier disappointment and the rest of the squad had left at some point during the last hour too - the rest of the squad except for a particular pornstache guy.

Rooster had said goodbye to Fanboy and Payback ten minutes ago, had assured them he didn't need a ride home, he'd order another drink and then take an uber, had sat down on a bar stool, nursed his beer and watched you clean up and then pack your things. You'd sneaked glances at him now and then, so you knew that he'd watched you.

When you stepped out from behind the bar, he sat up and followed you out of the Hard Deck wordlessly. Armed with a purse, fumbling for your car keys, fighting down the smile on your lips and the bubbling anticipation in your stomach, you took a second outside to close your eyes and breathe in the mild evening air.

Then two arms sneaked around your waist. You let out a sigh as warm breath hit your neck.

"So you'd rather get with me than Bagman, hm, Junior?"

You chuckled, pushing back a little, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to relax for the first time tonight.

"I think you know very well that I'd rather get with you than Bagman, Rooster", you muttered, running your hands up his, up his arms, up naked skin until you could slide your fingertips underneath his shirt, up his shoulders... "I'd rather get with you than anyone."

He pressed a kiss right below your earlobe, bit down softly on the same patch of skin, soothed it again with a kiss.

"Oh, I know", he laughed quietly into your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine. You settled even further into his arms. "I'd rather get with you than Bagman, too."

You had to laugh as well - the image of Hangman and Rooster was truly funny. But it was difficult to keep laughing when Bradley pressed more and more kisses to your neck, trailing a line of them down to the hemline of your shirt, nuzzling his nose in there when he couldn't go further. You tilted your head back a little to rest it against his shoulder, a pleasant flush rising up within - a comfortable warmth, the knowledge that you were safe, secure, protected. The way he always made you feel.

"Just to be clear - I do get to get with you tonight, right?", you asked, a grin on your lips because you knew the answer very, very well. Rooster chuckled into your ear and let out a hum.

"What do you think?", he muttered, one last, open-mouthed kiss pressed against your skin before he pulled away, pulled at your hand to twirl you around, pulled a squeal from your lips, one that conjured a smile on his face every time. "Take me home?"

...

The ride home was silent except for the radio in the background, but you were pretty much tuning that out. The steering wheel was sturdy in your hands, the night lights bright and blinding and your concentration on the streets and the car was waning ever so slowly, ever so steadily because Rooster's hand was slowly, steadily inching up your thigh. He'd put it innocently just above your knee when you'd strapped yourself in, his thumb sweeping in circles over the fabric of your jeans, but by now he'd brushed so far up that you were finding it hard to direct your thoughts back to driving.

Luckily, the drive back home only took ten minutes.

You weren't sure you'd have survived even a second more. He squeezed your thigh one last time as you turned the ignition off, then unbuckled his seat belt, opened his door and got out and you were left alone in pure silence for exactly two seconds. You took a deep breath in and out. One day, and you knew that, Bradley would be the death of you. He could get you all riled up with so very little that you felt like you were going mad sometimes. In a very good way, of course.

And just as you were lamenting on the bubbling anticipation in your stomach, on the images your brain conjured whenever you were close to him, whenever you were touching him, whenever-

"Madam", Rooster smiled, leaning one arm on the opened car door and reaching the other hand out for you to take. "Would you do me the honours?"

You could only shake your head and grin at him, giddiness making you squirm in your seat as you pulled your hands away from the steering wheel and put one of them in his.

"I could never deny you any of your wishes, kind sir", you said, allowing him to pull you out of the car and into his arms instead. He hugged you close, tilted his head down to nuzzle your nose with his - you had to put your head back to be able to look into his eyes when you stood this close in front of him, nevermind kissing him.

"Really?", he smiled, his fingertips dancing along your side, hooking into your belt loops, pulling your hips flush to his. You grabbed at his biceps to steady yourself. Or maybe just because you could. "Any of my wishes?"

You let out a sort of agreeable hum and grinned up at him.

"Whatever you want", you nodded.

It was the truth, simple and just. You'd do anything. You'd let him do anything. You trusted him like you'd never trusted anyone before and up until now, you'd only ever been rewarded for putting that kind of trust in him. Something about this felt right. Something about him felt right.

"What if I wanted to spend the rest of the night between your legs?", he muttered, eyes flicking down to your lips as your breath hitched.

"Well", you whispered, because whispering was the only thing you still knew how to do. "As I said, I won't deny you anything."

His eyes met yours and his lip quirked up and then, before you could do anything more, he'd dropped down, wrapped an arm around your legs and hauled you up. You let out a gasp and crossed your arms behind his neck in reflex, a soft, shocked "Rooster!" falling from your lips. Bradley only chuckled, closed the car door with his hip and started carrying you to your front door with seemingly no problem whatsoever.

Gods. Sometimes you forgot just how strong he really was.

But then, in moments like these, he picked you up and threw you onto your bed or pushed you up against a wall and you remembered. And you felt that sting in your stomach that had you press your legs together every time.

Now you didn't even have to remember. Now you were dangling safely from his arms, your hands linked behind his neck, your fingertips buried in his hair, your eyes wide as you watched him, as you tried to steady your irregular breathing because shit, this was happening. This was happening like it had been happening for over three weeks now.

He sat you down carefully in front of the door, but you were in such a trance that you needed to take a moment (or two or three) to stare at him, at this man, this fairytale prince, this god. Your man, your fairytale prince, your god.

"You need to unlock the door, honey", he chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist and turning you so you were facing the door, his chest pressed to your back, his breath fanning the exposed skin of your neck and right, right, right, the door! The door. The lock. The key. The key in your purse! That key. The key for your door. Right. Key, key, key.... Where the hell was that goddamn key? You were sure it was somewhere there in your purse. You'd put it in there like you always put it in there. Key, Key, Rooster, Rooster's arms around you, Rooster's hands brushing over your skin, Rooster's breath on your ear, Rooster between your legs, Rooster- Key! Key, key, key---

There.

At the very bottom of your purse, finally! There it was. You pulled it out with an almost triumphant sound, unlocked your door to Rooster's soft laughter behind you and stumbled into the dark hallway in a half-intoxicated way that shouldn't have been possible because you hadn't drunk anything tonight.

You threw your purse to the side and switched on the light and turned to Rooster just in time for him to have closed the door behind him and reached for you, his hands on your hips - so big, splayed so wide, his fingers so long - crowding you against the wall, his breath fanning over your mouth and then, finally, his lips on yours.

For the first time today, you were kissing him. He was so wide, so tall, so huge, everywhere all around you, his arms, his hands, his chest, his shoulders, his neck, his chin and his cheeks and his lips and his hair. Your hands sunk into that hair, tugging at the roots and grabbing his head as though your life depended on it, depended on keeping him safely, steadily right on front of you, right here, pushing you against the wall and leaving you practically no room to breathe, to touch, to feel anything other than him.

You wanted him.

With every fibre of your body, your soul, every particle, every cell, you wanted him. You wanted him everywhere all at once and you wanted him now.

So you bit down on his lip and allowed his tongue in and brushed your hands down his shoulders, down his chest to pull off that god-awful Hawaiian shirt that you admittedly found very attractive, but that was so incredibly, annoyingly in the way right now. You tugged it off his chest and down his arms and didn't care when it fell to the floor - that was where it should be, that was where it belonged.

You reached for the top then, for his waist to brush your fingertips below its hem, pushed it up, up, up until you could feel bare skin, washboard abs against your palms. That satisfied you for a moment - for a moment of running your fingers along the sharp edges of his stomach, for a moment of feeling his body heat, for a moment of being closer.

Luckily, Rooster had always been quite in-tune with you. He noticed the very second that your satisfaction turned to impatience, that your roaming, wandering hands weren't exploring, weren't enjoying anymore but were searching, longing for more - for more skin to touch, more, more, more.

He pulled away from your lips to get rid of his top, leaving you a panting, wide-eyed mess and by god, he'd only just gotten started. He hadn't even touched you. How were you already so wound up?

You blamed the fact that you'd had to stare at him from a distance for the past five days (you'd had late night shifts, he'd had early training days) and decided not to think about it further.

Especially not as his top joined his shirt on the floor, as he looked up at you with red smudged on his chin, kiss-swollen lips and unruly hair. His chest was heaving, his breath coming shorter than usual and his pupils had grown so dark you had to swallow hard.

Without thinking, you reached out and tried to wipe your lipstick off his skin.

That made him grin a little.

"Rooster?", you muttered, looking him right in the eyes. He let out a hum as he stared, a bit lost in thought it seemed and still quite shamelessly, only further at your lips. "Either take me to the bedroom or take a step back so I can get on my knees."

He let out a chuckle then and met your eyes, digging his fingers through your belt loops and pulling you a few inches away from the wall.

"I think you may have forgot something, honey", he said. "What about that wish I made?"

You let out a shuddering breath as you tried not to let your imagination run wild.

Rooster only grinned, and it seemed that your expression showed him just how much you didn't mind his wish at all, because he reached around you, grabbed the backs of your thighs and lifted you up, so effortlessly that it made you blush a little. You didn't even have to hold onto him, only had to wrap your legs loosely around his hips as he carried you through the hallway and into the bedroom.

That allowed you to focus all of your attention on pressing your lips to his skin.

He was warm. So warm. You trailed your lips all over his jaw, his throat, his shoulders, his bicep, and then, when you couldn't go any further down, Rooster had already found the light switch in your room and was dropping you onto your bed, pulling a surprised gasp from you.

The mattress was soft and bouncy as you landed on it, heat in your cheeks and your throat tightening at the sight in front of you - Bradley Rooster Bradshaw standing at the foot of of your bed, half-naked, sweaty, breathing heavy and looking down at you like he was a predator and you were his prey, like he wanted to devour you whole.

Which he did.

You raised yourself up onto your elbows at the same time that he advanced - pounding on you, almost, with a grin on his lips that set ablaze the slumbering flame in your abdomen. You didn't know which one of you got rid of your shirt, only that a few seconds later his lips were on yours, his hands reaching for your bra clasp and your shirt discarded somewhere on your floor.

You breathed hard against his mouth as his fingertips brushed along your back, along your bra, then slowly slid it off your shoulders, down your arms...

Cold air hit your breasts just as Rooster pulled away from you to fling your bra away to join your shirt on the floor, leaving you cold and panting, your eyes closing and opening again and staring at him as he stared at you, as he admired you, all bare, soft skin right there, right in front of him, just for him and nobody else.

You felt his palms against your ribcage then, pushing you down onto your back, onto the mattress, your breath hitching and your eyes closing in anticipation. He dropped a kiss onto your collarbone. Another just above your cleavage. Another onto the top of your breasts. His thumbs brushed right below them.

You wanted more. You always wanted more. You needed more.

But he was just trailing kisses along your breasts, never lingering for long enough, never biting or sucking or licking and as much as you were enjoying this... You needed more.

"Rooster", you sighed, dragging your hands through his hair because you needed more. He hummed against your skin. You could feel the vibration all over. "Roos, please."

He grinned - against your skin at first, before he looked up and right at you. "What was that?"

You bit down on your lip. God damn him. He always did this. Every single time, he did this. And the worst part was: You didn't even mind. You didn't mind begging, you didn't mind pleading, you didn't mind doing so much of it that you couldn't do, couldn't say anything else anymore. So you did just that.

"Please", you repeated, a little breathlessly. Rooster's grin widened.

And then he pulled away completely.

You could have screamed. You honestly thought, just for a second, that he would leave you lying there - panting and begging for him, with a bare chest and arousal heating up every part of you. But of course not. Of course not. This was Bradley fucking Bradshaw. He didn't leave you unsatisfied.

No.

Rooster got up from the bed only to grab you by the waist, to pull you down to the edge and kneel down on the floor. You swallowed hard. He fiddled with your shoes first, loosening the laces and taking them off, tugging down your socks and your pants and oh dear lord, you couldn't concentrate on anything he was doing.

He was kneeling in front of your bed. You bit back a moan from that alone.

Any and all forms of Bradley Bradshaw were jaw-droppingly gorgeous, but to you, nothing would ever top the sight of him on his knees for you.

You tuned back in when your jeans thumped to the floor, when his fingertips danced softly, teasingly up your calves, up your knees, up your thighs. You clenched your jaw when he reached your underwear, when his eyes met yours again in one final reassurance that this was what the both of you wanted, and then he pulled it down your legs too and hooked his hands behind your thighs.

Your eyes fluttered shut. You took a deep breath - one, two, one, two.

One, two.

One, two.

You frowned and blinked open your eyes again.

Rooster was staring at you, blatantly staring at you with a knowing smirk plastered on his lips and his fingers digging into your hips, sure to hold you in place, not allowing you to push even an inch closer to him.

"Roos", you whined, for what already felt like the dozenth time tonight, your hand sinking into his hair, splaying out, tugging at the strands, trying your hardest to pull him in. He didn't move.

"Yes?", he asked, with that grin just deepening, telling you he knew exactly what he was doing.

Of course he did. Of course he'd make you- God, of course, of course, of course! It had been his idea. It had been his plan, his wish, his goddamn idea and now he was making you-

"Fuck", you grumbled, teeth digging into your bottom lip. You didn't want to do this. You didn't want to do this because he hadn't even had you lying here for five minutes and he already wanted you to do this. "Roos, just-"

He bit down softly on the skin of your thigh then, pulling a surprised gasp from you, leaving your sentence hanging half-finished in mid air. You had to tilt your head back, had to throw a hand over your face because gods, you couldn't look at him now! Not with his breath meeting your thigh, with the feeling of his moustache against your skin, not with that grin on his lips. If you did, you'd melt in less than a heartbeat. You weren't about to give in that easily.

At least that was what you told yourself. You repeated it in your head like a mantra - he had barely touched you, he was the one who'd wished for this, you wouldn't... you weren't... you hadn't...

Fuck!

"C'mon honey", he encouraged, pressing a kiss high up on your thigh. You let out a shaky breath. He was close, so close now and he had you wound so tightly, so incredibly tightly that you felt like you were burning up from inside and-

"Bradley", you gave in, the word falling, tumbling from your lips in almost a moan. "Please, Bradley, please."

He was on you in a heartbeat. Licking a stripe up your slit, tongue flattened and you cried out, digging your fingers deeper into his hair, pulling, pushing, back arching off the bed as he finally, finally gave you what you wanted, what you needed. He dove in like a starved man, licking, pushing, tasting you, devoured and ravaged you, took everything and gave everything at the same time.

Bradley was a god. You'd never had a man eat you out like this until you met him.

His hands pressing against your hips to hold you down, to keep you right there for him, not letting you move an inch from him, only letting you push impossibly closer, your mind, your body screaming more. More, more, more. More of him. More from him. More him.

His tongue found your clit. You cried his name into the vast nothingness of your bedroom, eyes squeezing close and hand cramping into the sheets next to your head, thighs clamping around his head, caging him in, his palms forcing your back still on the mattress.

You could faintly make out your own moans, your own voice as his tongue circled, traced and dipped -

More.

He drew your clit into his mouth. You felt the coil in your stomach tighten, send a shiver through your body, make your legs twitch.

Please.

He sunk his tongue into you, brushed your clit, up and down and everywhere.

Bradley.

You were coming close. Close, so close. Every inch of your skin was tensing in anticipation, clenching, clutching. You babbled something of the sort, not listening to yourself, not able to, not starting or stopping, controlling none of your words, none of the sounds falling from your lips. Bradley loosened one of his palms from your hips and immediately you were pushing, arching up, held down a heartbeat later as he pinned his arm down again, his tongue working you, not faltering once and-

pressure.

His thumb on your clit.

You screamed out his name.

Your nails dug into his scalp. Your heels clasped around his back. Every single nerve in your body was on fire. And Bradley didn't stop.

He worked you right through your high, circling his thumb on your clit and sinking his tongue into you, holding you down, holding you close until you were panting, gasping, your legs unclasping from his head, your fingers loosening in his hair, loosening from the bedsheets, your eyes fluttering open, meeting his and only then did he relent. He pulled back softly, stilling his thumb and pressing a kiss to your thigh, watching you as you slowly came back to reality, back to him.

You blinked once. Twice.

He pulled his thumb from you as he rose up from the floor, running his hands along your sides instead, along your ribs, your breasts, your throat, studying the irregular rise and fall of your chest, mapping out your body beneath his. You watched with parted lips as he brought both his hands steadily down next to your head, as he leaned down to meet you in a kiss - heavy and heady and intense and full of all the right emotions. You could taste yourself on his tongue.

But before you could do any more, press yourself up or pull him down, he was gone again, hot breath meeting your lips and that familiar smile crawling back up onto his face.

"Enjoying yourself?", he asked, tilting his head to the side a little, catching the light of the overhead lamp. Wetness glistened on his moustache. You bit down on your bottom lip, doing your hardest to conceal the smile that was fighting to get to the surface.

Instead, you let out an agreeable hum and brought your hand up to his stache to wipe at it, to wipe some of you off him and admittedly, you already knew that wouldn't do much - but the simple act of innocently cleaning him off like that, fingers brushing above his mouth, just caressing his skin, it made something in your stomach churn.

"How about you? Now that we've checked one wish off your list... Any more?", you muttered, trailing your fingers along his cheek, down his scars, following those lines of skin you knew so well, burning them into your mind, burning him into your mind. You'd never seen anyone as beautiful. You didn't think there was anyone as beautiful out there. Your breath hitched, fingertips catching on a birthmark, before you snapped your eyes back up to his. "Any more wishes at all, Bradley?"

A sort of grunt left him as you did your best not to grin - you knew just what buttons to push, didn't you?

"You know", he muttered, dropping his head, brushing his nose down the sensitive skin of your throat. "I could think of a few more things."

"Yeah?", you asked, just on the right side of breathless again, skin tingling wherever he decided to place a few deliberate, almost chaste kisses. "Like what?"

He'd worked his way down to your breasts again, still holding himself up with both his hands.

"I could fuck you nice and slow, just like you deserve it", he said softly, the words flowing from him as easily as if he were talking about breakfast the next day. Rational, sober, collected. You, on the other hand, could feel the wetness pooling in between your legs again. You couldn't believe how reasonable, how practical, how composed he could stay while he said things like that - how he'd fuck you, how he'd eat you out, how he'd pull every single thought from your mind with his fingers and his mouth and his cock.

"Or", he went on, completely unbothered still, stopping in between words to drop kisses onto your breasts. "I could fuck you hard and fast, because that's what you want, right?"

A moan tumbled from your lips all of its own accord, your eyes fluttering shut again. He was conjuring visuals in your mind that had you clenching your legs together, hands clawing their way back up into his hair - you needed something to keep you here and now, to keep you grounded.

"I'm right, honey, aren't I?", he muttered, obviously satisfied with himself. "You want me to fuck you rough, don't you?"

You were sure you'd crossed some border into heaven and just hadn't realised it. This man would truly be the death of you one day.

"Yes", you breathed, scratching at his scalp, tugging at the roots of his hair. "Yes, please, Bradley."

You could feel his grin against your bare skin.

"You look so pretty begging for me, honey", he smiled, raising himself up and before you could complain much about it, before you could as much as open your eyes again, he was dropping a kiss to your lips, long and longing, parted lips pressed against each other, breathing each other in.

Then he pulled away from you completely and you did let a whine fall from your lips after all, raising yourself up onto your elbows to blindly follow after him as he straightened up and then bent down to pull off his shoes, his socks, to fumble with his belt - all in fucking slow motion apparently, that's how long it took, two hours just to take off his goddamn socks and you were just sitting there, staring, blinking, hazy mind clearing up the way it always had to after you'd been so close to him, watching, staring, watching, staring...

An eternity, it seemed, until you grew too impatient and decided to take matters into your own hands. Quite literally.

You pushed yourself up, reached for his belt yourself, pulled it from its buckle, unhooked it, opened it finally, finally, finally! and blinked up at him again, all wide eyes and smudged lipstick and swollen lips and Bradley felt pretty sure he died a little just then - this had to be heaven, you had to be heaven. You brushed a strand of hair behind your ear and your tongue ran along your lips and he had to swallow hard.

His jeans fell to the floor, chased quickly by his boxer briefs and you took a deep breath as you looked at him, leaning forward, leaning in to reach for him-

He took both your hands in his and pushed you down on the mattress again, another of those pathetic whines dropping from your lips at being denied the feeling of him.

"Fuck, Roos, please", you begged, sounding pitiful to your own ears by now, pleading for something you knew he'd give to you anyway, just so goddamn impatient that you couldn't even help the words rolling off your tongue.

He let go of your hands, reached for your waist instead to pull you up, to tug you firmly farther up the mattress until he could follow after safely, until he could nudge your knees apart and trail a line of kisses up your shoulder, his hands finding their usual spot next to your head.

"What was that, honey?", he grinned against your skin, holding himself up above you to look you right in the eyes.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulled a moan from yourself and a similar groan from him, squeezed your eyes shut and had immediately forgotten what it'd been you'd said before. What it'd been he was asking about.

He brought one hand down to your thigh, squeezing tight, holding you even tighter to him, and pressed his hips down into the mattress, pulling another moan from you and, again, a similar groan from himself, making sure that you couldn't move against him on your own, that you were completely at his mercy.

As always.

"Please", you whined, desperate now, trying to rock your hips against his and not succeeding, not succeeding because he was holding you still, holding you down, holding you helpless and defenseless, withholding the one goddamn thing you wanted from him right now. And after all that talk too! "Roos, please, Bradley, do something."

You were far from whining now, breathless and moaning and sobbing basically, hands clawing at his shoulders and nails digging into his skin, begging and pleading and he was just holding still, doing nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing and you wanted more, you wanted something, anything.

"Look at me", he panted then - the only sign at all that he was somehow affected by this as well. "Look at me, honey, open your eyes."

And what else were you supposed to do but follow that command, grant him that wish?

So you forced your eyes open, forced yourself to look at him.

A thin layer of sweat gleaned on his skin. His stare was fixed on you and you alone. And his pupils had dilated so far that his usually hazel eyes were practically black now. You sucked in an unsteady breath.

"Good girl", he praised and you were done for.

You could have come from that alone.

Those two words, breathed into the nothingness of the room, onto your lips, onto your naked skin, sent a shiver down your spine, down your back and your hips and your legs, a shiver so violent that it pulled a moan right with it, a string of them. You barely heard Bradley's groan above you before he pulled away just the slightest bit, pulled away to brush his hand down your side, down your chest, down your hips, between your bodies, to reach for himself and stroke his tip through the wetness between your legs, your back arching off the mattress, into him, into more of him and-

"Wait", you panted.

Bradley froze immediately. His expression shifted to worry in the span of half a second, furrowing his brows and pulling away from you.

"What's wrong?", he asked, still breathless. You closed your eyes and took a breath, tensing, forcing yourself to keep down on the mattress, even as cold settled on your skin now that he wasn't warming you up anymore - inches away from you again. Considerate idiot.

"Just-", you stopped, opened your eyes, looked right at him. "Do you think Jake suspects anything?"

Bradley kept still for a few seconds. A shallow breath and another, your chest rising and falling and you had a hard time thinking, even now that he was barely touching you anymore. You were wound tightly, and you'd been so close, and now...

"You're not seriously thinking about Jake right now", Bradley said, almost accusingly.

You had to admit, it was a bit strange - you were naked, panting, your legs wrapped around his hips, and still you were thinking about Jake, about the bet, about what you'd said hours ago at the bar. You hadn't even been thinking about it, really. It had just come to you, overwhelming you, and you... you had needed to get it out. Still, you did have to admit, it was absurd.

So you bit down on your lip to conceal a smile, a grin, trailed your hands to his hair to brush it behind his ears, almost innocently (but just almost).

"I'm sorry, I just...", you whispered, stroking your hands down his scalp. "We've kept this between us for three weeks now. I don't want to have ruined that."

Bradley shook his head at you, dropped it to his chin, his curls brushing your nose, your cheeks, and sighed onto the skin of your throat.

"You're unbelievable", he muttered, dropping a kiss between your breasts now that he knew you weren't uncomfortable or afraid or anything of the sort in the slightest. Your breath hitched again. You didn't want to talk about this. You wanted him inside you, wanted him to make good on his promise from before. But you knew you had to, because otherwise the thought wouldn't leave you alone, even though the coil in your stomach, the heat in your body screamed bloody murder at you for it.

He looked back up, raised his chin again to meet your eyes.

"Don't worry about Jake", he reassured, one hand starting to softly, just so very softly, brush up and down your side. You had to swallow. "He won't even remember tomorrow."

He dropped another kiss onto your skin, a little further down, that grin, that moustache against your ribs.

"And I'll make sure you won't remember either, pretty girl. Alright?"

You nodded so quickly you almost got a head rush, eyes fluttering shut in anticipation, head tilting back just the slightest, your fingers digging into his hair as his lips trailed down your skin, the covers rustling as he settled further back, as his breath ghosted over your center again.

"Need to hear you say it, honey. Say it for me."

"Please", you babbled instantly, not even thinking, not even close, not when Bradley was giving you such easy instructions to follow. "Please, Roos, please."

You could feel him shake his head, obviously unsatisfied, breathing hard, hands travelling up and down your thighs and nothing more, leaving you in some state of being touched but not really being touched and you felt like going insane again.

"Try again, honey", he tutted, and you were already about to plead, to beg even more when he went on - "Look at me, baby, look at me and try again."

You blinked open your eyes, tilted your head down to look at him, all pretty and wide-eyed, just like he'd asked, your fingers cramping in his hair.

"Please, Roos-"

He raised his eyebrows and you knew then, you knew where your mistake had been - you should've known before, you should've-

"Bradley", you moaned. "Please, Bradley, I want you. I need you."

He grinned at that, dropped a kiss to your thigh before flattening his tongue against your folds again, drawing another moan from you. Your eyes stayed fixed on his, but only because you knew he wanted you to, only because you knew he needed you to. His palms splayed out against the backs of your thighs, keeping them still, as always.

His tongue drew a circle on your clit and you arched off the bed, into him, a whine tumbling from your lips, followed by his name. He pulled back much too quickly, much too easily, with a much too satisfied grin on his lips, looking up at you for just a second before he leaned down to drop a kiss to your hip.

"Bradley", you complained, cut off by your own moan when you felt his fingers trail through your wetness instead of his tongue, all soft and slow and you rocked your hips against his hand - more friction, more touch, more, more, more.

You hadn't been kidding when you'd said that you wanted him. That you needed him.

Bradley chuckled, kissing his way up your body again, one hand next to your head to hold himself up just the way he'd done before, but his fingers brushing, stroking, his thumb on your clit, moan after moan spilling from you. You needed more. More.

You tried to shift closer, tried to cant your hips into his palm for more, blinking up at him and whimpering and fuck, Bradley was just human after all, how could he deny you anything if you looked at him like that? So he started drawing little circles with his thumb, little circles on your clit, and pushed a finger into you.

You rewarded him with the soft sound of his name rolling off your tongue, your hands reaching for his arms, clawing at his biceps. You had needed this, had needed him and now... Now you needed more. More, even as he pulled his finger from you and pushed in again, starting in a slow, easy rhythm, drawing little moans, quiet whimpers from you. You rocked your hips back onto him, pushed for more. More.

"More", you voiced your thoughts, begging, pleading again - you weren't getting what you wanted, you weren't getting what you wanted, you weren't getting what you wanted! And you'd been so close, you'd been so goddamn close, but now he was just lazily pushing his finger into you, with one of those grins on his lips that told you he knew what he was doing incredibly well too. He was a tease, a goddamn tease, and you-

"More what, honey?", Bradley asked, interrupting your thoughts, your spiraling thoughts as his finger moved ever so slowly, teasing, playing.

You let out a whine as he stilled completely, his finger nestled inside you, touching you but not touching you enough, not nearly enough and he'd make you go crazy one day, he would! You tried to push your hips into his hand. Not that it did anything.

"More what?", Bradley asked again, looked at you as you refocused on his face, his eyes because you knew he'd want you to. He always wanted you to look at him.

"Please", you whispered. "Bradley."

His smile deepened, but he didn't move.

"Nice try, baby", he chuckled. "But that wasn't the question."

You grumbled and tilted your head back, squeezed your eyes shut and took a deep breath. You wanted more. And he was making you say exactly what.

Putting the power in your hands, it seemed - but you knew it wasn't that. He'd already promised you to do just what you wanted, had said it so easily, so soberly that he'd left you dazed. And now he was asking you to do the same.

You couldn't. He knew you couldn't.

So you let out a small whimper, let your head fall to the side to look at him again, eyes wide and teeth digging into your bottom lip and kept still as best as you could, even as the desire, the need to fuck yourself on his finger grew with every passing breath - trying to make sure that he wouldn't tease you further. He'd done that before already, you knew that he could and he would.

He seemed to have realised it too, your legs, your hips calm now, your eyes fixed on his.

"Please fuck me, Bradley", you said softly, only a little breathlessly, a little nervous around the edges, doing your best not to let your restraint show. You weren't used to just saying stuff like that out loud. It was different, somehow, to say it, and to say it right to his face too.

But as much as you tried to hide it, your body still had the same reaction - breath coming shorter, heat shooting straight to your cheeks, the coil in your stomach tightening again.

Bradley's eyes on yours didn't make it any better.

Neither did his grin as he pulled his finger from you, pulled a moan from your lips right with it, as he brushed it through your folds, up and down before his fingertip stopped on your clit.

"Fuck you how, honey?", he asked. He wanted you to lose your mind, you were sure of that. You bit down on your lip, furrowed your brows, forced yourself to think, to keep thinking even though he was drawing circles on your clit now, bringing you back to the endless loop of more, more, more in your mind.

"Fuck me-", you panted, starting and stopping, closing your eyes. "Rough, please, Bradley. Please."

He pulled his fingers from you entirely, chuckling as you mewled and blinked up at him again, as you watched him raise his hand to your lips. You parted them in reflex, let him push his fingers into your mouth, rest them on your tongue. This, finally, was something you felt much less nervous about. So you hollowed out your cheeks and sucked his fingers clean.

Bradley had you well acquainted with the taste of yourself by now. Not that you minded.

You made sure to keep your eyes fixed on his as you brushed your tongue along his fingertips. He let out some sort of sound caught between a moan and a groan and a curse and, maybe, your name, and you had a hard time keeping your grin concealed as you sucked, spurred on not only the fire in your own abdomen, but in Bradley's as well, red heating up your cheeks and your legs growing restless.

You were getting impatient again. You needed more.

Luckily, it seemed that Bradley had about enough of this as well.

He pulled his fingers from you with a pop, shook his head with a grin, trailed a line of your spit around your breasts, around your nipples.

"You look sinful", he muttered, dropping a kiss to your lips before you could even begin to think about a response, all open mouth and breathing each other in, the taste of you on both your tongues. "Tell me again how you want me to fuck you rough, honey. Just once more. Can you do that for me?"

You nodded, nodded without thinking, panting a bit now, pressing your legs together at his voice, at the look in his eyes, at... at him, at everything about him. You needed him. You'd do anything he asked.

"Fuck me rough, Bradley. Please."

His eyes darkened further. He brought his lips down on yours again, firmer now, heavier now, claiming your mouth, your tongue, your lips, claiming you, back to the familiar, thrilling predator and prey game that the two of you had abandoned at some point along the way.

"Good girl", he rasped.

You let out a pitiful moan. God, this man would absolutely be the death of you.

Good girl.

You couldn't press your legs together any further, couldn't possibly get any more friction, could only whine and whimper and moan and wait, wait as Bradley reached between your bodies and finally, finally, finally pushed into you.

You'd been waiting for this for the past five days.

You let out some pathetic sounding sob of his name as he pressed his hips snugly to yours, stretching you out in the best of possible ways, dropping his lips to your throat, to your neck. You clawed at his arms, at his shoulders, pulled him close to you, even closer. Eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back, breath hitching.

Bradley gave you the entirety of half a second to adjust to him, half a second in which you could barely get past the moan of his name before he was moving, thrusting, his cock sliding in and out of you, drawing sounds you'd have been embarrassed about in any other situation.

But you could barely hear them.

You could barely do anything other than moan, anything other than scratch, hold, claw at him, anything other than let him wrap your legs around his waist and push in, pull out, push in again, his hold on your thigh so firm you'd see the marks tomorrow.

He fucked you with a relentlessness that reduced you to a mess of numb limbs, that pulled every last thought from you, one by one - with a rhythm, unfaltering, unwavering, with soft grunts and moans rolling off his tongue, with his mouth moving against your skin, working his way up to yours.

You met his lips in a frenzy, your hands tangled somewhere in his hair, your nails scratching somewhere down his back, your legs wrapped around his hips, your lips parted, your moans swallowed, his cock sliding in and out of you, the delicious drag of him building, setting alight the coil in your stomach.

You'd been waiting for this for too long. You wouldn't last much longer, not after he'd already pulled the first orgasm from you. Not after he'd been building you up for so long.

"Bradley", you moaned against his lips. "More."

He pulled back an inch and you blinked your eyes open, focused on him, on the blush on his cheeks and the rise and the fall of his chest as he slowed down a bit, drawing another whine from you, feeling different now, slower yes, but more deliberate maybe, more teasing maybe, hitting other spots, dragging it out, feeling more and less intense all the same and - most importantly - letting your close, so close grow weaker and weaker and weaker.

"You know-", Bradley panted, letting his thumb brush over the skin of your thigh, loosening his grip just the slightest. "You know how to ask, pretty girl."

A sob made its way past your lips. You wanted more, you needed more - you'd be good for him, you wanted to be good for him, but you forgot, you brushed right past it when he had you like this. So wasn't it his fault, really?

"Fuck me harder, Bradley", you whimpered - you'd lost the ability to feel embarrassed somewhere along the way. You didn't care anymore, not with his cock so slowly sliding in and out of you, not with his eyes on yours, not with... no, not anymore, you needed more now and you were desperate to get it, already rocking your hips back onto him in search of more - more friction, more touch, more him.

He pressed his lips to yours again, back to claiming you, back to firm, back to teeth and tongue before pulling away, pulling out, pulling another wail from you as he sat back on his ankles, hard and panting.

Then his hands clasped around your waist and you had no time to react before he had turned you over, your face smushed into the pillow, fingers reaching up to dig into the sheets.

He thrust back into you in one swift motion.

And you screamed.

You didn't know how he did it - you didn't want to know, really - but he hit that sensitive spot inside of you instantly, the new position allowing new depth, allowing new touches, new feelings, new and more and you couldn't think, could only touch, only feel.

Only touch, only feel him.

The drag of him, the push of him, the way he hit all those spots he needed to hit to have you up there, to have you close within seconds again.

He trailed his fingertips along your spine, sent a shiver through your body as he fucked you rough, just like you'd asked of him so very, very nicely. He reached your neck, reached around to your throat and when his fingers brushed along your jaw, he clasped his hand around it and pulled. Pulled you up, right to his chest, sweat sticking to your skin as you moaned his name.

You let your head drop back onto his shoulder, gave him more skin to touch, more of your body to claim, more of you to make his as he thrust relentlessly into you, as his other hand brushed between your legs, up your thighs until his fingers met your clit, pushed down and pulled an even louder moan of his name from you.

His hand closed around your throat at the same time.

You choked back a gasp, breath hitching, back arching off him and into him both, more and less clashing in your mind because this was what you wanted, this was what you'd begged him for, but all of it so suddenly, following each other so closely - too much, not enough.

You clenched around him.

Bradley let out a moan - his lips against your ear, the sound of it in every fibre of your body, of your mind, of your soul. And that was it for you.

You came with another cry of his name - a scream, a sob, maybe, or none of it, you weren't sure - maybe you let out no sound at all, rendered silent for once. The world was white for a second, your mouth dry, your throat hoarse, pleasure coarsing through every vein, every limb, every muscle, every bone.

You went slack against him. Your legs gave out, your eyes fell shut, your arms, your hands loose at your sides, and the only reason you didn't fall back onto your mattress were Bradley's arms around you - on your throat, around your hips. His fingertips circling your clit still, his hips snug to yours as he bit down on your shoulder, as he reached his own high, his moustache scratching deliciously against your skin, grounding you as your breath slowly came back to normal, as you won back the feeling in your legs.

You stayed still for a minute - just catching your breath, allowing yourself to take whatever time you needed to come back to yourself, to really notice the way Bradley held you up all on his own, the way his chest felt against your back, the way he had his lips pressed to the skin of your shoulder, the way his thumbs brushed ever so softly up and down, one along your throat, one along your stomach.

You never wanted this to end.

You were warm and safe and satisfied in his arms.

A slow smile spread on your face. Bradley's breath fanned softly over the shell of your ear. You could feel your own heart beat in your chest.

"Satisfied now, honey?", Bradley rasped, voice rough in all the right ways, his lips ghosting over your neck. You let out a soft hum in agreement. He chuckled against your skin.

"I'm gonna let go of you now, princess", he cautioned (you could just so push back the whine that wanted to escape) before ever so slowly, ever so carefully pulling his hand from your throat, pulling his arm from around you - softly pushing down on your back instead, hands wrapped around your hips again, laying you back down on the mattress and then turning you over. The bed was cold in comparison to him. Cold and lonely.

He had to pull out as he lay you down and that whine left your lips after all - you were empty and cold and lonely now and you wanted him, more of him, all of him again. Your legs were mushy and your mind still reeling, but you didn't have to think much anyway, not when you knew just what you wanted. You reached out, arms, hands in mid air as you tried to grab him, any of him.

He was sitting back on his ankles, running his hands through his hair, meeting your eyes as he saw you reach out for him. He looked positively exhausted.

You got hold of his hands and pulled him down, onto you. He brought them - and yours right with them - down next to your head in reflex, effectively pinning you down, and though neither of you had planned that, you still had to fight back a smile.

You were breathless, chest still heaving with the sticky intoxication of the moment, sweaty and hot and satisfied, truly, and you wanted him to wrap you up in his arms now and let you fall asleep on his chest.

Instead, he leaned in with a grin and kissed you. Kissed you with all the fiery passion fading into heady contentment, slow and deliberate, because he had all the time in the world now - it was the middle of the night and both of you were growing tired, your bones heavy, your muscles aching deliciously, your thoughts quiet, lazy almost. The middle of the night where romance could now dominate what had before been lust's reign.

That was what this felt like, Bradley's body on yours, his skin sticky with sweat, his fingers intertwined with yours, pushing down into the mattress. This felt like golden honey dripping down onto the reality of the moment, like gods' ichor flowing in your veins, like unnecessarily long and flowery metaphors for a feeling you felt too afraid to name this early on.

Bradley pulled away, let go of your hands and sat back once more - you followed him on some invisible kind of string, pushing up onto your palms, blinking at him in confusion.

He dropped another quick kiss onto your lips with a chuckle.

"Do you want me to carry you to the bathroom?", he asked, a grin playing on his lips, his hands brushing over your ribcage, your stomach as though he, too, had some carnal need to keep touching you, to keep his fingertips moving over your skin at all times.

You closed your eyes, allowed the smile on your face to grow as wide as it wanted, and nodded at him.

"Yes, please, Roos", you mumbled, bathing in the yellow light of your bedroom lamp, in the soft buzzing of the ac, in the rhythmic tic-toc of your kitchen clock. In all these daily-life things, because they weren't daily-life right now. Right now, Bradley had just fucked you, right now, Bradley was sitting in front of you, right now, Bradley had his hands on your body, right now... Right now, you were happy, happy and satisfied, content with the world.

"Back to Rooster, are we?", he asked, drew his hands back from you and got up. Your smile deepened.

"I thought you liked your callsign", you quipped back innocently, eyes opening again as he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you off of your mattress, into the air, just because he could, just because you wanted him to. You didn't think you'd ever possibly get tired of his strength. He was a bit like your own, personally crafted superhero.

"I do", he muttered. You crossed your arms behind his neck, pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. "But the entire squad uses it."

"Oh", you said, exactly like that, because oh, indeed. "So when I say Rooster..."

"I think of work."

You pulled back a bit to look at him, even as his eyes were focused on the wall, trying to find the light switch for the bathroom.

"And you don't like that", you concluded, teeth digging into your bottom lip as a thought struck you. "You don't like thinking of work, Lieutenant?"

Bradley froze.

Bullseye.

"What did you say?"

His eyes focused on you, fixated on you, his jaw clenched, his eyebrows furrowed. You did your best try at an innocent smile, at a doe-eyed look somehow, but you doubted you achieved anything even remotely close.

"Lieutenant", you muttered again, heat pooling in your lap once more simply at the look on his face. You'd uncovered another one of his layers and you were already anticipating the consequences. "Do you want me to beg again?"

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 6

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You’re new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: mentions of physical abuse. probably cursing, but idk. insecurity and vulnerability. I'm sure there are typos.

Words: 2825

The One I Want Masterlist

Jake’s eyebrows pinch in confusion at the shifting expression on your face, then he follows your line of sight over his shoulder. Though he’s still yards away from you, you hear the soft ‘damn it’ that leaves his mouth. He’s out of his seat in the next half-second, Rooster quickly joining him. 

“How is she here?” Jake asks as you ease behind him. 

“I have no idea,” Bradley says.

Sifting his hand through his hair, Jake curses again as if the woman making her way toward the group is a ticking bomb they’re running out of time to dismantle. “Can you and Millie take her back to the apartment?”

“Your girl?”

“Yes. I don’t know what Brit will say, but I don’t want it directed at her. When Brit realizes she’s my roommate—”

Rooster nods. “Enough said.”

“Thank you.” Jake whips around and his head jerks back in surprise—his mouth parts. A new shade appears to travel up his neck to his cheeks, but the pinkish hue could easily be mistaken for the fiery glow of the bonfire reflecting off his skin. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Just a minute,” you say. “Who is she?”

Nat and Bob pull up on either side of you and you notice how all sets of eyes are glued to the woman who is still too far away to identify properly. Though, despite her distance and that you’d asked Jake for confirmation, she’s no mystery to you. She’s undoubtedly the woman from the gift shop. What you don’t understand is the intensity of everyone's reactions. 

Nat crosses her arms and with a frown, says, “Jake, how does she know you’re here?”

It’s a question that goes unanswered, but you suspect it’s not one that has an answer. They’re all shocked; no one pilot more or less confused than another. 

Ignoring both your question and Nat’s, Jake places his hands on your forearms to regain your attention. “Rooster and Millie are going to take you back to our place, alright?”

“Jake, why—”

“I just need to deal with this,” he interrupts, a barely detectable plea hidden within his tone. “I’ll get rid of her and then I’ll be home.”

Your breath catches at his wording. Get rid of her. You suddenly don’t care about the irritation swirling around the group or the stress on Jake’s face. Time slows. You’re shot back to a life you’ve been trying to forget. A life that had you so often discarded you'd learned to rid people of yourself before they could do it for you. 

“Does she deserve to be gotten rid of, Jake?” you ask, just above a whisper, for him and only him.

He flinches as if you slapped him, but he doesn't release you, and a bulge briefly forms in his throat before, bit by bit, the hurt infects the features of his face. He looks down to where his fingers are wrapped around your arms and squeezes, so light and gentle that were you not sensitive in the moment--hyperaware of every movement and sound--you wouldn't have felt it.

His hands slide down to your fingers, the pads of his fingertips resting under yours, his thumb grazing along the nail of your index finger. When his eyes flick up to yours, he says, “I’ll explain later."

The woman is close enough now that you can see the harsh scrutiny in her gaze as she looks you up and down. It morphs into a glare when she notices Jake’s hands on you, and she picks up in speed.

“If we’re going, it needs to be now,” Rooster says. “Baby,” he calls out for Millie, “We gotta go.”

She leaps up and rushes over to take his hand. The smile she directs at you is forced. “I was gettin’ tired anyway.”

—

Rooster and Millie drop you off with matching tense faces that look misplaced on both of them; appearing so odd you can’t help but stare hard at the crease in Rooster’s brow reflecting back at you in the rearview mirror. Despite only getting to know these people tonight, you suspect the mood filling this car is uncommon, especially when these two are within a foot and a half of one another while their hands are clasped and resting on the center armrest. 

“Jake will be back soon,” Rooster says as you exit the vehicle.

Then Millie adds a syrupy sweet, “I loved meetin’ you. If you ever wanna get together, let me know. I could use another friend in this town.”

Momentarily, you forget Jake in favor of the redhead smiling at you through the rolled-down passenger window. You could use another friend, too. Someone who isn’t so perfectly formed from the outside world's perspective. Someone who might be able to understand you. 

“I’d like that,” you reply. 

Rooster waits until you’re through the door of the building before peeling out of the lot and back down the street. 

When you make it into the apartment, you’re not entirely sure what to do. Everything you could do to distract yourself, whether it be cleaning or reading or watching TV, you won’t be able to put any heart into. They’d be useless distractions. You opt instead to take a seat on the couch and wait. But then the waiting grows boring, so you start to think. 

Get rid of her. Get rid of her. Get rid of her. 

There’s a layer of bitterness coating the roof of your mouth that you can’t swallow.

You just started settling into the idea that Jake could be different—good. His heart isn’t something he appeared to hide from you and the more time you spend around him, the more honest you’ve sensed him to be. Your resistance has yet to deter or turn him sour. Regardless of how you act, he still smiles at you every morning. He still makes you coffee and picks you up from work and wants you to spend time with his friends. He tries to integrate you into his life, but now you’re not sure for what purpose if this is how he views women. Disposable. 

You can feel it begin to crush you from all sides as you imagine the day Jake will look at you differently. The way he looked at her. 

Jake is worn down when he enters the apartment and finds you on the living room couch, your spine locked pin-straight. His eyes have lost their light, there is potentially a new fine wrinkle across his forehead, and his lips are pulled so tight they almost disappear. He’s so altered from the happy man of an hour ago. In fairness, you are as well. 

When he sees you, Jake smiles softly, weakly. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “You alright?” he asks.

You hadn’t considered a plan for addressing the event Jake didn’t allow you to witness, so it is your unprocessed emotions from the last hour that have you ignoring his question in favor of fueling what next comes out of your mouth. “She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she?”

Jake’s brow pinches as he crosses his arms. There’s no anger behind it; almost disappointment that you’ve reached such a conclusion. “What makes you say that?”

“I saw the mug in the trash. She got it at the gift shop where I work. A shirt, too, that matches.” 

The strain of his shoulders releases and his head falls back a bit, like that knowledge was the very last thing he needed you to have. “Fuck,” he groans, straightening his neck. “Of all the goddamn shops in this town…” His head shakes, then his eyes lock onto yours. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Was your girlfriend.”

“Not that either. She’s just…She lived here. Before you.”

Your hands tighten into fists that lightly press into the couch cushions. “Did you kick her out?”

“Not exactly,” he says. “She was month-to-month, and the month was up.”

“That doesn’t explain the mug, or the shirt.”    

Your words are spewing so fast, every held in question breaking out, and you don’t dare stop yourself. You need to know if you’re correct. You need the explanation he promised you to confirm your suspicions. You need it. 

“You were sleeping with her, right?” You ask, though you’re already positive that’s what birthed the issues between him and that woman. “You slept with her and now she has feelings for you so you won’t let her stay here anymore…Right?”

The hurtful look that you’d caused at the beach reforms on his face, and it’s a deep stab into your chest, a mix of frustration and regret. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Sounds simple to me,” you snap. “Is this what you do? You sleep with women until it’s no longer convenient for you?”

“No! God, no. It’s not like this is my thing. She lived here and we got involved for three months. That was it,” he explains in a rush. “It wasn’t ever going to be anything more than sex, not to me, and when she realized that, she lost her shit, Ok? Broke things. Threw things. Hit me. I couldn’t let her stay here forever. I’m not some heartless dick, it just got out of hand.”

When he’s done, his chest is rising and falling like a man just off a five-mile run. He swallows hard, dragging a hand down his face in the silence that follows. 

It’s not a silence you know how to break. It’s a silence that demands you feel the full force of that stab wound in your chest, now shoved deep enough into your body to slice you right down the middle. Frustration is gone, easily overpowered by regret.

In a matter of ten seconds, Jake flipped over everything you had prematurely decided about the story between him and the woman. When you saw how she looked at you tonight and heard what Jake said, you thought you identified with her, that you’ve felt what she feels, that only you could see a swirling well of pain under her layer of anger. But as Jake stands before you, exhausted and desperate for you to understand, you realize you never considered that it’s with him you identify. Maybe it’s why pushing him away is much harder than anyone from your past. Maybe it’s why you want to believe he is good and genuine and kind. And maybe it’s why you’re realizing with each passing day that if you leave this town, you might not get away without also leaving a bit of yourself behind. Over the past months, you have—by subconscious mind or soul—connected with Jake Seresin through the pain you didn’t even know he’d faced. 

Jake steps around one of the chairs opposite the couch and his body falls into it like a ragdoll. 

“Does–” you begin, testing your voice. It’s meeker than you would like. “Does your team know what she did? Is that why they were so bothered when she showed up tonight? Everyone went into hyper-defense mode.”

He sits up, more at ease now that you’ve let go of your accusations. “They know she gave me trouble. They don’t know she would smack me or break my shit whenever I refused to treat her like my girlfriend.”

“Why?”

“If I told them while it was going on, they would’ve been pissed that I was letting her stay for a couple more weeks. They would’ve shown up at my door with a net to toss over her and drag her out,” he says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. His hands clasp and one thumb runs back and forth over the other. “And I don’t tell them now because, even though it's over, the lecture would last days.”

“With everything she was doing, didn’t you want her out as soon as possible?”

“Of course I did, but she didn’t have anywhere to go yet,” he says. “Eventually, I found her a place and paid for six months in advance. She’s got about three more months before she has to take over the lease.”

As he speaks, a dash of hypocrisy weasels its way into your system. A defensiveness that you’ve never used to protect yourself instantly latches on to Jake. 

You want him to tell his friends about what he’s been through, though you refuse to toss him the measliest crumbs from your own story. You want to explain to him that he shouldn’t have sacrificed himself in his effort to remove that woman from his life, while also ignoring the fact that self-sacrifice is the only option you’ve ever chosen. You want him to tell you everything he’s ever felt so he can remove the boulder from his back, as long as he doesn’t request the same of you. But you know Jake doesn’t work that way. With a given inch, he goes for a mile, and you can’t risk that. 

“Does she bother you often?” you ask. 

“There are days when she shows up out of nowhere, not unlike tonight, either pissed off all over again about everything that went down,” he nudges his head in the direction of the trash can, “or sickeningly sweet and asking to come back with gifts in hand.”

From that alone, you know Jake Seresin is stronger than you. He stands firm in one place despite the chaos that sporadically comes and goes from his life. He stakes his claim, choosing to remove the problem rather than consider that he is the problem and must be the one removed. But you can see, no matter how strong, it takes its toll on him.  

What comes over you next, you’re not quick enough to stop. You stand and find a new seat on the glass coffee table across from him, not fighting the closeness that gives your knees no choice but to be tucked between his. When your touch lands atop his clasped hands, they immediately untangle and, much like your legs, your hand becomes encased. Were you with anyone else, you’d feel trapped, one step away from prisoner. But here, now, with Jake, your body isn’t pulling away. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Though his head is lowered, he nods and you catch a hint of his half-hearted smile. Then he flips his hand so your palm is face-down on his, and with his other hand traces the edges of your fingers, from thumb to pinky and back. You try to ignore the zips and tingles that shoot up your arm from his soft motions. You fail. 

“Jake, why do you even bother with a roommate? I know you can afford this place on your own.”

“I don’t like to be alone,” he says, still lazily running his touch up and down the curves of your fingers.

“How come?”

That finger ceases its gentle tracing and he looks up. He’s suddenly much closer. Less inches remain between your nose and his, your eyes and his, your lips and his. “How about this…” His breath holds a heat that brushes your cheeks. “I tell you something; you tell me something.”

When you instinctively lean back a few inches, you swear he moves forward, like a magnet chasing after its partner. Your hand starts to slip and his palm shifts so his fingers can curl up through the spaces between yours.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Something about you.”

His eyes hold yours, that increasingly intoxicating shade of mossy green unwavering. His touch seems to extend past the warmth of his grasp, now flowing through you from head to toe. 

“What do you want?” you let out an awkward chuckle to distract yourself, and hopefully Jake as well, from the heat flushing your cheeks. “My favorite color?”

“Your favorite color is green,” he says. “I want to know something more than that, if you’re willing to share it.”

You search for any meaning behind what he says other than the one you know he’s after. He doesn’t just want something more, he wants something that means more. Something deeper that will put a crack in your shell. Something that will bring you closer to him.

To your surprise, it’s not a thought you immediately banish. Giving him more would, in theory, aid the budding connection you're not sure you want to break. But what you have to give might very well break that connection anyway. It could bring him a clarity you’d rather he not have as to why you are the way you are. If your story is too much for him to accept without altering how he sees you, you will pack up and leave solely for the escape, to avoid witnessing the rapid change of his treatment of you. And whatever he has to share in exchange couldn’t possibly have you viewing him as negatively as he might view you. 

“It’s a fair trade, don’t you think?” he says, “So, what do you say?”

---

A/N: Sorry if your favorite color isn’t green. I just picked one.

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @emma8895eb @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @entertainmentgal8 @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things @turtle-in-a-tornado @have-a-nice-day-k @inkandarsenic @kidd3ath @townmoondaltwistle

[delulu-hours]

Karma {1}

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x F!reader

Summary: Being friends with Jake, you had to deal with his sweet but yet very annoying side of him. Even while he was off at TOP GUN the two of you always made time to talk, and there was always one person who would annoy Jake just about as much as Jake annoyed you. A person who never seemed to miss the chance to flirt with you with the guise of getting under Jake's skin. But what happens when he meets your for the first time?

"I'm telling you, Darlin'. He's doing everythin' he can to get under my skin." Jake let out a heavy sigh as you plopped down on your bed. He ran his fingers through his hair, and it was clear how exhausted he was.

"Well, Jake," You smiled at the man, eager to take the opportunity to give him a playful tease. "I told you karma was going to come and bite you in the ass." He narrowed his eyes at you before putting his phone down.

"You think it's all funny but you haven't met Rooster," You shifted under your blanket as you got comfortable. His video call always signaled he was coming home, a little tradition you both started over the years. You knew it was his way of assuring you that he was safe while being away, which was comforting because you always worried about your best friend. Growing up together meant you guys were extremely close. Always stuck to the hip. His mother would joke around saying that you were practically his wife. Both of you recoiled at the thought of it, but your reaction was something Jake lived off. He used the title of wife to annoy you to the point where sometimes he would even scare off the men you tried to date. And each time he did that you would hit him with one day you karma was going to bite him in the ass for all the times he has ruined your dates-- even if the men were shits-- and for the amount of times he got under your skin. "I don't think I can go another day eating the grub here, Darlin'. I might strangle the chef." You laughed.

"Strangling who?" A new voice entered the conversation. A voice that you knew was the source of Jake's complaints but also the source of his entertainment. "Someone finally got a reaction out of you, Bagman?" You didn't have to see Jake's face to know he was rolling his eyes.

"I was talking about how I missed the homecooked meals that I be getting at home. Right Sweetheart?" You raised an eyebrow. Jake did come over to your apartment every once in a while and when he did, you always had a meal cooked. It wasn't for him by no means but for the fact that you enjoyed cooking. It was your source of destressing.

"I think you're talking to the wrong person here, Jake." He peaked his head back into the frame and smiled at you. "I ain't here to cook for you, so don't be asking me. Not after you and Javy ruined my last date, might I add."

"If it's a date you need, I can clear my schedule up for you." Rooster's comment made you smile as Jake shot him a glare.

"You can mess with any other girl, expect my wife." You scoffed. You knew Rooster was joking but that wasn't going to stop you from what you were about to say.

"Bradley, I would love to go on a date with you." Jake snapped his head back at you, you thought he might've pulled a muscle. "You didn't put a ring on it." You held up your left hand and wiggled your fingers.

"I'll text you with a date." The amused voice said.

"I'm hurt." Jake shook his head and you rolled his eyes.

"Good night, Jake."

"Good night, Darlin'." With that you hung up and rolled to your side. You turned off the lamp and the room grew dark. You weren't going to lie, but you were happy to have Jake back after three months. He was your annoying best friend who was also like your brother. It sucked not having him around.

_________

You stood in the sun, your hand blocking the sun as you scanned the crowd. Jake had texted you that he was coming back today. You had also gotten a text from Rooster telling you to pick out a cute dress because he was gonna take you on a date. You were surprised as you read the message again. You had thought it was a joke. Some playful joke to get a reaction out of Jake. You hadn't expected much and yet here you were. Wearing your favorite light blue floral dress. The slit on the left side fluttered with the wind. The nude heels wrapped around your ankles and you were now regretting the outfit. Saying you were nervous was an understatement as you rocked in your heels. Your hair was up in a cute but messy bun with a few strands that curled around your face. You had a light natural makeup look done with a rosy lipstick. You saw Jake and smiled as you walked over to him. He did a double take, taking in your outfit confused. "Did I miss a special date today, Darlin'?" He placed his bag down and hugged you.

"I got a date." You smiled and returned the hug.

"It better not be with Rooster." A slight warning tone in his voice that you knew was him being protective.

"And if it is?" You pulled back, hands on your hips. You were tempting him to say something. "Let me enjoy myself. I'm grown."

"You're my ride back." He pointed out and you held his keys out to him.

"Well good thing you're a big boy that can drive." You could hear some voices near before a whistle grabbed your attention.

"Well, look at you beautiful." Jake took a step to the side as he looked at the crew that was joining him. His eyes landed on Rooster who didn't hide the fact that he was taking you in. His eyes traveled down your figure before they looked back at you. "I know I said dress cute, but now you have me thinkin' I'm under dressed." The heat rose to your cheeks at the compliment. Rooster ignored Jake as he walked to you.

"Thank you." You voice was soft and Jake raised an eyebrow at you. He hadn't seen you this shy since college when you dated that football player he wasn't a fan of.

"No," Rooster shook his head. "Thank you for blessing my eyes with your beauty." You ducked your eyes, feeling your face grow warmer. "Now I see why Jake has been hiding you away. You definitely have broken some hearts." His comment made you laugh and Rooster's smile grew. He was serious about how you looked. In his eyes, you were the perfect example of the beauty that many would use to describe Aphrodite. The dress was lose but yet it hugged you well. It showed enough to for the eye to just imagine what was hidden under there. The slit might be his favorite part as the wind blew against it. You looked stunning right in front of him that he was glad that he was taking you on this date. He had forgotten how this date was meant to get under Jake's skin a bit since he could see how protective he was over you.

"Alrigh', stop." Jake groaned. He looked at Javy and gave him a look to which Javy nodded.

"Y/n," You looked over at Javy with a slight head tilt. One that made Rooster want to comment how cute you looked. How that head tilt made him feel some type of way. "Have I showed you the new addition I added to my car?" You shook your head confused as to why he was telling you this. "Well, come on then." He threw an arm around your shoulder and guided you to his car. The rest of the dagger members looked amused as you glanced back.

"I think we'll follow them." Phoenix said with a huge smirk on her face. The rest of the members trialed behind her as Jake looked at Rooster. Rooster couldn't help the stupid smile on his face as he took in the annoyed look that was painted on Jake's face.

"You break her heart," Jake threatened, "Or I hear that she had the worst night ever, I'm coming after you." Rooster raised an eyebrow at the threat, not one bit phased by it.

"You're worrying too much." Rooster couldn't help but smirk. "I'll be a gentleman."

"Not one tear, Bradshaw, you hear me." Jake said before walking off to where Javy distracted you, showing you the new touch he added to his car.

_______

You hadn't expected how one simple date at a cute little restaurant would have ended up with the two of you walking on the beach. He was holding your heels in one hand while his other one held your hand. "So you're saying you've known Bagman since he has been in diapers?" Somehow Rooster couldn't wrap his mind around how someone like Jake had a friend like you. You who seemed to be so perfect in his eyes. So nice, caring, and very open. While he had known Jake to be very center of attention, cocky, and even an ass at times.

"I wish I could say I was joking but his momma has plenty of photos of us together in the bath as babies." You scrunched your nose at the thought of the many photos that were stored away in a photo book back home.

"I still can't seem to wrap my head around the idea that someone beautifully sweet has been dealing with someone like Bagman." You let out a small laugh, trying to cover the fact that his words made you blush.

"He's not that bad." You playfully nudged Bradley's shoulder, which earned a laugh that escaped his lips. "I swear! He may be a pain in my ass but he's my best friend. I wouldn't trade him for the world."

"So it seems like I might have some competition." Bradley said, squeezing your hand. You looked up at him, a confused smile on your lips as you slightly titled your head. "Well it sounds like Bagman is your favorite person." He stops walking and you stop too as he moves in front of you.

"Jake?" You shook your head. "I may love him like family, but he definitely isn't my favorite person." Bradley took a step towards you, "I mean he is up there, but definitely not number one."

"So the spots open?" You watched the teasing smile pull at Bradley's lips. The playful glimmer in his chestnut colored eyes. Biting your lip, trying to stop the giggle that wanted to escape you decided to play along.

"Maybe." You shrugged, raising an eyebrow. He seemed to catch onto your playfulness demeanor. He released your hand and moved it up your arm as he closed the gap between you two. You closed your eyes, feeling his lips touch yours. His mustache tickled the skin above your lips but you didn't mind as you leaned into him, trying to deepen the kiss. He rested a hand on your hip and you could feel your heels dangled by your side as you moved your hand up his chest and around his shoulder. His other hand cradled your jaw, angling your head as he kissed you. Your nails scrapped the back of his neck, eliciting a soft groan from him before you gently pulled back. With you chest flushed up against his, you took a moment to catch your beath, eyes closed. As his thumb brushed against your cheek, you opened your eyes to meet his gaze, observing the smirk on his face as he took in every features on your face.

[shadowsndaisies]

the hard deck: slow ride (pt 2)

wc: ~1k

synopsis: a glimpse through Jake's eyes

main masterlist

athena-verse master post

a/n: here is part 2!

Look, Jake knew he was a great pilot. He knew it before he got sent to Top Gun; he knew it after. And he knew it before he got invited to this special detachment. In order to be a great pilot, there is a certain level of intelligence involved, so yes, Jake would say he's a smart guy. Which is why he feels confident in saying something has happened between you and Bradley.

You were by far the best person Jake had ever met. Pilot or not, hands-down, you were the best. There was something about you. That was just so innately trustworthy. Something bold and clever. He could put his life in your hands and wouldn't doubt them for a second. It'll be a cold day in hell before he admits it out loud, but Natasha Trace was a close second; it's the only reason he didn't go completely territorial over your friendship, that, and the fact that Phoenix probably would've thrown him overboard if he had even tried.

Since your assignment to the Tophatters, Jake has found himself with plenty of time to get to know you. And while you mentioned some of the people you attended Top Gun with, usually Harvard and Yale, you never once mentioned Rooster. Yet, there was something about the way you were staring at him, the way you watched how he and Natasha interacted; it set off all kinds of alarms in his head. He made a joke with the kiss and tell, and while you denied it, he knew there was something you weren't saying.

He's starting toward the pool table but pauses; whatever the truth was, whatever was going on, Bradley Bradshaw did something that hurt you, that much was clear, and well, if there was one thing Jake excelled at, more than flying, it was pushing all the wrong buttons. He looks back at you, gripping the G&T he'd gotten you, knowing you'd drink a beer but never enjoy it. You're playing with the condensation; he can see how your chest moves with deep breaths. And he decides there's no reason to build a bridge that was on fire from the start.

He turns and walks up to the Juke, scanning the listing and then smirking when he finds what he wants, putting in a quarter and clicking the numbers. Then he turns back to the pool table, "Bradshaw!" he calls, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees you turn. Jake hands the beers off, one to Nat and the other three to Javi for the moment being. "As I live and breathe," he smirks, stealing the pool cue out of Bob's hands.

It's a dick move, he knows, but well, right now, that's who he needed to be.

"Hangman," Rooster greets, a slight head tilt, and his lip quirks. "You look… good," he concedes, and Jake smirks.

"Well, I am good, Rooster," Jake starts, lining up his shot, and like he'd done to you earlier, he makes eye contact with Rooster as he hits the ball. However, there is a distinct rise in testosterone; unfortunately, Rooster is not nearly as fun to flirt with as you are. "I'm very good. In fact, I am too good to be true," Jake smirks again.

"So," Payback calls, and Jake notices how you've begun to inch forward. "Anybody know what this special detachment is all about?"

"No, mission's a mission. They don't confront me," Jake is the first to answer as he lines up his next shot, splitting his vision between the pool table and you. You're still far enough to keep everyone from seeing you but close enough to likely hear what's being said, even over the sounds of the bar. "What I want to know," he continues, "is who's gonna be team leader?" he emphasizes the question while landing another ball in a pocket before standing and looking around the table. "And who's has what it takes to follow me?" Jake doesn't mean to linger on you, but it seems to have an okay reaction because you quirk a smile in challenge, as if asking what makes you think you won't be following me? And honestly, he probably would. He'd follow you anywhere if you asked him to.

"Hangman, the only place you'll lead anyone is an early grave," Rooster says lowly, and every Aviator around the table freezes.

Fanboy lets out a nervous laugh that Jake sure earns him a few glares, but his gaze doesn't move off of you; instead, he watches your shoulders tense, you bite your lip, and then he sees as you uncomfortably force yourself forward. He was a dick, he knew that, but he wasn't about to let you force yourself into this conversation when your feet weren't firmly on the ground.

Jake keeps the cocky smirk on his face and stands up straight before walking over to Rooster, "Well," he begins, looking Rooster up and down. "Anyone who follows you is just going to run out of fuel. But that's just you, ain't it, Rooster?" Jake quips. "You're snug on that perch, waiting for just the right moment… that never comes," Jake takes slow steps, getting in Rooster's face.

The chorus of the song Jake had typed in came on at the perfect time.

Slow ride… take it easy…

Jake smirks, "I love this song!"

Jake had moved to go back to the game. Still, vaguely, he's aware that you're now speaking to another aviator and that Phoenix and Rooster are talking about him.

"Well, he hasn't changed," Phoenix notes, and though she's being quieter, it's not quiet enough.

"Nope, sure hasn't," Rooster affirms.

"Check it out," Fanboy calls, nodding past the table, and everybody's attention shifts, "more patches."

"That's Omaha, Halo, Fritz, and shit, is that Harvard and Yale talking to Athena," Payback notes.

Rooster pauses, "Wait, Athena's here?"

...

everything: @butterfly-skinnylegend

athena’s tags: @omgbrianab @smoothdogsgirl @bazellawriz @sbrewer21 @inky-sun @djs8891 @rory-cakes

[writing-until-i-drop]

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 9

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

A/N: Daisy starts to feel like a hostage but she comes to a decision.

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

Natasha and Jake were unwilling to let me spend a minute of my day alone. When they were at work, I was hanging out with Penny, and if they were being kept late at work or had something else to do, another member of the Daggers was glued to my side. Right now, I was sitting on Rooster and Jake’s couch, playing Call of Duty with Rooster.

“Get him, get him, get him!” Rooster shouted as I aimed up my shot,

“I got him!” The headshot announcement flashed across the top of the screen. “Hell yeah!” We fist bumped as the round ended,

“You’re pretty good at this, Daisy.” Rooster stood, stretching. We had spent the last hour playing round after round without moving and my back was starting to ache. “Want another beer?”

“Yes, please,” I kicked my feet up on the coffee table, checking my phone. I had a missed call from Harvey and I swiped away the notification. I couldn’t talk to him before I made my decision on what I was going to do about Rudolph Lance or else I’d spill the beans and kick myself for it. “Actually, I think I’m going to go home.”

“No can do, Hangman and Phoenix will skin me alive if I let you leave before they get off.” I groaned, their love for me was undeniable, but the suffocating feeling was growing stronger with every hour that passed since the FBI knocked on my front door.

“I’m tired,” I complained, Rooster misunderstood me, pointing down the hallway.

“Second door on the left, take a nap.” The refusal was on the tip of my tongue but then it dawned on me that this would be the perfect moment to get some alone time. I feigned a yawn,

“Yeah, sounds good. Thanks for babysitting me, Roo,” He laughed, cracking open another beer.

“Listen, I realize we’re practically kidnapping you every day against your will and you’re trying to be a good sport about it but maybe once this whole situation is over, we can hangout and not have it be a hostage situation.”

Now I was laughing, a reaction that had been rare over the last few days. Rooster was a pretty good guy, I could see why he was friends with two of the most important people in my life. He could handle a serious situation but he didn’t take himself seriously, and he was a man who could see a need and meet it without being asked.

“If it means anything, you’re my favorite kidnapper so far, Roo.” It was true, he hadn’t given me any sad, pleading expressions, and had been prepared with a family sized bag of M&Ms and a twenty-four pack of beer. “Don’t tell Bob, I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Rooster laughed, “Now go, be alone for a few minutes.”

It was my first time in Jake’s room, I realized opening the door. He had been spending almost every night at my place instead and if he wasn’t in my bed, Natasha was. You get campus security called on you for a wellness check once in college and suddenly no one trusts you to be alone when things get hard. Ridiculous.

Jake’s room was neat and tidy, with green, plaid sheets on the bed, a cowboy hat on the dresser, and nothing on the walls. Men, I rolled my eyes at the lack of decorations. Maybe he’d let me buy a few things to hang up on the walls to make it a little more homey. I pushed out of my pajama pants and climbed into the right side of the bed out of habit, even though the left side had been my preferred side of the bed before meeting Jake, he had insisted on taking it because it was closer to the door.

The bed smelled like Jake’s cologne and it had me relaxing into the pillows, stretching out like a cat in the sun. I needed to figure out what I was going to do and the process of doing that had to start at the beginning. I pulled up the Wikipedia page on Rudolph Lance and read until I couldn’t see through the tears.

Rudolph Lance has admitted to ten murders and was convicted on January 13th 2002. His modus operandi (MO) was to stalk young couples, break into their homes, and torture them with a knife before ultimately shooting them in the head. While on trial, Lance pleaded guilty to the murders of ten people but did not provide details on his motive.

The FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit released a statement during their search for the killer stating that they believed he was motivated by a sense of excitement surrounded by the torture itself, which is why he did not spend more time on the murder itself [citation needed].

I remembered every minute of that night. My therapist had said that some victims of trauma tend to either suppress memories or remember them vividly. I was sadly part of the second group. When Rudolph Lance broke into our house, Harvey had been upstairs, sound asleep with a Beethoven CD playing on loop, which had drowned out all of the noises our parents made that night.

I had been playing hide and seek with my dad and had chosen the closet of their bedroom, its slatted doors had given me a clear view of every cut and stab Lance had inflicted on my parents. He had focused on my mother, taking his time with each of the cuts to draw out the pain. I knew there was nothing I could do, I didn’t have a cell phone and Lance never left the room to give me a chance to escape and go for help. It wasn’t my fault, I couldn’t save them.

The white carpet had been soaked red and when I ran to them, after hearing the front door shut, I found myself stained red. Our phone line had been cut, so I gathered Harvey in my arms, covered his eyes, and ran to our neighbors, banging on their door until Mr. Greene opened it with a shotgun in his hands.

The FBI questioning had been rough but the trial was even worse. The child advocate had done my hair in pigtails, which was a tad annoying as a twelve year old, and even though I could recall the entire event and clearly identify Rudolph Lance as my parent’s killer, the judge had decided that there was not enough physical evidence to move to a trial.

It had been the second worst day of my life. I was left with no answers and no resolution. Just a baby brother who didn’t understand that our parents weren’t coming back, a great uncle who didn’t know how to raise kids, and stories in my head begging to be put on paper.

If I agreed to speak with Lance, then I would get answers. The answers I had been chasing for over a decade and so would other families. He wanted to torture me, that’s what the FBI had said. I wasn’t naive enough to think that everything would go right and I would leave the prison with a smile on my face while a rainbow painted the sky. There was going to be a price to pay and whether I was willing to or not, I was the only one who could cash the check.

X

I was antsy to get back to Daisy. Maverick had been doing his best to accommodate the situation but he couldn’t just give me and Phoenix a month off of work to handle it. The squad had been a blessing, helping Phoenix and I watch over her. Phoenix hadn’t told us why she was so worried about Daisy being alone but I wasn’t complaining about being ordered not to leave Daisy’s side by her best friend.

“Hey, buddy.” Rooster greeted me, standing in the kitchen with a beer. I glanced around, not spotting Daisy anywhere but before I could panic, Rooster pointed down the hall. “She’s taking a nap but Hangman,” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Daisy’s dying for some time alone.” My knee jerk reaction was that that was not going to happen. But it made sense. Daisy was a homebody who enjoyed being left alone and we had been watching over her like hawks.

“I’ll talk to her,” He passed me his beer and I took a sip before passing it back. “How was she today?”

“She was fine, she’s a pro at Call of Duty, and she tried to make a run for it.” I froze, “But before you have a heart attack, remember that she’s currently asleep in your bed.” Right. That was a good point.

“Can you figure out dinner while I talk to her?”

“I’ve got your back, man.”

The sight of Daisy curled up in my bed was enough to make my chest feel lighter than it had in days. Her pajama pants were abandoned in the middle of the floor, which I folded and put on the desk. It felt good to have her in my space but it didn’t feel right. My room was far too spartan for her, she didn’t belong there, but I wanted her to.

My belt buckle hitting the floor woke up and she stretched out in bed, making a growly noise that made me smile.

“Hey, babe,” Daisy smiled, patting the space in bed beside her. “How was work?” The moment was so domestic it made my heart burst with happiness.

“It was good, there’s talk we’re going to be getting another big mission in a few months.” She nodded, blinking sleepily at me. “I heard you had fun with Rooster, baby.” I slid into bed beside her, bringing her in for a kiss. Daisy responded, wrapping her arms around my neck.

“Roo’s a good hostage taker,” She snuggled her face into my neck. Hostage. That word left a bitter taste in my mouth, is that how she saw herself?

“Are we suffocating you, baby?” Daisy sighed, kissing my collar bone.

“I know it’s with love,” Love.

“Lots of love,” I promised, my hand settling on her bare waist. “But if you need space and you promise me you’re not going to do whatever Phoenix is worried about, all you have to do is ask.”

“A few hours of alone time won’t kill me,” Daisy began playing with the hairs at the nape of my neck, pulling her head back so that she could look at me. “She’s worried I’m going to isolate myself and lock you all out.” I tightened my grip on her and she rolled her eyes at me, “I’m not going anywhere, Jake.”

“Rooster said you tried to run for it earlier,” Daisy’s eyes narrowed.

“Maybe he’s not my favorite babysitter anymore.” I laughed, kissing her forehead. “But don’t worry. I’m not running from this or you,”

“Good.”

“I’m going to do it,” She whispered with a frown. “I’m going to talk to him.” Pride and terror filled me in equal measure. She was going to do a very brave thing, one that would wreak havoc on her emotions, but I would be there by her side. That’s what I had to focus on. She was going to be fine because me, Phoenix, and the rest of the squad were going to be by her side the whole time.

“I’ll go with you.” Daisy kissed me, nudging her knee between my legs. I slid my hand to her ass, relishing the feeling as she moaned into my mouth. The door burst open, sending us apart.

“Please have clothes on,” Rooster shouted, standing in the doorway with his hand over his eyes.

“Roo!”

“What the hell, man?”

“Dinner’s ready,” Daisy groaned, pulling the comforter over her head. Rooster, still covering his eyes, “Thought you’d want to know. How’s the alone time, Daisy?”

“Go away, Roo.” He grinned,

“Sounds like it’s going good.”

“Want me to kick his ass, baby?” I whispered through the blanket, kissing her head. Daisy laughed,

“Can we eat dinner in bed?”

“Whatever you want,”

“Can I join?”

“No!” We shouted together, Rooster laughing his way out of the room.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @dizzybee03 @littlezee80 @cinderellasmissingshoes @carolina-on-my-mind03 @mizzzpink

[justabigassnerd]

Arguments

Pairing - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x daughter!reader, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Word count - 3,743

Warnings - broken bones, injuries, inaccurate medical scenes, idk hospital stuff, arguing, yelling, swearing, angst, Jake's a bit of an ass in this

Summary - you get injured while out with Bradley, which kicks Jake into 'dad mode' and causes an argument

A/N - hey y'all! sorry it's been a hot minute since I last uploaded a fic! I have been finishing up uni so it's been a bit all over the place. anyway I won't keep you long with this A/N, it's a new part of Hangman junior and as per y'all, please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!

Jake and Bradley had never been a couple to argue. They had a ‘let’s agree to disagree’ mindset when it came to anything the two could potentially make a spat out of. When kids at your school complained about their parents arguing you couldn’t help but feel bad for them because your dad and Bradley never argued. You knew arguing was commonplace between most couples and you were sure that your dad and Bradley would argue at least once during their relationship and all you could hope was that you wouldn’t bear witness to it.

One day, while Jake was out with Coyote, Payback, and Fanboy, you and Bradley decided to head to the nearest park and have a walk around to enjoy the warm spring weekend. The park was bustling with parents and children, couples, and the elderly. It seemed as if everyone had the same idea as you and Bradley, not that you’d complain about it, it made you happy to see so many people out and about. You watched as parents swung their children in between them as their child shrieked with laughter, you saw couples having picnics, tossing grapes at each other to see if they could catch them in their mouths, and you saw elderly people sat together by the pond, tossing grain out for the ducks who greedily darted to the food as they quacked noisily.

“Did you ever do stuff like this with your parents? Go to the park?” You ask curiously, looking up at Bradley to gauge his reaction, worried you might have upset him with the words you didn’t think about before they left your mouth.

“Parks, very rarely, I was more of a beach guy, my parents too. According to my mum, my dad had to drag me almost kicking and screaming from the beach when it was time to go home.” Bradley chuckles, reminiscing on the faint memories he had with his parents.

“Your parents sound like they were lovely people. I wish I could’ve met them.” You say, smiling softly at Bradley who lifts his hand and ruffles your hair with a smile of his own.

“Oh, they would’ve loved you. My mum especially.” Bradley says as he surveys the park, watching a dog bounding across the park as its owner tosses a ball across the grass. He had always wanted a dog growing up, maybe he’d speak to Jake about adding a pet to the family.

“I bet I would’ve loved them too.” You reply, your smile not fading as you look back across the park. You and Bradley continue your walk, admiring the sights and the birds flying overhead. As you walk through the park, you begin to head down some steps to walk along a lower path of the park but just as you near the bottom of the stairs, your ankle rolls and you tumble down the remaining stairs, hearing a crack from your right arm as it shot out to try and stop your fall.

“y/n! Are you hurt?” Bradley said worriedly, darting to your side and crouching alongside you as you cradled your arm and blinked back tears.

“My arm hurts, I heard it crack. I think it’s broken” You say, fighting to keep your voice from wobbling at the pain. Bradley pulls his hoodie off, using it to make a makeshift sling to keep your arm still, apologising quickly when you wince in pain.

“Just your arm? Nothing else? You didn’t hit your head or anything?” Bradley asks, avoiding touching your arm as he scans you over for any other injuries.

“My ankle hurts a little, but my arm is the worst.” You admit, leaning against Bradley as he eases you up onto your feet. Glancing around you see concerned onlookers who glance away the second you make eye contact with them and continue on their way.

“Can you walk? We should get you to the hospital and the Bronco is almost a five-minute walk away.” Bradley asks softly, watching you wince as you accidentally jog your arm.

“Yeah, I can walk. I’ll be fine.” You say, trying to assure Bradley that you’ll be okay. With a slight nod, Bradley leads you to the Bronco, carefully helping you into the front passenger seat and helping you plug in your seat belt before rounding the car to get in the driver’s seat.

“I’ll call your dad when you’re getting treated. I don’t want him to worry too much.” Bradley says as he begins driving to the hospital, fighting the urge to speed the whole way there. He was silently dreading Jake’s reaction to this. You were the most precious thing in the world to Jake and he’d shoot into overprotective dad mode whenever you were in a situation where you could get hurt. Bradley also knew how Jake reacted when you were hurt.

“It’s dad. He will worry no matter what.” You say with a weak smile as you glance over at Bradley who shakes his head with a soft laugh, trying to alleviate his concerns.

It didn’t take Bradley long to drive to the hospital, helping you out once he parked and leading you into the building. He approaches the receptionist and explains what happened and the receptionist simply hands him some paperwork and a pen and tells him to fill it out in the waiting room. Bradley heads with you into the waiting room and sits down in one of the uncomfortable seats and stares at the paperwork in front of him. You provide him with the answers he needs and not long after finishing the paperwork, a nurse enters the waiting room and calls your name.

“You go on ahead, kid. I’ll call Jake.” Bradley whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before you get up and follow the nurse. The second you leave his eyesight, Bradley pulls his phone out of his pocket and calls Jake, the call rings through to answerphone so Bradley waits for the beep so he can leave a voice message.

“Hey, Jake, I just wanted to call and let you know that y/n had a fall while we were in the park, and I reckon she broke her arm. We’re at the hospital now and they’ve taken her off to I assume get an x-ray and sort her out. Just give me a call when you get this. Love you.” Bradley says into the phone before hanging up and letting out a small sigh. Bradley remains sat in the waiting room, anxiously bouncing his leg, and fighting back memories of stuffy hospital waiting rooms he often spent time in during his youth. After what felt like hours, a nurse stuck her head into the room and called Bradley’s name, making him leap out of his seat instinctively.

“y/n is just fine. Her arm is broken but it’s being put in a cast as we speak. We just needed to grab you so the doctor can go through medications and care with you.” The nurse explains as she leads Bradley through various corridors to the room you were in, arm outstretched as the staff tended to it, putting it into a plaster cast.

“You okay, y/n/n?” Bradley asks, easing down into a chair next to you and studying you carefully.

“Yeah. They’ve given me some pain meds, so my arm doesn’t hurt as much.” You say, looking over at Bradley who nods with a soft smile. When the doctor finishes putting your arm in a cast, she turns to look at Bradley as she grabs her clipboard.

“You must be y/n’s father, correct?” The doctor asks, looking at Bradley who glances at you nervously.

“Yeah, he’s my dad.” You answer for Bradley, smiling up at him before looking at the doctor who nods.

“Okay, we just need to talk to you about caring for the injury. We’ve prescribed some medication and we have a care leaflet here about making sure her arm heals well and the cast remains undamaged. If y/n experiences any pain that isn’t being combated by the pain medication come back and we’ll see what we can do.” The doctor explains, handing Bradley a leaflet as you get up from the chair. Bradley thanks the doctor and signs some extra paperwork that needs signing before being allowed to take you back home. As you pick up your medication, Bradley checks his phone and fights back a frown at not a single notification from Jake. He figured Jake would’ve listened to his voicemail by now and would’ve either texted him or called him back. Bradley sent another message through to Jake as the two of you exit the hospital, letting him know that you were heading home. Bradley helps you into the Bronco and drives back home. As you enter the house, you kick your shoes off and turn to face Bradley in the hallway.

“Can I go for a nap? These painkillers are wiping me out.” You admit with a slight yawn.

“Of course, y/n/n. Just make sure you prop your arm up on a pillow or something. I don’t want an army of angry doctors coming my way on the first day.” Bradley chuckles as you roll your eyes but nod regardless. Bradley watches you head upstairs before heading into the living room where he sat down, and his leg began bouncing rapidly at the lack of response from Jake. He tried to put the tv on to distract himself and after almost half an hour his phone pinged with a message from Jake.

‘I’m on my way home.’

The message was blunt and to the point and Bradley immediately knew that he may be in trouble. Bradley knew that Jake was probably speeding the whole way home right now and that he would be envisioning the absolute worst. Before too long, Bradley heard the tell-tale sign of Jake’s truck pulling into the driveway and then not long after, Jake came barrelling into the house, making Bradley leap up from where he was sitting.

“Where is she?” Jake asks, panic evident in his voice as Bradley approaches him.

“She’s up in her room having a nap. She’s fine so we should just leave her be for a moment.” Bradley says as Jake barges past him, heading up the stairs with Bradley hot on his heels. The second Jake reaches your room he opens your door and sticks his head in your room, seeing you lying fast asleep on your bed. Relieved to see you okay, he closes the door before rounding on Bradley.

“How did this happen? Penny lets me and the others use her boat one time, and my daughter gets hurt and I don’t find out until I’m back on land.” He asks harshly, glaring at Bradley whose eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“I told you in the voicemail. She fell down a couple of steps and broke her arm when she tried to break her fall.” Bradley explains.

“And you didn’t try to stop her from falling?” Jake says angrily, his glare intensifying.

“It happened so fast, Jake! By the time I realised she was falling, she had hit the floor. I did what I could. I took her to the hospital and got her the treatment she needed. There was nothing else I could’ve done.” Bradley retorts, defending himself from Jake’s anger.

“Bradley, in letting you in my life all I ask is you look after my kid, and you couldn’t even do that!” Jake said, his anger reaching an all-time high.

“Jake, that’s not fair. I did everything I could have done in that situation. y/n is fine. Yes, she has a broken arm, but she was smiling and talkative before she went up to bed. Nothing has happened to her apart from an injured arm. It’s still your kid in there.” Bradley says, fighting the urge to raise his voice.

“I can’t be doing this with you. I don’t think I can even look at you right now.” Jake scoffs, making Bradley’s heart ache at the harsh words.

“I see. Well, if you need me, I’ll be at Phoenix’s.” Bradley says, moving around Jake and heading downstairs, grabbing his keys, and jumping into the Bronco while Jake remains rooted in place. After taking a couple of deep breaths, Jake enters your room and perches himself on the edge of your bed as you blink your eyes open.

“Hey, dad.” You say with a small smile which Jake couldn’t help but return.

“Hey, sweetheart. Are you feeling okay?” He asks softly as you nod.

“The pain meds are doing their job. Where’s Bradley?” You suddenly ask, propping yourself up on your good arm and glancing behind your dad as if Bradley would pop out of nowhere.

“He’s downstairs.” Jake lies, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face.

“Don’t lie to me dad. I heard the two of you arguing outside. What did you say to him?” You ask, glaring at him in a way that Jake could only assume was the way he was looking at Bradley just moments prior.

“You wouldn’t understand.” Jake says dismissively, not wanting to tell you about what happened.

“I bet I would. Now tell me what happened.” You demand, making Jake fall silent before he sighs heavily.

“Bradley let you get hurt so-”

“So you yelled at him? Dad, are you serious?” You cut in, your glare intensifying as you process what happened.

“y/n, in being part of our life he should be looking after you.” Jake attempts to justify his anger.

“He did look after me. He took me straight to the hospital and was there the whole time. He has all the details about my medication and how to care for my cast and injury. Do you? I guess not because the first thing you did when you walked through the door was yell at him.” You spit, angrier than you’ve ever been before at your dad. Jake remains silent at your outburst, giving you time to speak once more.

“Put yourself in Bradley’s shoes for a second, dad. Imagine I was Bradley’s daughter, and I was out with you, and I fell and hurt myself. How would you feel?” You ask, watching as Jake processes your words.

“I’d feel bad. Like I could’ve stopped you from hurting yourself if I was quick enough.” Jake replies, looking down at your duvet.

“Okay, now imagine you were feeling like that and then the second Bradley got home he yelled at you and made you feel even worse. Because that’s probably how you made Bradley feel.” You say, making Jake feel awful for the way he had treated Bradley.

“Dad, I know you were worried about me and that’s okay. But you can’t treat Bradley like that for something that wasn’t his fault. I know you love Bradley, and he loves you too. Don’t let this argument ruin your relationship.” You say, wiping your eyes quickly so your dad doesn’t see your tears, but Jake sees them.

“Oh, sweetheart. This argument won’t ruin our relationship. Yes, I was angry at Bradley, but I won’t be divorcing him over this.” Jake says reassuringly, helping you sit up properly before sitting alongside you, wrapping an arm around you carefully and pulling you into his side as you fight back more tears.

“You promise?” You ask through tears, looking up at your dad as he runs a hand up and down your back.

“I promise y/n/n.” Jake promises. He had learnt in raising you that he shouldn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. But his relationship with Bradley was important to him, and he knew he’d be an idiot if he let Bradley go after one silly argument. Jake knew he was in the wrong, that he let his protectiveness get too much and he took it out on someone who didn’t deserve it. Someone who took his daughter in like his own and cared for her when Jake wasn’t around.

“You just relax up here, okay? I’m going to call Bradley and see if I can talk to him. Then I’ll cook us up something to eat.” Jake says once you’ve calmed down enough to form coherent thoughts. He watches as you wipe your eyes once more and nod, allowing Jake to detangle himself from you. As Jake stands up, he presses a kiss to the top of your head before he heads downstairs to call Bradley. Once Jake reaches the living room, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it and finds Bradley’s contact, staring at it for a minute before pressing the number and holding the phone up to his ear. The phone rang for what felt like forever, Jake could imagine Bradley sitting watching the phone ring while Phoenix told him to ignore the call. He couldn’t even be mad if that was the case, he knew he deserved it.

“Hello?” Jake was taken aback to hear Bradley’s voice, having fully convinced himself that Bradley would let him go to voicemail.

“Bradley, hi.” Jake breathes, failing to come up with anything else.

“Can I help you?” Bradley replies, a clear exasperation in his voice as he speaks.

“Can I talk to you?” Jake asks, biting his bottom lip as he awaits a response. He hears Bradley move away from the phone, mumbling to Phoenix before returning to the phone.

“Okay.” Bradley says simply.

“What?” Jake says, not expecting Bradley to just talk over the phone.

“You wanted me to talk to you so I’m talking to you.” Bradley replies and Jake could only imagine him sitting back against the sofa with that cocky eyebrow raise of his.

“I mean, come home. I want to talk to you face to face.” Jake says, hoping that Bradley agrees. Jake hears Phoenix whispering to Bradley before the phone clearly gets handed over.

“Listen here, Bagman, you better clean up this act of yours. I get that y/n got hurt but it was out of everyone’s control. If I ever find out that you’ve spoken to Bradley like that again I’m going to fuck you up so bad, you’ll never be able to fly again.” Phoenix threatens, making a shiver crawl up Jake’s back at the intensity of her words. He knew Phoenix’s threats weren’t empty. He knew how close Phoenix and Bradley were and how fiercely protective they were of one another.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less Phoenix.” Jake manages to reply, grabbing the tv remote and turning the tv off when he finally registers that it’s been left on all this time. Jake hears shuffling on the other end of the line and the jangling of keys.

“He’ll be over soon.” Phoenix says quickly before hanging up, leaving Jake pulling the phone away from his ear and staring at it as he held it limply in his lap. Jake sat in silence as he waited to hear the familiar sound of the Bronco pulling up outside. When he heard the rumble of the all-familiar vehicle, Jake shot to his feet, his phone clattering to the floor at the sudden movement as he wrings his hands nervously. Bradley enters the house and locks eyes with Jake who has moved to stand in the living room doorway, his eyes red-rimmed, a clear signal he’d been holding back tears.

“Bradley, I am so sorry for what I said. I was scared and I took it out on you, which I should not have done. You looked after y/n and got her the treatment she needed. You’re a perfect parent for y/n and we’re both so lucky to have you. Now I don’t expect you to forgive me straight away, y/n needs you and she ripped me a new one when she found out what we were arguing about. I know I don’t deserve you Bradley, but I’d be a fool to let you go.” Jake says, clearing his throat slightly after speaking to try and hide the emotions. Bradley remained silent for but a moment before he took a step forward and took Jake’s hand in his.

“Jake, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t appreciate the way you spoke to me, yes, but I know your anger came from a place of worry. y/n’s the most important thing in your life and I get that. Just, if there’s a next time, I’m with y/n and something happens, please trust I’ve taken care of her as best I can. I love that kid so much and I’d move heaven and earth to keep her safe so please don’t assume I don’t care about her because I do.” Bradley says, letting Jake know how he feels about everything. Jake nods slightly, blinking back more threatening tears.

“I know you love her, and I was so stupid to even think you didn’t. y/n was so worried when she learnt about the argument. You mean the world to her, and you mean the world to me too. We can’t lose you.” Jake says as Bradley tugs him ever so closer.

“You Seresin’s are stuck with me.” Bradley says softly, his small, yet loving smile crossing his face.

“Aren’t we lucky to be stuck with you, Bradshaw?” Jake teases, smirking in response as Bradley tugs him into a kiss, the two men relishing in each other’s embrace.

“Are you two okay now?” The two men jump apart at the sound of your voice where they see you standing on the stairs, a cocky smile on your face as you look at them.

“Yes, we’re okay now.” Bradley says, both him and Jake extending an arm out towards you so they could bring you into a group hug. After hugging for a moment, Jake pulls away, clapping his hands together and looking between you and Bradley.

“Alright, I’ll cook us up some food. I did promise, didn’t I, y/n?” Jake says looking at you as you nod, eager to have some of your dad’s homecooked food. Jake then heads to the kitchen with you and Bradley following. As you and your dads occupy the kitchen, you watch with a smile as Bradley turns on the radio, serenading your dad in his soft voice as Jake prepares what he needs to make a meal. You watch the two men with a smile, grateful that you had both of them in your life.

taglist (comment or ask to be added):

@zbeez-outlet @kaceywithak @tsnelf7 @starkleila @cassadilasworld @shanimallina87 @madstxo @chaoticassidy @padsdarlg

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

The Return - The Forgotten Nest AU

AU Series Based on The Forgotten Nest

Summary: Bradley returns to Miramar to see Cora. Cora brings a surprise guest to their meeting.

Additional Warnings: Breastfeeding, Normal Baby Functions, Referenced Past Teenage Pregnancy (Between 18 year olds), Angst, Crying

Word Count: 1.2k

Main Master List

Series Master List

Miramar had not changed much in the year and a few months that Bradley had been gone. The waves looked the same. The streets looked the same. The sun shone the same kind of way. 

He had changed though. His hair was much shorter now. He grew it out a bit in high school because Cora told him that he looked cuter with curls but it was just easier to keep it trimmed close to his head now. He had grown a few more inches and gotten a bit broader now that he was consistently working out. And don’t even get him started on his mindset. 

Pacing around a bit more anxiously, Bradley rubbed his cheeks with his hands. 

He wasn’t really sure how to approach this meeting. Cora seemed adamant that they talk in person and not over the phone. And Bradley still felt bad about how it all went down, especially since Cora’s tear-streaked expression still haunted him. He required that Mav and Ice and anyone else stay out of it and Cora agreed. Mav was in Europe anyways. 

It was just them. They would talk for a bit. And that would be it. That was all that it was. 

Turning on his heel, Bradley paused when he spotted Cora’s car pulling into the lot. She still drove the smaller SUV that used to belong to Sarah Kazansky. Cora parked a few spaces down from where Bradley was standing and got out of the car. She shot him a nervous smile and wave but Bradley frowned when she turned for her back seat. Pulling open the door, Cora leaned over and grabbed something that Bradley couldn’t see. 

She reached around and closed the door, showing Bradley what she was carrying for the first time. Or rather who she was carrying. 

Why the hell did Cora have a baby?

Cora held the baby to her chest, using her hand to keep the baby’s head resting against her shoulder. Slowly making her way over to Bradley, Cora somehow looked smaller as she waited for Bradley’s reaction. Bradley didn’t look like he was breathing as his eyes trailed over the baby. Bradley was horrible at guessing baby ages but he could do a bit of math.

Bradley took a step back in shock, staring at the baby in Cora’s arms. And that action seemed to make Cora hold the baby closer and turn herself slightly away from Bradley. Like she was protecting them from him. He glanced erratically, looking between Cora and the baby over and over again until his knees gave out from under him. Squatting, Bradley tried to steady himself with his hands as he slowly picked his head up to stare at Cora. 

She looked like she wanted to say about a thousand different things but when the baby in her arms started to whimper, she turned away from Bradley. Adjusting her son, Cora pulled out a binkie from her pocket and tried to settle him again. Rubbing his head softly, Cora pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

“Shh, Nickie. It’s okay,” she cooed, causing Bradley to let out a shaky breath and drop his chin to his chest as tears stung his eyes. 

“Nickie?” Bradley breathed out, picking his head up again. “His name is Nickie?”

Cora nodded softly, bouncing her son to settle him. Their son. Bradley let out a shaky breath and pressed his hand to his head, feeling like he was having an out of body experience. Or like he was going to pass out. Looking up at Cora again, no words came to Bradley’s mind as tears streamed down his cheeks.

~~~~~

Bradley watched Nickie crawl around on the blanket that Cora set up on the grass, never taking his eyes off of Nickie for a second. Cora sat beside Bradley, watching his expression carefully. Nickie crawled to the edge of the blanket and didn’t seem like he wanted to stop. Leaning over, Rooster gently grabbed Nickie and set him back down in the middle of the blanket.

“He’s very mobile,” Bradley murmured, staring down at their son. “Has he walked yet?”

“Not yet,” Cora replied, bringing some small relief to Bradley. “He’s just a little ball of energy.” 

Nickie tried to make his escape yet again, but Bradley reached out to slow his advance. Grabbing onto Bradley’s hand, Nickie stared back at Bradley with a matching set of big brown eyes. And while Bradley got caught up in his son holding his hand for the first time, Nickie’s eyes started to fill with tears, until he let out a loud wail.

Bradley flinched and panicked a bit, not really sure what to do. But Cora calmly picked Nickie up and held him against her chest, rocking him back and forth to settle him. Bradley sat back, watching as Cora expertly calmed Nickie down.

“He’s fine,” Cora assured Bradley, rocking Nickie a bit more. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” She checked her watch quickly before adjusting her hold on Nickie. “He’s probably just a little hungry, that’s all.”

“Did you need help feeding him?” 

“Not unless you can lactate,” Cora replied, causing Bradley to go pink.

Cora grabbed a privacy blanket from the bag and expertly got Nickie into position. Even though there was a blanket there, and even though he had seen much more of Cora, Bradley stared at the ground awkwardly. Cora seemed a bit amused at Bradley’s reaction as she picked her head up to look over at him.

“It’s not weird if you look at me while I do this,” Cora reminded Bradley, causing him to slowly pick his head up.

“Oh, I didn’t . . .” Clearing his throat, Bradley turned to face Cora fully again. “You’re still living at home then?”

“Yeah. It’s a lot nicer than anything else I could ever dream of affording right now. And my dad felt better knowing that Nickie and I had a stable roof over our heads.” 

“Does he know . . . ?” Bradley asked, a bit nervously.

“That I have a baby?” Cora returned, somewhat sarcastically.

“That we’re here. Right now,” Bradley corrected, causing Cora to frown a bit.

“No, he’s covert right now.”

“And Ice?”

“Ice knows everything,” Cora dismissed with a wave of her hand. 

“And how does he feel about it?” 

“Does it matter?” Cora asked, glancing under the blanket at Nickie. “Regardless of how any of them feel, they’re not going to try and stand in the way.” 

Bradley was about to respond when Cora pulled Nickie away from her chest. She reached for a towel to clean up when Bradley offered a hand. 

“Did you need help?”

“You can burp him, if you want,” Cora offered, sliding Nickie out from under the blanket. 

Bradley took Nickie from Cora and with some quick instructions, moved to burp Nickie. Cora cleaned up and packed away the privacy blanket. When her back was turned for a moment, Bradley let out a gasp and groan, causing Cora to whip around. Unable to help herself, Cora burst out laughing when she caught Bradley’s stunned expression.

Nickie giggled, smiling proudly over at his mom, as his spit up dripped down Bradley’s shirt. 

“You didn’t bring an extra shirt, did you?” Cora mused to Bradley, gently wiping the spit up from Nickie’s chin.

“No, I did not,” Bradley sighed, letting Cora take Nickie from his hands. 

“You’ll learn,” she replied softly, rubbing Nickie’s chubby baby belly.

"Yeah," Bradley mumbled quietly in agreement, watching Nickie giggle and smile up at Cora. His chest bloomed with warmth as Cora and Nickie turned back to him. "I will."

A.N. So, I decided to write a series of small one shots about Cora, Bradley, and Nickie if Bradley came back when Nickie was a baby. Obviously, it changes some things, so it'll be different from the original series but with the same idea in mind.

I was going to restart the tag list for this separate series, since not everyone is into AUs of series (which is totally fair). However, as with all of my works, you will not be tagged unless it clearly states on your blog (i.e. pinned post or blog header) that you are 18+ as my blog is 18+ Only.

[strawhbrrries]

Babys Breath, v

pairing: bob floyd x seresin!florist!reader

summary: Bob stumbles into the nearest florist to the funeral he’s attending and, unknowingly, charms Jake Seresin’s sweet younger sister with all the anxious charm he possesses.

warnings: everyone calls reader “sunshine”, fluff!!!, protective older brother jake??, horrible descriptions of the navy, warnings will differ depending on chapter, no use of y/n or description of reader, not proofread 

word count: 1441 words

authors note: because i love you guys, you get it a day early!! a bit juicier this time!! how do we think the rest of jake's reaction is gonna go? bob + sunshine forever and ever!! as always, please enjoy!! mwah!!

tag list: @myownworstenemyyy @kloofspeaks @bcon24 @chaosofmanyfandoms @strangerparks @kmc1989

find the masterlist here!

read the previous part here! read the next part here!

“You don’t believe me? And why the fuck not?” You held the phone between your ear and your shoulder, trying to close up the shop and interrogate your brother at the same time.

“You’ve given me no reason to trust you, Sunny. I told you not to text him.” Jake responded, voice laced with annoyance. You were sure if you could see him his eyes were halfway in the back of his skull and a hand was on his hip in that sassy pose he did.

“Oh my god, Jake. Am I not a fucking adult? Even if I did text him, which I fucking didn’t, why does it matter? He’s not Javy or Rooster who just want to fuck me and add another notch to their belt.” You snapped, scrunching your face in annoyance. The over-protectiveness he was exhibiting was eating at you, your nerves were hanging on by a thread.

“It doesn’t matter, I told you not to do something. It shouldn’t take all of your self control not to go against me. I’ll see you at home. Goodbye.”

With that he hung up, the tears of frustration welling in your eyes at his words. The universe just wanted you to fail, how could you not respond to the text? Just last week the sweetest man found his way into your shop and now you’re supposed to simply act like he didn’t exist?

hey bobby, I know this is a long shot but i need some saving

can we go get something to eat?

You locked the door to the shop and looked at your phone one more time before frowning and putting it away. The last place you wanted to be was your house, the argument with Jake would just escalate and you weren’t ready for that. Not right now at least. You’d find solace in the one place you shouldn’t. With Bob. You sat on the steps in front of the building, waiting for a response before deciding if you should just go home and face the Seresin wrath.

Every time your phone went off you hoped it was Bob and it never was. You figured he was busy, probably had other plans and didn’t want to hang out with you. 

“Is anyone sitting next to you?” The voice caused you to look up and locate where it was coming from, a smile spreading across your face when you saw who it was.

“Hi Bobby.” You pat the spot next to you, ushering him to sit on the steps next to you. 

“I was around the corner, figured you’d rather see me in person than a text.” He spoke softly, pushing his glasses up a bit and looking at you as he sat down.

“I appreciate it, I was waiting for a text. Can’t lie, I was a bit disappointed to not get one.” You chuckled, laying your head on his shoulder and breathing in. He smelled so good, especially after having worked all day.

“I hope you’re not still disappointed.” He teased, poking your side and laying his head on top of yours. He wasn’t going to pry and see what was bothering you but he couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t relieved that you came to him first about it. “I’m sorry you had a shit day, where do you wanna eat?”

“I don’t care, just not the hard deck.” You responded, closing your eyes and enjoying the softness of the moment.

“I know a spot, c’mon.” He stood up and offered you his hand, intertwining your fingers and leading you to his car.

He drove to a small diner on the outskirts of the town, intentionally so you didn’t have a chance to run into your brother. He assumed the bad day was because of your brother, and that was why you asked not to go to the nearest bar with some damn good food. The place was small and obviously family run, Bob had been here a few times before and would highly recommend it to anyone.

The two of you got a small booth in the back corner, away from the commotion of the rest of the diner. It felt more personal this way. A sweet older woman was your server, she acted like she’d known the two of you your whole lives. Once your food came she left the two of you alone, letting you talk and joke around.

“Phoenix paid me a visit earlier.” You stated, putting a fry in your mouth while he connected the dots.

“Oh my god, that’s where she went earlier. Sorry for that, I’m going to assume she came on pretty strong.” He apologized and it wasn’t even his fault, taking a bite of the food in front of him.

“Yeah, she kinda scared me a bit at first. She gave me her number though, soon I’ll have all of dagger squad.” You joked, covering your mouth as you giggled

“You know the dagger squad?” He tilted his head to the side, furrowing his brows as he tried to figure out where you would know that from unless your brother actually was in it or Phoenix told you.

“Uh, yeah. So, if I tell you this. I need you to swear you won’t speak to him about us, or anything hinting towards me.” You put your pinky finger out, the ultimate swear.

“Okay?” He hesitantly shook pinkies with you, becoming even more confused than before.

“Jake, or Hangman as you would know him, is my brother.” You let go of his pinky and took a sip of your drink while he processed the information, he rubbed his forehead as he thought about it.

“I guess I’m just confused why you kept it from me? I won’t say anything to him, I promise, I’m just confused?” 

“I get a lot of navy men at the shop and I always ask Jake about them, just curiosity I guess. You were the one man he basically swore me off of, told me I couldn’t text you back and we got into a huge argument about it.” You explained, picking at the skin around your nails anxiously. This could go horribly and blow up in your face or he could be completely understanding about it.

“Sounds exactly like him, I should’ve known the second you said he was an asshole. Hangman is the only asshole I really work with, makes everything so much harder. So he doesn’t know?” Bob asked, fiddling with the food on his plate.

“I’m not even sure anymore, he texted me earlier that you had a girlfriend. Which, I didn’t know we had taken that step.” You teased, winking playfully. “But then he said he didn’t believe me when I said I hadn’t texted you back. Which, yet again blew up into a huge argument-” 

“Which is why you called me.” He finished your sentence, shaking his head in understanding. “Phoenix started it!”

“I’m sorry for bringing you into this, Bobby.” You chewed at your bottom lip, frustrated that you brought him into the middle of this because you liked him too much.

He assured you it wasn’t just your fault, it was equally his fault too and he made sure you knew that. For the rest of the meal you explained how the initial argument with Jake went down and how you ultimately decided to say fuck it and do it anyway. Bob was appreciative of that fact and understood why you kept it all a secret. He even promised to continue keeping it a secret from your brother for as long as you wanted, even pinky swearing on it.

“We should probably get going.” You groaned, stacking the dishes from your food and paying the bill as a thanks for him saving you. Although, you both argued over it for a good few minutes.

The ride back to your car was filled with lots of laughs, you told him a ton of stories about your childhood with Jake. How you were constantly telling others he was your real brother and how you got your nickname. He called it an honorary callsign, you giggled and said you’d never call it that. He praised you for being able to live with Jake and dealing with him all the time. You walked hand in hand with him to your car, stopping in your tracks when you see the person leaning against it.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Jake exclaimed, pinching the bridge of his nose and doing a double take at the two of you holding hands. “Are you sure you didn’t text him back, Sunshine?”

[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 24 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When you struggle with your feelings about your totaled car, Bradley realizes that there's more to your reaction than meets the eye. You and he are a team, and he uses his words and actions to let you know that's never going to change for him.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst, mentions of trying to get pregnant

Length: 4600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

"Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw, give me a call back. The car is totaled."

Bradley groaned, "Oh no. Absolutely not." Then he listened to the message over and over again, trying to detect if maybe he'd misheard the update from the mechanic. But apparently he'd heard it clear as day. Totaled. He'd totaled your ancient, little car by having rough sex with you in the backseat. Nobody had even been driving it at the time. 

Bradley snorted and then started laughing. He'd totaled your whole goddamn car by fucking you too hard. He had to turn and go back out into the hallway so you didn't see him while you were in line for your lunch in the cafeteria, because you definitely wouldn't be laughing when he broke the news to you. While he may have found your car to be tiny, uncomfortable and possibly possessed, you loved it more than almost anything else you owned.

"I fucked my wife so good, I broke her car," he said out loud as he got all of his laughter out. He had to bite his knuckle as he entered the cafeteria and grabbed a tray, loading it up with food. Then he took one last deep breath and turned toward the table filled with all of his aviator friends plus his wife. 

You were just about to bite into your hot sauce soaked burrito bowl when Bradley felt a pang of regret. He couldn't tell you down here in front of everyone else. "Hey, Sweetheart?" he asked, and you looked up at him with a smile. "Any chance we could go up to your office for a little privacy?"

Jake and Nat both looked up from their lunches and smirked, and Jake even went so far as to wolf whistle at Bradley. "Absolutely," you told him as you got to your feet, ignoring everyone else at the table. Then Bradley had to have an awkward ride up on the elevator while he held his lunch tray and listened to you whisper some seriously filthy things in his ear while you held your bowl. 

Any other day, he'd be into it. No problem. But while his cock stirred as you unlocked your office door, he cleared his throat. You looked up at him with narrowed eyes as the door swung open. "What's wrong?" you asked. "You didn't like the dirty talk? Or you don't want me to get on all fours on my desk?"

"Fuck," he groaned, ushering you inside where he set all the food down and then sank into your chair. He patted his thigh before rubbing his hand over face. "No, of course I like the dirty talk, Baby Girl. And I love getting you on all fours," he said as you looked at him in confusion. "Just have a seat. We need to talk."

"We need to talk? Jesus, Bradley. Now you're scaring me," you said without taking a seat on his lap. Instead, your hands went to your hips as your wary gaze flitted all over his face.

He sighed. "Your car is totaled."

You simply blinked at him for a long time as if his words were spoken in a language completely foreign to you. Then your face fell as you whispered, "What?"

This time when he patted his thigh and reached out, you came willingly, collapsing into him. He ran his thumb across your name tag where you'd added his last name to yours, and he kissed your cheek. "The mechanic called me. He said it's totaled, Sweetheart."

You instantly burst into tears. "No," you moaned. "No. He has to fix it. He's just saying it's totaled, because the repairs cost more than the car is worth. Right?"

Bradley kissed your cheeks and swiped your tears away, and now he felt like an ass for laughing so hard earlier. "I'm not sure, but we can talk to him after work, okay? We'll stop over there and see what's going on."

He rubbed your back as you sucked in deep breath after deep breath, but you nodded against his neck. "Okay," you agreed softly. 

Bradley held you as your lunches got cold, and when he arrived back at the tower fifteen minutes late, he did his hundred push ups without complaint. As he did them, he came to terms with the fact that he'd pay whatever amount of money it took to repair your piece of shit car if it was even a remote possibility. Because even though he loathed it, you loved it. And he loved you.

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

You knew deep down that it was ridiculous to be upset over a twenty year old totaled car, but you just simply were. It was the only car you'd ever owned, and you bought it used when you were eighteen. The thing had more miles on it than you could count, and it was starting to leak coolant. But you'd driven it across the country when you moved to California, and it always drove like a dream for you. 

Or it did until Bradley ripped a hole in it with his big, booted foot. That sex was toe curlingly good, too. Right there in San Diego International parking garage C. You wanted to moan just thinking about it, because Bradley had come home to you with so much need in his eyes, it left you shuddering. But now you were currently giving him a bit of a cold shoulder as he drove you to talk to the mechanic. You just needed a few minutes with your thoughts. Your parents would be arriving in a few days, and you'd be down a car if he truly wouldn't be able to repair it.

"We're here," Bradley whispered, shaking you from your thoughts. You hopped out and made a beeline for your car which was parked near the entrance to the building. It looked fine to you from the outside. Perfect, even. But when you looked in the window where the center console had been completely removed, you pawed at the glass and whimpered. 

"What did he do to you?" When you saw Bradley's reflection to your left, you turned to glare. "Did you do it on purpose?" Your husband looked at you with surprise on his face, and you had to try your hardest not to roll your eyes. "Did you, Roo? Because I know you hate this car."

"How would I have possibly done this on purpose, Sweetheart? You were the one outright demanding that I fuck you harder. You told me to several times." Now he looked annoyed with his hands on his hips.

You crossed your arms over your chest. "So what? You want me to tell you that you're a good lay? You're a good lay, Roo, okay? Yes, I wanted you to go harder. Yes, I missed you desperately while you were away, and I couldn't wait a minute longer, just like you. But did you really have to plant your foot right there and practically rip the car in half while you got me off?!"

You were gesturing wildly at your car when you heard a throat clear, and you and Bradley both turned to see the pink faced mechanic who now couldn't make eye contact with you. "Great," you muttered knowing he'd heard you arguing. 

"Well... I was going to ask how you managed to mess the car up this badly," he said, looking through the windshield. "First time I've heard that one..."

But you didn't even care what he thought as you went into bargaining mode as Bradley slipped his hand around your waist. "Can't you just fix it? I don't even care if it's considered totaled. I'll pay for the repairs out of pocket." You were pleading with your hands clasped in front of you. "You can fix it, right?"

Before he even started shaking his head, you could see the light dim in his eyes. It was over as he told you, "Sorry, but I couldn't if I tried. The parts no longer exist for this model year, and it still wouldn't pass inspection."

"It wouldn't?" you asked, your voice tiny and pathetic. 

The mechanic sighed and took some pity on you as Bradley rubbed your back. "If I were to weld it back together, there would be no guarantee that the steel wouldn't buckle while you were driving it. The hole where the console was is just that extensive. It would not be safe. And your gearbox is hanging on by a thread. I'm shocked you were even able to drive it here from Coronado."

You wiped at your eyes as the tears returned. "It was such a good car," you gasped, turning to fling yourself at Bradley. "It was the best."

He let you cry in his arms for the second time today as he quietly asked the mechanic how much you owed him. "Oh... it's on the house. I can appreciate how much she loved and took care of her car. That's a rare quality in a person."

You turned to look at him and nodded, thankful for this like minded individual. "Thank you."

When Bradley started asking him if he could take care of disposing of your most beloved possession, you opened the door and sank down into the driver's seat. You ran your fingers along the steering wheel, and you adjusted the rearview mirror. You jiggled the broken shifter, and you looked down at the ground through the gigantic hole in the middle of your car. 

"Fuck," you groaned. A soft laugh bubbled out through your sadness. Bradley really did this with his foot and his desire to make you both orgasm. You looked at him through the windshield, and he kept turning to check on you while he and the mechanic chatted.

You were still quietly turning the knobs and playing with your turn signals for the last time when Bradley walked around to the door and knelt down to talk to you. "Sweetheart, I really am sorry."

"I know you are," you whispered softly, memorizing the perfect spin of the volume dial between your thumb and index finger.

He reached for your hand as he said, "He can have it towed for scraps later this week. I told him you might like to be here to say goodbye one last time when that happens."

You nodded and started sobbing. "I would like that. Yes."

"Come here," he replied, pulling you out of the car and into a big hug. "Let's grab a reusable bag out of the Bronco and clean everything out of here. Then I'll take you home."

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

You moped all evening. You moped the next day, too. On Wednesday, Bradley could tell you were still upset. Even the news that Bob was moving in with Maria barely cheered you up. When Cat told you at lunch that Jake helped her find a good lawyer to help her fight her ex husband's debt collectors, you smiled and gave her a hug. But then you got quiet again.

"Nat's begging me to go to the Hard Deck tonight," he told you as you made dinner in absolutely nothing but his old shirt. 

"You can go ahead," you told him without glancing in his direction.

"I'm not going without you," he replied. When you didn't respond, he added, "Baby Girl, I can only apologize so many times." He kissed your neck from behind and let his hand settle on your hip. "I'm really sorry." 

Just the softest little noise from you and the light brush of your body back against his had him getting shamelessly hard. He rubbed one big hand around to the front of you, skimming your breasts and coming to settle low on your belly. You turned off the stove and sighed. "I'm not even horny right now, Roo."

"You're usually always horny," he whispered, feeling slightly selfish and also even more concerned about how upset you were. 

"Well, right now I'm too sad. I'm feeling very emotional over this. I know it's dumb, okay? I know that. But I loved my car."

"I'll make it up to you," he promised. He'd been asking you all week to start looking for something new, but he wasn't sure you actually had. "We can get another used car that would be similar. Or you can get the newest model year of your old car. Or you can get something else."

You spun in his arms and looked him in the eye. "Everything is expensive, and I'll be lucky to even get a couple hundred bucks from the salvage yard. And... a new car would eat away at the money I was hoping to save. Just in case. You know?"

But he didn't know what you were talking about, and he was slightly afraid to ask. "Money for what, Sweetheart?"

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes as you said, "In case there's something wrong with me." Bradley pulled you closer, and you mumbled against his shoulder, "In case we need to pay for treatment. Fertility treatment. Or an adoption lawyer."

Now you were crying again, and Bradley felt a little sense of panic, too. You were right. All of that would be very, very expensive, but he hadn't even considered that this might be weighing on your mind at the moment. You shouldn't be thinking about it alone. "Is this what's been bothering you?" he asked gently. 

"Kind of," you whispered. "I loved my car, and it was running great, and I just didn't think we'd have to buy a new one yet, you know?"

"Listen," he said, trying to remind you that you weren't alone in any of this. "We're a team. An absolutely kickass team. But we aren't even at that point yet. And I've saved a lot of money since we got married." The honeymoon had cost a small fortune, but at least there were almost no costs related to the actual wedding. His savings accounts were looking healthier these days. "We can cross that bridge when we get to it, but we aren't there yet, okay?"

"I know we're not. But the thoughts creep in sometimes."

There had never been a truer statement spoken to Bradley. Acknowledging it would hurt, but ignoring it would be worse. "Yes, they do. But mostly I'm just trying to focus on how much I love you, so if you decide what kind of car you want, we'll make it happen. Now may I suggest we eat dinner and then head out to the Hard Deck just for a bit? Take our minds off of things?"

You agreed to go, but on the way there, you told him, "I think we should cancel the hotel room for my parents. They can just stay with us when they fly in on Friday night."

Bradley tightened his grip on the steering wheel. It's not that he didn't want them to stay at the house, it's just that he wanted to be able to be as fucking loud with you as he wanted to be. If you wanted to be loud. "Sweetheart, the hotel is already booked."

"Yes. It is. It's also expensive. My mom thinks you got the room with points last time!"

There was no sense in arguing with you about this right now either, because you were right. He pulled into the Hard Deck parking lot and killed the engine. "Come here," he coaxed, and you were soon on his lap even though you looked less than happy. "We'll cancel the hotel room. They can stay with us. It's not a big deal at all, and I'd love to have them around anyway. But I do think we should talk about finishing the attic into another bedroom or two, just so there's a little more separation for when they visit."

"But that's also expensive-" 

He cut you off with a kiss so gentle, you gasped. "You need to stop talking about it," he whispered, his fingers trailing up and down the back of your neck. "We can get you any car you want. And if we need money later, I can always sell the Bronco."

You gasped, pulling yourself away from him so rapidly, your elbow hit the horn making him laugh. "I don't want you to do that!"

The way you looked so scandalized was a true testament to how well you loved him. "I don't particularly want to either, Sweetheart, but it's always an option. She's worth a lot of money."

"No," you replied firmly. "I'll look for a new car, but we're not getting rid of this one."

"We won't have to," he whispered, tangling his fingers up with yours as the two of you headed into the bar where his friends cheered when they saw him. And now you had a smile on your face as you went to the bar to order two of your favorite beers.

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

"You know, Jake is really starting to piss me off," Bradley said on Friday morning as he got ready for work. 

"Why?" you asked as you put your contacts in. "I mean, besides the usual reasons."

You watched him mess with his phone before he set it on the counter and started to shave around his mustache. "Because we have a busy weekend with your parents, and Jake was supposed to set up a tee time for golf tomorrow morning. I just talked to him about this at work yesterday, and now he's not answering my texts asking about the details. I wanted to text your dad the plan since he's been asking."

"Oh," you said, frozen with your mascara in your hand. "Jake got a new phone number. He didn't tell you?"

Bradley pouted at your reflection in the mirror as he shaved. "No. He didn't tell me. I've been texting the same number like an idiot! Who in their right mind changes their phone number?! That's like something elderly people just suddenly do!"

You pressed your lips together to try to stifle your laughter. "Okay, yes, it does give off an elderly person vibe, but Jake did it for Cat since he was getting a lot of unsolicited texts."

"Whatever," Bradley growled, clearly annoyed to be the last one to find out. "Are you still getting Padres tickets for Sunday afternoon for the four of us?"

"Yes, I was planning on it," you replied cautiously. You were pretty sure he was still in a mood over the fact that your parents, who would be landing in San Diego later today, were staying at the house with you until they flew back home late on Tuesday night. But this way you'd be saving over a thousand dollars to use for the new car you hadn't picked out yet. "If you want to."

Bradley rinsed his razor and his face before patting himself dry, and then he leaned in to gently kiss you where you stood in front of your own sink. "I want to. I'm sorry I'm cranky. Jake and his stupid phone number pissed me off, and I'm still upset that I broke your entire damn car." He kissed you harder this time as his hand drifted down to squeeze your butt. "But I'm over it now. I love you. Your ass looks so fucking good in your uniform pants. I'm going to have some coffee."

Luckily his mood continued to improve as he drove you to work with him, and when he took your hand in his, he said, "After work, we will attend your car's funeral. Then we can stop home before we pick your parents up from the airport, during which time I will put the clean bedding on the extra bed."

"Sounds good, Roo," you murmured, your mood all mixed up as you looked out the window. Car shopping was a hassle, because you didn't want a new car. And you were excited that your parents would be here for Independence Day, but you also thought you were starting to get crampy. "Thank you," you added, reaching for your husband's hand, trying to remind yourself to focus on the things in your life that were important. 

Work was quiet. It seemed like a lot of people had taken off for the holiday weekend, but you and Bradley had opted to take Monday off instead. You were enjoying the nearly silent solitude of your lab as you double checked Cat's calculations before submitting them when you heard Bickel behind you. When he cleared his throat, you nearly jumped out of your seat. 

"Lieutenant Commander, meet me in my office when you have time."

"I have time right now, Sir," you told him, saving your work and closing your computer. He was silent as you followed him down the hallway and a sense of foreboding took over, because Bickel was always chatty with you. Mentally you raked through everything you'd submitted this week, but nothing was jumping out to you as a potential problem. "Is everything okay?" you asked as you closed his office door behind you. 

"Of course," he said, pausing briefly before he settled into his desk chair. "I just wanted to see how you've been getting on?"

You sat down opposite his desk and blinked at him a few times in confusion. "Sir?"

He cleared his throat. "It's been a bit since I checked in with you. Just wanted to make sure things are going well, and to remind you that you can always visit me or Dr. Genevieve again if you feel so inclined."

"Oh," you replied, heat flooding your face even though you knew you had nothing to be embarrassed about. You swallowed and told him, "I actually met with Dr. Genevieve a few times, so thank you for pointing me in her direction."

"Good, good," he replied, tapping a folder on his desk. "Now, we've been offered additional funding for our lab. So how do you feel about preparing another presentation that will knock everyone's socks off in Annapolis?"

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

Bradley spent his afternoon in the rec room with the other aviators, but he sat off to the side with a sheet of paper and a pen. Other than Bob politely interrupting him to ask if Bradley would be willing to help him move his things into your old apartment with Maria, everyone left him to finish what he was working on. He was doing it for you, same as everything else he did.

When it was time to leave for the day, he tucked the paper into his uniform pants pocket and went to meet you at the Bronco. A few minutes later, you came running out with your bag and a smile on your face. "What happened?" he asked, automatically smiling too. 

You practically jumped into his arms as you gushed, "Bickel all but told me he's handpicked me to take over his lab when he retires! Oh, and I have to go back to Annapolis."

His heart leapt with joy for you as he kissed your forehead, then he considered your second sentence. "Wait. Annapolis? Like... permanently?"

"No," you told him with a laugh. "Just a few days at the end of the month or early August."

"Right," he said with relief. "I'm really fucking proud of you, Baby Girl. And when you go to Maryland, you can visit your parents again."

"Maybe I'll even get another tattoo," you told him as you tossed your back onto the backseat.

"Seriously?" he asked, walking you around to the passenger side door and buckling you in. "What would you get?"

You ran your hand along your arm before pulling him closer. "Probably a whole sleeve of little roosters," you told him between kisses. 

He rolled his eyes knowing that was a longshot and a half. "Let's get to your car's funeral," he whispered, and you nodded like you'd finally come to terms with everything that happened. 

The ride over was quiet, and when Bradley pulled into the lot, the crew from the salvage lot was already there, ready to take it away. 

"Oh no," you gasped, practically jumping out before he put it in park. "They can't take it until I say goodbye!"

Bradley hopped out and followed you across the pavement to where the two men were about to load the little, red piece of shit onto the flatbed along with two other completely wrecked cars. The mechanic was already there holding up a hand to have them pause when you reached your car. Bradley watched you run your hand down the windshield and along the hood in reverence. And he finally kind of got it; this is how he'd feel if something suddenly happened to the Bronco. When he looked at things from that perspective, your tears were absolutely warranted.

"Can I have everyone's attention?" Bradley asked, clearing his throat as you and the mechanic and both guys in matching jumpsuits from the salvage company turned to look at him. "I just wanted to say a few words." He pulled the sheet of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. 

"Roo?" you asked, coming to stand a little closer to him. He kissed your cheek before he started to read.

"Most everyone has to say goodbye to a loved one in their lifetime. Some goodbyes are harder than others, but none of them are easy. I know this little red shit pile doesn't look like much, but my wife loved it so hard and for so long, it deserves a proper send off."

Bradley looked up from his paper to see that you had tears in your eyes, but you weren't the only one. The mechanic was also swiping at his cheeks, and the other two men had removed their hats and placed them over their hearts.

"Perhaps the most annoying and yet respectable thing about this car is the fact that it always preferred my wife over anyone else. Especially me. It was a most faithful companion, always getting her where she needed to go with almost zero trunk space yet amazing fuel economy. It got her to work every day like an economical champ, never putting up any sort of fuss for her, and for that we are thankful."

"Oh, Roo," you gasped, smiling through your tears, but he wasn't yet finished.

"It is with my deepest sympathy that we sent this automotive marvel off to the salvage yard today. Has any other car that looked this ugly and had this many miles ever been such a perfect companion? I'd like to think that the answer is no. I'd like to believe that my wife in all her damn near perfection got to own the kind of car that people only dream about... the one that gave back as much love as it was given." Bradley laid a hand on the trunk as he read, "Thank you, hideous little car, for being there for one of the best moments of my life. Thank you for looking on with locked doors as she kissed me in the Bronco for the first time. Thank you for allowing Nat to intentionally steal your keys away from her so that she would one day marry me. You had a very good life, and you will be missed. And I'm sorry for pushing so hard that I put my boot through you... but what a way to go out. Cheers."

"Cheers," you sobbed in unison with the three men who were also gathered closeby. Then you threw your arms around Bradley's neck and cried.

"That was so beautiful. Thank you."

"I love you, Sweetheart," he promised, rubbing your back as the two of you watched your car take its final bow.

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

Rest in peace shitty, little car. You were a real one. Any guesses on her new ride? Coming up next, a visit from her parents, a new car, and sooo much more to be excited about. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 25

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[kyber-crystal]

For requests, maybe something with rooster where you like to play little tiktok pranks on him. like imagine telling him you paid $200 for premium air in your tires or supergluing a jar and he can't open it lol 😭😭 I just think he would have the best reactions to all of them

HAIJHSOJNSOJXN I JUST BUST OUT LAUGHING READING THIS (also despite being on tiktok i’m not super up to date on all the pranks bc they haven’t shown up a lot on my fyp. but i HAVE seen some stuff here and there so i will mostly be going off that haha). anyway i’m so sorry this was genuinely so cringe bc i haven’t done headcanons in a while but i hope it makes u laugh anyway :)) i have a better one shot coming your way i promise

rooster is the prankster of the group

but there’s only one person that can outdo him: you

this man practically falls to his feet when he sees you and worships the ground you walk on and somehow YOU CANT SEE IT

what this basically means is he will literally drop whatever he’s doing to listen to you

miraculously, cyclone is in a good mood, and thus decides to grant everyone three days off

this is the perfect time for you to mess with little rooster’s head :)

you know you go to the beach to play volleyball every friday. and this friday is supposed to be the hottest day of the month

this means that rooster will burn almost as quickly as he tans

while he’s busy chatting up some “game plan” with coyote, you swap out the sunscreen spray in his jacket pocket for baby oil

SO THEN he comes over to put it on, and not even ten seconds later he’s all shiny and sparkly and you try your hardest not to laugh (and gawk a little bc holy that man is TONED)

you’re able to get about 2 rounds in when he notices

“why do i smell like i just waltzed through a lavender field.”

“hmmmmmmmmm no idea” you smiled at him innocently

“it was you, wasn’t it” and he goes chasing after you as you shriek at the top of your lungs

(he managed to tackle you down and although you get a bit sand in your mouth and hair you count it as a win because you took him completely by surprise AND you got to see his bare chest but you wouldn’t fucking dare admit that to him, his ego is big enough as it is. rooster 0-you 1)

ok later that evening @ the hard deck, he’s on a phone call with one of his old college friends. for this one, you team up with hangman to hand him some of the most random things while he’s talking

you start off normal at first, like with a beer, then your hair tie (he always wears at least 3-4 of these on his wrist bc you always end up needing one at some point in the week.)

then hangman hands him a cube of ice. literally a cube of ice. but rooster barely reacts to this and just pops it into his mouth

then a lightbulb goes off in your head

knowing that rooster has an irrational fear of ladybugs, you quickly go out to the back to find one

then you come back and hold your hand out to him

and rooster, being rooster, LOVES physical contact (especially if it’s from you), and takes your hand in his as he continues talking

but then the bright red ladybug crawls onto his wrist and he almost immediately hangs up, drops the phone, and SCREAMS in the middle of the bar

you and hangman share a secret high five at this

but ALSOOO you kind of feel bad for scaring the shit out of the poor guy

that night you’re too lazy to walk back to your place so rooster offers to let you stay with him

and duh you say yes (it’s def bc you’re getting extra opportunities to pull pranks on him and not bc you have a fat crush on him and are hoping he’ll notice even though you’re the least obvious lil shit and prefer to show you care ab him by asking if he wants anything from costco or his fav restaurant down the street)

he ends up sleeping in the next morning, and you’re up pretty early, so you decide to make breakfast

you make a mental note to yourself to go on a grocery run together next week bc you were almost out of strawberry jam

he comes downstairs w/ messy hair and sits down at the counter

and he tries to open the jar of jam

but it won’t budge

he keeps trying for a minute straight but then gives up

so his eyes immediately go over to you and you play dumb

“i didn’t do anything i swear!”

“y/n.”

“i’m innocent!”

“y/n.”

he suddenly brushes your cheek with his thumb and you find this a bit strange since it’s so sudden. and still, your heart does that annoying thing where it skips a beat every time he touches you

“superglue…” he murmured. “i wonder how that got here?”

hahahahahahahaha you sure wonder. it’s not like you stole it while he was sleeping one night

anyway

later that night you ask him if he wants to go for a drive down by the coastline and he says yes.

“yknow, i paid $200 to get premium air for these bad boys!” you told him as you started the engine.

“you…what…”

“for my tires!”

he looks flabbergasted

“y/n, i think you got scammed”

“ok”

you keep driving anyway, the car did NOT feel any different like the mechanic promised it would

but you were no way in hell about to admit that to an already smug looking bradley bradshaw

rooster has finally, FINALLY started to catch onto your antics

so he starts scheming all week to figure out how to get back at you

during this week you’re extremely busy flying back and forth with payback, lessons with maverick, and staying up way too late with phoenix to talk about the latest season of your favorite show

so you don’t even notice that he hasn’t been around for a hot min

then one thursday afternoon right after you got out of the shower, you get a text from him that tells you he’s grabbing some fancy dinner with the guys in an hour and to dress fancy

this has you SCRAMBLING to change bc the place he’s referring to is absolutely legendary

so you show up to the restaurant all polished up and find him in a private booth in the back

“hey…”

rooster is suddenly speechless bc when he told you to dress nice, he didn’t expect you to look like an actual angel

“y/n…you look beautiful”

“thank you…but hey, where is everyone?”

“running a bit late, they should be here soon”

so you order first and wait. and wait. but nobody else shows up

and suddenly the space between you two felt like it had been chopped in half and now you were sitting a lot closer than you remembered

“okay i lied, i’m sorry” he says all of a sudden and you’re like huh tf u talkin ab “i never asked them to come. this is a date. we’re on a date.”

“we are?”

“yes”

so in the end…it’s ultimately you who gets pranked :)

:) :) :) :) :)

…

taglist (add yourself here!): @uwiuwi @queenbbarnes @cosm1cfae @ellabellabus07 @vitanileon @criminalyetminimal @whatlovegattado @and-claudia @bittergomez @julia-marshal @elenavampire21 @totomoshi @lyn-lc @lunamoonbby @paintballkid711 @yeehawnana @hazelgirl355 @spawn0fsatan @teacactusworld @icemansgirl1999 @cherry-waved @littlebadariell @tallrock35 @hoedameronsworld @aerangi

also quick PSA: my taglist spreadsheet hasn’t been updated in a while so this list may not be completely accurate, sorry for any inconveniences : ‘/

[surgepricing]

RWBY Final Thoughts: Legacy

Very rarely would I ever consider a fandom on its own worth its own section of a Final Thoughts. ... [Basically,] they behave like a cult.

This is a repost of a post I made February 1st, 2024 on another site. At the time, it was the final post of a deep-dive recap of RWBY and the history of the show, its fandom, and its direction under Rooster Teeth.

I felt this out with some of my peers and the feedback I got in relation to posting in on Tumblr was that, well, why not? It was my main haunt to begin with, and I may as well, since Rooster Teeth is closing its doors. I'm posting this mainly as a shot in the dark just to see how it gets received. Only minor edits have been made; I'm sure there's some stuff in here that would make people mad, but that applies to pretty much anything someone could say about RWBY. Click the read more to get a glance at how my time with RWBY ultimately wrapped up.

Nine years ago today, Monty Oum died of an allergic reaction. Today is a day of mourning for fans of his work, including RWBY. There’s no sense in waiting. Let’s finish this and heal.

The Showrunners

Miles and Kerry often received the brunt of the attention when it came to RWBY. As the writers of the show, they bore responsibility for the largest chunk of why it eventually went into the shitter, and fan anger against them was almost certainly not helped by the damn near idolization heaped on them by fervent stans. They are, undoubtedly, the focal point of RWBY fans’ parasocial relationship with the show.

Of course, despite sharing about the same credits space as his partner in crime, Kerry tended to fly under the radar a lot, with it being Miles who received the brunt of the fandom’s fury with each successive volume. It’s not hard to see why; the character Miles voices has been consistently over-exposed and is in many ways an obvious creator’s pet, with denials as to this fact falling on deaf ears as Jaune’s screentime continued to balloon past its merits, whereas the character Kerry voices could just about wrangle an average of ten seconds of screentime every three years. Certainly Miles has been in trouble with fans more often than Kerry for the shit he’s said and done. The Ruby body pillow and the Tifa Lockhart ‘prostitute’ comments come to mind. Oh, and the slurs, that one too.

But perhaps the reason Miles gets so much more flak than Kerry is that Miles just...acts like an asshole a lot of the time. Even aside from above examples, Miles’ flaws come out in his writing: he’s petty, holds grudges, can’t take criticism, and just overall has way more power over the story than someone of his caliber should. He’s very poor at disguising his real feelings and often lets them bleed through, and when he actually decides to voice them on purpose, things get ugly—refer to that Cameo about Ironwood.

But as tempting as it is to treat Miles as an out-of-control cockwaffle on the rampage and Kerry as his sympathetic ineffectual shadow, the reality is that they’re co-writers, have been for ten years, and anything Miles gets away with doing is as much Kerry’s fault as his. If the Gray Haddock situation has taught us anything, it’s that more people tend to harbor blame than the one individual that makes an easy scapegoat.

Since aside from aforementioned n-word business, Miles and Kerry are almost never connected to moral outrage, this makes it easy for the stans to uphold them, since all they really have to defend them from is accusations that they didn’t honor Monty’s “vision” for the series. This is only easy because the stans are fucking insane, but that’s for later on down the page.

“Vision” is in quotes because that’s how fans treat it, we all know they don’t really care. Miles and Kerry’s vision matters, and we know that much because of Calixyn’s interview where she all but begged to be told that RWBY Volume 5 was as bad as it was because the “good bois” had control of the show ripped from them. Nope, turns out all that racism, homophobia, and plain shitty writing is all on them. But at least they’re nice!

(Miles was 26 when he said the n-word. I’m 26 now when writing this. I think it’s pretty fair to call him an asshole.)

But the truth is that it’s objectively stupid to think that the direction of RWBY hasn’t changed since Monty’s passing, it’s impossible for it not to have. There are more writers on board than before, and it’s been a long time since he was alive to contribute his thoughts. The real question is whether they at least tried, and I don’t think they did.

I mean, Shane Newville never names Miles and Kerry in his letter, but he does state several times that the choices made for the show were not only not what Monty wanted, but “straight up just shitting all over what Monty made”. I find it very difficult to believe that that insinuation, and all of the people caught up in the net it casts, wouldn’t include those two. And like it or not, but the person who is able to compile tons of clips and interviews over the years as some sort of seeming immutable proof that “CRWBY” are good-hearted people determined to preserve Monty’s vision, isn’t really looking at any more evidence than the person who’s come to the conclusion, based on what they’ve seen, that that the opposite is true. And they’re certainly looking at less evidence than the people who actually did work there around Monty, Miles, and Kerry. The facts sometimes boil down to ‘if it walks like a duck, talks like a duck, and is implicated in the walls of text like a duck, it’s probably a duck’, guys.

Even in the best case scenario in which the work of Monty Oum turns out to have been treated with dignity and respect (and was just really shittily written from the beginning), the fact remains that Miles and Kerry did not put a quality product into the world. I will be very surprised if either of them manages to get a lead writing position ever again, because once the popularity of RWBY fades, so too will the goodwill they’ve somehow amassed among its fans. RWBY, much like Twilight, is inevitably going to taint the people who were in charge of writing it.

But Miles and Kerry are just two dudes. What exactly is going to happen to those fervent fans who hung on their every word and insisted they were the embodiment of everything pure and innocent? What, exactly, is going to happen to the RWBY fandom that once seemed to be unavoidably populous on the internet?

F, N, D, M

We already went over “constructive criticism” and “worldbuilding”, so let’s add another eternally-misused word to our roster. You know, something I’ve occasionally thought about in terms of online spaces is that no one knows what a “comfort show” is. It’s one of those terms that became too popular almost as soon as it was introduced, to the point that it became meaningless, much like “hyperfixation” and “anxiety”. I see people refer to RWBY as their comfort show and I’m just like...how? A comfort show is supposed to be the show that always puts you in a good headspace, a show you rest easy with because you’ve always connected with it because the love was always there. A comfort show is a show that you watch in your down moments to feel better, not a show you think is just the greatest thing ever, the bees’ knees if you will.

A comfort show is not a show you force yourself to like, it is not a show you defend at all costs, and it is not a show you only still cling to because enjoying it once coincided with a time when you felt popular and among friends. Which, increasingly, seems to have been the case for RWBY fans.

RWBY’s Fandom

Very rarely would I ever consider a fandom on its own worth its own section of a Final Thoughts. But I’m doing it now because the RWBY fandom, though now it’s a shadow of its former self, is still a sizable chunk of people and took a lot longer to die than most other fandoms.

The RWBY fandom itself was an especially big and very online fandom, and the show produced an abnormally large amount of big name fans who continued to use their own influence to push its success and keep its momentum going. As I’ve said before, the RWBY fandom is something that Rooster Teeth were able to extract an excessive amount of praise out of for minimal effort; it simply seems to be in RWBY fans’ nature to speculate and theorize and over-analyze and fill in blanks, and to perceive good writing and animation where there is none. But you know how fandom operates—the bigger its size, the more infamous it becomes.

Long since famed for being especially toxic, those who are in the know consider RWBY fans a different breed, really. They create and move narratives at high speed and act quickly to correct any perceived dissent in the ranks, casting out anyone that feels disillusionment with the product and insisting everything is peachy even as their world crumbles around them. To RWBY fans, the “CRWBY” are always separate from the “problematic” aspects of Rooster Teeth (which is basically the whole company) and it doesn’t matter how many of its flaws get highlighted; RWBY and the people that make it are always great, innocent of any harm done and fantastic, and anyone that dislikes them is a villain—even if those people were at one point part of the “CRWBY” themselves. Loyalty is everything. In other words, they behave like a cult.Those acronyms themselves have always bothered me, and I’ve grown a strong distaste for them. Originally they were just a quirk of the show; a format for team names that spawned the name of the show and eventually stopped being relevant altogether. But RWBY fans are simply unable to not use them. It’s not “the fandom” it’s “the FNDM”. They’re not “the RWBY team” or “the RWBY crew”, they’re “CRWBY”. Even people that the fans are actively trying to shame, shun, and harass don’t get to simply be people—they’re “RWDE” and, when that became an actual community of sorts unto itself, was switched to “HTDM”, short for “hatedom”. They remind me distinctly of code words that get formed and passed around in cult movements, identifying terms that quickly provide boxes to put people in and make it easier to sort loyals from disloyals. “Hatedom” itself is another one of those terms that spread and got so prolific it really doesn’t carry any meaning anymore. Real hatedoms are surprisingly rare, guys. Every fandom that becomes big enough for its respective product to become criticized eventually comes to believe it has a ‘hatedom’ because how could someone dislike something I like so much? But a hatedom on its own arises out of very specific circumstances and environments, and causes the spread of hate for a product based on broad foundations that are often unfair to the product and which creates perceptions that spread faster than the work, so that the work is often talked about in mocking reference rather than true dissatisfaction.

RWBY doesn’t have a hatedom guys, it never did. The Last of Us doesn’t have a hatedom. Fairy Tail didn’t have a hatedom. Blackpink doesn’t have a hatedom. Even Marvel doesn’t have a hatedom.

Paris Hilton had a hatedom. Nickelback had a hatedom. Hell, the website Tumblr itself had a hatedom. These were examples of people or products whose reputations spread too quickly and eventually swallowed rational perception of them, with people who have never experienced them or their work dismissing them and the fans who enjoy it wholesale.

Using the term “hatedom” is understandably common because (and in spite of the fact that) it allows for easy miscategorization. A hatedom is not composed of people that were actually exposed to the work, found it lacking, and expressed that. A hatedom does not occur in the wake of a product that was so bad it pissed off its fans and caused them to walk. People don’t hate Metroid: Other M because they can’t stand the sight of a woman being vulnerable and don’t understand challenging drama, they hate it because it was poorly written, badly designed, and tarnished a long-running and highly cherished gaming heroine’s reputation. People didn’t hate Fifty Shades of Grey because of some bias against women expressing their sexual freedom, they hated it because it was a wildly misogynistic and badly-written piece of dreck. People didn’t hate The Last of Us Part II because of homophobia and transphobia, they hated it because it was a misery fest with a tired moral theme that posited itself far more deep and compelling than it really was. And just because people with the above disingenuous views also hated these things does not discount the fact that the works got the reputations they did because they were getting back the exact amount of love and respect that was put into them.

Similarly, RWBY doesn’t have a hatedom. It does, in fact, have an ex-fandom. Those are also things you don’t see very often, but when you do, they almost always follow the same pattern, don’t they? A work which got wildly popular very quickly, took really deep nosedives afterward, and became disowned by the people that had formerly propped it up.

But that’s a discussion for later. What exactly makes RWBY’s fandom so toxic and cult-like, and why and how did it get that way? I think it’s a combination of several key factors that were baked in and collided badly.

The first was ease of access. RWBY was sold extremely well early on, and shared enough similarities with both anime and video games that it attracted many curious people from those communities. Combine that with vibrant colors, an attractive visual aesthetic, an air of badassery, and good music, and it gained a lot of loyal fans quickly—fans of anime and video games, specifically, being fans that tend to get more attached than to other mediums and are known for spending a lot on merchandise. These, in turn, morphed into nostalgic elements ripe for misremembering—people often have difficulty acknowledging that something they once liked isn’t good anymore even on its own, and I think RWBY fans in particular put way too much energy into the show to be able to admit that all the time they spent defending it (and harassing people who criticized it) was for nothing.

That skyhigh rocket to fame early on, of course, was attached to the reputation of Monty Oum, and once he died, he quickly became a martyr, which galvanized the loyalty of the show’s most toxic fans even further. To this day, talking about Monty at all, even for the right reasons, is seen as disrespectful or distasteful unless you’re trying to use him to prop up Rooster Teeth, a double standard I’ve unfortunately run into even in seeming safe spaces. I think if we’re comparing RWBY fandom to a cult, then Monty Oum and his memory can be compared to a central mythologized figure, the center around which are formed all of the pretty lies the members of the cult will tell you. Monty’s name is irreplaceably tied to RWBY, and as such, in order to defend Monty, its fans have to defend RWBY...and you can see where this leads. Attempting to talk about the mistreatment Monty and his family went through at Rooster Teeth is seen as using his name as a weapon—nevermind the fact that Rooster Teeth and their fans regularly use his name as a shield.

Of course, what this really reveals is that many such people don’t care about Monty, who he was, or who he went through, but rather his name alone. In fact, I’ve straight up seen RWBY stans say that people shouldn’t “take Monty’s name in vain”, as if Monty were in fact some sacred religious figure. It’s both bizarre and harmful.

A third factor was popularity. For a lot of the same reasons as, say, Supernatural, the perception of RWBY skews much more broadly between fan and ex-fan than that of the typical over-hyped show. The truth of the matter is that when a show gets popular, or really any work gets popular, enjoying it becomes a cliquey sort of thing. People that enjoyed being into something well-respected and widely known and basically the hottest trend are far more prone to become overly attached, put too much of themselves into it, and remain unequipped to deal with the fact of that trend’s eventual passing, especially if it’s a fall into disgrace rather than a quiet entrance into history. You can still find certain especially toxic big names from the RWBY fandom active and posting, pretending not to notice that their audience has become smaller and smaller over the years. Let’s face facts here, a lot of people that enjoy being part of the “in” crowd never manage to figure out how to accept losses and will do anything to try and regain lost popularity, or fool themselves into thinking they’re still on top of the world.

But we can reason and explain all day. Another truth of the matter is that it shouldn’t be other people’s problem that fans can’t accept reality and adjust, and that the RWBY fandom quite honestly deserves its reputation as abysmally toxic. The way terminal fans of the show have treated anyone who dissents, most prominently Shane Newville and other ex-employees, let alone other ex-fans of the show, is quite frankly disgusting. RWBY stans are difficult to look at in all of their bewildering, teeth-gnashing toxicity and forgive...so I’m not going to. People that still insist there’s nothing wrong with this show or the company making it are, as far as I’m concerned, beyond help, and are part of the problem. Many an ex-employee certainly thinks so.

In a lot of ways, you could call the fandom one of the driving forces of the show’s failure, mostly because they had an abnormally large amount of influence over the show. Pleasing the fans has always been a major goal of the RWBY team (unless you like characters Miles Luna doesn’t, I guess), but it’s almost disturbing how the Rooster Teeth strategy has been to lead them along and bat their eyelashes at every turn and how the fandom laps it up.

Of course, Rooster Teeth feeds the parasocial engine by engaging with the fans as equals, and I was given a disturbing reminder of how many of the people who worked on the show—the ones who aren’t pissed and digging themselves out of trauma ditches—behave exactly as the fans do, tweeting twenty times a day about their favorite ships and memes. By creating the perception that RWBY’s team is just like the RWBY fanbase and wants the same things they want, they tap that line of excess energy that’s kept this fandom going so long despite how far it’s fallen. It’s that “hey! my friend said my ship is going to be canon and he works on the show” feeling.

Of course, a probable reason as to why so many employees who worked on RWBY behave the way RWBY fans do is because a lot of them started out that way. As in, student hires. This has long been an open secret of Rooster Teeth’s M.O. for a while now, hiring people who look up to them and engage heavily with their content. Many an ex-animator has lambasted this tactic because it’s insidious, and purposely designed to make the incoming staff feel honored and indebted and excited so they won’t notice how they’re being fucked over. Arryn Troche, who made the ‘gays greenlighting volume 10’ tweet, rings up as a particularly eerie example considering they have the same rather-uncommon and unconventionally-spelled name as the voice actor for a ship they’re obviously very attached to. A quick search reveals them to have been a longtime fan and cosplayer for the show before being signed on as a junior animator.

And it is the fandom who ultimately makes the legacy for any given work or body of work. So what is RWBY ultimately going to be remembered for?

Legacy

I thought about it for a little while and found five things that are most likely to be associated with RWBY in the public’s memory after its death. The first should come as no surprise to anyone.

Bumbleby

The only part of RWBY that will likely be carried on by fans who stuck with it until the end is, of course, the only part of it that mattered, to many of them. You’ll know from my earlier recaps that shipping was always a big deal in fandom, but due to key choices (or if you prefer, mistakes) made during Volumes 2 and 3, one ship grew larger and more promoted in fandom circles than any others.

This is a combination of the unique features of the RWBY fandom and their one-track mind. The fans are well-known, as I said, to fill in the blanks in a pattern that best suits their narratives, and this works out with Rooster Teeth because it means that any sudden changes in direction they make will always be excused and praised rather than critically examined. Unsurprisingly, Bumbleby’s fandom, now that their victory has been cemented, have doubled down on their narrative that this was the intended goal from the beginning, despite it being plainly obvious that early RWBY was angling for Sun Wukong as the love interest and threw the occasional bones to Blake/Yang shippers to try and play nice.

This used to be one part of the fandom, of course, but as the show continually bombed with viewers and made more and more decisions that pushed them away, all competitors were slowly filtered out as their fans left, until Bumbleby shippers were the fandom. It’s no coincidence that Blake and Yang suddenly started acting unusually touchy and sentimental in Volume Six, following on the heels of a volume of RWBY so wildly unpopular that it woke up the company execs and forced them to acknowledge that the biggest part of their fanbase was only going to remain loyal in exchange for one thing: their ship.

The sad thing is that you can tell Rooster Teeth wanted to explore other options. Volume Five features a rather sudden shift into Yang and Weiss interactions in what I remain positive to this day was an attempt to sway shippers into a potential second choice while Black Sun was still in the oven, and this really represented one of the major errors of Rooster Teeth, in that they failed to understand the audience they were trying so hard to please.

Bumbleby became what I call a “Big Red Button” ship, and it is only the second of its kind that I’ve seen. The first? Destiel.

Yes, there’s a reason I kept comparing RWBY to Supernatural whenever Blake and Yang’s relationship came up. I admit I wasn’t a part of the Supernatural craze in its heyday and have never really enjoyed the show, but I’ve watched enough of it to connect the dots from what cultural osmosis I had to the eventual downfall we saw in November of 2020.

Both Bumbleby and Destiel were held up as the gay ship that would change everything, the biggest ship in the fandom and the one that would’ve been a major push for LGBT visibility, at least during their heydays. The problem was that its fans were not really that interested in LGBT visibility and were simply obsessed with the ship itself, applying it value as a win for LGBT audiences purely to bolster its perceived importance. Fans like this were not ever going to accept any alternatives regardless of the sexual orientations or gender conventions involved. Hence, the metaphor that is “the big red button”. You have a big red button that says “canon gay ship but not the ship you want” and ask the fans you’re trying to court whether they’d press it or not. Whatever they might say out loud, you know none of them is pressing that fucking button, ever.

Both of these Big Red Button ships became what they were due to showrunners being forced into courting an audience they really didn’t care for, and how could you blame them when both were infamously very, very over-active and annoying in general. Just like with RWBY’s well-intentioned but misguided Freezerburn phase in Volume 5, Supernatural also tried to gently shut down fans who then managed to obliviously ignore any and all hints that their ship was not meant to be endgame, and I can say that because “he’s like a brother to me” in any fandom but Supernatural would’ve been a tactical nuclear strike that sent the shippers packing. Once it failed, the gay bait came out in full force. It’s well known by now that, contrary to what one would imagine, the CW was not pulling a profit off of Supernatural’s minor mainstream success pushed by a cult following, so it’s no wonder they eventually resorted to desperately baiting the one audience that was going to stick it out no matter what, provided they had the right relationship dangled in front of them. RWBY went through the same thing.

The main problem with these two ships is that for all its diehards insisted that it was all about the gay representation, their respective shows teased and baited for so long that the world outside the little bubble these shippers lived in had moved on by the time they came to fruition. Gay visibility in media these days, at least western media, is easily available, to the extent that sometimes people believe homophobia is totally over when it really, really isn’t. If you’re looking for gay representation, you can find it plenty of places, and the first place you look probably isn’t going to be Supernatural or RWBY. So the huge wave of viewers that these shippers expected upon their victories was never going to occur, which might could’ve been avoided if the writers had simply grown a pair and made moves towards canon much sooner than before the shows were on their last legs and due to be scrapped.

Or, you know, just been honest. Diversions and alternatives were never going to work. The only thing that these shippers were ever going to understand was a hard no, a “sorry, this ship isn’t going to happen”. But the execs in charge of these shows were never willing to take a hit like that, so instead they dug their own grave.

And where does that leave the shippers, those people who devoted their whole lives to these fictional characters, only to find the show that bore them into the universe dead in a ditch? Well, nowhere good. Much like Supernatural, RWBY is heavily associated with its booming period, the heavily online portion of these shippers’ lives in the early and mid-2010s when it was all the rage, and yet in modern day, it’s seen as a bad neighborhood to hang in, an abandoned mansion at the corner of the street where awful things happened. These shippers don’t have many friends except each other.

Just like RWBY, Supernatural also exists primarily as an ex-fandom now. Much of its former fanbase remember the good days fondly but make no secret that they stopped following it once the writing tanked, and this left the shippers without many allies to associate with since so many of them had been pissed off with the way their shows ultimately became the Destiel Show and the Bumbleby Show, respectively. Contrary to an unfortunately popular idea, these shows did have actual LGBT fanbases, only a lot of their LGBT fans were not on kool-aid and avoided being sucked into a trap called “if you don’t ship this, you’re homophobic”.

You will find that the Bumbleby fandom are often looked on with disdain by quite a number of viewers of RWBY who have accused them of speaking over minorities, sexual and otherwise. Many fans have noted that, aside from Blake’s bisexuality being a seemingly late addition (Arryn Zech is noted to have cast her as straight when discussing Ilia Amitola’s ill-fated crush on her as late as 2019), Blake was very swiftly removed from all faunus characters who held romantic connotations in favor of Yang, implicitly saying that Blake was better committing to a white human woman than to an ethnic faunus male. There are obvious reasons why this left a bad taste in peoples’ mouths. Not to mention, other LGBT fans that invested in the show were not exactly welcomed with open arms.

Fair Game, or as I tend to call it, Qrowver? Qrow x Clover? Yeah, that was huge in Volume 7’s airing days. It very much experienced a rapid ballooning in fans and fandom love...but we all know how that ended. Many a fan who felt heartbroken and, importantly, betrayed by Clover’s sudden and rather pointless death turned on RWBY and Rooster Teeth and accused them of gaybaiting, which is of course exactly what happened. They received no sympathy from Bumbleby shippers—because of course they wouldn’t. If Rooster Teeth would gaybait with Qrow, a popular male character, that would mean they could potentially be gaybaiting with Blake and Yang, too. That was unacceptable, and so ironically the part of the fandom that had always crowed about the importance of extending a hand to LGBT viewers turned on LGBT viewers, valiantly defending Rooster Teeth as they always had.

And because Bumbleby fans had no room in their hearts for anything about RWBY except Bumbleby, and were hostile to anyone who didn’t ship it, they ended up being their own best friends and everyone else’s bad memories. When RWBY has faded from the public’s memory and is no longer a source of active income at all (so, basically right now), one of the only relics you’ll find of this show will be the two women making out in all the fanart you’ll find on the occasional Tumblr blog.

The Bigotry

You could call this section “the Racism” since that’s the biggest part of it, but we’d be remiss in neglecting the harm done to other minorities as well. We’ll get to them in a minute, but race is the thing that’s going to pop to mind when we talk about one of the other things RWBY left behind in the common memory.

One of the longest-running subplots that RWBY ever went through with was the racism subplot. Its basis is one of the things that so severely dates RWBY: creating an in-universe stand-in for people of color through the existence of people with animal traits was something you would absolutely not get away with after 2020, and even by 2016 was something liable to be seen as tacky. Nonetheless, RWBY openly used the faunus as stand-ins for black Americans and the struggles they faced in a white world.

Except that the company, based in Texas and headed largely by white staff, did not feel the importance of that. What slowly started out as a main character’s attempt to redeem an organization she felt had been driven too far and was no longer her home was slowly transformed into a means by which some incredibly racist people could spout off about what they felt were the real issues to be talked about, which were the condemnation they felt was deserved by activists that turned to violence, labeled, a little too quickly, as terrorists.

The 2010s saw a shift in social values, and much as with gay audiences and gay characters, black audiences and black characters—as well as other racial minorities—were experiencing something of a renaissance, with efforts to put the voices of these people into the public’s feeds. It wasn’t just George Floyd in 2020—the unexpected and frankly traumatic reign of Donald Trump as president of the United States galvanized the divide in America and social awareness became a bigger thing than ever, and since Trump was a flagrantly racist person with racist beliefs who enacted racist policies and was uplifted by racist Americans, people pushed back as they felt their lives and existences being threatened by a racist establishment...an establishment which Rooster Teeth came down on the side of very firmly.

No quarter is given to the fictional stand-ins. Sienna Khan’s policies are never examined in-depth, and the only close looks we get at the sorts of activism the White Fang does are at Adam, who is obviously condemned by the narrative and made into everything but a mustache-twirler, with delusional and frankly baffling beliefs of faunus superiority spelled out at length. No matter what concessions Rooster Teeth might’ve tried to make with Sienna’s beliefs before they stuck a sword in her, the fact of the matter is that their beliefs came through in the voices of Ghira and Blake, who made it very clear that the individual motives and experiences of people like Ilia, Corsac, Fennec, Yuma, and the rest simply don’t matter in the face of what they’d been driven to do by them. The whole ‘blacks can be racist’ tone of the final scenes involved in this subplot are both miles removed from the more cautious and neutral tone of early RWBY, and also just a very alarming red flag overall.

I went over this in my Volume 5 Final Thoughts: the shoddiness of the volume does not lie solely with the animation department. Miles and Kerry are known to have had generally sole control of the show up until Volume 7—but we also know that they didn’t have to, if they were writing anything company execs felt wasn’t to their tastes. The sudden twisting of Adam into a homicidal incel ex-boyfriend, along with his mutation into a faunus supremacist, when he was the face of the faunus movement as a whole, along with Sun’s blatant ill will towards the White Fang when he’d previously been willing to give them a chance on Blake’s word, all imply that Miles and Kerry endorsed the worst possible interpretations of racial activists and felt free to condemn them and place responsibility onto the faunus—and by extension, the real-life minorities they represented—to take a stand against the bad seeds within their causes, and the fact no one stopped them from airing this implies the higher-ups felt the same way.

People didn’t just leave RWBY after Volume 5 because of some really badly animated fights—they left because they’d felt too much of the authors’ racism coming through in the narrative and couldn’t comfortably continue watching. Every member of the faunus that had “bad” views was either killed (Adam, Sienna, Fennec), arrested (Corsac, Yuma), or “redeemed” by choosing to fight the first two (Ilia). All of these combined factors, with no room for charitable interpretations…not a good look.

And once Adam was defeated in Volume 5, and the White Fang reformed, that was the last anyone saw of that subplot, which had taken five years to wrap up and somehow still ended too early. Miles and Kerry had washed their hands of it, and references to Blake’s place in society were sparing from then on. This subplot’s inescapable presence throughout the show, combined with how it was dropped out of existence, left no room for redemption, either. No one was going back and saying “maybe this looks really, really bad”.

And so, that’s what a lot of people carried with them as their final and most relevant memories of RWBY: it’s astounding levels of racism. This is a bitter subject for many an ex-RWBY fan, many of whom aren’t white and, even among those that are, it’s simply inexcusable. Meet someone on social media who talks about RWBY at all, and isn’t one of the Bumbleby stans we’ve already discussed? You will find some mention or other of RWBY’s racist elements somewhere within their sphere. And so, that becomes a part of RWBY’s legacy, as a feature of the show that was simply too big to ignore and too poorly-handled to forgive. People don’t get over this shit, man.

This is of course not to mention the well deserved shitty reputation RWBY has for its other bigoted elements, as well. Bumbleby, as we’ve discussed, encompassed pretty much every RWBY stan left standing by 2020, but that left quite a few ex-fans that were fed up with the company’s obvious ploys when it came to sexuality and gender. Remember when I talked about Qrowver up above? Its ballooning and immediate fall from grace was a much-condensed version of RWBY as a whole, and pretty much featured as Rooster Teeth blowing their last remaining patience from LGBT fans to smithereens. The fact of the matter is that when you get down to it, every RWBY volume after Volume 4 was not a good time to be a minority. If you were gay, the show seemed to either ignore or despise you—between the background gays that warranted mockery, the mixed reception Ilia generated, and the outrage that finally boiled over when Clover bit it, part of RWBY’s legacy is how utterly unpleasant it has been for LGBT fans who expected and deserved better.

And so despite entering the scene in 2013 as a supposedly progressive show all for being led by four women, the show died known as a low-effort half-baked cringefest whose politics were always on display and always several years behind the trend.

The Good Days

Of course, another major part of RWBY’s legacy is the early days when everyone actually liked it. This is, again, something the show creators brought on themselves and something fans assisted with. I did mention the nostalgia for the Good Ol’ Days as a significant part of the RWBY fandom’s more cult-like elements, after all. The fact of the matter is, on some level, everyone knows that RWBY has spent several years going downhill. The ex-fans lament this fact, and the diehard stans insist that it’s all just as good as it used to be, primarily by doing what they do quite a lot, and linking completely coincidental elements back to things characters said or did in previous volumes as some sort of evidence that this has been the plan all along.

I’ve run polls on this matter before; even though I’ve recapped Volumes 1-3 thoroughly and shone lights on some pretty significant flaws, you ask anyone what they think the best volume of RWBY was and they’re gonna tell you Volume 3. Yes, even with all of the stalking incel Adam and the deaths of Penny and Pyrrha. It’s the last time RWBY felt cohesive and even though some obvious derailing was in effect, and Shane Newville has openly said that the behind-the-scenes matters were pretty ugly, it’s still the golden child. Shane’s only one person, and it’d be a while before RWBY scandals would become consistent and begin to overshadow the show as a whole.

The RWBY team themselves have certainly nurtured that very much on purpose. That tactic started with them, of course. Many elements that were either unpopular or predicted to ruffle feathers were stated to have originated in earlier volumes, even in situations where this wouldn’t have made sense or where it’s an obvious lie—such as Maria Calavera. They know full well their seasons post-Volume 3 were unpopular and receiving blowback, and tried to minimize it by linking them to more well-respected seasons. Suffice to say that this simply didn’t work. But it does make people remember those earlier volumes. Because so many ex-fans lost their energy for RWBY after its most active period, much of the hype from the hype era is all that you’ll see when you encounter one. Nostalgia wins out in the end, and at least RWBY can say that, as a show, it had enough of a headstart to leave an impression that lasted in a positive way. Although that’s only one side of the coin...

The Scandals

Let’s face facts here, the biggest part of RWBY’s legacy, period, is that it fucking died. It didn’t die instantly, but rather took hit after hit, blow after blow, and slowly had its image tarnished alongside that of the company, which failed to contain repeated scandals as ex-employee after ex-employee after ex-employee spoke out about the abysmal ways they’d been treated.

RWBY is Rooster Teeth’s biggest IP by far and, really, their only one worth talking about. Every other show was either eclipsed by it or unofficially canceled after bad reception. So when Rooster Teeth suffered the consequences of their actions, so did RWBY. It really can’t be overstated how the last few years of RWBY’s existence have been absolutely bombarded by a barrage of terrible Glassdoor reviews and bombshell exposure letters. Fans managed to stay strong through the first few rumblings of ill will, but after Volume 5 shook the fandom loose, discontent entered enough of the fandom sphere to be normalized, and once that happened, it was all downhill. Once people were actually allowed to talk about not liking Rooster Teeth’s content, they sure as hell weren’t going to be dissuaded from talking about not liking Rooster Teeth as a company or its practices.

Separating the art from the artist is a very difficult thing to do and only really appropriate in certain situations. Don’t fall for any kool-aid, guys, it doesn’t make you more mature or ‘above all the drama’ to actively ignore the damage done to real people in the process of getting fictional content out into the world.

If you’re still able to enjoy the Harry Potter books and look back on the good times they gave you in fondness, then fine. If you actually purchased and played the Hogwarts Legacy game programmed by antisemites and which puts money in the pocket of the transphobic owner of the franchise, then yeah, people will be right to give you shit for it. There’s a difference between quietly enjoying a product in a manner that doesn’t hurt anybody, and actively ignoring the people hurt to make that product while feigning concern. The gap in the fandom widened as the repeated leaks and scandals continuously ate away at the protective bubble around Rooster Teeth and it became clear that whatever fans might bleat, Rooster Teeth wasn’t going to ‘learn their lesson and do better’. The habitual cycle of using whatever recent scandal had occurred to cast disappointment and anger on a particular figure and uplift the rest of “CRWBY” (see also: the Gray Haddock issue) gave diminishing returns as the bombs kept dropping. This is part of why RWBY has such an ex-fandom, because if they aren’t enjoying the product and people were hurt to make it, why stay?

Crunching employees so hard they struggle to sleep and suffer debilitating health issues? Writing the n-word on a white board knowing a black employee will see it? Goading someone into trying to kill themselves? Calling an LGBT employee a slur and then making up a public-friendly nickname in place of that slur just to get away with continuing to call her that? Laying off people without warning or a means of letting them stay afloat until another job is found? Not paying or crediting employees and cultivating an environment where those in charge do what they want and those in the public eye reap all the benefit while those without a consistent spotlight get treated like dirt?

Just some of the things I thought up off the top of my head. There’s plenty more in the details. And you can’t blame Fullscreen, you can’t blame Warner, you can’t just write it off as something that happens at animation studios, because it isn’t. Yeah, the work environment in general for animation studios in America is lacking because, ya know, late-stage capitalism hellscape, but that’s dismissive of the point. Rooster Teeth are a bad company and hurt their employees and lie when called on it. It’s impossible to separate RWBY from Rooster Teeth (despite stubborn stans’ best attempts, which themselves have been called out by these same ex-employees) and because of that, RWBY’s legacy is one of corporate abuse and utterly vile behavior towards people that just wanted to make something cool.

People have refused to associate with the show over these things and honestly, they’re right to. RWBY’s ultimate legacy, if we’re honest, is the show that became a shadow of its former self, still trying to dazzle with reminders of its former glory and promises of gay relationships, all while trying to squeeze money out of both the employees who made it and the fans who upheld it. It’s the show that cost hundreds of people their physical and mental health and didn’t even have anything to show for it at the end of the day. It will live on in history as the most bitter of pills to swallow, that something you once liked and wanted to succeed can and will be ruthlessly twisted for profit margins and might actively hate you on the side. And speaking of…

Monty Oum

The biggest travesty of RWBY’s legacy is that Monty Oum is ultimately only the smallest part of it. He’s there, but barely—he’s a name in the credits that quite frankly is only there to keep up the facade of loyalty, when the show had stopped being Monty’s show before he even died and by now can be safely said to resemble nothing he would’ve made.

It’s a shame that for all that Monty was held up as a genius of his craft and a genuinely good man who inspired so many people, all he’s going to be remembered for is...this. A show people only attach his name to in an effort to insist it’s actually worth sticking by. Yes, Monty did other things, had other works, but none of them ever achieved even a fraction of the fame and respect that RWBY had from its first baby steps in 2013.

Maybe this could’ve been avoided if the real carriers of Monty’s legacy—Sheena, his wife, and Shane, his pupil—hadn’t been cast off as they had.

Shane seems to have found a new life and is working with Dillon Gu on animation, but I think we’ve all noticed his name hasn’t gone mainstream yet. I’ve tried to get in touch with him; from what I’ve gleaned, I frankly just advise leaving him alone. He wants to move on and I don’t think the RWBY fandom, which was so awful to him for telling the truth, is ever going to be a place he can feel welcome.

Sheena has mostly been quiet and done her own thing, cosplaying and watching anime and hopefully enjoying herself, although I notice posts on her Twitter feed from last year calling for a New Deal in the animation sector and castigating corporate abuses.

She also plays Hades, a much better product than RWBY with more love put into it and much better LGBT representation, which means her taste is excellent. She has a site now that you can go to, and the about section doesn’t mention Monty, her late husband, at all, for obvious reasons: Sheena doesn’t want to be connected to RWBY. Though, there is something there that’s noteworthy, in the last paragraph:

Still desiring a social element to her career, the animator turned professional cosplayer also has a history in the live stream world. Past broadcasts have included creating costume pieces, playing games with community members and subscribers, RPGs and more. No matter the project, peers or problem, Sheena strives to keep moving forward.

That powerful phrase we all associate with Monty.

It’s a shame that this show had to be Monty’s legacy, and that years off from now, his name isn’t going to mean anything to the public because the project he was passionate about and died making outlived him and his passion. It feels like his legacy was stolen, and his own part in the show’s legacy is held up purely as a pedestal on which the show should rightfully shine.

Every time I think about Monty, I think about how much I don’t want that to be me. For all the years I’ve spent here, with my graphics certifications being wasted since I earned them while I slave away in retail, I wonder if I’m the lucky one. If I were to enter the workforce and do what I loved, would it be worth it in the end? Would what happened to Monty and Sheena and Shane happen to me? Not sure I wanna know.

Snipped here.

[delulu-hours]

Strawberry Kisses

Paring: Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: The way you tasted was one of Jake's favorites. You never failed to taste like strawberries with each kiss, so sweet and rich. It has always been hard for him when he's away, but all he thinks about is how you taste; not even the strawberries can satisfy the craving unless it's you.

Warning: Slight smut, like very slight

Jake had been gone for six months and was missing his favorite girl. All he could think about was how your lips tasted against his, that strawberry flavor he had grown accustomed to. Jake never realized how much he needed to taste that flavor again until he saw you running towards him. He couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips as he dropped his bag on the ground and held his arms open for you. Once you were at arm's length, you jumped up and right into his arms. He stumbled back as a laugh left his lips.

"Woah there, sunshine." He felt your lips kiss his face, ensuring you got every inch of his face. His hands found their way to the side of your thighs as he rubbed the exposed skin from your sun dress. "Miss me that bad?" He asked when you pulled back; a huge smile sat on your lips as you cupped his face.

"Greatly." You answered honestly, eyes scanning his face as you took him in. Trying to embed a picture of him in your mind. Your thumbs rubbed against the apples of his cheeks, and he could see that beautiful shimmer in your eyes. He loved how your eyes shined when they were on him, all full of love. Then his eyes drifted to your lips. All rosy and full to their glory, and then he was reminded of the taste of them. The way they felt around him- all warm and soft. And before he could say anything, a voice drew your attention away.

"Why don't you greet me with the same excitement?" He wanted to roll his eyes at Rooster's voice as he glanced over his shoulder. Next to him stood the rest of the dagger team. When you moved to get down, you gave Jake a quick peck on the lips, barely giving him enough time to enough you. He didn't hide his annoyance as he allowed your feet to touch the ground again. Rooster seemed entertained by the reaction he was getting from his fellow friend.

"I'm glad you guys are all back." You stepped away from Jake as you went to hug the rest of his team. He couldn't be annoyed with Rooster's actions as he knew you loved his team, but there were days that he wished they would get the hint. Today is one of them. He just wanted you to himself. Feel your skin against his. Have your lips. Anything he could get after being away from you for six months.

"Glad to be back on land." Bob smiled at you before Phoenix took your attention away. The only other girl who you indeed hung out with.

"Strawberry!" She held her arms out, and you didn't hesitate to hug her as you swayed. "We should be allowed to take you with us each time we have to leave." She grumbled, teasingly smiling as she looked at Jake, who stood behind you, unamused. "Six months away from you made Bagman a pain in all our asses." A giggle left your lips as you heard the groans that slipped out of the rest of the dagger team, all agreeing with Nat. "We just need to carry you in our pocket." Jake's lips quirked up as he rolled his eyes. He knew his team was annoyed with him as he missed you more than he expected. It also didn't help when he got those beautiful photos from you, even if you felt like a mess. God, he had missed you so much.

"Alright," He waved them off, knowing if he allowed it, they would keep going. "Can I have my girl back?" You turned to look at him to see his hand held out for you. A slightly annoyed look on his face as he shot Bradley and Coyote a glare as they laughed. You took his hand, and the moment your palms touched, he pulled you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you tightly as you tried not to laugh. Since dating Jake, he was never afraid to show affection for you, especially when he returned from his deployment. You rested your chin on his chest as you looked up at him. "Hello, Sunshine." He flashed you that beautiful smile as your arms wrapped around him.

"Hey, Jake." You said softly, enjoying the time in his arms.

"How about we get out of here," He curled a piece of your hair behind your ear. "And let me show you just how much I missed you?" His voice was low, and that look in his eyes sent a shiver down your back. Your cheeks flared as you gave him a bashful smile. His team groaned, making you flush even more. His smile widened at your reaction, loving how shy you got with him. An effect that he firmly had over you.

"I'm gonna throw up." Rooster's comment didn't phase Jake; he winked at you. You rolled your eyes and slightly pushed him before taking his hand and interlocking your fingers.

"I'll see you guys this weekend." You gave them a quick wave as Jake dragged you to his truck. He didn't waste any more time as he moved around the people still there. He wanted you alone. You couldn't help but laugh at his eagerness as you followed behind. "Baby," You called out for him as he hummed, his truck coming into view. "Slow down." He glanced down at you and slowed down as they were a few feet from the car.

Once he was near, he threw his bag in the truck bed before pushing you into the truck. He kissed your lips with so much need. The action caught you off guard as you gasped into the kiss. His tongue darted into your mouth, and he groaned as he tasted you. The sweetness of the strawberries as he pushed himself up on you. You kissed him back, hands moving behind his neck as you pulled him down. His hand cupped the back of your neck while his other hand held you firmly. He pushed his leg in between yours and pushed against you. At the contact, a moan left your lips. His lips moved down to your jaw until they reached your neck. Everything about you tasted sweet.

"Jake," You dug your nails lightly into his neck. "We can't do this here." You tried to push him off, but in all honesty, you didn't want him to stop. You wanted him to keep going. You felt your hips rock a bit on his thigh.

"You're the one moving." He pulled back, a teasing smirk on his face as he took in your rosy cheeks. Your lips plumed from the kissing and the way they parted. The needy look in your eyes as you looked up at him. He licked his lower lip, his fingers digging into your waist as you whined softly. "How about we head home," A soft kiss was pressed on your lips. "and continue this so I can hear the way you call out my name as I taste every inch of you." You batted your lashes at him, and he had to bite back the groan as you looked so fuckable.

"Okay," Your voice was soft as he moved away. He opened the door, and you got in, rubbing your legs together for some sort of relief. He quickly closed the door and wasted no time jogging to the other side as he got in. When he started the car and out of the parking lot, his hand rested on the exposed skin of your thighs. He glanced down at you when movement caught his eyes and couldn't help the small laugh that left his lips. You looked at him, confused, as you took a bit of the strawberry in hand, trying to get your mind off the previous events and the feeling of his hand on your skin.

"God," He stopped at a red light and stole a kiss. He felt your hand reach up to cup his cheek as you kissed him back, and he couldn't help but groan. "You and fucking strawberries. I missed this taste." He pressed another soft kiss before the light turned green. "So fucking much." He hitched his hand up higher on your thigh before squeezing it, earning a gasp from your lips. He licked his lips, tasting the sweetness driving him crazy the last six months.

[rocketboots564]

Here is part one of my thoughts, notes, and reactions to Red Versus Blue Season 9 as a first time watcher!

Yes, I have heard the news about Rooster Teeth. No I will not let that stop me from binging this series one way or another!

The rest of each individual season will be posted separately instead of being a reblog of the first post… mainly because I saw how egregiously long my post on season 8 was.

Season 9 Part 1:

Epsilon… what do you mean nobody’s called you “Director” in a really long time? Sir, season 8 was probably just a couple months ago… I think…

I don’t know how much time has passed from S8 to S9

FIRST OF ALL TUCKER, CHURCH IS CABOOSE’S BEST FRIEND

Wait… how can you get winded if you’re an AI. I mean I know Epsilon is in a memory unit, but does that mean he relives everything in a human body too?

It does make sense that Epsilon doesn’t really know how to use a Rifle. Sure, Church (or Alpha? Imma stick with church) didn’t know how to properly use it either, but he did know how to adjust the scope.

“Torqued in my pants” pffft…

WOAH TUCKER?! You did WHAT IN ALONE TIME? WHAT THE HELL’S “ALONE TIME”? 😦

Erm… what the Metal Gear? I unironically love this stealth mission thing. And knowing South Dakota… I wonder how long it’ll take for this to go tits up…

I’m betting five to ten minutes

also, YESS THE BIG BUCKS BUDGET OF ANIMATED CG SCENES RETURNS.

South MY GOD LISTEN UP?! HAVE YOU NEVER PLAYED ANY STEALTH GAME?! Set up the MOTION DECTETORS!!!

As someone who’s had years of experience sneaking past light sleepers in the dead of night for snacks and video games… I could do this better than you South Dakota.

SOUTH THIS IS WHY WE SET OUR SOLITON RADAR!!! I mean motion detectors… sorry I got Metal Gear Solid on the brain

MY GOD THE ANIMATION?! THE TAG TEAMING?! What happened that got South Dakota to eventually abandon North Dakota?

I too could take 50 of them South… in a fight… definitely a fight

Oop I saw that in the background! Who’s that?!

OOH THEY BAITED ME WITH THE BLACK ARMOR! They almost made me think it Tex… it’s actually well… whoever this cyan lady is

Supportive Sarge? He WANTS to hear the blue perspective? He DOESN’T want to command and yell at his subordinates?

GRIF? CLEANING? Actually I could get behind Maid Grif.

“I actually like being talked down to” woah WOAH SIMMONS?! 🤨 real, me too…

I mean… at least Donut’s still kept his accidental yet somewhat intentional innuendos. And, also his diary apparently…

Damn SHUT UP SOUTH DAKOTA! SHUT UP!! NOBODY HEAR WANTS TO HEAR YOUR SHIT!

North? WHOAH ANIMATED FACES?! NORTH DAKOTA WITH THE CLUTCH!!

Medics = bad luck. Honestly… yeah for you guys they are.

THE PHOTOSHOPPED WET FLOOR SIGN AND MOP IS KILLING ME

The ultimate OTP battle: Caboose x Sheila versus Caboose x Email

Listen… Tucker… never in a million years will I ever call you Professor Fuck

Damn the Freelancer Program only has ranked mode? No wonder they’re all assholes

CONNECTICUT? SHE’S CT? Yeah I can see why you’re so mad about your low rank… you’ll get your shit rocked by Professor Fuck of all people. Fuck it… it’s a funny name

So like… you know you’ve got absolutely dogshit rizz when Caboose has a better shot at dating someone than you.

Speaking of which… Caboose is now in my top 5 of the most dateable guys in this show. Like take this quote from him:

“I just really want to meet someone nice. Someone who appreciates me for who I am not so much because I’m pretty but because they really want to get to know me…”

HOW HAS THIS MAN NOT WOOED THE HEARTS OF THOUSANDS?

Tucker has NO rizz…

Oh wow Epsilon, just drop the existential dread on your teammates like that with no warning. It is a damn good thing your teammates either don’t understand it or don’t care.

Huh… seems even in a memory unit in which everyone is different fate still finds a way to make Grif lazy and sarcastic again.

Then again, that’s kinda happening with the rest of Red Team as well, minus Simmons and Lopez

Also, LOPEZ IS BACK! And this time is immediately beefing with Simmons… or rather the other way around.

“I’ll show you who’s likable and funny, and who people like” SIMMONS BABY ITS YOU! YOUR THE ONE I LOVE! YOUR THE ONE I NEED!

I just like Simmons… a perfectly normal amount…

Conclusion: this season already fucking ROCKS I LOVE IT! HOLY SHIT THIS IS AWESOME!

[ereardon]

Part One: The Night Before

Summary: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw has been your best friend for a decade. He’s also your fiancé’s best man. So when he shows up at your hotel room the night before your wedding, it’s just because he’s your friend, right? 

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader 

Warnings: Angst, pining, weddings, cursing 

WC: 2.9K

Series masterlist here; part two here

There was a knock at the door. 

You sighed and stood up from where you had been sitting at the desk writing your note to Jeremy for tomorrow. 

Maybe it was Anna with the steamer for your veil. Or your dad asking about the schedule for the forty-ninth time. Or your mother with an emergency that definitely wouldn’t warrant her reaction: the florist only has medium pink not light pink roses or the wedding planner accidentally wrote cream china instead of bone-colored china and now the three-hundred person reception hall would be wrong. 

Except you didn’t care. You didn’t care about any of the details. 

Not anymore. 

The knocking continued. 

“One second!” you huffed, scurrying barefoot across the bridal suite. It was enormous and you simply flung the door open without looking through the peephole first. “Rooster?” 

Bradley gave you a small grin. He was still wearing his jacket and tie from the rehearsal dinner, but the tie was now loosened and hanging around his muscular neck. “Hey Ace. Can I come in?” 

You nodded and stepped to the side of the door. Bradley stepped inside carefully, walking into the living room of the suite. 

“Shit, nice room,” he murmured. 

You shrugged. “Dad said to do whatever I wanted. And how many times do you get married? One night in a hotel suite isn’t going to break the bank.” 

Rooster nodded. “Yeah.” 

You crossed the room, brushing a hand over his back as you grazed past him toward the wet bar. “Want a drink?” 

“Sure. What do you have?” 

“Wine, gin, bourbon, vodka, whiskey, soda, champagne. Whatever you want, babe.” 

“Bourbon on the rocks.” 

“You got it.” You grabbed a rocks glass and dropped in a few large cubes from the built-in ice maker before splashing a generous pour of Blanton’s over it. Despite the fact that you had promised yourself you were done drinking after the rehearsal dinner, you poured yourself a glass of champagne and sunk down on the couch next to Bradley, holding out his glass. “Cheers.” 

“Cheers,” Bradley whispered, tipping the glass back and pouring half of it down his throat. You sipped carefully at your champagne flute, eyes wide. 

“What’s up, Roo?” you asked softly, hand reaching out on the back of the white silk couch, touching him. He curled his fingertips around yours. 

“Do you remember the night we met?” he asked. 

You laughed. “Of course I do. You spilled an entire tray of tequila shots on my shoes.” 

It had been a hot June Saturday. You were out with a few girlfriends. You had just finished your junior year at Georgetown and were back home in Annapolis. 

You were standing at the bar, ordering another round, when the oaf next to you turned too quickly, taking down a waitress and her entire platter of tequila shots. They rained down on your feet. Thankfully you were wearing sneakers, so no glass penetrated your skin, but you smelled like the inside of a Mexican brothel. 

“Dude?” you exclaimed, looking up at him. 

Bradley Bradshaw looked back with wide eyes, cheeks flushed with pink embarrassment. “Oh shit!” he exclaimed and before you realized it, you were swept into his arms and he was carrying you bride-style into the unisex bathroom in the back. 

“Hey man?” you asked, tapping his shoulder. “Want to put me down?” 

“Sorry, yeah,” he said, setting you down gently. You tugged at your denim shorts and gave him a funny look. 

“Why’d you do that?” 

“In case there was glass,” he said softly. “Didn’t want you to step on it and hurt yourself.” 

You peeled off your white Keds, which were soaked and now a faint yellow color, and lifted one leg to dunk your foot into the gross sink. “You just go around pouring tequila on girls and then scooping them up and hauling them into dark bathrooms?” 

“I, uh,” Bradley stuttered and you laughed. He caught your gaze in the mirror and laughed with you. “I’m Bradley.” 

“Y/N,” you said. “Now are you gonna help me wash my shoes or what?” 

He picked up the Keds from the floor and took them to the other sink, rinsing them under cold water and pressing soap against the cloth sides. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t see that waitress standing there.” 

You shrugged. “It’s fine. Not the first time I’ve had a drink spilled on me. I’ve been to my share of college parties.” 

He grinned. “Where do you go?” 

“Georgetown,” you replied and he raised an eyebrow. “I’ll be a senior in the fall.”

“Georgetown,” he repeated. “Impressive.”

“Not really.” You switched feet, lathering the cheap pink soap over the toes of your left foot. “How about you, tequila boy? What’s your story?” 

“Naval Academy,” he said and you peered at him. It made sense, you guessed. He was tall, lean, and muscular. He had deft hands, you could tell just from the way he was cleaning your shoes. And he had a quick reaction to scooping you up and hauling you into the bathroom, despite your protests. 

“Just at the bar trying to sleep with townies?” you asked. 

Bradley practically choked on his own spit. He caught your cackle in the mirror and turned to you with a grin. “God, you’re something, aren’t you?” 

“I’m drunk is what I am,” you replied. 

He held the shoes under the automatic hand dryer and you watched in silence as Bradley rotated them evenly. After a few minutes, he held them out to you. “Not perfect, but it’ll do.” 

“Thanks,” you murmured, reaching out and grabbing them. You leaned against the cool white porcelain sink to slide each shoe on, bending over to tie the laces. When you straightened up, Bradley was staring at you. You crossed your arms in front of your chest, leaning back against the sink. “So, sailor,” you said softly and he grinned. “Buy me a drink to make up for the truckload of tequila you dumped on me?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Bradley placed his hand on your low back and steered you out back into the bar. Someone had cleaned up the tequila catastrophe and you stepped right back to where you had been standing before the incident, Bradley’s fingers still warm on your back. They slid off as he went to grab his wallet to open a tab and you looked up at him. He was attractive in an entirely unexpected way. There were small scars that peppered the left side of his face and you wanted to reach out and trail your fingers over them. 

He handed you a glass — a vodka soda this time — and you smiled at him. Bradley smiled back. 

And then a hand appeared on his shoulder and you looked up. A guy with the whitest teeth and perfect Dr. McDreamy hair stared back at you. “Bradshaw, who’s your friend?” 

He was gorgeous. You felt your blood freeze for a moment. 

And then Bradley’s voice pulled you out of your coma. 

“Y/N, this is Jeremy. He’s my roommate at the academy.” 

Jeremy smiled and you felt your heart speed up. “Nice to meet you.” 

You left that night on Jeremy’s arm. He brought you back to his room at the academy; you were staying for the summer with your parents and bringing a boy home that you had met two hours earlier would have sent up red flags to your father. 

After, you got dressed and left Jeremy asleep on his bed. You cracked the door open carefully, closing it behind you with a soft thud. 

And then you almost tripped on a leg jutting out into the hallway. 

“Fuck!” You stumbled but righted yourself at the last moment. Bradley gazed up at you with tired eyes. “Bradley?” 

He nodded and stood up, wiping at his eyes. His Hawaiian shirt was rumpled and it looked like he had been asleep against the wall. 

“Were you sleeping?” 

“Just closed my eyes for a second,” he whispered. 

You looked down at your watch and groaned. “Shit.” It was almost four in the morning. Your dad would definitely be looking for you. You looked back at him. “I’m sorry.” 

Bradley shrugged. “It’s fine. Happens.” 

You looked back at the door, forlorn. So it happened a lot. You shouldn’t have been surprised. You had slept with Jeremy after three rounds of drinks. Why would you think that wasn’t a regular occurrence for him? You nodded. “I see.” 

“Y/N,” Bradley reached out and grabbed your hand. You looked up at him. “That’s not what I meant.” He sighed. “Jeremy, he’s a good guy. You should know that.” 

You smiled. “I needed to hear that. Thanks.” 

Bradley smiled back at you. “Well, I should probably get some rest.” 

You nodded. “Yeah, I should go.” 

“Do you need a ride or something?” 

“I’ll just get an Uber.” 

“I can wait with you.” 

“You’d do that?”

Bradley squeezed your hand. You hadn’t even realized he had never dropped it. “Of course.” 

The two of you stood in silence outside the dorm building. You were cold in the early morning fog. You shivered and Bradley shrugged out of his ugly Hawaiian button up and handed it to you. 

“Here.” 

“Oh. Thanks.” You slid it on. It smelled like suntan lotion and beer and it was warm from where it had hugged Bradley’s boxy form. 

A Honda rolled up slowly and you checked your phone, reading out the license plate. 

“This is me,” you confirmed. Bradley nodded. You stepped to the curb and pulled open the door. “Hey, Bradley?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” 

He smiled. “I hope so.” 

“Why is that what you’re thinking of?” you asked softly, taking another sip of champagne. 

Bradley leaned back against the white couch, sliding his arm down to his side. You combed your fingers through his hair at his temple and he shut his eyes. “How’d we get here, Ace?” 

“Get where, honey?” you asked. 

Bradley sat up and looked at you. “Here, Y/N. With you marrying my best friend tomorrow, in the ballroom downstairs.” 

You reeled back. There was a fire in Bradley’s eyes. You had seen that look before. “Brad,” you whispered. “What’s going on?” 

“Why are you marrying him, Y/N?” he asked. “Why him?” 

Your mouth popped open. Suddenly, it felt like the entire suite was devoid of air. You wanted to gasp but there was nothing to suck into your lungs. All that existed in that moment was Bradley.

“Roo? You’re not gonna believe it.” 

Bradley took a deep breath. “What is it, Ace?” 

“Jeremy asked me to marry him!”

He looked at your face. How fucking estatic you were. It had been seven years since the night the three of you met. Well, since the night you and Bradley had met, Jeremy had shown up out of the blue. Swooping in. Stealing the girl. Doing what he had always done. 

But this time had been different. You were different. 

You should have been his. 

“Bradley?” 

He looked up into your eyes. “What did you say?” 

You rolled your eyes. “I said yes, Brad. Of course I said yes.” 

And then you launched yourself into his arms, his hands wrapped around your waist, your fingers pressed tightly around his neck. 

You whispered into his ear. “I’m getting married, Bradley. How crazy is that?” 

He pulled you in closer. “It’s insane,” he murmured against your neck. “I can’t believe it.” 

“What did you say?” you asked, aghast. 

Bradley’s eyes were trained on yours. There was a hardness in his features that you recognized from all the times the two of you had been in difficult spots before. The first time he and Jeremy deployed together and you held both of them on the tarmac, tears in your eyes, your voice hoarse from spending the entire night before crying. It was the same look he had when Carole died and you had stood in a black wrap dress under an umbrella in the rain next to Bradley as they lowered her casket into the ground. It was the way he looked at you when you said the doctor found a mass on your ovary, only for them to remove it and confirm it was benign a few weeks later. It was the way he looked the night you had fought when he accused you of throwing your life away to follow him and Jeremy around the country from base to base. 

You had never been able to let him go. It was always the three of you. It had always been the three of you. 

Even when it was supposed to just be you and Jeremy. Bradley had always been there, in the shadows, never out of reach. It’s how you wanted him. It’s how you needed him. 

“Brad?” 

“Don’t marry him,” Bradley said. “Please.” 

You had loved Bradley Bradshaw for years. He was the best friend you had ever had. He fit so seamlessly into your life that you could barely remember a moment when he wasn't in it. 

He was the person holding your hair when you drank too much on your twenty-fifth birthday in Las Vegas. Bradley was there when you ran your first marathon. He was there when you and Jeremy bought the house. He was there the day you brought home Buddy, your labrador rescue. Somehow every single memory over the last decade has Bradley on the edges of it. 

He was also Jeremy’s best friend. 

“Most of you know me. I’m Bradley Bradshaw, best friend of the groom and best man.” Bradley paused while there were cheers from the tables of other Naval aviators. You grinned up at him from where you sat next to him. “But you might not know that I’m also a best friend of the bride’s.” He gazed down at you. “Y/N isn’t just the best thing that happened to Jeremy. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, too. So it’s the greatest honor of my life to be here with you all as they commit themselves to each other. I’ve been the third wheel for most of their firsts.” There was laughter in the audience but Bradley didn’t notice. His eyes were still on yours. You held his gaze, unblinking. “Tomorrow is just another first for these two. Here’s to a lifetime together. I love you both.” 

Finally he lifted his gaze from yours and raised his glass. 

“A toast to Jeremy and Y/N. Thank God I spilled tequila all over her shoes a decade ago or we wouldn’t be here now.” 

More cheering. Bradley gulped down his entire flute of champagne and sat down. You leaned over and wrapped your arms around his neck. “I love you, Roo,” you whispered into his ear. 

His hand came out and brushed against the white silk of your dress where it sat on your hip. “I love you too, baby.” 

Bradley’s soft brown eyes bore into yours. You suddenly felt exposed in your thin white lace nightgown that you had been wearing when you answered the door. You stood up and crossed the room, shrugging on the matching robe, cinching it tightly around your waist. So tight it hurt. 

Everything hurt. 

“What are you saying?” you whispered. “I’m getting married in less than twenty-four hours, Bradley. Why are you doing this?” 

Bradley stood up. “Because I can’t watch you get up there and walk down the aisle to him.” 

“Why?” you wailed. “Why the fuck not, Bradley?” 

“Because it should be me!” he shouted and you froze. Bradley froze. The air in the room froze. 

“What did you say?” Your voice was barely a whisper. It was so thin it could break. The way Bradley was breaking but you just couldn’t see it. Maybe it had always been like this and you had never seen it. 

Bradley strode across the room until the two of you were only inches apart, his hands on your neck, tilting your head up to look at him. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you since that very first night at the bar. I kick myself every night for not making you mine before Jeremy could.” 

“Bradley.” 

He dropped his hands and took a step back. You felt tears start to well behind your eyes. “I wanted to tell you, Y/N. I started to. A hundred times. A thousand. But then I saw how happy you were with him and I stopped myself. I care more about you being happy than anything else in the world.” 

He paused. You wiped at the tears beneath your eyes, the heavy diamond on your left hand grazing your cheek. 

A reminder. 

Bradley took a breath. “I’ll walk away, Ace. I’ll go back to my room and pretend I never came here. And tomorrow I’ll stand up there next to Jeremy and watch you walk down the aisle like the most beautiful bride on the planet and I’ll try to forget that I’ve loved you for a decade and nobody else can compare to you. I’ll do all of that, if you can answer one question for me.” 

You raised your eyes to his. 

“Does he make you as happy as I would make you?” 

A/N: This is a two-part series!

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